A True Gentleman (Regency Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  “What is the matter?” Graham asked when his sister’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, handing Oliver to Simon. “I must write back at once.”

  “Of course,” said Simon before Mina begged Graham’s forgiveness and rushed out of the room.

  “What has happened?” asked Graham.

  Simon laid his son across his thighs and offered up his fingers for Oliver to grab. “There are a few issues that need Mina’s attention. Nothing for you to worry about.” Though the look on Simon’s face was not as convincing as the words he spoke, but the gentleman would not say another word on the subject.

  Smiling at the baby, Simon lifted one of the tiny fists to his mouth and nibbled at it, making Oliver chuckle.

  “Portsmouth?” he asked before switching to Oliver’s other hand.

  Graham shrugged. “It feels as though it is the right thing to do for now.”

  “It sounds like an escape,” said Simon. “Changing venues will not erase your feelings for Mrs. Russell.”

  There were times when his brother-in-law was a touch too interfering. Especially about courtship.

  “Perhaps not,” said Graham. “But staying in a place where everything reminds me of her is not helping, either. In Portsmouth, I may even manage to go an hour without thinking about her.”

  Simon nodded. “I know it shall take time, but I hope you will move on. Trust me when I tell you that clinging to the past never brings anything but pain.”

  “I am not clinging,” said Graham. “It has only been a few months.”

  “Over nine. You two have been apart longer than you were together,” said Simon, glancing at Graham. “I am not saying that you need to engage yourself to the first lady you meet, but from the manner in which you spoke last year, it seems as though marriage and a family are what you desire. If that is still the case, you need to let go of Mrs. Russell. Find someone else.”

  “Just like that,” Graham said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  Simon shrugged. “It worked for me, and now I have a wife who is the most incredible and lovely woman I have ever met, and far better than I could’ve hoped for.” Simon’s smile warmed as he spoke, and his eyes turned to his son, making his grin broaden. “And a perfect little son.”

  Scrunching his nose, Simon kissed Oliver’s tiny fingers. “He truly is the most wonderful baby, isn’t he?”

  Chapter 33

  Putting her weight behind it, Tabby leaned into the bread dough, kneading it against the wooden table. Mrs. Engle worked opposite her, stirring a pot of stew over the hearth. She had only spent some three months at Gladwell House, yet cooking with Mrs. Bunting had become so second nature that Tabby had missed having another woman in the kitchen. Working with Mrs. Engle filled Tabby with a peace that she had not felt in many months.

  “That’s a lovely tune,” said Mrs. Engle.

  “Hmm?” Tabby looked up from her dough.

  “You hum when you work, and it is lovely,” she said. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather sit and have a cup of tea? I can manage on my own, and you are a guest.”

  Tabby grinned a natural, full-faced grin that lightened her heart even more. “You are kindness itself, Mrs. Engle, but I adore cooking, and unless you feel I am a bother in the kitchen, I would prefer to roll up my sleeves and help than sit around watching you do all the work yourself.”

  “Of course, you sweet girl,” said Mrs. Engle.

  “I don’t like feeling as though I am a burden,” said Tabby. “I had hoped to find a position in the area, but it is clear that Farrow is too small for me to find anything suitable.”

  “There’s no need for you to be rushing off,” said Mrs. Engle, turning to point her messy spoon at Tabby with a hard look. “I know you wish to make your own way, but Mrs. Kingsley insisted you stay as long as you need to get your feet under you. There is no shame in taking a bit of help when you need it, and you truly need it.”

  Mrs. Engle returned to her pots, leaving Tabby to struggle against Rosewood Cottage’s intoxicating allure. Tabby wished it were possible for them to stay. It had only been a few days, but Tabby already felt at home with the Engles. There was something about the house and those lovely caretakers that called out to Tabby’s lonely soul, bewitching her with promises of a happier life. But to give in to it would be to accept Joshua’s original plan to live off the charity of others. No matter how good Mina’s intentions and enticing the situation, Tabby could not allow herself to be lulled into it. Accepting a bit of assistance was one thing, but becoming dependent on someone to whom she had no claim of dependency was beyond what her pride would allow.

  Tabby heard Phillip laugh in the sitting room as he sent his soldiers into battle against Mr. Engle. The resultant crashes and mock massacre made the two women smile.

  “It is wonderful having you here,” she said. “It gets awfully quiet with only the pair of us. The Kingsleys do come for a visit from time to time, but it’s nice to have a child around. Though, I suppose they shall bring their little one for a visit.”

  “Then Mrs. Kingsley had the baby?” Tabby paused in her work to look at Mrs. Engle.

  “Aye,” she said, stirring the pot. “A boy. Oliver.”

  It did Tabby good to hear such news, and she gave the dough one last knead before placing it in a bowl to rise.

  “Mrs. Engle!” hollered a boy as he burst through the kitchen door. The lad had to be nine or ten years old, though it was hard to tell beneath the grime covering his face. “Pa sent me to warn you. Said there’s a Bow Street Runner poking around the village, asking about a lady and her son who went missing.”

  Tabby’s heart caught in her throat, flour smearing across her face as her hands flew to her mouth. Joshua had done it. He’d called the authorities on her.

  “He’s going to take Phillip!” said Tabby, wringing her hands. “He shall take my boy, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

  “My thanks to you and your pa, Jimmy,” said Mrs. Engle, sending the boy on his way with a few sweet rolls in his pockets.

  Tabby stripped off her apron, hurrying into the sitting room to see the evidence of Phillip’s battle strewn across the floor. There was nowhere for them to go on such short notice. Nowhere to run.

  “Don’t fret,” said Mrs. Engle, following behind her. “We shall find a way to deal with this.”

  “But if Joshua pushes the issue, there is nothing to be done,” said Tabby, staring at her son, who watched her with wide eyes. “The law sides with the father, and I cannot allow Joshua to take him. Phillip would never be safe living in such conditions!”

  “What’s happened?” asked Mr. Engle, getting to his feet.

  “Jimmy came to warn us that a Bow Street Runner is on his way,” said Mrs. Engle.

  Scooping the soldiers, Tabby stuffed them into the drawstring bag, and as she did so, her thoughts coalesced into a definitive decision. She would not allow Phillip to live in Joshua’s care. Not anymore. Joshua was not merely self-destructive; his actions were bound to destroy them all, and Tabby would not sit by and watch her son be swept up in it.

  “Mr. Engle,” said Tabby, grabbing the man by the arm. “Would you take Phillip to the neighbors? Keep him out of the way for now. The law may force me to return to my husband, but I shan’t allow him to take my son. If I must leave, wait until we are gone and then take him to Mrs. Kingsley.” Though Tabby hated the thought of forcing such a responsibility on her friend, she knew Mina would accept it wholeheartedly. If Phillip had a happy home, that would be enough.

  “Of course, I would do that for you, but I don’t think it will solve your problem,” said Mr. Engle. “No offense, ma’am, but the marks on your face are distinctive enough that you were likely easy to track. Whoever is coming has to know the boy is in the area, too. I doubt he’ll leave without the both of you.”

  But such discussion was pulled to an abrupt halt when a fist pounded against the front door. Dropping the toys to the floor, Tabby grabbed Phil
lip’s hand, pulling him close to her, and prayed this would not unravel the way she feared. Mrs. Engle came up beside Tabby, squeezing her arm as Mr. Engle went to open the door. Tabby’s heart raced as the two men exchanged what amounted to pleasantries between men, and moments later they appeared in the sitting room.

  “You must be Mrs. Russell,” said the stranger.

  Tabby pressed Phillip behind her, but the man did not even glance at the boy. “And who are you?”

  “Mr. Rodger Down,” he said. “I am a Principal Officer with the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court, and I am here to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

  Tabby felt like stepping away from the man’s unwavering gaze but held herself firm. “I cannot see why that is any of your business, Bow Street Runner or not.”

  “Principal Officer,” he corrected. “And it became my business when Joshua Russell was beaten to death in an alleyway off Chartering Street.”

  “What?” Tabby’s hands flew to her mouth, and the air caught in her lungs.

  “He was murdered,” said Mr. Down. “Late last Thursday.”

  At that, Mrs. Engle stepped forward and crouched next to Phillip. “How about we take your soldiers out into the garden, young man? We can build them some trenches in the flowerbeds.”

  Phillip glanced at his mother, and she tried to smile at him. Tabby nudged him towards Mrs. Engle. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

  The boy allowed himself to be led out, though he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his mother. No doubt, he was sensing the tension in the room, but Tabby prayed he did not fully understand what had been said.

  Once the door was shut on the pair, Tabby returned her attention to the officer. “He is dead?”

  “When was the last time you saw your husband?” he asked, standing with his hands in his pockets as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Tabby supposed it might not be for him.

  “Last Thursday evening,” she said.

  “Her face was color of a plum and swollen so badly you could hardly tell it was her,” said Mr. Engle. “Joshua Russell got everything he deserved.”

  “Did he beat you regularly?” asked Mr. Down.

  Tabby shook her head. “Never. He had his faults—many of them— but he never raised a hand against me or Phillip. However, he owed a lot of money to unsavory people, and one of them wished to send him a message. I left because I knew it was no longer safe for my son to be with my husband as long as he insisted on spending money he did not have and drinking himself into oblivion.”

  Mr. Down stared at her face, examining the remnant marks, and Tabby tried not to cower beneath his gaze. It reminded her too much of Mr. Crauford’s cool expression. Then he nodded and turned to leave.

  “Is that it?” asked Tabby.

  The man halted and turned to look at her with raised eyebrows. “Is there anything more you need to tell me?”

  The question—the whole situation—had Tabby in such a state that she could not answer. It felt as though she had stepped into some dream and was trapped in a vice, her whole body seizing until she could not breathe.

  “Your husband ran with a seedy crowd,” said Mr. Down when she did not speak. “From what we have pieced together, he tried to steal from the wrong person and got himself bludgeoned to death for his troubles. The only reason I dragged myself out to this backwater hamlet is because the man’s wife and child went missing about the same time, and I had to be certain they hadn’t met the same fate. Now that I have done that, I can return to civilization.”

  Mr. Engle ushered him towards the door, but Tabby stopped him with a single question.

  “And are you certain he is dead?” she asked.

  “He was buried after the coroner’s inquest,” said Mr. Down, a hint of a smile on his lips. “So, if he wasn’t before, he is now.”

  “And it was him?” she asked.

  “Since you weren’t around Maurice Russell identified him,” said Mr. Down, his eyes narrowing. “But you would know all this if you had bothered to stay where you belonged.”

  And with that parting shot, he left.

  “Never you mind him,” said Mr. Engle, patting her on the shoulder. “You did right by your boy to get him out of that situation…”

  But Tabby did not hear the rest of what he said. It was as though the world had halted in its turn, freezing everything around her. There was no sound, no movement, no time. It held Tabby there in that moment as it stretched into eternity.

  Joshua was dead.

  Just thinking the words broke the spell, and Tabby’s hands flew to her mouth to hold back a jerking sob. Mr. Engle awkwardly patted her shoulder, saying some nonsense words, but Tabby turned away. She hurried to her room and slumped onto her bed, pulling her knees in tight as she lay down.

  Tears poured from her eyes as a barrage of emotions battered her. There were too many for Tabby to know if she was crying for Joshua, Phillip, herself, all three or none of them. She simply embraced the emotions, allowing them to wash over her. She could make no more sense of what she was feeling than she could make sense of this sudden turn of events, and the only thing she could do was to allow herself to feel it all. Her eyes burned, her breaths coming in jagged bursts as her pillow dampened. But as the minutes continued their march through the day, the shock began to fade.

  Joshua was dead. Tabby closed her eyes and rubbed at her head. He was gone. Lying there, she could not believe it was true. No matter how she had wished for things to be different for her family, she had not wanted Joshua’s life cut short.

  And yet, Tabby felt a flash of relief. There was no denying it or the rush of thoughts and possibilities that came into her mind. It had been years since Tabby had found any sort of happiness with the man, and knowing that she and Phillip were free to build a new life for themselves sent a thrill of joy coursing through her that made her stomach clench.

  How could she think that? Tabby covered her face, scrunching into a tighter ball. What sort of woman felt relief at her husband’s death? What sort of woman allowed herself to entertain thoughts of another man when her own husband was barely in his grave? But there he was, lurking in her thoughts, strong and gallant with promises of a golden future together. Captain Ashbrook. Graham.

  Burying her head into her pillow, Tabby felt the torrent of emotions swell, drowning her in their depths, and she surrendered to it. There was nothing else to do until it calmed again.

  Chapter 34

  Flicking back the straps across the top of his case, Graham opened the lid and pulled out his clothes. Perhaps it was pointless to unpack when he was only staying in Town for a sennight, but he preferred having everything laid out properly. A few days to explore the city and then his lecture at Helmsley Hall.

  Just the thought of it had his palms sweating.

  Sailing and naval life were comfortable topics, but speaking on them in front of a crowd was extremely discomforting. Everything was prepared and ready, but having never done something like this before, Graham was quite nervous at this new undertaking. But he would forge ahead, come what may.

  As he paced the hotel room, he went through his plans for the coming days. It had been years since he’d visited London, and though the city had never enticed him, Graham was looking forward to visiting a few favorite spots. He wondered if the shop on Lounton Street still served those eel pies he liked.

  A knock at the door drew his attention, and he called for the visitor to enter.

  “Message for you, sir,” said a footman, holding up a silver tray.

  “Finally,” he said, retrieving the missive. He had written Ambrose weeks ago about this trip and had yet to get a response; he had hoped to see his errant brother before leaving for Portsmouth. Not that he expected anything other than a last-minute note—if he received anything at all. Ambrose was not known for his fondness for writing. Assuming Graham’s missive even made it into his brother’s hands.

  The footman bowed and left Graham to his letter, but he found Mina’s handw
riting on it. Flipping it over, he broke the seal and read through the scant lines. In a few short words, she laid waste to his self-control, and Graham’s strength failed him. Sitting on the bed, he read and reread the letter, his heart quickening with each pass.

  Tabby was free?

  Graham sat there, dazed and startled at the news. It was everything he had hoped for and yet nothing of what he had expected. Tabby was free. The thought repeated in his mind for several moments before he shot to his feet, shouting for the footman to fetch him a carriage.

  ***

  Closing her eyes, Tabby turned her face to the sun, reveling in the warmth. A breeze blew through the garden, making the leaves rustle around her, and the scent of blossoms filled her lungs. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content. The fact that she did brought a twinge of guilt, but after days of turmoil, Tabby had come to accept that such feelings would be lingering there for some time.

  Tabby hoped Joshua had found peace for his troubled soul. In her better moments, she even hoped he had found happiness, which made her feel better about finding her own. And she and Phillip would do so. They would rebuild and move on, and there was no escaping the fact that they were able to do so freely because Joshua was gone. A bittersweet blessing.

  And there was the twinge again.

  Opening her eyes, Tabby watched Phillip run circles around the garden. If only she could capture this moment and hold onto it forever, but Tabby knew their time at Rosewood Cottage was coming to an end. Without the fear that Joshua would assert his patriarchal rights, there was no need to hide in Farrow any longer. Tabby was free to find a position and home of their own.

  Raising Phillip alone would not be easy, but it would be infinitely better than doing so while battling her husband. Another twinge struck her, but she batted it aside. There would be no more worries about moneylenders. No more fighting over his drinking and gambling. No more arguing. It would be difficult but more peaceful. She had never wished for Joshua’s death, but there was no point in ignoring the fact that there were blessings to be found in it.