by Jo Beverley
“In the hope of my money.”
She didn’t know what had set him off in this mood, but honesty seemed best. “In part, but only when you’re dead. If you spend it all during your life, I’ll have no complaint.”
“Your sister will, and her husband.”
“Not William, but Polly, yes. Why does it bother you now?”
“Because you belong in a place like this. A marquess’s daughter. Really here, dining with the others, not with me.”
“An impoverished marquess’s daughter. The truth is I feel like a fish flapping on the beach. But if you think I’ve found my place, remember, I wouldn’t be here if not for you. I’d have missed so many lovely things if not for you.”
The inn, Warrington, that night in your house . . .
“Humph,” he said. Then he added, “I’ve quite a bit of money.”
She seized the moment. “How much? I need to know, Edgar. I don’t want to overspend.”
He laughed. “You won’t do that. I’ve more than I’m likely to use, so there’ll be an inheritance when I’m gone.”
She put aside all thought of how long that might be. “Thank you. But I don’t like to think of your death. I’m not lying, Edgar. I like you, and I want you restored to health and enjoying yourself for years to come. Decades even.”
“Think I’ll live to be a hundred?” he scoffed, but his eyes looked a little damp.
“People do.”
“So rarely the newspapers make note of it.”
“Even so. Speaking of papers, shall I read to you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m going to give you and your sister some of the money now. No point my sitting on it like a broody hen. I’ll get my banker to sort it out.”
“From Liverpool?” she asked, startled.
“My main bank’s in London. Sent money to London when I started thinking of coming back. Invested in this and that through an old friend who came back before me. He died last year, but it’s in good hands. The Liverpool man was just a secondary when I decided to go back there. Bad decision.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen ill if you’d come directly to London?”
“I was ill when I landed, but there was nothing in the Wirral for me. The past is past. Remember that. Dead and gone and should be buried with the corpses.”
“I don’t agree. There’s value to remembrance.”
“Not if it leads to wasted time and folly. Do you pine for your old home?”
She was bewildered by the change of subject and wished he’d said more about the money, but he would give them some now. Even a little, a few hundred or a thousand, would make a significant difference.
“My old home? I’m not even sure what that means. I was born in Carsheld Castle, but I left there when I was eleven. It was damp, gloomy, and crumbling down. We moved to Leyden Hall in Hampshire, but though it was part of Father’s property, it didn’t feel like a home. Then I moved to Selby Hall to live with Polly.”
“Hope to see you in a home of your own, then. Dance at your wedding, even.”
She smiled. “I hope for that, too, Edgar.”
“Choose a good man, note. One who’ll love you for who you are. Should have your pick with ten thousand in hand.”
“Ten thousand? Pounds?” Stupid thing to say, but she could hardly take it in.
“Pounds, guineas. I don’t care. There’ll be plenty left for me, so don’t fret about that.”
Hermione put down her knife and fork before she dropped them with a clatter. “You’re going to give us ten thousand pounds?”
“Each.”
“Now?”
“As soon as it can be arranged. It’s well invested and you’d be wise to leave it so and use the income unless there’s great need, but I’ll put no ties on it. And of course there’ll be the remainder of what’s mine one day.”
There was wine with the meal, but she’d only sipped it. Now she took a long drink as she let his words settle.
“Edgar, are you sure you can afford to be so generous?”
He rolled his eyes. “Only you would question a man at a time like this. I’m not a fool, girl. I know what I’m doing. Say thank you and have done with it.”
She had to laugh. “Thank you, thank you! Such a sum will make all the difference, especially to Polly.”
“You fuss too much about that sister of yours. Think of yourself for once. You’ll be a well-dowered heiress, so keep your wits about you and wear the kris.”
Oh dear. She’d taken it out of her pocket and put it in a drawer when she’d learned she was to try on gowns. She smiled, thanked him again, and chattered about some boots she’d seen that she could indulge in now. Of course he berated her for not buying them, which carried his mind far from the weapon. She left before he recollected it.
She hurried to the privacy of her room and was able to try to absorb the size of the bounty. Ten thousand pounds, well invested.
She flopped flat on her back on the bed to contemplate it. Ten thousand pounds!
It felt like the wealth of Croesus, but she made herself be more realistic. She should spend only the interest, which wouldn’t be enough for Belcraven-like luxury, but it would provide a comfortable life. She sat up to hug her knees. A decent, happy life for her and Thayne and their children, even if he never earned a penny.
* * *
The next day Hermione hoped for a visit from Delaney and even thought of summoning him, but over breakfast Edgar asked when he could see more of London. The antimony was definitely helping him and the unpleasant effects were moderating, which he took as proof that it wasn’t working. So he wanted to see the sights now.
Very well, and it would be a thank-you for his generosity. They weather was clear, so perhaps they could use an open carriage. She sought out Beth for advice and found her in the entrance hall, directing the placement of flowers for the evening party.
“A barouche? Yes, of course. An excellent idea. Ah, Arden, you’ve not yet met Lady Hermione.”
A man had entered the hall from the back of the house. Hermione didn’t know what she’d expected of Beth’s husband, but it wasn’t this startlingly handsome Greek god. He came over smiling pleasantly enough, but she still felt tongue-tied.
“Roger’s sister,” he said, inclining his head. “He was a good man.”
Of course. He was a member of the Company of Rogues. His simple accolade startled a hint of tears. “Thank you.”
“It seems a shame that the Rogues didn’t keep in touch with your family, in case there was any need.”
There it was again. Pity for the Moneyless Marquess’s family. “There was no reason why you should, my lord.”
“I’m sure Nicholas doesn’t agree. A sad lapse.”
“Cease sparring with Nicholas, Arden,” Beth said, but with good humor. “Hermione is to take her great-uncle out in the barouche to see London. You could escape the chaos here by being their guide.”
Hermione didn’t know who was more taken aback—herself or the marquess.
“I have pressing business elsewhere,” he said, with a look at his wife. Beth had told him to stop sparring with Mr. Delaney, but had been unable to resist challenging her husband herself. Hermione was surprised not to see more annoyance in him.
“In truth, I do,” he said to Hermione, “and I wouldn’t be the best of guides, as I pay little attention to details outside my sphere. I’m sure there’s someone employed here who’ll suit.” He gave them both good-day and took his hat, gloves, and cane from a servant standing quietly by, then left. Outside, a carriage awaited him, so his excuse had not been a polite fabrication.
“He’s right, of course,” Beth said, looking around and fixing her gaze on one footman. “Find Kingsley for me, if you please.” Soon the butler appeared and was instructed to arrange for the barouche to be brought round and
to find someone who could act as guide to London. Then Beth returned to the preparations for her party and Hermione hurried upstairs to announce the outing to Edgar.
He was delighted at the prospect, and so was she. She returned to her room to put on bonnet and gloves, but then changed her mind. “I’ll wear one of the new morning gowns,” she told Nolly.
She’d be traveling in a grand carriage and had no desire to look like a poor relation, but there was always the possibility of a chance encounter.
“Which one, milady?”
“The sprigged muslin and the straw bonnet. The one with the flowers. I feel like spring, even though it’s nearly autumn.”
Nolly giggled and Hermione resolved not to act like an idiot in love.
Once she was dressed, she considered footwear. Her well-worn half boots wouldn’t do at all, and it was a shame she’d not indulged in the blue half boots, which she could now afford to buy with hardly a thought. Her giddiness over ten thousand pounds had not completely dissipated. Last night she’d written to Polly, so soon she’d feel the same relief and excitement.
Footwear. As she wasn’t going to be walking far, she chose a pair of Beth’s white kid slippers.
“You look lovely, milady,” Nolly said.
Hermione regarded herself in the mirror and had to agree. The bright colors and flowers in the bonnet made her look lighter and brighter. Had she become somewhat gloomy over the past few years?
She smiled at the maid. “You’re looking very well, too.”
Someone had found Nolly a blue-striped gown and a fancy apron and cap and she grinned. “Not so shabby, am I, milady?”
“Go and find your bonnet, Nolly, for you’re coming out for this exploration.”
“Thank you, milady!”
Once the maid had gone, Hermione considered a problem. Where could she put the kris? The fashionable gown wasn’t made for pockets. Instead, she had a pretty, matching reticule, but it was far too small. Feeling guilty, she tucked the dagger in a drawer under her shifts, and prayed Edgar wouldn’t ask. She was going for a drive in the Marchioness of Arden’s barouche, after all. She’d be in no danger, from suitors or enemies.
Thayne’s button would fit in the reticule. She was about to put it there when she had a better idea. Smiling, she tucked it behind the busk of her corset between her breasts.
Nolly returned, bright with excitement, to say the carriage was waiting for them. They went to the stairs to find Edgar being carried down in a chair with poles, managed by two footmen. Beth was waiting in the hall, supervising.
“Isn’t it ingenious?” she said. “Arden anticipated the problem and had the idea of cutting the top off one of the old sedan chairs. One of the carpenters made an excellent job of it.”
“That was very thoughtful of him,” Hermione said, trying not to show surprise that the mighty marquess had busied himself over such a minor matter.
“Much better, this is,” Edgar said as she walked beside the chair to the door.
“Isn’t it? Living in Belcraven House is rather like being in a fairy palace. Every wish and need magically fulfilled.” She paused before crossing the threshold to make a specific wish of her own. Let me see Thayne today.
Perhaps she’d already been too far out of the fairy realm, for she returned three hours later with her wish unfulfilled. Apart from that lack, it had been an excellent outing. A lanky footman called Jeremy had presented himself out of livery to accompany her and Edgar in the carriage. He’d given Nolly a saucy look as he sat beside her in the backward-facing seats. Nolly had turned up her nose, but Hermione could see she was enjoying the attention.
“London born and bred, milady, sir,” the footman announced proudly in a strong accent, “and I’ve always ’ad an interest, if you see what I mean. My grandfather was a rare one for stories, and ’e’d take us walking around on a Sunday.”
They’d driven past St. James’s Palace and around the old parks, and halted outside Westminster Abbey as Jeremy spoke of the history and curiosities. Hermione had resolved to return one day with a bath chair for Edgar so they could go inside. Westminster Hall followed, and then Whitehall. They’d been following the river, but they’d only glimpsed it through the buildings built all along the banks.
“Best way to see them’s by boat, milady, sir,” Jeremy told them. “Shame I can’t take you to see Waterloo Bridge, ’as opened only a few months ago on the second anniversary of Waterloo, with the Duke of Wellington in attendance, as well as the Regent and all the great men.”
By the time they returned to Belcraven House, Edgar was tired, but he seemed to have enjoyed their adventure. He settled in his bed for a rest and Hermione went to her room to take off her bonnet and the slightly tight slippers. For the dance party she’d wear her own, even though they were the worse for wear.
She took out the button, warm from resting against her skin, and buffed it with her handkerchief, but then replaced it. Keeping it close felt like a talisman that would protect Thayne. If only she knew he was safe. But that was silly. He’d survived a war without her hovering over him. And he still had the rose.
Her mind swooped back to that moment when he’d told her he’d kept it. That he’d felt the same impossible connection that she had through the years. The firelit room, his soft voice, the closeness that made it impossible that they be apart for so long, that she not know where he was at this very moment.
She wished Nicholas Delaney would come so she could start her search for Thayne. Why only wish? She could summon him. She didn’t know his address, but surely Beth would.
She quickly wrote the note, not explaining the reason but phrasing it as politely as she could while expressing some urgency. Then she consulted Beth, who dispatched it by a footman, without comment.
That done, Hermione was left with nothing to distract her as she waited. She could offer to help with the arrangements for the party, but the abundance of servants was obvious. She’d only be in the way.
She went to her room and attempted a letter to another Hampshire friend, but her account of arriving at Belcraven House seemed too much like boasting. She pecked at a light lunch by the window of her bedroom, trying to read Guy Mannering, but fantastical adventures no longer amused her. It was more interesting to watch Beth’s son as he toddled into the garden below, accompanied by a maid. Hermione watched him trot around the paths, exploring every little thing as Polly’s boys liked to do.
As hers would one day. Thayne’s children. She smiled with delight at the thought. Would they be black haired or brown? What sort of garden would they have to play in? She liked the countryside and it would be reasonable to spend some of the capital on a modest estate, but Thayne might not want rural life. He came from an aristocratic family but had clearly been cast off by them, and his life had been in the army and London.
She didn’t care where they lived as long as they were together, but if they had a town house, she’d like a garden.
She sat watching the child, dreaming, until the chiming clock told her an hour had passed. She was turning into a lovesick fool. She’d bring her mind into the moment by reading the newspaper, but when she picked it up, she found the broadsheet beneath it, with promises of poisoning and murder most foul.
The story of the poisoned family was heartbreaking, with ten people dead, including six children, because someone had used rat poison instead of salt in the stew. There was no suspicion of it being anything other than a tragic mistake. The public was warned yet again about the handling of poisons.
The flaming warehouse was reported as a case of arson. An employee was sought to answer questions, and a full description was included. Jack Patchem been caught pilfering and dismissed. He’d left cursing his employer and the next night the place had burned. What if it wasn’t him? she wondered. He’d probably be convicted and hanged anyway. The world wasn’t always fair.
Sh
e read the sad case of a small child killed by a runaway cow that had been fleeing its own slaughter, and about a chicken that was said to be able to count by pecking with its beak.
Friends or family were urgently sought to claim the body of a gentleman found drowned in the river, with evidence of foul play upon him. He was identified by cards in his pocket as . . .
Edward Granger.
Chapter 34
Hermione looked at the words, blinking to make them change to something else.
The words still said “Edward Granger.” Something about an inquest. Any information . . . Coroner . . . Stirling . . .
Her hands began to shake, but she couldn’t put down the paper because her fingers were clenched on it as if the force of her grip could change reality.
Edward Granger. Found in the river, with evidence of foul play.
Did that mean a slit throat? Had Thayne’s enemies found him in the end?
Her grip turned limp and the paper slithered away.
She gripped herself instead, as if that might stop the shaking. It couldn’t be true. Surely she’d know if he was dead! She’d know in her heart.
She rose to pace the room. Of course it was a mistake. The dead man had one of Thayne’s Granger cards, that was all. Yes! That was it. He’d given the man a card. That explained everything.
She must go and correct the error.
Yes, that was the thing to do.
She found her bonnet and tied it on.
Money for a hackney. She grabbed her knitted purse and headed for the door. As she reached for the knob, the door opened and Nolly came in.
“A visitor . . . Are you going out, milady?”
Hermione tried for a calm, commonplace manner. “Yes. An urgent errand.”
“Then you’ll need me, milady. Do you want a carriage?” From Nolly’s expression, the calm, commonplace manner wasn’t working. “You do have a visitor, milady,” Nolly said. “A Mr. Delaney.”
Delaney. Hermione almost laughed. No point to that anymore.
But Thayne wasn’t dead!
“Take him to Mr. Peake,” she said. “Mr. Peake wished to speak to him. I must go out. Don’t try to stop me, Nolly!”
