In the end, it grew too late to call at Hatbrook House. He found that he cared about appearances now, cared what the brothers Shield thought of him as a man. At two P.M. on Tuesday, he presented his card in Belgravia and was told the marchioness was at home. He’d never troubled himself with the Shield women in the past, working directly with Lord Judah and, sometimes, other male members of the extended Shield and Redcake families, but now he found himself passing through an ornate foyer into a warmer, more welcoming parlor, full of women chatting.
A tall, shapely redhead greeted him. “I’m Lady Hatbrook, Mr. Alexander,” she said, inviting him to sit down on the chair next to hers.
“I have great respect for your husband,” Dougal said, quite uncharacteristically. Before he’d only cared about whether or not a man paid his bill on time. Of course, Hatbrook always had.
“As do I,” Lady Hatbrook said with an impish smile. “I had given up hoping he and Judah would bring home our missing sister, but they managed it.”
Dougal glanced around the room. He saw a pretty, blond woman in her early twenties, an older, blond woman with gray-streaked hair, and an exotic, voluptuous creature seated next to a tall, slight girl who still had a few years left in the schoolroom. But no Lady Elizabeth. In turn, Lady Hatbrook introduced him to Lady Judah, her mother, Lady Redcake, and another Lady Redcake, then Miss Fern Haldene.
“Isn’t Lady Elizabeth well enough to be at home?” he said sharply. Surely she wasn’t being ostracized.
“She didn’t care to join us,” Lady Hatbrook said. “Would you like to take a stab at coaxing her downstairs?”
His head might have swiveled three hundred and sixty degrees if his neck allowed it. “Are ye suggesting I enter her private rooms?”
“You saved her life, Mr. Alexander, hosted her in your family home. I feel she is quite safe with you, and I know she feels the same. Every time I’ve spoken to her, you come into the conversation.”
He felt a wave of pleasure warm his icy heart. “I am glad to hear it.”
“We did not expect to see you in London so soon,” Lady Judah said in the clear, aristocratic voice of someone born into Society. “My husband indicated you were to go after the unfortunate women who were kidnapped.”
The other three women leaned forward.
“Kidnapped?” the young girl asked. “There was kidnapping?”
“Oh, dear,” said the elder Lady Redcake, putting her hand to her chest, her long, bell-shaped sleeve draping artistically. “I’m afraid so. Poor Beth has been through such a trial.”
Dougal cleared his throat. Never had he been obliged to entertain so many ladies, having a rather femaleless family. “Lady Judah, your husband did indeed give me the commission, and I have discharged it.”
“It seems to me that my husband only just returned from Scotland. How could you possibly track a ship in that time?”
“I didn’t have tae,” he explained. “Between the police and myself, the leaders of the white slavers were dispatched. They dumped the women and took off in all directions. The ship did leave Leith, but not with any women on it, as best we know.”
“Did you speak to any of them?” The exotic Lady Redcake sounded like a northerner, despite her brown skin.
“I did,” he said. “Then I went to the police and verified what I was told. I was as amazed as you ladies are, but I was out of touch of goings-on in Leith for a few days while Lady Elizabeth was recovering.” He left out her flight, not knowing what she’d told her family.
“That is good news,” Lady Judah said. “One reads such rubbish in the papers about white slavers. I was alarmed to realize such blackguards really did exist.”
“I’m afraid so. The police are attempting tae discover where the ship went, where the headquarters of this group is.”
“I expect you’ll want to set Beth’s mind at ease about the whole matter,” Lady Hatbrook said.
“I would, very much,” Dougal said. “It is rare, in my work, to see such a happy ending as a family reunited and women saved with virtue intact.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Hatbrook with a sad smile. “Come, I will show you upstairs.”
Dougal bowed to the other ladies. The elder Lady Redcake openly smiled approval at her daughter as Lady Hatbrook led him from the room. He followed her up the ornate double staircase. When they reached the landing, she hesitated.
“My lady?”
“I wonder,” she said. “Do you love her?”
“Ma’am?”
“My husband has learned not to keep secrets from me,” she said. “And I know what happened in Edinburgh. All of it.”
Only his experience as a private investigator kept his face expressionless as she regarded him. He said nothing, but his palms itched and his underarms tingled under his best shirt and coat.
“I want to know, do you really want to marry her?”
He nodded, not knowing how the words would come out if he tried to speak.
“Then I’ll let you go into her room alone,” she said. “And have it out with her in private.”
“You are not the usual sort of marchioness, are ye,” he said.
She smiled wickedly. “I certainly hope not, Mr. Alexander. Welcome to the family.” She led him down the hall, then pointed to a sturdy door.
He opened it and then, with a last backward glance at her, turned the knob. It opened easily under his fingertips, and he found himself in a small sitting room, devoid of people. The curtains were drawn here, and the fire was not lit, but he could see light beyond a half-open door. Silently, he moved through the sitting room and sidled up to the door. At first he saw nothing, but then detected a rocking chair next to the window. Beth, her beautiful hair back in a proper bun for the first time since he’d seen her, sat there with Hester sleeping in her arms. Her face was still gaunt from near starvation, but her color had returned. The girl he’d seen in little more than gray rags was dressed in mourning.
He thought she’d be in some gay silk in the latest fashion, but no, she wore bombazine and crape. Had someone in her family died while she was away?
He must have said her name without realizing it because she looked up, shock on her face. Did she even recognize him in his best clothes?
“Dougal?” she whispered.
“Yes, treasure.” He stepped forward. “I’m not a ghost.”
“Did you break into the house?”
He smoothed his gray-striped waistcoat, exposed his best gold cuff links. “No, I made a proper call, met the ladies. Lady Hatbrook let me come up here.”
“I met her for the first time under circumstances like this, you know,” Beth said. “She’d witnessed a fight between Lord and Lady Mews, and Freddie and my brother brought her to me, in my private rooms, to be cleaned up. Back before I was out.”
“I saw Freddie yesterday,” he said. “He expects to be released by the end of the month.”
“I won’t be reuniting with him, if that’s what my family is worried about,” she said.
“Your family didn’t send for me.” His throat was suddenly dry. “I came for ye.”
“Came for me?”
“Yes. I realized I didn’t propose marriage properly. What I did was dreadful, telling your brothers my wishes and not asking ye if you agreed. I realize that now. But you have tae understand, a Scot doesn’t always ask.” He forced a smile. “Sometimes we kidnap our brides.”
“Speaking of kidnapping . . .” she began, not responding to his attempt at humor.
He stepped forward, grasped one of the rocker’s back posts. “The women are safe. We missed the rest of the gunfight and the women being freed. They are all as safe as ye, at least as you were before I arrived.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “No more of this sitting in cold rooms and staring out of the window at life. You and Hester are coming back to Edinburgh with me. We’ll be married immediately and dive headfirst into fashionable society there, so I can show off my beautiful w
ife.”
“Why would I agree to that?”
He bared his teeth. “Because I fell in love with ye, you hoyden. And I don’t believe you feel any different, after the passionate night we shared.”
Hester stirred in Beth’s arms, cooed, then slid back into a deeper sleep. “What about Hester?” She sounded breathless.
He liked the hope in her eyes. “She’ll be mine as much as yours. She’s too young to remember any differently. I’ve warned Freddie not tae remember much about Gertie.”
She nodded. “My family set wheels in motion to make her Mark Cross’s child.”
“Perfect. They need to tell Freddie.”
Smiling, she nodded agreement. “Yes, I’ll tell them that.”
He gave her his best stern expression. “You’ll tell them by letter. We’re leaving now.”
“You must be joking.” Her smile turned to shock as he remained impassive.
“Not at all. I’m taking my bride back tae Scotland, where she belongs.”
“I belong here with my family,” she said. “Why would I run away again?”
“Because I love ye,” he repeated. “I love your strength, your cleverness, even your ungovernable spirit. I don’t want you locked away here in England. You belong with me.”
“Why are you so certain?”
He grinned. “There was a night in Edinburgh. You might recall.”
She shook her head. “I thought it was my last night of freedom.”
“It was your last night alone,” he said. “It just took me a few days tae sort it out. Come with me, Beth. Come home.”
“I do have the Edinburgh accent perfected,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
He tipped the chair just enough that she had to stand up, cradling Hester. “Ye do not, my love, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll be my English bride.”
“Your kidnapped bride.” Her mouth quirked in humor.
“Exactly.”
She slid one arm around his waist, holding Hester between them. He tilted her chin up for a kiss and they clung together for long moments.
“I do think I love you,” she whispered. “Because you fought for me. No one ever did that before. Everyone has always been content to put me aside.”
“I will not have the luxury of that,” he said. “Not when my wife has proven herself tae have so many bad habits. For instance, you are excellent at loading guns.”
She laughed. “What will the baron think of you marrying me?”
“He’ll be jealous, and quite sorry that ye haven’t a sister for him.”
She kissed him again. “I think one Shield bride in any family is quite enough. Am I allowed to pack a bag before my kidnapping?”
“Only under supervision,” he said. “I’m never allowing ye to be parted from me again.”
“All I ever needed was to be wanted,” she said. “Thank you.”
“No more vanishing, Beth, not into character or into other countries. From now on, ye are front and center in my life, as you should be.”
She kissed his cheek and handed Hester to him. “Just unleash me on Edinburgh and you’ll see what I’m capable of.”
He watched contentedly as she pulled a carpetbag from a wardrobe and began to fill it with necessities for Hester and herself. While he had never expected such an ending to the Vanished Lady case, he could not be anything but pleased at the outcome.
Keep reading for a special sneak preview of the next Redcakes novel, Lewis Noble’s tale of Christmastime romance, coming in November 2014.
And don’t miss the rest of the Redcakes series, already available where eBooks are sold!
The Marquess of Cake
One Taste of Scandal
His Wicked Smile
Chapter 1
December 22, 1889
“I’ll tell you a story while we wait for the carriage,” said Victoria, Lady Allen-Hill. “Once upon a time, long ago, in the south of England, a princess was left behind to guard the family castle while her father was at war in France.”
“Is this the castle where we’re spending Christmas?” Penelope Courtnay asked from her seat against the wall at Redcake’s Tearoom. Cutouts of Father Christmas dangled on green ribbons above her head, dancing against the wall as waitresses called cakies walked around briskly, serving customers.
“Yes. Though it was in sorry shape in those days.” She had to bend over the table to be heard over the din of patrons clattering teacups against saucers and talking excitedly about holiday plans.
“Continue,” said Penelope.
Victoria thought her nine-year-old cousin sounded very grownup, but then, she had little experience with children. “Very well. This princess, Everilda by name, had spent the beginning of winter stuffing herself on all sorts of game, every bird that could be slaughtered, bread, and frumenty. She’d made herself so ill that when a strange old serving woman approached the dais of her father’s great hall on Christmas Day, with the first mince pie of the Twelve Days, she refused to eat any of it.
“Her retainers looked nervous. The chamberlain bent over her shoulder and whispered, ‘Princess Everilda, it is bad luck to refuse mince pie.’
“ ‘Oh good heavens,’ the princess said. ‘Here, serving wench, bring me your pie.’
“The woman approached, offering her enormous pie with trembling arms. Princess Everilda stuck in her spoon and pulled out a steaming mass of liberally spiced shredded meat and apple. While she had never heard of the chamberlain’s superstition before, she did know you were supposed to make a wish with your first bite of Christmas mince pie. So she closed her eyes and wished for a husband to take all the cares of running the castle away from her. Thankfully, this was a reasonable wish, as she was betrothed to none other than her beloved, after overcoming a number of obstacles.
“No sooner had she swallowed her first bite when the old woman dropped the mince pie on the long table in front of the princess. She seemed to grow before the princess’s very eyes, until she stood upright, much younger than she had seemed, and now dressed regally.
“ ‘Queen Avice!’ the princess shouted in horror. It was her stepmama, returned from the grave.”
“Ewww,” Penelope said, then coughed as her soup went down the wrong way.
Victoria stood and patted her on the back. “You have to expect ghosts in fairy tales.”
“And wishes,” her cousin added with another cough.
“Exactly.” She reseated herself.
Penelope took a sip of milk. “I’m fine. Go on. We still have lots of time before we have to go to the train station.”
Victoria nodded. “The shade cackled and pointed her finger at the princess. ‘Twelve times shall the clock turn round and round before you find your love. Strife and spice, mummery and magic, ghosts and goblins, quests and questions shall fill your days and nights.’ ”
“My goodness, what a stirring tale!” exclaimed Penelope. “Are you just making this up as you go?”
“I’m glad you like it,” Victoria said. She was enjoying her story spinning. “Yes, it is my own creation.”
“Will you tell me more? I’ll try to be quiet.”
“Finish your soup,” Victoria told her young cousin. “Redcake’s makes the most delicious cream of broccoli.”
“Why didn’t you want any?” Penelope asked, spooning up a glistening green-speckled spoonful.
“I’m reducing,” Victoria said mournfully.
“Haven’t you reduced enough? Why, you are entirely a different shape than you were on your wedding day.”
“From the mouths of babes,” Victoria said, raising an eyebrow. Was her cousin correct? Had she beaten her unruly curves into submission?
“Really, your willpower is astonishing,” her cousin said. “I could never say no to a bun.”
“Not at Redcake’s, certainly,” Victoria murmured. “They make the best in London.” She sighed and looked down at the crumbs of her abstemious plate of clear chicken soup and single slice of gingerbrea
d.
“I expect, now that’s it’s been almost a year and a half since Sir Humphrey died, you’ll want to find another husband. Is that why you’re reducing? You didn’t have trouble finding your first husband.”
“My father found him for me,” she said. A cakie leaned over their table and lifted the lid of their teapot, then poured in more steaming water.
“Didn’t you like him?” Penelope’s forehead wrinkled. She was much too young to understand the complicated getting of titled husbands.
“I hardly had the time to discover whether I did or not. He died so soon after the wedding.” Victoria smiled her thanks to the cakie.
“You didn’t even know if you liked being married or not,” Penelope stated.
“Exactly.” Sir Humphrey had been red-faced and sniffling on their wedding day. By the next night, he’d had a fever. A week later, his cold had gone into his chest. Bronchitis followed, then pneumonia. He’d left her, his still-virgin bride, for a permanent home in Highgate Cemetery less than a month after their wedding. She’d always wondered if she’d been more physically appealing, would he have managed to consummate the thing on that first night, before he’d become too ill. As it was, she’d been denied the mysteries of physical love.
Penelope spooned up her last bite of soup, then cut her scone in half and layered it thickly with strawberry jam. Saliva pooled in Victoria’s mouth. To distract herself, she spun more of her tale.
“Princess Everilda knew her betrothed was meant to arrive at the castle that very evening. What could possibly happen to keep him away for another twelve days?
“ ‘What have you done?’ she shouted at the dead queen’s shade. ‘Prince Hugh is supposed to ride in at any moment.’
“The ghost’s eyes were nothing but dark pits as they stared into the princess’s very soul. ‘You have treated him badly.’
“ ‘He was your stepson,’ the princess hissed. ‘I assumed he was as wicked as you are. But I’ve learned he has a heart of gold. What must I do to save him?’
The Kidnapped Bride (Redcakes) Page 12