“But my lady, is it safe? Surely Mr. Murray would not allow it.”
The maid was right: Wick wouldn’t permit her to go alone. But hadn’t she caused him enough trouble? He had his failing company, a mob of angry investors to deal with…and Bea realized what she had to do. What she should have done from the very start.
I am responsible for my own affairs. The only one who controls my future is me.
Her mistake had been forgetting that. When things fell apart, she had to count on herself to pick up the pieces. Determination filled her, momentarily blocking out the pain.
“We’ll leave without his knowledge.” She paced as she plotted. “Who is in the house presently?”
“The pair of guards at the front of the house. And the servants,” Lisette said uncertainly. “Lord and Lady Carlisle took the dowager out shopping.”
Knowing Violet and Richard, they’d removed the dowager from the premises for Bea’s benefit as much as their mama’s. She was grateful for their consideration…for more reasons than one.
“I’ll need to hire a private travelling coach. It needs to be done quickly, before the others get home. Can you see to that, Lisette?”
The maid nodded.
“Have the driver wait in the back lane. Once the servants sit down for their luncheon, we’ll slip out the back to avoid being seen by the guards. Go now, hurry.”
As the maid rushed off to do her bidding, Beatrice sat to compose a letter.
Dear Wickham,
By the time you read this, I will be on my way home. There has been another attack, and Mrs. Ellerby has been hurt. I must attend to her—to the responsibilities I should not have left behind.
As pain seeped through her numbness, she forced herself to continue.
This parting comes at a natural time. You must deal with your world as I must deal with mine. I am sorrier than I can express to be the barrier to your success and happiness. Being the honorable man that you are, I know that you would try to forgive me…but I could not forgive myself.
Her hand shook, a drop of ink splattering on the paper. A tear joined it, and she dashed away the others that threatened to follow. She couldn’t be weak. Couldn’t let her stupid heart cause more grief than it already had.
She reminded herself that it wasn’t the first time she’d broken off an engagement. Back then, hadn’t releasing Croydon felt like the end of the world? Eventually, she would get over losing Wick too.
No, you won’t, her heart cried. Because Wick isn’t just an infatuation: you love him. And you always will.
Taking several hitched breaths to regain control, she wrote on.
I will always cherish the time we had together. Please accept what I know to be true: happiness such as ours was not meant to last. It is best that we part ways now, to preserve the sweetness of the memories we have and forgo the bitterness that would surely taint our future.
Yours,
Beatrice
P. S. Please do not worry about my safety. Now that I know Mr. Varnum is my enemy, I will take the necessary precautions.
Walling off her emotions, she addressed the letter to Wick and left it on the escritoire. Then she went to the wardrobe, pulling out a wooden box. She removed the pearl-handled pistol from its bed of velvet and loaded it.
* * *
The roar of the mob outside the office grew.
That morning, someone had tossed a brick through the front window, terrifying the clerks. Garrity had had to bring in a fleet of guards, who were at present doing their best to control the chaos. Wick and his partners had congregated in Kent’s office since it was situated at the back of the building, farthest from the rioting. They’d had to carve out a space to meet as Kent’s private domain was a cross between the study of an absent-minded scholar and the laboratory of a mad scientist.
They sat around a table cluttered with books, gears, and unidentified odds and ends used in Kent’s experiments. Jaw tight, Wick informed his colleagues of Norton’s findings. He felt numb with the knowledge that his failure had caused all of this: the frothing fury outside, the public humiliation of the woman he loved…and the tension of the men in this room, whose trust he’d betrayed.
“We’ll wait a few days to announce the project is dead,” Garrity said flatly. “We’ll close the offices so the clerks won’t be subject to harassment. And I suggest you gentlemen have a plan in place for your safety and that of your family. A vacation might be in order.”
“Tessa has already refused to leave Town.” Kent was idly spinning a coin-sized gear on the table. On the wall behind him was his “thinking board,” the black slate surface covered in diagrams and scribbles that only he could decipher. His motto—As constant as coal—was emblazoned at the top.
“She’s not worried about the rioters?” Garrity asked.
“She says that any mob that harasses her or her family will regret it.” Kent’s mouth curved. “She’s probably right.”
“I suppose that’s one perquisite of being married to the Duchess of Covent Garden.”
“One of many.” Kent’s smile was smug.
“Spare us the details,” Garrity said, shaking his head.
This sort of banter was normal amongst Wick’s partners. But it didn’t feel normal now, when the sky was crashing on their heads…because of him. He wished the two would just berate him, yell at him—or better yet, take a swing at him. God knew he deserved it.
“Well, Murray?”
Lost in his brooding thoughts, Wick had missed whatever Kent had said. “Beg pardon?”
“I said Tessa has guards available if you want extra security for your lady. The claims put forth by the papers this morning were not only slanderous but damned reckless,” Kent said with clear disgust. “You and Lady Beatrice could be at risk because of those lies.”
The papers were characterizing Bea as a conniving seductress and Wick as her willing dupe. It was preposterous, but the public didn’t know that. Once they got wind of her living in Wick’s house, they would figure out she was the mysterious Miss Brown, placing her in greater peril than she was already in.
Bloody perfect. We’ve just solved the mystery of her attacker, and now I’ve given her a whole city full of people out for her blood. What kind of an incompetent bastard am I?
“I appreciate the offer,” he said tersely.
Kent looked at Garrity and subtly lifted his chin.
The latter cleared his throat. “My hunting lodge in Hertfordshire is only a half-day’s travel from London and quite pleasant this time of year. You and Lady Beatrice are welcome to use it until things blow over.”
Garrity’s generosity was the straw that broke Wick’s self-control. The emotions he’d been holding at bay broke free. He shoved away from the table, rising to his feet.
“You can both stop pussyfooting around me,” he bit out. “Why don’t you come out and say it?”
Kent blinked. “Say…what?”
“What you’re thinking—that this situation is all my bloody fault! I’ve failed you, the company, and our investors.” Wick shoved a hand through his hair. “Because of my inability to negotiate the most important deal of our lives, GLNR will go under.”
“When did you become a mind-reader?” Garrity asked mildly.
Wick glowered at him. “You regret offering me a partnership. Why don’t you just admit it? I’d rather have you yell at me than be so goddamned,”—he threw up his hands—“nice about things.”
Garrity raised his brows at Kent. “You told me I should be more agreeable.”
Kent shrugged. “How was I supposed to know he liked your surliness?”
“Just be honest,” Wick said starkly. “Tell me how angry you are, how I’ve failed you. I can handle it—hell, I deserve it.”
“Of the three of us in this room, only one is angry,” Garrity said. “And it’s not me or Kent.”
“That cannot be true.” Wick curled his hands. “I ruined everything.”
“Don’t give
yourself too much credit, Murray,” his former mentor said. “You weren’t able to see a venture through. That is hardly the same as ruining everything.”
“How can you say that? The money I’ve cost this company, the investors—”
“Money can be replaced.” Coming from Garrity, this was a remarkable statement. “Kent and I can both take the loss, and investors got into this knowing there was a risk. We never lied about that. You cannot take responsibility for the decisions of others: that was the first thing I taught you when you worked for me in the moneylending business. Have you forgotten?”
Wick’s chest constricted. “You’re being too easy on me.”
“I personally wouldn’t mind pummeling you, but you’ve beat me to it.” Humor and understanding laced Kent’s words. “Look, we’ve all made mistakes.”
“Remember when Kent blew up the warehouse last year?” Garrity said. “We’re still paying for that one.”
He dodged the gear that Kent threw at him.
“The point being, we’ve all been where you are, Murray,” Kent said. “Speaking from personal experience, I’ll say the hardest part is not earning the forgiveness of others: it’s forgiving oneself.”
Kent’s words resonated through Wick. He was angry at himself. But wasn’t it justifiably so? He’d failed GLNR…and Beatrice. God, he’d subjected her to public scrutiny and humiliation when she’d already suffered more than her fair share. And he’d gone back on his word, putting her in the untenable position of choosing him or her estate.
He wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see him again.
“I don’t know how I managed to bungle things so completely,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s part of the human condition.” Garrity steepled his hands.
“You were trying to do the right thing, but it didn’t turn out the way you planned. Trust me, I’ve been there,” Kent said with feeling. “You can’t blame yourself for trying to find a way to balance your lady’s interests with that of the company.”
Was that true?
Wick looked at Garrity. “You’re being strangely blasé about this. Yesterday you wanted me to force Beatrice into selling her land.”
“And yesterday you reminded me that there are more important things than money.” Garrity flicked a speck off the sleeve of his dark frock coat. “When I got home, Mrs. Garrity reminded me of that as well. She said that we owed you for you helped to rescue her two years ago, and she’s right. You protected that which I treasure most. As a man of honor, I must return the favor.”
Wick frowned. “It was my privilege to assist Mrs. Garrity. There is no debt.”
“I say there is, which is why I offer this piece of advice.” Garrity’s black gaze was penetrating. “Do not allow your past to interfere with your present happiness. Let it go. Be the man you are today—the man your lady deserves.”
The words triggered the memory of what Beatrice had said to him when he’d told her about Monique. The important thing is that you’ve changed, grown up… Knowing you as you are now, I can vouch for the fact that you are a true gentleman, one with a keen sense of honor.
He had changed. He was no longer the wayward spare to the heir who’d never gained his father’s approval, nor the young rake who’d lived a reckless life. He had earned his right to be called a gentleman—and a failed project couldn’t change that.
“You’re right,” he said slowly.
Garrity lifted an eyebrow. “When am I not?”
A knock sounded. Wick went to open the door; the guard he’d assigned to Beatrice stood there.
“Wilcox?” he said tersely. “Why aren’t you with Lady Beatrice?”
The guard’s throat bobbed. “She’s gone, sir. She and her maid left without saying a word.”
* * *
“Leaving was easier than I thought it would be,” Bea said as the coach wound through Pall Mall. “I don’t think anyone saw us go.”
“It was most lucky, my lady,” Lisette agreed from the opposite bench.
They’d found the right moment when the servants had been distracted by luncheon. Slipping out the back, they’d dashed into the waiting conveyance. The resourceful maid had thought of everything for the carriage had taken off immediately, without Bea having to give orders to the driver whom she’d barely glimpsed.
The delay now was getting out of London; the coach was creeping along at a snail’s pace.
Bea drew back the drapes and peered out. The thoroughfare was congested with carts, carriages, and throngs of people on foot and horseback. She saw two men arguing, gesticulating wildly, an upended crate of eggs between them. One of the men lurched toward the other, and Bea’s heart skipped a beat when she saw who was standing behind him.
The cherub-faced boy with the cap. The mudlark…it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Certainty pierced her. He’s watching me.
Heart pounding, she released the curtain. “Lisette, across the street, behind the men arguing over the eggs—do you see a brown-haired boy?”
The maid looked out her window. “I see the men, my lady, but no boy.”
Bea peered out again. The maid was right. The boy had vanished.
“He was there,” Bea insisted. “A street urchin with a cap.”
“London is full of such boys, my lady.” With a puzzled smile, the maid reached into a basket by her feet. “I had the driver pick up provisions since it’s to be a long journey. Shall I pour you a cup of tea to soothe the nerves?”
“You think of everything, Lisette.” Bea took the cup, sipping as she stared out the window.
Who is that boy…and what does he want?
37
“Why would she leave?” Wick paced the length of his drawing room in an agitated stride. “Christ, doesn’t she know the danger she could be in wandering off alone?”
His questions were met with silence from his audience. Garrity and Kent had accompanied him back from the office and sat stony-faced in wingchairs. Richard, Violet, and Mama had returned home minutes earlier and shared the settee. Wick’s brother and sister-in-law looked worried; his mama calmly sipped a cup of tea.
“You’re certain she didn’t leave a note telling you where she’d gone?” Violet asked.
Wick shook his head in frustration. “There’s no note, no message, nothing. And I questioned the staff. No one saw her leave; their best guess is that she departed around luncheon. The guards discovered her missing an hour later.”
Why would you do this, angel? Why would you leave me?
Cold emptiness spread inside him as he faced the inevitable answer. She’d left because he’d failed her. Because he’d broken his promise to her and brought public scandal down on her head. Because he’d failed to protect the only woman he’d ever loved.
“Why is everyone surprised at Lady Beatrice’s behavior?” Mama set her cup into the saucer with a delicate click. “You’ve all read the papers, I assume. Given what they’re saying about her, would it be a surprise if she decided to leave Town? She has been utterly disgraced. If it were me, I’d never want to show my face again in London.”
At his mama’s conjecture, Wick balled his hands. This is my fault. I did this to Beatrice, subjected her to pain.
“Have a care, Mama,” Richard said in a cautioning tone.
“I am only speaking the truth.” With a sniff, Mama put her cup on the table. “If you ask me, Lady Beatrice has done the right thing. Better to end things cleanly. You must respect her wishes, Wickham, and let her go.”
Wick felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Had Beatrice ended things with him? Was her departure a permanent goodbye?
To hell with that. He pinned his mama with a burning stare.
“I love Beatrice. I will never let her go,” he grated out. “Not without a fight.”
“She’s not worth the trouble, dearest. Indeed, my friend Lady Osmond was mentioning that her lovely niece just arrived from France—”
“All right, Mama. Let’s
go join the boys for tea.” This came from Vi, who unceremoniously tugged the dowager up from the settee and toward the door.
“But I am not finished,” Mama protested.
“You will be if you don’t leave Wick alone,” Violet said under her breath.
Obviously, his sister-in-law read him well.
With the ladies gone, Richard said briskly, “What is the plan?”
“I have guards out.” Wick tried to organize his chaotic thoughts. “They, along with Garrity and Kent’s men, are canvassing the area to see if anyone saw Beatrice leave and what direction she might have gone.”
“Could she have gone back to her estate?” his brother asked.
He expelled a breath. “I’ve sent riders to check the coaching inns on the route to Staffordshire. If they find her, they’ll send word. But my gut tells me something’s off. While it’s true she wanted to return home when she learned about Frank Varnum and the stories about her in the papers likely enhanced that desire, I know her…know that she wouldn’t want me to worry. She’d leave a note, something, to tell me where she’d gone.”
As he spoke, he felt a growing certainty. He knew his lass. Knew that she was responsible and caring, not the sort of woman who’d leave him or end their engagement without an explanation, no matter what he’d done. Then what could explain her abrupt flight with her maid?
The ringing of the doorbell spurred a sudden wild hope in his heart. Devil and damn, maybe Bea had just stepped out for a moment. Maybe this was some stupid misunderstanding…
He ran from the drawing room. Halted in the antechamber.
The newcomer his butler had ushered in was a man he knew by sight and reputation. Even without a formal introduction, he could guess who this tall, aristocratic stranger was by his physical resemblance to Beatrice. The Duke of Hadleigh had a darker, masculine version of the Wodehouse looks—and a haughty manner to go with it.
“Where is my sister?” Hadleigh said without preamble. “I wish to speak with her this instant.”
The Duke Redemption Page 28
