The Fairest of Them All (10 page)

Chapter Ten

J
ack had envisioned surprising the audacious Lady Charlene. He had hoped coming out of the shadows would frighten her, therefore scaring the truth out of her before he decided whether he should help his brother win her or warn him off. Jack wasn't aware of all her sins but he knew the criminal element when he saw it. The lads she'd been with were bad news.

What he had not expected was for her to break down weeping, and he had absolutely no idea of what to do. He'd never been good with female tears. He avoided them as much as possible.

She stood on the street, dressed like a young buck, her head bowed, and sobbed. The sounds grew stronger with each passing second until she was hiccupping.

Worse, she was gaining the attention of passers­by.

Jack tried to quiet her. “My lady—­” he started, and then realized he did not want to give away her sex. Not with a band of unruly sailors standing by a public house's door, tossing back one ale after another.

“
Laddie
,” he amended lamely. “Now, laddie.”

His words caused her to cry louder. It was as if once started, she didn't want to stop.

The sailors now craned their necks, ­elbowing each other to look in Jack's direction. One yelled something that Jack did not want to hear. ­Strangers passing began to slow their steps. Crude and knowing glances were sent their way.

“Come, let's leave here,” he ordered, putting a sheltering arm around her shoulder, and then ­realizing his mistake.

The men of the sea were on it immediately. Catcalls and hoots were sent up.

Jack immediately dropped his arm and instead picked her up by the scruff of the neck, using his other hand to keep her hat on her head.

“Come,” he ordered, anxious to escape the scrutiny of the street, and marched her around the corner.

This street was quieter than the other. There was a small tavern close at hand and he directed her in there. She was down to sniveling now, her eyes and nose red.

Considering what a stunning beauty she was normally, Jack rather liked the fact that crying brought her down a notch, humanizing her.

The tavern was very dark, which was perfect for Jack's purposes. The front room was crowded with patrons but, taking her sleeve, he pulled her through them and found tables in a back room. No one was there so he went to the farthest corner and plopped her down, bouncing his hand on her hat to make certain it stayed there.

He looked for a tavern maid. She'd caught sight of him coming in and hurried over. “Ale,” Jack said. He threw some coins down on the table.

“Two?” she questioned.

“No, an ale, and a cider,” he decided, not knowing what ladyish drink to order. Cider should do. Lady Charlene was calming down but he needed her spirits bolstered before he questioned her.

The maid left. Lady Charlene sat in the chair with her hands at her sides. She was beaten, done for it. Jack didn't know if he liked her this way.

Slowly she looked up and around as if she hadn't been aware of her surroundings.

And she wasn't. “Where are we?”

“Around the corner from where I met you.”

She nodded as if remembering and then rubbed the tears from her face with the sleeve of her coat, an honest gesture, one unhampered by anything coy or crafty. “I didn't mean to carry on that way. I lost all sense of self. This has been a very trying day.”

“It must be.”

“I don't usually cry,” she informed him with a hint of defiance. “It never solves anything.”

“And what were you trying to solve?”

Now that he knew her sex, he marveled he could have ever mistaken her for a boy. Her lashes were dark and long and right now spiky from her tears. Even the line of her jaw had a feminine tilt.

Before she could answer his question, the serving maid returned with their drinks in tankards. Raucous laughter followed her out of the main room and her attention was, fortunately, on it instead of a man and a weepy lad. She set down the drinks, picked up the money, and hurried back to her more interesting customers.

Lady Charlene looked at the cider. “Is this for me?”

“I ordered for you.”

“You are giving me one last drink before you call the Watch?”

“Do you believe I'm here to call the Watch?”

“If you do, it will be the end of me and everything I hold dear. Then again, I'm ruined as it is.”

“That is an interesting statement. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“I don't know.”

Her voice had trembled, but she held her tears at bay. Instead, she took a drink of the cider and pulled a face at the taste. She set down the tankard and pushed it away with one finger that she kept held against the pewter side as if wanting to contemplate her nail against the metal rather than the man sitting across the table from her.

However, Jack was not going anywhere. He drained half of his ale in one gulp. He leaned back in his chair, waiting.

She knew he expected her story.

The question was, would she give him one? Or the truth?

He could see the decision of whether to trust him weighed heavy in her mind. Little did she know he probably had the knowledge that would solve any and all of her problems—­Gavin wanted her. She would be a duchess . . . depending on what she said in the next few minutes.

She raised eyes dark with worry to him. “May I trust you?”

With a lift of his hand, Jack indicated she could, if she wished.

She wasn't completely sure. She tapped the side of the mug, then sat up and leaned across the table toward him.

“I am in a sorry plight,” she confessed.

“Obviously.”

“You've heard of my father?”

He shook his head, wanting to hear the tale from her.

“My father did not have a head for money. He was a very good man and the best father, except when he drank. Ale, whisky, even small beer, it all went to his head and then he lost all sense of what he could and what he couldn't do, and people took advantage of his weakness.”

“He gambled when he drank.”

“Yes, and lost.”

“That is what happens.”

“He always believed he was going to win. Mother used to beg the gentlemen in the set my father favored to please watch out for him, to pull him away before he did something foolish, but they never could.”

“They probably ate him alive.”

“Some tried to be honest friends but I'm ­certain forcing him to do what was best for him was ­difficult. My father eventually wagered away anything of value we owned. But he was good man.”

“Well, you are lucky in that respect. My father wasn't.”

“I know.”

“You do?” Jack frowned. “How did you know this? His reputation is sterling. He had power, prestige . . . the ear of the king.” He could hear the cynicism in his voice but was incapable of ­changing it. His bitterness toward his sire was always right beneath the surface.

“Your father took advantage of mine during a game of cards. By all accounts, Father was in no ­condition to be sitting at that table. Others, more honorable men left. They refused to play, but not the duke. He won a set of pearls that was the pride of my family. We called them Scots pearls. Your mother was wearing them the other night at the ball.”

“I'm not going to justify my father's behavior. I don't question your story. However, when a man sits down to play, drunk or sober, he can lose.”

“Mine took his life. Everyone said it was an ­accident but I remember my mother crying and hearing people whisper when they thought they could not be overheard.” She took another ­swallow of her cider and then added quietly, “I once asked my mother for the truth and she said we must lie because what Father did was unspeakable. I ­believe what
your
father did was unspeakable.”

Jack opened his mouth, and then shut it. What could he say?

“My mother died a few years after Father. She never recovered from his death. She loved him,” she said as if the possibility was somehow odd. “He did everything wrong and yet she always made excuses for him.”

“She was loyal.”

Lady Charlene nodded absently. “I lived with my uncle Davies who is the most miserly, pious prig ever to be found in England. I was miserable. Everyone in his family resented me. They blamed me for the lack of any funds in the estate. My uncle inherited an empty title, a widow, and her child. He was not pleased.”

“I don't imagine so.”

“At Mother's funeral, her godmother, Lady ­Baldwin, asked me a number of questions about Uncle Davies. I don't believe she liked him. I didn't understand why back then but I now know his ­reputation is not one of the best around women. There were times even with Mother when I was nervous. The day after I talked to Lady Baldwin, Sarah came into my life. She took me away from him.”

“Who is Sarah?”

“She is my mother's half sister. Her mother was an actress and my grandfather's mistress. She is much younger than my mother and there was a time when she needed help. My mother and father took her in and then later sent her to a school. Sarah said she never forgot their kindness. Coming for me was her way of repaying them for what they did.”

Lady Charlene took another sip of the cider. Her voice stronger now, she said, “Uncle Davies was afraid of Sarah. She can be quite formidable. She made him promise to pay my expenses and he did until last September. Then he stopped. No explanation, no excuses . . . just no money. Sarah and I both wrote him and I've tried to visit him but he has shut us out.”

“So you needed money.”

“Of course. We were behind on the rent and Sarah was not receiving the acting parts she had when she was younger. What she really wishes is to be a playwright.”

“A woman?”

“Why not? The managers at the Haymarket have been using her to add polish to their plays. However, she wants to see her own work on the stage. I've read her plays and they are wonderful.”

Jack placed his arms on the table. “So why are you picking pockets?”

A world-­weary sigh escaped Lady Charlene. “Two reasons. The first, of course, is for the money. I want you to know that I have offered to find work. I could be a governess or sew. I'm good with a needle. Sarah won't let me. I keep the house for her. We can't afford a maid. When His Grace called, Sarah put on a costume and pretended to be the maid.”

“So you both enjoy playacting.”

She had the good grace to blush. “We do what we must. Can you understand that?”

“All too well. What is the second reason?” Jack asked.

“I thought it would be an adventure.”

He had not expected that answer. “Has it been?”

“It was in the beginning,” she said. “The first time I earned just enough to cover the rent. It felt good to be taking action for myself.”

Jack could understand the feeling. “How did you explain the money to your aunt?”

“I told her Uncle Davies sent it. She was so relieved. Apparently the landlord was about to toss us into the street and Sarah has been worried about what would become of us. She has been taking on as many jobs as she could at the theater, but it is never enough. So, you see, I had to do something.”

“Where did you pick up this skill?”

“Lady Baldwin. She, too, was an actress before she met Lord Baldwin. I believe she had a rather wild reputation. She is the one who suggested I might try my hand at it. She knew the ways of it and helped with my costume. No one ever suspected I was a woman. Not even you.”

That was true.

“And before you think I was just a thief, I'll have you know I had standards.”

“You do?”

“I tried to only take from those who could afford it.”

“How did you determine my colleague Rice was a pigeon to pluck?”

“That day on Threadneedle Street. I wish I'd never been there.”

“Come on, tell me.” Jack caught the eye of the serving wench and signaled for more drink. He threw more coins on the table.

Lady Charlene followed the gleaming silver with her eyes before swinging them back up to him. “I didn't know if he had money to spare,” she confessed. “But usually those who have are not careful about it. He kept tossing his heavy purse into the air. He was also a visitor to London so that if he put up a cry, few would listen to him. And he was easily distracted. Any time he saw a woman, well, his attention would wander.”

Jack laughed. “You read him right. He didn't stand a chance against you.”

“I am rather good,” she admitted.

The serving wench brought their drinks. They waited until she left.

“Where does my brother fit into your schemes?”

“He doesn't. Lady Baldwin managed to secure an invitation for me to his ball. She and my aunt hoped that he would notice me but I didn't really think there was a possibility. I was doing it to please them and because I'd never been to a ball before. Sarah believes strongly that I should do what I must to regain my station in life.”

“What is your opinion?” Jack asked, curious.

“I don't know. It would be good to be able to take care of my aunt the way she has me. If I was to become a duchess I could see her plays were performed . . . couldn't I?”

“Mayhap.” Jack didn't know. He had never heard of a female playwright. He also didn't want to speculate whether his brother would endorse one. “Then again, you would need to put your days of petty thievery behind you. Can you do so?”

“I don't know.” The tears threatened again. She took a sip from her cider and then whispered, “I am in so much trouble.”

“Go on, tell me,” Jack said.

She glanced to the front of the tavern as if afraid of being overheard. Then, lowering her voice, she confided, “I ran afoul of this gang called the Seven. They patrol and pick pockets and other small thefts in this area of London. Did you know the criminals have the city divided into territories?”