by Kelly Boyce
“Good-bye, my dear. I will see you soon. Promise me one thing—that you will take every precaution to stay safe while I am gone?”
She glanced up at him, the fervent nature of his request taking her by surprise. “Am I in danger?”
He hesitated, the intensity of his gaze leaving her captivated. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, covered with the flash of a smile. “I worry about you, is all. I do not like the idea of you traipsing about London without a protector.”
“And are you that protector?” She wanted him to be, the truth of her need for him rampant through every inch of her body.
He did not answer, but instead leaned in and kissed her forehead once again. “Promise me you will take care?”
Disappointment flowed through her, but what had she expected? That he would profess his love? Sweep her up into his arms and carry her away? Now that would cause a proper scandal. Not that she would mind if it meant she would not have to part from him again.
“I promise,” she whispered, pushing aside her foolish fantasies. They had no place in real life and so the words remained tangled in her throat, held back by good sense and the unabated knowledge that nothing could come of her feelings for Lord Hawksmoor save for heartbreak.
Despite any feelings they may share, they came from different worlds. Nothing could change that. Regardless of how much Lady Dalridge trumped up her lineage, it would never suit. Lord Hawksmoor was to be an earl one day and she was but a housekeeper about to lose her position. Their worlds were never meant to collide as they had all those years ago.
And once her sojourn to London was over, they never would again.
Chapter Thirteen
The carriage ride to Raven Manor took a full two days, despite its relative close proximity to London. Hawk cursed the fretful weather, snowing one minute and turning to sleet the next. The sun once tried to break its way through but the dark clouds overpowered it, leaving the sky an unwelcoming gray.
Rather ominous.
He scowled up at the sky. Anything that delayed his return to London was met with anger and trepidation. He should not have left Madalene behind, unprotected. What if Lord T discovered she was there? He cursed his stupidity at not telling Lord Ridgemont to watch out for her.
Despite his growing unease, the closer the carriage drew to Raven Manor, the more familiar the landscape became. Hawk began to guess at what might be up ahead or around the next bend and experienced a small victory when his guesses proved correct. Slowly, but surely, pieces of his missing memory trickled back. It gave him hope that his return home would be worthwhile in the end.
The carriage labored up the graveled drive, still slick with last night’s sleet and snow and stopped in front of the wide arced stairway. Hawk closed his eyes and pictured what he would find on the other side of the door. The entrance would be awash in red and dark wood. There would be a small table at the far end near the staircase that served to collect the day’s mail. A large oil painting—a landscape—would hang on the wall and beneath it another narrow table and a porcelain vase filled with fresh flowers from the greenhouse.
The door to the carriage swung open, interrupting his memories and the confusion that surrounded them. Why was it he could remember the unimportant aspects of his life, yet the pieces of the puzzle he needed to ensure Madalene’s safety—such as what information he had collected on Lord T’s identity—continued to elude him? What if he never remembered? What if his journals were never found? Or what if he did find them only to discover they contained nothing to help track down the man Phillip had played his demented game with?
“M’lord?”
Hawk shook off the questions and waved off his driver who offered assistance in getting down from the carriage. There was no need getting ahead of himself. If such things did come to pass, he would find another way to keep Madalene safe. For now, he needed to keep his wits about him and navigate the battlefield that was his family.
Before he reached the front door, it opened, revealing a well-dressed, older man. Hawk struggled for a name. Rodney? Randall?
“Roberts,” he said, the name coming to him at the last minute and with it a rush of information. The family’s house steward. He’d been with the family for as long as Hawk could recall, though the man before him appeared older than his memories allowed for. Perhaps it was the shocked expression on his face that made it so, or the snow-white hair that grew in a strip around his head, leaving the top completely bald.
“My lord…we were not expecting you.”
Hawk had not sent word ahead. “I thought I might surprise them.” Them. Mother. Father. Titles issued out of courtesy, but with no true affection attached. He stepped across the threshold into the home of his childhood. A quick scan of the entrance hall indicated his memory had been spot on, save for the painting. It was no longer that of a landscape. Instead, he discovered his brother’s accusing gaze staring down at him. He turned his back to it.
“Are they at home, Roberts?”
The steward hesitated, his stoic manner showing the smallest hint of uncertainty. “Indeed, my lord. They have only just sat down to dinner.”
Hawk nodded, working his memory once more. The beginnings of a headache had developed behind his eyes, accompanied by a dull throb near his temple where the scar from his misadventure with Lord Pengrin resided. He walked past Roberts, ignoring the bluster that spouted out of him as he suggested his lordship wait to be announced.
He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the older man. “Is it required that I am announced in my own home?”
Roberts hurried behind him, but his steps had become slow and he had a limp Hawk did not remember. “Of course not, my lord. However, your parents have not seen you in quite some time—”
“They could have seen me sooner than today, had they bothered to take me in after my rather unfortunate brush with death. But they did not,” Hawk stopped and Roberts nearly ran into him. “Did they, Roberts?”
“I am certain Lord Ravenwood was quite concerned about your well-being, my lord.”
Hawk raised his eyebrows. “I think we both know that is not the case, don’t we?”
Roberts didn’t reply, but in his silence, the truth resided. Hawk turned on his heel and continued down the hallway to the dining hall. He gripped the brass knobs on the door and pushed them open, standing on the threshold.
His parents glanced up in tandem and stared as if seeing a ghost. In a sense, that’s what he was to them, was he not? The wavering image of the son they had cast out and forgotten, in favor of worshipping the memory of the one truly gone. As if Phillip was worth such adulation, a sick excuse of a man who preyed on those weaker than he for sport. This venerated son with a soul as black as night.
This is whom they chose to love.
His mother’s expression changed from surprise to cold disregard and a rush of memories assaulted Hawk one after the other, doing little to alleviate the ache growing behind his eyes. His mother’s sharp words, her constant irritation with him, questioning over and over why he could not be more like dear, sweet Phillip. He had never measured up in her eyes.
He never would. Not even now. Not even when he had laid at her feet the evidence of the evil Phillip had perpetrated. What her eldest son was capable of. She had turned her back on the truth and on Hawk and never looked back. It had been on her command that he had been banished from his own home, his father standing in the shadows mute, rendered useless from the shock of his heir’s death at the hands of his second son. It had been Mother who had taken the reins, pushing her grief aside to issue the directive of what would be done, how Phillip’s death and his memory would be recorded and preserved.
“What are you doing here?”
Something shifted inside of him at the revulsion wrapped around each word she spoke. Without warning, he changed. His posture straightened, his face hardened, as did his heart. The blood in his veins ran cold. He became, in that instant, the man he had heard so much about bu
t had yet to truly meet face to face.
He became The Hawk.
“Good evening to you as well, Mother. Such a warm welcome on this cold night.” He gave her an emotionless smile before shifting his gaze to where the earl sat at the head of the long table. “Father, you’re looking…well.”
He stumbled over the lie. As it turned out, his father did not look well at all. Always a thinner man, he now appeared gaunt. Sickly. Skin hung from his bones as if his father was ready to slide away into an early grave. A chill passed through Hawk.
“Have you come to see for yourself, then?” Even his father’s voice sounded frail.
“See what?”
“I am dying, that is what.” The declaration was delivered with nonchalance, a quiet acceptance of the inevitable.
“I did not know.” How could he, given the fact that since he’d rejoined the land of the living, his memories had not bothered to return with him? Had he been aware of his father’s failing health before Lord Pengrin’s attempt on his life? He could find nothing inside of him that indicated he did, though it seemed strange given information was the currency The Hawk traded in. Perhaps he had washed his hands of his family in much the same way they had of him and cared little when it came to hearing news of them.
His mother scoffed and Hawk’s hands fisted at his sides. “Yet, how convenient that you have arrived. Are we to believe it a coincidence?”
“You can believe whatever you wish. I care little. But I can assure you, my being here has little to do with either of you.”
“Then why are you here? Has it not been made clear you are not welcome?”
He let out a sharp laugh that neither sounded nor felt like the laughter he experienced in Madalene’s presence. This laugh had nothing to do with merriment and affection. Instead, it shot out of him like a weapon and he experienced a fleeting moment of satisfaction when his mother jerked in her seat as it found its mark.
“You have made your stand on the matter perfectly clear, Mother dear. I simply have no interest in what you think or feel. I have some business to take care of. Once I have done so, I will leave. Though,” he looked at his father, “I suspect I shall return in due course.”
His mother rose to her feet, a piece of silverware clattering to the floor, its impact echoing in the cavernous room. “You are not welcome now and you will not be welcomed then.”
Hawk grinned again, his mother’s hatred fueling his response. “You forget, Mother. When Father dies, Raven Manor will no longer be your home. It will become mine, as will all other properties and incomes attached to the Ravenwood title. And when that day comes, you may rest assured it will be you who will no longer be welcomed within these walls.”
He ignored her gasp and turned his back on them, making a slow exit from the dining hall. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have had a long trip and I believe I shall retire to my room for the evening.”
Hawk left his parents behind, their collective glares cutting through his flesh like daggers. He kept walking, up the two flights of stairs to his room above, only realizing once he’d closed the door of his bedchamber behind him that he had found the room without thinking. Another memory had returned, quietly and without fanfare. Coming here had been the right thing to do; though he could not rid himself of the selfish wish he had brought Madalene with him. Her presence was a balm, something to alleviate the hurt of his parents’ hatred.
He fumbled in the dark and lit the candle next to the bed. A cold draft made the flame waver before it took hold. When had the room been used last? He ran his finger along the oak surface of the table and looked down at the dust covering his fingertip. A long time, apparently.
He picked up the candle and crossed the room to kneel before the hearth. It had been cleaned out and left empty with nothing to warm the room. He set the candle next to him, feeling about for the loose stone on the side; Madalene’s directions clear in his mind. It took a few attempts before he found it, but a soft knock came at his door before he could loosen the stone and pull it free.
He straightened, bringing the candle with him. “Yes?”
The door opened slowly and a small head peeked in. “M’lord?”
“Come in.” A young girl, likely no older than Madalene had been when she began working for his family, appeared, her arms laden with supplies. He resisted the urge to rush forward and help her.
“Mr. Roberts asked me to light the fire and clean the room for you.” Her words came in a whisper, like a timid bird flitting about, looking for a safe place to land.
“Did he?” He supposed Roberts understood which way the wind would blow once the earl met his end. Such a strange thought. For years, his father had been dead to him, yet now that his death was imminent, it left him out of sorts, unsure of what to do with the information.
“Yes. Might I?”
He offered the girl a warm smile and The Hawk receding into the shadows. “Yes, please. It would be most appreciated.”
She curtsied as best she could, given her burden.
“I shall leave you to it then.” If he could not retrieve the journals at present, there was something else he could do.
Go below stairs and see the room where Phillip took his last breath and where Hawk became a murderer.
* * *
“There you go, you’re well strapped in,” Major Gibbons said, though the act of doing so had scandalized his sister so her cheeks had turned a proper shade of red and nothing short of disgust burned in her eyes. Her discomfort bothered Madalene. It was ill placed. She had kept her ankles covered and he’d touched nothing beyond the front of her boots, but Mrs. Chambers’ reaction gave the impression he had reached under her skirts and caressed bare flesh!
Madalene turned away from her, the woman’s embarrassment casting a pall over what should have been a fun excursion. She glanced down at her skates and moved them back and forth over the packed snow beneath her feet.
“I do not know if I can do this,” she admitted. “I’ve never skated before.”
Major Gibbons stood steady on his feet as if he had been born with blades poking out the bottoms of them. “Shall I give a demonstration then?”
“Would you?” Perhaps if she could see it done, study the movements, she would feel more secure about hurtling herself out onto the ice and into the path of others, for it seemed half of London had the same idea to come to St. James Park on this sunny winter’s day to partake in the activity.
“It would be my pleasure.” Major Gibbons executed a bow and walked easily across the snow to where the ice began a scant ten feet away. “I shall take a turn about the ice then, how will that be?”
“Perfect. I promise I shall muster up my courage by the time you return.”
“Very well, then. Commence mustering.” He smiled and she returned it easily. The more time she spent in the major’s company, the more relaxed she became. His easy nature made him an amenable companion who caused none of the confusion she experienced when near Lord Hawksmoor.
His sister on the other hand…well that was another matter.
“Have you skated before, Mrs. Chambers?” Madalene shifted her gaze to the woman next to her briefly before returning it to the ice where Major Gibbons had begun his lap with easy strides. Mrs. Chambers had spoken little to her since she and her brother arrived at Ridgemont House to take Madalene skating and the few overtures Madalene had made were met with brief, almost curt, responses.
“Of course,” Mrs. Chambers answered, affecting a rather pompous air. It was clear the woman did not favor Madalene at all, though why, she could not fathom. It wasn’t as if the Gibbonses were high born and had any right to look down upon her.
“Have I done something to offend you, Mrs. Chambers? I am left with the distinct impression you are not pleased with my association with your brother.”
“Indeed, I am not.”
Madalene’s body jerked. Mrs. Chambers’ abrupt response took her aback. “I…I see.” Except that she didn’t, not r
eally. “And why might that be?”
Mrs. Chambers cut her sharp gaze to Madalene and she was struck by how similar the woman’s features were to her brother’s, though they did not translate quite as well and where Major Gibbons could easily be described as handsome, on Mrs. Chambers it only left her looking rather…less so. Although, that could also be contributed to the fact she rarely smiled, where her brother did often. And where the major exuded a certain charm, Mrs. Chambers radiated constant disapproval.
“You are hardly of a quality I wish for my brother to court, Miss Cosgrove, which is exactly what he is doing. You are aware of that, are you not?”
That the woman deemed to speak to her as if she were an idiot stoked Madalene’s ire. She may be country born, but she was educated by a baronet’s daughter and learned on any number of subjects likely Mrs. Chambers had never heard of. But saying so now would hardly improve upon their relationship or the conversation.
“I am aware that your brother has treated me kindly as a friend. As to courting, he has made no overtures that would lead me to believe he has anything save friendship in mind.” Which was a partial lie, perhaps. While the major had not come out and claimed an affection, Madalene was not a blind fool. She had seen the look in his eye when he thought her unaware of his perusal. It held a hint of hunger, the kind men would get where women were concerned. She had seen it repeatedly throughout her life from the time she was a young girl. She had seen it in Lord Hawksmoor’s brother, though he had taken it too far, allowed his desire to grow into madness and violence.
She pushed the ugly memory aside. Major Gibbons had been the perfect gentleman and while he had looked at her with hunger, he had made no move to act inappropriately.
Mrs. Chambers scoffed and shook her head. “My brother is a gentleman, that is why he has not indicated an interest as yet. But he is still a man easily turned by a pretty head. Regardless, a relationship between the two of you will simply not be countenanced.”