“She won’t be much longer. Once she’s been brought in front of a judge, she’ll be sent to the workhouse. Lizzie got behind in her rent, you see.”
“She’s a debtor?” Iris opened her reticule. “I want to pay what she owes.”
O’Hara looked at her askance. “Why, if I may ask?”
“The woman was kind to me when I was in the cell. Considering my providential rescue, I think it’s the least I can do.”
After Iris paid the relatively small sum, she joined Rory at the door.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“Nothing, really. Let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate my good fortune and thought I should do a good deed for once.”
From the set of her brother’s jaw, Iris could tell it would be long time until he forgave her—if ever.
“Rory, I want you to know I’d already decided to come home last night. That was before I’d heard about the robbery, of course.” She gulped. “I was quite mistaken about Iggy’s regard for me.”
He gave her a level look. “I hear no regret about what pain you inflicted upon Father, not to mention the trouble and inconvenience you’ve caused me and Miles.”
“I feel nothing but regret for my actions! If you want me to say I’m selfish and pig-headed, then I freely admit it.” She bit her lip. “I stole from you as well, and I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. Truly, I have no excuse.”
Her brother stared straight ahead, seemingly unmoved. “I daresay Miles has secured a cab for us. We should go.”
As Iris accompanied him from the bridewell, she wasn’t sure what more she could do to express her contrition. For now, she decided it was best to leave it alone and let her brother’s anger burn itself out. She waited until she, Rory, and Miles were inside the cab before she said anything further.
“How did you find me?”
Her brother’s response was terse. “Moordale didn’t cover his tracks especially well.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Everyone must know that I ran off with him.”
“Only Lady Quarterbury, and she’s unlikely to say anything.”
“The countess is a good woman.” Iris’s shoulders began to relax for the first time that long, hideous day. If her reputation survived this misadventure, she knew it would be nothing less than a miracle.
Miles spoke. “Miss Braithwaite, do you have any idea how Moordale came to be robbed?”
“I have my suspicions. At dinner last night, Iggy mentioned joining a card game in the salon. He seemed unusually confident in his ability to win. Much more confident than the ordinary player, I think.”
As he caught her insinuation, Rory lifted an eyebrow. “If Moordale gained an edge by cheating, he might have set himself up as a target. The only way to know is to ask him.”
Miles frowned. “If he can speak.”
Although it was well past dark out, Rory slipped a few coins into the ward nurse’s hand to overlook the lateness of the hour. She brought them into a large open room populated by male patients with every sort of ailment or calamitous injury. The smell was nauseating, and the sights were unappetizing. Even worse was the howling noise from somewhere in the bowels of the institution. Rory wanted to believe it was an animal, but he knew better.
Iris’s eyebrows drew together. “Is someone screaming?”
“Oh, yes. We have a ward devoted to the insane.” The nurse noticed her blanch. “Don’t worry, we’re perfectly safe here. Those patients are behind locked doors, and escapes are almost unheard of.”
Almost unheard of? Rory exchanged an unsettled glance with Miles.
The nurse stopped in front of a rolling screen. “His Lordship is in the next bed. Poor fellow hasn’t been conscious since he arrived, which is a mercy.”
“Why?” Iris asked.
“The surgeon who operated on him said the bullet was lodged quite deep. I doubt if His Lordship could have withstood the pain of its removal, had he been conscious.”
The woman ushered them past the screen, and Moordale’s form became visible. In the glow of the gaslight lamps, the viscount was barely recognizable. Both his eyes were rimmed with dark bruises and his nose was swollen twice its normal size. A sheet and blanket were pulled up to his armpits, and a heavy bandage appeared several inches underneath his collarbone. Iris gasped and began to cry. The extent of Moordale’s injuries took Rory aback as well.
“I knew he’d been shot, but I hadn’t realized he’d been beaten quite so severely.”
“Nor I,” Miles said. “His nose has been badly broken.”
Rory glanced at the viscount’s hands. “There are no abrasions on his knuckles, so he didn’t try to defend himself against his assailant.”
Miles frowned. “It was a surprise attack, I imagine. Quite cowardly in the extreme.”
Rory turned toward the nurse. “Is there any way to get Lord Moordale into a private room with his own nurse?”
She shrugged. “Private rooms cost money, and His Lordship didn’t have so much as a penny in his pockets.”
“I’ll pay in advance.”
“In that case, I can arrange it.” The nurse bustled off.
Iris clutched Rory’s arm. “Thank you.”
Miles gave him a crooked smile. “Uncommonly generous, I must say.”
“Not really. Although I do feel sorry for Moordale, I’m not being completely altruistic. If he doesn’t recover, we’ll never learn who attacked him. More particularly, I want to know who put him up to this business with Iris.”
His sister peered at him. “What do you mean?”
“We believe someone paid Moordale to whisk you away.”
“That can’t be true…can it?” Her expression shifted from disbelief to shock and then confusion. “If you’re right, I feel like an utter fool!” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine who would want to do such a malicious thing to me.”
“The villain was rather bold to involve a countess and a viscount in his scheme,” Miles said. “Miss Braithwaite, have you any enemies who would like to do you harm?”
“A great many people dislike me, I suspect, but I can’t think whom it would benefit to see my reputation in tatters.”
“We won’t unravel the mystery without more information,” Rory said. “Let’s return to the hotel for the night. I’ll come back tomorrow to see if Moordale’s awake. If he can reveal the culprit, we’ll have our answers.”
“And if he’s not awake?” Miles asked.
“We escort Iris back to London like we’d planned. I’ll send a telegram to Father tonight to let him know we’ve recovered her.”
“But we can’t leave Iggy here by himself!” she exclaimed.
“Iris, he might never wake up.”
She moaned. “Don’t say that.”
Her handkerchief was so moist by then, Miles gave her one of his. “Rory has a point, Miss Braithwaite. We can’t stay here forever, and your father is expecting you home.”
“I’ll leave instructions with his nurse on how to reach me,” Rory said. “It’s the best I can do.”
Feeling listless and out-of-sorts, Fiona picked at her breakfast while her mother chatted about the upcoming wedding and festivities. Her father did his best to ignore the conversation by ducking behind his newspaper.
“We haven’t a lot of time, so I’ve made a list of what must be done.” Mrs. Robinson tapped a piece of paper on the table next to her plate. “Your presentation gown will make a lovely wedding dress.”
“Yes.”
“And even though Sir Harry insists on buying your trousseau in Paris, we must still drive into York to purchase a going-away suit.”
The idea of shopping for clothes had never before seemed so unappealing. “I’ll write to Angelica this morning, urging her to send my trunks along. I’ve plenty of traveling suits already.”
Mrs. Robinson was undeterred. “Even so, you must have a few pretty garments for the wedding night.”
Fiona anticipated her we
dding night would be nothing but perfunctory. “I don’t see why we should spend money on garments that will get little use.”
Her mother’s face fell, and from behind his newspaper, Mr. Robinson made a sound of disgust. “Must you two discuss this in my presence?”
“Sorry, dear.”
“Sorry, Papa.”
As she glanced at her mother’s crestfallen expression, Fiona relented. “We’ll go shopping if you like, Mama. Just tell me when.”
“Let’s go Friday, shall we?”
Her lips curved into a forced smile. “That sounds perfect.”
The butler entered the dining room and presented Fiona with an envelope. “This just arrived for you.”
“Thank you, Truman.” She glanced at the brief message. “Mrs. Wren would like me to stop by this morning. I’m to collect her donations for the church bazaar.”
Her father lowered his paper to reveal an expression of incredulity. “Is the woman mad? Why is she insisting you work on the bazaar when you’ve a wedding to prepare?”
“Actually, I don’t mind. Since Lara is to volunteer as well, if I can do my part now, even if it’s just for a little while, less work will fall on her shoulders later on. Besides which, I should get to know my future mother-in-law better.”
After breakfast, Fiona wrote a letter to Angelica. She wished to make sure Lara and all the Greystokes knew they were welcome at the ceremony, but that it was very short notice and she would understand if they couldn’t attend. The letter was cheerful, but she bit back tears as she wrote it. A wedding without her entire family was definitely not what she’d always dreamed of…but then neither was Harry. In closing, she asked for her things to be sent along as expeditiously as possible, since she would need some of her clothes for the honeymoon trip.
After leaving the letter with Truman to post, Fiona drove the gig over to Sheepfold Abbey to meet Mrs. Wren. The elegant older woman emerged from the drawing room as the butler admitted her into the house.
“Good morning, dear. I saw you arrive just now. You handle a gig quite smartly, I must say.”
“Thank you. I enjoy driving in an open carriage, especially in the summer. The breeze is rather refreshing.”
“Indeed, it is, but it’s difficult on my coiffeur! Before you ask about him, Harry’s not home. He’s off on business again for the next few days.”
Fiona was taken aback. “He seems to be away a lot on business.”
“Yes, but this was unexpected, even for Harry. He told me not to say anything to anyone, but I’m sure he didn’t mean you.” She lowered her voice. “He’s off buying a financial interest in a Newcastle glassworks factory.”
“Oh? I think Papa has an interest in a Newcastle glassworks factory. I wonder if it could be the same one?”
“I haven’t a clue. I try never to interfere in Harry’s investments.” She smiled. “I hope you didn’t mind the short notice this morning, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity for us to chat a little. Also, I’d like to give you a tour of Sheepfold Abbey. Since this is to be your home, you should know how it runs.”
The older woman took Fiona through the lower level, where various workrooms, the kitchen, and the laundry were located. In the staff dining room, one of the servants was stacking logs and kindling in the fireplace. The young man jumped to his feet when they appeared.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wren.” He nodded to Fiona.
“Good morning, Jack. Why are you building a fire? It’s already hot as blazes in here.”
“Before he left this morning, Sir Harry asked me to burn some old books.”
Fiona’s puzzled gaze dropped to the small stack of books on the heavy dining room table. Although they were slightly worn around the edges, the seven volumes were attractively bound with green leather and embossed in gold.
“I don’t understand.” Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Why anyone would want to burn such beautiful books?”
“Aye, but it’s a set, and Sir Harry told me one of the volumes has gone missing.”
“What a shame!” Fiona scanned the bindings. “I see now…the missing book is volume three.”
Mrs. Wren laughed. “One thing you should know about my son, Fiona, is that he likes things neat and tidy, with no loose ends.”
“Would you mind awfully if I take the books with me as a donation for the bazaar? Someone will buy the set as it is and enjoy it very much, I’m sure.”
“What a good idea! Jack, carry the books out to Miss Fiona’s gig, along with the other donations I’ve assembled in my sitting room. Look for the wicker basket marked ‘bazaar.’”
“Aye, Mrs. Wren.”
The servant picked up the stack and carted them out the door. Mrs. Wren gave Fiona a bright smile. “Shall we continue?”
Several minutes later, they reached the drawing room, where the portrait of a delicate young woman caught Fiona’s eye.
“Is that painting of the first Lady Wren?”
“Yes. Gwyneth and Harry adored one another. She was a sweet and pretty little thing, but always somewhat sickly. The only child of their union was stillborn, and after that Gwyneth went into a slow decline. She’s been gone almost twenty years now.”
“How sad. Why didn’t Harry remarry sooner, do you suppose?”
“I don’t know, really. After Gwyneth passed, he focused his attention on building up his investments. But now he wants children. In the end, that’s what marriage is all about.”
As Mrs. Wren continued the tour, Fiona’s thoughts drifted to Harry’s first marriage. He’d apparently loved Gwyneth so much he hadn’t considered taking another wife for two whole decades after her death. It was a romantic and sad tale, but oddly comforting at the same time. If Harry was still in love with Gwyneth, there was no danger he would ever fall in love with her. Therefore, she needn’t feel any guilt about never loving him in return.
Chapter Fourteen
Want
RORY RETURNED TO THE HOSPITAL the next morning to ensure Moordale had been settled into a private room and to check if his condition had improved. His new nurse had noticed a little more movement in his fingers overnight, which was a good sign, but the physician on duty said there was no way to predict when the viscount would awaken.
“There was a great deal of trauma. It all depends on how fast the swelling in his brain goes down.”
“But you think he will recover?”
“If his bullet wound heals without ward fever setting in, I see no reason why not.”
Rory gave the nurse instructions how he could be contacted if there was any change in Moordale’s condition, and left enough money so the viscount would receive the best care. As he rode in a cab back to the Adelphi, Rory wondered why he was going to so much trouble on Moordale’s behalf. He did want to discover who was behind the plot to remove Iris from the bosom of her family. Now that his sister was safe, however, that knowledge was no longer critical. Perhaps visiting the man’s sad London residence and learning more about him had had a greater impact on Rory than he’d realized. The silly, vain fellow now seemed less the villain and more like a hapless pawn in someone else’s game.
When he joined Iris and Miles in the hotel lobby, he noticed a definite change in his sister’s demeanor. The arrogant attitude he’d come to expect was gone and she seemed eager to get along. She even managed a smile. “How is Iggy?”
“Very little change, but the doctor was optimistic.”
A flicker of pain crossed her face. “I feel dreadful abandoning him like this.”
“He has the best care money can buy, and I’ve asked the nurse to send a telegram to London if she has news.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Somewhat nonplussed at her seeming sincerity, he gestured toward the waiting cab. “We’ve a train to catch.”
As the driver helped Iris climb into the carriage, Rory turned to Miles.
“Let’s hope my sister’s good humor lasts at least until she leaves for America.�
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Despite having to leave Moordale at the hospital, Iris was glad to have Liverpool at her back. She, Rory, and Miles took a private compartment on the train, but as the countryside slipped by, nobody said much. Since Rory and Miles were usually quite talkative with one another, she realized her presence was putting a damper on the conversation. Although she’d been careful to be on her best behavior, it was clear from Rory’s manner the ice had not yet begun to thaw—not that she blamed him overmuch. When she glanced at him, her brother had a far-off look on his face. Undoubtedly, his thoughts were of a certain redhead.
“Rory, how was your visit with Miss Fiona?” she asked.
“Pleasant…while it lasted.”
“Will you return to see her after I’m safely home with Papa?”
He exchanged an uncomfortable look with Miles. “My departure was so abrupt, I may have given offense. I’m not certain I’d be welcome.”
Iris bit her lip. “Didn’t you tell her why you had to leave?”
“Of course not. I was afraid of besmirching your reputation.”
Miles cleared his throat. “We kept the reason for our journey to ourselves, Miss Braithwaite. Nobody even knows we went to Liverpool, except for your father and Lady Quarterbury. It was she who told us where to find you.”
“Thank you for being so discreet, Mr. Greystoke, but you must tell your family the truth.” She glanced at her brother. “I’d rather my elopement wasn’t generally known to everyone—for obvious reasons—but I encourage you to tell Miss Fiona and the Robinsons, too. You have my permission, if that’s your concern.”
Her brother peered at her. “You don’t mind?”
“I no longer have the right to mind, do I?” She shrugged. “I believe I forfeited that right several times over. At the moment, I’m more concerned that there’s a misunderstanding between you and Miss Fiona. I’ve already done enough damage as it is.”
Rory took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I confess, being able to relate how dire the situation was may help my case.”
“Mine as well.” Miles chuckled. “Lara was none too pleased with me when I left.”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 15