The Leading Lady (Half Moon House Series)

by Deb Marlowe

  Stoneacre gave a bitter laugh. “That matter is beyond the scope of my responsibilities. Mary Cooper is not, however. She was a maid in Charlotte’s household and was dismissed with the rest. She was the one smuggling letters for Marstoke.”

  How was any of this getting him closer to a packet bound for Brittany? Tru wanted to fling the question at the other man. Instead he clenched his fist and injected a patience he didn’t feel into his tone. “How can you know that? And how does it pertain to this?” He waved a hand.

  “We weren’t sure it was her. Until several days ago, when we found Marstoke—and Mary Cooper with him.”

  Callie Grant sucked in a breath—and that tiny whisper of a sound was enough to break down the dam holding the flood of Tru’s chafing restlessness.

  “What does it matter?” he asked, springing to his feet. “So Marstoke has a servant girl and an actress with him. What’s important here is that we know where he is! We must act now—leave now!” He left the table, but pacing to the mantel and back didn’t help.

  Neither did Hestia Wright’s raised eyebrows. “Oh, it matters, Lord Truitt,” she said softly. “Only stop to think a moment. Yes, Marstoke appears to know the Princess, but now he has a servant girl who can speak of intimacies. She can describe Charlotte’s habits, her patterns of speech and mannerisms, the schedule of her days, her friendships and rivalries inside her own house as well as out.” She paused and Tru noted a tiny, telltale clench of her lovely jaw. “Don’t you see what mischief he could do with the pair of them?”

  Callie Grant’s tone rang hollow. “He’s training Letty to be a substitute for Charlotte.”

  For a long moment only the faint crackle of the fire sounded in the room. “Surely he would not . . .” Tru’s mind tried to wrap itself around all the implications.

  Abruptly Hestia too pushed herself away from the table. “You underestimate the sheer breadth and depth of evil in him,” she said accusingly. “Even you, with more cause than many to understand what he is.” She turned her back on them all for a moment.

  “Look at what he did with a simple list of London’s lightskirts,” Stoneacre reminded them. “Revenge, assault, abduction. He nearly destroyed Hestia, her work with Half Moon House, and your new sister-in-law with it. He came within a hair’s breadth of igniting an international incident that would have put the Prince Regent in a very bad light.” He took up the brandy and poured a healthy dollop in his teacup. “Imagine the mischief he could get up to with a doppelganger to the Princess. As you said, Charlotte is not seen out much. Letty could easily be taken for her—and then she could discredit the princess just by being seen in inappropriate company or getting up to some public misbehavior.”

  “It could be far worse than that.” Callie Grant’s voice had gone flat. “What if the princess was invited abroad, perhaps to meet some other eligible prince?”

  Stoneacre looked aghast. “Her mother is even now making preparations to leave the country.”

  “Exactly. What if she went to visit her mother—and a different Charlotte came back?” She met Tru’s gaze directly. “You have firsthand experience with how easily Marstoke can lie and manipulate. How he can twist the truth and make something feel logical and right. Even after we took Letty in at Half Moon House, she was in contact with him, taking orders through Hatch for months. Now he’s got her close. He knows what to say, what will coerce her. He’s likely got her convinced that this is the role of a lifetime, a grand adventure, a service to her country.”

  Tru sank into a chair by the fire. “Charlotte will wear the crown one day—and knowing Prinny and his excesses, it may be sooner rather than later.”

  Hestia Wright turned around. “And there might be a false Princess, waiting in the wings, with Marstoke at her side and a full pardon in her fist.”

  Tru stared. The full horror of what Marstoke could accomplish opened up before him. It was a mad scheme—and just exactly the sort Marstoke might dream of pulling off. The enormity of it, the mental image of a triumphant Marstoke taking back all he’d lost, and more, hit him hard in the gut. He absorbed the blow without a sound, his hands tightening into fists. “We’ll stop him,” he said low. “Long before it gets to that point.”

  “We will,” Stoneacre agreed. “The groundwork is already laid. Richards is purchasing our passage as we speak. We’ll leave in a few hours time.” He reached across to take Callie Grant’s hand. They were alone at the table now. “I’d like you to come with us.”

  Tru started. Something surged to life in his chest. He could clearly recall the girl arguing fiercely against the very idea of this trip. He could just as clearly imagine Marstoke making mincemeat of her, should she end up in his way. Denial swelled, given energy and form by the shock in her face.

  No. He wanted to forbid it. But the look on Hestia Wright’s face stalled him—that, and the recollection of his earlier resolve. Any damned thing. Something reckless.

  This surely qualified as both. He pushed back the protective surge in his gut and swallowed all of those worthy, instinctive objections. “Why?” he asked instead. “What does everyone else know that I do not?” He looked Callie Grant in the eye. “What exactly is your relationship to the Robbins girl?”

  ***

  There it was. The question she feared most—coming from the last person she wished to answer.

  Pain, fury and loss assaulted Callie, as merciless as they’d ever been in the last few weeks. Damn Marstoke to hell and back, for ripping her world apart with his scheming. And now Lord Stoneacre knew the truth. All of it. She’d seen it reflected in his gaze. But to think of the same knowledge in Lord Truitt Russell’s face?

  No. Her shoulders hunched against the idea. She knew that Lord Truitt, though he’d let Marstoke convince him to pen the revised Love List, had never had an inkling how the marquess meant to use it. He’d had no part in the plan to destroy Hestia or to incite the populace against the Prince Regent. She knew he’d tried to stop Marstoke, in the end, and that he was wild to find the man and bring him back to justice, to make amends for his part in the debacle.

  And yet. She couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing all of her secrets.

  It wasn’t shame that held her back. Neither did her reluctance have anything to do with Lord Truitt’s wickedly dark eyes. Less still did it have to do with his tall, strong frame and capably broad shoulders. Certainly it was nothing to do with her fascination with that wicked-looking scar, a crescent someone had carved into the edge of his cheekbone.

  Not. One. Thing.

  It was just . . . the thought of seeing pity soften the hard angles of his face . . . it made her shiver. And it wouldn’t stop there. After pity would come curiosity, speculation, maybe even scorn.

  No.

  Instinctively she turned to Hestia and beseeched her help with a silent plea.

  Hestia frowned in response. Callie understood that Hestia believed she should tell Lord Truitt everything. But she wasn’t ready. Might never be ready. She pressed her lips together and silently asked again.

  And, at last, Hestia relented. “Callie and Letty have been close since they were girls,” she said. “The burden of Letty’s welfare was put into Callie’s hands long ago.”

  She’s alone now. We must be her family. Watch out for her.

  Lord Truitt knew when he was being fobbed off. “That’s no real answer,” he accused.

  “It’s all the answer you need,” Callie bit out.

  “What matters is that you are the one that Letty will listen to,” Stoneacre interrupted, still holding her hand. “She’ll fight us if we try to convince her to come back.”

  “She likely will,” Callie agreed with a sigh.

  “And we’ll be forced to take her into custody. She’ll be set against us, when what we need is for her to cooperate, to tell us what she knows of Marstoke’s plans.” His grip on her hand tightened. “You are the only one who can convince her to come away freely, to thwart Marstoke and help us take him back to j
ustice. Please. Will you come along?”

  Watch out for her.

  Rebellion flared, vivid and bright. Everything Lord Stoneacre said was right. Callie knew she was Letty’s best chance. Her help would likely bring about a better outcome for everyone.

  But denial stabbed deep and a full dose of resentment pumped in behind it. She was exhausted, worn out from the worry and fear of the last weeks, heart sore from losing her close friend, Brynne, even if it was to Lord Truitt’s handsome, ducal brother. Lord Truitt’s mere presence set her on edge, but most of all, she was tired—weary of being the strong one, the steady one, the one who cleaned up the messes left by the rest of the world.

  When? When would someone look at her and notice her pain and weariness? When would someone move heaven and earth to make things right for her?

  She felt the press of Hestia’s gaze upon her, knew exactly the secret grief that had added the weight to her mentor’s soul. “I have to ask, my dear,” her friend whispered. “You know I do, if there’s even a chance—” Hestia’s look conveyed her private fear, one that no one else here would understand. She fell silent for a moment. “But I would ask in any case,” she continued more smoothly. “Because you know you would not be able to live with yourself, did you not go.” Hestia paused. “But, Callie?”

  She turned her head.

  “Let this be the end of it. You’ve carried your burden long enough. You’ve done your best—and no one knows better than I do, what a formidable thing that is.” She hardened her expression. “Should Letty return with you, then all well and good. You can set her loose to live her own life and make her own, hopefully smaller, mistakes. But should she not return, despite your best efforts?” Her eyes narrowed. “Then it will be no fault of yours.” She turned her glare toward the gentlemen. “Is that understood here, between all of us? In this room or out of it, no one lays the burden of Letty’s sins on Callie.”

  Lord Stoneacre sat upright, an arrested look on his face. Something moved behind his expression, beyond his open gaze, but it was too fleeting for Callie to identify.

  “Understood,” he said, standing. “And agreed.”

  Hestia nodded. “One last fight,” she said, nodding encouragement at Callie. “I’ll miss you terribly, but I know Stoneacre will take good care of you.” She tried to smile. “Watch and listen for me. Finish this for yourself, as well, Callie dear, and you’ll be free.”

  Free. She heard the reverence Hestia placed on the word, but she couldn’t quite understand it. It sounded unattainable. And empty.

  But she nodded. “I’ll go.”

  “Good.” The earl looked relieved. “And thank you.” His smile was true, if brief. “There will be a few hours before we can leave. You should try to rest. The rooms upstairs are yours to make use of. Get a couple of hours of sleep, at least, but we’ll be ready to leave before daybreak.” He beckoned. “Tru, let’s head out. We’ve some arrangements to make.”

  Callie’s gaze fixed once more on the breadth of Lord Truitt’s shoulders as he rose to follow the earl out. He carried burdens too, though she doubted he was as accustomed to the load as she. Now they would share this one.

  She only hoped that this time Letty’s antics would not cost them all more than they wished to pay.

  Chapter Four

  All night I traveled, and into the dawn of the next morning, without ever seeing a soul. My feet grew tired, but my spirits were buoyant. It wasn’t until I saw a trace of chimney smoke over distant trees that I had a hint of trouble.

  —from the journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright

  The waterfront buzzed with activity, even at this ungodly hour, just before dawn. It felt subdued, though, all the hustle of swarming sailors and busy fishermen muffled by the gloom.

  England mourns my departure, Callie thought facetiously.

  But it felt true. Everything loomed crotchety and grey, from the low hanging clouds, to the light drizzle dampening the air, to the sea birds fighting over a pile of fish guts just a few feet down the dock.

  Still, it was a delusional thought. Not quite wishful thinking. Yes, Hestia would miss her. The truth of that was in her mentor’s face as she gathered Callie’s cloak tighter and smoothed the fastenings. The girls at Half Moon House might miss the crusty breads and rich stews she offered when she took a turn covering for cook’s weekly free day—and the old woman’s occasional slide into a bottle of blue ruin. They might miss her good knife hand the next time a thwarted pimp or violent husband came looking for his woman. But beyond that?

  “Men,” said Hestia with a roll of her eyes. She stared down the docks, where Lord Truitt and Lord Stoneacre huddled with the supercargo of the Spanish Lady. The earl had booked them passage on a merchant schooner rather than a regular packet, hoping to avoid the notice of Marstoke’s spies. Now the pitch of their conversation rose and fell as they discussed wind, hull design, and course and speed records. “They are like excited schoolchildren.” With a solemn look, Hestia held up a heavy bag of coins and tucked it into the pocket sewn in Cassie’s cloak, next to her breast. “But you understand this is not child’s play.” She stopped suddenly, and swallowed. “Callie . . .” Her hand trembled as her words trailed away.

  Callie grasped her hands tight. “I will listen closely, Hestia, and find out what I can. It could be a coincidence, though. Brittany is merely out of England, but close enough for Marstoke to keep an ear to what’s happening. I feel sure it is nothing more.”

  “But if it is not . . . If he’s looking . . . or if he’s found . . .” Callie suspected she was the only one alive who knew Hestia’s deepest secret and her greatest fear. They’d known each other years before the older woman had shared the truth and her worries about it, and it remained the one subject that could spread uneasy ripples across her usually flawless confidence.

  “If it looks like Brittany is anything more than a convenient hideaway for Marstoke, then I will get word to you right away. I promise.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Hestia swallowed and pulled close her usual veil of dignity and competence. “I regret the need for secrecy on this matter. On all other accounts, though, you must trust these two. Truly, I would not let you go were they not good men. I believe they will do everything in their power to keep you safe.” She stared after the group of them again. “I think you should go easier on that one, though.”

  “Easier?” She let go of Hestia’s hands. “I’ve dropped everything to travel abroad at a moment’s notice. I’ve pledged to do all I can to persuade Letty. I can’t think Lord Stoneacre has cause to complain.”

  “I’m not talking about Stoneacre and you know it.” Hestia raised a brow. “I know you are tempted to classify Lord Truitt as just another selfish and spoiled young nobleman, but I don’t think you can. Recall if you will—he got into this whole mess because he tried to help a woman in trouble. He had no way to know that Marstoke would not have harmed that Russian chit. And consider what he knew and when he knew it—and you find he’s conducted himself honorably at every turn since.” Her mouth twitched. “He’s different, this one. He watches you.”

  Callie let out a huff. “He’s a man. They all watch me.”

  “Not like this one. He’s not focused on that fabulous bosom of yours. He watches your face when you aren’t looking.” She paused a moment. “I think he’s interested. Or he might be, if he would allow himself.”

  “Well, I am not interested.” But she didn’t look away as he removed his hat. Leaning back against the wind, he lifted his head and breathed deep. The sea breeze toyed with his hair, mussing it a bit as the sun, fighting its way past fast-moving clouds, searched out lighter, chestnut strands to catch her eye.

  “I know you’ve been unsettled lately.” Hestia’s beautiful face showed signs of worry, of strain and little sleep. “I fear a good deal of that is my fault. I’ve relied too heavily on you, my dear.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” A chord of panic twanged in her breast. She couldn’t lose
Hestia too.

  “You’ve been a wonder. Such a prop to my spirits, and I’ve never had a more reliable arm to lean upon.” Her face brightened. “Just look at all we’ve accomplished together, my dear.”

  “It’s nothing next to what we have yet to do,” Callie said, fighting unease. “You’re talking as if I’m traveling around the world. It’s to be a short trip. Lord Stoneacre has assured me so. A few weeks and I’ll be back at Half Moon House.”

  “Yes.” Hestia nodded. “But I know you’ve been restless since Brynne left us to marry Lord Truitt’s brother. I’ve seen the wheels spinning in your head. That’s as it should be. I want you to keep thinking, my darling. Every day you do so much—for me, for Letty, for all the women and children we seek to help. But on this trip, there will be time to yourself. Quiet time, perfect for reflection. I wish you would use it. Think about what you want and need out of your life. Imagine the changes that might bring you joy, peace, contentment.”

  Very deliberately Callie did not allow herself to glance in the direction of the gentlemen. Hestia did, however, as the group broke apart and they began to move toward them.

  “So many solemn reasons for a journey, I know, but I hope you will also enjoy the new places and people.” Mischief suddenly brightened her manner. “Make new friends.”

  “I’ve friends enough,” Callie said, reproving.

  “None with shoulders like that.” With a smile Hestia turned to greet the three men.

  She could not argue the point. Lord Truitt’s hat was back in place. The morning sun, bereft of his thick mane to play in, had snuck a few bright rays through the clouds and aimed them unerringly at the impressively narrowing taper of his frame. Callie looked away. She didn’t want to notice such things about him. She didn’t want to associate him with sunshine and broad shoulders, with principle and honorable intent. Everything would be so much easier if she could dismiss him as another nobleman who took what he wanted, used whomever he wanted and gave nothing back.