Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (53 page)

The mention of Mrs. Warren had Carter clenching his teeth against the desire and the guilt. Although he would never admit it, he had been distracted and short tempered since he had left her behind to return to his duties. With each day that passed, Carter remained unsettled and unsatisfied. He knew his expression was often intense, but he hoped it also unreadable. “What of the dead?”

“We cannot move them until this matter is settled,” Pennington said with a bit of regret. He asked Lexford, “Do you suppose we could impose on Lucifer Hill to stand guard over this place until we can execute our searches?”

Lexford laughed softly. “The man has been married for some seven weeks– long enough for Hill to be itching for something other than farm work. He is less than fifty miles removed.”

Carter retrieved his hat and gloves. “As I have the longest ride, I will leave first; if you wish I can send a message to Hill from one of the neighboring villages. Less suspicious than sending one from Dove Dale.”

Godown grumbled, “Lexford and I should return to our homes and make arrangements for Wednesday’s assaults.”

Lexford said what they were all thinking, “The marquis and I have ready wives at home.”

“And you think neither Worthing or I do?” Pennington protested good-naturedly. “Did you hear them, Worthing? I am too old to appreciate Mrs. Pennington’s charms, and you, too, with Lady Eleanor.”

Worthing laughed comfortably. “I am the most insulted. I claim only four years upon Godown and five on Lexford.”

“Be off with you,” Pennington gestured. “Lord Worthing and I can maintain the ruse of country gentlemen enjoying the hunting and cards.”

Godown grabbed his hat. He obviously required no further prodding. “Give Aunt Bel my best,” he said as he caught up his gloves and crop. “I will oversee everything in Staffordshire. And for the record, Pennington, I hope the sun does not scar the image of your enjoying my aunt’s charms into my memory.” Without looking back, he was gone.

Lexford smiled knowingly. “It does me well to observe Godown’s devotion to my wife’s sister.”

Worthing said sagely, “When a man of the marquis’s temperament falls in love, it is with complete abandon.”

Pennington observed, “I believe your statement, Worthing, could apply to each of the Realm. We who serve without notice and often without honor must find pleasure in life’s basics: a man and a woman living with devotion.”

Carter heard the self-satisfaction in each man’s voice. It was all he could do not to saddle his horse and race hell bent after Lucinda Warren. Yet, there were matters still to settle–matters through which Carter meant to
protect her. Somehow, he had to convince his irrational desire that time would not destroy his chance to possess what his comrades knew. “I should take my leave. As I am no one’s senior and have yet to claim a bride, I have business in Devon, which will bring me no notice and less honor, but business of import nonetheless. Gentlemen, until we meet again in London, ride safe.”

“Are you certain you wish to have the acquaintances of the Cottos?” Lord Charleton asked. “You may leave this matter in my hands. I will act honorably on the boy’s behalf.”

Lucinda squeezed the back of the earl’s hand. They had decided to leave Charleton’s driver, Mr. Higgins, with Simon until after their meeting. Worrying for Simon’s state of mind, Lucinda had argued, “What if the Cottos are frauds: I would not have Simon’s hopes dashed.”

“I hold no doubts you would serve Simon well,” she said kindly. “However, my curiosity must know satisfaction.”

Her uncle smiled easily. “Your mother often spoke fondly of your insatiable inquisitiveness.” He motioned a waiting servant forward. “Please send in Mr. Cohen and his guests.”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

Within minutes, Mr. Cohen escorted a man and woman of some fifty years into the room. “Lord Charleton.” He led the couple into a proper bow. Lucinda noted his surreptitious glance in her direction. Obviously, Cohen possessed no idea of her real identity.

Her uncle rose casually to gesture to the other three chairs about the table. “I assume you are Mr. Cohen,” he said with his customary patrician air.

“I am, Your Lordship.” A second glance in Lucinda’s direction spoke of Cohen’s interest.

Charleton said, “I believe you hold a prior acquaintance with my niece.”

Cohen’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “Ours was but a brief acquaintance, my Lord, not of long enough duration to hold knowledge of the lady’s name,” he said judiciously.

“Mrs. Warren,” she murmured.

A look of complete understanding crossed Cohen’s countenance, and Lucinda was pleased not to answer additional questions.

“And your guests?” the earl prompted.

Cohen responded politely, “Your Lordship. Mrs. Warren. May I present Mr. and Mrs. Cotto? Solomon and Reina. The Cottos believe they hold information of the boy you brought to my attention.”

A second time, Charleton indicated the chairs where Cohen and the Cottos should sit. “Please. We have business of import.” When they were seated, her uncle continued, “First, Mr. Cohen, would you explain how Mr. and Mrs. Cotto came to your attention?”

Cohen nodded his head in compliance. “Although Mr. Patrick provided only basic information, our sect has in place a means to communicate with others of our race. Whereas, you have more than a million possibilities, our presence in England is not so prominent–a mere eight thousand.” He smiled with what appeared to be satisfaction. “With the assistance of our rabbis, we possess a means to contact any of our race.”

He continued, “Those of our like in the organized provincial centers affiliate themselves at the outset with one of the London conventiclers, generally the Great Synagogue, where the bulk of our race attend upon the solemn occasions. The Cottos have most recently come to worship in Portsmouth, and although many from Portsmouth affiliate themselves to London’s Hambro Synagogue, the spiritual head of the Great Synagogue is the High Priest throughout England.”

As Lucinda looked on, Charleton turned to those who would place a claim on Simon. “May I ask of your reason for choosing Portsmouth, Mr. Cotto?”

The man, who reminded Lucinda of the “Rag” men, she had once observed at Rosemary Lane, near the Tower of London, sat perfectly straight. “First, Your Lordship, please excuse my English,” he said with a thick accent. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “I read your tongue with more efficiency than I speak it.” Charleton nodded his head aristocratically, and Cotto continued. “I do not possess the learning of Mr. Cohen and many of my countrymen. I am a simple man from a small Spanish village in the Soria Province. My wife and I traveled to England some ten months prior, but as it was in my homeland, work has been difficult to find. We have journeyed across England, but I have known no success.”

“And what is your occupation?” Lucinda asked when no one else spoke. She did not wish to place Simon with a family who could not support the boy. Simon had thrived over the last month with no more bare meals.

“In Spain, I trained the horses for Vizcendo de Ariba, a man of high rank who met his end at Salamanca. De Ariba prided himself on owning the finest line in the province.”

Lucinda knew little of thoroughbreds–had only even considered their value to the aristocracy after having the acquaintance of the Hellsmans. Lady Arabella had explained how men saw their horses as an extension of their personalities. An aristocrat setting astride his thoroughbred declared to the world his lineage equaled that of the animal. She could understand how a man accustomed to training such animals could find work scarce as the animals themselves, especially if the man was a Jew. Unfortunately, Cotto’s explanation did not ease Lucinda’s qualms.

“Would you please explain how you believe you hold a connection to the boy my niece has made her ward?” Charleton’s expression showed none of the emotions Lucinda’s did.

“Many years prior, during the war that raked our homeland raw, our daughter,” Cotto gestured to his wife, “met an English lieutenant. When she brought the man home for our approval, neither her mother or I could accept Sadia’s choice.”

“Because the gentleman was an English military officer?” Lucinda asked indignantly. Why she felt any allegiance to Matthew Warren, she could not explain. Perhaps it was the fact Lucinda had never considered the possibility others would object to an English gentleman.

“No, Ma’am,” Cotto explained. “The man…” Cotto paused awkwardly. “I mean no offense, Ma’am. From your introduction, I recognize you possessed a connection to my daughter’s husband, and you hold an allegiance to the man.” He glanced at her significantly. “Our objections are difficult of which to speak. The man Sadia chose was of Judaeo German extraction. Matthew Warren held Ashkenazim origins.”

Lucinda’s lips trembled. She struggled to hide how much pain coursed through her chest. She had come to accept Captain Warren’s betrayal as being the man’s great love for another woman, but this was another layer of deceit. She had the acquaintance of Matthew Warren her entire life, but she had never really known the man to which she had been betrothed.

Her uncle captured her hand, and Lucinda concentrated on his features. They were nothing like her father’s. The colonel would have been fuming by now, but the earl had schooled his expression to one of sensibility. “You mean to tell us the Warrens are of Jewish descent? How is that possible? I know from both my brother’s words and those of his wife the Warrens regularly attended services at the Church of England. My, God man! My niece and Matthew Warren spoke their vows before the clergy of the church.”

“Long after he, obviously, spoke his vows to our daughter before a rabbi,” Cotto declared.

Lucinda found her voice. “If you objected to your daughter’s marriage, how did it come to pass?”

Cotto’s eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned to a tight line. “Lieutenant Warren held no honor. He claimed my daughter before vows were spoken.” The man’s words ripped at Lucinda’s composure. Once again, she despised her husband for denying her the intimacies of the marriage bed. If it were not so unladylike, Lucinda would spit upon Matthew’s name. “When a woman anticipates her marriage no good can come of her joining,” Cotto declared into the silence. “I said as much to Sadia, but my warning knew deaf ears. My beautiful daughter lost the child she carried only weeks after speaking her commitment.”

The man’s words made little sense. “Simon is but…”

“Six years of age,” Cotto finished Lucinda’s protestation. “The first child was a daughter.”

Lucinda had trusted Matthew Warren unconditionally. She had bought into the fairy tale, and now all her walls had crumbled to dust.

Charleton empathized, “It is difficult to permit a child her mistakes and not wish to rush in.”

Cotto closed his eyes, and Lucinda noted the pain and disillusionment, which crossed his countenance. She had observed like emotions in her mirror’s reflection. “Mr. Warren took our Sadia away on the day of their joining, and Mrs. Cotto has known no peace since that eventful day. We received but a half dozen letters from Sadia in those intervening years. One explaining the untimely death of her daughter. Another holding news of her second child. A third announcing Simon’s arrival. Another speaking of Captain Warren’s demise. A fifth pleading for our assistance when our Sadia took ill. A final one from a physician explaining Sadia’s passing. We knew nothing of the lieutenant’s
abandonment or of the Englishman’s dual life. It makes me sad to think our daughter accepted Lieutenant Warren’s unfaithfulness.”

Although she thought it impossible, Lucinda felt pity for Sadia Warren. The woman’s parents had turned their backs on their only child. She could hear the bitterness in the earl’s tone when he asked, “You did not rush to your daughter’s side when you discovered Captain Warren’s desertion?” She knew Charleton had searched for her after the colonel’s death, and he had welcomed her despite Lucinda’s many faults. It was a sobering reality.

Mrs. Cotto shot a furtive glance at her husband. “Sadia’s choice was not in keeping with our faith,” she said softly. “But we did send for the child after learning of Sadia’s passing.”

Apprehension riddled Lucinda’s question. “You have never set eyes on the boy?”

“No, Ma’am.” Mrs. Cotto wiped her eyes with a small handkerchief.

Another long, uncomfortable pause followed. “Yet, you had sought the boy?” Lucinda searched for a flicker of hope in the Cottos’ tale.

“We were too late,” Cotto admitted without emotion. “Sadia had sent the child away, leaving no record of where he might be. However, our daughter did leave an account of her husband’s activities. Neither Sadia or Mr. Warren acted honorably, as such, we feared retribution and fled our home.” Lucinda noted Mr. Cotto’s expression of anticipation. The man thought his tale would spark the earl’s interest. Little did Cotto realize the earl would never pay to hush information, which would soon become public record.

The Cottos had protected their reputations, but did nothing to shield their daughter or Simon. Lucinda’s heart felt caught in Sadia Warren’s fierce bleakness. Evidently, Matthew had spoken kindly of Lucinda to his legal wife, and Sadia Warren had chosen a complete stranger rather than permit her parents access to Simon.