.
Philomena stepped into the carriage and sighed when she saw the stranger sitting across from her. He was a man she knew well and not at all. He was an older gentleman who wore fine suits, but not even silk could hide the fact that he was not from the West End. His accent made that clear. His hair was dark and swept back carelessly and his eyes a true blue.
They stared at her in a way that made her feel as though he didn't really see her, as though he were looking at other things happening behind her and had lived a life full of one tragedy after another. She recognized that look because she often had it on her own face, though she never stared as he did. When she was only in her thoughts, she kept in mind not to keep her gaze fixed on any one person. It was rude.
This man, whose name she didn't know, seemed to never have been taught that lesson. A black handkerchief rested in his open hand and without having to say a word, she took the material and tied it around her eyes.
The carriage pulled away from her house, and she settled in for the journey.
The first time Creed had sent this man to retrieve her, she'd been full of anxiety at the thought of being blind while in the company of a man, but when the second and third trip passed without harm, she'd settled and learned to enjoy the ride.
She even found herself enjoying the dark. It allowed her to be in her thoughts without having to discuss them and currently, as they had been for the last few months of her life, they were on Morgan. But before yesterday, she'd had very little to think about concerning him. That was no longer the case.
Morgan was... complex. She'd never experienced so many emotions in one day, from fear to anger and concern, she'd found her feelings tied to the man. When deciding she would marry a stranger, she'd held fast to the possibility that love could grow slowly if that was what they both wished.
But from those last few hours with Morgan and even the lovely evening they'd shared with his friends, Mena was sure that if she allowed it, she could love him long before they exchanged vows. It was in the way he looked at her and touched her. She'd not been the bride of his choice, but he'd made it clear that he was choosing her now.
She shivered as she recalled just how clearly he'd made that known. His eyes had never strayed far from hers during dinner, and she was sure that everyone was aware of it. While the men had been cordial, the women had been warm, open, and had invited her to more events that would fill the rest of her calendar for the Season. She'd discovered she liked them all and when she'd mentioned knowing Wardington, Marianne, whom she'd discovered was the duke's niece, warmed up even more.
"There are four of us. You've probably met my sister, Margaret," Marianne had said over her wine glass. "She's his favorite."
Mena had met Margaret many times, but said, "I'm sure your uncle loves you all the same."
Marianne laughed, her eyes shining. "Oh, he does, but Margaret is so much like him that when they get together, everyone leaves."
Mena had heard the rumors about Wardington's need for control but, like the rumors about Mena's uncle, she'd pushed them aside once she met him. "Your uncle is a wonderful and sweet man. Gentle even."
That caused everyone to laugh. Even Morgan had chuckled from his bed.
Sopherina had had tears in her eyes. "Oh, Wardington must truly like you if that's all you can say about him."
Mena had been confused.
"You're a very fortunate woman if Wardington holds you in such high esteem." Morgan’s eyes had been warm.
She was set to see him again today and looked forward to it, but her summons from Creed dampened that feeling. Morgan didn’t like Creed, which saddened her because Creed had been nothing but kind to her, and she truly wanted them to get along.
Perhaps she could arrange a dinner and allow them to see one another in the best light.
She smiled at the idea. Creed had been overjoyed when she’d been presented with Morgan’s proposal, as she supposed any man would be when their charge would be marrying a marquess.
A dinner sounded like a lovely idea. All she had to do was get them together in the same room, and she was sure that Morgan would love Creed.
Her thoughts remained on Morgan for the remainder of the long journey and even without seeing where she was going, she noticed once they arrived in a less-favored part of London. There was shouting that could be heard from the streets and a man shouted for someone to chase a pickpocket.
The carriage stopped, and Mena’s arm was grabbed before she was taken out, only to be placed in a different carriage altogether. She knew why this was. The quick switch was to lose anyone who might have followed the first carriage. She sighed as she was settled into the next one, which started before her bottom touched the seat. The switch was so seamless and quick that she was sure the goal was accomplished every time.
The next time the carriage stopped, her blindfold was removed. She stepped out of the carriage that had been parked in a filthy alley and cringed as she watched the tail of a rat disappear behind a pile of garbage. It not only reminded her of the horrors of her debut but also the lengths Creed had to take in order to hide from the public that was growing to hate him. If the gossip rags would just leave him alone, Creed would be free to walk the streets. Instead, in the last few months, he’d hidden, moving away from the illustrious townhouse with its fine rugs and golden fixtures where he’d once lived and into this unseemly residence. She allowed her guard to walk her to the back door, and it opened as they approached.
She was ushered farther into the house, passing a small kitchen and dining room, before arriving in the living room.
As was Creed’s style, everything inside the building was still beautiful, but the actual walls held none of the molding that the other had or the clear view of a park. Instead, the window faced a wall, which allowed barely any sun at all. Seeing her uncle living this way made her heart squeeze, but she put on a smile when he walked toward her.
Creed was neither short nor tall and one would not notice him if he were to walk through a crowd, but his eyes, when they captured a gaze, could freeze a man in his tracks. They were like cool steel, a gray so pure that Mena often found them unsettling.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I grow lonely when I don’t see you.” His voice was calm and soothing as he directed her to a chair.
Mena smiled and took the chair next to his own. She took his hand as she settled. “Uncle Creed, you know I enjoy spending time with you. I can come over whenever you wish.”
He patted her hand, his eyes warm. “If only that were true, but you know these times are not as they once were.” He averted his gaze, and she knew then that the time he’d spent in the dark was beginning to weigh on him.
She tightened her hold on his hand as tears sprung to her eyes. “I hate those people for making you seem like a horrible person when you’ve been nothing but kind.”
His gray eyes slowly returned to her and stared at her as though he were looking into her very soul. “You’re more than I deserve, Philomena.” His words came out just above a whisper, and she could hear the emotion laced within them.
She smiled and thought about the man she’d first come to meet a few years ago. He’d not held any such emotions upon their introduction, but in less than an evening, she’d pulled a genuine smile from his lips and even later a laugh. They’d shared many dinners before she’d been sent to Hanover, but their letters to one another had kept each other close and ever since her return to London, she’d sought him out for advice and words of encouragement. “You’re all I have in the world, Uncle Creed. We’re all one another has.”
“Yes,” he said quickly. Then a wide grin split his face. “And I’d do anything for you, my dear.”
“As would I.”
“Have you met your fiancé yet?” he asked, his eyes watchful.
“I have,” she said as plainly as she could. She wanted to tell Creed that the marquess didn’t approve of him but decided against it. Now was not the time. First, she’d plan a dinner and was certain that would set all to rights.
Creed did not give her the chance to keep that secret. “Does Lord Durham know of my connection to you?”
She took her hands from his and rested them on her lap. Nervousness made her talk quickly. “He does, but I didn’t tell him, I swear. He somehow knew and was angry with me. I’d never seen a man so furious before—”
“Did he hurt you?”
She froze at the sudden coolness in his eyes. They’d taken on a steel dagger look that made her shiver. “No. He swore he’d never hurt me.”
Creed stood with a sigh and presented her with his back. “Good, because if he so much as thought to do so...” He grunted and waved a hand. “Well, let us just say it would not end well for him, my dear, I can promise you that. But none of that matters. I knew he’d see you for the gem that you are.” He turned and smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I want you to marry the marquess either way.”
She frowned, not understanding his reply. “But… he doesn’t like you.”
Creed laughed. “My dear, if we went by those standards, I dare say that you’d never marry.” He was grinning once more. “No one likes me, but that matters not. I’ve finally managed to find a solution to my problem.”
She straightened in her chair. “You have?”
He nodded. “Yes, but all you must do for now is marry the marquess. You plan to marry him, don’t you?”
She’d been leaning toward doing so, but if her marriage to Morgan would also free her uncle from his current state, she’d do anything he asked. It helped that Morgan had begun to grow on her. He still frightened her slightly, but she could tell from Creed’s earlier anger that her uncle would never let any harm come her way. “I’m seeing him later today.”
“Good, very good.” He strolled over to the window and sighed again before gazing out at the bricked building on the other side. It was obvious he was distracted.
“What the matter?”
He looked at her and said, “I’ve a gift for you, but I confess I’m unsure if I should give it to you or not.”
She smiled. “Oh, but I love presents.” Creed sent her flowers at least once a month with other small trinkets that she adored. Some of the girls at her school had been envious of the way he showered her with gifts. “What is it?”
He laughed. “It’s not like any of the others.” His expression became serious then. “Philomena, I’ll need you to carry this gift with you always.”
Her brows drew together but she nodded as Creed walked across the room before picking up a small wooden box. He strolled back to where she sat and took his own seat before placing the box on her lap.
She smiled at him then stared at the box. It was a letter keepsake box with painted details and even a small lock. The handle and its hinges were done in silver. She took the key he offered and opened the lid. Light caught what lay on a bed of black silk and her heart jumped into her throat before she turned to him, her body trembling. “What is this?”
He seemed sad. “I know you know what it is, my dear.”
She looked back into the box and glared at the small dagger inside. Its sheath was white with a wreath pattern carved into its metal, as though any detail could change it from the ugly thing it was. “I can’t take this.”
“You need it.” He took the lid from her and then one of her hands. “Philomena,
I might not always be around. I’d feel better if you carried this with you.”
“Don’t say that.” Tears glittered her eyes. “You’re all I have, Uncle.”
He looked away before turning to her again. “Swear to me that you’ll wear this. Please. I’m not asking you to use it. I’d never ask that of you, not even if it were to save me. But it would give me some measure of comfort if you had it on you. Will you do that for me, Mena?”
She thought about the moment Morgan had been stabbed the previous day and her reaction to the scene. There had been nothing she could have done to save him, but perhaps if she’d had something like this… She stared at the dagger again. She was marrying a spy, which was obviously a very dangerous career. It was probably best she did carry the dagger. “All right.” Her reply came short and light. “I’ll wear it.”
“Good.” He stood and motioned for a maid to come into the room. “Amy will show you how to put it on. Don’t tell anyone what’s in that box, not even your lady’s maid. Let them believe it is nothing but letters, and the servants will most likely leave it alone.” He stood and helped her up.
“Why can’t I tell my lady’s maid?”
“Added precautions.” He grabbed her arms and gave them a light stroke. “Things have been… going worse for me, Philomena. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
His fear made her heart race. “What’s happening? Did someone try to… hurt you?”
He turned away. “Let Amy help you and then you must leave.”
She grabbed him once more and kissed his cheek. “I won’t tell Allie about the dagger. Be safe.”
“Anything for you, my dear.” He touched her cheek and was gone. Their meetings were never long, as her uncle swore he had many things to do, but now she wondered if he always sent her away because he was in danger.
Amy helped her learn to tie the dagger to her thigh, and she walked around for a bit to get used to the added weight, but it was still awkward when she finally left. She was inside the carriage and blindfolded before the carriage pulled away, barely paying attention to the shouts of a boy selling the morning paper.
Her thoughts stayed on the dagger at her thigh. She felt no safer than she had before her arrival and in fact felt worse off for the whole visit. Her uncle was in danger, and there was nothing she could do about it. When she thought of whom she might ask for help, her throat battled between either letting out a laugh or a sob. Morgan was a spy. Surely, he would know a way to save a man she dearly cared for.
But in her heart, she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet.
First, she’d have to prove her uncle’s innocence, but how could she prove such a thing?
She prayed the answers would find her and soon.