A Matter of Grave Concern (29 page)

He hoped that would be the end of it. He had nothing to say to his mother or anyone else. But, of course, she wouldn’t let it go.

“You tell me that every time I ask, but you are obviously not fine.”

“Mother, I will take my breakfast elsewhere, if you insist on badgering me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he waved her off. “Enough! I am trying to eat!”

Her eyebrows lifted at his imperious tone, but he was so angry he didn’t regret how he had acted. Indeed, he was tempted to go much further. It was all too easy to blame his mother for his predicament, since she was so eager for him to wed Hortense—and had, indeed, been the one to arrange it.

“It has nothing to do with that little strumpet you were having Rufus bring to your bed right after you sent your fiancée away, does it?” she asked.

When his eyes flew to her face, she put down her fork. “What? You think I didn’t know?”

“Rufus told you?”

“No, he is far too loyal to you for that. But there are other servants who see him coming and going—maids who smell the perfume on your linens as well as . . . other scents.”

“And they come and tell
you
? Then perhaps I will sack the entire staff, except Rufus, and protect my privacy by sending you to the country before I hire more.”

She stiffened. He had never threatened her with anything, let alone banishment from London.

“Perhaps you believe yourself to be in love with her,” she started, but he cut her off immediately.

“Do not presume to tell me how I feel. And if you ever call her a strumpet again, you can pack your bags and leave for good.” With that he got up and strode from the room.

“Lucien, stop,” his mother called after him. “You are overreacting. You will get over her, with time.”

He ignored her. He had to get out of the house, away from her, away from the staff, away from every reminder of his duties. But Maurice, the butler, caught him on his way out.

“Your Grace, there is a woman in the parlor who claims she has information you would like to receive.”

Lucien couldn’t imagine what information that would be. “Who is she?” he snapped.

Hearing his tone, the butler stood taller but, unflappable as always, he allowed no change in his expression. “Mrs. Agnes Hurtsill, the wife of the body snatcher who was hanged recently, I believe.”

What could Agnes want from him? “If she needs more money, give it to her,” he said and brushed past, but when Maurice spoke, he stopped again.

“Your Grace, she says it’s about Madeline.”

The anger that had been pumping through his blood was suddenly replaced by curiosity—and maybe even hope. “Have someone bring tea,” he said and switched direction.

He found Agnes standing in his drawing room, looking nervous and pensive and out of place. She smoothed her dress when he walked in and managed an awkward curtsy.

“Your Grace, I-I wanted to thank you for the money you sent. You didn’t have to . . . to take pity on me, but I don’t know how I would have survived these weeks without it.”

“I don’t blame you for the mistakes of your husband, Agnes. You or the children.”

“I’ve made my own mistakes. I admit that. I knew Jack and Bill weren’t doing right. And to think they almost killed you . . . I miss Bill, but I feel bad for everything. I do.”

“Thank you. We can agree that they have had a destructive influence on us both.”

“When I learned who you really are, I couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe I know a
duke
.”

He hoped she hadn’t merely used what she had told Maurice as an excuse to gain an audience with him. “My butler tells me that you have information on Madeline.”

“It’s true. I . . . I should have told you before, but . . . I didn’t, and my conscience has been troublin’ me a great deal since, what with you being so kind to me and all, despite . . . despite the fact that I don’t deserve it.”

He had helped her mostly because of the children, but he didn’t say so. “What do you know of my half sister? What can you tell me?”

“She’s alive, Your Grace. Or she was last I saw her.”

Lucien couldn’t believe his ears. He’d finally convinced his stubborn heart that his half sister was lost to him—and to Byron—forever. “Where?”

She stared down at the rug. “Jack was so unkind to me and Bill, to everyone. We all hated him.”

Lucien stepped toward her. He didn’t care about that. He knew how difficult Jack had been. “
Where is she?”

“
Probably in Australia.”

He stared at her, searching her face for any sign that she might not be telling the truth. “What could she be doing there? She would never leave her son. I can’t believe she would take Jack’s money and run away, if that’s what you are about to tell me.”

“No, Your Grace. It was Bill and Emmett what took the money—and they sold her to a ship’s captain bound for Australia so Jack would think it was Madeline who’d robbed him.”

“
Sold
her?” Lucien cried. “As a slave or a servant or—”

She wrung her hands. “Anything he wanted her to be, I suppose. He said he needed a woman to keep his house in Brisbane.”

Lucien was so overcome by this information, he could scarcely catch his breath. “And Jack believed what Emmett and Bill wanted him to believe.”

“As much as Jack loved Madeline, I was a little surprised. But he couldn’t trust anyone, even her. He thought everyone was out to get him.”

“Apparently he had good reason to doubt those around him, if his own brother would betray him.”

“Jack always humiliated Bill,” she said, instantly defensive. “He was the one who led my husband wrong to begin with. He killed Tom, he did. Right in front of Bill. Bill had nightmares about it after. And Jack always took the lion’s share of whatever they earned. Bill and Emmett didn’t think that was fair, since they did the same amount of work.”

Lucien didn’t care to argue about who was right and who was wrong, or who deserved what. As far as he was concerned, they had all gotten what they deserved in the end. “So Madeline didn’t sell you her locket. You took it from her.”

Agnes hung her head. “I did. I’d give it back but Abby’s got it now.”

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what did you take from Abby before you would give it to her?”

“A . . . a brush and mirror that . . . that I sold.”

The one he had given Abby. As much as Abby had loved it, she had parted with it for the sake of Madeline’s locket.

“I needed the money,” Agnes said plaintively. “But I still have this.”

When she pulled out Abby’s elephant, Lucien felt his jaw drop. Abby had given this woman
everything
she had. “I will take that myself.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She flinched as if he might strike her when he reached out. For the first time in his life, he was tempted to harm a woman. Not only had she stolen Madeline’s prized possession, and allowed Madeline to be sold into slavery, which could have caused her son to be turned out into the street, but she had taken Abby’s most precious things, too.

“Can you give me the name of this captain?” he asked, forcing himself to step away.

He prayed she would remember it. With Emmett hanged, it wasn’t as if he could get the answers he needed there, and he had to have some way of tracing Madeline.

Perhaps his half sister was still alive.

Perhaps he could find her.

“It was Captain Alfson,” she said. “He sailed a merchant vessel, a bark called the
Dromahair
. I remember ’cause it was such an odd name.”

Lucien rang for Maurice. “Give Mrs. Hurtsill ten pounds for her trouble and see that she gets a ride back to Wapping,” he said when the butler arrived.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Without bothering to say good-bye, Lucien headed for the door. He expected Maurice to step out of his way when he reached it, but the butler didn’t do so immediately.

“Your mother has requested that I let you know she would like to speak to you in the small parlor,” he said.

Hell, no. Lucien wasn’t about to pay his mother a visit. He had heard all he wanted to hear from her and couldn’t bear for her to extoll the virtues of Hortense—and how strategically perfect his marriage was. He was leaving for St. Catherine’s in search of information on the
Dromahair
and its captain. Then, if necessary, he was going all the way to Australia.

Chapter 31

Abigail was beginning to show. She could see the slight swell of her stomach in the mirror when she turned sideways, which was something she did before getting dressed every morning. And every morning, she would sit down to write her father about the baby—and then put it off again when she couldn’t think of any way to confess without throwing him into the depths of despair. Not only did she have his feelings to consider, she knew as soon as she told her father, she had to tell her aunt, and she and Emily were struggling to get along as it was. The more suitors Abby rejected, the angrier Emily became. Abby could hardly imagine the strain it would put on their relationship when Emily learned she was carrying a bastard child.

Bastard.
Such
an ugly word. Abby cringed when she thought of how that word had been attached to Madeline—and how she had been treated in consequence. There was little doubt in Abby’s mind that Madeline’s son had been treated any better.

How would she protect her own child? How would she support herself and the baby if Aunt Emily turned her out?

Instinctively, her hand went to the necklace Lucien had given her. If she could find the right buyer, that would help. It might even support her long enough that she could get a job in service or working at another college.

One day at a time
, she reminded herself. Fortunately, the morning sickness that had plagued her for nearly two months was beginning to ease. Much to the pigs’ chagrin—both of which had gotten much fatter since she came to visit—she could now hold down her food. She hoped that would help her put on some of the weight she had lost.

As she began to dress, her thoughts turned to Lucien and how much she missed him—but she steered her mind clear of that right away. She could not continue to suffer such longing. It was too imperative that she prepare herself for the difficult future ahead.

“Abby? Abby, are you ready?” her aunt called up.

Emily was insisting they go over to the Nesbitts’ for a visit. It was the last place Abby wanted to go. It was awkward with both brothers eager to court her even though she wasn’t interested in either one of them.

“Coming,” she called back. Then she put on her dress and prayed she could get through another day without anyone noticing her pregnancy.

It took Lucien nearly two months to track Madeline to Brisbane, but the sea voyage was to blame for most of that time. He endured those days on the ocean impatiently, which made the passage of each day feel even longer. He had thought he might lose his mind before they arrived. But at last he was back on dry ground and looking at a small shack supposedly owned by Captain Alfson.

According to everything he had learned,
this
was where Madeline had to be—if she was still with the captain. There was nothing to say she had to be, but several people along the docks and at the taverns in town had pointed him to the same place. They said the captain resided here when he was in town. Although no one remembered him with a woman, Lucien wasn’t convinced Alfson would parade Madeline around town, not when he had a wife and family in England. If he was the type to take her as a slave to begin with, it was likely something he kept secret and far distant from his regular life at home.

Or she wasn’t there.

Surely he hadn’t come all this way for nothing . . .

As he approached the door, anxiety caused him to stop and draw a deep breath before continuing.
Please, God—for Byron’s sake,
he prayed and knocked.

There was no answer, no sound coming from inside. Was this place as deserted as it appeared? The captain wasn’t in port. Lucien knew that much. Alfson was on a voyage to America. But Lucien had actually believed a rescue might work out better if he didn’t run into the captain—since he wasn’t confident he would be able to stop himself from ripping the bastard’s heart out.

“Madeline?” he called.

Nothing.

Maybe the captain had taken her with him. Or he had passed her to someone else along the way. It was even possible she had come down with something and died.

Fighting the discouragement that edged closer with each passing second, he walked around to the back. There was a garden there—and it was wet, as if someone had watered it. That meant someone was tending to matters at the shack. Who?

Lucien approached the back door and knocked again. “Madeline? It’s Lucien. Please, open up.”

He was about to force his way inside, to search for any sign of her, when he heard his name.

“Lucien? Is it really you?”

“Madeline? Let me in!” he called. “I’m here to take you home.”

“I can’t.”

He could tell she was weeping.

“Why?”

“I’m chained to the floor.”

Lucien broke the door and charged inside to see his half sister huddled on a mattress. She was wearing a threadbare dress and no shoes and there was a leg iron around one ankle that chained her to a metal post in the middle of the floor. The windows were covered; there was a chamber pot in the corner, and a partially eaten crust of bread on a metal plate.

“My God, what is this?”

She didn’t answer. “My son!” she said. “Please tell me he’s alive and well.”

He could see the sores around her ankle, how hard she had tried to free herself. “Byron is fine,” he assured her. “I have him at the town house in Mayfair. He is learning a great deal from his new tutor and will be so excited to see you.”

“Thank God.” She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks, which smudged the dirt that covered her face as well. “How did you find me?”

Lucien thought about the London Supply Company, the corpses he had had to dig up and sell as part of his cover, his own monthlong recovery after Jack stabbed him. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “But I’m here now, and no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

As he came toward her, she tilted her head to see around him. “You must be careful,” she said. “I never know when Alfson is going to return, or—or when Joseph will show up.”

He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “Who’s Joseph?”

“Alfson pays him to take care of me when he is gone.” She motioned at her plate. “What little I get comes from him. But”—her eyes took on a faraway look—“he is even more vile.”

“He will pay for what he’s done,” Lucien promised her. “So will the captain.”

Lucien fought his own tears as they stared at each other. “I’m sorry, Madeline. I’m so sorry I allowed this to happen.”

She didn’t seem to trust him. “Why?” she said. “Why do you even care?”

He offered her a crooked smile. “Because you’re my sister.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’ll have to make the adjustment.”

“I don’t want to come between you. I have never wanted that.”

“You deserve more out of life than you have received,” he said and bent down to embrace her.

It took some time to get the saw he needed to cut off Madeline’s anklet. If Joseph came by and realized she was no longer alone and defenseless, he didn’t make his presence known. Lucien figured there would be time to deal with him and Alfson later. He just wanted to get Madeline somewhere she could bathe, put on some decent clothes and begin to put this part of her life behind her.

“You shouldn’t be touching me, Your Grace,” she said as he carried her out. “I’m too dirty.”

“Lucien, Madeline. I’m your brother. And I’m not concerned about the dirt,” he said. “I’m just glad I got you and that you are safe at last.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Lucien glanced up to see Madeline watching him carefully. She looked so beautiful standing at the railing of the ship that was carrying them home, the wind blowing her hair back from her face. It was hard to believe that it had only been two weeks since he had rescued her. He’d thought they should stay in Brisbane longer, allow her more time to recover, but she was as anxious to get back to London as he was.

“You must have driven Alfson crazy, always talking about your son,” he teased.

She managed a smile despite the subject matter. “It was the fact that I kept trying to escape that he put me on a chain. Our relationship definitely took a turn for the worse, at that point.”

“I’ll hunt him to the ends of the earth, if I have to.”

She covered his hand with her small, cool one. “If you are half as dedicated about that as you were to finding me, I have no doubt you will see him punished. Fortunately, I believe he won’t be difficult to trace.”

The man she had called Joseph was already in gaol. Lucien had seen to it while he was in Brisbane. He promised himself that Alfson would soon follow.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“About . . . ?”

“A moment ago you looked so . . . pensive. You often look that way, as if . . . as if you are hiding a bit of sadness yourself.”

Lucien had been thinking about Abby. He had thought it would get easier to forget her with time, but that definitely wasn’t the case. She came to him in his dreams even when he wasn’t consciously thinking of her. It didn’t help that he carried her elephant with him everywhere. He meant to return it but hadn’t yet figured out how.

“I was considering my coming marriage,” he admitted. “It’s only six or seven months away now.”

“To Lady Brimble.”

“Yes.”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

He affected a shrug. “She seems eager enough to please.”

She laughed.

“What?”

“Again, you didn’t answer my question.”

“If you are you asking if I’m in love with her, no.”

“That you would even mention love leads me to believe you might fancy someone else.”

Surprised by how intuitive she could be—or was he that transparent?—he quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

“You are!” she accused. “You’re in love! With whom?”

He had kept Abby and everything about her to himself. It had been a constant battle to suppress the desire he felt for her, the concern that she might be as miserable as he was, the natural inclination to provide her with a better life. But that afternoon, and several others afterward as they passed the days on the voyage home, he found himself telling Madeline about her.

They had almost arrived in London when she came up behind him, again at the railing, and said, “You have that look on your face.”

“Fortunately, you are the only one who knows what it means,” he joked. “Once we are home, you can’t let my secrets out, you know.”

She slid her arm through his. They had grown quite fond of each other in these past weeks. “Can I tell you a secret of my own?”

“Of course.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“
Me?
But I’m a duke,” he teased. “I have everything, remember?”

She could be so somber, so serious. He had merely been trying to make light of the situation, to get her to smile, but she shook her head instead. “Everything but what really matters, and you are
willingly
giving it up.”

“I can’t break my engagement, Madeline,” he said.

“Normally, I wouldn’t presume to correct you, Your Grace.”

He slanted her a wry look for addressing him so formally. “But . . .”

“But I believe you are making a terrible mistake, trading your happiness for . . . for what you will gain in your marriage.”

“I’m not worried about gaining anything. I’m worried about losing something—my dignity, my honor, my reputation.”

She briefly rested her head on his shoulder in a loving gesture. “I admire you for caring about those things. But surely the Cavendish dynasty will survive without one more arranged marriage. Could having Abby in your life, by your side as your wife and the mother of your children, really hurt anyone?”

He wished he didn’t want to hear what she was telling him quite so much. He knew it was undermining his resolve. But he was so desperate for some way to reunite with Abby. “Hortense would be hurt, for one.”

“I doubt you will be doing her any favors by marrying her when your heart is so committed to someone else.”

“My love for her could grow.”

“It would have to grow quite a bit to keep pace with your resentment—and resentment engenders hate, not love. No one deserves to be hated simply because they unwittingly stood in the way of what should have been.”