The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love)

by Vanessa Riley

  “But you don’t take me to Vauxhall. Still have a thing for those people. I haven’t found one of them worth anything but a good toss.”

  His cousin baited him, Wycliff knew that, but there was something extra. Nickie had always tried to best him.

  Wycliff sat back and shrugged. “Maybe you haven’t found the right one.”

  He delivered the line as Nickie would’ve expected, but then Wycliff saw it.

  The glimmer in the man’s eyes, then a subtle smirk. “I’ve some experience. Madame Talease and such. I found the act lacking. But you always had better luck.”

  Wycliff’s mind shot to Mr. Croome’s warning about finding Ruth in a brothel. Then to Mrs. Johnson. She’d said she and Ruth had roomed at Madame Talease’s bawdy house.

  Was his cousin insinuating that he’d been a patron of Ruth’s?

  “Wycliff, are you sure there’s nothing I could tell you? I’m sure I have some information that might be of use.”

  “Like what?”

  “What if your wife did not die? What if she was last seen at a bawdy house? Wouldn’t you want to know that? Would you pay a huge reward to find her?”

  “I’ve moved on, as you said. But bring the little woman if you have her. Four years in a bawdy house, I’m not sure I want to see what’s become of her.”

  Nickie balled his fists, then eased them to his side. “I don’t know where she is, but Madame Talease does. The shrewd woman’s been reclusive lately, staying at her bawdy house outside of town. I’m sure she knows what happened to your wife.”

  “I’ll have to fit in a visit in a week or two, after Uncle’s business has collapsed and he’s jailed. Maybe we can go together, if you are not with your father in Marshalsea.”

  His cousin ran a hand through his sad, dark hair. “Nothing disturbs you. I tell you your wife could be alive, and you do nothing.”

  “You come with a story that sounds like a fairy tale. I don’t live in fantasies. I like facts and figures, like how much you are losing every day as Uncle’s shipments rot on the docks.

  Nickie wandered to the sideboard. “Wycliff, you are cold.”

  “I’m blackhearted and you, Uncle, Johnson, and Nacknel made me this way. Enjoy.”

  His cousin poured a glass. Hopefully, he believed Wycliff’s act of indifference. “Tonight is Uncle’s only opportunity. I’ll see you at Drury Lane Theater.”

  “No, Wycliff, here or—”

  “Or where, Nickie, some darkened road? Finish your drink and go. Leave two bits for the service.”

  “Madame’s prices are higher, but this tastes better.”

  Wycliff was too practiced in keeping his emotions buried. His face didn’t reflect the acid he wanted to spew. “When the appraiser comes to Uncle’s, set aside a few pieces of Wedgwood for me. Tell them I’ll pay top dollar.”

  Nickie downed the glass and slammed it on the desk. It wobbled a few times before stopping.

  But Wycliff wasn’t done. “Oh, don’t fret. I won’t buy anything of yours. You’ve never known the difference between fine art and trash.” Wycliff tapped the ugly porcelain statue that he’d left on his desk. “Yet, I do like this bride thing. Reminds me of not letting things slip through my fingers.”

  “Drury Lane is your only offer? Fine, we will meet you there.”

  The man started to leave.

  “Nickie, I’m considering stopping the war when Uncle is jailed and can’t harm anyone else, but if any of my ladybirds have a feather ruffled… You don’t want to see me angry.”

  Eyes darting, his cousin lost his smirk. “Nacknel is dead, Johnson is jailed. What happens if you are angry?”

  He smiled at his cousin. “The tribulation. Final judgement and everyone will go to their private reward. Yours will be hell. Don’t tempt me to start early. See you tonight.”

  Wycliff tossed his cousin a few coins. “This should pay for your admission. Uncle’s, too.”

  Nickie caught it, opened the door, and almost walked into Lawden’s flintlock rifle. His hands went up. He looked green, as if he’d vomit.

  “Let him go for now, Lawden. We’ll have target practice later.”

  Lawden waved him through and kept his gun aimed and pointed at the fleeing man until the outer door slammed.

  The control Wycliff had mastered on the HMS Liverpool broke. He picked up Nickie’s glass and pitched it into the fireplace. It shattered with a crackle against the iron pit.

  “My lord?”

  “The fool hinted at having my wife when she was at Madame Talease’s bawdy house.”

  Lawden’s face looked as mournful as Wycliff felt. “What do we do?”

  “Have someone armed and ready to protect every last one of the Croomes, even the politician. I’m not sure where they will strike. I just know that they will.”

  “My lord, your hands. You look as if you will break the desk.”

  Wycliff yanked out his sjambok and cracked it three times in the air. Pow, pow, pow. “They want me blinded with rage. Anything hurting Mrs. Wilky will do that.”

  Lawden moved to the fireplace and stooped. He picked up a large shard of broken glass. “You put plans into motion. The Croomes are safe. Don’t give in to despair.”

  “I want to dispense mercy and judgement, but I may be out of mercy.”

  “If one works at a brothel—who are you mad at, the client or the woman? Talease doesn’t force her employees.”

  Wycliff was glad his man was careful in his speech. He couldn’t take Ruth being called a harlot for being one of Madame’s girls. He rubbed his beard. “I’m mad at me, Lawden. All this goes back to me. I was rash to leave Gretna Green. I made Ruth vulnerable. Whatever happened at Talease’s is my fault.”

  “It’s an odd thing, my lord. Men want fidelity and purity in their women, but how often do we keep to the same standard?”

  That was true, but that didn’t stop the buzzing in his ears, the hate stewing in his gut thinking his cousin had had Ruth. She’d met him once. He knew her to be Adam’s. Could he have intentionally selected her? Had he hurt Ruth? Was Nickie responsible for her struggles?

  His head exploded, and he grabbed his sjambok and strangled it.

  Whatever had upset Ruth in her father’s study had not been consensual. That he knew.

  “Pull the carriage round in an hour, Lawden. As I stew, I’ll forget to tell you.”

  “My lord, we have a tip about Cicely.”

  “Then let’s leave now. No time to waste.”

  Lawden nodded and left.

  If it was Cicely, he’d impose her on Mrs. Croome. That woman would get her into shape, but his gut told him it wouldn’t be. Cousin Nickie would have found her by now if she were in London, but Wycliff would check and then head to Ruth.

  He reached into his desk and pulled out the ring he had fashioned, a single diamond, perfect and resilient, impervious to ruin. The gold woven about the gem held it secure. It was new. It symbolized a fresh beginning.

  The past didn’t matter.

  Ruth didn’t need to tell him her secret, but she would have to forgive his, about his name.

  She needed him to be her friend, her loving friend.

  He adored Ruth.

  Their secrets should never keep them apart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  To the Theater

  Ester followed me down the stairs. I felt pretty, but I wondered how this night at the theater would go.

  We walked arm and arm into Mama’s parlor.

  “Ruth, I still don’t approve of him, but I approve of you.”

  I didn’t need Ester’s blessing to go with Wycliff, but I was grateful for it. I put my arms about her and gave her a hug before sitting on the windowsill to wait for Wycliff’s carriage.

  “You have a good time, Ruth.”

  I smiled, but my nerves raged. This should be an amusement, but I feared what tricks Adam’s killer would do at the theater. I nodded at my sister. “I will, Ester. I deserve to enjoy myself with Lor
d Wycliff.”

  “That is very good to hear, my dear.”

  Ester groaned. “Your footfalls are too silent. And this is a private conversation.”

  Wycliff came fully into the room. “But how else will I hear all this wonderful chatter?”

  I folded my arms. “Don’t get a big head about it. I can change my mind.”

  “It’s your prerogative. It’s mine to enjoy you. Methinks you are growing more convinced of partnering with me? My lonely life needs you.”

  Frowning, Ester tugged on her shawl and walked close to the baron. “Please prove my suspicions wrong.”

  She left, slamming the door behind her.

  “You deserve a good time with me. I like the sound of that, Ruth.”

  Mrs. Fitterwall poked her head in with Chris in her arms. “Ma’am, he was insistent in coming down.”

  I went to Chris and kissed my son’s head.

  He jumped up and knocked off my glasses, but Wycliff caught them.

  “Sorry, Mama.” His golden face was a little red. He went to Wycliff and hugged him about the knees. “I’m so glad you came. I saw a frog in my book. I put my puppet on it.”

  I watched him pick up my boy and swing him about. His new heeled jet slippers made no squeaks, but I imagined the soles knocking against the floor. I’d love to hear the rhythm to know when he was about, to learn it, to look for him.

  “Son, have you been good to your mother?”

  “Yes, my lord, but it’s only been a few days.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, and how we still didn’t find any live frogs. I was sure we’d see one at Hyde Park. I hate disappointing people I love.”

  He lifted a package wrapped with a red ribbon.

  My gut twisted. Those ribbons had come to mean rejection. My hands were out as if to block the gift from Chris. “You didn’t have to do anything. You’ve been too generous.”

  “Not generous enough. I’ve missed at least three birthdays. Here, my boy.”

  “It’s not my birthday.” Chris turned away and ran to my leg.

  Wycliff went on his knees, wrinkling his onyx-colored trousers. He cast a confused squint to me.

  “Baby, you’re not shy. And Lord Wycliff is your friend, our friend.”

  “He’s given me too much. I don’t need more, like you, Mama. No need anything.”

  Wycliff rubbed at his chin. “I need things, Christopher, and I’m big. I like to give gifts.”

  Chris rotated a little toward the baron. “I help by taking this?”

  “Most definitely, son.”

  He’d said son again. It was intentional to signal that his offer was for Chris and me. We were a pair, and he wanted the pair.

  My boy didn’t take the gift, instead he went and clamped onto the baron’s neck.

  Wycliff grunted a little, like Chris had hurt him. “Open it.”

  My Chris released him and took the gift. Wildly tossing white paper bits and the ruby ribbon, he unwrapped a wood-carved frog, shiny with emerald lacquered paint.

  With a gleeful laugh, Chris grabbed the carving, then he tossed his arms about Wycliff’s neck again. “Frog. He can be friends with the other one.”

  Wycliff scooped him up and twirled Chris around like a bird. “A fine young lad needs lots of frogs. I have a question for you. You are my friend?”

  “Yep. Rib-bet.”

  “Do you think you’d mind if I was more of a friend to you and your mother?”

  “Chris can’t answer that.” My words were rushed, but Wycliff was rushing me.

  “Yes, I can say. Don’t make my mama cry. And listen when she says don’t play in the pond.”

  Mrs. Fitterwall and Mama came into the parlor. “Chris, let Lord Wycliff alone.”

  “Yes, Master Wilky. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

  “Look, Gama, Mrs. Fit. Frog.”

  “More frogs,” the housekeeper said, and she took the boy and his frog hopping out of the parlor.

  “Ruth, you look lovely. Such a handsome pair. Going to the theater?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Croome. It’s a lovely diversion as I settle back in to London. I must continue to lean on Mrs. Wilky.”

  “Good, but don’t you think Ruth should wear jewelry? She’s so unassuming. I want her to borrow my pearls.”

  “Or she could wear these.” He reached in his coat and tugged out a velvet box. “I was going to save this for later. Or if I said something stupid, I thought this could get me out of trouble.”

  Watching Mama release a seldom-seen full smile, I shook my head. “A proper bribe, my lord? That was unnecessary.”

  “I’ve missed your birthday, too. Open it.”

  The box felt smooth in my palm. I opened it. Diamonds. One hung on a gold chain. Two smaller ones dangled from eardrops. All lay against a smooth black satin lining.

  Mama looked speechless, but I felt a little like Chris. “I don’t need this. I will enjoy this evening without a bribe. I’m spending time with you. That’s my reward.”

  The dimples showing in his beard went a little pink. “If you want it as a loan, perhaps we could arrange terms. You know me to be in finance.”

  Mama cut him a sharp look, and he lifted his hands. “That was a joke, Mrs. Croome.” He stepped closer to Ruth. “I would like you to have these. Try them for the night. See if they fit. Diamonds for a diamond.”

  “Good night, Lord Wycliff, Ruth.” Mama looked back one more time then left the parlor. I think she was grinning.

  Wycliff held up the necklace and twirled it. “Your neck is lovely, would you do me the honor of wearing these?”

  “No. Not the necklace.” The words spilled out fast, too fast, but the thought of having something about my throat was too much. “Sorry. I haven’t worn any necklaces since Adam.”

  “I’m not good with things about my neck, either.”

  I poked at the eardrops, watching the shimmer of the gold, the fire of the jewels. “Are they an heirloom? Did they belong to yours or Adam’s mother?”

  “No.” He was silent for a moment. “All she had has been looted, ransomed off to pawns.”

  He lowered the necklace onto the satin and helped me put on the eardrops.

  “These are new. Something I had crafted after the garden party.”

  “Why? And why then?”

  He fingered the arch of my throat. “I noted how lovely and lonely your neck looked.”

  “It’s a bribe?”

  “Yes, and I need something to pretend to look at as I stare at you tonight. Shall we leave?”

  I put the box on the table. “It will be fine to stare at me. I’ll stare at you. You’ll be the only thing in focus.”

  He took my arm and led me to the door.

  It seemed like a lifetime passed to get my shawl and gloves, his hat and cape, then we descended to his carriage. My hesitation lessened. I’d become better at going outside, but only with Wycliff.

  It was dark, but the baron had a lantern lit. The minute the carriage moved and we were away from Nineteen Fournier, he jumped onto the seat next to me.

  I bumped his arm.

  The big man winced.

  My fingers were on his shoulder before I could stop myself. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  He stilled my hands then drew each palm to his lips. “Good to know you care.”

  “What happened? Don’t spare me. I’m not fragile when it comes to your safety.”

  “You are a rosebud but made of the strongest metal. You are a survivor.”

  “Then tell me what happened. It wasn’t the men from last night.”

  “No. I met a disgruntled patron at a brothel.”

  “You went to a brothel?” A sick feeling went to my throat. It burned, but what should I expect? Wycliff had accepted a platonic arrangement.

  Logic didn’t matter. I was ill.

  Wycliff lifted my chin. “I see you care a lot more. Let me answer what you won’t ask. Lawden received a tip about a girl matching Cicely’
s description. It wasn’t. I interrupted a peer, an earl with particular tastes and a willing participant. I did not go for my own gratification.”

  “You didn’t. I mean, it wasn’t Cicely?”

  He started to laugh. “It was actually stupid to go. It was an in-town brothel, but it could’ve been a trap by one of my disgruntled associates.”

  “You mean one of those men from last night?”

  “Let’s not talk of this, Ruth. It’s not theater talk.”

  “My poor Wycliff, you don’t need someone to tell you how stupid that was. You need care.” I settled against him, looping my arm about his tense one.

  “He took me off guard. That won’t happen again.”

  “I can contact Madame Talease. She would know if Cicely has been taken in. She knows the underbelly of the city.”

  “No. No more thinking of brothels. That’s part of that list of things we don’t talk of. We have an appointment at the theater.” He kissed my fingers. “Tell me how you missed me.”

  I had to try again. I could help, and I started rubbing his arm. “Lord Wycliff, I can be of help with a number of things. I know Madame Talease.”

  “That’s not theater talk. The theater, my dear. We go and enjoy. Tonight, we pretend to be normal people out for entertainment.”

  “It’s never a normal occasion for a Blackamoor to be out in Society on the arm of a peer.”

  “Well, we should change that. London will have to get used to my good taste in ladies.”

  I wanted to ask what had happened last night, the names of the voices, to see if my mind recalled things right, but I didn’t. Nothing mattered about the past as long as no one threatened him anymore. We had to survive the theater.

  Raising his arms to stretch, he kicked out his legs. “Are you a free woman yet, Ruth? I’d love to come out of the shadows with this affair we are having, especially since it seems other women and bawdy houses upset you.”

  He twiddled his sjambok and lay it across his lap. He’d had it last night when he’d gone out to meet the loud visitors. Now he had it in the carriage.

  My reticule hung from my arm. I was ready, too.

  I tweaked my spectacles and examined Wycliff. Handsome in an ivory damask waistcoat, a crisply-starched cravat and shirt, in a very fine dark tailcoat under his mysterious cape.