Waking Up With a Rake

by Mia Marlowe

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Pinkerton.”

  “What was the argument about?”

  “It wasn’t even my fault.” Horatio went for another jigger of the green devil drink. “It’s not as if I caused it, after all. I just pointed out the way of the world.”

  “What way of the world?” Rhys could almost see his father-in-law’s jagged thoughts darting behind his eyes.

  “So much time has gone by,” Horatio said, his voice drifting to nothing, as if Rhys were no longer in the room. “No, it couldn’t be that.”

  Rhys reached across the table and snatched Horatio’s lapels. He yanked his father-in-law forward until they were practically nose to nose. “Confound it, start at the beginning and we’ll decide together whether your suspicions are well-founded. Now what are you talking about?”

  “I suppose…he might still harbor resentment against me for speaking an uncomfortable truth. Oh, God, if it all comes out, this’ll touch Amanda too.” Horatio buried his face in his hands. “What I’m about to tell you must never leave this room. Never. Promise me.”

  “I can’t. Not if it touches Olivia’s safety. But if it doesn’t, I’m not the sort to carry tales. Now talk.”

  Horatio sighed and nodded. “Very well. It concerns Amanda’s mother.”

  “Who died in India shortly after Amanda was born,” Rhys prompted.

  “Yes, but Gita wasn’t a Greek lady as Pinkerton gives out. She was an Indian woman. A damned beautiful one too from up in the Khyber Hills. Nearly as fair-skinned as her daughter.”

  That explained Amanda’s lush dark hair and large speaking eyes, Rhys thought.

  “When Pinkerton and Gita married, I wished them well. Amanda was born just before I left India to return home. Beautiful child. The doctor told me he intended to bring his family to England as soon as Amanda was old enough to have a Season. ‘That won’t work,’ I told him. It was all well and good to have a native wife in Bombay, but it would never fly in Brighton. And if folks in Britain ever discovered Amanda carried a touch of the tar brush, no well-bred Englishman would marry her.”

  “That was cruel of you to say.”

  “But it was the truth. Would he rather hear it from a friend, or have Gita and Amanda shunned by English society?”

  Prejudice was an ugly truth, but Rhys still thought it was wrong of Horatio to point it out to Dr. Pinkerton. “And you think he means to hurt you because of what you said all those years ago?”

  “I don’t know. He was pretty angry, but we didn’t come to blows or anything. After he settled down, we passed the rest of the evening pleasantly enough. I thought we were alone. We were smoking under the banyan tree behind his house, but what if Gita overheard me and was distraught…? Just before I took the boat home, I heard she’d died, but I never heard how.” Horatio’s eyes took on a slight glaze, and Rhys was sure he was seeing other times and places. “I didn’t think much about it at the time because people were always dying of cholera or snakebite or some such terrible thing—strange place, India, beautiful and horrifying at once…You don’t suppose she did away with herself, do you? You know, to spare her family from being ostracized when her husband returned to England?”

  “If she did, Dr. Pinkerton would be justified in hating you. I’d hate you myself.” Rhys disliked Horatio more than a little at the moment, but he could at least trust his father-in-law to try to help him protect Olivia. He rose and paced the small room. “As a doctor, Pinkerton would know which poisons are fast acting enough to use on those thorns. He’d have access to them as well.”

  “The man is a crack rider too,” Horatio said miserably. “Pinkerton knows enough about horses and tack to have sabotaged Molly’s saddle.” He shook his head with vehemence. “No, I don’t want to believe it.”

  “I think we must until we can prove differently.” Rhys headed for the door. “In the meantime, I want you to stay away from Olivia.”

  “But I’m her father. And this is not my fault. It’s not as if I caused stupid people to be prejudiced. I simply pointed it out to Pinkerton. We must live in the world, I told him.” Horatio spread his hands before himself. “The world is thus.”

  “The world is what we make it, Horatio.” Rhys opened the study door.

  “Wait a moment. All we have is conjecture. You can’t go off and accuse my old friend when we really have no evidence. What do you intend, Warrington?”

  “I intend to make the world safe for Olivia. By any means necessary.”

  Chapter 32

  The packet of papers slipped from Olivia’s hands, fluttering to the hardwood like a flock of downed pigeons. Her knees gave way, and if she hadn’t been so close to the settee, she’d have sunk just as surely to the floor.

  Rhys had set out to ruin her.

  “I don’t know him at all,” she murmured.

  Babette retrieved the papers and stacked them neatly on the tea tray. “My lady, sometimes things they are not what they seem. The person you do not know is this Monsieur Alcock.”

  A rake was capable of several layers of deception. Had any of their unorthodox courtship been real? Or had Rhys merely been trapped in the spiderweb of his own making? When he made those heartrending vows over the anvil, was he only pretending?

  She had to remind herself to breathe, and even then, there didn’t seem to be any air in the room. Betrayal sucked up all the oxygen and left her none. “I have to go.”

  “Where, my lady?”

  Home. If she were a bird, she’d fly away to Barrowdell and never leave its rolling hills. She’d ride her mare and grow her orchids, and the rest of the world could go chase itself.

  But then she’d never see Rhys again.

  Her chest ached. Love wasn’t something she could turn off like a lamp. The glow of caring still flared inside her, burning hot and painful. How could he have done this to her?

  “To us?” she whispered. Something inside her was dying. She and Rhys had formed a circle of two, a glorious “we.” Now her soul hunkered by itself.

  “My lady, you have not heard Lord Rhys’s side to this tale,” Babette said. “This is no time for the hasty decision. I urge you not to be doing something you will regret.”

  “Hasty,” she repeated, the word calling up something Mr. Alcock had said. Time is of the essence. The man who could clear Rhys’s name for good and all might be slipping away even now.

  Rhys might have set out to ruin her, but she wouldn’t see him permanently disgraced if she could help it. She’d remain loyal to him. Even if he didn’t really love her, she loved him.

  She’d be true to her own heart.

  “Distract Mr. Tweadle for me,” Olivia said, rising with purpose and swiping her glistening eyes before the first tear could fall.

  “Why, my lady?”

  “Because I’m going to Wapping Dock to find Sergeant Leatherby.”

  ***

  Babette tried to dissuade her for a bit, but Olivia remained firm.

  “Ah, bien,” the maid said, shaking her head. “But after you are away, you must make to wait on the corner for me, and I shall slip out the kitchen and down the alley. A lady, she should not travel the city by herself. Besides, I shall bring your reticule and pelisse.”

  Olivia agreed, and after Babette led Tweadle away from Warrington House’s front door, Olivia sneaked out. The sense of freedom would have been more invigorating if a cold wind wasn’t whipping down the man-made canyons of Mayfair.

  Or if her heart weren’t still numb from Mr. Alcock’s revelations.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she put her head down and walked into the wind until she reached a corner. She tried to hail a cab, but with no purse in evidence, hackneys simply rumbled past her.

  She stamped her feet against the cold and glanced over her shoulder down the block. Babette was nowhere to be seen.

  Then a carriage rumbled to a stop before her.

  “God’s garters! Olivia Symon, what are you doing out in this wind without a coat?
”

  Olivia looked up to see Amanda Pinkerton leaning out of the carriage window.

  “I guess I should call you Lady Rhys Warrington. You slyboots, running off to Gretna Green with none of us the wiser! What have you to say for yourself?” She paused long enough to snatch a breath. “I can see the cold has your tongue. Well, come then. I’ve a heated brick at my feet and I’m glad to share.”

  At her signal, Amanda’s footman leaped down from the rear of the carriage and opened the door for Olivia. She let the servant hand her up into the conveyance, grateful to be out of the wind.

  “Here you go,” Amanda said as she tucked a bearskin blanket around her. Then she rapped on the carriage ceiling to signal the driver to move on. “You’ll catch your death out there like that, I shouldn’t wonder. Now where can we take you? Are you staying with your parents or have you and Lord Rhys set up housekeeping somewhere?”

  “I need to go to Wapping.” Olivia knew she ought to ask Amanda to wait until Babette arrived, but if she could catch a quick ride to her destination, she’d brave the docks alone. Sergeant Leatherby might be boarding the ship for Portsmouth this very moment. “Can you take me there please?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re running away from your husband and intend to take ship. First an elopement; now this!”

  “No, I’m not running away from Rhys,” she said, though she doubted she could bear seeing him. “Will you take me to Wapping or not?”

  Olivia didn’t care that she sounded snappish. She didn’t have time for a gossip’s prying questions. Besides, she was trying very hard not to think about her husband at the moment. Her chest might split open if she did.

  “Of course I can take you to Wapping. The docks aren’t so far from the home Father leased for us,” Amanda said without the slightest show of offense. “It’s not Mayfair, but you just won’t believe what a cunning little place it is. Why, it even has a tower, and Father says there used to be a moat.”

  Olivia listened with half an ear. The way Amanda chattered on made Olivia realize she probably didn’t have many people to talk to in London. As a doctor, her father wasn’t considered “in trade,” but neither was his blood blue. That placed his daughter on the fringes of Polite Society. In her way, Amanda Pinkerton was as isolated as Olivia.

  When the forest of masts bobbing at Wapping Dock rose up in the carriage windows, Olivia asked Amanda to signal for a halt.

  “And let you wander Wapping by yourself and without a coat? Not likely.”

  “But I have to find someone before they take ship. A Sergeant Leatherby. It’s most urgent.”

  The coach slowed and stopped before a gray stone house of venerable age. It did indeed have a tower that listed only slightly to the right. Olivia suspected the ancient edifice had been overlooking the Thames back when the Danes flooded into England.

  “Oh, that’s easily done. I’ll send our man Hector round to find this Sergeant Leatherby for you.” Amanda climbed out of the coach and waited while her footman helped Olivia down as well. She gave the footman orders to scour the dock for the ship bound for Portsmouth, apprehend Sergeant Leatherby, and bring him back, willing or not, to meet with Lady Rhys Warrington. Then she linked arms with Olivia companionably. “You and I will take some tea while we wait for Hector to come back. I’m so longing to hear about…Scotland.”

  The plan did seem a good one. Better than wandering about the docks on her own. An unescorted woman would be easy prey for unsavory elements. Now that she had time to consider it, Olivia realized she wasn’t thinking clearly when she set off on this quest. “Tea sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss Pinkerton. Or may I call you by your Christian name?”

  “Of course, if we take it turn and turn about, Olivia.” Miss Pinkerton dimpled prettily and led the way into the stone house. Given the severe exterior, Olivia expected heavy Tudor furnishings, but the parlor off the entrance hall was dotted with elegant mahogany and ebony side tables. The fashionable wing chairs were covered with tiny fleur-de-lis-patterned fabric.

  “We live simply here,” Amanda said as she hung up her own coat on a peg by the door. “It’s Cook’s half-day off, and besides Hector, we have no other servants. Even the coach is hired.” She sighed. “It’s not at all like India. We had servants for everything there. Do you know we even had one who did nothing but fan us on hot days?”

  “I expect there are many differences between here and India.”

  “Oh, yes. For one thing, there were no rooms in the house in India where I wasn’t welcome,” Amanda said. “Here at first, Cook tried to keep me out of the kitchen completely.”

  The aroma of fresh bread wafted down the hall toward them. Amanda sighed. “Mrs. Pennyworth must have baked this morning. Come.”

  They followed their noses toward the source of the yeasty scent.

  “Fetch me a cup of milk from the crock, if you please,” Amanda said as she lit the hob and filled the kettle at the hand pump by the sink. “The larder is through there.”

  Olivia was strangely comforted by the lack of ceremony. Friends would be so informal with each other. At least, she suspected they would be. Beatrice Symon had so regimented Olivia’s life, she’d never had opportunity to make many true friends. She found the stone crock where the milk was stored and ladled up a dipperful. She delivered it to Amanda, careful not to spill a drop. “Will this do, you think?”

  “Perfect.” Amanda gave her a quick hug. “We really didn’t get the opportunity to know each other while Father and I were visiting at Barrowdell. I hope we can rectify that here in London. Please sit down while I fix our tea.”

  Olivia settled at the long oak table while Amanda chattered about being invited to a ball at Sir Nigel Cavendish’s lavish town house a fortnight hence. Amanda let slip that she was a trifle old for a debutant, and Olivia knew she was a couple years her senior, but Amanda hoped her exotic upbringing would render her “interesting” to the ton.

  “Of course, I’m not truly ‘out’ yet,” Amanda said as she cut the fresh loaf into thick slices and slathered each with clotted cream. “I haven’t a voucher for Almack’s, but Sir Nigel’s ball will be almost as good. Father assures me I’ll meet lots of eligible fellows there and I so love to dance. Don’t you?”

  Her mother engaged several dancing masters, but Olivia never moved with enough grace to please Beatrice Symon. “I’m afraid I never learned.”

  Amanda’s eyes went round. “You’re joking.”

  Olivia raised a mock solemn hand. “As I hope for heaven, I swear that I have two left feet.”

  “Well, that is something we shall have to fix. Perhaps I’ll teach you. After we have tea, of course.”

  Amanda brought over two steaming cups. “Humor me and try these scones, will you? Cook made them yesterday with a new recipe.”

  Olivia nibbled at the delicate pastry and pronounced them heavenly. The tea revived her spirits considerably. Hector would find Sergeant Leatherby. She’d give Rhys a chance to explain himself on the matter of Mr. Alcock’s pernicious bargain. And she and Amanda would become friends in a city where both of them needed one.

  “Now, tell me what it was like to run away to Scotland with that handsome husband of yours.” Amanda sat down opposite Olivia with her own cup of tea.

  Olivia found herself relaxing, telling Amanda about her unorthodox wedding over the anvil. She recounted her meeting with Rhys’s sister and brother-in-law. Amanda laughed at the tale of Rhys playing hide-and-seek with his nephew in old Braebrooke Cairn.

  Whether it was relief at seeing a friendly face or the drowsy warmth of the kitchen, something compelled Olivia to tell her why she sought Sergeant Leatherby and how she hoped to help Rhys clear his name once and for all time. It all tumbled out of her like water gushing from a break in a dike.

  “Just imagine,” Amanda said as she poured out another serving of tea for Olivia. “Proof that Lord Rhys is guiltless in that unfortunate French affair may be walking the docks at Wapping this very moment. But I confess
to a bit of puzzlement. My father says politicians don’t even sneeze unless it benefits their position. Why did Mr. Alcock deliver those documents to you now?”

  Olivia gulped the second cup of tea and grimaced. It was much sweeter than she liked.

  “I put three lumps in this time,” Amanda explained. “Drink up, dear. You really have very little meat on your bones, you know. So what about this Mr. Alcock business?”

  “Well, it was because—” Olivia covered her mouth with her hand. She almost admitted that the MP delivered the documents because Rhys had fulfilled his commission to ruin her. Her vision faded for a moment, nearly going black. She blinked slowly, trying to make her eyes focus. Light streamed in the high kitchen window in a long shaft, illuminating countless little dust speck worlds. She gave herself a shake to keep from being pulled into orbit with one of them. “They had a business arrangement. Oh, me! I can’t seem to…”

  Her brain felt so fuzzy, she couldn’t put another two words together. Amanda smiled and leaned toward her. The room tilted strangely, and suddenly Olivia’s head was too heavy for her to hold up.

  Darkness gathered at the edges of the room and then rushed in on her. She blinked into nothingness, as suddenly and completely as a pinched-off candle.

  Chapter 33

  Rhys was coldly furious with Tweadle for letting Olivia slip out of Warrington House undetected.

  “But she had help, my lord,” Mr. Tweadle said. “That French maid of hers drew me away from my post and then sneaked out the back after her. However, Lady Olivia must have given her the slip as well. She came skulking back, with your wife’s reticule and pelisse in tow.”

  “Where is Babette now?”

  “I had Dirkwater shut her up in the cold larder until you returned, sir. Shall I summon the authorities?”