Chapter Twenty-Seven

Graham wanted to go back to Marlborough, to return to Kit and the children and do something for them. But until he could figure out what that something should be, he focused on helping Oliver.

He arrived at Oliver’s house to discover that a solid night’s sleep and a couple of meals had revived his friend—at least revived him enough to have him yelling at his father and nearly threatening the earl.

The servant who let Graham in scurried out of the way as soon as the door was closed behind him.

“She’s safe, Oliver, and that’s all I can tell you. I promised her, I promised . . . well, I promised not to say anything. She wants time to herself for a while. The Season didn’t . . .” The earl paused, and Graham heard his sigh all the way in the corridor. “It didn’t go well for her during the winter and that wasn’t even a full Season. It was a party here and there and an ice-skating outing.”

Graham knocked on the door to the study. The earl gestured him in, and Graham almost stumbled as he noticed that the earl looked nearly as haggard as his son had.

“Wharton,” Lord Trenting said, slumping in the chair behind his desk. “Would you please convince Oliver to think about something else? Anything else? If he keeps going around London and yelling about Priscilla, he’ll ruin everything. She just wants some time, and I’m giving that to her.”

Graham looked from father to son and back again. What the earl said made sense, and it was a reasonable request to keep family business in the family. But Graham really wanted to be on Oliver’s side in this. But then again, wouldn’t it do Oliver good to have something else to do with his time, especially since he wasn’t actually getting anywhere with his searching? “Why don’t we meet Aaron at Fareweather’s?”

“Yes, yes!” The earl waved his hands toward the door. “Go meet Mr. Whitworth.”

Both Graham and Oliver raised their eyebrows at that. Lord Trenting had never particularly liked that Oliver was friends with Aaron. “Right,” Graham said. “Let’s go, Oliver.”

Graham had to practically drag Oliver out of the house, and since he wasn’t about to drag him all the way through the streets of London, he hailed a hack to take them to the club.

Oliver slumped in the seat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Graham asked, “what did you do before Priscilla, er, took her time?”

“Went to Fareweather’s,” Oliver said with a grumble.

That wasn’t all Oliver did, but it was something. “Good thing we’re going there, then.”

Graham hauled Oliver into the club and up the stairs where he all but dumped him into one of the leather chairs in the seating area.

Aaron walked over to them, laughing. “Well, you look in better spirits today. Grumpy, but better.”

Oliver grunted.

Aaron shook his head but clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder in silent support.

Graham looked around the room to see who else was at the club. Lord Marwick sat in a chair on the other side of the room, slumped down until his head barely topped the edge. His hair was mussed and one arm draped over the chair’s side, with a glass of amber liquid held lightly in his fingers.

Graham slid around Oliver’s chair until he stood next to Aaron. “What’s wrong with Marwick?”

“His wife discovered he’d been visited by The Governess.”

Graham’s brows lowered. “I didn’t realize they had children yet.”

Aaron looked at Graham like he was a simpleton. “Not his governess. The Governess.”

Now Graham felt like a simpleton. Well, if there was one thing he’d learned in London society, it was that you were better off pretending you knew something than admitting you didn’t, even though he hadn’t a clue what Aaron meant by his deeply voiced intoning of The Governess. Weren’t there hundreds of governesses in London? How was anyone supposed to know which one was being referred to just by placing an emphasis on the? “Ah,” Graham murmured. “Poor fellow.”

“That would have been bad enough, but he came here last night, got drunk, and then told everyone else about the ensuing fight. Now everyone knows he’s been caught by The Governess and that his wife isn’t happy about it.” Aaron nodded toward the cluster of men in the corner. “They’ve been talking about The Governess for weeks, but it’s always vague, a bit like a fairy tale, since until now, no one had admitted being visited by her.”

“But Marwick has?” Graham was more confused than ever. Apparently there was a woman known as The Governess—stupid title, that. Why would a mysterious woman name herself after the person who minds the children? Was she wrangling the men of London like they were toddlers or something?

Of course, there were times when the men acted like toddlers, so that might not be such a bad idea, but it didn’t seem like something that would strike such terror that a man would keep it a secret.

Aaron nodded. “Now they’re all panting for information, but he sobered up enough to learn he said too much last night. According to them”—he nodded to the men in the corner once more—“Marwick cursed himself and went right back to the bottle. As if talking about The Governess was as bad as getting visited by her.”

Graham sighed. “I concede. I’m ignorant. Why is everyone afraid of The Governess?”

Aaron chuckled. “She digs up your darkest secrets and threatens to expose you if you don’t pay.”

Graham’s stomach curdled at the description. A blackmailer? Marwick had always seemed like a good man.

Curiosity drove Graham across the floor. Whether he wanted more information or to give the man a bit of encouragement he wasn’t sure, because when he got there he saw Marwick’s other hand. It was loosely curled around a pale wooden chess piece. The pawn was beveled and carved in beautiful simplicity.

Familiar simplicity.

Ice rolled through Graham’s veins. He felt like he was just a little bit closer to something he knew but couldn’t quite put into words. It was like another piece of the puzzle falling into place, but it was revealing a grim image indeed.

Graham had an almost certain guess that Lord Marwick, like Lord Trenting, was paying exorbitant sums for the slow delivery of a chess set.

It was an ingenious way to blackmail, really. It was legal. It could be discussed openly, the contract had no need to be hidden, and the blackmailer would be guaranteed a certain amount of income spread over several years.

And all of that money was going to Nash Banfield.

A man Kit and Daphne trusted completely.

No. No. If what he was considering were true, then that meant . . .

He walked back over to Aaron, being careful to keep his gait steady and not draw anyone’s notice. He had Aaron’s, though, and Oliver’s. They were both watching him like he might lose his grip on sanity.

“Who is The Governess?” he asked quietly.

“No one knows,” Aaron said slowly. “Until now I really thought she was a myth. No one knows the first time they heard about her, and no one can describe anyone’s encounter with her. By now the rumors have grown to the point that she breathes fire and carries a scythe, like the dark spectre of Death or something.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t helpful. Graham dropped his head back on his shoulders, trying to decide how to rephrase the question, but Aaron wasn’t finished talking.

“To be honest, I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of her. Until the last few weeks, she wasn’t spoken about in polite circles. It’s more whispers on the street corner than anything else.” Aaron paused. “I don’t think I believed she was real until lately, when the whispers got louder and they went from the street to the ballroom. I wanted her to be real, though.”

Graham slowly brought his head up to look at his friend. “Why?”

Aaron shook his head. “Man, look at me. We have one conversation about my life and suddenly I’m spilling my guts to you like a fribble.”

Graham’s eyebrows rose. “What—”

“Rumor is that she swoops in like an avenging angel, cornering men who refuse to do the right thing, those who turn their back on . . .”

“On?” Graham whispered quietly.

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest and glared across the room, looking at Marwick with something Graham would have almost labeled as hatred.

“Men who turn their back on people like my mother.”

And there it was. The last piece of information. The fact that he’d thought so impossible that he’d never even allowed it to fully form in his mind.

An unknown woman swooping in as an avenging angel for the mothers who found themselves with child.

With children who needed to be forgotten.

A house with an owner who didn’t care about its upkeep and so wouldn’t be paying the caretaker much. Certainly wouldn’t be paying enough to support a house full of children.

A woman in London. Hiding. Being chased by thugs who wanted something very particular from her.

The Kit he thought he knew, the Kit he had been trying to find an excuse to go back to, wasn’t real. No wonder he’d been obsessed with her. It was easy to fall in love with a fantasy.

He’d thought her noble. He’d thought she cared. How many times had she listened to him comment on his concern for Oliver, his worry over Priscilla? She had patted his hand and told him she hoped he found her, and all the while . . .

The shaking eased as a sense of purpose pushed Graham’s rioting emotions out of the way. “I think I know where Priscilla is.”

Oliver sprang from his chair. “What?”

His voice was a little too loud, a little too harsh, and it drew too much attention. “Your house. We need to get that contract.”

It was a testament to friendship and years of traveling together that Oliver and Aaron packed bags quickly and without question.

Graham borrowed his father’s coach but instructed the coachman to hire horses so they would be easier to trade out at the posting inns. It wouldn’t be quite as fast as taking the mail, but if they did find Priscilla, as he was almost positive they would, they’d need a way to bring her home discreetly.

As the carriage drove out of London, Graham ignored the small corner of his heart that held out hope. It was possible the contracts were just protection, a way of allowing people to support their children without anyone being able to find out what was going on.

It was possible.

But an arrangement like that didn’t fuel stories of a fire-breathing dragon or inspire someone to send violent footmen to accost a woman. Those were the types of arrangements honorable men made, and Kit didn’t deal with honorable men.

Still, the glimmer burned, causing an ache in Graham’s chest that he tried to rub out. Continued hope was only going to make the inevitable revelation of truth hurt that much more.

Graham pulled out the contract he’d taken from Lord Trenting’s office. He’d read it before, but now he read it with new eyes. The wording that implied grave consequences for breaking the agreement had sounded overly harsh when discussing a parlor game. It made absolute sense if referring to a child.

The contract ending on delivery of the chessboard suddenly made sense as well. Something could happen. Children died in England every day. They had accidents. They got sick. And there was no reason for anyone to keep paying for a child who was no longer alive.

Which would be another reason to keep them hidden in the woods. To keep them safe. To make sure a father who didn’t want to pay anymore didn’t decide to remove the need to do so.

Everything made sense now. Everything, that is, except the way she’d managed to make Graham care. Everything except the way she’d managed to teach him about himself and the man God had made him to be while being duplicitous and corrupt.

“He’s sleeping.”

Graham looked up from the contract at Aaron and then over to Oliver, who was indeed snoring, head lolling against the side of the carriage.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

How to tell them what he was thinking? Some part of him still felt loyal to Kit, or at least to the children. He understood their secrecy now. Could he betray it? Even to the men he trusted with his life?

“What happened to your mother?” he asked instead.

Aaron sighed. “My mother was the daughter of the village cobbler. Not a position of great importance but one that got her invited to assemblies and things. There weren’t an awful lot of gentry in the area, so boundaries were a bit blurred, I suppose. She told me once that she’d been the envy of every girl in the county when my father asked her to dance not once, but twice. She got caught up in everything and, unfortunately, the story is easy enough to surmise from there.”

Graham turned to look out the window. “And your father wouldn’t marry her.”

“Of course not,” Aaron said with a humorless laugh. “He couldn’t sully the family name with someone so far beneath him. But he wasn’t going to turn his back on me, the proof of his weakness and indiscretion, because he had a responsibility to see to the consequences of his mistakes.” A wry smile twisted Aaron’s lips. “His words.”

“So he put you both up in a cottage?” Graham asked.

Aaron nodded. “Before I was born, she’d had a fairly prominent place in the village. But after, that stopped. She went to work in my father’s estate, the big house that sat empty most of the time except for the staff. She worked in the laundry. She’d bring home mending at night and work by the fireside while I told her what the current nanny and I had done that day.”

Aaron rubbed his rough hands over his face. When they fell away, his eyes looked tortured. “Her own father wouldn’t acknowledge her. Whenever she took me in for shoes, he’d fit me, give me licorice, but never say a word to her. That was my mother’s life. Because of me.”

And if there’d been someone like Kit? Someone like this Governess? What would Aaron’s life have been? “How did you end up at Harrow?”

“Father acknowledged me. Always. When I turned seven, she received notice that I was now in the custody of my father and he would be making all the decisions about my care. She didn’t tell me. I found the note stuffed under her mattress. It said she had no further obligation to me.

“She didn’t leave then. She waited two more years, and to be honest I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe she knew he intended to send me to school. I don’t blame her for leaving. I suppose I was upset at the time, but now I don’t have any resentment at all. Without me, there was a chance she could make a life elsewhere.”

Graham couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but he was very afraid he might do so now. “Do you know what happened to her?” he whispered.

A shake of Aaron’s head cut through Graham’s heart, as he imagined the fate that could have befallen Kit and Daphne—the fate that had befallen them. It was enough to make anyone bitter, to make them lash out.

But did it excuse blackmail?

It was easy to see why Kit and Daphne did what they did, but there had to be a better way. His hand fisted on the contract. One that didn’t involve this. Compounding the wrong by doing it to someone else couldn’t be the way God wanted this handled.

Silence fell, and eventually Graham found his own sleep, though it was in fits and bursts. They made stops, and the men stretched their legs and ate before moving on.

Occasionally Oliver and Aaron tried to get Graham to speak, but he only said he needed a few more answers first.

And he did. One or two holes had to be filled. And he had to learn exactly where Priscilla was.

Hurt and anger shored up his energy the closer they got to Marlborough. Once his feet were on High Street’s cobblestones again, he nearly vibrated with the emotions.

How much had he wanted to come back? How many times had he sought out an excuse?

Now that he had one, he wished he didn’t. He slid his hand in his pocket and rolled a thumb across the edge of the chess piece he’d taken from Oliver’s father’s study. The weight of the small wooden figure reminded him that everything he’d learned was real.

“Get a room at the same inn,” Graham told Oliver. “I’ve got to see someone.”

“If you’re going to see Priscilla, I’m going along.” Oliver balled up his hands and looked ready to punch Graham if he suggested otherwise.

“I don’t know where Priscilla is exactly, but I know who does.”

Graham stared him down until Oliver spun on his heel and walked away, taking Aaron and the baggage with him.

The sun glinted off the window to Nash’s office and Graham considered starting there, but he really didn’t care what part the solicitor played in the scheme. He was little more than a pawn, as far as Graham was concerned.

Instead, he walked toward the inn’s stable to see about renting a horse. Why waste time talking to the pawn when he knew how to get to the queen?