Somehow, though, she knew that Lady Darleigh’s request wasn’t related to poetry at all.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t very subtle,” the pretty blonde said with a rueful smile. “Is there somewhere we can be private?”
To Leonora‘s surprise, the other woman was trembling visibly.
“My dear lady,” she said softly, taking Lady Darleigh’s hand and leading her to a little parlor the butler used for storing unwanted guests.
Once they were seated on two very uncomfortable Elizabethan chairs, she said, “Please let me know what it is that troubles you. I should hate to think that it’s something I’ve done.”
“Not at all,” the other woman said with a watery smile. “I shouldn’t have come here if you were the cause of my misery. I am not such a glutton for punishment as that.”
“That’s a relief, at least,” Leonora said truthfully. “Now, you really must tell me what it is you want from me.”
Lady Darleigh took a deep breath. “I … that is to say, my … I mean,” she began, and stopped, unable to complete the thought. “I didn’t think this would be so difficult,” she continued with a frown. “You see, Miss Craven, it’s just that I’d like to ask for your assistance. I wish to help my husband sever his membership in the Lords of Anarchy.”
Leonora’s breath caught in her throat. She’d been expecting some plea or other, but not this.
“My dear Lady Darleigh,” she began. “I don’t know why you believe I have the sort of influence that will help your husband, but I can assure you I only met Sir Gerard last evening. And I’m not even sure he likes me. Which to my mind makes me the least likely person who could help in this situation.”
“Perhaps so,” Lady Darleigh responded, “but I know that you and Lord Frederick Lisle are investigating your brother’s death. And I very much fear that what happened to him will happen to my own husband.”
Leonora’s eyes widened.
What fools they’d been to think their true reasons for getting close to the Anarchists would not be discerned at once. Her mind raced, searching for something, anything, to tell the woman seated across from her that would correct her assumption.
Finally, she decided just to pretend ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lady Darleigh.”
The blonde’s eyes sharpened. “Please, Miss Craven,” she said, her mouth white with anxiety, “do not pretend ignorance. I have guessed your true purpose, but I am confident no one else has. My husband told me he found the two of you in Sir Gerard’s study last evening. There were any number of anterooms between the drawing room and his study. You chose that particular room because you were looking for something.”
Stunned, Leonora shook her head. Was there no end to the amount of intelligence the other woman had gleaned from one night’s acquaintance?
“Your brother was kind to us,” Lady Darleigh continued. “He and my husband intended to leave the club together, but Sir Gerard threatened me. So my husband decided to wait. And when he saw what happened to your brother—which was no accident, no matter what Sir Gerard says—he decided to keep his suspicions to himself.”
This was just the sort of thing Leonora had hoped to learn during her visit to Sir Gerard’s home last night.
“What do you know, Lady Darleigh?” she asked in a low voice, leaning in to keep her voice from being overheard. “What happened to my brother?”
“It is because of that I wish my husband out of that awful group,” Lady Darleigh said cautiously. “He has met with several accidents, Miss Craven. All of them either while driving or while in the company of club members. I very much fear that something like what happened to your own brother will also happen to my husband. And I cannot, will not, let that happen!”
Leonora nodded, not daring to speak lest Lady Darleigh stop.
The other woman continued, “He seemed to have some new bruise or bump each time he came home. Lord Darleigh swears it’s nothing serious, but I don’t like it. They are supposed to just drive to some tavern in Dartford, show off their driving prowess and their expensive coaches, but there is more to the club than that. Things that have nothing to do with driving.”
“What?” Leonora couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“For one thing,” Lady Darleigh said with a frown, “there are the prizefights.”
Leonora thought perhaps she’d misheard. “Fights?” she asked. “As in fisticuffs?”
“Precisely,” Lady Darleigh said, frowning. “Soon after my husband joined he arrived home one evening with two broken ribs and a black eye. He told me he’d been set upon by thieves on his way home from the club. But the next day Sir Gerard visited our home and told me that I should be proud of my Robert for proving himself to be such a strong fighter.”
Shaking her head at the memory, she went on. “It was as if the devil himself had come to call,” she said with disgust. “As if I would be pleased to learn my husband was engaged in fisticuffs with those other men. Gentleman Jackson’s is bad enough, but this was a private fight. One my husband hadn’t seen fit to tell me about.”
“Why wouldn’t they just use Gentleman Jackson’s saloon for their bouts?” Leonora asked, puzzled.
“After I hounded him about it, my husband finally admitted that they fight in private because it is agreed upon by the participants and the audience that there will be no rules of fair conduct.”
Leonora gasped. “That’s barbaric!” She thought back to a time the year before when her brother had come home with a black eye. At the time he’d excused it as a souvenir from a bout at Jackson’s but he’d been a member of the Anarchists at the time.
She hadn’t thought it possible to be more disgusted with Sir Gerard Fincher, but clearly she’d been mistaken.
“What do you know about my brother’s death, Lady Darleigh?” she asked quietly. She was torn between needing to know, and wishing to protect herself from what she knew would be a chilling story. Still, she had to know. “Please.”
With a nod, Lady Darleigh continued. “Two weeks ago my husband overheard Sir Gerard and another club member talking, and what they said made it abundantly clear that your brother died in the most horrific of circumstances.”
“How so?” Leonora asked, her fists clenched against the other woman’s words.
“He was set upon, Miss Craven,” said Lady Darleigh, her eyes bright with tears. “They overtook his curricle on the Dover Road, beat him and tossed his body to the side of the road. I’m not sure which members did it, but my husband is sure of what he heard. Sir Gerard was congratulating them on a job well done. And he also said that he’d hidden your brother’s curricle somewhere safe.”
Leonora felt a cold chill rush down her spine.
She’d been desperate to learn the truth about Jonny’s accident from the moment she’d learned of it. He was a careful driver, skilled enough to navigate that stretch of the Dover Road in his sleep. That his driving record remained unblemished, however, was no consolation for the fact that he’d been murdered by men he thought to be his comrades.
If Sir Gerard Fincher were so foolish as to appear before her now, she’d find herself hard-pressed not to tell him exactly what she thought of him and his depraved club. It wasn’t a club for gentlemen. There were any number of members who might better be called brutes.
“Miss Craven.” Lady Darleigh’s eyes were shadowed with worry. “I do hope I did the right thing in telling you the truth. I simply thought you deserved to know what really happened. And I wished…” She trailed off, bowing her head in shame. “I did so wish to ask for your help. I can tell that you are a lady with true courage. And I know that if you and Lord Frederick would agree to help us, my husband would be able to leave the club for good.”
“Do not fret, Lady Darleigh,” Leonora assured her, despite her shaken composure. “I did wish to know. I needed to know what happened to him. And I am more grateful than I can say.”
The blonde’s eyes widened. “Then you will help u
s?” she asked, her features bathed in relief. “Oh, you cannot know how grateful I am.”
Taking the other woman’s hands in her own, Leonora nodded. “I will discuss your concerns about your husband with Lord Frederick. He will need an ally during his time in the club, and if you will tell your husband of our willingness to help, I feel sure that together we can bring Sir Gerard to heel. Preferably with the assistance of the authorities.”
“I will tell him,” the other lady promised. They both rose and crossed to the door leading to the hall. Leonora was surprised when Lady Darleigh gave her a quick hug.
“I will not forget this,” she said, before hurrying to where Mrs. Brown was seated chatting with an elderly cleric with a passion for sonnets.
Not long afterward, the company began to disperse, and when the last guest was finally gone, Leonora collapsed in one of the so recently vacated chairs that were now scattered throughout the room.
She’d thought it would be best to continue with her usual routine so that no one would guess that she and Freddy were actively investigating the Lords of Anarchy. But she hadn’t considered that her routine would be invaded by acquaintances from that world.
Her poetry, she’d thought, could prove a welcome distraction from dwelling on her brother’s untimely death. But there was no longer any corner of her life that had not been touched by grief.
At least, she thought, sipping a cup of cool tea, it looked as if there were cracks in the foundation of the Lords of Anarchy. Cracks that might prove to be Sir Gerard Fincher’s undoing.
Not bad work for a lady poet, she thought, picturing Sir Gerard’s expression when he learned she’d been instrumental in exposing his crimes.
The image made her grin.
Not bad work at all.
Ten
When Freddy arrived in Half Moon Street, the butler showed him into the first-floor ballroom and he saw that most of the other club members were already assembled there.
Somehow he’d arrived before Payne, and when his cousin approached him he took the opportunity to ask, “What is so important that it necessitated another meeting so soon after the one last night?”
Gerard looked displeased by the question, but said, “Sometimes things happen that require us to come together as a group much sooner than anticipated. And this was an opportunity for you to solidify your standing within the group that I could not, as your cousin, let pass.”
Freddy frowned. What on earth? “I thought I was already a member after the induction ceremony last night. There is more to it than that?”
“There is always room to move up—unless of course, like me, you are the president.” Gerard showed his teeth in the pretense of a grin. “And I do wish you to succeed in our group, Freddy. Don’t you?”
Everything about the conversation was making Freddy uncomfortable. He wondered idly if it had been this way for Jonathan, as well. Being welcomed in, then having the rug pulled out from under him. It was not the way clubs usually worked, but he was damned sure that his cousin had planned things that way.
But Freddy had to appear to be the eager recruit his cousin thought him. “Of course I wish to gain position within the club, cousin. I would hardly have accepted your invitation if I didn’t. What’s the point in joining a club where you remain a plebeian for the entirety of your association? I’m simply surprised at how quickly things are progressing.”
Which was true enough. He’d never expected Gerard to take him under his wing to ensure his swift climb up the ranks.
Gerard clapped Freddy on the back and grinned. “Of course I want to help you, Freddy. We’re family, are we not? And family looks out for one another.”
If only Gerard knew, Freddy thought.
“Now,” his cousin continued, “tell me about your betrothal to the delectable Miss Craven. How on earth did you manage that?”
Something in Gerard’s tone set Freddy’s back up. He disliked even hearing her name come out of the other man’s mouth. Let alone describing her as delectable. Swallowing his ire, he shrugged, saying, “I should think you of all people would understand the nature of that arrangement. Mama has been on me to marry, and you must admit that Miss Craven is quite beautiful. And the size of her father’s fortune is hardly a deterrent. One must keep oneself in good boots, you know. And Papa has become rather tight with the purse strings of late, if you must know.”
Fortunately, Freddy’s recent windfall had not yet become common knowledge, so he could paint a portrait of himself as pockets to let without fear of his cousin finding out.
“Interesting,” Gerard said with what looked like genuine surprise. “I hadn’t pegged you for a fortune hunter, but I suppose it makes sense. Especially since your little brother has just wed a duchess. I always thought you were a romantic. I’m impressed, cousin. I believe your years on the Continent have hardened you.”
Again Freddy shrugged. “I had to grow up sometime. And I thought that I might toy with her a bit to make up for the way she broke things off with me the last time. You know. A bit of payback.”
His cousin grinned and threw an arm over Frederick’s shoulder. “I like it,” he said with enthusiasm. “You have changed. I must say that I’m impressed. I thought you must be smitten given how closely you attended her every word last night.”
“All for show,” Freddy said with a cruel smile. “Poor chit.”
Gerard laughed at the words. “I vow, I am quite looking forward to seeing how you handle things with Payne. With your new attitude, I suspect you might end up the victor. Though I must admit, my money was on Payne before our little chat.”
“So, there are to be fisticuffs this morning despite our abandoning Jackson’s,” Freddy said thoughtfully. “I must admit you continue to surprise me, Gerard. You’re up to every rig.”
Gerard preened. “I try,” he said with what was supposed to look like a modest shrug but instead seemed smug. “And without the presence of Jackson, we can be … freer with our fighting.”
Which Freddy translated to mean that the Queensbury rules would not be first and foremost on the minds of the participants.
Just then Payne arrived, and after acknowledging the newcomer, Gerard led Freddy over to where a chair had been placed on one side of a makeshift ring, with a corresponding chair on the other side—presumably for Payne.
Lords Rudyard and Fleming, who seemed to have appointed themselves his pugilistic seconds, stood by while for the second time in as many hours Freddy removed his cravat, coat, and shirt.
Across the room he saw that Payne was also stripping to the waist, and was unsurprised to see that the other man was surrounded by a cluster of club members wishing him luck.
Deciding that he would do better to concentrate on his own readiness for the fight, Freddy twisted his head from one side to the other to loosen the muscles in his neck. He jabbed the air a few times and danced around a bit in his stocking feet.
“He’s a mad bastard,” Rudyard said in a low voice from his left side. “I’ve never seen anyone fight with as much fervor. He’s going to beat you bloody.”
“You don’t stand a chance,” said Lord Fleming mournfully. “It’s a shame because I quite like you. Of course I’d prefer anyone to Payne, but there’s no way you’re going to best him. I’d say you should concede now, but I think it would end up being just as bad for you. Then Sir Gerard would kick you out of the club, and we all know what happens to men who try to leave the club.”
Before he could ask what that last remark meant, Sir Gerard himself stepped into the center of the open circle formed by the other men. “Gentlemen, you know that from time to time we like to indulge in a bit of fisticuffs. The sort which is not allowed by the civilized likes of Gentleman Jackson and his lot. We are men, and as such we fight with the determination of soldiers facing their final battle.”
Gerard strode a few feet, warming to his subject. “Ours is the kind of fighting that has been around since the beginning of time. And as such, I will warn
both of today’s players—Lord Frederick Lisle and Lord Payne—that there will be no quarter. The fight ends when one of you falls and is incapable of getting up again. You may neither give quarter, nor may you delope.”
Freddy hadn’t realized just the extent of his cousin’s taste for drama until that little speech. Soldiers facing their final battle, indeed. He had a feeling that real soldiers like Trent would find his cousin’s bombast particularly loathsome considering how many of his compatriots had died in true war.
Still, it was the sort of thing he’d expect from his cousin, who had always found ways to feed his need for power and control. This wasn’t about sport or bravery. It was about creating a situation over which Gerard could rule. And manipulating other men into fighting at his urging.
“I will leave you to it, gentlemen,” Gerard said with a loud clap before he stepped back and let Freddy and Payne move to the center of the open circle.
“I’m going to hurt you,” Payne said with vicious fury as he swung and missed. “I’m going to bloody that pretty face so much that your mother won’t even recognize you.”
“I really must insist that you don’t do that, old chap,” Freddy said, ducking another powerful punch. “I should hate to upset my mama. And I have a feeling she would be quite capable of drawing your cork should she take such a notion into her head.”
“Prepare yourself for pain, you cur,” Payne growled, this time his fist connecting with Freddy’s cheekbone.
It hurt more than Freddy was willing to admit, but he managed to keep his voice light. “A pun! I hadn’t thought you capable of even that simple form of wit, Payne. I’m quite impressed.”
Having his intelligence denigrated made Payne angry, and he missed seeing Freddy’s right fist, which connected solidly with his chin. The other man roared and managed to land a blow on Freddy’s jaw.
Damn, that hurt. But the pain sent a jolt of bloodlust through Freddy that made him impervious to the pain. All he cared about was annihilating his opponent and for the next fifteen minutes they danced around one another, first Freddy hitting Payne, then vice versa, neither of them daring to stop lest the other use that pause to gain an advantage.
A Good Rake is Hard to Find Page 12
