A Viscount's Proposal (The Regency Spies of London Book 2)

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I would, but Father has the carriage until tomorrow. Remember? He went to Portsmouth on business.”

  “Then we can hire a hackney.” She’d never hired a hackney before, but how hard could it be?

  “I don’t think we should let Mother know of our plans. Best to wait until after the midday meal, tell her we’re going visiting, and hope she doesn’t ask questions.”

  Leorah agreed. If John Wilson could spare someone to go to Kent, she could send the money Rachel would need. But . . . where would she send Rachel? She needed a safe place to live with her child, a place where her employer or landlord would not object to her past.

  That could prove difficult.

  Leorah sat politely answering Sarah Wilson’s questions while fidgeting with her gloves. When would the small talk be over so she might discuss why she had actually come?

  “Lord Withinghall came for a brief visit today,” John Wilson said.

  Leorah gave Mr. Wilson her full attention.

  “The viscount asked me to give you a message, Miss Langdon, in case you came to call. He said that you needn’t worry about Miss Becker or her child. He has a place for her.”

  “He said that?” A lump formed in Leorah’s throat. She tried to swallow and finally got past it on the second try. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He was in a hurry. Mostly he seemed concerned that you might try to find Rachel yourself. He said the House of Lords could do without him for one day, and he has a house in Suffolk where he intended to take her. He would entrust her to some very discreet servants who would protect and care for her and the baby, and he would see to it personally.”

  Leorah’s breath hitched at each new piece of information. Would he actually take her to his own home? What it must cost him to be in the company of a woman who had done what Rachel had done! She knew how he felt about scandal after what had happened to his own family, and yet he would risk his reputation and his ambitions in Parliament in order to show kindness to Rachel and her illegitimate child.

  “Who is responsible for this young woman and her child being at this workhouse?”

  Edward stood before the head matron of the St. Vincent Workhouse and glared down at the middle-aged woman who sat behind the desk in the gray, dismal room.

  “I—I am n-not permitted to divulge that information, my lord.”

  “And whose authority prevents you from telling me who brought this woman and her child to this place? Very well, you do not have to break your word. I shall use my influence in Parliament to make sure this place is shut down and that everyone in England knows of the deplorable conditions here at St. Vincent’s. Good day.”

  Edward took Miss Becker by the elbow.

  “Wait! I will tell you what I know.” The woman cleared her throat. “But you must promise not to tell anyone who told you.”

  “I cannot make that promise.”

  She looked nervously about, glancing up at him. “I don’t know much. I did not know the man what brung her. He said he had a benefactor who was a powerful man. He made the same threat you did—that he would use his influence in Parliament to close our workhouse if I ever said anything about the woman and her baby being forced to come here. And that is all I know. Before God, I am telling the absolute truth.”

  “You are right. You don’t know much.” And he turned around and propelled Miss Becker from the dingy place.

  She held her baby in her arms. The child was obviously not well, and Miss Becker’s cheeks were sunken and almost ashen, as if the place had drawn the life out of her.

  He helped her into his carriage, covered her in a fur blanket, and the driver set out toward Suffolk. Almost immediately, tears began running down Miss Becker’s cheeks as she stared down at the face of her child, who was wrapped in a tattered blanket.

  “I do not know why you are being kind to us and taking me and my baby away from that terrible place, but I thank you.”

  “I told you,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. It was not difficult to pity her, after all. “I am doing it because Miss Langdon was very worried about you. She was desperate to get you and your baby to a safer place.”

  A silent sob shook her shoulders.

  He had told her where he was taking her as soon as he arrived. She had packed the total of her things into one bag and was ready. They rode in silence for many minutes.

  “I will tell you who brought my baby and me to the workhouse, if you wish to know.” She kept her head down, not even lifting her eyes to look at him. “It was Felton Pinegar. He kept me in an apartment on Bishopsgate Street for three years. He is the father of my child.”

  Pinegar. Heat rose into his face. Was there no end to his wickedness?

  “I was not raised to do bad things or live in sin,” she went on quietly. “I was desperate, having no family and no money, and Mr. Pinegar promised to treat me well. At first he did, but then he began yelling at me, and when he discovered I was with child, he . . . he tried to force me to get rid of it. I am certain he took me to the workhouse thinking we would perish there.”

  “Do not distress yourself. There is an inn nearby where we will stop and have a meal. And if there is a doctor in the vicinity, I shall have him look at the child.”

  “You are very kind.” A tear slipped down her face. She ducked her head and wiped it away.

  They stopped at the inn and ate in a small private dining room. The few people who saw them arrive and leave looked at them askance, as well they might—a viscount traveling with a poor emaciated woman and her poor emaciated child. But to push away any discomfort at being the subject of gossip, he only needed to think of Leorah Langdon’s face when she had told him how distressed she was at her friend’s terrible plight. And he only needed think of how she would smile when she discovered her friend was well.

  By the time they reached Suffolk, Miss Becker and her child were asleep in the carriage. When they stopped at Leeward House, he took the child and carried her inside while a servant helped the exhausted Miss Becker up the stairs.

  Edward placed the child in her mother’s arms.

  “Thank you again, my lord,” she said. “I shall never forget your kindness and how you have saved our lives.”

  He looked her in the eye, then nodded. “Your gratitude is owed more to your friend Miss Langdon than to me, and to you for gaining her good opinion.”

  He left her to the attentions of Mrs. Thurston, the housekeeper.

  Downstairs he found Mr. Thurston, the groundskeeper, and invited him into the library.

  “I wanted to inform you that though I am not expecting trouble, it is a possibility. The young woman and her baby are the former courtesan and child of Mr. Felton Pinegar, a rather powerful man. He may send someone to demand that they be released to him, but even if you must use force, do not allow anyone to take her. She is here under my protection and my employ. She is to do whatever duties Mrs. Thurston sees fit, in addition to seeing to her child’s needs. If they need a physician or any other care, please see to it as you would any of the staff.”

  “Yes, my lord. You may depend upon me and upon Mrs. Thurston, to be sure.”

  “I shall.”

  Four days after she’d received the letters from Rachel that had been redirected to her in London, Leorah and Felicity were sitting in the drawing room. The servant entered to deliver a new letter from Rachel. Leorah read it quickly to herself, intending to read it aloud to Felicity once she finished.

  Dearest Leorah,

  How can I ever thank you enough for sending Lord Withinghall to save Olivia and me from our wretched situation? I’ve never been so afraid as when my child was ill and I had no way to help her, and never so grateful as when Lord Withinghall summarily escorted us from that terrible place, and never so surprised as I was at the viscount’s kindness and gentleness. He did not shrink from us, as most people would have done—me, a fallen woman and he a viscount, traveling in his own carriage. And I owe it all to my friendship with you,
Leorah. He said so himself.

  But henceforth I shall not call you Leorah or even friend. As the newest maidservant at Leeward House, I shall call you “Lady Withinghall” and “my lady”—once you are married, which cannot be long, I imagine. The viscount is obviously in love with you, and it thrills my heart to see it—to see two such kind people find each other.

  You will be happy to hear that Olivia is already feeling better. With good food and a doctor looking in on her, she has regained her color and her smile. Tears drip from my eyes as I write these words, as I think about how I might have lost her. But we are better now, thanks to you and Lord Withinghall.

  Leorah’s heart alternately skipped a beat and pounded faster as she read, and her cheeks heated.

  “What does she say?” Felicity asked.

  “All is well. Lord Withinghall took her to his home in Suffolk where Rachel will be a house servant, and she says Olivia’s health is already improving.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful.” Felicity’s voice was breathless as she clasped her hands. “What else does she say?”

  “It is a short letter.” She found she was unequal to the task of reading such a letter aloud.

  “What did she say about Lord Withinghall? Did he go himself and fetch her?”

  “He did. She said he was very kind.”

  “And?”

  “And that she is very grateful to him and to me.”

  “Isn’t she curious why he came to fetch her?”

  “She thinks I sent him.”

  “Did he say you sent him? What did he say?”

  “Oh, here. Read it for yourself.”

  Felicity snatched it and started reading.

  A sharp intake of breath.

  A gasp.

  “Yes!”

  A giggle.

  A sigh.

  “Oh, Leorah, I knew it. He loves you! Of course he did all of it for you.”

  Leorah’s heart fluttered, but she simply shrugged her shoulders. “It is mere speculation at this point.”

  “How can you say so?”

  “Very easily. He has not asked me again to marry him.”

  A few minutes later, Leorah’s thoughts were still crowded with Lord Withinghall when Felicity’s mother came into the room holding a newspaper.

  “You will never believe what they are saying in today’s paper.” Mrs. Mayson sat near Leorah and Felicity, snapping open the paper. “I do not think we should receive Lord Withinghall anymore, though he is a viscount.”

  “What are you talking of, Mama?”

  “Listen to this. ‘Lord Withinghall was absent from Parliament on Wednesday when he was seen in the company of a young woman and her small child, traveling from Kent to Suffolk, where he installed her at his home, Leeward House. One must wonder why a viscount and Cabinet Minister would have taken on the task of personally escorting a young unmarried woman and her illegitimate child and setting her up in his own country house at the expense of his duties in Parliament.”

  “How dare they criticize Lord Withinghall!” Felicity’s face turned red, and her fists clenched.

  “How can you defend him?” Mrs. Mayson dropped the paper to her lap. “He is ruining his reputation over a woman who has an illegitimate child—probably his child!”

  “It is not his child, Mama. The woman is our friend, Rachel Becker. Lord Withinghall took her out of the terrible workhouse where the child’s father placed her to get rid of her and the child. And he only did it because . . .”

  “Felicity.” Leorah grabbed her friend’s arm.

  “Because he’s in love with Leorah.”

  Leorah threw her hands up, then crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Mayson asked.

  “The last time he called on us, Leorah had just received a letter from Rachel. She was distressed and explained the matter to Lord Withinghall. He immediately went to help her. It’s all in this letter Leorah just received.”

  “Be that as it may . . .” Mrs. Mayson frowned. “It still looks very incriminating. I’m afraid no one will believe it is as chivalrous as that. Besides, what were any of you thinking to associate with such a woman, a kept mistress with a child?”

  “I didn’t know you cared so much what society thinks, Mother.” Felicity stared at her.

  “I care about my daughter and her friends.” Mrs. Mayson crossed her arms. “I suppose it was very kind of you to care about this poor woman. I am glad she is well.” Then Mrs. Mayson sighed heavily.

  Leorah frowned. “Truly, this is very bad.”

  “You too, Leorah?” Felicity stared.

  “It is not that I care what society thinks. I am only thinking . . . this might endanger the bill Lord Withinghall is championing concerning children’s education.”

  “Oh. But that’s so unfair.”

  Mrs. Mayson shook her head. “No one cares if he has a courtesan or an illegitimate child. They only care if he is indiscreet enough to get caught with her.”

  “But it is not Lord Withinghall’s child,” Felicity said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mama, of course I’m sure. Rachel never told us who the man was, but I’m sure it’s not Lord Withinghall.”

  Of course it was not Lord Withinghall, but Leorah stayed silent while they discussed it. He must have known what the consequences would be for helping her friend. What a noble, perhaps foolish, thing to do.

  How would she react when she saw him again? What would she say? How could she express her gratitude for what he had done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Edward had been too busy in the three days since he’d returned from Suffolk to call on Miss Langdon. In addition to his parliamentary duties, he’d been asked to give a statement on the incident at the political rally. The Crown wished to prosecute the man for the attempted murder of a peer of the realm and for threatening public safety, for which the man would hang. But after discussing the matter with the Crown prosecutor, Edward headed to the jail to find the constable.

  “I have a desire to speak to the man.” Edward stood in the front vestibule of the building where the temporary inmates were held. “What did you say his name was?”

  “Samuel Bellamy.”

  “Will you allow me to meet with him and ask him some questions?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  They arranged a time for the next morning. Edward arrived at the jail, and the jailer quickly led him to an office.

  “Is this room all right for you, my lord?”

  “Quite all right.”

  “The constable was called away for a disturbance but should return any moment. May I bring you anything, my lord? Tea and biscuits?”

  “No, I thank you. I shall wait here.”

  He’d only been waiting a minute when he heard footsteps. The constable entered. They greeted each other, then the constable said, “So you are determined to speak with the man who tried to shoot you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but the Crown will prosecute, and with so many witnesses, they’re certain to convict and hang him. You needn’t bother with it.”

  “I wish to speak with him, nevertheless.”

  “Of course, my lord. I’ll fetch him.”

  A few minutes later, the constable came in leading a man in leg irons and with shackles on his wrists. The man walked slowly, shuffling his feet, his head hanging low, his chin nearly touching his chest.

  “What is your name?” Edward asked the man.

  The man answered, “Samuel Bellamy.”

  “Samuel Bellamy, who hired you to kill me?”

  The man lifted his head and met Edward’s eye, then quickly looked down again.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Lord Withinghall. I shall meet my end soon. ’Twould be more than I deserve, but I would like to do so with your forgiveness.”

  The constable stood by with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

  “Since no harm was done to me or
anyone else, it is not very difficult to forgive you. I shall say a prayer that God will have mercy on your soul.”

  “I thank you most kindly for that, my lord.”

  “And now I’d like the answer to my question. Who hired you to shoot me?”

  The man glanced up at Edward, then looked down again. “I suppose that would be something you’d be wanting to know.” The man lifted his hand to his face, causing the shackles to clank and clang. He rubbed his chin.

  “I shall make it easy for you. It was Felton Pinegar, wasn’t it?”

  The man’s hand stilled on his chin, then slowly eased down into his lap again. The constable uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

  “I will tell you all I know, but truth is truth, and I don’t know the name of the man who hired me. I owe them nothing, and as they have brought me so low, sitting here awaiting my execution, I reckon it worthwhile to tell you the truth. But the truth is, they never told me their names.”

  “They? You mean there was more than one?”

  “Yes, sir. There was two of them.”

  “What did they offer you? And why you? You are no assassin, surely.”

  “No, my lord. I had a streak of bad luck. I could not find work, and a few weeks ago we ran out of food, my wife and three children and myself. I was in Mayfair, asking if anyone needed any work done, carting away trash, anything, and a chap dressed in fancy clothes came to me and asked if I’d be willing to do something that was not strictly within the law. I was willing to do whatever he would pay me for, or so I told him. He took me to an inn where another chap was waiting and bought me some kind of strong drink. I rarely drank anything but ale in my life, and that’s the truth. I was besotted in a thrice. They told me what they wanted me to do would not take long and that it would feed my family and I’d never have to worry about them again. It sounded so good, so, God forgive me, I told them I’d do whatever they wished.

  “The first one took me to the place where you were speaking. He pointed you out, gave me the gun, told me to walk straight up to the stage and stand there until you came on. I was so drunk and sweating so bad, I could hardly see. The only thing I was thinking about was my wife and children. When a man’s family is hungry . . .”