by Joyce Alec
Lord Warwick silenced Thomas, slashing the air with his hand. “I know what you are to suggest, and I should never permit myself to do so. No matter what I might feel for the lady, I will never permit myself to steal a lady from her husband, no matter what her husband might be doing. It is a standard I fully intend to keep, regardless of what you yourself might think.”
Thinking silently to himself that Lord Warwick was a gentleman of better character than he himself might ever be, Thomas let out a long breath. “Then perhaps I should permit you to join me at White’s,” he said ruefully. “There, at least, we will be able to drown our sorrows together.”
Lord Warwick looked at him in surprise. “And what sorrows do you speak of?”
“Sorrows that I am no longer as I once was,” Thomas replied cryptically. “And that this Season shall not be all that I had hoped.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I have even had news from an old acquaintance stating that he will return to London and that, for various reasons, has brought my spirits all the lower.”
For a moment, he thought that Lord Warwick would ask him what he meant by such a remark, only for his friend to sigh, shrug, and nod. “Then shall we depart?” he asked as Thomas chuckled. “For the sooner we reach there, the happier and more contented I shall be.”
“As shall I,” Thomas replied, his spirits lifting just a little. “Come then, let us go.”
The evening at White’s went just as Thomas had expected, if not a little better. There was liquor aplenty, with neither he nor Lord Warwick showing any restraint whatsoever. The other gentlemen present slowly began to join them, until it was a very merry company indeed that finally decided to depart from White’s and make their way to their respective homes.
Thomas’ vision was blurred as he attempted to walk toward a waiting hackney. He could hear Lord Warwick laughing loudly with some other gentlemen and, raising his voice, shouted a good night to them all.
“Good night, Farrington,” Lord Warwick cried back, his voice echoing down the quiet London street. “Until the morrow.”
“Until the morrow,” Thomas replied, chuckling to himself as he drew near the hackney.
Unfortunately, it moved off at speed just as he was about to fling open the door, leaving him swaying on the pavement and wondering what else he was to do.
However, it seemed that all was not lost. With the voices of the other gentlemen fading away as they each climbed into their carriages or chose to walk a little further, Thomas let out a breath of relief as another moved toward him. In the dim light, he did not notice that it was not, in fact, a hackney. When the door swung open silently, he climbed inside at once, gripping the sides of the door hard so that he would not fall backwards.
Once inside, however, and with the door closed tightly, Thomas quickly realized that this was not, in fact, a hackney. There was too much space, too much comfort.
Besides which, he realized, his brows burrowing into a frown, the driver had not asked him where he was to go and yet, as far as he was aware, the carriage was now moving.
“I do not understand,” he muttered to himself, only to suddenly become aware of something—or someone—moving in the corner of the carriage. Letting out a cry, he did not see the object that came toward him and only felt a momentary flash of pain before everything faded away and his head fell forward in unconsciousness.
It took a few moments for Thomas to realize that the groaning sound that was, at present, sending a shiver all through him was coming from his own lips. Blinking rapidly, he tried to see where he was but realized that there was nothing in his vision at all. Terrified for a moment that he had lost his sight entirely, Thomas began to panic and raised his hands to his eyes so that he might rub them, only to realize that he was lying flat on what appeared to be something very soft indeed.
A bed?
Shaking his head to himself as though to clear his vision, Thomas pushed himself up into a sitting position. Pain swamped him, his head screaming in agony and making him want to lie down again, but he forced himself to remain as he was, squeezing his eyes closed until the pain began to fade away.
“Where am I?”
He did not like that his voice was rather weak and found himself shuddering at the way it seemed to echo into the dark emptiness that surrounded him. He certainly was not in his home and had not been returned there by the supposed hackney he had climbed into. Whatever had happened? And why was he here, wherever it was?
Swinging his legs around, Thomas reached out blindly, jerking back the moment his fingers touched something cold. It took him a moment to realize that he had only found a candle, moving his hand back slowly in the darkness so that he might find it again.
Clunk.
Cursing aloud, Thomas rose to his feet gingerly, aware of the pain in his head and the weakness in his limbs. Bending low, he felt around carefully for the candle, almost crying aloud with joy when he found it.
Then came the matter of lighting it.
Reaching out, Thomas found the small table next to the bed. It was, he considered, almost as though someone wished for him to find the matches, wanted him to light the candle, for they were situated right next to where the candle had been. Holding his breath for a moment, he lit the candle carefully, the dim light bringing him a great deal of relief. Holding it up, he began to move forward through the room, rather astonished to note that it was a very fine room indeed. There were other candles on the mantlepiece and he lit them all one at a time until, finally, he had enough light to see by.
A fireplace, he noted, wondering if a maid would be required to come and light it for him in the morning, even though it was the height of summer. And a chest of drawers, a dressing table, a wardrobe, a bed, a few chairs and small tables...everything that a lady or a gentleman might need.
Thomas let out his breath slowly, trying not to allow panic to reach into his mind. He had to keep calm and make certain that he was not about to lose himself in terror. Whoever had taken him here clearly had a decent amount of wealth and intended, for the time being at least, to look after him well. A growl came from his stomach but he ignored it, continuing to look around the room. His eyes widened as he saw a small tray of refreshments waiting for him, as though the person responsible had thought of his every need. Shaking his head, Thomas looked all about him again and saw the windows covered with heavy drapes. Making his way toward the first one, he pulled the drapes back and discovered shutters behind them. Little wonder that the room had been without any source of light. Even moonlight might have shone through the drapes had they been without the shutters behind them.
Setting down the candle carefully, Thomas grasped both the shutters and pulled them back.
His breath left his body, his strength fading from him. Bright sunlight shone through the window, filling the whole room with light. It was, it appeared, the next day and not the middle of the night, as he had believed. Without thinking, he rubbed the back of his head and felt pain shooting through it. Peering through the window, he tried to make out whereabouts in London he could be, only to realize that the window looked out upon some gardens. A large tree blocked most of his view and he could not make out anything of significance. Confusion ran through him, sending another stab of pain through his head. Closing his eyes tightly, Thomas fought the dread that threatened to haul him into its dark depths, taking long, deep breaths so that he might not give in. He had no knowledge as to why he was here or what he was expected to do. Was this some sort of punishment for a failing on his part? After all, he had made many errors when it came to propriety and the like, but he had never once considered that there would be any sort of retribution. Was this some sort of retribution brought about by an angry father?
Unless….
Turning slowly, Thomas looked at the heavy wooden door that would lead him from his room. He had not yet attempted the door and, although he felt rather foolish for doing so, he strode across the room and turned the door handle.
It did not open.
/> “So I am a prisoner, then,” he muttered to himself, leaning heavily against the door. “One who shall never escape, it seems, unless at the whim of my captor.”
It was a most discomfiting situation and one that Thomas had never faced before in his life. What he was to do next, he had very little idea and thus, he found himself mired in apprehension and alarm. Sitting down heavily in the chair by the empty grate, he picked at some of the waiting biscuits and cakes but found that they tasted like ash in his mouth. It felt as though the room was closing in on him, air burning in his lungs as he dropped his head in his hands.
Just what was to become of him?
7
Josephine drew in a steadying breath and leaned against the door frame. Last night had gone just as she had planned, although she had been forced to pay handsomely for it. Her staff had, of course, done as she had asked without question, but Josephine had made certain to only involve those whose loyalty she could trust without question. They had been given extra coin in their wages as well as a warning that, should they speak of this to anyone, their employment would come to an end and they would receive no references but instead, only a bad report.
It had not been in Josephine’s nature to threaten anyone in such a manner but, knowing that it was the only way to gain the truth from Lord Farrington, she had steeled herself and done all that was required without hesitation. And now she found herself in the very situation she had planned but, instead of being pleased, confident, or sure of herself, Josephine felt nothing but anxiety and a deep, unsettling worry as to what she was to do next.
If she revealed herself as Lady Rutherford, then Lord Farrington, she was certain, would not speak a word to her and, in time, she would have to release him from her home. However, if she pretended to be another, if she spoke to him with vagueness and ambiguity, she might well be able to have him speak of what he knew without her prompting.
The only difficulty was, however, that she was rather uncertain as to what questions she ought to ask or precisely how she was to go about such a thing. The plan had been well formed initially, but now that she had Lord Farrington locked in the guest bedchamber of her home, Josephine was struggling to make a decision on what she ought to do next.
“My lady?”
The butler came into view and Josephine looked up from where she stood, all too aware that it was rather odd for her to be found leaning against the doorframe of the drawing room.
“Yes?” she asked, pushing herself up to a proper standing position and leaning away from the door. “Is something wrong?”
The butler inclined his head. “No, my lady,” he said quietly. “The staff have been informed that you have a very particular guest residing with you at present but that, for the moment, only a selected group are to serve them.”
Josephine nodded, glad that her request had been carried out. “And you explained that the guest was unwell and required special care?” she asked, knowing that such lies would have been convincing enough for her staff.
Again, the butler inclined his head. “But of course, my lady.”
“Very good.” She took in another long breath and let it out slowly, glad that she had no need to fear that Lord Farrington might escape by way of convincing a wide-eyed maid to set him free. “Then I suppose it is time for me to speak to our guest.”
The butler looked up. “That is what I was coming to inform you about, my lady. It appears that your guest is awake and has been wandering around the room for some time.”
A knot of tension began to tie itself in Josephine’s stomach. “I see.”
“Should you wish me to attend with you, then I would be only too glad to do so,” the butler continued, but Josephine shook her head.
“If you could have a tea tray brought to the room, I will be the one to take it in,” she said slowly. “The two footmen are by the door still, I presume?”
“They are, my lady,” the butler replied, referring to the two footmen who now stood waiting outside Lord Farrington’s room, making certain that he could not leave. “They are ready to accompany you into the room also, if that is what you require.”
Feeling a little nervous, Josephine set her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Have the tea tray brought,” she instructed, beginning to walk away. “I will prepare myself and be above shortly.”
Making her way to her own bedchamber, Josephine struggled with her own anxiety as well as a flare of anticipation that came with the thought of seeing Lord Farrington for the first time. Would he recognize her, even with her veil? Would he know her voice? Josephine had made certain not to go near to him this last fortnight and, knowing that Lady Fortescue would be the one to speak to him, had made sure that she had not even stepped into his view. She had steadfastly avoided social occasions, claiming illness and headaches and fatigue and whatever else she could think of that prevented her from making her way through society. And when Lady Fortescue had returned and stated that she had not had any great success with Lord Farrington, Josephine had known that she had no other option but to do as she had done now.
He would not talk to her, would not tell her the truth, unless she did such a thing. And it had all gone so wonderfully well that Josephine now feared that something might go very badly wrong at a time when she needed it to be quite perfect.
Thankfully, her lady’s maid was trustworthy enough to be told precisely why Josephine required the black gown and the veil that covered her face, save for her mouth. So long as she stood away from him, Josephine was certain that Lord Farrington would not be able to recognize her features. In fact, the veil was so heavy that unless he pulled it from her entirely, she was sure he would not know her at all. Her hair was hidden away also, until she appeared to be nothing more than a widow in heavy widow’s weeds.
Satisfied, she took in her appearance, looking at herself in the mirror and turning this way and that until she was certain there was nothing recognizable about her at all.
“You have done very well,” she told her lady’s maid, who gave her something of an uncertain smile. “It is important that my guest does not recognize me.” She had not mentioned to anyone the name of her “guest”, save for those who were absolutely required to know. Her lady’s maid was, of course, a little confused, but Josephine was glad that the girl knew not to ask any particular questions. Satisfied with her appearance and ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her due to her overwhelming nerves, Josephine made her way from the room and turned in the direction of her guest bedchambers.
It was time to meet Lord Farrington.
“My lady.”
The butler inclined his head, holding a tea tray out to her, although his eyes flickered with uncertainty.
“Are you quite certain that I cannot bring it in for you myself, my lady?” he asked as she took it from him. “I cannot help but be a little afraid as to what might happen.”
Josephine smiled, thinking to herself that some of her staff were very loyal indeed—particularly those who had been in the service of her late husband and who now remained devoted both to her and to her son.
“I will be safe, I am sure,” she replied, noting the slight tremor in her voice. “The two footmen will be listening carefully for any sign of distress.” Looking enquiringly at the two men, she saw them both nod and felt herself a trifle more satisfied. For herself, she would not reveal her own anxiety, but instead she would continue to fix her mind on what was before her and push aside any feelings of worry. She had to do this. There was no other choice for her but to do this. Lord Farrington had to be convinced to tell the truth.
“Open the door, please. And be ready,” she said quietly, turning around to face the door. The butler came to stand just in front of her, ready to apprehend Lord Farrington should he try to escape. One footman stood alongside the butler, whilst the other placed the key in the lock and turned it slowly. Hearing the gentle click as the lock opened made Josephine tremble for a moment but she remained fixed in place, her breathing a li
ttle faster than before. The footman glanced over his shoulder and Josephine nodded, telling him silently to proceed.
The door was pulled open and immediately, the second footman stepped inside, framing the doorway for a moment. And then, he was within, moving to one side of the door so as to allow her entry. The butler took a moment to stand aside but did so eventually, clearly satisfied that she was not about to be hurt by Lord Farrington. Taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she was truly unrecognizable at present, Josephine moved forward slowly, walking into the room and keeping her eyes low, recalling the part she had chosen to play. It meant that she did not see Lord Farrington at once or so much as look for him. Her only task was to set down the tea tray on the table in the center of the room and then to rise again, hearing the door being closed tightly behind her. Her ears strained to hear the key in the lock, relieved beyond measure when she heard it click closed again. Letting out her breath slowly, she finally dared to look up, wondering where Lord Farrington might be.
To her astonishment, he was lying on the bed to her right, staring up at the ceiling and seemingly not at all interested in his guest. Josephine did not know what to do, for she had expected Lord Farrington to be in a furious state, to be practically demanding that she tell him all that was going on. That was why the footmen were, at this very moment, listening carefully to all that was going on within, so that she might call out to them at any moment.
But Lord Farrington was simply lying on the bed, as though he cared nothing for what had happened to him. His feet were crossed at the ankles and his hands were behind his head, his chest rising and falling steadily. Was he asleep? Or simply choosing to ignore her?
Her eyes roved about the room, taking everything in. Evidently, Lord Farrington had discovered the candle by his bed and, from that, had managed to open the drapes and the shutters. She had found a few clothes that had belonged to her late husband in a trunk and had decided to have them laundered and set in the wardrobe, but it did not appear Lord Farrington had discovered them yet. The biscuits and sweet cakes on the tray had been partly eaten, but only a few.