Scoundrel in My Dreams

by Celeste Bradley

  Colin’s eyes widened. “Did Jack just make a jest?”

  Aidan nodded. “I heard a jest.”

  Colin patted down his weskit with both hands. “I need ink and paper. I must mark the day.”

  Aidan smirked. “I’ll help you remember.”

  Jack let out a breath. “Arse,” he muttered.

  Aidan laughed. “Colin, someone just called you a name.”

  Jack slid a black glance to Aidan. “Arse squared.”

  Colin guffawed and punched Jack in the shoulder. Then the two of them had the sense to let it go as they continued to walk into the bustling market. Jack was glad of that, but he was also aware that such a brief moment of their old camaraderie was more than he’d given his friends in years. It wasn’t much of a moment, for his wit was buried too deep to be actually sharp, but it left him feeling just a bit lighter as he walked with his friends beside him.

  Unfortunately, that lightness did not last for long.

  A crash from one of the shops drew their attention. Aidan and Colin turned to see a baker standing over a stout woman who was down on her knees in the shop doorway, frantically gathering up the buns that had rolled out onto the cobbles from a dropped tray. The baker was red faced with fury.

  “Ye stupid cow! Now ye done cost me a fat penny, ye great clumsy—” The baker’s fist rose high.

  Colin and Aidan stepped forward, but Jack was already there. When iron fingers wrapped around the baker’s thick wrist, the furious man tried to turn.

  “I don’t think so.” Jack’s voice was distant and cool. “I think you’re going to help her pick them up.”

  “What ye think yer doin’, interferin’ in a man’s business! Bloody toff!”

  Jack’s gaze was strange and withdrawn, but his fingers tightened on the man’s wrist. “I think,” he said again, more quietly, “you’re going to help her pick them up.”

  Colin cleared his throat. “Er, Jack?”

  Aidan put a hand on Colin’s arm. “Let him be.”

  Colin turned aside to whisper urgently, “He’s lost again; can’t you see that? He might just kill the bastard!”

  Aidan shook his head. “He’s all right.”

  In fact, Jack was not all right, not quite. The feeling of the man’s bones and flesh beneath his fingers, the blow still tense in the man’s arm, ready to fall on the woman the moment Jack was gone—

  His heart was pounding a great noise in his head, like the drums of battle. Any moment he expected to smell the bite of gunpowder, the strange metallic tang of blood. With great effort he focused his gaze on the baker’s. “You. Will. Pick. Them. Up.” It was the merest of whispers.

  The man truly looked at Jack for the first time, finally seeing past his own rage to his imminent danger. His meaty cheeks paled and his bulbous eyes blinked rapidly. “Ah, right, ah, sorry, guv’nor.” He winced and his knees started to buckle. “I’ll just be pickin’ up those buns now,” he wheezed.

  Then Aidan was at his side. “Let go,” he told Jack quietly. “Open your hand.”

  From a distance, Jack saw his fingers open and the man’s thick wrist, banded in white pressure marks, slip from his grasp.

  Jack then looked at the woman, still kneeling on the cobbles, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him. “I am the Marquis of Strickland. You may find me at Brown’s Club, should you require further assistance, madam. Anytime.”

  A calculating gleam entered the woman’s eyes. “Aye, milord. I thank ye for that.” She watched as her husband picked up the remaining buns with shaking hands. “Eh, Buxby? Did ye hear his lovely lordship? Pick up the bloody buns!”

  Jack found himself walking down the sidewalk, away from the shop, Aidan and Colin on either side.

  “That was, ahem, rather chilling.” Colin rubbed at the back of his neck. “Do warn us next time you’re feeling homicidal, won’t you?”

  “I wasn’t homicidal,” Jack replied. It was true. The man might have seen the war in Jack’s eyes, but Jack had not been about to bring the war into the marketplace. Not even close. “I wasn’t even violent. Haven’t started a brawl in years.”

  Colin blinked. “Well, that’s an improvement.”

  Jack sent his friend a wry glance. “Kind of you to notice.”

  Aidan’s lips quirked. “Another jest. Is that some sort of record, Colin?”

  “I’m keeping tally. So far it’s a personal best.”

  Jack kept walking, feeling a bit like he’d passed some sort of test. A humanity test? I was a good lad today. I didn’t kill anyone and I told a joke.

  Welcome back to the human race.

  In the end, it was the local washerwoman who told them where to find Nanny Pruitt.

  “Always ask those in service,” Colin gloated, for it had been his idea.

  Nanny was indeed dying. She’d closed up her house and gone to a women’s sanatorium run by the Sisters of Mercy. After some whispered discussion, the nuns in charge decided to allow three men into the inner sanctum.

  “She was once a midwife,” the nun leading them informed them. “She would come to deliver our . . . unfortunate girls.”

  They found Nanny Pruitt lying in a bed in a great open ward. Every bed was in use. Old women, young women, from seamstresses, to prostitutes, to beggars. The dividing lines of Society seemed to blur here.

  Jack looked around him. No one wanted these women. They had no children willing to care for them, no husbands to support them. In this male-controlled world, any woman could end up penniless and alone in her old age.

  It would not happen to Laurel. He would make sure of that. A marchioness would never wind up in a pitiable place like this.

  In one of the beds lay a white-haired woman whose body was wasted but whose eyes were bright. She watched them walk down the ward, her gaze knowing.

  The nun stopped at the foot of the woman’s cot. “Mrs. Pruitt, these men have come to speak with you.”

  Nanny Pruitt examined each of them from head to toe with her sharp eyes. “Do you have my Mellie?”

  Colin knelt next to the woman and took her hand. “We do. Thank you for bringing her to us.”

  Her bright eyes counted them off slowly. “Three men for one little girl.” Her wrinkled lips pursed. “She does that, doesn’t she?”

  Aidan snorted. “She does indeed.”

  “She’s past three now. You should be teaching her the numbers and letters. She’s a smart one. She’ll pick it right up.”

  Jack nodded solemnly. “I shall see to it.”

  She peered at him for a long moment. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Jack glanced at Aidan and Colin. “If you two would do us the courtesy?”

  Colin scowled. “What is this?”

  Aidan took his arm. “Let’s walk out for a moment.”

  Colin turned with Aidan, not having much choice without putting up a struggle, but he cast a questioning glance back over his shoulder at Jack. Jack lifted a hand to wave them on, then turned back to Mrs. Pruitt once they were gone.

  “Yes. I am Melody’s father.”

  Twenty-four

  Nanny Pruitt regarded Jack for a long moment. She shook her head. “You don’t look like a monster.”

  Jack only nodded again. “I know I don’t.”

  “But you are.”

  “I think perhaps I have been. I don’t know about now. I’m trying to be better.”

  She tilted her silver head and gazed at him for a long moment. “See that you do. No girl deserves what that one got.”

  Jack bowed his head.

  “Her parents were devils, they were. Before I went in to the girl, that man offered to pay me extra if I could make sure the child ‘failed to survive.’ ”

  Jack flexed his jaw. “He’s dead now.” It was probably a good thing, since it meant Jack needn’t bother to kill him.

  “Good riddance. And that woman! Evil creature, shoutin’ at her daughter that she deserved the pain of labor for being a ‘sinful whore.’ ” Nanny snorted
. “She was a mother herself. I wonder how she explained her own labor pain.”

  “She is gone as well.”

  Nanny folded her twisted arthritic hands over her sunken belly. “I know it. Ain’t that fine? I outlived ’em both.”

  Jack liked her. “You kept Melody and told them she was dead, didn’t you?”

  “I did. She was such a sweet, easy baby. She didn’t start being a handful until she could walk. Then she plain wore me out.” She smiled. “I love that little demon, that’s what.”

  “So do I.”

  Nanny’s mind snapped out of her memories and back into focus. “You sailed off. That’s what the girl said when she was deliverin’.”

  How to explain the past? “It was a mistake. I never knew about Melody.” He frowned. “If Mr. and Mrs. Clarke thought Melody was dead, why did they pay for her support?”

  Nanny smiled until her wrinkles had wrinkles. “That weren’t support. That were blackmail.” She grunted. “Go ahead and tell the magistrate if you want. I’ll not live out the month anyway.”

  Jack wanted to know one more thing. “Why didn’t you go to Miss Clarke when you ran out of money? She was devastated when she lost her child. She would have been so grateful.”

  Nanny frowned at him in surprise. “That one? Cold as an icicle and twice as sharp? She sent for me, she did, tryin’ to find out why her parents had been payin’ me. I told her and she laughed, straight to my face, and said she didn’t know what I was talkin’ about and if I spread such lies about her she’d have me cast into the irons.”

  Jack rocked back on his heels. Oh, Amaryllis, you have so much to answer for. “That wasn’t Melody’s mother. That was not the girl you tended. You met her sister.”

  Nanny looked doubtful. “Be you sure? Looked just like her, but older and meaner. Well, I suppose you’d know the difference, of all people.”

  “One would think,” Jack muttered under his breath.

  “So I thought I’d best find the father, bein’ as I were failin’ quick. ‘Brown’s,’ she said, over and over again. She got a bit delirious there near the end o’ the birth. Lots of ’em do, you know. ‘He’s at Brown’s.’ I asked her for more, but she wouldn’t look at me. Just kept sayin’ that.” Nanny smoothed the fold of blanket over her midriff. “Made me cry, that girl did. Saddest girl in the world when I told her the baby died.” She rubbed at her wrinkled cheek, suddenly impatient. “I should have known it weren’t her at that great house, all sneering and haughty-like! Birdbrained old fool!” She faded a bit, mumbling. “Didn’t even know there was a sister. . . .”

  Jack took a step back. He didn’t think there was much more Nanny could tell him. When he started to move away, Nanny sharpened on him again.

  “I know my Mellie’s happy. I know you take great care of her.”

  “I can assure you we do.”

  “No need assurin’.” Nanny smiled. “I keep my eye on you lot. I send that boy over to watch every week, I do. Melody used to set a great store by him. She called him ‘the running boy,’ because he liked to never hold still.”

  The running boy. Melody had recognized him, had nearly run into the street to see him. They should have listened more closely. Of course the boy was someone Melody knew well.

  Nanny faded out again, plucking restlessly at her blanket with her bent and twisted fingers. Jack eased away and found the sister in charge. Colin and Aidan found him there, counting coins into the nun’s hand.

  “If she needs anything at all, just bill it to my account at Brown’s. I’ll tell our man there to take care of any expenses, as long as . . .”

  The sister closed her hand over the coins and made them quickly disappear beneath her habit. “It won’t be long, poor dear.”

  Jack nodded and took his leave. As he strode from the sanatorium, Aidan and Colin were on his heels.

  “What was that about?” Colin demanded. “Why did you want us to leave?”

  Jack simply kept walking. Even the most minor explanations would lead to major complications. Aidan put a hand on his arm.

  “Jack, I think you need to let us in on . . . on whatever this is. We can help.”

  Jack stopped and turned, gazing at his friends.

  Help? Help me persuade a woman whose life I’ve ruined ten times over that I’m the answer to her every prayer? Help me keep her locked away until I can figure out a way to make her love me again?

  Or help me betray her one last and final time by taking her daughter from her forever?

  He rubbed a hand across his face. “I—” It was no good. They would never understand. “Soon. Everything will be made clear soon.”

  As soon as I decipher how to seize what I want without letting go of what I have.

  Wilberforce stood just inside the main club room, apparently staring into space. In fact, he was mentally sorting where everyone and everything ought to be in his domain.

  Lord Bartles and Sir James were at the chessboard by the fire as usual. Young Master Evan was there, learning yet another advanced strategy from the old warriors. Lord Aldrich sat with his paper high before his face, perhaps hoping no one noticed that he was taking yet another brief respite from his married life. Some of Wilberforce’s more mature charges frankly napped in their chairs, killing time until the supper chime was rung.

  Lady Lambert was pretending to read a book while actually monitoring the progress of her younger brother’s chess lesson. Wilberforce felt sure that there could be no other explanation for the fact that Her Ladyship had not turned a page in a quarter of an hour.

  Lady Madeleine was in the kitchen with Cook, going over menus. It was a duty she enjoyed, so Wilberforce graciously allowed her to believe she was in charge of it. Cook was her ladyship’s most devoted minion. Therefore, the already superior fare at Brown’s had actually improved, if that was possible.

  Young Bailiwick lurked in the entrance hall, sighing repeatedly when he thought no one was near. The pretty Fiona endlessly dusted the newel post at the top of the stairs, hoping Bailiwick would look up, then hiding quickly when he did.

  All the other footmen made sure their duties took them far away from Fiona and her tempting but dangerous smile. Wilberforce was glad to see that the young fools had some sense of self-preservation. It was about time some work got done around the place.

  Sir Colin, Lord Blankenship, and Lord Strickland were out tracking down the elusive Nanny Pruitt. Wilberforce wished them no luck whatsoever. Melody belonged to Brown’s, and that, as far as Wilberforce was concerned, was that.

  Little Lady Melody was playing in the attic.

  Again.

  And, contrary to Wilberforce’s own rule, alone. Unless one counted the imaginary “queen in the tower.”

  Queen in the tower.

  Missing carpets.

  This morning he’d discovered that all the unoccupied rooms on the third floor had been stripped of their woven wall hangings. This was disturbing, for Wilberforce’s father had established this collection of luxurious and beautiful tapestries nearly fifty years before. It was one of the things that distinguished Brown’s chambers from other, more utilitarian rooms at other clubs.

  The only reason Wilberforce had not immediately called the watch was the strange fact that the only occupied room to lack a tapestry was that of the Marquis of Strickland himself.

  Wilberforce was a patient man. He took great pride in his ability to watch quietly on the sidelines of his charges’ lives and make only the slightest and most subtle of adjustments when their plans began to go awry. For example, he’d recently exchanged Lord Aldrich’s mattress for one much thinner and much lumpier. In less than a week, his lordship would decide to go home to his newlywed bride and make up whatever small spat had caused his recent defection from the marriage bed.

  All for his lordship’s own good, of course.

  Queen in the Tower. Melody’s game teased at Wilberforce’s thoughts. Perhaps it was time to investigate this apparently endlessly fascinating diversi
on. Wilberforce turned on one heel and left the club room.

  “Wilberforce!”

  He halted at once and bowed deeply. “Lady Madeleine. How might I assist you?”

  Her ladyship strode up to him with a strange expression on her lovely face. “Wilberforce, did Cook mention to you that there have been several small thefts from the larder?”

  Wilberforce nodded. “Indeed, my lady. Since it seemed minor, I attributed it to, ah, a certain member of the staff who is currently undergoing some emotional distress—”

  Lady Madeleine folded her arms. “You think Bailiwick ate it.”

  “That is usually the correct conclusion when food is in question, my lady, yes.”

  Lady Madeleine nodded. “I see. What about the fact that Bailiwick won’t eat eggs? Not since Samuel used to tease him about ‘giants eating babies.’ ”

  Wilberforce blinked. “My lady, your powers of observation are most impressive. I had temporarily forgotten that fact.”

  “If it isn’t Bailiwick,” Lady Madeleine frowned, “then where is the food going?”

  Indeed, Wilberforce thought. Where is everything going?

  At that moment, Cook sounded the dinner chime. There was a general bustle in the club room, for no one ever missed a meal at Brown’s. Even Melody came dancing down the stairs just then, one hand reaching high to hold the railing, Gordy Ann trailing from the other. There was a streak of dust on Melody’s face.

  Dust in his club.

  She grinned at him. “Wibbly-force! I’m hungry! Are you hungry?”

  Gazing up the stairs behind her, Wilberforce narrowed his eyes slightly. At the moment, he had work to do. Supper, then port and cigars for the gentlemen and sherry for the ladies. Orders to be written for the coming week. The children must be put to bed and the elder members as well. After he had performed his duties and settled his charges for the night, he would investigate this matter further.

  Young Master Evan pounded past them, his overlarge feet not quite under his control. “Hurry up, Mellie, or I’m going to eat your carrots!”

  “Nooo!” Lady Melody scrambled after Evan. Gordy Ann, apparently sensing the importance of preventing this, fluttered urgently behind her.