Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison

by Annie Burrows

  “She was. Her father would not allow her to keep you. He removed Caroline from their home before her condition began to show and took you away the moment you were born. It was almost three years before Caroline found you. Once her father died, she brought you home.”

  “But she was not married.”

  “It happens that way, sometimes, Georgiana. I did not judge Caroline, and neither must you.”

  Her mind reeled at this revelation. “I am...a bastard.”

  “Tch! No one must know that, dear. Caroline took every precaution that you were protected from that stigma. I am the only one Caroline told, and you are the only one I will ever tell. That is what was in this letter, you know—not the truth itself, but her request that I finally tell you the truth. The facts themselves are not written anywhere.”

  Then this was why Aunt Caroline had instructed her to wait until the letter had been read. “She...she could have, should have, told me.”

  “She did not want you to know while she was still alive. She was ashamed and could not have endured your disgust. You see, she did not know she was with child when she had her accident. By the time she recovered sufficiently to realize, well, she was devastated by her appearance and had decided to retire from society. She swore to me that there was never a question of marrying your father.”

  “My father? Who was my father?”

  “I am certain that was another thing Caroline would never have wanted to tell you. She never said, though I have my suspicions.”

  “Who?”

  But Lady Aston merely shook her head. “I cannot say. If I am wrong it would be a grave disservice to the man in question, and a stain upon Caroline’s honor.”

  But all Georgiana could think was that her own mother had never told her the truth. Had never desired that relationship. The closeness that only two people of the same blood could share. Georgiana had mourned the loss of a mother and father who had never existed. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the knowledge that she’d been so thoroughly deceived by the only person she’d ever trusted.

  “It is not so very unusual, my dear. Why, it happens all the time, and in the best of families. Often the error is discovered in time to rectify with a quick marriage. Other times, the mother must go away and bear her secret alone. But Caroline was exceedingly careful to construct a history for you that would allow you to enter society and to marry well.”

  Yes, and it also explained why she’d always felt like a “duty” and why her guardian—her mother—had never been able to love her. Georgiana had been a constant reminder of her mother’s shame. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks and she pulled a handkerchief from her reticule to blot them away. She had to get away. Had to think what to do.

  She stood and wadded her hankie into the palm of her hand. “I beg your pardon, Lady Aston, but I really must be going. So much to do, you know. I was to marry Charles Hunter tomorrow, and I must find him to stop it.”

  Lady Aston came to her feet, too. “No, my dear. That would be a very good marriage for you. The Hunters are an excellent family, respected and well thought of.”

  “A good marriage for me, perhaps. Better than I could expect. But Charles? I think not, Lady Aston. Illegitimate children are rarely accepted in the ton.”

  “No one will ever know you are illegitimate. You are of excellent stock as Lady Caroline Betman’s daughter. I beg you, Georgiana, do not do anything rash. Think of all Caroline sacrificed to keep your secret safe. Mr. Hunter need never know. Promise me you will ponder this before you act.”

  “I promise,” she said. In truth, she’d have promised anything to escape that house and unravel this web

  of deceit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charles knocked on the door of a small cottage in St. John’s Wood. Praying the address was correct and the man was still alive, he breathed a little easier when an elderly man with silvered hair peeked around the panel and smiled. “Something I can do for you?”

  “Are you Tom Clark?”

  He nodded. “I am. And who might you be?”

  “Charles Hunter, of the Home Office. I’d like to talk to you about one of your old cases.”

  “Call me Tom,” the man said, opening the door wider to admit Charles, then led him into a small room inside the tidy cottage and waved at two chairs set before a fire.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Tom.”

  “Not too many people come looking for information about things that happened back then. What case is it?”

  “I found your name in a file, Tom,” he explained as he settled in the chair. “I gather you were one of the first to arrive at the accident.”

  “What accident was that, sir?”

  “A coaching accident involving a young woman—Lady Caroline Betman.”

  The man frowned as if he was trying to recall the incident. Then his face cleared and he ran his gnarled fingers through his hair. “That wasn’t an accident,” he said.

  “The report says that the coach overturned as it came around a corner. Speculation had it that the driver was going too fast.”

  “Aye. That was the story. And the driver was dead, so there weren’t no arguing the point.”

  This piece of news was interesting, but could this man’s memory be trusted? “And you think it was not an accident?”

  “Stake my life on it, sir. One of the worst cases I ever worked.”

  Charles sat back in the chair. This was a surprise. He hadn’t expected to learn anything so very different from the facts in the file. “Then why do the files say—”

  “It’s who she was, sir. A lady. A peer’s daughter. Nobody wanted a scandal. And I was ordered not to talk. Ever.”

  “Your secret is safe within these walls, Tom. We are on the same side here. Lady Caroline passed away six months ago, and her father a few years after the accident. No one could be hurt by the truth now.”

  Tom looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. “Then why is it important?”

  “It concerns a case I am working on. I think there may be a connection. At the very least, I need to determine if your case has any bearing or effect on the one I am investigating.”

  “Don’t know how...”

  “Neither do I, but there are some circumstances that are the same.”

  “I hope not. The Betman case was awful. Tragic.”

  Charles tented his fingers and waited. He sensed that Tom wanted to talk but was still wrestling with his conscience.

  After a moment the man sighed and looked up again. “Me and Frank Grayson were first ones there. Someone put a ramp on the inside corner so that when a coach turned the corner, one side of the wheels would raise and it would tip. It wasn’t no accident, sir. It was a robbery. The driver was already dead, but not from the wreck. Somebody slit his throat. Blood everywhere. Everywhere.”

  “What of Lady Caroline?”

  “She’d been pulled from the coach and we found her in a nearby alley. She’d been cut real bad. Couldn’t even make out her face.”

  “Were her injuries from the accident or from the robbers?”

  “Robbers, we thought. Not enough broken glass to do that kind of damage. Only thing we wondered was if it happened before or after.”

  “If what happened before or after the accident?”

  “What was done to the young lady.”

  “What was done to the young lady?”

  Tom looked at him for a long moment, then looked away. “She was dragged outta the coach and robbed, sir. They’d cut her purse strings and pulled her jewelry off. Left marks on her throat where her necklace had been. Even her clothes were in shreds. Whoever did it musta liked his work. Went beyond the usual. Vicious, it was. We—me and Frank—thought she might have put up a fight for her jewels.”

  Charles s
tilled as Dick Gibbons flashed through his mind. He and his brother, Artie, would have been operating at that time, and they were notorious for using a knife as their weapon of preference. But even this went beyond their usual methods.

  “The lady was incoherent. Couldn’t have talked much if she wanted to. Her mouth was cut from the corner to her jawbone and in other places, too.”

  “Why didn’t they finish the job and kill her? Were they interrupted?”

  “Maybe they thought she was already dead. She was the next thing to it. Lost enough blood to be unconscious.” Tom began to wring his hands, a nervous gesture Charles could appreciate. The retelling of such a gruesome attack could not have been easy.

  “Did you have any leads at all? Any clues pointing to who might have been behind this?”

  “Nothing. We got a description of what was stolen and watched jewelry shops for more than a year in case anything showed up. Nothing. It was like it never happened.”

  “You worked the case that long?”

  “Me and Frank did. On our own. The Home Office didn’t want any part of it. Told us to leave it alone and keep our mouths shut.”

  “Why? If this had happened to my daughter, I’d have hounded the authorities until this day—if I hadn’t already handled the matter myself.”

  “That’s what me and Frank thought. But we were called in and told to stop askin’ questions. His lordship had whisked the girl back to the countryside and wanted the whole thing kept quiet. We were to say it was an accident if anyone asked. And we have. Until today, sir.”

  Charles took a deep breath and sat forward. “I appreciate the truth, Tom. It may help on the case I’m working now. But tell me, when did you retire?”

  “Few years ago. Still do some work on the side to keep body and soul together.”

  “Have you ever heard of Dick and Artie Gibbons?”

  The blood drained from Tom’s face. “Aye. Run afoul of ’em once or twice. Artie’s dead now, I hear.”

  “Is there any chance this could be their work?”

  “Me and Frank wondered that. They’d been at work for a while by then. We wanted to talk to them about it, but, like I said, we were told to drop it.”

  Lord Betman had evidently been determined to hush the whole matter up. Charles tried to put himself in Betman’s place and shook his head. How could the man just let this pass? Yes, he’d have wanted to protect his daughter from scrutiny and scandal, but he should have wanted the bastards who did that to be caught and punished.

  Charles remembered the papers in the ancient file he’d pulled at the office. The scant information it contained was largely useless since the report was fictitious. The file had been cleaned of any trace of truth. “I did not find a description of the stolen goods, Tom. Do you recall the details?”

  The man shook his head. “I remember there was a necklace, a ring or two, earbobs and a comb for her hair. But I don’t remember what they looked like. Her purse was never found. Don’t know how much of the ready she had.”

  Charles knew the habits of an agent—after all, he was one. “Any chance you might have notes on the case?”

  “’Twas a long time ago, sir. Might be able to dig something up. Lots of boxes in the attic.”

  Charles stood and pulled a banknote from his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Tom. “Thank you for talking to me. You’ve been a great help. Should you remember anything else or find your notes on the case, please come to me.”

  Reluctantly, Tom took the banknote, stood and walked with Charles to the door. “I’ve thought of that poor girl often over the years. Whatever happened to her?”

  “As I mentioned before, Lady Caroline died recently. I believe she lived the remainder of her life in virtual seclusion, but she took an orphan in after her father died, so she was not entirely alone.”

  “Aye. That’s good, then.” The man nodded to himself as he closed the door.

  The circumstances of Caroline Betman’s tragedy must have haunted the man all these year to have asked such a question. God’s witness, it haunted Charles now. One thing was certain. He could not tell Georgiana. She was too vulnerable now to bear such disturbing details.

  He mounted his horse and turned back toward the city.

  * * *

  The packet from Lady Caroline to Lord Carlington secured in her reticule, Georgiana settled herself in Charles’s coach and met his gaze as the coach started off for Lord Carlington’s house. She could not think what to say considering that she dared not blurt what she was thinking. How could she marry him under false pretenses?

  “You are looking pensive, Georgiana. Care to share your thoughts?”

  She cleared her throat and smoothed the soft coral gown that had arrived from the dressmaker’s this afternoon. “I was thinking about tomorrow, Charles.”

  “Ah, yes. Lockwood has insisted that we say our vows at the family home. Lockwood’s home, actually. The minister will attend us there, and my family has promised to be present, as well. Lockwood and Andrew will sign as our witnesses.”

  She twisted the cord of her reticule, dreading the answer to her next question. “And did they try to persuade you to think better of such a rash decision?”

  “Hmm. Well, something was mentioned regarding the hasty nature of our wedding.”

  “How did you answer?”

  He grinned. “I told them I could not wait and that you’d tried to dissuade me but I would not hear of it. They said no more. Sarah, however, mentioned that she’d be looking for a new pastime now that all her brothers would be married. And what was said on your side, Georgiana?”

  She sighed, beginning to feel a bit better now that she knew Sarah hadn’t been angry. “Clara is beside herself. Between our marriage and Finn’s arrival, she has more than enough to interest her. Sanders and the others are taking the news in their stride. I think, given our behavior the past few days, they were expecting something of the sort.”

  “Did you tell them that my staff would be coming to facilitate your move?”

  “Sanders said he would supervise. Unless you have need of furniture and household items, Charles, I think we should leave mine in place and only remove the personal things and the few valuables I have.”

  “My furniture should be adequate.” He paused and frowned. “I say, you have not been to my house, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Remiss of me. I apologize.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Charles! That will be remedied tomorrow. We’ve only been reacquainted for...what? Little more than a week?”

  He laughed. “Bit of a whirlwind, eh?”

  “I shudder to think what the ton will say. I shall be accused of heaven knows what. I used to wonder how Aunt Caroline...how she found me husbands so quickly. I think I may have beaten her record.”

  “She chose your husbands? Did you have nothing to say about them?”

  “Whatever I thought did not seem to matter. She was determined to see me settled, and the one time I had a decided opinion, it came to nothing.”

  “When was that?”

  Oh, no. She would not give him that satisfaction. Not yet. He was too smug as it was. She waved her glove airily. “A few years ago. A young man who turned my head and disappeared.”

  He frowned. “Were you between husbands at the time?”

  “Between marriage and mourning, I have hardly been anything but between husbands, Charles.”

  “Your luck is turning, Mrs. Huffington. You stand to be married now long into your old age.”

  “Pray that is so,” she murmured under her breath. But the looming alternative sobered her buoyant mood.

  Charles leaned forward from his position across from her and took her hands in his. “Count on it, Georgiana. Count on me.”

  And she would
have, had she been no wiser today than she’d been yesterday. But today she was not his equal. Today she was illegitimate.

  They remained holding hands until the coach arrived at a lovely two-story stone manor house. A liveried footman opened the coach door and Charles, ever the gentleman, sprang down to offer her his hand.

  She was surprised to find that the dinner party was intimate indeed—just Charles and herself. They were shown to a gilt-ceilinged dining room, where Lord Carlington waited, a glass in his hand.

  “When Hunter did not bring you to tea right away, I thought I could lure you here with dinner,” he explained. “There’s so much I’d like to ask you, m’dear.” He held her chair, on the right side of the head of the long table.

  Charles sat across from her and Lord Carlington took his place at the head. At a nod to a footman, the servants brought the first course, a delicious chicken bisque soup.

  “I hope you do not mind discussing your late guardian, my dear.”

  “Not in the least,” she said. “Aunt Caroline was a wonderful woman. I have so many happy memories.”

  He grinned. “Did she grow fat and content in her later days?”

  She returned his smile. “She was trim to the end.”

  “Did she ever speak of me?”

  Georgiana considered how to answer the question without hurting his lordship’s pride. “She never mentioned names, Lord Carlington, but occasionally, when she was melancholy, she would speak wistfully of a young man for whom she had a deep love.”

  “Ah.” He sighed. “Was she often melancholy?”

  More often than Georgiana wanted to admit. She would not strip her mother of her pride, even in death. “Only on occasion. She kept herself quite busy, you know.”

  “Did she? What sort of thing occupied her time?”

  “Me.” She laughed. “I fear I was not always biddable.”

  “And I fear that is a continuing problem,” Charles said, putting his spoon aside. “Georgiana has a very strong will.”

  “Ah. A strong will serves a girl well. Had Caroline a stronger will...”

  She would have liked to hear the end of that sentence, but Charles broke the awkward pause. “’Twas all I could do to persuade her to marry me on the morrow.”