Every Rogue's Heart

by Dawn Brower

  This is all so draining, Cordelia thought as she smiled up at Richard and another song came on the phonograph. I don’t know that I was meant to keep a secret like this in my head.

  Though the party was intended to end at ten, Cordelia found herself still escorting guests out at nearly midnight. She was every bit the courteous hostess and chatted pleasantly with them on their way out the door but whenever she waved farewell to someone she found herself doing a mental inventory of who was still in the mansion and the best way to make them move along. She hadn’t seen her husband in more than an hour and she was afraid to even think about what that meant. Instead, she found herself wondering when Victor had left.

  She was a little annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to her, and even more annoyed that she hadn’t had another chance to talk to him and find out what he knew about Arthur. It was true that her husband seemed to have been more indiscreet lately but for her sister to come to her with rumors and Victor to come right out and say something about it, it meant that other people were starting to take note of it.

  With a sigh, she turned and went back into the mansion. The phonograph was still playing in the makeshift ballroom but no one was dancing, and Cordelia decided that turning it off was likely serve as a good indication to people that were still there that the party was well and truly over.

  As she went up the steps to the house, two men walked past her and raised their hands in greeting but didn’t stop. Grateful to them for this, Cordelia smiled politely and bade them goodnight as she made her way toward the dining room.

  There was no one in the dining room and she searched the phonograph for an ‘off’ switch for a moment before discovering it on the side of the device, and as soon as she did the music slowed and stopped. She seemed to recall seeing the arm of the thing off to the side, so she carefully picked the needle up off the record and moved it to the side. That done, she expected silence to fill the room but was surprised to hear voices in the back hallway that led to the kitchens. Sighing at the thought of more people to chivvy out the front door and wondering what on earth people were doing all the way back there, Cordelia put on her best hostess smile and went into the hallway only to have her smile slide off her face when she saw who it was.

  Victor didn’t see her at first, though she hardly could have expected him to with his face pressed against the side of Patricia’s neck. Her blonde hair had come partially undone from its bun and curls of it were brushing against his cheek. He was saying something that Cordelia couldn’t hear, but Patricia was giggling, which probably had more to do with the fact that his hand was under her skirt, pushing it up far enough for Cordelia to see the tops of her socks.

  “Excuse me,” Cordelia said, snapping both of their faces in her direction. Patricia’s eyes widened and Victor pulled his hand away so her dress fell back down to cover her. “The party ended two hours ago. One of you needs to leave and the other has work to do.” She looked at Patricia. “Unless you would like to leave together. In which case I shall have to find a new maid.”

  “No ma’am, I’m so sorry,” Patricia said, her cheeks bright. “Excuse me.” She turned her eyes to the ground and hurried away in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Cordelia alone with Victor.

  “I trust you can see yourself out without accosting any more of my servants?” Her voice was frosty as she addressed him, then turned on her heel and started back down the hallway. She didn’t care what he might be up to, she was going to find Arthur and make him clear out the rest of the guests. As far as she was concerned, Cordelia was finished for the night.

  “Lady Whittemore,” Victor called after her as she stalked down the main hallway looking for her husband. “Please, wait a moment.”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you,” she said without looking at him.

  “At least allow me to finish what I was saying earlier,” he began just as Arthur came down the stairs, blessedly alone. Cordelia motioned to Victor, her eyes narrowed.

  “Arthur dear, I’ve got a bit of a headache. Could you see Mr. Pembroke out?”

  “Of course, my darling,” Arthur said. “I shall send Mrs. Richmond up after you with a cool cloth as well.” He patted her hand gently, then turned to Victor. “Did you bring your horse?” The two men walked away together and Cordelia thought she saw Victor try to look back at her before she stormed up the stairs with her fists balled into her skirts. Leave it to a man to ruin a perfectly lovely evening.

  Chapter 5

  The day after the party Victor found himself at his office thinking about what had happened the night before. He sighed as he pushed away the motion he was working on and tossed his pen on top of it. This wouldn’t do, not at all.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Pembroke?”

  “What?” Victor looked over at the door to his office, surprised to find his assistant Bradley looking in at him. He looked at the clock on the wall and was even more surprised to find that it was almost noon. “No, no, everything’s fine.”

  “You looked like something was on your mind,” the boy said, coming in to hand him a telegram. “Either that or you had indigestion.”

  “Probably too much coffee,” Victor said with a laugh. “Damn Harlow for getting me to drink the stuff in the first place.” He took the telegram from the boy’s hand and picked up a letter opener. “Thank you, Bradley, that will be all.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to bring you some coffee?”

  “Out!” Victor was barely able to hold back his laughter as Bradley hurried back into the hallway. “And pour out that damn coffee!” He couldn’t actually get mad at the boy, he was Judge Wellington’s son. Half the reason he’d agreed to take him on was so that the judge would overlook his former partner’s part in the disastrous will the late Lord Whittemore had filed.

  He had a pretty good idea of why the old man had put it in his will that for his son to remain Lord Whittemore he would have to remain married long enough to produce an heir, especially since he frequented the pubs. Not so much for drinking, though he did enjoy his share of pints on occasion, more to hear the gossip that was passed back and forth. Drinking too much often got him in trouble.

  Take for example the night before. He’d had an extremely enjoyable time talking to Lady Whittemore and had particularly liked dancing with her. She was an excellent dancer and from what he’d seen, her skill was wasted on her husband. If what he’d heard at the pub was true, there was quite a bit about her that was wasted on him. He’d had trouble keeping his mind off her the rest of the evening and found himself looking casually around to see if she might be nearby, but once he’d gotten a few good drinks in him courtesy of the current Lord Whittemore’s serving staff he’d found himself in a position he’d found pleasurable at the time but was now beginning to regret.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Pembroke?”

  “Bradley, I thought I told you to go pour out that coffee.” Victor leaned back in his chair and put a hand over his eyes.

  “A telegram just came for you.”

  “I know, Bradley, you’ve just handed it to me.” He held up the still-unopened telegram and Bradley shook his head.

  “That’s the wrong telegram. It’s actually for Mr. Avery down the road. The delivery boy got the address wrong,” Bradley said, coming into the office to give Victor a second envelope. Sighing heavily, Victor handed him the first envelope in return.

  “It’s Lord Avery, actually.”

  “Oh. Yes of course. Thank you sir,” Bradley said, pointing at the door. “I’ll just go pour out the coffee now.”

  Once the boy was gone, Victor opened the telegram and scanned it to make sure it was actually for him, then frowned. He’d sent a letter to his friend in London a week ago and the man was just now getting back to him. It was times like these that he wished he had access to a telephone. Another sigh escaped Victor’s lips as he stood up and put on his suit coat.

  Greenley could accurately be described as a small town if one wante
d to be kind about it, but in Victor’s eyes it was little more than a wide place in the road. Being from London originally, he wasn’t used to having to go to the Royal Mail office in order to send a telegram rather than making a phone call. His practice in London had a phone but before his rather unexpected death Phillip Harlow had refused to allow him to put one in their office. Not even the doctor in town had one, which seemed like a terrible oversight to Victor.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Pembroke,” the postman said when he walked into the Royal Mail office. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

  “I need to send a telegram,” Victor said, trying not to sigh again. “Unless you can magically make a telephone appear.”

  “No sir,” the postman said, shaking his head. “Most people in Greenley are lucky to have gotten indoor lighting. To whom do you want to send a telegram?”

  “Judge Ronald Perkins, in London. Tell him it’s too complicated and would breach privilege to put in a telegram and that I’ll meet with him in London in, let’s say, a week to discuss it further.” He took out his wallet and pushed a pound note across the counter. The postman’s eyes widened.

  “Good lord, sir, that’s far too much!”

  “Keep the rest of it for yourself and don’t tell anyone you sent that telegram, or about the contents of the previous telegram.” The last part was unnecessary. Judge Perkins had been concise and vague, as befitted a member of the court, but one could never be too careful when dealing with the law and nobility. Leaving the postman still groping for words, he turned and went back outside. Instead of going back to his office, he went to the stable to get his horse.

  Yet another inconvenience, he thought irritably. In London they’re probably all driving around in automobiles now.

  As he rode out to the Whittemore estate he found himself thinking about Cordelia again. The estate was rather far from Greenley and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her in town. He wondered if she ever got out of the mansion or if she was stuck there all the time. It was unlikely that she’d ride into town like her husband but there was nothing saying she couldn’t come in the carriage.

  She didn’t seem like the type of woman who would enjoy country living, which led him to believe that she’d been married off to Arthur by her parents. The same fate had likely befallen her sister, though she seemed much happier with the General than Cordelia did with her husband. The Ellisons could scarcely keep their eyes off each other, even with the age difference, whereas he couldn’t recall seeing more than the barest hint of affection between Lord and Lady Whittemore.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pembroke,” the stablemaster said as he rode up to the estate. “It’s good to see you again. Is Lord Whittemore expecting you?”

  “He’s not,” Victor said, “but he’s going to want to speak to me. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He dismounted and patted his horse affectionately, then took his satchel from where he’d secured it to the saddle and handed the reins to the stablemaster, who nodded at him. “Thank you.”

  “You just let me know when you’re ready for him again, sir.”

  Victor walked the rest of the way up to the mansion, looking around at the perfectly manicured garden along the way. It was a beautiful house with equally beautiful grounds, an elegant cage for a young bird who didn’t seem to know there was anything different. The carved wooden door opened as he came up the stairs and the old, strict-looking woman he knew as Mrs. Richmond flicked her eyes over him and didn’t smile.

  “Good afternoon,” she said tightly. “I assume you’re here to see Lord Whittemore?”

  “I am,” Victor said, giving her one of his most winning smiles. “I’ve got some important business to discuss with him regarding his father’s estate.”

  “Very well. Follow me.”

  Mrs. Richmond led him down the hall and somewhere in the house he could hear Cordelia playing the piano. It was a spirited piece that sounded like a companion to the one she’d played at the party and he wished he could take a moment to go listen and possibly try to explain his behavior to her. Victor had never felt the need to explain his behavior to anyone but he wanted to at least tell her he was sorry. Then he looked at Mrs. Richmond and knew the likelihood of getting near Cordelia without her or Arthur was slim.

  The doors to Arthur’s study were closed when they reached it and Mrs. Richmond knocked sharply on it. Victor had no doubt that her knock could be heard as far down as the root cellar, and a moment later Arthur opened the door. When he saw Victor, his face broke into a grin.

  “Well, hello there Victor! This is a surprise. What brings you out here?” He reached out to Victor and the two men shook hands.

  “I wanted to speak to you about your father’s estate. It’s a private matter,” Victor said, lowering his voice. He didn’t need to. Mrs. Richmond had already turned away and gone off to wherever she went when she wasn’t giving everyone suspicious looks.

  “Of course, of course. Come on in.” Arthur led him into the study and shut the door behind him, locking it to be safe. “Have you had news from your judge friend in London?”

  “Nothing useful, I’m afraid. He said he might have some thoughts on it but neither of us wanted to put it in something so public as a telegram just in case someone gets a bit too nosy. I’m planning on meeting him in London next week to discuss it further. Unfortunately that’s going to have to go to your expenses, I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. I trust you’ll take care of things properly.” Arthur sighed and looked up at the oil painting of his father that was above the desk. “This has all gotten out of hand. I can’t believe I agreed to such a foolish thing but I suppose there’s nothing for it now.”

  “Does Lady Whittemore know?”

  “About Father’s will? No, not yet. I was hoping not to have to tell her until we had better news. Sort of give her the bad news followed by telling her we’d sorted it out. She still has some hope that she’ll be able to get out of this.” He looked at Victor. “I trust you’ll be able to handle the divorce?”

  “Yes, I believe so. You’re willing to grant it to her, I doubt the courts will be any trouble.” Victor joined him in looking up at the painting. He’d never actually met the late Lord Whittemore but judging from his will he couldn’t imagine that he was pleasant to be around. If he was going to be honest, the man seemed like a petty old bastard. “She may have some trouble getting remarried, though.”

  “Oh?” Arthur looked alarmed at this. “Why is that?”

  “Most men aren’t interested in a divorced woman,” Victor said with a shrug. “They see her as being ruined by her first husband. Not to mention they’re usually to blame for the divorce. Husbands don’t just let their wives out of a marriage without a reason.”

  “I see,” Arthur said. “I’d never even considered that. I’ve caused so many problems for her, I intend to take care of her until she’s able to remarry but I don’t want people to look at her badly.”

  “I’m sure you have your reasons,” Victor said, letting his sentence dangle slightly in the hopes Arthur would tell him exactly why he wanted to divorce his wife. When he didn’t oblige, Victor shrugged. “In any case, I’ll do my best to get things sorted out for you. We’re simply going to have to be patient.”

  “I know. For her sake, I just hope it’ll be soon,” Arthur said. There was a knock at the study door and both men looked in its direction. “Yes?”

  “Excuse me, sir,” the butler said, putting his head into the study, “but there’s a gentleman downstairs who says he needs to speak with you about the stable.”

  “Oh, lovely,” Arthur said sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s good news.”

  “I’m sure,” Victor said. “I’ll leave you to your stable problems. I can see myself out, I remember the way.” Arthur nodded and extended his hand. Victor shook it with a smile, then opened the door and went out into the hallway.

  He did indeed remember the way out of the mansion, seeing as how he had been escorte
d out only the night before. Arthur had been kind about it, far kinder than he felt Lady Whittemore would have been given her reaction to finding him with the maid, and Victor doubted he even knew why Cordelia was asking him to be shown the door. He got the feeling that Arthur didn’t refuse his wife much, probably because he knew that divorcing her was in the future and he was trying to make it up to her in advance. Victor sighed. Rich people had troubles he could scarcely dream of, but the retainer he was getting paid made dealing with them worthwhile.

  On his way out, his ears caught the sound of the most beautiful piano music he’d ever heard. Victor automatically turned toward it, drawn by the notes and the thought of seeing Cordelia again. There was something about her that had gotten under his skin in a way that no other woman had, and the desire to see her again was like a drug.

  He found her in the room that had been converted into a conservatory, sitting at the piano. The piece she was playing was melancholy, slow and deliberate, and he could just about feel the emotion she was putting into each note. Like some people wore their hearts on their sleeves, Cordelia showed hers in her music. He wondered just how much she knew or suspected of her husband’s plans after all. She didn’t seem like an unintelligent woman.

  Victor wasn’t sure how long he stood there listening to her play, but it couldn’t have been long. She turned suddenly from the keys and looked at him, her eyes widening slightly and then narrowing when she saw who it was. There was a fire in them that he rarely saw in a woman, and in spite of the fact that her husband could walk in at any moment, he felt the rush of wanting to possess her.