Mistress of Two Fortunes and a Duke

by Tessa Candle

  An ache set into his shoulder and the heart beneath it. Some blades were invisibly thin and cut deep and so quickly, that you hardly felt them until it was too late. That was love. If she married another, how would he ever survive it?

  He felt for the laudanum bottle in his pocket, then stopped himself. The lock sprang open in a secret compartment of his mind. Laudanum. Delacroix. The abduction.

  “Come Molly, my little love. Let us get back to the carriage.” He did not wish to hurry her in her present condition, but he was energized by his realization. He knew who the man was, and he needed to speak to Aldley right away.

  Chapter 7

  When Tilly opened her eyes, she found herself in a heap in a strange room. As her mind and vision cleared, she realized she was in Lord Screwe's upper chamber. A pleasant wood smoke scent tickled her nose, but was followed by a greasier, more acrid olfactory assault. The candle. She cursed and looked about. The candle had lit a small fire in the wooden flooring. There was no water in the room. She cast about for something to put it out. There was a chair in one gloomy corner, and she hastened to retrieve it, pressing the upholstered back into the flame to smother it.

  The room went dark. She hoped no one would smell the smoke and come looking. She felt around and found the candle, re-lit it and looked up at the trapdoor. Her head still hurt where she had been struck, but she willed herself not to be angry. The girl must be petrified out of her wits and did not know who Tilly was. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes.

  Tilly climbed part way up the ladder, and, avoiding poking her head back into the attic, whispered again. “Look, I know you must be afraid, but I am here to help you. You have been imprisoned by a deplorable piece of filth, and I want to rescue you. Only we must hurry.”

  A voice came from the gloomy opening. “How do I know you are not in league with that devil?”

  “I suppose you do not. But would I really be here if I were his ally? And what sort of woman would help Lord Screwe do this to you?”

  “That witch in red, for one.” The voice was hot with anger.

  Red Martha. Tilly was not the hateful woman in red, but she was apparently the madwoman in black. They were running out of time. “I am not her. You must know that.” Tilly looked at her watch again. Nine minutes.

  “I cannot leave. I am shackled here.”

  “If I come up to help, do you promise not to hit me again?”

  “Yes. Come.”

  Tilly hurried up the ladder into the attic. When she found the young woman, both her legs and one arm were in irons. A short length of chain tethered her to the wall. Her free arm was bleeding at the wrist, and she could see that the arm shackle was on the floor. That must be what she had swung at Tilly’s head.

  “You got one of them off.”

  “My left wrist is smaller, and I bit my flesh so the blood would help me slip it out.”

  Tilly met the girl's frantic gaze with compassion, then forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “Do you know where he keeps the key?”

  “In his pocket.” Her face was full of murder.

  Good, thought Tilly. Hold onto that emotion. It would probably ensure the woman’s survival. “Right. Well, let us hope this works.” Tilly produced a ring with several metal wires hanging off of it like keys, leaned over one leg shackle and begin applying the wires one by one to the lock, just as one of the lads had showed her. She found one that felt right, and left it in position, then produced a longer, thinner wire and inserted it, moving it this way and that. The lock popped. “Thanks to Heaven and a drink to all the saints!” She set to work on the other leg iron.

  When she finally freed the woman from the last of her locks, Tilly smiled encouragingly. “Right, now be as quiet as you can, but follow me, and for God's sake, hurry.” She darted for the trapdoor.

  When they reached the bottom of the ladder the young woman said, “What of my child? He took my little one.”

  Tilly stopped and looked at her watch. Four minutes. “I promise you, I will find your child. But he is not here.”

  “She.”

  “She. Now follow me if you want to get out of here.” Tilly ran through the door and did not look back. If the woman did not follow, she could not help her.

  They had almost made it to the stairs when Tilly paused. She listened for a sneeze, but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and rushed down. The rescued woman was behind her. When they made the second landing, Forester was there, pretending to dust. She motioned them to wait, and went to check their escape route. She returned in two minutes and led them hurriedly down the remaining stairs, through the servant's passage to the back entrance, then pushed them out the door with a wink.

  Tilly almost laughed. Cheeky lass. She pulled the rescued young woman along. “We are not in the clear, yet. My carriage will meet us in one minute, run!”

  And they did. The carriage was driving slowly past the house on the street as they emerged from the shadowy lane that connected the road to the back entrance. “Blast!” Tilly pressed a hand to the stitch in her side, then ran again. “We have to catch it!” she called over her shoulder. If they didn't, they would have to wait around in the open until it looped back again, and the young woman was almost naked.

  The carriage was not twenty feet ahead of them. Tilly whistled as best she could, but the driver did not hear her. She could not yell for fear of drawing attention, for they were now out of the shadows and in the light of the lamps.

  She picked up a stone and hurled it at the carriage. It glanced off the side with a thump. She wished it had winged the blasted dozy driver. Mrs. Carlton poked her head out and saw them. She rapped on the door and the driver halted the coach.

  Tilly ran to the door and flung herself inside. She turned to assist the young woman in behind her. The escapee was clad in nothing but a slip. Lash marks, burns and bruises coloured her arms and back. Tilly flattened her lips. She pulled the woman in more roughly than she would have liked.

  Panting with exhaustion, she examined the street through the carriage window. Two men were walking down the way, but their backs were to them. Just then Lady Screwe's carriage pulled up at the house. Tilly released a gasp and pulled the curtain closed. They had only narrowly missed being spotted by the monster's wife. Mrs. Carlton wordlessly closed the curtain on her side of the carriage and lit a small lamp.

  Tilly handed the shivering young woman a cloak. Even bruised, she was beautiful, with skin the colour of very creamy coffee, and long, thick black hair. Her amber eyes glowed with fearful animation in the light of the flame.

  After a few moments of panting Tilly recovered herself. “I would love to make introductions, but I am afraid I did not have occasion to catch our guest's name.”

  “I am Mrs. Clara Johnson,” replied the young woman.

  “You may call me Tilly, and this is Mrs. Carlton.” They nodded at each other.

  “Mrs. Carlton is quite deaf, Mrs. Johnson.” Though, Tilly noted, surprisingly capable of hearing a stone striking the carriage. The little fraud.

  “You can call me Clara, I reckon, as you have seen me in my undergarments.” The woman had stopped shivering, but was now blinking back angry tears. “Will you please help me find my daughter? I do not know where he has taken her, but now that I have escaped, he is sure to hurt her. He is a cruel devil.”

  “I will find her. But we have to find a place for you. You must stay hidden for the time being, for he is sure to look for you.”

  Clara wiped her eyes and nodded.

  “We have the advantage that he will think you desperate, and look for you on the streets.” Tilly smiled and patted Clara's hand. “I will keep you somewhere much nicer, where he will not find you.”

  Tilly pulled off her bonnet and gave her ear a rub. The black veil was itchy. Tilly looked at the scratchy lace and the blood drained from her face. A large piece of it had torn away. Good Lord, what if Screwe found it? It would not lead directly to her, but it would at least alert him that his
enemy was a woman, which he would certainly never have guessed on his own.

  She calmed herself. There were a lot of women in London. And he might not even find the piece of veil, after all.

  Chapter 8

  This time, when Rutherford arrived at the Aldleys with Molly in tow, the earl did not seem surprised, but merely shook his head as he rose from the piano forte to greet him with a smile. It was after their dinner, and they had just gone through to enjoy a little music.

  Aldley had been singing and accompanying himself, much to the enchantment of her ladyship. It was a picture of marital bliss that made Rutherford wish he were a better man than to feel pangs of jealousy at the sight of his friend's happiness. His head was starting to ache, but he rallied himself and strode across the room to the spot where the countess stood to receive him.

  “Lady Aldley, you look positively radiant. I believe nobility agrees with you.” Rutherford bowed over the Countess of Aldley's hand. He had not seen her for some time, but she looked genuinely pleased to see him.

  “I should never have thought so before.” Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “And my husband has just chastised me for walking such a long distance as a quarter mile. So it would seem that at least one member of the nobility does not agree with me.”

  “Well perhaps, but you must not generalize, Lady Aldley,” Rutherford played along, “Aldley is just an especially disagreeable sort.”

  “I can see,” Aldley handed Rutherford a brandy, “that I should never let you two be in the same room if I am in it.”

  “And when shall you begin calling me Lydia, Mr. Rutherford? Lady Aldley seems a bit stuffy for such a good friend.” She gave a sidelong glance to her husband and added dryly, “especially as we so narrowly escaped being married to one another.”

  Aldley huffed and rolled his eyes. “This again. It was an honest mistake that anyone could have made, under the circumstances. But by all means, do not let me spoil your diversion.”

  Rutherford snorted and ignored his friend, puffing out his chest and addressing Lydia instead. “You are the second lady today to say such a thing. If my week continues thus, I shall have to begin affecting a swagger.”

  Aldley coughed. “Begin? Oh I see. I had assumed your current swagger was the product of affectation. Do you mean to say that you have been half lame all along? I do beg your pardon, Rutherford. I have misjudged you.”

  “It would not be the first time. But, however, as it was not five days ago that I bested you with the foils, I should not harp on about my being half lame, if I were you.” Rutherford turned a wolfish grin on Lydia. “Have you repented marrying this one, yet?”

  Aldley took his wife by the waist. “No, she has not, impertinent buck, so back with you.”

  “There you have it.” Lydia's smile was saucy, but real affection shone in her eyes. “I am too deliriously happy for regrets. You have it on the authority of Bluebeard, himself.”

  “And except for her persistent refusal to remain locked in her room like a good wife, and only go where I command her to, I also find myself as deliriously happy as is possible for a blood-thirsty tyrant. I am not at all inclined to murder her. So true love works all things out, even for Bluebeards.”

  Lydia's chuckle turned into a stifled yawn. She squeezed her husband's hand. “Enough banter. I shall leave you two to your tête-à-tête and retire.” They bade their good nights, and she waddled from the room.

  When she had gone, Rutherford gave Aldley a serious look. “You were probably right to be concerned about Essington. It seems very likely that he is at the opium again. Lizzy declares herself indifferent, however.”

  “Indeed. Well, I cannot wonder at her indifference.”

  “Apparently he is more manageable this way. But she does not know where he is getting it from. I do not believe she has inquired too closely, to be frank. However, I discovered something that could be more serious.”

  “Oh?” Aldley frowned. “There is nothing the matter with Elizabeth, I hope.”

  “No, no. Not that. But as I was leaving I saw someone, a man riding from Essington Hall on horseback. It took me some time to place where I had seen him before, but I am quite sure now that he is one of the men who assisted Delacroix in the abduction. I am confounded that it took me so long to recall, for normally I never forget a face I have taken the trouble to punch.”

  Aldley could not laugh at his friend's wit. His face was dark. “Do you think Delacroix could be back in town?”

  “I do not know.” Rutherford drained his glass. “But if I were you, I should keep an eye on the countess. Delacroix is smoky enough for anything, and I doubt his thug has found Christianity and taken up honest business.”

  “Your advice conveniently coincides with my own feelings.” Aldley shook his head in despair. “But you see how she calls me Bluebeard for even asking her to not over-exert herself. I am not sure how to persuade her to enter her confinement. If only these blasted empire waists were not all the crack, surely modesty would keep her indoors.”

  Rutherford had to turn his head to conceal his smile. He doubted any such consideration would constrain the countess—or that she would think her condition something that required modesty. “Perhaps if you warned her, she might at least think the better of going about town without you.”

  “I do not wish to frighten or distress her, especially in her current condition. I believe I shall have to put my foot down and demand she go into confinement.”

  “I should hate to stand in your shoes, old boy.” Rutherford smiled, but he knew he was lying. He would love to be married and expecting a child with Tilly. If his biggest problem were that she would not stay home enough, he could rest content.

  Rutherford scratched Molly's ears to keep his hand from feeling for the bottle in his pocket and added, “Before you do something that may cause marital discord, let me see if I can find the man. I lost him on the way into town, but I am sure he was headed for London. London is irresistible for his sort.”

  “It is also possible that he is the one bringing my brother-in-law opium.” Aldley's expression remained dark.

  “The thought had crossed my mind. In fact it seems probable.” Rutherford scratched his leg to cover the fact that it was twitching.

  “You are a good friend, Rutherford. If you find him, I shall owe you a great debt. Only please have a care, and do not get yourself shot and stabbed again.”

  “I shall do my best.” Rutherford smiled. He would not object to a little injury if Tilly would nurse him back to health again.

  Chapter 9

  Tilly sat before her toilette among the wreckage of a half dozen discarded head-dressings. The turban she had chosen was in a muted cerulean blue silk. It paired flatteringly with her golden hair and blue eyes. More importantly, it had gathers and feathers in the right places to disguise the swollen bump on her head where Clara had clouted her with that arm shackle.

  “This one will do, Browning.” Her lady's maid look relieved and began gathering up the rejected contenders. “Never mind that. Marie can do it, for I must discuss something with her. Will you deliver this for me instead?” She handed the servant a letter.

  When Browning left, Marie entered and began tightening the laces on Tilly's corset.

  “Not too tight today, Marie.” The bruises on her back from the fall were painful. Tilly popped a confection into her mouth and munched inelegantly as she spoke. “I believe you have some news for me.”

  “Oui, Mademoiselle. I have been over to see Mrs. Ravelsham. She is so desolée! Her brother, Monsieur Delacroix, has returned to London.”

  Yes, that would make Tilly very desolée, too. She cursed under her breath. “How does she know he has returned?” Tilly entertained a hope that there was some mistake. “Has he contacted her?”

  “He is in hiding, but he has contrived to see her.” Marie's brown eyes were wide with concern, and perhaps a trace of admiration.

  “See her? Did she receive him?” It must have
been while Frederick was away.

  Marie twisted her apron, and a look of conflicted torment plagued her mouth.

  “Marie, you need not feel disloyal to your former mistress. You know she needs looking after. Recall that I have only ever worked for her good, and she is my sister-in-law.” Tilly ate another confection to ward off a headache.

  It was a constant struggle dealing with Marie's dull wits and sense of guilt. Her travels back and forth between the two households put her ever in a dilemma between the desires of the old mistress and those of the new. She wondered if the maid agonized half so much when she gossiped about Tilly to Genevieve.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle. She received him while your brother was out. The servants brought him in through the back entrance.”

  “And she is desolée because of her brother's straits?”

  “Yes. But I think it is more because he is blackmailing her.”

  “Blackmailing her?!” Tilly almost could not believe it. Almost. The man was a desperate criminal, after all. He was not above abduction, so blackmail was a trifling matter. But his own sister? And Genevieve must also be one of the few members of the ton who would have anything to do with him, even secretly. She shook her head. Tilly, of all people, should really not be surprised at the degree of darkness within humanity.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle. He said something very strange.” She paused several moments to recall. “It was, em, that he could no longer blackmail Mrs. Beauchamps, or something alike. So Genevieve was all that was left to him. But she did not tell me what he could have to blackmail her with. She is such a sweet, blameless woman. I cannot imagine.”

  “Mmm.” Tilly forbore sharing her thoughts on the topic, but she would hardly call Genevieve blameless. Still, most of what Tilly knew was tame enough.