A Dream of Redemption

by Bronwen Evans

  Simon sighed. “She has a point. I’ve been telling you for years that the past is best left buried behind us, trampled into the ground like the ashes of a campfire. But still, there will be plenty of others quite happy to tell her.”

  Lord Fairfax’s face flashed before his eyes.

  “I suggest you tell her before someone else does. I was too young for anyone to really remember me but you…Your face is one not easily forgotten.”

  Clary knew Simon was right and that he would have to tell her. Only there really was no point if he decided not to risk them all and follow his heart. He, more than anyone, knew that wanting something badly enough did not mean it would be good for him.

  Simon rose to make them supper and Clary sat dangling the brandy balloon glass in his hand. He had a decision to make, one that affected Helen and Simon too. All his previous life-changing decisions had not ended well for those he loved.

  He thought about his life in the brothel, the men who had used him, and panic and bile rose from deep within his gut. He began to shake, and he could feel the brandy rising back up his throat. He wanted to rip his clothes off because having the cloth close to his skin reminded him of the hands that roamed his body even when his skin crawled at their touch. But they owned him. Bought and paid for. The fingers of those many, many men, who had explored every crevice of his body as if he were a piece of meat…he had wanted to break each and every bone of each finger.

  It had taken him three months to numb his mind and body and soul to the men who sodomized him. He found if he relaxed and separated his mind from his body it hurt less. He would dream while they used him. Dream he was a prince and one day his father, the king, would come and rescue him. And then he would hunt down and extract revenge from those who had treated him so cruelly.

  And yet today he’d met Fairfax in the park. A man who had taken his body however he’d liked, and Clary still could not retaliate. He had to stand facing him as if they were complete strangers enjoying a polite, civilized conversation when he’d really liked to have smashed his face to pieces and torn Fairfax’s heart from his chest. The anger still boiled in his soul and he hated himself. Hated the impotence he felt in his situation.

  The pain and humiliation and disgust stayed with him, and Clary thought he might never lose the self-loathing that came with allowing men to use him.

  He knew he’d never forgive himself for not protecting Simon. The panic of knowing that any day Simon would be put to work servicing clients had almost stopped his heart from beating. So he’d tried to find a way in which escape and survival were possible. As Simon had approached ten years of age, Clary had known he had to act and he made a plan to flee. His clients often secretly gave him coin and he’d saved it all. One night after he’d worked servicing men until dawn, he entered his room to find all the money he had hidden was gone.

  Angelo had taken it. He’d known. Clary had sunk onto the floor in his room and cried and cried. The first time he’d cried since his first client.

  And Angelo made him pay by making Simon take his first client the very next night.

  Angelo had shown them both there would be no escape. Not until Her Grace arrived, Angelo was killed, and she took pity on two boys who to this day wondered why she had saved them.

  Simon re-entered the room with bread, cheese, and an assortment of meats. His brother must have noted the look on his face. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t think about our past. It’s not your shame to carry; it’s Angelo’s and the men who paid to use us. Angelo’s rotting in hell and I won’t let my past define me.”

  Simon had not experienced eight years of a living hell. Only a few months. He still could not understand how his brother could forgive him for not protecting him. He’d wanted to curl up and die the night Simon lost his innocence. Simon had become another person that night, and the way he’d looked at Clary—he’d known Simon would never forgive him and that’s what hurt the most.

  “I ran into Fairfax today, and God forgive me I wanted to kill him but I didn’t. I should have.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. You made a very wise decision. The only person you’d have hurt was yourself and men like Fairfax have hurt us enough.”

  “Don’t you ever want to rail at the world? At the injustice of our lives?”

  Simon was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded his head. “I did. Sometimes I still do, but I also thank God every day because he answered my prayers. He sent us Her Grace.”

  Clary wished he could believe in God but his God had deserted him and left him to the mercy of those who had no mercy.

  “That is why I have to be careful. Lady Helen is Her Grace’s sister and I can’t do anything that would disappoint or anger her.”

  “There is one person who would give you advice.”

  He’d just come to that conclusion. “His Grace.”

  Simon nodded. “He will be fair and truthful.”

  Clary nodded. Simon looked up to His Grace. Clary sometimes envied Simon’s worship of the Duke of Lyttleton. Simon would never look up to him that way. His Grace was the first man Simon had learned to trust and respect. He was a father figure to a boy who’d never known his father. He was the man who’d told Simon that his past was not his shame but the shame of the men who’d abused him. He’d told Clary the same thing, but Clary could not forget that he’d brought Simon into that world, be it by naivety. Guilt was something he lived with every day of his life, and he did not want to increase his guilt by doing anything that would destroy Helen.

  “I’ll talk with His Grace tomorrow. And then I will make a decision.”

  * * *

  —

  The boy stood before him hopping from foot to foot. “It was her I tell ya. It was Lady Helen what got into the carriage.”

  Glover couldn’t believe his luck. Clary Homeward had more balls than he’d expected. Not only was Homeward sending his men to hunt him down, the man was dipping his wick in his employer’s sister. He could use that.

  Glover paid the boy the coin he’d promised and then waved him away. He stood in his office, the door wide open so he could see the cages containing his valuable cargo across the way. Homeward might be hunting him but he would never think to look here.

  He’d been looking for leverage against Homeward, who it appeared was not content to get Glover out of the orphanage, but wanted him driven out of town or arrested. Neither of those outcomes would Glover contemplate.

  The money to be made in London was endless given the number of orphans and unwanted children on the streets. And he’d just made a major contact in Persia that would triple his earnings. He needed two more years before he could retire and live the life of a country gentleman, when he left for the Americas.

  “What are you going to do with this little gem?” Glover’s second in command, Stilton, said.

  “Nothing yet. Homeward’s not a man who would risk his current position for a piece of arse—even a piece of arse so fine and high and mighty. He has feelings for the lady. When the time is right we can use that.”

  “When will the time be right? He’s getting closer. Once they exhaust all usual haunts, he’ll start looking at places like this. I say get rid of him now. A dead man can’t hurt you.”

  Glover swung to face Stilton and sighed. “A dead man would bring the wroth of the Duke of Lyttleton down upon me. No. We need a way to stop Homeward without killing him. I thought his brother might be the key but it’s always good to have options.”

  Stilton spat out of the side of his mouth. “Do we move the cargo?”

  Glover shook his head. “We are safer here in plain sight. He would never think to look here. Besides, if anyone comes looking all they will find is a legitimate wool merchant. No one knows of this hiding place.” A smile broke over his lips. By the time Clary Homeward figured it out, he’d have sold his latest acquisitions and moved to another location. All Glover had to do was lie low and stay one step ahead.
Speaking of lying low…

  “When you leave can you get Tommy to bring over the young redhead?”

  “Boy or girl?”

  Glover thought for a moment then let a smile of anticipation break over his lips. “Hell, bring them both.”

  Chapter 12

  Clary knocked on His Grace’s study door only entering when he heard the word “come.” His Grace seemed to be engrossed in a set of accounts, and Clary had been standing in front of his desk for a few moments before he looked up.

  “Clary.” A frown formed on the duke’s face. “Is everything all right with Marisa?”

  His face heated. “Her Grace is fine. I was wondering—that is—I am in need of some advice.”

  His Grace indicated that he should sit. He took the chair opposite his employer’s desk and his mouth dried. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. Although His Grace had been kind and fair, allowing his wife to employ him, and taking in Simon as a young child, he was still a duke, with all the arrogance and superiority the title afforded him.

  His Grace might be shocked and offended by what Clary was about to reveal. He could very well fire him on the spot, or even worse, tell Helen’s brother, who happened to be one of His Grace’s closest friends and brother-in-law. He would be putting His Grace in a difficult position.

  “Do you need my help in the hunt for Glover? Marisa has told me that you’ve made no progress.”

  “That is true,” Clary said, nodding. “If he is still in London, which I believe he is—his greed would see to that—he is not hiding in the haunts I suspected. He needs a place to hide the children. We do know that he had taken captive more than those we rescued. However, we can find no evidence of the missing children.”

  “Then perhaps you need to start looking in places you would not suspect.”

  His Grace’s words made logical sense. Clary should have thought of that too. Could Glover be hiding somewhere they would not think to look? He had not thought Glover was that clever, but perhaps he had underestimated him.

  “That is good advice. However, that is not why I’m here.”

  That got His Grace’s attention, and he put down the quill he was holding and raised an eyebrow.

  Clary cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair. He began his story looking His Grace directly in the eyes. He was not ashamed of what he was about to reveal.

  “I find myself in a delicate position. Lady Helen has developed feelings for me.” He could not bring himself to reveal that he was falling in love with her too, or that they had already been intimate. He first desired to see what the reaction to his words would be.

  His Grace laughed. “I told Marisa that could happen. I think every young woman in this house is infatuated with you.”

  Clary could feel his face heat. “I believe it is more than infatuation.”

  His Grace’s smile vanished. “How can there be more unless you have encouraged her?”

  Had he encouraged her? Allowing her into his home certainly was not the smartest thing to do. Pleasuring her was definitely encouraging her. He should have been stronger.

  “I have tried desperately not to encourage her.” Liar. “I have tried to tell her about my past and why there can be nothing between us. But she will not listen.”

  His Grace’s face took on the countenance of a wounded bull. “Then try harder.”

  “That is my problem. I have feelings for her too, and I’m concerned I’ll weaken.” Weaken! Hell, he’d already gone far beyond what this man sitting in front of him would condone. Clary licked his dry lips. “I was wondering if you could talk to your wife and suggest that maybe it would be a good idea if Helen was not involved in the orphanage work.”

  His Grace leaned back in his chair, his fingers linked as his palms lay flat on the desk. He considered what Clary had revealed. “I am immensely proud and grateful that you have brought this to my attention. I think it is a credit to you that you have overcome your past, but we are men of the world, and we both know that our pasts never disappear. Even if Sebastian were to consider an untitled gentleman as a suitable husband for Helen, he would never condone a man with your lack of wealth or background.”

  And just like that Clary’s dreams and hopes were dashed. Smashed to pieces on the rocks of his birth. He didn’t know why he’d got his hopes up in the first place. If the man whose house he had worked in for the last five years could not overlook his past, there was no hope that society or Helen’s brother would.

  If he could not have her, he needed to put distance between them until he got his rioting feelings under control. Having had a taste of his dream, he wanted Helen in his bed so badly he was petrified of doing the unthinkable and ruining her. He’d always thought he was strong, but as it turned out he was not that strong after all.

  “So you will speak to Her Grace on this matter.”

  “Of course. Perhaps it would be best if you were absent for a bit.”

  Clary stood and nodded in agreement. “I will be staying in Southwark at the orphanage for the next few days. I need to rally my men and change the strategy in our hunt for Glover.”

  “Good. Oh, and by the way, I don’t feel there is any need for Sebastian to hear of this. He does have a bit of a temper, especially where his sisters are concerned.”

  Clary bowed before stating, “Of course, Your Grace. I shall leave the delicate matter in your hands; thank you.”

  Just as he reached the door, His Grace added, “I heard from Mr. Henley yesterday. He informs me that your brother, Simon, has a fine mind, and he is very pleased with his work. It is more than likely that Mr. Henley will agree to train him to become a solicitor. I think you should both be very proud of what you have achieved over the last few years.”

  Clary remained silent.

  “I will admit I was not happy with Marisa’s idea to bring you both into our home. But as usual my wife knew better. Don’t disappoint her.”

  Finally the warning. That’s what Clary had been expecting all along. His Grace was making it very clear with a subtle reminder that if Clary brought disgrace down on the family both his and Simon’s positions were in jeopardy.

  Clary merely inclined his head and slipped out the door.

  * * *

  —

  Helen stretched her arms up above her head and rolled her head to get the cricks out of her neck. “That’s the last one. I do hope we get enough acceptances.”

  Beatrice eyed the stack of invitations to the planned luncheon to raise money for the Southwark orphanage. “Since word has got out about your Mr. Homeward I suspect we will be full to overflowing. Nothing entertains women more than an extremely handsome man whom everyone is curious about.”

  Helen’s blood prickled with jealousy. She didn’t want a bunch of women flirting with Clary—her man. Her man! He really wasn’t her man—not yet.

  “Yes, well, Mr. Homeward is not there to titillate bored ladies. He is there to help the ladies understand how dire the situation is for these children without a decent orphanage to raise them and teach them a trade.”

  “No need to get defensive. Mr. Homeward has experience with being an orphan.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Helen asked. “I thought his family came from Yorkshire, and he grew up near Maitland’s estate?”

  Beatrice shrugged. “My mistake.” She smiled at Helen. “I’m just worried about you and your closeness to Mr. Homeward. Did you talk to Marisa?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve been too busy.” In fact, Marisa had tried to speak with her alone over the past few days but Helen had been avoiding her. Too scared her sister would perceptively ask after Clary.

  Suddenly Beatrice sat up straight, eyeing her cautiously. “Have you done your hair differently today?”

  She patted the perfect coil on her head. “No. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing. You—there is just something about you today.”

  She felt her face heat. “It must be the conf
idence I’ve gained since overseeing the orphanage.”

  Beatrice hesitated for a moment and her eyes narrowed. “Hmmm. Perhaps. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me—or ask me?”

  Did she know? Had Beatrice guessed that Helen had let Clary introduce her to passion? How could Beatrice know? Helen did feel different inside but she did not want to share her magical moments in Clary’s home—in his bed. Not even with Marisa. And definitely not with Beatrice, her brother’s wife.

  Exercising her willpower she kept her face and voice devoid of emotion. “Will you come with me to visit the orphanage tomorrow, to see it for yourself?” She wanted to go because Clary was in Southwark, and she was certain that he was hiding from her. He was trying to put distance between them. She didn’t want distance. She wanted to learn if what they shared was love. Only then would she fight for him.

  “That would be lovely. If we go early we will be back in time to rest before dinner at Marisa’s.”

  Blast. She’d forgotten that they had a big family dinner tomorrow night. Tonight she had agreed to accompany Angela to Lady Theresa Sherwood’s ball. She didn’t really want to go, but she wanted to have a talk with Angela about Lord Fairfax. Since the walk in the park, Helen had heard rumors that Lord Fairfax was paying court to her friend. Angela might be deemed a wallflower but as far as Helen was concerned she could do better than Lord Fairfax, who loved no one but himself.

  Speaking of men, she wondered what Clary had learned about Glover. He’d been back to Southwark, hunting Glover she was sure, but he would never share anything about the hunt with her and neither would Marisa.

  Clary’s desertion hurt. He had not invited her to come to the orphanage, hence why she would go on her own, and take Beatrice too. He was avoiding her.