by Cheryl Holt
She might have pressed him, might have asked if he was serious, but if he swore, then failed to follow through, she’d be more forlorn than she already was.
“Would you mind,” he asked, “if I looked in on you during the night?”
She drew away and gazed into his blue eyes that were so much like her own. “How often would you?”
“How about every half an hour?”
“Till morning?”
“Yes, till morning.”
“I suppose that would be all right.”
He hugged her.
“Don’t ever run away again,” he whispered. “I couldn’t bear it if you left.”
“I won’t run away.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She smiled, and immediately, she fell asleep, the steady beating of her brother’s heart a soothing rhythm in her ear.
“HELEN?”
“Hello, Captain Odell.”
Tristan bit down a grimace, depressed to hear that he was still Captain Odell and not Tristan. He’d completely squandered her affection, so he didn’t know why he expected the other mode of address, but he wished he could put them on a more cordial footing.
He was a cad, an oaf, a scapegrace. He admitted it, and he was trying to make amends. Why wouldn’t she let him?
Timidly, he entered the parlor, uncertain of his welcome, but fairly positive that she’d rather speak to a snake-oil salesman.
“I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”
“Have you?”
She was over by the window, staring out. It was cold and rainy, the gray sky giving a hint of the winter weather that would arrive all too soon.
A smart man would be headed south, with the wind at his back and the salt spray in his face. A smart man would shuck off his responsibilities and do whatever the hell he wanted. A smart man would leave all this feminine drama behind.
He’d never been hailed as being particularly smart.
She spun around, her expression cool and detached, as if he was a stranger to whom she’d just been introduced. She was pale and brittle, as if—with the slightest harsh word—she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
“Have you seen Jane?” she inquired. “She never came down to breakfast, and she’s not in her room. I’m worried about her.”
“She’s not here.”
“Where did she go?”
“She’s with Michael.”
“I apologize.” She pursed her lips, her fury clear. “I specifically ordered her to stay away from him, but it seems I have little control over her.”
He approached, loathing how she stiffened, as if she didn’t want him too near.
“Actually, she wrote you a note. Michael left it on my desk in the library. It’s addressed to both of us.”
He held it out and she snatched it away, being careful that their fingers didn’t touch. As she read the curt missive, explaining their elopement, she snorted with disgust.
“Well,” she fumed, “I guess there’s not much more to say. Again, I apologize.”
“I don’t mind that they wed.” She appeared skeptical, and he hastily added, “Truly, I don’t. Last evening, when he asked you for her hand, I came with him so you’d know he had my blessing.”
“You claimed you were amenable, Captain, but at the moment, Lord Hastings isn’t present, so you don’t have to lie to me. We both realize that this is the very worst ending imaginable.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Jane is a hopeless romantic, and she’s immersed herself in a dangerous affair with a foolish, immature boy. The conclusion will be awful. Don’t try to tell me any differently.”
“What if you’re wrong?” he queried, sounding like a hopeless romantic himself. “What if he loves her till his dying day?”
“I’m not wrong.”
She crumpled Jane’s letter, marched over to the hearth, and threw it in the fire. Stoically resigned, she watched as the flames consumed it.
She was such a tragic figure, so bereft and alone, as if she didn’t have a friend in the world. He wanted to break through her wall of reserve, wanted to persuade her that everything would be fine, but she wouldn’t listen.
He couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy, to recognize that he’d been the cause. And now that Michael and Jane had eloped, what purpose was served by her rage? He’d hurt her by refusing to let the pair wed, but he’d relented.
Surely the concession counted for something. Didn’t it?
“Have you considered my suggestion?” he asked.
“What suggestion is that?”
“You and Amelia should remain here.”
“Here!” She was appalled.
“Yes. Maud and Miriam are gone. When Michael and Jane return from Scotland, this will be Jane’s home, so you needn’t leave.”
“I would never stay in this house.”
He couldn’t stand to be so far away from her, and he went over and laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t exactly flinch, but there was no mistaking that she detested his touch. She whirled to face him, accusation in her gaze.
“Helen, please forgive me,” he begged, his heart on his sleeve. “I understand that you were upset with me—I made a stupid decision, and I’m sorry for it—but Michael and Jane will be wed shortly. The source of our discord is over.”
“Over? Because they’re marrying?”
“Yes.”
“What does their marriage have to do with anything?”
Utterly confused, he gaped at her.
Weren’t they fighting because Michael had ruined Jane and he—Tristan—wouldn’t force Michael to wed her? Hadn’t the entire quarrel commenced because Tristan had been an insensitive ass?
“I thought you’d be glad they were marrying. I thought it would fix the rift between us.”
“Really? Is that what you suppose? That you can offer a bland apology, and we’ll take up where we left off?”
“Why couldn’t it happen? You were fond of me once. Tell me how I can regain your affection.”
“You can’t.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I mean it very, very much.”
She walked away, keeping a sofa between them as a barrier.
He sighed. “What should I do, Helen? If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be? Let me give it to you.”
“I heard from the housekeeper that Lord Hastings owns an empty apartment on the other side of town.”
“He owns many properties.”
“I would like to learn which one is vacant, then Amelia and I will reside there while I search for a job.”
He tamped down a spurt of temper, aware that anger would get him nowhere with her. “You’re about to be sister to the countess of Hastings. You can’t ... work ... for a living.”
“Then what would you propose I do?”
“Just wait till Jane returns. We’ll sit down and talk it through.”
“I don’t want Lord Hastings’s charity. I don’t want him having to support me merely because he wed my sister. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“He’s a very rich man, and he’ll want Jane to be happy. Let him judge what he deems to be fair.”
“Fine.” She looked as weary of their bickering as he was. Her shoulders drooped, her legs seeming to give out, and she slid into a nearby chair. “How would I move in to the apartment I mentioned?”
“I’ll simply ask my clerk as to availability, then I’ll have the housekeeper send over some servants to ensure it’s ready for you. I’ll need a few hours.”
“I’ll be in my bedchamber. Have someone notify me when we may depart.”
“May Rose come with you for a bit? She’s worried about Amelia. It would be a comfort to her if they could be together.”
“Of course. Rose is always welcome.”
“I’ll only arrange this if you promise to remain there—and rest from your ordeal. I won’t have you gallivanting around the
city, seeking employment. It would embarrass Lord Hastings.”
“I will wallow in his generosity. I will be completely idle; I will become a veritable sloth.”
He stared and stared, wishing she’d smile so he could smile, too.
Once, she’d been so enamored of him, and he’d been vain enough to assume that she might even have loved him. How had such strident regard vanished practically overnight? A spark had to still burn deep inside. How was he to rekindle it?
With great effort, she pushed herself to her feet, and she started for the door, the route taking her directly past him. She was prepared to stroll by as if she didn’t see him, as if he were invisible.
He stepped in, wanting to rattle her and eager to elicit a reaction. At this desperate point, he’d settle for a snide remark.
“Helen ...” he murmured, relishing the chance to speak her name.
“What?”
“You seem very exhausted. May I escort you to your room?”
She gawked at him as if he’d ordered her to swallow poison.
“No, you may not.”
“Why are you behaving like this? I simply can’t fathom why you’re so enraged.”
“You can’t?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t you check on Tim and Ruth? They must be missing you.”
“Tim and Ruth? Who the hell are Tim and Ruth?”
“As if you didn’t know,” she scoffed. “And where is Lydia? In light of her delicate condition, she must be missing you, too.” A burst of hurt and fury flashed in her eyes, then she spun and stomped out.
He dawdled in the quiet parlor, scratching his head and struggling to figure out what she’d been trying to say.
Chapter 25
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“That depends. To what lesson are you referring?”
Clarinda stared at her brother, humored by his ill mood. He was still furious that she’d run off with Helen, but his pique was driven by the fact that he’d been afraid for her safety. He hadn’t calmed, and he was trying to hide his alarm by blustering and ranting.
“You have the gall to ask me what lesson?” he demanded. “How about this one: People like us aren’t meant to rub elbows with the aristocracy.”
“Why shouldn’t we? If our father was actually Duke of Clarendon, then our blood is bluer than Captain Odell’s.”
“Even if Mother’s tales were true—which I seriously doubt—we don’t need to court trouble. The rich have their own problems, and we shouldn’t meddle in them.”
Clarinda laughed. If Phillip found some benefit in claiming an exalted sire, he was the first to brag, but if he was making a different sort of point, they might have been street urchins who’d sprung from nowhere at all.
“I had a grand time,” she told him. “Quit fussing.”
He was standing by the wagon, labeling bottles of Woman’s Daily Remedy. In his race to locate her in London, he’d left the wagon unattended. When he’d returned to fetch it, most of their potions and herbs were gone. It was a sore spot for which she was being blamed.
He slammed down a jar and glared at her.
“As Miss Hamilton was being arrested, what if you hadn’t been able to slip away? What if that ass, Rafferty, had absconded with you, too? You’d have vanished into thin air, and I’d have spent the rest of my life wondering where you were.”
“Give me some credit, would you? I’m your sister. You taught me every devious trick I know. You think I couldn’t have sneaked out? Or that I couldn’t have gotten a message to you?”
“I’m not certain what I think anymore.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Very quietly, he said, “You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry.” She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “Am I forgiven?”
“Yes, you’re forgiven. I’m just glad I’m your brother and not your father. You’d push me to an early grave. You might anyway.”
Clarinda hugged him, then grabbed an empty bottle and started filling it. They were down by the harbor, where they always did a brisk business. What with so many travelers leaving the country, women were especially anxious to bring along tonics.
“Mr. Dubois!” a voice called from the crowd. “Fancy meeting you here.”
A blond female hustled up, appearing harried and harassed.
“Bonjour, bonjour.” Instantly, Phillip adopted his French accent. “Mademoiselle Lambert, isn’t it?”
“How lovely that you remembered.”
“She stopped by when we were back at Hastings Manor,” Phillip explained to Clarinda. “On the day I went searching for you.”
“It was quite exciting,” Miss Lambert said, smiling at Clarinda. “I trust you’re his sister and that all has ended well?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” Clarinda replied.
“How did your wagon fare, Mr. Dubois? I was worried about you abandoning so many supplies.”
“We lost a few items,” Phillip stated, “but nothing that couldn’t be replaced. ”Why are you in London, cherie?”
“We’re sailing for Scotland.” She pointed to a ship where several passengers were climbing the gangplank, their trunks and boxes waiting to be loaded behind them.
“Scotland? In the autumn?”
“Hunting.” She pronounced it like a dirty word, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste as she indicated a tall, dark-haired man leaning against the ship’s rail. She whispered, “It’s Lord Penworth, my employer—the ogre I mentioned.”
“Ah,” Phillip commiserated. “He looks pleasant enough.”
“Only on the outside. On the inside, he’s a brute.”
“You’d better have some more of my Woman’s Daily Remedy for the journey.”
“I’d better. The first two bottles were extremely ... invigorating.”
Phillip handed over more of the elixir, and she slipped it into her reticule.
“Do you have the Spinster’s Cure I gave you?” he asked.
“Both vials.”
“Drink them as soon as you stumble on an interesting fellow with a steady income. You’ll be wed in no time flat, so you’ll be able to tell your tyrant of a boss to stuff it because you quit.”
“That’s my plan. Wish me luck!” She walked on, grinning and waving good-bye as if they were old friends.
They were so caught up in her happy farewell that they failed to discern the approach of another person. Clarinda turned away to discover that Captain Odell was standing directly behind her. She jumped.
“You might give a body a bit of notice,” she griped.
“Miss Dudley,” he curtly greeted. “Mr. Dudley.”
He was handsome as ever, attired in a blue coat and tan trousers, his black boots polished to a shine, but he was his usual taciturn, grumpy self.
Though he’d rescued Helen and Jane, Clarinda couldn’t move beyond the part he’d initially played in setting off the debacle.
He’d been eager to ruin Helen, but when push had come to shove, he’d deserted her like the worst cad. As far as Clarinda was concerned, he and his snotty ward, the exalted Earl of Hastings, could choke on a crow.
“What do you want, Odell?” Phillip snarled, not liking him any more than Clarinda did.
Odell flushed, as if he was embarrassed to be visiting them.
Arrogant bastard!
“I need to talk to your sister.”
“There she is.” Phillip gestured to Clarinda. “Have at it.”
“Privately,” Odell snapped.
“Anything you have to say to Clarinda, you can say in front of me.”
“It’s all right, Phillip,” Clarinda insisted. “I doubt he bites, and I’m dying to hear what it is.”
“Fine,” Phillip fumed, “but one wrong word, Odell, and I will beat you to a pulp.”
“You and what army?” Odell scoffed.
To prevent any fisticuffs, Clarinda grabbed Odell by the arm and dragged him away from Phillip. She kept on unti
l she was certain Phillip couldn’t eavesdrop, then she whipped around.
“What is it?” she inquired.
“During your recent adventures, I’m assuming you spoke at length with Helen.”
“What of it?”
“I’m merely confused over ... over...” He stopped, flummoxed and unable to spit it out. “She’s very furious with me.”
“Of course she is. You behaved despicably.”
“Thank you, Miss Dudley. I’m aware of my shortcomings. I don’t need you enumerating them.”
“If you’re about to ask me to plead your case with her, I won’t. She’s better off without you.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Your intervention is not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of resolving this on my own.”
“Are you?” Clarinda raised a brow, silently informing him that she deemed him a total incompetent.
“It’s just that Helen said the strangest comments to me, and I’m mystified by them. She mentioned three people—Ruth, Tim, and Lydia—and how they’d probably been missing me.”
“Good for her. I’m glad she found the temerity to accuse you to your face.”
“She acted as if I should know Tim and Ruth, but I don’t. And the only Lydia of my acquaintance is a former housemaid who worked for Lord Hastings. Have you any idea what she meant?”
Clarinda studied him carefully, taking in his candid gaze, his open posture. She was adept at reading emotion, her skill as ingrained as her brother’s. Odell was genuinely perplexed, and another layer of Maud Seymour’s cruelty was heaped on the top of the pile.
“By any chance, Captain, do you keep two mistresses, one in London and one in Edinburgh?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose you have any illegitimate children?”
“No. Who told you I had?”
“The witch!” Clarinda muttered. She peered about and saw a crate nearby, and she led him over to it. “I have a story to tell you. It’s rather long. Let’s sit down, shall we?”
“All right.”
As she seated herself, she scowled at him. “Why are you so curious about Helen? What’s it to you if she’s angry?”
“I’m planning to marry her—if she’ll have me.”
Clarinda sighed. “Obviously, there’s a pertinent detail you haven’t heard about her relationship with Maud Seymour.”
