Falling For The Viscount

by Lana Williams

  “Nothing in particular. I’ll review my notes on it to see if anything comes to light.”

  “Good.”

  “Atkins blends into his environment so well. His moustache is the only thing most people remember about him, but most think him a clerk. I’m surprised anyone noticed him.” Something was amiss, but he couldn’t think of what it was.

  “As am I.” Aberland studied him. “I realize how difficult losing an associate is.”

  Spencer nodded, wondering what he should’ve done differently. Guilt mixed with grief at the loss of such a good man. Spencer must’ve made a mistake, or this wouldn’t have been the outcome.

  “Rutland?” The earl waited until Spencer met his gaze. “It’s not your fault. There are bad people in this world, which is the reason we do what we do. But you can’t control them any more than you can control the seasons.”

  While Spencer knew Aberland was right, it didn’t ease his guilt. This was his mission and the fact that it had resulted in the death of one of their own meant failure.

  “Why don’t we meet on the morrow and determine how best to proceed?” Aberland asked.

  “Of course.” Was the earl merely being supportive or did Gladstone no longer hold faith that Spencer was the right agent for the position?

  He couldn’t blame the prime minister as he was now wondering the same thing. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Dalia and proceeding with his plans for the foundation, perhaps he could’ve somehow saved Atkins. He should’ve been the one watching on the street last night. Then Atkins would still be alive.

  “Don’t.” Aberland’s firm tone cut through the fog in his mind.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t believe for a moment that you’re at fault.” Aberland drew closer to lean over his desk. “And don’t doubt yourself.”

  Spencer was dismayed that Aberland could read him so easily.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking as I did the same. Allow me to save you time and heartache. You are an excellent agent. I’ve always thought so, and this changes nothing. You should know by now that I don’t give my approval easily.”

  As he looked at Aberland, some of the roiling feelings inside him eased. Having the approval of someone he admired and respected meant more than he could say. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Aberland gave a single nod. “I’ll see you on the morrow. We’ll come up with a plan to make whoever did this pay.”

  “Indeed, we will.” Spencer couldn’t agree more. McCarthy and Pruett would be held accountable for taking Atkins’ life.

  ~*~

  “Dalia, what on earth is wrong with you?” The exasperation in her mother’s tone caught Dalia’s attention.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. What did you say?” She, her mother, and Violet were in the drawing room that afternoon. Dalia had made a half-hearted attempt to work on her embroidery with little success. She couldn’t keep her mind on the pattern and had to rip out more than she’d completed.

  “I asked if you had a chance to speak with the duke at the house party.”

  She nearly groaned, well aware of how pleased her mother would be to have two daughters married to dukes. “No, I didn’t.” She’d been far too involved with Spencer. And every thought, day and night, had been taken with him since.

  In truth, she was frightened of the feelings he brought forth in her. Their night together had made her realize he knew her better than she knew herself.

  That was alarming indeed.

  She’d enjoyed those moments more than she thought possible. Having Spencer’s complete focus had been breathtaking. His normal reserve had been nowhere in sight.

  The thought brought a smile to her lips.

  “Dalia.” Her mother’s exasperation had turned to irritation. The reprimand caused Dalia to sober.

  Violet narrowed her eyes as she studied Dalia. Thank heavens Violet was a sound sleeper and hadn’t realized Dalia had been absent from the room they’d shared at the house party for half the night.

  That didn’t mean Dalia’s odd behavior since then had escaped her notice. Her sister had peppered her with questions, especially when she’d noticed Sophia and Dalia whispering animatedly the next day.

  Her cousin had been right. Making a bold move had broken through the wall between her and Spencer. Not that she’d shared all the details of the evening with Sophia.

  What remained to be seen was whether their relationship would continue to be close. She feared that once they’d left the idyllic country estate, Spencer would decide he’d made a mistake.

  Such a notion didn’t bear thinking about. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t called on her since their return to London. Was she reading too much into that or not enough?

  One thing she knew for certain was that she’d keep her distance from the East End, at least until Charlie Pruett had been put behind bars. Doing anything related to fallen women would only raise the wall between Spencer and her again. That was not a risk worth taking.

  Dear heavens. Apparently Spencer was rubbing off on her if she was now weighing risks.

  Violet nudged her with her foot.

  Dalia blinked, realizing she’d lost track of the conversation once more.

  “What has you so preoccupied?” her sister asked.

  “I'm trying to decide what gown to wear to the ball this evening.” She shifted in her seat at the blatant lie.

  Her mother only scowled in response. “Where was that level of interest at the duke’s home? Might I remind you both that the purpose of you attending a house party is to find a husband? And the duke would make a fine husband.”

  “He seemed enamored with Viscount Frost’s sister, Lillian,” Violet responded. She clearly had no desire to be the target of her mother’s matchmaking either.

  “I noticed that as well,” Dalia added. “Though I’m not certain she shared the feeling.”

  Lillian was beautiful with a vivacious personality to match, but her demeanor had cooled each time the duke had drawn near, from what Dalia had seen. She’d danced very little and appeared to be preoccupied, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. That was something to which Dalia could relate.

  “She’s a pretty girl but rebuffing Burbridge seems unwise,” her mother said. “I understand she’s staying with Viscount Frost for the next few weeks. We’ll invite her and Lady Julia over for tea one day soon.”

  “Lettie has spoken highly of her and Julia seems quite fond of her,” Violet said.

  “I’m certain she’s a lovely person. She just seemed a little...restless.” Dalia stared out the window for a long moment, wondering if she and Lillian had more in common than she first realized.

  Hadn’t that been the word she’d used to explain her own behavior? That Lillian might feel the same made Dalia curious as to the cause.

  If the opportunity arose to speak with Lillian further, she decided she would. Perhaps they could share experiences.

  “Miss Dalia?” Berta, one of their maids, stood in the doorway. “A young woman is asking for you at the back door. She insists it’s urgent.”

  Dalia’s stomach dropped. Surely it couldn’t be Kate. Molly, perhaps? She tried her best to keep her worry from her expression. “Oh? I wonder who that could be.”

  As casually as possible, she set aside her needlework and rose.

  “Why would anyone be asking for you at the back door?” Her mother frowned.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out.” She followed the maid out of the drawing room, hoping her mother and Violet didn’t come along. Berta led her to the kitchen where two servants and the cook were standing near someone at the back door.

  Dalia drew closer to see Molly standing there, tears streaming down her face.

  The girl cried even harder at the sight of Dalia. She rushed forward to pull the young girl into a hug. “All is well. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.”

  One of the servants handed the girl a handkerch
ief so she might wipe her face.

  “I’m so terribly sorry, miss.” Molly glanced at the other servants as though finally realizing the stir she’d caused. Then she looked at Dalia, a question in her eyes.

  Dalia looked at the servants. “Why don’t we give Molly some privacy to tell me what’s occurred?”

  “Go on with you now,” Cook directed them. “Shall I step out too, miss?”

  “Will you remain?” Dalia asked, knowing the older woman could be trusted.

  Cook nodded then shooed everyone else out of the kitchen.

  The chances of keeping a secret were slim let alone if several servants listened to Molly’s story.

  “Thank you ever so much.” Molly gave her a grateful look, her breath coming in hiccups between tears. She turned back to Dalia, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. “I didn’t know where else to go or what to do.” She swallowed hard. “Charlie murdered a man. Knocked him on the head then dragged him into an alley. He kept asking him questions and when he didn’t answer, he stabbed him. Again and again.” She closed her eyes. “Cut him up bad. The man fought back, but the blow to his head must’ve dazed him but good.”

  Dalia’s stomach dropped to her knees. All she could think of was Spencer. “Who? Who did he kill?”

  “I didn’t know him, miss. I mean, I saw him on the street once or twice, but I don’t know his name.”

  After drawing a deep breath to calm herself, Dalia reached for Molly’s hands. “How terrible.”

  Molly stared past Dalia’s shoulder as though seeing something completely different than the kitchen. “Charlie acted like a madman.” She glanced back at Dalia. “It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “What could you do?” The idea of the man who’d confronted her stabbing another man to death horrified her. Yet she had no doubt he’d do anything to gain what he wanted.

  Then the full truth dawned on her. She squeezed Molly’s hands tighter. “You saw him do it?”

  Molly’s eyes welled with tears once again. She nodded as her face crumpled. “I did. I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I was so shocked to see him hit the man that when he dragged him into the alley, I followed and watched from the corner of the building to see what he intended. But when they were strugglin’ I must’ve made a noise fer Charlie turned and looked right at me. He knows it was me. I’m sure of it. I’m so scared, miss. I wasn’t sure I’d live through the night.”

  Her sobs had Dalia releasing her hands to hug her once more. “You’re safe now.” She closed her eyes at the thought of Charlie and his men following Molly here.

  The young girl’s shoulders shuddered with the effort to control her emotions. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

  Dalia patted her on the back. “We’ll figure out something, some way to hide you.”

  Molly drew back, hope lighting her tear-streaked face. “Like you did for Kate? Maybe I could go where she is.”

  “Maybe.” Dalia would send word to Spencer. He’d know what to do and whether they should contact the police. “When did this happen?”

  “Last eve. Shortly after midnight.” Molly looked like she was about to share more, but Dalia raised her hand to stop her.

  “I’ll wait to hear all of the details until we determine how to keep you safe.”

  Molly nodded, wiping her face with the handkerchief.

  Dalia turned to the cook, trying to sound calm despite the shocking story. “Could you provide her with a cup of tea and some sustenance? No doubt it’s been hours since she’s eaten.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you so much, miss,” Molly said.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’ll see what arrangements can be made.”

  The cook put a gentle arm around Molly’s shoulders and guided her to the table. “A cup of tea will have you as right as rain.”

  Dalia knew Molly was in good hands for the moment. Now she need only contact Spencer without anyone in her family finding out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “We have some asylums of the kind [for fallen women]; but in capacity they are about as well adapted to perform the prodigious amount of work ready for them as a ten-gallon filter would be to purify the muddy waters of the Thames.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Spencer’s heart pounded as he read the message. “Damn and blast.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord?” His footman appeared puzzled at Spencer’s remark.

  Was Dalia in danger? Surely he would’ve heard from the guards he’d posted in her neighborhood if something untoward had occurred. But the realization that Pruett had committed murder combined with her missive had fear curdling his stomach.

  He read the curving letters once more.

  New information has arisen. I require your assistance. The matter is urgent.

  D.

  PS. Please.

  How like her to add the please as an afterthought. He couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the way her mind worked. He was surprised she’d thought to note it at all.

  He wished she’d said more so he knew if she was truly well. Then again, his worry wouldn’t ease until he saw her for himself. His presence at home when her message had arrived was pure coincidence as he’d just stopped by to retrieve some papers then intended to return to the office.

  While he’d planned to call upon her this afternoon, other issues had arisen due to Atkins’ death, which had delayed his visit. More men had been assigned in the East End to watch for Pruett, not that they had evidence to tie him to the crime as of yet. But they would if Spencer had anything to do with it. He was certain Pruett was behind the murder. First, they had to find the man.

  He’d stop by Dalia’s now. The office could wait. Visiting her would give him the chance to advise her that although the situation with Pruett had been unstable before, now it was fraught with peril.

  “Should I advise the servant there will be a reply?” the footman asked.

  “I’ll deliver my own reply.”

  The footman hurried out to pass on his response, seeming to understand Spencer’s rush.

  He sent a message to the office that he’d been delayed then headed toward the Fairchild residence in his carriage.

  How did she intend to speak alone with him to tell him of this urgent matter? No doubt she’d concocted some scheme to do so. Her resourcefulness never ceased to amaze him.

  He had the driver stop at the end of Dalia’s street where one of the guards was posted. “Anything of interest?”

  “No, my lord. All is well here.”

  “Keep a close watch as there’s a good chance of activity in the next twenty-four hours.”

  He continued to Dalia’s home, trying to mask his upset. The death of Atkins was a major blow. But the idea of finding justice for his associate kept Spencer moving. Was he the right man to make that happen? He’d never had more doubts than he had now, despite Aberland’s reassurances. How could they possibly find evidence to tie Pruett to Atkins’ death?

  He waited in the foyer at the Fairchild’s mansion, forcing himself not to pace the length of it while a footman checked to see if the family was receiving. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “This way, my lord.” The footman led the way to the drawing room and opened the door to announce him.

  “Viscount Rutland. What a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Fairchild said as she dropped into a curtsy along with her daughters.

  Spencer had eyes only for Dalia. His relief at seeing her in good health and unharmed loosened the knot of worry deep inside him. Her blue eyes held his with an intensity that made it difficult to look away to exchange greetings with her mother and sister. What had happened to place that look on her face?

  He dearly wanted to take Dalia by the hand, pull her into his arms and offer whatever comfort he could for her unknown source of distress. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and ask her to marry him. If necessary, he’d find a way to convince her she couldn’t live without
him.

  Instead, he took a seat, making his way through all the normal pleasantries, well aware of each minute that ticked by. Now was not the time for him to declare his feelings, not when her expression held that look of concern.

  “I heard the most terrible news,” Dalia said calmly as though she spoke of nothing more than the deplorable fog that had settled over the city during the night.

  “Oh?” Spencer asked, wondering if she truly intended to mention whatever had occurred in front of her mother.

  “A man was murdered late last night. Stabbed multiple times and hit on the head. Isn’t that awful?” She stared at Spencer despite her mother’s horrified gasp, as though hoping he would read her mind.

  He read it quite clearly. Somehow, she knew of Atkins’ murder. But how? He nodded, hoping she’d realize he understood. “I heard that as well. Just terrible.”

  “Dalia, why must you share that sort of news?” Mrs. Fairchild admonished. “The viscount doesn’t want to hear of such things.”

  “I only mention it because the crime in the city seems to be escalating of late.” Her posture was ramrod straight, her cheeks flushed.

  Again, she looked at Spencer, and he nodded, though unclear what she meant.

  “Violet, do you know a girl named Molly?”

  Spencer frowned. Wasn’t that the name of the young woman who’d sent Dalia a message to tell her Pruett had taken Kate? He only remembered because Dalia had sent the message on to him.

  “No,” Violet said. “I don’t believe I do.”

  “I suppose it’s not that common of a name unless one lives in the East End.” She clenched her hands in her lap.

  She was definitely speaking of that particular Molly. But why?

  “How would you know such a thing?” Violet asked.

  Mrs. Fairchild sighed as she glared at her daughters, clearly displeased with their conversation. She sent an apologetic look at Spencer.

  “One hears these things,” Dalia said.

  From the puzzled look on Violet’s face, she seemed to think her sister addled.

  Spencer was impressed. Though he wasn’t clear on the entire message, if she continued in this vein, he might have a good idea of what urgent information had arisen. “What else does one hear?” he asked.