The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  Heading for the exit, Ostley only grunted.

  NO ONE, NOT EVEN HENRY’S grandmother, would have blamed him if, after the debacle with Lady Jane, he had turned his back on society once more. Henry did, after imbibing copious amounts of brandy, contemplate going up to Oxfordshire to retrieve Eliza and leaving it up to the dowager duchess to lend his illegitimate daughter respectability. But those plans didn’t survive sobriety and the clear light of day.

  The attitudes he’d encountered in Lady Jane and her relatives proved beyond a shadow of a doubt he had to do everything in his power to ensure Emily had choices beyond the unfortunate circumstances of her birth. His daughter had beauty and wealth, and Henry would be damned if he stood by while society dismissed her, sight unseen, as nothing more than a bastard.

  Of course the scene in the Duke of Wentworth’s ballroom became the scandal of the season. Enough people had overheard parts of the exchange to piece together a version that came fairly close to the truth, and the story spread around London’s salons like a wildfire. To Henry’s surprise, the court of public opinion came down firmly on his side. He was lauded as a devoted father who had sacrificed his happiness for that of his daughter. Henry could only shake his head in bemusement, but his grandmother and Lady Greyson milked the wave of sympathy for all it was worth, saying it would do wonders for Emily’s chances once she joined society.

  INTO THE MIDST OF ALL this clamoring, Charlotte Eliza Pemberton was born. Her father, Robert Pemberton, Viscount Fairly, was Henry’s oldest friend and former colleague. Since both Henry and Eliza had agreed previously to serve as godparents, they decided enough time apart had passed, and both traveled to Hampstead to attend the christening.

  Lady Greyson and Grossmama had done their fair share of hand-wringing over the meeting of the ex-lovers, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but pure joy at the prospect of seeing his friends.

  Henry made the hour-long trip with his cousin Arthur, Duke of Avon, and walked into Robert’s sunny morning salon in the ducal wake. To his relief, as well as disappointment, there was no pang of awareness, no fireworks of attraction when he spied Eliza across the room holding her new goddaughter, just the warm sense of familiarity and gladness at seeing her looking so well. Allen stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. Both cooed at the baby, and when Eliza looked up at Allen, there was no question they had feelings for each other. And for the first time since he had left Eliza, Henry knew he had done the right thing, not only for Emily, but also for himself and Eliza.

  On the chair opposite the one Eliza occupied with the baby, the proud but exhausted mother sat leaning into Robert’s side. The viscount perched on the armrest, his arm wrapped around his wife and his other hand caressing her hand, which rested on his thigh. The happiness radiating from them stopped Henry in his tracks, and another thing became abundantly clear: He couldn’t just marry some woman because she came from the right family. When he married he wanted it to lead to something approximating the blissful contentment he saw before him. He wanted it for himself, but also for his future wife and for Emily; and for that to happen, his heart would have to be involved.

  Glad to have some clarity at last, Henry abandoned his observation post. The first to spot him was Robert, whose hand Henry shook vigorously before he drew him into a half embrace. “Congratulations, my friend! A healthy baby girl, you’re a lucky man. How is Stephanie?”

  Robert beamed. “Thank you. Stephanie is tired, but well. She feeds the babe herself, so sleep is a rare commodity at present.”

  Robert led Henry to the group around the baby, where Henry greeted Eliza with a smile. “Hello, my dear! How are you?”

  As she returned his smile, he could tell from her eyes that she felt as pain-free as he did.

  “I’m well. Enjoying the country air and Allen’s company. How are you?”

  Henry held her hand between both of his. “Good. I still haven’t found a bride, but I’m hopeful.”

  Allen clapped Henry’s shoulder in greeting. “We heard about the debacle with Lady Jane Castleright. I’m sorry, old man.”

  A sigh escaped Henry as he let go of Eliza’s hand. It was comforting to discuss these events with his friends. “I’m glad I discovered her true nature before it was too late. I’m disappointed because I liked her, but at the same time I’m immensely relieved I don’t have to settle for a woman I don’t love.”

  Eliza smiled her approval. “You deserve love, Henry. You should hold out for it. There’s time; you will find the right woman. I’m sure of it.”

  At that instant, some of Robert’s political associates were announced, putting a period to the intimacy of the moment. Robert moved forward to greet his guests, and Eliza returned her attention to the newborn. But Henry took the opportunity to take Allen’s elbow and steer him toward the window seat at the other side of the room.

  He had worried about Allen a great deal in the past few months. When he had taken him off the ship in Dover, Allen had been a mere shadow of his former self. Then Henry had handed over the watch over Allen, and the investigation into the Russian menace, so he could honor his separation from Eliza, who had been assigned to help Allen recuperate. Not watching over his friend himself had been hard, but it seemed all had worked out well. Allen walked steadily, his dark hair and his skin looked healthy again, and even his green eyes had regained some of their old sparkle.

  “You look much restored, Allen! And you walk rather well too.”

  Grinning his boyish grin, Allen nodded to where Eliza conversed with Stephanie. “Eliza deserves most of the credit for that. She even worked with the cobbler in the village to make a boot to help me balance. She nursed me when I needed nursing, kept the darkness at bay when I was ready to drown in it, and pushed me when I needed pushing. And now she is teaching me to love life again. She is truly remarkable.”

  It wasn’t so much what Allen said, but the tone of his voice and the warm light in his eyes as he looked at Eliza.

  “I do believe you are falling in love, my friend.”

  Allen smiled ruefully. “Henry, I fell in love with Eliza the first time I met her in your breakfast room, more than three years ago. But back then you needed her, and I was not done chasing adventures, so I left as soon as I knew both of you were safe and you no longer had need of me.”

  Henry was a little taken aback by his friend’s confession, but before he could say anything, Allen stopped him with a shake of his head and continued. “As I said, you needed her back then. And when I most needed her, you sent her to me. I will be forever grateful for that, but I am no longer content with a nursemaid, so I am giving you fair warning: I will do everything in my power to make Eliza love me back, and when she does, she will be mine forever.”

  Henry really looked at Allen then, noting how much he had grown up in the last few years. “I think you are well on your way to achieving your goal. I saw how she looked at you earlier. I wish you every happiness; you both deserve it.”

  Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by Robert announcing it was time to make their way to the chapel. The two friends walked out side by side and caught up with Eliza carrying the babe. They flanked her, steadying her from both sides as she walked down the front steps of the mansion. She smiled at them both, but asked Henry, “What will you do about your search for a bride?”

  Taking his first good look at his new goddaughter just as she opened her eyes and blinked into the bright summer’s day, Henry stroked a gentle finger down her rosy cheek and smiled. “The Old Man had a report from Brighton warranting further investigation, so I might as well see what the local hostesses have to offer.”

  Allen looked eager at the idea of a mission. “Well, let us know if you need any assistance. I’m recovered and quite frankly could stand a little excitement.”

  Nodding, Henry smiled at Allen’s use of “us.” He took the babe out of Eliza’s arms and settled her on his shoulder. “You are quite perfect indeed, Miss Charlotte! You are number
thirteen, you know. And that’s a lucky number, in Italy at least.”

  Allen chuckled. “Seriously, Henry? You let twelve of your men talk you into godfathering their children? I suppose you’re sending them all to school.”

  Allen spoke in jest, but that was exactly what Henry did for his godchildren.

  Henry chuckled as they made their way to the chapel. “Yes, and if they show any aptitude, I even send them to university!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE OLD MAN’S REPORT CONCERNED ANOTHER possible hellfire club. This one was said to be based on or around the Earl of Warthon’s estates near Brighton. Henry had investigated a number of these organizations after Lord Astor’s death in his Hampstead dungeon three years ago. He had taken a ring depicting two snakes hissing at each other off the dead man’s hand. Later, Emily’s mother, Cecilia Ostley, had reported more men had watched the horrific spectacle from a secret room, leading him to believe they were involved in some kind of secret society. He had first concentrated on the underground clubs and societies in London and Oxford, but had found nothing worse than scathing political satire and a few bacchanalian orgies.

  Henry then scoured the best libraries in the country and found the image of the two hissing snakes on a number of ancient heraldic designs, including his own family’s first English crest. But it wasn’t until he spent some time in the library on his own ancestral estate in Lincolnshire that he found any mention of the snakes and what they might stand for.

  Apparently, the snakes represented a group of twelve untitled, landless knights who had been fiercely loyal to William the Conqueror. Once crowned king, William had rewarded them for their services on and off the battlefield with large estates formerly owned by vanquished Saxon lords. Even after the land had been conquered and they had settled upon it, they had organized yearly meetings, which they later encouraged their sons to attend.

  All this Henry learned from documents pertaining to his family history, but it was sheer luck and a gust of wind that brought him the one clue connecting the ancient knights to Astor and his dungeon.

  In a strongbox, inside a long-forgotten alcove behind a threadbare wall hanging, Henry found a handwritten account of a meeting of a group calling themselves the Knights of the Snake Pit. The document wasn’t dated, but had once been held together by a seal showing the two hissing snakes. It stated the brethren had been called together to protect their interests in the kingdom and to discuss undermining any monarch on the English throne who didn’t favor them and their goals. They proposed to attract new members by offering unique sexual displays. Those same displays would also serve to ensure the members’ silence and loyalty, since their involvement would spell social ruin if it were known.

  Henry couldn’t find a list of the names of the twelve knights, but he made note of the families whose coat of arms had once included the hissing snakes. Out of the seven crests he found, only his family and that of the Duke of Elridge survived, which left five more families, as well as the ones recruited later. Henry had no doubt the Snake Pit related back to the Norman knights. Furthermore, there was little doubt that the traitor Lord Astor, the Duke of Elridge’s third son, had also been a member, and that the dungeon he had died in was used for unique sexual displays. But Henry couldn’t prove the connection, so he kept looking and waiting.

  The old Earl of Warthon was rather reclusive by all accounts. Henry remembered his grandmother describing him once as a “cantankerous old goat” who sported two left feet on the dance floor. However, he was one of Elridge’s political allies in the House of Lords, had blasted Mad King George repeatedly for losing the American colonies, and had been rather vocal about his disdain for the new king during his Regency. But what was most interesting about this was the sexual angle of the report. Could Warthon be hiding a secret as dark as Astor’s?

  ALL THIS PLAYED THROUGH HENRY’S mind as he descended the South Downs, entering the city of Brighton just in time to watch a pale orange sun set into the silvery sea while the lavender sky turned indigo behind him. He owned an estate not seven miles to the east, but had opted to take rooms in town so he could attend the evening’s entertainments and investigate the Earl of Warthon’s estate.

  Pulling up to the Waterfront Hotel in his curricle, Henry handed the reins to Roberts, and his overnight bag to one of the pages who’d come bounding down the front steps. At the hotel desk he found a distinguished-looking clerk presiding over the book. Henry always wondered where hotels, the world over, found staff who put their most regal guests’ manners, bearing, and looks to shame.

  Eyebrows rose in haughty inquiry. “May I help you, sir?” The man had the politely phrased insult down to a fine art.

  Fighting the need to applaud, Henry granted the supercilious clerk his warmest smile and slipped a crisp ten-pound note from his billfold into the guest book. The clerk retrieved it without a blink.

  “I am Sir Henry March. I anticipate being here for several weeks and would appreciate it if any mail arriving for me would be brought to my rooms directly.”

  The man’s whole demeanor warmed miraculously. It was not an unreasonable request and he was being paid extra for it. “Of course, Sir Henry, I shall assign one of the boys to the task. You are in the Royal Suite on the third floor. Your man arrived yesterday and assured us you would appreciate the ocean views and not mind the stairs.”

  Henry smiled his thanks. “He is quite right, of course. I presume he is awaiting me there.” He raised an expectant brow.

  “Indeed, sir. You take the stairs to the third floor and turn left. The Royal Suite is to your left, right at the end.”

  That was precisely the reason William had chosen it. All the windows would face out to the water, and no one standing on the esplanade or the beach would be able to see into a third-story window. Since the suite was at the end of the corridor, he would have only one neighbor who could possibly overhear anything. Furthermore, Henry felt confident he would find a service staircase at the end of said corridor, leading to a door into the alleyway next to the hotel. Over the years, William had secured him many places to rest his weary head in comfort and safety, always with strategically advantageous entry and exit points.

  Henry made his way to his suite and found William had opened the tall windows to let in the cool ocean breeze. In the bedroom, hot water for washing awaited him, and William presented him with a snifter of brandy.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted to do for dinner, sir. They serve a nice spread downstairs in the dining room, but I can bring you up a tray, if you like.”

  Waving a dismissive hand, Henry indicated the brandy. “Dinner can wait. Pour yourself one, sit, and tell me what you have found out so far.”

  William grinned and helped himself, effortlessly switching gears from proper manservant to trusted friend and partner, and returned to his native cockney in the process. “Well, I ’ad the pleasure of makin’ the acquaintance of the maid accusin’ the old earl over me pint last night. She ain’t shy about talkin’ about ’er so-called ordeal, but after the second pint she started ’avin’ trouble keepin’ her facts straight, and the locals just laughed at ’er. Lots of people around ’ere work for the earl and agree he’s a surly old bastard, but they say she’s makin’ it up, at least the stuff about the gatherin’s.”

  Henry swished his brandy in his glass. William hadn’t totally dismissed the story, even if the locals had, so he prompted, “What exactly is this maid saying?”

  Taking a healthy swig of his brandy, William settled into the depth of the armchair opposite Henry’s. “Mary, that’s ’er name, says the earl’s a horny old goat and ’e likes to watch, especially rough stuff.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow and sat up a little straighter. “How rough?”

  “She was told to pretend she was bein’ raped. She also says the earl uses the ruins of the old abbey on the castle grounds and invites some of ’is friends for gatherin’s there. She’s never been to one, though. She was asked to ’ave at it with
one of the footmen in the earl’s private sitting room. She did it a few times, but then ’ad a falling-out with the footman, and when she mouthed off about it all, she was dismissed.”

  Henry drained his glass and relaxed back into his chair. “I’ll see whether I can find something in the abandoned abbey, but I’m not sure we’ll have anything there. She agreed to the act, so it sounds like sour grapes to me.”

  William nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I thought. But then I ’eard whispers about the earl’s grandson. He’s so scary some of the local whores won’t go with ’im—likes to tie ’em up and take ’is sweet time apparently. When I asked if he ’urt them, they said no, but I also ’eard he offered two local girls employment up in London, and nobody’s ’eard from them since. I’ll go out later on and find out who those two are, and then tomorrow I’ll see about visitin’ their families.”

  Henry was pleased with William’s progress so far. “Sounds like a plan to me. Where do I find Mary, if I decide to ask her some more questions?”

  “The Red Lion. She tends bar there and lives in. I ’eard whisper she’ll take ya upstairs if she takes a shine to ya.”

  Henry grinned—apparently William thought a quick romp might do him good after recent events in London. “She is attractive then?”

  “I’d say so. She’s got blond curly hair and lively green eyes. Nice tits, too. But ’er mouth could well get ’er into trouble.”

  Henry weighed that for a moment, then nodded. “Duly noted. I won’t ask her any pointed questions till we are somewhere private.” He rose and deposited his glass on the sideboard. “But first I’ll change and go eat my dinner in the dining room. You never know what gossip the local gentry has to impart.”

  AS IT TURNED OUT, THERE was no local gentry present in the dining room to impart any gossip, but Henry ran into Lady Kistel, one of his grandmother’s old friends. She was just as sprightly, opinionated, and fashionable as Grossmama, but wore her snowy white hair in a style reminiscent of the powdered coiffures of the preceding century. She immediately offered to procure invites to all the local entertainments for Henry, making him suspect she may have had prior notice of his arrival. Not that he minded; he liked the old lady a great deal.