A Secret Surrender, page 4
“Why wouldn’t you want it?”
“Too extravagant. I’m quite content in my small terrace on Rupert Street.”
Compared to his father’s house, it was very small. And simple, as far as she’d been able to tell. But it was still nice and in a good neighborhood. Did someone like him even understand what it meant to live in poverty? Of course not. Why would she think he would? Furthermore, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to understand her.
“So you don’t aspire to have wealth and luxury?”
“Do they bring happiness? Not to me.”
Though she didn’t want to be, Selina found herself fascinated. “Being a constable brings you happiness?”
“It does. More than being a barrister did.”
“You were a barrister?” Selina hadn’t known that, but then she hadn’t asked for information on what Sheffield had done in the past, and Lady Aylesbury had never mentioned it.
He nodded as they made their way into Berkeley Square toward Gunter’s on the east side. “I found it a trifle boring. So I became a constable instead. I quite enjoy what I do.”
Another strike against him. Not because he loved the law, but because he was probably very good at it, and that was a problem for Selina. “What do you like most about it?”
He opened the door to Gunter’s for her, and she preceded him inside. “Helping people.”
“Not arresting them?” she asked wryly as they approached the counter.
He smiled briefly. “No. I must admit, I’m intrigued by what draws people to crime. As I told you the other day, no one is born a criminal.”
“Perhaps not, but some are certainly more inclined, don’t you think? If only because of their circumstance?”
He turned toward her, his tawny gaze lighting with appreciation. “Precisely. Circumstances make us, or at least contribute to, who we are, and if someone is born into a disadvantaged situation, is that really their fault?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer as it was their turn to order ices. He requested elderflower, while Selina asked for lavender. When Sheffield paid for both, she looked at him in surprise. As they awaited their ices, she thanked him. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said.
“Perhaps not, but I insist.” He flashed her a smile that rooted itself in her chest with a persistent and welcome heat.
They took their ices and sat at a table near the window but not directly beside it. After they each took a few bites, Sheffield addressed her. “You are a widow. Do you have children?”
“I do not. Just my younger sister, but she is far from a child. Still, I am responsible for her. We came to London so she could have a Season.” Beatrix was twenty-six, far past the age for a Season as far as Selina could tell, but she looked younger, so they simply pretended that she was.
“That’s right. You mentioned that the other day. Is she enjoying herself?”
“Somewhat. I’m afraid there’s more to engaging in a Season than I’d anticipated.” She glanced down at her ice. “We don’t know many people here.”
“That would make it difficult. Probably. I admit I don’t rightly know.”
She studied him a moment. “How can that be when your father is an earl?”
“I pay little attention to the Season or any Society nonsense. I’m far too busy anyway.” He pressed his lips together. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply that your errand here is nonsense. Of course your sister should have a Season. It’s wonderful that you could bring her here for that.”
Selina laughed softly, deeply appreciating his opinion. “I can’t disagree that it’s nonsense. Even so, it’s Beatrix’s best chance for securing a husband. We came from a rather rural village, and there were no prospects for her there.”
“Will you return there after your sister is settled?” He spooned some ice into his mouth, and she caught a brief glimpse of his tongue.
Readjusting her seat, Selina took a bite of her ice before she answered. “Probably,” she lied. There was no village, just as there was no husband. “Unless I find a charity to support here in London. Like you, I am committed to helping others, and I’m keen to provide assistance to women in particular. If I find myself dedicated to such an endeavor, I may stay.”
“How fortunate for that endeavor,” he said warmly.
“First, however, I must see my sister wed.”
“Yes, to that end, I wonder if I may be of assistance.” He set his spoon down. “My parents are hosting a soiree on Saturday. If you don’t have another engagement, I’d be delighted to ensure you’re invited.”
A rush of anticipation swept over Selina. This was precisely what Beatrix needed. “My goodness, Mr. Sheffield. That’s incredibly kind of you. It isn’t too much trouble?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.”
“Then, yes, thank you. That would be wonderful. You’ll be there?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t. However, since I’m inviting you, I probably should be.” He shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. “I’ll be there.”
She tried not to smile and failed. “Since I now know that isn’t your favorite activity, I shall take it as a compliment that you would attend on our behalf. Thank you.”
Satisfaction curled around Selina. Now for the next objective. “Tell me, what are you investigating now?”
“A variety of things.” His brow furrowed, and his gaze drifted past her.
Selina turned her head to follow his line of sight. “Is there something amiss?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking about an old investigation. I wasn’t able to bring the perpetrator to justice.”
She could see that it burdened him from the creases furrowing his forehead and around the edges of his mouth and eyes. “It still troubles you?”
His gaze met hers. “Yes. Recent developments have brought it back to the forefront of my mind. It was a tragedy, and the man behind it is out there committing crimes even now.”
“How can that be?” Selina asked, truly curious.
His gaze turned hard, his lip curling slightly. “I wasn’t able to catch him four years ago—that was just after I became a constable. He started a fire in Saffron Hill, burning down a house owned by an infamous criminal just so he could take over the man’s organization.”
Selina’s blood went cold. Four years ago… A fire… Saffron Hill…
“More than a dozen people died, including children.” Sheffield’s jaw clenched. “He disappeared, and the investigation was closed as arson wasn’t proven.”
“Who is he?” She couldn’t have stopped the question even if she’d tried. Which she hadn’t. Selina’s pulse thrummed with apprehension.
“The Vicar.” Sheffield blinked at her, then took a bite of his ice. “You wouldn’t have heard of him, of course. He’s a moneylender over in Blackfriars.”
It took everything in Selina to remain in her chair and not race out to catch a hack to Blackfriars immediately. She was nothing if not a master at schooling her reactions and emotions.
“He’s a criminal, and he calls himself a vicar?” she asked, keeping her tone light before taking a bite of lavender ice.
“He meets with people in St. Dunstan-in-the-West.”
“Is he an actual clergyman?”
Sheffield made a guttural sound deep in his throat. “No, he’s a murderer.”
He was indeed. And Selina was going to find him.
“Enough of that,” Sheffield said. “I didn’t mean to speak of such things. I told you, I’m bad at adhering to Society’s rules.”
Selina met his gaze. “You seem a man of fierce commitment and honesty. That’s rather commendable,” she added softly.
His eyes held hers for a moment, and she had the unnerving sense that they shared the ferocity, if not the honesty.
They finished their ices, and he escorted her from the tea shop. “Where are you off to next?” he asked.
“Home. I’ll catch a hack.”
“Allow me.” He hailed one for her and, as on the other day, helped her into the vehicle.
“This is becoming a routine,” Selina said with a smile.
He held on to her hand a trifle longer than necessary. “A pleasant one, if I may say.”
Heat flashed over Selina. She should stay far away from Sheffield, but she couldn’t—for now. Aside from keeping watch over him and the fact that he was going to invite them to a soiree, she now also had to consider how to obtain more information from him about this “vicar” and the fire in Saffron Hill. More than ever, Harry Sheffield was a very important person.
He was also intriguing, and she found herself liking him.
“I look forward to seeing you Saturday,” she said.
“I will do the same. Expect the invitation tomorrow. I’ll speak with my parents now. I hope your sister is improved.”
“Thank you, I’m sure she is.”
He bowed and closed the door, then walked to the front of the hack, presumably to give her direction to the driver.
Selina arrived at her small rented house on Queen Anne Street a short while later. Her mind raced with thoughts and plans as she let herself in the front door. The housekeeper was almost certainly preparing dinner just now.
After removing her hat and gloves and setting them on a narrow table, Selina walked past the stairs to the small sitting room where she and Beatrix spent most of their time.
Beatrix looked up from the newspaper she was reading, her light hazel eyes fixing on Selina and then narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Of course Beatrix would see the turmoil inside Selina. Though they weren’t related by blood at all, they were as close as true sisters and had been for over fifteen years. “Tomorrow, we will receive an invitation to a soiree given by the Earl of Aylesbury.”
Beatrix’s eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. “Sheffield’s father?” She knew everything Selina did about the Bow Street Runner. Except for the peculiar way he made Selina feel.
“I ran into him on Mount Street just now.”
“He didn’t suspect why you were there?”
Selina went to the hearth. “Not at all.”
“That’s good news, which means you aren’t telling me what’s wrong. I can see something is troubling you.”
Of course she could. They were as good as sisters, having met at Mrs. Goodwin’s Ladies’ Seminary when Selina was thirteen and Beatrix just ten. Beatrix’s mother had recently died and her father had sent her to the school without even telling her in person. That her father was a duke and Beatrix a bastard hadn’t ever mattered to Beatrix—until she’d arrived at the seminary, where the other girls had made sure it had mattered. Selina had taken Beatrix under her wing, and they’d formed a bond that persisted.
Pivoting, Selina walked to the door that led out to the small enclosed garden. She stared outside for a moment before turning to face Beatrix, who waited patiently with the newspaper resting on her lap.
“I know who started the fire in Saffron Hill.” The words slid from Selina’s lips on a throaty rasp.
Beatrix stood abruptly, the newspaper falling to the floor unheeded. “How? Who?”
“A man called the Vicar. It’s a crime Sheffield wasn’t able to solve.”
Selina’s body quivered as much as when he’d told her about this at Gunter’s. “Sheffield wasn’t able to catch him, and he—the Vicar—is still out there, lending money in Blackfriars.” She spat the last out on a hiss.
“We’ll find him,” Beatrix said with cold certainty.
“Yes, and when I do, he’ll pay for killing my brother.”
Beatrix came to Selina and took her hand in a fierce grip. “We’ll go to Blackfriars tomorrow.”
“He lends money from St. Dunstan-in-the-West,” Selina said coldly, her rage buried beneath a myriad of other emotions she fought to keep hidden: grief, regret, despair. “We’ll start there.”
“What will you do when we find him?”
Selina blinked and looked into Beatrix’s familiar eyes, felt the warmth of her support and love in the grip of her hand. Loosening her shoulders, Selina forced herself to relax. “I don’t know yet.” Whatever she did, she’d have to do it under the nose of a Bow Street Runner who was both scrutinizing Selina as Madame Sybila and desperate to catch the Vicar.
“Come, let’s decide what to wear for your first major Society event on Saturday evening,” Selina said with more enthusiasm than she felt.
Beatrix pivoted toward the door, but cast a sidelong glance toward Selina. “Don’t put on an act for me. I know you’ll be preoccupied with finding the Vicar until it’s done.”
“Yes, but I won’t let it take away from our objective. We’re so close—the Earl of Aylesbury is incredibly well connected. You’ll be presented to the Duke of Ramsgate in no time, and he’ll see what he’s missed all these years after abandoning you at Mrs. Goodwin’s.”
Eyes narrowing with purpose, Beatrix held her head high. “It seems we’re both going to get what we want very soon.”
No, Selina would never get what she wanted—a reunion with her beloved brother, the boy who’d kept her safe for years on the streets of London after they’d been orphaned. Then he’d sent her away to Mrs. Goodwin’s Ladies’ Seminary to keep her even safer and to ensure she had a better chance at a future than she would have had in the East End.
How wrong he’d been.
Mayhap her life had been better. There was no way to know. Either way, here she was, nearly right back where she started. And Rafe was gone.
So while she might not get what she wanted, she’d seize the next best thing: revenge.
Chapter 4
Harry slipped his finger between his neck and his overly starched collar and cravat and gave the fabric a gentle tug. His valet had gone to excess with his costume this evening, but then it had been a while since Harry had attended anything but a family dinner at his parents’ house.
The discomfort of his overly elegant clothing extended to his mood—he didn’t like these kinds of events. Pomp, fabrication, and excess. Though his parents did better than most as far as whom they invited and the expense they laid out, it was still far and beyond what Harry thought was necessary. Why not just invite a handful of friends over to play cards?
Because there will be dancing!
Harry heard his mother’s dissenting opinion in his head along with her effusive laugh and couldn’t help but smile. Yes, dancing, and he’d avoid it like the bloody plague.
Settling back against the squab and dropping his hand to his side as the hack turned onto Bond Street, he thought back on another pointless afternoon watching The Ardent Rose. The past five days, he’d either stationed himself across the street or observed the alley, onto which the back entrance opened. He had yet to see Madame Sybila leave the perfumery. She was either watching him and adjusting her departure, or he was incredibly unlucky.
Four days, actually, since he’d deduced that she hadn’t been there on Thursday. He’d paid someone to go in and ask about the fortune-teller’s schedule. She didn’t make appointments on Thursdays—or of course Sundays.
What he really needed, however, was to learn what she did during her appointments. He supposed it was possible she wasn’t up to anything fraudulent, but he wasn’t going to wait for her to cheat his mother or one of her friends to know for certain.
His mind turned to the other investigation weighing on him: that of the Vicar. Harry had visited St. Dunstan-in-the-West and asked to see the Vicar only to be told there was no person by that name, just the actual vicar of the church. So Harry had watched the church for hours at a time—and seen nothing. He’d also asked around Blackfriars and learned that there was still no one willing to discuss the Vicar, let alone give a description of what he looked like. The man either paid people well or inspired a deep loyalty.
The hack turned onto Grosvenor Street, and soon cut through Grosvenor Square before turning onto Charles Street, where Harry got out.
He strode into the mews behind his parents’ house, where he greeted one of the grooms. “Good evening, Barker.”
“’Evening, sir,” Barker said. “Surprised to see you here tonight. But not surprised you’re stealing in the back.” He chuckled.
“You know me well.” Harry winked at the groom, then took himself to the house, entering through the back door that the servants used.
Sounds from the kitchen carried up the backstairs, giving indication of how busy they all were for the soiree. It was early yet, and Harry could only hope Lady Gresham and her sister arrived near the start so he could leave as soon as possible.
Harry opened a door and stepped into the corridor that led to the library at the back of the house, where his family typically gathered before dinner—and before events such as this. He heard their voices before he stepped inside.
His brother Jeremy, Viscount Northwood, and whom everyone but Harry called North, stood just over the threshold and noticed him immediately, his dark auburn brows climbing his forehead in a combination of surprise and amusement.
Harry put his finger to his lips. He wanted to see how long it took before anyone else noticed he was there.
“That’s a beautiful color on you,” his youngest sister, Imogen, was saying to the oldest of his three sisters, Delia. “And the drape is perfection. It’s hardly possible to tell you’re increasing.”
“That can’t be true,” Delia said. “I feel as large as Lord Blakesley’s ridiculous new coach.”
“An absolute monstrosity,” Delia’s husband, Edward, Baron Moreton, said with a sniff.
Delia arched a chestnut brow at him. “You say that, but we will need one that big if we’re to cart four children about.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Imogen said, her dark brown eyes lighting with inspiration. “A vehicle for an entire family. One would think those would be readily available.”
“I believe that’s called a caravan, darling,” Imogen’s husband, Sir Kenneth, said with a smile from beside her.
“Well, that’s the definition of such a thing, and it involves multiple vehicles. Perhaps someone should design a family-sized vehicle called a caravan, so the whole family could travel together,” Imogen suggested. She cocked her head to the side. “Whom do we know who could do that?” Glancing about the room as if she’d find such a person within their family, she settled her gaze on Harry. “Well, look who’s here.” Her lips spread in a wide grin.
