CHAPTER 28
On the Road
“Nice! Nice, she says.” Connor huffed as he sat on the driver’s box beside Rory. “That thing cost more than most people’s houses, and she calls it nice.”
“What did you want her to say?”
“Very nice, at least!” he exclaimed.
Rory chortled and shook his head as they rolled along atop the traveling chariot at the head of their convoy.
“I don’t know what the hell that girl wants from me,” Connor grumbled to no one in particular. He kept his voice down, but he could hear the women playing some sort of traveling game to while away the time a few hours into their journey.
Everyone had relaxed a bit as soon as they had cleared the sprawling perimeter of Town. With every mile they put between themselves and the city, Connor felt the dark underworld shadow of Elias Flynn fading behind them.
As the sense of danger receded, he could finally allow his thoughts to return to his vexing little fiancée.
He rested his elbows on his bent knees as he stared down the westward road in discontent. Knowing he wasn’t very good company today, he wondered if he should keep to himself. Maybe rent a hack horse at the next coaching inn, since he had sent Hurricane back with the head groom once they had reached the edge of London.
That weathered fellow was among the handful of servants old Trumbull had already tracked down for Connor and sent back to work at Amberley House. The butler himself would soon resume control of the household, but for now, he was still tasked with keeping Saffie hidden away for her own safety.
Someone had to do it, God knew. The little henwit was a danger to herself, but then, thought Connor, weren’t they all?
Women.
At length, he blew out a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t think she liked it.”
Rory glanced at him in surprise. “What, the ring? Are you still on about that?”
Connor scowled, and Rory quickly hid his amusement.
“Of course she did, mate. What woman doesn’t like a diamond ring?” Rory sighed. “Wish I could afford one.”
“Maybe I should’ve asked her first what kind of ring she wanted. There wasn’t time!” he insisted.
“Not with somebody trying to blow your head off, there wasn’t.” Rory nudged him, a merry glint in his eyes that made Connor suspect his friend was only humoring him. “She’s lucky she got a ring at all, eh?”
“Exactly,” he huffed.
But deep down, Connor feared the situation was far worse than that: that Maggie was not so much disappointed in the ring, but disappointed in him and already regretted their match.
It was the only explanation for her cold, distant attitude toward him this morning.
“God’s truth, I’ve never seen her like this before, quite so stubborn. I can’t tell if she’s happy or cross or if she even wants to marry me anymore. For all I know, she’s only doing it now because there’d be a scandal after last night if she didn’t.”
“Ah, settle down, mate. This isn’t like you. You’re blowing things out of proportion, I’m sure.”
“Am I?” He gave his friend a worried glance.
“She just needs a little time, most likely. And to punish you for a while.” Rory grinned.
“Punish me,” Connor muttered. “What did I do? Try to stop a murderer?”
“You yelled at her. Remember? You told me so yourself. You don’t yell at a lady, ye great oaf.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I am not Edward Birdwell! I didn’t get out of the Peninsula alive by being a sweetheart of a gentleman.”
“Me neither!” Rory agreed, a bit too cheerfully.
Connor narrowed his eyes. “I am beginning to think you are enjoying this.”
“Does it show?”
Connor cursed at him in Gaelic, and Rory laughed heartily.
“Enough of your grumbling. Tell me about Miss Penelope.” Rory waggled his eyebrows. “What a beauty, eh? O’ course,” he added, “a woman wouldn’t touch the likes o’ me with a punting pole.”
“Why ever not?” Connor asked as Rory took a loud, crunching bite into his apple.
“Lard ass. Got no manners,” he said through a mouthful. “And I’m broke.”
Connor laughed. “Then why does she keep lookin’ at you?”
“Nah, she doesn’t, ye bastard.”
“Aye, she does. Go and talk to her when we stop to change horses. We’re all due for a break soon.”
“I couldn’t.”
“What, you, tongue-tied?”
“She’s so elegant! She’ll think I’m an ape.”
“Some women like apes. Too bad Maggie isn’t one of them.” Heaving a sigh, Connor leaned back on the seat and stretched his legs out before him as much as the seat would allow. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Take your own advice. Talk to her.”
“Easy for you to say, you and your silver tongue. She wants nothing to do with me today—unless I go to her groveling. And we both know I have a policy against that.”
Groveling was for the weak and the cowardly, and Connor was neither.
“I don’t know, at least you’ve got to try, mate.”
Connor eyed Rory darkly. “I have nothing to apologize for. She’s the one who’s got to learn how to obey,” he said, though he kept his voice down for fear of enraging her all over again if she should hear him. “Anyway, it’s not as though I’m making unreasonable demands on the girl. All I wanted was to keep her safe. Stay back, I told her. But could she do that? Of course not.”
He shifted restlessly on his seat, brooding and annoyed. Lost in the lulling rhythm of the team’s six horses clip-clopping along, he failed to wave back at a friendly carriage driver going by the other way.
Rory, however, called a cheery greeting.
“I thought all females were taught from the cradle that, one day, they’d have to follow their husband’s commands,” Connor finally said, refusing to let it go.
“Welllll,” Rory said, “they’re taught that, I hear. It’s just…”
Connor looked at him. “What?”
“Some of ’em don’t like it very much,” Rory said, then shuddered. “Some of ’em don’t like it much at all.”
“Well, too bad!” Connor harrumphed. “Next she’ll be tryin’ to change me.”
Rory coughed.
“What?” Connor said.
His friend merely gave him one of his charming grins.
Connor narrowed his eyes in dawning realization. “You think she already has? Changed me?”
Rory’s grin widened. “Oh, just a wee bit.”
“How? I don’t see it.”
“We would never have been having this conversation in the past. Because you wouldn’t give a shit.”
“Well,” Connor said with a shrug of concession.
“By the way,” Rory said, “I think Will’s in love with Saffie.”
“What?”
“Yes, and—you’ll love this—she offered to bed him as a thank-you for being so sweet to her.” Rory laughed while Connor’s jaw dropped. “Lad nearly fainted. She said it right in front of me and Nestor. Told the boy she wanted to be his first.”
“Jaysus,” Connor muttered.
Rory snickered. “Guess she learned a thing or two at that brothel.”
“How did he react?”
“You should’ve seen him. His face turned redder than your coat. He denied being a virgin, but she just laughed.”
Connor cringed.
“Our little boy’s growin’ up,” Rory said with a wicked chuckle.
“Tell me he hasn’t slept with her.”
“No, not our wee Galahad. He was appalled. At least, at first he was.”
“But then he started thinking about it?” Connor asked in amusement.
“Of course. Nestor headed off that trouble, though. He told Will the girl needs a thorough check from a physician first to make sure she hasn’t got diseases.” Rory tossed his apple core into the stone-fenced meadow beside the road. “And just when the boy had nearly worked up his nerve to ask the old Cyclops if he’d do the honors, Nestor saw that comin’, too, and said there’s no way in hell he’s gettin’ involved with all that. Reminded the boy he’s not a lady doctor; only treats animals and men.”
Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Besides, young Saffie’s still in love with this dragoon. I think she’s starting to wake up to reality, though, poor thing.”
“Hmm. Sad.”
Rory stared down the road, as though weighing his next words. “Want to know something worse?” he asked quietly.
Connor looked askance at him, instantly worried by his friend’s grim tone. “Do I?”
Rory gave a cynical flick of his eyebrows, but his lips had drawn into a somber line. “I think she’s pregnant.”
Connor stared at him. “Saffie?”
“Aye,” he said. “She’s got that look.”
“What look?”
“I can’t explain it.” Rory shrugged. “But I know it when I see it.”
“And you’d know this how?” Connor stared at him, hoping desperately that the sergeant was wrong.
“I got four older sisters, don’t I? Each of who’s got half a dozen children. Uncle Rory knows what he’s talkin’ about.”
“Shit,” Connor said, with a twist of remorse in his gut. “So I’m going to orphan this infant before it’s even born.” He looked away. “Perfect.”
“You have no choice, man. He’s the one that’s been comin’ after you. It’s you or him. At least now she’ll have Will, though, maybe. He’d be a good father to the babe, kindhearted as he is.”
“Yes, but he deserves better,” Connor muttered with a frown.
“Don’t tell the boy that. He’s smitten. I think the way the other maids treated Saffie tugged at his heartstrings back when she still worked for you. And all the time we were at Trumbull’s, he treated her like she was a princess.”
“She’s the first girl who ever paid attention to him, that’s all.”
“Yes, but she trusts him, and that’s sayin’ something after all she’s been through.”
“Who wouldn’t trust Will?” Connor replied.
“Exactly,” Rory said, and they both fell silent, pondering the riches of the heart that their skinny, homely, innocent friend possessed in such abundance, and, mysteriously, had somehow retained throughout the war, while the two of them had lost much of their own somewhere along the way.
It was half an hour before the next coaching inn with a livery stable came into sight ahead, and when Connor saw it, he made up his mind.
Inspired, perhaps, by thoughts of the softhearted Private Duffy, who sat atop the heavily laden supply wagon beside Nestor, Connor decided to lay hold of his courage and take Rory’s advice.
It was time to try again to reach out and go talk to Maggie.
He’d been all business with her this morning in the Birdwells’ drawing room, unsure what sort of reception he would meet. Well aware that he was on shaky ground with her after all that had happened last night, he had stayed on his guard with her, merely surveying the lay of the land.
But Rory was right. He’d have to try harder. With a little more effort, he was confident that they could put this unpleasantness behind them—their first real quarrel since they’d met—and return to their usual state of happiness together. This was no blasted way to begin their official engagement.
And so, when their convoy reached the white galleried coaching inn tucked into a tree-lined bend in the road, Connor jumped down from the driver’s box, determined to take his friend’s advice.
He was not without skills when it came to charming his way back into a lady’s good graces. All he had to do, he reasoned, was get her to smile at him once or twice. Maybe offer up a glib jest. She’d always liked his sense of humor.
He was damned sure not groveling, though. Not him. Not ever.
Instead, he merely wanted to explain his view of all this, once he’d broken through the ice that had formed between them. In truth, he wanted her to understand and accept him for who and what he was. He had thought she did, up until last night. But now, he was not sure where he stood with her, and it upset him more deeply than he cared to show.
Unfortunately, his plan to try to charm her first crumbled when she climbed out of the coach and he saw the annoyance on her face.
Ah hell. Not in a good mood. It was no mystery why, after she’d just spent the first leg of their journey closed up with Grandaunt Lucinda. Riiight. The direct approach, then, since she was clearly not in a joking frame of mind.
He gave her a few minutes to stretch her back and wander off across the inn yard while he strode over to the other vehicles in their party to ensure that everything was going smoothly.
Pete had been bringing up the rear. The major swung down from his horse, told Connor he had not noticed anybody following them, and made his way into the tavern, no doubt tempted by the delicious smell of pub food floating across the cobbled inn yard. Grilled sausages, fresh-baked bread, fish and chips, flaky mincemeat pies right out of the oven…
Everyone milled about, using the facilities as needed, and buying themselves beverages or light refreshments while the livery’s grooms swapped out their horses, just as they’d been doing about once an hour, every ten miles.
Connor had not allowed a proper break till this one, however. It was now about noon, and they’d just crossed out of Surrey into Hampshire.
He checked his fob watch and decided they could take twenty or thirty minutes to stretch their legs, get some food, and make themselves more comfortable for the next long push through the wide county of Hampshire.
He wandered into the pub himself to do the same. A little while later, he stepped back outside into the bright, sunny day.
Across the busy inn yard, he spotted Maggie, alone, leaning under a large, shady oak tree. She had seen him, as well, and was eyeing him warily.
Penelope stood over by the carriages drinking a glass of lemonade that Rory had just brought her, Connor surmised.
The sergeant, who also had a glass of lemonade, was now smiling from ear to ear as he worked to chat her up. Connor mentally wished both himself and his friend luck with their chosen ladies. Then he marched across the inn yard, slowing his pace as he stepped onto the grass, approaching with caution.
Maggie pinned him with her gaze, never taking her eyes off him. Not that she looked entirely pleased to see him, but at least she acknowledged him. “Your Grace.”
“Maggie, we need to talk,” he said as he sauntered over to her in the shade. There was no point beating around the bush, after all.
She lifted her chin, still wearing that cool expression on her face that made it nearly impossible to guess what she was thinking. “Agreed.”
Connor searched her face. “I can tell you are upset with me, but I’m not sure I understand why.” He was being cagey, admittedly, but he was trying to draw her out, get her to show her cards first. “What did I do wrong? I’d like to hear it from you. Was it the violence? Because I was attacked, Maggie. Was I to supposed to let him kill me?”
“Of course not.” She already looked riled up by his opening statement. “But there is such a thing as the law to deal with such people, you know.”
“The law,” Connor echoed, registering a twinge of offense. A thousand brutal memories swept through him of vicious death matches on the battlefield. Blood, smoke, sweat, mud, screams. But she knew nothing of all that had been his normal world until lately. So he checked his impatience with her suggestion, and decided it would be rude to point out that Bow Street had already failed him.
“I don’t think Darrow plays by those rules,” he said coolly. “Therefore, neither can I.”
“So you’re just…going to kill him,” she said slowly.
He stared at her. “First chance I get.”
“I see.” She looked away, paling.
It occurred to him that the night they’d met, she’d come to him begging him to spare a man’s life, and then last night, another man who deserved even less to be spared had escaped him because of her meddling.
He had cause to be cross at her, for his part. “You do realize that I could’ve ended all this last night if you wouldn’t have interfered.”
“So this is my fault now?”
“A little. But mostly, it’s mine. I’m the one who hesitated because you were there.” He paused. “In all actuality, though, it’s Seth Darrow’s fault, and he deserves exactly what he’s going to get. I’m sorry if you disapprove, but there it is.”
She looked at him.
“When somebody hits me, I hit back twice as hard,” he informed her with a shrug. “It’s the only reason I’m alive now. I’m sorry if you do not like it, but this is who I am. Take it or leave it.”
“Take it or leave it?” she echoed, raising her eyebrows. “I’m in no position to leave it now even if I wanted to, am I?”
Connor flinched but just stared stubbornly at her, masking his horror at her words.
“You saw to that,” she continued, “announcing our engagement to the world without so much as a by-your-leave!”
“What difference does it make?” he said. “You had already agreed to marry me—quite enthusiastically, as I recall. I was the one who asked you to keep it a secret, merely to protect you from this madman. That’s all I care about—can’t you see that? Damn it, I saved your reputation by announcing our betrothal when I did. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Well”—she dropped her gaze primly—“considering you’re the one who compromised it in the first place, don’t expect me to fall down and kiss your feet with gratitude, Your Grace.”
Connor had no answer to that. He was now quite sure she was only marrying him because she had to. And probably because he was a duke.
“In any case,” she continued, her cheeks rosy with anger now, “while it’s true that seeing you almost kill that man with your bare hands was upsetting enough, it was how you yelled at me afterward that was quite beyond the pale. You were utterly disrespectful. Even worse than Delia.”
Connor’s voice vanished. So that was at it, then. And deep down, he had known it. He’d just been hoping he was wrong.
Because he knew how serious this was.
He had to fix it somehow. Now. Without looking weak. But he was rattled at the thought that he’d already lost her. “I was not trying to be disrespectful to you, Maggie—”
“Well, you were.”
“Forgive my lack of manners in the midst of somebody trying to kill me!”
“Is that an order?” she inquired.
Bloody hell. His heart pounded, because it seemed the more he tried to make this better on his own terms, the worse it all became. God, he wanted this to be over. He strove for logic and clarity, wishing that for just one moment, she would look at this like a man.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable?” he asked.
“Unreasonable? I only followed to help you, and you nearly bit my head off!”
“After you disobeyed a direct order from me, you mean? When you left cover and safety and followed me into the darkness, and could’ve got yourself killed?”
“I couldn’t help it!” she all but yelled, her gray eyes blazing. “I was worried about you!”
“And I appreciate that,” he said in frustration. “But as you saw for yourself, I don’t need some sheltered young lady to protect me, for God’s sake.”
She turned her head, looking stung, then regarded him from the corner of her eye. Instead of looking soothed, she only looked more annoyed. “I thought you came over here to make up with me, not insult me.”
“It’s not an insult; it’s true! You are sheltered. I like that you’re sheltered.” It reminds me of everything I’m fighting for.
“Well, stop browbeating me.”
He checked his temper. “I’m not. We’re just…having a conversation.”
“It seems like browbeating.”
“Maybe you’re just too sensitive,” he muttered, and immediately regretted it, for Maggie narrowed her eyes at him.
“Maybe you are just a barbarian,” she replied, enunciating every word clearly. “If Your Grace will excuse me.” With that, she pushed away from the tree and headed for the carriage.
Connor turned. “Maggie, you cannot just run away from me. We need to settle this. I don’t want to fight with you, especially not with so much at stake. It’s a distraction!”
“Fine. I’m listening.” She stopped, pivoted, and lifted her chin with a grand air. “Apologize for being a barbarian, and then perhaps I’ll forgive you.”
“I’m sorry!” he said much too hotly, throwing his hands up.
She just looked at him, arching a brow.
Connor cleared his throat and shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it off, but even he knew that, as apologies went, that was a disaster.
Lack of practice, no doubt.
But, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and half the inn yard looking on, he tried to brazen it out. “There. I said it. Happy now?”
She shook her head at him, then turned around and walked away.
He dropped his chin to his chest, praying for patience.
“Do you at least like the ring?” he asked, casting about for any source of encouragement.
“More than I like you right now,” she drawled, not bothering to look back, merely giving him an idle wave.
Connor’s eyes widened at her saucy retort. When in the world did she turn so cheeky? He stared at her retreating figure, lovely and slim in that striking blue gown, then shook his head, mystified.
“Glad I did at least one thing right,” he called after her indignantly.
“Must’ve been your Irish luck.”
Connor gasped, then laughed with shock at her sarcastic reply.
Then he could not decide if he was outraged or amused. What on earth has happened to my sweet, mild-mannered, little Maggie?
This new version of the girl practically swaggered back toward the carriage.
He noted Aunt Florence bustling over to her, but he paid the old woman no mind, for only one thing was certain.
Lady Margaret Winthrop had never acted so cheeky till she’d fallen in with him.
I am a bad influence on that girl, he thought, not for the first time. And, in spite of his defeat just now, Connor walked away smiling.
* * *
“Lady Walstead, you look distressed,” Maggie said. Putting that maddening Irishman out of her mind, she took hold of the old lady’s forearm and drew her gently out of the way as another stagecoach came thundering into the inn yard, loaded with passengers, its six horses’ hooves clattering.
The little baroness glanced over her shoulder, startled by its arrival, then chuckled at her own state of distraction for having missed it bearing down on her. “Thank you, dear. And please, call me Aunt Florence. We will soon be family, after all.”
“Aunt Florence,” Maggie echoed, and smiled, glad of the sweet old lady’s unassuming company after Connor’s latest outburst, but then she noticed her worried expression. “Is something wrong?”
Florence glanced around uncertainly, her brow puckered. “Well, it’s just, I wondered if I-I might ask a favor of you.”
“Of course. Anything. What is it?” Maggie guided Florence safely into the shade of a budding pear tree planted next to the cobblestone courtyard.
“There is something I need to tell my nephew, but I-I don’t think he wants to be bothered right now, what with all the hubbub and him being responsible for leading our journey today.”
“Nonsense. Shall I fetch him for you?”
“Oh, no, please. Do not bother him, dear.” Wringing her bony hands, Florence glanced around nervously. “He’s so very large. And I fear what I have to tell him might make him angry, a little. I confess, I find him a little…intimidating sometimes. Especially when he’s cross.”
Understanding dawned.
“You want me to give him the message for you?” Maggie asked gently.
“Oh, would you, dear?” Florence said. “I should be ever so grateful, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Maggie assured her, giving Florence’s spindly arm a soothing caress. “As you said, we are soon to be family. What would you like me to tell him?”
“Oh, I knew I could count on you.” Florence beamed. “But, of course, you’re not afraid of him. You’re not afraid of anyone, are you?”
“I don’t know about that,” Maggie said in surprise.
Florence leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You were magnificent last night, standing up to Lucinda that way.” She lifted her gloved fingers over her lips, stifling a giggle. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Oh, I was very rude—”
“She was rude. Just like always. You had every right to dish it back to her. No one ever dares, because of her rank. But for my part,” Florence said with a guilty glance around, as though the dragon lady might be listening, “I was cheering for you, o-on the inside.”
Maggie lifted her eyebrows. “You were?”
“Oh, you have no idea how I’ve been wanting to do that for years myself!”
“I’ll bet,” Maggie said, holding her gaze in twinkling amusement. “To be honest, it felt rather good. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s easier—for me, at least—just to put up with her nonsense. But you, why, you have such courage. Which is why I thought perhaps my nephew might, er, better receive my information if it came from you.”
Maggie nodded. “I am at your disposal.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Once again, Florence glanced around, looking as nervous as the little birds that alighted in the tree above them, hopped from branch to branch, then flitted off again. “Well, to begin, it’s a wee bit embarrassing. I know it was wrong of me, but, last night, while my nephew questioned Lucinda”—she hesitated—“I eavesdropped.”
Maggie swallowed a laugh. “You did?”
Florence closed her eyes and nodded. “It is a dreadful habit of mine, I do not deny it. But…living with Lucinda, sometimes, well, as the Poor Relation in a family, no one ever tells me what is going on. My life must seem rather empty, to do such a thing. But I was afraid! A gunshot, right in our garden! I may be nosy, but I am no fool. I realized our very lives might be at stake. So I felt compelled.”
“Understandably so. It’s all right. And, believe me, I can sympathize more than you know.” Maggie patted Florence’s forearm. “What did you hear, then?”
Florence gave her a grateful look. “Has His Grace told you anything about Lucinda? Her past?”
“He did, just this morning.”
Aunt Florence wrinkled her nose. “So, you know, then. What she used to be.”
“I do. It was Amberley’s way of explaining to me why we had to flee.”
“It’s so good he tells you things, dear. So many men don’t.” Florence scanned Maggie’s face. “How much did he say?”
“Well, he told me he’d just found out that for many years now, the poor duchess has been the victim of a blackmailer connected to her past.”
“Yes,” Florence said, wide-eyed. “It’s about time someone other than me knew about it.”
Maggie was startled. “So, you were aware of this, then?”
“Oh yes.” Florence glanced around again. “I kept my mouth shut, of course. I’m very discreet. Far be it from me to criticize her. It’s not my place, I’m sure, and if there was someone Lucinda had to pay, what business was that of mine?” She shrugged her frail shoulders. “Charles was never stinting with his money toward her. Indeed, he always bought her everything she wanted.”
“Did he?”
“He liked flaunting her in Society’s face. His parents were very strict with him when he was a boy, you see, and he went through…a rebellious time in his youth. His choice of Lucinda, I daresay, was a product of that time in his life.”
“I see.” Maggie noticed some of their party drifting out of the pub and back toward the carriages.
Soon it would be time to go.
Florence seemed to realize it, too, and hurried her story along, while the breeze made the dappled shadows of the leaves dance around them. “Anyway, last night when I overheard Amberley questioning her, I noticed that, well, let’s just say Her Grace erred on some dates.”
“How’s that?” Maggie tilted her head.
“Well! She told my nephew that she decided to stop paying the blackmailer after Charles’s death. But this was not accurate.” Florence closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “I’m very good with such details, and I am certain that Charles was still alive when Lucinda hired those two brigands to go tell the extortionist that she had paid for fifty years, and wasn’t giving him another farthing.”
“She hired brigands?” Maggie said, astonished. “Connor did not mention that.”
“Because she didn’t tell him,” Florence whispered. “I was listening; I know. Perhaps it slipped her mind. But I doubt it.”
“So she lied to him, gave the wrong order of events, and left out vital information?”
“It would seem so.” Florence gulped. “I was shocked that she did not mention them to him, for, in my view, her hiring these two outlaws was where all the trouble started.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. But something must’ve gone wrong that night. For when her two hired ruffians came back to collect their pay for their errand, they were all out of temper and demanded far more money than Lucinda had previously agreed to pay.” Florence leaned closer. “I think they might’ve killed someone.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “What makes you say that?”
“They told Lucinda they had to flee the country. They wanted her to pay for their passage across the Channel that very night. I overheard them threatening that if she did not help them flee and they were arrested, they’d tell the magistrate that she was the one who had hired them.
“In the law’s eyes, they said, that would make her an accomplice to whatever dreadful thing had occurred when they went to confront the blackmailer. Then she might be arrested herself, and the whole lurid story would come out in the papers. And all the scandals around her that she worked for so long to expunge would explode into life again. That, Lucinda could never abide.
“It’s the one thing she fears—not that I blame her. She suffered such cruelty at the hands of the ton. Treatment I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. She is a hard woman, but at least I know why.”
Maggie nodded, and the baroness continued in a hushed tone.
“Anyway, realizing all this, of course Her Grace paid whatever it took to make those dreadful mercenaries go away. But that was not the end of the problems they’d caused in the course of their errand.
“Indeed, it was only the beginning. For that was when the family’s awful run of bad luck started. First, Charles died in his sleep. Then poor Rupert stumbled off the cliff. He was such a lovely man! And then young Richard broke his neck in that dreadful carriage accident. I always told him he drove too fast, poor thing. And then when I heard about Connor nearly getting poisoned…”
Florence shuddered. “Until that happened, the others’ deaths all seemed reasonably explainable. We could lie to ourselves. Even after the poison, since Connor survived it, we hoped for the best. We ignored our suspicions. We’re just two old ladies, after all. We live quietly. Who’d want to hurt us? To think that there should have been deliberate and purposeful malice behind these events, why, it just seemed unthinkable!
“But last night in the garden, that was the last straw. When some killer tried to shoot my poor nephew—at his own welcome party!—even I could no longer hide from the horrible truth: that what I’d always feared deep down was, indeed, happening.”
“And what’s that?” Maggie whispered.
“That Lucinda’s past would get us all killed.” Florence’s sweet face was grim.
“Dear Aunt Florence, why did you never say anything about all this before?” Maggie asked when she finally recovered her voice.
Florence shrugged. “Whom would I tell? Before Connor came to London, there was no one to tell. Besides, she terrifies me—Lucinda, I mean. I did not know what she might do to me if she found out I’d told on her, such a woman as that. Considering where she came from. She would know it was me who had blabbered the truth, after all. Who else could it be?”
“Ladies, we shall be leaving as soon as you’re ready!” Nestor called from across the inn yard.
Maggie waved to acknowledge him. Then she looked again at Aunt Florence, who was staring at her.
“Please, will you explain all this to His Grace on my behalf when you have the chance?” the old woman asked anxiously. “I don’t want him to shout at me for not telling him sooner.”
Maggie nodded. “I don’t think he would yell at you, dear Aunt Florence, but of course I’ll take care of this for you. I know how intimidating he can be. I’ll relay everything to him that you’ve shared with me, just as soon as I can.”
“I thought it might help,” Florence replied.
“I should think so.”
“Could you ask him to try to be discreet, please?” she added timidly. “That is, I pray he would not tell Lucinda I’ve spilled her secrets. They’re not mine to share. But when I heard her lie to him, I knew I had no other choice.”
“You did the right thing, and I’ll make sure he keeps your name out of it. But Aunt Florence, you needn’t be so afraid of her. You have me now. I am your friend and I will defend you.”
Florence clutched Maggie’s hand. “Such a sweet child. He’s lucky to have you, dear Maggie. We all are. You are going to be a wonderful duchess.”
“I shall do my best,” Maggie replied, touched by the old lady’s faith in her.
“Oh—one more thing,” Florence said, almost turning away. She returned, still clutching Maggie’s hand. “My nephew probably doesn’t realize this, but the first and second duchesses positively hate each other—Lucinda and Caroline.”
“I’ll bet,” Maggie murmured. The ex-harlot and the vicar’s wife?
“Do warn him. I should hate for him to accidentally, you know, step into the crossfire.”
“Yes, indeed. Thank you for the warning.”
“Absolutely, my dear. We all need allies in this world.” With a conspiratorial wink, Florence signaled for silence with a finger to her lips, then bustled off toward the carriages, where Lucinda now stood, already bellowing for her.
“Florence! Where is Florence?”
“I’m here, Lucinda! Yoo-hoo! Coming!”
Maggie could see the party reassembling to continue their journey, but for her part, her head was still reeling from the little lady’s revelations.
She strove to absorb it all as she walked back slowly toward the traveling chariot. At least her mission was clear.
As irked as she was with Connor right now, she was going to have to speak to him at the first opportunity…
Alone.