by Darcy Burke
Besides, he expected she was married by now, or would be before the Season ended. She was far too intelligent, charming, and beautiful to last long on Society’s Marriage Mart. How he would have hated to participate in such a show.
He couldn’t help wondering if he might have. If his life had gone differently. His parents had died in a fire when he was five. He knew very little about them other than that they’d taught him to read, his father had given him a pony, and they’d loved him. The pony suggested some measure of wealth, but Rafe had never known the truth. Their nurse—his and his younger sister’s—had rescued them from the fire and delivered them to her brother, who’d taken them to London. When Rafe had asked “Uncle” Edgar where he was from, the man always shrugged and said it didn’t matter. What mattered was where he was going.
Always look forward.
Rafe had done just that, for it had been far preferable to living in the present, which had often been a horrible existence of hunger, shame, and desperation. Used by Edgar to steal and swindle, Rafe had grown up on the streets of East London, as far away from pony rides and loving parents as one could get.
But now that he’d arrived at his destination, the posh elegance and security of Mayfair, Rafe was consumed with looking back. Because nearly a week ago, he’d remembered something that could finally illuminate his origins. On the day his younger sister was married, she’d received a coral necklace as a gift. That necklace reminded them of one their mother had worn.
Seeing the necklace on Selina had loosened a memory stuck in the recesses of Rafe’s mind. He distinctly recalled sitting in his mother’s lap, touching that necklace and looking at a folly nearby. They’d been picnicking on the edge of a lake in the shadow of the folly. Hell, he hadn’t even known what a folly was until Beatrix had explained.
Beatrix, whom Selina had met at boarding school after Rafe had sent her there at the age of eleven to protect her from the ever-increasing dangers of their life in East London, had given Selina the necklace. As the bastard daughter of a duke, Beatrix had enjoyed a luxurious childhood until her mother, the duke’s mistress, had died. As a child, she’d visited an estate with a folly and so had been able to describe it—a fake temple or other sort of building situated on an estate as a decoration or entertainment. Apparently, some folly owners actually paid hermits to live in them. Rafe would never understand the bloody rich.
“Sir?” Rafe’s butler, a smooth, silver-haired man of around fifty with a wealth of experience and outstanding references, stood just inside the library.
“Yes?”
“Lady Rockbourne and Mrs. Sheffield are here to see you. They are in the blue room.”
Beatrix and Selina.
“Thank you, Glover.” Rafe had arranged for guests to always meet him in the large sitting room that looked out to the garden. It was an elegantly decorated space with just the right amount of intimidating opulence and welcoming warmth. Or so he hoped.
Rafe moved past the butler and made his way to the blue room. Beatrix perched on a settee in the center seating area while Selina paced near the massive fireplace edged in gilt and surmounted by a wide mirror in a Baroque style.
That his sister was wearing a path over his new Aubusson carpet gave him a moment’s concern—not for the carpet, but for whatever was driving her nervous movements. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you both—newlyweds that you are.” Selina had married the Honorable Harry Sheffield, a Bow Street constable and second son of an earl, a week earlier, and Beatrix had wed the Viscount Rockbourne just three days ago.
Selina stopped pacing and faced him, her hands clasped in front of her. “We have news. Rather, Beatrix has news.”
Beatrix blinked, her pale lashes sweeping over her hazel eyes. “Yesterday I went to Tom’s cousin’s for a visit. We picked up a pair of kittens for Regan.” Tom was her new husband and Regan was her four-year-old stepdaughter. “While we were at Sutton Park, we had a picnic near a lake.”
The air in Rafe’s lungs escaped in a rush. He said nothing but went to stand near a high-backed chair. Resting his hand on the top, he dug his fingertips into the velvet back.
“I spied a folly across the lake,” Beatrix said, and Rafe knew what she was going to say next.
He said it for her. “It was the folly.”
Beatrix nodded. “Complete with the dolphin and Aphrodite in the center.” Just as Rafe had remembered. He’d drawn what he recalled and shown the rendering to both of them.
Rafe squeeze the chair. He couldn’t believe she’d found it. “You’re certain?”
“Quite. Especially given the proximity to the lake.”
“It’s at Sutton Park?” Rafe had no idea where that was.
“No, the neighboring estate, Ivy Grove. It’s owned by the Earl of Stone.”
The Earl of Stone. Who the hell was that? Rafe hadn’t yet made the connections he wanted to amongst the highest members of Society. He was well on his way, however, since his sister was now married to the son of the Earl of Aylesbury and his pretend sister was now a viscountess.
The two of them also belonged to a women’s philanthropic organization called the Spitfire Society, whose membership boasted duchesses, marchionesses, countesses, and more. Women of influence and prestige.
How in the bloody hell had they found their way here?
Through hard work and persistence. Since meeting at the boarding school more than fifteen years ago, Selina and Beatrix had formed a bond as close as sisters. In fact, they told everyone they were sisters, and as a result, Rafe, who had been introduced as Selina’s brother, now had a fake half sister. He had no quarrel with the lie, particularly since Beatrix had been family to Selina when she’d needed it most. When Rafe had sent her to the school and abandoned her. He hadn’t meant to not see her for nearly two decades, but when he thought of her returning to the life he’d saved her from, he’d stopped writing while continuing to pay for her education. He hadn’t seen her again until a few weeks ago.
While he knew it had been the right thing to do, he suffered a deep, piercing anguish that would haunt him the rest of his life. Because while he’d protected Selina from the dangers of East London, she’d had to forge a path for herself and for Beatrix. As two women alone in the world, they’d done whatever they must in order to survive, including swindling and theft. He felt guilty about that too—if Selina’s background hadn’t been that of a thief and a swindler, perhaps she would have found another way.
He supposed she had, finally. Through love. She and Sheffield were quite thoroughly and wonderfully in love, and Rafe couldn’t have been more grateful. The same was true of Beatrix and Rockbourne.
Hopefully, for them it would last.
“Do you know Stone?” Selina asked. “You’re clearly lost in thought.”
Indeed he was. “No. I’m trying to think if I know of anyone who knows him.” In his most recent life, Rafe had been a moneylender called the Vicar. In that role, he’d met some men who moved in Society, most notably the Viscount Colton.
Rafe hadn’t ever encountered Stone or heard his name, but perhaps Colton could help him. As it happened, the man owed him a favor that Rafe had yet to claim.
“Tom’s cousin, the Countess of Sutton, does,” Beatrix said. “Because they’re neighbors. I’m certain we could all go to Sutton Park.”
He appreciated that, but it wasn’t enough. “I want to go to Ivy Grove.”
Selina walked toward him, stopping a couple of feet away, her mouth set in determination. “I do too.”
Of course she did. She remembered almost nothing of their parents—just that coral necklace, which he noted she was wearing again. She’d worn it every time he’d seen her since receiving it from Beatrix.
It couldn’t be their mother’s actual necklace. But they had no way of knowing since Beatrix had purchased it from a receiver shop that Rafe had only recently sold as he’d worked to divest himself of the businesses he’d owned as the Vicar. Rafe had gon
e back to ask, but they’d only said it had come from Petticoat Lane. Since that was the center of stolen goods in London, the necklace could have come from anywhere.
“Then it seems at the very least, we must be introduced to Stone.” Rafe planned to visit Colton as soon as they left. “I’ll take care of that.”
“How?” Selina asked, her blue eyes narrowing slightly.
“Trust me.”
Selina snorted, and Rafe smiled. He’d given her no reason to trust him and was trying to make amends. However, he knew how hard it was for her to trust anyone beyond Beatrix. Letting her guard down with her new husband had been almost too much for her. Luckily, she’d managed to open herself to him, and for that Rafe was both relieved and delighted. No one deserved happiness more than she.
He took his hand from the back of the chair and stepped around it toward his sister. “Lina, you can trust me in this. I promise I will keep you involved every step of the way.”
“They were my parents too,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“Do you really think we’re going to find out who they were? Who we are?”
That he didn’t know. But he hoped. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen.”
Anger flared in Selina’s eyes. “Why didn’t Edgar tell us more before he died?”
Their “Uncle” Edgar had expired from excessive drink when Rafe was thirteen and Selina was ten. He’d sold them to Samuel Partridge, a criminal who controlled an army of young thieves among other enterprises, such as flash-houses and receiver shops, two years prior but had stayed nearby and kept in occasional contact.
“Because he didn’t care about anyone but himself, and it didn’t serve his purposes to reveal any more than he did.” Which was almost nothing. He had said one thing that had clung to a part of Rafe’s mind and resurfaced from time to time.
Thinking, Rafe moved toward the window and looked out at the walled garden. With its manicured shrubbery and colorful flowers, it looked like a miniature park, complete with a path, statuary, and a few benches. It was about as far removed from the memories currently clouding his brain as one could imagine.
Rafe turned from the window to face Selina and Beatrix. “The last time I saw Edgar was the day before he died.” The man had been a yellowed, shrunken version of himself. “He asked to be buried at the Croydon Parish Church. That didn’t make sense to me, and I didn’t care to honor any of his wishes, so I ignored him.”
The purpose of Rafe’s visit had been to gloat about his recent promotion in Partridge’s organization. He’d wanted Edgar to know how much better off he and Selina were without him. At thirteen, Rafe had been full of arrogance and bluster. He’d long ago lost the bluster, but some would say he was still arrogant. He preferred confident.
Beatrix rose from the settee. She was petite—a good six inches shorter than Selina’s five feet nine. “We drove through Croydon on our way to Sutton Park. Which means it’s also on the way to Ivy Grove.”
What the hell did that signify?
Selina smoothed her hand down the side of her face. “Why would Edgar want to be buried in a town we never visited—or at least don’t remember visiting—which happens to be near a place you recall from our childhood?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Rafe’s mind was already working. He wanted to meet Stone, and he wanted to visit this parish church in Croydon. The latter was probably pointless, but Rafe would investigate every clue.
Selina’s gaze crackled with resolve. “I’m going to Croydon with you.”
“I don’t think I could stop you,” he said wryly. “Nor do I want to.”
“Good. Let me know when you arrange to meet Stone. And make it soon.”
“It will be.” Rafe would make it a priority. The priority. He looked to Beatrix. “Thank you.”
“For what? Having the luck to picnic near that folly?” She waved her hand. “Perhaps this was the way it was supposed to happen.”
Fate? Rafe didn’t believe in such things. Yet, it was some sort of providence. Perhaps it was simply time that the puzzle of his life—and Selina’s—came together. He’d lost hope that their past would ever be revealed.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Selina said. “But I’m glad you were there—and that you were observant.” She tossed Beatrix a knowing smile that provoked a flash of envy in Rafe. They had a true sisterly bond. He’d abdicated that sibling closeness when he’d left Selina to fend for herself. She said she forgave him, but he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself.
Perhaps, if he could find the truth about their past, he could start.
Setting the book down in her lap, Anne shoved an errant lock of hair into the band tied around her head. A streak of striped fur leapt into the open book but didn’t linger, and in her escape sent the tome tumbling to the floor.
Anne exhaled. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t particularly interested in that.” A second blur of tawny, striped fur blazed past her chair, clearly in pursuit of the first one. Given the sizes of them, she guessed the first had been Daffodil, who was the smaller of the two kittens, and the second was her sister, Fern.
Jane, Anne’s older sister by four years, strode into Anne’s small sitting room. “Where did they go?”
Daffodil streaked by Jane’s leg, rustling her gown. Fern followed, leaping back over the threshold in a merry chase.
“Sorry.” Jane gave Anne an apologetic smile. “Did they disturb you?”
“Never. They’re kittens. I’m only sorry they’ve gone so quickly.”
“They’ll be back. Unless they get tired, in which case they will look for Anthony.” Jane’s husband was their favorite thing to sleep on.
“True.” Anne set the book on the table beside her chair.
“Do you mind if I sit for a minute?” Jane asked.
“Not at all.” Anne gestured toward the other chair angled near hers in front of the small hearth.
Jane sat and smoothed her hands over her bottle-green gown. Her blonde hair was perfectly dressed, every strand in place, unlike Anne’s, which seemed to live apart from the rest of her body, possessing a mind and desire of its own.
“The Season is nearly over,” Jane said.
It wasn’t a question, but Anne could guess what Jane wanted to know. Anne had chosen to come live with her and Anthony after they’d wed a few weeks ago. Their parents had retreated to the country following Anne’s scandalously aborted wedding. Had it already been nearly four weeks since that disastrous day?
No, not disastrous. Marrying Gilbert Chamberlain would have been the true disaster. Instead, she’d only suffered the humiliation of her groom being arrested at their wedding.
Honestly, she hadn’t been humiliated by that part, even if Society thought she should be. Far more horrifying was that she’d allowed herself to become betrothed to someone like him. Worse than that, to someone she hadn’t loved.
“The furor over the wedding has died down…somewhat,” Jane said with what sounded like fake optimism.
“Somewhat but not entirely.”
“It will.” Jane said this with confidence.
“By next Season, perhaps.”
“Are you saying you prefer to continue to decline invitations?” Jane asked.
Miraculously, Anne still received some. But that was due to Jane’s founding membership in the Spitfire Society and the powerful friends she’d made because of it.
Anne frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You know I’ll support whatever you want to do. I can well understand wanting to completely withdraw and thumb your nose at Society.”
Of course she could, because Jane had done it herself a couple of months ago. After five years on the Marriage Mart, she’d had enough. Much to their parents’ horror, she’d declared herself a spinster and moved into a house in Cavendish Square owned by her friend Phoebe, who was now the Marchioness of Ripley.
Jane had waited to claim her ind
ependence until after Anne had become betrothed to Gilbert so as not to impact Anne’s reputation. Anne had felt sorry for Jane at the time, but in retrospect, she envied her.
Because of Jane’s failure on the Marriage Mart, their parents had put all their hopes on Anne to make a good match. The pressure and expectation had been almost too much to bear. Which was how she’d found herself betrothed to a man she didn’t love. She hated to be grateful that he’d turned out to be an extortionist, but she couldn’t deny how she felt. Not just because she’d escaped marriage to him, but because she was still free.
Free to choose another path, if it even existed. She thought of Lord Bodyguard often and wished she could see him again. He no longer went to Hatchard’s on Thursdays. She knew because she’d started going again two weeks ago. And she planned to continue to keep their appointment, even though it was far too late.
“Ripley is hosting a grand ball to celebrate the end of the Season at Brixton Park in a few weeks. Do you want to attend with us?”
Anne shrugged. She hadn’t ever encountered Lord Bodyguard at any of the Society events she’d attended since March and had no reason to think he’d be there. He was perhaps the only thing that could entice her to reenter Society, even for one ball.
“Well, you have time to decide,” Jane said with a small smile. “After that, Anthony and I will be going to Oaklands.” His country seat. “You’re welcome to accompany us, of course. Or you can stay here, and we can have Mrs. Hammond act as your chaperone.” Mrs. Hammond was an old family friend who had occasionally performed chaperoning duties along with Anne’s godfather’s daughter, Deborah, Lady Burnhope.
“I noticed you didn’t suggest I go home,” Anne said drily.
Jane choked on a laugh. “I would never.”
“Good, because I won’t.” Anne plucked at a loose thread on the arm of her upholstered chair. “Do I really need a chaperone? Perhaps I’d like to declare myself a spinster. Or a spitfire.”
“I should find no quarrel with that, but you’re far younger than I was when I made that decision.” Jane paused to send her a meaningful look. “Once you do, you can’t go back.”
