Royal's Bride (25 page)

“You had no choice,” Dillon said.

“There is always a choice,” muttered Royal.

“What’s done is done,” said Sherry. “At least you needn’t worry about Lily’s reputation. The Caulfields can’t afford for any of this to get out.”

“I suppose that is something,” Royal reluctantly agreed.

“You’ll get through this.” St. Michaels rested a wide hand on Royal’s shoulder. “Life is full of these little ups and downs and somehow we manage to survive them.”

Sherry leaned down and plucked up a note carelessly tossed onto the table in front of the sofa. “What is this?”

“Matilda wants to move up the wedding.” Royal sighed. “I think she’s afraid something else will go wrong.”

“Well, that is good news,” said St. Michaels. “You’ll have your wife’s money sooner rather than later and let’s face it, you need it.”

“Money,” Royal said with disgust. “That’s what it always comes down to. Sometimes I envy the beggars on the street.”

Sherry ignored him. Royal was drunk and in love and the combination was lethal.

He plucked the glass out of his best friend’s hand. Royal didn’t seem to notice. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

When Royal made no reply, just slid down on the sofa, closed his eyes and began to snore softly, Sherry tipped his head toward the door. “Time to go.”

Dillon nodded, glanced down at his rumpled friend. “There is a man I do not envy.”

Sherry grunted. “Remind me never to fall in love.”

Lily stood behind the counter in the Lily Pad. So far today business had been slow and she was grateful. Flora had left at two, working with only a few sideways glances at her employer’s puffy, swollen eyes and wan complexion. At least she hadn’t pursued the matter and asked embarrassing questions.

Lily yawned behind her hand. She hadn’t slept all night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Matilda Caulfield’s cold, hard, accusing eyes.
Once a mongrel, always a mongrel.

The lump returned to Lily’s throat. She had never been truly accepted by the Caulfields, particularly not Matilda. Though she was an earl’s great-granddaughter, the same as Jo, Lily’s branch of the family had been disowned years ago.

She tried not to think of Jocelyn and the blow she had dealt her. So what if Jo had a lover? What Jocelyn did was her own business. Lily lived by a different code of morals, and being intimate with the man her cousin was to marry wasn’t acceptable in any way.

Exhausted and depressed, barely enough energy to make it through the day, she wandered over to a chair behind the counter and sank down wearily. How in heaven’s name had her life spiraled so far out of control?

Morose as she pondered her situation and bone deep in guilt, she started at the sound of a knock at the backdoor. Lily pushed to her feet and forced herself to move on legs that felt leaden. Turning the key in the
lock, she opened the door and looked down to see a ragamuffin boy standing in the alley at the back of the shop.

“Ye said I could come. Did ye mean it?”

It was the urchin, Tommy Cox. Along with his mangy brown-and-white dog. For the first time that day, something brightened inside her. “I meant it. Come in, Tommy.”

Looking at the skinny youth reminded her of the years she had lived a life much like his. She remembered how terrified she had been after her parents died and she had gone to live with her uncle. She remembered how Uncle Jack had taught her to be strong and how, little by little, she had become confident and fearless, and how she had survived those days.

She stood back from the door, allowing Tommy and Mugs to come into the backroom of the shop. “Are you hungry?” He was thin to the point of gaunt. She thought that at the mention of food, his mouth started to water.

“I could use a bite o’ something. Might ye have a scrap for Mugs, too?”

Emotion swelled in her chest. As hungry as he was, he was still concerned for his dog. “I’ll find something for both of you. Stay right here.”

Beneath the dirt, he was a handsome boy, she thought as she hurried up the stairs. If no one helped him, sooner or later he would become a hardened criminal or forced into a life of prostitution. It was fear of the latter that had driven Uncle Jack to find a place for her with her cousin.

Heaping a plate with hard-crusted bread, Gloucester cheese and gingerbread, she returned downstairs. Tommy and Mugs stood exactly where she had left them, close to the door in case they needed to run.

She cleared her sewing off the table and set the platter of food down in front of them. “Go ahead. Help yourself.”

A grimy hand shot out and grabbed a hunk of cheese and a slice of bread. Part went to Tommy, the other to Mugs. In seconds, the food disappeared as if it were never there. Lily would have offered him more, but she was afraid his empty stomach would rebel and he would get sick.

Instead, she poured him a glass of lemonade from the pitcher she kept in the back of the shop. Tommy swigged it down in a couple of hearty swallows.

“Good?” she asked.

The boy just nodded, his cheeks still bulging with the last of the gingerbread. She noticed less of that had gone to Mugs.

“You can stay the night, if you like. I could make us some stew for supper and we could have chocolate and cakes in the morning.”

Tommy’s eyes rounded. “Ye’d make me supper?”

She nodded. Her heart was beating oddly, filled with pity and something more. “And chocolate in the morning, and it’s a lot warmer in here than outside.”

Tommy looked to Mugs for advice. “Whatcha think, boy?”

The dog wagged its tail, making a thumping sound on the wooden floor, which must have been a yes, for Tommy grinned. “All right, we’ll stay.”

Something softened inside her. Perhaps Tommy had been sent to her in answer to her prayers. Here was a child who needed her. And Lily needed him.

“It’s closing time. I’ll just lock up, then make a quick trip to the grocer, see what I can find us to eat.”

Tommy nodded. He smelled awful and so did his mangy dog. But a bath could wait. She wanted the boy to know he was welcome just the way he was. Eventually, if she was lucky, maybe he would come to trust her.

For the first time since Matilda and Jocelyn Caulfield had walked into the shop and found her in Royal’s arms, Lily felt a kernel of gladness begin to grow inside her.

Jonathan Savage rang the bell on the elegant three-story brick house that belonged to Preston Loomis. Loomis’s butler answered, a tall, dignified man with salt-and-pepper hair.

“May I help you?” the butler asked.

“My name is Jonathan Savage. I’m here to see Mr. Loomis.”

“Mr. Loomis is expecting you. If you will please follow me.”

He had sent word ahead, requesting a meeting to discuss the investment Loomis had made. The promise of money had a way of getting a rapid response.

Loomis rose as Jonathan walked into the drawing room, which was expensively furnished and done with exquisite taste. Amazing what one could do with a ducal fortune.

“I hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon.” Loomis strode toward him, an imposing figure with his silver hair and perfectly trimmed mustache.

“We got lucky. The borrowers received the money they were expecting far sooner than they had hoped. Which means they were able to repay the loan in very short order.”

“I see. Would you care for a brandy?”

“I believe I would.”

Loomis walked over to the sideboard and poured a portion of amber liquid into two crystal snifters. Jonathan accepted the glass and took a sip. The brandy was old and expensive, some of the finest he had ever tasted.

“Exquisite.” He held the glass up to the light to assess the rich color. “I salute your taste in brandy, Mr. Loomis.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Loomis smiled, lifting the ends of his mustache. “All it takes is money.”

Jonathan chuckled. Being the third son instead of his father’s heir, most of the wealth he had accumulated had been earned. His shipyard, a failing endeavor he had inherited from his grandfather, had been reorganized into his most profitable concern. Other businesses he had purchased and restructured also made a handsome profit.

Jonathan took a swallow of his brandy, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bank draft for the amount Loomis had invested plus a thirty percent return. For Royal’s sake, he hoped to hell they got the late duke’s money back and all of this wasn’t for naught.

Loomis eyed the bank draft with relish. “You will let me know if you run across another reliable short-term borrower.”

“I will, indeed, though mostly I fund those loans myself.” That was a total lie. He didn’t make exorbitant loans, and though his reputation was as black as sin, he didn’t steal other people’s money.

Jonathan drained his glass and set it down on the polished mahogany table. “It’s been nice doing business with you, Mr. Loomis.”

“You, as well, Mr. Savage.”

Jonathan left the house, climbed aboard his carriage
and instructed his coachman to make a stop at the Duke of Bransford’s town house. From there he was headed to Jermyn Street for a visit with his current mistress.

He had played his role. Everything was set for the final act. He didn’t care a whit for justice. He just wanted his good friend to get his money back.

L
ily didn’t go to the Red Rooster Inn on Wednesday. It was simply too soon to see Royal after the terrible scene in the shop. Instead, Molly Daniels arrived at her door at closing time to fill her in on what had transpired at the meeting.

Flora had already gone home. Tommy and Mugs had left just after breakfast, too skittish to stay very long in one place. But Tommy had promised to return for supper and to spend the night. It was a beginning, Lily hoped. Looking forward to their visit kept her from thinking of Royal and helped ease the pain in her heart.

“I was just closing up,” she said to Molly, glad for the company. “It’s chilly outside. Why don’t you come upstairs and we’ll talk over a cup of tea.”

Molly grinned. “A girl after me own heart.” Her hair was silver again, not the dismal gray, gleaming where it showed beneath her bonnet, and when she smiled, it was clear she had once been a very pretty woman. Nothing at all like the crotchety old biddy she portrayed with such skill.

They climbed the stairs to the tiny flat Lily occupied, and Molly settled herself on the settee in front of the small coal-burning hearth. Lily built up the fire, then went to put the teakettle on to boil. She filled a plate with cakes she had picked up at the bakery, thinking how much Tommy would like them. By the time she had finished, the kettle was singing. She returned with the tea and set the plate of cakes on the table in front of the settee.

“So tell me about the meeting.” Seating herself in the chair across from her guest, she began to pour the tea.

“Well, the duke was there, of course.” Molly accepted the cup and saucer Lily handed her and carefully stirred in a lump of sugar. “Such a handsome man, he is.” She eyed Lily over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. “Though today he seemed a bit out of sorts. I think he was unhappy because you weren’t there.”

Molly Daniels wasn’t a fool and clearly the older woman had sensed the attraction between them.

“The duke is to marry my cousin,” Lily said carefully. “Whatever…friendship…we shared is over.”

“I see.”

A memory arose of the bitter scene downstairs and she felt a burning behind her eyes. Her throat swelled painfully and though she tried to hold back tears, several spilled over onto her cheeks.

Molly handed her a handkerchief she tugged out of her reticule. “It’s all right, dear. Falling in love is nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes it just happens, whether we like it or not.”

Lily blotted the wetness from her cheeks. “I tried not to love him, truly I did. I have no idea how Royal feels about me, but—”

“Why, he loves you, dear heart. Anyone with two good eyes can see that.”

Lily sniffed and blew her nose. She had no true notion of Royal’s feelings, though she couldn’t help hoping Molly was right. “It doesn’t matter how he feels. He has to marry a woman of wealth. He made a vow to his father, and he desperately needs the money. His…his engagement to my cousin is being announced on Saturday night.”

“Oh dear.”

Lily swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “A couple of days ago, Royal came to see me. My cousin and her mother found us together downstairs. I can hardly bear to think of it.” She managed to hold back a sob, but more tears leaked from beneath her lashes. Though she hadn’t meant to, Lily found herself telling Molly Daniels about the awful confrontation in the shop.

“Matilda said I was a mongrel, and she was right.” She pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose. “Even if I were rich, Royal couldn’t marry me—not after the things I’ve done.”

“Now don’t you go talkin’ foolish. You were born a lady. Why, Jack says your grandma was the daughter of an earl. Nothing can change that. You had some bad times, but that was in the past. You’re a lady now, just like you were before.”

Lily looked at Molly through a mist of tears. “Do you really believe that?”

“Course I do. And so does your duke or he wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

Lily made no reply. She might never know the depth of Royal’s feelings, but she was glad she had confided
in Molly. She needed a friend and it looked as if she had found one.

Feeling a little better and wanting to change the subject, she focused on the reason Molly was there. “So what happened at the meeting?”

“Well, things are still going well. Better than well, in fact. Charlie thinks you’ll be hearin’ from Mr. Loomis very soon.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the duke’s friend, Mr. Savage, paid Loomis a visit—a highly profitable visit. Loomis made money—just like Tsaya predicted. By now he’s bound to be convinced she is truly Medela’s kin.” She laughed. “Loomis is a greedy bastard. He’ll be wantin’ to make even more and you’re about to give him what he wants.”

Lily smiled. “You mean you are.”

Molly chuckled. “That I am. Me and Mrs. Crowley, and it’s going to be our pleasure.”

Lily couldn’t help thinking how much she liked this woman and how glad she was her uncle had found her. “So what’s our next move?”

“Nothing till you hear from Loomis. Once you do, you’ll need to set up a meeting. Once it’s done, send word to Jack and me.”

But not to Royal, as she had once promised. Any communication between them was over.

“When Loomis meets with Tsaya,” Molly went on, “she’s to tell him Mrs. Crowley owns a company that manufactures guns and such, and it’s going to make him very rich. Tell him her stock will double in a very short time. Tell him it has something to do with the
Americans and the turbulence going on in their country. Tell him to buy as much as the old woman will sell him.”

Lily sipped her tea, pondering the plan. “The problems in America…that part is true, is it not?”

Molly nodded. “It’s in the newspapers all the time. The north half of the country is afraid there might be a war with the south half over them owning slaves. Could be they’ll want to arm themselves just in case—or at least that’s what Loomis will believe.”

“I see. Loomis will be convinced my prediction will come true because part of it
is
true.”

Molly grinned. “Your uncle said you were a smart girl.”

It was the way a successful con worked. Tell them three truths and then they’d believe the lie.

Molly finished the last of her tea, set the cup down in its saucer and rose from her place on the settee. “Keep in touch, luv. And don’t believe for a minute you aren’t equal to any fine lady in London.”

Lily rose, as well. Leaning over, she gave the older woman a hug. “Thank you, Molly. For everything.”

“Don’t you worry, luv. We’ll stick the bloody bastard good and proper. Your duke will get at least some of his money back.”

But it wouldn’t be enough. And there was the promise Royal had made to his father. They walked together downstairs and out to the cab stand. Lily waited till Molly was able to hail a carriage, then returned upstairs.

As she entered her tiny apartment, she thought of what Molly had said. Even if she was good enough to marry a duke, it wasn’t going to happen.

Lily’s eyes burned. After Saturday night, Royal would belong completely to Jo.

Jocelyn shoved her key into the lock and entered the suite she had rented at the Parkland Hotel. She was nervous. She wasn’t used to the feeling. But Christopher was due any moment and there were important matters she wanted to discuss.

She tossed off her hooded cloak and began to pace the floor, the skirts of her scarlet-trimmed green velvet gown swirling around her feet as she turned. Back and forth, back and forth. She glanced at the clock. Christopher wasn’t late. She had gotten there early.

Her nerves kicked up even more. It was ridiculous. Of course he would be happy at the news. He would be eager, ecstatic. Even if his feelings for her were uncertain, he would want the money.

Unconsciously, she frowned. The notion didn’t sit well, though with Royal it didn’t matter. Their relationship, such as it was, was strictly a matter of business. With Christopher…well, with Christopher it was different. Though she had fought against it, somehow her feelings had gotten involved.

A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Christopher Barclay walked into the suite, looking as handsome and unruffled as he usually did. His dark eyebrows arched up at the sight of her. Clearly, he was surprised to see her there awaiting his arrival since she was perpetually tardy.

“You’re early. Whatever you wanted to talk about must be important. Or are you simply randy for another bout of lusty sex?”

Jocelyn blushed. Christopher never minced words and yet somehow she found his candor refreshing. He
strode toward her, caught her shoulders and hauled her against him. His mouth came down and he kissed her, roughly at first, then more gently, a thorough taking that had Jocelyn swaying against him, eager to feel his skillful hands on her flesh, eager to have him inside her.

Christopher stepped away. “Perhaps we should talk first. Otherwise it might not happen. Why did you ask me to come, Jo? Your note said it was important.”

Jocelyn paced away from him, her nervousness returning. Christopher wasn’t like any other man she knew, and as certain as she was, there was always a chance—

She shook her head, turned and walked back to where he stood. “I’ve decided I am not going to marry the duke.”

Surprised flared in his eyes, then he frowned. “Why not? I thought the arrangements had already been made.”

“They have, but…The truth is, I do not care a whit for Royal Dewar and I am not going to marry him.” She looked up at him, into his handsome, compelling face. “I thought that instead I would marry you.”

Silence. Then a bark of laughter escaped through Christopher’s hard mouth. “Have you lost your mind?”

Her stomach knotted. “I thought…thought you would be happy about it.”

He stared at her for several long moments, then turned and walked over to the window. Jocelyn could hear carriage wheels churning on the cobbled streets below. A newsboy hawked his wares.

Christopher sighed into the thickening silence, turned and walked back to her. “I can’t marry you, Jo. I’m not what you want and never will be. I’d just be one of your lapdogs and that isn’t going to happen. If things were different…If I had money and a title, perhaps…”
His jaw hardened. “The fact is I don’t. I can’t give you a single thing Bransford can. You’d be miserable and so would I.”

Her eyes welled. She couldn’t believe he was turning her down. He had bedded her, made love to her half a dozen different ways. How dare he refuse to marry her!

Fury engulfed her. Anger and humiliation.

Her hand snaked out and connected with his cheek so hard he stumbled backward. “I hate you!” she shouted. “I hate you, Christopher Barclay!”

Whirling away, she raced for the door. Jerking it open, she rushed out of the room without retrieving her cloak. What did she care if someone saw her? She had money enough to silence any wagging tongues. She could buy anyone and anything she wanted.

Tears blurred her vision and she stumbled, caught herself before she fell.

She could buy anyone.

Anyone—except Christopher Barclay.

Lily looked up as the shop door burst open and Dottie Hobbs rushed in, an apron still tied around her thick girth.

“Can’t stay but a minute. Just wanted to give ye this.” She handed a note to Lily. “Loomis came to the house looking for Tsaya. He wants to meet with her tonight. He left this note. Tsaya’s supposed to send word to the address on the note if she agrees.”

Lily opened the note, which asked for a ten o’clock appointment and gave the address for her reply. It was nearly two in the afternoon. “Good grief, he didn’t give us much time.”

She glanced into the room at the rear of the shop.
Seated in a chair, tendrils of carrot-red hair spilling from her mobcap, Flora hummed as she sewed flowers onto the brim of a blue velvet bonnet.

“Flora, I need to run upstairs. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Flora nodded and Lily hurried up to her flat to pen a note from Tsaya agreeing to the meeting. A second note went to Uncle Jack, telling him Loomis had made contact and that she had agreed to a ten o’clock appointment.

She sanded the notes, folded, and sealed them with wax, then headed back downstairs.

“Loomis’s address is on the one you brought,” she told Dottie, handing her the original message along with the ones she had just penned. “See that he gets my reply. The other note goes to Molly and Jack.”

“I’ll see to it meself, miss.”

“Thank you, Dottie.” The woman hurried away.

Flora finished at two and departed, leaving Lily to pace and worry and wish the time would pass more swiftly. Toward the end of the day, a matronly woman walked into the shop, the grocer’s wife, Mrs. Smythe. She commissioned a dress cap of white Belgian lace, perfect to wear, she said, to her grandson’s christening. As soon as Lily finished taking the order, she locked up the shop.

Tommy and Mugs arrived at the backdoor just after dark. Lily was always relieved to see them. She knew what it was like on the streets. She worried about the boy’s safety and prayed he wouldn’t get into trouble.