A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior by Suzanne Enoch (22)

Bartholomew kept his eyes closed for several minutes after he regained consciousness. Appearing more or less dead had saved him once before, and he wasn’t about to discard that strategy now.

Distant sounds touched his ears: a dog barking, several voices yelling as they hawked wares, the heavier sound of a coach or a cart. He seemed to be still in London, and close to a thoroughfare of some sort.

He was sitting upright, his arms aching and numb, and his neck stiff. Slumped into a chair, then, his arms bound behind him. Experimentally he flexed his good knee, and his leg remained immobile. Legs tied as well, then. A quick twitch of his jaw told him that he was gagged, and beyond the faint smell of his own blood he could make out a damp mustiness that conjured the image of a cellar.

His head pounded, but he set that aside. The devil knew he’d been injured far worse before. Anything short of being shot and cast into the bottom of a well seemed survivable by comparison. Especially now, when he had another reason to survive. If whoever had snared him had had any intelligence or courage at all, they would have killed him outright.

Something scuffed very close to him. At least one other person in the room. He took a slow breath in through his nose, since his mouth was covered. Best get on with it, then. Slowly tensing his muscles, he made a show of rocking his head and moaning.

“He’s coming around,” a low male voice said. “Go tell him.”

Footsteps tromped away and then up what had to be stairs. They were definitely in a cellar, then. Bartholomew opened his eyes and lifted his head.

“This is a fine idea,” a tall, slightly pot-bellied man said, hefting the brace they’d obviously removed from his leg. “Hold the bones and muscles steady so you can still ride.”

He was dressed like a gentleman, but not a nobleman—a clean linen shirt and fairly inexpensive-looking waistcoat and long jacket, with a simply knotted cravat at his throat and five shilling boots on his feet. A clerk, then, like the pair who’d followed him back from Sommerset’s house the night he’d discovered Theresa also there spying on him.

More boots thudded on the stairs again, somewhere behind him. The cellar itself was well insulated, with the faint scent of cork and wine now coming to him as his companion moved about. Considering that he’d already concluded he was in some well-appointed gentleman’s wine cellar, seeing Lord Hadderly come around into his line of vision wasn’t even surprising.

“You’re a damned nuisance, Colonel,” the earl said. He lifted a stack of papers in one hand. “Seems as though we’ve met at just the right moment.” He glanced beyond Bartholomew’s shoulder. “Turn him around.”

Two men took the seat and back of the chair and dragged it around a hundred and eighty degrees. Several racks of wine lined the walls, and what looked like a spare set of dining room chairs stood half-covered under a sheet. There were seven of them; he apparently rated the eighth. And they were fairly sturdy looking things, too.

Hadderly strolled into view again. “You’ve placed me in an awkward position, you know,” he said conversationally. “I’m responsible for a great amount of commerce. Money, employees, even the stability of England all fall under my purview.

“Did you ever think,” he continued, “that if you hadn’t survived that so-called attack, we might have been able to invent some heroic end for you and your men? Saving natives from a flood or a fire, or some such thing. One thing I know you didn’t do, however, is this.” He shook the papers in his hand.

“We’ve already had to create one report simply because of your continued presence. That in itself cost the Company over a hundred pounds, and that doesn’t even take into account how many wealthy young men waiting for adventure and a place to invest might have been frightened away from India and the Company by you. That’s enough of a loss.”

He walked over to the small lead and iron stove in the corner opposite the dining room furniture, squatted down, and lit the newspaper and tinder inside. Once it was burning well, he rolled up the pages of Bartholomew’s India account and one by one pushed them into the fire.

When he’d finished, Lord Hadderly straightened again. “That’s one part of the problem eliminated. I don’t suppose you’ll tell us if you have any copies of that lying about.”

Tolly didn’t make a sound. It wouldn’t serve any purpose that would aid him, and he had absolutely no intention of doing anything to point a finger at Theresa. Hopefully she was still at James House, and hopefully Lackaby was keeping a close eye both on her and on the house in general.

“Very well,” the earl continued. “Make yourself comfortable. We have a few things to determine, and since you’ve made a nuisance of yourself by appearing at soirees and reconciling with your family, someone will notice you’ve gone missing. They might point at the Company, and we can’t have that. So I suppose we’ll have to start a rumor or two about you…despairing of ever recovering the reputation you threw away by lying about the Thuggee. Once that’s all sorted and we settle on a nice, remote place to put you under the ground, well, we’ll be back to things as they should be.”

Ah. At least it was just business. In a sense, that had been the Thuggee philosophy, as well. How else could they pretend friendship and then strangle the very men with whom they’d shared a meal thirty minutes before? Money, profit, greed. He hadn’t needed to travel all the way to India to find that.

“There is one thing, though.” Hadderly walked up to him and jerked the cloth from around his mouth. “If you simply tell us whether you’ve left any further copies of that thing lying about, I will give you the opportunity to write a last note to your family. A chance to bid them farewell. Wouldn’t that be worth something? You could tell your sister that she’s not to blame, that it’s for the best if you disappear. And that lovely Miss Weller who’s been spending so much of her time at James House. You could add a word for her. Wouldn’t it be lovely, to have such a pretty creature shed a tear at your demise?”

Bartholomew settled a calm stare on the earl. “When I kill you,” he mused coolly, “is there any sentiment you’d like for me to convey to your loved ones? I thought I should ask now, since you’ll be coughing blood and shitting yourself after I stab you in the throat.”

Hadderly blinked. “You’re a very violent fellow, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

More feet tapped on the stairs. “My lord, you’re needed upstairs.”

The earl nodded, backing for the stairs. “Put the gag back in his mouth. I doubt he’ll be so brave without an audience, and I don’t want him screaming.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And stop fooling with that damned thing, Mr. Peters.” Hadderly grabbed the leather knee brace out of the clerk’s hands and trotted up the stairs.

Thankfully they left him facing the front of the cellar as Mr. Peters yanked the gag up again and made certain it was tight around his mouth. Because with his back to them, he could work on the knots binding his hands. Violent man or not, he knew something about pain. And about how to put it aside when the need arose.

And considering that Hadderly had named both his sister and Theresa, nothing was going to stop him from getting his hands on the earl and choking the life out of him. It might be just business for the earl, but for him it was about his life. And his heart, which for him equaled the same thing.

 

If Theresa hadn’t been worried out of her mind, the sight of four very fit, quite handsome young men flanking her would have been enjoyable, if not outright amusing. Of course one of them was her brother, but Michael hardly resembled the good-natured, teasing muggins who called her Troll and chuckled at the number of suitors she’d gathered.

Considering that Sommerset’s butler had very nearly succeeded in keeping them at bay, she was rather glad that His Grace had joined the hunt. She doubted there was a servant in England who wouldn’t admit him into a house. Lord Hadderly’s man hadn’t so much as batted an eye before showing them into a sitting room off the foyer.

Sommerset walked over to stand beside where she waited by the window. “Do you know Hadderly?” he murmured.

“We’ve been introduced. I stay well away from him because my grandmother loves cats, and Hadderly breeds dogs.”

His jaw twitched. “Does Hadderly know of his lack of popularity with the Weller family?”

She wondered why that mattered, but if they had to wait, she supposed he was doing her a service by distracting her for a moment. “He doesn’t seem to notice much that doesn’t directly concern him.”

“Ah, you’re wrong about that, Miss Weller. He notices far more than he sees himself, because he has people watching on his behalf.”

“You mean the men Tolly saw watching James House report to Hadderly?”

“That’s only a guess, but given what I know of him, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I say this because I intend to confront him fairly directly. I leave it to you to notice what I cannot. Tolly has several times mentioned your skill at observation. Can you do this?”

She nodded once more. “Now that I know how directly he may be involved, I don’t intend to blink,” she whispered fiercely.

“Neither do I.”

The sitting door swung open, and the Earl of Hadderly strolled into the room. “Your Grace, my lords, Miss—Miss Weller? My goodness. What brings you all here and looking so serious?”

“My brother is missing,” Stephen said. “Considering his recent return from India and the way his claims dispute the official stance of the East India Company, we thought to come here.”

“And in very large numbers.” His expression concerned, Hadderly motioned for them all to sit. “Let me assure you that whatever our ‘stance’ as you call it, in the past Colonel James has served the Company well and honorably. If there’s anything I can do, you must tell me.”

Sommerset left Theresa’s side, walking forward to sit on the couch directly across from where Hadderly had taken a seat, himself. The earl looked as impeccably-dressed as always, cravat neat and conservatively tied, his coat well fitting and padded at the shoulders to disguise any imperfections in his posture. Whether he was involved with this horror or not, she didn’t like him. She never had, really, however amusing her grandmother’s venom toward him was.

“Did you ever read the report taken from Colonel James’s account?” the duke asked smoothly, his tone less confrontational than Tolly’s brother.

“I don’t know that there ever was an official report,” Hadderly returned. “Not one where he was interviewed by his commanding officers, anyway. I of course read the independent one submitted by his superiors to Lord Hastings in India.” He glanced at Stephen. “I don’t know what merit discussing that would have on finding the colonel today.” He sat forward. “Do you have no idea where he might have gone? A friend, or a fellow officer’s home? I do know that our report has made things a bit…difficult for him.”

“‘Difficult’?” Stephen repeated forcefully.

“Please, Lord Gardner. I don’t mean to make things worse. I’m genuinely trying to help you here.”

“Why?” the duke asked.

Hadderly blinked. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“I said, ‘why’? Colonel James gone means one less man to dispute your Company’s stance, as Lord Gardner calls it. Why do you wish to assist us in finding him?”

“Well, he’s a fellow nobleman. Whatever might have become of him, or whatever he may have…done to himself, I think it’s important to find him.”

“Ah. So you favor suicide.”

“For God’s sake, Sommerset,” Stephen growled, his face white. “I don’t need to hear such nonsense, and neither does Tess.”

“No,” Theresa protested. “I want to hear of any and every theory and possibility.” She didn’t, but she did want him to be able to follow his line of questions with Hadderly. She knew the man to be unpleasant unless he was intentionally attempting to be charming. Today, unless she was greatly mistaken, he was being deliberately charming.

“What would you suggest, then, Your Grace?” Hadderly said, frowning. “I don’t want to dwell on the worst possibility, but in all honesty this is a man who staked his reputation on a story that is now known to be untrue.”

“Hmm. Do you think that a man with a close-knit family would take his own life?” Sommerset went on, crossing his legs at the ankles and apparently completely unconcerned with the topic at hand. Theresa was relieved that he’d spoken to her beforehand; even Montrose looked rather dismayed at the duke’s sangfroid. “A man in pursuit of a young lady?” He motioned over his shoulder in her direction.

“Please, Sommerset. Of course such a man would take his own life. How else to save his family from being dragged into scandal with him? And this young lady is known to have several suitors. Lord Montrose, you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Alexander nodded. “I am.”

“Well. A possibly hopeless pursuit, then.”

Theresa took a deep breath, beginning to wish she was a man so that she could punch this very annoying earl in the nose. “Not hopeless, my lord,” she said aloud. “As a matter of fact, Colonel James and I became engaged nearly a fortnight ago. We are to be married.”

All eyes in the room turned to look at her. Of all of them, only Sommerset didn’t look surprised. In fact, he sent her a brief smile and a nod. “Congratulations, then, Miss Weller.” He faced Hadderly again. “This does put a bit of a wrinkle in your theory, doesn’t it?”

Hadderly frowned at her, then returned his attention to Sommerset. “Not a theory, Your Grace. A possibility. One of many, clearly. And I have to ask, considering that Miss Weller’s news is clearly a surprise both to her brother and to Colonel James’s, do you think you have any idea at all where he might be? You seem to know very little about him, begging your pardon.”

A pair of Hadderly’s cat-menacing wolfhounds trotted into the room, nuzzling up to their master and wagging their tales. As the men continued their debate over where Tolly might have gone and why, she watched the dogs. Personally she had nothing against the animals, but they were very slobbery looking and had large teeth.

One of them was carrying a leather toy in its teeth, strips hanging off it and reaching nearly to the floor. No, not strips. Straps. Theresa sat forward again. Dear heavens. Her fingers shaking and her heart even more unsteady, she stuck her hand out toward the beast. “Come here, boy,” she cooed, knowing she recognized that leather mess even before she could logically have been sure of anything.

“I will be happy to loan you a dozen of my own men to search, if you think…” Hadderly trailed off, his gaze meeting hers and then lowering to his dog. The earl shot to his feet. “Titan. Come here, boy,” he ordered sharply.

The wolfhound turned around. Theresa wanted to yell that she knew where Tolly was, knew who had him, but she needed to be certain. Holding her breath, she lunged forward, snatching the leather out of the dog’s mouth.

“Miss Weller!” the earl roared. “Leave my dog alone. And give me back his damned toy.”

The leather brace was sticky and malformed, but she recognized it. And the brass buckles Tolly used for fastening it around his knee. Standing up, she jabbed it in Hadderly’s direction. “This is Tolly’s leg brace,” she shouted, her voice shaking. “What have you done with him? Tell me! Tell me!”

The earl advanced on her, then stopped short as Sommerset grabbed him around the throat and backed him up again. “You heard Miss Weller,” he murmured, ignoring Hadderly clawing at his forearm. “Where is Colonel James?”

“You’re all mad,” the earl croaked. “The fool killed himself. Accept that, and move on.”

Theresa ran to the door and out into the main part of the house. “Tolly!” she yelled. “Bartholomew James!”

“Tess, slow down,” her brother ordered, grabbing her by the arm.

“He’s here.” Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t care. “Michael, they had him here. What if they’ve—”

“We’ll find him. I promise you.”

Stephen came pounding up behind them, Montrose on his heels. “The cellar,” Lord Gardner panted, pointing. “This way.”

They wound down the hallways toward the back of the house. A half dozen servants and menacing looking men fell back, out of the way, as they advanced. Theresa would have fought them all single-handedly if she had to. He had to be well. Surely Hadderly wouldn’t have harmed him. Not until he could finish spinning his ugly little tale about suicide.

Just outside the kitchen Stephen put his shoulder against a door and shoved it open. The men pushed past her, charging down the stairs, and leaving her to follow behind. Inside, sprawled on the floor with another man slumped beside him, was Tolly.

“Tess,” he said, ignoring everything else.

She flung herself forward, falling into his arms. “Thank God,” she sobbed, digging her hands into his jacket. “Thank God.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “You came to rescue me again,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair.

Theresa straightened a little. He had an ugly bruise over one eye, dried blood trickling down from the cut there. “Again?”

“You rescued me the moment I set eyes on you. You were all I could think of. I love you, Theresa. So much.”

“So very much,” she whispered back.

“Come on, Tess,” Michael said, taking her beneath the arms. “Off the floor.”

She didn’t want to let go of Tolly, but he couldn’t have been easy there on the floor with everyone towering over him. Stephen hefted him up onto the second stair. “You seemed to be doing a fair job of rescuing yourself,” Lord Gardner noted, pulling a knife from his boot and cutting the rope that remained around one of Tolly’s forearms. Both of his wrists looked raw and torn, but from his smile he didn’t care.

Sommerset stepped into the doorway above them. “All is well, I presume?” he asked, looking down at them.

“Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.” Stephen looked near tears, himself.

“Thank Miss Weller. She figured it out before I did.” He moved aside. “Montrose, might I impose on you to keep watch on Hadderly while I pay a visit to Lord Liverpool? This will take some delicacy.”

Goodness. Now the prime minister was involved. Before Alexander climbed the stairs, Theresa took his hand. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

The marquis gave a brief smile. “I said I wasn’t the villain of this piece.” He glanced at Tolly, then back to her again. “Not the hero, either. He’s still a crippled former soldier, you know. And I’m still a marquis. I’ll wait for a time. Just in case.”

“He can wait until hell freezes over,” Tolly rumbled, taking her hand and drawing her down across his legs. “You’re mine.”

“I love you, Tolly,” she whispered, leaning into his shoulder. “And I don’t care who knows. I want everyone to know.”

“We do, now,” Michael said wryly. “Let’s get everyone back to James House, shall we?”

Once Tolly climbed to his feet she wrapped her arm around his waist to help him climb the stairs. “You’re certain, Theresa? No regrets?” he murmured.

“Never.”

 

The rest of the Season flew by in a flurry of parties and wedding preparations and abrupt, unwanted hero worship for Tolly. Once the London Times published his editorial and Lord Hadderly mysteriously left London for the West Indies, everyone seemed to forget that they’d once refused even to speak to Colonel Bartholomew James.

“Tess, you look so pretty tonight,” Harriet said, greeting her as she walked into the ballroom of Garrity House, her grandmother and Michael on either side.

Theresa kissed her friend’s cheek. She felt pretty. And she felt happy; in fact, her face hurt some evenings, she’d been smiling so much. “You look lovely yourself, Harriet,” she returned. “Doesn’t she, Michael?”

Her brother lifted an eyebrow, then sketched an elaborate bow. “You do indeed, Miss Silder. Have you a waltz to spare?”

Harriet blushed. “I happen to have one, yes.”

Theresa’s dance card filled nearly as swiftly as it used to when half the men present were pursuing her. She’d never expected that they would still wish to dance when she didn’t have a dowry to offer, and when she’d actually begun speaking her mind when the mood struck her—which it did more and more often.

The best part of the flurry of balls and soirees—all of them demanding their presence once the wedding announcement had appeared—was the one dance she always saved for Tolly. It was always the first waltz of the evening, and their quiet, kiss-filled walks in gardens or along terraces or in someone’s ill-used library were absolutely the only things that gave her the patience to wait for a formal, proper wedding. Otherwise she was half certain she would simply have moved into James House to live with him in sin.

Tonight, however, by the end of the quadrille with Francis Henning, Tolly still hadn’t appeared. She frowned. Where the devil was Bartholomew? He’d said he would attend tonight, whatever he thought of crowds and of the fickle-mindedness of people who could shun him one moment and celebrate him the next.

“Theresa.”

With a start, she turned around. “Tolly,” she said, smiling. Thank goodness.

He sat in his wheeled chair, Lackaby behind him. “Did you save me a dance?”

“I did.” She always would. Always. “What shall we do this evening?” She had several ideas, but she couldn’t precisely mention those in front of the valet. “The Garrity House garden has a lovely fish pond, I hear.”

“Does it?” Tolly slowly pushed to his feet, then took a step forward. And another. It took a moment for her to realize that he’d left his cane behind, and that he was barely limping at all. “What shall we do this evening, my love?” he repeated, gazing down at her as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I think we should waltz.”