Chapter 12

 

Breakfast at the house of the Marquess of Strenshall was a noisy affair, even with a member of the family missing. Last night, while Val had been cavorting with his betrothed and teasing Lord Kellett half to death, his oldest brother had arrived from the country with his wife.

Viola was an old friend. She had been the daughter of the steward to the estate, and more besides. In a breakneck adventure last year, Val’s older brother Marcus had saved her, been happily compromised, and married her. Viola’s presence at the table seemed as if it was meant to be.

Claudia, the missing member of the family, was in the country with her husband. Claudia’s twin, Livia, missed her terribly, but she was holding up, and it wasn’t as if her sister weren’t blissfully happy.

Val strolled into the breakfast parlor wearing a brilliant purple banyan, one of his collection of the soft garments that took the place of the formal coat indoors. He had floor-length ones too and took great pleasure in seeking out the brightest he could find. They made a wonderful contrast to the pale man with red-rimmed eyes who was suffering from the effects of the night before.

Not today though. Today he was stone-cold sober.

After greeting Marcus, he took his seat and reached for the coffee. His mother had long ago instituted an informal meal at noon to which all the family were summoned. Servants only entered when she rang the bell at her elbow. They were alone and they could speak frankly, sometimes brutally.

His mother’s sigh alerted Val to the fact that he was not in her best books this morning. Such a small sigh, but so full of meaning.

He rubbed his chin, the stubble rasping his palm. “You are about to comment on last night’s events,” he prompted her. Better to get it over with, and then he could eat his breakfast in peace.

“Fill your plate first, my son. You’re going to need it.”

Damn. Rising from the table, Val sauntered to the sideboard and did as she bade him. The usual delicious array of chops, kidneys, bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and the other viands her ladyship deemed necessary for her family’s start to the day lay in silver warming plates over spirit lamps, keeping sizzling hot. Val helped himself, but he only took a modest amount. He could still see the floral pattern on his plate when he had done.

Returning to the table, he took his place. He would far rather visit his father in his study than face trial by family. “Let battle commence.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into his chop.

“Val, you have a positive gift for getting into trouble,” his mother complained. “Your little drama last night was enacted in front of half of London. The other half is reading about it this morning. They are now speculating about the bad blood between the Emperors and the Smithsons. We have only just settled our differences with the Dankworths. We are hardly looking for another fight.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Marcus muttered. He had his own reasons for holding the Dankworth family in contempt. Val felt for him.

“We have to,” the marquess put in. “Let’s call it an uneasy truce.”

“Yes, let’s,” Marcus said morosely. He touched his wife’s hand, and she gave him a bright smile. Too bright. Marcus lifted Viola’s hand and pressed a kiss to the palm.

“Love at the breakfast table,” Darius said thoughtfully. “Too rich a dish for me.”

Marcus glared at him, but Darius only gave him a bland smile and turned to his own food. Marcus’s happiness had been hard-won, and he deserved every bit of it. Moreover, the event had changed Marcus from a humorless dullard into a man unafraid to voice his needs and opinions.

“What are you doing now, Val?” His mother sounded resigned, but her tone did not fool her second son.

“Opposing the vile comments made about my betrothed wife.”

“Charlotte? I heard you were playing piquet for her hand. Were you playing to win or to lose?”

Val shot a glance at his father, who shook his head infinitesimally. He had not told her of Lord Kellett’s proclivities, then. Morosely, he silently thanked his father for that. He would have to tell her himself. And the rest of his family, it appeared. “Kellett is a miserable specimen of mankind. Charlotte favored him, but she is not aware of the full extent of his activities. Neither would I tell her. They are not fit for a respectable female’s ears.”

His mother snorted with derision. “Are you telling me that women do not know these things?”

Val shook his head. “But I would rather eat my breakfast without thinking about it. The man turns my stomach.”

“And so you picked a dispute with him.”

His appetite restored, Val forked up a piece of kidney. “He picked one with me. Charlotte is still my betrothed, and it is my responsibility to defend her against unwarranted attacks.”

“Is that what he did?” His mother poured coffee and pushed it over. He smiled his thanks and finished his mouthful.

“Not precisely, but he did mention her name in an inappropriate place. So I defended her.”

“And won five thousand guineas,” Darius pointed out.

“That as well.” He would devote the whole amount to Charlotte. She had earned it.

“I cannot be but pleased, however, that you are ending your arrangement,” his mother said. “You might have to wait a week or two, but Lady Charlotte appears to be having a change of heart. She seems determined to make herself notorious.”

Val opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, his father cleared his throat and picked up his magnifying glass to focus on an article. “I believe your scandal may be joined by another. I went out early this morning, and they are talking of nothing else in the coffeehouses.”

“Do not keep us waiting, John.” The marchioness tapped her spoon on the table. “What is it?”

The marquess glanced up at her. “There are some indelicate parts.” He nodded meaningfully at his unmarried daughters.

“Hah!” Livia joined the conversation. “I am studying such indelicate matters. I wish to learn, so that I might help.” Livia had recently taken an interest in charitable work. Her twin’s recent marriage had dispirited her, making her look at alternatives to marriage. She seemed to be convinced that she had missed her opportunities, and it was true. She had never attracted the attention some of her contemporaries enjoyed, but she should not give up just yet. Unless she wanted to, but from the occasional wistful glance she cast at her married acquaintances, Val guessed she did not. Perhaps she would have a favorable outcome, too.

The family had quieted, and everyone stared expectantly at its head. The marquess sighed and picked up the journal. “It says here, ‘The esteemed Mr. John Fielding, magistrate at Bow Street, had a violent awakening from his slumbers yesterday morn. On rising, his servants informed him of the sad parcel of humanity left at his front door. Mr. Fielding, being a compassionate man, ordered the female brought indoors, but it was discovered that she was past saving. The girl was cut over her back, so deeply as to show the bone.’” He broke off, appealing to his wife, but his children insisted he continue. Val sat frozen to his seat. He remembered vividly one girl cut to the bone. With a whip.

“‘The girl had a note pinned to the remnants of her gown which indicated she was Jane Trotter. On enquiries, Mr. Fielding discovered that she was the unfortunate daughter of a button-maker in the City. On being informed of his daughter’s fate, the father broke into wails of distress, claiming he had not seen the girl this past twelvemonth, when she had left his house after a dispute. He identified the unfortunate victim as his beloved daughter. The marks on her body were severe and prolonged. They showed old scars as well as the ones that killed the girl. Such wickedness cannot be allowed to go unpunished, and Mr. Fielding has pledged to discover the person or persons who committed this terrible crime.’”

Sighing, he put the paper down. “This is a sad occurrence, but it is fast becoming the first in gossip.”

Although his heart sank to his feet, Val became aware of a slight sense of relief. Taking his admittedly poor behavior from last night out of the public eye was good news, although he wished heartily it had not been because of poor Janey. The news that she had died had hit him hard and had led to the loss of his control when confronted with her murderer.

Did the authorities have any idea where she had come from or who was involved?

When breakfast ended, he lost no time visiting his brother’s chamber. He even tapped on the door, something he did not always remember to do.

Darius was at his dressing table, putting the final touches to his appearance. He tended to dress plainly, and Val guessed he would be out of the house long before he had prepared for his daily London round. His brother caught Val’s entrance and lifted a finger. His valet disappeared through the jib door.

“He will not listen,” Darius said.

Val nodded. He trusted his brother to know his own servants. Darius had his dressing table at the side of his room. Val leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “So, Janey. Janey Trotter.”

Darius rubbed his nose and grimaced. “Yes.” He stared at his reflection and then turned back to Val. “I persuaded the madam to give me the poor girl after she died. I did not like the idea of disposing of her body as if it meant nothing. I felt sure it would mean something to someone. So I left her outside Fielding’s house.”

“Who else knows?”

“Me, and now you. The madam didn’t know what I intended to do with her. I could have dropped her in the Thames for all she cared, as long as I got the girl out of the house.”

Val frowned. “How in God’s name did you get her from Covent Garden up to Bow Street without anyone seeing you?”

Darius shrugged. “I dressed her in a cloak and carried her there with my arm around her waist. To all intents and purposes, the girl was drunk. Then I dropped her at the house door. People watching would think she was dead drunk. I was masked. Nobody recognized me.”

The matter of fact way he described his act minimized several important factors. First, however small and thin the girl was, it took a tremendous feat of strength to carry her with one arm for that distance. And the act indicated how much Darius hated injustice. The killing of Janey Trotter was an enormous one.

“You know Janey’s killer will probably never be brought to justice for the crime.” Val pointed out gently. “The madam will never lay evidence against the man.” Even though his brother had assured him that his valet had left, Val still took care not to name the man. Once that rumor started, there would be no stopping it, and Val wanted to keep the information to himself a while yet.

Darius dropped the buffer and picked up his nail-paring knife. He played with it, twirling it deftly between his fingers, watching the flash of the small but delicate razor-sharp blade. “I know. The least I could do was to give her family surcease.”

He had done that. “Did you know she had a family?”

“I guessed. The few words I heard from her lips were in a London accent, relatively refined at that. While she could have come from a rookery, or an orphanage, I wanted to give them the chance. And to leave her at Fielding’s door seemed like a kind of justice. The man is incorruptible, so they say.”

“They do.” Val had yet to believe any magistrate incorruptible. Money was a big persuader, he had found. However, Fielding was the nearest they had, and he had taken the fate of the women who occupied the houses around his court and Newgate gaol seriously. He utterly refused to send women to Bridewell, the prison specializing in females, because he accused it of being an academy. Such outlandish ideas had raised the anger of others, but there was no doubt he was sincere in his actions.

“He probably told the journalists,” Darius said. “I thought he would.”

“Will you take her cause?”

Darius shook his head. “I have done all I can. The girl is restored to her family. We know who did it, and you have the matter in hand.”

Val kicked away from the wall. “The man is insufferable. He has already insulted Charlotte beyond bearing. I owe him, Darius.”

“You plan to marry Charlotte then?” Darius raised his brows, surprise evident. “I thought you intended to let her go once the scandal of last night had blown over.”

“Yes, I’ll marry her,” he said firmly. “I cannot leave her to what she may expect without me. I know more than you about her situation, Darius, and it is not the most pleasant. Her father is a despot behind doors as well as a disciplinarian in public. He is more than proud, more than arrogant. He is tyrannical.”

Darius met his brother’s gaze directly, his blue eyes frank. “Is he unkind to her?”

“I believe so. I blame myself for not noticing before. Oh, I knew he was strict, but not downright cruel. Did you know that the youngest sister is simple?” At Darius’s arrested stare, he continued. “He uses the youngest one as a lever to persuade Charlotte to do his bidding. Unfortunately, Louisa is underage, but I am working on ways to extricate her as well as Charlotte. I do not think she will marry me and leave her sister to endure alone.”

Darius gave a low whistle. “So that is why she would not push the match. I wondered about that.”

Val choked out a laugh. “I never did. I was too busy getting into trouble and starting our venture. Only when we have established the business did I notice anything amiss with a two-year betrothal. It suited me, and thoughtlessly I assumed it suited her. I have amends to make.”

“Don’t marry her to try to make it up to her. You will fail, and you will make both of you unhappy.”

“You speak from experience?”

Darius nodded stiffly. “You know Mama has tried to push women onto me. I naturally avoided the ones who gazed at me starry-eyed. I could never fulfill their expectations. But I seriously considered others. If I found someone who agreed to let me be, who would have me go my own way, then how much easier would my life be?”

Val swallowed. He had not thought of that. He had not thought properly about anything recently. Too engrossed with his own concerns to think too deeply about anyone else’s. Oh, he would give help when his relatives requested it, but out of loyalty, not because their cause concerned him at more than an intellectual level.

“I will never fail you.” Simple words, but he meant them down to his soul.

Darius covered Val’s hand with his own. “I know. You feel and think more than you give yourself credit for. Now go and claim your bride, if you are sure.”

Val nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

* * * *

An hour and a half later, dressed in his careful best, a vision in crimson velvet and gold brocade, Val presented himself at the door of the Duke of Rochfort. The butler opened the door himself and the eerie quiet of the house reached out to take him in. The silence was anything but peaceful, however, and it was soon broken when the duke came downstairs, dressed for going out. He spared Val a glance while he allowed a footman to reverently place a hat on top of his beautifully curled wig. “Sir?”

Val noted that while he insisted on everyone, including his daughters, referring to him by his title, he had no such compunction when speaking to anyone else.

“I called in the expectation of an interview with Charlotte,” he said.

“I know no one of that name.”

Val’s heart missed a beat. Oh God, what had he done? Val stepped into the hall, feeling like the fly entering a spider’s web. The door closed behind him, so quietly that only the absence of street traffic sounds alerted him to the fact. “Your daughter, Lady Charlotte Engles.”

The duke regarded him through hooded eyes. “I see. I sent another in her direction not an hour since. You should know, my lord, that if you marry her, you take her with nothing. I am done with my thankless daughters.”

Did he still control the youngest? Charlotte would not thank him if he did not enquire after Louisa. For that matter, he would not forgive himself if he omitted to press the issue. “All three of them?”

“All of them. They have been a sad disappointment to me. However, my lord, if you wish to take her, we will talk further.”

No they would not. If he had tossed her out of doors, Val and his family were done with the insufferably proud man. “Indeed? Where have they gone?”

The duke shrugged. “I know not. They are safe, however. They went with their older sibling. I am on my way to the club. Do you care to accompany me?”

At that moment Val felt sure the duke was mad. That was the only explanation for his behavior. Caring not who overheard, he spoke his mind. “I would not accompany you to heaven, sir, although I feel sure you are headed the other way. You let your daughters leave without knowing their destination?”

The duke sighed, as if Val had put a weight on his shoulders. Or that he was slow to understand. “They went with their older sister. They will be perfectly safe.” That was the first time he had even mentioned her safety.

“What happened?”

He didn’t expect an answer, but to his shock, he received one.

“Charlotte has run mad. I expect her to regain her senses before long, although I will not welcome her back without a husband. She has ruined herself. You walked away last night, once you saw her condition, and I do not blame you for it. She turned wanton, and I informed her of that fact. I will not have such a one in my household. A woman like that is beyond redemption. Her lack of respect to her father and her insolence compounded her sin. I have done my best to bring my daughters up without the benefit of a helpmeet by my side, and I expect gratitude. I have reared them to the highest standards, but they have all defied me. My oldest is beyond my help. She married so far below her I cannot accept her as fit for my company. Charlotte disgraced herself and Louisa—” He held out his hands helplessly. Or not, because the butler took that as a sign to ease him gently into his gloves. “The only way they will return here is respectably married. You, sir, have shown no sign of redemption, although your father assured me you were not as rackety as you appeared. That was his word, rackety. I would choose something bolder and more descriptive.” He lowered his now-gloved hands. “You may well have aided in her downfall. I have sent a steadier, more respectable man after her. I will thank you to stay away. If he takes her, he will make her the woman she should be. He has assured me of the fact.”

Val did not have to hear the man’s name. He knew who the duke had sent. He probably considered the deed a gracious one.

“The man you sent is purely evil. He will beat her and destroy her spirit.”

“She needs to be broken. Only then will she become a good and obedient wife and daughter. He has my blessing.” He swept Val with one last, contemptuous look. “I will pray for them.”

As if they had sinned past forgiveness.

Val would not forgive them, because they had done nothing wrong. There was no need for forgiveness on Rochfort’s part. Only on theirs.

Where had they gone?

When he asked, the duke ignored him. If he had not held his hands carefully by his sides, he would have struck the man. But there was no sense distancing him yet. Later, when he had done with him.

Before he swept from the house, the duke turned to him. “You do not have my blessing, sir. I no longer wish her to ally herself to you.”

Val couldn’t resist one last dig. “Our marriage contract is still in force. Either you have nothing to do with her, or you do not. If you continue in this way, I will sue you for breach of promise.”

“Not after I have laid my case before your father.”

That was where he was going, not his club at all. Val would pay good money to see the confrontation between his father and Charlotte’s, but he had other business to pursue. The duke had virtually thrown Kellett at her.

“I sign my own contracts, sir. You will have to persuade me to agree.”

Where had she gone? He would get no more from this arrogant fool, even if he held a naked blade to his throat. He would see what a little judicious gold would do in the right pockets.

As soon as the front door had closed reverently behind the duke as he left, a woman clattered down the stairs. Val took a minute, shading his eyes from the sun streaming through the lunette over the front door. An older lady, carrying a bulging canvas bag. Ah, he had it. This was the chaperone, the duke’s sister.

“Lady Adelaide.” He put on his most charming smile and bowed with a flourish. Here was his best chance of finding Charlotte. “Well met.”

“Not at all.” The lady pushed back a wayward lock of dark hair, shoving it impatiently under her straw bergère hat. “Pray, sir, do you intend to stand there all day?”

He had considered Lady Adelaide completely under the duke’s thumb. Distasteful though it might be, necessity drove him and he had prepared to intimidate the lady if he had to. He would bear the guilt. Better that, than the guilt of driving Charlotte into the arms of a murderer. “I would prefer to be of any assistance to you that I may.”

“That poor girl will be lost without me.”

“Lady Charlotte?”

“No, you dolt, Louisa!”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Yes, but they won’t be there for long.” Without ceremony, Lady Adelaide shoved the bag into his hand. “Come on.” She glanced at the butler, who was standing openmouthed by the front door. “Have our belongings packed and sent on.” Not waiting for the servant’s response, she turned back to Val. “I had to return for some precious things of Louisa’s that we forgot.”

Goodness, this was a Lady Adelaide Val did not recognize at all, but he was glad that finally, she had found her courage.

Outside, she looked around. “Where is your equipage?”

“I walked,” he said, shamefaced. “I wanted people to see.”

“Ah.” She eyed his garb. “I see. That coat is quite dazzling in the sunshine, is it not?”

“Also hot,” he confessed. Velvet was not the most forgiving fabric in the world but he’d selected it for its color. He wanted to be noticed, walking into the duke’s house to claim the hand of his daughter.

“We’ll need a hack.” She marched off toward the edge of the square.

Val lifted his hand and nodded to the disreputable vehicle loitering at the other side of the street. The driver turned his horse with little regard for the other traffic, earning himself curses aplenty, but he got the job done and drew up by Val and Lady Adelaide.

They climbed aboard, Val giving his grand attire scant notice. Lady Adelaide gave the direction and they set off for one of the busiest coaching inns in the City.

While they traveled, Val engaged Lady Adelaide by requesting an explanation of exactly what had happened that morning. They were nearly at their destination by the time she had finished, even though Val did not find the need to interpolate questions very often. In fact, Lady Adelaide proved an intelligent and perceptive woman, yet another bullied by the duke into submission.

And she was devoted to Lady Louisa. Val would make it his mission to find a comfortable and happy place for them both. As well as saving Charlotte from the machinations of a man not fit to lick her dainty feet.

As the idea flashed through his mind, a twinge of discomfort hit his groin. Even the thought of touching her did that to him these days. He couldn’t account for it, but there it was; after two years of tolerating the woman, his mind had woken. He had so nearly lost her. He might lose her yet.

No, that thought was unbearable. He could not let that happen.

They had arrived. The inn was in its usual state of partially organized chaos. Ostlers raced in and out, attending to the horses of the coaches that swept through the arch into the yard. No stables were in sight, because they were underground, an ingenious way of stabling dozens of animals. People ran in and out, travelers with food and baskets in their hands, hurrying to the coach, anxiously checking with each other that they were on the right one. The air was filled with the cacophony of many people talking all at once, together with the whinnying and neighing of horses and the clatter of shod hooves on the cobblestones.

After a glance around the yard, Val led Lady Adelaide indoors.

Here the great tables and benches were packed with people, many of them leaving, but some with trunks and bags, having just arrived.

Lady Adelaide sighed. “Louisa will be in a pet.” She patted the bag Val was carrying for her. “We left without Louisa’s favorite toys, and without them she will not be happy. I went straight back to the house for them.”

“So you brought them? You brought nothing of your own?”

She shrugged. “I have a few necessities. These are far more important. Louisa is easily distressed. If she is happy she is one of the most lovable people alive, but she will not like this disturbance.”

A cry attracted Val’s attention. He had only heard it once or twice before, but it was engraved on his brain.

Changing direction, he headed for the rooms at the rear of the inn; the private parlors. He did not hear the sound again, but nothing daunted he flung open the doors one by one, leaving Lady Adelaide to smooth over any disturbances he might create.

Then at the end, he found her. The last door burst open to reveal Charlotte in a man’s arms being soundly kissed. But the way she held her hands against his shoulders, beating at them, did not indicate her willingness. Val did not wait for any more. With a shout, he sprang forward and delivered a hard flat-handed blow to the man’s shoulder. That was enough to break his hold. Charlotte staggered back, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “I said no, sir, and I meant it. You will not touch me.”

“I have your father’s permission to touch you whenever I like,” he growled. He glanced at Val, his stare one of pure contempt. “You will leave my betrothed and myself.”

“You are sadly mistaken, sir,” Val said, at his haughtiest. “Lady Charlotte is my affianced wife. What makes you think you are good enough to touch her?”

Lord Kellett opened his coat and tucked his hand in his pocket, but Val took little notice. He was more concerned for Charlotte.

Her sleeve was half torn away, and a bruise was already forming on her upper arm. Her hair was partly down, and red marks marred her throat, the signs of brutal handling. When he saw the trickle of blood emerge from the corner of her mouth, he was no longer calm, no longer thinking logically.

Knocking the paper out of Kellett’s hand, Val plucked the token of his fury from his coat pocket and brandished it before tossing it contemptuously to the floor. “Name your seconds.” His low, throbbing voice filled the room, as Lady Adelaide entered it.

Kellett was white. “You cannot do this.”

“You have given me little choice.”

“There is no need for this. Read the letter the duke gave to me.”

Val was as cold and stiff as an icicle in the middle of winter. His anger had gone beyond heat, passing through to a cold need for revenge faster than he had ever experienced before. He knocked the note from the man’s hand. “I care not. The lady is mine, by any definition of the word.”

“Then perhaps you should have ensured she did not stray.” Kellett had recovered from his initial shock, and a sneer curled his thin lips.

“I did not see any willing compliance when I entered the room.”

“I’ll be witness to that.” Lady Adelaide stood with her back to the closed door, her arms folded. Behind Val, Charlotte gasped. “You were forcing yourself upon her.” She turned her attention to Val. “You don’t have to call him out. He should be begging you to forgive him.”

“No, he should be begging her.” When Charlotte moved forward, he touched her arm, and she started. “You will leave now.”

Kellett stayed in his place. “Tomorrow on the Heath, with pistols.”

Damn, the man meant to kill him. Swords would mean first blood, unless the accused stated otherwise.

“Dueling is illegal,” said Lady Adelaide.

“Shooting practice,” Val said shortly. He turned his back on Kellett, displaying his contempt for the man.

Caring little for who was in the room, he held his arms wide. With a choked sob, she came to him.

He closed his arms around her. “Marry me,” he said. “Today.”