by Cheryl Bolen
* * *
Edward looked at the dog-eared volume reposing in his cousin's lap across the carriage from him. The sunlight reflected off the worn gilt on the edge of the pages. "Surely you're not going to tell Mrs. Phillips you read the book last night when you spent the whole of the evening at your club and didn't make it home until daylight!"
A sly smile slid across Harry's tanned face. "I thumbed through it enough to expound to her on its merits."
"You can't believe that ridiculous poppycock in those foolish treatises."
"Oh course not, my good man, but if I hope to accomplish my goals, I must have the widow on my side, and the best way to gain her trust is to feign appreciation for her bloody do-gooding reforms."
"But you even indicated to Lord Seymour that you sympathized with the reformers."
"I did no such thing," Harry protested. "I merely introduced him to a beautiful young woman, who then expounded on her beliefs as I stood silently beside her." The thought of how lovely Mrs. Phillips had been the night of Lord Seymour's ball left Harry weak inside and anxious to see her today. The woman was indeed a feast for the eyes. For the remainder of the carriage ride to his former home he reflected pleasurably on her silky skin and golden hair and the perfect oval of her incredible face.
And he grew impatient to see her.
* * *
The foursome seemed to have fallen into a pattern. Mr. Coke and Ellie would walk in the park that centered Grosvenor Square while Louisa and Lord Wycliff discussed the latest reading she had given him. As they had done on the previous day, Harry and Louisa sat next to each other on a settee in the library.
Despite her distrust of peers, Louisa had bestowed her favor on Lord Wycliff, whose earnestness impressed her. He had even told her he would take his seat in Parliament. This was obviously her most important conquest to date, and she owed it to him to help him regain his property so that he could fulfill his duties.
"When we were interrupted yesterday," he said, "you were saying that you once saw the man you believe was your husband's benefactor."
She settled back on the settee, crossing her legs at the ankles. "Yes, I thought about it a great deal last night, and I've decided the mysterious man must be Godwin's benefactor, though the Lord only knows why a man like Godwin would merit a benefactor."
"I have some idea," he said bitterly.
She gave him a probing look, then continued. "I only caught a glimpse of him once, and Godwin would have. . ." she hesitated a moment. "He would have been extremely angry with me had he known I peeked from over the upstairs balustrade to see the man."
Harry's eyes flashed. "What did the benefactor look like?"
"He was quite old. Older even than Godwin. And he had silver hair. He was tall, yet stooped, and I think he must have been handsome as a younger man."
"Could you identify him if you saw him again?" Lord Wycliff asked.
She thought for a moment. "I believe I could."
"Tell me," he said, "how long had your husband's valet been with him?"
"I don't really know. For many years. He was here when I came."
"Where is he now?"
"He's here. He's training to be my butler, but I don't know how long I'll be able to afford to keep him."
From nowhere Lord Wycliff's large hand curled around her forearm. "That husband of yours left you nothing?" Lord Wycliff asked, his voice tender and concerned.
She gave a bitter laugh. "Nothing."
"Death was too good for him."
She agreed, but would not admit it aloud.
He removed his hand. "Do you suppose his valet would know the identity of the benefactor?"
"I can ask."
His voice softened again. "I appreciate all you've done for me, especially since trusting a peer was repugnant to you but a few weeks ago."
She tossed back her head and laughed. "Oh, it's still repugnant, but in your case, I am learning to trust you. You've made an impressive effort to amend your ways." She got to her feet. "I'll go talk to Williams now."
* * *
He watched as she walked from the room, her back straight and her step light. She was a joy to watch.
While he waited for her to return, Harry cursed his own deceit. He had done many things that made him ashamed, but this deception stung deeper and with more regret.
She was such a passionate little thing, bursting with ideas and schemes to aid the masses. She had enough on her plate without having to worry about surviving with no money. Damn Godwin Phillips. Harry did not know if he hated the man more for treating his lovely wife so shabbily or for yanking her from the schoolroom and veritably purchasing her. His hand fisted, and he shocked himself by uttering a curse.
He got up and walked to the window and watched Ellie Sinclair and Edward walk about the small park. Edward seemed genuinely fond of the girl. God knows, she was pretty enough. She was a more youthful version of her sister. But she seemed so much younger and, frankly, stupid. He could not imagine Louisa Phillips ever having been so silly and carefree.
Then, with a thud in the vicinity of his heart, he realized Louisa Phillips had long been a married woman by the time she was Ellie's age. And he once again cursed Godwin Phillips.
He turned from the window, deliberately kicking his boot against the patterned carpet as he did so. The least Harry could do for the poor widow was to see her settled in a little home. Perhaps that would assuage his conscience.
Damn, she trusts me, he thought with shame.
When she returned to the room, he read disappointment on her face. "Any luck?"
She shook her head, then returned to the settee. "Like me, he knew of the man's importance to Godwin, but Godwin was careful to shield the man's identity. Williams does know where the man came from, though."
A smile on his face, Harry sat down. "And, pray, where might that be?" He was getting close.
"Somewhere in Cornwall. And I was right about him being a lord. Williams confirmed it. Apparently the man was somewhat of a recluse."
Harry's mind spun. He tried to remember a lord from Cornwall, but the only one he knew -- Lord Robartes -- was an honorable man who took his seat in the House of Lords and was far from being a recluse. There must be any number of lords residing in Cornwall. The problem was to find one. The right one.
Say!" Harry said. "Have you a Debrett's?"
She got up and went straight to the book. "How clever of you!" She began to thumb through its pages. "Though I daresay it will take hours to go through all these names and titles and determine which of them live in Cornwall."
He took the tome from her. "We'll need paper and pen."
"Of course. We shall have to draw up a list." She went to the desk drawer and removed several sheets of velum and set them on top the desk. Then she pushed a second armchair up to the desk. "Come to the desk, Lord Wycliff. We can both sit here."
"Shall you record the names?" he asked. "I daresay no one, not even I, can read my handwriting.
She nodded.
He sat beside her and placed the opened book on the desk. "You're right. This will take a great deal of time."
She sat and watched as he silently scanned page after page.
"Is Tyndrum in Cornwall?" he asked.
"No. It's in Scotland. Cornwall and Scotland retain many Celtic names." She moved to get up. "What's needed is a map. I'll make a list of the towns and villages of Cornwall. Will that be helpful?"
"It will, indeed."
She fetched the map and spread it over the top of the desk, then took pen and paper and began to list the names of Cornish towns. "I shall attempt to put them in alphabetical order," she said. "Bodmin. Boscastle. Cambourne. . . "
Her list was drawn up in less than ten minutes. And still he had not found a single peer who lived in any of the cities. She scooted her chair closer to him and began to peruse the information within the book. "Why do you not take the even numbered pages, and I'll take the odd?"
Without removing his
gaze from the page, he nodded and moved the open book closer to her.
They read for another half hour until they found a peer who hailed from Cornwall. "Lord Arundel!" Harry exclaimed.
Louisa took her pen and wrote down his name and seat.
Then they commenced reading again.
By the time they had finished, they had discovered there were six lords residing in Cornwall.
Next, Harry took the map and studied it to determine where each of the lords lived.
"Why do you need the map now?" she asked.
"Because we'll just have to go find the mysterious benefactor."
"We?"
"Yesterday," he said, "I told you I would help you financially if you could help me to regain this house. I am now ready to make a specific proposal to you, madam."
She cocked a thin brow.
"I am prepared to bestow on you a small home and an annual pension for as long as I live. I want you to travel to Cornwall with me and help me find the benefactor."
"But I can't possibly do that," she protested.
"You are afraid of the impropriety of traveling with a man?"
"Of course not," she countered. "But there's Ellie to think of, and. . ." She withdrew her gaze from him and stared into her lap. "Could we bring Ellie?"
"I see no reason why we couldn't."
"When would you want to go?" she asked.
"As soon as you can pack."
"But Jeremy Bentham's visit is but days away."
"Is that more important than a lifetime free of financial woes?"
She hesitated.
"Do you plan to take care of your sister indefinitely, or does she return to your father's home?"
"She will never return there," Louisa snapped, anger in her voice.
Why did she feel so strongly about keeping her sister with her? "Then, may I suggest you think of your sister's welfare. You certainly would not be able to make a home for her if you had no funds."
God but he could barely make eye contact with her. Her eyes were so soulful. There was another emotion in the depths of those incredible eyes. Was it controlled anger? Why would she be angry with him? He was merely trying to help her.
She lifted her chin defiantly.
He got to his feet. "Think on it tonight. I'll be here with my travelling coach in the morning."
Minutes later Ellie came flying through the door. She had gone out without her bonnet, and her face was flushed from the sun. "Mr. Coke has agreed to come see Mr. Bentham speak! Is that not wonderful news?"
Louisa looked at Ellie sympathetically. How could she keep her poor sister away from Jeremy Bentham's talk? He was growing old, and this might be Ellie's only chance to ever see the great man.
That night sleep eluded Louisa. She wanted the things Lord Wycliff offered, but could she really trust him? It was not, either, right to force Ellie on a trip that would not only take more than a week but would also prevent her from seeing Jeremy Bentham.
She thought about leaving Ellie behind and going to Cornwall alone with Lord Wycliff, but she did not think being alone with the man for days on end would be a good thing, especially since he had a most unsettling effect on her. Not to mention that he was a man, and they were not trustworthy.
It was almost dawn when she made her decision.
Chapter 7
By the time a bright sun streamed through her chamber window, Louisa was completely dressed in a traveling costume and sat at her desk writing a note to Ellie.
My Pet,
I am sorry to say I've been called out of town to attend to affairs dealing with Godwin's estate. I doubt if I'll be back in time to see Mr. Bentham deliver his speech. Mr. Coke will do me the goodness of escorting you to see Mr. Bentham, and you must have Cook accompany you as chaperon. It wouldn't do to tarnish your reputation. Mr. Coke, especially, would not care for that at all. All my love.
Louisa
She dried the quill, then wrapped it in a piece of old cloth and placed it in her portmanteau with the rest of her things. Perhaps she could finish her essay on labor unification during the journey that lay ahead.
She heard the wheels of a coach rattle on the street below, and she lifted the bulky bag and carried it downstairs.
Once she edged open the front door, Lord Wycliff bounded up the two steps and relieved her of the bag. She noted that he too was dressed for traveling. No silken finery today, nor his ever-present black. Today he wore fawn colored pantaloons with boots and a greatcoat.
He gave her bag to the coachman, who placed it on top the carriage before he opened the door for Louisa and his master.
"Before we leave London," Louisa said, "I beg that you impart to Mr. Coke the necessity of him escorting my sister to see Mr. Bentham."
"I have already done so."
Her brows winged together. "How did you know I didn't wish to bring her with me?"
"Because I knew you couldn't deprive her of the pleasure of seeing Mr. Bentham."
She shot him an angry glance then lifted the curtain to peer from the glass. Louisa didn't at all like the look of the skies. Clouds were gathering, and rain seemed imminent. Which would considerably slow their progress. It was cool, too. Much colder than it had been in weeks.
Lord Wycliff handed her into the coach, and she was pleased that he had provided a rug for her.
When he started to sit beside her, she protested. "I think not, my lord. There are just the two of us. We can each have our own seat for the journey."
"Ah," he said, sitting opposite of her, "unlike me, you are thinking quite clearly this morning. I fear I am a creature of habit."
"I trust you were up late last night reading one of the books I provided for you," she said mischievously.
His black eyes sparkled. "To be sure." Then he cocked his hat and slid down in his seat, giving every appearance of a man taking a nap.
She knew so very little about him. Had he really been up late reading her book, or had he spent the night gaming and womanizing as other men of his class did? From their rides at Hyde Park and from the ball at Lord Seymour's, it was clear that Lord Wycliff was well known in the ton, especially among the women. Their unabashed flirting with him had given Louisa a peculiar surge of pleasure that was not unconnected to possessiveness.
Despite that she was tired this morning, she continued to peer from the window. It had now begun to rain. The streets quickly filled with mud and water and noxious odors. She could not say that she would regret leaving behind this city with its sooty skies and stinking air and pitiable creatures at every turn.
She looked away from the sight of a small boy who could not have been more than five years old but was alone on the pavement, wearing shoes several sizes too large for his tiny feet. The poor lad didn't even have a coat to shield him from the day's cold.
She gathered the rug about her and grew morose. Her thoughts, like the skies, turned melancholy. She knew she must direct her energies even more potently toward helping children like the lad she had just seen.
Perhaps she did need to continue living in London. Once he got the information he desired, would Lord Wycliff continue taking her to events where she could meet men of power? Would he be true to his word and take his seat in Parliament in order to promulgate the beliefs she had imparted to him? Or was his interest feigned in order to gain what he wanted?
Again, Louisa realized she knew very little about the man who reposed across from her, his long muscular legs taking up a great deal of the inside of the carriage. She stared at his solid thighs and realized they were nearly as big around as her waist.
She took note of the quality of his well-tailored pantaloons and the workmanship of his boots. They were obviously very expensive but not showy like something Godwin would have worn. The difference between Lord Wycliff's class and Godwin's aspirations to emulate it was as distinct as night from day.
However, that was not to say she liked the peer. His worth had yet to be proven. Her approval would continue to be
withheld from him. After all, he was a man, and God knows none of them were trustworthy.
By the time Lord Wycliff's coachman had paid at the last London tollgate, the rain was falling onto the carriage roof likes buckets being emptied. She felt terribly sorry for the poor coachman, for in addition to the pounding rain, it had become bitterly cold.
And through it all, Lord Wycliff slept.
Louisa was discovering the rug, thick and tightly-woven wool though it was, offered little protection against the chill that seeped to her very bones. How could Lord Wycliff sleep through such discomfort? Then she remembered her elder brother, who had an unfortunate drinking problem. Frederick, after a night of overindulging, was oblivious to everything. She remembered the time Ellie had poured icy water on him in a vain effort to awaken him for Sunday services. He had merely turned over and continued snoring.
Could Lord Wycliff be sleeping one off? With such thoughts ringing in her brain and her arms tucked under the heavy rug, she finally did as Lord Wycliff. She drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When Harry awoke, Louisa was asleep. He was unable to remove his gaze from her. He had seen many beautiful women asleep beside him, but none compared to Louisa Phillips. There was an innocence about her, not just because she was fair and petite and young looking, but also because of the naivete of her hopes for reform and because of her true compassion.
Which made him even more ashamed of his deception. She was only now beginning to trust a man, and he was about to turn around and blow up the little ground he had gained for his gender.
Though Louisa Phillips professed to eschew the strictures of society, Harry was determined not to blacken her reputation.
He turned his attention to the matter of securing a room at an inn. Since the rain had seriously impeded their progress, they would probably be forced to spend several nights in posting inns. How were they to do that while sparing her reputation?
An idea came to him, but he knew the widow would not like it.