Firm, probably still ticklish. “I owe Mrs. Wilky the opportunity to clear up confusion about her late husband. I can only imagine what you endured mourning a man who died too early. You’re too young to be a widow. You and Adam, you two should’ve grown old together.”
She poked him in his chest. “While you may have read it in the paper or a coroner’s notice, I saw his murder with my own eyes. And in your voice, I hear fear again. The conspiracy Adam talked of was true. They may have his sister.”
“No, I don’t think so, but you remember Adam’s ramblings?”
“I remember too many things, mostly how he suffered. And my regret of how things could’ve been different if things hadn’t been left unsaid.”
He should have let her slap him again.
That would hurt less than knowing her memories of Adam weren’t good.
Her love had waned. His hadn’t. That was unfair.
Mrs. Bexeley shook her fists. “Remember Chris. You can’t have this man around him. If we leave now, we can put Chris to bed. He needs you safe.”
Ruth backed away from Wycliff, her shoulders slouching. “Yes, Ester. You are right.”
The way Ruth crumbled.
It was the first time she’d acted afraid, and it was over this Chris. Her child? Her sister’s?
Anger again simmered in his gut.
A child, a potential marriage—Ruth had kept living, even though he hadn’t. Four years ago, he’d been a man who’d lost everything, just when he’d found all he’d needed in Ruth.
Now he was poised to win, but he’d lost Ruth.
Stepping in front of her, he adjusted the drape of the cape. It dragged on the ground. “Loving Adam was a choice. Having me about you to remind you of him, that’s your choice, too.”
“Thursday. My mother’s throwing a garden party for friends and family. I need you there to tell my parents about Adam.”
“Thursday. Excellent. Adam said you were a woman who knew her own mind.”
Horses brayed. The carriage Lawden ordered had arrived.
“Uninvite him, sister.”
Ruth’s glorious lips parted. “Thursday at two. As part of my Wilky family, you should be there. I need you there.”
If she could see his smile, she’d know he’d be there. “Yes, I cannot wait to meet your family and friends.” And this Chris.
“Good.” Ruth turned and walked straight into the doorframe. “Clumsy. Well. At least it wasn’t moved.”
“No. It wasn’t, my dear, you are still unsteady from the fall.” He slipped his arms about her waist again and held her close. “Use me to feel grounded. Let me know when you are ready to move forward.”
“Release her, Lord Wycliff,” Mrs. Bexeley said. “I can help her.”
“And let my cousin fall? Never.” Before either woman could object, he had Ruth up in his arms.
Hands placed in respectful places—looped about her long legs, a palm under her arms nearly cradling her ample bosom—he carried her, all the way to the carriage.
“This was not necessary, my lord,” she said. Her tone was low and crisp, not husky as when passion claimed her.
Memories of her smile, her laugh, her joy at small things like daisies—would haunt him tonight. “Carrying you, Mrs. Wilky, was very necessary. I’ll never let you be hurt again.”
Lawden assisted Mrs. Bexeley inside and tossed him a pair of broken brass spectacles.
Wycliff held on to Ruth’s door and handed her the frames. There was just enough glass left in the brass that maybe she could see him.
Ruth put the spectacles to her face and eyed him, but her expression remained unchanged.
His man coughed and pointed his head toward the second carriage.
Shutting the door, he stepped away and waved to the driver.
Soon, the carriage moved down the street at a pace far too fast for Ruth to remember, and leap out, and run back to him.
Lawden came beside him. He was a red-haired Irish man who’d apprenticed in Blaren House as a steward. The fellow literally had grown up with Adam and had taken care of his father while Adam had been lost to the Navy.
A spiritual man of good character and height to boot, Lawden was the only person Wycliff trusted. “The third step of your plan, reclaiming Blaren House, is finished. Well done.”
“We have an addition to my plans, Lawden.”
His man’s bushy brows lifted. “You never change your plans. All the steps are in place. We have steps four and five to go.”
Yes. The defrauded money had been restored to his control. Yes, everyone who cheated his father had begun to pay. Yes, he had Blaren House. Four: Blaren House had to be restored to its former glory for his sister’s enjoyment. Five: all the men who had killed Adam and Ruth had to lose their livelihood and freedom.
But this woman—threats to her safety could ruin it all.
Wycliff kicked at a rock, surely scuffing his meticulously polished boot. “We have an addendum to four.”
Lawden pulled out his blunderbuss. “We get to kill them? Now that’s—”
“No. I promised my father I wouldn’t. He knew I’d be the prime suspect and with prejudices as they are, I’d be lynched again. No, they all will have their downfall.”
“Oh.” Lawden lowered the gun. “Sorry, my lord.”
“Blaren House should be remade for its mistress, too. That requires gaining a wife. Lawden, I need to know everything about the Croomes. Everything, every relation, every business associate, every scandal. I especially want to know what Ruth Croome Wilky has been up to.”
There were questions in Lawden’s green eyes. “That was your wife?” He snapped to attention as if his question had stepped over a line. “It shall be done, my lord.”
“She was, and she needs to be again.”
Wycliff patted Lawden on the shoulder then climbed into his carriage. They’d visit another of the Blackamoor brothels tonight. Word in the underground of London had spread of the reward Wycliff offered for Cicely’s safe return.
A tip about a girl matching her description had surfaced this morning. His gut said it wasn’t her, that this could be a trap, but Wycliff couldn’t leave anything to chance. He was determined to save his sister, determined to have his revenge, and now, determined to have Ruth back in his arms again.
Wycliff wouldn’t rest until he’d won in every way.
Chapter Ten
To Be Believed
Arriving at Nineteen Fournier, I clutched my sister’s arm as we headed out of the carriage. With my broken glasses settled upon my nose, I could see about three feet in front of me. It was good to have my sister guiding me.
I didn’t want to work so hard, trying to see things, or fretting about the things I couldn’t. Not now. I needed the security of being in the house. Then I’d dwell on my proof, my new cousin.
Bunching up his rich jet cloak to keep it from dragging, I loved the feel of it and the smell caught in the fabric, Bay Rum cologne. The fragrance—tangy, savory, Adam. This was his scent. Tonight, because of Lord Wycliff, I missed him.
I was truly sad for him, the first time in a long time. My lost love wasn’t a blackguard as my papa had tried to convince me.
Hearing the baron say Adam had truly loved me, that the false name and the torn registry wasn’t for fraud but for fear of my safety—made all the difference.
I passed over the threshold. The light of the entry was bright. It held me. It welcomed me, and I breathed.
“Are we going to talk about this, Ruth?”
“No.” My tone was flat. I didn’t want to explain what was going on inside me, how I doubted my memories, my Adam’s motives—not tonight.
“That was a hard fall, Ruth. I should send for a physician. Lord Wycliff is not one.”
“No.”
The sighing sound of Ester muttering to herself didn’t sway me. I needed to see my son then fall into bed with this Bay Rum cloak. “Goodnight.”
I clasped the stair rails and rea
died to flee. The second floor looked dark. The fingering of my watch revealed ten. That was the latest I’d been out since eloping.
“Hand me that man’s coat, Ruth. Clancy has retired to bed by now.”
To give it away, Adam’s scent, was giving away the little bit of truth we’d found. “No. I’ll keep it for now.” I slipped my hands against the fine satin lining. “I’ll press it and return it to him on Thursday.”
My sister unbuttoned the coat she’d borrowed and laid it in my arms. “We need to talk about your inviting that stranger to come to Mama’s party.”
“He’ll need to come for his cape. I want him here, Ester. He needs to tell Mama the truth about Adam.”
My sister frowned big, like she’d spent an evening with finicky Mrs. Carter, not the baron, the only one who could validate my story. Rather fitting for the Croome wild child, a wild witness.
With a hand on her hip, she leaned in close. “Ruth. He’s dangerous.”
“He’s family. Isn’t that what Mama’s parties are all about? Estranged family and strange friends coming together.”
“The man kept staring at you. It wasn’t right.”
“His eyes work. Is that a problem?”
Ester shook her head, but that was her way of not accepting things that went against what she wanted. “No, Ruth. Lord Wycliff was staring at you. It was too intense. This will lead to disaster.”
“Would it be better if he had pity in his eyes, like you, Mama, or Papa look at me?”
“Ruth, that’s not what I mean.”
“Yes, it is. You want me to accept what you think is best. Listening to all of you, I’ve accepted everything, even giving in to the notion that my life was lies. Four years is long enough to be tragic, long-suffering Ruth. I want the baron to come, to tell the truth. In exchange, he can stare at me all he wants.”
“Your friend, Barrister Marks who you’ve corresponding with, who asked you to marry him, will be here Thursday.”
“Marks is just a friend. We have no formal agreements. Maybe he’ll meet my new cousin.” I flung my hand like a whip. I might’ve even chuckled, but I looked forward to seeing Wycliff. He was my proof until I found the other half of the registry.
The front door opened, and Mr. Bexeley, Ester’s husband came in. Tall with dark hair and deep-blue eyes and a tan from healthy outdoor exercise, he put his papers on the table and swept my sister up in an embrace. “Good evening, Mrs. Wilky, my dear…Ester.”
He released his wife. “Is everything well? Have you two had a disagreement?”
I slipped my broken spectacles into my palm. “Not at all, Mr. Bexeley. Give your wife a big kiss. Thank you for going with me today, Ester.”
“Mrs. Wilky, you left the house today? Good for you.”
Bexeley was a gentle soul who loved my sister dearly. Ester was his greatest encourager. They were a perfect pair, the Shakespeare lovers. They’d overcome so much to be together.
“Good night.” I held my breath and headed into the darkness of the upper level. A breath and a step. A breath and a step. All the way up, but I heard their whispers.
“Bex, we went to Blaren House and met a crazed Lord Wycliff.”
“Blaren House. Wait. Mrs. Wilky, Ester, are you two all right? I heard there was a great upset that happened there. It’s quite the talk of some of my colleagues.”
“Good night, Ester, Bexeley.” I gave up breathing and just marched up the steps. By the third floor, I exhaled. I was happy my sister had found love. I was. Every girl needed that feeling just once. May Bexeley and Ester always have that joy.
I tiptoed into the nursery. Josiah was asleep in his crib. My Chris snored in his.
With my free hand, I tucked covers onto his feet. He’d kicked the blanket loose. That was something Adam had done.
I put on my spectacles and looked again at my son.
My son. Chris was getting big. Soon he’d need a big-boy bed. “I love you so. I’m going to be smart for you. I’ll secure your future.”
I wasn’t that young girl with a head filled with promises any longer. I was a woman, a mother. No sweet talk would fill my empty chest. A flamboyant, staring man was the means to restore my name, nothing more.
I kissed my fingertips and touched his sleep-warmed brow. I eased out of the nursery and walked the fifteen paces to my room.
Tossing my broken lenses to the bed table, I shed my coat on the footboard. Then I found matches and lit my lamp. Snuggled in Wycliff’s cape, I fell on my bed and wanted to drift to sleep with Bay Rum cologne in my nostrils.
The door to my bedchamber opened. No knock. No asking.
Ester rushed in. “We need to talk about him.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I reached into my box on my table where I kept all my old pairs of spectacles. “I’m rather tired and your husband is home. Shouldn’t you be with him?”
Ester shut the door with a thud. “He has to read something and make notes for his speech tomorrow.”
“Please be quiet. Mama’s a light sleeper. The last thing I need is for her to be up here, too.”
“That baron was all over you. He looked hungry, like, like—”
“Your friend Lady Hartwell and her lust for chocolate biscuits?” I sat up and laughed a little. “He’s Adam’s cousin. What do you know? Adam was a real person. Oh, look at that, a living, breathing person. Shouldn’t you focus on the truth you heard, not a man looking at me?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I am so sorry. And I will make it up to you. But Ruth, you didn’t see how this Wycliff was looking at you. If I hadn’t been there, who knows what he would have done?”
I had been alone with men, the worst kind of men. Wycliff didn’t frighten me.
I pulled at the shawl that still wrapped my shoulders and held it out for Ester. “You’re exaggerating.” I waved my hands like the preacher whose message of damnation became too lively. “You think he will look at me the same when he hears his cousin’s deception has labeled me a liar, a harlot, a long-suffering knitter?”
“I will apologize forever, but sister, he’s dangerous…and that whip thingy.”
“It’s a weapon. Ask mama about what our grandfather used on his enslaved people in the Caribbean.”
Ester came closer and grabbed my hands. “I’m saying this all wrong. And we’ve treated you badly.”
“I was happier in my cottage in the country. Alone with just a servant and Chris. My eyesight was stronger, and the walls were smaller. No one came crashing into my room to tell me what they needed to say to absolve their guilt.”
Ester’s lip trembled.
I was being harsh, but years of living under a cloud were hard to shake.
“Ruth, why did you come back? I thought you wanted to be with us.”
“Mr. McAllister said I’m not going to get better. My field of vision, as he put it, keeps growing smaller. It will become nonexistent. Chris needs more supervision. He needs people who can watch him as he grows. I thought my place was here. It’s not.”
“We’re not ogres. Are we?”
I rose from the mattress, took my sister’s arm, and pointed to an empty spot below the bedframe. “Tell me what you see here.”
“Nothing. The room is cleaned and dusted.”
“You should see bed slippers, Ester.”
My sister’s brow scrunched up. “Mrs. Fitterwall moved them? She probably put them away so you wouldn’t trip.”
“I know where I put them. It is specific and purposeful. Now I will fall, hunting for them.”
“The housekeeper didn’t mean anything.”
“No one ever means anything. Everyone is trying to decide what is best for me. I need my independence before it’s gone. I need my own now. Two years of this is enough.”
“Ruth, I know we keep doing the wrong things, but we love you. How do we make things right?”
I sank back on my bed and covered my legs in Wycliff’s cape. I recited my list of things I’m grateful for in
my head. “I don’t know.”
Ester bent onto her knees and was soon out of the focus of the weak lenses. Her blobby image was at the closet door. Then she returned with my puce satin bed slippers. My one frivolity.
She handed them to me and stood. “Everything you’ve mentioned is understandable, but why bring a man you just met here, near Chris? Why do you trust him?”
Why do I?
Was it a gut instinct?
Or something much simpler and coarse, like the feel of his hands on my face. The rich smell of his cologne.
I wasn’t that shallow.
It was Adam. Some of the words this Wycliff used sounded like him. We’d courted for six months, always walking and talking together, his hand in mine, so many soft caresses. The blur of Wycliff could be Adam with a bad, bad cold. That wasn’t a bad thing, not when he thought me truthful.
“This makes no sense, Ruth. You’re not reckless, not anymore.”
“Ester, he believed me at first sight, that I was Adam’s wife. He didn’t ask for proof.”
“He’s a man carrying a whip. You’re not stupid.”
I stayed silent on my bed. I pretended that I was alone and hoped Ester would go. I didn’t want words with my sister. I loved her deeply, but my hurt would erupt and burn her like volcano’s lava.
“I didn’t mean that, Ruth. I want to protect you.”
I took off my lenses. My limited sight had made her disappear.
She must’ve understood, for I heard footsteps moving away.
My door closed. It was a soft push.
I lay back and stared at the nothingness I saw of my ceiling. Ester was right, in a way. Wycliff was dangerous, probably had a bunch of secrets, just like Adam.
I prayed for Cicely to be returned, unharmed, in good spirits and far from any troubles men could bring, including Adam’s cousins.
I wrapped myself fully in Wycliff’s cape. The sweet scent of it eased the tension in my shoulders. He was my proof. All I needed was for him to come here and explain to Mama and Papa everything he knew of Adam. He needed to brag on Adam so much that I’d forget the dire straits my husband’s murder had left me in.
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