Page 16 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)

Reward of Fifteen Pounds.

For any information pertaining to the whereabouts of Miss Constance Merrivale. Information to be addressed to Mr P Chambers. Ridgeley House, Belgravia, London.

―Excerpt from a notice in the London Morning Chronicle.

6 th November 1850, Hyde Park, London.

“And then this one appeared this morning,” Mrs Finchley said, holding out a second cutting for Larkin to look at.

Larkin held the small clipping carefully as the chill breeze tried to snatch it from his fingers. Aunt Connie was walking ahead with Miss Caroline, who had quite unexpectedly bumped into Lord Harry and Mr Abner.

“Fifteen pounds this time?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Whoever it is seems to be impatient to find her.”

“Wallace does not believe it is Mr Jenkins, but we do not know who Mr Chambers is. Wallace believes he is merely a steward or the like, working on their employer’s behalf,” she said, looking to him for confirmation of this.

“I would agree. Not at all in Jenkins’ style to offer such a lavish reward from what we know of him, and Belgravia? I don’t see how he could manage that. Those houses are worth a fortune.”

“That’s what Wallace said,” she replied, looking relieved. “But Auntie is determined to visit and discover for herself who is behind it.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” Larkin asked, aware of her anxiety.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I would very much,” she said at once, and then looked appalled at her own enthusiasm. “I mean—”

“Oh, no,” Larkin teased her. “Don’t back down now. I am feeling very pleased with the fervour of your reply. I beg you will not burst my bubble so soon.”

She laughed a little self-consciously and shook her head. “I don’t know how to do this,” she said with chagrin, gesturing between the two of them. “I’m not sure I ever did.”

“Do what?” Larkin asked innocently.

She sent him an impatient look and huffed, which just made his smile all the broader. He leaned down close to her ear and whispered.

“You’re doing wonderfully well,” he said, delighted when she gave his arm a playful smack.

“You’re a dreadful tease,” she complained, but did not look displeased by the fact.

“When would you like to visit this mysterious person, then?” he asked. “I could take you this afternoon, if you’d like.”

She frowned. “I thought you wished to begin Caro’s portrait today?”

“I do, but I suspect your aunt will fret herself to death and you too, if we do not go at once.”

Mrs Finchley nodded. “She’s on fire to see who is so anxious to find her. I’ve had the devil’s own job making her wait until today to show you and see if you would accompany us.”

“Then today it shall be.”

6 th November 1850, Ridgeley House, Belgravia, London.

Later that afternoon, they stood looking up at the white stuccoed magnificence of Ridgeley House. The houses here were relatively new, having been built only ten years earlier, and boasted many modern conveniences. Though none of them could think of who they might know who could afford such an elegant mansion, the ladies steeled themselves to discover the truth as Mr Weston led them up the stairs under a marble portico. The door magically opened before they could apply the knocker, to reveal a grand butler who asked them their business.

Larkin handed the man his card, adding, “And this is Miss Connie Merrivale, who I believe Mr Chambers has been looking for? Is this his house, perchance?”

“Mr Chambers is steward here at Ridgeley House,” the butler intoned, with the suggestion that he was doing them a great favour by confiding this information.

Maggie could only feel relief at Mr Weston’s presence, for he seemed merely amused by the butler’s self-importance whilst Maggie feared she might not have held up under his stony-faced grandeur.

“Then whose house is it?” Aunt Connie demanded, clearly no more cowed by the butler than Larkin was.

“It’s mine,” spoke a gruff voice with a pleasantly rough edge that spoke of a man who was not of the upper classes.

As one, they turned and regarded the man who was tall and massively broad-shouldered. He had the look of an ex-boxer, with a broken nose and hard features, steel grey hair and shrewd blue eyes. He looked from one to the other of them as he spoke. “I assume you are here to collect the reward? Well, I tell you now, I shan’t pay over a penny until I find Miss Merri—” He broke off, frozen on the bottom step of the stairs as he gazed at Aunt Connie in disbelief. “Can it be?” he said in wonder. “Connie?”

“Cecil!” Aunt Connie shrieked in astonishment and promptly fainted with all the elegance of a dying swan, skirts and petticoats fluttering as she fell upon the polished marble floor.

“Connie!” The man ran with surprising speed, falling to his knees beside their aunt, before anyone could gather their wits and do likewise. With the reverence of a man touching a goddess for the first time, he lifted her into his heavy arms and, with astonishing ease, carried her into the drawing room, the seams on his beautifully tailored coat looking close to splitting as his muscles bulged.

“Cheevers, smelling salts at once, and bring the brandy,” he ordered.

The force of his order had a galvanising effect on the high-handed butler, who abandoned his snooty demeanour and practically ran to do his bidding.

Too astonished to do otherwise, Maggie, Caro, and Mr Weston hurried after the man whom Aunt Connie had identified as her long-lost love.

“I didn’t think he was even real!” Caro squeaked, so overcome she clutched at Maggie’s hand like a child. “I thought she’d made the entire thing up!”

“I’m afraid we all did, love,” Maggie said, as stunned as her sister by the turn of events. “And I’m rather afraid that’s Papa’s fault, for he insisted it wasn’t true whenever I asked about the man.”

Too overwhelmed to ask the man questions, and feeling it was for Connie to do so, Maggie hushed any further speculation on Caro’s part and hurried to see to their aunt.

“Oh,” Connie moaned from her recumbent position on a beautifully upholstered chaise longue. Her green eyes seemed hazy as she blinked, her gaze settling upon Maggie. “Oh, Maggie. I had the most peculiar dream,” she said and then looked around her, realising she was not at home.

Maggie hurried to sit beside her as Connie sat bolt upright, the colour draining from her face.

“Easy now, darling. You’ve had a dreadful shock,” she said, gratefully accepting the smelling salts from Cheevers, who immediately set about pouring a glass of brandy.

“We’ll all have one of those, and none of your stingy measures, you old grubworm, fill ’em up,” ordered his employer.

“Yes, sir,” Cheevers said, looking faintly alarmed and doubling the amount he’d already poured.

Maggie held Connie tightly as she stared at the man issuing commands and filling the room with his magnetic presence.

“Cecil?” Connie said again, clearly unable to believe it was possible.

“In the flesh, my darling,” he said ruefully. “And you are as beautiful as the last time I saw you. I swear you’ve not aged a day.”

“B-But you’re dead,” Connie said in confusion.

The man’s face darkened. “I’ve always wondered what your blackguard of a father told you about me. It killed me wondering if you despised me all these years for abandoning you.”

“Oh, no,” Connie said, her expression softening as she gazed up at the man’s stern features. “I never doubted you for a moment, Cecil, I felt certain the only thing that would keep you from me was death.”

There was a taut silence as Connie considered her own words. Sitting up straighter, she glared at her beloved. “Which rather begs the question of where on earth you’ve been all this time?”

“There’s my girl,” he said, grinning appreciatively and looking a little sheepish. “Well, it’s a long story, Connie, my sweet, but if you’re willing to hear it, I’m about bursting to tell you.”

“Perhaps we might order some tea and sit down and discuss matters,” Maggie suggested, taking the glass of brandy Cheevers had distractedly placed in Caro’s hand and giving it back to him.

“Tea!” Cecil clapped a hand to his head. “Please excuse my manners. I’m afraid I’m unused to such fine company. Cheevers, tea for the ladies, and cake too. Make sure there’s ginger cake, mind.”

Connie glanced at Maggie, putting her hand to her heart as if it were trying to escape her chest. Maggie, knowing well that ginger cake was Connie’s favourite thing in the entire world, understood at once. He had remembered.

Tea was promptly supplied, alongside the most comprehensive and lavish display of cakes, biscuits, sticky buns and éclairs that any of them had ever seen. Whoever this Cecil really was, he did not do things by halves.

Once Maggie had served tea, with Cecil preferring to stick to brandy, everyone looked at him expectantly.

“Well,” he said, his rough-hewn, though not unappealing, countenance gaining a ruddy hue at their attention. “I’ve waited and prayed for this moment for so long, I hardly know where to begin.”

“At the beginning,” Maggie suggested, aggrieved on her aunt’s behalf that the man was not dead but had stayed away for so long. He’d better have an excellent story to tell, or she’d have a few words for the wretch that he would not soon forget.

Connie clutched at her hand but seemed incapable of tearing her gaze away from Cecil, which was hardly to be wondered at.

“That night we were supposed to elope,” Cecil said, his attention focused entirely on Connie. “Your father caught me before I could get to you. His men knocked me out cold, and the next I knew I was on a ship, bound for India.”

“India!” Connie exclaimed, horrified. “Oh, Papa! How could he do such a wicked thing?”

Cecil shrugged. “I weren’t good enough for you, love. I knew it, and he knew it too and didn’t like it any. In his position, I might have done the same thing.”

“But India !” Connie wailed. “And he t-told me you were dead!” she said, dissolving into tears. Cecil surged to his feet, looking as if he would gather Connie into his arms, but a warning glance from Maggie held him in place and he sat awkwardly.

“Don’t cry, love,” he begged. “You know I can’t bear to see you cry.”

Gallantly, Connie pulled herself together, blowing her nose noisily on a dainty lace-edged handkerchief before facing him again with dignity. “Do carry on,” she said calmly.

Cecil nodded and took a large swallow of his brandy. “Well, I was put ashore without a penny to my name and no clue of how to get one. India is like nothing you’ve ever seen or could imagine, love. The heat is like living before the open door of a furnace, and the rain in the monsoon season is enough to make you believe the good lord is trying to wash the land off the face of the earth. Well, I can tell you I was buggere—that is, I was without a feather to fly with and totally at a loss. Heartbroken for you and what you must be thinking of me, homesick and scared to death. For a few months I barely survived and almost succumbed to lie down and die. But that would mean the old bastard had won, and I couldn’t endure that. So I determined I would find my way back to you somehow, and not only that, I’d be a powerful man with blunt enough that he could not turn me away out of hand.”

Maggie looked around at their magnificent surroundings and smiled. “It seems you succeeded.”

He grinned at that, and Maggie saw in that smile everything that Connie had ever said about her lost love, his charm, his kindness and amiability, his love of fun and his sense of the ridiculous. Despite her lingering suspicion, she could not help but warm to this bluff, candid fellow and believe he truly loved her aunt still.

“I had a bit of luck,” he agreed modestly. “But I don’t want to give you the impression I’ve been living the high life all this time, Connie, love. The truth is I scraped a living for years and I lost heart. I knew a beautiful woman like you would have been snapped up long since and I believed I’d lost my chance at happiness. So, until four years ago, I was still just an ordinary fellow, working all hours to make his way until I had the biggest stroke of good fortune. An old English fellow I’d been friends with for years knew his time was up. Well, I’d had the chance to do him a few good turns on occasion, and seeing as he had no family, when he passed on, he left me his business. It was a decent business too, but being a bit long in the tooth, the fellow had failed to see how it might be expanded.”

“What nature of business, might I ask?” Mr Weston cut in, for which Maggie was grateful, having wanted to know the same thing.

“Ah, nothing nefarious,” Cecil replied, wagging a meaty finger at Mr Weston but looking at him approvingly. “I don’t hold with transporting slaves, nor opium, nor anything of that nature, so you can rest easy. I do some general trading, and dabble a bit in precious stones, but fine textiles are my line. John Company can’t get enough of the stuff.”

“John Company?” Caro asked Maggie in an undertone.

“The East India Company.” Maggie explained, before turning her attention to Cecil. “And so you are still in trade?” she asked politely, careful how she spoke for fear of him hearing condemnation in the words.

“No,” he said, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “John Company made me an offer for the business, and though I weren’t daft enough to let them have it for the measly price they offered, I secured a very advantageous deal with them that meant I’m a disgustingly wealthy man. Then, as if all my dreams had come true at once I read about your brother dying in the scandal sheets and it referred to you as Miss Constance Merrivale. Well, you can’t imagine the joy I felt in reading that Connie love. The ink on that contract wasn’t even dry before I was on my way here, coming home to find my darling and give her everything I ever dreamed I might. For she deserves to live like a princess, and if she’ll give me the chance, I mean to see that she does.”

He looked to Connie, who still appeared entirely dazed.

“What do you say, Connie, my love? Can you forgive me for not coming sooner? Will you give me the chance to make it up to you?”

Connie’s lips trembled, and she pressed them together tightly, but she gave a nod of her head that made the man beam with pleasure. “Did you wait for me, love? Is that why you never married?”

“Of course I didn’t wait for you!” Connie retorted, his words provoking her enough to shatter the spell she was under. “I thought you were dead, you halfwit! But I could never marry another, for you took my heart with you when you went.”

Unable to help himself, even with Maggie hovering protectively at her aunt’s side, Cecil got to his feet and went to her, falling to his knees before Connie and taking her hands. He kissed each one, gazing at her with such awe Maggie blushed and wished herself elsewhere, but they could not leave Connie alone with the man.

“I never married either, love, for the same reason. So you can imagine my disappointment when I went to the manor and found you gone, the house all shut up. I asked your neighbour, Mr Woolgar, but he wouldn’t tell me a thing, so I tracked down Rachel, who used to work in the kitchens, and she told me you’d all fled. I was horrified and ever more determined to find you. I’m so sorry about what happened, love. Losing your brother and the manor all at once must have been a blow to you.”

“It was,” Connie said, blinking hard. “But, Cecil… oh, I hardly know what to think. It’s… It’s too much to take in.”

She looked at Maggie, who nodded. “I think it is. If you will excuse us, Mr—?” She broke off, having forgotten his surname if she’d ever known it.

“Thompson,” he replied.

“Mr Thompson. I believe you can see my aunt is rather overcome. Perhaps you might call upon us tomorrow afternoon once she has had a little time to recover her composure?”

“Of course,” Mr Thompson said, squeezing Connie’s hands and getting to his feet. “I’m a clumsy brute, I know, but I’d do nothing to distress Connie. Not for the world.”

This did much to reassure Maggie about his character and his intentions, and so she thanked him warmly for his understanding, allowed Mr Weston to supply directions, and the family guided a stunned Connie back out to their waiting carriage.

“You will come tomorrow,” Connie said, something between disbelief and terror in her eyes as Cecil stood by the open carriage door.

“My love, now I know you can forgive me for everything, I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I’ll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after if you wish it. I’ll never leave your side again, unless you command me to go.”

“Oh!” Connie said, and buried her face in the handkerchief Mr Weston had thoughtfully supplied her with as her own was sodden. Then Mr Thompson closed the carriage door, and they jolted into motion. Connie looked up then, almost pressing her nose to the glass as she watched Mr Thompson waving at her, until finally he was out of sight.

6 th November 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

“Come, Auntie, a nice little nap will do you the world of good,” Caro said as she accompanied Connie up the stairs, leaving Larkin with Mrs Finchley in the hallway below.

“Well,” Mrs Finchley said, tugging on the ribbons of her bonnet. “I feel like I’ve been plunged into a delightful melodrama. I only hope everyone lives happily ever after.”

“I think there’s every chance,” Larkin said. “I confess I rather like Mr Thompson. He seems a genuine fellow, but if it will put your mind at rest, I shall ask around and see what I can discover about him.”

“Oh, Mr Weston, could you?” she said, looking so desperately relieved he was glad he’d suggested it. “Like you, I found him rather endearing, but this is Aunt Connie we are talking about, and I cannot bear for her to be hurt or disappointed.”

“I will discover what I can,” Larkin promised, adding. “On one condition.”

She gave him a speculative look. “What condition?”

“Might you dispense with the Mr Weston in private, and call me Larkin?”

A slow smile curved over her lush mouth, sending a sudden shaft of desire lancing through him. Lord, but the need to pull her into his arms was becoming hard to resist, but he did not wish to move too fast and spook her. Yet, since their conversation, all the uncertainties he had felt seemed to be evaporating. Maggie wasn’t Elmira, she wasn’t keeping secrets from him, and he wasn’t being a fool, wasn’t viewing her as some perfect version of herself and refusing to see and love the reality of her. She was real and imperfect, stubborn and proud and kind and lovely, and she wanted him as he wanted her. He took a step closer, gazing down at her.

“Larkin,” she said, as if trying his name for size.

The soft, slightly breathless way she said it sent heat coursing over his skin.

“Magdelina,” he said in return, but she shook her head, smiling to show it was not from disapproval.

“Maggie,” she corrected.

“Maggie,” he repeated, his heart picking up speed as she took a step closer to him.

They stood toe–to-toe, staring into each other’s eyes. The small distance between them seemed to fizz and prickle, tickling his skin and warming it until it burned with the need for her to touch him, yet neither of them moved. Longing filled his chest, a pleasant ache that demanded soothing as his gaze fell to her mouth. He swallowed, his entire body on fire with the knowledge that she was right there, so close he could feel the warm flutter of her breath against his mouth. The moment was entirely perfect, heavy with desire, the anticipation of all that was to come so tantalising that he did not break it. He wasn't a naive boy who rushed in, claiming what he wanted, believing he must seize passion to keep it. Larkin knew well that passion heightened if given time to grow; a period of longing and teasing only made temptation grow, and made the inevitable conclusion burn so much brighter.

So he merely extended one finger, and slid it caressingly down her ungloved hand, once only.

Maggie closed her eyes and shivered, and Larkin smiled, pleased and a little smug at her immediate response.

He leaned in, his lips close but not touching her ear. “I should go,” he murmured.

“Y-Yes,” she replied, her eyes still closed as her chest rose and fell with increasing speed. “You-You sh-should.”

“Maggie?”

“Yes?”

“I will not kiss you here in the hallway, but you ought to know that I want to, very, very badly, and I’m going to be thinking of nothing else for the rest of the day.”

Her breath hitched, her colour rising as her eyes fluttered and she gazed up at him, her mouth opening a little. “Oh, you wicked man,” she said ruefully.

Larkin chuckled and straightened. “Bye, love. If you need me, you know where I am.”

Giving her a wink, he picked up his hat and let himself out.

Maggie stood, staring at the door he’d just closed. Her entire body was taut with longing, vibrating like a plucked violin string for a kiss that had never come. He was going to be thinking of nothing else for the rest of the day, she thought crossly. What on earth did the wretched man think she would be doing?

She smiled, still feeling the brush of his finger against her skin and knowing he was playing a game that she had missed out on with her first husband. Their courtship had been short and sweet, two young people who knew nothing, infatuated and getting swept up in the romance of their ideas about each other, about the moment they were living in. This was different, this was considered and deliberate and far, far more powerful.

“Well, Auntie is having a nap. She’s quite exhausted the poor darling,” Caro announced as she came back down the stairs.

Maggie jumped and turned around, making Caro stop in her tracks.

“Why are you standing there staring at the door?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not,” Maggie retorted.

“You were.”

“Well, I’m not now, I’m staring at you. Now stop talking nonsense and let's have some tea. I’m afraid I was too on edge to take advantage of all those lovely cakes Mr Thompson provided, and now I’m famished,” she said briskly, hurrying into the parlour to ring for Wallace.

Caro followed her and then stopped, the colour draining from her face as she entered the room. Noticing her sudden pallor, Maggie frowned.

“Caro? Whatever is the matter?”

Caro swallowed nervously and glanced at the wall. “Well, I was just wondering, Maggie, if Cecil is still alive… Exactly who is haunting the cuckoo clock?”