“Don’t you dare!” Colin warned. “You know mother does not favor having the rugs cleaned and the floors scrubbed due to your spittle.”
“A pox on your mum,” Molly grumbled, but allowed Colin to lead her to the chaise lounge closest to the hearth. “Don’t see the harm in have’n a peek at the chit’s neck—just ta confirm one way or the other.”
“Confirm what?” Ophelia asked.
“If’n ye be in cahoots with the devil.”
“That is preposterous, Molly,” Colin sighed, giving Ophelia an apologetic smile. “If she were working with the devil—as you claim—why would she risk so much to bring us Fair Wind’s book?”
Molly appeared to mull over her grandson’s question as she rested her chin on the head of her cane. “I s’pose it could all be a ploy ta snare a husband…”
“My lady!” Ophelia glanced between Molly and Lord Hawke. He could not believe she’d done all this in a vain hope that Colin would be so grateful he’d pursue a courtship with her. “That is more preposterous than your assertion I am marked by the devil because of my red hair.”
“Oh, is it now?” Molly’s gaze narrowed on her, and Ophelia wondered for a quick second if she could be a carrier for the devil before shaking her head in denial. “Well, I had ta be certain. If’n ye aren’t here on the devil’s errand ta lay a curse on me grandson, then what be your reason?”
“Enough.” Lord Hawke slashed his hand through the air, silencing Molly and bringing all attention to him. “Molly, she brought us the title we sought, there is no reason to question her motives.”
“If’n ye say so, me lad.” Molly let out an unladylike snort. “Now, hand over me damned book.”
Both Molly and Lord Hawke turned their attention to her once more, and Ophelia noticed she still clutched the volume to her chest. She hadn’t so much as dropped it during her near faint.
“I wasn’t going to bother you with it because the pages are missing.”
Ophelia handed the book to Molly and stepped back, hoping Lord Hawke would keep talking and she would remain unnoticed, lest he demand she return home again.
“Pages…miss’n? That cannot be.”
“Are you certain that Fair Wind added the pages and had the book rebound after the king’s death?”
Molly vigorously nodded, her tightly coiled hair at risk of toppling into her face. “Oiled the leather meself and watched him scribe late inta the night ta make certain he wrote everythin’ down.”
Opening the book, Molly ran her finger down the inside of the spine, and Ophelia could not help moving closer. Indeed, there were at least a dozen pages ripped from their place, leaving only the jagged edges where the paper had attempted to hold its place.
A great sob filled the room as the tears began slipping down Molly’s cheeks to land on the open book, her shoulders shaking with each outcry.
“There is no way I’ll prove me Porter an honorable man,” Molly choked out as her sobs turned to ragged sniffles.
Colin knelt before her, taking the older woman’s hands into his, his thumbs gently rubbing the backs of her ungloved fingers.
Ophelia abruptly stepped back, fearing she was partaking in a private moment between the pair. One she had no right to witness. However, she could not wrench her stare away as Colin embraced his grandmama, pulling her close and murmuring in her ear. The older woman nodded, so slightly Ophelia nearly missed it, before Colin pulled back and stood.
Pushing off her cane, Molly gained her feet as Colin placed a hand under her elbow for support. Molly shook off his assistance and moved toward Ophelia, her cane in one hand and her late husband’s book in the other.
Her eyes still brimmed with tears but they no longer fell.
“This book, it belongs ta your father,” Molly sighed, holding it out for Ophelia to take. “Thank ye for bring’n it ta me—us—but, sadly, it is of no use ta us now.”
“But Fair Wind still wrote it,” Ophelia challenged. “Would you not like to keep it?”
“Not if’n it means bring’n trouble down on your head, foolish girl.” Molly thrust the book at Ophelia once more, and she had no option but to take it or watch it fall to the floor. “Now, the pair of ye, be gone. I’m need’n some privacy.”
Molly’s shoulders stooped more than Ophelia had noted before as the woman shuffled back to the lounge.
“I will return, grandmama,” Colin said, nodding at Ophelia as he moved toward the door. “I will send Beth in with tea.”
Ophelia followed, unsure what else to do. Any offer of condolence might push the older woman into hysterics, yet if she said nothing and simply departed the room, it would be a blemish to Ophelia’s place as a lady. One did not run away when another was hurting.
She paused at the threshold as the woman collapsed onto the lounge, her cane falling to the floor with a clatter. “Molly,” Ophelia said. “I am abundantly sorry for causing you any pain. If I had known, I wouldn’t have—”
Colin grasped her elbow and steered her from the room.
“My lord.” She tugged at his hold. “I owe your grandmother at least a few words of…” A few words of what? Condolences, positive thinking, hope?
“She is not listening,” he whispered as he once again urged her forward and they made their way to the front door. “I have known her all my life—many say I know her best, besides her dearly departed—and I can assure you, she is hearing nothing at this moment.”
“I should have left when you bid me take my leave,” Ophelia huffed. “Or better yet, I should not have come at all.”
“But I am happy you did.”
“Truly?” she asked, her chest fluttering at his overly kind—yet impossible—words.
He nodded as they entered the deserted foyer.
“But I upset her terribly.” She’d given the woman the worst news possible, besides never locating the book in the first place. The volume was so light in her hands, ever so unassuming. How could it cause so much heartache? “It is not right to leave her wallowing in such sorrow.”
“I will walk you to your carriage, see you safely on your way, and be back at her side in a few moments. You have my promise.”
His word should not fill her with such faith, but it did.
The same servant who’d shown her in stepped into the foyer and opened the door, allowing Colin and Ophelia to make their way outside. Her carriage waited only thirty paces away, but he pulled her to a stop, and the door closed not far behind them.
No one could be listening from the house, and they were too far from her coach to be overheard by her maid or driver. They were alone in every sense but the visible one. The thought sent a shiver of expectation down Ophelia’s spine. Colin placed his hand on the small of her back, causing her stomach to flutter with nervousness. Certainly, this was not normal—for Ophelia had never known the touch or kindness of a man beyond the normal interaction with her father and brothers.
“Lady Ophelia?”
At his soft words, she turned toward him, not caring that the front door could open at any time or that her maid was likely watching her. They stood so close she had to crane her neck back to see his face properly or be forced to stare at his muscular chest. The mere thought of his chest sent a rush of heat through her that pooled between her legs.
There was little doubt something was wrong with her. Could it be she was coming down with a sudden illness? Overheating, shivers, a fluttering belly—these were not at all common things to her.
He was waiting for her to speak, and Ophelia was mortified to realize she hadn’t a coherent thought in her mind beyond the splendor of his form, the wayward fall of his pale hair, and the depth of his moss-green eyes. If he sought to discuss his physical attributes, she might well find her tongue. Beyond that, Ophelia only wanted to feel his hand on her lower back once more, hear her name whispered on his gravely exhale.
Bollocks, but she had the overwhelming urge to call him “Prince Amir,” as if he were a character from one of her t
reasured adventure novels.
“Yes, Lord Hawke?” The words were spoken nearly too low for even her to hear.
But then, he smiled. “Thank you for bringing the book. You did not need take such a risk, but I am happy you did.”
“But, what now?”
“What do you mean, what now?”
“How will you prove your grandfather an honorable man?” Ophelia suspected the story of Fair Wind was not over yet, there was still much to tell—or in this case, discover—about the famed smuggler and his purported association with royalty. If this had all been a book, she would be helpless to put it down until she finished it. Certainly, Lord Hawke realized this was not over. “There must be another way.”
A sorrowful note lit his eyes. “What is next is something I do not know, nor will I wager to guess at this moment.” He sighed, and Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if he were giving up. “For now, I will console my grandmama and pray this does not further break her heart.”
She stared up at him, her eyes silently begging him—for what, she did not know.
Lord Hawke took a step back, putting distance between them, and grasped her free hand. “With that, I will bid you ado.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her glove-covered hand.
Just as quickly, he released her, turned back toward his front door, and disappeared inside.
Her coachman cleared his throat behind Ophelia, and she turned to see the steps down and the carriage door open, awaiting her.
The flutter, much like a horde of butterfly wings, in her stomach did not recede with Lord Hawke out of sight—neither did the tingle traveling through her ebb as she made her way to her waiting conveyance.
Peculiar, indeed.
Chapter 10
Where was the blasted man?
Sissy paced back and forth in Francis’s study. She’d been waiting for nearly two hours for him to arrive home from his afternoon social calls and for them to be on their way. There were important matters to be dealt with, yet, it seemed her brother was far more interested in finding his next ladylove than keeping his word to his sister.
Picking up the small bookend from Franny’s desk, Sissy tossed the weighted object shaped like a goose from one hand to the other. The distraction did nothing to reduce her ire at her brother, nor her all-consuming need to be on their way. Time was running short…not for her, but for Francis. It would only be so long before he found another woman who caught his eye and Sissy would be relegated to the shadows once again.
If there was one thing Sissy despised, it was the men in her life—the males who ruled her very existence—putting her second to their whims. First, her father had gambled away her dowry. Then her betrothed had absconded with another when it’d become common knowledge she held not a farthing to her name. And lastly, and possibly the most enraging, was when her dear brother promised her he’d right the situation but could not keep his shaft in his trousers for long enough to secure Sissy’s future and ensure her legacy returned. Oh, Francis never admitted it was lust that led him astray time and time again. No, the silly imbecile actually believed himself in love—on five separate occasions.
Yet, his actions made it impossible for Sissy to find love even once.
There was little need to address Franny’s assertions that one did not need money, land, or title to find love. They both knew that was the biggest lie of all. One only need explore Sissy’s past to know the folly of that thought. Without a dowry, men of the ton had passed Sissy up at every turn. Even the daughter—and then sister—of a duke could not find a suitable match without a certain amount of financial assurance.
Not that Sissy would ever find love now, especially at her advanced age—no, it was more about taking from that shrew, causing her family the embarrassment she’d caused Sissy in their youth, and taking back something that rightfully belonged to her.
She would have it back—at any cost.
Not that the stakes hadn’t increased as the years passed.
Sissy had found it increasingly difficult to keep her brother focused on the matter. Did he not see that once Sissy had what she wanted, he would be free to pursue his own wants and needs?
“Mrs. Carnes!” Sissy shouted, setting the bookend back on Francis’s desk.
The study door opened on well-oiled hinges, and the Abercorn housekeeper curtseyed to Sissy. “Yes, m’lady?”
“Have the coach readied,” she instructed. “If my brother thinks to keep me waiting all day, he is sadly mistaken. Have my things loaded for the journey.”
“M’lady, I will send word to the stables.”
Sissy waved her hand in dismissal, and the housekeeper closed the door as quietly as she had opened it.
Franny may think her single-minded focus was out of place and misguided, but Sissy knew better than most what was due her.
She placed her hands on the smooth, wooden surface of her father’s desk—the same one Francis had taken over after the duke’s death all those years ago. Their father could have rested peacefully had Sissy been born a man and the Abercorn heir. Never would she have allowed such shameful acts heaped upon her family’s name to continue unresolved.
The fact of the matter was: the Dowager Lady Coventry had taken something from her, and Sissy would have it back.
The door opened behind her. “Is the carriage ready, Mrs. Carnes?”
“Sissy.” Abercorn huffed. “I made it very clear I would accompany you to Sheerness, but I had things to attend to first. I am a busy lord, sister. I cannot drop things every time you fancy a trip to the coast.”
That the man still believed himself in command—in control of her—was comical. Francis was oblivious to many things happening around him…and Sissy had no urge to correct him.
“Oh, brother, I am so thankful you are home.” She turned and hurried across the room to wrap him in a tight embrace. “I desperately wanted to make certain everything was handled and ready. I certainly know you are in much demand, and I owe you greatly for agreeing to accompany me to Sheerness.”
It only took a few words and a tight hug for Francis’s irritation to subside.
He pulled from her embrace and straightened his coat. “Well, I am pleased to know you understand the magnitude of calling me away from London at such a time.”
“I promise, we will be gone but two days, at most.”
He glanced about the room and moved to his desk, straightening the bookend Sissy had handled a few minutes prior. “Do speak with Mrs. Carnes about the servants moving my belongings.”
“Yes, Franny, I certainly will.”
“Very well, let us be off,” he replied with a nod. “If we hurry, we can be to the coast by nightfall.”
…and be back in London by midday tomorrow with all the proof Sissy needed to take back what rightfully belonged to her.
With a confident smile, she followed her brother from the room.
Colin stood in the empty foyer, fighting the urge to turn and watch Lady Ophelia’s carriage pull from the drive onto Hyde Street. There was naught for him to do but let both Lady Ophelia and his grandpapa’s book go and return to Molly with all due haste.
It was better this way.
His father would never suspect the proof of Porter’s past was forever lost.
Nor would Molly have him continue on this fool’s errand.
He only prayed Lady Ophelia was skilled enough to slip the book back in its place before Atholl noticed it had gone missing.
Taking a deep breath, Colin shook off the feeling he had somehow disappointed Lady Ophelia. Which was a ludicrous thought. If anyone should be disappointed in him, it was Molly. He’d made her a promise to find the book and show his father proof of Fair Wind’s true activities at sea.
He’d failed, and now he dreaded facing his grandmama.
However, there was naught to do but get on with it.
Perhaps with this concluded, Molly would take the time to rest, see the physician, and then return to the country. She was happ
ier there. She must be. Away from the watchful, doubting eyes of her son and daughter-in-law. Free to wander the country manor and its surrounding property.
In a way, Colin envied her freedom there.
He needs must put that thought from his mind. Colin belonged in London, learning all he could from his father in preparation for taking over the Coventry Earldom in the future. His days of frolicking about the country with his grandmama were a thing of the past.
Colin strode back to Molly’s salon, fearing he’d find the older woman a sobbing, hunched form when he returned. No wails of sorrow or deep cries of misery greeted him as he approached the room, its door open as he’d left it.
Hurrying into the space, he found Molly not on the lounge where he’d left her but standing close to the hearth, her side profile facing him.
A smile played upon his grandmama’s lips, creating creases of joy along her cheeks and at the corners of her eyes.
“Molly, how are you getting on?” He stepped fully into the room, and she turned toward him with more pluck than she’d exhibit in years. Her smiled faded to a frown. “I am sorry for the disappointment.”
“It cannot be helped, me lad.”
“That does not mean I do not believe every word you’ve ever told me about Fair Wind.”
Colin moved to her side, and she raised her wrinkled, age-spotted hand to his cheek, patting it softly. “That I know well, Colin. It only be a burden ta know others do not have faith in Porter.”
“Others do not matter, Grandmama.”
“Tsk-tsk.” She patted his cheek with more force. “Don’t I wish that be true.”
“I can continue searching for the missing pages.” Colin hadn’t any notion what made him volunteer to forge on with their quest; however, he knew for certain that it would break his heart if his grandmama didn’t see her final wish to fruition. “There are more places I can look. Revisit Atholl and see if he was the one responsible for removing the pages…”
Molly laughed, which quickly turned into a ragged cough as she clutched her pendant and attempted to catch her breath. It happened more and more frequently in recent years, and it worried Colin to no end. The physicians were helpless to find what ailed her, the apothecary could not concoct a remedy to keep the hacking coughs at bay for longer than a few hours, and with it all, Molly became increasingly exhausted from the sudden fits.
The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 3) Page 9
