Alyssa Everett (22 page)

And my father still hadn’t addressed my original question. I stood with my back against the cell bars, as nonchalantly as I could. “So what makes you think Barbara might be willing to accept my apology?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “As soon as she discovered Lady Helen was involved with John, she came to see me. I had the distinct impression she was every bit as determined to help you as she was to protect her sister.”

Perhaps Barbara hadn’t ripped my heart out after all, for something in my chest did a definite somersault. “Really?”

“She certainly seemed so to me.”

Could it be possible? Perhaps after Barbara’s temper cooled, she realized I’d only been thinking of her future. If I could win my release from prison, was there still a chance she’d forgive me? Might she even accept my proposal?

The possibility made me want to do something spontaneous, seize my father’s hand and pump it, or slap him on the back, or—

I caught myself. Seize his hand? Slap him on the back? When had I stopped thinking of my father as a thoughtless, self-indulgent libertine who’d betrayed my mother and brought scandal to our family, and started thinking of him as the ally who’d stuck by me through arrest and imprisonment? I wasn’t sure, yet matters between us had definitely changed.

Since that first day at Eton, I’d viewed him through the eyes of others, petty-minded gossips and jeering bullies like Rigsby, strangers who’d never even met my father. Words like
molly
and
bugger
had left me shocked and ashamed, shattering the image I’d had of him as essentially wise and kind, and replacing it with the belief that he was sick and deceitful. I’d convinced myself he’d betrayed not just my mother but also me, pretending to be a model father, turning me out unsuspecting into a world of taunts and sneers.

But he hadn’t been pretending. He was—he had always been—a model father. Everything I knew about fairness and responsibility I’d learned from him. He’d allowed me room enough to make my own mistakes and find my own way, but all along he’d been watching from a safe distance, steadfast and caring. And some part of me must have recognized that, deep down, or I never would’ve begged Barbara and Teddy to get word to him when I was arrested.

I no longer resented my father. It seemed childish now to have allowed jeering schoolboys to shape my perception of him, especially when I was far from the only pupil who’d been bullied at Eton. I was grateful again to be his son, even if I didn’t understand all the choices he’d made.

Perhaps I would never understand them. He knew as well as I did that sodomy was a capital crime, yet even the specter of arrest hadn’t deterred him. Now that I’d had a taste of prison myself, it made even less sense than before. Why would an otherwise prudent and reasonable man choose to live a life that carried with it every day the threat of execution? Why put his own safety and the security of his family at risk?

I had to know the answer. If Sir Francis’s efforts on my behalf failed—if I faced the gallows—I needed to make peace with my father before it was too late. “I realize I have no right to ask you this, Father, but...”

I broke off. Years of habit made me hesitate to broach the subject that had shaped every aspect of our family life yet always gone unspoken. Then again, what did I have to lose?

I took a deep breath and finished, “...what made you decide you had an unnatural interest in men?”

My father had been taking out his watch, but at this he froze and blinked at me. “Well,” he said after a pause, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

I refused to look away. “I don’t ask it lightly.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do. You saw the verse in the paper, I suppose, the one with the caricatures of you and Lady Barbara?”

“Yes, but I knew even before that. I’ve known for years. I just wonder why.” Now that I’d finally asked the question, I held my breath, heart pounding, waiting for his reply.

He tucked his watch slowly back into his waistcoat pocket without bothering to check the time. “I suppose the short answer is that it never seemed unnatural to me. To me, it was just the way the world was. The sky was blue, water was wet and I had certain...inclinations.”

With a sick feeling, I remembered all the times the other boys at school had called me
princess
and
sweetheart
and
darling.
“But how did you know that was the way things were, especially when you’d never done such things before? What made you choose to be with a man, when people have all sorts of thoughts and urges every day they never act on?”

“Ah. Those are difficult questions.”

“Yes.”

“Fortunately, you can best answer them yourself.” At my puzzled glance, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Imagine for a moment, Ben, that it’s the middle of the night and you’re lying awake in a certain restless mood. Amorous urges are driving you nearly to distraction, making you toss and turn.”

I grimaced. “I’ve been having a good many of those nights lately.”

“Well, you’re twenty-eight. I’d be surprised if you didn’t. The point is, imagine you’re alone with such thoughts running through your head, and almost against your will, your mind drifts to the most stirring and desirable image you can imagine. It might be a face, a form, a look...” At my nod, he continued. “Now here’s the all-important question. When you picture that image, are you thinking of a man or thinking of a woman?”

“A woman, of course.”

“Every time? Even though you’re alone, and no one else will ever know what you’re thinking? You’re sure?”

I’d been picturing Barbara, flushed with passion in my arms. “Yes, definitely.”

He spread his hands in a gesture that announced he’d made his point. “Then there’s your answer. When it comes to matters of desire, one may deny and pose and pretend to the rest of the world, but one can’t lie to oneself. You, my boy, are a perfectly unexceptional young man, the kind meant to wed some fortunate young lady, settle down and father a small army of children.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “No doubt about it.”

I let out my breath in relief. “Well, I...I rather thought I was, but then, at one time you must have thought so too, or I shouldn’t be here today.”

My father shook his head. “That’s not precisely true. I could never have answered that question the way you did. I knew I was different even before I married your mother—and so did she, because I made a clean breast of my feelings when I proposed.”

“Mama knew?” I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Even before she married you? But she’s such a starry-eyed sort, I was certain she married for love.”

“I grant you we might not have felt the kind of feverish devotion other couples feel, but...” He shrugged, and his expression turned nostalgic. “From the moment we met, your mother and I took an instant liking to each other. Her parents were pushing her to wed that crass, penny-pinching Lord Trelawny, and I had a duty to the family. We sensed we would deal well together, passion aside.” He smiled fondly. “And we have dealt well together. I’ve no doubt your mother has wondered from time to time what might have been, but—well, she has you, Ben. And so do I. And that’s something neither of us could ever regret.”

A crushing weight had been lifted from my shoulders. So, my parents had agreed to a marriage of convenience right from the start? That meant my mother wasn’t a hapless victim of my father’s indifference. More than that, it meant my father’s inclinations weren’t merely some dark twist his fancy had taken—and my fancies weren’t doomed to take a similar turn.

On an impulse, I grabbed his hand and wrung it. “Thank you, Papa.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “‘Papa’? You haven’t called me that since before you went away to Eton.”

“Yes, well...” Abashed, I could only shrug. “I picked up some rather foolish notions at school.”

Before he could reply, footsteps sounded in the corridor. At first I thought it was only the guard returning, but then I heard voices. I crossed to the cell door and looked out.

“Who is it?” my father asked behind me.

“Sir Francis Ames, with one of his clerks and the turnkey.”

My father snapped to attention behind me. “How does Sir Francis look? Is it good news, or bad?”

“He looks grim.” With a gulp, I turned and met my father’s eyes. “Very grim.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Barbara

Heedless of the rain, I strode deliberately across the park toward home, refusing even to look over my shoulder to where I knew the Stewarts must be staring after me. Better to be drenched and say what I really thought than stay dry and forfeit my self-respect.

My self-respect? I was no more than halfway across the park before my temper cooled enough for me to wonder why I’d just given two old acquaintances a dressing-down in Ben’s defense after he had treated me like a mere plaything. Why should I publicly declare my allegiance to a man who’d shown no such allegiance to me? I might have kept my mouth shut and let the Stewarts think what they liked. I might even have agreed with them and shown them Ben meant nothing to me. But I hadn’t. I couldn’t.

A wet drop slid down one cheek. I hoped it was only the rain. There was clearly something wrong with me, for I was evidently still in love with Ben, despite the heartless way he’d treated me. I supposed that made me stupid and foolish and weak, and everyone was bound to see it. I’d be gossiped about and tittered over, and deservedly so. Yet I couldn’t help myself. A part of me would always love him. I was even beginning to wonder whether Ben’s decision to push me away might really have been selfless, given the accusations against him.

By the time I reached my front door I was soaked to the skin. Letting myself in, I peeled off my wet gloves and lifted my ruined bonnet from my hair. When I caught sight of my reflection in the hall mirror, I looked like a drowned rat.

Heading up to my room to change, my wet slippers squelching on the carpeted stair, I had just passed the drawing room when a knock sounded on the front door. Though I was impatient to get out of my sodden clothes and discover just how the duke had handled Mr. Mainsforth, I paused on the landing to learn who the caller might be.

Frye answered, and a man’s voice floated up the staircase. “Would you inform Lady Barbara Jeffords that Sir Francis Ames’s articled clerk has come for the notebook in her possession?”

“I’m afraid her ladyship is not at home just now,” Frye told him.

“What’s that?” I hurried down the stairs to discover a young man with an umbrella standing on the doorstep. “You’re mistaken, Frye. I came in just a moment ago.”

Frye stepped back from the door with a guilty look. “Oh! I... Excuse me, my lady, but I thought you said you weren’t at home if anyone called.”

“I said I wasn’t at home if Lord Beningbrough called,” I told him
sotto voce
, already regretting the pettishness of my earlier pronouncement. In my normal tone, I said to the man at the door, “Do come inside, please, Mister...?”

The barrister’s clerk bowed politely. “Randall, ma’am. Sir Francis is addressing the Court of King’s Bench today on Lord Beningbrough’s behalf, or he would have come himself.”

Frye echoed “The Court of King’s Bench” under his breath.

I smiled an apology. “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, Mr. Randall. I was caught in the downpour. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll fetch the notebook for you.” Turning, I hastened up the stairs to my room.

When I reached my bedchamber, Sills and the chambermaid were putting the finishing touches on their work. They’d set the wardrobe and chest of drawers back to rights, made the bed, and even had the broken cheval mirror carried away. I paused for only a moment to admire their progress.

Sills was plumping my pillow when she glanced up to discover me in the doorway. “My lady, you’re wet through!”

“It doesn’t signify. I’m just happy to see things looking so much better.” I went to my dresser and pulled open the top drawer, rooting about for the notebook. When I couldn’t find it, I turned to Sills. “Where did you put the notebook that was tucked among the gloves here?”

“Notebook?”

“Yes, the little leather book about this big,” I said, holding my fingers three or four inches apart.

The chambermaid gave me a blank stare, and Sills shook her head. “We didn’t see any notebook, my lady.”

“But you’ve already put everything from the chest back in order, haven’t you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Then you must have—”

And then I realized that, of course, they hadn’t. That notebook was likely the whole reason John Mainsforth had turned my room upside-down. He must have heard about it from Ben or seen me with it through the peephole, and stolen it to prevent my giving it to Sir Francis. Now the only real link between M and the crimes was gone.

Burning with frustration, I went downstairs to give Mr. Randall the bad news, only to discover him standing unattended in the hall.

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Mr. Randall,” I said as I descended the stairs. “I should have had Frye show you to the drawing room.” I glanced about for our footman. “Frye?”

“He left on an errand for Lady Leonard,” Mr. Randall said.

Sighing—why couldn’t something go smoothly for once?—I gave him the bad news that my room had been ransacked and the notebook stolen. Extracting a promise from Mr. Randall that he would tell Sir Francis how deeply I regretted the loss of the evidence, I apologized for having wasted his time, bid him good day and closed the door after him with a feeling of utter discouragement.

Still wet and bedraggled from my walk in the rain, I was once again heading upstairs when my mother came bustling out of the drawing room, her lips pursed. Spotting me, she stopped with a peevish expression. “Goodness, Barbara, you look a fright!”

“I was just going up to change.”

“I don’t suppose you know where on earth that good-for-nothing Frye has disappeared to, do you? I’ve been ringing and ringing, but he doesn’t answer.”

“I believe he’s running that errand you sent him on, Mama.”

“Errand? I didn’t send him on any errand.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Of course not. Frankly, I’m out of patience with him. He’s never where he’s supposed to be. He looks innocent enough, but I’m beginning to think he’s been slipping off to meet a sweetheart or drinking away his wages in a tavern.”

“Surely it’s not that bad, Mama. I rarely have trouble finding Frye when I need him. I must have misunderstood where he went. In any case, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I certainly hope so, or I may need to have your father speak to Lewis about turning him off.”

She continued down the stairs and I continued up, wondering if perhaps Mama was right and Frye really had left the house on some private errand. I couldn’t imagine pale, awkward Frye carousing in a tavern, but might he have a sweetheart hidden somewhere? I’d never thought to wonder.

In my bedroom, Sills had already finished and gone, and only the chambermaid remained, sweeping the last of the down feathers into a dustpan. “I was just leaving, my lady.”

“You and Sills did a fine job. I wish I looked half so tidy.” I sighed. “After everything that’s happened today, I’d adore a hot bath. Would you have one sent up for me?”

“Yes, my lady. Would you like me to send Mrs. Sills back to help you out of your wet things as well?”

“No, don’t bother. I’ll ring for her once my bath is ready.”

It took only five minutes for Stroud, our second footman, to bring up the cast iron tub, but nearly a half hour longer for him to stoke the fire in my room, heat the water in the kitchens, and carry up sufficient hot water to fill the bath. I warmed myself by the hearth, my hair beginning to dry in the process, until at last he pronounced the preparations complete and bowed himself out.

He’d no sooner gone than I crossed to the bell pull to summon Sills. Before I could ring, however, my eye fell on the peephole in the bedroom wall. With the cheval mirror blocking it, I’d neglected to have it plastered over. Now the broken mirror was gone.

No matter how the duke had dealt with John Mainsforth, the peephole left me feeling exposed. I glanced about for something I could use to obstruct it before undressing for my bath. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself.

Perhaps the oil painting from the other side of the wall would suit. I slipped out of my room and into the vacant bedroom next door. The painting had once again been removed from its place over the peephole and set on the floor. What I wouldn’t give to slap Mr. Mainsforth’s face! Thank heavens the cheval mirror had blocked his view for the past few evenings. I hoped he’d been thoroughly put out when he couldn’t see anything.

Scanning the room for something substantial to set before the peephole, I noticed that one of the drawers of the dressing chest was half-open. It wasn’t as if we had a guest staying with us, and the drawer had been closed the last time I was in the room, so why should it be open now?

I went to the dresser and pulled the drawer further open. To my surprise, a familiar object lay nestled among the linens.
Sam Garvey’s notebook.
I snatched it up at once.

It wasn’t the only surprise in the drawer, either. Removing the notebook revealed a small cache of treasures hidden beneath it. One item in particular caught my eye—Helen’s string of pearls. It was the very necklace, broken catch and all, that she’d given John Mainsforth to deliver to her blackmailer.

I nearly crowed with victory. I’d suspected all along that Mr. Mainsforth had simply kept the pearls for himself, and here was proof. There was a pouch full of guineas too, very likely the blackmail money Helen had paid him. Mr. Mainsforth must have slipped into this empty bedroom before his tête-à-tête with Helen, leaving the drawer half-open in his haste. But why hide his ill-gotten gains here?

Then I noticed something else amid the store of treasures—a lucky rabbit’s foot. It looked identical to the one I’d seen Frye carrying on his key ring. And there—I was quite sure that strip of gold braid matched the one torn from Frye’s coat on the day of Ben’s arrest. Why would Mr. Mainsforth take such relatively worthless tokens from our footman? When had he even had the chance?

Then the answer dawned on me, making me feel so stupid I hadn’t seen it sooner, I wanted to tear out my hair. Mr. Mainsforth hadn’t put Frye’s things in this drawer, because Mr. Mainsforth hadn’t stolen them. He hadn’t kept Helen’s pearls or killed Sam Garvey and Mr. Harriman. Nor had he shot Ben or drawn those horrid caricatures, or ransacked my room, or spied on me through the peephole.

Frye had.