by Lauren Smith
And he had repaid them by being boorish and rude, walking out on them today. He had behaved like a foolish, stubborn child.
“Are you all right, my lord?” Tom asked, his brows drawn together in concern. Lord, Tom really was so young. It would be good when manhood caught up with him and his shoulders filled out and his features hardened a little. Charles had been small once himself and knew the hardships one could face. The boy would run the risk of being bullied if he worked at any other house.
“I’m just woolgathering, Tom. Finish your water. I’ll be out tonight, so you may have the night off. Tomorrow we shall interview some nursemaids for Kat and Oliver.”
Tom climbed off the chair and finished his goblet before he left. Charles threw himself into the chair Tom had vacated, and before he realized it, he was daydreaming about the blonde-haired angel he’d rescued from the tunnels, wishing he’d stolen another kiss beneath the rain before she’d vanished.
I have to find her again. I have to know who she is…
Lily crept into the servants’ quarters and found Katherine sitting on Davis’s lap. He was letting the baby play with a bit of blue ribbon, which she clearly found fascinating.
Lily smiled at the young man as she took her daughter from him. “Thank you, Davis.”
“Anytime, Tom. I know his lordship keeps you busy, and I don’t mind looking after her when time allows. After I lost Mary, it was damned hard to care for Oliver on my own. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Farrow and the rest of the staff. We must help each other, right?” Davis tapped Katherine’s nose with the tip of his finger. She squealed and clapped her chubby hands together. Davis laughed. Kat rested one of her hands on Davis’s wooden hand, unbothered by the strangeness of it.
“You know I’m always happy to look after Oliver when time allows,” said Lily.
“Thank you, the wee lad runs circles around Mrs. Farrow now that he’s older.” Davis winced as he moved his wooden hand. His wrist often ached in the winter cold where it connected to his wooden hand. It made it difficult for certain tasks but he was still able to perform his duties. At least she might be able to help him there.
“If you bring me the boots you need to polish, I can do them for you,” Lily offered. Davis was surprisingly capable with only one hand, but Lily was deeply indebted to the footman and wanted to make sure he knew how grateful she was. When Davis turned his back on her to stoke the fire, she buried her face in Kat’s golden hair and breathed in her sweet baby scent. It didn’t matter that Katherine came from a dark moment in her life; all that mattered was that Katherine was hers.
“Did Mrs. Farrow speak to his lordship about hiring someone to help with the children?” Davis asked. “We’d been discussing it earlier since I could use some help with Oliver.”
Lily nodded and kissed the crown of Katherine’s hair in a brotherly fashion. “He said he’s going to interview nurses tomorrow. Please thank Mrs. Farrow for me.” They both knew how unusual it was for a lord to hire a nurse for the children of servants, but that was how Charles was. His staff felt comfortable enough to ask for help and he gave it to them instantly.
She had been hurt at first when Charles had brought it up, but he was right. She had been barely there for Katherine of late, and the rest of the staff could not keep swapping duties to care for a child who wasn’t theirs. As always, Charles surprised her with his open warmth and generosity. He was truly a good man. She swallowed down the rise of bile in her throat as she remembered where all this would lead someday.
Don’t think of it as betraying him. You have to put your child first.
She closed her eyes, holding her daughter tight. Katherine was still now, as if she sensed Lily’s distress but didn’t understand. Her tiny hands grasped Lily’s cheek, and she tilted her head up.
“Looks like she needs a nap,” Davis mused. Lily tensed. She hadn’t even realized he was still there. She’d gotten lost in her thoughts again, such a dangerous thing. She could not afford to let her guard down, not even for one second, especially around friends.
“I think you are right. I’ll tuck her in her crib.”
“She’ll be too big for that before you know it,” said Davis. “I’ll have to build her a proper bed soon.”
“Not too soon, I hope.” Lily stood and started toward her room. As she heard Davis’s footfalls fading away, the tension inside her began to recede. She set Katherine down on her bed.
“Mama,” Katherine whispered.
“Yes, love, but you mustn’t call me that. Remember?” She knelt in front of her daughter, trying to smile.
“Why?” the baby whispered. At only three she was intelligent. Too intelligent. She had her father’s cunning, which filled Lily with a sense of dread, but she believed Katherine had her heart, one of love, not hate.
“It’s a very important secret. You like it here, don’t you?”
Katherine gave an exaggerated nod, making her curls bounce.
“Then we have to keep the secret. If anyone knows I’m your mama, then we will be sent away. No more ribbons.” She toyed with the strip of blue silk still coiled in her child’s hands. “No more biscuits from the kitchens, no more warm nights by the fire.” Lily didn’t want to frighten her, but Kat had to understand the importance of the secret.
Katherine’s cornflower-blue eyes grew wide. “No more Unca Charles?”
“No more Uncle Charles,” Lily agreed. “Remember, our secret is very important. You must call me Tom, not Mama.”
“Toma!”
“No, silly. Tom.”
She pulled the baby into her arms again, relishing the simple joy of just holding her. Spending most of her day away from Katherine was difficult, and the ache in her chest to cuddle her close and pretend she was her old self, Lily, was overpowering.
“Why don’t we take a little nap?” She laid the child out on the bed and stretched out beside her. Katherine snuggled in close and fell asleep almost at once. Lily’s muscles still ached from the vigorous fencing match, and she was relieved to have a moment’s rest.
Charles would have beaten her if she hadn’t knocked over that vase. She knew she shouldn’t have done it, but she was expected to seize upon any advantage she found and exploit it. Charles, on the other hand, believed in fair play, even when fighting down in the Lewis Street tunnels. It was his weakness, one that Hugo knew all too well.
You have too big a heart, my lord, far too big of a heart. I’m so sorry.
6
Sir Hugo Waverly stood in the shadows of the gambling hell known as the Cockerel. His gaze roved over the mixture of peers and lower-class men gambling and whoring. Rumors of an underground boxing ring run by smugglers had surfaced earlier that morning, and Hugo wanted answers.
Smugglers were a fact of life, and one that he usually did not concern himself with, but this was different. What little was left of Samir Al Zahrani’s slave trade had found new leadership and was said to be seeking out new recruits. It was important to sort them out before they found a toehold on the docks.
He’d given Lily the mission of discovering more about them, offering herself up as bait. His little pet had mentioned being dragged down to Lewis Street as a prize for fighters, but Hugo suspected the ultimate destination would have been a cargo ship headed for parts unknown. She’d failed to learn more, thanks to Lonsdale, but thinking over the Lewis Street situation did give him an idea.
“Sir?” Daniel Sheffield was at his side, only lately returned from a covert mission in France. Despite not achieving all of his aims, the mission for the Crown had proved successful. Seventeen expatriates causing unrest in London had been caught and quietly dealt with, several in a permanent fashion. The sanctity of England and its empire was once more secure, a fact that filled Hugo with pride.
He served three masters: king, country, and control. A man must always defend his king, protect his country, and maintain his control.
“Daniel, find out what you can ab
out the rules for the men who fight in Lewis Street boxing rings, assuming they have any. The smugglers run it, but I want to know how they allow men to fight in the rings, and what the stakes usually are.”
Daniel moved deeper into the crowds, and Hugo continued to watch the tables, the turn of cards, the cries of victory and, more often, defeat. Then his breath caught as he saw a golden-haired man at a table, one that for an instant made him think…
But no, it was not the Earl of Lonsdale. It was his younger brother, Graham Humphrey. They shared their father’s fair hair and eyes, but upon a closer examination, Graham’s looks came from his mother, not his father.
For a moment Hugo was disappointed. He was hungry for revenge tonight, and facing Lonsdale would have given him a chance to lash out. Not that he would enact his endgame here. No, when it came time to kill Lonsdale, it would be at a time and place of his own choosing.
Lonsdale had more lives than a bloody tomcat, but those lives were running out. It wouldn’t be long before Hugo had Charles right where he wanted him. And then, the final stroke.
Daniel returned, his lips in a firm line.
“Well?” Hugo asked.
“The smugglers who run Lewis Street boxing rings are the worst sort. The type to double-cross a man for a simple ill look.”
“That’s not unexpected. What else?”
“Those in charge”—Daniel lowered his voice and leaned in so as not to be overheard—“are known for offering a way for men to pay off debts by fighting. The wagers made are often high because there are no guarantees of safety. Sometimes quite the opposite.”
“Blood sport,” said Hugo.
“Indeed. And the willing men aren’t always so willing. They’re more desperate, I’d say. If they can’t offer the smugglers what they want, their only recourse is to offer themselves…in the ring.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hugo pointed to the man sitting beside Graham Humphrey. “You see that man?”
Daniel eyed the young aristocrat sitting next to Graham. “Phillip Wilkes, the Earl of Kent?” He and Graham were laughing and enjoying a night out at a table playing faro.
“Yes. Sampson is running the table. Set the earl up to lose. I want him to owe you a vast sum of money. When he can’t pay, demand he settle the score by fighting at Lewis Street.”
Daniel frowned. “I should point out, these boxers have been known to kill men in these fights.”
“That’s something we shall allow fate to decide. It is required to move a more important piece into position.”
“I understand.”
“And Daniel?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Be sure to use your real name.”
Hugo didn’t miss the resignation in Daniel’s eyes. He was loyal to the core, yet he’d been showing some reluctance to his methods as of late.
Daniel wandered to the faro table and took a seat beside Kent, nodding at him in silent greeting as the game began. Hugo collected a glass of brandy from a passing wench’s tray and tasted the liquid. Subpar, but better than he expected for this place.
He began to think of other games, other pieces, and other moves yet to be made. Word from his men working within the League households was that they were finally ready to fight back.
No doubt Ashton Lennox was leading the charge. He was the only member of the group who ever had any ability to play the game like Hugo did, but it did not matter. The baron was far too late, and even this turn of events had been expected. Necessary, in fact. There would be no stopping the firestorm from raining down upon the League of Rogues and everyone they loved.
Graham Humphrey folded his cards and watched his friend Phillip, the Earl of Kent, anxiously. The faro table had thinned out, and the real match was now between his friend and a dark-haired man who played with considerable skill. He’d introduced himself as Daniel Sheffield, a manager down by the docks.
Kent leaned forward, frowning as he examined the cards the dealer turned up on the green felt tabletop. Faro was half skill, half luck, and usually Kent was blessed with both, but not tonight. Sheffield was winning almost every hand it seemed, and racking up debts against Kent.
“Another round?” Sheffield challenged Kent. “One good hand would set you right.”
Graham gripped his friend’s arm, giving a shake of his head, but Kent shoved him off.
“Another.” Once more the dealer laid out thirteen cards, and the bets were placed as to what card the dealer would turn up next.
Graham’s stomach knotted as Kent placed a hefty sum, which Sheffield quietly doubled. A hush settled around the table as a small crowd gathered to watch.
The dealer turned the card over, and Kent’s face turned the color of birch.
“I…” he stammered. “I may need a few days to collect the finances for you, Mr. Sheffield.” Kent was not poor, but no man could afford so much without sufficient time.
“I’m afraid I’m leaving in a day’s time,” said Sheffield. “But perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” Sheffield leaned in and whispered something in the earl’s ear. Kent nodded hastily. Then Sheffield rose and departed.
“Phillip, what did he say?” Graham demanded in an urgent whisper.
Kent rose from the table and pulled on his coat. “Not here.”
Graham followed him out the door, sliding his own coat over his shoulders. Once outside in the icy wind, Graham jerked his friend to a halt.
“Phillip, what the devil did he say?”
The Earl of Kent couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve no means to pay his debt in a timely fashion, and he offered…”
“What?” Graham feared the answer his friend might give. If he was so hesitant, it had to be something dreadful.
“He has other interests and finds himself in need of someone.”
“What do you mean? What interests?”
“Boxing. He feels that I could repay the debt if I agree to fight in the rings on Lewis Street. He has some sort of financial arrangement with those who organize the fights.”
“Lewis Street?” Graham echoed. He’d only heard rumors of the place. It was a bad place to be a boxer. The men there had no honor and showed no mercy. It was not a place where anyone should go.
“I’m bound there now. Win or lose, he says my debt will be considered paid in full.”
“No, Kent, you cannot—”
His friend spun to face him. “What would you have me do? Better to face a brute in the ring than have every note called in by every financier in London. Once word was out that I had allowed such a debt to be owed, my name would be ruined.” He looked away. “Thank you for trying to stop me from that last hand. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”
Kent went to call for a hackney, Graham following on his heels.
“Well, I won’t let you go there alone,” Graham announced. “Someone’s going to have to drag you to a doctor afterward.”
The two exchanged a moment of cold laughter. “Thank you, but I’d rather prefer to think I stand a chance of winning.”
Graham didn’t want to think about what might happen in the tunnels tonight. He feared that once it was over, he might be calling on a priest rather than a doctor.
Lily wandered down the hall of the grand townhouse, smiling as she admired her new place of employment. Her first place of employment. Working as the lady’s maid to the wife of a prominent man in society had been an unexpected turn of good fortune. Melanie Waverly was exquisitely beautiful, the sort of woman all men found desirable. Her flashing eyes and coquettish smile had earned her many admirers.
Lily paused in front of the door to her lady’s bedchamber and smoothed a hand down her pale-lilac day gown. It was pretty enough, yet it hung loose on her body. She’d grown taller in the last few years, yet she still had a rather coltish body with smaller breasts and hips than most women her age. She would never draw the kind of attention her mistress had, but perhaps that was a good thing. She’d onl
y planned to stay in service long enough to meet a decent man, another person in service, and hopefully marry. She had no expectations beyond that, and working in the Waverly household would be an excellent way to start.
She knocked lightly on the bedchamber door. It wasn’t her mistress who opened it, however, but her master. Sir Hugo was a handsome but intimidating man, with dark hair and even darker eyes. There was an aura of power about him that Lily sensed immediately, and it made the hairs on her neck stand on end.
“You must be the new maid. Lily, is it?” He stepped aside, and Lily slipped past him.
“There you are. You’re late.” Melanie’s tone was curt as she eyed herself critically in the mirror of her vanity table. “Come and fix my hair. Don’t just stand there.”
“Check your temper, my sweet,” Hugo warned his wife, and he offered Lily a pleasant smile. Perhaps his bark was worse than his bite? Still, Lily knew better than to trust men, at least when it came to maids in service. She’d been warned that it was in a man’s nature to take advantage if he was in a position of power. And a woman in service was on the lowest end of that power as one could get.
“Quickly now,” Melanie snapped.
Lily carefully picked up an expensive silver hairbrush and began to comb through the thick waves of her mistress’s hair. The moment she did, her mistress began to relax. When she had finished and was done with her other duties within the bedchamber, it was early evening.
Sir Hugo had left earlier to visit his mother and was expected back for dinner, though it was possible he would spend the evening at his club, Boodle’s. The staff would spend the afternoon and evening catching up on their work if neither the master nor mistress returned until late.
