She regarded him seriously for a long, drawn-out minute before answering. “No, thank you, Sir Hilary. I do not wish to delay your departure. I bid you farewell and a pleasant journey. Thank you for your help.”
“Madam,” he said respectfully, with a bow. “Please feel free to send a note to my secretary should you need me. He will have my direction. Shall I see you upon my return?”
“If all goes well, I hope we may renew our acquaintance in the future,” she responded, her answer almost as oblique as Hil’s had been. His respect for her grew. With another bow he departed the room, quite sure he would never see the mysterious Mrs. Enderby again.
* * *
Eleanor watched Sir Hilary leave with Harry’s husband, Roger. “Who is he?” she demanded as soon as the door closed. “Why was he looking for me?”
“That’s Sir Hilary St. John,” Harry told her. “Finding people and things is what he does. He’s quite mysterious, and one of Roger’s dearest friends in the world. As soon as those horrible men showed up looking for you I sent for Sir Hilary. When even he couldn’t find you—” She stopped abruptly and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Ellie, I was sure you were dead.”
Eleanor tried to assess all that Harry had said. “What horrible men?” she asked quietly, dealing with most pressing issue first. “When were they here?”
Harry pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “They first came about three months ago, looking for you. Enderby sent them. They said you’d gone mad and run away from home or some such nonsense. I knew they were lying, and so I asked Sir Hilary to find you.”
“First came?” Eleanor asked sharply. “You mean they’ve been back? How recently?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, a couple of times. They became belligerent, sure we were lying when we said we didn’t know where you were. Sir Hilary said they were watching the house for some time. He had men watching them. Oh, it was all so confusing. But they left a few weeks ago. I suppose because they assumed the same thing we did, that you were dead.”
“Good,” Eleanor said with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I thought would happen. That’s why I stayed hidden so long. Although I’d hoped the misleading clues I left as to where I was going would keep them away from you.”
“Eleanor,” Harry said with an exasperated huff. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Of course, dear,” she said, reaching for Harry’s hand. “I’ve run away, just as they said, but I am not mad. I am free at last.” She bit her lip. “Your new husband, he won’t make me go back, will he?” She hoped not. The Roger she’d known when they were all so much younger hadn’t been that sort. He’d been a good boy, a friend and often a confidante. Truthfully, she’d always rather hoped he’d grow up and marry Harry.
Harry looked utterly astonished. “Roger? Of course not! He hasn’t changed a bit, Ellie, from when we were children. He’d never do such a thing. He wouldn’t dream of it, not if you don’t want to go back. Why don’t you want to go back?”
“It’s a very long story,” she said. “So I shall condense it for you. Enderby is a pig. I loathe him, and he feels the same way about me. The difference is, he can do something about it and I can’t. I have been a virtual prisoner at his house in Derbyshire for a decade. Which felt even longer than it sounds.” She sniffed, refusing to cry anymore over that loathsome fiend and what he’d done. “I can’t have children, you know,” she said calmly. “The fever, when I was five or six. The doctor said it did something to make me barren.”
“I didn’t know,” Harry said, her cheeks burning as she covered her obvious pregnancy with her hands, as if embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “Bringing a child into that house would have been a disservice. He doesn’t deserve to be a father.” She smiled. “And I’ve accepted it. I heard that you had a baby with Lord Mercer. Is he here?”
“Oh, yes,” Harry said, glowing with maternal pride. “Mercy is upstairs, asleep. You shall meet him tomorrow.”
Eleanor looked away, and she was confronted with her own image reflected back in the window, the night pitch black outside now. She wished she could open one of the windows. It suddenly seemed so terribly hot and airless in the room. “I tried to meet him when he was born,” she said. “I heard that you’d had him, and I escaped and ran to Merveille House, to you and Mercer, hoping to find sanctuary.”
Harry grasped her hand in both of hers. “And you never made it?” she said sadly.
“Oh, I made it all right,” Eleanor said indignantly, turning back to look at Harry. “Mercer promptly locked me up and sent for Enderby. The next day I was dragged home.”
“What?” Harry asked incredulously. “But Mercer never told me. If I had known, Eleanor, I swear I wouldn’t have let them take you.”
Eleanor shook her head. “There was nothing you could do,” she said pragmatically. “It didn’t take but a minute in Mercer’s company to realize you were in the same situation I was. We were both sold, right and proper, to despicable men.”
Harry hugged her tightly. “We were.” She held Eleanor’s shoulders, facing her. “But I am free by the grace of God, and you are not. What are we going to do, Eleanor?”
She patted Harry’s hand. “Tonight? Nothing. I’m so dreadfully tired, Harry, dear, and my mind is in a bit of a muddle.”
Harry hugged her again and this time Eleanor found herself holding her little sister tightly in return, overwhelmed that she had made it. She was here. With Harry. “Of course, darling,” Harry said sympathetically. “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.”
* * *
Eleanor awoke in a cold sweat, her throat aching and her scream echoing off the walls around her. It took a moment to realize she was at Harry’s, not back in her locked room at Enderby’s. The wick still burned low in the lamp, and she could see the pale-green oriental wallpaper and delicate furnishings of the room she’d been given. It was much finer than anything at Enderby’s house. Rising from the bed on shaky legs, she stumbled to the window, opening it wide. She took a deep breath of the rather fetid London air. It smelled like heaven, like freedom at last. Closing her eyes she took inventory of her self and her surroundings. Her belly was full, her clothes clean and sweet smelling, and the window was wide open. No thundering voice yelling invectives as Enderby charged from his room at the interruption of his sleep. She smiled, and she knew it wasn’t pretty. It was an angry, determined smile. Just then there was a knock at the door.
“Eleanor,” Harry called out sounding rather frantic. “Are you all right?” She knocked again. “Eleanor?”
“Eleanor, open the door.” It was Roger.
She hadn’t realized the door was closed. Of course. That’s what woke her up. She’d opened it before she’d gone to sleep. The maid must have closed it. God, she hated closed doors. “Come in,” she called out, dragging her borrowed wrapper from the chair by the bed with shaking hands and pulling it on.
The door flew open and Roger charged in, Harry right behind him. Both were barefoot and obviously wearing hastily donned wraps. Suddenly Eleanor heard the cries of her young nephew from the floor above. “I’ve woken Mercy,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Roger said disbelievingly. “My heart is still palpitating from your scream. What happened?”
“Just a silly nightmare, I suppose,” she said, avoiding the truth. She wrapped her arms around her middle so they wouldn’t see her shaking. She didn’t want them to know how foolish she was about it all. This was Harry’s, not Enderby’s. They weren’t going to lock her in. She could leave whenever she wanted.
“Ellie, you must tell us,” Harry pleaded. “How can we help?”
That caught Eleanor’s attention. She brushed aside the last remnants of the dream and focused on Harry and Roger. She’d need their help if she was to escape Enderby for good. No time like the present to discuss that. She certainly wasn’t going b
ack to sleep right away. “I have a plan,” she declared. “One that will disgrace Enderby and gain me my freedom. But I have to remain lost for some time more. I need Enderby to be so convinced I’m dead that he remarries.”
Harry looked stupefied. “But that could take years!”
“That’s what woke you up, screaming?” Roger asked, clearly bewildered. He still looked half-asleep.
“No, Roger,” Eleanor said patiently. “But Harry asked how you could help. And the greatest thing you can do for me is to help me gain my freedom from Enderby, once and for all.”
“Is everything all right, sir?” A tall, older man stood at the door. The butler, if Eleanor remembered correctly.
“Yes, Mandrake. Mrs. Enderby simply had a nightmare.”
The butler never even glanced in her direction. “Very good, sir,” he said. He turned and shooed the gathered servants away before he closed her door.
“All right,” Roger said, rubbing his hands over his face. “And how are we to do that? As Harry said, it can take years to have someone declared dead.”
“It won’t take him years,” Eleanor drawled, as she walked over and sat down in the chair by the open window. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t kill me long ago so he could remarry. He’s sired several illegitimate children in the last few years, and his desire for a legitimate heir has grown. It has been the main cause of his discontent for some time. As soon as he can have me legally declared dead, he will do so and he will remarry with haste. Mark my words. In a few months, I shall be the late, first Mrs. Enderby, and the second one shall have taken my place.”
“And then?” Harry asked.
“And then I will miraculously return from the dead,” she said. “Enderby will be forced to choose: admit I’m still alive and take me back, which would mean casting aside his blushing, most likely pregnant bride, or leave me alone and keep her and his heir. I think I know him well enough to know which he will choose. And I will make it even more difficult for him to find me. Because I will not be Eleanor Enderby anymore. I’ll assume another identity. Surely he will leave me alone then. If he does find me, Enderby will not only have to renounce his claim that I am dead, but prove that I am not who I say I am.”
“It won’t work,” Roger said flatly. “I know the law, Eleanor. I’m a barrister. It will be very difficult to have you declared dead, and even more difficult to create a believable identity for you.”
Eleanor’s heart rose into her throat at his words. “It will work. He has most of the county in his pocket. They’ll do as he tells them, including declaring me dead.”
Harry looked unconvinced. “You’ve left out option three,” she said. “Make sure your fake death becomes a very real one.”
Yes, Eleanor had thought of that. “He won’t,” she said with false bravado. “He won’t want to be bothered after he has a new wife and a new life. I shall be free at last.”
Roger looked skeptical. “Perhaps we should just start with a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we’ll find some place to hide you until we can figure this all out.” He turned to usher Harry out of the room.
Harry turned back with a worried expression. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do tonight?”
Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to quell the uncertainty assailing her. She bit her lip for a moment and then gave in, blurting out, “Could you leave the door open when you leave, please?”
Chapter Two
Surrey, December 1819
“Wiley,” Eleanor asked as she perused the chessboard between them, “tell me more about Sir Hilary.”
They were in the country at the Earl of Throckton’s estate. The earl was a cousin to one of Roger’s closest friends, Mr. Alasdair Sharp. The truth was, she owed Mr. Sharp a huge debt. He and his wife, Julianna, great friends of Roger and Harry’s, had resided at the earl’s country estate with Eleanor, Wiley, and Mr. Sharp’s cousin Lady Anne Moore, the earl’s sister, off and on for several months. Eleanor knew both Wiley and Mr. Sharp stayed at Harry and Roger’s request, to keep an eye on her and protect her identity. They had all grown rather close these last few months. Alasdair and Julianna had returned to London to spend the holidays with her father and stepmother while Eleanor, Wiley, and Lady Anne had stayed here and celebrated. It had been the most joyous Christmas of Eleanor’s adult life, no matter that it had been a quiet and subdued celebration.
Eleanor moved her white queen. She effectively controlled the center of the board now. Wiley had, of course, started with a gambit to try to expose her king. Now in the middle game, she was working on her pawn structure, playing a closed game. Wiley operated better with an open board, consistently sacrificing material for the endgame, a weakness she’d exposed over and over. True to form, he moved another pawn, and she was able to take it en passant on her next turn.
“Wiley, dear,” she said gently to the younger man, “you must control the center.”
“Damn,” he swore under his breath. “Why can I not defeat you? I have defeated everyone else.” He glared at her. “Everyone but Hil. You’re as diabolical as he is.”
“Speaking of Sir Hilary …” she prompted.
“Why are you so interested in him?” Wiley asked, studying the board.
She wasn’t sure. She rather enjoyed the stories they all told about him. He was a bit of a chameleon, changing his colors to suit any situation. Whatever was needed, it seemed Sir Hilary provided, be it a brilliant detective, a sympathetic ear, or a mentor for an ingenious young man from St. Giles, such as Wiley. “He is an interesting person,” she said. “I enjoy hearing stories about his adventures.”
“So you want to hear about his adventures and not him? Shall I tell you again about the night we saved Julianna from the murderous receiver of stolen goods? Or what about when we rescued Roger and Harry from that mad fellow who was trying to marry her for her money and nearly killed them both?” Wiley gave her a sly look.
She blushed. He’d caught her, hadn’t he? Today she had wanted to hear about him and not his adventures. She’d only met him briefly, but through the stories Wiley and the others told her she’d developed a bit of a schoolgirl crush on him. She laughed at herself about it. But he was safe, wasn’t he? He wasn’t here. He was, for all intents and purposes, a figment of her imagination at this point, since she didn’t know him at all. She could barely even remember his features. He was more like a dashing adventurer from some novel.
“I think he’s lonely,” Wiley offered suddenly, sitting back in his chair and looking at her speculatively.
“Lonely?” she asked in astonishment. “But you’ve all described him as a bit of a rake. He’s a Devil, isn’t he? The original Devil.” She was referring to the group of friends from their schooldays who had been dubbed The Saint’s Devils, a sly reference to Sir Hilary St. John, their unofficial leader. Apparently Roger and Alasdair Sharp had been Devils, and Julianna insisted they still were. Eleanor, frankly, could not see either of them gallivanting about London seducing ladies and gambling their lives away, but according to Lady Anne, who had known them all the longest, that’s exactly what they had done. Time, and love, had tempered her brother-in-law, Roger, and Mr. Sharp. Had it done the same for Sir Hilary?
“Used to be, I gather,” Wiley said. “Not much anymore. He spends more time in his library with his books and experiments than he does in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.” He winked and Eleanor felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment again. She feared she’d never get used to Wiley’s blunt speech.
“Yes,” she said. “But why do you think he’s lonely? Simply because he likes to read and pursue intellectual interests?”
Wiley scoffed. “He hasn’t got anyone to tell his secrets to.”
It was such an insightful observation from an unlikely source that Eleanor was speechless for a moment.
“Nobody knows much about him, do they?” Wiley told her, leaning forward and looking at the board again. “Not his past anyway, nor much about what he does now
. He keeps most of his inquiries private, although he tells me some since I’ve become his errand boy. But he never talks about his past, before he knew Roger and Alasdair. Not a word. Why? Seems like he’s got something to hide. Hard to carry a burden like that around without being able to share it with someone.”
“Yes, it is,” she said with the knowledge born of experience. It had been dreadful sneaking around for all those months, hiding her identity, on the run from her past and unable to share her burden. That is, until she finally reached Harry and Roger. And now she had a most unlikely group of friends, Devils and earls, and they were all shouldering some of the burden for her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she rose and walked to the window, her back to Wiley so he couldn’t see.
“Aw, now, none of that,” Wiley said, alarmed. “It’s my hide if I make you cry again. Julianna will drag me over the coals.”
Eleanor hiccupped a little laugh. “I’m sorry, Wiley. It’s just that I wouldn’t let myself cry for so long. Now that I have my freedom, well, it seems I’ve let my tears out, too.”
“Going to talk about it?” he asked mildly. “Good to share things, you know, just as we’ve been saying.”
She turned and gave him a wry smile. “You sly boots. Hoping to wrangle my secrets out with your talk of the oh so lonely Sir Hilary. I should have known what a ruse that was.”
Wiley laughed. “It was the truth. Someday he’s going to get hit right between the eyes, just like Roger and Alasdair, mark my words. And he’s not going to know what to do. He likes to be in control of everything, all the time. He’s like a puppet master.”
She made a face. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“He may not share his secrets,” Wiley said, moving another pawn into a sacrifice, “but he knows just about everyone else’s, right up to the prince regent.”
“Good heavens,” she said, her eyes wide as she slid back into her seat across from Wiley. “He knows the prince regent?”
Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 2
