Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

“Did you read your letter?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But you will refuse. Is that normally done?”

  “No.”

  “You cannot help him at all, then, can you? After refusing to prosecute, to defend would be a slap in the face to whoever wrote that letter.”

  The high chancellor was the least of it. She did not need to know that, however.

  He helped her onto her horse, then mounted his own. They headed back to the house. She remained thoughtful.

  “Ives, you spoke of pretending to represent the Crown. Is that who the letter was from? The king’s men, or the regent?”

  There were moments when Padua’s quick mind proved inconvenient. “The prince regent first mentioned it to me, over a month ago.”

  She stopped her horse, closed her eyes as if absorbing a blow, then opened them and moved on. “You would have been wiser to pursue one of those mistresses, Ives. A new wardrobe and a few jewels would be nothing compared to what I am going to cost you, I fear.”

  * * *

  As with their journey to Merrywood, Ives did not travel inside the carriage with Padua during their return to London. They had shared their parting kiss in the first light of dawn before leaving the magic behind. She did not mind. It would be too sad to sit with him for days, trying to pretend her heart was not breaking.

  He did climb in after her when they rolled away from the last coaching inn. “I have told the coachman to bring you to Langley House,” he said. “I will leave you after we pass the last tollgate.”

  “I do not need to go to Langley House again. I should not.”

  “You will, for tonight at least. Tomorrow I will join you and help you find a place to live. You have the money I found in the books, so letting an apartment should not be a problem.”

  She almost reminded him that she had promised not to spend that money. She worried that he saw giving her that money as one more compromise in a whole line of them.

  After the last tollgate, the carriage stopped. He grabbed the door latch, ready to hop out. He stopped and looked at her, then took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

  Then he was gone.

  She allowed the carriage to bring her to Langley House. She even stayed there that night. The next morning, however, she did not wait for Ives to call on her. She packed her valise, asked for a hired carriage, and set off.

  She had no appointment, but Mr. Notley received her. She sat across from him in his office, as she had before, with his clerk to the side jotting notes.

  Mr. Notley smiled, pleased with himself. “I have been very clever regarding this inheritance, if I do say so myself. It took some doing.”

  “I am grateful.”

  Notley leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming one of the steeples he created when he thought. “I had to convince the gaoler to trick your father into giving his place of birth. You do not want to know how he did that. It will only distress you. Once I knew the parish in Essex from which he hailed, I sent a clerk down to investigate his family back two generations. We mapped the family tree, then began looking for wills under those names. And, dear lady, we found it.”

  He leaned forward. “Did you know that your father’s name is actually John Hadrian Belvoir? Had we not learned that at the parish, all would have been for naught, since in this will he is called John H. Belvoir. No wonder it took the lawyers forever to track him down.”

  “Perhaps Papa thought Hadrian sounded more scholarly than plain old John. He can be vain that way.”

  “John Belvoir inherited a property as you hoped. Right here in London. A house.”

  “If he owns a house here, why did he let rooms?”

  “I assume he lets out the house. He would not need all that space himself.”

  I could have lived there, too, however. She pushed the spike of resentment aside. “Have you seen this house?”

  “I have not. I was not authorized to visit, and assess it. I would have no standing to enter.”

  “I have seen it,” his clerk said.

  Notley turned to him. “Have you now?”

  “I walked past it. I was curious. It is a handsome house, Miss Belvoir. Larger than most, on a good street.”

  The clerk’s report heartened her. “May I have the address, please.”

  The clerk wrote it down and brought over the paper. She stuffed it in her reticule.

  “Now,” Mr. Notley said, “I am afraid I have other news that is not so happy. As I wrote, the trial date has indeed been set. I was able to see the full charges, and a new one has been added.”

  She dreaded hearing more, but of course she must. “What new one is that?”

  Notley’s lips folded in on themselves. “Sedition. That means—”

  “I know what it means.”

  “Do you? It is not treason, as such, for example. With the counterfeiting, it could have been that bad. So this is bad news that could have been worse.”

  “I will remember to think of it in that light. Has he spoken to you now, with such a charge hanging over him?”

  Notley shook his head. “I went and stood outside that cell for an hour, and he ignored me the entire time.”

  “Thank you for trying, and for such diligence regarding the inheritance. I hope that I can call on you if he can be convinced to cooperate.”

  “Absolutely, Miss Belvoir.” They both stood. Notley left the office. The clerk opened his account book and told her what was owed.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, she is gone?” Ives made the demand of the footman who opened the door, after being told Miss Belvoir had departed the premises.

  “She left early this morning, sir. Valise in hand.”

  Ives strode back out of the house and swung onto his horse. Had he not told Padua that he would come by and help her make arrangements? She had no experience with estate agents and contracts. She was only doing this because she wanted to prove she did not need him to take care of her.

  She did not want to marry? Fine. She did not want to be his mistress? Accepted. She assumed returning to London made an affair too complicated, too dangerous? Dangerous for him, not her, that is? He would disabuse her of that eventually, but for now, she was homeless and adrift and the least he could do was help her get settled. The least she could do was allow him that.

  He headed into the City, to see if she had called on that lawyer. Notley had written he had news, and she would want to hear it.

  “Miss Belvoir was here, sir,” the clerk said. “She left a good hour ago.”

  “Where did she go? Do you know?”

  The clerk fingered his pen nervously. “Perhaps if you waited until Mr. Notley returned—”

  “I do not have the time for that. If you know where she went, tell me and spare us both a long argument that, I assure you, I intend to win.”

  The clerk heard the threat, or saw it. He grabbed a scrap of paper and jotted. “She most likely went to this house, sir. She was very excited to learn her father owned it. An inheritance, it was.”

  Ives read the address. Belvoir owned this house? He almost did grab the clerk by the neck then. “Mr. Notley allowed her to go here on her own? Is he familiar with this property?”

  The clerk glanced left and right, as if seeking an escape route. “He is not. I saw it, however.”

  “You did not go in, did you?”

  “I only walked by, so I could be useful. I reported it was a fine, big house.”

  “So you sent her there?”

  The clerk squirmed. “Not sent as such, sir. That was her own decision. If she went at all. She did not say she was going today, or any day, now that I think about it.” He smiled weakly.

  Oh, she had gone there. Ives did not doubt it. On learning her father was a man of property, she would have to go see the house. Anyone would.

  He left the clerk and returned to the street. He aimed his horse back west.

  CHAPTER 17

  There was nothing else for it
. She had to carry the valise with her to the door. She hoped the family that lived here did not think she intended to move in and displace them.

  She paused to admire the neatly dressed buff stones that formed the four-storey façade on Silver Street. Impressed, she used the fine brass knocker someone had recently installed. A tall African man in livery opened the door. He looked at her, frowning beneath the edge of his white wig. He boldly eyed her from head to toe.

  She examined him too. Liveried servants decked out in blue velvet and pumps seemed excessive for this street. The house was large, that was true, but it was hardly in a fashionable area.

  “I am Padua Belvoir, Hadrian Belvoir’s daughter. Your employer may know him as John Belvoir. He lets this house. I am hoping the family would not mind if I asked them a few questions. My father is indisposed, you see, and—”

  A white glove rose, stopping her. The man stood aside so she could enter. He carried over a salver. She opened her reticule and pretended to search it.

  “I am sorry. I left my calling cards at home. How careless of me,” she said. “Just tell them it is the landlord’s daughter.”

  Unimpressed, the servant walked away.

  Padua sat on a leather bench in the reception hall. There were several along the walls. She thought it a rather masculine way to decorate an entry.

  The servant returned. His white glove beckoned. She followed him.

  He took her to a chamber set up like an office, with desk and chairs and bookcases. She guessed it was the butler’s pantry. She hoped the servant had not fobbed her off on the staff. She really wanted to speak to the tenants.

  She sat in the chair the glove indicated. He left her alone. The house seemed very quiet for midday. Perhaps the family was not in residence.

  She waited a good while. Finally the door opened. A woman walked in, wearing a lovely morning dress of gray wool with black embroidery. The color complemented her red hair. Padua judged her to be around fifty years in age. Not the housekeeper, if she wore dresses like that.

  “Miss Belvoir, I am Mrs. Lavender. I believe I can help you, if anyone can. Forgive me for the delay. I had not dressed yet.”

  “I apologize for the intrusion. It is kind of you to see me.”

  Mrs. Lavender sat in a chair near Padua’s. “You told Hector your father is indisposed. He is not ill, I hope.”

  “No, not ill as such. Just having a spell. I confess I came here partly out of curiosity. I did not know my father owned London property.” She looked up at the ceiling. “It is very large.”

  “We find it comfortable. The rent is reasonable, but fair, if you are concerned someone has taken advantage of Mr. Belvoir. He is, I know, not the sort to inspire confidence in his business sense.”

  “You have met him, then? I thought perhaps it had been let through an agent.”

  “We were here when he inherited. We have been here a good long while, you see.”

  “I suppose any children are grown, then.”

  Mrs. Lavender just looked at her and smiled.

  “Would it be possible to see the house? I know it is asking a lot, but—”

  “But it may be yours soon, so you are curious.”

  “Yes. Very curious.”

  Mrs. Lavender narrowed her eyes. Her hesitation was obvious.

  “Not every chamber,” Padua said. “I do not want to interfere with your family’s day.”

  “I will show you every inch if you want. However, this is not a family’s home, Miss Belvoir. Not in the normal sense of a family. Young ladies live here.”

  “Is it a school?”

  “Not in the normal sense that word is used, no.”

  Padua’s head turned blank. Mrs. Lavender watched her closely.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. Miss Belvoir, this is a place of business. My place of business. The young ladies provide services for which gentlemen—”

  “Oh.” Padua felt her face heating. “You mean, this is a—a—”

  “Yes.”

  “My father owns a—a—”

  “He only owns the property. The ‘a—a—’ is mine. He also inherited a minority partnership, of which he had no interest. He receives the rents and his share of the profits, and ignores us.”

  Padua’s head felt as if someone had doused it with cold water. The shock just grew and grew.

  “When it went to him as a legacy, we were already here. He did not facilitate the opening by letting it to us. Our lease is a long one. He could not remove us even if he wanted to.”

  “Of course he could. He need only have asked the magistrate to close the business.”

  “I assure you the magistrate already knows all about this house. Everyone does. I opened twenty-five years ago. Mrs. Lavender’s is a fixture in London, well respected, and our visitors include gentlemen from the best families. Many a future peer has had his first appointment with Venus here. Their fathers send them.”

  She was an idiot. An unsophisticated, ignorant, trusting child. No wonder Papa had never told her much about the inheritance. No wonder he did not like having her in London. She might stumble upon the discovery that he was a partner in a brothel.

  “I would still like to see the property, if you do not mind.” Someday it would be hers, and it would not remain what it was now. Perhaps she would have a school here, if the house were as big as it appeared. Maybe she would live here herself.

  “If you wish. I cannot show you most of the bedchambers. The young ladies are sleeping.”

  Of course they were. Padua followed Mrs. Lavender out of the office.

  If she had seen the drawing room upon first entering, she might have guessed the business conducted here. It contained a lot of big chairs and several chaise longues. A sidebar held a good number of decanters. A riot of feminine patterns and colors combined to create a flamboyant and exuberant decadence. The library beyond it was more of the same. She wondered if any of the young women ever used the books, or if they had come with the house and had never been moved since then.

  By the time she had peeked into all the chambers on the first two levels, she could tell which were used to entertain guests and which served as true living spaces. The dining room appeared simple and functional, the back morning room contained no fur rugs, and the garden would be fitting for a prosperous merchant family.

  Mrs. Lavender led the way to the third storey. “We have ten small chambers up here. One is vacant. A girl got married two weeks ago. That rarely happens. She was very popular, and profits will be down this month until I replace her.”

  The one vacant chamber was not large. Padua suspected larger ones had been broken up. Other than a bed and washstand, it contained nothing, not even a writing desk.

  They went up one more flight of stairs. “This area is forbidden to our guests. I have my chamber up here, and the servants sleep here as well. Lest you think I lure innocents to their doom by first hiring them as servants, I want you to know that I am very strict that no servant ever moves downstairs, even if she wants to. They come and go by these stairs outside, and never set foot in the drawing room after five o’clock in the evening.”

  “That is commendable.”

  “I do not expect you to approve, or to understand, Miss Belvoir. I long ago ceased attempting to justify myself to women like you.”

  “Did you attempt with my father? After all, he could have closed this place down, even if the magistrate turns a blind eye.”

  “It took your father two years to realize what occurred here. I told him I ran an informal inn for women. We all need to lay our heads on a hired bed sometimes, do we not? If not for an unfortunate episode regarding one of the girls and a boy who sought to protect her from herself, your father might have remained ignorant forever.”

  Padua could imagine that being true. Even if he saw that drawing room, half his mind would be on some arcane calculation, and he might well have only thought it oddly furnished.

  Padua pace
d down the narrow corridor flanked by servants’ chambers. She had overcome her shock, but in its place an ugly humor had taken hold. Her view of herself, of her father, of her world had been so wrong. Ironically so. She thought she was the daughter of scholars. Instead she was the daughter of a whoremonger.

  “How much?” she asked. “How much do you send him?”

  “The rent is—”

  “Not the rent. The rest of it. How much?”

  Mrs. Lavender’s lids lowered. “His fair share.”

  Padua looked her straight in the eyes.

  “Every quarter he received thirty pounds.”

  “I will want to see the accounts that show that is his fair share,” Padua said, continuing down the hall.

  “Excuse me? Your father—”

  “My father cannot see to his affairs right now, so I will be doing it. I am far more practical than he. He would never question his fair share, but I am the sort who likes to see proof. There is no insult in the request.”

  At the far end of the corridor, a door stood open. A few pieces of furniture occupied it.

  “There are six servants and seven chambers,” Mrs. Lavender explained.

  “And these are the stairs you mentioned.” Padua opened a door. It gave out to a small wooden terrace, and long flights of wooden stairs leading down to the garden.

  Mrs. Lavender’s head poked out beside hers. “Fifteen years ago there was a small fire. It frightened me enough that I paid for these myself. As I said, they are useful in allowing the servants to avoid the trade, or the eyes of the gentlemen.”

  Padua looked at the stairs, then the empty chamber. “Where do the male servants sleep?”

  Mrs. Lavender pointed to an outbuilding that ran along the side of the garden. “Hector and the groom sleep there, in chambers above the carriage room and stable.”

  “It is a big stable.”

  “It was not always one. Before my time it was used for some kind of business. Smithing or ironworking. I had most of it cleaned out and put my carriage and horses there.”

  Padua entered the empty chamber. She looked around. “For a short while, your original description of this house will be partly true. As it happens, I need a place to lay my head until I settle myself. Unless you object with good cause, I will use this chamber.”