The Handbook to Handling His Lordship

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I owe stupid Rycott and stupid Stokes—Westfall—one less favor now, my dear,” he said, lowering his head over Jenny’s hand. “And Nate is about to owe me one.”

  Emily looked from the duke to Nathaniel. Something was afoot, something neither man was surprised over, but from Nate’s hard expression she couldn’t imagine that it was anything pleasant. “What are you talking about, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “You’re going to have to come up with another name,” Nate answered, sliding his hand down to grip her fingers. “There will be a trial, because Ebberling will not lose his title or his income or his standing without one. He has no incentive to confess. Which means you—”

  “I will have to testify as to what I saw,” she finished, that cold lump in the pit of her stomach stirring again. “As … myself. Everyone will know that I’m common.”

  “I find that there is nothing common at all about you, my love,” Nathaniel said.

  She whipped back around to face him. “Stop humoring me, Nathaniel. I am common, and I will have to leave the Tantalus. No peer wants to knowingly flirt with or play games at the table of a common chit. Especially one who will be speaking in court against one of their own.” Warmth ran down her face, and she wiped at it, angry that she was crying. “I hate that man. He’s ruined everything.”

  “Perhaps,” Nathaniel returned. “And perhaps not. We’ve worked one miracle here tonight. Perhaps we can manage another.”

  Whatever he was thinking, it would be for her benefit rather than for his own. “You’ve done enough for me, Nathaniel. More … more even than you know. But I can’t stay here. Not without hurting all the people who’ve helped me.” All the people who’d loved her, she’d almost said, but for heaven’s sake, the Duke of Wellington was standing there watching her. She cleared her throat. “Jenny, will you see me back to the Tantalus? I’ll need to gather my things and then find a place to stay until this is finished with.”

  “Em—”

  “No,” she broke in, putting her fingers over his mouth. “Just stop it. I may have attempted to bend reality to my will, but that time is past. I need to accept who and what I am.”

  Nathaniel would have pursued her, but Jack put a hand around his arm and held him back. “Nothing you can do about it now,” the colonel said, frowning.

  Ignoring that, Nate watched until she was gone, until he could no longer hear her footfalls on the stairs leading up to the main part of the prison. He’d asked for her trust, and she’d certainly given it to him. The only protection he’d been able to guarantee had been to lock her into a prison cell and to promise to remain nearby. The rest had been up to her, and by God, she’d gotten the Marquis of Ebberling to confess to killing his wife.

  “I don’t want to lose her,” he said finally. “What do I have to do to remain in her life?”

  “You’re an earl, Westfall,” Wellington commented, leading the way toward the stairs. “You have an obligation to your station and your peers.”

  “I didn’t ask to be an earl. I’m asking for this one thing to work out as it should.”

  “Nate, Prinny and the others here’ll make certain everyone in London’s talking about what happened here today. You ’n Emily and how an earl helped a common girl arrest a marquis. You had enemies before. What d’ye think they’ll make of you now? They’ll know the man with the different names and different faces all add up to being Nate Stokes, the not-so-bookish book collector.”

  Wellington was nodding. “Ebberling has friends. Every one of them would be more than happy to point a finger in your direction when someone comes looking for you, knife in hand. Add marrying Miss … Whoever-she-is into that, and you won’t be able to leave your house without having rotten fruit thrown in your direction.”

  “If you’re attempting to recruit me again, the answer is no.” If he knew one thing, it was that becoming a spy again would destroy what was left of him. He wasn’t Jack, who seemed able to set aside with rather alarming ease his conscience and his friendships in favor of his work. Every bit of it ate away at his soul, and if not for Emily, he wasn’t certain how much of him would be left by now.

  “And you think your solution is an improvement?” Jack cut back at him. “You’d be a no one. With nothing.”

  “That’s all I ever wanted, Jack.”

  Slowly Wellington walked up and offered his hand. “You can’t tell her, you know. She’ll be in the center of the storm, and while she did admirably today, she’s not trained to deceive so many people for so long.”

  Nathaniel didn’t like that at all. Emily had had so many blows dealt to her in her life, and she would blame herself for this, just as she did now for Lady Ebberling’s death. “What of my brother?”

  “He’s just a lad, Nate. He shouldn’t know, either.”

  The frustration that had been eating at him for the past few hours heated further. “And how about if I decide who knows what, and when they find out, and you help me because it’s the damned correct thing to do?”

  “Nate, y—”

  “No.” Nathaniel cut Wellington off, so abruptly that the duke’s mouth snapped shut. “And you’ll help her, too, because once this is over she shouldn’t have to begin her life over again. She did nothing wrong, and I know that both of you have the resources to do a good deed.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Westfall. If you don’t cut ties with her now, you’ll be obligated to stay with her.”

  That made him smile. “Yes, I know, Jack. Tell me you’ll help.”

  Jack blew out his breath. “I never figured ye for a sentimentalist, Stokes, but it’s yer funeral. Literally.”

  “Thank you. And you, Your Grace?”

  “I’ve a soft spot for impossibilities. If you tell anyone that, however, I’ll see you exiled to Russia.”

  That done, he shook hands with the two men. And then he went to find his brother and his love—to tell them that he needed to disappear from Society. Permanently, this time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time Emily swore out a statement—for the second time—it was late afternoon. She had no idea why she needed to repeat her tale yet again, except that now more people were inclined to believe her since Prince George and Wellington and Greaves and Judge Mathers and Lord Garrity and Mr. Danders could corroborate that what she’d said was indeed true. If she’d been less relieved she would have felt insulted. As it was, the idea that she no longer needed to look over her shoulder or be ready to flee at any moment should have made her weak-kneed with relief.

  All it took, however, was one look at the mob of men crowded on the steps of the Old Bailey for her to realize that she’d escaped one sort of peril only to plunge headfirst into another kind of trouble. “Reporters, friends of Ebberling,” Jenny whispered, putting herself between them and Emily as they descended the steps to the waiting coach.

  “When did you know Lord Ebberling murdered his wife?” one man called.

  “Devil take you for turning on your betters!” the next one yelled, his face red and angry.

  “I hope Haybury knows what a traitor you are!”

  “Ignore them,” Jenny said concisely, ushering her into the carriage and then climbing in behind to close the door and pull the curtains closed. “You did what was necessary.”

  Emily wasn’t entirely certain that was the truth of it. “If he hadn’t come after me again, I likely would never have said anything,” she returned quietly. “What does that say about me?”

  “It says you were frightened to lose the life you’ve made for yourself. So would I be, in your shoes.”

  “But you aren’t in my shoes, Jenny.” Emily looked down at her hands. “I truly do have to leave the Tantalus now, don’t I? None of the members will want me about. Not after I helped see one of their peers arrested. Especially not after I testify at the trial.”

  “Yes, you will. I’m sorry, but you know the truth of it, Emily. I don’t think you’ve ever tried to lie to yourself in all this. Beg
inning now would be a very poor decision.”

  “Do you think Diane will be angry? Not that I lied about my background, I mean. That I’m exposing it now to all the world.”

  Jenny took her hand and squeezed it. “Some of the girls might be angry, but Diane will not be. Nor am I. If you’d been a man, you might have joined the army and won honors for your bravery and courage. Females have many fewer choices, and you found a way to alter your fate that not many others ever would have dared. I admire that.”

  She forced a smile. “Thank you, Jenny. I believe that you will be in the minority, however.”

  “Yes, I likely will be. I don’t envy you, or Westfall for that matter. It’s one thing to be in a foreign country and by your actions stop a man from doing harm. It’s quite another to accuse a peer of murder after you’ve agreed to help him.”

  Emily sat up straighter. “Nathaniel only wanted to know the truth.”

  “And in so doing, he betrayed one of his own.” Genevieve patted Emily’s fingers. “Rycott will disappear back to his duties, no one knows of my part, or of Greaves’s or Haybury’s, but they know about you and they know about Westfall. Someone must be blamed.”

  “They can blame me! I have to leave, anyway. Nate shouldn’t … It isn’t fair.”

  “I cannot argue with that. And you shouldn’t waste your time arguing with the facts of a thing.”

  When had this all gone from something she had to do in order to free herself, to something that was now ruining at least two lives? And that didn’t even take into account poor Harriet Danders, who might have been perfectly safe, or poor young George, who would now have to lose a second parent. Emily wanted to scream and cry and rail at the sky—but mostly she wanted to see Nate, to hear his voice and have his arms around her while he said wondrous things like “I love you” and “No harm will come to you.” He’d likely known all along that her troubles would also come to bite him, and he’d stepped forward anyway. And no one would call him hero for it this time, either. No one but her.

  When they stopped at the head of The Tantalus Club carriage drive and Diane herself pulled open the carriage door for them, Emily knew for certain that her life was being upended once more. “You can’t come in,” the marchioness said, her deep green eyes somber and sad. “I’m sorry, but if you do, half our membership will walk out. Even the ones who believe that Ebberling’s a killer detest the idea that someone they flirt with might betray a confidence. And it’s even worse that you’re not highborn.”

  Emily nodded, her throat closing and her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I understand. I … I’ll find somewhere to stay. Will you have my things sent to me?”

  “I will. And we’ve arranged a place for you.” She handed up a piece of paper to the driver. “Harry, see her here safely and then return for her things.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I’m so sorry, Em,” Diane said, leaning up into the coach to take her hand. “If it were up to me alone, you could stay as long as you liked.”

  “I understand. You help so many of us, Diane. I would not jeopardize that for anything. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done.”

  The marchioness straightened briskly, brushing at her cheek as she did so. “Nonsense. And I’m certain I’ll see you again. You haven’t been abandoned. Only shifted elsewhere.”

  Emily knew it was a lie, but she was glad to hear it, regardless. She was learning to appreciate kind lies. She wondered which one Nate would tell her, when he came to part company from her, as well. Unless he’d already done so.

  When Jenny kissed her on the cheek and climbed out of the coach to join Diane, Emily clenched her hands to keep from crying. At one time she thought she’d learned the lesson that she could rely on no one but herself. Three years at The Tantalus Club had softened her, made her decide that friends were a good thing, that her life was better when she could include other people in it. At least she would have time now to learn to be on her own again. And to swear once and for all that she wouldn’t forget that lesson again.

  The coach rumbled out of Mayfair and to a small house on the edge of Knightsbridge. “This is it, Emily,” Harry called out, reaching down to flip out the coach steps and open the door.

  Refusing to hesitate, she descended to the cobblestone street and looked up. It was pretty, painted white with four sizable windows overlooking Chesham Street from two stories. She wondered who’d been forced to grant her its use until Ebberling’s trial was finished with, and how quiet it would be inside.

  As she reached the front door it swung open, though, and Sophia, the Duchess of Greaves, pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh, Em,” she exclaimed, “you should have told me all of it!”

  The waiting tears began pouring down Emily’s cheeks. “Why are you here?” she sobbed, returning the hug. “Where are we?”

  “This is Reynolds House. It belonged to one of Adam’s relations. I’ve never been here before, either, but it’s very pretty. It has a rose garden, as well.”

  Greaves was in the foyer when Sophia pulled her inside and closed the door. Emily looked, but she saw no sign of Nate. Perhaps those parting words of his at Newgate had been the last she would ever hear from him. The last she would ever see of him. Ever. Another fit of tears made her shake.

  “Oh, good God,” the duke muttered. “Both of you, into the morning room. I’ll fetch whisky.”

  Emily had never been a watering pot, but now she couldn’t seem to stop. That made Sophia cry, as well, which made her feel even worse, and then she began blathering, and then Cammy arrived at Reynolds House, and all three of them began sobbing.

  “And now Nate’s involved, and no one will like him for turning on Ebberling, and he doesn’t like being an earl anyway, and it’s my fault,” she sniffled, burying her face in Camille’s shoulder.

  “It isn’t your fault,” Mrs. Blackwood returned unsteadily, wiping at her own tears. “It’s Lord Ebberling’s fault. Surely everyone will realize that, especially after the trial.”

  “It’s an embarrassment,” the Duke of Greaves put in from as far across the room as he and Keating Blackwood could place themselves. “It wasn’t handled quietly, and—”

  “It couldn’t be handled quietly. Not under the circumstances,” Keating countered.

  “That doesn’t matter. It’s a sticky mess, with the involvement of commoners. Of a commoner pretending to be above her station. Westfall is going to be run out of Town on a rail. Or he might as well be, because no one of good birth will so much as tell him how do you do. And they’ll all know he’s not some bumbling fool they could trust with their secrets. Oh, they’ll hate that.”

  “It won’t last,” Blackwood insisted. “I’ve gotten invitations to four parties this year, and I killed a man and married my cousin’s fiancée.”

  “Yes, give it a decade, and he might find himself welcome back at Boodles. Huzzah.”

  “You’re not helping, Adam.”

  His expression softened as he looked at Sophia in a way that made Emily’s heart ache for Nathaniel. “I apologize, my love. I’ll keep my own counsel, if you wish.”

  Emily shook her head. “No. Lying or keeping silent certainly won’t change the future, and I would rather know the truth.”

  “But knowing the truth won’t change anything, either, Em.” Camille stood to retrieve a tea tray from the distraught-looking servant—likely the housekeeper—at the door. “And you are welcome to come live with Keating and me at Havard’s Glen. It’s in Shropshire, so you won’t have to face these awful people here in Town.”

  “That’s a lovely offer, Cammy, but I can’t do that. You and Keating have your own troubles, and my presence would only make returning to Society harder for both of you. I have money I’ve been saving up, and I’ll go somewhere far away with a new name. Another new name. Scotland, perhaps. I’ve always wanted to see Scotland. I could open a dress shop.” It wasn’t as low as being a washerwoman, but it was close enough that even the idea of it made her
shudder. Even so, if nothing else, the past three years had taught her that aiming high also made her a much more visible target.

  “But what do you want to do?” Sophia insisted.

  What did she want? She wanted to marry Nathaniel Stokes and not have to worry about people finding her. She wanted to know that Nate was safe and that no one from his past would be able to find him now that her actions had put his name on everyone’s lips, as well. She wanted … She wanted to be happy. And that meant Nate. But that would never happen, so the rest of it didn’t signify, either. “I want to open a dress shop in Scotland,” she said aloud, knowing her friends would accept that because it would make all of this easier on them, as well.

  “You’re certain?” Camille asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m certain. And I’ll make sure you know the name I’ve chosen and where I’ll be, so you can come see me if you like. And of course you’ll write me and tell me about your baby, Sophia.”

  “Of course I will.”

  Someone rapped at the front door, the sound loud and echoing through the small house. Emily jumped. If she had to retreat again before the trial had even begun, she had no idea where she would go.

  Greaves stood. “I’ll see to it.”

  A moment later she heard the door open and the duke’s low voice. A second, louder voice replied—a voice she recognized. “You do not have the right to remove her without informing me where she’s gone!” Nate didn’t sound at all like himself; in fact, he sounded angry. Furious, even.

  Three hard beats of her heart later, he stood in the morning room doorway. Emily rose, and he strode forward, not stopping until he wrapped his arms around her. “There you are,” he murmured. “I thought I’d have to begin looking for you all over again.”

  “I had to leave the Tantalus.”

  “That’s where I went looking for you. Damned Haybury could have smuggled you in the back way. No one needed to know. That’s your home. You shouldn’t have had to leave it.”