Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night (4 page)

“Here they are,” she said, pulling out a letter from a packet and eyeing the first few lines. “The letters. And the one from my uncle, informing us of Eleanor's disappearance.”

Lord Ashby set the plant aside and took the letters. He perused the one on top in silence. Then, wordlessly, he handed it to Theo before he began reading the next.

“Oh, but—” Cecilia said, reaching for the letter.

Lord Ashby's hand paused in midair. His eyes came up. “Miss Goodhue, I asked Mr. Hudson here because he has my full faith and trust. He'll be able to help you. He won't betray your confidence.”

“I . . .” She let out a long sigh and removed her glasses to rub her eyes. “All right.”

Theo took the letter. Read it. Then read the others as the earl finished with them. They told a story he knew all too well. Young love, heady and overwhelming. At least from the letters it seemed like it was on both sides. Unfortunately the letters were peppered with endearments,
darling
s and
my love
s in place of proper names.

“He only finished his letters with a ‘Yours, etc.,' ” Theo mused.

“An admittedly unhelpful signifier in this circumstance,” Cecilia added.

“What about the regiment?” Lord Ashby asked. “Does your uncle know which regiment it was? Were they cavalry? Foot guards? Dragoons?”

She shook her head.

“Did they know the commanding officer? Surely he would know which of his men had transferred to London recently.”

“If they did, they did not tell us. I can write and ask, but it will be days before a reply. And Eleanor must be found immediately.”

“Why?”

Two pairs of stunned eyes swung to meet Theo's.

“According to your uncle's letter, she's already been gone a week,” Theo explained. “You cannot stop her from making a mistake. The mistake has already been made.”

“I don't know that she's made a mistake,” Cecilia said, her gaze narrowing. “But if she has, and she considers it as such, I want her to know as soon as possible that she still has friends who will help her. Family.”

“Miss Goodhue is right,” Lord Ashby said quietly. “We should begin looking for her cousin without delay. And while there are no names, there are some clues in the letters.”

“Such as?” she asked, hopeful.

“Your cousin's lover says he cannot wait until she sees him in his blue coat. There are not that many regiments of the army that wear blue coats, let alone stationed in London.”

“That's true,” Theo mused. “There are the Hussars, the Lancers . . . the Royal Blue . . .”

“Few enough that we can ask at Horse Guards about them,” Lord Ashby said, leaning back. “What do you think? I can have Bow Street runners sent to all of them in an hour's time and—”

“No,” Theo said suddenly. “I should go.”

He didn't know why he'd said that. Didn't know why he was volunteering for this mission. Just that with young Eleanor Goodhue's letters in his hand, and Cecilia Goodhue's eyes on him, he knew it was the only thing to do.

“It will be better,” he explained, “to keep the circle of people who know about this as small as possible. I'll head out as soon as the rain allows.”

“Good man.” Lord Ashby nodded. And then, noticing the tea tray for the first time, piled four or five biscuits into his hand. “Now, Miss Goodhue, I'm sure you are about to ask me for recommendations for lodging, and I'm having none of it. You are welcome here for as long as necessary. We've had a room made up for you, and we've already stowed your trunks there.”

“Sir, I don't know how to thank you,” she'd said with obvious surprise. Too obvious, perhaps? No—in this at least Theo could assume she had no ulterior motives. But if she'd brought trunks—well, how long would she be treading on the earl's hospitality?

“I doubt you'll be thanking me when my son wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming his blessed lungs out. But my Phoebe will be glad to keep you company while we await news from Mr. Hudson.”

“Await . . . oh no, sir, I will be going with Mr. Hudson to look for my cousin.”

“What?” Theo's head came up—he'd been reviewing the letters again, looking for more clues. “No. I cannot allow you to—”

“You cannot ‘allow' me anything, Mr. Hudson,” she replied. “I'm here of my own free will. It's my cousin and I'm coming.”

“Cee, you can't—”

“Excellent!” Lord Ashby said through biscuits stuffed in his mouth. “You'll be in excellent hands, Miss Goodhue. I'll leave it to you then, Mr. Hudson. Now, if you don't mind, I need to make sure my wife is willing to hand over the baby to the nurse and get some sleep.”

And with that, Lord Ashby left them to their own devices, with only the rain to break the silence.

Rain, which was annoyingly letting up.

“I'll need to write a note to my firm, letting them know I'll be on the earl's business all day.”

“Of course,” she said, her eyes on the window and the lessening rain. “Do we just go to the army offices, or do we send a note first?”

“Why you?” he asked suddenly. “Why are you the one here, and not your uncle?”

“My uncle is running a business from the confines of a wheeled chair,” she replied.

“I'm sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn't know that.”

“I am here because there is no one else,” she said, standing and placing the thick shawl to the side. “And if Eleanor is making a mistake, as you put it . . . well, then who knows better than I what she's going through?”

He rose silently to his feet, unable to find a reply.

This was not the Cecilia he remembered. This was not the wide-eyed, innocent girl who spoke in hopeful breaths. And he found himself wondering what the last ten years had been like for the Cecilia that stood before him. Because the trusting girl he knew was gone.

As gone as the trusting fool he had been.

“Now,” she said crisply, walking past him to the door, “shall we go?”

In that one small movement, she nearly floored him.

Lavender
. She still smelled like lavender.

Perhaps she hadn't changed that much after all.

4

T
he carriage ride from Grosvenor Square to the Horse Guards Parade at St. James's Palace was fairly short, and at this early hour of the morning, relatively uncrowded. The rain was stopping, leaving sunlight to sparkle off wet cobblestones and catch long drips from drainpipes. But as much as she tried to take in London passing by the window, none of it could hold her attention. Not when Theo Hudson was sitting opposite her.

Taking up far too much space.

When they had known each other before, Theo had been lanky, all limbs and a pulse of languid energy. As if he could spring up at any moment and do a back flip, but he simply chose not to. Now he was large, imposing, as if all that energy had solidified into hard muscle.

“What?” he asked. And she realized she was staring.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You're . . . watching me.”

“So?” she replied, trying very, very hard not to blush like a schoolgirl, but knowing that she failed miserably. “Should I not be wary of you? After all, I have no idea why you're here.”

“I am here because the earl asked me to be,” he said, sighing.

“But it doesn't have to be you. It could have been a runner. It could have been a footman. I could have gone by myself.”

He snorted—snorted!—at her.

“I
could
. This is my responsibility. My family. You're . . . spectating.”

She turned her head to the window and tried to take in some of the sights. This was her first trip to London. She'd prepared for the journey, the way a teacher prepares. She read a guidebook of all the things that were worth seeing—although she doubted she would have time to go to Astley's Amphitheatre or the opera—and made certain she had a map constantly in the pocket of her traveling cloak.

They passed a large green space. “Is that Kensington?” she asked as blithely as she could manage.

“Hyde Park,” was the short answer.

She would have checked her map to make certain of it, but unfortunately her traveling cloak was still soaked through and she had kindly been lent a dry one from Lady Ashby's closet, which was a very fine wool but sadly mapless.

Thus, she had to be thankful she was with someone who knew London. Even if she would never admit it.

“For someone who is spectating,” he said, drawing her attention back from the window, “I am better suited to asking questions of the office of the army than a young woman from Lincolnshire.”

“You don't know that,” she replied, firmly gripping her hands in her lap. “This is a private family matter. I would rather not—”

“You are happy to accept the earl's help with your private family matter, and you don't know him at all,” he countered. “Why not mine?”

“Perhaps because I have the benefit of knowing you,” she replied, finding her tongue more tart than it had ever been before.

A surprised eyebrow went up at her tone. Well . . . good, she decided. He'd surprised her plenty today; there was no reason he should be able to sit there, looking so casual and in command.

“That's true,” he replied. “After all, it is I who did not have the benefit of understanding you.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” she blinked.

“It means that when you run off with someone, it usually . . . oh never mind,” he said, waving the idea away.

“No, what where you going to say?” she demanded hotly.

“Nothing. Nothing you shouldn't already be aware of, at least.” He cocked his head to one side. “Tell me about your cousin.”

“Eleanor?”

“Yes. Anything that you think would help us find her.”

“She's seventeen. She has dark hair and dark eyes. I'm told she's small, like me.”

“You're . . . told?” he asked.

“I . . . well, I have to admit I don't know Eleanor very well,” she said, letting her eyes fall to her hands in her lap. “She was but a child when I . . . left Manchester.”

“When you ran off with me,” Theo said, forcing her eyes to his. “You might as well say it, at least when we are alone. Talking around it is exhausting.”

She didn't know how to answer that. So she didn't.

“You haven't been back to Manchester in ten years?” he asked.

“No. You?”

“No. My uncle died several years ago—and there was no reason to go.”

Of course not. He wouldn't want to risk seeing her even though she wasn't there. Or perhaps he just didn't care.

“You haven't even been back to visit?” he said.

“How could I?” she replied. “In everyone's eyes I was as good as ruined.”

“In their eyes, but not in fact.”

Her face grew hot under his gaze. “Facts don't seem to matter much.”

“They mattered to me,” he said. “Learning the truth saved my future.”

And just like that, any curiosity she had about Theo Hudson, about what his life had been like, about who he had become, broke into a thousand pieces and blew away on a puff of air.

“Of course,” she answered, her tongue turned sour. “Learning before any vows were spoken about the modesty of my dowry would have been very advantageous for you.”

She swung her head to the window, forcing her eyes to see beyond the glass. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see his face, which was covered in . . . confusion.

What on earth did he have to be confused about? The choice he had made all those years ago was informed, and very, very clear.

“My cousin Eleanor I know best from the letters her mother sends,” she said, forcing her mind back to the true reason she was here in this carriage with him. “Up until this past year, she was just another bright-eyed girl who was mad about horses. Then the regiment came to town.”

He nodded. “Everything changed with the arrival of red coats.”

“Suddenly my aunt's letters were filled with stories from public balls, and meetings in town, and the number of officers who called. My sister even made a joke saying . . .”

“. . . Saying what?” he asked when she fell silent.

“Saying that my aunt should be careful, because Eleanor sounded a lot like me at that age.”

He eyed her. “And that was a joke?”

“I laughed. I did,” she insisted when she saw the skepticism on his face. “I chuckled and said, ‘Let's hope not,' and returned to preparing for my students. I refused to dwell.”

But by refusing to dwell, she had ruthlessly ignored that warning running down her spine. Now Eleanor was lost somewhere in London, because she hadn't wanted to face her own past—not even for a second.

“And that's why you're here?” he asked. “You think you can atone for your sins by saving your cousin who reminds you so much of yourself?”

“No,” she lied, her brow coming down. “And I don't know if she needs saving. She could be happily married.”

“You keep saying that,” he countered. “Of course she needs saving. Or maybe
he
does. You cannot keep denying that this entire situation is untenable, and ruinous to your family and your cousin's reputations and livelihoods.”

“And you seem to think that because I decide to approach this situation with a modicum of hopefulness that I do not see the whole picture. I promise you I do, because I've lived it. Do you think for a moment that I would have left Manchester if I hadn't been forced to, to save my family the constant embarrassment and explanations?” she said, her speech growing as hot as her face, but she was unable to stop it. “Do you think I would have spent the last
decade
living on my sister's charity working at the school if I'd been able to have a season and marry? If the people back in Helmsley had any idea about that chapter of my life I would have nothing. Nothing at all. No matter how hard I've worked and how correct I've been. Tell me, Mr. Hudson, do you have to worry about your level of correctness at all times?”

“No, I don't,” he bit out. “But that doesn't mean I didn't have any hard lessons to learn from it.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like innocence and trust can be bargaining chips,” he replied. “The biggest trumps in the deck.”

“You are mixing your metaphors to the point I have no idea what you're saying,” she replied. “But that is to be expected from an attorney.”

“You should know, your father is one.”

“Was one,” she said. “He passed, two years ago.”

“Oh,” was the reply. He sounded as if all the air had gone out of the room. “I'm sorry, I didn't know.”

“I didn't even get to attend the funeral. Imogene went for both of us,” she murmured, horrified at the tears welling full in her eyes. “I
have
to hope for the best, you see. Because what else is there?”

He reached out his hand and placed it over hers. She looked up at him—it was as if he was as shocked as she to discover their fingers touching.

She drew away, as if branded by fire.

“Can we talk about something else, please?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Anything else.”

She needed to be distracted. She needed to focus on something that was not this horrid pain.

“You work at a school,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

“I am the teacher at the vicarage school,” she said, her vision clearing at the thought of her students. “I have fourteen boys and girls, up to age twelve.”

“I would never have thought of you as a teacher.”

“Why not? I love children.”

“I just . . . I never thought of you in that kind of servitude,” he said.

“It's not servitude. It's . . . to be quite honest, it can be terribly difficult,” she admitted. “But I have one student who cannot get enough of books and she'll have to leave school soon enough to take care of her younger siblings. And all I want is to give her more.”

“More what?”

“More knowledge. More time. More options,” she said, finding herself misty again, and damning herself for it. “I wasted mine, after all.” She cocked her head to the side, regarded him. “What did you think I would be doing all this time? Or did you think about me at all?”

“I thought about you, Cee,” he said quietly.

Her heart stuttered in her chest and started beating out a new rhythm.

“I thought you would have married. Found some fool to bat your eyes at, and you'd be wrangling your own several brats by now.”

A pang rang through her body. That image—the fool and the brats surrounding her, as she sat in front of a fireplace and darned socks and helped children learn to walk, and had someone to hold on the cold nights—that was something she refused to let herself think on. Because, she told herself, it was something she would never have.

It was too dangerous to let herself indulge in that fantasy. If she ever did meet someone—someone worth having—she could not keep the past a secret. She couldn't
not
tell that person, because if he ever found out on his own, he would hate her for not telling him. And once he did know . . . he would be gone. No, there was too much risk.

In her entire life, there had only ever been one man she'd ever risked anything for. Everything for.

And look how that turned out.

“What about me?” he said, trying to sound jovial. “What did you think I would be?”

“Not an attorney,” she replied, letting one dimple show. “Funny, but I always thought you would have taken to the sea.”

“The sea?”

“Yes. Either via conscription or transportation, but I saw a voyage in your future.”

He cracked a smile at that. Then the carriage lurched to a halt. “Well, you'll have to wait to hear tell of my seafaring adventures.” He gestured toward the imposing gray stone structure outside the window. It lined a courtyard, filled with rows and rows of soldiers in perfect, crisp uniforms, practicing movements. “We're here.”