The Handbook to Handling His Lordship

by Suzanne Enoch

  Finally Haybury stirred. “Much as I hate to agree with the French twist, she has the right of it. Blame whomever you please, but I’d prefer to hear how we mean to deal with Ebberling.”

  We. That might possibly have been the best word that Emily had ever heard, and the least expected one. Still, she hadn’t managed the life she’d chosen for herself by allowing other people to make decisions on her behalf. Slowly she climbed to her feet. “I thank each and every one of you for coming this morning and listening to my sad story, but I don’t expect you to shoulder my troubles.”

  “Emily, d—”

  “I saw him pull Katherine off her horse and strangle her, and I just … stood there. Then when he looked up and saw me, I ran. Not to the authorities, and not for a weapon. I simply ran.” She paused, gazing at Nathaniel and daring him to interrupt her again. When he only glared at her, she continued. “I knew what it would be; my word against his. And for many reasons no judge, no jury of his peers, would ever listen to me. That hasn’t changed.”

  “We would seem to be his peers,” Greaves commented dryly.

  “You are married to my dearest friends, Your Grace. You don’t count.” Emily very much wanted to stop there, but because whatever they claimed, they were true gentlemen and would likely attempt to help her regardless, she made herself continue. “I’m not of aristocratic lineage. In fact, I’m the very opposite of anything aristocratic. And I’m asking you to stay out of this. No one will thank you for it.”

  “That’s not the best way to ask for help, Em,” Sophia commented, her green eyes serious despite her light tone.

  “I’m not asking you for your help, Sophia. Truly, I’m not. Ebberling is a marquis with money and power, and he’s planning on marrying yet more money. Your Adam and Keating married ladies they likely shouldn’t have, and as much as they love you and Cammy, it’s hurt their reputations. I’m a common girl who works at a gentlemen’s club.” She glanced at Haybury. “I’m an employee. Would you risk the Tantalus for one of the kitchen girls? Would you let Diane do that?”

  “If you don’t want our help, why are we here?” Blackwood snapped, standing. He strode to the nearest window and turned his back on them.

  “Lord Westfall asked you to come here to make certain you wouldn’t mention who I am or my whereabouts to anyone. That’s all. And that’s all I ask. Your silence.”

  Silence was what she got. For a long moment no one said anything, or moved, or looked at anyone else. It was the worst sound in the world, but they had been the truest words she’d ever spoken, and she refused to feel sorry for herself for saying them. If anything, she felt proud. Desperate and back to being alone again, but proud.

  The one person she couldn’t make herself look at was Nathaniel. She didn’t want to see if he was angry with her, or disappointed that she might have pulled the carpet out from under his feet. Worse than that, she didn’t want to look into his light green eyes and see that underneath it all, he might be relieved. Relieved that she’d given him an excuse to walk away from this mess, and from her.

  Finally Oliver Warren, the Marquis of Haybury, pushed back slowly in his chair and stood. Then he walked over to the breakfast sideboard, selected a nice plump cinnamon-sprinkled muffin, and sat down again to slice it in half and spread butter over it. “Seven, nearly eight years ago,” he said calmly, “I had a chance to do something right by a young lady who was destitute and alone, and trapped in a foreign country. Instead, the moment she turned her back I literally leaped from her bedroom window and fled. I’m married to her now, but that doesn’t signify. Because what I most think about now when I recall that day, is how … disgusted I feel with myself. Back then I thought I’d narrowly escaped a lifetime of misery and obligation. Now I look back and am certain I did the absolute wrong thing. Because someone, a person, a woman, needed my help, and I walked away. I won’t do that again.”

  “What are you?” Greaves put in abruptly, looking at Emily. “You said you were common. A common what?”

  “That’s enough, Greaves,” Nathaniel growled, clenching his fist.

  “My father was a poacher, Your Grace,” she answered. “My mother washed clothes at the Blue Dove Inn for all the travelers who came by.”

  “Hm. And you said you’re what, now? A Tantalus girl? You can read and write, can’t you? Learned how to dance, I’ll wager, and play the pianoforte?”

  She felt as if she was being ripped to shreds, and she nearly decided to argue that his own wife was a former Tantalus girl, but that would only counter her own statement of earlier, so she only nodded. “Yes.”

  “You worked as a governess for Ebberling, Westfall said. For nearly three years.”

  “Yes.”

  “I beg your pardon then, Emily, but that doesn’t sound common at all.”

  Over by the window, Blackwood turned back around and raised one hand. “Killed my lover’s husband. Self-defense or not, they’ve hanged men for less. Then I stole my cousin’s betrothed from her own wedding. Not throwing any stones from inside any glass houses. I’m in.”

  Sophia took Emily’s hand and pulled her back down into her chair. “Em is Cammy’s sister, and she’s my sister, and she’s Jenny’s and Diane’s sister. We’re in.”

  Laurence sat forward in his chair. “I’m an idiot, and I want to do something right. I’m helping.”

  That left only Nate, and to her, his silence spoke volumes. No, he hadn’t liked it when Greaves seemed to be insulting her, but that only meant he was kind. Which he was, whatever he might say about that. Without him, the effort the others now said they were willing to go through, while miraculous, wouldn’t be worth it. Why would she wish to stay and fight, when victory would mean … nothing? She still couldn’t even force herself to look at him. Oh, she was pathetic. If they knew how broken her heart felt, none of them would still even be in the room.

  Nathaniel stood. “Emily.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Emily.”

  No. She wouldn’t look, and she wouldn’t listen. If he would just leave the room, she would know, and she could slink out the back way, return to the Tantalus, pack her things, and leave.

  Her chair tilted backward. Hard. Flailing for balance, she opened her eyes and looked up, to see Nate looking down over the back of the chair at her. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The unusual meeting adjourned with everyone’s promises of discretion, but little else actually helpful. Nathaniel had a few ideas, himself, but he couldn’t claim to be comfortable with the notion of saying things aloud. Not without anything tangible, and not to anyone he’d met less than twenty-four hours earlier.

  Assistance was a very nice notion, but he meant to reserve judgment until he saw results that demonstrated that these additional people were more of a help than a hindrance. Emily lingered, which he found much more interesting, anyway.

  The French woman remained, as well, and he spent a moment studying her as she tied a bonnet over light blond hair pulled into the tightest bun he’d ever seen. When Laurence touched his shoulder, he actually jumped.

  “Nate, I—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “You go upstairs, and go to bed. I’m not speaking to you until you’re sober.”

  “I’m sorry,” his brother said again, his shoulders lowered and his entire demeanor one of utter misery. “I thought … Greaves and Blackwood, for Lucifer’s sake. They asked me to go with them. Me. I…”

  “Later,” Nathaniel repeated, though most of his anger had fled. It wasn’t Laurie’s fault that he had no clue how to be suspicious of everyone, that he didn’t expect a dagger in his back every time he turned around. “Be glad you have a chance to learn from a mistake. You’re more fortunate than most.”

  Once his brother disappeared upstairs, he turned back around to the foyer. Emily had dressed in a rather plain green walking dress and a pretty matching bonnet. If he didn’t alread
y know who she was, if he’d simply seen her walking down the street, he would have thought her a fetching young lady, some lordling’s daughter taking the air. And without knowing what secrets lay beneath her smooth, fair skin, behind her dark brown eyes, he likely wouldn’t have looked at her twice.

  “What is it?” she asked, tilting her head at him.

  “Considering the twists and quirks of fate,” he returned with a brief smile. “You could stay here, if you wish. I’d see to it that Ebberling never came near you.”

  “I know you would.” She put a hand over his heart, and he wondered if she could feel it speed. “I, however, would simply be a prisoner in a prettier cage. At the Tantalus I’m earning my way, and you are free to leave your own house, as well.”

  It made sense, damn it all. He’d found the key to some vital piece of information before and been forced to walk away from it until a more opportune time presented itself, but he couldn’t remember it ever bothering him as much as this did. “I’ve a few things to look into,” he said, covering her hand with his, “and I will keep you apprised.”

  “You’d better.” With a nod she turned for the door, and Garvey pulled it open. Then she abruptly stopped. “I left my reticule upstairs,” she said, her cheeks darkening. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  The butler wordlessly shut the door again, and Nate angled his chin at the man. “That’ll be all, Garvey.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Then it was only him and the French woman in the foyer. She stood gazing up the staircase and completely ignoring him. Or so she would have it appear. “Haybury called you the French twist,” he said after a moment.

  She glanced at him. “I believe it is because of the way I wear my hair, monsieur,” she said in her soft, heavily accented voice.

  “That’s interesting, because previously he referred to a French twist who had her fingers in a great many different pies.”

  With a smile, she nodded. “I do like pies, yes.”

  Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Emily doesn’t have stupid friends, Miss Martine. And we’re both her friends. So shall we continue to waltz, or would you prefer to see what the two of us together might accomplish?”

  Miss Martine faced him. “I saw you once, at one of Bonaparte’s assemblies,” she said, her accent mostly vanished. “You had a terrible scar down one side of your face, and one of your eyes was milky. I only learned who you were later, but I have to say, Nate Stokes, you were impressive.”

  That answered the nagging question of why she seemed familiar. “You were the black-haired Spanish chit who had that note relaying the location of two of Bonie’s advisors.”

  She sketched a shallow curtsy. “I apologize for telling Em that you were a spy, but the war is over, and she is my friend. My sister, as Sophia said.”

  “I can understand that,” he said, meaning it. “It seems to be easier to find enemies than friends, even now. Friends are to be treasured, and enemies, destroyed.”

  Genevieve Martine offered her hand. “For as long as you are Emily’s friend, I shall be yours. Not a moment longer. Does that suffice?”

  He gripped her fingers. “It does. And likewise.”

  Emily leaned over the balcony. “Oh, dear. I should never have left you two alone.”

  “All is well,” the French twist said, smiling. “We have reached an understanding.”

  “That sounds somewhat frightening,” she continued, descending to the main floor. “Jenny, would you wait for me outside?”

  “Certainly. Don’t be long, though. I am to be on duty for luncheon.”

  Once Miss Martine was outside and the door closed again, Nate reached out to straighten Emily’s sleeve. “Not very subtle of you, Emily.”

  “That shows what you know. I never forgot my reticule. I thought with the way you’ve been studying Jenny all morning, you’d want a private word with her.”

  He laughed. “Well done, then. One spy chatting with another?”

  “Exactly. I’m glad you know who she is, now. I’m becoming rather tired of lies.” Placing her hands on his chest, she leaned up and kissed him. “You were very gallant this morning. There’s still nothing that can be done, but it was … very nice to hear that there are people in the world who care about my fate, even given who I am and who they are.”

  She would have moved away, but Nate gripped her by both shoulders. “If there’s one thing the past ten years have taught me, my dear, it’s that there is always something that can be done.”

  Emily touched him on the cheek. “Not about everything,” she murmured, kissing him again. Then, before he was ready, she slipped out his front door and was gone.

  He knew what she meant; if by some miracle they could stop Ebberling from pursuing her, she would still be a washerwoman’s daughter, and he would still be an earl. An accidental one who would have preferred something entirely different, but an earl nonetheless. “Damnation,” he muttered, and went to have his horse saddled.

  Where previously his task had been tracking down the elusive—and nonexistent—Rachel Newbury, his new assignment looked to be both easier and more difficult. Locating the Marquis of Ebberling would, at the most, take him an hour or two, and that was if the man wasn’t at home this morning. Much more complicated would be finding a chink in the man’s armor.

  It needed to be done, however. Because the arithmetic was simple; in order for Emily to be free, Ebberling needed to be removed. Killing him would be the easiest method, but murdering a marquis in the middle of Mayfair would only have everyone digging deeper. In that case, someone else might find Emily, and she would be by far the most likely culprit. Aside from that, Nathaniel had had his fill of killing, even for king and country. With no alternative he wouldn’t hesitate, but he kept it as a last resort only.

  No, for all the pain and fear the Marquis of Ebberling had caused over the past three years, to his wife, his son, and to Emily, he deserved something less … clean. Something he could consider for a good long while—and something that rendered him harmless.

  That would take some consideration, and a detailed survey of his quarry. As Nate swung up on Blue and headed off to White’s Club, he realized that he’d never been as thankful as he was now to be a spy. Because someone else might have found Emily, someone else might have handed her over to Ebberling, and the man might well have gotten away with ending two lives for his own satisfaction. Nate gave a grim smile. He’d always relished the chase, but he’d never cared about the prize, until now. My, how things had changed.

  So. First he would find the man’s friends, then he would get them talking, and then he would find that one misstep the marquis had made in all this. Because if he’d learned one thing, it was that everyone made a mistake. He’d thought that he’d made one in taking on this little puzzle, but as he glanced down the way in the direction of the unseen Tantalus, he couldn’t think that any longer. This had happened for a reason, because otherwise he couldn’t name the point of putting himself and his family through the past ten years.

  And still he continued doing equations and calculating the logical odds of success. Nathaniel snorted, making Blue flick his ears back. When he’d become the crusading knight he had no idea, but it was pleasant, for once, to feel like a hero. For Emily’s sake he hoped he would still prove to be one at the end of this venture.

  * * *

  As Emily had expected, once the coach reached The Tantalus Club, Jenny vanished in the direction of Adam House. Emily’d decided that Lord Haybury was more likely to keep the tale of her low birth from his wife than his wife’s closest friend was. At the thought of that conversation, a sliver of uneasiness ran down her spine.

  Diane preferred to have highborn ladies employed at the club, because wrapped in scandal or not, well-bred women attracted well-bred men. And in that case, any scandal the ladies brought with them actually helped the popularity of the club. Emily was certainly well educated, because she’d seen to it that she was. Before this point, thou
gh, she’d made certain that she had nothing scandalous attached to the name Emily Portsman, and she’d minimized her contact with the club’s member. That had all been by design, to make her useful with the least number of questions asked about her past.

  Now, however, the potential for an interest-raising scandal was rather outweighed by actual legal difficulties if Ebberling discovered her and decided he preferred to accuse her of murder rather than simply kill her out of hand. And that had become a possibility now that she’d made the acquaintance of people who claimed that they wouldn’t let her vanish without comment.

  She sighed as she went to collect the ledger for the produce purchases. They had all sounded sincere, and at the least she finally knew why Diane and Oliver’s relationship had been so volatile when she’d first met them. And if she was arrested, she didn’t doubt that they would all express their dismay with the proceedings. As for whether they would do more than that, she had her doubts.

  With one exception.

  The way Nathaniel had looked at her this morning had stopped her heart. All sorts of silly, girlish notions had flitted lightning-fast through her mind—marriage and children and peace and safety, and Nate waking up beside her every morning, holding her in his arms and telling her that he would never let her fall. That silly dream could never be, but she believed that he would aid her with Ebberling, if only for his own pride.

  As for the rest of it … It might be easier to flee, after all, so she wouldn’t be present to hear him tell her they were finished with, and she could go back to finding random, dim-witted men to share her bed when the loneliness started roaring in her ears. Because without him, none of the rest of it was likely to matter. She’d spent most of her life alone, relying on her own wits to survive, and she could do it again. Knowing what she’d almost had, what she might have made of her life if either of her parents had been even distantly related to a baron or a knight, had to be far worse than never knowing about it at all.