Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  With that utterly nonsensical remark, he led her into the house where servants waited with lamps and warm water and all the comforts one could ask for. Penelope could still scarcely believe all this was true. Surely she would wake up one morning and find it all a dream.

  When Harley rushed up bearing a message on a silver platter, Penelope felt her heart plummet, and the feeling of well-being dissipated. No message at this time of night could be a good one. Here was the part where she would wake and find the dream was just a nightmare.

  The note was addressed to her, and Graham passed it to her with a worried frown. Penelope’s hands shook as she unfolded the rough, cheap stationery. She didn’t recognize the jerky scrawl, but she knew the name at the bottom and her cheeks went white as she scanned the contents.

  “Penelope, what is it?” Anxiously Graham watched her face.

  “Augusta. It’s Augusta. Bess tells me she is ill and is asking for me.” Penelope handed the paper to her husband.

  Graham scanned the note and a lump of lead formed in his chest. He lifted his gaze to Penelope’s. He had hoped to finally reveal his secrets tonight, but life seldom worked out neatly. “You will want to go, of course. Can you not wait and rest and go in the morning?”

  He could tell by the look in her eyes that he asked the impossible.

  Brian sauntered out of the study before she could answer. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  Graham shoved the crinkled note at him but did not take his eyes from Penelope’s. He didn’t want to let her go. Selfishly he wanted to keep her with him, but he knew her too well. Softly he said, “I will go with you. Go pack a few things and I will call the carriage back.”

  Penelope shook her head. “I cannot ask you to leave your work and Alexandra to sit by the bedside of an old lady you scarcely know. It would not suit, Graham. I will let you know when I arrive if there is anything you can do.”

  “Penelope, I cannot send you out into the night—” His words were cut off by a gesture of Brian’s and the appearance of Adelaide upon the stairs.

  “What is happening?”

  Brian passed the note to her and answered with a question. “Would you care to return home a little sooner than expected? You know we have talked of it. I agree with Graham, though. It would be better left for morning.”

  Adelaide read the message, then glanced to Penelope’s tearful expression and shook her head. “No, we had better leave at once. The moon is bright enough, and we can hang the lanterns. The maids can pack our things and send them on later. Come, Penelope, let us change and then we will be off.”

  Within the hour the matter was settled. The Stanhopes’ carriage and fresh horses were brought around and the travelers snugly tucked in with pillows and blankets to get what rest they might while they journeyed.

  Graham stood on the steps and watched them go with the feeling they were taking his heart with them.

  Chapter 31

  Graham smoothed the vellum of Penelope’s note and read it again, hearing her voice speak the words. The faint scent of lavender rose from the paper, and he ached to be near her, to hold her and comfort her, but she did not seem to want him there. He knew she would be staying at the cottage and that her days and nights would be occupied with her patient, but even this knowledge didn’t daunt his desire to be close to her.

  Penelope’s lack of invitation and the other letter lying on his desk kept him from packing his bags and joining her.

  Graham grimaced at this more official correspondence. That one was more command than invitation. They wanted a part of him that was over and done with, or would have been had Penelope not been called away. He had made his decision and intended to keep it, but this summons made it clear that his choice wouldn’t be so simple as he had hoped.

  Sighing, he folded both letters and slid them into his coat pocket. One more time he would play the clown, and that would be the end of it.

  Castlereagh paced up and down the elegant Aubusson carpet, ignoring the magnificent Turner and Gainsborough oils in their gilded frames, and avoiding the delicate Sheraton love seats as if they were naught but obstacles in his path. He turned to Graham and scowled.

  “You do not understand the seriousness of the situation, Trevelyan! One of my own men can be a blackguard of the worst sort, or your cousin can be a murderous traitor for those bloody Americans! Damn it, man, we still have a war on our hands. You know what they do to traitors during times of war?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Graham leaned back in his chair and gave a prodigious yawn. “But I’ll vouch for my cousin. That leaves you with the blackguard. Hang him and see if that doesn’t put an end to the murders.”

  The diplomat seemed to swell to twice his size in rage, and his face turned a mottled purple. “Damn it to bloody hell! Don’t give me that idle fop pose. You have your finger in every sticky pie in this town and well I know it. I don’t know how you do it, but it’s your frank that got Chadwell into the Regent’s ball, your signature on the deeds of those houses Chadwell operates from, your name on the notes of every one of those men in that infernal club. Don’t think I don’t do my work, Trevelyan. I’m just as thorough as you, and I think we’re after the same man. Now do I have your cooperation or will I have to climb over your back?”

  Graham lifted his one uncovered eyebrow with a look approaching respect. “You do have a point there, sir. Why don’t I send Cliff over to have a chat with you? I’d like to see an end to these depredations, myself. The streets of London are no longer safe with these villains about. Will that suit?”

  The Foreign Secretary grimaced. “I need to see him now. I need to see both of you. Can’t you summon him here?”

  Graham smiled wanly and leaned forward on his walking stick. “Don’t ask the impossible, sir. My cousin and I cannot be seen together. You, of all people, should appreciate that. I will send him to you this evening.”

  Accepting the crumbs offered, the other man made a bow and stalked out.

  “I will tell you one more time that I know nothing of these murders other than that someone obviously wished to implicate myself or my cousin in them. How else would you explain the mysterious stranger having an eye patch one time and none the other?” Chadwell quit stalking up and down before the cluttered desk and threw himself down into a nearby chair. “I have been working these streets for years. It’s odd that the murders and the rumors started shortly after Gray first appeared in public. For what it’s worth, my opinion is that his savage countenance stuck in the minds of the populace and made them talk of ghastly scars and patches, since that’s what a murderer ought to look like. The stories changed after he left town. Unless you want to lock us both up, I’d suggest you start looking for a common background in the victims’ lives.”

  Castlereagh scowled as he chewed on the nib of his pen. The blot of ink on his lip revealed he had been giving much thought to the subject.

  “Women like those aren’t easy to trace. Two were from the theater. Another had once been mistress to an earl. Another frequented a particular gambling hell I have an interest in because our friend seems to have an interest in it. The women have all been seen on that end of town at one time or another. You are the only connecting link. That assassination attempt was planned by someone inside my office. How you came to know of it is of great interest to me. The fact that you are now implicated in these murders makes this even more fascinating. And what your part is in that infernal club complicates matters even further. I think you owe me a little more explanation than you have given.”

  With a mocking smile, Chadwell leaned back in the leather upholstered chair and threw one leg over the arm. “You needn’t worry about the club. It’s been permanently disbanded. There are only two known members remaining in the area, and one of them will be leaving shortly. The other claims to have resigned his membership long ago, but DeVere is the one who concerns us, isn’t he?”

  The Secretary’s face flushed with fury. “In what way? Would you care t
o enlighten me?”

  Chadwell narrowed his eyes and contemplated the molded carving on the ceiling. The office reeked of officialdom from the solid mahogany desk and oak chair rails to the framed documents on the walls. He hadn’t meant to get in this deep, but if there was any chance that a relationship existed between the assassination attempt, the East End murders, and his own vendetta, then he had little choice in the matter. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let this gentleman have the satisfaction of knowing it.

  He enumerated his reasoning. “DeVere has access to your office. He was in the room when the assassination attempt was made. He once belonged to that club of miscreants who terrified the countryside a few years back and is the only still in London. As far as I am aware, DeVere dropped out of the club at the same time a number of others came to their senses and cut their ties with it. The remainder went on to rape and larceny and murder. Charming lot, wouldn’t you say?”

  Chadwell contemplated the tip of the cigar he had appropriated from the humidor on the desk. He didn’t smoke the filthy things, but they did make an excellent prop.

  “As far as you are aware? I’d rather thought you had become an authority on the subject. Or is it Trevelyan’s knowledge you rely on? Why did so many club members owe money to your cousin?”

  Chadwell swung the cigar airily. “Let’s say I gamble a wee bit. My signature isn’t worth a tinker’s damn, but Gray’s gleams like gold to the scum. So I wager with his markers, and I win rather frequently. I make them write their vows to Graham to cover the notes he writes for me. Paper for paper, like having my own bank. Grand scheme, ain’t it?”

  The fox-faced secretary grimaced in disgust. “Except your victims tend to die or disappear before they ever repay him. That leaves you a small fortune ahead, doesn’t it?”

  Chadwell shrugged. “A man needs to live, and Gray don’t begrudge the expense. You’ll understand that if you’re as smart as you think you are. Let us get back to the subject in question. Since Gray and I most assuredly did not have motive or opportunity to murder your soiled doves, and since I am the one who stopped your bloody assassination, you will have to write us off your suspect list on both counts.”

  The other man grunted his disapproval of this flummery.

  Chadwell took his silence as consent to continue. “Since we have no other immediate suspects besides DeVere, it would behoove us to look a little further into his activities. I will admit, until now, I have given him little consideration. I dislike the man. I know he is capable of great treachery. I have surmised he is the owner of at least one brothel off Whitechapel, but without evidence, I have had no reason to go after him. I cannot see his profit in murdering the petticoats nor in implicating me, but if you think I am the connection, then by all means, let us go after him.”

  The Secretary leaned forward and placed his hands against the desk. “How?”

  A tear splatted against the still wet ink, smearing it across the vellum, giving rise to more tears as Penelope wadded up this disaster and threw it to join the others. Sinful waste, it was, but what did waste matter when she had lost the one person in the world who had ever truly loved her?

  That thought brought renewed weeping, and she gave up on the letter to lay her head on her arms and shed all the tears she had been holding back all day. She wept that she hadn’t been with Augusta in these last few brief months of her life. She wept for the past that was lost with her. She wept for the loss of Augusta’s cheery smile and the warm kitchen of delightful smells and the homely advice. She wept for the gnarled fingers that had meticulously stitched her lovely bridal nightgown. And she wept for herself.

  She should have asked Graham to come. He would have taken care of all the practical details of funerals and coffins, and she could have stayed with Augusta instead of leaving her alone and cold this whole day. He would have held her now and made her feel warm again. He would have reminded her that she could have others to love, perhaps not the same as Augusta, but not the emptiness there might have been.

  She owed him so much, she hated to impose on him anymore, but she needed him now, needed him here. Gulping back a sob and crudely wiping at her eyes with her sleeve since her handkerchief was already saturated, Penelope sat up and picked up the pen once more. She would write and he would come. She couldn’t go through the funeral without him.

  As it was, she had to, even after the letter was sent. No reply came before the day of the funeral. Penelope ran to the window at every sound of a horse or carriage, but none was Graham. With despair, Penelope turned to Adelaide.

  Adelaide hurried to take her arm. “Come, you will ride with us. Then you will come back to the manor. There will be no more of this sleeping alone in this empty cottage when we have that great monstrous house to keep you in. You know Graham will cut up stiff if he finds we allowed you to stay here alone.”

  Talking nonstop, Adelaide steered Penelope toward the door. Brian acted as footman, holding it open. Together, they got Penelope into the carriage and held her hands throughout the journey. But no amount of sympathy and consolation could replace her need for Graham at her side.

  When she returned to the manor that night, she couldn’t sleep in the overlarge bed she had once shared with Graham. Finally giving up on it, she slipped into her wrapper, and carrying blanket and pillow, curled up on the couch beneath the window. It made little logical sense, but it felt more like her bed at the Hall, and she could dream Graham would come for her during the night.

  He didn’t, of course, and the next day Penelope stared bleakly over the trees in the park to the road beyond. From her bedroom window she could see only a few patches of the graveled path, but she knew Graham’s carriage wasn’t hidden behind the trees. He wasn’t coming.

  It was nearly September already. Soon, the trees would turn color and coat the ground in rustling drifts. The manor had a lovely forested park. It would be nice to have a similar one at the Hall.

  Sighing, Penelope turned away from the window. Staring at the tree would not salve the pain in her heart. She felt deserted by everyone she had loved. Why hadn’t Graham come? Had her letter been mislaid? Then why hadn’t he come in a raging fury to find out why she tarried so long without writing? Silence did not reflect the man she knew, but how well did she really know him?

  Not very well, at all, she surmised gloomily. He had a life he hid from her, a life that sometimes made him surly and impossible to get close to. She should not complain. When he did have the time to pay heed to her, he did it with such charm and devotion that she could almost believe he held an affection for her. She should remember the good times, the times they laughed and loved and shared together, and not complain of the bad.

  When she had puttered around the cottage, giving away what would no longer be needed, tidying up, covering the few pieces of good furniture, closing the shutters and other tasks she created until it became obvious that Graham did not mean to come, Penelope finally announced she would return on her own.

  Adelaide attempted to dissuade her, but reminding her of Alexandra, Penelope managed to break away. The Stanhopes insisted she travel in style, though, and they returned her in their carriage with gifts for Alex and letters to Graham.

  It was twilight before she arrived at the Hall. The setting sun sent a rosy glow over the weathered brick wings of the rambling mansion. The windows sparkled and winked, almost seeming to welcome her home. Penelope had to smile at her fancy.

  As soon as the carriage door opened, she lifted her skirts and alighted, nearly running up the steps to greet Harley and look for Graham and Alexandra. Alex came bounding down the stairs with cries of delight as expected, and Penelope scooped her up in her arms and showered her with kisses. Graham did not appear.

  Harley assured her his lordship hadn’t been feeling quite well and was simply resting, but he seemed relieved at Penelope’s appearance. She played with Alexandra awhile, hoping Graham would wake and come down, but there was no sign of him by the time Alexandra was sent off
to bed.

  Worried, Penelope ordered a light dinner served in her room. It had been weeks since Graham had taken to his bed like this, not since London if memory served her. What had he been doing to return the pain so severely he had to resort to laudanum again?

  When dinner was served, she knocked on the connecting door, hoping she would find him awake. When John answered, she gaped in dismay.

  “How is he, John? What has he done to put him back in bed again?”

  John’s weathered face looked more lined and weary than usual, but he offered a small smile and shook his head. “He’ll be fine, milady, just tried to do too much at once. Just let him sleep it off.”

  “Let me see him, John. He’s not taking as much laudanum as before?” Anxiously she tried to peer over John’s shoulder, but the bed wasn’t in view of the door.

  “He don’t like nobody to see him when he’s taken like this, milady. I got my orders. Just give him time, you’ll see, he’ll be right as a trivet again.”

  Somehow he lacked his usual easy confidence, but Penelope had too much pride to go where she was not wanted. Head held stiffly, she nodded and closed the door, and felt the tears welling up all over again.

  Her food went back to the kitchen, untouched. Like a ghost, she drifted through the halls, checking to be certain Alexandra slept, wandering into the library to look for a book, staring out the windows into the empty blackness. Without Graham, the Hall had no soul; it was just a big, empty house.

  Taking her book and returning to her chamber, she made herself comfortable in the brocade chair and waited. He was just sleeping and when he woke, John would tell him she was home. Then he would come to her, and she would be waiting. Graham would like that.

  That thought lasted until the early hours of the morning when her eyes refused to stay open and her head began to nod. The candle had almost guttered out, and with a sigh Penelope blew it out. She would tell Graham in the morning that she wanted all the rights of a wife, not just the ones he wished to bestow upon her. She could endure the knowledge that he did not love her if she at least knew he was faithful to her.