by Tessa Candle
Her smirking mouth turned more serious. His heart caught in his throat as she looked at him with adoring eyes. “You have already made me a better woman, Rutherford. And you make me want to improve myself, too. You have challenged me, made me think about and question what I do more than you can realize.”
“So does that mean yes, my love?”
“Are you sure you do not wish to change me?”
“I only wish to change your last name.” His gaze was intense and expectant.
“Very well, then. Yes, I will be your wife.” Her smile was radiant with love.
He gave a hoorah of joy and sprang up, lifting her in the air and kissing her. “You have made me so very happy, my darling duchess.”
“Ooh.” Tilly put a hand to her waist. “Be careful. My stomach has been a bit queasy. It only just settled down—do you know, I think the inquisition had a calming effect.” Even in illness, her face still shone with a wicked smile.
Rutherford looked concerned and gently placed her back on her feet. “I am sorry, darling. But are you very ill?”
“It is nothing to worry about. If you think of all that has transpired today, I suppose I should be entitled to a nervous stomach.”
“Quite true. Well, shall I escort you home? We are engaged now, after all.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And my carriage is quite spacious.”
“I prefer my own carriage. It is less conspicuous. And we must consider how best to manage the news of our engagement, for you know Screwe will be trying to cast as evil a light on us as ever he can.”
“Screwe.” Rutherford had completely forgotten DeGroen’s warning. “It slipped my mind, but he has been watching my house, and DeGroen tells me that Screwe knows I came here.”
“Then we should definitely take my carriage. It is by the back entrance, which Screwe is unlikely to know about.”
“True, and my carriage is some distance down the street. Near a tackle warehouse, I believe. I suppose I did not want anyone to know I was here.”
Tilly gave him a concerned look.
“Tilly, you have not asked me about it, but I want to tell you. I did come here in a black moment, but I had already decided to leave again. Then Crump clouted my head.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He struck you? I never told him to—”
“But how else was he to get me in here with the least injury to me and to him? For you know I should have fought him.”
A funny look came over Tilly’s face. “Are you defending Crump?”
“Will you stop changing the subject and let me finish? What I was saying is, I made a decision before I was knocked senseless. It was not just to keep my promise to you. I turned away from the drug for my own sake.”
She hugged him tightly. “I am so glad to hear that, my beloved stallion. That is the very best reason. It means you have turned a new page in your life.”
He traced a finger around the beautiful little devilish curve to her lips. His heart was so full. They would make a new life together. They would bring joy under the roof of Blackwood Manor, and he liked to believe that his uncle would be watching over them, pleased. Together they would work for the good of humankind.
“And what a happy, happy page it is.” He took her hand. “But I suppose we must leave before we can make a fresh start.”
When they emerged from the secret chamber. Crump and DeGroen were playing cards.
Crump looked from Tilly to Rutherford, then nodded to himself in approval. An hour prior, this presumption would have irritated Rutherford, but now he was surprised to find that it did not.
“There you finally are!” said DeGroen. “I am glad you two sorted things out before Crump here reduced me to poverty. So, am I to congratulate you, Rutherford?”
Rutherford beamed. “Indeed. The woman you have jilted has agreed to make me the happiest of men. Now we just need to get out of here, preferably without Screwe’s detection.”
“Yes, about that. It seems he has been spotted skulking about the place. One of the lads came to report it to Crump. But he has gone back to station himself outside the warehouse down the road, where your carriage is.”
“Hah! That was a bit of luck!”
“Then it is settled. We shall take my carriage and go the back way.” Tilly looked charmingly animated by the intrigue. “Mr. Crump, will you wait until we are gone, then get a message to Rutherford’s driver that he may return home? It would be unkind to leave him waiting there all night.”
“True.” Rutherford rubbed the bruise on his cheek. “Though I do owe Screwe repayment on several grudges. I admit that the thought of leaving that bounder to wait all night for my return is tempting.”
But Rutherford had much better plans for Lord Screwe. That piece of filth would rue the day he had ever tried to harm the woman that Rutherford loved. “What is it that he wants from you, Tilly?”
“I will explain it all in the carriage. Only now, let us go.”
When they were alone in the vehicle, Rutherford drew Tilly into his lap and kissed her. What a strange day it had been. What started with despair had ended with the pinnacle of bliss. He enfolded her in his arms and dreamed of their future together.
Chapter 69
Tilly sat in her brother’s breakfast room, trying not to let the horrifically clashing décor make her ill again. Genevieve’s taste had not improved.
Frederick winced when he strode in to greet her. “God. I never get used to this hellish jumble.” He kissed the top of Tilly’s head. “It makes my eyes hurt.”
“It makes me want to cast up my accounts.” She placed a hand on her stomach.
He laughed. “Not that anyone would notice if you did. The servants would probably just take it for the most recent instalment of Genevieve’s aesthetic genius. But are you really still sick, Tiddly?”
“I can’t seem to shake it. And the smell of roses, or anything at all unpleasant just makes it worse. I do not think I shall ever be able to return to the warehouse.”
“Well, that can easily be managed, particularly with the new direction you are taking with the business. I am glad about that, frankly.”
“As am I. But speaking of business, how did your discussion at the club with The Queen of Cups go?”
“It was very enlightening. But I feel like a great idiot that you had to suggest it to me. Honestly, what is the point of running the sort of club we run, if it is not to have access to… well let us say, those sorts of ideas and accommodations?”
“Well, there is also the money, and the satisfaction of giving people a degree of liberty in their anonymous sport. But to be honest, Frederick, I have lost interest in it. Even the masquerade balls now seem dreary to me. I want to focus my efforts on a more worthy cause.”
“More worthy than liberty?”
“I want to work for real liberty. The sort of liberty that permits rich people to amuse themselves as they like without detection is such a pale representation of true liberty, that I laugh at myself for ever thinking I was doing something noble.” Tilly stood and walked about the room to relieve her stomach from the discomfort of sitting.
“So what is your vision for real liberty, then?” Frederick’s voice was gently mocking.
Tilly knew this was out of a habit of teasing and not any real derision. She gave him an arch look in return. “I want to work to end slavery.”
Frederick whistled. “You do not think small, Tilly. I will grant you that.”
“But I have been thinking small, and a bit meanly, I must confess. And I have ignored my own sins. But anyway, what I meant to ask of you is whether you would take over the club and the enhanced membership? It cannot be managed by just anyone, you know.”
“No. Quite true. But Tiddly, I simply cannot. I meant to tell you right away. I have conspired with DeGroen to come up with a scheme. Genevieve and I will make a lengthy trip to the continent. Then DeGroen will leave a day later, which will put the truth to his rumoured intention to jilt you now that he has his money. He has
been spreading that all over town, you know.”
Tilly nodded. “I thought as much. It explains some of the pitying looks I have received. And some ladies of the ton, whom I barely know, have made a point of calling on me just to see what they can find out. That I could do without.”
“Well, you will not have to endure it long. When DeGroen bolts for the continent, no one will be in any further doubt about who the wronged party was. Then we three will all meet up in France and wander about having a jolly good time. And when we return in several months, you will be a duchess, and with any luck, on the way to becoming an aunt.”
Tilly’s brows sprang up. “So you have persuaded Genevieve to try the, um, accommodation?”
He gave a bewildered laugh and nodded. “I do not know where you found that girl, Tilly. I mean she is self-absorbed and somewhat indifferent to the feelings of others, and she has atrocious taste, though she loves to put on airs, but she is no prude. And her single-mindedness, once she has seized upon an objective, makes her extremely flexible about what means she uses to accomplish it. She is truly ruthless. I am almost afraid of her. She would be a bit like you, if she were kinder.”
“I am not sure, dear brother, whether to be affronted by the comparison, or grateful for its qualification. But really, you cannot be entirely surprised, can you? Look at Delacroix. Though Genevieve is more clever.”
“Oh and her brother is definitely on her mind. She thinks a trip to the continent is just the thing. She is quite anxious to escape the shadow of infamy that her brother has cast over her family.” He laughed. “Is that not marvellous? I mean we all know she has aided and abetted him in his past crimes. I almost find her hypocrisy endearing.”
Tilly smiled. “I know what you mean. Has the mother finally given Delacroix over?”
“Genevieve says she has not. She even visits him in gaol.”
Tilly sighed. More of that undying maternal devotion. When did a virtue become a vice? “Well, I suppose that makes it easier for Genevieve to quit London.”
“Oh, she is more than enthusiastic. We cannot leave quickly enough for her. And do you know, she has even taken quite a liking to DeGroen? For now that we cannot be seen to be on such friendly terms, she is always asking why he never comes to call, and should we not have him for dinner and cards, and so forth. It is quite odd.”
“Not really.” Tilly chuckled. “The Delacroix family also have a nose for money. DeGroen is even richer than you.”
When Tilly quit her brother’s, she went straight home and summoned a doctor. The sick stomach had persisted too long. She needed to know if there were some more serious illness behind it.
When he had completed his examination, the doctor sat down and remained thoughtful for a few moments. Then he said, with the air of a man choosing his words carefully, “Miss Ravelsham, if you were not an unmarried maiden of impeccable character, as you are, I should say that you were in the early stages of being with child.”
Tilly’s eyebrows shot up, and her mouth hung open. Oh no. A dreadful conviction gripped her, but she could not let the growing realization show upon her features.
“However,” he continued, apparently flustered to have so shocked her, “that being impossible, I conclude that you are merely suffering from a stomach complaint. I shall leave a script for some medicine, but I recommend that you avoid rich foods and strong drink, eat small amounts several times per day, and never within two hours of retiring to sleep.”
“Thank you. I shall be sure to follow your directions.” Tilly grasped at the charade that protected her precarious reputation. This would be just what Screwe needed to exact his revenge.
When the doctor was gone, she collapsed in her chamber. Whatever would she do? She had to tell Rutherford, but how would he react? No. She had to wait. He would be overjoyed, of course, but he would want to marry immediately, and they had to be especially careful of appearances, now that a child was involved.
She sighed. In her heart of hearts she had wanted to have Rutherford’s baby for a long time. But now she could not properly enjoy it, because of all the other intrigues in her life.
But in spite of the complication it presented, her heart flooded with joy. They were going to have a child.
She put a tentative hand on the little bulge and smiled happily. Then she whispered, “See here, little baby, you will have a very happy life, if I have anything to say about it. Only for the moment, you must not make your presence known. It is too risky. Help me to keep you safe, and please stop making me so sick.”
Chapter 70
Rutherford was feeling a strange combination of sadness and nervous energy as he paced in his office. The funeral for his uncle was over, and that good man was interred in the Bartholmer crypt. It was sad, but also affirming in some way. Things had been done properly and Rutherford felt authorized to take up the mantle his uncle had passed and go on with his life.
And yet his life remained in suspension, waiting for the time that he could marry Tilly, or even let the world know of his intention to do so.
He tried to soothe his nervous spirit by fetching Molly and the puppies. The little whelps were getting big and adventurous. He watched them caper and gambol about his office, and smiled at poor little Mick whose long ears always proved an irresistible temptation for the tiny milk teeth of the others. Molly was beginning to be less indulgent of them when they tried to chew on her or chase after her tail.
He sighed bitter-sweetly and patted her head. “Ah Molly, you are wise. You know they must grow up and learn to behave properly. But I cannot help loving their little puppy ways.” Then again, it was all very well for him to wax sentimental; it was not his tail being nipped.
A servant came to announce Aldley, and moments later Rutherford was greeting him.
“Well,” Aldley said, when they were settled with their brandy. “I see Molly’s pups are growing fast.”
“Are they not, though?” Rutherford felt a surge of pride. “And how is your little darling?”
“She is marvellous. I think she will have her mother’s green eyes.” Aldley was grinning dreamily. “I have only ever been so smitten once in my life.”
Rutherford reached down to rescue his shoe from the teeth of one of the pups. “I can well believe it. I know it is not the same, but I can only imagine how happy a child would make me, when I see how much I love these little hellions of Molly’s. Honestly, Aldley, my life, until recently, has been such a series of blows. These puppies have been the little ray of joy that kept me going.”
“I believe I know what you mean, at least about the series of blows.” Aldley’s face was black. “It would be very nice if my wife and I could hold a christening or attend a wedding without someone shooting at her.”
“Or at Tilly.” Rutherford smiled sardonically. “I do not mean to correct you, old friend, but your wife cannot hoard to herself all the distinction of being the target of a gun-wielding maniac. I have every reason to believe that Screwe arranged Delacroix’s bond in exchange for the service of shooting Tilly.”
“Well, Screwe certainly seemed bent on making you out to be the shooter. It made him look quite pathetic, really. As if anyone would believe a duke would do such a thing. But what does Screwe have against Miss Ravelsham?”
“It is a bit of a story, and I am bound in secrecy. Let us just say that he believes her responsible for foiling him in a deed so terrible you would not believe it, even of Screwe. But as recent events can attest, his bad character goes a lot farther than failing to pay his gambling debts.”
“Hmm. Well, I am glad Delacroix is now permanently fixed in gaol—at least until the magistrate gets around to hanging him. I finally feel I can let Lydia out of the house without an armed entourage.”
“I am relieved to have him locked away, too, though I am still concerned about Screwe. It is my hope that Delacroix will give evidence that Screwe hired him to shoot Tilly. That would land Screwe in the nick as well. I intend to make his life a misery.”
“I will drink to that.” Aldley toasted again. “But let us try to find happier things to speak of. You said earlier that your life, until recently, had been going badly. Have you some good news?”
“Indeed I have. But you must keep it a secret, Aldley.” Rutherford was bursting to tell someone, to tell the whole world. It was maddening to keep such happiness hidden.
“Of course. You shall have my utmost discretion.”
“DeGroen has broken off the engagement with Tilly.” Rutherford’s face hurt with grinning. “And she has agreed to be my wife.”
“That is wonderful news!” Aldley leapt up and slapped Rutherford’s shoulder. “Finally. Well, this will relieve Lydia’s mind. She has been terribly concerned about Tilly marrying the wrong man, as she put it. She was steeped in guilt over attending as the matron of honour at their wedding, though she could scarcely do otherwise. You will never repeat this, but she said that the shooting was a blessing in disguise.”
“Well, I should not say it, but I cannot disagree with your wife.” Rutherford refilled their glasses. “I am sure Tilly will share the news with her. But you know, our engagement must otherwise remain secret for a time, for appearances’ sake.”
“I suppose.” Aldley did not sound convinced.
“You will keep my confidence, will you not?”
Aldley waved his hand dismissively at Rutherford’s absurd concern. “Of course I shall. After all the secrets we have shared, your doubt pains me, Rutherford. But you are thinking like a mere gentleman of the ton. You are a duke, now. You could have rode your horse into the church and abducted her from under the priest’s nose, and everyone would be forced to admire it as a bold romantic gesture.”
“I suppose. But there would still be those who would speak ill of it behind their hands. I do not mind it for myself, but I do not want Tilly to be hurt.”
