Unmasking Sin, page 4
She had just settled in her own sitting room to try and distract herself with a new novel when Simpkins, her maid, came in.
“Sorry, my lady, but Mr. Rawlston is waiting in the salon. With Mr. Constantine. James denied you, but they insist on waiting.”
Rebecca was tempted. She could keep them kicking their heels all afternoon until they got bored and left. Though she wouldn’t put it past them to demand to see Tom or even to invade the nursery, and that, she could not allow.
Besides, a conversation might be enlightening.
With a sigh, she put aside her book and went downstairs to greet her unwelcome guests.
“Madam, good day,” Aloitius said. “We rejoice to find you neither asleep nor gallivanting.”
“I was merely enjoying a short rest after my last—er… gallivant. Do sit,” she added, since they already had.
At least Constantine had the grace to blush.
“May we know which den of iniquity received your favor?” Aloitius sneered.
Clearly, he expected her to refuse from pride. “Why, that great Bacchanalian orgy, a charity luncheon at Grillon’s. The excitement was palpable. What might I do for you, gentlemen?”
“We have come to see the boy.”
“I’m afraid he is asleep. You may call tomorrow at ten if you wish. Or three of the clock if you prefer.”
“You cannot keep the child from his family!” Aloitius raged.
She widened her eyes. “I have just invited you to see him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is not convenient,” Constantine growled.
“What a pity,” Rebecca said pleasantly.
They stared at her, a double intimidation that no longer worked. They seemed almost…nonplussed.
“Before you go,” she added, “you should probably know that someone broke into the house last night. As a result, I have given Dawson and the footmen permission to shoot any intruders.”
Both pairs of eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening us?”
“Why would you think so? You will never intrude, will you?”
“You are a disgrace!” Aloitius spluttered. “You will not keep Theodore’s son!”
“The law says I will until he is of age.”
“The law can be challenged,” Constantine barked. “And it will be. No sane person would leave a child in the care—I use the term loosely—of the woman who murdered his father! Good day!”
“A pleasure, as always,” she murmured as they marched to the door. “Mark will show you out.”
She sat back down again. Although pleased with the way she had handled them, the confrontation left her shaking. And none the wiser. If they had sent last night’s intruder to steal Tom from her, they had revealed no hint of it.
The knowledge that she could not deal with this alone pressed in on her. Her parents wished nothing to do with her since she had married Theo against their instructions. Lowering to think they had been right, though it hardly mattered now. She clearly had no friends in London, no one she could turn to in her household. One of them could be the traitor that left the kitchen door open for last night’s intruder. And in any case, none of them had the kind of expertise she needed to keep her son with her, to defend her if the Rawlstons really challenged Theo’s will in the courts.
Snippets of conversation came back to her.
“I have been talking to your brother… Do you recommend him?”
“He is becoming known for solving a wide array of problems.”
What had Mr. Adam Dunne even meant by that? What sort of problems did his brother, Ludovic, solve?
Legal ones, of course. And she had no solicitor who was not attached to her parents or to Theo’s family… But what did she know of the Dunnes? Adam did clever things with money, invested it, and made it grow. She had met him occasionally through Theo, more in connection with charities than investments. Ludovic, the solicitor who solved a wide array of problems, she had never encountered before last night. She knew nothing about him, or his family, or his reputation. He must know something about hers, and yet he had risked his standing, even his livelihood, by his friendliness to her. Was that worth nothing?
If she was alone, she thought, she would trust him. But she was not alone. She had Tom, and any mistake she made could be one too many for him, his safety, and his future.
Chapter Four
Ludovic obliged his brother by listening to the speeches, coughing up some more money for the orphans, and then mingling with the other guests before leaving, mainly so that he could walk back to the city with Adam and talk.
“How are you acquainted with Lady Cornish?” he asked bluntly.
“Young Lady Cornish? I invested for her husband in the last year of his life. She donated to some of our charities.”
“Is that why you invited her today?”
“Of course.”
“Did you know everyone else would shun her?”
Adam sighed. “My forte is business rumor, not social gossip.”
“Then you didn’t know her own supposed friends are calling her the Black Widow?”
“I do now,” Adam replied with a shade of grimness that made Ludovic cast him a piercing glance.
“You like her.”
Adam shrugged. “She is a kind lady and does not treat a mere cit like the dirt beneath her feet.”
“Do you believe she killed her husband?” Ludovic asked bluntly.
“I can imagine a saint might have been tempted to do so. Charming as Sir Theodore Cornish undoubtedly was, he was also a womanizing sot, and he didn’t do it quietly.”
This was news to Ludovic, who frowned at his brother. “How do you know this?”
“Because, like you, I always ask a few questions before I take on a new client.”
“But you took him on anyway?”
“He needed the help.”
“Did he invest a large sum through you?”
“Don’t be silly, Ludo. I won’t tell you that. Does it matter?”
“It might. What happens to these investments now that Theodore Cornish is dead? Do they go to his widow?”
“None of your business, Ludo. Why don’t you ask the lady? You seemed friendly enough with her at luncheon. Has she retained your services?”
Ludo ignored that question, thinking only that something did not sit squarely in this case.
“You are not working for the Rawlstons, are you?” Adam said with an unease that dragged Ludovic’s attention back to him.
“I won’t tell you that either. But you imply they are not to be trusted.”
“I wouldn’t lend them money,” Adam said bluntly.
In other words, make sure they pay you. Perhaps he should have investigated his clients more thoroughly before accepting instructions in this case. Normally he did, but a lady of the ton killing off her husbands had just seemed too intriguing—and too serious—to pass by. The wellborn had a nasty habit of walking away from their crimes, as he knew only too well. So, he had jumped at this chance, and his initial research had been cursory. The Rawlstons were an old, respected family with no scandal attached to their names. And that had been enough.
His research into Rebecca Cornish had been more thorough. Of the minor gentry only, her first husband had been an elderly baron who had died in Italy during their extended wedding trip. She had returned to England and, only a year later, married Sir Theodore Cornish, against the wishes of her parents, who promptly cut her off.
Opinions on the woman herself varied, from devoted servants who clearly loved her to people who reviled her. Ludovic, normally a shrewd judge of character, did not care for his clients, a warning he had ignored because of his almost crusading interest in the case. On the subject herself, Rebecca, Lady Cornish, he still did not trust himself. Her beauty, her poise, the unconscious sensuality of her every movement distracted him. He could easily imagine her having any man, let alone a drooling old fool and a sot, eating out of her hand.
And yet, there was a vulnerability there that affected him more. The solitary lady thrown by his persistence when she was apparently used to controlling men? Then there was the bravery with which she faced the disdain of society, including her erstwhile friends. If he was honest—and he had to be—he liked her. But then, so had Sir Theodore and Lord Bowden, and they were most definitely dead.
“I’m going to take a hackney, Adam,” he said abruptly and veered off toward the stand.
He directed the driver not into the city but out to Maida Gardens. The man’s very vocal reluctance was eventually assuaged by a larger fare and the promise of at least taking Ludovic back into town if he had no other passengers before then.
The Gardens in daytime were different. One was more aware of the flowers and trees, though the constructions of various follies in the grounds did not show to advantage in sunlight, suffering as they did from neglect and peeling paint. But there were also children playing, tumblers and jugglers to watch, music to listen to, ices to rival Gunther’s. The disreputable, risqué atmosphere of the masked balls was not in evidence now.
The differences were not lost on Ludovic as he strode up the main path, then veered to the right until he came to a garden gate with a cottage beyond. As fortune would have it, the man he sought was walking down the garden path toward him.
“Mr. Renwick,” Ludovic greeted him.
Renwick, a well-dressed man, if one liked checked waistcoats and colorful cravats, looked immediately wary.
“Mr. Dunne,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I have a few questions if you can spare me the time.”
“If you can talk while we walk,” Renwick said, less than enthusiastically. “I’m on my rounds.”
They fell into step together, walking up a steep path toward the hedges that separated the Gardens from the countryside beyond.
“Last night, a lady and I were attacked by two knife-wielding thieves,” Ludovic stated.
Renwick scowled, though he looked directly at him. “That was you, was it? We found them easily enough and sent them on their way. They won’t be bothering anyone here again. Bloody cheek.”
“Did you know them?”
“No, but they know me now.”
“Did you, by any chance, get the impression they were working for anyone else? That they had been sent here?”
“No, but if they were, the message will have got back loud and clear.”
“Then they weren’t attacking anyone in particular?”
Renwick stared at him. “I didn’t ask them. Seems to me they were too stupid. What are you getting at?”
“Does the name Lady Cornish mean anything to you? Rebecca Cornish?”
Renwick didn’t even think about it, which was interesting in itself. “No. Should it?”
“She was the lady attacked, and the reason it bothers me is that someone else broke into her house later on that same night. Seems a lot of bad luck very quickly.”
“It does that. She lose anything?”
“You tell me.”
Renwick looked affronted, perhaps a little too much so. “How can I? You’re not trying to blame burglary on me, now?”
“Heaven forfend,” Ludovic said politely. “It so happens I caught up with the burglar after he was chased out of the premises, and he spun me some tale of a kitchen maid he’d met here.”
“Get all sorts here.”
“He made her up. The point is, Maida Gardens was the first place he thought of. So I thought of you.”
“I don’t do burglary,” Renwick said flatly.
They hadn’t gone as far as the boundary hedge but cut along a path through gardens with flowers and swings, past a miniature castle, then headed out toward the waterfall.
Renwick was an interesting character. A card sharp and not above breaking any laws he chose, he was yet a conscientious manager of these gardens, which he had rescued several years ago from ruin, and maintained ever since. He might not have been entirely law-abiding, but Ludovic always had the sense that he lived by his own code of ethics. Attacking widows and children was not normally his forte.
“Do you know anyone called Cornish?” Ludovic flung at him.
“Knew Sir Theodore,” Renwick said. Did Ludovic imagine the faintest hesitation before he spoke? “He came here to pick up women and play cards.”
“The devil he did. That can’t have been good for his bank balance.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Renwick said virtuously. “Our tickets are priced very reasonably.”
“Your tickets are,” Ludovic allowed. They were walking down from the waterfall now, and the constant gurgling and splashing made him thirsty. “Join me in a mug of ale?”
A ball landed in front of them as they stepped over the bridge, closely followed by a horde of small boys. Hastily, Renwick kicked the ball away to the right, and the horde veered after it.
“Ain’t got the time to sit down right now,” Renwick said, crossing the lawn, “but I appreciate the offer.”
It had been a very curtailed tour of the Gardens, with large chunks missed out. Renwick opened the wooden gate into the rose garden, where a few tables had been laid out for those taking tea or ices.
“Sit here, if you like,” Renwick offered. “I’ll have Kitty bring your ale. On the house, Mr. Dunne, since you put me on the trail of those varmints last night.”
“Very kind of you, but…” Ludovic broke off because at one of the shaded tables sat a lady and a small child, eating ices and laughing. “I don’t suppose you recognize that lady, do you?”
Renwick followed his gaze. “No, can’t say as I do. Ask Kitty, though.” He caught the arm of the pretty young girl who was waiting on the tables. “She’s here more during the day. Talk to Mr. Dunne, Kit, got to be on my way. Pleasant talking to you, sir. Whatever he wants on the house, Kitty.” Calling the last over his shoulder, he strode purposefully on his way.
“What can I help you with, sir?” the girl asked pleasantly.
“The lady with the child. Does she come here often?”
“Don’t recall seeing her before, sir. Pleasant lady, though, definitely a toff, but not high in the instep. The little boy is sweet, too.”
“She might have been with someone else and not necessarily during the day.”
“Don’t recall her at all. And my uncle won’t let me work evenings.”
“Renwick is your uncle?” he said, briefly distracted.
She smiled. “For his sins or mine! What can I fetch you, sir?”
At that moment, Rebecca Cornish glanced across the garden and saw him. And smiled.
“Ale, if you please,” Ludovic managed.
*
Rebecca’s heart lit up when she saw him in the garden. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t prevent her smile. Perhaps the afternoon spent here with her son had simply put her in a pleasant mood, banishing her worries, but she was definitely pleased to see him.
Only as he murmured something to the waitress and began to stroll in her direction did the oddity of his presence here strike her. In fact, she seemed to keep running into him: last night, the charity luncheon, and now here.
The man did not walk like a solicitor, though she wasn’t quite sure what made her think so. He was neither humble nor self-important. He did not swagger nor try to avoid attention. He moved like a man comfortable with himself and confident in his decisions, both of which she envied.
He came to a halt at their table and bowed. “My lady, what an unexpected pleasure.”
“I can honestly say the same to you. This is my son, Tom. Well, he is really Sir Thomas Cornish, but it seems such a mouthful for a happy little boy. Tommy, shake hands with Mr. Dunne.”
She wasn’t quite sure what devil prompted her to suggest it. Perhaps some need to test the stranger. Tom, looking angelic, even with ice cream all over his face, obediently held out his hand covered in equal parts mud and sticky ice.
To his credit, Mr. Dunne took the proffered hand and shook it gravely. “How do you do, Sir Tom?”
Tom grinned. “We’ve been in a castle and sailed ships on the lake. I fell in the bushes, but it didn’t hurt, and now we have ices.”
“So you have,” Mr. Dunne acknowledged.
Taking pity, Rebecca passed him a napkin. “Will you join us?”
A smile flickered in his eyes as though he were recalling last night’s conversation on the subject of chairs. He turned, as though to fetch one, and seemed surprised to have a chair placed for him by James, wearing his own Sunday best clothes rather than his working livery. Rebecca had thought it would draw less attention.
“Thank you,” he murmured, giving the footman a quick, appraising glance before he sat. “I’m glad to see you did not come alone. Though I’m surprised you came at all after last night.”
Her lips curved. “So, the masks are off?”
“You are easy to recognize, and I’m fairly sure you knew me as soon as I spoke to you at Grillon’s. It’s still brave of you to come here.”
She tilted her chin. “I am refusing to let myself be frightened. While making sure Tom is safe. Sometimes I feel I cannot breathe in town. Here, the air is fresher, the park wider, and no one knows me. I suddenly thought that Tom would like it here in the sunshine, seeing the other children and the waterfall and all the magical follies. Which actually don’t seem quite so magical in the bright light of day.”
He glanced from her to James, now sitting at the next table with a youngish, respectably dressed woman. “So you brought your footman and… your maid?—for protection.”
“Something like that. Annie is Tom’s nursemaid.”
“Sensible,” he allowed.
She wondered if his approval should frighten her. She wondered what, if anything to tell him, this man who, according to his brother, solved a wide array of problems. Was Adam Dunne being kind to her or to his brother with this helpful hint?
Could she really trust this man? Was he following her?
“What brings you to Maida?” she asked bluntly.
“I wanted to speak to Renwick about last night’s incident. He assures me he has dealt with those concerned.”
