Dare to Love a Duke Page 25

  He loved her—he prayed that she loved him, in spite of everything—and if he offered himself permanently to anyone, it had to be her. Only her.

  “I have to go.” He paced to his wardrobe and pulled out a fresh shirt.

  “You haven’t bathed,” Maeve noted.

  “So, I’ll stink.” He pulled on his shirt and rooted around for a waistcoat and coat, but draped them over his arm rather than actually put them on. Urgency pushed him. He didn’t have time for niceties like being bathed or fully dressed. There was so much to do.

  He stalked toward the door of his bedchamber. Then stopped and strode to Maeve.

  He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, little bird.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes full of love. “I expect repayment in trips to Catton’s.”

  “Every day,” he vowed. He glanced toward the door.

  “Go,” she said gently.

  He went.

  Chapter 23

  It was surprising how a life could condense into a few boxes.

  Lucia had, by design, kept her possessions to a minimum. Always lurking in the back of her mind was the idea that everything was temporary, and soon, the world would fall apart and she’d have to pick up and start over. Again.

  But she’d hoped, when she had moved into what had been Mrs. Chalke’s bedchamber above the Orchid Club, that she might be there for some time.

  Instead, just a little over a year later, she’d had to pack up everything and decamp. Though Tom owned the building that housed the establishment, and wasn’t going to toss her and the staff on the street, if word was out that the Bloomsbury house was the club’s home, they would attract the wrong kind of attention. The authorities could no longer feign ignorance about the operation’s existence, and would move in to shut everything down—perhaps even arrest her and her workers. The safest thing to do was decamp speedily.

  With the staff’s assistance, it had taken three days to clear out the furniture from the Orchid Club. Most of it had been sold, though a handful of pieces were put into storage. The house in Bloomsbury was now vacant for the first time for almost two decades. Then, in a remarkably brief span of time, Lucia had found rooms to share with Kitty, Liam, and Elspeth.

  It wasn’t so bad.

  She moved a stack of shifts from a box into the battered clothespress that came with the rented room, then stood back to survey her handiwork. That was the last of everything. This set of narrow little rooms in Spitalfields was now her home—for now, at least.

  Her bedchamber faced a tiny courtyard, so she had a bit of light throughout the day, and she could watch a trio of children playing with a stubby-tailed puppy. The silk weavers at their looms made a pleasant clicking sound, almost soothing in its continuousness. And there was a shop just at the end of the block that sold decent steak-and-kidney pies.

  Truly, she ought to be grateful that she’d found a decent, safe place to figure out the next step in her life. She sank into a chair and put her head in her hands.

  “What can we do, my dove?” Kitty asked as she came into the room with Liam on her hip. Elspeth was close behind, and both women wore similar expressions of concern.

  Pasting a smile into place, Lucia looked up at her friends. “I’m merely tired. We’ve done considerable work in a short amount of time. But it’s all come together nicely, I think.”

  Elspeth put a hand upon her shoulder. “Lucia.”

  Merely saying her name with such compassion shattered the brittle fortifications Lucia had erected around herself. Her shoulders slumped and she cupped her palm over her forehead.

  “Before we left,” she said in a low voice, “I walked around the empty building. All those rooms where there had once been life and pleasure. Now . . . They are vacant. Like it is in here.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “The structure stands but there’s nothing inside.”

  “It’s all right to feel hurt and sad,” Elspeth said.

  “And angry,” Kitty added.

  “I don’t want to feel anything,” Lucia said and growled in frustration.

  “That’s not how life works.” Elspeth gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We feel things, good and bad, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

  Lucia rubbed her cheek against Elspeth’s hand. “Dreadfully inconvenient things, emotions.”

  “They are.” Kitty jogged Liam up and down, who giggled. “But without them, we’d be men, and who wants that?”

  Elspeth grinned. “I surely don’t.”

  An ache pulsed through Lucia to see the adoration in her friends’ gazes. While the last few days had been a whirlwind of activity, she’d been able to keep thoughts of Tom at bay. Here, in the quiet and stillness, nothing distracted her. It was a brutal wound that cut her again and again.

  Only when he was gone did she feel the cavernous space he left behind. She was half a person. By some marvel she kept standing and talking and breathing and doing all the things she was supposed to do to remain alive. Yet it wasn’t fully life, just the rote motions of it.

  “Oh, but we’re being heartless with our mooning.” Kitty looked apologetic.

  “No. It’s all right. I’ve had to let him go.” Lucia made a motion of casting something aside, as if it was so easily done. Perhaps the more she told herself this, the more chance she had at believing herself. “And let go of the Orchid Club. But I’m not abandoning my dream. Somehow, I’ll make the girls’ home happen.”

  “And you’ll have our help,” Elspeth vowed.

  Lucia pressed her fingertips to her trembling lips. How fortunate she was. How very lucky.

  A knock sounded at the door. She rose to answer it, and started when she saw Will standing in the hallway. At once, she embraced him, which was not unlike hugging an oak. He patted her back with his enormous hands.

  “Mi dispiace, Will.”

  “For what?” A puzzled look crossed his craggy face.

  She pulled back. “I’ve cost you everything.”

  “A bit of an exaggeration, eh? I lost a situation, but I’ve got my other work, and besides, there’s always more jobs.” He shrugged as if it was hardly worth mentioning.

  “But you were all counting on me,” she said, aching with every word, “and I let you down.”

  He exhaled. “The world don’t rest on your shoulders alone, missus. See here.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on outside with me for a spell.”

  “What—”

  “You going to argue, or just take a little walk?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll be right down.”

  He trundled down the stairs, the steps creaking beneath his mass, and Lucia followed. She heard Kitty and Elspeth behind her. At the front door, he waited, gesturing for her to precede him. She pushed the door open, and her breath left her in a rush.

  The entire staff of the Orchid Club stood on the front steps and spilled into the street. Every single person the establishment had employed, from Jenny to Arthur to Peter, the groom. They all looked at her, wearing expectant expressions.

  Her throat contracted. She’d tried her best to give everyone a personal apology and goodbye, but it clearly hadn’t been enough—and she couldn’t blame them. Her own foolish choices had led them to this sad state of affairs.

  “Amici,” she said. “I am so sor—”

  Jenny moved to the front of the throng. “None of that! We’re not here to rake you over the coals.”

  “I’ve paid everyone their final wages.” That was the only other reason she could imagine why they would gather in the street outside her rented rooms.

  Jenny dug her elbow into Arthur’s barrel-like chest.

  “Oh, right!” He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick envelope, which he handed to her.

  Lucia opened it, and the ground tilted beneath her. The envelope brimmed with cash, easily close to fifty pounds.

  “What . . .” She tried to speak around the thickness in her throat. “What have you done?”

 
“We pooled our money,” Will said behind her, “so we could rent a new location for the club.”

  “Bunch of us have been talking,” Arthur added. “We know you need the blunt from the club so you can start up that home for girls. First we thought to just have the cash for the home, but then we got to talking and—”

  “And why just give you a bowl of soup when we can pay for the pot?” Jenny said, her voice practical. “That is to say, better to have a steady source of blunt rather than one lump that mightn’t last long enough.”

  “Oh, miei cari.” Lucia’s eyes were hot and scratchy, and she felt the burning track of a tear trace down her cheek.

  “You helped us, missus,” Will said in a matter-of-fact tone, “now we’re helping you.”

  “Grazie mille.” She looked behind her to see Kitty and Elspeth smiling. “Did you know of this?”

  “Heard a whisper or two,” Elspeth said.

  Pressing the envelope close to her chest, Lucia fought a sniffle. Though she might not have Tom in her life anymore, and ached with a desperate loss, she would find a way to keep going. She had to.

  “Faring all right, old man?”

  As he and Blakemere stood outside the Palace of Westminster, Tom tried to smile at his friend. While he was glad to have Blakemere back from Cornwall, even the earl couldn’t ease the pressure of the iron bands that wrapped around Tom’s chest.

  “Oh,” he said airily, “I was only thinking that I should’ve done what any sane, reasonable man ought to have and simply run Brookhurst through with a sabre.”

  “They hanged the Earl of Ferrers, you know.”

  “Fifty years ago,” Tom noted. His words were steely. “I might fare better in our enlightened age.”

  “This plan will come off.” Blakemere tapped the side of his nose. “I’ve an instinct for strategy, and yours is sound.”

  “I pray your instincts are right.” Tom inhaled deeply, catching the scent of tobacco from the MPs having a last puff of their cheroots before heading inside.

  Years ago, at Oxford, he’d attempted to acquire the habit of smoking. It had seemed so sophisticated and manly, but all it had led to was Tom coughing so hard he vomited on the steps of the Radcliffe Camera. A similar nausea gripped him now as he waited to begin his plan that would, he hoped, set everything right.

  He’d face any cannonade to ensure Lucia’s happiness.

  Including asking his mother and sister for help. They had listened to his plan for remedying the situation and decided they would lend their support. The unexpected gesture humbled him, and he’d kissed both his mother’s and sister’s hands before setting off this morning.

  “We’ve assembled?” Greyland asked, approaching Tom and Blakemere. Two men strode behind him. “I’ve brought Lords Ashford and Marwood as reinforcements.”

  Tom shook hands with each of them. “You’ve been apprised of the circumstances?”

  “I’m excessively looking forward to humiliating Brookhurst,” Lord Ashford said grimly. “The man’s an ass and his reign of terror in the Lords ends today.”

  “We oughtn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Tom said. “Nothing is certain, and if I’m not successful in this, it might taint your own reputations while utterly ruining mine.”

  “That’s assuming we had sterling reputations to begin with,” Lord Marwood said with a grin.

  Tom lifted his hand, signaling for quiet. His whole body vibrated with tension. “That’s Brookhurst’s carriage.”

  “We’re with you,” Blakemere said, knocking his fist into Tom’s shoulder. “Take the bastard down.”

  The elegant vehicle rolled to a stop, and a footman leapt down to unfold the steps and open the door. One of Brookhurst’s polished shoes appeared before the entire man emerged. The duke brushed at his cuffs and adjusted the brim of his hat.

  The time was now.

  Feeling the gaze of dozens of MPs on him, Tom strode to Brookhurst. He drew up in front of the duke, fighting the urge to plow his fist into the son of a bitch’s face.

  “Northfield,” Brookhurst said icily. He didn’t offer even a cursory bow.

  I’ll fucking kill him.

  “You have spread baseless slander about me,” Tom said in barely more than a growl. “Because of you, the ton believes me to be a panderer, and the resulting ignominy has tarnished the honor of my family.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Brookhurst flared his nostrils in affront.

  Low muttering rose up from the observing crowd.

  “Everything I said was true,” the duke added. “That is undeniable.”

  “I do deny it,” Tom said bitingly.

  Brookhurst looked over to see their audience. Distinguished MPs watched with open fascination, and at the sight of them, Brookhurst smirked. “You cannot prove that.”

  “I can and I will,” Tom said. “We will go there now. This very moment.”

  “Now?” Brookhurst frowned.

  “Yes, this very moment.” Tom pointed at Brookhurst’s footman. “Distribute the address of the place to whomever desires it. We’ll form a caravan. Then, the truth will be discovered.”

  The duke narrowed his eyes, as if trying to find the flaw in Tom’s plan. Finally he said, “As you like. You and I shall go together.” Brookhurst made a show of opening the door to his carriage. “It would be my pleasure and privilege to transport you there myself.”

  He climbed into his carriage.

  Tom glanced at Blakemere. The moment had arrived, everything moving as it was supposed to.

  His friend nodded. In a trice, Blakemere had gotten into his own waiting carriage and driven off. Meanwhile, other MPs had been given the address of the Orchid Club—no doubt pretending that they didn’t already know where it was located—and were climbing into their own vehicles to witness what promised to be a spectacle.

  “I await your pleasure,” Brookhurst called smugly.

  After nodding at Greyland and the others, Tom took a breath, then got into the duke’s carriage.

  “I was concerned that today was going to be tedious,” Brookhurst said as they drove toward Bloomsbury. “Clearly, I was mistaken.”

  Tom said nothing, lest he show his hand too early. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

  Chapter 24

  House available to let—commodious lodgings with four bedrooms and two spacious parlors located within Clerkenwell and within a short distance from Sadler’s Wells. Excellent kitchen. Serious enquiries welcome.

  Though the property sounded a bit small as a location for the new club, Lucia used a pencil to circle the advertisement. The longer it took to find a site for the next establishment, tentatively named The Lily Club, the longer her staff would be out of work, and the greater the amount of time before Lucia could establish her girls’ home.

  The amount collected by the staff would cover a deposit as well as several months’ rent. It was a good start, provided she found a location quickly.

  Noises from the traffic outside echoed up into the warren of tiny rooms in which she sat. Kitty and Elspeth had taken Liam out for some air—admittedly in shorter supply here in Spitalfields than in Bloomsbury.

  The next chapter in her life beckoned, but summoning excitement for it proved a challenge. Moving her body, heavy with loss, proved a barely surmountable obstacle. Finding enthusiasm felt too great an endeavor. The world became distant and gray, a shadow of itself, and, drained of life, she could only watch.

  It had been far, far too long since she’d last seen Tom.

  She had to find a way to move on. She had to. And yet the prospect of being without him leeched away all pleasure.

  Hopefully, he’d found a way to weather the scandal. But if he did, she would never know. And that not knowing—just as she’d never again know his smiles, his wit, the warmth of his gaze—formed a grievous injury that could not heal.

  A knock sounded at the door, and she surfaced from her grim thoughts. She stood, shook out her skirts, and went to see who it was.<
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  Standing before her was a footman in gold and scarlet livery. A liveried servant wasn’t often seen in Spitalfields, and she didn’t recognize the colors of his uniform.

  His posture impeccable, he held out a square of folded paper. “Madam.”

  She took it from him and read.

  My love,

  A carriage awaits you downstairs. In it, you will find my friend the Earl of Blakemere. I ask that you accompany him. The gamble you and I take could secure our future happiness, so I ask you to trust me.

  Your servant, &c.

  T.

  For several moments, Lucia could only stare at Tom’s note. The wisest thing would be to refuse and stay here, hiding in her rooms. Caring for him had already cost her so much.

  I ask you to trust me.

  Did she? Could she? She balanced on the edge of her wariness. A moment passed, and then another. She drew in a breath.

  “Let me fetch my hat and wrap,” she said to the footman.

  “I will await you downstairs, madam.” He bowed and strode away. Other tenants poked their heads out of their rooms, watching him go.

  With shaking hands, Lucia draped a shawl over her shoulders and tied the ribbons of her bonnet. She glanced into the looking glass propped atop the mantel. Her wide gaze was reflected back at her, but at least the aubergine ribbon tied beneath her chin gave her face a hint of color.

  You’re stalling.

  She steadied herself. With a final breath, she went into the hallway, closed and locked the door behind her, and took the steps down to the ground floor.

  An elegant, but unfamiliar, carriage waited outside. Children clustered around it, peering into the windows. A gentleman’s hand emerged, handing each child a coin, but the hand was unknown to her.

  The footman opened the carriage door, and the gentleman inside peered out at her. He had sandy hair and an open, lively expression. Something about him seemed familiar—a not uncommon feeling for her, given the nature of managing a clandestine club.

  “Miss Marini?”

  “Yes,” she said cautiously.

  “I’m Blakemere, your escort. Please.” He gestured to the interior of the carriage.