Creighton strolled over and helped himself to one of the cigars in the mahogany box on the ornately carved desk. Marcus started to join him when a startled voice came from across the worn Persian rug.
“Your Grace?” An obviously surprised Jeffries leapt to his feet and bowed. The book he had been reading fell to the floor with a thunk. “I apologize, Your Grace. I wasn’t aware that you were here. Shall I go and…”
“Get my mother?” Marcus asked with a wry grin. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve already had her tear a strip or two off me this evening.”
Creighton settled into a fireside chair and lit his cigar. “Don’t forget Lady Haverly.”
“As if one can forget Lady Haverly,” Jeffries and Marcus muttered together. They exchanged commiserating smiles.
“Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?” Jeffries looked every bit the servant awaiting orders, rather than the traveling companion he had become to Marcus’s mother.
Like the dawn that would arrive in only a few hours, it came to him. Jeffries was the person to whom his mother wanted him to speak. His suggestion all those months ago was a jest. She had taken it seriously. “No, Jeffries. Not a thing. Good night. Come along, Creighton. We have an appointment with a certain gentleman.”
Marcus reached the door when he realized his friend was still ensconced in the chair by the fire, puffing away on his pilfered cigar.
“Before we broach the subject of your abysmal attempt at being a husband, I have news as to your attempt to be a decent brother.” Creighton indicated the chair opposite where he sat.
“If you will excuse me, my lords.” Jeffries took a step towards the door.
“Actually, Mr. Jeffries, you need to stay, if you will.”
“Creighton, what are you about?” Marcus stared at his friend in disbelief.
“Sit down, Your Grace.” Creighton didn’t move, save for a slight tilt of his head. “Mr. Jeffries, if you please.”
Marcus lowered himself into the fireside chair. Jeffries perched on the edge of the leather settee, back straight and head erect. Creighton pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Marcus.
George Penhurst
Marcus closed his eyes. He crumpled the paper in his fist and flung it into the fire.
“If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly.” Julius had always loved Macbeth. Julius had always taken such good care of everyone. And now, Marcus had to take care of him. And Jeffries. Because that is what brothers did.
“Jeffries, I have no right to ask you this.” Marcus leaned forward and propped his elbows on the chair arms. “Circumstances demand I do so or I would not presume—”
“Your Grace, I give you leave to ask me any manner of question you deem necessary. My loyalty has been and ever shall be to you and your family.”
The man wasn’t making this any easier. “George Penhurst,” Marcus began. “He was at school with my brother.”
His face leeched of color, Jeffries rose slowly to his feet. He reached inside his jacket and drew out two letters, seals broken, in a familiar hand.
“When did you receive these?” Marcus took the hateful things and nearly flung them into the fire. He placed them in Creighton’s outstretched hand instead.
“The first came in March, Your Grace.” The poor man looked ready to fall down. “The second a month later. I paid the money and they stopped. I never thought—”
“Sit down, Jeffries.” Marcus limped to the sideboard and poured a generous portion of brandy into a glass. He shoved it into the former valet’s hand. “Damn it, why didn’t you come to me?”
“Probably the same reason you refused to speak to him,” Creighton offered with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. “You’re both too damned proud for your own good. What do you know about Penhurst, Jeffries, other than the man has been dead since February?”
“Dead?” Marcus returned to his chair and sat down hard. Jeffries took a sip of the brandy and sat as well. “Then who is sending these letters and demands for money? Jeffries, how much did you pay him?”
Jeffries named a ridiculous sum, one so steep even Creighton whistled in disbelief. “I made inquiries,” Jeffries continued. “Mr. Penhurst kept rooms at Albany. His brother found him dead the end of February. Drank himself to death or so several of his neighbors said. Had a fellow living with him towards the end, but no one remembers his name or what became of him. He slipped away in the night after he cleared out Mr. Penhurst’s things before the proprietors could do so to collect the rents that hadn’t been paid.”
“You’ve been busy, Jeffries.” Marcus shook his head at the glass of brandy Creighton offered. He needed sobriety for this. His wife was furious with him and he was having the most embarrassing conversation of his life with his brother’s valet. On second thought, the brandy began to look quite good at this point. “No word on who the man might be?”
“None, Your Grace.”
“But it is a safe bet, he is your blackmailer.” Creighton propped his foot on his knee and took a long draught on his cigar.
“That much is certain,” Marcus agreed.
“Your Grace, I—”
“Jeffries, should you receive another of these damned letters you are to hand it over to me at once. Understood?” Marcus leveled him with his best ducal stare. “You are not to pay this bastard another farthing. I will decide what is to be done next on this matter.” He had no idea what it might be, but Jeffries had suffered enough. This was turning out to be the strangest night of his life. It could only get better from here. He hoped.
“I will look into this,” Creighton declared. “What you need to decide next is which you want more—to pummel Crosby to a bloody pulp or to take your wife to bed.” He stood and took one last puff on the cigar before tossing it into the flames. “I know which I would choose if I had a wife like your duchess.”
“After what I did, it is my wife who is more likely to do the pummeling.” When Marcus glanced at Jeffries he saw not a whit of surprise on his face. The man was obviously privy to Lady Haverly and the dowager’s war council. With a disgusted sigh, he fell back in his chair. Creighton’s insufferable grin made its expected appearance. He put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder.
“I suggest you take your mother’s advice and listen to Jeffries here. He is the closest thing to a spy in the enemy camp you are likely to encounter.”
Marcus groaned and covered his face with his hands. Subtlety, thy name was most definitely not Creighton. When he finally looked up, Jeffries stood as if he awaited his orders. Marcus’s tactless friend reached the study door, when he suddenly turned back and gazed at the former valet thoughtfully.
“It would not have served either of us well at the funeral, Mr. Jeffries,” he said evenly. “But I would like to offer you my condolences on the loss of Julius.” For a moment, he seemed to want to say more, but then he merely nodded and quit the room.
Marcus and Jeffries looked at the now closed door and then at each other. It was hard to tell who was more stunned. It had to be Jeffries, for in the next moment he sank onto the settee and simply stared into the fire. How long had Creighton known? Marcus could scarcely take it in and yet it seemed right. Of course, he would know. Very little slipped by his cynical friend.
Which led him to wonder if his mother and Creighton were right all along? He certainly had no idea how to clear up the mess he’d made of his marriage and he wanted that above all else. He needed it. He needed her. The question was, how much pride was he willing to swallow in order to keep Addy from leaving?
“Your Grace, I am not quite certain what it is I am supposed to tell you. I would not presume to tell His Grace how to…”
Marcus took in a long, deep breath. “I want to know why my brother loved you, Jeffries. I want to know why you loved him. How did you know? I want…” He never thought he’d be doing this, but once he started his words tumbled out with a mind all their own.
“Your Grace,
I cannot… It would not…” Jeffries’s face glowed bright red.
“I beg your pardon, Jeffries. This was a mistake.” The enormity of his guilt, the blame he laid at his own door for Julius’s death was suddenly overwhelming. “I know he told you what I said that day. The horrible, hurtful things I said. It is my fault he is dead. How can you bear to be in the same room with me?” Marcus stood and turned towards the door.
“The most frightening thing a person can do is deliver their heart into another’s keeping, even when the keeper is completely worthy of trust. Your brother told me that. Please sit down, Your Grace.”
Marcus stopped and with halting steps returned to settle into his chair. He stretched his bad leg out across the rug and glanced down at his shoes.
“Even when you know that person loves you completely, it is a risk. People often hurt us when it is the very last thing they wish to do.”
“He told me the same thing. Did my brother ever hurt you, Jeffries?” Marcus asked. He could not bring himself to look at Jeffries’s face.
“Only when he died, Your Grace. He did not do it on purpose. He never meant to hurt either of us, because he knew we loved him.” Marcus slowly lifted his head and took in the older man’s face. “He told me what you said and why you said it. He forgave you. He knew you didn’t mean it. I know he would want you to forgive yourself.”
“I was so arrogant and thoughtless. I took my brother and my father for granted and God punished me by taking them away before I could apologize. Perhaps it would be better if Addy had never married me. All I do is hurt the people I love.”
“I don’t believe God works that way, Your Grace. I daresay you have done a far better job of punishing yourself than God ever intended. Your brother would not want that.”
Marcus laughed bitterly. “You sound so much like him.” He sighed and slumped back in the worn leather chair. “It is very like having my brother back, you know.”
“I will take that as a compliment, Your Grace.”
“I meant it as one. My brother was… content. He was one of the most content men I know and I know it had much to do with you.” He sat up. “I want to understand what love is… between two people. I want to understand what it is I feel for Addy because it is driving me mad.”
Jeffries remained silent. He obviously expected Marcus to say more.
“I am losing her and I don’t think I want to. If Julius were alive we would not be having this conversation. I know Addy had an understanding with my brother and I can’t blame her for not loving me. You are the closest thing I have to Julius. Tell me what to do.”
“Her Grace and your brother did have an understanding of sorts. And they loved each other as dear friends. But, she was actually only ever in love with one man.”
It was just as Marcus had feared. He leapt to his feet. “Addy loves Crosby. I should have known. What a fool I was to ever think…”
Jeffries stood and stepped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “Excuse my impertinence, Your Grace, but at times you are every bit as thick-headed as your brother.”
Marcus couldn’t believe his ears. He looked at Jeffries, amazed. What the devil?
“Sit down, Your Grace.” The man handed Marcus a brandy and pushed him gently back into the chair. “There are some things you need to know. Your brother had three heart seizures in the ten months before he died. After the third one, he asked Miss Formsby-Smythe to make him a promise in regard to you.”
“Three? Why didn’t he say anything?” Julius had been ill all that time and never uttered a word.
“For the same reason you didn’t come to me the moment you received your first blackmail letter. Stubborn to a fault. Incapable of asking for help.” Jeffries actually rolled his eyes at him. “A Winfield family trait, I fear.”
“Wait.” The rest of what he’d said finally sank in. “What promise did Addy make my brother?”
“That is something you will have to ask her. Right after you ask me a favor.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Adelaide should not be here. Marcus had been unforgivably cruel, but this was not the way to bring him around. Her hopes of making her husband fall in love with her were fading fast. She was truly at a loss as to what to do next. It might be easier if her heart wasn’t already broken at her sister’s cruelty. Then when Marcus objected so vehemently to her defending him from Clementine and her cronies, matters became even more confused. What did he want from her? Was there anything she had to offer that was worth more than Clemmie’s ideal beauty and grace? She petted the two dogs and checked their leads were secure.
“All set?” Dylan asked as he poked his head in the stall at the back of the Bankside inn’s stables. “We need to get out of here.”
Adelaide gave herself a mental shake and blinked back her tears of hurt and frustration. “Are we taking them to your townhouse?” She led the two skittish dogs back towards the front of the stables.
“You mean Wessex’s townhouse?” Dylan reminded her dryly. “Yes, for the night at least and then on to Wicken End and Wickenshire’s aunt’s magic touch.”
“They need a bit o’ rest and a good feed up before we drag ‘em all that way,” Sully said as he took the leads from Adelaide. A noisy commotion halted them in their tracks. Something large and dark banged against the next to last stall. Adelaide hurried back and raised the small lantern she held. A furry head that ended in leather muzzled snout snuffled her outstretched hand. The soft light illuminated the scarred face and clouded eyes of—
“Oh, Dylan, it’s the bear.” She looked back at her fellow dog thieves. “We can’t leave him here.” She raised the stall latch.
“Now, see ‘ere, Duchess,” Sully started. “That’s a wild beast. You can’t mean to—”
“Shhh!” Dylan went to close the stall door and was nearly knocked off his feet as the bear lumbered past him and began to use his snout to rifle the pockets of the old wool coat Adelaide had donned over the wool maid’s dress she’d changed into at the Wessex townhouse.
“He’s starving.” She pulled out a handful of sausages, which the bear made quick work of and commenced to search for more. She ran her hands over the apparently friendly creature. He was bone thin and his coat was patchy and smelled awful. “He’s nearly blind and can’t have more than half a dozen teeth in his head.” Adelaide had rescued so many bear baiting and fighting dogs with never a thought as to the fate of the poor bears. What happened to warriors who fought the good fight for their masters as long as they could and had learned to defend every perceived threat with roars and tooth and claw? And words that drove even the most loving of companions away? “Give me another lead, Sully.”
“Addy,” Dylan threw his hands in the air and pointed towards the front of the stables. “You are mad. Utterly and completely mad. Sully, give me the dogs and check to see what is afoot in the stable yard.”
“We have to take him, Dylan. It’s obvious he is harmless.” She didn’t wait for his response but began to lead the bear towards the back door out of the stables. Adelaide could hear Dylan’s muttered comments and Sully’s light laughter.
“Are you taking him away?” The high-pitched query caught them off guard. Adelaide and Dylan jumped and then slowly turned towards the sound. A painfully thin boy in the worn clothing of a stable hand stood barefoot in the center of the stable aisle behind them. He dragged his arm across his nose and sniffed. “He’s a good bear no matter what his nibs says. Did you buy him?”
“You could say that.” Dylan looked meaningfully at Adelaide and then at Sully. “What’s your name, boy?”
“I’m Toffs.” He looked around the stable a bit sadly. “Guess I got no job if he’s sold the dogs and Bruiser. Maybe I’ll just stay and ask his nibs in the morning. Just to be sure.” He shuffled forward to pet each of the dogs in turn.
Adelaide grabbed Dylan’s coat sleeve. “We can’t leave him here. The barker will beat him for letting us take the dogs.”
“No
t to mention this walking rug masquerading as a bear.” Dylan covered his eyes with his hand.
“We simply must take him with us.” Adelaide folded her arms across her chest. The bear leaned into her and nearly knocked her down.
“We? What are we supposed to do with him?” Dylan demanded. Sully moved to peek out the door and hurried back with an odd look on his face.
“Send him to Wessex with the bear, of course. A man who owns elephants won’t mind an old bear. And county air will be good for the boy. I am certain Wessex can use the help.”
“Addy, Wessex hates children. He hated children when we were children. This is impossible. What is it Sully?”
Sully stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Nothin’ much, guv. ‘Cept the beadle’s coming to see what all the commotion is about.”
“The beadle? What… Come along. We’re leaving. Bring the damned bear.” Dylan grabbed the boy and dragged him towards the back doors.
“Wait,” the boy cried. “Where are you taking me? I need to get me things. Taffy. Here girl.”
“Quiet. You’ll give us away. Go. All of you. Out the door. Go.”
The boy broke free and ran to the corner of the bear’s stall. He gathered up a bundle of odds and ends and plopped a cap on his head. “I’m not leaving without Taffy.”
Sully and Dylan groaned. Adelaide tightened her hold on the bear’s lead and went to young Toff’s side. “Who is Taffy, sweetheart?”
“My cat. She’s mine. If I’m goin’, so’s she.” He jutted out his chin defiantly.
Adelaide looked around for a moment and then brought her gaze back to Dylan’s already exasperated face. “Mr. Crosby will fetch Taffy. You come with us.” She marched the young man out the doors. The bear, Sully, and the dogs followed her. When she looked back Dylan was staring at her as if she had run mad. “Fetch the cat, and we’ll see you in the mews behind Wessex’s townhouse.”
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 35
