by Tarah Scott
Two months, and my investigations yield no derogatory reports about Lord Mallory. Surprising, considering the devils that surround him in the House of Lords.
January 25th 1825
While I have yet to discover the significance of the meeting I observed tonight, I cannot deny the excitement I feel. Tonight, Mallory left his home at about eleven o’clock and visited Lord Harrington, a man whom I had not observed in Mallory’s company before now. Mallory stayed but a few minutes, then set out, despite the late hour, straightaway to a residence in a neighborhood in the docks.
Though I have no previous knowledge of the place, I was quite familiar with the man who lived there: Peter Jenkins, a former law enforcement officer who made a name for himself as a thief, liar, and suspected rapist. He was eventually discharged for taking bribes.
The meeting between him and Mallory lasted three quarters of an hour. From there, Mallory went directly home.
January 30th 1825
A quick investigation proved that Jenkins hadn't changed. When in the employ of the London magistrate, Jenkins consorted with criminals who were involved with everything from blackmail to black market French brandy. Dealing with a man like Jenkins called for drastic measures. I would chance no discovery before my investigations bear fruit therefore; for the first time in my career, I stepped outside the law.
Disguised, I hired two felons from the docks, and accosted Jenkins in a side street not far from his home. My cohorts and I had only just thrown Jenkins against the wall when he began to blubber that he would repay the loan. All he needed was a little more time. I realized he had mistaken me for the owner of one of his gambling debts, and demanded to know when I might expect payment. Jenkins blathered on about how he had landed a big ‘fish,’ and would that next day receive an advance that would more than cover his current payment.
The man is a coward at heart and it was easy to force from him the name of Mallory as his client. I insisted on knowing what Lord Mallory would want with a river rat like him. I nearly gave myself away when he revealed that Mallory had hired him to discover if any trace of Wallington could be found.
Phoebe’s breath caught. Lord Mallory was searching for her father. Her heart pounded as she read on.
On the surface, it seemed a simple enough matter. Despite Jenkins’ unscrupulous nature, he was a superb investigator, which made Mallory’s choice understandable. Oh, how I wanted to believe Mallory planned to right matters. Yet, that special sense, the sense which every investigator must have to survive, screamed with that his motives were not altruistic.
When I questioned Jenkins as to why Mallory hadn't gone to a legitimate Bow Street runner, Jenkins said Mallory didn’t want a particular member of the House of Lords to learn of his inquiries. Jenkins denied knowing who the man was and I realized he must be telling the truth. Why would Lord Mallory reveal this information? However, I recalled that Lord Mallory had once gone from Lord Harrington's home to see Jenkins, and I wondered if Lord Harrington wasn't the man from whom Lord Mallory was hiding his investigation.
Phoebe paused and searched her memory, but found no recollection of a Lord Harrington. She put the question to the back of her mind and read on.
March 1825
Two months, and Mallory has visited Harrington on several occasions. Not once, however, have I observed Mallory visit Jenkins again. In the meantime, I began investigating Harrington. Thus far, the information is much like that of so many in the House of Lords, mainly, the taking of bribes for judgments in the favor of the party offering the bribe.
September 1825
When two months passed and all remained quiet with Mallory, I decided to focus on Jenkins. Another month passed and Jenkins didn't appear, so I took a look inside his home. It appeared he hadn't been there for some time; therefore, for the next three months I split my time between Jenkins, Harrington, and Mallory. At the end of the third month, Jenkins returned home. On the night he returned, I arrived to his street with the intention of stationing myself in the alleyway across the street, but I observed another man watching Jenkins’ establishment from that spot. I continued around the block to the rear of the alley and watched from there.
At four a.m., Jenkins returned home and the waiting man closed in on him and stepped inside the doorway just as Jenkins shut the door. I hastened to the window I had previously used to gain entrance into his home. As before, the window was not locked. I—
A knock caused Phoebe to jerk her head up as the door opened and Molly stepped in.
“Miss Wallington,” she said, “Lord Redgrave is here to see you. Gaylon informed His Lordship you weren't accepting callers, but he insisted you would see him.” Molly gave a derisive snort. “It’s almost as if he knew exactly when you returned.”
Damn him, Phoebe silently cursed. That is precisely the case.
Molly reached for the towel Phoebe had discarded on the bed. “You’ve scarcely finished your bath, and not even a morsel of food for your stomach, and already folks are demanding to be entertained.”
Phoebe folded the papers, then gathered the envelopes laying beside her. She picked up their envelope and slid the papers inside.
“Tell His Lordship I will be down directly,” she said.
Molly scrutinized her. “You’ll need help dressing. I’ll tell Gaylon you’ll be down, then come back and help you.” She started for the door, but paused beside the bed and lifted a lock of Phoebe’s hair. She tsked. “You’ve let your hair dry all helter-skelter. It'll need combing, then we’ll put it up.”
Phoebe raised a brow. “You have no compunctions about Lord Redgrave waiting to see me?”
The maid’s face remained composed, but the flicker in her eyes gave her away. “You can't entertain a gentleman looking anything but a lady.”
CHAPTER TEN
Half an hour later, Phoebe opened the parlor door. She looked into Lord Alistair Redgrave’s brown eyes as he rose from the settee at the window.
She closed the door behind her. “Lord Redgrave.”
“Phoebe.” He smiled and started toward her.
Phoebe warmed to this man who had been her father's friend, then her friend and mentor after her father disappeared. As a young girl, she had fancied herself in love with Alistair. It wasn't uncommon for women to marry men twenty years their senior, and Phoebe had fantasized about their life together. In some small way, she had—did—love him. The impulse to confess Stafford’s letters surfaced. Steady, she told herself. Finish reading them before sharing secrets. That was a precept Alistair himself had taught her.
“Alistair.”
He clasped her hands in his. “Phoebe.” He kissed her cheek, then held her arms out to her side and surveyed her. “You look well.”
“Do I?”
“Indeed.” He released her. “It's been too long since I’ve seen you. How have you been?”
Phoebe scowled. “You know very well how I've been. You received my letter?”
“I did, so you need not worry. The duchess is safe. There have been no attempts on her life. Come, tell me everything that happened.”
“Must I?”
"You have never before hesitated to give a report," he said.
The report had never been so…personal, she thought, but said, "It has been a long journey, my lord."
A speculative glint appeared in his eyes, but he said nothing more until they sat in the two chairs placed before the fire. “I am curious as to exactly what happened.”
“Curious? I had hoped for concern.”
A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “I admit to a moment of uncertainty.”
Phoebe raised a brow. “How is that, sir? I have never known you to be uncertain of anything.”
“It was the two days between your disappearance and my discovery of your whereabouts that befuddled me.”
“My God,” Phoebe cried. “I was still at the Green Lady Inn at that time. Why didn’t you free me then? It would have been an easy piece of work.”
&
nbsp; He lifted a brow. “What happened, Phoebe? What prompted the marquess to kidnap you?”
“He mistook me for someone else.”
“Miss Ballingham?”
“Yes. I borrowed her carriage.”
“Indeed, and you also cavorted with her protector.”
She gave him a reproving look. "I danced with Lord Stoneleigh, nothing more—and Lord Ashlund didn't see me with the earl. Had that been the case, we would have avoided the whole fiasco."
"So why did Lord Ashlund want to kidnap Miss Ballingham?" Alistair asked.
“Hester and Lord Stoneleigh suffered a falling out.” Phoebe waved her hand in a disgusted motion. “Everything with her is a drama. She decided to teach him a lesson, and made an assignation with another gentleman. Hence, she leant me her carriage.”
A corner of Alistair’s mouth twitched. “I see. But that doesn't answer why Ashlund kidnapped you—or Miss Ballingham, as it were. He didn’t have designs of his own on her? No,” Alistair amended before Phoebe could reply. “He would have known her and wouldn’t have made off with you.” A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “Unless, that is, he discovered his better fortune.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “He had the ridiculous idea of playing cupid.”
“Well,” Alistair said, “this fills things in nicely. You can imagine the drama that played out in my mind. I must scold you,” he added. “You should have notified me the moment you arrived in London.”
“I have been home for two hours, my lord, and already you are here. You couldn't have arrived any sooner had I sent word. I only hope it wasn’t that odious Barrister who you had watching Shyerton Hall. He can't keep a secret.”
Redgrave laughed. “No, I would not be so unkind.”
“I think it is you who needs a scolding," she said. "Why didn’t you demand my release or, at least steal me away in the night?”
“What?” Horror appeared on his face. “And be guilty of the marquess’ crime? No, thank you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “And, as I said, I was curious.”
“Your curiosity may have cost me a great deal.”
“Hmm,” Alistair intoned. “The duke wasn’t pleased with his son’s antics?”
“He was not.”
“He's insisting the marquess make things right?”
“And being quite pigheaded about it in the bargain,” Phoebe added darkly.
“The duke can afford to be as pigheaded as he pleases. He is a powerful man.”
“And he knows it," she muttered. "With your help, however, I can better deal with him.”
“You have been in the company of one of Britain’s most eligible men for two weeks.”
Phoebe stiffened. “You don't think—”
“I think nothing in particular,” Alistair interrupted. “but it isn't my tongue that will wag all over London.”
“Tongues can't speak of something they don't know.”
Lord Redgrave gave her a fool yourself if you like look.
“Calders will keep quiet,” Phoebe insisted.
“And your servants?”
“They know nothing.”
“The marquess won't pursue the matter?” Redgrave paused, then added, “Once he makes known his suit, word will be all over London in a day.”
Phoebe thought of the letter probably already read and acted upon by her uncle. “He can't force me into marriage,” she said with vehemence.
Redgrave angled his head in ascent. “Ultimately, you can refuse him, but your uncle will be pigheaded about the matter as well. Not to mention, you're likely to receive no other reputable offers. Though, fortune hunters will hound you. You will soon be a rich woman.”
She snorted. “I care nothing for offers, reputable or not. I am well past marriageable age.”
His lip twitched. “On the shelf, are we?”
“I haven't had an offer in years.”
He lifted a brow.
“A reputable offer,” she said. “Adam does not signify.”
“Adam would disagree.”
“I have more pressing matters,” Phoebe replied.
“More important than a family?” His face softened. “Do you so fear another mistake that you will deny yourself happiness?”
Phoebe blinked. “What—you don't mean—”
“You were but seventeen. Surely you understand what an impressionable age that is?”
“I realize he was a fortune hunter," she replied. "A very patient fortune hunter.”
“Patience is a fortune hunter’s greatest asset,” Redgrave replied. "You understand why your marriage to him had to be annulled?”
She regarded him. “This is the first time you asked me that question. Why now?”
“Perhaps my advanced years have given me a different perspective.”
“You're not so old. What, forty-six this year?”
He scowled. “Forty-five, my girl.”
She studied him, noticing the flecking of gray that highlighted his brown hair and, for the first time, she wondered why he had never married.
“I am no longer seventeen,” she said. “Long past the girlish idea of true love.”
Alistair didn't reply, and Phoebe realized he wondered the very thing everyone else did: whether he and her uncle had reached her and her new husband in time to prevent a true wedding night.
Alistair and her uncle had arrived in time to find her in her shift and Brandon, his trousers hanging open as if in hurried disarray. She remembered all too well the rare look of disappointment in her uncle’s eyes.
She straightened. “Enough of this. Alistair, I expect your help in dealing with the marquess.”
“Don’t you mean the duke?”
“Both. I have no intention of marrying. It would interfere with my work. Lord Briarden wouldn't be pleased.”
“On the contrary, he may be very pleased. You wouldn't be the only married woman employed by the British government, and it will give you a fine cover. Your reputation, I might add, has been sorely compromised as a result of this escapade.”
"How can I possibly consider marriage to a man who might be connected with criminals?"
"You don't know that Lord Ashlund is connected to this Alan Hay. When you consider the facts, it doesn't make sense. You said Hay happened to come into the village. Why would the marquess conspire with a stranger to murder the duchess?"
"I don't know," Phoebe admitted. "But there's more."
Alistair sat patiently as she told him all that happened and ended with, "When I questioned Lord Ashlund about contacting the authorities to report the planned assassination against the duchess, he told me to keep my nose out of it. I saw nothing suspicious in the letter from Clachair, but given Lord Ashlund's attitude about the planned assassination attempt on the duchess, everything is suspect."
"The last you saw of Ashlund he was laid up at the inn?" Alistair asked.
"Yes."
Alistair nodded. "I have apprised Lord Briarden on the situation with the duchess. If anything comes to fruition, we'll have our answers, at least in regards to Lord Ashlund's involvement. As for Clachair, we have heard nothing of him in years. I'm doubtful the Clachair of Ashlund's letter is our man. We have suspected for some time that he may be dead."
"What are his crimes?" Phoebe asked.
"He is charged with trying to overthrow the government."
"Just like my father," she murmured.
"He is of your father's generation, in fact."
Phoebe scowled. "Was there something in the water in those days, my lord?"
He laughed. "It was a tumultuous time. Many changes for the positive were taking place and, as is always the case, there were those men who tried to use the uncertainty of the times to gain power."
"Men like Arthur Thistlewood."
"In fact, Thistlewood had some good ideas," Redgrave replied. "But he intended those ideas as a means to gain followers who he hoped would seat him in power. As we know—" A sharp rap cut him off and the door opened and Gayl
on entered.
“Forgive me, madam, but you have more visitors.”
Phoebe frowned. “I wasn't expecting anyone. Who is it?”
“Lady Carlton, Lady Mansford, and Miss Smith.”
“What do they want? By heavens, I just returned home. Tell them I'm busy.”
“As you say, Miss,” Gaylon replied. “However, I suggest you see them.”
Phoebe paused. “I have never known you to suggest a blessed thing, Gaylon. What has happened?”
“There is talk of a certain announcement in the paper, Miss.”
“An announcement?" Feminine voices in the hallway caused Phoebe to glance sharply in that direction. “Gaylon, who is that I hear on the second floor of this house?”
“I believe that would be your visitors, Miss.”
She snapped her gaze onto him. "What are they doing up here?”
Gaylon looked as if he were exerting a great deal of patience. He opened his mouth and Phoebe shot him a narrow-eyed look.
He cleared his throat and said, “I informed the ladies I would inquire as to whether or not you were entertaining. I left them in the drawing room. They must have followed me upstairs.”
“Which room is it, girls, do you remember?” Leticia Mansford’s voice was uncomfortably close.
“Get rid of them,” Phoebe said in a low voice. “And make it quick.”
“Here we are,” Leticia said as she appeared in the doorway.
Phoebe caught sight of the golden brown satin of Leticia’s dress as Gaylon took a step back against the door. The ridiculously puffy sleeves of her dress were a strange contrast to the tiny corset-constricted waist. The combination made Leticia look like a cartoon.
Alistair rose as Leticia said, “She's hiding, just as I said.”
Her gaze slid onto Lord Redgrave and Phoebe caught a flicker of malicious satisfaction in her eyes. So, Lady Mansford believed she’d caught the future Marchioness of Ashlund in the middle of a private moment with a man other than the marquess. Phoebe wondered if a scandal would discourage Kiernan MacGregor.
