And tripped over the rodent. Sideways, as if pushed.
Standing protectively over Phoebe, Drew watched in shock and disbelief as the man he recognized as Wilkes, one of his investment partners and Simon’s mine-owning neighbor, slipped impossibly toward the parapet.
“Go, Letitia,” he could swear he heard Phoebe whisper.
Before Drew could react in any sensible way, the would-be killer fell against the low parapet. Wilkes was taller than Phoebe, and the wall hit him at thigh height. He grabbed for the parapet but apparently off-kilter, he fell backward—and over the edge.
The baron’s screams echoed through the mews—just as a contingent of rescuers surged through the attic doorway, Simon leading the charge, waving his claymore.
Drew knelt to take Phoebe in his arms, willing his heart to quit ripping its way out of his chest and to settle down where it belonged.
“Letitia is here,” he thought she whispered in his ear, before passing out.
Had the baron succeeded in throttling her?
Panicking, Drew ripped the aging fabric of her bodice to reach her corset. With his pocketknife, he sliced the ties so she could breathe more freely. While Simon’s adolescent army of servants raced about, hunting the enemy, Drew covered Phoebe’s mouth with his to breathe air into her. Her lungs heaved. He could feel her heart pounding as hard as his. “Talk to me,” he whispered, praying.
“What the hell is going on?” Simon shouted at the skies. “The wolf has a blackguard cornered in the nursery, and you’re up here having your way with the governess?”
Phoebe stirred in his arms. She lived!
In relief, Drew replied, “Your wife just pushed John Wilkes over the parapet.” Now that he could breathe again, he enjoyed shaking up his cousin as badly as he had been. Even better, he relished Simon’s shock at his insane declaration.
Letting his aching legs collapse under him, Drew pulled Phoebe into his lap and cuddled her against him.
He thought she giggled in understanding. The weasel scampered up his arm and settled on his shoulder. Overhead, the screaming raven perched on a chimney and shut up.
“My. . . ?” Simon peered over the edge, which was more than Drew could make himself do. “Why is Dalrymple down there? I thought we left him in the parlor. And what’s he. . .” He grew silent, then abruptly ushered his small troop back toward the attic.
Trying to peer over the edge, Henry and Dougie lingered. Simon gestured at the lads with his sword, forcing them ahead of him.
“Is he dead?” Phoebe asked uncertainly.
“If he’s the bastard who had Letitia murdered, then I sincerely hope so, but do you really want me to look down there to see?” Drew thought he might just sit here for the rest of his life. Let Simon handle his adversaries. Let Hugh swing papers in faces. He was good here, with Phoebe in his arms.
And a raven watching from the chimney, a weasel curling around his neck, and pigeons circling.
“The baron was crossing the roof when I came up. I think he and his friend planned on entering the nursery and taking the children out this way. Or pushing them off.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her nose in his shoulder. “He sincerely believed Letitia and the children were witches who read his guilty mind and wrote it all down.”
Drew held her tight, trying not to think how close he’d come to losing her. “I am never letting you out of my sight again.”
“That could be awkward.” She chuckled and kissed his jaw, bravely pretending she wasn’t shaking from head to toe, although he could feel her shivers. “How on earth did you climb that wall? I thought I’d lost my mind when I saw your head appear. I thought he’d blocked my breath, and I was seeing apparitions.”
“Vines are no worse than ship rigging. And maybe Letitia’s ghost helped me a little the last step of the way. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sit here and slowly freeze to death as night arrives and never have to think again.” He hugged her as close as he could.
“I don’t believe freezing would be pleasant, and you have ruined a second coat this morning. I may be a bad influence.” She fingered a rent in his sleeve and a smear of filth.
“We will hire a seamstress and tailor and install them in that building by the university,” he vowed. “Along with a nursery for your pets and a workshop for me so mine isn’t cluttering the drawing room.”
“And install my mother upstairs?” she asked with a laugh. “Living over a barn couldn’t be worse than living with some of the animals who slept around us before. One tenant used to keep goats in the cellar.”
“I can’t believe you’re laughing.” Reluctantly, Drew stood, refusing to release his hold on her.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll have hysterics, I promise,” she said, clutching her gown closed. “But I’ve never fainted before, so I’m trying to catch my breath and not think about anything. I suppose we must go down to see if any part of the house is left. I fear your cousin was looking for battle.”
“Oh, most assuredly, which is why I’d rather not take you down just yet. Simon may be beheading whoever your dog has trapped in the nursery. Will you promise to stay in your rooms until I tell you it’s safe?” He kissed the top of her head, valiantly trying to resist temptation.
“I cannot go anywhere until I have changed into probably my last gown. So you have a little time to mop up the blood.” She limped along beside him, still clinging to his waist.
“Are you all right? Do I need to call a physician?” he asked worriedly.
“I am fine. I twisted myself into a puzzle attempting to hammer the madman’s head, gouge his eyes, step on his toes, knee his nether parts, and kick his shin while dodging raven wings. Ravens are not very effective weapons,” she said mournfully.
Drew had to stop, close his eyes, and hug her harder to be sure she was solid and breathing. “You learned to fight in the streets?”
“Of course.” She started for the door again. “I can’t use a knife, I fear. It makes me squeamish. But I had good neighbors who taught me how to look after myself. I never expected to be attacked on the roof by a baron, in a nice neighborhood like this.”
“People are people no matter where they live or how they dress or what they call themselves.” Drew thought about that. “Titles and tailoring may conceal a criminal better, but that doesn’t make him any less evil than ragged thieves in the street.”
“Clothes do not make the gentleman, or lady,” she agreed. “But generally, I’d think a gentleman would find better means of stealing than throwing women off the roof,” she said tartly. “I am glad Letitia shoved him.”
Drew threw a last glance back to the place where the baron had gone over. A trick of light played a shadow on the wall where there should be none. “So am I,” he said in heartfelt relief.
Phoebe comforted a distraught Dahlia as policemen led Mr. Dalrymple away with his companions. “He’s only a witness, you’ll see,” she said, hugging the girl, hoping she wasn’t lying.
She feared the gentlemen who had accompanied Mr. Dalrymple were a great deal more than witnesses, but they had not stopped Simon from running to her rescue. Without evidence, they’d never be convicted for soliciting murder or attempted kidnapping. For all anyone knew, the baron had simply known of the meeting and taken advantage of the distraction. His henchman in the nursery only knew the baron’s orders.
“But my uncle admitted he knew that awful man who tried to kill you,” Dahlia said through sobs. “All those men! He met with them in secret in my room. That can’t be good.”
“They were part of Andrew’s consortium, so that means nothing. Your uncle is innocent until proven guilty. Maybe only the baron and his mine manager planned to harm the children. We don’t know. You should try to see your aunt. She must be terrified. Tell her my mother, the Countess of Drumsmoore, will be returning from Castle Yates shortly, and I’d love to introduce her.”
Dahlia wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and offer
ed a half laugh. “Phrasing it like that might actually help. Do you think your mother would be interested in charity work?”
“I do not, but don’t tell your aunt that. Now, go, before she has time to work herself into a state. Mr. Blair will tell her what he hears as soon as he has word.” Phoebe ushered the girl out the front door since the back lane was still full of officials and gawkers. She hoped someone had washed up the blood, and she shuddered anew. She’d have nightmares for years.
Abby brought up a fresh tea tray and a thimble-sized brandy. “Cook says she’ll hold dinner until Mr. Blair is ready. Should we wait for the other Mr. Blair and Mr. Morgan too?”
“Keep a cold collation ready for them,” Phoebe suggested. “I have no idea how long they will be at the police station.”
Abby didn’t depart immediately but crossed her hands in her apron. “May I speak, my lady?”
Phoebe poured the brandy into her tea and raised her eyebrows. “Of course. I fear I do not stand on propriety. Nearly flying off a roof has that effect.”
The maid stifled a smile and bobbed a curtsey. “We. . . all of us. . . want to thank you for thinking of us when all was topsy-turvy. The gentlemen are very brave, but they do not always remember us belowstairs. With your warning, we had time to sharpen our knives and bring out heavy skillets in case we were invaded.”
Phoebe tried not to muse too hard over Cook, who could barely manage the stairs, arming herself with kitchen hatchet and skillet to thwart a killer. “I am very sorry you had to be put to the trouble. I shall ask Mr. Blair if he can’t add a little to your wages as recompense for the fright his cousin’s enemies have given you.”
Abby beamed and curtsied again. “I do hope you will stay, my lady.” She scurried away.
Phoebe sipped her doctored tea and considered that plea.
Andrew had climbed three stories—on nothing—to rescue her. She saw little difference in that insanity and her escapade with Evie. Perhaps he disguised his madness a little better, worked a little harder to fit in, but underneath the proper suit and cravat was a strong man capable of impossible feats for those he. . . loved? Would he have climbed those vines for Dahlia? She didn’t think so. No more than she would consider bedding any man but him.
They were dreadful influences on each other.
She glanced down at the new gown she’d changed into. Perhaps not completely dreadful. Clean clothes and pretty underwear weren’t quite as confining as she had feared. And she’d discovered that failure was how she learned and wasn’t all bad, as long as it didn’t involve lives anyway. With the support of a good person like Andrew, she could pick herself up over and over again until she accomplished what needed to be done.
Her hero entered the parlor looking unshaven, frazzled, and still filthy, but his eyes lit with what appeared to be genuine delight upon finding her waiting. “I feared you would flee to your aunts before I could shake off queries from half Edinburgh.”
“I should have,” Phoebe admitted. “I simply didn’t think of it. I needed to be certain everyone was all right and to bail you out if the police decided you must have flung that awful man over the wall.” And because she belonged here with him, she realized. She might occasionally even be of use to him.
“For some reason, the officer in charge believed your testimony,” Andrew replied, pouring himself tea. “Thank you for not mentioning a ghost. The bruise on your neck spoke loudly enough.”
She touched the scarf she’d donned to conceal the purple marks. “Perhaps we should not call my mother back until the bruise is gone. Now that she’s well again, she wants to treat me as the child I was when she left. She will fear you did this or that I must leave the city to be safe or any number of preposterous things.”
He set his teacup aside and unexpectedly dropped to a crouch by her chair. Taking her hand, he bowed his head against her knee. “Don’t leave, Phoebe. I know you have no reason to believe I can keep you comfortably, or even pay you the attention you deserve, but you are my heart. I will be an empty shell if you leave me.”
Before she could recover from shock and find words, he dug in his coat pocket and produced. . . a bent nail holding a tie clasp?
He slid the iron ring over her finger so the diamond clasp sparkled like a real ring. “I didn’t have time to run to the jeweler, and I’d rather have you with me when I go. But I needed proof that you will be mine, however difficult you might find me. Please, Phoebe, will you do me the great honor of marrying me?”
Seeing this gallant man kneeling at her feet nearly crushed her. She probably wasn’t in her right mind or in any condition to make life-long promises, but finding freedom in accepting what her heart told her, she slid off her chair to kneel with him. “I am not a comfortable sort of person, sir. I don’t expect you to change me. But if you can love and respect me as I am, then I am not so foolish as to turn away the most perfect man for me in existence, and I shall return your love and respect with all my heart and soul.”
“Thank you, mo chridhe, my heart, I love you as you are and will always do. And after today, I don’t think I’ll ever let you out of my sight again.” He crushed her in his embrace.
Relaxing for the first time in hours, Phoebe rubbed her cheek against his coat. “Did you just speak Gaelic to me? Will you teach me? I know French and Latin but no one—”
He laughed and shut her up with kisses.
Thirty
“Please hurry, the train will be here any minute,” Phoebe—Lady Phoebe Blair—pleaded.
The love of his life had actually signed the registrar’s papers and said her vows before a minister. Drew was so proud, he could burst, but he still couldn’t gallop a carriage down crowded Prince’s Street.
The odd wedding ceremony she’d insisted on had been puzzling, but she’d claimed it was old family tradition to vow to love, honor, and take thee in equality. He had no argument with that since she’d vowed the same.
“You do realize the children will not be with her?” he said, admiring the pert gold confection perched on his wife’s thick hair. The hat matched the gold-and-brown stripes of her new gown, which had lasted all of the morning without ruination.
“I know, and I’m so glad they’re enjoying Olivia and the ponies. And I hope your cousin untangles all the scandals and the labor problems and whatever else troubles him, but it’s my mother we need today. I have to tell her that none of the properties Mr. Lithgow suggested are suitable and persuade her to look in a warmer climate. I love my mother, but I do not really wish her to live with us.”
“Are you planning on putting her on the next train south?” he asked in amusement.
She pulled off her glove to admire the new ring he’d bought for her—and probably to wave it like a red flag at her mother. He was learning his beloved’s foibles.
“No, of course not. But now that she doesn’t need to worry about a home for me, she may be more reasonable about the lien, and then you can build new buildings and people can have homes again.”
The ring she helped him choose looked nothing like the fancy diamonds other ladies wore. She’d fallen in love with one with chips of different-colored stones set into a gold band to form a discreet infinity symbol. And then she’d insisted that he have a tie pin just like it—so everyone knew they were a couple.
Drew was fairly certain all of Edinburgh knew it by now. If the ravens, mice, and pigeons hadn’t carried the word, her aunts had. They’d had half society calling ever since the news leaked out. He didn’t need to worry about losing investors any time soon, even if gossip said he’d pushed one off his roof. Marrying into aristocratic circles apparently excused eccentricity.
“We are relocating the tenants as quickly as we can,” he assured her. “There just aren’t a lot of empty rooms to be had for the rent they can afford. I’ve found employment for a few of the men, but the women. . .”
“I know. I understand. It is a lot of people, and some of them are so incapacitated that they really belong in the h
ospital. But everyone should have a home. It is breaking my heart that I am so happy, while they’re so lost! The world isn’t fair.” She checked the pins in her hat as the carriage drew up near the station.
“I’ve addressed the council about the situation. We’ll have to take each family one by one and see what can be done. We may be living on short rations for a while, but I won’t tear the buildings down until everyone has a place,” he promised.
She kissed his jaw as he flung the reins to a boy to hold.
“And so I must do my part and persuade my mother not to ask too much for our lien. It would be even better if she would decide to live at Castle Yates, although Yorkshire is still too cold for her, I fear,” she said as Drew climbed from the carriage. She took his hand and leaped down after him, showing the pointed toe of her half-boot and a glimpse of lacy petticoat.
She still refused to wear crinolines, but for him, she’d gone out of her way to look the part of lady when necessary. In return, Drew had hopes of pleasing her as well, but his plans relied on Lady Persephone.
“Who is that with her?” Phoebe asked as her mother climbed off the train in a billow of petticoats.
Drew studied the older gentleman in graying side-whiskers and excellent tailoring. The man was slender and not much taller than Phoebe, an almost perfect match for the petite countess. “I haven’t the slightest. Considering the gold fobs and diamond pins and monocle, I’d say royalty.”
Phoebe laughed under her breath and rushed to greet her mother.
Drew steeled himself for the confrontation to come. Phoebe was his. No one could part them. But her mother could make his life damned uncomfortable if she chose.
“My daughter, Lady Phoebe,” the countess said to her elegant companion, accepting Phoebe’s enthusiastic hug. “Phoebe, may I introduce Lord Percival, a friend of mine I met in France. My, you’re looking lovely today!” She stepped back to admire Phoebe’s new attire.
Lessons in Enchantment Page 27
