by Muir, L. L.
It would serve the man rightly if she walked down the stairs, puffy face and all, and introduced herself to him. Then the woman for whom he had just declared his love would set him aside!
Naturally, as it had all morning, the tide of tears followed that thought all the way to shore and poured down her cheeks. Someone finally loved her, and she loved him in return. And it made absolutely no difference.
Well, except for the justification of at least one good cry each day for the rest of her years.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” She sounded like a petulant child and did not care.
“Stanley.”
“Stanley? Are you alone?” She sniffed.
“I am. Might I have a word?”
She moved to the door and leaned her ear against it.
“Do you perchance have a sack I might wear over my head while we speak?”
“I do, my lady, but I am afraid I am wearing it.”
The viscount sat patiently while she pressed cool water to her eyes.
“I am so sorry, Stanley. You were together for quite some time, were you not?”
“We were. And thank you. I am also grateful I had a place to hide today.”
“You are hiding from the papers?”
“No. I am hiding from Irene. I cannot bear to hear her thoughts on the matter. She was never a fan of The Scarlet Plumiere. She hated Ursula. The belief that the two turned out to be one and the same gives her justification for every mean thing she has ever said about the writer, that is to say, you. I am sure she is bending ever ear within her reach today.”
“I am so sorry. But you are welcome to my sanctuary any time, such as it is. I know we should have the door open, but I will not risk Northwick getting inside.”
“Yes, well. I noticed the chair in front of the French doors.” He stood and went to it. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He turned the chair and tipped it.
“Much more effective if you wedge it beneath the doorknob, like so.”
“Ah. Thank you. I will be especially comforted at night.”
“Yes. I heard about that. Admitted he loves you, did he?”
“He did.”
“Was it wonderful?”
“I am sure there is nothing better.”
“I wish I would have told Ursula.”
“I am so sorry.”
“And I fear I have missed the one chance I will ever have to say such a thing.”
“Irene?”
“I cannot imagine it.”
“Well, I must tell you that my father and I say it often, and it is quite wonderful too.”
“Yes. I can see that it might be. I suppose I should hope for wonderful, loveable children.”
“Do not give up though.”
“I will make you a deal. I will not give up, if you do not.”
She got to her feet and headed for the door. “If that was the reason behind your visit, my lord, I am tossing you from the sanctuary.”
“I promise you, I did not come to plead North’s case.”
Her hand paused on the knob. “Then you will not mention him again?”
“As you wish. If we need to refer to him at all, we should call him The Rat.”
“I will accept that.” She tugged on the bell-pull. “I will order us some food before they think to cut off our supply.”
“Excellent thinking.” He then gave her a strange look that had her checking herself in the mirror. “I must admit, Olivia, that I did not know you and Ursula knew each other so well.”
“I only met her once, my lord. But I feel as though I murdered the woman with my own hands. If I had not been such a coward, if I had let my identity be known, she would not have paid for rage I must have instilled in her murderer.”
“You cannot assume a man’s sins, Olivia. I worry you are being far too hard on yourself.”
Livvy rolled her eyes and fell forward, burying her face in the bedpillows.
“Olivia?”
She groaned.
“Olivia? Are you quite all right?”
She turned her face and wordlessly held out to him the crumpled paper.
“What is it?”
“You have not read the letter?”
“I have not. The newspaper got a peek at it, did they?”
“Apparently so.”
“Is it terribly romantic? North—I mean to say, The Rat—acted peculiar about it last night. I never asked him what it said.”
She waited for him to find it. “You may have to smooth it a bit.”
He read aloud, damn him.
“My dear Scarlet Plumiere,
Forgive me. I love another. Help me end this and I will leave you in peace.” –Lord N
The tide returned with a vengeance. There was something about hearing it from someone else that made it sound so much more depressing. Being both the woman he threw over and the one he threw her over for made no difference whatsoever. Her heart was broken. Her heart was full. Together it was just a full broken heart.
“So this is why you are beside yourself.”
“No, do you not understand? I am a terrible person. I am responsible for a woman’s death and all I can think about is my own silly heart!”
“Ah. Now I see. But you must also realize that Ursula might have played a small part. I would not be surprised if she had not led others to believe she was The Plumiere. She was quite obsessed you know.”
“I did not know.”
“Ashmoore said she insisted on meeting you.”
“She did. I had never allowed it before, but—”
“She would have hounded Lady Malbury until you did. She talked about you incessantly. I think it was the fact that the gentlemen of the ton fear you. She enjoyed a little of that same reputation, so no doubt she saw you as a kindred spirit. No offense.”
“None taken. I had a similar thought, actually, when we met.”
“She would be thrilled by the newspaper’s mistake, by the headline. But if she were here, I would imagine she would be harsh with you, for feeling too responsible.”
“Perhaps.”
He smoothed the paper and looked again at the contents of the letter.
“No wonder the constable is suspicious of North.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at it as the constable would. North—er, The Rat—tries to end things. Ursula refuses to let him beg off, demands he marry her as he promised at the lottery. He kills her so he can have you. Forgets to retrieve his letter... I am sure that is how they will see it. And he did slip out of sight last night, to come see you, of course. But his witnesses are his dearest friend, the woman he loves, and your father. What if your father forgets?”
“Stanley, please. You are frightening me on purpose!”
“I am frightened myself. Gordon we can hide from, defend against. We can do neither with the authorities.”
She couldn’t very well admit he was in her room at the time without ruining her reputation and forcing herself into marriage, which would only give the gentlemen what they wanted in the first place—the end of The Scarlet Plumiere. But how could she withhold her help when Northwick’s life might depend upon her doing just that?
She got down on her knees and began praying that she’d never have to make that choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In the evening, Telly wandered into the drawing room and the look on his face gave nothing away. Was he having a good day, or was he confused as to whom all these men were decorating his furniture?
North stood and bowed, preparing to make any explanation necessary and pasting a pleasant smile on his face that felt more like a grimace.
“What is wrong with you, North?” The older man waved at the rest to stay seated.
He felt himself redden as he confessed. “Olivia will not come out of her rooms, my lord.”
“What? And you have not sent in the beaters?”
North sho
ok his head. “Stanley tried to convince her—”
“Convince her? You did not go to her door and threaten to break it down?”
“No, sir. I gave you my word, last night, that I’d never again see the inside of that particular room.”
“Oh? Oh, I see. Well. No worries. She’ll be down in a trice.”
“You’ll summon her, my lord?”
“I’ll do better than that.” He turned a shoulder. “Hopkins!”
His butler appeared. “Yes, my lord?”
“Go inform my daughter that there is a room full of gentlemen who are at this minute deciding what she will or will not do for the rest of her life.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“Talented beater, that one—except when he is siding with the quail.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And North? You may kiss her once when she arrives. No more. If she allows it, that is.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Telly turned to Ash. “Well, it is not as if I could have stopped him.” He lowered himself into his usual chair.
“But she may,” Ash said. “Have you read the papers today, my lord?”
“Yes, I’ve been told. Terribly tragedy. My condolences, Forsgreen.”
Stanley bowed and went back to watching out the window.
“And the letter?”
Telly laughed. “I believe you are correct, Ashmoore. He may not get that kiss. Would you be willing to make a little wager? I’ll take my daughter’s side, of course. A crown he is disappointed.”
“Done. But fair warning, I’ve been in the pen with the bull all afternoon, my lord. I do not like her chances.”
They all turned in their seats to watch for the imminent arrival of Livvy. North had not a care for his friends or their wagers. He was going to scoop her up the second he saw her and give her absolutely no chance to protest until after he had his kiss and his say.
A figure came to the doorway and he took a quick step before he realized it was a footman.
“Lord Northwick? There’s a young man named Chester asking for you. He insists his matter is urgent, my lord.”
“Show him in here.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Chester hurried in and bowed. Livvy arrived just behind him. They both were flushed and out of breath.
North looked from her to the boy and back again. “Livvy, come here,” he said.
She clutched her throat and stepped around the boy, looking at Chester as if he had arrived with ominous news, which he likely had.
North took her arm and pulled her against him.
“Just a moment, Chester.”
He turned to face her and slipped his right hand behind her head. She had only enough time to gasp, and barely that, before he pulled her to meet his kiss, to show her all the emotions he had endured that day in his worry for her. The room stayed absolutely still for him until both his breathing and hers became a bit audible.
Throats cleared. Many throats cleared.
He pulled back slightly and soaked in the sight of her heavy eyelids and parted lips.
“Ashmoore? Help Livvy to a seat.” He felt her pulled from his grasp as he turned back to Chester. “I’m sorry, Chester. What is it?”
Chester shook himself and tore his eyes from Miss Reynolds.
“Mr. Callister wanted you to know, my lord, there is a Bow Street Runner hanging about the kitchen. He claimed to have come to see you this evening, but when he heard you were not at home, he just made himself comfortable and started telling stories. Only he stops now and then to ask questions.”
“Mister Wilbur T. Franklin, no doubt. What is he trying to discover?”
“That’s his very name, my lord. He wondered if you and your friends would be at that murdered woman’s funeral. He also wondered if Miss Reynolds will be attending. Says he only wants to offer his services to help protect the lady, since dangerous men might be attending as well. He is there still, sir. Callister doubts the man will leave until someone feeds him some supper.”
“Very good, Chester. Give us a minute to decide just what we want this fellow to know.”
“I’ll just be in the hall, then, sir.”
North turned to face the room.
“Tell Chester whatever you like,” Livvy announced. “I will be attending the funeral.” She slipped from her seat and moved behind her father, as if she expected no argument while she used him for a shield.
“Surely you see how dangerous it would be.” North took a step toward her, but she cocked her head in a manner that stopped him in his tracks. She was angry with him? How could she possibly? He had just freed them from all impediments. They could marry just as soon as Gordon has been put in his place.
“Actually, the funeral might be a very safe place.” Ashmoore stood next to the fireplace, resting one arm on the mantle, staring into the flames. “If he uses the funeral as his alibi, he can hardly harm her in a public setting. We wondered if he might throw a party. Perhaps this is it.”
“So he’s hoping this Wilbur fellow will scare her away from the funeral. Perhaps he means to have someone else attack her while he surrounds himself with witnesses.” North glanced at Livvy and tried not to imagine the possibilities.
“No doubt Chester was followed, to ensure the message was delivered,” said Harcourt.
“Then let us not disappoint the man. Let him know Livvy will not be attending, when in truth it may be the safest place for her.”
“Then you’ll allow me to attend?” Livvy frowned from Ashmoore to North.
North caught a twinkle in her father’s eye, and took a breath.
“Livvy, darling, you know full well you will do whatever the devil you want, forgive my language. Just keep us informed so we can protect you. When this crisis is over, you will have no need to do even that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Damn him if she didn’t sound a bit disappointed. He tried to suppress his smile.
“You have done an admirable job taking care of yourself until I came along. No doubt you can do so again.”
He turned his back on her, only to find Ashmoore’s eyes jumping from his head. He winked at his friend, to let him know he was only teasing Livvy. He had no intention of leaving her side when the danger had passed. Ashmoore shook his head and buried his face against the mantle.
“Hopkins!”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Step inside and close the door, if you will.”
Hopkins did as she asked. North held steady, trying to concentrate on the fire.
The silence was palpable.
“So. Just how many of you know I am The Scarlet Plumiere?”
He spun ‘round, then wished he had not. The look she gave him was not unlike Ashmoore’s battlefield grimace and for a flash he imagined that Ursula was not the only one who might be in need of a church service—and not a wedding.
He stepped back until his shoulder butted up against the mantle opposite Ashmoore. His friend’s eyes were closed. The man did not turn, but he raised his hand.
Telly’s hand raised, as did his butler’s. Stanley turned from the windows, smiling and joining the ranks of confessors. Harcourt, seated upon the piano bench, propped up an elbow and waved.
North was the only hold out. Then carefully, slowly, he raised his hand, but in a more defensive manner. Damn him if he didn’t feel as if he was the only man in the room who erred in knowing her secret.
“Now wait a moment, Livvy.” He raised his other hand to the fore as well since she began stalking toward him. “Why am I the only man in trouble here?”
Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t speak. She kept coming.
He would try a different tone.
“Livvy. Stop this.” He took a step sideways toward the door.
She took two quick ones to head him off. The light from the fire lit her face from below giving her decidedly sinister demeanor.
He laughed. She did not. He stopped smiling.
“Blame The Rat, Livvy. He gave you away that first day. And the scarlet ribbon of course.”
She stopped. “You have known since that first day?” She looked horrified by the news. “But not before you tried to kiss me.”
“Correct. I started falling in love with you before I knew. Does that aid in my defense?”
She shook her head and started walking again, until her skirts covered his shoes. His heart jumped with hope that she might kiss him. He even lowered his head, to make it easier for her.
She tipped her head back. Dark curls fell behind her shoulders.
“Lord Northwick?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I am sorry, but I am freeing you from any obligation you might feel for me.”
“I do not love you out of obligation, Livvy.”
“That is beside the point. You are free to do as you please.” She was smiling. He finally felt safe smiling back.
“Then it pleases me to marry you, Livvy.” He could dive into the depths of her eyes.
“I worry you do not understand what is going on here, sir.”
“What? Fine. Explain it to me. What is going on here?” He wished their audience would be so kind as to slip from the room, but his sneaking into her room recently made such kindness unlikely.
“Ahem,” Ashmoore intruded. “May I?”
She smiled and nodded at the man, then stepped back.
North frowned at his amused friend.
“North, old man?”
“Yes?”
“She is setting you aside.”
He looked at Livvy, now two steps away. “You would not. You love me.”
“I am afraid it is already done, Lord Northwick.” She turned toward the doors. “Hopkins can inform me if there is anything special I need to know about the funeral.”
Hopkins opened the door for her, then closed it again.
North looked around the room. Stanley and Harcourt were standing before the windows performing pantomime in the light from the sconces. Harcourt was pretending to pick up someone by their shoulders only to turn and set them down again. The shoulders, he noted, were a bit broader and higher than the first time he had done such a thing.
Stanley was playing the part of a fish, being pulled about by his own hooked finger, then removing the finger and grinning at him.
