Maybe because Clarence, who’d been the one to find his dad sprawled and bloody over the desk with his brains splattered across the wainscoting, had taken the suicide note and, barely able to glance at it through his tears once he’d realized what it said, he’d thrown it into the fire.
His hands hurt from the grip he’d held his gloves in. He took in a deep breath. He had to subdue that anger to do this final step. Then another thought struck him. Now that he’d linked Lillian’s name with his, any public proceedings would affect her family as well. Hell, it would drag her family’s name through the mud. He grimaced.
Yes, carefully. This all had to be handled with precision so that Jarvis was hit hard, but not the Earl of Lamberth, much as younger Robert needed taken to task. He’d have to find another way to go about it.
His carriage, the same one he’d rescued Lillian in, slowed to a stop in front of the docks. He pulled his cap down low. The all black clothing, borrowed from his valet, barely fit and was a bit scratchy against the groin. He made a mental note to have better quality trousers made for the servants. No man needed his privates treated to this. Hunching his shoulders for effect, he stepped out in front of the warehouse he rented for cash under an assumed name.
Nothing could be traced back to him.
Jarvis came from out of the shadows. “You have the goods?”
“Shh,” Clarence said and adopted an accent to help disguise his voice. “You want everyone to hear? The thieves in the area will no doubt try to relieve you of your cargo before you move it to your ship.”
“I would personally like to have one try. The fight would make me feel better.” Jarvis puffed out his chest, the buttons on the velvet vest pulling at their holes.
The man was an idiot to come dressed as a lord to these parts at night. The gold cufflinks alone would be worth killing for to most of the riffraff along the docks.
Clarence shrugged as if in admiration of Jarvis’ strutting and made a pretense of having difficulty getting in, then led Jarvis into the dark and dank warehouse. He lit a lantern he had set on a table near the door. The shadows jumped and flickered as he walked.
“You have the money?”
Jarvis laughed. Every few paces, he stepped into fetid water which had come through the leaks in the roof and still dripped as snow melted inside the building. “I need to see what I’m buying. If I am happy with what you show me, I have someone waiting.”
To try to kill me, probably. “My lord has many such shipments as this, but he pays no attention. I can get you more. But I need the payment, or it not be worth my while, if you ken my meaning.”
Jarvis just grunted. “Thirty barrels of opium and twenty kegs of French Bourbon?”
“Aye. All wrapped up like a Christmas goose.”
A rat scurried past Jarvis’ feet as he ran his hands along the barrels, the lamplight flashing across his face, making him appear as the demons of hellfire resided within. For the first time, a tinge of fear in dealing with him sauntered its way into Clarence’s consciousness.
A good reminder that the man was likely a murderer.
“You’ll get your payment,” Jarvis said. He looked over Clarence’s shoulder and nodded.
Tensing in preparation, Clarence waited as if he’d not understood the significance of the move. Sure enough, he heard someone sneaking up behind him, their walk too heavy to silence the clop of the boots. He waited until the last moment and then turned and blocked the knife which had been headed into his back. His heart pumped in his ears as he pushed the arm off and grasped the wrist, hitting it against a barrel until the assailant dropped it.
Grabbing the man by the coat, he threw punch after punch. His attacker landed a few on his face, and Clarence had enough. He pulled his arm farther back for a final blow, when he saw Jarvis out of the corner of his eye.
Clarence jumped away while slicing his arm down in defense. The knife swiped a deep cut rather than plunging in, but the searing pain had him dropping the ruffian and clasping the wound with both hands. Jarvis attempted another blow, but Clarence managed to block that one and then punched Jarvis hard. Jarvis flew back, hitting his head on a barrel. The other man scrambled to his feet while scooting back and left the warehouse.
Clarence followed him out, but damnable ruffian disappeared into the shadows. Holding to his wounded side, he glanced back at the warehouse. Jarvis was in there. He could get Henry to get him now. A sharp pain had him doubling over, and he lifted his hand from the wound. Blood dripped from it and started gushing from the side. With extreme effort and hand shaking, he put more pressure on the wound, grunting as he did so, and stumbled to his carriage.
“Hurry, Henry,” he said, his voice weakening. “Get me home and get George. I need stitched up.” And a bottle of brandy. And Lillian.
“Aye. It’s almost like old times again. You are getting too old for this line of work, sir.”
“Just take me home, Henry.” Clarence grit his teeth, and with more noise and groaning than he’d care to admit to, he climbed in and half sat half laid on the bench seat. Sudden cold struck him, and he snagged the coarse blanket he had in the carriage and put it over him, trying to hold onto his wound with blood-soaked fingers.
Each bump of the wheels over the cobblestone sent new pain threading through him. A headache started brewing, and he closed his eyes against the nausea. Maybe he’d have to hold off on the brandy, and, “Can’t let Lillian see me this way,” he murmured out loud. “Will worry her.” He contemplated her bravery and her willingness to protect her friends.
Maybe she’d love him one day.
The carriage hit a particularly deep pot hole, the pain tearing through him like a train running him down. His last conscious thought was wondering if he was worthy of her love.
Chapter Eight
“Lillian, dear.”
Lillian turned toward Mother, surprised at the interruption. They had come home with purses and hats to match the gowns ordered, and Janice was organizing them with Lady Amber’s help. Certainly not any of hers. She could match the purses that were made up in same fabrics, but that would be about it.
“Yes, Mother”
“Lady Sarah is here to see you. She is ensconced in the smaller receiving room. I thought the two of you might need privacy. The countess appears overwrought.”
Lillian put her hand near her throat. “Oh dear. I have not spoken to her about the duke. The engagement must be common gossip by now. Mother, she will be livid.”
“I dare say, she will. Go and see her now. I will stay and help oversee the placement of your fripperies.”
Lillian grinned. To her mind, she received the best end of that deal. Until she remembered the probable reason of Sarah’s visit. “Oh dear,” she said again and ran down the stairs as quickly as she dared, holding her skirts aloft. As Lillian reached the doorway of the room Sarah awaited her in, the scullery maid hurried out, narrowly missing her, eyes wide and cap askew.
“Sorry, my lady,” she said and quickly curtsied before scurrying away.
With even more trepidation, Lillian walked in.
Sarah stood before the silver tea service tray, pouring herself a drink. Her lemon yellow dress livened up the room, the bustle impressive, and Lillian envied Sarah her style sense for the first time in their friendship. Lady Amber had been a big help, but maybe Sarah could be as well. Lillian watched as she lifted the cup and saucer, and started taking a sip until she looked up and spied her. “Lillian! Where have you been? Are the rumors true?”
Lillian plastered an appeasing smile on her face and reached for the tea, nonchalant in her movements. She put in a scoop of sugar, took her blue patterned saucer and cup, and sat on the most comfortable chair in the room. “My dearest Sarah, what a lovely dress on you. You will have to give me the name of your seamstress. As to your question, that depends entirely on which rumors you are speaking of in such a distraught manner.”
Sarah sat on the edge of the nearest sofa, facing her. “Do no
t toy with me, Lillian. I mean, of course, your engagement to The Dark Duke! You did not even know who he was less than a week ago.”
Lillian hid her smile behind her cup, knowing full well that her friend’s upset had more to do with not being in on the latest on dit than her lack of knowledge of said duke. “Come, now, Sarah. You and I both know that the ladies of the ton are engaged to men they barely know at an astonishing rate.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes and glared. “You and I both are the exceptions to this. Even your father cannot force you to marry. Stop playing around and tell me true.”
While she’d bantered with her friend, Lillian had come to the decision to tell Sarah all of it. After all, she’d stayed a staunch friend with Hermione through all of the wretched parts. Likely, she’d not turn her heart against Lillian. She had a moment’s pause at how easily she revealed things to the duke and what it might mean, but shook her head to clear it of her reverie. “Well, that party we went to?”
“Yes?”
“My brother abandoned me. Took the carriage, everything. Left me standing there, no chaperone, alone, in the cloakroom. When I went to see what took him so long, I saw the carriage disappear.”
“Lillian! Your brother is…well, I shan’t say as I am in your parents’ home. Whatever did you do about it?”
“Wrung my hands, worried that some vagabond might find me, and caught the first hackney which came my way. Turned out to be a very big mistake.”
“You caught a public hackney—alone? My goodness, Lillian. What did your father do about it?”
“Father was irate once he found out, but…” Lillian set her cup down on the saucer, stood and moved to look out the window into the garden. Winter’s touch of white lay over the ground, fingers of sticks poking through, the flowers long forgotten. “Father doesn’t know the half of it.”
“Lady Lillian Della Lancaster,” Sarah began and stood up, “you are being quite maddening! What has been happening? I thought the most terrible thing to happen to my friends was Hermione’s plight. Now, you’ve become engaged from what I’ve heard—and not from you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. Your brother has shown his true colors, your father doesn’t know what? Come on,” she wheedled. “You must not hold back now.”
Lillian turned to smile at her friend. “You really are a wonderful friend, Sarah. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you personally. Things have been a bit rushed. There is much to tell. But speaking of Hermione, I may have found a way for us to get complete revenge on him, destroy him where it matters.”
“Lillian! That’s wonderful. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
Lillian laughed. “I’m trying. Now do be a dear and stop interrupting. I was riding in this disgusting hackney, trying to ignore the wretched stench, when I noticed the carriage slowing. Our place is farther away than that, in my estimation, so I peeked out the dingy curtain. We”—she swallowed hard—“were at the docks.”
Sarah paled and sat back down. “The docks,” she repeated in a whisper.
“Yes. I decided to make a run for it. I didn’t know what they had planned, but—”
“We’ve read those novels, so you knew—”
“I knew more than a lot of ladies of our rank, yes. I feared the worst. I jumped out, tearing my lovely dress and leaving my fan behind in the coach. I ran into an alley, and waited. I overheard them talking. My brother had arranged it all.” She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. Even knowing what her brother was capable of, the pain still cut deep.
“Lillian! I am so sorry.”
Lillian waved a hand and turned back to stare out the window again. “While I hid, the duke found me. Of course, I didn’t know it was him then. We—” The heavy clomp of booted footsteps made its way to them. She stopped in her story to wait until she knew they were gone.
But Robert poked his head in. “Lillian, I need a farthing for—oh, morning, Countess. I didn’t see you sitting there. Never mind, Lillian. I’ll talk to you later.” His face contorted into sharp planes of anger.
“Robert, you went through the last of my allowance last night. You will have to ask Father for any other farthings you need now and in the near future.” Lillian’s own wrath came sharp and sweet. How dare he try to track her down and get money from her after what he did?
Robert’s scowl of rage had her grasping the windowsill to hide the shaking. “Not in front of the countess,” he said, grinding his teeth. He stalked off, the heavy fall of his footsteps sounding as angry as his voice, but Lillian was relieved to see him leave.
Before she could say anything else, Jacob came to the doorway. “Excuse me, my lady, but my cousin Henry is here to pick you up.”
“I do not have a date arranged with the duke today, Jacob. There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, my lady. Henry says the duke has been injured and is calling for you, like.”
“My goodness. I shall leave at once. Go fetch my wrap from Janice.” Jacob moved with surprising speed.
“Sarah, I’m so sorry, but I must go help him.” Her nerves had her searching this way and that, as if her cloak and reticule would magically appear.
“Of course you do, Lillian. What’s more, I shall be accompanying you.”
“Sarah, you do not have to. I will be fine. Janice can accompany me. Or Lady Amber, my new companion.”
“They are welcome to come. I will follow you in my carriage with my maid.”
“I am not taking his carriage to walk three houses, nor am I waiting for my carriage to be brought around. He lives close.”
Sarah clapped her hands together. “This is even better. Our maids can follow close behind. I shall have Jacob direct my driver to the proper house. I haven’t had this lively of a winter in ever so long.”
Lillian smiled at her friend, despite the worry encroaching on her heart. Truly, she had lucked out upon making her friendship. Henry was sent ahead to prepare for the arrival of the five guests, though he protested. She also ordered him to get some brandy handy for his lordship as well. Something she’d heard about from the war of 1812. Henry gave her a shrewd look then left to do as asked.
In a short time, their cloaks and reticules were procured, and they walked, three abreast, Janice and Sarah’s maid, Kelly, walking behind.
“Do you know the duke well, Lady Amber,” Lillian asked. Anything to push the fear that Clarence might be badly hurt away.
“I knew him better before his father died. He withdrew into himself. And, during the mourning period, his mother obviously was not out as much as we were accustomed to seeing her. He was a kind lad when others of his age were cruel and taunting. He never treated us girls like we were stupid, willing to teach us even, if we asked a question. I never did understand how he received the moniker of The Dark Duke. Something must have happened to him when his father died. He did love him very much.”
“What happened to his father? While I seem to pour my heart out to him every time we meet, he doesn’t say much.” A fact which caused her much consternation upon reflection.
Lady Amber was silent for so long, Lillian wondered if she’d answer. “The short answer is some sort of accident with a pistol. The DS’s official ruling. But…Clarence never believed it. He clammed up about it shortly after the official ruling came down. There were rumors of a suicide, but I knew Uncle Ben, that was his name, Benjamin, and he’d never have left his family that way without a note or something. He wasn’t melancholy or any of the other signs you hear when one has taken their own life, not even afterward. It really was a mystery to many until the ruling.”
Lillian was silent. She knew a maid who committed suicide. Things weren’t always as they seemed. The family would want to hush a suicide, otherwise, the duke would not be buried in consecrated ground. She’d hid the note the maid wrote, only told her family that she’d accidentally fell down the stairs. The doctor had not dared gainsay her. He knew which side his bread was buttered on, and it wasn’t Robert’s.
Her heart ached for Clarence. If he’d been the one to walk in on it, no wonder he held such sadness in his eyes. And it hit her, that maybe that sadness lurking there was something which drew her to him. Seeing death firsthand, that wasn’t an experience to be well understood by those who hadn’t shared it.
Henry stood in front of a townhouse next to his carriage, and directed them in, saying he’d be right in. Lillian hurried up the walk, the other ladies in her wake. The butler must have been watching for her because she never even had a chance to do more than notice the lion’s head knocker before the door opened.
“This way, Lady Lillian. His Grace is in the study.” He led them to a room off the foyer.
“Why ever is he not somewhere more suitable?” she exclaimed.
“That is not for me to say, I am sure, my lady. However, I may have heard the doctor mention not wanting to move him in case the bleeding starts again.” He opened the double oak doors and held one open for her with a small bow.
Lillian gave him a look of appreciation before going into the study.
Clarence lay on a chaise lounge, his skin sweaty, and mumbling to himself. “You, what’s your name,” she asked of the butler.
“Seth, my lady.”
“Seth, have water brought to me immediately. Then have some put on to boil.”
“There is some hot now, my lady. Would you like me to bring it?”
“Yes. And cut up a sheet and bring it to me.” She’d heard that’s how they did it on the battle field from reading forbidden books. Hopefully, she’d figure out the best way to use them to be of help.
He bowed, and she hurried to the duke’s side, worry making her heart ache.
“Lillian, love me….”
“Shhh, I’m here,” she said. She didn’t answer him, though she was very much afraid she’d started down that road the minute he’d saved her life. Too much had happened in her life to allow herself to just let go and admit it, even now. Instead, she put a hand on his forehead as she grasped his hand closest to her with the other. “He’s burning up,” she whispered to Sarah who’d come to stand by her.
Darkest Valentine Page 7
