Page 9 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)

My Lord,

Would you be so good as to spare me a moment of your time? I am escorting Mrs Finchley and her son, and the Misses Merrivale for a visit to Lady Montagu and Miss Barrington on Thursday if this is

convenient.

―Excerpt of letter to The Most Hon’ble Lucian Barrington, The Marquess of Montagu from The Hon’ble Larkin Weston.

2 nd October 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Larkin watched the door close as Mrs Finchley left the room, feeling oddly elated and yet bereft.

You are a hero, Mr Weston, for me and my family, that is exactly what you are, and we shall never forget that

It was sweet of her to say such a thing, but he knew she was refining too much upon his actions. It pleased him to help her and her family, and he truly believed anyone with a grain of decency would do likewise. His parents certainly would, his sister too, and his friends he was sure, but all the same the words settled inside him and glowed like the first sip of a fine brandy, warming him.

Though he did not have as much difficulty as some of his friends in speaking of his feelings, he was still a little startled by their conversation. Larkin hadn't intended to give her so much personal information when he'd been hurt before by giving too much of himself, regardless of whether that confidence was wanted. He must be careful not to overstep the mark and invite too deep an intimacy between them.

Though he wanted to be Mrs Finchley’s friend, such friendships between men and women were fraught with problems with the outside world too ready to assume the worst. Moreover, she was vulnerable, and he ought not to give her the impression he was looking for more than friendship when he wasn’t. But she was so easy to confide in, and so quick to understand, too. He felt a strange tug of kinship to her of the kind he had never known before. Uneasily, he turned his attention to his feelings for Elmira, something he’d not done for some time. Whilst the memory of her no longer gave him pain, he had learned to avoid thinking of her, not wishing to stir up the past. Had there been this same sense of familiarity, of ease? He knew the answer without having to consider it.

Elmira had been his heroine, his muse, the first one to make him take his art seriously as he tried to capture whatever it was about her that fascinated him. He knew now that it was the combination of fragility and strength she exuded, and that the reason he could never capture her truly was because she had held herself back. She had not wished for him to see everything about her, to know her entirely, and so he had become increasingly fascinated and frustrated. When he discovered she had lied about her son, about who she was and where she had come from, about everything, it had been devastating. He had trusted her with so much of himself and she had never reciprocated. If she had understood who he really was, why had she not trusted him to protect her and the child she had taken on as her own?

The entire episode had shaken his confidence in himself, and he had felt a fool. He did not wish to feel that way again, and so he must tread the path of friendship with Mrs Finchley with great care.

3 rd October 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

“Westie!”

Gideon came barrelling through the front door and launched himself at Larkin. Thankfully, Larkin had been prepared for the assault and swept the boy up before he could do him an injury.

“Master Gideon. Well, you are looking fine as fivepence today,” Larkin observed, as Gideon looked adorable and remarkably tidy in his sailor suit.

“Got to keep it clean,” Gideon said, pulling a comically tragic face.

“Oh, dear,” Larkin said with a deal of sympathy, remembering many, many scoldings from his nanny and mother when he had ruined some new outfit in a matter of minutes just before visitors arrived or they were due to leave for some event. “That is a trial.”

“’Tis.” Gideon nodded sadly. “And I can’t bring my ball!” he exclaimed, his expression turning from merely incomprehension to one of outright indignation.

Larkin met Mrs Finchley’s eye as she followed her sister out of the house. “Indeed, I should think not. Can you imagine him throwing it and knocking over some priceless piece of porcelain?” she said, closing her eyes in horror and shuddering. “I should have to run away and live abroad.”

Larkin laughed. “I do not think such drastic measure would be required. In my experience, the Montagus are somewhat intimidating unless you are under the age of twelve, in which case you can get away with murder.”

“Well, let us pray he does not need to get away with murder,” she said under her breath as Larkin handed her up into the carriage.

As they were a little tight on space, Gideon had to choose a lap to sit on and Larkin was given this honour.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Mrs Finchley fretted.

“I already told you twice. Gideon and I are quite all right,” Larkin said, rather touched by the way the boy leaned against him, so trusting and confident he was safe.

“Gideon, mind your boots on Mr Weston’s trousers, love.”

“Stop worrying!” Larkin remonstrated, shaking his head at her.

“Yes, Mama, stop worrying,” Gideon repeated, wagging his finger at his mother and gaining himself a reproving look from Larkin.

“Don’t cheek your mama, you little devil,” he said, though not unkindly. “And mind your shoes on my trousers.”

Gideon snorted. “All right, Westie.”

“I am so looking forward to meeting Lady Montagu again,” Aunt Connie said, smiling in her serene way. “I felt we made a connection. I believe we are kindred spirits. Though I do wish you had let me explain about Cecil, Maggie. You were very rude last time, keeping interrupting me as you did. I know you were nervous, but really…! She is just like the rest of us, you know, even if she is a marchioness.”

Larkin watched, amused, as Mrs Finchley coloured a little. “I beg your pardon, Auntie, I shall endeavour to do so, but—but do you think you ought to mention Cecil? You know how funny people can be about ghosts and… and things of that nature.”

“Oh, people , certainly, but not Lady Montagu. She is a woman of sensibility, like myself and I feel she is certainly in touch with the spirit world as I am,” Connie said with utter conviction.

Larkin watched as Mrs Finchley bit her lip in consternation, obviously wracking her brain for a different tack to take.

“Yes, but, isn’t the er… your relationship with Cecil a rather private story?”

Mrs Finchley cast him a worried glance, and he wondered what the story was. Had Aunt Connie been a naughty girl? Not that he cared if she had. Propriety and the rules of society were ridiculous, in his opinion, certainly where females were concerned. Their standards would have labelled both his mother and his sister as outcasts and fallen women. Not that he was about to volunteer this information, but he certainly would not judge Miss Merrivale, or any woman, for such indiscretions.

“Well, of course it is private, but Lady Montagu is not the kind to tattle. You read that novel that was written about her and Montagu, The Eagle and the Lamb, just as I did. Such a romantic story,” Connie said with a wistful sigh, one hand pressed to her enormous bosom. “And it shows the kind of woman Lady Montagu is, passionate and determined, no matter the circumstances. She would do anything for the man she loved, as I would have done if I’d had the chance.”

She trailed off, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Oh, Auntie.” Miss Caroline took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “We know that, and I’m sure Cecil did, too.”

Her aunt summoned a smile and nodded, covering her niece’s hand with her own. “I know, dearest Caro, and you and Maggie and darling Gideon are such a comfort to me. I am very blessed and ought not to repine, but sometimes I miss him so dreadfully. I know we will be reunited one day, though. Once I pass through the veil between this world and the next.”

“There, there,” Gideon said, reaching over and giving his aunt a gentle pat on the shoulder. “All better?” he said, looking a little anxious.

“Yes, all better, you sweet creature,” Aunt Connie said with a chuckle, apparently restored to her usual humour.

Larkin regarded their aunt with renewed interest. He must paint her, he decided, once he’d finished Caro. Whilst, like all artists, he had to take commissions to increase his status in the art world by being seen to paint the great and the good, Larkin was independently wealthy thanks to his interest in the gaming club he ran with his friends. He had long since told his father he no longer needed his financial support, a matter of no little pride to him. This also meant he could pick and choose his subjects, however. Whilst he might paint some subjects because they would get him noticed, others he chose because they interested him. Caro, with her stunning beauty, was one, Aunt Connie was another. Whilst he knew most men would not consider her a beauty, for she was too old and too large for such conventional judgements, to Larkin’s eye, she was truly lovely. All the Merrivale family seemed to have been blessed with skin that glowed with some inner light, and then there were their eyes. Startling green for the two Misses Merrivale, and Mrs Finchley’s were even more intriguing to him, for they changed with the light, sometimes an unusual aquamarine, other times green or blue. He wished to paint her too, he realised, but that was not a good idea.

Unbidden, the images from his dream rose in his mind and he shoved them away, down into some mental cupboard where they ought not to bother him. Yet they did, because he knew they were there.

“Are we there yet?”

Gideon wriggled on Larkin’s lap, twisting to look up at him. Relieved to be taken from his own troubling thoughts, Larkin glanced out of the window.

“We are indeed, Master Gideon,” he said, as the carriage slowed and came to a halt.

“Now, Gideon, remember what I told you,” his mother fretted as they all climbed out of the carriage and went up the stairs to the grand front door. “Say please and thank you and do try not to get into mischief.”

“Yes, Mama,” Gideon said with a sigh.

Larkin gave the boy a sympathetic smile and Gideon took his hand, looking suddenly a little intimidated as they were taken into a grand entrance hall.

The butler greeted them as before and footmen took their coats and hats, but before he could lead them through the magnificent house, light footsteps sounded on the polished marble floor and Tilly appeared, fair ringlets bouncing.

“Good morning, Mr Weston. Good morning, ladies. I’m Miss Ottilie Barrington. I’ve come to meet Master Gideon.”

Gideon sidled closer to Larkin, his eyes very wide as he stared in awe at the beautiful girl before him. Larkin smiled, understanding the boy’s sudden shyness. Tilly had inherited her looks from her grandfather, with her white-blonde hair and strange silver eyes. One day she would cause as much of a sensation among the ton as her Aunt Catherine had, that much he was certain of.

“Master Finchley, this is Miss Barrington, say how do you do to her like a gentleman,” Larkin prompted him.

Gideon glanced at his mother, who returned an encouraging smile and a nod. “Go on, dear.”

“How you do?” Gideon said, looking a little flustered.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Tilly said. “Would you like to have tea with me and my governess? Mrs Harris is very nice, and we have cake.”

“Cake?” Gideon repeated eagerly, perking up.

“Oh, yes. Three kinds,” Tilly said, grinning at him. “A fruitcake, a strawberry jam sponge, and a whole plate of little queen cakes. They’re my favourite,” she added confidingly.

“Three kinds of cake!” Gideon looked as though he might burst at the very idea of such abundance. “Mama! Three kinds of cake!”

Mrs Finchley pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle a laugh. “Well, you had best run along with Miss Barrington then, but mind you are a good boy.”

Tilly held out her hand to Gideon, who took it with a look of dazed happiness, allowing her to lead him away in search of cake.

“How adorable they look together,” Aunt Connie said with a sigh. “Like a couple of little angels.”

“Do not let my daughter’s looks deceive you,” remarked a deep voice from behind them. “She’s the naughtiest creature and I am afraid I let her get away with murder.”

The ladies turned and Larkin heard Miss Caroline’s breath catch as she came face-to-face with Lord Ashburton.

“Good morning, Pip,” Larkin said, shaking his friend’s hand. He made the introductions, intrigued by the varying reactions of the ladies.

Caro blushed, gazing up at Ashburton with stunned admiration, like Apollo had appeared before her. Her Aunt Connie, also openly admiring, but not the least hindered by inhibition, performed a deep and surprisingly balletic curtsey, as if she were being presented to a king instead of a mere earl. Pip looked a little startled but took it in his stride as he did most things. Mrs Finchley greeted him politely, with the perfect mix of warmth and restraint, and Larkin refused to admit himself relieved that she did not gaze upon his friend with such obvious admiration.

“Are you taking tea with us?” Larkin asked his friend with a smile, knowing Pip would avoid such an encounter, if at all possible.

“Sadly, no. I have business to attend to. I believe my father is expecting you, however,” he said to Larkin, before bidding the ladies a good day.

“Oh, my,” Caro said, letting out a breath once Pip was out of earshot and they were following the butler through to see Lady Montagu. She took her sister’s arm, whispering in her ear, but Larkin still caught the words. “I never saw such a handsome man in all my days!”

Mrs Finchley glanced at her with a little frown. “Did you think so? His is a rather cold beauty, in my opinion.”

“Maggie! How can you say so?”

Her sister shrugged and Larkin tried very hard not to feel pleased by her words.

Once again, Lady Montagu was everything that was elegance and charm, and Larkin left the ladies to their visit, taking himself off to visit Lord Montagu.

“Come,” replied a commanding voice from behind the heavy oak door as Larkin knocked.

“Ah, Larkin, how are you, my boy?” Lord Montagu rose, and once again, Larkin was struck by the resemblance between him and his eldest son.

Mrs Finchley was quite correct too, it was a cold beauty, austere, and utterly compelling. High cheekbones and a chiselled jaw gave them both a rather unearthly aspect, but Montagu’s eyes were a strange glinting silver and oddly penetrating.

“I am well, sir. Thank you for seeing me today. I know how busy you are.”

Montagu waved this away. “Sit down. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s a little delicate,” Larkin said, frowning. “And has to do with the ladies I brought today. Has Lady Montagu told you of their circumstances?”

“Indeed, a sorry business and I hardly wonder at her wishing to help them. I never met Mr Merrivale, but I remember the scandal. Fothersham ought to have stepped in, of course, but he’s an unfeeling brute, and quite remarkably stupid, I’m afraid.”

Larkin smiled at this brisk assessment and nodded, hoping this implied Montagu would help him as he hoped. The marquess had a vast network of contacts throughout the country and always seemed to know everything and everyone. Larkin knew he also worked closely with Gabriel Knight, and the whispers about things the two of them may or may not have done to those that crossed them, or their families, were many. Would he help the ladies, though?

“The viscount has abandoned them sadly and this vile creature, Mr Jenkins, has taken possession of their family home. I know it is a source of great sorrow to them all, and… and I wondered if you might help me to discover something about the man.”

“Larkin,” Montagu said, a warning note to his voice. “I sense a plot in the making. Can you not leave things alone? My lady wife seems to have things in hand. Surely you have saved enough young ladies through the refuge at Gillmont?”

Larkin stiffened but knew better than to rebuke the marquess. “This is different.”

“How is it different?” Montagu asked mildly, and sat back in his chair, his long fingers steepled together as he regarded Larkin. Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. “Let me guess. You wish to tempt Mr Jenkins into a card game at that wicked club you run and see if you can’t win back what they lost.”

Larkin felt his colour rise, for that was precisely what he’d been considering. “It could work,” he said defensively, feeling like a small boy caught doing something foolish. “I’m the best card player at the club and I’d like to see anyone try to cheat me. I know all the tricks there are.”

“It’s still a risky strategy. You must stake something of equal value, remember, and all this for women you hardly know. People will talk,” Montagu warned him.

“I do know how cards are played,” Larkin retorted and then cleared his throat as his lordship raised one elegant eyebrow. “I beg your pardon. But I very much doubt a creature like this Mr Jenkins has the skills to outplay me and, as for the talk, if things are done discreetly, no one need know it was me.”

Montagu sighed and shook his head. “I will make enquiries about the repugnant Mr Jenkins and see what I can discover. But you will do nothing in the meantime. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

Montagu nodded, regarding Larkin with the unnerving gaze that he was known for throughout the ton . “Why do you wish to do this?”

“Because it is an injustice,” Larkin said with a shrug. “Mrs Finchley lost her husband in the war, and then her fool of a father kills himself. She and her sister and aunt lost their home, as did her son. Gideon will never know his father, or his grandfather, and he won’t even have the security of growing up in the place his family have loved and built up over generations. I cannot help but think how I would feel if someone I despised turned me out of Mitcham Priory and took my place. It’s unbearable. The place that means so much to them all is in the hands of a man unfit to cross its threshold. It’s wrong.”

Montagu’s expression softened, but his words were implacable. “There are many injustices in the world, Larkin. You cannot undo them all.”

Larkin scoffed. “And how many injustices have you resolved in your own inimitable manner? How many times have you interfered when society would have had you turn your back?”

“I know not to what you refer,” Montagu replied coolly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“That’s what I thought,” Larkin replied, shaking his head.

“Just don’t go doing anything foolish. I’ll help you if the plan is sound, but I won’t help you to ruin yourself for no good reason.”

“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” Larkin replied sharply. “I’m not entirely a fool.”

“You are in no way a fool, but you are a romantic soul and are always too quick to go riding in on your white charger, wishing to rescue the damsel in distress. I only ask you to consider your own happiness before you put it at risk. Again,” he added, putting such emphasis on the word that Larkin had to fight a blush.

That was the trouble with going to pieces: people always fretted you’d repeat the error.

“I will,” Larkin said stiffly, too embarrassed to reply with equanimity.

“Very well,” Montagu said. “You may leave it with me.”

“Thank you,” Larkin replied gratefully, but did not rise.

“Was that all?”

“Actually, no, sir. I wondered if you might do one other thing for me. It’s regarding Mrs Finchley’s husband—”