Chapter Twenty
The clock downstairs struck one with a single reverberating bong. Pippa rolled over and studied the figure lying in the bed across from hers. By the quiet, even, breaths she was sure her mother was fast asleep. Hardly daring breathe, Pippa eased from the bed and felt for her peignoir across the foot of the bed. When her fingers snagged the thin, silky material, she slipped it on, stuffed her feet into her slippers and crossed on tip toe to the door, skirting their trunks that were packed and ready to leave for home in the morning. Snatching up her cloak lying across the top of the first one, she twisted the knob and then pulled open the door. With one last look over her shoulder at her slumbering mother, Pippa slipped out into the hall.
After adjusting her eyes to the soft light from the sconces lining the walls, she hurried down the hall. The top two stairs creaked as she made her way down. Pausing a moment, she held her breath, afraid of discovery. When all remained quiet, she continued down to the bottom of the staircase. Bathed in tomblike stillness, she made her way down the hall, past the study and the parlor to the house’s side entrance. With a last look over her shoulder, she stepped outside.
A light breeze played with her hair, loose from her nightly brushing, and it fluttered around her head, obstructing her view. When she swiped it away, a figure appeared in the shadows, startling her. A strangled, “eek,” fled her lips before she smothered it with her hand after she recognized Heath dressed in men’s fashion. “You frightened me.”
“Sorry.” He reached out and took her hand. “Come on, we do not want to miss our rendezvous.”
Pippa drew a deep breath. “Are you sure she will show?”
“She will be there. The sum I offered for a mere word would make any servant eager to appear.” He tugged her hand and started along the side wall to the street beyond. “Hurry now, we need to be back before the servants arrive to start the kitchen fire.”
Pippa followed him out into the still street. Though the lamps were lit, they did little to dispel the eeriness of the hour, as they cast flickering shadows along the cobblestones. Heart pounding she tried to push away her fear and hold her excitement in check. There was something both dangerous and thrilling about sneaking along the darkened streets with Heath at such a wicked hour. She tossed a worried look over her shoulder at the shadow of the house. If her mother ever found out, she would flay her alive, Pippa was sure. Quickening her pace she strived to keep up with Heath’s longer stride.
Her breath was coming in short puffs by the time they rounded the corner and Heath slowed. Light from the Iron Anvil Inn spilled across their path. She peered in the window as they passed to the door. A couple of rough looking men sat at a table in the rear playing dice, and a lone cloaked figure stood by the bar.
They entered the inn. The cloaked figure turned at their appearance, her eyes widening when she spied Pippa.
Heath came to a halt before her. “May I buy you a tankard of ale, Mary?”
Mary swallowed, darted a nervous glance at the men in the corner, and then nodded.
After dropping a few coins on the bar Heath held up three fingers to the keeper and escorted Pippa and Mary to an empty table.
Mary cleared her throat. “I was expecting a Mrs. Doyle, not a lord and you.”
“I am sorry to have tricked you, Mary, but I feared you would not meet me.” Pippa smiled to let Mary know she meant her no ill will.
“What do you want with me?” Mary asked with an anxious look at the barkeep, who approached with their drinks.
Pippa waited until the man left their ale and returned to his place behind the counter out of ear shot. “I want to know what happened to you. Mitchel said he killed you and tossed your body in the pond.”
Mary blanched. “He threatened to if’n I didn’t keep my secret.” She looked down at her tankard.
“You mean, the babe?” Pippa asked in a soft tone.
Her gaze leapt to Pippa’s. “How do you know of it?”
“I too am with child, Mary, Mitchel’s child.” Pippa reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Shh,” Mary hissed. “’Tis uncouth to speak of such things in front of ’im.” She jerked her head in Heath’s direction.
“He knows my situation, Mary.”
Heath nodded. “And I do not place blame on Miss Nickle, or think any less of her for her mistake.”
Mary scowled. “You’d be the first then, sir.”
Pippa nodded. “Will you please tell us what happened and how you have come to be here?”
“You mustn’t tell my ma, promise me, Pippa.”
“I promise.” Pippa glanced at Heath, “And Lord Sedgewick promises too.”
“Lord?” Mary’s hand went to her chest and her eyes grew large. “Your lordship, I am so sorry for my lack of address.”
Heath smiled. “Never mind that, Mary. Please tell us what happened.”
Mary took a look around the room and then lowered her voice. “Mitchel did promise he would ask his father permission to wed me, but he said the ole man was being difficult, said he wanted Mitchel to marry an heiress, you see. Mitchel said if he were to take my maidenhead his father would have to let us wed.” She bit her lip as two bright spots colored her cheeks. “I thought he loved me, you know, so I lay with him…a couple times. Anyway, when I told Mitchel I thought I was with child, he said his father was staying in London for the season so we’d have to go there to speak with him. He bade me meet him that night beneath the sycamore tree at the fork in the road. He…well, he made me see reason, none too gently, and then he brought me to Bracenville. After setting me up in a little cottage outside of town he left. Days went by and he and his father never sent word, then Mitchel appeared one day and offered me a choice, be his spy and mistress, or he’d drown me and my unborn babe.” Her face crumpled and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “When I refused he went into a rage and beat me good. I lost the babe. After it was all said and done, he told me he loved me and that my mother, thinking I was dead, closed up the summer house and left for Europe.”
“So you stayed here?” Heath asked, a harsh edge to his voice Pippa suspected had to do with his disgust for Mitchel.
Mary looked down at her hands cupping her tankard of untouched ale. “He keeps a nice house over my head, buys me pretty things, and all he wants in return is for me to spy on Lord and Lady Allan.”
Heath leaned forward. “Why?”
She shrugged. “He thinks Lord Allan suspects his involvement with Queen Charlotte, and the plot to have her take over the throne.”
“And all this time I thought Lord Allan guilty of playing on the wrong side of the coin.” Heath leaned back in his chair.
Mary shook her head. “Mitchel has no love for Lord Allan, but he and Viscount Rylee are thick as thieves, I think.”
“That explains why I saw them talking at the theater that night.” Pippa frowned. “Now that you know, I suppose you can have them both arrested and return to London.” She met Heath’s gaze and was surprised by the sadness lingering there.
“Yes, I suppose.” He looked away. “We best be on our way, Pippa.”
“Come back with me, Mary. Your mother has not gone away. She still resides in the house on the hill, and I know she would be so happy to know you are alive and well.” Pippa squeezed Mary’s hand.
“Do people in town know you are with child, Pippa?” Mary asked in a quiet voice.
Ashamed, Pippa let go of her hand and stared deep into her own untouched ale. “Yes.”
“And do they spit on you as you pass by, whisper awful things loud enough for you to hear, and cross to the other side of the street when they meet you?”
“Yes,” Pippa whispered. “Your own mother has flayed me with her tongue, and I made it worse by speaking my mind.”
It was silent for a minute and then Mary replied in a hard edged tone, “Then you see why I can never return.” She stood and pulled the hood of her cloak back up. “Forget you ever saw me.”
Heath reached out and snared her hand. “And what happens when the squire’s son is imprisoned, or hanged for his crimes against the King?”
“Then I shall be free,” Mary said, and then walked out of the inn.
Heath downed the last of his ale. “Come on, Pippa, we must get you back to Lord Allan’s.”
Chapter Twenty-one
With a sigh, Pippa settled back into the forward facing bench beside her mother in the mail coach.
Concern marred her mother’s brow. “Are you feeling too ill to travel, Pippa?”
“No, Mama. I am just not looking forward to such a long trip again so soon.”
“I never thought I would hear such words from your lips, dear.” Her mother chuckled and turned to look out the window as they pulled away from the station.
“Me neither,” Pippa mumbled. In truth it wasn’t the travel this morn that had her down, but rather Heath’s, or Percephany’s, absence to see her off. After escorting her back to the still sleeping Allan House, he had left her at the side door with a simple goodnight. In her concern over getting back in undetected, she had neglected to tell him they were leaving in the morning. She sighed again. Perhaps it was for the best. He would return to London and take up his former life as Lord Sedgewick, and she would return to help her ma and pa with the shop until it was time for her babe to be born. She tried not to think any further than that.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and yawned. She might as well take advantage of the long trip to catch up on the sleep she lost the night before. Her mind clouded and slowed as the rocking of the coach lulled her into a light slumber.
A jolt rattled her from her dream of a lavish wedding to a faceless man in a chapel painted with cherubs. Disorientated and groggy, she sat up. Voices outside and the absence of movement drew her curiosity. She peered out her window, but could see nothing amiss in the early morning fog.
The door swung open. When she turned to see who it was, she came face to face with Penny Nash. The woman froze on the threshold, her eyes growing large at the sight of Pippa. Over her shoulder Pippa spied the piebald pony being unhitched from the cart by Peter Nash.
Now instantly awake, Pippa struck out at the woman with a high pitched screech. Penny’s mouth formed a large “O” of surprise as she tumbled backward off the step.
Her mother gasped. “Pippa Nickle, just what on earth are you doing?”
As Peter dropped the pony’s lead and ran for the coach, Pippa screamed to the coachman, “Drive on! ’Tis a robbery! Drive!”
The coachman cracked his whip and the conveyance lurched into motion. The door slammed shut just as Peter lunged for it. He fell flat on his face in the mud as they sped away, his curses ringing through the air mingling with the jangle of harness’ and the coachman’s urging.
“What has gotten into you, Pippa?” Her mother scolded, bracing herself as the coach careened around a corner.
“They meant to rob us, Ma,” Pippa explained. “I recognized them as the two who tried the same on my first trip to Aunt Beth’s.”
“Your coach was held up?” Her mother’s face grew astonished.
“Yes…no…well almost, but thanks to Hea…um, Mrs. Doyle, their attempt was thwarted.”
“Why did you not tell me thus earlier, Pippa?” her mother scolded.
“There was no need, Ma. Nothing was taken and no one was hurt.” Pippa peered out the window to be sure there was no one in pursuit. “Besides, you would not have let me attend Marcy’s wedding if you had known.”
“Exactly right! You are with child and much too delicate for such risks.”
The coach slowed to a normal pace and Pippa grimaced at the reference to her unborn babe. “I was in no danger, Ma. Mrs. Doyle handled the situation, disarmed the robbers, and we went on our way.”
“Humph.” Her mother folded her arms. “I knew that woman was uncouth and no good. Why, she is not even feminine in the least. Looks like a man if, you ask me.”
Pippa giggled.
“Still your amusement, ’tis not seemly to laugh at someone else’s misfortune in looks.”
“Yes Mama.” Pippa stifled her snicker and returned to her vigil out the window. It pleased her to think Heath would have been proud of her bravery in such an incident. If there was one thing she had learned from his masquerade as a Percephany, it was that anything unusual a woman might do had the power to take a man—or another woman for that matter—off guard.
Chapter Twenty-two
Heath had his coachman drop him at White’s Club. He was promptly admitted and shown to the card room in back. There he found Lord Waxland engrossed in a lively game of Faro.
“Good evening, Waxland.”
The elder man turned from the game with his winnings. “Ah, Sedgewick, you are right on time, as always. Come, let us retire to the lounge to discuss the weather and the insipid new steamers being built.”
With a nod Heath followed him to a private corner of the meeting room. They ordered port and, once it arrived, settled into their discussion.
“So,” Lord Waxland drawled, raising his glass. “Do you have anything to report?”
“Yes, I think you will be well pleased with what I have uncovered. Our mission is done well and good.”
Lord Waxland raised a bushy grey eyebrow. “Indeed?” After taking a sip he set the glass down. “Do tell.”
Heath scanned the room to be sure they would not be overheard and then proceeded to relate the details of his discoveries and conclusions. When he was done, Lord Waxland took another long drink of his port and then set the glass down with a thud.
“So, is it my understanding then, that you would like me to take the word of a fallen servant that Squire Land, his son, and Viscount Rylee are the masterminds behind this new party’s plot to put Charlotte on the throne and rule cloak and dagger?”
Heath squirmed in his seat, not liking the condescending air to Waxland’s tone. “Well, yes. I have no reason to doubt the girl’s claim. The squire’s son, Mitchel is a black-hearted wastrel and is certainly capable of such a notion. And Viscount Rylee does have the means and connections to see it done.”
Lord Waxland glowered. “And you expect me to issue a warrant for their arrests on her say so, in some inn in the midst of the night?”
“You make it sound so sly.” Heath tugged at the cravat around his neck, annoyed by the confining nature of the garment he hadn’t worn in so long and Waxland’s reaction to his news.
“Without hard proof, Rylee will walk away and the young squire’s son will simply go running off to his sire to fix things.” Waxland shook his head. “You will have to do better than some fallen wench’s say-so, a suspicion, and an ill-advised woman’s group meeting, Sedgewick.”
Heath groaned. “Surely you can see my issue here. It is not easy keeping up the ruse of a widow woman. The clothing alone is enough to make one lose his mind—”
“So I see.” The corner of Waxland’s mouth turned up into a snide grin. “Speaking of women’s clothing, do I hear congratulations are in order? Rumor has it you are to announce your betrothal to Lady Spencer this week.”
“You may have.” Heath took a swig of his port and then set the cup down with a dull hollow sound. “Perhaps I have lost my mind, Waxland.”
Lord Waxland frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Heath glanced around the club and then leaned back in his chair. “Why, for instance, am I going to wed Lady Spencer?”
Both of Lord Waxland’s eyebrows rose to attention. “That is a strange question. You are proposing because she is an heiress, your blunt equals—or exceeds hers—she comes from a titled, aristocratic family of impeccable blue blood, as do you, you need an heir, and you would make a stunning couple. What more could a man ask for?”
“I do not know, someone who I am compatible with, attracted to, enjoy being with? I do not need her jewels and coin. I do not need more estates to run, or titles to inherit. So I ask again, why am I about to propose to a woman I do not
even like overly much?”
Lord Waxland looked at him as if he had sprouted two heads. “The woman is an incomparable diamond of the first water, for God’s sakes! That alone makes her worth dragging to the altar, and she fancies you, of all people. You have the trophy of the season snared and waiting to be hung above your mantle, Sedgewick.”
Heath grimaced at the crude reference. “But what about love and mutual interests, common ground—”
“Bloody hell! You are not about to start crying in your port now, are you lad?” Lord Waxland shook his head. “I think you have been wearing those petticoats far too long. You are just having a bit of cold feet there, my boy, nothing worth dropping down the water closet now. Why, the day before I tied the nuptial knot with Lady Waxland I was sorely tempted to leap aboard my foxer and gallop as far as his sturdy legs would carry me. And ’tis a good thing I resisted the urge, because that powerful beast would have carried me across the channel to France, had I asked him. Best damned horse I have ever owned, you know. Why the King himself sought to buy him from me last year….”
Heath tuned out his lordship’s well heard story and picked up his port glass. Marrying Lady Spencer was the right thing to do, and their nuptials would be the event of the season. Yet why did it feel like a mistake?
Chapter Twenty-three
The oppressive heat began to tell on Pippa. Her normally wavy chestnut locks hung limp along her cheeks, and her comfortable cotton work frock stuck to her damp bosoms. When she caught herself scanning the street for what seemed like the thousandth time, she sighed and turned back to stacking the shelf with tea. It was noddy to hope to see Heath here. He had no reason to visit her quiet little town. As sad as it was she had half hoped he would come to see her.
“Pippa?” He mother entered the shop from the upstairs apartment, aiding her father on his crutches. “We are off to the inn for a strawberry ice. Be a good girl and mind the shop until we get back.”
Corseting The Earl Page 12
