His valet dressed him. The wound throbbed and felt tight, but he was sure that if he took his time, no harm would come. He left the terrace he’d rented for the Season and set off to Covent Garden.
If he went a little farther east, he’d arrive at the docks. He thought about going there once the play came to an end but decided against it for one reason.
He didn’t like the desperation he felt to see Betty again. What was it about her that made it hard for him to move on? He’d had nurses tend to his wounds before. He’d never taken a second look at any of them, though he’d been thankful for their service.
Perhaps, it was because Betty didn’t know who he was. She hadn’t even cared. She’d simply seen a wounded man and had brought him into her own sanctuary.
He smiled.
He’d not see her tonight. When he did see her, he planned to go in uniform and then watch the shock that would adorn her face when she noticed he was a general.
Tonight, however, he wore his tails and black boots. He’d blend into the crowd of other lords and enjoy a night in the company of his family.
He’d barely made it through the door before Lord Murray accosted him. “Your Excellency,” Hero said as he shook the man’s hand. Murray was the current Prime Minister. They’d met at the Congress in Vienna a few months ago and had traveled back to Britain together. During that time, they’d become friends.
They moved aside to allow other guests into the theatre’s lobby. It was Hero’s first engagement for the Season and, glancing around, he realized how much he missed it when he was away.
There was an elegant beauty to the theatre with its dark carpets and gleaming wood. The aristocrats who filled the space wore silks and linens and subtle perfumes. There was not a hint of smoke or blood or death in the air.
“General Curbain,” Murray said as he regained his attention. “You are just the man I wanted to see. I wanted to know if you’d thought any more about the offer I made you?” Murray wished to make Hero the next Foreign Secretary for Britain.
Hero had stood in for the English Ambassador at the Congress of Vienna until the Duke of Wellington could take over the duty.
While Hero didn’t believe he’d done anything special while he’d been there, Lord Murray thought otherwise.
“The Crown could use a man like you, Hero,” Lord Murray told him.
Hero smiled. His side began to ache. He needed to sit quickly. “I’ve already told you. I’m far too accustomed to the front line.”
“But the war is over,” Murray said.
“Only against the French and their allies.”
“Which is why we need you,” Murray said. “Your father thinks you should do it as well. The world likes you, Hero. The world adores a hero.”
Hero stilled. “You’ve spoken to my father about this?” Already?
“I went to see Richard this very afternoon.” The two had been friends for years. Hero’s father had been a leader in the House. Murray’s gaze became sympathetic. “Reddington was there as well.” The Duke and Duchess of Reddington were close friends of his father’s. “Richard would enjoy seeing you in such a position.”
Hero narrowed his gaze at Murray. He felt cornered. He didn’t like that the man was using his father’s illness for his own advantage but couldn’t fault the man for trying. It was clear he truly thought Hero the man for the position. “I’ll think it over.” And he’d speak to his father himself.
They parted ways and Hero went to his brother’s box. A footman parted the curtain for him and whispered something that sounded like, “Good evening, Mr. Gillett.” He frowned and glanced back. The servant, a young man, looked familiar, but he had no time to think further about it when his family captured his attention.
“General Hero Curbain!” his brother Lore announced. “Look, Asher, your heir presumptive has finally managed to show.” Since Asher had yet to marry, Hero was in fact set to take the dukedom if Asher did not marry and have a son before he died.
Their father’s death was not something he wished to think about at the moment though.
Hero kissed his sister’s cheek before he hugged his brothers. “Don’t pretend as though you didn’t just see me yesterday.”
Lore retook his seat. “You were there and then you were gone so quickly. Did you find Hatcher?” Lore was the most handsome of the brothers and knew it. He lived life without a care and from what his sister had shared with him that very afternoon, he had no intention of marrying anytime soon.
“I’ve not found Hatcher yet, but I will.”
Asher was watching him closely. “If the task is too great for you, then we should simply hire a few men from Bow Street to get it done.”
“No one knows what Hatcher looks like but us,” Hero said. “It is best I go.”
“But you will use caution when you do,” his elder brother commanded, and as a man who was used to giving his own commands, it was hard for Hero to suppress his opinion.
He’d been to war. He’d watched men die around him. He’d been injured. He’d survived it all.
He was on his way to becoming a Field Marshall and gaining his own title, maybe even a dukedom.
Yet Asher was not only his eldest brother but the current Earl of Redgrave and the future Duke of Ayers. He’d someday soon become one of the most powerful men in England.
Hero made his comment as light as possible. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Val mentioned that you were hurt,” Asher countered.
His side ached much more than he’d imagined it would, but now that he was seated, he knew he’d be fine.
Hero and Asher had bumped heads more than a few times while growing up. Hero hadn’t liked the way his brother had the tendency to lord over him. They’d once gotten into a serious row when Hero had reached his maturity and made a terrible comment about Asher not originally being first in line for their father’s title.
The mention of their deceased brother John had sent Asher into an ugly rage—the only one Hero had ever seen—even greater than when Asher’s wife died of illness a few years ago. Hero hasn’t known John, but Asher had. It had taken them months to settle their differences and only in time for Hero to leave for the military.
It was the memory of all his brother had lost that cooled Hero. “I’m well enough. You’ve no need to worry.”
The thugs who had tried to jump him and take his money had run off with injuries of their own. Still, Hero would find them and deal with them himself.
It was yet another reason to return to the docks. The thugs, Hatcher, and Betty.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 5
Beatrix heard the whispers as she entered the tavern the next morning. Many of the patrons were giving her odd looks. She touched her wig to make sure it was in place and then moved around the room. The patron at the third table she approached finally told her why everyone was staring.
“Shall we call you Mrs. Gillett or Lady Gillett?” the man asked her.
Beatrix was confused.
Lady Gillett? Had someone discovered she was Lady Gillingham?
She looked around the room and caught sight of Joanna. The barmaid gave her a series of strange looks, but whatever she was trying to communicate was cut off by a thundering voice.
“Mrs. Gillett!”
She jumped and spun around to face Mr. Thump.
The man’s face was red. “I’ll have a word with you right now.” He turned toward the kitchen.
Joanna rushed over and took Beatrix’s tray. “It was John,” she whispered. “The boy didn’t mean anything by it. It just came out. Quite the story, really. I don’t think I’d have been able to contain myself either.”
“What are you talking about?” Beatrix asked. Her heart was racing. They knew. Somehow everyone knew who she truly was.
“The general,” Joanna whispered.
“What?”
“Betty!” Thump roared.
She scurried toward the kitchen. When she didn’t see hi
m there, Cook pointed to her room.
Her throat tightened, and her skin felt as though it were being stung by a million bees at once. She put one foot in front of the other until she made it to her bedchamber.
Thump closed the door behind her with a loud bang. “Thought you could play me for a fool, did you?”
She shook her head. “Sir, I don’t know what you speak of.”
“Liar!” He pointed a finger at her. “You think you can fool me? You’re no lady.”
Actually, she was, but confusion made her keep her mouth closed.
“You think I wouldn’t find out just who was in your bed the other day?”
Beatrix didn’t have to think long to recall who Mr. Thump spoke of.
Hero.
It had been a day and a half since she’d seen the man who claimed himself a soldier yet no more than an hour went by without thoughts of him at the ready. He was constantly on her mind. His scent still rested on her pillow. It was an expensive cologne, but there were hints of the virile man underneath it.
He sketched like a master. In the time they’d spent together, she’d seen more sides of him than she’d thought possible from one encounter.
“A general,” Mr. Thump went on. “And the second son of a duke.”
He’d not have gained her attention better if he’d paraded a white elephant before her. A general? The son of a duke? Surely not. Hero had said he was a soldier. Surely, he’d have confessed to being in possession of one of the highest ranks. Surely, he’d have told her he was the son of a duke.
The son of a duke had laid in her bed? Impossible.
“Mr. Thump, I believe you to be mistaken.”
He grunted. “Yes, I thought John had it wrong when I heard him whispering about it in the tavern earlier today, but then I sent one of my cousin’s messengers to confirm it. The messenger found him. He was injured on the night you had him in your room. He’s blond, big nosed, with blue eyes. His name is General Hero Curbain.”
Beatrix couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d hosted a duke’s son in her room and had never known. He’d likely have told her if she’d asked, but she hadn’t wanted to know. They’d been far too intimate as it were.
She’d felt drawn to him. She’d cared for him.
And for a shameful moment, when he’d offered to share her bed, she’d allowed herself to wonder what tantalizing things she’d have learned. While her body was untouched, her mind was not. She’d heard and seen far too much while working at the tavern and at other places. She’d heard women speak openly about the carnal pleasures a man could give them.
For a shameful moment, she’d wanted him. Not the duke’s son. Not the general. But the man with captivating blue eyes and easy humor. She’d wanted to fall into that bed and into his arms, surround herself with his muscle and easy nature.
A general.
She wanted to curse the aristocrat, for once again, one of his kind had ruined her life.
Mr. Thump shook his head in disgust. “You didn’t even know the name of the man in your bed, did you?” He grunted. “I knew you to be a lightskirt the moment I saw you. You offered your drawing services, decorated the tavern, but I always knew you hid your true talents. I allowed you to pretend otherwise. You’re not even married, are you?”
She said nothing. What could she say? She’d been caught in her lie quite thoroughly. “I’ll move out of the tavern.”
“And go where?” he asked. “You think Lord Hero is in the market for a mistress? He’d have come back for you by now if he’d had any intention of doing so.”
Her face went hot. “I am no man’s mistress or a lightskirt. He was injured.”
He lowered his voice. “My pride has been injured. How do you expect to make it right?”
Beatrix stared at him and immediately her heart began to pump loudly in her chest. She didn’t like the look in his eyes at all. It was the one he’d given her on the first day she’d come to ask for work. It was the one he sometimes gave her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
It was the look that had forced her to claim to be married to a soldier and the only reason Mr. Thump hadn’t touched her. It was also the reason she kept a blade underneath her pillow just in case the man ever tried to sneak into her room.
Her stomach fell somewhere between her feet.
Sickness set in.
She took a step back and wished she was closer to the door. “You can pay me half my wages for the next month.” She could manage it. She could manage it if he decided to cut her wages entirely for the month and even the next. She’d told no one about the money Hero had left her and thought it time she rented new rooms.
“I don’t need money from you.” Mr. Thump’s eyes roamed her from head to toe. “Get in the bed.”
“No.” Her back hit the wall, and she shook her head. “No, I’ll not do that.” She may have let go of her former life, but in her heart, she was still a lady.
He took a step toward her, his expression menacing. “You’ve always thought my coin not good enough for you. How many others have there been? You like soldiers? I was a soldier once.”
She’d been blissful with just the memories of Hero. For a moment in time, she’d thought there was still good in the world, even hope, but in a second, all that was gone. Now, she recalled why it was best to never trust a man. Thump reminded her of that necessary truth. All she had was herself in the end.
“I’ll scream,” she warned as he drew closer.
He stopped a foot from her and even there, her nose burned from the liquor on his breath. “Are you threatening me in my own tavern?
She said nothing. She hadn’t wanted to lose this job. The money Hero had given her wasn’t enough to live off of for the rest of her life. The tavern at the docks was successful and every once in a while, a patron left her a few extra coins.
She didn’t want to leave, but she would. “Mr. Thump, please.”
He remained still for a moment. “Either you sleep in my rooms tonight or you leave.” He turned toward the door and left it open as he departed.
Beatrix’s body continued to tremble, but she waited for him to completely disappear before moving to the bed. She dug underneath the mattress and grabbed Hero’s purse before stuffing it into her trunk.
She grabbed her drawings, hairbrush, and pins from the nightstand and that was that.
Beatrix was an unemployed woman in London. Wherever would she find work?
She heard footsteps and nearly shouted until she saw that they belonged to John. He looked quite disheartened as he gazed down at her.
“I’m sorry, Betty. I didn’t think. I honestly thought the general to be your husband. He did claim you, after all. I didn’t think you were lying to Mr. Thump about it.”
She understood John’s logic. The general had claimed her with his own words, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Besides, Joanna had been right. That sort of secret would have been hard to contain.
But that didn’t mean she trusted John, or any man, for that matter.
“It’s all right, John.” Perhaps she was in a more forgiving mood because she had enough coin not to worry for at least a few weeks if she was frugal.
“Are you leaving?” John asked.
She nodded.
“Let me help you with your trunk.”
She stepped away and allowed him to carry her things. He helped load them onto a hack she called, and Beatrix looked at the tavern one last time. It was a well-kept brick building. Swinging Door had been written by a fine hand with gold paint, illustrated on a pale blue sign. The moisture in the air had faded it a little, but John frequently filled it in.
From the windows that faced the street, she could see the men laughing merrily. The piano that was always just out of tune carried out the door.
She’d never be back. It was a depressing thought. Though as a young lady she’d never imagined herself working such a position, she could admit that after doing it for over a year, she’d
been content.
She’d enjoyed talking to people and helping them with their issues. She’d made friends.
Now, she’d have to begin all over again.
“Where will you go?” Joanna asked as she rushed from the building. She’d known all about the dance Beatrix and Mr. Thump had been doing around one another. She’d likely guessed how their meeting had ended.
Beatrix shrugged and put on a smile for her friend. “Westminster. Perhaps I can gain employment in the palace. I can read and write, after all. I’ll write to you both,” she promised. Westminster was a start.
She wondered why she’d not thought of it before and blamed her youth. The tavern, when she’d seen it, had seemed like salvation. Now that she had money, she had a chance to find something better.
The Palace of Westminster or rather, Houses of Parliament, hosted many ceremonies and while women were not allowed in chambers when Parliament was in session, perhaps there was something she could do for someone.
She waved at John and Joanna and left to start her new life.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 6
Hero walked into the tavern and was not surprised when the room fell silent. Neither was he surprised when more than a few men stood and bowed. Soldiers would instantly recognize him by his dress uniform.
The red coat with its golden buttons had been specifically prepared for this day, for Betty, with the same precision his valet would have used had he been going to meet with the king.
He looked around the tavern and found it to be in good taste. There was art on the wall, drawings of men at tavern tables and even a depiction of the tavern’s front door seeming like a warm getaway during a winter’s night.
They’d all been done by Betty. He could recognize her work already.
He didn’t see Betty, but a faintly familiar young man approached him nervously.
The young man looked at him with awe and then he bowed. “My lord.”
“I’m here to see Betty.” He saw no point in continuing the charade and announcing himself as Mr. Gillett. If the truth got Betty fired from her position, then he would get her a better position somewhere else.
The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 3
