by Sara Bennett
The Tin Soldier was much noisier than when he’d carried Lady Averil upstairs, and women in gaudy clothing hung on the arms of gentlemen who should have known better. The fact that Averil had been so desperate to speak to Sally Jakes made him curious—some secret there that he’d like to uncover—but right now he had other things on his mind.
He was searching for his uncle, and as he stepped into the gambling rooms he heard James’s voice at once. Relief washed through him and he strode across to the group of men hunched over their cards in the far corner, scanning the table anxiously for Eustace.
The Honorable James Blainey had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves; his cravat was askew and his graying dark hair was sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it. No doubt he’d been tugging at it in frustration.
Rufus stood a moment until some of the gamblers looked up and noticed him. Their faces froze with dismay at the sight of him. They probably thought him some species of pirate. It was the scar; he’d been called a buccaneer more than once.
“Well, deal, damn you!” James cried, and then, seeing the direction of the man’s gaze, turned his own head and looked up. His shock was almost comical but Rufus wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
“Rufus, my boy! There you are.” James was good at bluffing his way out of trouble. “Eustace was sure you would come but I told him you had better things to do.”
He’d hardly begun speaking when a dark-haired boy, who’d been half-asleep on a chair by the wall, darted up and threw himself into Rufus’s arms. Thin, tall for his age, Eustace clung to him for a moment, and then scowled up at him.
“Where were you, Papa?” he demanded. “I’ve been here for ages, and Uncle James won’t go home.”
“Well, he’s going home now,” Rufus promised in an icy tone.
James went pale, but to his credit he didn’t try to bluster or make excuses. He knew better. He put his cards down and pushed his chair back, rising to his feet.
Rufus was taller than his uncle—indeed, he was taller than most people—and now he loomed over the older man. James was very like him in looks, apart from the broadening of his frame, the graying of his hair, and the lines on his face. He was a handsome man, the man Rufus might have been without the scar.
“How much do you owe?” Rufus asked in that same icy voice.
James cleared his throat, his brown eyes sliding to his nephew’s and away again. “Actually, Rufus, I was winning.”
One of the other men pushed a few coins toward the edge of the table and James scooped them into his hand and then into his pocket. Rufus marched him toward the door.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in me apologizing?” James said in a meek voice.
“You’re right, there isn’t.”
“No, I didn’t think so,” he said smugly, as if his being right gave him some sort of satisfaction. “I told Eustace you wouldn’t listen to me. Told him I just can’t seem to help myself sometimes, when the cards call. I didn’t want him to come with me, you know. He insisted.”
“Eustace is seven years old,” Rufus reminded him.
“Well, I couldn’t shake him off. Next time tell him not to attach himself to me like that.”
“There won’t be a next time. You are going to Southbrook Castle and there you will stay. Indefinitely.”
James cast him a despairing look. “Rufus, how can you send me there? You know how I hate it. I don’t understand how you can be so fond of the horrible pile. I was always sent to Southbrook when I was bad, and now you are sending me there again. What must I do to stop you? I’ll promise anything.”
His remorse seemed genuine, but Rufus was beyond caring. “Then you’ll be pleased to know that I am about to lose Southbrook, James. And the London house. I am going to lose it all, and I have you to thank for it.”
James seemed to shrink into himself. “Oh, my dear boy, not everything? I can’t believe that is entirely my fault. Your father . . . well, he was quite a one for the horses and the cards. I think he should share some of the blame. And you yourself, Rufus, when you were younger and more jolly, had a tendency to frequent certain places where the wagers were rather high.”
Rufus didn’t answer. He thought if he did he might take his uncle by the throat and strangle him. The worst of it was that James was right, it wasn’t all his fault. The whole Southbrook family had contributed to their downfall; it was just that Rufus was the heir and the only one left who cared. And what of Eustace? Southbrook was his inheritance. How could he explain to the boy that he’d lost the lot?
“Papa, why is that lady showing her legs?” Eustace was staring at the woman on the stage, who was kicking up her feet and showing a great deal of leg beneath her short skirt.
“Turn away, Eustace.”
Eustace seemed disinclined to turn away but he was a good boy and did as his father told him. “Can we go home now, Papa?”
“I have to collect someone first. She is hurt and requires a ride home in the coach.”
“The lady over there?” he asked hopefully, and James chuckled.
Rufus shook his head. “No, not the lady over there. At the moment she’s upstairs but she should be with us very soon. Ah, here she is.”
And they all looked up as Averil, with the help of the girl, made her way with painful slowness down the stairs.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
Averil clung to the banister despite its greasiness. She was beyond such niceties now. Her sister—Rose, she would call her Rose, Rose was a sweet name—had been taken to the orphanage at St. Thomas’s, which was probably close by. Surely there would be a record of her? Someone must know something.
Please, oh please, Averil’s thoughts were agonizing, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, don’t let her be dead. Was her journey coming to an end, in one way or another? Was she finally to know whether or not she was truly alone in the world?
She cast an anxious glance about the room, hoping to see Lord Southbrook among the noisy mass of humanity. Her head was aching and she wanted to go home. Perhaps she could persuade the sullen girl to fetch her a hackney cab? Slip away before Southbrook returned?
But it was too late. He was coming toward her, and he wasn’t alone.
Lord Southbrook had his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who looked like him, and his other hand tucked rather like a jailer into the arm of a gentleman who also looked like him, only older, with graying hair.
Good Lord, three generations of Southbrooks!
Averil swallowed and forced a wan smile to her lips.
“Lord Southbrook, there you are. I was just going to ask someone to fetch me a hackney cab. Jackson sent ours away and I’m sure you have enough to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance. Or more of a nuisance than I have already been.”
His face darkened. “I’m taking you to my coach. It is completely safe. I will see you home.”
“Really, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You couldn’t possibly refuse,” he cut her short.
The older man leaned forward and said in a confidential voice, “Best to just say ‘yes,’ my dear. My nephew is a bully and will have his own way whatever you say.”
“Papa isn’t a bully,” the boy piped up, dark eyes narrowing. “Hackneys are grubby and we have a nice coach.”
Averil sighed.
The older man peered at her with interest. “Are you coming to Southbrook Castle, too? It wouldn’t be so bad if she could come, too,” he added to Lord Southbrook with a hopeful note. “Do introduce us, Rufus.”
Lord Southbrook introduced them, as if they were at a perfectly respectable house, rather than surrounded by drunken revelry.
“Lady Averil Martindale, this is my uncle, the Honorable James Blainey. And this is my son, Eustace, Lord Turrif. Lady Averil fell and hurt herself on her way here so we are taking her home in the coach.”
“My lord,” she tried again, “I really don’t think this is necess
ary. I can find—” Find what? Frustration filled her. How dare Jackson run off and leave her in this mess. Averil all but stamped her foot and might well have done, if her knee wasn’t so sore. She would be having words with him the next time she saw him.
Lord Southbrook ignored her, stepping forward and lifting her into his arms. “Don’t be an idiot, Lady Averil,” he murmured in her ear.
Cross and startled, she stared up at him.
“You have placed yourself in danger. I am coming to your rescue. You can thank me later.”
A bully, mouthed the Honorable James Blainey, standing at his nephew’s shoulder.
They left The Tin Soldier and set off into the maze of dark streets, but the earl strode along as if he knew exactly where they were going. Averil was rather impressed. In a short time they reached a main thoroughfare where he had left the coach. The coachman jumped down and opened the door, trying not to stare at this extra passenger his master appeared to have acquired. Lord Southbrook murmured something to his coachman and then leaned inside the coach and set Averil upon the soft leather seat. As she sat there, dazed, her fair hair tumbling over her shoulders, her gray eyes wide, he preceded to tuck a blanket about her. Averil hoped he couldn’t see her face flaming. Thankfully it was quite dark.
Next, the earl gave his uncle a boost up into the coach, and his son scrambled in after him, seating himself beside Averil. The earl sat opposite, with his uncle. He reached up to give a firm thump on the roof, and a moment later they clattered off into the traffic.
Averil sighed, and snuggled under the blanket. She was trapped. She knew she couldn’t walk unaided and Jackson, if he’d returned, wouldn’t know where she was. There was nothing she could do but make the best of a bad situation.
For a time all was quiet in the coach, the occupants deep in their own thoughts, but Rufus knew it couldn’t last.
Lady Averil was the first to speak. “You do not know where I live?”
“I do know where you live,” he replied, knowing he would surprise her. He surprised himself. After he’d seen her at the opera he had inquired after her, curiosity he’d told himself, and refused to ask himself why he should be curious about Lady Averil and none of the other women who were there that night. He’d learned rather a lot: that she was an heiress and that she was an orphan and was heavily involved in Dr. Simmons’s charity work, he being a cousin of hers.
“We live in Mayfair,” Eustace announced. “The house has been in the family for generations.”
“Oh,” she said carefully. “You are very fortunate then.”
Rufus felt his spirits sink even lower. What would he tell his son when the house was no longer in the family, when strangers were occupying its rooms?
“As you’ve gathered, Lady Averil, we Blaineys are a rather ramshackle lot but we usually fall on our feet.” The Honorable James gave her a charming smile, currying favor as usual.
Rufus sighed. James had really gone too far tonight but as angry as he was, Rufus’s affection for him remained.
When Rufus was a child he lived in a colorless and austere world. His father was often away and his mother found children a bore. It was James who had been his friend and companion. It was James who had brought color and joy into his life, playing wildly imaginative games, dressing up as pirates and soldiers, and one time, when he was so ill they all thought he was going to die, James had sat in his room and read to him and tempted him to eat with little treats. No matter how infuriating and difficult his uncle now was, Rufus still loved him for that.
“Why were you at The Tin Soldier, Lady Averil?” Eustace said, insatiably curious. “You were the only proper lady there, at least I think you were, but I wasn’t allowed into the upstairs rooms. Do your father and mother know where you were?”
Rufus knew he should tell his son to mind his own business, but he was curious, too, and rather wanted to hear what Lady Averil had to say, so he held his tongue.
“Well, my father died when I was a little girl. My mother, too. And . . . my reasons for being at The Tin Soldier are personal, Lord Turrif.”
That only held Eustace up for a moment. “Why are they personal?”
Averil sighed. “Because they are private.”
“Surely you can tell us?” Eustace wriggled closer. “My uncle James was there because he plays cards and loses money, and I went with him because I knew Papa would want someone to keep an eye on him. I knew Papa would find us when he read my note. There”—he wriggled closer still—“now you know why we were there. It’s only polite you tell us why you were there.”
Averil looked to Rufus for help but he pretended to be gazing out of the window at the dark streets, although she could see the quirk of a smile on his thin lips.
She squared her shoulders. “I have a sister,” she said. “I think her name is Rose. At least that is what Mrs. Jakes at The Tin Soldier called her. When I was a little girl my mother . . . went off somewhere. But I saw her again, just the once, before she died. And that was when I saw my sister, too. She was just a baby but I remember her. No one knows what happened to her and I’m trying to find her. That was why I was there tonight.”
Eustace was staring at her with enormous dark eyes. Rufus tried not to smile. His son had a soft heart and Averil’s story had captured his imagination. He could guess what his next words would be.
“We can help you! Find your sister, I mean. Papa is good at finding people.”
Averil smiled at the boy, tucking a heavy strand of fair hair behind her ear. “You are very kind, Lord Turrif, but . . .”
“Call me Eustace.”
“You are very kind, Eustace, but my sister is a secret. I don’t talk about her. And I have a man called Jackson who—”
“Leaves you to fend for yourself in the middle of the East End,” Rufus said mockingly. “My son is right. I can help you, Lady Averil. I am rather adept at finding lost souls.”
It was true. During his days with The Guardians Rufus had been called upon many a time to seek out people who for whatever reason were attempting to hide themselves away.
He watched with amusement as she tried to find suitable words to turn him down, without hurting Eustace’s feelings. Eustace wasn’t the only one with a soft heart. And then she glanced out of the window and relief filled her face.
“Oh, we are home!”
At that moment the coach came to a halt outside a modest-looking town house in a quiet street. There were no lights visible and the house was in darkness. The coachman jumped down to open the door, and Rufus sprang out, reaching his hand for Averil’s. She inched forward, clearly in pain, and when she almost fell out onto the road, he lost patience and swung her up once more into his arms.
She was light, but he could feel her soft curves. He’d always liked a woman with curves, and Averil Martindale was a nice armful. She was glaring up at him with sparkly gray eyes, and he knew she’d like to tell him to put her down, but he also knew she couldn’t in the circumstances. For all her soft voice and polite words, she had a temper. For no reason at all he smiled, and then he chuckled.
“What is so amusing, my lord?” she asked in biting tones.
“You are, Lady Averil.”
“Is this where you live?” Eustace inquired with interest. “It isn’t nearly as big as our house.”
“Don’t be rude, Eustace,” Rufus said, and glanced over his shoulder to make certain the other member of the Blainey family had remained safely in the coach. He had.
They’d reached her door and he reached to ring the bell when a gasp from the woman in his arms stopped him. “Please, oh please, don’t! Beth, that is my companion, doesn’t know I’m out and . . . oh please, she’ll be so upset with me.”
Rufus searched her eyes with interest. Her lips were slightly apart as she gazed up at him, and with her hair tumbling about her she looked angelic. Unfortunately she also looked very enticing and he was unexpectedly tempted to lean down and kiss her.
“I don’t think you shoul
d ring the bell,” Eustace said quietly. “Not if there’s a cross lady called Beth in there.”
Rufus eyed his son carefully. His face was pale in the light from the street lamp, and there was a tension to his narrow shoulders that was worrying. Damn that woman, he thought. Eustace’s nanny had been subjecting him to all manner of cruelties and Rufus hadn’t known about it at first. Of course when he found out—through Uncle James, not Eustace himself, the boy was too proud to let on—he had sent the woman packing. Unfortunately some damage had already been done.
“So what do you want me to do?” Rufus asked evenly of Averil. “Leave you here to be found by the maid in the morning? You could say you were sleepwalking.”
Eustace chuckled nervously.
Averil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being sarcastic,” she said. “I hate sarcasm. No, you can take me around to the back and I will make my own way upstairs.”
Rufus did as she asked, following the side path around the house to the small courtyard at the back, with Eustace trailing behind them. He was singing under his breath and Rufus realized it was one of the risqué songs from The Tin Soldier.
Lady Averil had left a key out, no doubt so that she could sneak inside without anyone knowing, and when Eustace unlocked the door he found they were in what appeared to be a boot room. A dog rose from its bed on the slate floor with a gruff “woof” and Averil shushed it quickly.
“Down, Hercules,” she hissed.
In Rufus’s opinion Hercules was a good name for the animal. It was huge—some sort of massive hound. He eyed it uneasily as Eustace approached, but Averil assured him it was harmless.
“He’s big but he’s a dear,” she added.
Eustace grinned as Hercules came up to him with much tail wagging and wriggling. “We don’t have a dog in London,” he said, with a sideways glance at his father. “Although we have several at Southbrook. I wanted to bring one with us but Papa says they’re a damned nuisance in town.”
“Your father is probably right,” Averil said primly. “And he can put me down now. I can manage from here.”
