It took Wynbrook a moment to recall the conversation. In a flash, he remembered every cutting remark and was instantly ashamed of his conduct. Tristan had been right to call him an arrogant arse. There had been a time when he thought himself better than his company and utterly invincible. How quickly things had changed.
Of course, that day was not the last interaction he had shared with Lady Kate. Was she going to list their other encounter as more evidence of his crimes against her? He waited for her to continue and was met with a glare for his trouble. Were they supposed to pretend their rendezvous that night five years ago never happened? More stony silence.
Apparently so.
Wynbrook took a deep breath of the cold, damp December air. He hated apologizing, mostly because he hated the thought that his conduct was less than honorable, but in this case, an expression of regret to Lady Katherine was owed. “Please allow me to apologize for my conduct when I was young and dunderheaded. I most humbly ask your forgiveness for that day and anything else that I may have done or said that has given you offense.” There, that was a blanket apology for all his misdeeds, spoken and unspoken. He should be covered now.
“If I offer absolution, will you leave me alone?” she grumbled.
“I fear nothing can release you from the obvious displeasure of having me drive you to your errand and then safely back home. I will, however, promise never to burden you with my presence in the future.”
“As you wish.” She sighed, accepting defeat by handing over the reins. “Remember, I warned you.”
With that grim rejoinder, they were off. “C’mon there,” coaxed Wynbrook, trying to increase the speed of the old, gray horse to something of a relaxed amble.
“Pickles,” said Kate.
Wynbrook turned to Kate in confusion.
“The horse’s name is Pickles,” she clarified.
Of course it was. “C’mon there…Pickles.” If he was to be humiliated, it might as well be done in grand style.
Kate stared straight ahead, clinging to her books like a shield, her back as straight as a sword. If she noticed the looks of shock and surprise from the passing carriages, she gave no indication. Wynbrook had hoped to travel the London streets without seeing anyone he knew, but instead he passed many of the elite in high society with him sitting on the driver’s box of a ramshackle delivery wagon.
He greeted Mr. and Mrs. Grant, the Duke of Marchford, the Duke of Clarence, and Lord Devine with his niece, the young Miss Frances, slack jawed, her face pressed against the glass of the carriage. Wynbrook waved and smiled.
“Oh, my poor reputation,” he bemoaned. It earned him a glare from the ill-tempered Kate. She continued to provide him directions, leading not toward a modiste but toward the poorer part of Town. Where could she be going?
They rolled down the London streets, the dense, coal-smoke-infused haze swirling around them. They turned down Farringdon Street and Kate told Wynbrook to pull up outside of a tall stone wall. Barred windows were built into the wall from which people called out, piteously begging for alms.
“This is Fleet Debtors’ Prison,” said Wynbrook. He did not like to hear the laments of the poor and was truly confused as to why Kate would bring them to such a place.
“Yes.” Everything about the already-rigid Lady Katherine had grown tighter. “Understand, Robert and I have an appointment here, which I cannot miss.”
“What business could you possibly have with a debtors’ prison?”
“You may stay here with the cart,” said Kate, not answering his question.
Wynbrook raised an eyebrow. “First, you must think quite poorly of me to believe I would send you into Fleet alone, and second, I am gratified that you have properly defined this conveyance. It is a cart.”
“Which might be stolen if no one stays with it.” Kate struggled to get down from the cart with her arms full of papers.
Wynbrook jumped down and assisted her, putting his hands around her small waist to lift her easily to the ground. His hands lingered on her waist for a second longer than was absolutely necessary; for some reason, he did not want to let go. A flash of attraction surged through him, as powerful as it was unwanted. He snatched his hands away and held out his arms to offer to carry her books as if that had been his plan all along.
“I doubt even thieves would be interested in that gig,” commented Wynbrook. “Here now.” He tossed a coin to a heavily mufflered lad. “Watch this nag for me and there will be another farthing for you if it is still here when I return. I’ll give you a half crown if you can sell it for more than a pound.”
“It is not yours to sell!” cried Kate.
“Do not distress yourself. It is not worth more than a few shillings. But why are we here?” Behind his cheery bluster, Wynbrook was dismayed at her destination and could think of no reason why she would be there.
“I have business here.” She walked to the arch in the stone wall and paid a coin to the turnkey. Wynbrook followed her through the gates to the large courtyard of the prison, surrounded by imposing stone walls five stories high.
“What business?” asked Wynbrook softly.
Again she did not answer but crossed the courtyard quickly, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. She climbed the few stairs to the main door and paused. Her breath came shallow and quick, and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Whatever this place was to her, it clearly affected her deeply.
He put a hand on her shoulder, afraid she might faint like some ladies were known to do when distressed.
“No!” she gasped and jumped away, her eyes wide with fear.
“Are you unwell?” asked Wynbrook. Despite the awkwardness between them, he felt an immediate urge to protect her. He did not know what business she had here, but he would see it done.
She blinked and the emotion drained from her face. She cleared her throat and straightened her already-straight bonnet. “I am fine. Do let us continue.”
“You can wait in the carriage, if you wish, and I can see to whatever business you have,” offered Wynbrook. Considering her reaction, he guessed she must know someone locked in one of these cells.
“Kind of you to call it a carriage,” murmured Kate.
“You looked beset. Thought you might faint if I told you what I really thought of it.” The remark earned him a twitch of her tight lips.
They walked through the door to the spare reception area. The smell of mold, filth, and human misery was overpowering.
“We have an appointment with the warden,” said Kate.
“What fer?” asked a bony man behind a desk, hardly bothering to look up over his racing form.
“That is my concern and not yours,” answered Kate.
“Well, I see who comes and who goes and who sees who. So ifs ye want to see anyone, ye better tell me what fer.”
“We have come to show payment of debt and obtain release for some of your residents,” Kate replied in a tight, clipped tone.
Wynbrook was right; she must wish to release someone known to her.
“Put the paper here,” droned the man and went back to his racing schedule.
Kate dropped the stack of papers down on his desk with a thud. The guard stared. Wynbrook stared.
The guard looked up in surprise. “What’s all this, now?”
“The release papers,” said Kate.
“B-but how many debts ha’ ye done paid?”
“We have paid the debts of every child living in Fleet and their families,” said Kate with authority.
Wynbrook’s jaw went slack. He couldn’t help it. What was she doing?
“I’m going to need to get the warden, I am,” hedged the guard.
“Indeed. Step to it then,” said Wynbrook in a commanding tone, deciding it was his turn to enter the conversation.
The man scuttled off directly.
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“All the children?” asked Wynbrook. He was still reeling.
“And their families,” added Kate.
“It must have been very costly.”
“It was,” agreed Kate.
Wynbrook liked to think of himself as a generous man, but this was beyond anything he had ever considered. Why would she do such a thing? “Do you know any of these children?”
“No. But no child should be in jail because of the poverty of their parents.”
“Indeed.”
“You got no right to pay all these here debts.” The warden, a large man whose head rested on multiple chins, waddled his bulk toward them.
“And you have no right to charge rent and ridiculous fees to the poor souls who are forced to live here. You care not for the repayment of debt. You only wish to secure your own profit by stealing from the poor and vulnerable.” Kate flushed with more emotion than Wynbrook had ever seen on her face.
“You know nothing of it!” The warden’s face turned florid. “I will have to look into each one of these releases. Will take time.”
“But we have court orders for their release!” cried Kate, her distress clear.
“Don’t care what you think you got. Take time, it will.” The warden crossed his meaty arms across his chest.
“Excellent. That will allow us time to process the claims against you,” said Wynbrook, stepping forward into the fray.
“Wh-what do you mean?” asked the warden, taking careful note of Wynbrook’s attire and changing his tone to be more deferential.
It was clear the warden had sized up Kate to be someone he could bully. The man changed his tune in the face of Wynbrook’s multiple-caped riding coat. Wynbrook knew that people showed preference to members of society’s elite, but it had never before bothered him as it did now. “Yes, we are looking into abuses of your office and the embezzlement of funds. I should not be surprised if you were required to pay back every false fine you have ever collected.”
“You can’t do that.” The wide eyes of the warden were no longer confident.
“Do you doubt my ability to gain an audience with the Lord Mayor? I imagine paying back your ill-gotten gains would be quite a hefty sum. Would it not be ironic if you yourself ended up in the same prison you once administered?” Wynbrook tugged at his cuffs nonchalantly. He glanced up at Kate and her eyes shone, a small smile on her lips. It was his turn to catch his breath. The rare smile from Lady Kate was worth the trouble of earning it.
The warden opened and closed his mouth twice in horror. The debts were acknowledged paid.
Wynbrook and Kate retreated back to the cart, which, much to his disappointment, was still there.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft glow in her eyes. It was the first time that day she had looked at him without a glare. It was strange, his reaction to that look. Maybe it was her light eyes or the memory of something that had passed between them, but tingles shot through him. His reaction was akin to a schoolboy’s, which was odd in the extreme, since he was not unaccustomed to female company.
Though he was not one to brag about his exploits, he had been connected with some of the most renowned beauties, all with soft, round bodies and warm, alluring faces. Kate was nothing like them, all angles and edges, both in form and temperament. And yet she was the one he could never forget.
“I have done nothing. You deserve all the credit. I am astounded at your generosity.” He was truly impressed. “Will you tell me why you did this?”
“For this,” she said with a simple gesture. Families began to emerge, bewildered, from the prison, smiling, laughing, crying. It was a touching scene.
“Do they know to whom they are indebted?” he asked.
“No.”
“But why—”
“Robert and I believe in giving charity. That is all.”
That was clearly not all. Wynbrook clicked to Pickles, and they began to amble back down the street. One thing was evident—Wynbrook did not know the lady sitting next to him. Not in the least. Despite his initial intent to stay as far away from her as possible, he now was drawn to the mystery of Lady Katherine Ashton.
“Lady Kate, I want you to know I admire greatly what you have done.”
Kate clutched the ledgers and logbooks close to her chest. “Turn left here, Lord Wynbrook. I appreciate your assistance, but I will remind you of our agreement.”
“Our agreement?” His question was met with the return of the glare from Lady Kate. “Oh, yes, of course.” He had agreed never to see her again. Wynbrook squinted into the stinging, cold sleet.
Just when it was getting truly interesting, time had run out on his audience with the enigmatic Kate Ashton.
* * *
Captain Silas Bones sipped a glass of claret. Its annoyingly poor quality burned his throat. Deprivation did not suit him. “Did you get the logbooks?”
“Nay, Cap’n. Searched Darington’s quarters on board, but he must have taken his logs.” His wiry first mate stood before him.
“My dear man, that is simply unacceptable.” Silas swirled the wine in his glass. “I would hate to think that you were disappointing me.”
His first mate stood at rigid attention. “N-no, sir.”
“I need those logs. I need to know what he did with the gold. Do you know why I need to know that?”
“Why, sir?”
“Because it is my gold!” Silas’s sudden shout made his first mate jump. “Now, take some of the lads and go search his lodgings. I care not what you do to get them, but bring me back those logbooks.”
“Aye, Captain.” The man saluted and left.
Silas had taken a small room in a disreputable inn by the docks, the only lodging he was now able to afford thanks to being raided on the high seas by Lord Captain Darington. Silas had been sailing under the French flag as a privateer at the time, but he would make no allowance for Darington taking his ship.
Silas poured himself another glass of the inferior wine. How had it all come to this? He knew how—it was all Darington’s fault. The man had taken everything from him. Everything.
Silas would get back his cargo, the treasure he carried for his father. He had to. If his father knew it had been lost…
Silas put aside the wine and pulled out a bottle of rum, forgoing the common civility of a glass. This was what Darington had reduced him to, drinking rum from a bottle like a common sailor.
Darington may have been an excellent privateer, but Silas had something the young man did not. Darington had no idea who Silas was. The earl had no concept of how their family histories were intertwined.
Silas knew. He knew everything.
This was far from over.
Four
Four for a boy
Kate hated it when things did not go according to plan. She had expected Wynbrook, a man so obsessed with his own self-importance he could not ride down the streets in a run-down carriage—fine, cart—without embarrassment, to encounter Fleet Prison with abhorrence. She had expected his delicate sensibilities to be thrown into disarray and to be met with something of a cut direct for exposing him to the underbelly of London poverty.
She glared at Wynbrook, sitting next to her on the cart as they slowly drove through the frigid streets to the lodgings she had procured with her brother. Most Londoners believed that people who did not pay their debts deserved to be in prison. She’d expected Wynbrook to feel the same. Instead, he had not only expressed admiration for her actions, but he had also helped her make it come about.
She was determined not to like him. She had every reason not to like him. It was much easier not to like him. If only he would play the role of the arrogant aristocrat, this whole encounter with him would be much easier.
Apparently, Wynbrook was determined to be difficult. Drat the man! She attempted to dispel her unsettling feelings
regarding Wynbrook with a mental review of her daily list.
1. Free children from Fleet prison. Check.
2. Hold investors’ meeting and disburse funds. Check.
She added another: Meet Wynbrook for the first time since that night without doing him bodily harm or swooning at his feet.
Check. At least for the most part.
Kate was anxious to get to her lodgings and part ways with the confusing Wynbrook, yet when they arrived, she immediately sensed something was wrong. Eyes were upon them, silent, watching, waiting for something to happen.
“Is the door usually kept open?” Wynbrook asked, pointing to the main door of house standing wide-open on a freezing day.
“No.” She grabbed her ledgers and turned to jump down, but Wynbrook was already there, lifting her gently to the ground. Even in her concern, her treacherous body reacted to his hands around her waist. She pushed the disconcerting emotions aside and rushed into the boarding house, Wynbrook at her side.
The landlady was sitting on the floor with a bloody cloth to her nose, surrounded by her elderly mother and two young children. “My Lady Katherine, two men, they asked for the key to Lord Darington’s room, but I didn’t give it, so—”
Kate’s heart wrenched to see her landlady so injured. Who had done this?
“What room?” demanded Wynbrook.
“Top of the stairs to the left.”
Wynbrook dashed up the stairs three at a time, Kate following behind as fast as she could in skirts. Banging could be heard from inside their room.
“Where is it? I can’t find it,” said one man.
“Captain won’t like it,” said another.
“Quick, run! Someone’s coming!”
Wynbrook barged into the room, extending an arm to keep Kate back, but it was empty, the window curtains fluttering in the wind. Kate dropped her logbooks and rushed to the window, where two men could be seen running down the alleyway. Stacked crates and other debris had been used to make a fast getaway.
“Who were they? Why…” Kate turned around in the ransacked room, stunned. It was happening again. Bad luck, every time she came to London. Cold fingers of dread snaked up her spine.
If the Earl Only Knew (The Daring Marriages) Page 3
