by Mary Brendan
Bertha’s lips thinned in suspicion. The last time she had seen her half-brother he’d been unshaven, wearing soiled garments and looking in want of two pennies to rub together. Now that sorry individual was nowhere in sight, but any fellow could beg or borrow a decent suit of clothes to make an impression. Bertha wasn’t falling for a clever ruse. Still, she felt uneasy that something had happened that she knew nothing about.
She bucked herself up by impressing on herself that her brother and her lover might be very different characters, but nevertheless were evenly matched.
Drew possessed a fine intelligence, but he also had a conscience. Saul was untroubled by morals and what he lacked in education he made up for in craftiness. He’d managed to trick her brother and grab the inheritance she’d long wanted. Bertha was determined to hold on to her ill-gotten gains, no matter what Drew threatened he’d do to try to claw back his property.
Grudgingly Bertha admitted to herself that Drew had provided adequately for her after their stepfather died, but he would never indulge her need for excitement. Extravagant finery and high-stake gaming had to be met from her allowance and her debts—that he’d on all but one occasion refused to pay off—had soared. On her marriage her husband had been keeper of the purse strings, but Bertha had continued to brood on snatching the Rockleigh riches. Robert Denby had been fifteen years her senior, boring in bed and out of it, but a decent enough fellow. With only a modest income, he’d been no more tolerant of her love of luxury than her brother. Had she not been pregnant at the time, Bertha knew she would never have agreed to become Robert’s wife.
A succession of lovers during her marriage had kept her satisfied in one respect, but after Denby had died a few years ago, leaving her to scrape by on a paltry pension, netting a protector had become a necessity for Bertha. Saul Stokes wasn’t her usual type of prey; he wasn’t wealthy or well connected, but he was handsome and a kindred spirit, living on his wits. Bertha knew that not all of the enterprises he was involved in were legal, but she asked no questions and turned a blind eye, glad to simply enjoy the spending cash he gave her. They’d debated how they might feather their nest even more and steal from Drew. Before her brother could stop her Bertha had taken steps to make Saul her daughter’s guardian. That had been another reason she’d wanted Drew brought low: he had threatened to have the ruling overturned to free his niece from Stokes’s influence. At times Bertha also thought Saul a mite too harsh and uncaring where her daughter was concerned.
Aware of his sister’s brooding, Drew remarked scornfully, ‘You’re a fool, Bertha. After Denby died you could have twined a dozen or more fellows about your finger, yet you settled for a dolt like Stokes.’
‘He ruined you,’ Bertha shrilled, incautiously, considering her daughter was listening avidly to the hostile exchange. ‘If he’s a dolt, what are you?’
‘I’m the man about to bring him to justice.’ Drew approached his sister, feeling quite sorry for her.
‘Go to your room, Cecilia,’ Bertha ordered, suddenly becoming aware of her daughter close by.
‘I’m hungry and would like some breakfast,’ Cecilia began, darting a glance between her relatives’ grim expressions. She was keen to know more about the reason behind their argument.
‘You may do as you are told, miss!’ Bertha’s snarl showed her breeding, as did the shove she gave her daughter’s shoulder.
‘You will not go without saying goodbye?’ Cecilia turned to Drew.
‘I won’t. And I’ll only keep you from your breakfast for a short while.’ Drew glanced at his sister’s sullen countenance. ‘We will soon be done with our talk.’ He nodded at the stairs, wordlessly sanctioning Bertha’s dictate that Cecilia go to her room.
‘It would be as well to go in there unless you’d like your servant as well as your daughter to know our business.’ Drew steered his sister impatiently to a room along the corridor when she remained stubbornly still and silent.
‘You should have treated me fairly, then I wouldn’t have brought you down,’ Bertha hissed the moment the parlour door was closed. She pointed a quivering finger close to her brother’s concave cheek. ‘You kept me living like a pauper, eating offal while you dined like a king.’ The napkin she’d held in her fist was hurled to the floor in temper.
Drew sighed in boredom, walking further into the room. ‘If you ate scraps, my dear, it no doubt had something to do with you choosing to put a month’s allowance on the turn of a card at Almack’s rather than pay the butcher. I recall that I settled for you on that occasion to keep you and your daughter from the Fleet.’ He pivoted on an expensively shod heel, surveying her stylish attire. ‘Had you entered that place you’d have thought yourself lucky to get a dish of liver.’
Bertha had the grace to blush at that reminder. Indeed, she had lost a vast amount one evening; deep in her cups, she had wagered a stack of guineas on turning up a King of Hearts, only for the Knave to appear instead.
‘You allowed me no pleasure, did you?’ she spat.
‘There are at least five men of my acquaintance who would dispute that,’ Drew murmured sourly. ‘But the fellow I would speak about is your daughter’s father.’
Bertha looked startled. ‘What has Denby to do with any of it?’
‘Nothing...I was referring to the man who sired Cecilia. If you think that he or his wife is a fool to be trifled with, you are much mistaken. Lord Regan might desire a pretty daughter to fuss over, and his wife might tolerate his whim, but push him too far and Cecilia’s future will be ruined.’
‘Nobody knows about their true connection...’
‘It would be better if they did than think you’re pimping her.’
‘You believe a rich man’s bastard might be viewed more kindly than his pet fancy?’ Bertha sounded contemptuous.
‘Even you and Stokes must baulk at Regan’s daughter being thought his mistress.’ Drew’s disgust was obvious. ‘Would you really stoop so low for money, Bertha? How much have you taken from him?’
‘It’s none of your business what a gentleman might pay me to pamper his own flesh and blood. He has contributed nothing to her upbringing until now.’
‘An omission that is hardly surprising considering he believed your late husband had fathered Cecilia...and the cuckold knew no better. Neither does Cecilia,’ Drew added mockingly, ‘and neither do you; you’re not certain Regan’s the right one, are you? You’ve settled on him because he’s the richest and oldest.’ Drew’s smile was intensely sardonic. ‘If a list were written of the men you were sleeping with then, Lord Regan’s name would be top in terms of an inheritance for Cecilia following an early demise.’
Bertha blushed scarlet, hating him for knowing so exactly how she and Saul had worked things out. ‘I was Lord Regan’s mistress at the right time. He gladly accepts her as his. How dare you moralise when you live with a slut in a slum.’
‘We both lived with a slut in a slum for many years,’ Drew reminded his sister of their upbringing. ‘And, by God, your breeding shows no matter how hard you try to hide it.’
‘And so does yours!’ Bertha stormed.
‘I’m not ashamed of who I am...that’s why I went back there. I’d choose to spend time with those people over you and your cicisbeo any day.’
‘Go! I’ll not listen to insults from such as you.’ Bertha pointed a quivering finger at the door.
‘You’ve not answered my question.’ Drew ignored her command to leave. ‘I’ll take it then that Regan’s handed over a considerable sum.’ Drew nodded at a brooch glittering on Bertha’s silk bodice. ‘I’ll warrant no lavish new gowns and trinkets have been purchased for Cecilia. When his lordship gets wise to your game, I suppose you and Stokes will up and run before he questions the claims you’ve made on him.’
Bertha swung about, a hand gripping her pulsing throat. ‘I hate you,’ she spat.
‘The feeling is mutual,’ Drew returned with something akin to sadness in his tone. ‘But your daughter, I have a soft spot for. That’s why I’m prepared to be lenient to you and you’d do well to listen to what I have to say...’
* * *
‘I’m glad you’re feeling up to a shopping trip.’ Joan gave her friend a little hug.
‘And I’m glad to hear that your papa is on the mend,’ Louise replied. ‘You must have been dreadfully worried over him.’
‘We were all quite frantic at first. The doctor came this morning and said he is still weak and must not get overexcited...which he is wont to do.’ Joan linked arms with her friend as they strolled along Regent Street.
When she had spoken to her father earlier she had told him that Mr Rockleigh had called and had wished him a speedy recovery. The news had pleased the Duke and rather than allow him time to find more questions Joan had used the doctor’s arrival as an excuse to keep her visit to the sickroom short and sweet. In case her father summoned her after the physician left Joan had decided to go out. Soon she would not be able to fend off his interrogation and was sure to let slip something that would set back his recovery. But she also felt in need of some fresh air and a friend to talk to.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see my cousin on Regent Street.’ Louise gave a cheery wave.
Joan was also surprised to see Vincent Walters striding along.
‘I was going to pay a call on you later today, Lady Joan,’ Vincent puffed out, having trotted across the road to join them. ‘I’ve just found out from my aunt that your father has been very unwell. Had I known yesterday about it I would have included the Duke in my prayers. I’m so sorry that I had to rush off like that.’
‘I would have told you about Papa, of course,’ Joan said. ‘Happily the worst is over and he is recovering.’
‘That is a blessing.’ Vincent nodded solemnly.
‘It seems that everybody is about in Regent’s Street today.’ The unexpected sighting of the dapper young buck she’d recently danced with, sauntering along with his friend, made Louise forget to question her cousin over where he had been rushing to, or why Joan had been with him at the time.
The gentlemen stopped to have a chat and, after some pleasantries Joan stepped slightly aside. The Reverend Walters seemed to be itching to resume talking about her visit yesterday and Joan would sooner keep the matter quiet.
‘Benny Cook turned up at the blacksmith’s house and told his sister that you’d asked him to deliver a letter,’ Vincent rattled off in an undertone. ‘My guess is that you wanted me to do that for you. You have advised Mr Rockleigh of your father’s illness? I recall you said he is a family friend.’
‘He is,’ Joan murmured, hoping that the vicar wouldn’t pry further into why she’d risked a great deal to send the Squire a letter. But something did intrigue her, making her hesitate in joining the others. ‘Benny’s sister was with you at the old fellow’s bedside?’
‘Constance is a kind young woman. She felt sorry for Old Blackie, as she calls him, dying alone. She sat with him while her brother fetched me. She stayed with me, doing what she could to make him comfortable right to the end.’
‘Indeed, that was good of her,’ Joan said huskily. The picture she’d built in her mind’s eye of a brash blonde with coarse manners and morals no longer fitted. But then she might have known that Drew Rockleigh would never associate with a person of mean character. He was well bred and no amount of boxing bouts or slum living would eradicate that innate gentility. Often, she’d felt heartened that his manners had not been blunted by his ordeal. Joan was glad that his mistress was nice even if she did feel a stab of jealousy over it.
‘I have heard that your mama is holding an anniversary ball, Mr Woodley.’ Joan moved towards the others so Vincent would know their tête-à-tête was at an end. ‘I shall hope to soon receive an invitation.’
‘The cards are being scribbled out, Lady Joan; never fear but your name will be on one.’ Ralph grinned.
Joan glanced at Henry Laurenson; he’d been unusually quiet and seemed keen to get going. Then she spotted Cecilia Denby accompanied by a maid, promenading in their direction.
Having glimpsed the group of friends, Cecilia angled her parasol to shield her face and quickly approached a shop window.
‘How strange... Miss Denby is out without her mother or that guardian of hers keeping an eye on her.’ Louise ducked her head to and fro, attempting to attract Cecilia’s attention.
‘Must dash...due at my tailor...’ Henry executed a quick bow and strode off, Ralph glumly trailing in his wake.
‘I must get about my business, too.’ Vincent said. ‘I promised Miss Cook that I would write a few words for the deceased’s funeral.’ Vincent gave a rather soppy smile. ‘She wants things done properly for Old Blackie, pauper’s burial or no.’
‘Shall we chase after Cecilia and say hello?’ Joan suggested the moment Vincent had gone.
‘How odd to see Miss Denby and Henry avoid one another,’ Louise remarked archly.
Joan smiled wryly; she had also suspected that the pair had planned to bump into one another on Regent’s Street, but had been thwarted by others getting in the way. Joan’s thoughts returned to her own tryst later that afternoon with Drew Rockleigh. A ripple of excitement warmed her skin quickly followed by an unpleasant prickle of apprehension.
Following Drew’s departure earlier, Joan had sought her own chamber and her own company as soon as her papa had gone back to sleep. She’d sat on the edge of her bed, mulling over how close they had come to disaster when Maude burst in on them. Joan felt quite giddy with relief that they had not been saying anything incriminating at the moment her stepmother had entered. Had Maude overheard a single snippet of that discussion...heaven only knew what chaos might have ensued, or whether her father’s slow recovery would have suffered as a consequence.
A clandestine meeting later was hazardous, but Drew’s attempt to do things more decorously, with her family close by, had also proved to be risky! Discussing how to proceed against vile Stokes would be best done in private.
Joan knew that if she were completely honest there was more to her need to meet him later: deep within her remained a primal urge to be completely alone with the man she loved in a place where they were freed from the restraint of etiquette and could talk...act...freely. Joan felt fire ignite in her veins as his beautifully rugged features filled her head and she wondered if he would kiss her later... Quickly she put Poacher’s Lane to the back of her mind and concentrated on the unexpected opportunity to probe Cecilia about her uncle.
From Rockleigh’s impeccable appearance earlier Joan guessed he had managed to improve his lot. She had her own ideas on how he’d restored his position, but Cecilia might corroborate them. Drew Rockleigh had once had powerful and influential friends. Joan’s own brother-in-law was one such ally. She hoped that in some small part she might have influenced Drew’s decision to swallow his pride and accept help.
Linking arms with her friend, Joan steered Louise towards the drapery into which Cecilia had disappeared. Before they could enter the establishment Ralph came bowling up behind, having decided against accompanying Henry to the tailor. ‘Might I have a word with you, Miss Finch?’ He coughed and inserted two fingers between his neck and cravat. ‘Now that my instructor has made some progress with me, there is a favour I would ask about securing you as a dancing partner at the ball. I won’t monopolise your company...you’ll be inundated with requests, I understand that. But if you didn’t find dancing with me too much of an ordeal...’
Louise blushed. ‘Well...of course you may ask such a favour, sir. I enjoyed dancing with you; I promise it wasn’t an ordeal at all.’
‘I’m going to step inside and say hello to Miss Denby.’ Joan knew she’d have no better chance to speak to Cecilia alone.
&n
bsp; * * *
‘Oh, I’m well enough, I suppose...’ Cecilia shrugged and sighed on being asked how she did. In fact, she felt dejected. She had craved a conversation with Henry, needing his comfort and advice. They had been meeting in secret whenever they could and, like the true friend he was, Ralph had been keeping an eye out for snoopers. With her guardian and mother constantly watching her, slipping away hadn’t been easy. But following her uncle’s visit the couple had been too wrapped up in themselves to even notice her existence.
As soon as Stokes had arrived home Bertha had rushed to meet him to garble out that her brother had called and something bad must be afoot. Within minutes of them closing the parlour door an explosive argument had started. Cecilia didn’t bother to eavesdrop; she had long ago realised the couple were jealous of Rockleigh’s popularity and success and had done something spiteful to discredit him. Cecilia had digested that the couple were seriously worried about her uncle’s reappearance. From that she’d deduced that everything familiar to her might disintegrate, but she didn’t care...in fact, she welcomed it.
Finally, she saw a way to escape and marry Henry...if he would have her. But she’d just missed her chance to tell him so. Cecilia recalled that her uncle had praised Lady Joan and said she should heed her advice. Cecilia always listened to him. Besides, as the two of them were acquainted, it was possible that Joan might already be aware of her Uncle Drew being back in town looking as handsome and important as ever. What she might not know was that her mother and guardian hated him. But Joan seemed a stoic-enough sort not to swoon in shock at her family’s feuding and scheming.
‘Might I confide in you, please, Lady Joan?’ Cecilia burst out.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Do sit down, sir. I think I know what your business is about.’ Thadeus Pryke had jumped up from behind his desk to blurt out his nervous greeting.