Lord Lightning (30 page)

“So it’s like that, is it?” the man said, suddenly remembering to tug his forelock respectfully. “Fond of the lady, are you? Well, take no offense, Your Lordship. It was only my little way o’ jokin’, not meaning any disrespect to the lady.”

“See that you remember that,” Edward commanded.

He hoped the hefty bribe would be enough to keep Eliza safe, but he was troubled. He knew what happened to women imprisoned for prostitution. It was essential that he find some way of getting her released immediately. Every hour she spent in custody increased the danger to her. But how to free her?

Appealing to his mother to withdraw the charges would be useless. Clearly she felt it was safe for her to challenge him and until he understood why, he must move carefully. Whatever the explanation, she was far too pleased with the advantage her latest move had given her in their battle to give it up now.
He
might have seen the futility of such game playing, but why should she quit the game, when at last she was ahead? He must find some other way to rescue Eliza.

Mentally he went through the list of his acquaintances, trying to find one who might have enough influence to get her freed, but they were a frippery lot, and besides, it would take more than wealth and titles to free Eliza. Only the Regent had the kind of power that could interfere with the majestic grinding of the law. But Edward had never run in the Regent’s circles and doubted that his name would mean anything to him—unless he was aware of Lord Lightning’s terrible reputation.

There was only one person of his acquaintance who had been a familiar of the Regent: Mrs. Atwater. His heart sank when he remembered the
shameful scene in which he had just compelled her to play a role. Once again his thoughtless playacting had made Eliza’s situation more difficult. He had almost dismissed as worthless the idea of appealing to her, when it occurred to him that though Mrs. Atwater might not wish him well, perhaps he could sway her by making it clear that the favor he asked was not for himself but for Eliza, a woman, after all, whose situation must remind her of her own, and one, moreover, who was a victim of her own protector’s hateful wife.

It was worth a try.

He turned his steps toward the modest street in an unfashionable part of town where Mrs. Atwater had her dwelling and when he reached it, knocked decisively on her door. When she opened it herself, he breathed a sigh of relief. He not been certain she would have agreed to speak to him had he been forced to relay his message to her through a servant.

He suspected he had woken her from slumber. She was dressed in an old-fashioned pink silk wrapper that had clearly seen better days and her graying hair was still braided for sleep. She was blinking, blearily, and her posture told him she wished to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Still, she took his hat and led him into the small parlor whose walls were lined with richly framed faded prints depicting the scenes of her former triumphs.

He quickly explained the situation to her and asked her if she would be willing to use whatever
influence she had with the Regent to ask him to effect Eliza’s release.

A look of annoyance crossed her face. “So your mother has taken away your latest toy, has she? Surely with what I’ve heard of your tastes, Your Lordship, you can easily replace her.”

“What you hear of me is much exaggerated. But she is not my toy, nor could anyone ever replace Eliza in my life. My mother sensed that and chose to strike back at me by harming an innocent woman whose only fault was to have seen good in me where none existed.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that your mother did strike back, nor should you have been. She was never one to leave an insult unavenged. And the insult you offered her was beyond anything. Had I known what you had planned for her that night you bid me to her home, I shouldn’t have gone, no matter how much money you offered me. Truly, Your Lordships I was ashamed to have been part of it.”

“I deserve your reproach. Eliza has opened my eyes to many things, not the least of which is the inexcusability of the way in which I treated you. But she didn’t do it soon enough to save herself from becoming my victim.”

Mrs. Atwater’s eyebrows lifted and he sensed that his words might have gone some way toward winning her over to his cause. “Would you pay me to speak to the Regent for her, too?” she asked.

“If that was what it took to convince you to help her, yes.”

“How much?”

“Name your figure. I will not haggle over it. I must free Eliza.”

She let out a long, slow whistle, “So, you really do care about the girl. More’s the pity for you, for I cannot take your money. It’s been many a year since I’ve run in Prinny’s circle. Why, I doubt he would recognize me now, looking like this.” She gestured ruefully toward her ruined face. “Besides, you of all men should know how little note men of the world take of women like me. After all this time, I doubt he would recall my name, far less wish to hear me ask him for some favor. I’m just a face in the crowd to him, now, I am, whatever I might have once been to him.”

“You won’t even try?”

“And humiliate myself again for your sake? I’m not that hard up, thank God!”

Edward’s shoulders sagged. “Then I must take my leave of you and look for help elsewhere. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my request.”

She went to get his hat. When she returned, she favored him with a long, examining look. “This Eliza of yours
is
more than a passing fancy, isn’t she?”

“Far more. I have asked her to be my wife.”

“Well fancy that! That will get the world atalking. Lord Lightning’s to marry his mistress!”

“No. He will not. She’s turned me down,” he
said quietly. “And I do not expect to be able to change her mind.”

“Yet you still are willing to pay whatever it takes to free her. Why I believe you do care for the girl.”

“I do, though it would have been better for her had I lived up to my reputation for heartlessness. Had I not cared for her, she would not have become my mother’s victim.”

Without handing him his hat, which she still held in her hand, Mrs. Atwater said, “I must think very well of this Eliza of yours, as she seems to have taught you some humility. And for her sake, I must tell you this: I’ve just remembered something quite troubling, Your Lordship. I’ve heard distressing stories about the magistrate.”

“What have you heard?”

Mrs. Atwater’s voice dropped. “Only that he likes to examine the girls privately.”

“Privately?” he repeated.

“Yes. Privately. Late into the night.” She shook her head, making her long gray braids shake. “And after he is done with them quite a few of them are reported as having escaped.”

“You mean he lets them go in return for sexual favors?”

“It’s worse than that. The girls are never seen again. The rumors are that he sells them to a brothel keeper in London who caters to the sort of men who like to hurt women.”

Edward’s stomach clenched. “If this is known, why is nothing done to stop it?”

Mrs. Atwater sighed and smoothed one age-spotted hand over her heart. “They’re fallen women. No one cares a fig what happens to them. And there are powerful men who find such perversions pleasing. They wouldn’t like to see the supply of criminals to the brothel stopped.”

He felt as if ice were forming around his heart. The danger to Eliza was far worse than he had imagined. Could he threaten to expose the magistrate? It was unlikely. He had no proof but the wild assertions of an aging demimondaine. No, his usual theatrics would be no use in this situation.

He turned back to Mrs. Atwater. “My behavior to you has robbed me of any claim on your kindness,” he said. “But I beg of you, for Eliza’s sake, if there is anyone else you know who might be able to effect Eliza’s release, tell me who it might be.”

Mrs. Atwater fixed him with a stern gaze. “There is only one person who can free her, Your Lordship,” she said. “And you must know already who it is—though your pride might keep you from addressing her.”

“And who is that?”

“Lady Hartwood.”

His heart sank. Lady Hartwood. Who hated him. Who had always hated him. Who could not
really
be his mother. But even as the old familiar protest flashed through his mind he realized with a shock that perhaps this, too, was only another game—a game he had played with himself since he was young, because if she really were
his mother, the pain of her rejection would be too great to bear.

Meeting his father’s mistress’s once beautiful blue eyes, their color faded now with age, he said, “You are right. I have no choice but to appeal to Lady Hartwood. But before I do, there is one thing I must know.”

The knuckles on his tightly clenched fist had gone white with strain.

“What is that, Your Lordship?”

“Is she really my mother, or are you?”

Mrs. Atwater’s small hand flew to her mouth in surprise. “Me, your mother? You must be joking.”

“I have never been more serious in my life.”

Mrs. Atwater peered closely at him. “Me, your mother! Whatever put that into your head?”

“I’d always heard my mother had much difficulty birthing James and how the doctors told her she must not bear another child. But James was sickly. So I thought my father had forced my mother to pretend your child was hers to ensure he might have another heir.”

“He never would have done that. Your father was a very proud man. He would have been horrified at the idea of polluting his noble line with the blood of the likes of me. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my poor Charles, though he had no doubt his own blood ran in Charles’s veins. Why as you said, he looks just like him!”

Edward struggled to breathe. “But you were so kind to me when I was small. I used to think it was because you were my real mother—I used to
hope you were.” He fought against the tears that threatened to unman him.

“Well, I’m not your mother, Your Lordship. I was kind to you because you were a sweet little bit of a lad, and because, well, your birth made my life far easier. But you must get over that idea that I am your mother. It is not true. Lady Hartwood is your mother, as much as she might have wished she weren’t.”

“But if I am her child, why has she always hated me?”

“Do you really not know the answer to that?” Mrs. Atwater asked. “I should have thought by now someone would have told you.”

“Told me what?” More fear gripped him at the realization that, as mistaken as he had been, there was still some secret here, even if it was not the one he had expected.

Mrs. Atwater turned away and put down his hat on a chair. When she turned back to face him he saw that she seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion. “If you really don’t know the truth, it’s not my place to tell it to you,” she said at length. “I owe that much to Black Neville. He wouldn’t have wanted it known, and even though he’s been gone these many years, I owe it to him to keep his secret now.”

“Your loyalty does you credit, but it is misplaced. My father wasn’t faithful to you any more than he was to my mother. And why should you owe anything to him, when he wouldn’t acknowledge your son, Charles, who looks just like him?”

The warring emotions flitted across her face. He’d struck a nerve.

“He was a proud man, Black Neville was. But he didn’t abandon Charles, even if he wouldn’t claim him his own. He gave me that necklace for Charles, didn’t he? And when he gave me that necklace, he gave me every penny he had command of. He couldn’t have done more for any son.”

“I always wondered why he gave it to you. James was still alive and he was his heir. I always thought my father did it to pay for your silence because he’d passed off your child as his own, but if that was not the case, why did my father beggar his heir and give everything he had to Charles?”

“James was always sickly. You could see that just by looking at him. It was a wonder he lived long enough to marry that poor girl. Black Neville didn’t think James would live to inherit his title.”

“But James was not his only child,” Edward said softly. “He had me. I was strong and healthy.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Atwater agreed. “He did have you. But he wanted his
real
son to get his money.”

His real son?
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Then, as Mrs. Atwater saw understanding flood into his eyes, her hand flew up to her face in dismay. “Oh I am such a blabbermouth! I meant to keep his secret. He cared so much that no one should ever know.”

“Know what?”

“That your mother had betrayed him with another man. What else could it be?”

What else indeed.

“You can see why I felt fond of you, now, can’t you. Once your mother had fallen pregnant with another man’s brat, he had no more care for her, and I had him all to myself. But I felt sorry for you, poor child, because none of them gave a snap for you, and it wasn’t as if you’d had any say in it.”

Then another realization dawned. “But if I’m not my father’s son, then I’m also not Lord Hartwood!”

“Oh, but you are, for he did acknowledge you. That was part of the bargain he made with your mother. It makes no matter to the law whose swiving did the work when a child is born to a woman joined in lawful matrimony. Not if the father won’t raise a stink about it. And he didn’t, even though he’d been in Paris with me from Michaelmas to New Year’s the year before your birth. You are his son in the eyes of the law and no one can challenge your title.”

“But why didn’t he raise a stink?”

“Pride. What else? He couldn’t bear the shame of going through a divorce, nor could he bear to be exposed in the press as a cuckold, as he would have been had he gone forward. So he agreed to acknowledge you as his son and let your mother remain his wife in the eyes of the world, though he told her were she ever to make another misstep, he would divorce her. He let her know, too, that she could never again utter a word of complaint about anything he did or he would reveal her shame to the world. So she lived with that hanging over her, and I imagine that is what pushed
her to become the way she is now, obsessed with reputation and propriety.”