Silk and Shadows (15 page)

"Is Miss Crane still alive?"

"No, she died in her sleep one night. After she was gone, Pap sold me. I think maybe it was her that stopped him from doing it sooner. He was sort of scared of her.''

The lawyer shook his head, bemused. "Once I thought that my life was a hard one, but I see that I didn't know what I was talking about. While you are my guest, use the library whenever you like." As she struggled to suppress a yawn, he added, "Time for bed, Miss Miller. Come along now."

Her eyes narrowed. Even though Peregrine—fancy him being a prince!—had said Mr. Slade wouldn't try to bull her, it sounded suspiciously like he expected her to warm his bed.

Uncannily, he guessed what was in her mind. "You'll sleep alone, tonight and every other night. From now on, you're Miss Miller, a respectable young cousin of mine who has fallen on hard times, and is staying with me until a situation can be found."

He hesitated a moment, then sat at his desk and pulled a strongbox out of a lower drawer. After unlocking it, he took out several bills before putting it away. Jenny's eyes widened when he handed her the money. It was twenty whole pounds, enough to live on for months. Confused, she looked up at him. "If you don't want me to sleep with you, why are you giving me money?"

"So you won't feel trapped here," he said. His gray eyes were so kind that she wanted to cry again. "I hope you won't run away, both for your own sake and in case we need you to build a case against the man you called 'Master,' but I want you to know that you're not a prisoner."

Her gaze went to the drawer where he'd put the strongbox. "Aren't you afraid that I might run away with your money now that I know where it is?"

He raised his brows. "Should I be afraid?"

She swallowed hard, then shook her head. Quickly she bent over to slip the bills into her small bundle, not wanting him to see her face. She didn't know why he trusted her, but since he did, she'd die rather than take a coal from one of his scuttles.

As she picked her bundle up and followed her host upstairs, she marveled at what a strange night it had been. First Prince Peregrine and now Mr. Slade; she hadn't known men could be so nice. But then, she supposed, the nice ones didn't go in for ravishing little girls, so she'd never had the chance to meet any.

In his way, Mr. Slade was even more surprising than the prince. Peregrine was one-of-a-kind, anyone could see that right away, but because she'd known from the first that he didn't want her, it wasn't a surprise that he'd kept his hands—and other things—to himself.

But Mr. Slade did want her, she'd seen that straight off. Even so, he hadn't tried anything. And he even gave her money so she could leave if she wanted to! Amazing. He wasn't the sort anyone would notice at first, or even second, glance, but there was a lot more to the bloke than she'd thought.

Her room was clean and pleasant, and looked like it hadn't been used much. It could hardly have been more different from the whorehouse red room she'd lived in for years, and she liked it straight away. So tired from the aftereffect of nerves that her hands were clumsy, Jenny washed up and put on a shift to sleep in. As she slid between the cool sheets, she told herself that she'd be damned if she'd ever again wear one of those ruffly baby girl nightgowns—she hadn't even brought one with her.

Even though she was exhausted, she didn't let herself go to sleep right away. Very deliberately, she thought back over her years in the whorehouse, from the one time she really was a virgin and the man who called himself "the Master" had raped her, right up until earlier tonight, when she'd been terrified that the fat sot wouldn't leave, and she wouldn't be ready if Peregrine really did come back for her. But he had come, and her old life was over now.
Over
.

She'd never forget, no, nor forgive those who'd abused her, but she wasn't going to turn into a self-pitying slut, either. For some reason, she'd gotten lucky. She wasn't going to waste it.

The next day, Sir Charles Weldon received a terse note from Mrs. Kent, informing him that his favorite and most profitable whore had run away. He swore viciously and crumpled the message, then burned it. He'd made a fortune off Jenny Miller, and had always enjoyed her himself. She was a good little actress, and in spite of all the men she'd serviced over the years, she had a quality of innocence that had never failed to arouse him.

Probably the little slut had persuaded a customer to make her his mistress, and she was gone for good. His fingers blackened as he crumbled the ashes of the burned note. If he ever came across Jenny Miller again, he'd make her rue the day she had decided to run away from him. And he would enjoy every moment of her punishment.

Miss Eliza Weldon tossed a handful of shredded bread into the water, then laughed in delight as a dozen ducks and one swan hurled themselves raucously forward to grab a share.

Sara laughed along with her. After a splendid session of shopping and eating ices, she and her future stepdaughter had decided to visit Hyde Park to enjoy the afternoon sun. When Sara learned that Eliza had never had the pleasure of feeding ducks, they had stopped to buy bread at a shop. Throwing fragments from her own chunk of bread to the squawking, evergrowing flock, Sara said, "There is something very satisfying about feeding ducks."

"I think it is because they are so enthusiastic. It makes one feel wanted." Eliza's cheeks were rosy and wisps of flaxen hair curled charmingly from beneath her bonnet as she gave Sara a shy sideways glance. "I'm glad that you and Papa will be married so soon. I can hardly wait to move in with you."

Since her mother died, Eliza had lived with the family of Charles's older brother, Lord Batsford. Sara had thought that the arrangement was an agreeable one, but perhaps there were hidden problems. "Are you unhappy living with your aunt and uncle?"

"Oh, no," Eliza said, surprised at the suggestion. "They treat me just like one of their own. I'll miss them when I leave  but I want so much to live with Papa." Her blue eyes were wistful. "I've never understood why he wouldn't keep me after Mama died. Sometimes I've wondered if he was ashamed of me."

"Of course not!" Shocked, Sara put her arm around the girl's shoulders. "What gave you an idea like that?"

"He's so handsome and clever and important." Head down, Eliza carefully ripped off more bread and tossed it to the ducks. "There's nothing special about me. I'm just a girl."

"You think that your father would have preferred a son?"

"Isn't that what all men want?" Eliza said with a show of nonchalance, as if only one answer was possible.

Sara frowned. No doubt the girl had once overheard adults lamenting the fact that Charles's wife had not borne him a son, and had been agonizing over the casual words ever since. "Back in the days when a man's land had to be defended by the sword, sons were very useful, but now it doesn't matter so much. My father once said that it would have been nice if he'd had a son to inherit the title, but only if the son was in addition to me, not
instead
of me. I know your father feels the same way."

Eliza looked up, wanting to believe. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Sara said reassuringly. "Your father has told me how much he is looking forward to having you again. But he's a very busy man, and he knew that after your mother died, you'd be lonely. That's why he agreed when your uncle offered to take you in. He thought you'd be happier with the company of your aunt and your cousins."

"Sometimes there is too much of it!" Eliza remarked, her face brighter. "There are six of them, and only one of me."

"But you'll miss them after you've moved. It's lucky that you aren't going far." Sara caught the girl's gaze with her own. "Never forget that your father loves you very much—more  than he does me or anyone else."

Eliza's first expression of happiness was replaced by anxiety. "If that's true, do you mind dreadfully?"

"Not at all. Love isn't a competition, nor is it like a pot of tea, with only a certain amount to give away before it's all gone. Men love their wives and children in different ways. Perhaps love for a child is stronger because the child is part of you." Sara chuckled. "I sound like such an authority, don't I? Rather silly when I've never had either child or husband."

Eliza wrapped her arms around Sara's waist in a quick hug. "But soon you'll have both."

"Yes, and I'm so lucky to start with a grown daughter. If I have a baby, it will be years before we can go shopping together!"

They were both laughing when a deep voice said, "Are these private ducks, or can I ask for an introduction?"

Turning from the water in unison, the two females discovered Peregrine dismounting from the mist gray stallion he had bought at Tattersall's. He had been riding along Rotten Row, which at this point was only a few yards from the little lake. Though today he was in proper riding gear, he had disdained a hat and his wind-tousled black hair gave him a rakish air. Definitely a sight to warm the heart of any female. Certainly Sara's heart—or something in that vicinity—warmed at the sight.

With a sigh of delight, Eliza sank into a curtsy deep enough to honor the queen herself. It was an even better curtsy than the first time she had met the prince; Sara suspected that the girl had been practicing. Not that Sara could fault Eliza's judgment, because Peregrine looked more worthy of royal honors than any member of the House of Hanover ever had.

"These are public ducks," Sara replied with a smile. "They're a disorderly lot, so you'll have to introduce yourself to them. They've no respect for rank."

"Ducks are nature's own democrats," the prince agreed. "Miss Weldon, did you know that it is possible to lure ducks onto land by laying a trail of bread from the water?"

"Really?" Eliza immediately began coaxing ashore the braver—or greedier—waterfowl. Soon she was leading a waddling entourage down the bank of the Serpentine.

"Well done, Your Highness." Sara stroked the velvety muzzle of his horse. "With Eliza surrounded by quacking ducks, you and I can converse in perfect privacy if you wish.''

"What a devious mind you have, Lady Sara," he said, giving her a wounded look. "Do you think I am always so scandalous that I must enlist ducks to protect the tender ears of innocence?"

Sara was fascinated by the way frivolity overlaid the prince's natural intensity. He had the dashing corsair appearance of a Byronic hero, yet he could tease about ducks. "I expect that when you want something, you will use whatever comes to hand, even greedy water birds."