by Burke, Darcy
Opportunities? Hugh felt the young woman quivering beside him. She’d pressed into his side, as if she could adhere to him. How had she come to be in St. Giles all alone?
“Where did you find her?” Hugh asked.
“Jes’ walking along Ivy Street,” Edwin answered.
Hugh’s anger surged once more. “I highly doubt she would venture into St. Giles by herself. Try again.”
“She was alone, we swear,” Joseph said. “Weren’t ye, dearie?”
Hugh glanced down at her and saw her slight nod. “I was,” she whispered.
Well, blast it all.
“Wh-where’s Maisie? You better not have hurt her.” The young woman’s voice had faltered at first, then gained strength. Hugh knew a Maisie in St. Giles, but how would Bramber’s daughter know her?
Joseph and Edwin laughed once more. “Maisie’s waitin’ for us. Did ye really think she was yer friend?”
Hugh felt the young woman slump and quickly clasped her tight to keep her from collapsing. “It will be all right,” he murmured. He was desperate to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, but first he needed to get her safely away. The question was to where. He returned his attention to Joseph and Edwin. “This woman is under my protection now. Her father is a peer and a powerful member of Society. If anything happens to her, you’ll be in more trouble than you can imagine.”
Fear stole into Edwin’s gaze. He pulled on Joseph’s sleeve. “We don’t want no trouble. Not from a fancy gent. We already have the money Maisie gave us.”
Curiosity got the better of Hugh. “Maisie Evans?” She attended services on occasion and sometimes sold scarves that her grandmother made. Had she paid them to kidnap Bramber’s daughter?
“Yep, that’s ’er,” Edwin answered as Joseph elbowed him.
“Shut up,” Joseph said with a growl.
What was she doing tangled up with Joseph? That was a question he wasn’t going to bother with at present. It was past time to see the woman beside him to safety. “Joseph, you should return that money to the lady.”
Joseph shook his head. “Already spent it—had to pay off a loan.”
Hugh wasn’t surprised. He flicked a glance toward the young lady and apologized before returning his attention to Joseph. “I trust this will be the end of this matter. If I hear of you or Maisie troubling this young woman further, I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done. Including your mother, Edwin.” She would be none too pleased to hear of her son’s malfeasance.
Edwin tapped Joseph’s shoulder. “We should go.” He looked toward Hugh. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mr. Tarleton.”
Joseph grunted, then gave Hugh a surly stare before retreating into the shadows of Ivy Street.
Hugh exhaled with relief. He didn’t think Joseph would challenge him, but was glad to have Bramber’s daughter safely away. Or he would when he could return her to Mayfair.
He realized she was still tucked against his side, a feminine warmth he hadn’t felt in some time. Pivoting so they had to separate, he looked down at her with an encouraging smile. “Now then, let’s get you home. Where is that?”
She shook her head briskly. “I can’t go home.” Her brow furrowed. “Maisie paid them to kidnap me?”
She couldn’t go home? He’d get to that in a minute. First… “How do you know Maisie?”
The young woman replaced her bonnet atop her head and retied the ribbon beneath her chin. “I met her at your church. She was my…friend.” Her mouth curled into a deep frown.
A burst of sympathy washed over Hugh. It seemed Maisie had swindled her. “You’re Bramber’s daughter, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Lady Penelope Wakefield.”
He realized several people were staring at them. While he would hardly draw attention, Lady Penelope most certainly would. “I really should get you home.”
She shook her head firmly. “I told you, I’m not going home. I was supposed to go to an inn with Maisie.”
An inn… There were several in St. Giles but only one where he’d take Lady Penelope. They could at least get off the street so he could fully investigate this matter. “Come, I’ll take you to an inn where we can sit and talk.” He offered her his arm as if they were taking a promenade at the park instead of in the center of London’s most notorious rookery.
“Thank you.” She placed her hand on his sleeve, and he set off to Carrier Street where they turned right toward Buckridge. The Craven Cock, St. Giles’s best-kept inn, stood on the corner.
Hugh led her into the large common room. Set with pockmarked tables and mismatched chairs, the space was almost empty of patrons. One man sat at a table near the wall, eyes closed, his head cushioned on his arms, which he’d folded atop the table. Another pair of men sat on the opposite side of the room and appeared to be deep in conversation.
Hugh guided her to a table and held her chair while she sat. He took the one on the opposite side of the small square table and set his hat on one of the two remaining chairs. “Now, if you don’t mind, please start your tale at the beginning.”
She hesitated. Just enough that Hugh wasn’t sure he was about to hear the truth. “I needed to get away from home—just for tonight. Maisie offered to help me. I paid her. Now it appears she had an altogether different scheme in mind.” She shook her head and looked down at the table. “I can’t believe I was so foolish. On second thought, yes, I can. I was desperate.” She shot him a worried glance tinged with fear.
Hugh was more confused than ever, and yet he was certain that Lady Penelope was indeed telling the truth—she’d felt cornered. He was also certain Maisie had promised her a way out and taken advantage. “Why did you need to get away from home for tonight? Is there something going on that you’re trying to avoid?”
She lifted her gaze to his and laughed. The sound was dark and hollow. It sent a chill into his bones. “Yes, I am most definitely trying to avoid something: marriage.”
Her answer didn’t entirely dispel his confusion. “You’re getting married tonight?”
“Not tonight, no, but the man my parents are forcing me to wed is coming to dinner, when our betrothal will be announced.”
Forcing. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Why are you being forced?”
She straightened, her shoulders stiffening. “Because my father wants this marriage. However, if I’m ruined, the groom won’t want to marry me. Maisie suggested I get kidnapped.”
Hugh tried to wrap his mind around such a scheme. “So you expected Joseph and Edwin to throw a bag over your head.”
“I didn’t. There wasn’t supposed to be an actual kidnapping. I slipped away from my chaperone to meet Maisie on Ivy Street. She dispatched a faux ransom note to my father and another to the Times so that my abduction would be public knowledge. I can’t be ruined unless everyone knows about it.”
“This was all Maisie’s idea.” Anger and disappointment tore through him. “And you met her at my church.” Maisie had preyed on this young woman as surely as Joseph had meant to.
“Yes.”
“Well then, it’s up to me to make things right.”
Chapter 2
“Why is it up to you?” Penelope asked, and yet she was grateful for whatever assistance the rector might provide. She’d been concerned about his safety when he’d intervened with her kidnappers—good Lord, she’d nearly been kidnapped for real.
She suddenly felt very light-headed.
“Lady Penelope, are you all right?” Mr. Tarleton leaned forward, his gaze darkening with concern.
And what a charming gaze he had. His eyes were hazel, a captivating mix of warm brown and jade green with a golden halo encircling the pupil. Halo? Was he an angel? Perhaps not, but he’d surely been sent by one.
She blinked, as much to regain her equilibrium as to stop herself from thinking how attractive the rector was. “Yes, I’m fine. I just… This is not how I envisioned this day would proceed.”
“How did you envision it?”
A serving maid approached the table, her gaze lingering on Mr. Tarleton with appreciation. “Can I bring ye an ale?”
“Two, please,” he answered, barely looking at her as he continued to focus on Penelope.
When the maid was gone, Penelope folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve never had ale.”
His brows climbed his forehead as his chin notched down. “Never?”
“Never.”
“Well, try it, and if you don’t like it, you can get something else,” he said. “The Craven Cock sells the best ale in St. Giles, every bit as good as the ale at the Wicked Duke.”
“You go to the Wicked Duke?” Owned by two dukes, it was the most notorious tavern in London, just as popular as the gentlemen’s clubs in St. James, but with a widely varied clientele. Where else would a rector from St. Giles rub elbows with dukes?
“I do. I went to Oxford with Their Graces. The Duke of Eastleigh is a close friend. Did you know they opened that tavern ten years ago just so our group of friends from Oxford could frequent the same establishment?”
“I didn’t realize that, no. How extraordinary. Is it true, women go there?”
“Sometimes, though no one of your rank. They could, mind you—I mean, they’d be welcome.”
“A welcome there would ensure they weren’t welcomed anywhere else.” Penelope didn’t mask her derision. Women of her station, particularly unmarried young ladies, had absolutely no freedom. That was just one reason she’d looked forward to today’s plan. If only for one night, she was going to be completely free. Then hopefully tomorrow, she’d be as free as she could hope—free of marriage to Findon, anyway.
“You are, unfortunately, correct.” He shot her an apologetic glance. “I often think it isn’t fair that women don’t have the same choices available to them as men.”
“You sound like a radical.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Not that. At least not out loud.” He winked at her, and something inside her bent—like a blooming flower seeking the sun.
The serving maid returned with their ale, depositing a tankard in front of each of them. “Let me know if ye need anything else.” Once again, she stared at Mr. Tarleton a moment longer than was necessary before taking herself off.
Penelope couldn’t blame her. He was a strikingly handsome man with impressively broad shoulders and a muscular athleticism that she rarely saw in Society gentlemen. She shouldn’t have worried about him taking on her kidnappers. He looked as if he could have broken them in two.
Yet, there was a softness to him. The way he’d cajoled Joseph, speaking in a caring but not condescending tone had likely made all the difference in convincing the miscreants to abandon their scheme.
“Now tell me what you’d envisioned happening today,” he prodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“First, I’m going to try this ale.”
“It may be a tad bitter.” Mr. Tarleton quickly lifted his mug and took a sip. “Maybe more than a tad.”
Penelope grasped the handle of the mug and lifted the vessel to her lips. When the beer hit her tongue, she promptly sputtered. Bitter didn’t come close to describing the acrid taste.
“Might take you a few sips to get used to it,” he suggested helpfully.
She managed to swallow it down. “I think it might take me several kegs.” Still, she took another drink. The flavor made her eyes squint for a moment, but at least she knew what to expect the second time.
“You don’t have to drink it,” he said.
“But I will.” She took one more sip before setting the mug back on the table. “I’m determined to make the most of my freedom, and that includes drinking ale, no matter what it tastes like.”
Mr. Tarleton lifted his tankard in a toast. “Let us drink to freedom.”
Warmth spread through her, and it wasn’t from the ale. “Yes, to freedom.” She tapped her mug to his and took another drink.
After swallowing his far more substantial intake of ale, Mr. Tarleton set his tankard down and ran a bare hand through the side of his auburn hair. He gave her a sheepish look as he dropped his hand to his lap. “I’m afraid I often forget my gloves, especially at this time of year.”
“I hadn’t noticed until you mentioned that. I mean, I noticed that your hand was bare, but I hadn’t considered that you weren’t wearing gloves or that you should be.” She was rambling utter nonsense. “Of course you should be,” she finished softly, lamely.
She’d never been aware of men’s hands before, and now she found herself wishing he’d rest them on the table so she could investigate them more closely. Pulling herself from continuing down the path of inappropriate thoughts, she began to tell him about how she’d hoped her day would progress.
“When I was last at your church, Maisie and I planned my…disappearance.” What else could she call it?
“Was that last week? I seem to recall your mother and the other ladies coming to make their usual donations. I don’t remember seeing you, however.”
“You were hardly there,” Penelope said. “Your curate said you had other matters to attend to. That happens quite often when we come.”
Mr. Tarleton dropped his head for a brief moment and when he lifted it, he wore a wry smile. “I’m afraid I try to avoid those occasions. Please don’t take it personally. I just can’t abide their false charity.” He stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together. “My apologies. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate their donations.”
She thought she understood what he meant. “I can’t imagine our cast-off clothing is very helpful.”
His eyes flickered with surprise and then something else. Something warmer. Admiration maybe. “It is for the money I get when I sell it.”
Penelope lifted her hand to her mouth as her eyes widened. Then she laughed. He stared at her in bemusement. “Is that funny?” he asked.
“No. It’s horrible. I’m so sorry we cause work for you. I laughed because… Well, when I think of my mother’s reaction if she knew you sold her cast-offs, I would be hard-pressed not to laugh.”
“I hope you won’t tell her.”
“I won’t.” Because as amusing as her mother’s outrage might be, Penelope wouldn’t want to be the bearer of such aggravating information. “What sort of things would you like to receive, instead of cast-off clothing?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Aside from money, my parishioners can always use food, serviceable clothing, books, and other educational materials.”
“So the shuttlecock set my mother brought last month is entirely superfluous?”
“Not at all. It’s provided hours of entertainment for two boys who have next to nothing,” he said quietly before taking a drink of ale.
She’d never encountered such empathy, especially in a man. “I’ll add toys to the list.”
He peered at her over the rim of his tankard. “Do you really plan to bring those things?”
“I do. What’s the point in charity if we can’t truly help?” She lifted her mug and took a sip. Still bitter, unfortunately.
He scrutinized her briefly. “Lady Penelope, you are forcing me to revise my opinion of Mayfair ladies.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
The edges of his lips curved up in a half smile, and Penelope’s insides swayed even more than they had earlier. Here was a man—finally—who stirred her. “I do believe so. Now tell me what you and Maisie planned.”
“The planning was entirely Maisie’s doing. I’d confided in her about my hopeless situation. My father has been pursuing an advantageous match for me all Season, and when he settled on one, I became desperate to avoid it.”
“Forgive me, but I am not well versed in how the Marriage Mart works. Is it typical for a father to pursue a match?”
“I’m not sure it’s typical, but in my father’s case, he saw it as necessary. I shall only be allowed to marry a man he approves of, and he will only approve of someone if it benefits him.”
Mr. Tarleton’s lip curled. “I’m not sure I like your father.”
“I’m quite sure I don’t.” She feared him, however. “If I don’t wed someone he approves of, he’ll cut me off entirely. And while I am enjoying this newfound freedom today, I’m in no position to embrace it on a permanent basis.” Had she actually admitted all that out loud? She resisted the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. Mr. Tarleton made her far too comfortable—perhaps more comfortable than she’d ever felt.
“You could, but it would be an overwhelming life change,” Mr. Tarleton said evenly. “One of the things I do here in the parish is help people find work.” He hesitated. “Would you want to work?”
Work wasn’t something the daughter of a marquess considered. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know what I would do. The only things I am good at are embroidery and watercolors.”
He gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure those aren’t the only things. If you can embroider, I warrant you can sew. I have helped many seamstresses find work. Your living arrangements would be quite different from what you’re used to, of course.”
She could well imagine. Or not. Was she actually considering living in St. Giles? The thought of being on her own without support of any kind was absolutely terrifying. She looked down at the table. “And now I’m ashamed to say I don’t think I could do it.”
“Lady Penelope, there is no shame in recognizing your limits. Let us focus on the matter at hand. Maisie provided you with a plan to avoid the marriage you don’t want.”
Penelope wanted to hug him. Had she ever met a more understanding and compassionate person? “Yes, by ruining myself—not in actuality, of course. We decided that an overnight disappearance coupled with the ransom notes making the abduction public would achieve that goal.”
“And will it?” he asked. “I told you—I’ve no experience in such matters.” He clasped his hands around his tankard. “Actually, I have two sisters, and if they’d disappeared overnight, their marriageability would probably have suffered. I expect yours would be destroyed.”
