by Jean Wilde
“Good! Now all we have to do is to wait for your partner-in-crime to make an appearance.”
They sat in silence for almost half an hour before the sound of a door opening and shutting came from the front of the house. Piers rose and positioned himself off to one side by a window.
A moment later, Lady Rosalind Mayfield swept into the room. “My dear, when are you going to leave this dreadful place? I know you don’t want to be recognized by anyone in the city, but surely we could have found you somewhere nicer to stay.”
“Oh hush, Rosalind,” snapped the Dowager irritably, “I’ll be leaving for Bath first thing tomorrow, so that’s neither here nor there. You’d best sit down to hear what he has to say…” she added indicating Piers with her hand.
Lady Mayfield gave a startled little jump when she saw him. “Mr. Benson, what are you doing here?”
An icy cold rage settled on Piers as he stared at Caroline’s aunt. He could almost excuse the Dowager’s dislike of her daughter-in-law, but what this woman had planned to do to her niece—her own flesh and blood—was unpardonable. She also had no qualms using her daughter as a pawn to further her position in society.
“Lady Mayfield,” he began curtly, “I won’t repeat everything I’ve already discussed with your friend. I shall simply say this: you are a heartless woman, blinded by ambition, and entirely unworthy of any affection or respect your niece might have for you. I will make sure you pay for the horrors you intended to inflict on Lady Hastings—not through legal action—but through other means.”
Her look of surprise turned to one of pure condescension. “You think to threaten me, sir? I am the wife of a baronet with the power and influence to crush an insignificant architect like you. Perhaps I shall do so anyway so that you may learn to respect your betters.”
Piers smiled menacingly at her. “I accept your challenge, Lady Mayfield. Just know that from now on every single mishap, every misfortune to befall your person is because of me.”
She bristled in indignation, and the Dowager Lady Hastings snapped at her again, “Be quiet, Rosalind. I might even encourage him to do so after you conveniently neglected to mention that your niece is with child.”
The other woman blushed. “That doesn’t change anything. She’s still unworthy of her position.”
“That changes everything, you goose! She could be pregnant with a Hastings heir. How dare you conceal that from me?”
At that point, Piers had had enough. He left them to their bickering and walked out of the house into the noisy street. He’d done what he’d come here to do. He could trust Horatio’s mother to keep her word rather than risk losing her only son. Besides, she wanted that child just as desperately as Caroline did. Plotting revenge against Lady Mayfield, however, was going to be an immensely gratifying experience. He may be a mere whore, but Piers had many contacts in London, both in high society as well as the criminal underworld. It would be no hardship for him to call in a favor or two to make life unpleasant for Lady Mayfield when she brought her youngest daughter to the capital for the Season. He just needed to make sure that her family didn’t suffer for it.
Back at his room in the Bull, Piers pulled out a clean parchment of paper and began to compose a letter to his family. He hadn’t written to any them since his first job at the law office, almost sixteen years ago. None of them had responded at the time. He often wondered had he stayed there longer if any of them would’ve eventually written back. But he would never know. He’d been dismissed and had left no forwarding address at the firm.
He wasn’t sure why he had a sudden urge to reach out to them. Perhaps it was the idea that if the ladies’ plan had succeeded and he’d disappeared without a trace, they’d have been none the wiser. Or maybe it was seeing Horatio and Caroline’s excitement over their new family that had spurred a sense of nostalgia for his own. Either way, the idea had lodged itself in his head, and he decided to act on it.
His letter was short. He gave a vague account of his life in London, assuring them of his health and wellbeing. He mentioned that he was gainfully employed in the capital, and he was currently working on a project in Northumberland. He included The Scarlet Salon’s address…just in case. It was wishful thinking on his part, but he sincerely hoped his eldest brother, Ethan, would write back.
Then he settled in to write several more letters before calling it a day. He sent a note to the Dowager Lady Hastings, which included his address in London for his promised monetary compensation. His second letter was to Jane Mayfield, thanking her for conspiring to send her mother to the Sandgate house that day. His final message was for Jonathan Miller, who’d also ensured that the older Lady Hastings was available to receive a guest that day. While it had been Caroline’s cousin who’d uncovered the mystery of the Dowager’s presence in Newcastle, Miller had been the first to hint at the conspiracy. Piers wasn’t sure what hold she had over the dismissed footman, but he assured Miller that he could now rest easy.
Satisfied with his day’s work, Piers undressed and slid beneath the covers of his small empty bed. He missed falling asleep with Caroline in his arms with the sounds of Horatio’s soft snores nearby. How he’d ever enjoyed sleeping on his own was beyond him. In a few days, he’d be back at The Scarlet Salon, back to the same faceless clients, back to his old way of life. The idea threatened to suffocate him.
Then he thought about what Horatio had said, about him being more than just a whore. He hadn’t always been one, after all. Once upon a time, Piers had been a gentleman with the education and lineage of a member of the gentry. Perhaps he could still make something of himself. He thought back over his past few months in Newcastle, and an idea began to form in his mind. He may have found love there, but he’d also found something else…a hidden talent that he hadn’t known existed. With some careful planning and a dash of luck, Piers might just be able to stoke that spark of potential into a promising flame.
Chapter 20
Caroline was moping; there simply wasn’t another word for it. She spent hours in her room staring listlessly out the window, she took long solitary walks on the estate, and she could even be seen wandering the halls with no sense of purpose. Although she did make an effort to stop by the West Wing and consult with the Clerk of Works once a day. Mr. Hill had been surprised by Piers’s sudden disappearance, and when he’d asked Caroline about him, she’d only been able to come up with a vague response about him leaving for another commission in the capital. He’d seemed to take the hint and hadn’t asked about the architect after that.
After two weeks of wallowing, Caroline had had enough. Determined to shake off her air of melancholy, she threw herself into tasks she’d been avoiding. She reviewed the household accounts with Mrs. Banks, consulted with the gardeners over the planting of new rose bushes, discussed the week’s menu with Cook, paid calls on neighbors, and even got fitted for a new wardrobe to accommodate her growing figure. Being busy during the day helped keep her mind off Piers, but the nights were hard. Horatio was just as sullen as she was, although he did his best to act normal. She didn’t know who to feel sadder for: herself or her husband!
One afternoon, when Caroline was supposed to be going over the linen count with her housekeeper, she had the sudden urge to visit the gamekeeper’s hut she and Piers had frequented on more than one occasion. Grabbing a shawl, she headed downstairs eager to make her escape. She paused on the stairs as she heard Finch speaking gruffly to someone at the front door. The butler’s frame blocked the unwanted intruder from her view, and normally she would have ignored the interchange except the stranger’s voice sounded oddly familiar.
“I’m sure you’ve been instructed to say that Lord Hastings isn’t receiving callers this afternoon. But you and I both know, Finch, that he’s in his study as we speak. It’s imperative that I talk to him; I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Dread pooled in her stomach as she recognized the owner of the voice. Not many people would speak with such familiarity to her bu
tler. She hurried down the rest of the steps and strode determinedly toward the pair. “What is it, Finch?” she asked in her most authoritative voice.
He stiffened before turning around and giving her a respectful bow. “My Lady, this young man wishes to speak with Baron Hastings. I have informed him, however, that his Lordship isn’t seeing guests this morning.”
She stepped around her butler until she was face-to-face with Jonathan Miller. He hadn’t changed much in the six years since she’d seen him. He was still the tall darkly handsome man he’d been back then. But he carried himself differently now—with more confidence and assurance, perhaps. She still loathed the sight of him.
“Lady Hastings,” he said, a slow smile stretching across his face as he boldly studied her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“The feeling is not exactly mutual, sir. Mr. Finch is correct; my husband is ensconced with his steward this afternoon and has no time to meet with guests.”
His lips curled before he replied, “But I’m not a guest, my Lady. I’ve come to say my piece and then I shall be gone.” He paused and then added softly, “Please.”
Caroline hesitated briefly as she considered him. Normally, she would have simply walked away and refused his admittance. But why would he come now after so many years had passed?
Driven by curiosity rather than compassion, she gave her butler a curt nod to allow Miller to pass. Finch gave her a disapproving look but tilted his head in acknowledgement. To his credit, Miller didn’t grin in triumph as he followed her sedately toward Horatio’s study.
“Wait here,” she instructed as she let herself into the room.
Horatio and his new steward, Mr. Cross, had their heads bent over a ledger and didn’t notice her entry. When she cleared her throat, they both looked up, startled.
“Hello, my dear,” Horatio said, sounding distracted. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of work, but may I speak with you in private?”
Before Horatio could reply, Mr. Cross obligingly said, “Of course, Lady Hastings.”
He grabbed the ledger and hurried toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the library whenever you wish to continue, my Lord.”
After the door shut behind him, Caroline couldn’t help giving her husband an amused grin. “Rather eager to please, isn’t he?”
Horatio smiled in return. “He’s new and keen on making a good impression on the mistress of the household.”
Caroline took in a deep breath, bracing herself against his inevitable outburst. “Hori, someone has come to talk with you today. You won’t like it, but perhaps you might refrain from losing your temper long enough to hear what he has to say.”
Her husband frowned at her. “It’s not like you to be vague, Caro. Who precisely has come to see me today?”
She winced as she responded, “Jonathan Miller.”
His glare was instant and forbidding, and Caroline hastened to continue, “I would never have allowed him into the house—not after everything he’s done to you—except I do believe it would be good for you to have some closure. Let him say his piece and be done with it. After all, what more harm could he possibly do?”
Hands on his hips, Horatio huffed angrily. “I wouldn’t put anything past that blackguard.” He paused then asked, “You want me to meet with him?”
Caroline gave a quick nod.
“Very well,” he said resignedly and sat down behind his desk.
Pleased by his somewhat easy acquiescence, she let Miller into the study. With one last look at Horatio, she turned to leave when Miller said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to stay, Lady Hastings. What I have to say concerns both you and your husband.”
Her look of surprise must have mirrored Horatio’s because Miller looked between them and chuckled softly. “You both look so shocked by that one statement, I’m not sure you can handle the rest of it without suffering a fit of apoplexy.”
Without waiting for a response or permission, the former employee crossed the room and sank into a chair on the other side of the desk from Horatio. He then inclined his head politely and waited. After a beat, Caroline joined them, sitting across from Miller.
“Now,” Horatio began impatiently, “what is it you wish to say to us?”
Miller glanced between Caroline and her husband before saying, “Are you aware that your architect took part in a boxing match about a month back?”
What a strange question to start with! Inwardly shrugging, Caroline responded, “Yes, I recall Mr. Benson saying that he engaged in a friendly bout with a local.”
“Ah, I suppose he didn’t mention that it was me who bested him in that fight.”
Caroline shared a surprised look with her husband. Horatio studied Miller with open suspicion. “Go on then, tell us why Benson fought with you.”
“We had some words the day before when we came across each other in the taproom of the Bull’s Inn. He accused me of harboring animosity toward you and your family and believed I was up to mischief. As it so happens, he was correct on both counts.”
“What!” Horatio thundered, rising from his chair.
“Calm down, Hastings,” Miller said, not looking the least bit perturbed by this outburst. “I wouldn’t be here if I’d actually gone through with it, now would I?
As her husband slowly sat down, Caroline asked, “What mischief were you planning on doing? And…well, why?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Both excellent questions. I’m afraid in order to answer them fully, I’d need to go back a bit further than a month. Do you recall how we met, Lady Hastings?”
Caroline blushed at the memory of how she’d come across Miller and Horatio in the library six years ago. “I’m sure we must have seen each other at least a dozen times before that night. But yes, I suppose the first time we actually crossed paths was the evening of my engagement to Horatio.”
He nodded. “And did you ever stop to think about the events of that day—the circumstances that led to that scene in the library?”
Perplexed, she exclaimed, “I overheard you talking to your co-conspirator about cornering him in the library. He was to lead the late Lord Hastings and a few other guests there, so they would catch you both in the act.”
Miller chuckled to himself. “And you never questioned the stupidity of that idea? Revealing myself and Hastings,” he gestured toward Horatio, “as a pair of sodomites?”
“I…” Caroline began then paused, frowning. In fact, she had considered it before, and it was true—it had been a very stupid idea especially considering the punishments for committing sodomy. She shot a glance at her husband, but he looked as lost as she felt. “I just assumed you were desperate.”
“Self-preservation wins over desperation every time, my Lady. Besides, didn’t you think it a rather brilliant coincidence: you coming upon me and my accomplice just as we were discussing this nefarious plan of ours? We weren’t even closeted in a private room. We were in a nook located conveniently next to the drawing room where you and your cousins happened to be calling on Lady Hastings.”
Her mouth dropped open as she considered the implications of his words. “But…why would you do that?”
“So that you would overhear us, of course, and come to Hastings’s rescue.”
Miller sat back in his chair, looking pleased with himself as silence descended on the room. When neither she nor Horatio said anything, Miller shook his head and tsked, “Did you never discuss this incident among yourselves? What you’re both failing to grasp is that someone put me up to it. Someone wanted me to lure Hastings to the library and make sure that you, my Lady, were the one to rescue him from that compromising situation.”
“Stop acting so superior and just tell us who put you up to that despicable task!” Horatio snapped.
Miller grinned at him triumphantly. “Your father, the late Lord Hastings.”
It took several moments for his
statement to sink in. Then Caroline exclaimed, “That is absurd! Why on earth would Horatio’s father do that to him?”
“Because,” Miller began, looking at Horatio, “when you wouldn’t give me the money I needed, I approached your father. At first, the late Baron refused to believe that his precious heir preferred lads and tossed me out on my ear.”
Caroline guffawed. “You do have some nerve. Approaching a peer of the realm, informing him that you were having a clandestine affair with his son! You’re lucky he didn’t have you imprisoned—or worse.”
He shrugged. “I was young and reckless.”
“And cruel,” Horatio added softly.
Miller had the decency to look contrite. “Yes, that too. But I desperately needed the money. My youngest sister was sick—for me it was a matter of life and death.”
Horatio didn’t look at all moved by that declaration, and Caroline wasn’t sure if she believed him. It didn’t matter, though; there were more pressing matters to discuss. “You said ‘at first’—did the late Lord Hastings believe you after all?”
The young man studied Horatio before answering, “Yes, I think he questioned his son’s valet quite thoroughly. However, I was gone by then, and I didn’t leave empty-handed.”
Caroline grimaced in distaste. “You stole from the Hastings?”
“Yes, I stole a gold snuffbox. I didn’t think anyone would miss it, and I certainly didn’t think anyone saw me. As it turns out, I’m just as bad a thief as I am a blackmailer. In any case, I pawned it and used the money to pay the doctor. Two weeks later, the late Baron Hastings showed up at my doorstep. He had written statements from both Mr. Finch and the owner of the pawnshop that proved I stole the snuffbox. He could’ve had me arrested and imprisoned for theft, but he’d hoped we could work something out. He needed my help and was willing to overlook my crime if I cooperated.”
“What could he possibly need your help with?” Horatio asked incredulously.