One Wicked Sin

by Nicola Cornick

“Permission to search upstairs, ma’am?”

  “If you must.” Lottie feigned boredom. “However, I have a small request, Lieutenant. Could you perhaps not search my room? I would be most grateful. I can assure you that no one has entered there without my permission.”

  The lieutenant looked grave. “Madam, I have orders to search all of the house, without exception. Anyone could have climbed through a window and concealed himself whilst you slept. It is for your own safety—”

  Lottie placed a soft hand on his arm and the lieutenant fell obediently silent.

  “I have not been…sleeping, Lieutenant,” she said truthfully. “Need I say more?”

  For a moment it looked as though the lieutenant had not made the leap of imagination that she wanted him to and Lottie wondered if he really was fresh from the schoolroom. Then enlightenment dawned and he turned so fiery a red she was afraid that he might expire.

  “Oh!” he said. He glanced down at her translucent nightgown, appeared to lose his nerve and fixed his gaze sternly on the picture on the far side of the hall. “I understood,” he said, “that Lord St. Severin is with the other parole prisoners at The Bear, ma’am.”

  “Oh, he is,” Lottie said. She held his gaze guilelessly. “I have quite a different guest tonight.” She fluttered her hands. “I was lonely, you understand, and you know what they say, Lieutenant… A man who neglects his mistress creates a vacancy….”

  “Madam!” The lieutenant’s eyes were big as saucers. Lottie was not sure what appeared to be shocking him more; the fact that he believed that she was dallying with a man other than her protector or the terrifying thought of what a man like Ethan Ryder, as renowned with pistols as he was with a sword, might do if he thought that he had a rival.

  “Then who…” he spluttered.

  Lottie pressed a finger to his lips. “No questions, Lieutenant.” She beckoned to him. “By all means come up with me and search the room, but pray do not disturb my…friend. He is—” she hesitated “—a young man from a good family in the neighborhood, and it would be the most appalling scandal were his identity to leak out. I am persuaded that you would not wish to be the one to blame.”

  “No indeed,” the lieutenant said fervently. Lottie could see that he was running through a mental list of all the gentlemen in the neighborhood, trying frantically to imagine whom her visitor could be.

  Lottie set off back up the stairs, beckoning him to follow her. After a moment he set his foot on the first tread with the air of a man undertaking a desperate mission.

  Lottie knocked very softly on the bedroom door. “Are you awake, my dear?” she whispered, whilst the lieutenant blushed and shuffled at her side. There was no reply.

  “I fear he is quite exhausted,” she said truthfully. The lieutenant looked as though he was about to faint at the pictures his imagination was conjuring for him.

  Lottie pushed open the bedroom door and, heart in mouth, led the lieutenant inside.

  Arland had done well and she felt an enormous rush of relief. He had hidden his prison uniform and was sprawled in the big bed. The tumbled covers revealed only one shoulder, surprisingly broad, a part of an arm and a manly foot sticking out from beneath the sheets. He was lying on his stomach, face turned away, and he was snoring softly. As Lottie and the lieutenant looked on, he gave what sounded to be a heartfelt sigh in his sleep.

  “Poor boy,” Lottie said, smiling at the lieutenant. “He is very tired.” She raised the candle to shine it around the room. “As you can see, there is no one else here, sir.”

  “The window is open,” the lieutenant said, dragging his gaze from the man in the bed. “It is possible that the prisoner may have shinned up the ivy and climbed inside—”

  “I opened the window myself a while ago,” Lottie said, still smiling. “It is a hot night.”

  “I imagine it must have been,” the lieutenant muttered. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He made a hasty check of the armoire and cupboard. It was clear that no one was concealed behind the curtains. “Do you wish to search under the bed?” Lottie asked helpfully.

  The lieutenant shook his head. “That will be quite unnecessary, madam,” he said.

  “Then I hope that your curiosity is satisfied, Lieutenant,” Lottie said sweetly.

  “Indeed it is. I thank you, ma’am,” the lieutenant stammered, backing toward the door like a man who had recalled a very urgent appointment on the other side of the town. “Most obliging of you.”

  He marshaled his men and Lottie saw them off from the front door.

  “They’ve gone,” she said to Margery, who was huddled beside her, a blanket clutched about her, shaking with nerves and reaction. “Get you to bed. You are safe now.”

  She gave the maidservant a brief, hard hug and sent her scuttling away up the stairs, then turned to bolt the door, almost leaping from her skin as Ethan stepped out from the shadows behind it.

  “I thought that you were locked up,” she said. “How did you get out?”

  Ethan laughed. “I climbed over the roof.” He caught her arm, urgency in his touch. “He is here?”

  “Upstairs,” Lottie said.

  Ethan drew her into the house, bolting the door behind them. Then he turned to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She could feel the relief in him, and the gratitude, and such sweet tenderness that she almost melted. Ethan had never before kissed her other than as a prelude to making love, and now Lottie almost smiled to see the comical look of confusion on his face as he let her go. This, she thought, was different for him, too, and her heart sang.

  “Were you outside all the time?” she asked.

  “Only for long enough to hear you shamelessly deceive a member of the British Army,” Ethan said. “I hope you are aware that that is treason?”

  Their eyes met and held.

  “I knew what I was doing,” Lottie said.

  She saw a smile come through Ethan’s eyes then like sunlight on water. “Thank you,” he said. He did not ask her if he could trust her. He did not ask if she would betray Arland. He simply stood looking at her and Lottie felt as though her heart was being squeezed tight in a giant fist. There were tears in her throat, blocking her words.

  You trust me….

  Ethan gave her a dazzling smile. “Where is he?” he said.

  “In my bed,” Lottie said. “Where else would I hide a man?”

  “That’s my son you’re talking about,” Ethan said, laughing. He took the stairs two at a time. Lottie could feel the excitement in him, the blaze of happiness lighting him from within.

  “Try not to wake Margery,” she besought. “The poor child has been frightened half to death tonight.”

  Arland was awake, sitting on the side of the bed. He had managed to put most of his clothes back on and Lottie thought he looked younger than ever, the candlelight emphasizing the pallor of his face and the dark bruises on his skin. As the door opened he looked up sharply, saw Ethan and for a moment looked absolutely terrified. Lottie saw him swallow hard and open his mouth, but no words came.

  There was a moment of utter silence as father and son looked at one another.

  “You weren’t supposed to do it all on your own,” Ethan said. His voice sounded rusty with emotion.

  Then Ethan put out his hand in an odd, hesitant gesture, and Arland scrambled up from the bed and he was across the room and into his father’s arms faster than Lottie had ever seen anyone move, and she went out and closed the door softly behind her, leaving the two of them alone together.

  THE STORM BROKE with shocking intensity an hour later, lightning ripping the sky and the thunder shaking the house. Lottie cowered under her blankets and thought of Ethan, even now guiding Arland to a safe house under the cover of the thick darkness and torrential rain. She had not wanted them to go although she knew it was not safe for Arland to stay at Priory Cottage for any length of time. She had stood on tiptoe to kiss Ethan on the lips, and she had felt such fear for him, and anguish, because
she knew that Ethan would not want to leave Arland alone and unprotected ever again. She sensed, too, that the time was coming now when Ethan, too, would leave for good. He had said nothing yet, but she knew that his son’s escape must have precipitated his plans, whatever they might be. He would want to ensure that Arland left British shores safely and so he, too, would go. It might not be tomorrow, or even the day after, but it would be very soon and then she would be alone. Ethan would be the father that Arland needed now, and she, the fatherless child, understood how important that was even whilst she greedily wanted to keep Ethan for herself.

  Lottie burrowed farther under the blankets at the thought, pulling them up over her head, blocking out the drum of the rain on the roof and the grumble of the thunder as it receded over the hills, trying to block out thoughts that were not so easily banished. The air was cool now, scented with fresh leaves and rain. The chill of it against her face made her shiver. She was cold through and through and not even the heavy weight of the bedclothes could warm her. A mere two months before, standing under the apple trees in the orchard, she had acknowledged that the arrangement with Ethan was temporary, that she had always been alone at heart and that she always would be. Fathers, husbands, lovers came and went. She knew this. Men were an untrustworthy species.

  Yet she would not write to Theo to tell him what had happened this night. Her decision had already been made when she gave Arland shelter. That was one betrayal she was not prepared to make, even to safeguard her own future.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the billowing curtains. The thunder had gone now and the night was still. She had no idea what her future would hold with Ethan gone. She knew he would pay her off, as he had promised, but after that there was no certainty. Whatever her future would be, she would have to carve it for herself.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “YOU WILL HAVE heard the on dit, Miss Palliser?” Mrs. Ormond whispered to Lottie behind the stacked bales of material in Mr. Winkworth’s shop two days later. “Miss Butler, the vicar’s daughter, has tried to elope with Captain Le Grand! They were apprehended on the Abingdon Road and he has been thrown into gaol and she is at home in disgrace. Such a shocking thing! Why, he must be three times her age and no great catch. And before all this dreadful business with the French officers occurred Miss Butler was engaged to a man who had patented a new form of stationary engine.” She shook her head and the ribbons on her bonnet flapped mournfully. “Only think, Miss Palliser, to whistle down the wind a man who had secured a patent!” Her gaze sharpened. “Tell me, did you know?”

  “But naturally,” Lottie said. “I know everything there is to know in this town, Mrs. Ormond, and I tried to dissuade Miss Butler from so foolish a course of action as elopement, but…” She shrugged expressively, inviting Mrs. Ormond to join her in deploring the headstrong nature of youth. “Sometimes the young will not take our advice.”

  “I thought that you would know all about it, Miss Palliser,” Mrs. Ormond said. “I know everybody writes to you even though they cannot speak to you publicly.” She grabbed Lottie’s arm. “Now, tell me about this dreadful business of Lord St. Severin’s son. There have been no further sightings?”

  “None at all,” Lottie said regretfully, shaking her head. “It seems that he has completely vanished.”

  “Extraordinary!” Mrs. Ormond opined. “Wherever can he have gone?”

  “It is a mystery,” Lottie agreed, smiling widely.

  “These Frenchmen,” Mrs. Ormond said. “They are so much trouble!”

  Wantage that afternoon was only just returning to normality after the excitement of the unsuccessful hunt for Arland Ryder. The parole prisoners had been allowed out of their billets for the first time, the troops had been withdrawn from the town and the shops were full of customers eager to exchange the latest gossip.

  “Good heavens, Miss Palliser, who is that?” Mrs. Ormond exclaimed, and Lottie looked around and realized that the shop was buzzing with a low hum of excitement and speculation. Mr. Winkworth had abandoned his place behind the counter to join several ladies in the bow window. They were staring past the drapes of silk at a black carriage pulled by four bay horses that had paused in the square outside whilst the coachman asked for directions. The sunlight gleamed on the polished paneling, and the family crest on the side almost blinded the eyes it was so bright.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Ormond’s voice was high and breathy with excitement. “Whose carriage can that be? Surely that crest… No, it cannot be! That looks like—”

  “The Duke of Farne,” Lottie said.

  The ladies broke into the kind of chatter that occurred when a fox invaded the henhouse. “The Duke of Farne, here in Wantage, of all places? Whatever can he want?”

  Mrs. Ormond swung around on Lottie, piercing her with an accusatory eye. “Surely Farne has not come to see Lord St. Severin? I had heard they were estranged!”

  “I know nothing of it,” Lottie said, staring despite herself as the coachman swung himself back up onto the box and the horses moved off. “For once I have to confess, ladies, that I am as baffled as you are. Though perhaps,” she added, “the Duke has come because of Arland Ryder’s escape from gaol. He is the boy’s grandfather, after all.”

  There was an indiscreet rush out into the square as each shop emptied of its customers, all peering in the direction the carriage had gone.

  “It has turned into Priory Lane!” Mrs. Ormond announced, like the Town Crier. “Miss Palliser, surely the Duke cannot be seeking you?”

  “It seems that he is,” Lottie said. “Pray excuse me.” She picked up her basket, smiled her thanks to Mr. Winkworth and set off in the direction that the coach had gone. She wagered privately with herself that it would take no more than ten minutes for word of Farne’s visit to be around the entire town.

  Margery met her halfway down Priory Passage.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am!” The girl fell into her arms panting as though she was being chased. She pressed a hand to her side. “The Duke,” she gasped. “He’s here! He wants to see you.”

  “Breathe slowly,” Lottie instructed her, supporting her along the pavement. “No man is worth choking over, least of all the Duke of Farne.”

  She had no cause to review her opinion when she reached the house and found His Grace waiting impatiently for her in the parlor. He was looking around with disfavor, as though, Lottie thought, he could not quite believe that he had stooped to enter such a lowly establishment.

  She had never met the Duke of Farne before. They had not moved in the same circles even when she had been a London hostess. She thought that he and Gregory might well be acquainted, for Gregory had lent a great deal of money to the political classes and Farne was high in the government. Looking at him she could see the family resemblance that was stamped on both Ethan and his half brother Northesk. Farne’s face was thinner and more gaunt, his hair a shock of white, his eyes very dark, his expression fierce, his mouth pinched thin like a man experiencing the pains of gout. But that might well be no more than disapproval, Lottie thought. He could not enjoy lowering himself to visit the mistress of his illegitimate son.

  Those were, in fact, the Duke of Farne’s first words to her:

  “You are my son’s mistress?” he barked.

  “I am Charlotte Palliser, Your Grace,” Lottie said politely. “I am not defined by my relationship to Lord St. Severin.”

  Farne’s eyebrows snapped down into a frown. His dark gaze appraised her. “I heard that your husband divorced you for adultery,” he said.

  “I assume,” Lottie said, holding on to her temper by a thread, “that, speaking of adultery, you are here on a matter relating to your illegitimate son, Your Grace?”

  There was a flash of flinty humor in Farne’s eyes. “My, but you are pert.”

  “Your Grace,” Lottie said, “you have been in my company no more than two minutes and already you have insulted me deeply. That is not the behavior of a gentleman. Was there something you wanted? Or are y
ou leaving?”

  This time Farne almost smiled. “I’ll take a glass of wine, Miss Palliser,” he said, “and thank you for the offer.”

  Lottie rang the bell and Margery, almost tripping over herself in her anxiety, brought two glasses of wine for them. Farne took a chair by the window and looked out across the orchard.

  “You have a pleasant aspect here,” he said, “though I cannot believe that a small town like Wantage provides the entertainments to which you are accustomed.” He raised a dark brow. “Do you not find it parochial after London?”

  “Everywhere is parochial after London, except perhaps for Paris,” Lottie said lightly. She knew this could be no idle chat. The Duke of Farne would hardly drive to Berkshire simply to get to know his son’s mistress a little better. She wondered what he wanted. She wondered if Ethan had heard by now of his father’s visit, and what he would do.

  “It suffices,” she said. “For the time being.”

  Farne smiled. It was not a comfortable smile. “And yet you could have so much more, could you not?”

  A shiver of premonition slid down Lottie’s spine. She took a sip from her glass, buying time.

  “Could I?” she said.

  “If you are able to provide your brother with more information of the type that he requires.”

  Ah, so he had heard of Theo’s recruitment of her to the British government’s cause. Lottie was not surprised. Farne, she thought, was at the very heart of this web to trap his own son. The idea repelled her, and yet she wondered why she had not thought of it before. It was no secret that Ethan and his father were estranged and that for years the Duke had viewed his bastard son as no more than a thorn in his side.

  Whilst she hesitated over her response, Farne spoke again.

  “Such a conflict of loyalties,” he said softly, “must be difficult to bear.” He shifted. “I told Colonel Palliser that he asked too much of you and that I had an…alternative plan, one that would save you the difficulty of making such a choice.”