by Jo Beverley
Lead-footed Ellie grasped the handle of the wooden bucket of water and stumped off with a rag.
“No one’s been to the front door yet this morning?” Darien said.
“No, milord. We’re just breakfasting. Do you want your breakfast now?”
He ignored that. “Has this happened before?”
More shifty looks. He simply waited. He’d dealt with far worse rascals than these in the army.
“At first,” Mrs. Prussock said. “In the days after Mr. Marcus did what he did. Or so I’ve heard.”
He frowned. “You weren’t here then?”
“No, milord. We was hired as caretakers when your father died, milord.”
He’d assumed they’d been here longer, but of course not. His father, loose screw though he’d been, would have needed better service than this.
“Let me know if anything like this happens again,” he commanded. “And yes, breakfast now, please.”
He left wondering what it would be like to have a normal household. As pleasant as having a normal family and a normal life, he assumed. And as likely.
The Prussocks had taken on the roles of butler, cook/housekeeper, and maid, but none were trained for their part. Finding better servants to work for a Cave would be difficult, however, so he was thankful for inadequate mercies. They kept the house reasonably clean and tidy and provided plain but edible food, which was all he needed.
He’d made one addition—a valet, necessary to take care of his new wardrobe, which he considered his armor in this battle. Lovegrove was slender, finicky, and skilled. He was also drunk most of the time, but beggars can’t be choosers.
As he waited for his breakfast, Darien paced, considering the blood. It had to be a response to his invasion of the inner circles of society, but who would do such a thing or order it done? The Wilmott family, who still had their town house on the opposite side of Hanover Square?
He hadn’t known they still spent the season there. He’d assumed they’d shun the place where their daughter came to a violent end in the green and pleasant central gardens. His presence here could be painful, but the empty house was no easier to bear, surely.
Mrs. Prussock bustled in and laid out fried eggs, ham, bread, and coffee. As he ate, Darien couldn’t escape thoughts of that crime. He’d been in Spain when Marcus had murdered sixteen-year-old Mary Wilmott, but the news had traveled fast. Darien had been shocked, but not surprised. Marcus had been strange all his life, but untrammeled debauchery had given him the pox at a young age, and it had gone to his brain.
He probably should have been locked up years before the crime, but their father had had the sort of aristocratic arrogance that would admit no fault. No one even knew why Marcus had seized Mary Wilmott, cut her throat and mutilated her, and left her corpse in open view.
No one knew what the young lady had been up to in the gardens at dusk, but that was a question no one asked about the girl who’d come to be known as “Sweet Mary Wilmott,” subject of poem and ballad.
Marcus had been easy enough to arrest. He’d left bloody footsteps all the way back to Cave House and been found there, gnawing on one of his bedposts.
It certainly wasn’t an event easily forgotten, but Darien hadn’t expected this strong a reaction six years after the crime, five years since Marcus’s death.
But Mary Wilmott had been one of the ton’s own. They did not easily forget or forgive.
But nor did he.
He’d rise even earlier in the future and make sure any further mischief was cleaned away before people were up to see it.
Chapter 8
Exhaustion meant Thea didn’t lie awake fretting, but when she woke, all her problems rushed back. Her mother, the Cave, the kiss, her promise. Twist her conscience as she might, she couldn’t deny that she had made a promise.
Not Rapunzel, she suddenly realized. Rumpelstilt-skin.
The young girl’s father had boasted that she could spin straw into gold in order to save his life. When she’d been locked away and commanded to do so, her tears of despair had brought a wizened creature who said he would spin straw into gold for her if she promised him her firstborn child. In desperation, the girl agreed and the gold appeared. The king had been so pleased, he married her, and in due course her first child was born.
Had she forgotten, or thought a queen was safe? The little old man returned to claim the baby. When she wept and begged, he granted her three days in which to guess his name. If she failed, he would take the child.
The queen tried every name she could imagine, but couldn’t guess the right one. But then one day she heard him singing gleefully about his name, and thus she was saved.
All in all, Thea thought, sitting up in bed, chin on her knees, it was a foolish story, but the lesson was clear—be careful what you promise, because you might have to pay your debts.
Now she had Mara’s warning to add to her burdens. Antagonism. That was the word Mara had used, and it resonated with Thea’s experience. She’d sensed antagonism in Lord Darien, directed against her and against Dare. But why? Dare was too good-natured to stir such strong feelings, especially back in his youth. Thea’s memories of her adored older brother were all laughter and generous high spirits.
Lurking in bed wouldn’t solve anything, so Thea climbed out and rang for Harriet, but then she paused, recollecting something that man had said last night. Something sarcastic about how everyone who knew Dare must love him.
But it was true.
There was a mystery here, but if there’d been an incident at school, that meant Harrow, and Harrow meant the Company of Rogues. It was almost noon. By the time she’d dressed and breakfasted, it wouldn’t be too early for a ridiculously named morning call. She’d visit Nicholas and Eleanor Delaney, for Nicholas was the leader of the Rogues.
Harriet arrived with washing water and breakfast, and Thea asked about the green dress.
“I did my best, milady, but some stains are right in the lace. I did wonder about putting a new panel in the front.”
“A good idea. We’ll see if the mantua maker has more of the fabric.”
May all the problems from last night be as easily solved. Thea wrote a quick note to Eleanor Delaney, sent Harriet to give it to a footman, and then sat to her breakfast.
By the time she was dressed, a reply had come. Eleanor would be pleased to receive her. Thea summoned the town carriage and was soon on her way, Harriet on the opposite seat.
Though Dare had been a member of the Company of Rogues and Thea had enjoyed plenty of stories about them, she hadn’t met many before last night. Simon St. Bride, Mara’s brother, had been Dare’s particular friend and had visited Long Chart on numerous occasions. He, too, was in Town, but he’d been in Canada for years and she didn’t know him well enough to be comfortable.
Nicholas Delaney, however, had a house within riding distance of Long Chart. During Dare’s recovery, he’d visited often, and Thea could almost count him as a friend. Almost, because he was an unusual, often perplexing person. She’d seen less of Eleanor, for Eleanor had been pregnant for most of last year, but Thea felt comfortable enough with her to discuss this matter.
Thea wasn’t surprised when Nicholas answered the door himself in his shirtsleeves—he was notoriously informal, despite being the brother of an earl.
“Thea,” he said, with all appearance of delight, but added, “You’ll have to excuse me. We’re in the midst of preparations to return to Somerset. I’ll take you up to Eleanor.”
Thea sent Harriet to the servants’ quarters and followed Nicholas, but she was startled to be taken to their bedroom. Eleanor greeted her warmly, but she was sitting in a rocking chair feeding her baby beneath a large silk shawl. The occasional slurping noises were disconcerting.
Eleanor sent her maid off for tea. “I do apologize. But when a baby needs to be fed it is most insistent about it.”
“I suppose so,” Thea said, taking a chair, not knowing where to look. Eleanor matched her hus
band in being simply dressed. Her long auburn hair was still loose, tied back only with a ribbon.
“You must all be very happy with last night’s success,” Eleanor said, as if nothing was unusual.
“Yes, of course, though we won’t completely relax until we hear Dare has won the battle.”
“He will this time. Especially with Mara by his side.”
“I pray so.”
That wasn’t what Thea wanted to talk about, but in this situation she was tongue-tied.
Eleanor drew her baby out from beneath the shawl and put him to her shoulder, rubbing his back. Thea couldn’t help but smile.
“He looks so stuffed and content.”
“Like a drinker rolling home from the tavern, Nicholas says. Cross-eyed and burping.” Still rubbing the limp baby’s back, Eleanor asked, “Did you have some particular reason for calling, Thea?”
Both Delaneys tended to directness.
Thea plunged into her concern. “It’s about Lord Darien. Before Mara left this morning, she shared some concerns. He did Dare a kindness, but she sensed antagonism between the two men, and Dare mentioned some incident at school. She wondered about his motives.”
“Ah.” Eleanor brought the baby down into her arms. He was sound asleep. “Nicholas can tell that tale better than I. Would you ring the bell, please?”
Thea did so and a nursemaid appeared almost immediately, clearly to take the baby. Eleanor kissed him and passed him over. “And ask Mr. Delaney to join us, please.”
The tea arrived before he did and Eleanor moved to the sofa and poured.
“Do you know Viscount Darien?” Thea asked as she took her cup and saucer. She badly wanted other impressions.
“Not at all. He’s been in the army until recently, I gather, and out of sight since selling out.”
“The family reputation is awful.”
“Yes, but mine isn’t sterling. My brother is deplorable, but thankfully abroad.”
Thea sipped. Had she landed among Darien’s allies? Had he been a Rogue? No. She might not know them all, but she knew their names, and he’d denied it himself. Sharply.
Nicholas Delaney came in, looking curious.
“Thea’s wondering about the ill feeling between Darien and Dare,” Eleanor told him.
“Ah. Ironic that their names are now so similar when their natures are so different.” He took a cup of tea and sat. “May I ask why, Thea?”
“Mara St. Bride shared some concerns and warned me to be careful.”
He took a biscuit off the plate. “She’s very astute. All the St. Brides are, despite their famous blissful nature. Bliss requires intelligent wariness. Yes, there was a problem, but it was a long time ago.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He thought about it, and then said, “Horatio Cave arrived at Harrow with every handicap possible except being a milksop. That, he certainly was not. But he was rough in manners and poorly schooled. I doubt he’d ever had friends of his own age and station, and quite simply, he didn’t fit in. Add to that his natural reaction to every affront was to fight, tooth and claw.”
“Poor boy,” Eleanor said.
Thea sipped tea. The poor boy was a man now, clearly over any such problems.
“He did a great deal of damage?” Thea asked.
“Mostly to himself. Physically, he was very different to the man you see now. He’s still not a giant, but back then he could best be described as a runt—short and scrawny. Some thought him easy pickings, but they soon realized their error. He’d learned to fight viciously. Considering his family, one can guess why.”
No pity.
“What happened between him and Dare?” Thea demanded. “I need to know.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, but didn’t balk. “Cave picked a fight with Dare. Needless to say, Dare had done nothing to offend him, but perhaps Cave imagined a slight, or perhaps he chose Dare to represent the whole hated world. By the time they were pulled apart, Dare was well bloodied and Cave had barely a scratch. But then, as you know, Dare never had a fighter’s heart.”
“That’s why we were all concerned by his desire to fight Napoleon.”
“Wellington was inspired to give him a job that mostly required riding. He was always a blistering, fearless rider.”
“At your suggestion,” Eleanor said, startling Thea.
Nicholas brushed it aside. “Via Con, via Hawkinville. Anyway, Dare always turned away anger with a laugh or a joke, and he did so this time. He said, ‘Cave canem.’ He meant no ill by it, of course, but other boys took it up. Horatio Cave became Canem Cave, often accompanied by yapping sounds or silly jokes. And then, inevitably, it was translated into English. When someone called him Dog he ripped into such a ferocious fight he broke Derby Trigwell’s arm and was expelled.”
No pity.
“How sad,” Eleanor said.
“For the boy with the broken arm?” Thea asked pointedly.
“For both of them,” Eleanor replied. “Didn’t you do anything, Nicholas?”
It would seem a strange thing to say except that Thea had grown up with stories of Nicholas Delaney.
“He would have been an ideal candidate for the Rogues, yes,” he said, “but we’d agreed twelve was it. Magic number and all that. And he was a year younger. Looking back, I’m sure there were things we could have done to help, but we were schoolboys and mostly absorbed with our own lives. I confess, once poor Dog Cave left school I never gave him a thought.”
No pity!
“How it must have festered,” Eleanor said. “I remember one school cruelty to this day, and if I met Fanny Millburton I would be hard-pressed to be polite.”
“So would you go out of your way to do Fanny Millburton a favor?” Thea asked.
Eleanor looked at her. “I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure.”
“What do you suspect, Thea?” Nicholas demanded.
Thea hovered on the brink of telling him everything, but speaking of her promise would make it more real and she knew now that she must find a way of wriggling off the poisoned hook. The man might have suffered unkindness, but had clearly been wild and vicious from the cradle.
“My parents are very grateful to Lord Darien and I suspect that was his aim. Mara’s warning made me wonder if he means us some harm, and now you tell me he has reason.”
“A very convoluted revenge,” he pointed out. “Simpler, surely, to let Dare stew in scandal.”
Thea considered that. “But that way his situation wouldn’t be changed. Lord Darien’s, I mean. Last night, the ton showed clearly that they were not willing to accept a Cave in their midst. Perhaps he seeks to change that. My family’s support would be powerful.”
“The ton at its vicious worst can be worse than any mob,” Nicholas agreed. “If he seeks your family’s support to overcome that, what harm in it?”
“Once he’s gained his end, he might intend some subtle malice.”
Nicholas’s brows rose. “Been reading Minerva novels, Thea?”
“People do plan and execute evil,” she protested.
He instantly sobered. “I apologize. Indeed they do. Eleanor, I fear we’re going to have to stay in Town a little longer.”
Eleanor sighed, but said, “Yes. You failed to help Dog Cave a decade ago, so now you must make reparation.”
“You know me too well.”
“Of course, and I agree, except that it’s really Dare’s job. He harmed him. Without malice, that goes without saying, but he did.”
“Dare won’t be up to it for some weeks, so I and the others must hold the fort.”
“And do what?” Thea asked.
“Put right the wrong. If Darien wants to be accepted in society, we’ll make it so.”
Just like that. Thea put her cup and saucer on the table because her hands were trembling with relief. She’d come here for information, but now it seemed she was saved. With the Rogues on his side, including the honorary Rogues like the Duke of St. Ra
ven, plus some assistance from her family, Lord Darien could have no need of a mock betrothal.
What’s more, she now had a threat to hang over his head. Pester her and she would tell all, turning all these allies into enemies.
“I gather he’s still known as Canem Cave today,” Eleanor said to her husband. “Why, if that was the problem?”
“Perhaps he was clever enough to turn it to his advantage.”
“Is he clever?”
“Really good officers generally are, and his military reputation is remarkable. So, what’s our plan?” He seemed mainly to be consulting the wallpaper. “Darien must have friends from the army, but many will be like him, away from England until recently. We need people who carry weight in the ton.”
“That absolves me of duties,” Eleanor said.
“Try to hide your glee, my love.” Nicholas took Eleanor’s hand, perhaps without even realizing it. Thea was a little embarrassed by the physical connection between the couple.
“Good thing the Rogues are already here to support Dare,” he carried on. “They’ll have to stay a while. The Members of Parliament are stuck anyway as long as the debates go on. We have a lot of firepower, but even so, we can’t shove Darien down throats by force. We need to seduce the ladies and convert the men.”
“I gather he’s handsome,” Eleanor said.
“Oh, do you?” Nicholas teased.
“In a threatening sort of way.”
“Often the most dangerous with you foolish women….”
In their teasing they were taking something for granted. “But what if he is a true Cave?” Thea asked. “What if he’s evil? What if he plans some vile attack on Dare and my family because of a petty incident over ten years gone?”
Nicholas turned to look at her. “Then,” he said, as if discussing the weather, “we destroy him.”
Thea left the house relieved of some of her burdens, but wondering what force she had unleashed. Against all her will, the story of schoolboy torment had stirred pity for that misfit boy.
She’d never gone to school, and Dare’s stories of Harrow had made it seem like fun. She’d heard enough different versions, however, to know that a boy’s school could be hell. Sometimes the boys even rose in armed rebellion against their cruel oppressors. That was why Nicholas Delaney had formed the Company of Rogues.