by Sophia James
A woman with a thousand other pathways to choose. Boudica, the warrior of the Iceni tribe, Ethelfleda, Queen of Mercia, or Gwenllian Gruffydd of Wales. Strength filled Eleanor where doubt had otherwise lingered and she lifted her chin. The power of womanhood could shine as brightly in adversity as it ever did in triumph.
As Frederick called for them all to gather closer and a minister she had not noticed before took his place, she made her way to the large windows at one end of the room. A bower of paper roses had been placed there with streams of cream ribbon and green holly. Appropriate and beautiful for a New Year wedding in a venue that had been important to both Cecilia and Oliver.
Of a sudden her own worries were pushed aside and she felt the delight of a couple who were well suited and about to be joined in holy matrimony.
Nicholas was the best man. This fact surprised her as he came to stand next to Oliver, a ring box in hand. Frederick and Jacob were right next to him, a group of four men who had been close friends since childhood. Each had a sprig of winter jasmine in their lapel and there was a large vase of the same perfumed flower on a table behind the bower. Jacob still looked out of sorts, but less so than he had done on first entering the club. Perhaps he had had a word with Nicholas? She hoped so.
‘We are gathered here today for the marriage of...’
The words of the minister sounded out over silence and it was then that Nicholas Bartlett truly looked at her, his velvet brown eyes locking into her own with a sort of pained desperation.
Shock tore down Eleanor’s spine, for everything she could see on his face was the exact opposite of the words that had been in the note.
She could not take her eyes from his and for a good ten seconds they looked into each other’s souls and then away. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she felt slightly sick.
Disorientated. Dizzy. Gritting her teeth together, she concentrated on the wedding.
Cecilia looked radiant and Oliver looked... She could not quite describe how he looked. He was a very handsome man who had set the ton on fire with his charm and grace, but he had never seemed quite relaxed. Today he did, his smile wide and his eyes bright with love. Their hands were joined tightly together, the white of his knuckles easily seen from where she stood.
They were perfect.
And, God, she wanted that for herself, the melding of one person to the other so that the whole was better than the two halves.
Swallowing twice, she tried to catch on to a failing fortitude. She had known such perfection as she had lain in the heat of Nicholas’s bed and loved him.
Her cheeks burned as the minister glanced her way and then the rings were exchanged, Cecilia’s a small white-gold circle with diamonds and Oliver’s a wider plain gold band.
Nicholas looked thankful that this part of the service was over. Would he make a speech?
She heard Rose sigh beside her and looked at her sister-in-law who was dabbing her brimming eyes.
‘Weddings always make me cry,’ she explained. ‘It’s the hope in them, I think, and the promise.’
Her own lack of true participation made her feel guilty. She had been so preoccupied with seeing what Nicholas looked like up there that she had hardly spared a thought for either the bride or the groom. When she was called up to the front to sign the marriage papers as a witness she was shocked for she would have to stand right next to Nicholas Bartlett and look him in the eye whilst acting as if she was neither devastated nor heartbroken.
The pretence of it was almost too much to bear.
Rose’s elbow came against her, urging movement, and smiling, even though it was the last thing she wished to do, she stepped forward.
Nicholas Henry Stewart Bartlett. He was left handed. She had not known that, but he used his damaged arm to sign his name, with the bandage just visible under the dark cuff of his jacket.
And when he had finished he turned and gave her the pen, his fingers touching hers at the transfer.
‘You need to place your name beneath mine.’ Today the accent of the Americas could be heard squarely in his words. A further separation. Another distance.
With care she bent to add her name to the document, although all she could concentrate on was the feel of him at her side.
He had never said ‘I love you’ when she had been in his bed at the Bromley town house. In the throes of desire and lust he had promised her a lot less than she had promised him and yet he had not been dishonest. He had asked for her consent and she had given it. But he had never spoken of his love.
Now as he stood next to her speaking with Jacob and Frederick and with six inches between them, all she wanted to do was to move closer and touch him.
* * *
Eleanor had barely looked at him save for one glance just before the ceremony began. She was smiling at Cecilia now, a smile that gave the impression that every single thing in her world was exactly as she would want it, his defection a trifling thing, a small inconvenience only.
Eleanor’s middle name was Christine. Like her mother’s. Like their daughter’s.
Eleanor Christine Elise Huntingdon. He consigned her full name to memory.
He was glad that Jacob and Frederick and Oliver were here. It made the day safer somehow with them around. Eleanor would also accompany her brother and sister-in-law home afterwards. A further protection. For the next twelve hours he would not need to worry about her at all.
The thought of that made him smile and as he turned he caught her eye. She smiled back. And the world simply stopped. Just her and him in a room full of winter sunlight and flowers.
The ache of sorrow inside him nearly brought him to his knees, there in the blue salon of Vitium et Virtus, for after the joy of Oliver’s happiness his own seemed compromised beyond recognition and there was nothing now that he could do to make it different if she was to stay safe.
I will always love you.
God, had he just said that? Relief filled him when he realised the words were in his head, although Jacob was looking at him oddly, a sort of shared understanding in his eyes that made no sense whatsoever.
He was pleased when Frederick called him away to help with the wine that had to be brought up from below because it allowed him an excuse to leave her side and regain his sense.
Once in the cellar Frederick turned on him. ‘What the hell are you doing, Nick? Eleanor looks as though you have just stabbed her through the very heart and Jacob has all the appearance of a man who wants to kill you.’
‘My memory is back, Fred, and Eleanor Huntingdon and I were close once.’
‘How close is close?’
‘We were together just before I disappeared.’
‘God,’ he said as his hand slid through his hair, sweeping it back. Such blasphemy in a man usually so very articulate worried Nick further.
‘And now? It’s Oliver’s wedding, for God’s sake. Even he is starting to realise that things are not quite right.’
‘Someone wants to do her harm, Frederick, because of me.’
His friend put down the bottles he had gathered and took in a deep breath. ‘Another note?’
He shook his head. ‘A meeting this time. The informant told me Eleanor was being watched.’
‘So you think to put distance between you. To fool the one who wants to harm you?’
‘If it looks as though I am interested in others I think he will only target me. With my history...’
Fred swore again and took the cork from a bottle of wine before finding two glasses and handing him one. ‘I think we need this more than anyone above does.’
There was silence for a moment before Nick began to speak.
‘I’m the father of her child, Fred. We slept together again two nights ago and the next day I discovered that she was a target, too, because of it. If anyth
ing happens to her...’ He could not go on.
‘You love her? My God, you do.’ A smile covered his friend’s face, broad and surprised. ‘You never do things by half, Nick, I had forgotten that about you. You couldn’t just tell her?’
‘That someone still wants to kill me and that if she’s in the way she will be hurt, too? She’d never let me out of her sight.’
‘I see your point, for Georgiana would be exactly the same. Jacob has to know, though, so that he can make sure Eleanor stays safe when in his care.’
‘You’re right.’
‘And Oliver is part of it, too.’
‘Tell them today for me after I have left, Fred, when you think the time is right.’
‘And what will you do?’
‘Keep looking for some clue as to who it is who hates me so much and then deal with him.’
* * *
Nicholas raised his glass, calling the small crowd before him to order, and Eleanor turned to listen. She had not spoken to him again after the signing of their names as witnesses, but instead looked about the room, seeing the club through the eyes of someone who had never been in this type of place before.
She’d been astonished by the large array of books on the shelves and if the statues and pictures were more than racy, then that, too, added to the character.
Nicholas looked at home here, she thought, the stuffy strictures of the ton disappearing completely and there was a freedom inherent in the place that was beguiling.
Cecilia and Oliver were now standing next to him and he smiled at each of them before beginning to speak.
‘I’ve had no true experience with marriage and what it entails, but it seems that love conquers all difficulties and any problems. It moves people on from one place to a better one where together they can solve life’s problems. It makes them stronger, more whole, more accepting, bolder. So here’s to adventure and courage and to faith in the future. Here’s to Cecilia and Oliver Gregory. To a long life together and a happy one.’
Faith in the future? He’d used those same words before they had slept together and look where they had got her. The wine tasted like dry vinegar in her mouth as she raised her glass along with the others. Another few moments and she would be able to slip away from such lies and go home to Lucy. Tomorrow she would make her preparations for returning to Millbrook. Away from Nicholas. Away from heartbreak.
‘They look so good together, don’t they?’ Rose’s words came through a tunnel and she nodded. ‘Bromley, however, looks like a brick has hit him, though. He keeps glancing your way when he is sure you are not looking.’
‘Guilt, I suppose.’ She ground the words out quietly even as Rose laughed.
‘His words on marriage are surprising for a man so frightened of commitment. Your brother looks less angered by him, too. I wonder if they have spoken?’
Without giving a reply, Eleanor tipped up the glass with the rest of her wine and finished the lot.
Chapter Sixteen
He needed to be seen. He needed to be available. He needed to wait until they pounced and then... He would deal with them as easily as he had the others in the Americas who had threatened him.
He was no longer the man that they thought him and he would use this to his advantage.
Every light was on in his town house and he had given most of the servants the night off. To set the scene and make certain that whoever watched the house was also made aware of the chance to strike.
Yesterday he had squired a dozen ladies along the pathways of Hyde Park, making sure to appear animated and entertained. Last night he had done the same at the Fielders’ party, chatting to this woman and then that one, giving an impression of being most available and distinctly single. The effort of it all had exhausted him. Even this morning in town he had stopped to speak with the small groups of acquaintances he met, garnering invite after invite to all the celebrations of the ton.
He had not caught any sight at all of Eleanor Huntingdon and for that he was glad. Priming his duelling pistol, he slipped his knife down into the leather holder of his boot and took in a breath.
The soft London Lord was long gone. He had killed before and would do again to protect his own. It was both simple and sad because to admit to being such a menace without missing a heartbeat put him in a place that was neither honourable nor decent.
After this he could not go back and live as he had once imagined he might. If he ended a man’s life here tonight, he would be outcast for ever. But Eleanor and Lucy would be safe. That thought overrode every other one.
A movement on the street caught his attention and then Frederick Challenger was there at his door, dressed in black from head to foot. He looked nothing like the second son of an earl and all of the soldier.
‘I have come to help you, Nick.’ His eyes took in the gun on the table primed and ready. ‘It will be here?’
‘From what I suspect, yes.’
Another noise out at the front garnered their attention to the doorway, the knock surprising them. This time it was Oliver, dressed in the same sort of fashion as Frederick.
‘You shouldn’t be here. You have just been married.’
‘Let’s sort this out first, Nick. It would be hard to enjoy being away on a bridal tour knowing you were battling for your life in London and Cecilia agrees with me. Jake is out the front, too, watching for any movement.’
Nicholas could only stare at Oliver and Frederick in wonder. He was no longer alone. It wasn’t just he who had to deal with this peril now. There was a chance for him to still survive and live.
* * *
An hour later Jacob came inside, too, though he barely looked at Nick, the tension between them palpable.
‘Eleanor is in danger because of me, Jake, it’s why I sent the note. I need to see her safe. If she is hurt in any way at all...’ He didn’t continue.
‘You could not tell her of your plan?’
‘Would you have told Rose?’
‘So you thought to take this on alone without telling any of us a word about it? Would you be there if we were in trouble, Nick?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I rest my case. But I warn you, at the end of all this, if you don’t damned well marry my sister I will kill you myself.’
‘Agreed.’
‘No more lies, Nick, for it’s killing us all. This time we face it together and end it.’
* * *
By the morning they doubted anyone at all was coming. Perhaps they had been warned off by the appearance of the others or perhaps the heavy rain had persuaded them to wait for another night, a better chance.
Whatever the reason they locked the front door and drew the curtains, stoking the fire into a life it had not enjoyed before and sitting down near it to feel the warmth.
‘This reminds me of the time the Night Watch came to the club to question us about that girl they had found by the river who had been killed. We had a roaring fire when they knocked and it was a filthy night which was odd for the start of September.’
Oliver said this as he picked at the bread, cheese and pickles Nicholas had had brought up from the kitchens. It was the first Nicholas had heard of the murder and he wondered out aloud just why the Watch would come to Vitium et Virtus to question its owners.
‘The girl was a maid who had worked for us. She disappeared a few weeks after she quit the job and moved in with a new lover.’
‘Did the lover kill her?’ Nick’s attention was caught by the story.
‘No, he was absolved because he had been drinking at a tavern close by and her body was found miles away down by the Isle of Dogs.’
Jacob continued with the recount now. ‘You might have known the girl, Nick, for it was the month after you disappeared that this all happened. She was slight and
dark and from the country. Cornwall, I think. Sally was her name. The strange thing was the way she had been murdered. There were rows of distinct cuts all over her body, cuts that were precisely placed in every sensual zone. She’d bled to death, it was determined, and the constables named it as a sexual crime. They wondered if there was anyone at Vitium et Virtus who might have known her well enough to want her dead, though they never caught the perpetrator.’
‘My God.’ Nicholas stood now, his whole body shocked by such a revelation. ‘I know who did it. It was Bowles who killed her.’
‘Nash Bowles?’ The others looked at him as though he had just lost his mind.
‘I had found him doing exactly the same thing to exactly the same girl a week before I lost my memory. He said he had paid her handsomely for such a service even as I threw him out of the club by the scruff of his neck. He had a little knife in his hand and there was a look on his face that was...deranged is the closest I can come to naming it. I didn’t have the time to tell you all of it before I was taken.’
No one spoke for a second as they tried to understand the sense of it all.
‘It’s why he wants you dead, then. This secret.’ Oliver said this, the truth of his words undeniable. ‘He figured out you could put it together like you just have and identify him. When you arrived home here again every part of his life was compromised.’
‘It was only a matter of time and he knew it. That is why he had your carriage attacked.’ Jacob stood and hit his hand hard against the mantel. ‘The bastard. I never liked him. Where the hell does he live now?’
‘We’d have to go to the club and get the files,’ Fred said. ‘I heard he had moved earlier last year, but he was still somewhere here in the city.’
Within a second they were all ready to leave, jackets and hats on and each of them bristling with anger.
* * *
Eleanor needed to get out even for an hour, her chamber squeezing in on her with all its memories and spilled tears. Lucy was tired, too, a broken night’s sleep leaving her irritable. Jacob had not come home at all, she found that out as she’d met Rose at breakfast, her face tense and strained by the fact.
