Damsel in Disguise (43 page)

“But will you stay
here
?”

“I will stay here unless I’m needed elsewhere. No unnecessary wandering. Is that satisfactory?”

“No, but I assume it’s the best I will get out of you.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, Anthony, you’ve already gotten the best out of me.”

No, she wasn’t entirely correct about that. He loved every precious thing he’d ever gotten from Julia St. Clement, but there was more. One thing eluded him, and he was determined to get that, too. He needed her forgiveness.

If she could give him that, trust him once again with her whole heart,
that
would be the best.

“I’ll check on you soon,” he said, pulling the door open.

“I know,” she replied.

He managed to get one more quick kiss before leaving her. He closed the door behind him and felt as if he walked from the sunshine into shadows. She let him go far too easily, and he didn’t beg to stay.

When would he finally have the courage to beg?

 

AND THEN HE WAS GONE WITHOUT FURTHER DISCUSSION. But what had she expected? That he would profess undying love and promise to go against his family and all of society to marry her? No, of course she did not expect that. She didn’t want it.

How happy would she be as the outcast wife of a peer? He lived in a world she couldn’t hope to comprehend; he had duty and responsibility that would only ever draw him further and further away from her. Her father would certainly not be a welcomed guest of the well-connected Lord Rastmoor. His blue-blooded connections would undoubtedly shun her and perhaps shun him as well because of her. And what if there were children? They would be denied the happiness of honor and respect, too.

No, she did not want that. She wanted Rastmoor—she needed him—but not at that cost. Not at the cost of his own happiness.

She had to let him go. Indeed, the sooner the better. She knew him well enough to know that he was not merely using her to pass the time. When all this was over, and his family’s security and that silly treasure were assured again, he would probably see about making their arrangement more stable. He would offer to set her up, to fund her father’s theater, to have a decent and respectable affair with her. The mistress of a gentleman could have a fine life, indeed.

But she would have to watch him marry another. She would see his legitimate children grow up in the happy embrace of society and comfort. She would have to be content to share him with them all.

No, that was something she simply could not do. She needed to make perfectly sure she spent the rest of her life far away from Lord Rastmoor and his damned blue-blooded existence. Like so many unpleasant things in life, the longer she waited to make that happen, the harder it would be to do it.

So what about now? Could she just leave? Surely she was not a prisoner here. At least, she didn’t think she was. She went to the door.

It opened. Of course it did—she had not locked it after Rastmoor left. No, she was not a prisoner. The hallway was empty. Yesterday there had been footmen placed as guards near Fitzgelder’s room. Today there were none. Well, perhaps Fitzgelder was not in his room. Maybe he was off wandering somewhere, looking for trouble. Or maybe Dashford no longer considered Fitzgelder a great enough threat to merit a guard. Either way, there was no one to tell her not to leave her room.

But then footsteps climbing the nearby staircase caught her ear, and she shut her door quickly as if she’d been caught escaping from Newgate. How ridiculous. She cracked it open again, slowly and carefully, just in case. She saw Lindley as he reached the top of the staircase.

He glanced up and down the hallway but didn’t seem to notice that her door was not fully shut. She held her breath and watched. Indeed, Rastmoor had been wise to suspect him. Everything about Lindley said he was up to no good.

Silent as a cat, he moved directly toward the room Fitzgelder had been occupying. Odd: how could Lindley have known that? Clearly, though, he knew what he was doing.

He approached the door and noiselessly knelt before it. With deft determination, he drew something small and metallic from his sleeve. A knife? No, it was too narrow. A key? Perhaps.

Whatever it was, he used it to quietly work the lock on Fitzgelder’s door. She heard the whisper of a click, and then Lindley stood to his full height and casually returned the metal object to his sleeve. He reached for the knob, and it turned easily. The door swung open with an ominous creak.

“What the hell . . . ?” she heard Fitzgelder yell.

“Shut up. It’s me,” Lindley said, stepping inside. “And I believe I have something you might be interested in.”

“Well now,” Fitzgelder’s oily voice replied. “It’s about damn time.”

Then the door was shut tight, and she heard nothing more.

But good heavens, she’d heard enough! Lindley had the locket, and he was giving it to Fitzgelder. Rastmoor was still in danger!

She had to do something. Obviously she couldn’t very well burst in on the two schemers and demand they hand her the locket. No, but she couldn’t very well just sit here and let them get away with it, despite the fact that she’d promised Rastmoor she’d do just that.

But she hadn’t promised that. She’d promised to be careful and not wander around aimlessly. Indeed, she had no intention of being aimless. But she needed a plan!

Papa would know what to do. Of course, she’d go to him. He was probably worried for her, anyway.

Just as quiet and stealthy as Lindley had been, she crept from her room and scurried downstairs. The footmen at the front door nodded as she passed. Indeed, she truly was not a prisoner here. Dashford, hate her though he must, had not instructed them to keep her confined.

Good. She turned and smiled at the footmen.

“Do either of you have any idea where the performers are?” she asked sweetly. “I heard they were enjoying luncheon in the kitchens.”

The footmen very kindly directed her to the kitchens. She thanked them and went on her way. Rastmoor would be pleased—she was not wandering aimlessly at all.

 

 

HIS MOTHER WAS IN HER ROOM. THE MINUTE RASTMOOR entered and caught a glimpse of her there, ramrod straight in her chair as she plucked away at her embroidery, he knew that she knew.

Damn it, but news traveled fast. Then again, he hadn’t exactly hurried here. He should have, though.

“Is this my son?” she asked. Her brittle voice cracked through the air.

“Hello, Mother,” he said.

“Yes, I suppose it’s you.” She managed to take her eyes from her work long enough to study him. “Although I hardly know you these days.”

“Yes, Mother, it’s me. I take it you’re a bit angry with me.”

The embroidery was tossed violently to the ground. “No, I’m furious. You brought that woman here! That whore, that actress, that filthy deceiver—you brought her here and had the nerve to introduce her to us.”

“Mother, you’re overreacting. Julia isn’t—”

“Don’t speak her name! I can’t even think of all the damage this will do to poor Penelope.”

“Good grief. How could this possibly damage Penelope?”

“She was positively friendly with her, a fallen woman like that.”

“I doubt that a few hours’ acquaintance will ruin our Penelope. Besides,” he said, stooping to retrieve the embroidery, “she’ll no doubt be getting to know her much better in the future.”

“You are not threatening to bring her around again, are you?”

“Absolutely not! I’m
promising
it. I fully intend to marry her, Mother, as I should have done three years ago.”

For once his mother was at a loss. She simply stared at him, limp. “You intend to
what
?”

“I’m going to marry her.”

“Why? Has she gotten herself enceinte to snare you? Well, that’s no reason to marry her!”

“I’m going to marry her because I love her, Mother. I should think that is reason enough.”

“Well, it isn’t. Not for a woman like that.”

“Once you get to know her, you’ll understand.”

“I most certainly will not!” She refused to take the embroidery that he tried handing back to her.

In fact, she slapped it from his hand as if anything he’d touched had suddenly become foul and disgusting. She rose to stand facing him. Lord, but he remembered why he’d thought as a child she must be ten feet tall. The woman could be terrifying when her dander was up.

“And I will not remain under the same roof with her,” she said with iron resolve. She marched to the bellpull and tugged it several times. “I’m going to take Penelope and leave this place. It can’t be soon enough.”

A maid appeared almost immediately, which gave him to wonder if she hadn’t been listening from outside the door. Indeed, she probably had been. Surely the servants were aware of the unusual activities around here today. They must be enjoying the intrigue.

“Really now, Mother,” he said, knowing his attempt would be useless, but he ought to at least try. “There’s no need to be rushing off. You don’t even know that it’s safe to go traveling while—”

“I’ll take my chances out on the open highway rather than stay here with the unseemly vermin you bring around,” she sniffed.

She turned her back boldly on Rastmoor and then spoke in a much more affable tone to the curtsying maid. “Please go to Miss Rastmoor’s room and ask her to join me here.”

But the maid seemed almost afraid to answer. “Er, well, my lady . . . er, Miss Rastmoor is not in her room.”

“Oh? Where is she?”

“I believe she went down to the kitchens. With those actors. She, er, was rehearsing a scene with them.”

Rastmoor thought his mother’s head was going to explode. Somehow, though, she kept herself calm and simply turned to give him a look that said more than her words could. “This is your influence,” she hissed at him.

He refused to let her know he could still feel such guilt at her censure after all these years. “I thought I hadn’t been around enough lately to have an influence,” he said with casual disinterest.

“I will deal with this,” she announced, then turned back to the servant. “Take me to the kitchens.”

Oh, Lord.
This was not going to be pretty. Well, it looked like he was making a trip to the Hartwood kitchens.

Oh, drat. Now she
was
roaming aimlessly. Did Dashford intentionally hide his kitchens? Julia grumbled under her breath as she realized she was passing the same laundry room she had already passed twice before. This lowest level of the grand Hartwood estate was a labyrinth.

And oddly enough, there seemed to be no servants around to ask for directions. Well, here was a corridor she had not taken yet. At least, she didn’t think she had.

She turned and followed it some ways. Wait, did she hear laughter up ahead? Yes, indeed, that was laughter. Lots of it! And the smell of food and the waft of heated air. By Jove, she believed she had found the kitchens.

She followed the sounds and the scents and soon came to a set of narrow steps. She followed them up and found herself in a wide corridor with another set of steps at the far end. Ah, but she recognized it from earlier. The footmen had directed her here, but she must have come down and taken a wrong turn, going off into an entirely different section of the house. If she had come down that far stairway and come here, to this end of the corridor, she would have found the kitchens just off to her left.

Well, she’d likely only wasted ten minutes. Obviously the laughter was proof Papa and his troupe were still there, doing what they did best. It would do her good to be reminded of the life she’d loved for so long. Especially since that was the life she would be leading forever.

She crossed the corridor and went through the wide opening toward the sounds of laughter and happiness. Papa certainly knew how to please his audience. He was good at that; always in control of the things around him. He would surely know what to do about that dratted locket.

But she didn’t quite make it into the larger kitchen area. Suddenly a form leapt out from a doorway, and hands grabbed at her, covering her mouth and pulling her into a shadowy alcove. She was entirely caught unawares, and it was a full heartbeat or two before she could think to struggle. By then it was too late.

She felt the cold edge of a knife against her throat.

“Well, well,” that hated voice she now recognized immediately purred in her ear. “You feel pretty damn good for someone who’s been dead for three years.”

She couldn’t see him, but there was no doubt her sudden captor was Fitzgelder. While she was wandering lost, he must have left his room and come down to wait for her. Drat. She glanced around and realized they were in a little storage room. There was another door at the other end that presumably went out to the kitchen areas, but there was little hope of getting there. Fitzgelder held her like a vise.