Page 32 of A Lyon’s Promise (The Lyon’s Den)

K ing wondered how much of a toll living under oppressive conditions had affected Lucretia.

When he first met her, it had been under dire circumstances, and her fear had been the strongest emotion he’d observed.

Since meeting again in the Lyon’s Den, he’d noticed a change in her.

It was subtle at first, but watching Lucretia interact with his men was akin to watching someone emerging from solitary confinement—hesitant, unsure of what to expect after being held under lock and key in a dark space without interacting with others.

As he thought about the puzzle that was Lucretia, a long-ago memory resurfaced.

King had been young, maybe five or so summers, when he stayed at his aunt and uncle’s farm.

Finding the oddly shaped, brownish mass tucked in his aunt’s herb garden had alarmed him.

When he’d told his aunt about it, she asked him to show her.

He grinned, remembering his shock that changed to wonder as a butterfly emerged from its cocoon.

What he’d witnessed with Lucretia recently triggered his memory of that long-ago butterfly.

The way the creature warmed itself in the sunlight, unfurling its wings, drying them in the sun, showing off its true beauty as it lifted into the air to fly for the first time.

His Lucretia had been unfurling her wings, showing her true beauty of strength and spirit.

God help him, he did not deserve her, but he had been blessed to be the man who would stand beside her, share in her joy as she came into her own, spreading her wings, realizing she was free to express her feelings and share her innermost thoughts and dreams… with him.

Thompson and Lizzy accompanied him and Lucretia up the servants’ staircase and along the hallway to the master bedchamber. Lucretia hesitated, then bypassed the first door to the one just beyond. “We should enter the dressing room directly. There is nothing of import in his bedchamber.”

Except unhappy memories, King surmised. She fumbled with the key for a moment before he closed his hand over hers.

Feeling the tremble, he urged, “Let me help.” Her grateful look was a gift, as were her rare smiles and laughter.

King knew in that moment that he’d never truly been in love.

Infatuated. Aroused. But never in love until Lucretia.

“Thank you, Gavin.” She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled before opening the door. After glancing left and right, she stepped further into Montfort’s private domain. Had she never been inside this room before? King did not ask.

“From what I recall Montfort’s valet saying,” Lucretia said, “and my memory may be faulty, he had this second desk brought to his dressing room when he inherited his title.”

Her voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, leaving King to believe she was surrounded by ghosts from the past. Moving closer, he placed his hand to the small of her back.

She flinched, then relaxed against his touch.

“Best hold on to me, love. I do not want you stumbling on a wrinkle in the carpet.”

The way she pressed against his side filled him with purpose, and more, an outpouring of affection he had to keep in check. They were not alone, and he did not want his emotions or actions to become fodder for gossip.

She sniffed and shuddered. “I was not expecting Montfort’s cologne to linger. Should it not have dissipated years ago?”

He looked about the darkened room. There was one window with a curtain drawn across it.

Dark paneling lined the walls, and not surprisingly, more than one clothes press as well.

He had to admit, if only to himself, the number of frockcoats and waistcoats on hangers surprised him.

“I suppose it is possible that it has clung to the fibers of his clothing, though it does not seem likely. There must be another explanation.” Watching the color leach from her face, he steadied her.

“Though not that his spirit has been lingering here.”

She nodded. “It would have been most unsettling to think he has been haunting me.”

Thompson and Lizzy had entered behind them. Lizzy was the one who found the source of the lingering odor. “There’s a broken bottle on the floor by the copper tub—watch your step.”

Thompson nodded to Lucretia’s maid. “Hand me that receptacle, would you?”

She handed the waste bin to him. “Do be careful—shards and slivers of glass can cut deeply.”

“Noted.” As he picked up the larger pieces of glass, he frowned. “The carpet is damp. This cologne bottle was knocked over recently.”

“Mrs. Riddleton,” Lucretia murmured.

“Aye,” King replied, “or Cook. Either way, this raises the question, why did they recently enter this room?”

Lucretia sighed. “I should have let those two go the first time they openly ignored my requests. I wanted to donate Montfort’s clothes to someone who would use them.

That was met with such a hue and cry that I did not follow through.

Had I not been in such a state of upheaval, I would have insisted on a search to find the keys to this room and his bedchamber. ”

King should not have been shocked, but it was unnerving to learn that the plans to fleece Lucretia had been in place since Montfort’s death. “Isn’t it commonplace for the lady of the house to have access to the keys?”

She shrugged. “I would have thought so, but Montfort ruled his domain with a heavy hand. Although Mrs. Riddleton had spare keys to the linen closets and the bedchambers—mine included—she didn’t for Montfort’s dressing room, nor his bedchamber. Montfort had keys to every room.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Had her late husband had a key to her bedchamber as well?

He supposed it would have been his right by law, but the realization that there had been nowhere in Montfort House where Lucretia could have privacy for her things…

her piece of mind bothered him. He would see to it that she did have that and more in their house.

King needed to locate the desk and whisk Lucretia out of this room. “Let’s try that alcove.” He felt her apprehension, and silently cheered her on as she pushed past it to accompany him into the dim recesses of the dressing room to the desk.

“We’ve found it, Thompson.” Turning to Lucretia, he asked for and received the key. “I pray that we find the documents we are looking for.”

A high-pitched screech coming from behind them sounded like a banshee. “Bloody hell! Thompson?” King asked.

“I’ve got her,” Thompson called.

“Her?” Lucretia asked.

“Mrs. Riddleton, no doubt,” King replied. The eerie laughter irritated him. “Silence! Tie her hands behind her back and gag her, Thompson.”

“How did she escape?” Lucretia’s voice wavered. The housekeeper’s screeching must have unnerved her.

“Excellent question. She had to have had help. We’d best check on Greeves.”

“I’ll go,” Thompson suggested. “Bound and gagged, this harridan will not cause any more trouble if I leave her here with you.”

King was all for the idea, but unsure of Lucretia’s reaction. “With your permission, Lucretia. I would not want you any more unsettled than you already are.”

Her ready reply assured him that she would indeed be fine.

“I agree with Thompson,” King said. “She won’t give us further trouble. Send Weston up if you need me.”

“Aye,” Thompson replied.

As he was leaving, Lizzy suggested, “We could tie her to that chair.”

The echo of Thompson’s laughter warmed King’s heart. “I do believe Thompson agrees with your suggestion. Shall we, Lucretia?”

“Yes, unless she ceases to interfere with what we are doing. Unlock the desk drawers—we need to see what is inside.”

The muffled “no” had King pausing in his stride. He turned back and walked over to where the housekeeper sat, eyes wide, fear pouring off her. With a nod to Lucretia, he said, “Lizzy, please help Lucretia unlock the drawers. I need to ask Mrs. Riddleton a question.”

“Yes, Mr. King.” Lizzy rushed over to Lucretia’s side.

Satisfied that they would begin to sort through the contents of the desk, King turned back to the housekeeper, who was shaking her head at him.

“Bancroft and his three sons are cooling their heels in a cell on Bow Street. You shall be joining them shortly.” The fear emanating from the older woman increased, prompting him to ask, “Is it incarceration that you fear, or Bancroft?”

At the mention of the man’s name, tears welled in her eyes.

“What hold does he have over you?”

The woman blinked, and the tears disappeared as if they had never been there. King had met others who had the ability to call up tears at will.

“I’m going to remove your gag. You will not bite my hand.” She watched him for a moment before nodding. “Nor will you scream, or shout.” He removed the gag. “Now then, what does Bancroft know that he is holding over your head?”

“Gavin. We found the codicil!” He heard papers shuffling before Lucretia called out, “And the will.”

Mrs. Riddleton seemed to shrink before his eyes. “Good work. Bring them with you. We’ll need better light to read them.”

“He forced me.”

At first King thought the woman referred to Bancroft. But her next words were not what he expected.

“I was a downstairs maid at the time. All of the maids knew to steer clear of him, but one afternoon…he cornered me.”

Lucretia and Lizzy flanked him as he added another piece to the puzzle, though it did not quite fit. “This was before Montfort inherited the title and married Lucretia?” The woman nodded. “And what is your connection to Bancroft?”

Mrs. Riddleton’s eyes filled once more and tears streamed down her cheeks, revealing what she had been hiding—smooth skin beneath a heavy layer of powder. The wrinkles and pale powder had been a disguise! Now the pieces to the puzzle fit into place.

“He’s my brother.”

“Your brother orchestrated this elaborate scheme to get back at Montfort for forcing himself on you.”

“Yes. At first, my brother threatened to expose Montfort to the ton , but I pleaded with him not to do so. No one would sanction Montfort’s actions, but if he let me go without a reference, and word got out as to why, I would never be able to find another position.”

He had one more pertinent question to put to the woman, but first he offered his handkerchief. Holding it in front of her face, he asked, “Would you like me to wipe the paint and powder from your face?”

Her eyes grew wide with fear, and King saw the moment when she knew her ruse had been discovered. She shook her head, and he tucked the cloth back into the pocket of his waistcoat.

“How long have you worked here in disguise?”

“Thirteen years.”

King was not surprised that the rough quality of the housekeeper’s voice changed as her youthful appearance was discovered.

“Altering the sound of your voice was part of your disguise.” The soft gasp had him reaching for Lucretia’s hand.

King next asked the question he knew would devastate her, knowing Lucretia had not conceived while married to Montfort.

They needed to know the truth. He took a gamble that, aside from impregnating the woman, bribery had been involved.

Bancroft was Mrs. Riddleton’s brother and had easy access to Lucretia’s funds.

“How much coin did it cost your brother to bribe the midwife to lie to Montfort, and tell him your babe was stillborn?”

“A thousand pounds.”

“And how much was required to pay for your babe’s care while you went back to work in your elevated position of housekeeper?”

“Montfort did not pay me enough to cover the cost of my daughter’s care. I could not let it be known that I had a babe, or that her father was a member of the ton .”

“I am so sorry for what happened to you, Mrs. Riddleton.”

King realized that Lucretia would never react the way he expected her to. “Do not forget that she and her brother have been stealing from you for a dozen years.”

Lucretia shook her head. “You do not know that for certain. Montfort was a wealthy man—at least, my father assured me he was when he accepted Montfort’s suit. Mrs. Riddleton—”

“There is no Mr. Riddleton, and I am not a widow,” the housekeeper interrupted.

“My name’s Theresa Bancroft. I did what I had to do to protect my daughter, including continuing to work in the household of the man I detested while he threatened weekly to dismiss me.

When I told my brother, he hatched the plan to siphon off funds from Montfort.

When the coin ran out shortly before Montfort’s death, my brother revealed his plan to forge documents so that it would appear that Montfort had requested a codicil that would prevent you from discovering the truth when he gained access to your inheritance. ”

King steadied Lucretia, who was reeling from what they were being told. “Did your brother include the right of refusal to anyone offering for Lucretia’s hand in marriage should Montfort predecease her?”

“Yes. There were numerous offers for your hand in those first few years after Montfort passed, but my brother refused them all because he judged not one of the men could be bribed.”

“But Lord Hughes could be because of his connection to Lord Stillman,” Lucretia murmured.

“My brother had his hands in many pies, one of which was smuggling, and Stillman’s involvement.”

King should have been satisfied that the truth had come to light, but the heavy toll it would have on his intended negated the fact that Lucretia had been robbed not only of her inheritance, but the opportunity to have a successful marriage after her unfortunate first one.

Surely one of her suitors would have been a better match for her than a hard-nosed Bow Street Runner.

“Miss Bancroft, you realize two witnesses will attest to all you have divulged to me just now.”

“I do, though I could accuse you of coercing me.”

“I removed the gag.”

“But my hands are still tied behind my back.”

“A precaution, given the way you ran screeching into this room, hands extended, fingers poised to claw at whomever you reached first.” When she did not respond, King added, “Though I suspect you were aiming for Lady Montfort.”

Theresa did not bother to disagree.