Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5)

by Heather Boyd

“Then pack her things and your own, say farewell to Mr. Mivart, and be prepared to devote all your energy to making my wife happy. At least one of us must have a chance to do so.” He muttered the last one bitterly, then spun on his heel and marched for the door. If Miranda had no love for the title her dowry had bought her, then why the devil had she married him in the first place? Had he been blind to her motives? Had she only married him out of some sort of rebellion with the intent of making him look a fool?

  In the hall he encountered his valet, returned from Twilit House with a new shirt, waistcoat, jacket, and other things splayed over his arm for him to wear today. “Change of plans. We’re going home. Pack everything and introduce yourself to my wife’s new maid, April. I didn’t catch her last name, but she’s in there. She’ll be returning with you, and after working here will likely need guidance on how the house runs in the beginning.”

  The valet’s eyes widened but he wisely held his tongue, which was a good thing because Kit was in no mood to explain himself further. He found the proprietor, settled his debt and his wife’s, and extracted a promise from Mr. Mivart not to rent Miranda another room no matter how much she pestered him. He also advised the man to find a new maid, and quit Mivart’s in a mood so foul he hoped not to meet with anyone he knew.

  So much for getting a chance to know his wife again and putting her needs first. If she’d stand still he’d have a chance, but the moment he turned his back she flittered away. Perhaps a divorce, as everyone suggested, was the only way he’d be happy.

  He shook aside the idea as the carriage stopped before his home. Divorce was unthinkable. He and Miranda simply needed time to figure things out.

  He took the stairs two at a time and found his mother still abed but awake and reading the daily scandal sheet. “Mother.”

  Her eyes narrowed and then her gaze flickered to the empty air at his side. “Still no luck?”

  “None.”

  His mother shrugged and turned the page. “As I expected.”

  Kit glared. She could at least try to be sympathetic, but concern had never been his mother’s way. “Miranda will be home today.”

  Her brow rose as she glanced at him around the paper’s edge. “Will there need to be an abduction to go along with that claim?”

  “Of a sort. Her possessions will be here shortly.”

  “Ah.” His mother’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Now that is what you should have done from the start. Give her no choice but to come to heel.”

  Kit bristled. He’d never much cared for the way his mother spoke of Miranda when they were alone. He’d hoped this time she might mind her tongue, but clearly she wasn’t above flaying his wife for her abandonment. “Miranda will return soon, and I would like your promise to make her feel welcome.”

  “I put myself out once for no good reason and will not do so again. A pity she came back. Lady Brighthurst is much more reliable when it comes to keeping one company. At my age, I have no need of new acquaintances or the renewal of old and distressing ones.” Her glance flittered over his rumpled appearance, eyes narrowing in disapproval. “And neither do you it seems. Have you spent the night in a hell?”

  “No.”

  “Then you need a new tailor. Go buy something befitting your station. That gel has always had a lowering effect on your consequence.”

  He suddenly understood some of Miranda’s reluctance to return home with him. After all this time, he couldn’t believe his mother would continue to speak so dismissively of someone who’d saved them from debt and the prospect of future difficulty. He still remembered how matters had stood upon his inheritance. His father had run the estate to the brink of ruin. If not for Miranda’s dowry, there would be no new suits from his tailor, and his mother would not have led so comfortable a life these past years. When she continued scorching his ears over Miranda, his blood boiled.

  “Mother! Enough. Miranda might be in the wrong to have left me, but that problem is ours to overcome. I will get to the bottom of the strife without any assistance from you. You will do nothing to offend Miranda. She is my wife and marchioness. Whatever troubles we have are not for you to stick your nose in.”

  Her gaze grew flinty. “Well if that is the case, then I believe I shall return to Twilit Hill.”

  Kit sighed in relief. Without Mother here there would be one less source of friction to deal with. For both of them. “That is an excellent idea. Thank you.”

  Mother looked startled a moment before she calmly folded the paper and set it aside. “Next week. I shall of course greet your wife properly today and see what she has made of herself. Reports say she is quite unremarkable. I don’t know what you ever saw in her.”

  Kit almost groaned aloud. He’d seen her money first, but the rest of her was equally as attractive to him. “As you wish.”

  The dowager shook her silver head. “Miranda will be woefully out of touch with what matters. I suppose I will have to show her the ropes again.”

  Something that Hallam had suggested finally made sense. Women chose where they wanted to be and how they would live. Once he’d urged Miranda to follow his mother’s advice and that suggestion might have been another factor to turn her against him. This time round he would do things much simpler. He would have to learn to trust Miranda’s judgment if he wanted to make this marriage work.

  “Mother,” Kit interrupted. “Miranda is no longer a new bride nor a young woman without the wits to hold her own in society. She will make her own decisions anyway and decide how to go on without interference, yours or mine. You will not need to take her under your wing.”

  His mother slapped her hand on the paper. “You would let her ruin us. Drag our name further through the muck and insist we give her leave to do so?”

  “She saved us once and will not ruin anything, but I am sure things will change. Perhaps for the better. I will devote my time to seeing her restored to her rightful place as my marchioness. After all, this is her home and I would like her to be at ease here.”

  “And if she parades her lovers beneath your nose and humiliates you beneath your own roof, will that be to your liking too? I suppose then you’ll eventually want to cry on my shoulder and curse the day you married her.”

  Crying on his mother’s shoulder was so ludicrous he laughed. He’d been raised by servants and only been presented to his parents once a week when he’d been a boy, twice if he’d misbehaved. “I’d never dare do something so vulgar.”

  Her gaze grew troubled. “She will have had lovers. Women of her background always do.”

  Kit did not want to think about that, not when he held suspicions about a friend’s loyalty in the back of his mind. If Miranda had taken lovers he wouldn’t like it, but he’d put a stop to her affairs one way or another until he had his heir. “Just as many ladies of rank do, as you well know,” he mused.

  Her gaze turned pitying. “Just don’t complain when she leaves you for another man. The woman is as flighty as they come. I cannot contemplate why she should come back now of all times. You were just about to start over.”

  “I was, but I cannot now. I am married to Miranda and look forward to being her husband.” He met her gaze directly. “Just so there can be no misunderstandings between us, I am not sorry to see Miranda again. I once liked her very much.”

  His mother’s face turned a startling shade of pink. “Please, share your delight in your wife with someone else. My sympathy is with Lady Brighthurst. She’s devastated by Miranda’s return.”

  “Why? Emily is our friend.”

  “But you would have married her if not for Miranda.” His mother protested. “How can you be so unfeeling toward her?”

  Not Mother too. Kit folded his arms across his chest. “Even if Miranda had not come back, I assure you I would never have married Lady Brighthurst.”

  His mother clucked her tongue. “Of course you would have. You know your duty to the family. Lady Brighthurst was the wife you were destined to have, even if she di
d not have a dowry large enough to please your guardians. I’ve been grooming her to take over from me for years now.”

  That was startling news to him. He would never marry Emily. He’d never considered it, even before he’d met Miranda. “That is where you are wrong. Emily and I understand each other. We are no more than friends. That is all we will ever be. I’ve no patience for your ridiculous and far-fetched notions, madam. Do excuse me.”

  Kit might find his mother’s insistence he was destined to marry Emily mildly alarming, but he had more important matters to occupy his thoughts: how to woo his wife and keep her satisfied so she might not look for affection with another man.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “This is the place,” Martin assured her, but his disapproving expression spoke volumes.

  Miranda slid toward the doorway of the carriage, her heart racing eagerly in hope. They had searched the area for hours since dawn’s rays had first lightened the great city. Taverham’s extravagant pin money loosened the tongues of all they met. This was where Mr. Fenning was last known to be according to their enquiries, although he moved from place to place constantly as work came and went, or so they’d deduced.

  Martin held out his hand to assist her from the carriage. Miranda joined him on the street, looking up at the shabby building’s windows, in search of her son’s face peeking out. Fenning had taken rooms in a run-down boarding house that made Miranda’s skin crawl and her eyes fill with tears. To think he’d brought her son here and not come up with better made her furious and equally guilt-ridden too.

  She was to blame for this. She’d warned him against seeking additional students from those likely to come into contact with her husband’s circle, and this was the best he’d made of his options after the fire.

  Once inside, the staircase creaked underfoot alarmingly as they moved upward, unopposed and unseen. Landry and the other fellow Miranda had hired as help took up positions on either side of the door where Miranda believed Fenning resided.

  The door to Fenning’s chamber hung poorly from the hinges, and when Martin hammered on it, the wood rattled wildly as if in danger of splintering apart. That door had no hope of keeping dangerous men out, and Miranda’s concern grew. If any great evil had befallen Fenning or her son while they’d been here, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Inside, heavy footfalls drew closer and when the door did open, she barely recognized Fenning. His hair needed trimming and his shirt collar hung open without cravat or necktie to be lend even a little respectability. His unstarched shirt draped across his thin chest, which spoke of horrible poverty and dissipation. He’d not dressed for company, and it was clear to Miranda how bad his straits were.

  Martin pushed his way inside and Miranda followed, leaving the servants at the door to ensure their privacy for the conversation.

  “Mr. Fenning.”

  “Oh, God,” Fenning groaned as he backed away, tumbling over fallen chairs and discarded shoes. “You found me.”

  “Of course I would find you.” She looked around at the debris littering the tiny room. Enough empty wine bottles to make her uneasy lay abandoned in all parts of the room. A padded chair had been tipped against the wall, and a mouse peeked at her from beneath papers and scurried away again into the cold hearth. She took a deep breath to stifle her scream. There was nothing worse in her opinion than scurrying vermin. “I understand an accident befell your house some time ago and take it coming to London was unavoidable.”

  “Yes, my lady. I had no choice but to seek other work.”

  “I see.” Miranda righted a chair that appeared sound and gingerly sat in it. “And did you not consider returning to Lord Louth’s employ instead of this?”

  “I couldn’t.” Fenning shook his head violently. “Bad things would happen if I did that. I couldn’t go against them.”

  Miranda gasped. “Against whom?”

  Fenning covered his mouth and glanced toward the door anxiously. After a moment his shoulders slumped. “Guess it doesn’t matter much anymore. Don’t know who they were. Never saw them before or since, but they were a rich pair. Determined to flush out the boy and sure I had him. I tried to pretend I didn’t.”

  Miranda leaned forward. How could anyone else know about her son? “A pair? Describe them.”

  “Woman as pretty as a picture. Man who’d likely never worked a day in his life.” Fenning drew in a deep breath as tears slipped over his grubby cheeks. “Paid me ten guineas to set the fire and step outside. I refused of course, but they had a pistol aimed at me and I had no choice in the end.”

  “What?” Miranda gasped. “No. No. No.”

  Fenning shook his head quickly. “Oh no, Master Christopher wasn’t killed in the fire. Clever child. Heard it all and knew what to do. I saw him slip out a back window and flee into the nearby trees before the fire truly caught hold. Didn’t find him till morning though, long after the swells had gone. I was about to give up when he came up to me and told me we were bound for London.”

  Miranda set her hand to her chest as relief slammed into her. “Well, I’m here now. Take me to him.”

  Mr. Fenning’s skin paled and he hugged himself. “I wish you’d not found me.”

  When Martin moved to stand behind her and settled his large hands lightly on her shoulders, Miranda’s heart began truly to race. The room was too small for her son to be in the next room and her not have heard him. “And why is that?”

  “I don’t have him anymore. He’s vanished.”

  A scream bubbled in her throat and Martin’s grip tightened, effectively holding her in place and curbing her hysteria. It was too much. She broke away from Martin’s touch and curled over as unbearable pain filled her chest. Her worst fears had come true. She should never have allowed herself to be persuaded to part from her son.

  Martin’s hand smoothed over her back as he questioned Fenning over Christopher’s disappearance.

  Fenning’s chair scraped and she looked up quickly. The fellow sat across from her like a naughty schoolboy, hands pinched between his thighs and a mournful expression on his face. “Came to London after the fire as the boy wanted. He said it was safer to be one of many than sticking out like a boil in the quiet countryside, but I’d lost almost everything to the fire. Had some money so I wasn’t desperate at first. I left a note behind, which he was sure you would return to collect.”

  Miranda nodded as dismay filled her, numbing her senses until she couldn’t do more than sit and listen.

  “Everything was fine for a few weeks. Had a nice place, food, and tricked my way into a good position because the man’s daughter fancied me. I thought it was going well until one Sunday a month after our arrival. I turned my back for just a moment and then found myself alone.”

  Miranda sobbed, and her body swayed of its own accord despite Martin’s attempt to contain her movements.

  “Breathe, Miranda,” Martin begged, but her chest burned with pain and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not the end of the world,” he promised. “Calm down.”

  “How can I be calm?” She stared hard at Fenning, hating that they had all failed. “He lost Christopher. He almost got my son killed and now he’s lost him?”

  Mr. Fenning swallowed and he looked near to tears too. “I didn’t lose him, my lady. I swear to you,” he insisted. “The boy up and ran away. He stepped out of the carriage we were traveling in with only a few pennies in his pocket. I thought he was happy with me. I thought coming to London was what he wanted.”

  Martin left her side and leaned close to Mr. Fenning. “Explain how you lost the child and do not leave one thing out. Start with where you were that day.”

  “Near St. George’s. We’d just come back from taking a peek at Asterly’s. The young master insisted on seeing all the sights of London from the start and was having a grand time. I indulged him because he looked more excited than I’d ever known him to be.”

  Miranda pictured her son, barely nine years old and seeing London for
the first time and then shook away the vision as tears toppled down her cheeks. “Do not think to blame my son for this disaster. He was your responsibility.”

  “Begging your pardon, Lady Taverham, but the boy told me what to do and never the other way round. He’s very clever at getting people to do what he wants.”

  Martin threw an annoyed glance in her direction. “Much like his father.”

  Miranda shifted, thinking of her husband’s determined nature of late. “So it seems. Despite keeping them apart, you suggest temperament is the result of parentage rather than upbringing.”

  Fenning nodded. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told him he was bound to be a marquess one day. He’s unlike any child I’ve ever tutored before. Bright, resourceful. Willing to work hard to achieve his goals. He’s got an air of command about him, no matter where he is. I’ve had time to think about it, and it is my belief he didn’t take his decision to leave me lightly. He was always cautious around strangers, even more so after the fire. We were in London a month, had covered many sites and neighborhoods before he vanished.”

  If that were true, what on earth had Christopher been thinking? He knew Miranda expected him to be with his tutor and not to attempt to return to his father until absolutely necessary and she was with him to prove who he was. The fact that Kit remained unaware of their child’s existence so far hinted Christopher had not made his way to his father’s house and was now lost somewhere in London. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

  Martin turned from Fenning and patted her shoulder. “Let us hope the traits he inherited from his father have kept him safe,” he added grimly.

  Fenning leaned forward suddenly. “My lady, I promise you I did search for him. For six months if I wasn’t working, I prowled the district where he left me, in search of some sign he lived. I even enquired at your grandfather’s abode, circumspectly of course, and had no success there.”

  The weight on Miranda’s chest grew heavier.

  The secrecy she had covered her son’s existence with was a double-edged sword. Few in her current life knew of her son’s existence. Martin had not even seen Christopher since he was a babe in arms. She didn’t have the faintest idea where he would have gone if he had in fact chosen to do so of his own free will.