Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  “How about something to drink?” Julia asked. “I am parched.”

  “Excellent idea,” Lettie agreed.

  If Grace didn’t know better, she’d think her friends were as nervous as she.

  They moved to the refreshment table. Conversation was stilted with all of them on edge as they were focused on their quest.

  “Nathaniel mentioned you and Adair called upon your cousin and found more of the letters involved in the begging scheme,” Lettie said.

  “Yes, but they didn’t seem to be of the same ilk as Rutter’s operation from what Tristan could discern.” Grace shook her head. “Needless to say, Molly refused to allow any more to be delivered once we told her the scheme.” Grace had finally convinced Molly and Edward to accept her offer to provide them with a modest home in a better neighborhood. They would be moving in the next week and appeared excited at the idea of having a fresh start.

  Julia and Lettie continued to discuss the advertisements as they’d been scouring the papers for them as well, but Grace’s focus returned to watching for Charles. She was so intent on searching for him, she nearly missed Lynette’s approach.

  “Here is his wife,” Grace warned as Lynette drew near, much to Grace’s surprise.

  “Good evening, Viscountess.” Lynette curtsied then helped herself to a cup of lemonade from the table, her trembling hands warning Grace that something was afoot.

  “Lynette.” Grace’s attention barely lighted on the nervous woman before she looked for Charles without success. “Where is Charles?”

  “I am not certain.” Lynette watched her wide-eyed, as though perplexed as to why Grace would want to know.

  The Grace who’d fled her home might’ve believed her. But that Grace was gone. In her place was a woman and mother who knew what she was about.

  “It is a lovely party, isn’t it?” Lynette asked before taking a sip of her drink.

  “Why do you condone Charles’s behavior?” Grace kept her voice low, not wanting to cause a scene, but she was curious. She’d never understood Lynette or her disregard for Charles’s actions.

  “What do you mean?” Lynette frowned at her.

  “Do you truly not realize what Charles tried to do to Matthew?”

  The woman blinked rapidly, whether to hide her guilt or her emotions, Grace wasn’t certain. Julia and Lettie drew closer on either side of Grace, lending her confidence.

  “I-I don’t know what you m-mean.” Lynette stuttered as she looked back and forth between Grace and her friends.

  “He put Matthew in harm’s way not once but four times.” Anger consumed Grace, causing her to forget where they were. “Or shall I speak more plainly? He attempted to kill my son numerous times.”

  Lynette only stared at Grace, mouth agape, as though astonished at the accusation.

  “Why do you think I left with Matthew in the middle of the night? Are the two of you so desperate for money that you would go to such lengths?” Grace continued, her voice low.

  “How can you say such things?” Lynette asked loudly, tears filling her eyes. “Those are terrible claims.”

  Her outburst was beginning to draw the attention of nearby guests. Grace could feel the weight of their stares, which had her shifting uncomfortably, but she couldn’t stop.

  “He did horrible things,” Grace argued, unwilling to let it go. Lynette’s reaction was a mystery she didn’t understand. “Is he cruel to you? Is that why you ignore his actions?”

  Lynette gasped, her hands lifting to cover her mouth. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I am not suggesting anything. I am merely trying to understand why you stay with him.”

  “I-I—”

  “What is all this about?” Charles asked as he suddenly appeared to put a possessive hand on his wife’s waist. “What has happened?”

  “Grace is saying awful things about you,” Lynette managed between sobs.

  Before Grace could reply, he looked at her with a sad smile. “More lies, Grace? I truly think grief has taken a deep hold on you, my dear.”

  “You know all of this is true.” Rage flooded Grace so strongly that her hands trembled with it.

  He shook his head as he glanced at Julia and Lettie then back at her. “I am so sorry you lost your husband, but you must try to be strong and carry on. Matthew needs you.”

  Her throat closed. Her gloved hands curled into fists at her sides and it was all she could do not to strike him. “Do not ever speak my son’s name again.”

  “Calm yourself. You are becoming overanxious.” Still wearing that horrible self-deprecating smile, Charles eased Lynette back, somehow managing to widen the circle of people listening.

  “Charles, you will keep away from us.” Grace knew she sounded like a shrew but couldn’t help herself.

  “Stay away from her,” Lettie added as she took Grace’s arm.

  “Stay strong, Grace,” Charles said. “Time heals all wounds. You mustn’t let your grief get the better of you.” He shifted his focus to Lynette who continued to cry. “She didn’t mean those things,” he told his wife, his voice much louder than it needed to be. “It was only her sorrow that forced her to say them.”

  “Sir—” Julia began.

  Charles shook his head. “We will be going now. You’ve ruined Lynette’s evening completely.”

  Grace could only stand helplessly as she watched the two leave, Charles the image of a perfect husband.

  “That didn’t exactly go according to the plan,” Lettie whispered.

  “That is an understatement.” Julia turned to face Grace. “I need you to listen carefully,” she whispered. “All these people just got the wrong impression of you. Release your anger and act as though...” Her words trailed off as she seemed to be searching for the right course of action.

  Grace closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath to calm herself. She’d never been so angry in her life. Perhaps Charles was too clever of an adversary for a simple vicar’s daughter after all. She could think of no way to salvage the situation, nor did she have the energy to do so.

  Once again, he was manipulating not only her but the people around her. Worry filled her as she glanced at both Julia and Lettie, wondering if they now believed her to be in the wrong as well. Would she lose her new friends because of Charles?

  “Clever,” Lettie muttered under her breath as she watched them leave the ballroom. “I will give him that. He knows just what to say and when to say it.”

  “Blast him,” Julia said, her voice low. But she smiled as she glanced around the people still standing nearby and staring at them. “That man is simply impossible,” she said a little louder. “Do you know him?”

  The older woman who caught Julia’s gaze shook her head. “I don’t believe I do.”

  “You should count yourself lucky.” Julia leaned a little closer as though what she said next was meant for her ears only. “I fear he has lost touch with reality.”

  “Truly?” The woman stepped closer, as though interested in a tasty bit of gossip.

  Julia glanced at a man on the other side of Grace. “His poor wife. She doesn’t realize what the man has been up to. Can you imagine?”

  The man shook his head as he glanced at the woman at his side. “Terrible, isn’t it?”

  Grace realized the other guests standing nearby eased closer, wanting to hear what Julia said.

  “Julia is adored by many,” Lettie whispered to Grace. “She charms everyone. She’ll be immensely helpful lessening the damage Charles caused.”

  Grace drew a breath of relief as it became clear that neither Lettie nor Julia believed Charles. But if he continued to say such things to her friends or the people she’d recently met, who would they believe?

  “I want to leave,” Grace said as soon as those around them dispersed.

  “Not yet,” Julia whispered. “If you leave now, they’ll believe Charles. Let us stay awhile. Hold your head high to prove you’ve nothing to worry over.”

>   Grace did as ordered but could barely stand it. The looks from others weighed heavily on her, as if they judged her and found her lacking. She was once again an impostor. She’d lost her confidence and wasn’t certain how to gain it back. Especially since she couldn’t think of a way to stop Charles from repeating tonight’s performance.

  When she could bear it no longer, she departed, despite her friends’ protests and before the men arrived. Riding alone in Julia’s carriage, she wondered if she should leave London before everything fell apart. Before Charles tried something desperate to harm Matthew or her.

  While Julia and Lettie had believed her this time, what would stop them from thinking there was truth to what Charles said the next time it happened? She had no doubt there would be a next time. Julia and Lettie didn’t know her that well. They might only have befriended her because of her friendship with Tristan. The thought brought a lump to her throat.

  All her doubts of being an impostor, of not belonging, returned full force. By the time she arrived home, panic bubbled up inside her, much as it had before she’d left Witley Manor—the sort that propelled her to take action. She hurried up to her room, deciding there was no point in waiting. Her breath shuddering, she ran to the wardrobe, threw open the doors and pulled out a bag so she could begin packing.

  They could leave at first light, telling no one of their plans. They needed to go somewhere Charles couldn’t find them. Where she could be simply Mrs. Grace Stannus, not Viscountess Chivington.

  If they lived simply, they should be able to find a place to let, and when Matthew was older, he could decide whether to claim his title.

  Matthew.

  Though she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, that he was surely safe and sleeping in his bed, she had to know for sure. She abandoned her packing to rush up to the nursery, desperate to see him. Maybe then she could breathe.

  Pausing just outside the door, she attempted to slow her pounding heart, not wanting to upset him if he happened to wake. She eased open the door and stepped inside, immediately calmed by the scent of her boy, that mix of musk and sweat and grass with a pinch of vanilla. How she loved that smell.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she noted the maid sleeping in the narrow bed nearby and moved quietly so as not to disturb her. Her son’s form was a long lump under the bedcovers, reminding her how quickly he was growing. The thought tightened her throat.

  She sat on the side of his bed, leaning over to place a kiss on his cheek and smooth his tousled hair, drinking in his presence. Her heart overflowing with love, she adjusted the covers over him, the simple gesture she’d done a thousand times steadying her.

  He turned to face her, eyes squinting up at her. “What is it, Mama?” he whispered. “Are we leaving again?”

  Tears filled her eyes. How sad to think that he worried about such things. He should have a carefree childhood, not concerned as to whether they’d have to run away.

  But how to answer his question?

  In some ways, Charles was right. She had put Matthew through a terrible ordeal by leaving Witley Manor. At the time, she’d been so certain she had no other choice.

  Had she?

  She couldn’t change what had happened. Her focus needed to be on now. Whether she should leave again. Maybe running away wasn’t the answer.

  “No, sweetie. I just got home from the ball and wanted to make sure you were sleeping well.”

  “Oh, good. I like it here.” He rolled on his side toward her, taking her hand in his, and drew up his knees, his eyes already drifting closed. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Me neither.” The whispered words in the quiet of the night were true. She didn’t want to leave. Whether she could find a way to stay, she didn’t know, but she hoped so for both their sakes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “But alas for our delusive hopes! Come another year—that which showed our seven hundred beggars dwindled down to four—and without any apparent cause the enemy [...] reappears on the stage hale and sound, and with years of life in him yet.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Charles stared at the glass decanter on the sideboard, debating whether to pour himself more brandy from the dwindling supply. The fine crystal decanter that had been a wedding gift had long since been sold, replaced with an inexpensive glass version, one of the many reminders of his present circumstances.

  They’d been staying at a friend’s house—uninvited—whom he happened to know was in France. But the family had just returned to London, forcing Charles and Lynette to go home as well. Though pleased to be in his own house, the idea of remaining here for long made him nervous. The creditors would soon get wind of his whereabouts and be knocking at the door. Again.

  The drawing room was the only area left in the entire townhouse that suggested all was well in his household. Most of the rest of the furniture had been sold over the past few months in an effort to appease his creditors.

  Soon he wouldn’t have a bed left in which to sleep.

  The urge to throw his glass against the wall struck him, but he’d only lose a glass and the rest of his drink. He couldn’t afford to let go of either.

  His anger would be better directed toward that bitch and her son. Charles refused to claim either as relatives. If luck had already gone his way, they’d both be gone, out of his life permanently. Soon, he told himself, as he took another sip.

  He had some money left from the items he’d taken from Witley Manor and sold in London. They hadn’t raised as much as he’d hoped, and now he realized he should’ve taken more to sell. Then again, he was stealing from himself as he intended to have the title and all that came with it.

  The time had come for drastic action, but what? Last night had been a step in the right direction. Grace had been well and truly rattled once again. He smiled at the memory of her expression.

  Lynette had done her part simply by providing Grace with the opportunity to say something in public. Charles hadn’t known what that might be. Luckily for him, her words played right into his hands. It had been simple to act the part of protecting his wife from Grace’s ‘attack.’

  He’d been surprised that she’d attempted to stand up to him. He thought he’d frightened the silly chit enough that she’d bend to his will. But somewhere between here and London, she’d found a backbone. Damn her. It was becoming more difficult to approach the boy when she was standing firmly in his way.

  A new plan was in order, and the quicker, the better. But what? Perhaps the time had come to deepen his acquaintance with Lady Samantha. He sensed a potential kindred spirit in her, based on their brief discussion. While he would’ve preferred to handle this on his own, he might be able to use her to make Grace more vulnerable and, therefore, put an end to the boy.

  The ringing of the front doorbell had him groaning. There was little chance the caller was anyone other than a damned creditor. Had they realized he’d returned home already?

  He remained where he was, hoping the one footman they still employed would send away whoever it was. A maid, a cook, and a footman were the only servants left. A dismal fact, along with the empty rooms in the house, that had sent Lynette to her bedroom to rest.

  The sound of voices drew nearer, and Charles turned to glare at the doorway. He’d told the footman that unless it was the queen herself, he wasn’t receiving.

  “He will see me.” An unfamiliar male voice rose above his footman’s protests.

  Alarm skittered down Charles’s spine as he rose from his chair, setting the brandy aside. Was this some new debt collector intent on doing him physical harm?

  A man near his own age entered the drawing room then closed the door behind him. Nobility was etched in his features. The tailored cut of his fine wool suit suggested money. His size was intimidating, as was the anger in his grey eyes.

  It took Charles a moment to realize who he was—the Earl of Adair. The earl was certainly no one whom he wanted to anger, but he couldn’t allow him to
barge into his home unannounced.

  “Who the hell are you?” Charles demanded, hoping he hid both his unease and the fact that he knew the earl’s identity.

  “Adair. I have come regarding your recent actions.” The coldness and determination in the man’s demeanor changed the skitter of alarm in Charles to shivers of fear.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Adair’s reputation preceded him. Some feared him. Others avoided him. Crossing Adair created serious consequences that would be worse than facing his creditors.

  The earl drew closer, a snarl on his lips as he glanced about the room then gave Charles a thorough study. “You don’t look like a murderer, let alone a murderer of children, but I suppose appearances aren’t everything.”

  Charles’s fear increased threefold. When his intent was stated in such simple terms, it sounded like something a monster would do. Regret filled him for a moment. Then he reminded himself what was at stake, and that no one could actually prove he’d done anything wrong. Better to play the innocent. “What is this about?”

  “This is your one and only warning. Stay away from Viscountess Chivington and her son. Far away.” Adair’s hands clenched as though tempted to make his warning physical.

  Charles sputtered in protest. “They are our relatives. You can’t make such a demand.”

  Adair stepped closer. “I know exactly what you have been up to.”

  “Who are you to her? Grace has obviously been telling you lies.”

  Adair smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “You and I know it is the truth. You want the title for yourself and will stop at nothing to get it.”

  Warmth climbed Charles’s face. Words escaped him as his mind scrambled for the best response.

  “You are no longer permitted to remain in the same city as they are. Which means you need to pack your bags and leave. Now.”

  “No.” Charles swallowed hard at the strange light shining in Adair’s eyes.