Rogue's Lady

by Robyn Carr

  He went to his study, and he smiled. He was confident of the future for the first time in many years. He complimented himself on his cleverness.

  Chapter Ten

  Lenore Fenton had been three weeks in London. She had quite enjoyed the time since Mr. Charles Latimer became her benefactor and she resided on his account. Additionally, there was a stipend provided so that she would not suffer boredom. She had one hired woman, Clarissa, retained a large and comfortable upstairs apartment of rooms, and frequented supper taverns in the evenings and the Exchange, coffeehouses, and the theatre in the afternoons. She had made a few acquaintances, had male escorts on occasion, and found the diversions in this old city to be very pleasurable. All this was provided because Lenore had convinced Mr. Latimer’s representative that she had information about Tyson Gervais that would be useful in putting him at a disadvantage.

  The agent had arrived in Virginia in July. He had come on the false pretense of buying a surplus of harvested goods for shipment to foreign ports and was immediately directed to the richest plantations surrounding Richmond. In investigating their solvency, he discovered that the gossip about the Gervais family was still hot. Lenore was easy to find.

  The late spring and early summer had been dreary for Lenore, for since the duel even the most tenacious of her male friends were reluctant to continue the acquaintance. She had suffered a great deal. Being cut off by the women was never much of a problem for her, but abandonment by the men was more than she could bear. Had she been totally ignored by all men it might have been even better, for her reputation had worsened and the low-class mongrels from Richmond began to presume upon her for favors. Never had she been so humiliated as to judge the poor quality of men who bothered to knock at her door. Whereas she had once been courted by plantation owners, bankers, businessmen, and the like, she began to have visits from overseers, common hands, and apprentices, and even the scurvy likes of shiphands and dock workers.

  When she realized the agent from England was looking for a way to best Tyson Gervais in a business venture, she used coy negotiations to get a good return on her information about him. And when he offered the trip to London, where she would not only be a pampered guest, but would see Tyson once again, she jumped at the chance. Lenore was careful to assure Mr. Latimer’s representative that Tyson had used his obvious advantage with firearms in a duel in which an Englishman was killed, and which she had witnessed.

  Lenore was a social creature and did not spend much time alone in her apartments. If there was no new acquaintance calling on her, she took Clarissa with her to the shops and coffeehouses. In London, unlike Richmond, women of quality did not venture out alone... and Lenore meant to be regarded as a dame of gentry in this city, at least by daylight.

  On this particular October afternoon, the sun was bright and the air was cool, and Lenore was examining imported laces displayed by an outdoor vendor.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Fenton.”

  She turned, and to her complete astonishment a very handsome man was standing behind her. She smiled flirtatiously, but her eyes held some confusion.

  “I am hurt that you do not remember me, mademoiselle. I am Monsieur Doré Gastión...we have met on two occasions in Virginia. My friend is Tyson Gervais.”

  “Of course, monsieur. Yes, I remember you now.”

  “It is such a pleasure to see you again, cherie. Certainly you are here because of Tyson.”

  “Because of...”

  “He sent you letters, of course. But does he know you have come? Ah, he will be so relieved. It will mean the world to him.”

  Lenore frowned in genuine confusion. She had no idea what the man was talking about. “I have not heard from Tyson,” she said carefully. “I have no idea where he is.”

  “Mon Dieu, that cannot be so. He is here, but he told me that he wrote to you. Several long letters went to Virginia; he was sending them on every packet bound for America. But you received none?”

  “When did he say he wrote them?”

  “He was not specific, mademoiselle, but he did admit that he was feeling a ruinous anger when he left Virginia, and it took him a bit of sea travel and time to think to realize his dreadful mistake. You know Tyson so well, cherie. You understand much of his temper and jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?”

  Doré laughed and shook his head. “Ah, he was enraged that you had found another to replace him...and then there was a duel? Poor Tyson. He is so bullheaded. His anger often seeks those he loves the best.”

  Lenore stiffened slightly, and her mouth was firmly set. “Monsieur, surely you have misunderstood Tyson. There would have been no duel had he made right his affections, and he was most determined to cast me aside when he left the country.”

  “Who is to say when the man finally came to his senses? What he told me not a fortnight past is that he realized he had made a terrible mistake in not marrying you when he had the chance and wrote his explanation and apology in many missives to you. Clearly he loves you, cherie. When I saw you, I assumed you had returned to him.”

  Lenore raised her eyebrows, wondering if there were several long, loving letters awaiting her in Richmond. It was difficult to comprehend. He had been cruel in his rejection, and she had come all this way to enjoy the spectacle of his downfall. “If he realized his mistake, why did he not return?”

  “He is in terrible trouble, cherie. He is virtually a prisoner in this city, trapped by a crafty old baron.”

  Lenore crossed her arms over her chest. “It is hard to picture Tyson as trapped,” she said almost angrily. “I cannot imagine him standing for any maltreatment. If he chose, he would hop a ship bound to any port and get passage behind him.”

  “Yes, this he could do. But the complications would be many and so long enduring. He would lose all the money in the world and would have nothing to spend upon his return to Virginia...and, in addition to that, he has been forced into a marriage he does not desire. Tyson does not flee because he has a plan both to free himself from the marriage and have his money returned. You know that Tyson is too proud to go home to Virginia a poor man and unable to marry you.”

  “Marriage to whom?”

  “It is a long story, cherie, but if you wish, I will explain. Shall we go someplace where we can talk?”

  “Indeed we must talk, monsieur. I must hear all these details at once.”

  Doré smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come, cherie. I will explain for my friend and later I can tell him that I’ve seen you. He must not know you are here, but he will be so happy to learn this. I am certain that we can be of help to him.”

  Mr. Humphrey occupied a modest two rooms above a tailor shop. Part of his rent paid for one meal a day with the tailor’s family, free cleaning of his room, and a window that overlooked the street. He had seen many people pass by the picture the American captain had told him to post. He had had many inquiries, since great curiosity was stirred by the idea of such a search. Mr. Humphrey had learned to trust his instincts to discern the motives of those who asked. Sometimes he replied that the man was due a reward, and sometimes that the man owed a debt. But since he had very little information about the purpose of the search, he could not reveal much.

  The likeness had been posted for almost a month, and Mr. Humphrey had not yet talked to anyone who he thought had legitimate information. Captain Gervais had told him that the man had been a visitor in America. Then he had disclosed, “I fear he will not come forward himself, but I would like to find some family member or acquaintance of his. Find out what you can whenever anyone inquires, but take great care never to reveal that it is I who wishes to know.” Humphrey began to suspect a crime, a debt, an adultery, or other such intrigue.

  One afternoon when he heard a light, hesitant knocking at his door, he found a nervous young woman standing there. She was poorly garbed in peasant wool of dull gray and brown, and the shawl that covered her head had been chewed by vermin and was badly frayed. His first reac
tion was to pity her and wonder if she was cold. He urged her within to warm herself by the hearth.

  “I am curious about the picture you have displayed.” She twisted her hands uneasily. “Is the man...in some kind of... trouble?”

  Mr. Humphrey smiled kindly. “Indeed no, madam. But his family is being sought. Do you know him?”

  “The face is very familiar to me,” she said quietly.

  “Can you place a name to the face?”

  “Do you have a name, sir?” she asked in return, as if unwilling to venture any further with her information.

  Mr. Humphrey thought very carefully. He was not about to let a legitimate possibility get away from him. He had been at this job for the captain for a long time already, knocking on many London doors before the picture was drawn. “I’m afraid I have only a first name. Michael. Does that help you?”

  Recognition darkened her eyes, and she flinched slightly. Then, realizing her reaction, she collected herself. “I can say nothing more until I know why you are looking for him.”

  “Sit down, madam,” Mr. Humphrey urged, hopeful that his reward was finally close at hand. This woman was the first to actually react to the likeness. Surely there was something to it. “Let me get you a warm drink from the proprietress and talk with you awhile. I assure you, the man’s family and friends need not fear any trouble. My employer only wishes to know a few things about him.”

  It took a great deal of patient coaxing and two warmed cups of goat’s milk to relax the young woman enough to reveal that the man called Michael was her husband. He was an actor, she hesitantly explained. He had secured two seasons at the royal theatre. Then his troupe had gone abroad to America, where it was rumored there was a great need and rich pay.

  “As I was carrying our firstborn, I could not travel with him. But he has been away now nearly two years, and there has been no word.”

  “And you have no income, madam, for you and your child?”

  “I was once a player on the stage,” she said, a certain brightness glowing behind her tired eyes. “I am a charwoman now, since I must care for my daughter.”

  “You must have been a very good actress,” Mr. Humphrey assured her. “Your speech is sharp and refined.”

  “I cannot play in the theatre and support my child.”

  “Why did you fear that the man might be in some trouble?”

  The woman hung her head. “Although I loved my husband deeply when I married him, sir, it was not long before I realized that he was more than an actor on the stage. He chose to act his way through life. He seldom told the truth; in everything he saw a good chance to perform.

  “That I was with child was not the reason that I could not go with him,” she said. A moment passed before she raised her eyes, and they were moist with emotion. “My husband had chosen another woman to play against his lead. I suppose I must accept that he abandoned his child and myself.”

  “Surely you are mistaken, madam. How could he leave someone so lovely and sweet?”

  She laughed, but it had a hollow sound. “Actors are a very strange sort, sir. I think my husband was the most talented man I ever met. Even though I believed him in everything, now I see that it is possible he never told me the truth.”

  “His name, madam? Will you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry. I have been so afraid that someone would come to me to demand restitution for something he did. His name is Michael Earwhick, though he carried several names for use on the stage: Waverly, Erling, Everly, and Warwick. Is he...in serious trouble?”

  “No, madam, he is in no trouble of which I am aware. How can I find you if I am in need of further conversation?”

  “I occupy a small room in the residence of the Duchess Dunkirk on Larks Square. ‘Tis large, and I earn four hours a week of my own time. You may seek me by asking in the cookery, but I beg, you, do not anger the lady of the hall. Leave word for me in the kitchen to meet with you on only Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Your name, madam?”

  “Mary Earwhick. Late of the theatre,” she said with a spark of reminiscence.

  “You have already helped me a great deal. And I have been instructed to pay four shillings to the person who has information,” he lied.

  “Oh, you are so generous. Four shillings is as much as I earn in a month.”

  “Then I know you will find good use for it,” he said, thinking that he should like to see her in a warmer shawl, at the very least. “Perhaps your little daughter has some need.”

  “She is such a pretty child,” the woman said wistfully. “And in spite of what I would have for her, she already shows that she prefers to perform for anyone who will watch.”

  Mr. Humphrey was taken with the young woman, who he thought would be lovely if her eyes were brightened by hope and her despair wiped away.

  At the door she turned to him, and curiosity burned brightly in her eyes. “How does a man retain employment like this? Sitting in a room, waiting for a reply to a picture?”

  Mr. Humphrey smiled. “I am a barrister, madam. A clerk in the law often finds that there is an acquired skill for gathering information, and a young barrister needs help in getting a start. I am not too proud to work for honest pay.”

  “You are wise,” she said. “I defied my parents, defied custom, and I have been rewarded for my foolishness.”

  The ride to London was a two-day affair and included a brief stop at a modest country inn. By the time Vieve reached the city and put her feet on solid ground again, she felt as if her bones still rattled from the jostling of the coach.

  The house that Tyson had leased was a beautiful three-story, brown brick, with a handsome carriage house attached to the west wall. A waist-high wrought-iron fence with a gate fronted it, and a stone walk led up to a massive oak front door. From her first sight of it, Vieve thought the house exquisite, and her delight showed on her face.

  A large foyer with a marble-laid floor made a rich entry. To the right was a set of double doors, which Tyson opened to display an expensively furnished front parlor; the left a wide and open staircase led up to the second floor. They had only been in the foyer for a moment when Doré appeared at the opposite end, having come from another room on the first floor. He greeted them happily, first shaking Tyson’s hand and then bowing elaborately over Vieve’s.

  “I should have expected to see you here, Monsieur Gastión,” Vieve said.

  “He did not warn you that I would be here?” Doré asked, looking between the two. “I hope it is no imposition, madam.”

  “To the contrary, your company is welcome.”

  Tyson dropped a possessive arm about her shoulder, and she smiled at Doré. While Tyson seemed to trust his friend a great deal, he was always a little more affectionate in front of Doré, as if the Frenchman’s flirtations threatened him. “I must speak with Doré, Vieve. May I leave you to investigate the house on your own?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I will keep busy. I see that it is at least partially furnished, but what about staff? Shall I be looking for servants?”

  “The owner left all the furniture, a cook, and one scullery, but I have done nothing more. You have my encouragement to set the place to your usual standards.”

  Her face brightened with enthusiasm. “I’ll see to it,” she said. Managing for her father had been simple enough; she had been overseeing the same servants for the past two years. Some of them had been there since her birth. But putting a house to rights for her husband was as exciting a venture for her as she could imagine. If she was able to please him with modest stitchery and a few simple chores, this challenge would surely help her to prove herself.

  She did not take the time to look through the rooms on the lower level, for she knew that Bevis would wish to get the trunks and bags unloaded. She asked Harriet to go around to the cookery and find those two aforementioned servants. She herself went to the bedrooms.

  At the top of the stairs Vieve stood to look down the long hall. All the doors t
o various rooms were closed, and she could make no sense of the plan. She began opening doors, finding covered furniture and closed curtains in each room. She pulled draperies back to let the light in and then went back into the hall.

  Before her were four large bedchambers; the one farthest from the stair had obviously been claimed by Monsieur Gastión. There were two moderate-sized sitting rooms, one of which was joined to the largest bedroom and had a small veranda that looked out over the top of the carriage-house roof.

  The master room had a writing desk, a wide hearth, and a generous wardrobe. The bed was modern and large with a canopy from which hung many yards of deep purple velvet. A bit farther down the hall was a room of humbler size. There was a bed canopied with a sheer white cloth, a dressing table, breakfast table, and one commode. A man and his wife could comfortably occupy the master bedroom, and the other seemed to be just right for an older daughter.

  Vieve looked longingly into the largest bedchamber. Two small stools on each side of the four-poster could be used for entry by a man and woman. Twin stuffed chairs with matching hassocks stood before the hearth. It was generous of space, which could even accommodate a dressing table. Though it already appeared furnished for a pair, she was certain she would not be welcomed there.

  He seemed pleased with her efforts at wifely servitude, but he’d lain beside her night after night with his trousers on, as if she might assault him in his sleep. She felt a little nearer to his affection than she had on her wedding night, for he was at least kind to her. But after the cruel things he had said about her when she had been willing, she did not dare go even so far as to try to show him her acquiescence. She definitely lacked the courage to have her things placed in the same room with his.

  She heard the door open from below and the grunting, shuffling sounds of Bevis laboring up with the first of many trunks and knew she must make the right decision at once. She knew that Tyson had made very few decisions of his own accord. He still felt the rub of her father’s insistence, and it was reasonable, she sadly relented, that he wished to protect himself from her family. With a heavy sigh, she decided it was essential that he choose her for his own reasons.