The Secret Heart, page 19
Carborough met his gaze. “What do you want me to do?”
*
Randolph’s plans were proceeding nicely when he returned to Hay House to discover his sister Ella waiting for him.
She was in his study, eyeing her surroundings with disfavor. “Dolph, this is dull. You have a huge house here! Why do you live in a cupboard?”
“It’s one of the many things I’m about to improve in my life. What do you want, Ella?”
“Why should I want anything?”
“Because you never visit me here. I’m in a bit of a hurry, so spit it out.”
She sighed. “Wretch. It isn’t that I want anything. It’s just that I’m…slightly uneasy. About something I may have said.”
That caught his attention. He frowned at her. “What did you say?”
She drew in her breath. “Lady Pennington called the day before yesterday with her condolences for Papa.”
“Go on,” Randolph said steadily.
“Well, she asked after you and Millie. I said you were all on your way back to town but had stopped for the night at Finsborough. I may have mentioned the Hart. It just sort of slipped out, I suppose because it was mentioned so often that last day. But she is hardly going to go haring off there and discover Lily, is she? In fact, I saw her earlier this afternoon, so clearly, there is no harm done.”
“Was Pennington with her?”
“No, of course not. I would have been much more on my guard if he had been.”
“But you’re still worried, aren’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Barham thought he saw the back of Pennington’s head,” she blurted. “In St. James.”
“And his mother might have told him I’d gone to the Hart…”
“Why would she?” Ella asked brightly. “Who would care?”
“I don’t know,” Randolph said, unease seeping through his bones. “But I think perhaps I had better hurry back there.” He frowned. “Immediately after I speak to Jack Hill. It will be fine, Ella, just go home and don’t worry.”
He was already halfway out of the door as he called the last words over his shoulder.
*
Jack Hill was on his list of people to see while he was in London, but Ella’s admission added new urgency to the conversation. Fortunately, he found Jack in his rooms and didn’t have to trail around London looking for him.
As he was admitted, Jack wandered through the doorway to the room beyond. In his shirtsleeves and fastening his waistcoat buttons, he stopped dead at the sight of Randolph. “Tor… that is, my lord,” he said nervously. “I was not expecting you.”
“Sadly, I don’t yet have a card to send in to you. Mine all say Torbridge still. How do you do?”
“Oh, well enough. Just off to dinner with friends.” He swallowed. “Look, I’m so sorry for what happened. It never entered my head that my brother… But you should know I’ve been jawed to death by everyone from Castlereagh downward, so I doubt there’s anything you can say that isn’t already dinned into me. To be—”
“Where is your brother?” Randolph interrupted.
Jack gave a rueful shrug. “Not sure. We were worried about him after…well, you know. So, we brought him with us to London, and he was with Mama. Only he vanished this morning.”
“Vanished?”
“He wasn’t in his bed. The man valeting for him knew nothing, and we haven’t seen him since.”
“Damn,” Randolph said with unusual grimness.
“It’s been hard on him,” Jack offered, then threw up his hands. “No, don’t eat me. I’ve been worried about him for some time, though it never entered my head he’d do anything so… It wasn’t like him, Torb—Hay, you must see that?”
“I never saw him as a traitor,” Randolph admitted.
“The estate is struggling,” Jack said bluntly. “He has his managers and bankers jabbering in one ear and my mother in the other about keeping up appearances. He’s always needed approval to function well, and suddenly it just wasn’t there. I didn’t know how to help.”
“You could have stopped gambling to begin with,” Randolph said mildly.
Jack flushed. “I always thought just one big win would at least let us tread water for a bit, give us time to get on our feet, financially speaking. But it just made it worse. And now, with this selling of documents. I know it’s hushed up, but my mother obviously knows, as do you and I and all my many superiors at the Foreign Office. He feels the disgrace on top of everything else.”
“So he damned well should,” Randolph said frankly. “Did you know he damaged my curricle? Deliberately to cause an accident? I could have died. More to the point, so could my sister or Miss Darrow, both of whom spent time in the vehicle with me.”
Jack whitened, dragging his hand through his hair. “Dear God, this is bad. This is awful. God knows what he will do now! Seriously, Hay, he needs a doctor and peace. I’m the only one who has a hope of reaching him when he’s like this. We—”
“Get your coat,” Randolph interrupted. “We’re going to find him.”
*
Lily was not altogether surprised when her parents sat her down on the morning after Randolph’s departure and explained how desperate they had been for a child, that God had not favored them until He had brought a lady to the inn who was already going into labor. The lady’s betrothed had been killed at sea, and she was unmarried. Rather than disgrace her family, she had given her baby up to the awed and grateful Villins.
“Mrs. Bradwell,” Lily said slowly. “That is why he asked me if you had adopted me. You did.”
“But we love you as much—more!—” her mother said anxiously, “than if you had been made from our two bodies.”
Lily brought her distant gaze back to her parents and took their hands. “I know,” she said warmly. “You are my mother and father. It makes no difference that I am the illegitimate child of a lady. He still can’t marry me.”
“I wish that didn’t make you so unhappy,” her mother said huskily.
“Oh, I am not unhappy,” she insisted, “for I still love him, and I have you.”
“Lily,” her father said with difficulty, “don’t rely on him coming back.”
“He said he would.”
“He won’t. To give him his due, he won’t ruin you. But for your own sake, don’t think of him, girl.”
There was no chance of that. Missing him was already a deep, hollow ache inside her, and he had said he might be gone as long as two weeks.
On the fourth morning without him, she found herself at the inn gate, staring wistfully up the road as though she could will him to appear.
And just as she began to turn back to the inn, something moved in the distance. She held her breath until the blob resolved into a solitary horseman. This was how he often came to the Hart, a sudden, impulsive decision. As though he had come early because he couldn’t stay away.
She picked up her skirts, actually took a couple of steps down the road, meaning to run to him, when something in his posture stopped her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but even at this distance, he did not ride like Randolph. Almost certainly, she had been mistaken.
Hastily, she turned back into the yard. There were beds to change in two of the guest rooms.
She and her mother had just finished in the first room when her father called upstairs for them.
“Gentleman wants to eat,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the coffee room. He looked at Lily. “Ned’s in there, too.”
Lily’s heart sank, largely with guilt. Although she had done nothing to encourage Ned, she had a greater understanding now of the feelings he must have been struggling with. If he truly loved her as she loved Randolph.
“If you’re not ready to see him, I’ll take in the meals,” her mother offered.
Lily squared her shoulders. “No, I might as well get it over with. We’ve always been friends, after all.”
The delicious scents of her mother’s spicy beef stew were already permeating the inn when Lily walked briskly into the coffee room with plates and cutlery for the two guests.
Ned, by the window, jumped to his feet at once, his face worried as though he were afraid she wouldn’t speak to him.
“Morning, Ned,” she said cheerfully and glanced over to the table nearest the hearth to greet the other guest.
Lord Pennington sat back and smiled.
Chapter Nineteen
Lily needed all her quick wits. Whether he had landed here by accident or design, she knew what to do. What she had always planned to do if anyone from Randolph’s world happened to drop in to the Hart.
Squashing any last trace of the “Lady Lily” accent, she forced a welcoming smile to her lips. “Morning, sir,” she greeted him, and though every hair stood up on the back of her neck, she walked over to him and set his place. He already had a bottle of the decent claret and was idly playing with the stem of his glass, watching her every move.
She moved quickly across the room to Ned, performing the same service. “Mother’s beef stew,” she told him.
“Lily, sit and talk a moment,” he pleaded.
“I can’t right now. I’ve got a lot to do. But we’ll speak later.” She turned away, trying not to look at her other guest.
“Lily,” Lord Pennington repeated, his voice mocking. “Where have I heard that name before?”
“It’s not uncommon, sir,” she managed.
“Such a similarity of appearance, too. Perhaps you have a sister. Also called Lily.”
Lily shrugged noncommittally and went on her way. There was no doubt about it. She was rumbled.
The question was, of course, why was he here? Had he received some hint of her origins and come to prove it as some bizarre revenge on Randolph and Millie? Perhaps he imagined she had tricked them into believing she was their cousin? Or had he come simply to hurt her? Because she had helped to uncover his infamy? Did he know Randolph was not lying injured or dead after the curricle accident? Was he going after each of them in turn? In which case, she would have to warn Millie and Sir George.
And then, as her mother shoved a heavy tray into her hands, she suddenly understood.
At the Pennington Place ball, he had used her as bait to bring Randolph to him. He lacked the imagination to change tactics, and after all, it had worked up to a point. The speed of Randolph’s reactions had merely taken him and Francis by surprise. This time, Pennington would be ready.
“We need to send to London,” she blurted.
“After you serve lunch,” her mother said firmly, “and clear up, you may do as you choose. Go.”
“Mother, that man, that gentleman—”
“Go! I’ve had my fill of your gentlemen!”
Her mother’s rare spurt of ill-nature had its effect. She took the tray to the coffee room and served Lord Pennington his bowl of beef stew with newly-baked bread and butter. She did so briskly, and again he watched her, like a spider with a fly.
She did the same for Ned and then fled the coffee room in search of fresh air and wisdom.
“Lily?” her father said from the taproom where he was gossiping with a couple of local farmers on their way home from the Finsborough market. She waved to acknowledge him but kept going.
A few moments later, he ambled outside and sat beside her on the bench. “What is it?”
She drew in her breath. “The gentleman in the coffee room. I know him. I met him when I was working for Ra—Lord Hay.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “He recognizes you? Just play dumb.”
“I have. He doesn’t believe me. You might say he is an enemy of Lord Hay. Of the country, in fact.”
Her father blinked and scowled. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“I don’t know. That’s what worries me.”
Searching her face, his hand clenched. “Has he ever laid a finger on you?”
“No, no,” she said hastily. “Well, not beyond dancing.”
“Will I throw him out anyway?”
Lily smiled and brushed her cheek against her father’s shoulder. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? No, Dad, we’ll just watch him and wait for him to leave. I’m afraid he’s looking for Lord Hay, to finish off what he started with the curricle.”
His eyes widened. “He damaged the curricle?”
“We think so.”
“Then, I think we should send to the magistrate and have him arrested!”
“It’s not as simple as that. He’s a peer of the realm. Even Mr. Lacey can’t just arrest him. Besides, I doubt Lord Hay will be here before another week.” She stood decisively, “All the same, I think we should check for any strangers here, not just at the inn but lurking around the country. Randolph beat him so thoroughly before that he won’t risk a trap without allies.”
Her father nodded. “I’ll send the lad and ask Ned to look around, too.” He rolled up his sleeves, through which the muscles of his arms bulged comfortingly. “And I will be keeping a close watch on our fine guest.”
They walked inside together in time to see her mother emerge from the coffee room. “He complimented me on my stew,” she said proudly. “And he has bespoken the parlor and a bedchamber.”
Which definitely meant the man was up to mischief. Gentlemen like Pennington did not choose to stay at country inns for no reason. And he had plenty of time to get to Finsborough before dark, or even Brighton if he hurried.
After scribbling hasty warning notes to both Randolph and Millie, she gave them to the stable lad, asking him to post them in Finsborough while he was out looking for any strangers there who might be connected to Lord Pennington.
After that, she helped with clearing up the midday meal and making preparations for the evening. Lord Pennington installed himself in the parlor with the remains of his lunch-time wine.
During the afternoon, one good thing did occur that gave her hope.
Pennington had opened the parlor door, just as she was passing—which almost made her wonder if he had been watching through the keyhole for her—and asked for tea.
“Of course, sir,” she replied, for he had not yet told anyone his name, and she had not quite given up hope of convincing him she was unrelated to Miss Darrow.
At that moment, the front door opened, and Lady Verne from Finmarsh House walked in, closely followed by her husband. Lily was always pleased to see them, for she counted them as proof of the Hart’s luck. But today it struck her that their friendly treatment of her as simply Lily the innkeeper’s daughter whom they’d known for years, might well help her cause.
She dropped the newcomers a curtsey and a smile. “Welcome, my lady, my lord! How can we serve you today?”
“Ah, Lily, how good to see you,” Lady Verne said in her naturally friendly way. “Tea, please, if you would. How are your parents?”
“Very well, my lady. The parlor is engaged, but if you’d step into the coffee room…”
Inevitably, Lady Verne’s gaze took in Pennington, still standing by the parlor door. He bowed with unusual jerkiness, as if this arrival threw him somehow, perhaps forcing him into a world of his peers where setting lethal traps for a gentleman was not done.
Lady Verne paused, then went toward him, extending her hand. “Lord Pennington! What a pleasant surprise. We were so sorry not to come to your mother’s party this year, but we were visiting my brother. Are you acquainted with my husband, Lord Verne?”
Pennington, recovering his grace, bowed over Lady Verne’s hand and then greeted her husband with interest. “I have not had the pleasure.”
“Verne doesn’t go to town much,” Lady Verne said cheerfully. “Except when I drag him. What brings you to our corner of the world?”
“Oh, looking for a friend I heard was here. A friend of us all, I believe. Lord Hay.”
“Torbridge?” Lady Verne asked quickly.
“Before his recent elevation.”
“Is he here?” Verne asked Lily.
“No, my lord. He left the inn several days ago. He would have gone with Sir George and Lady Masterton, but there was an accident with his curricle.” She let her gaze flicker to Pennington, who was watching her with that same spider-like smile on his lips.
“Oh, dear, was he hurt?” Lady Verne asked anxiously.
“Not in the least,” Lily replied. “Fortunately, it came apart when there was no one inside it, though the horses reared and narrowly missed kicking our poor ostler in the head.”
“Then it could have been a lot worse,” Verne observed.
“Considerably. Apparently, he had driven Lady Masterton for part of the journey from Hayleigh.”
“And what of Miss Darrow?” Pennington asked.
Lily stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Darrow, their cousin. Did she also go in the curricle with Lord Hay?” His eyes were both mocking and vicious.
“I could not say, sir,” she said woodenly.
“Then, she was not here at the inn?”
“I don’t believe I saw a Miss Darrow, sir,” she said firmly.
“How curious. She must have disappeared into thin air.” His gaze moved with apparent reluctance. “Don’t let me keep you, Lady Verne.”
“You are welcome to join us for tea,” she said amiably.
“How kind, but I have some urgent letters to write, so I won’t intrude. Charming to run into you here.” With another bow, Pennington stepped back inside the parlor and closed the door, while Lily finally showed the Vernes into the empty coffee room.
“What’s going on?” Verne asked quietly. “Where the devil is Tor…Lord Hay?”
“In London, we believe.” Lily cast a quick glance at the door. “He means him ill. I’m sure he was responsible for damaging the curricle.”
Verne’s eyes widened. He was not often surprised by the evil of his fellow men.
“Oh, surely not,” Lady Verne exclaimed. “I know they don’t much care for each other, but Pennington is a gentleman,”
Lily, who should have known better than to speak ill of the man to one of his own class, merely curtseyed and hurried to the kitchen to fetch tea for everyone. Oddly, she felt more rattled by Lady Verne’s unwitting reinforcement of her social inferiority to Randolph than by Pennington’s mocking questions about Miss Darrow.
