The Unforgettable Hero (8 page)

Lucy tugged at her collar. “I’ll explain … later.”

Maggie glanced out the window. The girl watched them for a moment with a completely bewildered expression. She stood on tiptoes staring into the shop before glancing down at the card and then blending back into the crowd.

Maggie took a deep breath and turned back to Lucy. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, Lucy. I must know the truth immediately.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Adam jogged up the steps to Derek’s town house. He’d just spent an interesting hour with a neighbor. Mr. Cornwall lived around the corner. Earlier, when Adam had been reading the manuscript, it had hit him. Mr. Cornwall was a publisher. Perhaps Maggie—or Cecelia—had been visiting the older man. It still didn’t explain how or why—or even if—anyone had been trying to hurt her, but it was the only clue Adam had. Thankfully, his guess had paid off.

Mr. Cornwall’s butler, a man whose eyes were half closed, had ushered Adam into the study, where Adam had explained the situation. Mr. Cornwall had admitted to Adam that yes, indeed, he was familiar with the work. He’d seen it and apparently rejected it. It wasn’t profitable enough for him. Though he insisted he wished to hell it was.

“Quite a talented author. Quite,” Mr. Cornwall had insisted.

“Do you remember the young woman’s name?” Adam asked, sitting on the edge of the large leather seat in front of the man’s desk. He’d scoured the manuscript but hadn’t found the author’s name.

The older man had stroked his chin and hemmed and hawed before ringing a small brass bell that sat on the end of the desk.

A short man with spectacles materialized from the next room clutching a leather-bound volume. “Yes, sir?” he said in a nasally pitch.

Mr. Cornwall cleared his throat. “What was the name of the young lady I met with two days ago, Marshall?”

Two days ago? The timing piqued Adam’s interest. Maggie might well have been returning from the appointment when she’d been struck by the carriage. Marshall’s nose twitched incessantly as he thumbed through the leather-bound book that was, apparently, his employer’s appointment book. Finally, he stuck a wobbly finger in the air. “Here it is. A Miss Harcourt, sir.”

“Ah, yes, Harcourt.” Mr. Cornwall nodded. “That’s it.”

“Was her Christian name Cecelia?” Adam asked, nearly holding his breath.

Mr. Cornwall’s eyes narrowed briefly before they lit with recognition. “Yes. Yes, now that you mention it, I believe it was.”

Adam exhaled, letting his forehead drop into the hand that rested on the desktop. “Thank you, Mr. Cornwall.” He stood to leave. “You don’t happen to recall any more about her situation or her family, do you?”

Mr. Cornwall tapped his quill against his ledger. “It seems to me she mentioned a sister. But that’s all that I recall.”

“This might sound odd, but did she tell you that she was in danger?”

Mr. Cornwall frowned. “Danger? No. Nothing of the sort.”

Adam bowed to the older man. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a great help.” He turned to go.

Mr. Cornwall’s voice stopped him. “You know, I’ve had my doubts since I turned her down. The manuscript was quite good. At least the amount I read.” The publisher sighed. “I wish I had the money to invest in projects like Miss Harcourt’s. I daresay I might make a go of it, but I’m far too old to be taking such risks. Though I will say the young woman made plenty of reasonably arguments for why it might be a sound business investment.” He chuckled.

Adam nodded and took his leave. He spent the walk back to Derek’s house contemplating Cecelia’s situation. For it was surely Cecelia Harcourt, aspiring author of romantic novels, whom he’d been keeping company with these last two days and not Lady Magnolia Makepeace, heroine of said novel. Cecelia’s speech and mannerisms smacked of being born into the
ton,
yet she was not a lady but a miss. And apparently a miss who was willing to or in need of working for an income if her family allowed her to write and attempt to sell her writing. The name Harcourt was not familiar to him, however. Perhaps Lucy would recognize it.

He tried to imagine Maggie meeting with Mr. Cornwall, attempting to sell him her book, and arguing with him when he refused her. Was it that important to her? And why? Why would a lady of the
ton
be trying to sell a novel to a publisher to begin with? It was quite unheard of. Was it for the same reason that she might be in danger? And if so, what was that reason?

He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to re-create the moment he’d met her in his memory. She would have been dejected that day when she’d been hit by the coach. Dejected and possibly distracted. She hadn’t been attempting to hurt herself, had she? Adam swore under his breath. He couldn’t bear to consider that possibility.

He pushed open the front door of the town house and marched into the blue drawing room where Lucy could usually be found at this time of day. Thankfully today was no exception, and (also thankfully) she was not receiving callers. His sister-in-law was sitting on the settee, the pages of Cecelia’s novel scattered around. She glanced up guiltily when Adam strode in.

“Lucy? Have you been—Are you crying?” He’d never seen strong, capable Lucy cry.

Lucy pulled a handkerchief from her décolletage and pressed it to her eyes. “I can’t help it,” she sniffed. “It’s just so beautiful.”

“What is?”

“The story,
Lady Magnolia and the Duke.
I adore it. I was up half the night reading it and just now finished when I came back from shopping. You must admit that it’s absolutely fascinating that the poor girl thinks she’s a heroine from a novel.”

Adam strode over to the settee and pushed some of the pages aside to make a space to sit. “Lucy, listen to me. I think I’ve discovered who she is.”

Lucy nodded vigorously. “Me too.”

“Cecelia Harcourt,” they both said in unison, then looked at each other with wide eyes.

“How did you know?” Lucy burst out, still clutching her handkerchief.

“I had a guess and went to visit Mr. Cornwall around the corner. She met with him two days ago. How did
you
know?”

“We went shopping and encountered her sister on Bond Street. When I returned home, Hughes informed me that her sister had been here earlier this morning and was looking for her.”

Adam’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull. “How did her sister know she was here?”

“I don’t know. I gave her my card and asked her to meet us here at two o’clock but at the time I had no idea she’d already been here. We didn’t have much of a chance to speak.”

“Did Cecelia recognize her?”

Lucy laid a hand atop the manuscript and sighed. “Unfortunately no, but I asked her for their family name and managed to convince the poor distraught girl to pay us a call this afternoon. I’ve sent for Dr. Archibald. I’m hoping once the sisters sit down and speak it may trigger Cecelia’s memory. I do recognize the name Harcourt, by the by. I wonder if Viscount Harewood is her uncle. I seem to remember his brother and his wife being killed in a carriage accident not long ago.”

Adam swallowed. Was that Cecelia? The niece of a viscount? An orphan? But if her uncle was a viscount, why did she need money desperately enough to try to sell a romantic novel? “Has the family fallen on hard times?”

“I doubt the viscount has,” Lucy replied. “But one never knows. The brother who died was the youngest if I remember correctly. I’ve no idea what his income may have been. But I do believe there might have been a strain in the family, too. Perhaps her Lord Harewood isn’t caring for her.”

Adam crossed over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “Did you try to tell Cecelia her name?”

“Yes.” Lucy sighed again. “Nothing. She’s worried, Adam. She’s frightened. She knows her mother isn’t sick. She insisted I tell her the truth. I did my best to keep her calm and not upset her any further, but she suspects something.” Lucy dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief again. “I don’t know what we’ll do if her sister can’t spark her memory.” She smiled. “Have a permanent houseguest, I suppose.” Lucy laughed. “Or perhaps you’ll just have to marry her, Adam.”

Adam clenched his jaw. He couldn’t marry her. Not now. Not ever. Especially not if she was the niece of a viscount. He might have standing in Society being the brother of a duke, but it wasn’t an old, established title. And the youngest brother of a duke wasn’t exactly the preferred match a viscount might relish for his niece. If her uncle was Lord Harewood, Adam doubted he’d want his niece to become Mrs. Secretary at the Home Office. But the real reason Adam couldn’t marry Cecelia, the reason he shouldn’t have ever even touched her, was that he didn’t deserve her. She’d been at his mercy, not knowing who she was. And like a complete louse, he’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed it more than he should, certainly, this poor girl’s misfortune. Enjoyed pretending to be a duke for two days, enjoyed how she’d made him feel special. How she’d made him feel wanted. Of course it hadn’t been
him
she’d wanted. He’d always known that. It had been who she thought he was, a hero in a novel. A mythical duke. Not a real man. Not him. Not Adam Hunt. Not ever. But it didn’t change that fact that he’d been an utter ass to have enjoyed pretending, if only for two days.

Adam tugged at his cravat. A knock sounded on the door, and both he and Lucy turned their heads. Cecelia’s face appeared in the opening. Her hair was up, and she wore a fetching pale-green gown. Adam immediately stood. He couldn’t help his smile. He’d come to look forward to seeing her. How could he feel that way after a span of only two days? His chest ached. He’d actually miss her when she was gone. Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever. He glanced at her again. He couldn’t help but remember their kiss. His breeches tightened. Perhaps Cecelia remembered it, too, because she blushed beautifully and averted her gaze.

“Yes, dear?” Lucy called to her. “What is it?”

Cecelia entered the room and stood nervously shifting from one foot to the other, the fingers of one hand encircling the opposite wrist. “Lucy?” she ventured. “I think I remember.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maggie wanted Peter to be in the room when she admitted that she remembered the girl in the street from this morning, but the butler came in directly behind her.

“Dr. Archibald has arrived,” the butler announced.

Peter nearly sprang toward the door. “I’ll go see him settled.”

Maggie gave him a tentative smile before he brushed past her leaving the room, the butler following close behind. Peter’s presence was a comfort to her, she realized. That’s why she had wanted him to stay.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Lucy pushed aside a large sheaf of papers she’d been sitting amid and patted a space next to her on the settee. Maggie drifted over and took a seat. She gestured to the papers. “What is all of this?”

Lucy gathered the pages near her and set them on the table in front of her. “It’s not important now. Tell me, what do you remember?”

Maggie took a deep breath. “The girl, from Bond Street. She was familiar to me. I’m sure of it. I’ve met her before.”

The hopeful look on Lucy’s face faded. “I see. I—”

Another knock on the door interrupted them as the butler reappeared. “Dr. Archibald and Mr. Hunt wish to see you in the next room, Your Grace, er, my lady.”

Maggie shook her head. The butler had been getting people’s names confused since she’d come here. Maggie frowned and turned her attention back to Lucy. “Who is Mr. Hunt?”

Lucy patted her coiffure. Her multicolored eyes darted back and forth. “Excuse me for a moment, won’t you, dear?” She, too, stood and hurried from the room.

*   *   *

Dr. Archibald was pacing in front of the windows in the next room when Lucy entered. Adam had explained everything they knew to him, and the older man seemed at a loss.

“This is a pickle,” the doctor announced, rubbing a knuckle across one bony cheek.

“What do you suggest, Doctor?” Lucy came to stand next to the two men.

Hughes reappeared. “A Miss Mary Harcourt is here to see you, Your Grace.”

Lucy nodded. “That’s Cecelia’s sister,” she told the doctor. “Show her in here, please,” she said to Hughes.

“Yes,” Dr. Archibald replied. “I must speak with this young woman immediately.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lucy had explained the entire situation to a wide-eyed Miss Mary Harcourt, who looked to be no more than twelve or thirteen and had a nasty cough. To make matters worse, the poor girl had brought no maid with her. Adam shook his head. The sisters’ circumstances were probably much more dire than he’d first believed, despite being the nieces of a viscount, a point that Adam quickly clarified with Mary.

“Yes, Viscount Harewood is our father’s eldest brother,” she said, her pale face blank.

It would have been beyond rude, of course, to ask after their financials, but Adam did ask one more thing. “And your parents? They died in a carriage accident?”

“Yes,” the girl replied without shedding a tear. She was obviously a brave little thing. She continued to fight her cough. “Two years ago. I miss them terribly. So does Cece.”

“Cece?” Adam replied.

“That’s what I call Cecelia,” the girl answered with a tentative smile. “Please tell me she’s all right.”

“How did you know she was here?” Adam asked.

“A family friend told me, Miss Redding. She came to call this morning and said she thought she’d seen Cecelia at a ball last night. She said Cecelia didn’t seem to recognize her. She told me Cecelia had been with a man named Hunt. The duke’s brother.”

“Yes, she was with me,” Adam admitted.

“I came here as soon as I could find someone who knew the duke’s address. Your butler informed me that Her Grace had taken a young woman named Maggie to shop on Bond Street and that they might be going to Madame Bissette’s hat shop. I went there immediately and that’s when I found Cecelia with Her Grace.”

“You may call me Lucy.” Lucy smiled at the girl.

Adam studied the girl carefully. Despite the difference in their coloring, she definitely resembled Maggie—no, Cecelia. He was impressed with the girl’s tenacity. Perhaps
she
should be a spy. “Well done, Miss Harcourt,” he said. The girl beamed at him.