The Viscount's Vendetta

by Kathy L Wheeler

  Harlowe conferred with Baird and Niall, then took himself off to Kimpton’s to speak with his sister and her husband. There was the little matter of transporting his current studio from Kimpton House to his new one at Cavendish Square.

  He understood exactly how Maeve felt about being confined indoors. Winter, itself, was difficult enough to deal with, what with having the windows closed most of the time. He’d thought about trailing the troupes to the park as well, but his hovering would only make things worse. He had every confidence in Baird. And sending Rory as added precaution to trail along went far in soothing Harlowe’s apprehension.

  The urges for opium had lessened over the weeks, and Harlowe was only occasionally struck with his unnatural need, which he ruthlessly shoved away, with his own bouts of exercise and drinking of freshly boiled water. Considerable amounts of water. His wife had been on to something there.

  “Brandon! How lovely to see you.” Lorelei peered around him. “Maeve isn’t with you?”

  “She had a date with several young women. They took to the park. I was not invited.”

  “Things are going well with the children? They are all adjusting?”

  “Indeed they are. Penny has not had a single nightmare since her sister was installed. Maeve insists on assisting the governess with their lessons, though Stephen grumbles, saying he is too old for such juvenile pursuits. I do believe he used the word “pursuits.””

  Lorelei laughed. “So whether he realizes it or not, he is learning. Here, here.”

  Harlowe hugged her. “You’re glowing. I daresay with you at my side in the dusk, I would have no need for a lantern.”

  “My wife will not be walking with you at dusk,” Kimpton groused, walking into the foyer. “I don’t care if you are her brother.” He took Lorelei’s arm and tucked it into his elbow. “I thought you moved out.”

  “Really, Thorne.” Her annoyance was clearly feigned.

  “As a matter of fact, that is the exact purpose of my visit.”

  Both his sister and her husband turned, in unison, to stare at him.

  “We are creating a studio. I’m here to discuss the logistics of transporting my art supplies and such.”

  Lorelei’s relief was palpable. “Oh. That’s all right then.”

  Harlowe frowned. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  “No. No, of course not. I’m glad you stopped by. I have some things for you to take back with you. I’ll arrange for the servants to place them in your carriage.”

  “I don’t have the carriage. Maeve took the children to the park in it. Just have them delivered.”

  “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself. Excuse me while I ring for tea,” she said, making a quick exit.

  Harlowe narrowed his eyes on Kimpton. “All right, what’s going on?”

  “I’m not certain. My wife’s been acting strangely of late. Nothing I’ve been able to put my finger on,” Kimpton said, his brows furrowed.

  “So she hasn’t told—”

  “Told me what?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” Thinking quickly, Harlowe shifted the topic. “Rowena Hollerfield left a journal behind.”

  “Did she impart anything of interest?”

  “She mentioned wanting to kill me outright, and you, regarding a backup stratagem.”

  “Ah, her plan in accusing me of fathering the child she wasn’t pregnant with.”

  Harlowe laughed. “Something along those lines, though she didn’t put her plan down in actual words.”

  Kimpton handed him a tumbler of brandy. “Rowena was resourceful, I’ll hand her that. When you disappeared, she was terrified for Corinne.”

  “I can’t understand why she selected me.”

  Kimpton shrugged. “You were young. Perhaps she thought you were more malleable than more seasoned blokes. Ha! I could have told her different. I knew you as a stubborn cuss from your much younger days.”

  Silence stretched between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “Is there something else on your mind?” Kimpton asked.

  “Just something Maeve relayed this morning. She’s been fretting over the children, said she’s been casting up her accounts over it. Every day… dear God—”

  “She’s breeding?”

  Lorelei came through the arch at that moment.

  “She’s breeding,” Harlowe said in breathless wonder.

  “Damn you, Brandon. You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

  Her fury penetrated his stunned revelation. “What?”

  “What?” Kimpton parroted. Kimpton was staring at Lorelei with an expression that must have mirrored Harlowe’s own.

  Harlowe would have laughed at the shock in Kimpton’s face, if his own hadn’t paralyzed him.

  “You’re with child?” Kimpton said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I wanted to make sure everything was…”

  Kimpton was out of his chair and sweeping her up in his arms, kissing her. Something Harlowe certainly didn’t need to witness.

  Besides, Harlowe had the same sudden urge, rushed out of Kimpton House, and straight to the stables for his horse.

  Thirty-Six

  T

  he cool air was crisp and perfect. Maeve’s picnic was a smashing success. “Mary, would you pour out more tea, please?”

  “Aye, Lady Maeve.” Mary’s face flushed with pleasure. She’d taken the request as the great honor Maeve had intended.

  This had been an excellent idea. Even with the staid Baird maintaining strict guard near the carriage and Niall pacing the ground nearby.

  Maeve accepted her cup from Mary and looked at Melinda. “I was curious about something, Melinda?”

  “Wot, ma’am?”

  Maeve took a sip of her tea. “Why did you run from me that afternoon near Trotter’s?” The question had been bothering her for days.

  “Oh, I weren’t runnin’ from you, m’lady.” She seemed genuinely distressed. “It were the gentleman.”

  “Harlowe? Why on earth would you run from—”

  “No, no. Not his lordship. The popinjay—”

  The hair on Maeve’s neck raised. “Where’s Penny?”

  Melinda squinted off in the distance. “She were looking at the water, ma’am.”

  Dear heavens. Maeve hurried to her feet and dashed for the Serpentine. What had she been thinking to set their picnic so temptingly near the water yet not close enough to allow for the water’s curiosity?

  Penny was standing at the edge.

  “Penny!”

  “Look, Lady Maeve, I can sees meself.”

  Maeve grabbed her arm and shook her. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again. You could fall in and be dragged down to the bottom.”

  Astonishment, then hurt, filled her eyes. “But I was jus’ standin’ here.” She jerked her arm free and ran.

  Maeve’s own gaze blurred with tears. She’d handled things all wrong. She knew her fear of drowning was irrational. Niall and Baird had been close enough to help if Penny had needed it. But no one had been able to help Caroline.

  She owed the child, not only an apology but, an explanation. She marched after her, determined to make things right. She’d just reached the walk that led out of the park when she spotted a large man holding Penny’s arm. A familiar looking man. “Penny!” Maeve took off in a run.

  Footsteps pounded behind her.

  Penny fought Mr. Jervis’s grip valiantly, but she was too small. He turned and tossed her in the carriage.

  “You bastard,” she screamed. “Let her go.” Maeve threw herself at him, beating him with her fists.

  “Stop it, you fool woman.” He shook her with a violence that rattled the brains in her head. Still, she kicked and struck out with every breath in her body. “It ain’t you I want. Take off before anyone’s the wiser.”

  “Penny. Jump.”

  His fist knocked
her silly, but she held fast. He wasn’t taking Penny anywhere. Not without her.

  “All right, if that’s the way you want it.” He jerked her away from him, yanked the carriage door open and tossed her in as if she weighed only as much as Penny.

  Penny threw herself on Maeve, her tiny arms threatening her airflow. “Oh, ma’am, they hitted Niall. Me thinks he’s dead.” The tears flowed down her cheeks.

  The carriage bumped into motion.

  “Let me up, dear.” Maeve crawled up onto the seat and peered out the window. Fat lot of good it did. The windows were so grimed up, she barely recognized Hyde Park’s Corner. The carriage didn’t slow even when the door crashed back and Mr. Jervis jumped in.

  “Well, don’ this beat all,” he said.

  Chaos was in full form when Harlowe located his wife’s picnic. “Where’s Rory?”

  Disgust covered Baird’s face. “He went after the carriage. It was old, nothin’ distinguishable about it. A’fore I could stop ’em, Niall took off after the bloke and was knocked on the head. He ain’t in no shape t’ drive the imps back to Cavendish Square. So I was stuck”—he jerked his head in the direction of the two girls—“actin’ as nanny.”

  Panic tangibly choked Harlowe. Fear made him dizzy. The urge to beat Baird to a bloody pulp had his hands shaking. His gaze went around the small circle.

  Mary’s and Melinda’s hands were entwined tightly together. Niall leaned against the nearest tree, his elbows resting on his knees, holding his head within his palms. Baird’s hands splayed against his hips, obviously furious with himself.

  Harlowe breathed deep. “We just need to take a moment to think things through.” Difficult words to say through a voice cloaked in emotion. He went down on one knee before Mary and Melinda. “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

  By the time Mary had related the events with Melinda crying, silent tears streaming down her face, it was clear Harlowe had to get the children home. “We’ll find Penny and Lady Maeve,” he told them, stunning himself with his calmness.

  “Baird, help me load up Niall. I’ll go—”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, milord, but where exactly will ye be goin’? No one knows where they went.” Baird’s feet shifted.

  “Is there something else, Baird?”

  “I did happen to see that feller her ladyship went on the drive with the other day.”

  A cold chill went through Harlowe. “Dorset?”

  “Yessir.”

  “I see. It appears your duties as nanny are still required. Get them home.”

  After securing Baird’s horse to the back of the carriage, Harlowe kicked his own mount and cantered, illegally mind, through the park for Dorset’s home near Portman’s Square. It was close to Hyde Park but was in the complete opposite direction of Hyde Park’s Corner. Still, it was the only lead he had at the moment.

  Traffic was almost non-existent in the park, and Harlowe was able to make excellent time. Within minutes he was pounding down Dorset’s door.

  “But, Lord Harlowe, I don’t know how to make it plainer, Dorset went for a ride and has yet to return.” The butler’s stoic demeanor was beyond maddening.

  The smart thing to do would be to await word from Rory at Cavendish Square. “What clubs does he usually frequent this time of day?” he demanded.

  The butler’s face flushed under Harlowe’s insistence. “The usual, my lord. White’s and Boodles. On occasion, er, uh, the Widow’s Salon.”

  “What is going on?” A young woman appeared at the top of the stairs. One of Dorset’s many sisters, though Harlowe failed to recall which one. That was no surprise for a myriad of reasons. “Have you had word of Sebastian?” she said.

  “Sebastian?” Harlowe echoed. The flowers in Maeve’s hall. S. Rhododendrons… Rhododendrons meant danger.

  Harlowe sketched a short bow and ran for his horse. Chancé’s Salon was his strongest instinct and his best hope. But the ride to the salon near Haymarket was an extraordinary distance. His best option was the slight detour back through Hyde Park. He flew.

  Thirty-Seven

  A

  m I gonna see Mellie anymore?” Penny whispered.

  Maeve wrapped her arm around her and dragged her to her lap. “Yes, darling.” She glared at Mr. Jervis. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

  Mr. Jervis’s grin seemed more posturing than flippant. He was nervous.

  Good. Though Maeve couldn’t imagine why. He was the one who’d taken them. “Where are we going?”

  He scowled. “Shut yer trap. I means it. Not another word, else I’ll dump ye on the street w’out stoppin’.”

  He probably would too. Maeve clamped her mouth tight. She turned her head to the window, and he yanked the curtain across to block her view.

  After a time, the carriage went down a hill and entered some sort of tunnel, and Maeve’s stomach dipped dangerously.

  The carriage came to a halt, and Mr. Jervis pulled out a dirty cloth and tossed it at her. “Tie this over yer eyes.”

  “I won’t.”

  He pulled a pistol from his pocket. “Ye will iffn’ ye know wot’s good fer ye. I’ll take the child wit me now iffin’ ye don’.”

  Penny clutched her hand. Her whole body trembled.

  “It’s all right, darling.” Maeve glared at Mr. Jervis. “You’ll let her keep my hand if I do as you say?”

  “Aye, aye. Make it quick, tho.” She couldn’t decide if his agitation was good or bad. He waved his weapon about, willy-nilly, which was bad, but they were still unhurt and that was good.

  Harlowe reached the widow’s salon near Haymarket in less than ten minutes. He spotted Dorset immediately. A red haze clouded his vision, and he rushed the marquis, knocking him from his horse and to the ground. Harlowe drew back his fist, but Dorset was quicker than he appeared, and in a sharp twist, had Harlowe by the wrist and loomed over him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he growled in a low tone. His breathing came in heavy pants. “They have your wife. I managed to track the hackney to Suffolk Street, and they disappeared.”

  “How did you happen to be at the park the minute Jervis took off with her?”

  Dorset rolled off and sat up. “I ride at that time most days. Unless it’s raining. It was only by chance that I was about when that scene unfolded.”

  “Where’s Rory? He was supposed to be following them?”

  “Over here, milord.” Rory moved into view. He was still atop his horse. “I been scoutin’ the area. The hack took a turn off Whitcomb. Turns out there’s an underground entrance to the widow’s salon. So far, ye lady wife and the child are all right.”

  But for how long? “Rory, go back and man the carriage. If something happens, contact Kimpton for assistance.”

  “Aye, milord.” Rory set off.

  Harlowe turned to Dorset. “Did you send Lady Harlowe lilies and rhododendrons?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What gentleman would send a lady rhododendrons?”

  “Are you denying you sent my wife flowers?” Harlowe demanded.

  “Of course I’m not denying it. I’ll have you know, the flowers I sent were before your nuptials.”

  “And you didn’t shoot at me after the Martindales’ rout?”

  “Good God, man. Never say…Where?”

  Dorset’s surprise was enough to convince Harlowe Dorset was on the level, at least on this. “Hyde Park. The day you took her on a drive before we wed, she had several bouquets of flowers. Someone with the initial of S sent Lady Harlowe an arrangement of lilies and rhododendrons. As lovely as the flowers were, their message was meant as a threat.”

  “Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. To set your mind at ease, I sent your wife—er, Lady Aly—” He cleared his throat. “The flowers I sent were stargazer lilies. Lilies suggest purity.” Dorset’s sincerity rang true, but how was Harlowe to trust him? “You don’t have all your memory back, do you, as Lady Alymer�
��pardon, Lady Harlowe—intimated?”

  Harlowe studied him a long moment, then said, “Not completely.”

  Dorset rose to his feet and threw out his hand. “Then I guess you’ll have to trust me, won’t you?” His smile more resembled a sneer.

  There was literally no choice. Harlowe took his hand and came to his feet.

  “Come, we’ve no time to lose.”

  Harlowe stiffened.

  “Again, you’ll have to trust me.” Dorset halted, pulled Harlowe back into the cover of the trees, and angled his head to the front door of the salon. “Look.”

  Harlowe’s eyes went to the two men strolling up the portico. Shufflebottom and his old friend, George Welton. “They’re regulars.”

  “Yes. They are.” Dorset brushed off his trousers. “If Lady Harlowe was taken inside, it is almost a certainty she won’t be escorted into the actual salon. There must be a basement of some sort, which begs the notion of the widow’s involvement.”

  “Involvement.” Harlowe wished to know exactly how much Dorset knew. Perhaps it was time to trust the man. “The Althenaeum Order?”

  “Yes. The members have been very good at keeping their identities secreted.”

  Having Dorset confirm what Harlowe had suspected was a relief.

  “They smuggle children. Most are stolen off the streets when the opportunities present themselves. But there is an even darker side. Some of the upper class children are targeted and transported to other countries. You may recall Irene Ennis’s abduction. She was not the actual target at the time. There was a man by the name of Vlasik Markov. He specialized in selling very young girls to other countries who desired wives for noblemen. The younger the child, you see, the more malleable and the probability of not remembering details.”

  Harlowe swallowed a bite of bile. “I was assigned to this Order,” he said slowly. “One of the street urchins said Jervis had friends in high places.”

  Dorset nodded. “We just haven’t been able to determine who.”