Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  And where he couldn’t protect her. He’d been fortunate with Sykes, but he’d played enough cards at Dodger’s to know that fortune was a fickle mistress.

  The days passed blissfully as Sterling slowly recovered. Frannie brought him his meals. She bathed him. Every night they slept in the circle of each other’s arms.

  As his strength returned, Sterling took short walks about the residence, and eventually took longer ones about the garden. Peter would often join him there.

  They didn’t usually talk, and yet there was a camaraderie between them that Sterling couldn’t quite explain. He was going to miss the lad when the time came, and he knew it was coming much sooner than he wished.

  Frannie sat at a table on the terrace and watched wistfully as the strikingly handsome lord and his waif of a companion strolled through the garden. It was strange, the way attachments between the most unlikely of people could be formed.

  She knew her time with Sterling was drawing to a close. They’d not made love since his encounter with Sykes, but she could sense him pulling away. She knew she was as well, fighting desperately to protect her heart, fearing that it was far too late for that.

  From the beginning she’d known that Sterling was a temporary addition to her life, and she had made peace with that knowledge. Sometimes late at night, in the dark, she desperately wanted to tell him that she’d fallen in love with him, but she suspected it would only make their final parting that much more difficult.

  That evening, during dinner, she told him, “I need to go to the rookeries. I was hoping you’d go with me.”

  Sterling captured her gaze. “I believe I’ve proven I’m an inadequate protector.”

  “You’ve proven that you’d risk your life for me. That’s hardly inconsequential.”

  Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the food on his plate. “You should probably ask Swindler.”

  Only she wanted Sterling with her. “I want to talk with Feagan. I’m fairly certain I’ll find him at his favorite gin palace. It won’t take long. I’d very much like you there.”

  As though he understood the momentousness of what she planned to do, he gave her a brisk nod. “I’ll have the coach readied.”

  The journey to the rookeries was as quiet as their days had become, but Frannie found consolation in the fact that Sterling held her. He always seemed to sense when she needed to be held.

  With a great deal of jostling, starts, and stops, the driver was able to maneuver the coach through the area until they were very near where Frannie expected to find Feagan. The place had suffered in the years since she’d last been here, accompanying Feagan because he always insisted on keeping a sharp eye on her.

  Because she knew his preferred table, it didn’t take her any time at all to locate him. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, alone, in the corner. A man who had once been surrounded by children.

  Glancing up he gave her a crooked grin. “Frannie darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Sterling pulled out a chair for her and she sat beside her former kidsman.

  “Your Grace, will ye buy me a drink?” Feagan asked.

  Sterling looked at her and she nodded.

  As Sterling walked off, Feagan said, “Nice enough gent, I suppose. Cares fer you.”

  “You almost got him killed.”

  “Weren’t my idea. Was ’is. Can’t blame me.”

  No, he never took responsibility, her Feagan. Whenever one of the lads was arrested, it was the boy’s fault for being reckless, not Feagan’s for sending him into danger.

  Sterling returned, setting the tankard in front of Feagan, before taking a chair beside Frannie. Beneath the table, he wrapped his hand around hers. She drew strength from the simple act.

  Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and forced out the words, “Feagan, are you my father?”

  Chuckling low, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Ah, Frannie darling, where’d ye ever get a silly notion like that?”

  “I just always thought…I don’t know. I just always thought you were.”

  “Nah. Yer much too fine to ’ave come from the loikes of me. I found ye in a basket on a door stoop, so I took ye. Ye know ’ow I am. I see something that’s easy to pluck and I pluck it.”

  She didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. “I love you anyway,” she said, giving him a soft smile.

  “I love ye, too, me sweet girl.” He winked at her, lifted his tankard, and gulped his brew.

  As though understanding they were done here, Sterling got to his feet and pulled out her chair.

  Once outside, she let the cool night air wash over her.

  “Do you believe him?” Sterling asked quietly.

  She looked up at him. “Did you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter. It’s what he wants me to believe.”

  “Frannie?”

  The tone of his voice told her what was coming before he spoke the words.

  “I’ll be leaving for the country tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “This is goodbye then?”

  “Very soon. Yes.”

  “What about Peter?”

  “He belongs with you. After all, you’re the queen of the dragons.”

  He was striving to make light of something that was breaking her heart. “He’s grown very close to you. Have you told him?”

  “He knows. He understands.”

  Then the child was far wiser than she.

  That night Sterling made love to her for the first time in ages. There was a roughness to their lovemaking, as though they were both clinging to something that they could never hold forever.

  When they lay in each other’s arms afterward, it was bittersweet. Frannie had always known the moment would come when she would no longer be in his life. She simply hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

  When Sterling woke up the following morning, he was alone. He knew it was pointless to go searching for her. She wasn’t in the residence and neither was Peter. He felt their absence as soul-rending emptiness.

  He roared, his anguish reverberating throughout the room, bringing him no comfort.

  With a weary sigh, Frannie closed the ledger. A month had passed since Sterling had left for the country. There was at least half an hour every day when she didn’t think about him. Tomorrow she’d add another minute to the tally, until eventually she would think of him not at all.

  Peter had adjusted well to life in the orphanage. He brought her such joy. She wasn’t at all certain how she could have managed without him to provide her with love.

  She became aware of someone standing in her doorway, not at all surprised when she looked up to see that it was Jim.

  She rose from her chair. “You know you don’t have to escort me to the orphanage every night.”

  “But I like riding in that fancy carriage of yours.”

  It had arrived a week after she’d silently left Sterling’s residence. She couldn’t have born saying goodbye to him. Cowardly, but there it was.

  The note that the driver had given her simply said:

  So you may always travel in safety. And not to worry. I shall handle the upkeep on the horses.

  Greystone

  Jim helped drape her cloak around her shoulders. “Have you heard from him recently?”

  “No, and I don’t expect I shall. He’s gone to the country. You know how it is with the nobility. They don’t like London in winter.”

  “Don’t think much of it myself.”

  She laughed.

  “I haven’t heard that sound in a while.” Jim said.

  “Then you should come to the orphanage. I laugh quite often there. The children are a delight.”

  Once they arrived at the orphanage, the footman handed her down and she began to walk toward the building. As she got nearer, she quickened her pace. It was always good to be home.

  Chapter 24

  The Earl and Countess of Cla
ybourne

  Cordially invite you to enjoy a reading

  By Mr. Charles Dickens

  December 15, 1851

  Reception and ball to follow

  Your donation of a toy to be taken

  To Feagan’s Children’s Home

  On Christmas morning is appreciated

  The Little Season occurred in December, when the lords returned to London for a quick session in Parliament. Sterling was amused to see that Catherine, with a small nudge from Frannie no doubt, was planning to take advantage of the opportunity to do a bit of good work. He didn’t know whether to view the invitation he’d received as a gift or a punishment.

  He’d recovered rather nicely from his wound and had gone to the country estate as soon as he was strong enough. He thought being away from London would make it much easier to forget Frannie, but as he walked over his estate each day until near exhaustion, thoughts of her journeyed along beside him.

  He’d contacted Charles Beckwith, the family solicitor, and had him draw up papers for Catherine to sign, giving Sterling permission to send her monthly stipend to the children’s home as she’d requested. His own donations were made anonymously, except for the shoes provided by the cobbler. He promptly paid the man’s statement of accounts owed whenever it arrived. With winter upon them, he hoped the children’s feet would stay warm.

  In London, when Sterling slept in his bed, it seemed unlikely, yet he swore he could still smell the scent of Frannie adorning his pillow. It was another gift in his life for which he didn’t know if he should be grateful because it made him miss her all the more.

  As for the invitation that he’d read and contemplated a dozen times since receiving…

  As Sterling tugged on his white gloves in the foyer while his servants carried out the hundred sets of water colors that he’d purchased, he knew he couldn’t possibly not go. After all, what sort of message would that send? Catherine was his sister and one simply didn’t ignore an invitation from one’s sister. Besides, when a man carried a title as revered as Sterling’s was, it was important that he support charitable events. It made a statement that the good works were worthy of his time, gave them credence. And since he and Claybourne had been drafting legislation protecting children, it was really imperative that he let it be known he believed in the work he and Claybourne were doing. What better way than attending this function?

  All and all it would work out quite nicely. He wouldn’t stay long. Simply make a quick appearance, see that Frannie was doing well, ask after Peter, and then be on his way. He could certainly manage that.

  In the foyer, along with Catherine, Frannie greeted the guests as they arrived in their finery. As for herself, she wore a deep purple gown that she’d had made just for the occasion because she wanted to do the children’s home proud. Her stomach was all in knots but it had very little to do with the fact that so many of the nobility were here. She feared that if Sterling came, she’d be unable to look at him and not give away how very much she missed having him in her life.

  Devoted sister that Catherine was, she had informed Frannie that Sterling was doing well in the country. But the information she shared was all superficial. Frannie didn’t know how he truly fared. If he had met someone. If he was happy. She wanted him to be happy above all else.

  As people arrived, footmen took the toys to the parlor while Frannie directed the guests to the drawing room, where chairs had been set up in rows and a lectern had been placed at its far end.

  She spotted a face in the crowd coming in through the door and smiled. “Mr. Dickens. It’s so good to see you, sir.”

  “Miss Darling, you’re as lovely as ever.”

  “You’re too kind. Here, allow me to take your hat and coat.” She led him away from the crush of people and had the butler take his outer garments.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming this evening. We have quite a crowd,” she told Mr. Dickens.

  “I’m delighted to help your cause.” Looking just past her shoulder, Mr. Dickens grinned broadly. “Why, Mr. Dodger, I expected you to be transported by now.”

  With his wife and five-year-old stepson, Henry, at his side, Jack laughed. “Ah, Mr. Dickens, you always underestimated my ability to get out of a tight spot. Please, Lady Olivia, allow me to introduce Mr. Charles Dickens.”

  “I’m honored, sir,” Livy said.

  “And my stepson,” Jack said, “the Duke of Lovingdon. Mr. Charles Dickens.”

  Mr. Dickens bowed. “Your Grace.”

  “I know children weren’t invited, but Henry is quite taken with your work, and I begged Catherine to make an exception,” Jack said.

  “So you like my stories, do you, young man?”

  Henry nodded. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  He pointed at Jack. “Is he the Artful Dodger?”

  Mr. Dickens bent low. “I write fiction, Your Grace. The characters in my books do not really exist, but if they did”—he winked—“I do believe he would be the Artful Dodger.”

  “I knew it!”

  “And do you see that gentleman over there?”

  “Lord Claybourne?”

  Dickens nodded. “He would be Oliver.”

  “And what about Miss Frannie?”

  “She is every sweet girl who appears in the story.”

  Henry laughed joyfully, and Frannie hoped a day would come when all the children in her orphanage laughed in the same manner, with such abandon.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Catherine said, “but we should probably get started.”

  Frannie squeezed Mr. Dickens’s hand. “I’m going to introduce you.”

  “Lovely.”

  Frannie walked beside Catherine to the drawing room. “Did your brother—”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’d hoped—”

  “He’s probably very busy.”

  “He may have returned to the country already.”

  “Of course.” It was where he obviously preferred to reside.

  They walked to the front of the drawing room. Catherine clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

  “I want to thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoy the evening as much my husband and I enjoy having you. We are avid supporters of Feagan’s Children’s Home. We will be taking the toys you brought this evening to the children on Christmas morning. For many of them, it will be the first time they’ve ever received a gift on Christmas morning. I would like to now introduce you to Miss Frannie Darling, who is the owner and overseer of the home.”

  People clapped politely and Frannie wished they hadn’t. It made her terribly nervous to suddenly have all this attention on herself. She wanted to do the children proud.

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding like a frog. She cleared her throat—

  And then she saw him standing at the back of the room, just inside the doorway, looking so incredibly handsome, and she thought all her nerves would go away if she spoke only to him…

  “I grew up on the streets of London. An orphan who never knew who her parents were. Feagan was the kidsman who gave me a home in exchange for which I was to pick pockets and steal and lie to people so they would give me their coins. I suppose it seems strange to name a children’s home after a criminal, but he wasn’t a criminal to me, because I didn’t know any better. He was the one who fed me and clothed me and gave me a place to sleep. When I was twelve, the previous Earl of Claybourne took me in, and that’s when I learned it was wrong to steal. The present Earl of Claybourne doesn’t know this, but I recently bought some land where I shall build another children’s home, and this one I shall name in honor of his grandfather.”

  People applauded, and Luke, who had already grabbed a flute of champagne, was standing at the back of the room. With a bowing of his head he raised his flute to her in salute, and she knew her words had pleased him.

  “The children on the streets are not only poor in possessions, but they are often poor in spirit. It is
my hope that these homes shall give them what every child deserves: a loving place. So along with the Countess of Claybourne, I thank you for the toys you have brought and for the joy they will bring. And now for your enjoyment, I present to you Mr. Charles Dickens.”

  Again everyone applauded. As Dickens neared, he kissed Frannie on the cheek. She’d heard once that he was as uncomfortable with the nobility as she. It meant a great deal to her that he’d come. When they’d met, she’d been a girl and he’d been a young man scouring the rookeries for stories.

  Keeping to the wall, she walked past the row of chairs, heading for the back of the room. When she reached Luke, he drew her close and hugged her.

  “My grandfather would have liked that,” he said, his voice low so as not to disturb the reading of A Christmas Carol that Dickens had begun.

  Nodding, Frannie glanced past Luke, then searched the room.

  “He’s left already,” Luke said.

  She gave him a smile that she hoped hid her disappointment. “I’m going to check on the ballroom. Make certain it’s ready.”

  But once she was in the foyer, she didn’t take the hallway that would lead to the large ballroom. She took the one that led to the library. She hesitated at the door because of the memories that rested beyond it, especially the memory of her encounter with Sterling on that gray, rainy day so long ago. But she wanted to remember it, to remember him.

  She opened the door, walked in, and quietly closed it behind her. Several lamps were lit as well as the gas lamps in the garden. The curtains were drawn back and at the window stood Sterling, gazing out, his hands behind his back. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he bestowed a half smile.

  Her heart was thundering so hard that she feared he’d hear it. As sedately as she could, she walked over to stand beside him. He turned his attention back to the garden, where large snowflakes were slowly drifting down.

  “It started snowing. We stopped to assist someone who was having trouble with his carriage. That’s the reason I was late.”

  “I’m glad you came. I was nervous standing up there until I saw you.”

  “I can’t believe you have Charles Dickens here to give a reading. I suppose you met him through the Earl of Claybourne.”