Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  Kent laughed and leaned forward on his knees. “Who knows? Perhaps the man did have supernatural abilities. He had plenty of men in the ton working for him, aiding him to keep us captive.”

  “The book makes more sense,” Clive said, just then recalling what Irene had said to him. “The book must exist. Irene is looking for it as well. Someone has been threatening her in order to get it.” He only hoped that the presence of all the children in the house would keep the criminal away for the night.

  “So, if this book is found, I’m not the only one who’d be hurt by it,” Kent said. “It’s likely we’ll all be hurt.”

  “Well, I know there are things about me I don’t wish to get out,” Marley said. “And Garrick killed everyone who worked for the duke. If he’s found a murderer, it could go very poorly for him.”

  Garrick ran his hands through his hair. He was truly troubled.

  “What is it that Van Dero knew about you?” Marley asked Clive.

  Clive swallowed. “Well, I stole Irene’s hairpin.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t do it,” Kent said.

  “Well, I did,” Clive said. “Also, I stole many other things. As a young man, I was a thief. I stole watches, rings, coins. I cut purses. I even managed to slip into inns, homes, and cleaned out entire rooms.”

  All the men looked at him as though they didn’t know him.

  Clive frowned. “It was all a long time ago.”

  “Still,” Marley said. “It’s a part of you we didn’t know about. We knew your family had financial problems...”

  “It was more than that,” Clive said. Not wishing to discuss anything more, he turned the subject back to the book. “We must find this book, which means we must find Mr. Crow. It’s unlikely he’ll be home, but I’ll speak to Irene tomorrow, see what else she can tell us about the man and the object.”

  “I would rather we question her together,” Kent said, his expression hard. “I do not wish to be left out any longer.”

  Clive understood his friend’s frustration. “Very well. We’ll all have to go there. I doubt she’s managed to get the children situated at their own homes or at an orphanage.” He’d allow Kent to be there, but he wouldn’t allow his friend to bully the woman.

  “And we should question the driver,” Kent said to James. “We should see about finding him as well.”

  “That will be easy. He’s still employed by Lady Irene,” James said. “She didn’t let anyone go after her father’s death. She kept them, knowing they had no place else to go.”

  Irene was a true saint. There were a hundred things a woman like her could do with her money, but she chose to help. There were many things she could do with her time, yet she spent hours sitting in a hackney in order to reveal a crime.

  They were talking about the questions they’d ask when Mr. Charles himself rushed into the room. His expression said something had happened. Something terrible.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  1 8

  * * *

  “It’s gone, my lady. The whole of it is gone.” The orphanage’s headmistress’s entire mouth trembled as she stared up at the destroyed building. Only ashes remained on the left. The right stood strong. The firefighters had managed to get it in time, but it was all uninhabitable. It would take months to repair.

  “How did the fire start?” Irene asked. It was early morning. Patches of blue could be seen against the gray sky. Of all the nights it should have rained, Irene wished it had rained last night.

  Her father’s orphanage was gone.

  Mrs. Jenest, the headmistress, answered, “It started in the building next door. Mrs. Calfly said one of the boys must have tossed something into the oven that didn’t belong. A cloth, perhaps. It caught flame.” She pointed to the townhouse that had been attached to the orphanage’s wrecked half. Irene had met the neighbor. She had three boys of her own. Widowed, she struggled to survive, but survive she did.

  How would this fire affect her?

  She looked at Mrs. Jenest. She wanted to talk about what had taken place before the fire. “By now, you’ve heard about what happened at Holtsburg Shipping. How did so many of the children from the orphanage end up in boxes at the shipyard?”

  Mrs. Jenest’s eyes widened, and her face turned pale. “Those were my children? That’s impossible.”

  Irene’s anger grew. “How did you not know? How could you have been so careless?”

  Mrs. Jenest placed her hands on her cheeks. “But, my lady, it can’t be my children. They take this same trip every year.”

  Irene’s heart raced. “What do you mean?”

  “I prepare the children to either be taken in by a wonderful family or given employment. Mr. Crow takes the oldest of them and always returns, claiming the trip a success. He claims the children who leave are happy where they are. Oh, my lady, you can’t mean...”

  They’d been tricked. Irene had been tricked. Mrs. Jenest had been tricked for years.

  Irene’s spirits deflated. Was this the fate of the children who left the orphanage? “I left Mr. Crow in charge, so what happened at the shipping yard is my fault.”

  “No.” Clive’s voice came from behind her. “This was Mr. Crow’s doing. You cannot take the blame for this.”

  Mrs. Jenest sat on the step and covered her face and wept. There was little else she could do.

  Irene felt numb, but she was still surprised to see Clive here. She thought they’d meet later in the day. She also noted that his friends had come with him. Their wives were not present, which made sense. The women had arrived at Irene’s home earlier that morning and promised to keep the children while she went to deal with the orphanage. There were few people Irene trusted at the moment, but for some reason, she trusted the wives of the Lost Lords.

  It was their open honesty that she liked the most. Like her, they rarely bit their tongues.

  Irene watched as Kent went to Mrs. Calfly’s residence and banged on the door.

  From where Irene stood, she could see into Mrs. Calfly’s home. The building was open to the public’s eye and there was a slight crowd, but most people didn’t care if an orphanage and a widow’s home burned. This was not the West End. No great name had lived in the residence.

  Which made her wonder how the men had found out about her location? Had they gone to her home first and asked one of her servants or had they heard about the fire another way?

  Irene helped Mrs. Jenest gather herself. There were still more children to care for and she’d need Mrs. Jenest’s help.

  Next door, Mrs. Calfly stepped out and her eyes widened at the sight of Lord Ganden. He was something to behold. He wasn’t the tallest of his friends, but he was still tall and wore his muscles visibly. They cut though his suit as though he were a beast that couldn’t be contained.

  It didn’t help that his expression was deadly as well.

  “Who started the fire?” Kent asked.

  Mrs. Calfly gathered her shawl more tightly around her. She looked tired. She had so much to deal with; she didn’t need Kent harassing her.

  Irene turned to Clive. “You should get control of your friend. It is ill mannered for Lord Ganden to ask the poor woman questions on her own porch as though he owns the entire city.”

  Clive placed a hand on her shoulder. His own expression was brooding. “He has his reasons.”

  Irene grunted.

  “O-one of my boys started the fire.” Mrs. Calfly was visibly shaking. Fear made it so she hadn’t blinked in a the last few seconds.

  “The truth, Mrs. Calfly,” Kent said with a growl and a step forward.

  Irene started over but stopped when she realized that Kent knew Mrs. Calfly’s name. How was that so?

  Mrs. Calfly looked over at Irene and then back at Kent. “It was one of the boys. I must go now. I must finish packing.”

  “And where are you going, Mrs. Calfly?” Kent’s hand rested on her door, preventing her from closing it, not that it would do any good. Her home was an open s
hell. Every story visible.

  “There is no place safe for a person like you,” Kent told the woman.

  Mrs. Calfly whimpered.

  Irene rushed over then. “Lord Ganden, leave her alone.”

  Kent turned and glared. His gaze was like a smack to Irene’s chest. Her heart failed and then started again, beating hard and sending her brain the signals to flee. What had she been thinking to place herself in such danger?

  Kent’s menacing gaze returned to Mrs. Calfly as she tried to shut the door. “How much did he pay you?”

  “Please,” Mrs. Calfly said. “I had no choice.”

  “No choice?” he asked. “You allowed him to set fire to the orphanage from your house.”

  “The orphanage wasn’t supposed to burn.” Mrs. Calfly was weeping. “Only the upstairs. Only his office.”

  Irene stared, stunned.

  Kent was surprised as well. “Mr. Crow had an office here?”

  When Clive came to stand by Irene, she turned to him. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Crow started the fire,” he replied. “We had a man watching him. He saw Mr. Crow escape Mrs. Calfly’s home right before the flames engulfed the middle of the buildings. We thought he was trying to burn down some evidence in the orphanage.”

  But he hadn’t. It was his office in Mrs. Calfly’s home he’d been set to torch.

  “Move,” Kent said to the woman.

  She moved aside and Kent entered her home without another word. Garrick, Marley, and James followed.

  Clive said, “Our spy thought the two were having an affair and that was the reason he’d gone into her home so frequently.”

  She turned to Mrs. Jenest, who’d followed the group over to Mrs. Calfly’s “Did you know about Mr. Crow’s office?”

  The woman shook her head. “But Mrs. Calfly and Mr. Crow were… involved, I believe. Mrs. Calfly, she’s a friend of mine. We talk. Mr. Crow’s appearance in her life was a blessing, really. Otherwise, the woman would have been out on the street.”

  Irene wondered if Mrs. Calfly loved Mr. Crow or if the two had been using one another for personal gains.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Mrs. Jenest said. “With most of the children gone, me and a few of the neighbors managed not only clear them out but save some of the artwork your father had purchased for the home. There’s some value to the pieces, I believe.” Irene looked at what lined the street. There were a few paintings, some wooden fixtures. Nothing struck her as being of great quality. “A few of the neighbors have offered to purchase a few things,” Mrs. Jenest said. “They know the orphanage was owned by your father. I think they simply wish to say they owned something that had once been owned by a duke. The money could go to a new building.”

  “Sell it then,” Irene decided. “Though I hate what the fire did to Mrs. Calfly’s home, I’m glad the orphanage is gone. I wanted the children to return to something new, something that wouldn’t remind them of the day they’d been packed away as little more than animals. Now, I will not have that opportunity.” She doubted the money they raised from the desk and few paintings would get them much, but it would help.

  “Where will the children stay for now?” Clive asked her.

  “I’ll get another home. I’ll find a better one.”

  “Am I being dismissed, my lady?” Mrs. Jenest asked.

  “No.” Irene sighed. “I did this. I left Mr. Crow in charge.”

  Clive’s hand at her lower back gave her the strength she needed to continue on.

  “Thank you for what you’ve done, Mrs. Jenest.”

  Mrs. Jenest bowed. “Thank you, my lady. I swear, I’ll protect the children better this time.” She left them and approached some of the people who were standing on the sidewalk. There was a small group gathered. Men and women eyed the art. The lot of it would likely be gone before the end of day. Everyone wished to have a piece of a duke.

  Irene looked away. How could her father have hired a man as cold as Mr. Crow?

  She feared the answer.

  “Shall we join the others?” she asked Clive as she started for Mrs. Calfly’s home.

  “No.” He caught her arm. “It isn’t safe. I would rather you not go inside.”

  From the street, she could hear the creaking of the wood and a few choice curses from the gentlemen. Clive was right.

  “Let’s get you home. The others will meet us there.”

  Irene followed. Her thoughts weighed her every step.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  1 9

  * * *

  Clive sat across from Irene and took in the muted woman whose gaze remained downcast and whose expression was sad. Irene was not herself. She usually always had something to say, found some way to fill in the silence, but not today. She’d even paled, which didn’t look good on her.

  He could only imagine her thoughts. Did she think about her father at all and if he or her brother had had a hand in what was taking place? Clive had wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. Eventually, he’d be unable to hide her father’s vile nature from her. He’d have to tell her everything and get to the bottom of the book, but it could wait, at least for the moment. He doubted the men would find anything of value in Mrs. Calfly’s home. Mr. Crow would have been a fool to not take the evidence with him.

  He made a last-minute decision and gave the driver a different address.

  Irene’s head popped up when he spoke. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere close.”

  They arrived at their destination some minutes later and Clive helped Irene out and toward the back of the inn. There was a small pleasure garden there. The hour left it mostly empty. It was a popular place for the wealthy when the weather was fair, and the hour was right. Like Hyde Park, they mostly came to be seen and admired, since often the common folk came to watch and chance a glance at their betters.

  Clive had known both sides.

  The massive green field against the morning sky seemed endless. Clive pulled in a deep breath.

  Irene turned to him. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it would make you feel better.”

  She frowned. “But there’s so much to be done. The children need me. I have to speak to the constable. I have to find Mr. Crow. I—”

  “And it’ll all be there when we leave, but for now, take a moment to yourself.”

  She stared at him. “Clive, I don’t have time for this.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve barely had a moment to breathe since the other day. It’s important to care for yourself. Otherwise, you’ll be no good for anyone else.”

  “Is this similar to last night, when you forced me to eat?”

  “Slightly, only I don’t recall forcing you to do anything. If you like, we can go.” He turned and held out his arm.

  She stared at his arm and took it. He hid his disappointment as he started to head toward where they’d come, but her hold restrained him.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. “I mean, why this place? Why this pleasure garden?” She watched him intently. “Does it mean something to you?”

  How she’d managed to guess that, he didn’t know. “It does.”

  “Why? Tell me,” she urged. “What do you like about this place?”

  He turned back toward the field and sighed. “It was here I learned how to pick my first pocket.” He looked at her again.

  Irene’s eyes widened. “How old were you?”

  “Seven.”

  “Who taught you?”

  He paused and then shrugged. “Lord Edmund. He taught me how I was to provide for him and my mother and my siblings. Either that, or my family would starve, and it would be because of me.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Your stepfather taught you to steal?”

  Clive nodded. “He’s very good at it himself. I’m almost certain he still does it. I sent him and my mother money regularly, but I believe Lord Edmund finds some pleasure in it.”


  “When did it stop?”

  “Aside from when I stole your hairpin, it went on until my aunt sent me away to Cambridge, yet even then, I had very little money for food, so I began to steal for myself, but instead of pockets, I focused on cards.” Aunt Louisa had been his father’s sister. When she died, she left previsions for him to attend Cambridge. It had been a gift to his father just as much as to Clive, making it impossible for him to reject.

  Lord Edmund had tried to get the money for himself, but Aunt Louisa’s will had been ironclad. So, with his mother’s encouragement, Clive left.

  He’d felt guilt during his first year away, but one visit home had proved that Lord Edmund had everything in order at home, or rather, he’d managed to frisk a few people in gambling halls to see that his family didn’t starve.

  There were so many occasions when Clive wished to tell his mother the truth, but the shame of his past kept him silent.

  “Do you remember all the people you stole from?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I did it for far too long and to too many people to recall. I was not a good man, Irene.” He was still uncertain if he was. He was used to guilt. Only recently had be made an effort to make things right. He’d given money back to those he recalled stealing from, leaving it in places the lords and ladies could easily find it. Helping Irene as best as he could was yet another way he worked to right his wrongs.

  “My father was a bad man, wasn’t he?” Irene asked.

  He thought the truth could not be hidden anymore. “He was, but that doesn’t mean we have to be anything like the men who raised us. We can be better.” He hoped he could; he simply wasn’t sure what would be enough.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe I didn’t know. I don’t deserve anything I have.”

  “None of us deserve what we are given, but don’t feel guilty. You do more for others than many.”

  “But will it be enough?” She turned her head away.

  Clive couldn’t help but think how similar and yet different they were. She wished to atone for someone else’s sins while he worked to correct his own. He didn’t have an answer for her except, “With a heart as true as yours, the most beautiful thing you could do for the world is be yourself.”