A Lord Undone: The Spinsters Guild (Book 5) Page 10

  “Did you enjoy your meal, Lady Beatrice?”

  Beatrice looked towards Lord Greaves as they all rose from the table. It was customary for the gentlemen to remain behind for port, whilst the ladies adjourned to the drawing-room, but Lord Marston had suggested that they merely take their port with them to the drawing-room, such was the delightful conversation that had passed thus far. Every gentleman had seemed enamored with the idea and thus, Beatrice and Lord Greaves were now walking together through the passageway and towards the drawing-room. They were the last two to make their way from the room, with Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham in front. There had been very little time for discussion before the dinner, for once Beatrice had greeted Lord Greaves, the dinner gong had sounded and they had been forced to make their way into the dining room. The conversation during dinner had been most excellent, but again it had not permitted Beatrice and Lord Greaves to speak at length about what had occurred.

  “I did,” she said, softly, making sure not to speak too loudly. “What of you, Lord Greaves? You appear to be in excellent spirits this evening.” She did not mean it to be an accusation but could not help but wince awkwardly, fearing that he would hear it in her voice. They were separated for a moment as a few of the staff began to enter back into the drawing-room, with one footman stumbling and accidentally knocking into Lord Greaves, who waved away the fellow’s apology and hastening back towards Beatrice’s side.

  “In truth, Lady Beatrice, I have found this evening to be most difficult,” Lord Greaves answered, no sense of upset in his voice, much to Beatrice’s relief. “I must pretend to be happy and contented, when, in fact, I am deeply upset and even a little fearful.”

  Beatrice glanced up at him, seeing how his eyes turned towards hers. “You must be under a great deal of strain,” she told him, as gently as she could. “I wish there was more I could do to be of assistance to you.”

  “You have been an excellent help thus far, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Greaves told her, suddenly coming to a stop and, after a momentary pause, offering her his arm. “It has only been a few days since we became better acquainted, Lady Beatrice, and yet I have found such a strength within your company that I cannot help but cling to it.” His eyes were dulled, his demeanor clearly lost in both frustration and sorrow. “My brother may be a fool, Lady Beatrice, but he is still my brother. I am afraid for him.”

  Beatrice wrapped her hand tightly about Lord Greaves’ arm, trying to find something to say. “Lord Greaves, I think that you must be a gentleman of excellent character,” she said, making him jerk his head around to look at her. “Indeed, you not only ignore all rumors and such like, but now you fear for your brother and I know will do all that you can for him, even though he has broken the trust between you.”

  Lord Greaves sighed and shook his head, rubbing one hand over his eyes. “I have a good many faults, Lady Beatrice,” he said, gruffly. “I have always found fault with everyone. I found fault with you, Lady Beatrice.”

  “Oh?” Their steps were slowing now and Beatrice did not protest when he walked her past the drawing-room, clearly unwilling to, as yet, go with her back into company. “What is it that you found wrong with me, Lord Greaves?”

  He let out a low, harsh laugh, shaking his head. “I thought you to be much too emotional, Lady Beatrice,” he said, as her mouth curved gently. “The way you threw yourself into my carriage and then, thereafter, would not remove yourself to make your way to a hackney, made me believe that you were much too emotional for someone such as myself.” Sighing, he threw her an awkward glance, clearly abashed. “You have every right to be angry with me for such improper thoughts, Lady Beatrice.”

  “I have not even the smallest hint of anger, Lord Greaves,” she answered, truthfully. “Indeed, that day I quite lost myself.” Her voice grew soft with the emotions that flooded her as she recalled just how horrified she had been to hear what her father had said. “I was torn by sadness and grief over what my father had done and, as such, I was not thinking clearly about my actions. When I climbed into your carriage, thinking it was a hackney, I could not move for fear.”

  “Fear?” he queried, as they turned about in the hallway, ready to return to the drawing room now. “Over what?”

  “Fear of what would be said, of the looks that would be thrown at me,” she answered, truthfully. “I had only just found out that my father had made such a remark and the sheer terror that clutched at me made me quite foolish.”

  Much to her surprise, Lord Greaves reached around with his free hand and patted hers, brushing his fingers with his own. “It must have come as quite a shock.”

  “I did not even know that my father ever had such a suspicion,” she told him, surprised at just how honest she felt able to be with him. “My poor, dear, mother…” She trailed off, blinking back tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. She was just glad that her mother had not been present to hear what Lord Burnley had said of her.

  “You have had a good deal of trouble,” Lord Greaves murmured, softly. “And now you are involving yourself in my situation also.”

  “Merely because I forced myself to be,” she countered, as he gave her a half-smile. “I do not think you would have been able to refuse me, even if you had wished it.”

  Lord Greaves shrugged, then brought both himself and Beatrice to a stop just outside the drawing-room. “I am glad of your company now, Lady Beatrice,” he told her, coming to stand just in front of her, the doorway just behind him. Beatrice could hear the conversations flowing from the room and yet felt no urge to go inside so as to join in. “More glad than I am able to express.” He pressed one hand to his heart but, just as he did so, a strange expression came over his face.

  “What is it?” Beatrice asked, the smile dropping from her face as she looked at him, seeing how he patted his chest for a moment and having no understanding of what he was doing.

  “How the devil - ?!”

  Beatrice gasped at Lord Greaves’ loud exclamation but did not comment on it, seeing how, suddenly, he pulled from a pocket a small note that was folded neatly and sealed with red wax.

  “How can it be?” he exclaimed, looking from the letter to Beatrice and back again. “This cannot be what I think it is.”

  Beatrice swallowed hard, looking at Lord Greaves’ astonished expression and finding her heart quailing just a little within her. Someone had, somehow, managed to place a note into one of Lord Greaves’ pockets without his knowledge. Just how they had done so, she had very little idea, although she knew all too well that there were those in London who were very skillful pickpockets.

  “The footman,” Beatrice whispered, a memory slamming down hard into her mind. “Do you recall, Lord Greaves?”

  Lord Greaves looked up at her, an awareness dawning in his eyes. “The fellow knocked into me earlier this evening,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Do you think that he could have…..?”

  “What other explanation might there be?” Beatrice asked, pressing her hand against her heart and staring back at Lord Greaves. “Surely you can see that this must have been the only way for someone to have done such a thing.”

  Lord Greaves’ eyes dropped to the note again, then shot back to her face. “Yes, yes, of course,” he breathed, his eyes wide as he began to nod fervently. “I must find the footman in question. I must…..” He trailed off, his eagerness seeming to fade. “No, I will have no success there.”

  “I fear you will not,” Beatrice agreed, coming to stand beside him. “You might ask all of the footmen to come forward, might try to identify which one knocked into you, but I do not think that any of them will admit to it.”

  “And I will cause no end of difficulty for our host and might very well start some sort of rumor also,” Lord Greaves muttered, his shoulders slumping. “Once again, I am caught out.”

  Beatrice put her hand on his, hearing the pain in his eyes. “We are working against somehow who has already made a good many plans,” she told him, trying to be enco
uraging. “You must not doubt or berate yourself.” Her eyes fell on the note once more. “What does it say?”

  Lord Greaves broke the seal with clumsy fingers, almost ripping the parchment in his haste. Both he and Beatrice read the note at the same time, seeing nothing more than a few words written there. It gave no clue as to who might have sent it nor did it even mention Mr. Adlington.

  “A large sum indeed,” Lord Greaves murmured, reading the amount written on the paper. “And I presume this address below it is where I am to put the money.” His brow furrowed. The note was very specific, giving the address and then stating that it was to go ‘under the blue table’, whatever that meant.

  “In four days’ time,” Beatrice added, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she tried her best to think. “Why would they require it in four days?”

  Lord Greaves sighed and pushed one hand through his hair. “Because it gives me sufficient time to ensure I have all the money required,” he answered, softly, the pain in his eyes tearing at her heart. “I will get it, of course, and do as they ask, but I must hope that Adlington will be safe thereafter.”

  Beatrice caught her breath, realizing what he meant. “You mean to say that even if you give them the money they require, there is no guarantee that they will bring Adlington to you or release him from their clutches thereafter.”

  Lord Greaves lifted one shoulder, sighing heavily. “They might very well think him much too valuable to let go of so easily,” he said, making a shiver of fear run up Beatrice’s frame. “They might seek to gain more money from me.”

  Trying to think about what they might do so as to encourage Lord Greaves, Beatrice took in a long, steadying breath and set her shoulders. She could see the worry in Lord Greaves’ expression, could see the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes darted from place to place. “No,” she said, firmly, as he lifted his eyes to hers. “No, we will not permit that, Lord Greaves. You are not alone in all of this,” she reminded him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, aware of just how tightly he gripped her fingers. “Together with Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham, I am certain we will be able to find a solution that will not only protect your brother but will bring the perpetrators to justice.” She smiled and saw the flash in Lord Greaves’ eyes. “I am sure that we will be able to find a way to not only prevent them from keeping your money but also to make quite certain that your brother is safe from harm. They will not be allowed to escape with their cruelty, Lord Greaves. Together, we will find a solution.”

  Beatrice had hoped that Lord Greaves would find her words encouraging, that it might bring a small spark of life back to him – but she certainly did not expect him to grasp her hand with both of his and bring it to his mouth. A gasp ripped from her as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand with such a fervor that she felt heat crash over her, sending fire into her very core. When he lifted his head and fixed his eyes upon hers, it was all she could do to keep her breath.

  “Thank you, Lady Beatrice,” he said, humbly. “I was lost in darkness for a few moments and your words and your sweetness brought me back to the light.” Pausing, he took in a long breath, set his shoulders and let the corners of his mouth lift. “You are quite correct, Lady Beatrice. I should not allow myself to swim through these shadows and allow them to tug me all the closer to them. There is still hope. There is still a way for this matter to come to a satisfactory conclusion.” His jaw worked for a moment as he forced himself to gather his composure. “I must pray that my brother is still alive, even if I fear he is not unharmed. And I must hope that I will be able to retrieve him soon.”

  “I am sure you will be together again in only a few days,” Beatrice said, even though she was not at all certain how such a thing might happen. “You must find some hope in all of this, Lord Greaves, else you will surely be lost to the dark.”

  He nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “You are quite right, Lady Beatrice,” he said for what was now the second time. “Goodness, how close I came to turning your help away, to refusing to permit you to come alongside me in all of this! And what would I have done now, if you were not here?” Shaking his head, he lifted her hand again and pressed his lips to it once more, sending shivers of delight up Beatrice’s arm. “Thank you, Lady Beatrice. In such a short time, you have become very dear to me indeed. Your wisdom, your courage and your fierceness of spirit bring my own spirits up from the depths.” The blues in his eyes seemed to swirl as he looked down into her face, making Beatrice catch her breath. “And I do not think I shall ever be able to set you aside, Lady Beatrice. Not even when all of this is over.”

  Chapter Nine

  Looking down at his study desk, Frederick resisted the urge to sigh, thinking that he had done so far too often these last few days. He had already returned from his solicitors, having spoken to them about how best to go about securing such a large sum of money, and had been assured that they would be able to do as he requested without much difficulty, although it would take two days for them to have everything quite prepared.

  For whatever reason, Frederick had not told them to do as he asked. Instead, he had merely nodded and then left the premises. Something within him was warring against his decision to do as the note asked, something told him that he ought not to do such a thing without careful consideration.

  Although what he was to do instead, he could not say.

  Sitting down in his chair, Frederick looked over each note once more, taking care to look at the writing on each and every one. His brow furrowed. There were slight inconsistencies in the writing although, at first glance, it all appeared to be by the same hand.

  “Unless,” Frederick murmured to himself, his brows lowering all the more, “unless the person writing them sought to shield his own hand by writing in a style entirely different to his own.” It would explain why there were slight inconsistencies, why there were traces of difference between one note and the next.

  Not that it mattered. Frederick sat back in his chair again, his head resting on the top of the chair as he let out a long breath. He would not be able to find his brother based on a consideration of someone’s handwriting. Nor would he be able to bring any sort of conclusion to the matter simply because he had noted some slight inconsistencies in each letter. Sighing again, then wincing that he had done that very thing, Frederick closed his eyes and let the difficulties of the last few days fade away from him.

  His breathing became a little steadier, his hands releasing from their tight fists as he rested them in his lap. There had to be something he could do to help protect his brother as well as ensuring that those who had kidnapped Adlington were brought to justice but, as yet, he could think of nothing.

  But he was not alone in all of this.

  Frederick allowed himself a small smile, thinking only of Lady Beatrice as he did so. She had proven herself to be a closer friend and ally than any of his acquaintances, and that only in a few days as well! The way she encouraged him, the way she pulled him from the quagmire of despair and fright – she was quite wonderful in almost every way and Frederick felt blessed to have her in his company. Even last evening, he had found her all the more wonderful. She listened carefully to what he had to say, gave her considerations and then forced him to take a step away from the shadows that so easily clung to him. And to think that he had once thought her much too emotional, much to outwardly sorrowful for his consideration! A flush of shame crept into his face as he thought of how critical he had been when he himself now found that he was struggling to contain all that he felt. In fact, he could not even hide his emotions from Lady Beatrice, for they were much too strong, much too plentiful, for him to do so. The dinner last evening had been torturous, for he had been forced to put on a smile and a jovial manner whilst, inwardly, he was breaking apart inside. Lady Beatrice had seen through it. She had asked him outright how he was faring and he had been unable to prevent himself from telling her the truth.

  Lady Beatrice had not balked at his openness. She
had not turned away or thought him much too ridiculous for speaking so. No, instead, she had listened, accepted and attempted to encourage him in what she was doing. There was a goodness in Lady Beatrice’s spirits that he admired, a sweetness in her nature that brought such a blessing to him that he wanted to hold her close and thank her for what she was doing for him. He had not done such a thing, of course, for it would not have been correct to do so, but instead had kissed the back of her hand – not once, but twice – as an indication of just how strongly he appreciated Lady Beatrice’s presence.

  Do you want more?

  The question had his eyes shooting open, his breath hitching and his hands suddenly tightening. He had said to Lady Beatrice that he did not think he could give her up once this matter was settled and that urge within him still remained. He did not want to be separated from Lady Beatrice, did not want there to be only a small, quiet acquaintance between them both. Instead, he longed to keep what they had built thus far so that they might build yet more between them. Quite what he was hoping for, Frederick did not know, but he knew for certain that there could be no other compared to Lady Beatrice. Every other young lady would pale in comparison to her, every other conversation seeming dull and staid compared to what he could share with Lady Beatrice. Frederick had not truly considered matrimony in his life thus far, knowing that he ought to do so but finding fault with each and every young lady that caught his eye so that he was able to push all thoughts of marriage away. Now, however, there was something in the idea of being wed to Lady Beatrice that he could not easily remove that thought from his mind. It came quietly, without any ceremony nor any shout of either fear or delight. Instead, it felt quite natural to consider such a thing, to allow his heart and mind to rest on such a matter without any anxiety. The idea of taking vows before man and God did not fill him with dread but rather with a sense of contentment, as though something within him knew that it was precisely what he both wanted and needed.