Boundless (The Shaws)

by Lynne Connolly

  Mickey was a weapon Adrian could use. He didn’t doubt that the boy could recognize who had paid for thieves to steal the brooch. He was sharp, quick and intelligent.

  Someone had attacked Livia in the street, putting her in danger of injury or worse. The person who’d paid for this wasn’t particular. Perhaps he had approached her body servants with the same aim. Why the brooch, Adrian still didn’t understand. But he would.

  Raising an arm, he hailed a hackney cab. “How brave are you, Mickey? Do you want to better yourself?”

  “I’d like to get out of that place.” The boy gave him a suspicious look. “I ain’t doing anything, you know, personal.”

  He wouldn’t have expected a child from that place to have such scruples, but it boded well. Most of the poorer children wouldn’t think twice about selling their bodies for money. And scrubbed up, Mickey could present well.

  “I can give you a job, and I promise it’s nothing you won’t like.”

  “Awright. What is it?”

  “Then here is the offer. I want you to tell me the minute you see the man who paid you. For now, you’ll be my page, so I can take you about. Later we will find something more permanent for you.”

  His suspicions were coalescing. This person who wanted her brooch; it wasn’t for gain. So was it to gain a hold over Livia? Make her do something she objected to?

  One of her family? She belonged to a large family group. One of them might want more than he would be comfortable admitting. He’d seen her cousin Ivan Rowley at the ball the other night. Perhaps he knew something.

  “You will make a wonderful page,” he promised Mickey. And set fashionable London by its ears.

  Adrian looked forward to that part.

  Chapter 4

  Tired of the four walls around her, but not in the mood for riding, Livia took her maid and accompanied her mother to the Green Park.

  The park in the autumn reminded Livia of her family home in Derbyshire. The trees were changing color, fading from lime through to yellow, then a muted red and brown. The cows at the end, with the milkmaids who would sell milk fresh from the animal wore cloaks over their rural gowns, and pet dogs chased fallen twigs.

  At this time of year the park held enough people to provide an amusing stroll and chat, but not enough to annoy. Livia, wearing her new dark blue gown with silver trim, was enjoying displaying her new finery and for the first time in days, relaxing. That was until Captain Sir Jeffrey Creasey approached.

  Livia’s heart sank to her stomach when he bowed to her and her mother welcomed him. “It is good to see you so well, Sir Jeffrey. Are you back for good?”

  Of course her mother had no idea who had fathered Livia’s baby. As far as she was concerned he was a neighbor from the country, a pleasant young man who married and joined the army.

  He was wearing red again, darker than the scarlet he’d sported at the ball. Was he afraid people wouldn’t notice him? His charming smile curved those lips she remembered far too well. “Indeed, my lady, I am. I felt it my duty to sell out and come home.”

  “And after you lost your lovely wife.”

  The smile melted away. “Maria was my aid and comfort. She never felt comfortable following the drum, but she was a game girl. I will miss her to my dying day.”

  He said the heartfelt words as if reciting something he’d memorized but not completely understood.

  “We were so sorry to hear of her death,” Lady Strenshall said, always on point with the correct sentiment, though in fact she’d confided to her husband only that morning that she barely remembered the poor young lady.

  Livia found another meaning to her mother’s words. One day people would say that about her. She was the twin everyone overlooked in favor of her vivacious sister. Happy that way, she had thought, until she was left behind. But she had shrunk back for so long she had no idea how to make herself stand out. Even if she wanted such a thing, which of course she did not.

  Trying to step back, she stumbled on a piece of uneven ground. Sir Jeffrey leaned forward, catching her elbow. He let his hand linger, and when he withdrew it, stroked down her forearm, touching the only part of her arm open to the elements, a patch below her wrist. She should have worn her long gloves instead of the short kidskin pair. She experienced no thrill, no excitement, nothing. So sad. That was how love died.

  If he’d stayed away, she could have held her memories close, retained that brief few weeks as a golden time in her mind. But seeing him again, the bubble burst. There was no going back.

  She put what she’d learned since that time to good use, keeping her expression clear while she faced him. Once she’d have excused herself, let her face crumple or simply walked away. No more. Memories mingled with deep hurt, but nothing showed as she smoothly thanked him for preventing her fall. When he offered his arm, she had to take it.

  “I will be traveling to my estate in a few weeks,” he said. “I assume I will see you over Christmas?”

  Damn, he would. He lived less than ten miles away. In their youth, their parents had allowed Jeffrey to run free with Livia and her siblings, playing on the estate. He’d gravitated toward Livia, and they’d become the best of friends.

  Of everything she regretted, the loss of that friendship featured high on the list. Not top, though. That was reserved for a being she’d only had a glimpse of before they’d taken him away. She couldn’t even blame Jeffrey, because he’d never known. By then he’d married sweet little Maria. Even though Livia had wanted to tell him, there was not much point anymore.

  Her shorter skirts skimmed the still-damp paths, so when he suggested walking across the grass, she demurred. “Should we head for that pavilion over there?”

  The small wooden structure appeared a long way in the distance, but it was that or allow her skirts to blot up the damp from yesterday’s rain and the dew from this morning. Her mother could walk for miles and call it a stroll.

  Worse, her mother met one of her old flirts, and happily accepted his support while she laughed with him. They hung back, allowing Livia and Jeffrey to walk forward. She could not check her pace without making her dislike of being with him obvious. With her mother’s voice growing fainter, they had relative privacy. She cast her gaze up to him, meeting those blue eyes she had, for a short time, thought she wanted to see above all others. She’d been wrong. How could she ever trust herself again?

  “No doubt you’re working on the new bill.”

  “Oh yes, we’re working night and day. Tedious stuff.”

  Were they talking about the same bill? “The one to fund more hospitals?” Her father was passionate about the bill, discussing it at the breakfast table and at dinner.

  “Yes, that’s the one. Why we cannot leave it to the charities I do not know. I still believe that is the best path to take.” So the poor could continue moving, becoming nobody’s responsibility until they died in a ditch.

  Livia did not say that. Obviously Jeffrey was taking the diehard county view, and she couldn’t argue against centuries of tradition and avoiding responsibility.

  “The deserving poor should be attended to first,” he declared, as if his point was obvious.

  Livia bit her lip.

  “I’m sure your father would agree.”

  As if she had no opinion of her own? Strange that she’d never noticed what a pompous ass Jeffrey was. “I doubt he would. He is a big advocate of the bill, even though he says it is unlikely to pass. This time, at least. I believe his stance is more Christian.”

  “So are the charities.” He sounded as if argument would be a waste of time. He patted her hand. “My dear, surely we can find more interesting matters to discuss? What do you know of politics?”

  “The women of my family have always been involved in the topic.” Of course they had. Her great-aunt had been a great political hostess in her time, universally praised for
the intellectual rigor of her arguments.

  “Women have far more important things to do.” He left his hand on hers, gazing at her in a meaningful way, waiting for her to ask.

  So she asked him. “Like what?”

  “Marriage and children.”

  This man had made that future impossible for her. How could she think of bearing another child when her first was God knew where?

  “You know I cannot.” Try as she might, Livia could not take the bitterness from her voice.

  When she faltered, he pulled her along until she regained her footing. “Yes, you can. You can with me. I know your secret, Livia.”

  Not the baby. He didn’t know about their son.

  She sucked in a breath. Gazing deep into his eyes, she tried to find the truth, but she could not. His face was as handsome as ever, his complexion smooth and pale, the epitome of the fashionable man. Over the years he’d added bulk, but no fat. All she felt under the soft wool of his coat was hard muscle.

  “I know, but the one I’m talking about is your maidenhead.”

  Which he’d taken. Shock arced through her, freezing her. Only her determination to hide how much he had affected her with that remark kept her moving.

  She said nothing. What was there to say?

  “You should not have given yourself so easily.”

  “But it was—” You.

  He cut her off. “Say no more. Even here voices carry.” He hadn’t appeared so concerned when they were discussing her part in the affair. “I want to compensate for what our parents did to us.”

  “They did?”

  Her parents had dealt with her dilemma practically, until everything had gone wrong. His parents had married him off to Maria, the girl who had always hankered after him.

  Determined not to foster bad blood between the families, Livia had flirted with every man who would look at her at the house party going on at that time to deflect interest in Jeffrey.

  “My parents betrothed me to Maria faster than I could register. They did not approve of your family.” Livia knew that. “Then they bought my commission and rushed the marriage.”

  Everyone at the house party had attended the wedding, declaring it charming to see the young lovers united. Livia had shrunk at the back of the church, filled with horror and shame.

  He’d smiled at Maria the way Livia thought he’d kept just for her. That was her first disillusionment. The rest had come later.

  He shook his head. “I was told you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

  His assertion shocked her. “Really?”

  He nodded, the melancholy expression in his eyes soul-deep. “What else could I do? At least I could make one person happy, even if I lost the love of my life.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Had their affair really been broken apart by his parents? At the time she’d assumed so, but later she’d wondered. Too late now.

  He gazed straight ahead. “I would like to make amends. I intend to come a-courting once more. I have never forgotten you, Livia. And now I need an heir.” He spoke as if passing the time of day, an easy conversational tone.

  He turned his gaze onto her, his eyes clear and true. “Will you receive me this time, Livia? Will we find the future we were once denied?”

  Everything in her stilled. The one man who would not care about her lack of virginity was free again. She could have him. Nobody would stand in their way this time.

  She should want this. Once she had desired nothing more. When she was sixteen, before she’d tasted the bitterness life could hold.

  She didn’t want him anymore. Didn’t want to become the quiet, respectable wife of a man who did not consider his wife’s opinion important.

  But what alternative did she have? That was why she had refused or deterred any potential suitor. She would have to confess to him, because she refused to lie to a man who wanted to make her his wife. And then, if she chose the wrong man to confide in, her secret would spread and she’d be ruined. “It’s too late for us, Jeffrey. So much has happened since then.”

  He deserved to know about the baby. But how could she tell him?

  He stopped walking, faced her and took both her hands in his, his gesture obvious to anyone watching. Fear and fury rose in equal measure in Livia, but she stood, waiting for him to try to push her into something she was no longer sure she wanted. Would he propose to her now? Sink onto the wet grass and risk ruining the knees of his smart new breeches?

  But all he said was, “It is not too late. It will never be too late for us.”

  She opened her mouth and took a breath, ready to reply, but a voice from behind her gave her pause. “Well met, Lady Livia. I trust I find you well?”

  Tingles coursed over her skin when she sensed the Duke of Preston’s presence. Moving aside as Jeffrey released her, Livia savored the relief washing through her.

  Making her curtsy gave Livia a chance to compose herself. Why the duke always unnerved her she had no idea, but she had best accept that he did and learn how to cope with her unfortunate reaction.

  “Your grace, may I introduce a neighbor of ours from the country, Captain Sir Jeffrey Creasey?”

  The pause gave her mother a chance to catch up with them.

  “Sir Jeffrey has come to town to attend the Commons.” Her ladyship smiled, seemingly oblivious to the currents passing between the two men.

  The air prickled. They had taken an instant dislike to each other. The duke was better at hiding his animosity, but Livia felt it just the same.

  “Lady Livia is an old playmate.” Sir Jeffrey smiled fondly at Livia. “I have known her almost as long as I’ve known myself.”

  “And the rest of the family, presumably.” Preston glanced around, as if bored and looking for amusement elsewhere.

  “But her ladyship most of all.” Jeffrey moved a little closer to her, as if claiming her already.

  This was ridiculous. The two men were butting heads over her? No, they were disputing their territory, that was all. She might as well be a log of wood or a favored dog. They didn’t care.

  She stepped back to stand with her mother. Preston sent her an amused smile, as if he knew what she was thinking. Instead of responding, she met his gaze without expression before looking away.

  He turned back to Jeffrey. “By your title I gather you have been with the army?”

  “I have, sir. The fifth dragoons. But I needed to return home after my father died. Settle down, as my mother puts it.”

  Now it was his turn to send Livia a meaningful glance. She gave him the same response. However she felt about the men, and she was no longer sure of her response, she would give neither dog a bone.

  “Sadly,” Jeffrey went on, “I lost my dear wife abroad. I understand you are also a widower?”

  So he knew about the duke. Interesting, since he’d never had any business with Preston before.

  “I lost my wife five years ago,” he said. “Unfortunately, with no issue. My mother does not concern herself with my affairs.” He gave Jeffrey a short bow. “You must forgive us, if you please. Lady Livia asked a favor of me, and I wished to inform her of my progress. Would you walk a while with me, ma’am?”

  Neatly done. He’d cut her out of the crowd and claimed some privacy at the same time as claiming a special relationship with her. He’d also put Jeffrey’s nose out of joint, which Livia was not at all averse to.

  “Do not go out of my sight,” her mother warned. “Sir Jeffrey, your arm please.”

  Livia and the duke strolled toward the blasted pavilion. She didn’t care if she never saw it again. “Do you have any news?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

  Glancing at her, he raised a brow. “In a hurry, are we? I haven’t recovered your brooch yet, though I have a better idea of where it was. You did not drop it in the house in Kin
g Street, I am certain of that. So we are left with the orphanage, which in truth is no orphanage at all, but a school for cutpurses and pickpockets.”

  “Goodness!” He gave her the information so calmly she thought she had mistaken him at first. “Such places exist? I thought they were the result of the journal writers’ vivid imaginations.”

  “Not at all. A child makes the best thief. They are fast, and they may appeal to the soft heart of the magistrate, if they are caught. As far as their supervisor is concerned they are also eminently replaceable.”

  “Can’t we do something to stop it?” Her heart went out to those poor children, who through no fault of their own were condemned to a life of drudgery and worse.

  “The best approach is from the top. That is what Parliament is for.” Unlike Jeffrey, he had not dismissed her concerns.

  “And why the new bill should pass.”

  He shook his head. “Sadly, this time it has little chance. But we will persist.”

  This did not seem like the duke she knew, the careless wastrel who cared nothing for anyone.

  “Children deserve a better start in life than they have. However, we are straying from the subject of your brooch.”

  When she caught her breath, he gazed down at her, genuine concern in his eyes. “Are you quite well?”

  “Yes, I assure you.” Except—had her own child become a thief? Had he appeared in court, been transported? She refused to consider the other possibility, that he was dead. That small, helpless innocent, wrenched from her and taken to who knew where? She had tried to find out, but the effort had proved impossible.

  Smallpox, the scourge of their age, had struck again, killed the messenger before she could tell anyone what had become of the child. Her baby was gone.