Shunned No More

by Christina McKnight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Bastard!” Connor slammed his mug of ale onto the wood-planked bar in front of him. The warm liquid sloshed over the rim, coating his hand. “Christ’s sake.”

  He’d been in a foul mood since he had left Foldger’s Foals. Instead of traveling to Hamp’s estate as he’d promised, he had ridden hell bent toward London. Besides the small inn they’d visited on occasion to discuss business, there wasn’t a local place that could afford him a spot of privacy. He sought a place—and the time—to clear his head and figure out his next move. In London, it would be easy to disappear for a day or a week, no one the wiser.

  The Fox and the Hound is where he’d settled. Eight ales later, he had yet to resolve even one of his problems. He’d had a hand in ending the business that had afforded him financial security for the last seven years, he’d gone into business with a no-good ne’er do well who consistently spent money without adding to the coffers, and there was little chance that all of London wouldn’t find out the truth of it all by the end of the season.

  Connor had set his course of action years ago and was given many chances to alter his path, but he’d hedged his lot and levied all his bets—on the wrong side.

  “Can I get ye another pint, sir?” The barkeep dried a recently rinsed mug with the grimy towel that hung from his waistband.

  Connor’s pocket was quite a few coins lighter since he’d entered the bar. If he was to continue his time in London, he had to watch where he spent the last of his money. He’d funneled not only pilfered cash from Vi’s money box but also his own wages to keep Hamp afloat. It was his foolishness that had him believing his friend’s word that the man had been working, making connections for D & C’s Fine Foals. In reality, Hamp had spent most of the coin to set his mistress up in a flat on the most fashionable part of town. “The detestable man!”

  The barkeep stopped his rhythmic wiping and stared hard at Connor. “Look, I jus be ask’n ye if you be need’n another drink.”

   Connor reached into his pocket and pulled enough coin out to settle his tab. “My apologies. I was talking to myself.” He set half of his remaining money on the bar. “This should be enough. Have a pleasant evening.” Connor surveyed the crowded room as he slipped his overcoat on.

  The bar had filled since he’d arrived hours before, but Connor hadn’t heard the laughter of men deep in their cups or the shuffling of cards from the table in the corner. He moved through the crowd and out the door. When had the sun set, and how long until it again rose? He rubbed his smoke-heavy eyes, happy for the fresh air the outdoors provided. Looking left and then right, he turned in the direction where a great amount of foot traffic and light lit the way toward a more populated area of town. The last thing he wanted was to find himself on a deserted stretch of road frequented by robbers and pickpockets.

  As he traversed the street, the quality of attire the men and woman wore changed from sturdy cottons to tailored pants and fine dresses. He pulled his coat tight around his worn-work attire to hide the dirt from view.

  During his moping at The Fox and The Hound he’d lost sight of the large picture—the start of his problems.

  Lady Viola Oberbrook.

  She was not a friend.

  She could not be trusted.

  She’d deserved everything she’d gotten—and deserved even more than all that had been taken from her recently.

  Yes, she had manipulated him. His fists clenched. She’d lead him on. She should have come around with time—even her father hinted at a possible match between the pair. He’d sunk years of his life into her. Truly, she was the only person to blame for where he stood, what he’d missed out on, and the further decay his life would no doubt face.

  She’d chosen her path in life. She’d treated people such as himself unjustly all those years ago. It was not his concern that she was only paying for her sins now.

  But pay for her sins she must. People could only outrun their misdeeds for so long—something he was only beginning to understand now.

  He was unsure how long he’d walked, how much distance he’d covered, or what time of night it might be. The chilly London air had seeped through his overcoat and chills spread through his body. He needed to find an affordable inn, or at least a bar to escape the cold. Looking around, he tried to determine his exact location.

  Unfortunately, he’d made his way to a very high end part of town.

  “Mr. Cale?” a voice called to him in the semi-darkness.

  Connor looked around to see who had called him when a man stepped out of a well-lit doorway several feet behind him. The dark street, combined with the bright lights from the establishment he’d just left, cast a shadow across the man’s face.

  “It is I, Rodney Swiftenberg.” The voice paused as the man moved toward Connor.

  Of all his bad luck, he’d been spotted by Lord Haversham’s cousin. “Yes, good evening, Sir.” Connor kept his voice level and bowed—placing his hand firmly against the wall to stop from swaying. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Very good, indeed. Can I interest you in a drink?”

  Pedestrians made their way around the men on the walkway. It would not do to loiter where someone else could spot him. “That would be agreeable. The weather has turned cold quite quickly.” Too late, he realized they stood outside of White’s. The interior of the club was teeming with men seeking refuge and drink after a night spent toiling at a ball or the opera house. Every man worth a grain of salt was either in the club or on their way there. Connor’s luck was not on point this evening.

  Moments later, Rodney sat in an empty chair inside White’s and gestured for Connor to do the same. “Scotch or brandy?” he asked, and motioned for a server to attend them.

  “Brandy, please.” Connor scanned the room as Rodney spoke to the server. There didn’t appear to be anyone he knew in attendance at the moment. Possibly his luck was returning.

  “Now that everything is out in the open, may we speak candidly?”

  And as quickly as he’d thought his night was improving, it was cast back into the gutter. “Of course.” How else could he respond?

  “I understand that we both have a certain young lady,” Rodney paused to accept his drink from the servant, “whose disappearance would benefit us greatly. Am I correct?”

  Connor eyed him, uncertain how to answer. The man could very well be tricking him into revealing himself. “I am unsure what you mean.”

  “Oh, come now.” Rodney brought his glass to his lips patiently, as if waiting for his meaning to sink in. When Connor remained quiet, he continued. “Lady Viola and her presence here in London could seriously jeopardize both our futures.”

  Connor had a viable reason for wanting Lady Viola far from London, but what could Rodney’s reasoning be? He decided to wait the man out, forcing him to reveal his motivation first.

  “You see, I have a vested interest, as you may well know, in the Haversham estate. It would not behoove my cause if my dear cousin was to go off and get himself wed now.”

  Puzzled, Connor asked, “How does that involve either myself or Lady Viola?”

  The man chuckled. “Do not pretend that you do not see the way your mistress captivates my cousin. The man looks fairly awestruck every time her name is mentioned.”

  It was Connor’s turn to take a long sip of his drink. “And you think after the other evening, that either Lady Viola or Lord Haversham will ever wish to seek each other out again?”

  “The past has shown that the Haversham men are not the best judge in women.” Rodney sat forward in his seat and set his empty glass on the table between them. “And it would be very bad for you if Lady Viola were to expose your disloyalty.”

  Connor cringed. He would have no reprieve if all of London knew he’d sabotaged Lady Viola; his chances of gaining employment would be lost.

  Curse Hampton and his foolhardiness.

  Curse Lady Viola and her selfish youth.

  Curse Lord Haversham for his horrible t
iming.

  But mostly, he cursed himself!

  “What shall we do about this dilemma?” Connor asked. It couldn’t be anything more revolting than what Viola had done to him.

  The man smirked. “To be honest, I do not care about solving your problem. Only mine.”

  “Then why are we speaking?”

  “Because you will help me solve my problem, lest I spread word of your transgressions amongst society. See how we can help each other now?”

  It was perfectly clear to him. If Connor helped keep the pair apart, then Rodney would not help to spread his secret faster than it would spread eventually. He must resign himself to the fact that’d he’d aligned himself with a shady character—namely Hampton—who had taken advantage of him. Now, that cycle would continue. Lying begets liars. “And if I refuse to help you, what then?”

  “It is very simple. I will—” Rodney paused to look over Connor’s shoulder in the direction of the door. “Cousin, how lovely to see you. Do join us for a drink.”

  Connor turned in his chair as Lord Haversham sauntered toward them, a dark look on his face.

  “I haven’t the time, Rodney,” Lord Haversham said as he moved past the seat Connor occupied. But before he entered the card room, he turned. “Mr. Cale?”

  A cloud, darker than what had already been there, settled on Lord Haversham’s face.

  Connor immediately stood, bowing low in greeting. “Good evening, my lord. I trust you are well?” Too late, Connor saw his mistake. Of course the man was not well. He’d entered into an epic battle of wits with Lady Viola in front of the entire ton. It made what Lady Viola had done to Connor seem minuscule in comparison. “I mean to say—”

  Lord Haversham turned fully to address Connor. “I do not particularly care what you mean to say…or to hear you say naught at all.”

  The venomous words pushed Connor back into his chair as if he’d been struck a physical blow. “My lord?” Connor looked to Rodney for help but the man was gone, leaving Connor to endure Lord Haversham’s wrath alone.

  “You are a poor excuse for a gentleman. It is the height of immorality to abuse a woman’s trust thusly!” Lord Haversham spit out.

  “But—” Connor shuddered. “How is what I’ve done any different than what you’ve done?” He knew the question was unwise to ask, and regretted his loose tongue immediately.

  Lord Haversham’s nostrils flared and his eyes shot daggers. “And what precisely have I done that in any form resembles the atrocities you have committed?”

  Connor knew he needed to select his words wisely if he meant to make it out of White’s alive. Men from every corner of the room moved a bit closer to hear their heated conversation. No doubt the betting book would be full within minutes with speculation as to what they argued about, who would challenge whom to a duel, and whether it was more likely that Lord Haversham or Connor currently slept with Lady Viola. Connor had seriously miscalculated Lord Haversham and his rage.

  “It is just…ummm…she lied to you, used you, and hurt your family. Just as she did to me all those years ago. I know exactly how much you must loathe the woman.” He was babbling and he knew it, but he could not turn back now. He needed Lord Haversham to understand. “She is a charlatan of the first water. A conniving bit—”