by Rose Pearson
“When did it arrive?” he asked, heavily, taking the note from the tray and sighing as he looked down at it. “And is there someone waiting for my reply?” Most likely, it would be some invitation to some sort of social occasion, although Frederick had no interest in attending anything other than tonight’s ball, where he would fulfill his promise to Lady Beatrice by signing not one but two dances. For whatever reason, that was the only thing he could think of at present.
“It was handed to the staff by one of those ragamuffins,” the butler said distastefully, referring to the children who roamed the London streets. “Quite what they were doing in this part of town, I cannot imagine!”
Frederick snorted. “Most likely, they were given a coin or two for their trouble.” He glanced up at his butler. “I presume that the boy is not waiting?”
“No,” the butler answered, quickly. “He is not waiting. There appeared to be no eagerness for any sort of reply.”
Frederick nodded, a slight frown flickering across his brow as he considered why a street urchin would be delivering notes from another person of the beau monde. Dismissing the butler, Frederick reached to pour himself another cup of tea, adding a dash of milk to the amber liquid before he broke open the seal. There was no mark in the seal, leaving it just plain wax, which confused Frederick all the more. This was not, then, a note from someone he knew. Perhaps not even someone from within the ton, given that every person he knew had a seal that would be pressed into the wax. A knot of tension settled in his stomach and he pushed his tea away before unfolding the note.
‘Your brother is a fool,’ he read, silently. ‘With great debts come great consequences. Should you wish to help him, look for the History of London in Dauton’s. Your next instructions will be there.’
Frederick stared at the note, reading it over and over again before it finally began to make sense to him. His brother had somehow managed to get himself into a severe amount of difficulty and, as such, was now paying the price for such folly. Although what consequences such a thing might be, Frederick could not even begin to consider.
Shaking his head to himself, Frederick let the note fall to the table, his eyes fixed on it. Surely Adlington had not managed to get himself into some sort of deathly difficulty? He knew that his brother was very foolish when it came to gambling and the like, but he had never once thought that he would be idiotic enough to allow himself to be pulled into such a dark situation as this! Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Frederick took in a long breath, feeling a shudder run through him. His brother was a fool, yes, but that did not mean that Frederick could simply abandon him.
“Your next instructions?” he muttered, recalling the last sentence of the note. “What is it they are expecting of me?” He swallowed hard, knowing that he had a choice. Either he could remain here and do nothing, believing that this was nothing more than a foolish attempt at trying to exhort money from him in one way or another, or he would do as the note asked and would make attempt to find the ‘History of London’, whatever that was. Frederick grimaced, picking up the note and reading it again. There was no doubt in his own mind that he would have to go in search of these new instructions. He could not leave his brother alone, not even if this was nothing more than a means to gain money from Frederick.
Looking at the note again, Frederick scrutinized the instructions. He was to go to the History of London in a place called Dauton’s. He frowned, getting up out of his chair hurriedly and scurrying to the door.
“Burton!” he shouted, calling for his butler. “Burton? Where are you?”
The butler appeared within a second or two of Frederick calling him. “Yes, my lord?” he asked, appearing as calm and collected as ever. “Is something the matter?”
“Dauton’s,” Frederick shouted, the butler’s eyes flaring just a little. “Where is ‘Dauton’s’? What is it?”
The butler blinked rapidly for a moment, clearly trying to collect himself. “Dauton’s is a bookshop, my lord,” he said, his voice low and quiet in comparison to Frederick’s loud exclamations. “It is not far. Might you wish to go there today?”
Frederick nodded, his stomach twisting with a sudden, dreadful fear about what he might find there. “I must find a book there,” he said, looking all about him rapidly, as though trying to find an exit. “I must go at once.”
“I shall have the carriage brought around,” the butler said, inclining his head although his expression was a little worried. “And you might wish to change, my lord.”
Frederick opened his mouth to state that he had no need to change and that his outfit, at present, was more than suitable, only to recall that he was still in his nightwear and had not yet chosen to dress. He had enjoyed a very quiet morning and had thought that he would dress in time for afternoon calls and the like, which, now that it was near to luncheon, would soon be approaching.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he stammered, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and taking in a breath so as to calm himself just a little. “I will dress at once. Have the valet sent up.”
The butler inclined his head. “He is already waiting for you, my lord,” he said, stepping aside to let Frederick past. “And the carriage shall be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Send a man to my brother’s rooms,” Frederick shouted, as he ran, two at a time, up the staircase, “and if Adlington is present, have him brought here at once.”
By the time Frederick reached Dauton’s, his whole being was tight with tension. A headache had formed directly behind his eyes, whilst his stomach churned furiously, his hands clenched in his lap as the carriage trundled slowly to a stop.
Frederick did not even wait for the tiger to leap down and open the door for him. Instead, he threw it open himself and leaped from the carriage, forcing himself not to run. The shop door was only a few yards away and yet it seemed like an age before he reached it.
“Oh, good afternoon, Lord Greaves.”
Frederick forced himself to a stop, barely able to acknowledge just who it was speaking to him. The elegant figure of Lady Smithton, followed soon after by Lady Beatrice, stood before him, a smile on both their faces.
Frederick wanted nothing more than to move past them at once but knew he could not do so. Propriety would not permit him to be rude yet again.
“Good afternoon,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips whilst inwardly wondering where the book in question might be. “Are you both just about to take your leave?”
“We are,” Lady Beatrice answered, looking a little surprised at his sharpness of tone. He did not have time to explain, still looking behind Lady Beatrice whilst his mind whirled with questions. “Are you quite all right, Lord Greaves?”
Frederick jerked, forced back to the present by the question from Lady Beatrice. “Perfectly,” he stated, clearing his throat as though nothing whatsoever was wrong. “Perfectly all right, Lady Beatrice.” Knowing he could not wait any longer and praying that he had been amiable enough not to be considered rude, Frederick gave Lady Smithton and Lady Beatrice a small bow, keeping the smile on his lips. “Do excuse me.”
Saying nothing more and praying that both Lady Smithton and Lady Beatrice would soon leave the shop, Frederick began to hurry past Lady Beatrice, his eyes fixed on the bookshelves beyond him.
His heart was hammering as he began to search. There seemed to be so many books, so many tomes placed on so many different shelves. Behind him, he heard the door close tightly, throwing a glance over his shoulder and finding himself relieved that the ladies had departed.
“The History of London,” he said, rushing back towards the very astonished proprietor. “Where is it? Do you have it here?”
The older man blinked, took off his spectacles and wiped them on the bottom of his shirt. “Yes, my lord,” he said, in such an inordinately slow manner that Frederick wanted to shake him. “It should be there in the back.”
“In the back,” Frederick repeated, throwing another glance over his shoulder as though th
e correct shelf would reveal itself to him. “Where precisely?”
The older man chuckled, then walked past Frederick to show him the way. “The young lady whom you greeted only a few minutes earlier was also looking at such a book, I believe,” he said, with a small smile. “Although what she thought of such a dusty old tome I couldn’t say.” He shook his head whilst Frederick felt a rush of tension climb furiously up his spine. “She might just have been recovering from the shock of being knocked to the floor, however.”
“Knocked to the floor?” Frederick repeated, suddenly arrested by the remark. “What can you mean?”
The old man stopped, turned and gestured to five large, heavy books, although his gaze was fixed on Frederick. “That young lady….I can’t recall her name – was knocked down by some impertinent gentleman who was in such a hurry to quit the shop that he knocked into the lady and she fell to the floor!” He tutted his obvious displeasure at the gentleman’s conduct. “What made it all the worse was that she was then left there, for even though the gentleman saw what he had done, he hurried out almost at once!”
“That is disgraceful indeed,” Frederick muttered, now wondering if the gentleman in question had something to do with the book he was now searching for and, therefore, his brother. “And did Lady Smithton – the other lady in question – see this gentleman also?” His eyes lingered on the books that the proprietor was indicating but knew that he had to ask such questions so that he might know what to do next. If Lady Smithton had seen the gentleman, then it would be worth speaking to both her and to Lady Beatrice.
“I don’t think so, my lord,” the man said, shrugging. “She came to ask me to inform her if I ever saw him again, which seemed to suggest she hadn’t seen his face.” He shrugged again, then stepped aside. “Do you need anything else, my lord?”
Frederick shook his head, feeling the same knot of tension wrap through his stomach again. “No, I thank you. This is exactly what I was looking for.”
The proprietor nodded and stepped away, leaving Frederick to look at each of the heavy tomes. They were undoubtably ‘The History of London’ given that each book had the title emblazoned on its spine, but he had not expected there to be more than one book! Quickly, he grasped the first and flipped it open, pushing through the pages to seek out his next lot of instructions.
There were none.
Biting his lip in frustration, Frederick picked up the second, then the third, fourth and finally fifth. The fourth book was the only one that had anything of note, given that a couple of pages had been smoothed down and still refused to lie flat, but there were no instructions within any of the books, he was quite certain of it.
Groaning inwardly, Frederick closed his eyes and leaned down heavily on the bookshelf. There was nothing here for him to find. Nothing whatsoever. What was he do to?
Unless, said a quiet voice, Lady Beatrice found the note first.
The idea hit him hard. The proprietor had said that the young lady had been looking on the very same shelf as he, which meant that she might have inadvertently found something that was of great significance. Perhaps she had thought it out of place in a book and had taken it with her to dispose of.
His heart slammed into his chest in fear, realizing that Lady Beatrice might throw away the only connection he had to his brother. Dragging in air and forcing himself not to lose his mind to a state of panic, Frederick lifted his chin and tried to work out what to do next.
Given that Lady Beatrice would be returning home to prepare for this evening’s ball, he could not very well call upon her. Her father, Lord Burnley, might take his sudden and unexpected appearance to mean something it most certainly did not, and that was the last thing that Frederick wanted. Courtship and the like was not even on his mind now that his brother was in some sort of trouble.
“Although,” he murmured aloud, remembering that he had sent one of his servants to his brother’s rooms. “He may very well be in perfect health and I am behaving foolishly for no good reason.”
Nodding to himself in an attempt to convince himself that he had nothing to concern himself with, Frederick took in a few deep breaths, settled his shoulders and hurried from the bookshop with nothing more than a grateful murmur of thanks to the proprietor. Sitting in his carriage, he urged his driver to take him home as quickly as he could, feeling the same sense of anxiety settle over him.
If there is a note and Lady Beatrice has removed it, I shall have no other choice but to demand it from her, he thought to himself, staring steadfastly out of the window and letting out his breath slowly so as to keep himself as calm as he could. Although how I am to explain its significance to her, I cannot even imagine. Given that he did not know what the note would contain, Frederick could not think what he might say to explain it to Lady Beatrice. He would have to demand to know everything she could remember about the gentleman who had knocked her down and no doubt Lady Beatrice would want to know exactly why he wished to know.
The moment the carriage pulled up at Frederick’s townhouse, he was out in a moment. The butler already had the door open for him, but one look at Burton’s face told him that there was a good deal of trouble afoot.
“Your brother was not in his rooms, my lord,” Burton said, before Frederick could even ask. “I sent Jefferson to seek him out, but the man returned in something of a panic.”
Frederick removed his hat but did not take his eyes from his butler. “For what reason?”
The butler shook his head. “He stated that the rooms were in such a state of disarray that he did not know what to do,” he said, as Frederick closed his eyes tightly against the wave of panic that threatened to engulf him. “Some of your brother’s effects had been smashed or broken and it appeared as though every single thing in his possession had been removed from their places.”
“In short, someone has gone through my brother’s things,” Frederick said, aware of the slight tremor to his voice. “Is that what you are stating, Burton?”
The butler did not hesitate. “It is,” he said, plainly. “Jefferson is ready for your summons, should you wish to speak to him directly.”
Frederick nodded mutely, his mind scurrying in all directions in an attempt to find answers that were entirely withheld from him.
“Should you like to speak to him, my lord?”
“Yes, yes,” Frederick answered, weakly, waving a hand. “I must then prepare for the ball this evening.” Looking at his butler, he saw the slight flash in his eyes but, aware that his servant would say nothing in response, still felt the urge to explain himself. “A lady may have some further information as regards my brother’s difficulties and I must see her. She will be at the ball this evening which is why I must go to her at once.”
The butler said nothing but merely inclined his head. “But of course,” he said, as Frederick handed him his hat. “I will make sure that everything is prepared for this evening, my lord.”
“I thank you,” Frederick muttered, walking towards the staircase and praying that, this evening, Lady Beatrice would give him the answers he needed.
Chapter Six
Lord Burnley sniffed and patted Beatrice on the shoulder. “Ah, there is Lady Smithton,” he said, sending a swift kick of irritation through Beatrice as he, yet again, easily disposed of her company. “You will be quite all right with her, will you not?”
Beatrice threw her father a hard glance. It had been over a month now since he had made such a foolish statement as to suggest that she was not his own flesh and blood and, since then, he had been entirely disinterested in her. Lady Smithton had taken Beatrice under her wing and, as such, Lord Burnley had merely brought Beatrice to whatever social occasions they had accepted and, thereafter, left her in the care of Lady Smithton so that he might immediately retreat to the card room.
“I do hope that you will not drink to excess this evening, father,” Beatrice said, a little coldly. “I would not like yet more rumors to be thrown about London.” She felt a nervous li
ttle kick in the pit of her belly but held her father’s gaze, marveling inwardly at how bold she had become over the last few weeks. Lady Smithton’s company was, she was sure, the reason behind it.
Lord Burnley narrowed his eyes. “You are a little too impertinent, daughter.”
“And you are often a little too inclined to drink, father,” she answered, seeing how he flushed. “I am well aware that you wish me to be taken off your hands so that you might remove me from your finances, but the only way for that to succeed, father, is if no more rumors are allowed to escape from you.” She held his gaze steadily and saw something shift in his expression. “Whether you believe my mother played you false or not, father, if you wish me to marry, then you must ensure that no more whispers come from you that question the status of my birth.”
Lord Burnley harrumphed loudly, clearly unused to Beatrice being so outspoken. “What I said of your mother,” he began, “it –”
“It matters not what you meant nor if there is any truth to it,” Beatrice interrupted, praying that he would not see just how tightly she held her fingers together in front of her for fear it would betray her anxiety over just how boldly she spoke to him. “You are still claiming me as your daughter and thus, we must both consider the future. I would like to be married and settled but I fear that such a future will be taken from me if there is even the smallest difficulty.” She pressed her lips together for a moment, aware of the tears that came to her eyes as her thoughts returned to her late mother. “If it had not been for Lady Smithton, then I might never have been given this second opportunity to move about society with ease.”
“I would have found you a suitable match,” her father muttered, a little grimly. “There would have been no cause for concern.”
Beatrice wanted to retort that a gentleman as old as her father would be in no way a suitable husband for her, but instead, she remained silent and turned her head away, letting out her breath shakily but keeping her face entirely composed. The strength that now ran through her helped keep her courage strong. She had spoken openly to her father and he had not lost his temper with her as she had feared. Nor did she think that he would go on to speak as foolishly as he had done before, which meant that she had very little to fear.
