“And your daughter?” said Lady Worthington, yanking Algernon from his thoughts. “Tell me about her.”
“Harriet is quite something. Strong-willed and clever.” He smiled to himself. “She can be something of a challenge at times. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Lady Worthington smiled. “Of course not.” She nodded at him to continue. And so Algernon carried on speaking.
Yes, somehow I will manage to force Molly Cooper from my mind. Somehow I will manage to move forward.
A difficult thing to do, he knew, when he and Miss Cooper lived beneath the same roof. But what choice did he have but to succeed?
* * *
“Salt!” Margaret barked. “Not sugar!” She snatched the jar from Letitia’s hand and sighed witheringly. “Honestly. How you survived without me for three days is beyond me.” She slammed the correct jar onto the bench. It made a loud crash that Letitia felt resonate inside her. “And here I was thinking you were starting to develop a few skills.”
Letitia sprinkled salt into the stew without speaking. She couldn’t concentrate. Her head was full of Lord Radcliffe.
No, not just Lord Radcliffe. Lord Radcliffe and Lady Worthington.
What were they doing? Were they lounging around her parlor, with wine glasses in their hands? Was he holding her in his arms, kissing her the way he had once kissed Letitia?
The thought of it made her stomach turn.
This is how it would be now, she told herself. Soon, Lord Radcliffe would bring home a wife. Soon Letitia would be serving up pigeon pie for a beautiful new marchioness. She would walk past Lord Radcliffe’s bedchamber on her way to the attic and she would think of him lying in the dark with the lady he loved.
Perhaps if she truly were a kitchen hand, this whole sorry episode would not hurt as much. Of course the Marquess could never be hers.
But it was not the case. At the back of her mind, Letitia couldn’t help but wonder if his knowledge of her own nobility might change things.
Yes, it would change things. He would see you as a liar. Likely cast you from his home and never speak to you again.
Letitia stirred the stew slowly, feeling tears well behind her eyes. Up until now, she had managed to get by without thinking of the future. Up until now, life at the Radcliffe manor had just been about surviving.
But she saw now that it could not be forever. She could not stay and watch Lord Radcliffe with his wife.
The urge to leave this place was bubbling inside her, stronger than it had ever been before. Perhaps she would panic again when she tried to board the carriage. So be it. She would survive it. She would leave this place and she would find herself a new position. Preferably for an eccentric Earl with a house full of cats. Surely such a thing would cause far less pain.
With the stew simmering and the meat roasting, Margaret shuffled out of the kitchen to relieve herself.
Letitia took her chance and darted upstairs. She would leave now, before she changed her mind. Before she lost her nerve.
She knocked on the door to Lord Radcliffe’s office. She knew in all likelihood, he had not yet returned from Lady Worthington’s. But Letitia knew she could not leave again without a proper explanation. Not after all that had transpired between them.
When no response came, she found herself sighing in relief.
A letter. I will write him a letter.
It would be easier that way. Letitia knew she would never have the courage to say all she needed to face-to-face.
She went up to her room and pulled a sheet of paper and ink pot from the drawer beneath her nightstand. She perched on the edge of the bed and stared down at the blank page for a long time.
Lord Radcliffe deserved honesty. Letitia knew he held himself responsible for all that had happened between them. He needed to know she had been just as willing as he had.
If not more so.
Though she was ashamed to admit it, even to herself, Letitia knew that, had Lord Radcliffe not pulled away, she would have given herself to him entirely, no matter what the consequences.
She wrote carefully, neatly.
Lord Radcliffe,
I regret that I am no longer able to keep my position in your household. I have been made to feel nothing but welcome here, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But all that has transpired between you and I has made being here far too difficult.
As she wrote, Letitia could feel the color gathering in her cheeks. How would she ever dare give this to the Marquess?
She kept writing. It had to be done. She needed him to know the way she felt.
Spending time in your presence has awakened feelings in me that are far from appropriate. I know well that, given our stations, you and I can never be together. And yet the knowledge of this is a pain inside me. One I can hardly bear.
I hope you understand my need to disappear this way. I truly believe it will be the best for both of us.
There were far more truths Letitia knew she ought to confess. Now was a time for honesty, after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Revealing her feelings for Lord Radcliffe was daunting enough. Admitting she had been lying to him the entire time felt like a step too far.
And so she signed the letter carefully, with the name she had adopted.
Yours sincerely,
Molly Cooper
She waited for the ink to dry, then folded the letter carefully. She wrote Lord Radcliffe’s name in neat letters on the outside. Then, Letitia shoved her spare underskirts into her bag and straightened her bedclothes. This whole escaping episode felt sickeningly familiar. But this time, there could be no turning back.
She swung her bag over her shoulder and crept downstairs to the Marquess’s office. Peeking through the keyhole, she could see no one was inside.
She pushed open the door and crept inside. Lord Radcliffe’s desk was far neater than usual. He had clearly spent a lot of time tidying his papers. Even the desk beneath was polished.
A folder sat in the center of the table, nothing around them but a solitary ink pot. Drawing in her breath to steel herself, Letitia placed the letter on top of the folder. There was no way the Marquess could miss it there.
Then, before she could change her mind, she hurried from the office, closing the door behind her.
As she stepped onto the main staircase, she heard someone call her name.
Harriet was standing on the staircase with the pirate book in her hand. She looked at the bag slung over Letitia’s shoulder and frowned. “What are you doing?” The accusing look in her eyes made it clear she had no doubt at all what was happening.
Letitia swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Harriet.”
“You can’t try and leave again!” Harriet cried. “Have you forgotten what happened last time?”
No. I’ve not forgotten. But collapsing in a panic outside Hatchett’s Hotel again has to be better than staying here and watching Lord Radcliffe fall in love with another lady.
She continued striding down the stairs.
Harriet chased after her. She reached out and grabbed Letitia’s arm. “You can’t go,” she said, her voice wavering. “You can’t! Please! What about our stories?”
When Letitia turned to face her, she saw her eyes were brimming with tears. She felt her own tears threatening to spill. “I have to, Harriet. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
Letitia closed her eyes. How could she explain this to a child? How could she find a justification for fleeing from their lives again after she and Harriet had grown so close?
She shook her head, swiping at her tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just must.” She tried for a smile. “You’ll keep the book. You can read it whenever you wish.”
Harriet shook her head, her tears spilling down her cheeks. “It won’t be the same without you.” She threw her arms around Letitia and squeezed. “I want you to stay. You make me so happy. You make my papa so happy.” She let out a loud, messy sob. �
�I need you.”
The pain in Letitia’s throat intensified. “You’ve managed just fine without me for the past ten years, Harriet. You don’t need me. You’re far stronger than I am.”
Harriet cried harder. “Just tell me why you’re leaving. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Letitia gushed. “No, of course not.” She stepped back, pushing Harriet’s fair hair from her face. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s…” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Harriet looked up to meet Letitia’s eyes. “It’s because you ran away, isn’t it?” She wrapped firm hands around Letitia’s wrists. “It’s because you don’t want anyone to know who you really are.”
Chapter 21
Letitia looked down at Harriet, feeling strangely hot and unsteady. “What did you say?”
Harriet wiped the last of her tears away with the back of her hand. “You’re a Lady. You ran away. And you’re afraid someone is going to find out about it. That’s why you’re leaving, isn’t it?”
Letitia’s thoughts clattered together. Her heart was speeding.
Am I to deny it?
No. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Harriet. She had already told far too many falsehoods. But as she opened her mouth to respond, she found herself equally unable to admit to the truth.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Harriet’s eyes began to shine. “You’re a runaway! Just like a heroine in a storybook!”
She was not angry, Letitia realized. She was excited.
“No,” Letitia said firmly. “It’s nothing like that.”
A smile flickered on the edge of Harriet’s lips. “So it is true.”
Letitia closed her eyes. “Does your father know?”
Harriet shook her head, her smile widening. “No one knows but me.”
Letitia exhaled sharply. “How did you find out?” She kept her voice low.
“The men in black coats,” said Harriet. “They came to the door looking for you.”
Of course. Father’s footmen.
Letitia knew she had been naive to assume they might have just vanished from the area and abandoned their search. Naïve and full of hope.
“They had a picture of you and everything,” Harriet said excitedly. “You looked so beautiful. Like a real Lady.”
Letitia managed a tiny smile. She remembered sitting for the portrait two years ago. At her mother’s insistence, she had dressed in a fine silk gown, and worn a diamond-studded chain at her throat. Things she never wore in real life. The resulting portrait had not seemed a likeness of her at all. The face was hers, yes, but the gown and the jewels? That was all a lie. A lady did not need jewels to hide in her bedchamber and lose herself in her books.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag. “When did the men come?” she asked Harriet.
“A few days ago. Right before you tried to leave the first time.”
Letitia swallowed heavily. “So you understand why I need to go.” It was harsh, she knew, to be leaving Harriet so abruptly, after admitting to her secrets. But it had to be done. She couldn’t stay here and explain herself. Lord Radcliffe could arrive home at any moment. He would find the letter on his desk. And she needed to be as far away from the manor as possible when that happened. “I’m sorry,” she said again. She began to stride down the stairs, without looking back at Harriet.
“I’ll tell my Papa who you are,” Harriet said suddenly. “If you try and leave.”
Letitia stopped walking. She turned slowly. “What?”
Harriet held Letitia’s gaze. “I’ll tell my Papa,” she repeated. “I’ll tell him who you really are. I’ll tell him you’ve been lying to him all this time.”
Letitia felt anger rise inside her. “Harriet Fletcher,” she said coldly. “Are you blackmailing me?”
Harriet didn’t flinch. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”
Letitia clenched her teeth. No, she would not let herself be manipulated this way. Not by Harriet, of all people.
Tell him, she wanted to say. Tell him everything. I don’t care.
But she did care, she realized. She cared deeply, desperately. Though she knew there would never be anything between she and Lord Radcliffe, the thought of him finding out their entire relationship had been a lie was unbearable.
A part of her wanted to call Harriet out.
You’ll not do it.
But Harriet Fletcher was strong-willed and fiery. Letitia knew she was a young lady of her word. She knew if she walked out that door, it would only be a matter of time before Lord Radcliffe knew everything.
Without speaking again, Letitia turned and marched back upstairs to the attic. She tossed her bag on her bed and returned to the kitchen to stir the stew.
“And where have you been?” Margaret demanded.
“Nowhere,” Letitia said flatly. “Nowhere at all.”
If she didn’t feel so utterly dreadful, she might have laughed.
One day, I’ll succeed in escaping the Radcliffe manor, even if it kills me.
* * *
Harriet Fletcher was not proud of herself.
She sat on her bed with her knees pulled to her chest. Guilt was turning her stomach.
The last thing she had wanted to do was hurt Miss Cooper. But she couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving. How could she go back to a life without Miss Cooper in it?
And her father had been different since their new kitchen hand had arrived, too. He had laughed more, had spent less time holed up in his study. When Miss Cooper was around, her father was the kind of man who took his daughter to sideshows and allowed her to eat sweetmeats in the middle of the day.
How could she let that end?
Harriet glanced at the book about the pirate king that sat on her nightstand. She had forced Miss Cooper to stay, so they might spend more time together, reading, learning about each other’s lives. And there was so much she needed to know about Miss Cooper’s — Miss Caddy’s— life.
But when Harriet had made her threats, she had seen a look in Miss Cooper’s eyes that had never been there before. A look that told Harriet they would not be reading the pirate king book together any time soon.
She hugged her knees. Perhaps she ought to go down to the kitchen and apologize. But then Miss Cooper would know the threats had been hollow. Then she would know it was safe for her to leave.
Harriet reached for the book and flipped through the pages. Perhaps she might try and lose herself in the story. Something to take her mind off the guilt that was gnawing inside her.
* * *
As Letitia started morosely into the stew pot, a sudden thought swung at her.
The letter. I have to get to the letter.
Lord Radcliffe could not know of her feelings. Not now she was trapped in the house with him. Not now he was off gallivanting about the city with Lady Worthington.
She threw down the spoon and raced from the kitchen, ignoring Margaret’s shouts.
Had the Marquess returned home yet? Letitia had not heard him come in. But she had been tucked away in the kitchen, the sounds of the house drowned out by knives against chopping boards and the clatter of pots and pans.
She found Lord Radcliffe’s butler in the hallway.
“Mr. Downing,” she said breathlessly, “has the Marquess returned home yet?”
The butler frowned, and for a moment, Letitia feared he would not answer. But he said, “Not yet, Miss Cooper.”
Letitia managed a nod of thanks, then tore up the staircase. She knocked lightly on the office door, just in case Downing had been mistaken.
Silence.
She sighed in relief. She could get to the letter. Throw it in the fireplace and watch her ill-advised confession burn away to nothing.
She turned the door handle. It didn’t move. She tried again, pushing harder. Nothing. The door was locked. How was that possible? She had been inside not ten minutes earlier. Surely the only person who had keys to the study was Lord Radcliffe. And there was no
sign of him. Downing had assured her he had not returned.
She stood staring at the door, as though willing it to open. She had to get inside the office. Had to get to that letter before Lord Radcliffe found it.
She closed her eyes.
Think, Letitia.
Someone else in the household had to have a key. Someone who had been up here in the last ten minutes and locked the door, sealing the letter inside.
Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance Page 19
