Chapter Twenty-three
“Today,” Claudia vowed, “victory will be mine.”
“Perhaps.” Her opponent did not look up from arranging the backgammon board. “Your play has seen moderate improvement.”
“Moderate improvement? I nearly won yesterday.”
He nudged the last group of black markers into a precise line. “Do you know the difference between ‘nearly winning’ and defeat, my dear?”
She shook her head.
“There isn’t one.”
Claudia pretended to pout. “The dice, if you will.”
Feigned petulance aside, Claudia liked Peter Faraday. She liked him a great deal. He’d been a most welcome addition to the household. Amelia and Spencer were always busy with their obligations, or each other. Now she had a fellow invalid, a captive companion. Like her, Mr. Faraday was confined to the sitting room and scarcely able to move without a servant’s assistance. They spent most of the day together, and typically part of the evening too. They played backgammon and cards. When they tired of games, he read aloud from the newspaper whilst she worked on a baby quilt or simply rested her eyes. Claudia didn’t care much about the content of the newspaper articles, but she enjoyed listening to his witty commentary.
She enjoyed listening to him, in general. He had a very pleasant voice, Mr. Faraday did, with a rich, soothing timbre and an accent that bespoke education and good breeding. He was very handsome, in a way that recalled Mr. Bellamy, but with less flash and more refinement. A true gentleman, Claudia thought. Quick to jest, but never belittling.
He asked her questions, about everything from her childhood to her pregnancy. Not that Claudia was unused to being questioned, but it was a rare pleasure to have someone truly listen to her answers. She’d told him all about Amelia and Spencer, and what she could remember of her late parents. She’d even talked honestly of her foolish tryst with that horrid tutor in York, and Mr. Faraday hadn’t been the least bit judgmental or cross. Just interested. She could talk to him of anything.
They got on well, indeed.
She rolled the dice and moved her tokens accordingly. “Would you like to marry me?”
Poor man. He’d spent a week at Morland House, and this was the first time Claudia had seen him stunned speechless.
“I beg your pardon?” he finally said.
“Did you not understand me? I thought I made myself rather clear. I’m asking if you’d like to marry me.”
She sensed him mulling over a response, and she sipped at her glass of tepid lemonade, giving him time.
When he still didn’t reply, she tried to put his mind at ease. “Don’t be concerned, Mr. Faraday. I’m not so foolish as to imagine I’m in love with you. But we get on well, don’t we?” She patted the squirming mass in her belly. If this babe’s behavior in the womb was any indication, Claudia was in for trouble years down the line. Still, she loved the bothersome, soon-to-be-squalling lump. “Any day now, I shall give birth. And I want to keep my baby.”
“Then keep it you shall.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me the duke is insisting you either marry or give the child away?”
“No, no. Spencer and Amelia say they’ll support me, whatever I decide. But there’s no denying our lives will go easier if I do wed. And I thought perhaps you might like to be a father. You seem well-suited to fatherhood, and this could be your chance to have a child without … you know, the nuisance of impregnating a wife.”
“The nuisance,” he repeated, incredulous. “The nuisance of impregnating a wife? Just how miserable a lover was this music master, anyway?”
“Bad indeed. But that’s not my point.” With a glance to the corridor for servants, she leaned toward him as much as her pregnant belly would allow and whispered, “You are a molly, aren’t you?”
He was very careful not to react. Instead, he unstoppered the decanter of lemonade and freshened her glass.
“It’s all right,” she assured him quickly. “I’m very good at keeping secrets. And no one else has noticed, I’m sure. You know how it is, being homebound. I don’t have anything else to do with myself, but sit and notice things.”
“But how …?”
She smiled. “Easy. Your eyes follow the footmen, not the maids. And you fancy the tall one with the square jaw, don’t you? So do I. He has perfectly lovely calves. And that arse …” She propped her chin on her hand and released a languid sigh. “Sad for us both, my lady’s maid says he’s devoted to his sweetheart. She’s a seamstress, I hear. Still, that’s no reason we can’t look. We must contrive to drop a great many objects when he’s about, so he will have to pick them up.”
“Why, Lady Claudia.” He sat back in his chair and studied her. A bewildered smile slowly crooked his lips. “You are a truly remarkable young woman.”
Claudia allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction. It was high time someone noticed that. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
“No, my dear,” he said gently. “I can’t marry you. But I think I would very much like to be your friend.”
“A friend can’t give my baby a name.”
“No. There, you will be on your own. But you will do splendidly.”
She slumped back in her chair. “I don’t know how I’m going to care for a child. I can’t even keep myself out of trouble, most days.”
“Claudia, listen to me. I’ve spent the past week learning all about you. Would you like to know what I’ve learned?”
She shrugged.
“You are intelligent, forthright, curious. Extraordinarily perceptive. Unafraid to take risks. You will not be bound by nonsensical rules. These qualities may have made you an awkward girl, but mark my words—they will one day make you an exceptional woman. And a good mother. Of that, I am sure.”
A welling tear made her vision wavy, and Claudia dabbed at it with impatience. “You’re the only one who’s kind to me.”
“That’s not true. Your cousin and his wife are very good to you, indeed. They love you, even if they don’t always understand you. And someday, you will meet the man who both loves and understands you. If there’s any justice in the world, he will also possess a square jaw and well-turned calves. Don’t settle for less.”
“Settling is the best I can expect. An unwed mother of a natural child? I won’t have the opportunity to be choosy. I can’t even have a season.”
His eyes were kind. “Oh, I think you will. Years from now, you will return to London as a strong, independent, beautiful, and deliciously scandalous lady. Believe me, the men will be powerless to resist.” Collecting the dice, he said, “I shall make it a point to attend your first ball, just to gloat over my accurate prediction.”
“Truly?” She cast a glance at his hobbled leg, thinking it rather brave of him to contemplate attending balls. “Then you must be my partner for the first dance.”
“It’s a bargain.”
They shook hands over the backgammon board. A mild cramp seized her abdomen, and Claudia winced.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes, yes.” She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I have these twinges most every day now. False labor, the doctor called it.” She rubbed her domed belly in small circles until the tightness eased. This was nothing, compared to those frightening episodes in her early pregnancy. The pain and blood …
“What about you, Mr. Faraday?” she asked, trying to distract herself with a change of subject. “Have you been in love?”
His gaze cut away. “Yes.”
“But it didn’t end well.”
“No, it didn’t.” He rolled the dice, then stared at them. “It ended very badly indeed.”
There was a deep, unsettling sadness in his mien. It made Claudia want to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. She took a long sip of lemonade instead. “But you’re certain it’s worth waiting for?” she asked, wiping her mouth. “Love?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “It’s worth waiting for, Claudia. It’s worth living and dying and killing for. It’s everything.”
“Ah!”
Pain, sudden and excruciating, clamped down on her womb like a vise. It robbed her of breath for a moment. Just when she thought it would ebb, it returned with even greater force, wrenching a scream from her throat. The room looked washed in orange and red, the color of alarm. This wasn’t false labor; this was something very wrong. She instantly rued every instance in which she’d disregarded the doctor’s orders or ignored Amelia’s advice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have climbed the stairs that morning. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten that rich pudding last night …
Please, she silently prayed. Please let the bothersome lump be unharmed.
“Mr. Faraday,” she panted, “I …” Another surge of pain. She gritted her teeth. “Something’s wrong. I need help.”
But Mr. Faraday—injured, hobbled Mr. Faraday—was already out of his chair …
And striding quickly from the room.
“Give it here, if you will.” Lily took the paper from Amelia’s grasp and scanned it quickly. A half-hour’s cajoling and several dozen nutmeats had resulted in a full page of avian ramblings. “It’s all the usual,” she noted with disappointment.
Oh, Julian. Guilty, guilty. Thank you, that will be all.
Endless permutations of the above, interspersed with whistles and squawks.
Then, toward the bottom of the page, she noted something new.
“‘Mr. James Bell,’” she read aloud. “Now that’s amusing. I wonder how he picked that up.”
“An acquaintance of yours?” Meredith asked.
“In a way.”
Lily was momentarily transported back to that darkened theater pit, seated on a cushioned bench aside her bookish, bespectacled beau. She’d been so amazed at his ability to transform his appearance and seem an entirely different man. Now, after these weeks of marriage, it amazed her that no one else saw him as she did. Society recognized Julian Bellamy as a collection of wild hair and wilder clothes and loud, brash behavior, never taking note of the man beneath. A quietly handsome man, with sincere blue eyes and a passion for fairness. Keen intelligence, and a thoughtful, tender way.
That man was her husband.
The plain truth of it is, I have always been unworthy of you. You don’t know the half of what I’ve done.
“I think,” Lily said slowly, “Mr. James Bell may be more than a mere acquaintance.”
Amelia jumped on her chair. “Oh. He just said something new. Just now.” She beckoned for the paper, and Lily gave it quickly.
Craning her neck, she watched over Amelia’s shoulder as her friend inscribed a single word.
“Jericho,” Lily read aloud. “Well, that’s not terribly helpful. Is it?”
“Could mean anything,” Meredith agreed. “Perhaps one of his previous owners was fond of scripture. It could be a servant’s name, or even the bird’s name.”
“Or a ship,” Amelia said. “That was Michael’s first assignment in the Navy. I’ll never forget it, having written him so many letters that year. He sailed from Plymouth on the HMS Jericho. The vessel’s been retired now. I remember he pointed it out to me once when we traveled to—” She grabbed Lily’s arm, and her eyes went wide. “To Greenwich. The Jericho is now moored in the Thames, near Woolwich. It’s a prison hulk.”
“A prison hulk?” Lily’s heart jumped into her throat.
“Now wait. That’s a very big leap,” Meredith warned. “And we could be making it in the wrong direction entirely.”
“I know. I know you’re right,” Lily replied, the gears of her mind clicking at a furious whir. “But it’s the only direction we have.” How many miles was it to Woolwich? Ten? Fifteen? How fast could the carriage take her there? “We must leave immediately. There’s not a moment to waste.”
But before she could even rise from her chair, Swift entered the room. The aging butler extended a salver, on which lay a haphazardly folded note.
He bowed deeply. “Forgive the interruption, my lady. But an urgent message has just arrived for Her Grace.”
Amelia took the note and opened it. Her blue eyes shuttled back and forth as she scanned the lines of text. “Oh, no. It’s Claudia. She’s in labor. I must go to her at once.”
Lily was surprised indeed to learn of the note’s contents. But she was stunned immobile by the envelope’s reverse, where the words “Her Grace, the Duchess of Morland” had been hastily inscribed in black ink.
Lily knew that penmanship. Knew it as well as she knew her own.
“Oh my God.” Without even thinking, she leapt from her chair and ripped the note straight from Amelia’s hand. “Who sent this?” But she didn’t lift her gaze to receive a reply. Rather, she read the brief missive for herself.
Your Grace,
Lady Claudia has entered her labor pains. I have taken the liberty of sending for the doctor.
—P.F.
“P.F.? Who is P.F.?”
Amelia gave an answer as she tugged on her gloves. Lily couldn’t catch it.
“Write it down,” she insisted, urging the quill and inkpot toward her friend.
“I can’t right now,” Amelia said, gathering her shawl. “Claudia needs me. I must go at once.”
Lily slammed the inkpot on the table, ignoring the spatter of ink, and thrust the quill in Amelia’s face. She trembled so violently, the feather quivered in her grip. “Write. Write it down.”
While Amelia addressed the footman, Meredith took the quill and quickly scrawled something on a scrap of paper.
Lily read it. “Peter Faraday. Who is Peter Faraday?”
“Amelia’s houseguest,” Meredith explained. “Rhys and I brought him from Cornwall, and he’s been staying at Morland House. He’s injured. He … He was with your brother, the night he was attacked.”
A wave of dizziness dropped Lily back into her chair. She was completely disoriented. This bit of information … it both explained so much, and opened up entirely new questions.
One thing was clear. She had to get to Woolwich, and quickly. Julian had no idea what he could be facing.
Meredith touched her hand. “I’ll go with Amelia now. She needs help.”
“Yes, of course,” Lily said, pushing to her feet. She helped her friends to the door. “I pray all goes well with Claudia.”
“Thank you.” Amelia put a hand to her brow. “I only wish there were some way to get a message to Spencer.”
“Don’t worry, dear. He’ll learn of it soon enough.”
Lily intended to deliver the news herself.
“There they are. Those two, on the ridge.”
From their sentinel post atop the scaffolding, Julian followed Ashworth’s gaze. Two convicts labored on a rocky breakwater, some yards distant from the riverbank. The men, dressed in standard-issue buff breeches and brown coats, were shackled to one another at the ankle. Under the watchful eye of a cutlass-wielding officer, they passed and piled massive rocks, building up the breakwater. Julian noted with satisfaction that the prisoners’ tattered, soiled garments hung loose on their frames.
Good. They’d known hunger these past six months.
“You’re positive it’s them?” he asked.
Ashworth nodded. “Had a chat with the officer down at the dock. He confirmed the names. Nasty sorts, the two of them. Hardly—”
The boom of cannon fire forced him to break off. Between the clanging of heavy machinery and the occasional blast from the artillery range, the armory wasn’t a quiet place.
“Hardly model inmates,” Ashworth finished at length. “That’s why they’re working in shackles. When their day’s labor is finished, a guard will be striking the irons. An officer will give them each ten shillings and their papers, and then they’re on their way.”
“And so are we.”
Once Stone and Macleod left the warren, they would follow and bide their time. No doubt the convicts’ first order of business would be a pint at the local tavern and a visit to the closest brothel. With any luck, they’d apprehend the men once they were well into their cups, trousers tangled at their ankles. Three against two, and pistols in their favor. No contest. Perhaps they’d wrangle a name from the brutes then and there, and Julian would at least have a direction for his efforts. He wouldn’t be able to go home to Lily quite yet, but he would feel as though he were journeying in that direction.
Until then, they would wait and observe from here. “Here” being an unused bay in the dockyard. This small inlet for the repair and rigging of ships was flanked by high platforms on either side, accessed by rough-planked stairs.
By revealing himself to be the famed Lieutenant Colonel St. Maur, Ashworth had easily talked their way into the armory and dockyard. No one suspected. They were just a friendly group of gentlemen out for a ride, curious to have a look at things. Their greatest struggle had been shaking free of the many officers angling to tour them around.
Light footsteps clattered on the wooden steps. The men frowned at one another before turning to see who would join them. Another starry-eyed young officer, likely, hoping to trade battle tales with Ashworth or curry the favor of a duke.
But it wasn’t an officer who emerged on the platform.
It was Lily. His wife, clad in a violet traveling dress and dark winter cloak, rushing straight for him. Her heel caught on a board, and his heart plummeted, only sputtering back to life when she caught and righted herself.
“Jesus Christ,” Julian blurted out, taking his wife by the shoulders. He couldn’t help but give her a little shake. To be sure she was safe. To be sure she was real. “Lily, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m chasing you.” She panted for breath. “You unmitigated ass.” Her eyes blazed with fury, and she trembled in his arms. He’d never seen her in possession of such intense, evident rage and fear.
But she wouldn’t be here if her love didn’t surpass both of these.
His heart rolled in his chest. “This much, Lily? You truly love me this much?”
“Of course I do, you hateful man. Damn you.” She clutched her side with one hand and raised the other in a fist. Lowered it. Raised it again. Then punched his shoulder, hard.
He kissed her full on the lips. She struggled for a moment, having stockpiled all that nervous energy for the cause of defense. But he would not be pushed away. He held her tight with his arms and cherished her lips with the softest of kisses, tasting the sweetness of her skin and the salt of her tears. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “I don’t know how it’s possible to love you so much. I will die of it.”
The platform trembled beneath their feet. A powder explosion in the armory, perhaps. Or maybe just this kiss, shaking the foundations of the earth.
“See here!” the duke called.
With reluctance, Julian lifted his head, ending the kiss.
Morland waved them over, jerking his head toward the breakwater. “Looks as though they’re slowing work. Perhaps they’ll be released early.”
Julian turned to Lily and signed, “Go. You must go home. Now. This is men’s business. Dangerous.”
“No,” she said, still holding her side. “You don’t understand. It’s Peter Faraday.”
Peter Faraday? How the devil had she learned of Peter Faraday?
“He was with Leo that night,” she huffed. “They were … They were lovers.”
“What?” he signed. Julian was certain he’d misheard her.
“Lovers?” Ashworth and Morland echoed.
So. It would seem he hadn’t misheard.
She nodded, looking around the group. “Yes, lovers. I’m sure of it. I have letters from Faraday to my brother. They leave no doubt.”
For a prolonged moment, the armory was strangely silent. He and Ashworth and Morland looked from one to another. To their boots. To the horizon. Looking around in vain for explanations, he supposed. Or maybe just escape.
Considering Julian’s own history of debauchery, he’d never felt himself in the position to judge others’ sexual affairs. And to be sure, he’d known his share of mollies. His own tailors, for a start. It was no secret Schwartz and Cobb were more than just business partners. In his youth, there’d been a molly house just a block from Anna’s coffeehouse. And even within the ton, there were always those “confirmed bachelors.”
But those were other men. They weren’t Leo.
Lovers. Leo and Faraday, lovers.
Julian briefly considered reconstructing his mind to accommodate the concept. Then he pushed the idea away. Renovations on such a grand scale took more time than he could spare right now. “We already knew Faraday was there. He took the attack meant for me. I was supposed to be with Leo that night.”
“But you weren’t,” Morland said. “Faraday was. And if they had some kind of relationship …”
“A crime of passion?” Ashworth put in. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Wait a minute. You’re forgetting Cora Dunn. You know, the female prostitute Leo picked up that evening?” Yes, Julian reminded himself. He’d been with a woman. Lily had to be wrong. “Cora saw two men attacking them, and the brutes she described looked like Stone and Macleod down there. They were apprehended in the same neighborhood, on the same night. We’re here for a reason.”
Of all the untenable notions, that would be the most impossible to accept—that they were here for nothing. That after all this, no answers awaited him. No future.
Morland swore. “I have to leave. Jesus Christ, that man is in my house.”
“Faraday had nothing to do with it,” Julian insisted. Lily tugged at his sleeve, but he pulled his arm free and gestured toward the two convicts on the breakwater. “If those men killed Leo, we can’t let them walk free. He was our friend.”
“He was my brother,” Lily argued. “I’m his closest kin. If there’s a question over how to deal with this, shouldn’t it be mine to say?”
Click. The sound of a gun being cocked, uncomfortably close.
“I loved him. It’s mine to say.”
Julian wheeled around to see another man had joined them on the platform. Peter Faraday—standing tall and fit, armed with a double-barreled flintlock pistol.
Hatred flickered in the man’s gaze as he raised his gun. “No one move.”