Protecting Lady Esther: Regency Romance (The King's League Book 1)

by Lucy Adams

  The maid bit her lip, looking all about her. “I did not mean to speak out of turn, miss.”

  “No, no,” Esther replied hastily. “It is only that I did not know my father had gone from London.” She studied the maid carefully, feeling a deep sense of shame that her staff seemed to know more about her father’s disappearance than she did. “Where has my father gone?”

  The maid glanced at her and then shrugged. “I don’t know, Lady Esther. It’s not my place to know. The butler just said that the master was gone—out of town—on some business. That is all I know.”

  Esther blinked rapidly, her heart fluttering in an uncomfortable fashion.

  “He left last evening, as far as I know,” the maid finished, now appearing a little embarrassed. “I didn’t see him myself, Lady Esther, but the butler—”

  “Thank you,” Esther interrupted, more firmly than she had first intended. “That answers a good many questions. I shall leave you to go about your duties now.” She did not wait for the maid to say anything more in response but rather swung back on her heel and strode from the study, keeping her shoulders down and her head up. It would not do for the staff to know of her sorrow and confusion, especially when it seemed that they knew more about her father’s whereabouts than she did!

  Making her way towards the drawing room in the hope of finding her aunt, Esther threw her mind back to when her father had given her the locket. It had been only a few minutes after his visitor, whomever it had been, had departed from the house, and Esther was quite certain that her father had either been afraid of the gentleman with the scar, or he had been left sorrowful over what had been shared. Perhaps there had been a bit of both, but—for whatever reason—Esther recalled, he had not wanted to answer her question as to who the gentleman was. He had avoided answering her altogether, in fact, and had brought out the locket instead of telling her what the trouble had been.

  Had it been simply a matter of her father thinking that the subject had nothing whatsoever to do with Esther? Had it been his way of protecting her? Or was there something more malevolent about the gentleman and his visit to London?

  “Aunt?”

  She pushed open the drawing room door to see her aunt sitting quietly by the fireplace, although no fire burned there today. She was reading through some correspondence, it seemed, for she looked up to smile at Esther with an unfolded letter in her hand.

  “Good morning, Esther,” Lady Ware murmured quietly, dropping her gaze back to her letter. “Come now, I will share with you all the news from Alexandrea, who has written to share such lovely–”

  “Where is my father?”

  Esther’s interruption made Lady Ware frown as she put her letter down carefully, looking up at Esther with sharp eyes.

  “I do not mean to be rude,” Esther said quickly, before her aunt could begin to criticize her. “But it is only that I cannot find my father anywhere, and I was hoping to share with him the news of how last evening’s ball fared.” She watched her aunt carefully, seeing the frown grow steadily deeper rather than clear entirely.

  “My dear girl, did he not inform you that he was to go out of London on a matter of some urgency?” Lady Ware said slowly, her expression now both curious and surprised. “There was a short note waiting for me only this morning—after I broke my fast. You did not know of it?”

  A little sorrowful, Esther slumped down into one of the nearby chairs and shook her head, her heart growing suddenly painful. Her father had written a note to Lady Ware but had not left one for her?

  “Well, I am surprised that he did not do so, but he must have expected me to simply share this with you,” Lady Ware said in a practical tone. “I am here to guide you through society this Season, and therefore, he obviously left me to deal with this matter.”

  Esther swallowed her tears, refusing to allow them to fall. It was not like her father to behave so, she was quite certain, for he did not often keep such things from her. Even if he was to go out for an afternoon call, he would always inform her of where he was going and when he expected to be back. So why had he not done so now, particularly when he was gone from London entirely?

  “The note did not state much at all,” Lady Ware continued when Esther said nothing. “Just that he has some business that needs his immediate attention, and so he has returned to the estate. It will take him a few days to do all that is required of him, and then he hopes to return to us here.”

  Esther mentally calculated that, with the time it took to return to the estate and then back to London once he had resided there a few days, Lord Leighton might very well be absent from town for over a fortnight. She swallowed hard again, a warning ringing in her ears. A warning that she could not ignore. There was something wrong here, something that she could not quite understand. Her father had looked so sorrowful the last time she had seen him and had appeared so very upset over some matter that he would not share with her. She could not get her sense of worry removed from her heart. Was his absence in some way connected to the visitor who had called upon Lord Leighton, the gentleman with the scar? The snippets of conversation she had overheard rang back in her ears all over again, reminding her of the strangeness of what had been said. No, she determined, shaking her head. There was more to her father’s absence than there first appeared, more to his hasty retreat from London than a mere matter of business. She did not know what it could be, nor had she any way of discovering the truth, but there came a slow-growing sense of fear mixed with determination. Determination that she would discover the answers that she now required.

  And her first step would be to write to her father at home and to wait for his reply, which she was quite certain would not come. If her father had left London on a matter of business, then he certainly would not have left without either speaking to her or writing to her to inform her of his intentions, no matter how urgent the matter was. Her aunt might be fooled by the note, but Esther was not.

  “Esther?”

  Dragged back to the present, Esther looked up to see her aunt looking at her with confusion in her eyes.

  “Yes, Aunt?” Esther replied, smoothing out her skirts and trying her best to look nonchalant. “What is it you were saying?”

  Lady Ware let out a long, heavy sigh. “You are distracted this morning, Esther.” She waved a hand. “I suppose that is to be understood, given the ball last evening, but you must not allow your thoughts to linger on what occurred. I am quite certain that Lord Westbrook will do everything he promised, once you have chosen the gown you desire.”

  Esther shook her head, having not been thinking on Lord Westbrook or the struggles she had needed to deal with last evening. “I was not thinking on Lord Westbrook,” she said firmly. “I was merely wondering–”

  “He must be some sort of ridiculous oaf to have made such a mess of your gown,” Lady Ware continued distractedly. “To stand on the back of a lady’s gown and then not remove his foot when she is pulled back speaks of a lack of awareness and consideration that does not make me think well of him.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Esther murmured, seeing that her aunt had decided that the note she had received from her brother was quite the accepted explanation and realizing that to suggest otherwise would only bring a good deal of difficulty to matters at hand. If she told Lady Ware that she suspected her father was in trouble, then her aunt might either refuse to even consider the idea and demand that Esther focus solely on the Season, or her aunt might believe her and then become greatly distressed, to the point of being quite unable to help Esther at all and perhaps demanding that they return home at once.

  Neither scenario was a particularly good one as far as Esther was concerned. As her aunt droned on about the lack of consideration Lord Westbrook had shown towards her, Esther considered what she might do next.

  She had to discover the name of the gentleman who had visited her father only yesterday. Absentmindedly, Esther reached up and touched her locket that now hung about her neck, remembering just how her
father had looked when he had given it to her. Had he done so immediately after the scarred gentleman’s visit, for fear that something might occur to him thereafter?

  And just how was she to go about seeking out this gentleman when she had no idea where he might be or what his name was? Her jaw clenched, her brows sinking low as she struggled to come up with a sensible suggestion.

  Your father’s correspondence.

  It was an idea at least. If she looked through her father’s letters and the like, she might then come across something that could inform her as to who that gentleman might have been. Mayhap there would be an address she could visit, where she might make discreet enquiries. And, of course, she would write daily to her father if she had to, although she fully expected not to have a single reply to anything she sent to the estate. If her father was there, as he had said, then he would write back to her almost at once, but if he was not, then her letters would go unanswered. Then she would know for certain that something was gravely wrong.

  “Esther! You are not paying attention!”

  Esther jumped, visibly startled. “I am sorry, Aunt,” she said quickly, putting on her most innocent expression. “I was merely thinking about what color of gown I might choose for my replacement.” She smiled and saw her aunt’s frustrated expression begin to fade away. “What do you think? And where might we go to select such a gown?”

  Her aunt, clearly satisfied by Esther’s apology and now distracted by what they were to do that afternoon in seeking out a replacement gown, began to speak animatedly about what she thought was best. Esther listened with half an ear, trying her best to look as though she were paying attention even though her mind was filled with all other manner of thoughts, specifically trying to work out what she was to do and where she might have to go in order to learn more about her father’s difficulties.

  Do not worry, Papa, she said silently, as though he would somehow be able to hear her. You are not going to face this trouble alone. Whatever it is, I am coming in search of you and, together, we shall confront it. Her throat began to ache again with the sorrow and confusion that melded itself to her heart, but with an effort, Esther thrust such feelings aside. She had to find a good deal of courage now; she had to discover a new strength within herself, for if she was to help her father, then she could not allow any sign of weakness.

  I will find you, Papa. I am coming.

  Chapter Three

  “Where are you to go to this evening?”

  Charles, who had been enjoying a glass of very fine brandy, sighed and stretched himself out in his chair, feeling as though he did not want to go anywhere in particular, given that Whites was so very comfortable and given that it was not too late in the evening and fairly quiet.

  “I was to go to The Shrew,” he said, seeing how Lord Brandley’s eyes lit up. “But I confess I feel much too tired to do so.”

  Lord Brandley chuckled. “You cannot escape from your duties however,” he replied with a broad grin. “Besides which, The Shrew is a place where many gentlemen spend many an enjoyable hour. I am certain that many of the gentlemen from the League would be glad to replace you, should you be quite certain that you do not wish to attend.”

  Charles chuckled, lifting his brandy glass and throwing back the rest. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he set the empty glass down again. “I am well aware of that, but I fear that some could not be trusted to keep their wits about them,” he replied, with a knowing look towards his friend. “Besides which, I have no intention of gambling, which may well be a vice for some of those in the League.” He gave a small sigh, rolling his eyes in self-mockery. “I am rather dull, am I not?”

  “Indeed, you are,” Lord Brandley agreed with another grin. “You do not lose yourself in your cups; you do not gamble and certainly have no eagerness to frequent Madame Buxley’s house, which you know must also be done if we are to search all of London.”

  Aware that Lord Brandley was referring to one of the less seemly parts of London, where a gentleman might go in secret so as to relieve himself of his pent up desire, Charles shrugged and looked away. He had never had any wish to go to such a place as that, even though it was often the establishment where an enemy of England might go, unable to resist the urge and the pull that dragged him there. Had not the League captured more than a few spies at places similar to Madame Buxley’s?

  “I gladly leave that responsibility to others,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair and seeing Lord Brandley laugh. “I shall, with a good deal of unwillingness, go to The Shrew and see if there is anything to discover there.”

  Lord Brandley also rose to his feet, his smile suddenly gone and a new seriousness drawn into his expression. “You seek out the gentlemen that we currently suspect?”

  Charles nodded slowly, his jaw tensing. This was when it became a good deal more difficult, for when they were back amongst the ton, the gentlemen in The King’s League were forced to act with a good deal more secrecy than before. What made it all the worse was that there were one or two gentlemen that the League was watching closely, for fear that they might have connections to the French and be actively involved in encouraging and aiding them in their attempt to conquer England. Charles had two names to seek out – one Lord Autry, whose family came from France, and the other, Lord Breton, whose wife had a good many connections within France itself. They might well be innocent entirely, Charles knew, but it was best that he watched them carefully for some time. He would have to introduce himself to them also, and the best place to do that was when a gentleman was off his guard, merry and perhaps a little inebriated. They would think nothing of such a meeting, whereas they might be a little suspicious should they be thinking clearly. Unfortunately for Charles, there were a good many places where such gentlemen might be, although he had been reliably informed that Lord Breton enjoyed gambling at The Shrew, one of London’s infamous gambling hells, and so he intended to go there also in search of the fellow.

  “Nothing else has been discovered about the cipher?” he asked in a low voice, as Lord Brandley shook his head. “The book?”

  Lord Brandley smiled tightly. “Lord Riggerton has been working tirelessly to make some copies of various pages,” he said firmly. “The book is to be moved tomorrow.”

  “And where is it to go?”

  Lord Brandley’s smile spread. “I am to take it for a time,” he said, making Charles nod in agreement, relieved to know that one of the League’s most established gentlemen would have such a precious item. “Only for a sennight or so, I think. Thereafter, I shall have it moved again.”

  “And its whereabouts ought to be kept between the two of us,” Charles added, seeing Lord Brandley hesitate. “Save for the person to whom it is going, of course.” He spread his hands. “It is merely a precaution so that if there is any difficulty or trouble that overtakes any of our men, they will be unable to tell our enemies where the book is at present, for they will not know.”

  Lord Brandley’s expression cleared. “Yes, I quite understand,” he said quickly. “Very good, Westbrook. I shall inform you at once when I have made arrangements for the book to be moved.”

  Charles nodded, shook Lord Brandley’s hand, and made his way out of Whites, glad that his carriage was already waiting for him. Whilst he was in no mood to pretend to enjoy gambling and the like, he knew full well that this was where his responsibility lay at present. Whilst the sorrow and the grief over Sir Taylor’s death still lingered, Charles knew that he could not waste time lost in sadness. He had to continue with his intention to clear England of all manner of spies, French or otherwise, and he would begin by doing his best to curry favor with Lord Breton.

  “I shall take a hackney home,” Charles informed his driver, who nodded with a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Do not linger.”

  “At once, my lord,” the driver said, as the tiger climbed back into position. “Do enjoy your evening, my lord.”

  Charles said nothing, waiting fo
r the driver to disappear before he entered The Shrew. It was not one of the best gambling hells in London but neither was it the worst, and Charles did not have any fear for his safety, knowing full well he could protect himself should it be required. This was not the first time he would have been in a difficulty of that nature.

  Hearing the drunken exclamations, the laughter, and the shouts coming from within The Shrew, Charles let out a long sigh, set his shoulders, and made to walk inside, only for the sound of a lady’s voice to reach his ears.

  He stopped dead, turning around to see a woman climbing down from a hackney, her dark cloak shielding her although her form was still unmistakable, even in the dim lantern light. Frowning, he saw her speak to the hackney driver, who nodded and slumped back in his seat, clearly content to wait for her return.

  A woman? Here, in this part of London? He could not understand what she was doing here, unless she was a lady of the night, in which case it made sense for her to be present here. But a lady of the night would not arrive in a hackney and certainly would not thereafter ask it to wait for her to return. So what was she doing here?

  Stepping back into the shadows and grateful for the clouds that made their way past the moon, Charles watched as the young lady turned towards The Shrew. She wore no bonnet but had the hood of her cloak pulled up over her face. With careful fingers, she made certain that the hood remained firmly in place, before lifting her chin and stepping forward.

  She is about to walk into The Shrew, Charles realized with amazement, seeing her purposeful steps and the solid direction of her gaze. She certainly cannot step inside alone!

  “Excuse me.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Charles had stepped out from the gloom and directly into the young lady’s path, preventing her from reaching the door of The Shrew. The young lady gasped and took a step back in surprise, turning her face away at once.