Lord Wolverton alighted from the carriage first before turning back to assist her as the coachman retrieved the small bag of hastily altered garments from the small boot. It had rained through the afternoon and the pavement was dotted with puddles.
“Those bandages cannot get wet. I will carry you to the door,” he said and then made to do just that, sweeping her into his arms.
Mary’s breath caught as she realized it would likely be the last time she would ever be so close to him. She ducked her head, attempting to hide her reaction.
“Oh, dear heavens! Are you quite all right?”
The voice belonged to a young woman and Mary glanced in her direction. She recognized her immediately as Lady Vale’s companion, but she was dressed very differently than she had been when Mary had last seen her. Wearing a fine walking dress of pale blue striped muslin with a matching spencer, she looked every inch a fashionable young woman.
But then the woman looked at her and her eyes widened. “You’re Mary. You are Benedict’s sister!”
Mary nodded. “Yes, I am Mary Mason. Please forgive me for arriving so. I have been ill and Lord Wolverton was kind enough to see me here to find my brother.”
The woman nodded. “I am Elizabeth Masters… I am your brother’s betrothed.”
Mary blinked in surprise. That was news she hadn’t quite expected. “I see. I wasn’t aware that Benedict had formed any attachments.”
Miss Masters smiled, but her gaze traveled from Lord Wolverton’s face to Mary’s own in a very knowing way. “It’s been a very traumatic time for us all and in such times, I think that the intensity of one’s feelings becomes heightened far more quickly,” she suggested mildly. “But let us get you inside! Benedict is here and I know he is most eager to see you. Come! Come! This news is too joyous to keep him waiting.”
Mary tightened her arms about Lord Wolverton’s neck, perhaps more so than was necessary, as he climbed the steps. Just as the butler was opening the door, he placed her gently on her feet. She was immediately bereft at the loss of contact. Perhaps, she thought, it was best that they not see one another anymore. Her attachment to him was far too serious already and to further their acquaintance was simply courting disaster. But continuing to spend time with him, to deepen the connection she felt to him, or—heaven forbid—give in to the temptation and beg him once more to kiss her, would only lead them both down a path that ought to be denied.
Limping inside behind Miss Masters, she immediately heard raised voices from a room to their right. Miss Masters turned back to her. “Mr. Branson Middlethorp, your brother’s uncle… they are far more alike than either of them realize and, as a result, have butted heads rather frequently since Benedict’s identity was confirmed.”
“Is he unhappy that Benedict has been confirmed to be Lord Vale, then?” Mary asked with concern. Had she inadvertently set her brother on a path that would cause him harm or unhappiness?
Miss Masters laughed, a musical sound that filled the small entryway. “Oh, good heavens! Not at all. Mr. Middlethorp could not be more thrilled. He’s rather cross because your dear brother keeps insisting he is incapable of taking over the family estates. Personally, I rather agree with Mr. Middlethorp. Benedict is perfectly capable. He just simply needs to make peace with the idea of it. I think, and I would never say this to him, he feels somewhat intimidated by the prospect.”
The butler cleared his throat. “I will announce the guests if it pleases you, Miss Masters.”
“It does not please me,” she replied. “I will take them in as I go. Miss Mason will need no introduction… and, oh dear, I do not believe I know who your gallant rescuer is!”
Mary blushed at the terrible lapse in manners. “I’m so terribly sorry. Miss Masters, may I present Lord Alexander Carnahan, Earl of Wolverton.” Mary knew instantly that Miss Masters recognized his name. Her eyes widened and her face paled perceptibly. But she recovered quickly, pasting a smile on her face that was a tad too bright and far from sincere.
“Well, Lord Wolverton, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I cannot tell you how grateful we are for your heroic rescue of my new sister. Please, let’s convene to the library and see if this very glad news can stave off a bout of fisticuffs, shall we?”
Mary followed behind her, leaning heavily on Lord Wolverton’s arm as they made their way to the other room. Miss Masters opened the door and they stepped into the dimly-lit chamber behind her. Benedict stood next to Lady Vale. Another man, a gentleman still quite fit and handsome, but with dark hair going to gray, stood near the window. Facing off against them was a smallish man in ill-fitting clothes and wearing a very satisfied smirk upon his thin face.
At their entrance, the room fell silent. It was so very quiet that a pin dropping on the carpet would have sounded like cannon fire, Mary thought. No sooner had the thought occurred, than Benedict made a sound that was unlike anything she’d ever heard. Had she not known him better, she would have thought it a sob. Without preamble, he closed the distance between them, swept her into his arms and hugged her so fiercely she feared her ribs would break.
“I thought you lost,” he whispered, and there was something broken in his voice, something she had not heard since they were children.
“There were moments when I thought it as well,” she admitted softly.
“Now see here—” the thin, weaselly man began.
“You see here, Hillyard,” the older gentleman interrupted him. “This is a private family matter and you will take your leave!”
“I have not had my questions answered to my satisfaction!”
“And you will not today, regardless of whether you stand there braying like an ass or not,” the gentleman stated, his language and his tone both quite shocking. “Now, off with you, or I will see you tossed out into the street.”
The man, clearly taking the gentleman at his word, left though he grumbled under his breath as he did so. Finally, Benedict let her go, stepping back to look at her.
“Where have you been? We searched everywhere for you!” he said as his gaze traveled toward the man who stood beside her. There was suspicion in it and an abundance of caution.
It was Miss Masters who stepped in. “Benedict, she will tell us everything in good time. But for now, let us get her situated comfortably and offer some tea and food to our guests. I’m certain they must be exhausted and famished following their journey.”
“Of course,” he said. “Forgive me, Mary, I’m just so glad to have you here with us again.”
With Lord Wolverton’s assistance, Mary made her way to the settee that Lady Vale gestured toward with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Poor, dear girl! How worried we have all been for you!”
Miss Masters rang for tea and Mr. Middlethorp watched them curiously, but it was clearly Lord Wolverton who held his attention. It appeared to her that Benedict’s newfound uncle was a man who missed very little.
Wanting to get the worst of it over with, Mary began, “I came to Bath because I encountered Lady Vale in London—”
“We know all that,” Benedict said. “Your things were still with Mrs. Simms and, as sorry as I am to admit it to you, we read your journal. I had hoped it would offer some insight into who might have taken you but, alas, it did not.”
Mary frowned, not out of anger, but confusion. “So you knew that I came here to investigate your past? That I suspected you were Lord Vale?”
“Yes,” Benedict offered. “We’re clear on everything up until the abduction itself. We know you were taken from the street in front of Madame Zula’s, likely taken to the same warehouse they took Elizabeth to, and then to an abandoned mine on Lord Harrelson’s property. But you escaped and then all trace of you vanished.”
“Well that is where Lord Wolverton comes in,” Mary answered.
“Wolverton?” Lady Vale gasped, drawing back in horror.
“Yes,” Mary said. “Lord Wolverton found me in the woods after I escaped. I was injured and suffering fr
om an ailment of the lungs. He took me to his home and cared for me until I was well enough to travel here.”
Benedict’s brows drew together. “Who resides in this house?”
Wolverton had been silent to that point, allowing his identity and the scandal attached to it to settle over those gathered like a pall. “My estate is impoverished, Lord Vale. I was alone there with Miss Mason save for my housekeeper and stable master. There are a couple of other servants but they do not live on the property. They come and go from their own homes.”
Another gasp from Lady Vale and a thunderous glower from Mr. Middlethorp only underscored the tension in the room following that admission. Mary looked imploringly at Benedict. “I understand that it is improper but under the circumstances, it was simply not possible for a chaperone to be procured. I was too ill to travel and there was no one else to tend me if he left! Surely you see that despite the circumstances, any impropriety was secondary to the dire nature of the situation we found ourselves in.”
“Miss Mason,” Lady Vale began, then paused as if to collect her thoughts. “In your previous life, and please forgive me if what I’m about to say makes me seem cold to your circumstances, for I am not! But when you were the sister of a businessman who had no connections to polite society, then such things might have passed without comment. But Benedict is no longer simply a businessman. He is now a lord! A peer of the realm and you are his adopted sister. Whatever scandal touches you, touches us all.”
“Then should I have lain there on the ground, bleeding and burning with fever, refusing any offer of salvation until a chaperone could be obtained?” Mary snapped.
“My dear, I meant no offense. And I am not suggesting that anything you have done was without cause or in any way imprudent! The question now is not about what has been done, but about what is left to do!” Lady Vale insisted. “I’m certain that Lord Wolverton, in spite of his past, understands what the honorable course of action is here.”
“What about his past?” Benedict demanded.
“There were rumors about the first wife,” Middlethorp said. Both his tone and his expression were utterly inscrutable.
Wolverton shook his head. “I was tried for murdering my wife, Lord Vale. Let us call a spade a spade in this instance and have no more vague references or allusions. I was acquitted of the charges. But in civil proceedings, heavy fines were levied against me and a settlement awarded to my late wife’s family. Hence the impoverished nature of my home.”
Lady Vale looked pointedly at Benedict. “Under the circumstance, and I’m certain that Lord Wolverton understands the proper course of action here, perhaps a special license can be procured?”
“A special license?” Mary asked. “What in heaven’s name do you mean, Lady Vale?”
“My dear, there is only one way to come back from such an indelicate sort of foible as this… and that is marriage. Society will forgive many things once a union is sanctioned by the church!”
Mary spared a glance at Lord Wolverton, stoic and utterly silent as a room full of strangers plotted their lives together. He didn’t want it and even if he had, she would never allow it to happen in such a way. The very idea that he might feel forced or coerced left her feeling sick to her stomach at the thought. “You are all making a great number of assumptions—”
“Miss Mason,” Lord Wolverton said. “This is not unexpected. I realize it is not what you might wish for, but if your brother is insistent, and should gossip spread that would necessitate our marrying, I will certainly agree. It is the most expedient way to preserve certain aspects of your reputation, though I fear it may suffer in other ways.”
Benedict rose to his feet, an angry glare twisting his normally handsome features. “So you think to marry my sister? I’ll not compound one stroke of bad luck by heaping poor judgement upon it! There will be no marriage!”
“I had not assumed there would be,” Lord Wolverton stated emphatically. “I understand that I have put Miss Mason in an untenable position. Had there been another option that would have resulted in saving her life, I would have taken it. And regardless of my loss in the civil trial, I am innocent of the crime.”
“Then who did it?” This question came from Middlethorp. It wasn’t angry and accusatory as the others had been, but reflective and curious.
“Lord Harrelson,” Mary stated softly. “I think we are all victims of Lord Harrelson here, in one way or another. And we have some proof of his perfidy in other areas, if not in this one.”
Whether it was the truth of her words or the quiet conviction with which she uttered them, a hush once more fell over the room. Tension was still there, evident in Lord Wolverton’s rigid posture and the fact that Benedict had his hands balled into fists at his sides, as if ready to take a swing at the slightest provocation.
“You asked to hear what happened, and if you will all stop making assumptions and trying to plan how best to avoid a scandal that may never even occur, I will tell you,” Mary said. “There is much information to be offered and I think it may help to answer questions that we all have… questions that were born twenty some years ago, Benedict, when you were taken from your mother’s arms.”
“Very well,” Middlethorp said just as the maid entered bearing a tray of tea and small sandwiched and cakes. “Let us begin then.”
Mary looked back to Lord Wolverton, noting the hard line of his jaw and the firm set of his chin. They had wounded him carelessly, she thought, as if accusations against him were as commonplace as breathing. She supposed they were, really, but it was grossly unfair. Her own suspicions of him from earlier came rushing to her mind, along with no small amount of shame. She’d been just as judgmental and mean-spirited as others had toward him.
Resisting the urge to simply throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness, Mary said, “Perhaps you should start with why you suspected Lord Harrelson’s involvement in Lady Helena’s murder.”
Chapter Thirteen
The note she’d received from Albie that morning had sent Helena into a panic. He’d insisted that they were being followed, watched. Then he’d confessed to her that he’d dispatched a man he believed to be Harrelson’s spy. It was the latter part of the letter that had set her on edge, of course. He’d told her she would have to engineer her own return to Wolverton, that it was too dangerous for them to be together now.
It was the culmination of all of Helena’s worst fears. She had been in love with Albie since she was a little girl, worshipping him. Together, they’d learned and explored their passions in secret. If the small, sane part of her whispered that it wasn’t love at all, but obsession, she ignored that as she had ignored all prudent warnings in her life. Instead, Helena grasped the one thought that had been with her, a constant fear since her girlhood. Albie was leaving her. She was being abandoned by the one person who had sworn never to desert her.
He insisted in his letter that it wasn’t so, that he would always love her and would never be far away. Then he made promises that it was only temporary and as soon as the possibility for discovery lessened, she would once again be in his arms. Lies, she thought bitterly. He swore that as soon as they’d managed to tamp down any suspicions or gossip over her return, everything would go according to their original plan.
They’d known, of course, that Wolverton believed Albie and Harrelson to be responsible for her “death.” It had never been of any real concern to them given that her poor, widowed husband was so horribly discredited in the eyes of the world that he would never be able to get anyone to listen to him. But that was before Harrelson’s untimely end. Now, with no notion where his books with all his filthy secrets were, they had no way of making others kowtow to them as he had. In essence, they were cast adrift.
Anger, fear, and pure, blind panic—all of those things had driven her to this small rebellion of taking a sedan chair out in the middle of the day. She was desperate to get to Albie, to have him offer her reassurance. So she’d summoned a Bath chair and was on
her way to his rooms near Avon Street. He stayed in that little hovel, so he said, to keep abreast of the goings-on with Harrelson’s other hirelings. She knew the truth, of course. Albie had always loved the cards and couldn’t get credit to gamble anywhere respectable.
But her journey was cut abruptly short when she saw a familiar coat of arms traveling along Brock Street and onto the Circus. Her breath caught.
“Follow that carriage,” she snapped at the chairmen.
They followed her direction, grunting as they increased their speed. Luckily, the carriage slowed and then halted directly in front of one of the Palladian townhouses that comprised the only address in Bath more fashionable than the veritable prison she existed in. Immediately, she recognized it as Lady Vale’s residence. The reclusive Lady Vale and the debauched Lord Ambrose were unlikely friends. Of course, anything was possible. Her own husband’s friendship with the aging rogue had always been a puzzle to her, as well. It appeared there was more to Lord Ambrose than the drinking and whoring that he was known for.
“Stop here,” she hissed at the chairman again and, immediately, they did as she asked, stopping near the end of one of the curved terraces that comprised the Circus.
Helena bit back a gasp as a familiar figure emerged from the carriage. It was not Lord Ambrose at all, but Alexander. He was holding on to some ridiculous slip of a girl as if she were the great love of his life. Not that she’d ever desired his love or devotion, Helena thought bitterly. But it had stung to see his disgust of her written so plainly upon his face. From the tender way he held that girl, whoever she might be, it was clear that he was certainly not repulsed by her. An unreasonable anger filled her—at Albie, at Harrelson, at her worthless stepfather who had never lost an opportunity in private to tell her that she was destined to be a whore, just like her mother. That anger extended to Wolverton and by virtue of association, the woman who had clearly managed to capture his heart.
The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5) Page 15
