by Ella Edon
But to Nathan, it smelled of home. London was his home, for the most part. Not society, socialising with people who had fake smiles and considered themselves better than anyone else. Not the theatres and the public houses. It was the atmosphere, the sights and the smells. It made Nathan remember good times when he was a boy. His mother had been a bit more relaxed back then, and his father had paid a lot of attention to him then as well.
His father had supported him going into the army, and he had been proud when Nathan wrote back to say he had been promoted to Captain just a month before he died. His mother, not so much. She had expected Nathan to do his duty and stay at home. She wanted Nathan to stay after he came back for his father’s funeral. Nathan wasn’t about to shirk his duty as an officer. He was needed, a man in charge of a platoon. It wasn’t something he could throw aside anytime soon. Not in his heart.
Right now, his main concern would be to see what his mother wanted. If he was here under false pretences, Nathan would walk away and focus on his investigation. He was sure he would be able to find Eric Black. London was his playground. Nathan’s father had taken him practically everywhere, an avid adventurer through and through. Nathan had inherited his father’s desire for something exciting in his life.
He knew all the nooks and crannies, and he knew people who delved deeper into those places. Eric Black wouldn’t be able to hide from him once Nathan got a whiff of his scent. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
But a bath and cleaning up would come first. Nathan washed while he was in France, but not very often, and he had let his hair grow out. It brushed the collar of his shirt, and he had been growing a beard. He didn’t really trust anyone to put a razor near his throat to shave, not after the French bribed a few of their younger soldiers to report back to them about military campaigns. One of them had been Nathan’s bath man. After that, he was reluctant to let anyone shave him.
At least the barbers in London wouldn’t have been bribed by the French.
His ship docked at one of the berths, and Nathan picked up his bag, ready to disembark. The ship’s captain gestured at him to go down the gangplank first.
“You go, Captain Reynolds. I’ve got a lot of things to unload, so it’s best you go now.”
“All right.” Nathan shook the burly man’s hand. “Thank you for the journey home, Captain Marks.”
“It’s my pleasure, Captain. Take care.”
Nathan planned to. As far as he was able. Picking up his rifle and hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he went down the gangplank. People were milling around, busy with their regular lives. The docks always had something coming in and going out, as London was the centre of the world right now. Nathan had always marvelled at what came in from countries around the world. Great Britain traded with just about anyone if it got them something in return.
“Nathan!”
Nathan turned, and found himself beaming. A man with dark hair and broad shoulders was striding towards him with a broad smile. He was wearing the clothing of a man in society, clearly a nobleman. Several of the women working around him gave him interested looks, watching him as he walked past, but the newcomer didn’t appear to notice them. That was Nathan’s friend all over; he didn’t seem to notice when anyone was looking at him.
At least there was a familiar face to meet him off the boat.
“Simon!”
Nathan leaned his rifle against a nearby crate, dropping his bag before embracing the man. At six-one, his friend didn’t come anywhere close to Nathan’s height of six-four. He stood back and surveyed the other man.
“It’s so good to see you.”
“Likewise.” Simon Burfield, Earl of Reading, looked him over with raised eyebrows. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the beard, and seeing you looking thinner than the last time I saw you. If it wasn’t for the height, I wouldn’t have recognized you at all.”
Nathan laughed. “You can’t eat like the Prince Regent on the front line. Especially when we had to cut rations after a convoy was attacked.”
“Which is why you need to eat before you head home. But, before that,” Simon picked up Nathan’s bag, “let’s do something about your appearance. There’s a barber’s shop nearby. You can clean yourself up before heading home.”
“I don’t know.” Nathan rubbed his beard. The bristles tickled his fingers. “I was beginning to like having a beard.”
Simon laughed. “And you’ll give your mother a fit. Come on.”
Nathan picked up his rifle and followed. He wasn’t about to argue. He had written to his mother to let her know when he was coming home, but he had also written a letter to Simon to make him aware of the time he would be coming into London off the merchant ship. His closest friend was his confidant, and he would need Simon’s advice and help while back home. Simon always had his ear to the ground. A perfect mole for Nathan when he was in France.
Hopefully, Simon would have a bit more insight on his mother’s antics.
They headed into the barber’s shop, where the barber gave Nathan one look and urged him immediately to sit in a chair. Nathan felt a shiver of fear as he settled back to look up at the ceiling while the man put a towel around his neck and chest before massaging shaving cream onto his beard, but he fought it back. He wasn’t going to die. Things were going to be fine.
“Are you all right, Nathan?” Simon was looking at him oddly. “You look like you’re about to jump out of that chair.”
“I’m fine.” Nathan gripped the arms of the chair. “It’s been a while since I had a shave. I’ve become a little less...trusting.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry. Marco shaves me all the time and I can safely say you’re in good hands.”
Nathan still braced himself as Marco began to shave him. Marco said something in Italian and swatted Nathan’s hand before he carried on.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing that’s worth repeating.”
Nathan could imagine. He waited until Marco had finished shaving his beard off, leaving him the most clean-shaven he had been in months. Then Marco straightened up the chair and moved behind Nathan with some scissors, setting to work on trimming Nathan’s long locks. Simon was still sitting in the chair beside him, reading through the letter Nathan had received from Vanity. Nathan had put it into his letter to Simon, asking him to investigate the Dowager Countess’ behaviour and if there was any fact to it. Simon was not a gossip, but he was so good at gathering information it was remarkable.
“What do you think of it?” Nathan asked.
“I do agree with you. Something’s not right at all.” Simon lowered the letter. “Lady Vanity isn’t dying, that’s for sure, as I’ve seen her out and about as normal. Her health hadn’t been harmed. But there is something on her mind it seems.”
“You’ve actually spoken to her?”
Simon snorted. “You know she and I don’t get along. I’ve had to observe her from a distance. But you can see it in her expression. Lady Brixton is distracted. I’m not sure what with, but it’s enough to knock her off her usual persona.”
Nathan grunted. “I didn’t think she was dying. Something is going on here, Simon. Any idea as to what it might be?”
“Not off the top of my head. Maybe her reputation has been threatened.”
“At her age?” Nathan laughed. “You think she was caught in a compromising position with a man?” Then an image flashed through his mind and that cut off the laughter abruptly with Nathan grimacing. “I wish I hadn’t said that now.”
Chapter Eight
“Same here.” Simon shuddered. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean something that happened recently. This could have happened a long time ago when she was a young girl, or something that happened while your father was still alive, and it’s only just coming to light now. You know what your mother is like. Anything that portrays her as less than perfect and she’s going to panic.”
And with good reason. Nathan had heard when he was a boy about the man
his mother had been about to marry beating her. Vanity had taken the initiative to leave and go back to her family, who she had been cut off from for months. Normally, when an engagement was broken, the woman was often looked at as the one at fault, but after seeing the bruises on Vanity and the damage that had happened, everyone had been up in arms about the former beau. He had been run out of London.
That had died down after a while, and Nathan knew that this wouldn’t have Vanity distracted. Unless the former betrothed was back in London after all this time and was threatening her. That could account for her sounding so scared in her letter.
It was the only thing that Nathan could think of right now.
“I’ll see if I can get some answers out of her when I get home.” He inspected himself in the mirror across the room, rubbing a hand over his smooth jaw. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to find out what’s going on that had her dragging me away from the front line.”
“I’ve never known anyone so eager to get back to a war as you,” Simon commented with a slight smile.
Nathan shrugged. He was looking more like his old self the more Marco worked his magic. It felt strange not having the hair thick and heavy on his head.
“I’ve found something that I’m good at, Simon. People respect me for my hard work and not because of a title. I worked to where I am through my own merit. Nobody else’s involvement. And there’s no need to follow society’s unwritten protocol.” Nathan shuddered. “No warding off girls who think they’re going to be your wife.”
“I thought you liked the ladies.”
“I do, but I hate being seen as a piece of meat everyone wants because of the title.”
Simon burst out laughing. “You, Nathan Reynolds, are a strange man.”
“What’s that saying about you?”
Simon shrugged, but there was a slight strain in his smile. Nathan knew his friend was thinking about his wife. Stella had captured Simon’s attention the first moment he saw her. They were nineteen, Stella was eighteen and starting her first season. Simon had been shy about approaching her, but Nathan had organized it and it became clear that Stella loved Simon as much as he loved her. They had enjoyed three years of happy marriage before Stella died after falling off her horse. Simon had been devastated. Now he kept women at arm’s length. In his mind, no one could match Stella.
Nathan could understand. He wished he could find someone like Simon had found Stella. That might have made his first season a little more bearable. Then again, the girl he fell for would have to deal with Lorraine Brooks. That woman had been determined to have Nathan for herself to the point other women gave him a wide berth. How was he supposed to find someone to be his wife when the one woman who was not appropriate wouldn’t let him be?
Going into the army was the best thing for him. And Nathan didn’t have regrets.
Well, not many anyway.
Eleanor woke early, as she was prone to do. Even with the little sleep she had gotten, her body naturally had her rising shortly after the sun came up. It was a force of habit that Eleanor couldn’t shake, which was irritating, as Eleanor was still exhausted. It had gone past midnight when she finally crawled into bed, and sleep had been a struggle to grab and hold onto. Now, she wanted to go back to sleep.
Maybe later. Treat yourself to a nap once you’ve done all your chores.
All her chores? It would be well into the evening before she finished those. Eleanor knew she was going to be busy today.
It didn’t help that she was worrying. Worrying about Clarice Newton. While she had been able to assure Sister Cecilia that Clarice would come back, Eleanor wasn’t so sure. Clarice was a troubled child. She had been raised with a family who had been relatively wealthy, and Clarice had grown up with things given to her without her needing to earn it except looking pretty. But then her parents had both died and the rest of her family didn’t want anything to do with her. Eleanor had been shocked at how quickly her grandparents, aunts and uncles, disappeared into thin air when looking around for someone to take her in. Apparently, they either didn’t love Clarice enough or knew how much trouble she was.
Eleanor was betting on the latter. As soon as Clarice came to the orphanage, she had been nothing but trouble. All the children mucked in with chores and their lessons, the nuns working hard to educate the orphans as well as teaching them responsibility and skills needed once they were old enough to leave and get a profession. Clarice just refused to do any of it. She was a very bright girl, and Eleanor knew she could easily do all her schoolwork, but Clarice outright refused. She complained about anything and everything, that she wanted her old tutor to teach her, she wanted to go out and play the piano, she wasn’t going to do her chores as that was something servants did. The girl expected things to be given to her and didn’t understand the concept of earning what she wanted.
Eleanor had met spoiled brats before, but she had never met anyone like Clarice. It gave her a headache. If Clarice had any chance of getting by in life, it faded the more she fought back. It was a shame, too; Clarice’s family’s position meant she could be a member of society and have her first season once she turned eighteen. But if she didn’t have anyone to sponsor her and introduce her to people, that wasn’t going to happen. With her behaviour, Clarice was looking more like she was going to become a servant than a young noblewoman.
It was sad to see a young woman throwing away her privilege and knowing she wasn’t going to realize it until she turned eighteen. Eleanor wished Clarice could get a kick up the backside and know that she was going to be kept at the bottom if she carried on this way. Hopefully this running away would help her discover her way and she would come back prepared to change her ways.
Sure. And hope springs eternal.
Eleanor washed, dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Once her belly was filled, she began to get on with her household chores. With the limited amount of servants, they had now, Eleanor had to chip in as much as she could. She didn’t mind at all, but she wished they weren’t in this situation because of her father’s gambling and drinking. He just couldn’t keep away from the cards. When he was drinking, he played cards even more.
She knew he had gone out the night before, when he had promised not to go anywhere. Parsons had needed to unlock the door to let Eleanor in and he had said that Edward Heavenly had gone up to his room. But an hour later, as Eleanor was lying in bed trying to sleep, she heard her father banging on the front door. He had gone out without Parsons noticing, and he was very drunk, singing loudly as Parsons helped him up to his room.
Eleanor couldn’t believe her father had lied to her. Again. She wanted to trust him, but it was getting harder to do so. Making him stay sober and at home wasn’t working.
Parsons had been understandably upset when Eleanor had found him shortly after breakfast. He promised that he had never let her father out. They did find out how the Baron had managed to get out of the house, so that did make Parsons feel a little better.
It was midday and Cook was making lunch when Eleanor heard someone thumping down the stairs. Her father had finally risen, and he was surely going to have a headache. Eleanor was going to make sure of that after she had finished shouting at him.
She had trusted him, and he had broken that trust. Edward Heavenly was going to have to face the wrath of his daughter.
Eleanor found her father in his study, slumped in a chair by the window, the broken window he had climbed out of. Edward Heavenly was practically curled up in his chair, a hand over his eyes. Eleanor slammed shut the study door, making Edward Heavenly jump with a loud moan.
“What? Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Father.”
“Eleanor?” Edward Heavenly growled. “Can’t you shut the door a little more quietly? I’ve got such a headache.”
“Apologies, Father.” Eleanor didn’t feel apologetic at all as she crossed the room. “What time did you get in last night?”
“What?” Edward Heavenly lifted his hand and b
linked at her. “What are you talking about? I didn’t go anywhere. I think I must be coming down with a cold.”
Eleanor folded her arms. She was not in the mood for his excuses.
“Father, I heard you come in about one in the morning. I can smell the drink from here. We know you went out, so don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t!”
“Oh?” Eleanor nodded at the open window. “And are you going to say the window over there broke because the wind blew too hard when it was working fine yesterday? You’re not a very good liar, Father. And you promised you wouldn’t go anywhere.”
Eleanor had expected Edward Heavenly to double down on his lies and proclaim his innocence, but Edward Heavenly lowered his hands, his eyes closed, and shrugged.
