Miss Goldsleigh's Secret
Read Miss Goldsleigh's Secret Online
Authors: Amylynn Bright
Miss Goldsleigh’s Secret
Amylynn Bright
Copyright © 2013, Amylynn Bright
Dedication
To the ladies at BofNF: You’re all the most hilarious people I know. Not to mention the best cooks, manicurists, hairdressers, jigsaw puzzlers, shoppers, movie goers, newspaper readers, internet surfers, and back ground singers a gal could hope for.
You’re fabulous each and every one of you. Thank you for being my fans and my friends.
And to Michael, Katie, and Steven: I love you, even when I’m crabby. Especially when I’m crabby. One of these days I’ll get some sleep. XOXO
London 1810
Henry Cavendish, Marquess of Dalton, stood outside the chicest modiste shop on fashionable Bond Street. He awaited his sisters and aunt who had been inside, at his estimation, at least an hour. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his timepiece. Yes, indeed, sixty-five minutes. He snapped the watch closed and tucked it away. He debated going inside to see how much longer they would be and risk being roped into consulting on color or lace or some other insipid thing. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and sighed in a huff. Several acquaintances passed on the street, and he nodded and doffed his hat politely, as serene as ever, but inside his impatience grew.
Henry’s family knew he was busy today. However, since it was late in the afternoon they’d been able to convince him to accompany them for a lemon ice after a quick stop at the dressmaker’s. God knows he loved them, loved each and every one of them, but they could try the patience of a saint.
He looked at his watch again. Sixty-seven minutes. Their definition of
quick
and his were substantially dissimilar.
He turned and peered in the window. He couldn’t see much past the dress form stationed there except for vague movements, and he doubted his family could see him either. Henry set his jaw, closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. Then miracle of miracles, he heard the tinkle of the bell.
“The green one is my favorite, Penny.” Helen burst through the door. His youngest sister was always so excited to be included in the shopping trips with her older siblings. “You are going to be so beautiful.”
“Thank you, love,” said Penelope, the oldest of the sisters. She reached out her hand and stroked her younger sister’s hair. The two walked past Henry on the street, gracing him with two sweet smiles.
Cassandra and Daphne, the middle sisters, followed from the shop, engrossed in their own conversation—so much so, in fact, they paid no attention to their brother at all. Henry scowled at them as they walked by, arms linked, laughing.
The bell on the door chimed one last time as his aunt emerged. She bequeathed him a broad smile and tucked her arm around his. “I am sorry we took so long. You’re such a good boy for being so patient. Having two girls out this coming season is so much more work than just one.”
Henry endeavored to smile. “I know, Aunt Evelyn.”
She patted his hand. “Shall we go for that ice, then, before we head home?”
Why not? Really, the whole afternoon was wasted.
“You work too hard.”
Since his engagement hadn’t worked out several months ago, Henry had thrown himself into the restoration of a property he’d won in a card game. With that new venture, and the thousand and one other things involved in managing a marquessate, Henry admittedly had been wrapped up in his work. The women in his family were certain that meant he’d been crushed by the broken engagement, but the boring reality of it was he simply enjoyed working.
“I know you were fond of the girl—”
“Aunt Evelyn,” he interrupted. “I am hardly a devastated man, just a very busy one.” His tone greatly suggested the conversation need go no further.
Of course, his aunt was not going to take the hint. Evelyn never did. She was not one to avoid a topic simply because the rest of polite society did. Or even because she was expressly asked to do so.
“Your affairs are all well handled. You are a dutiful son, a wonderful nephew, and a complement to your title.” She lectured him gently as she deftly guided him away from the waiting carriage and in step behind his sisters leading the way up the street. “I am sure your father would be very proud of you.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Still, in her usual way, his aunt soothed him. The tension bunching up his shoulders from the time wasted on waiting began to drain from his torso. This time the smile was real and unforced.
“You will find the perfect marchioness, of that I have no doubt. We all liked Francesca immensely, but you can hardly begrudge her a love match.”
“You misunderstand. I was only fond of the lady,” Henry protested. “In fact, I am still quite fond of her, and I don’t
begrudge
her a love match. For heaven’s sake, I pushed her into it.”
It was true. He had pushed Francesca into the adoring arms of Thomas Wallingham, Earl of Harrington. He often teased them both if he hadn’t done so they never would have managed on their own. He had proposed to the Duchess of Harrington when she was still the lovely Lady Bellings. His family had been ecstatic with the match, and the wedding date had been set, until the love of her life returned to town in the form of the dashing earl. It was so painfully obvious they were meant for each other that he couldn’t stand in their way. Or rather he took pity on them. However it happened, they were blissfully happy, and that warmed him, even while his family was harassing him to find his own wife.
Sometimes, when he was at his most irritable, he regretted taking the high road. His birthday was next month, his twenty-seventh, and he wanted to be married and on his way to begetting an heir before long. He yearned to be settled. The irony of it all was he was certainly in no need of more females in his house. That was for damn sure. As it was, he currently resided in a house completely filled with women. His mother, the Marchioness, occupied the mansion with his grandmother, his aunt and all four of his sisters. What in God’s name he was thinking about when he considered adding a wife to the mix, he had no idea. He often felt like he was drowning in lace and hairpins already without adding another woman. But that was exactly what he intended—at some point anyway, as soon as an acceptable young lady came along.
His sisters arrived at the ice shop before him, and now the little café was overrun by Cavendishes. He paused and watched the familiar scene play out. They were potent and elemental, these Cavendish ladies, and they would set a room a tumble every time they entered one.
“Your lips are turning blue from your blackberry ice, monkey face,” Henry teased Daphne, knowing it would make her squeal and pull out a glass from her reticule. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned at her when she turned to glare at him, her lips still perfectly pink.
Helen, the youngest at twelve, tried to entice him with her spoon. “There are more flavors than lemon you know.”
“That may be true, ladybug.” Henry placed a heaping spoonful of lemon ice on his tongue and, savoring it, comically rolled his eyes. “But lemon is the best.”
Afterwards, they walked in a cluster on the sidewalk the half block back to the carriage, Henry’s annoyance from earlier having melted away like the ice on his tongue. Penelope’s arm linked with his. She slowed her pace and then came to a stop, pulling him to a stop as well. Henry looked to her in question, and then followed her gaze to a woman and child across the street.
“What is it?” Henry asked her. He squinted at them trying to see if he recognized the woman. “Do you know her?”
“It looks like my friend Olivia,” Penny mused. She lifted the brim of her bonnet to get a better look. “I think it is Olivia.”
“Penny, isn’t that your friend Olivia?” Cassandra inquired as she drew abreast of her siblings.
“I’m not sure.” Penelope twisted her mouth in question.
If it was his sister’s friend, what had she gone through to look so haggard? He didn’t think his sisters had many acquaintances outside of the
ton
. The lady wore shabby clothes. Her hair was dirty and stringy where it fell from a messy updo. She looked painfully thin and pale. The boy was dirty and worn, too, but not as thin and haggard looking as the woman. Perhaps they were acquaintances met through one of their mother’s many charities.
Before Henry could stop her, Penelope dropped her hand from his arm and strode through the traffic.
“Penelope!” Henry started after his sister while he hollered back over his shoulder for the rest of them to stay put. Daphne was the first to ignore him and start across the cobblestones, followed, of course, by the rest of the group. Why God even gave them ears… Henry grasped Penelope’s hand, and together they navigated the busy street.
“Olivia?” Penny called. “Olivia!”
The woman turned at the sound of her name, eyes wide with fear, and clutched the boy closer to her side. He was eating a meat pie, devouring it actually.
“Penelope?” The woman spoke as if seeing a vision, one she couldn’t believe was real.
Penny took her friend by the hand. “Livvy? What has happened to you?”
“I escaped,” was all she uttered as she fainted.
Henry leapt forward and caught her before she hit the walk.
She doesn’t weigh anything,
was the first thing that occurred to Henry as he caught her. That and she was deathly pale.
The whole episode caused quite a stir in the middle of Bond Street. It seemed to Henry everything surrounding the Cavendish sisters caused a stir. A crowd gathered in an instant, as if growing right out of the walkway, asking questions and offering advice.
“Grab her,” Penelope screeched, entirely unnecessarily as far as Henry was concerned.
“Livvy?” The boy with her was clearly shocked by her swoon. He watched Henry with a mixture of distrust and confusion.
Henry felt like a fool, holding an unconscious woman in his arms, trying to reassure her young companion. “What is your name, lad?”
“Warren, my lord,” he replied, eyes wary and guarded. “She’s my sister.”
The boy might seem tough, but he was only a boy. He looked about ten years of age, and he was clearly warring with the desire to appear brave and protective or bolt. Henry was certain the only thing that kept him there at all was the fact that his sister was unconscious in Henry’s arms.
“All right, Warren. These are my sisters, and I want you to escort them to that carriage at the end of the block. Do you see the one with the gold-and-black dragon crest on the door? Please take them there, and have the driver bring the carriage to me.”
The boy stared at him for several long seconds. Henry withstood the silent interrogation while the boy took his measure. Dalton had made sure to speak to him not as a child, but as he would another man. It was evident the boy felt responsible for the care of the young woman, and Dalton couldn’t help being impressed by him. “You can trust me.”
Warren must have decided he had no nefarious designs on them because the boy followed his instructions and, uncharacteristically, his sisters went without protest. That left him, his Aunt, Penny and the tiny woman in his arms—and the growing crowd of encroaching onlookers. He exhaled in exasperation and turned his back to the street. At least when facing the wall, the crowd couldn’t see everything quite so clearly.
“Oh, the poor dear,” his aunt said, too softly for the entire mob to hear.
Penny nodded in agreement. “She is so thin and pale.” With one gloved finger she brushed Olivia’s hair off her forehead. “I wonder what’s happened to put her in such a state.”
“What was it she said before she fainted?” Aunt Evelyn asked.
“She said she’d escaped.” He looked over his shoulder to check on the progress of the carriage. The coachman maneuvered through the steady traffic. Turning the full-sized vehicle around in the street would be slow going. “How do you know this young lady?”
“She’s a year or two older than me. She used to come to London with her father sometimes,” Penny answered. “A baron, I believe. We met through mutual friends. We’ve written once or twice over the years, but I lost track of her about a year ago or so I guess. I heard her parents passed on.”
The carriage finally pulled up next to them, and Evelyn and Penny climbed in. The equipage was tightly packed with the six of them before the addition of one more unconscious woman. Henry was forced to keep her on his lap. After Warren was assured his sister would be quite all right inside, he agreed to sit up front with the coachman.
Henry surveyed the woman in question. She hadn’t awakened since passing out, only tossed her head about and murmured unintelligible words. It was almost as if she just desperately needed to sleep. She was pale, astonishingly so. It made the pink of her lips that much more noticeable. Her hair was a dirty and tangled shade of blonde, and her eyelashes curled against her wan face. Her nose seemed a trifle long and pointed, the hollows of her cheeks a tad too severe, but that may have been because her face was so thin. And his earlier assessment was right; she was tiny, not much bigger than a child. She was all angles and points. Despite her miserable condition, Henry was quite certain she was a lovely girl underneath the grime and knotted hair. Some soap and several hearty meals would surely uncover a feminine beauty the harsh lines of her currently too-prominent bone structure did not wholly disguise.
Before the carriage had come to a complete stop in front of his townhouse, the butler had the door open and was awaiting them on the front steps. Henry carried the woman through the door, followed by the rest of them. His mother and grandmother had been roused from whatever they had been doing by all of the activity and now he had every single woman in his household issuing directions. He turned and climbed the sweeping staircase to the second floor where the family’s apartments were located. He was not the least surprised to find the housekeeper waiting for him on the landing with several of the upstairs maids. They scurried ahead, leading him to place her in a guestroom down the hall from his sister’s rooms.
And then he left her to the women without being told. He did not escape. He made a tactical retreat.
Treading the carpet on the way back down the hall, he heard his mother take charge as she was wont to do. Orders were made for the doctor to be called, for warm bath water, and for fresh clothes. When Henry arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he found Warren and Aunt Evelyn.
“Warren.” Henry addressed the boy. “There are all sorts of ladies fussing over the lady upstairs.
“She’s my sister,” the boy told him.
“Ah. She is in good, capable hands.” The boy nodded to him, his eyes full of calm intelligence. “Come with me.”
Henry escorted Warren to the kitchen. It was an unprecedented event, and the staff was clearly alarmed to find the Marquis below stairs. “Good afternoon, Cook. This is Warren. Do you have something hearty to put together for lunch for our guest? We need to put some meat on these bones.”
Cook’s eyes were as big as saucers, and her mouth hung agape. She stared at the Marquess for a beat and then shifted her gaze to the grubby little boy. Her appraisal hinted that her opinion of Warren was in accord with his own. “Yes, my lord. How about some good, meaty stew and crusty bread? That should help do the trick.”
“That sounds excellent. Make it two, then.”
He hauled two stools to the big kitchen worktable and sat on one, then gestured for Warren to do the same. The cook did a fair job of suppressing her newfound horror that not only had the master come down to the kitchen, but it now appeared as though he intended to take a workman’s meal down here as well. She jerked her head around and took herself off to gather the meal, motioning with a sweeping gesture of a flour-dusted arm for the rest of the slack-jawed staff to return to work.
“You don’t come in here much, do you?” Warren asked.
Henry chuckled. “No, in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been down here before. My mother handles all the staff. It’s very comfortable down here though, isn’t it?” He had made a snap decision to have the noon meal with Warren in the kitchen because he wanted to talk with him, and he guessed if that task was attempted upstairs in the dining room with the usual pomp and circumstance, the boy would be too intimidated to speak freely.
Two huge steaming bowls of stew were placed before them on the scarred worktable. Henry stirred the contents, wafting the aroma of spiced beef and vegetables into his face. Big chunks of crusty bread, a crock of butter and two large mugs of milk were added to the feast.
“It’s much bigger than the one at home,” the boy appraised.
“Well, this is a very big house and I have a lot of sisters.”
Warren leaned over conspiratorially. “They seem a little loud,” he whispered.
Henry choked on his stew with a snort. “Excellent observation. I’m afraid that you’ll also find them to be bossy as well.”
“Oh.”
They ate their lunch in silence for a while before Henry ventured forth with more pressing concerns. “Where do you and your sister call home?”
“Nowhere,” Warren responded cryptically. He took another handful of bread and sopped up the rest of the thick broth in his bowl. He seemed to be studying the bowl very hard.
Henry tried again. “Where are you from then?”
Warren chewed then swallowed a large hunk of bread, and gulped his milk before answering. “Draycott on the Moors.”
“That’s in Staffordshire, isn’t it?” The empty bowls were whisked away and replaced by two generous helpings of pudding. Warren’s smile grew wide again. Henry nodded his thanks to Cook and picked up his spoon. “When did you come to London?” Oh, the pudding was fantastic. Henry rolled it around on his tongue, savoring it.
“Two months ago, I think.” Warren looked as though he wanted to lick the pudding bowl clean.
“Where have you been staying?”
Warren met Henry’s gaze for the first time since the questions got serious. The boy seemed every bit as young as he was, all hollow-eyed and scared. Gone was the assuredness from Bond Street. He hesitated as if wary of betraying someone. His sister or someone else?
“It’s all right to tell me,” Henry assured him as he led Warren to the garden.
“Fennyman was trying to buy her for whoring, but we got out of there. No matter what, or how bad it got, I didn’t want her doing
that
,” the boy said with emphasis the minute they cleared the doorway outside.
Jesus Christ.
“No. How long ago was this?”
“Three days ago, sir.”
“And where have you stayed those nights?” Henry guided them both around the path and past a giant oak tree where they sat on a bench and looked out over the shrubbery, their backs to the house and any nosey eyes.
“Nowhere.” Warren sighed a huge, watery breath. “Livvy tried a couple of places, but no one would help us. I slept on benches and such. Livvy didn’t though.”
“What do you mean Livvy didn’t?”
“She didn’t sleep.” Warren kicked at the dirt. “She kept watch. Livvy’s very stubborn.”
The girl hadn’t slept in at least three days?
Warren continued, “She wouldn’t let me steal anything or join up with a crew for the coin.”
Henry raised a brow. “That sounds very honorable of her.” What else was he to say?
Warren swiped at a frustrated tear. “But it would have been easy.”
“Sometimes easy isn’t the best way out.” Henry said what he knew were the right words, even as he contemplated what he would have done in the lad’s place. Warren might be a boy, but his desire to protect his family were the urges of a man.
“Why did you come to London in the first place?” Why would a daughter of a peer come to London, unescorted, and end up in this abhorrent state? Dirty, hungry and sleep deprived, Olivia was in desperate need of help. There must have been someone she could stay with in town. Who was the heir to her father’s barony, and why wasn’t that man helping her?
“Because Reginald was a horrible man.” Warren said it with such vehemence that Henry was taken aback. “He was mean and he hurt people and, and, and…I
hate
him.” Now the lad was crying in earnest, deep, pitiful sobs that hurt Henry’s soul. He waited patiently next to him on the bench, and eventually the sobs gave way to hiccups and then to sniffles.
“Warren.” Henry waited until the boy looked at him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to figure it all out and we’re going to fix it. You can trust me.” It was a stupid thing to say. He couldn’t possibly promise any such thing.
He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked back into the house. “Let’s go find your room.”
“My room? For how long?”
“For as long as you want it to be.”
