The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy

by Audrey Ashwood

  The Bow Street Runner took a step closer to her.

  “There is no reason to be afraid of me, my Lady,” he said smoothly. She had forgotten just how piercing his eyes were and how hypnotic his voice could be.

  Instinctively, Felicity took a step backwards. Her throat felt tight. It was little comfort to her that Brigid was waiting for her behind the garden gate. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  For a second, his gaze darkened, before he again looked like the understanding, intelligent man she had met originally. “When I saw you for the very first time in the summer, you left a strong impression on me, and I would very much like to deepen our acquaintance.”

  Her knees buckled underneath her with relief. So, he had not come to interrogate her a second time!

  “When I saw you at Almack’s yesterday,” he continued, “I wondered if I might hope to pick you up for an outing, perhaps on one of the following days?”

  “This… really is unexpected,” Felicity stammered and tried to look him in the face. The setting sun was going down right behind him, and it blinded her.

  “Please allow me a few days, Sir. At the moment I am suffering from severe headache attacks, and according to my doctor, I am strictly to rest.”

  “Please forgive me my sudden attack,” he said and bowed. “Also, again, my rather unconventional way of asking you to renew our acquaintance. Rest assured that I only had your welfare in mind when I preferred to keep our acquaintance secret from your parents. However, I take your answer to mean that I may try my luck again in a week’s time, but this time officially?

  In a week or so, she would either be in a convent, banned to the countryside, or elsewhere, if things went wrong. But if, against all expectations, everything went well, she would go from there. Felicity looked at Mr Hawthorne. She liked that he admitted to her that he had not been able to come up with an excuse. It suggested that he, unlike other men, did not think that his presence alone was reason enough to make a young woman happy. Lord Layton’s face appeared in her mind. She managed to push aside his smiling eyes, his mocking lips, and also the intense memory of his lips on hers, although with great effort.

  “Give me some time, Mr Hawthorne,” she said, and was about to turn when he stepped forward and blocked her way.

  “I can see that something is bothering you, Lady Felicity. Whatever that may be – you can confide in me at any time. Do you understand what I am saying? At any time.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” She gave him an uncertain smile and pushed past him. To her relief, he let her go.

  Felicity closed the garden gate and walked back up to her room with Brigid. What was happening? At first, she had been completely alone with her problem, and suddenly there were two men who wanted to stand by her side. She shook her head and glanced at the clock. It was already past six o’clock. She had dinner brought to her room and ate a few bites, while Brigid laid out her clothes. Her stomach was tight, so she crumbled the bread more than she ate, just so her lack of appetite was not noticed. Although Brigid grumbled when Felicity asked her to untie the cords of her corset, she obeyed.

  Restlessly, Felicity tiptoed to the window and peeked outside. Until now, Lord Layton had always been on time. Where was he?

  In front of the Earl of Shropsbury’s house, a dark carriage was parked, which had no crests on the door, but it was not a coach for rent, either. The horses seemed just as inconspicuous as everything else about it.

  Again, Felicity glanced at the clock and winced. In half an hour she was expected by the people who were blackmailing her. What if Lord Layton did not come?

  Five minutes later, she could not stand it anymore and put on her coat. It would take every bit of thirty minutes to get to the tavern. If she were lucky, the blackmailers would not be picky about the timing. Then she remembered that she would not bring the required one hundred guineas.

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter 18

  Luke was more restless than he had expected to be, when he left the house with his brother. John would take a hansom to Whitechapel and stand by, while Luke picked up Lady Felicity. He had pondered for a long time about finding a way in which he could manage to keep her out of harm’s way, but the only solutions he had come up with, had proved impractical. At heart, he knew that she would find a way to circumvent his decisions, anyway, so it was better to know that she was close to him and that he was able to protect her. “Do you have the money?” John’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  In response, Luke tapped his hip, where he was carrying the bulging purse. He was about to say something, when a movement across the street caught his attention. He could not have said whether it was the stealth with which the person was moving that drew his notice; maybe it was his instinct, acquired during the year at sea and in the battles with the Americans. Whatever it was that caught his attention, Luke reacted without thinking about it. He threw himself down the steps and yanked John with him as he fell. He heard the bullet hit the house’s wall behind him. He smelled gun powder smoke, or at least he thought he did, since it was impossible from that distance. The moment, in which Luke was rolling in the dust with his brother, had been enough time for the cowardly assailant to escape. Although Luke jumped back up immediately and, after confirming that his brother was unharmed, hurried after the man, the thick London fog had already swallowed him up. Not even the sound of footsteps betrayed the direction the bastard had taken.

  He turned and saw with relief that John was back on his feet. But he noticed that his brother was unnaturally pale and swayed like a reed in the wind. He rushed to catch John as he began to lose consciousness.

  The damned attack had cost him time that he did not have. Carrying John into the house, calling a doctor, and making sure that his brother was not mortally wounded, had not taken long in mere minutes, but it had been enough time to delay him considerably. Luke debated whether to drive to Felicity’s parents’ house according to their original plan, and maintain the farce of taking her out, or whether he should rather head straight for Whitechapel. He knew Lady Felicity by now – he was sure that she had thrown his cautionary words to the wind and set off on her own, five minutes after the appointed meeting time. The mixture of nervousness, fear, and impatience was not a good combination when facing the blackmailers alone. It would be better if she had waited for him, but he did not expect that she had. The farther away from the Red Rooster Inn and its dubious clientele she was, the better. He made a decision. Grimly, he instructed the driver to take him straight to the tavern, and to hurry.

  He and his brother had been bloody lucky. Considering the multiple attempts on their lives, he had to wonder whether the two criminals were lousy shots, or if they were not actually planning on killing him. The longer he thought about it, the more certain he was that the second shot from the darkness was aimed at him and not at John. How did the blackmailer and her accomplice know that he planned to accompany Felicity? Luke stemmed the urge to pound his cane against the roof of the coach to urge the driver to drive faster. It would not make a difference. At this time, the streets were busy, and it was hard to get through quickly. Luke pulled the curtain aside and saw that a nobleman’s coachman was arguing with a driver who was transporting a wagonload of beer, about the question of who had to back away to free the road. Not much longer, and the argument was going to end in a fist fight.

  He took a deep breath and forced himself to remain seated. In order to distract himself from the excruciatingly slow progress of the journey, he began thinking about the numerous inconsistencies in the behaviour of the woman blackmailer and her accomplice. What Luke found most unsettling, was that they had only asked for the money at the last meeting. The absurdly high sum that they had demanded, particularly from a young and unmarried woman, gave him a headache. Even a reasonably intelligent person should have realised that the second daughter of a duke, regardless of how wealthy her father was, could not possibly get one hundred guineas together in such a sho
rt time. If Luke had been certain that the blackmail would end with the delivery of the money, he would have gladly thrown the coins right at them and not wasted another second thinking of the affair. However, given their cruel game so far with Felicity, a vague feeling of discomfort and an unexplainable suspicion kept circling his mind.

  He glanced out at the road once more. The driver of the beer wagon had given in and manoeuvred his horses and cart backwards towards the way they had entered the street. The spectators, who were eagerly commenting on the situation, were not making things easier for the annoyed man, who generously took advantage of his whip. Luke clenched his fists and imagined himself tugging the cruel man in front of the heavy carts and giving him a few blows.

  Dammit! What was going on outside? The racket that interrupted his thoughts did not bode well. Without bothering to look through the window to see the source of the roaring noises, Luke ripped open the door of the carriage and, in one quick nimble-footed leap, jumped out into the street. As he walked away, he called to his coachman that he would run the rest of the way and wait for him on Hanbury Street. Luke made sure that he still had his weapon on him, swung his cane, and pushed through the relentless crowd. The onlookers howled cheerfully at the additional misfortune that had befallen the driver of the beer wagon: two barrels tumbled onto the street, shattered on the ground, and London’s earth was soaked in barley juice.

  When he left the scene of the accident, Luke began to breathe more freely. Tonight, he would finish all of this – whatever the cost.

  Felicity looked around, again and again, for Lord Layton’s carriage as she left Hanover Square behind. Her heart sank as she saw no sign of him or his brother. Whatever had held him up from coming to get her, it could only be a misfortune.

  She did not think he was taking pleasure in raising false hopes in her and watching her stumble. No. Perhaps a few days ago, she might have suspected Lord Layton of giving her the cold treatment, but now that she knew his true character, everything had changed.

  Blimey. Not only had she had to leave Brigid behind, in order to escape her parents’ house unnoticed, now there was no hansom to be seen anywhere. At least she had brought her emergency money with her. It would be enough to get her to Whitechapel and back, providing she could find a hackney.

  Where had the coaches gone now that she needed one? All she saw were pedestrians or occupied carriages. She turned her head away as the vehicle of Lord and Lady Ailsmith passed her. Fortunately, the two newlyweds did not look in her direction. It would have been a disaster if they had recognised her and wondered where Felicity was going at that time of day and all alone!

  Hoofbeats sounded, coming up behind her, slowing as the carriage moved closer to her. With a dry mouth and pretty much prepared for anything, Felicity turned once more, keeping her face hidden from the road. Her steps slowed down. Would you please just drive past, she thought, and waited for the coachman to encourage the horses to trot past her.

  She walked slower and slower, as the carriage adjusted to her pace and even stopped. Her heart was beating way too fast inside her chest. If she had not instructed Brigid to loosen her corset, she would certainly have fainted by now. This absurd (and completely insignificant) thought distracted her for a short moment from the increasing fear that was taking hold of her body with every heartbeat. It was cold. It was dark. She was walking the streets, completely alone. What on earth had possessed her to not wait for Lord Layton? Anything would have been better than wandering the streets of London, unprotected, and she had not even arrived in Whitechapel yet. She felt a sob rise inside her throat. She had to pull herself together, or she would turn back on the spot, go to bed, and never get up again.

  “Lady Felicity? Is that you?”

  Felicity froze. For a crazy, completely panicked second, she thought that the viscount had spoken to her, and she was unable to move. Her legs no longer obeyed her. The squeaking of the carriage’s door sounded like the ghostly howl of an animal. Footsteps sounded on the cobblestones. A hand came from behind and rested on her shoulder.

  “Lady Felicity,” the male voice repeated, more gently this time. She wanted to cry when she recognised Mr Hawthorne’s voice. Felicity desperately tried to form some words, but they did not want to leave her lips.

  “Come with me,” the Bow Street Runner said. It was the worried expression in his eyes that finally made her breathe again.

  “Get in.”

  He led her towards the coach, and she allowed him to help her inside. He spread a blanket over her legs, much as Lord Layton had done on their excursions together, and leaned back. In the light of the lantern, which brightened the modest inside of the vehicle, his features seemed carved in stone.

  “Can you talk? Shall I bring you home, my Lady?”

  “No,” she said hastily. He had not yet given the driver any instructions to leave. Time was running out, and she had not gotten one step closer!

  “Mr Hawthorne, I know that this might be a rather strange request…” – She finally found the right words – “... and what I will tell you now is not going to make you think well of me.” She took a deeper breath. “I have to get to Whitechapel, to a tavern on Hanbury Street. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  He nodded, opened the window, and called out something to his coachman, which Felicity only partially heard. However, much to her relief, she did hear him mention the street name she had given him. When the horses began to move, she felt like crying with relief. “Thank you,” she burst out, finally allowing her tired limbs to relax.

  “Here. Take a small sip,” Hawthorne said and handed her a silver flask. “Not too much, just one sip. It will warm you up and the shivering will stop.” She had not noticed that her hands were shaking, as if she had the chills. Suspiciously, she sniffed at the bottle before she took a tiny portion of the drink. It was only brandy. In fact, almost immediately, a pleasant warmth spread in her belly. She sighed and handed the flask back.

  “Now, tell me what you are planning on doing in Whitechapel.” He leaned forward and smiled. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I know more than you believe I do, and I assure you that neither you nor your family have to worry about me. But I am able to help you – if you will allow it, my Lady.”

  His serious manner struck a chord inside of her. Did she not have the same thought before about confiding in the Bow Street Runner? Now she was sitting in his carriage, driving to Whitechapel with him. Did Mr Hawthorne not also have a right to know the truth?

  “I have already compiled parts of the truth, Lady Felicity. Do you remember our encounter during the summer?”

  She nodded, still undecided.

  “I have not forgotten a single moment of it,” he continued and leant back until his face was completely hidden in the shadows. His quiet, calm voice was having the desired effect on Felicity. She sensed that she became calmer with each of his deliberately spoken words.

  “Greywood blackmailed you, and you did not know what to do other than poison him.”

  “That is not how it was,” she protested weakly, seeing his white teeth flash in the dark.

  “I do not blame you, my Lady. Greywood was, with all due respect, a rotten subject and deserved his painful death.”

  “Mr Hawthorne, please, you are wrong,” Felicity objected. A drop of sweat ran down her temple. Underneath the fur blanket, it had become unpleasantly hot. The narrowness in the dark coach, which had seemed like a refuge just mere minutes before, began to have the opposite effect on her.

  “It is true, I was with him on that particular day, but it was never my intention to put an end to his life.” Her hand went up, and she opened the top two buttons of her coat.

  “Be still,” Hawthorne said in a strange mixture of roughness and forbearance. His voice was pressed, almost as if he had to force the words out of his throat. Felicity was grateful for his help, but…

  “And now you are on your way to the exact same dump where your viscount took his last breath
.”

  What was wrong with him? The lantern swayed back and forth wildly, while the coachman wheeled around a corner without throttling the pace of the horses. Felicity did not see the runner reaching for her hand, but she felt his hot fingers through her gloves. Unable to suppress her growing fear, she let out a faint scream. Immediately, Mr Hawthorne released her hand. Felicity pushed aside the urge to wipe her glove on her coat. With shaking hands, she reached over to the curtain and pushed it to the side. The sun had long since set and the light of the sparsely scattered lanterns was not enough to penetrate the darkness. She had no idea what part of London she was in.

  “Please forgive me my storminess.” His voice came from the darkness. The sound of his breath seemed unnaturally loud despite the ambient noise.

  “It is due to your incredible beauty, Lady Felicity, and your irresistible charm. I formally apologise and I hope that you are still favourably inclined towards me.” He was silent for a moment, whilst Felicity searched for the right words to be able to escape from him. She not only felt extremely uncomfortable in his presence, but she feared for her life.

  “It is the emotions I hold for you, that cause me to lose my self-control,” he added.

  What did one say to a man who turned out to be love-struck? Somebody should write a book about that, Felicity thought with a sudden touch of stubbornness. There had to be something that prepared young women for life better than all those guides concerning how to run a household!

  “I think we have arrived at my destination.” She avoided giving a direct answer, even though she had no idea if that was true or not. In fact, the horses had slowed down to an easy trot. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the ride. Goodbye, Mr Hawthorne.”

  As quick as she thought she was, the Bow Street Runner was quicker. He stepped out of the coach, helped her out, and bowed. “I will accompany you, my Lady.” He pushed his coat open. He wore a belt around his shoulder with a weapon attached. “I cannot possibly leave you on your own. Not in a borough such as this, and certainly not when you are putting yourself in danger again.”