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Chapter Thirty-Three

No honor amongst thieves…

T he hansom cab driver, the same one who’d been ferrying him about all night, was delivering them to the Crowdens’ residence. With her hands bound with his cravat, Lady Crowden sat in stony silence.

“He used you… just as he used me,” Jacob told her. “Perhaps you can’t repay Caleb for his intolerably priggish nature—he didn’t used to be that way, I swear—but you can repay Stanford Williams for exploiting both our weaknesses.”

She looked away from him, but he could tell from the set of her jaw that she’d heard every word. But she was not entirely without interest. So he continued. “All you have to do is tell me the rest of his plan. I’ll see to it that he’s thwarted at every turn.”

Her head whipped around, her eyes blazing as she glared at him. “Why?”

“Because I very nearly allowed him to turn me into precisely what he is… and now that I’ve returned to my senses, I mean to stop him from putting others through the same kind of torment. You could help me.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“Your husband already knows about Stanford, doesn’t he?”

She nodded.

Jacob smiled. “He need not know about Caleb. We will simply tell him that Stanford has been blackmailing you, attempting to force you to interfere in Caleb’s marriage to Miss Ashton… And in return, you will never bother either of them again. Not a single whisper of gossip or unkind word will be uttered about them by you. Or I will tell him everything. About Stanford. About Caleb. About how their compromising position was a work of fiction crafted by you. I hear the countryside is quite desolate this time of year… and every time of year for that matter. Cornwall, isn’t it? Your husband’s country estate is at the very edge of Britain.”

Silence settled inside the cab, thick and heavy. Then in a rush, she said, “He means to marry Elizabeth Whitmore and will likely see her dead just as he did his first wife—the daughter of a wealthy merchant in the north.”

Jacob’s eyebrows lifted. “He killed her?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he simply made no effort to save her when she grew ill. It’s much the same,” she mused. “Miss Ashton would have faced a similar fate had she not had the good sense to heed the warning sent to her.”

“What warning?”

Lady Crowden smiled coyly, the expression barely visible in the dim light streaking in through the windows of the cab. “A warning from ‘a concerned acquaintance.’”

“You?”

“Indeed. She’s never wronged me. Even now, she has been largely innocent in all of this—her only crime is being young and lovely… as I once was. But she possesses far greater wisdom than I ever had as she did not entangle herself with a controlling and cruel man.”

“Your husband has tolerated your infidelity. That is hardly the mark of a cruel man,” he observed.

“Cruelty comes in many forms, Mr. Danvers. Some are simply more difficult to discern. They are no less damaging for it.”

“And Miss Whitmore? What of her cruelty?”

Lady Crowden smirked. “Miss Whitmore plays a part but does so out of fear. If you truly wish to see Stanford Williams pay for his misdeeds, that is where you should intervene… He’s counting on her position in society, along with Miss Ashton’s disgrace which likely will not occur now, to restore his. I have it on good authority that they are both to be in attendance at the Waldinghams’ tonight.”

Jacob said nothing. But he knew precisely where he was going as soon as Lady Crowden had been given over to the care of her husband.

*

“The Lady’s London Gazette had a most interesting tidbit about the pair of them this morning. Every indication is that she will likely leave him at the altar just as she did Mr. Williams! After all, she’d been betrothed to Williams for nearly a year and still she bolted!”

“It’s true! What chance does he have after only a week? That girl will never make it to the altar… Just like her mother.”

“I heard that if he does not marry, he will lose a significant inheritance from his late uncle! Surely with so much at stake he would have chosen a more likely option?”

Miss Elizabeth Whitmore stood on the edge of the ballroom, her dance card abysmally bare. It was largely her own fault, and she knew that. But being on the edge of the ballroom had allowed her to hear the gossip. The absence of the newly betrothed Earl of St. Aiden and his bride to be, Miss Marina Ashton was all anyone could talk about. Indeed, it seemed that people were laying wagers on whether or not she’d already given him the boot and he’d fled town in humiliation. Of course, Elizabeth knew that was in part because she herself had helped to spread the rumor that very thing had occurred.

And yet, she found no joy in it. It was one thing when her animosity for Miss Ashton had been prompted by her wounded vanity at having been passed over so completely by Stanford Williams their first Season out. He’d set his sights on Marina, and she might well have been invisible. Then, upon his return to town, he’d sought her out, apologizing profusely for having been so blind.

Initially, she’d been charmed by that, but the more she heard him say such things the more false they sounded to her ears. In truth, many things he said were ringing false for her. It had not escaped her notice that when he spoke of their future marriage, he would not look her directly in the eyes. That even when he kissed her—kisses that were as alarmingly chaste as they were few and far between—there was a decided lack of passion in his embrace. While she might have believed that he was merely being sensitive to her maidenly state, that explanation rang hollow even to her own ears.

His obsession with humiliating Marina Ashton publicly was the only thing that ever seemed to stir any passion in him. Oh, he insisted it was only to restore his own reputation, but as things continued on, she had to wonder about that. After all, Marina had done enough damage to her reputation on her own by continually refusing every reasonable suitor who crossed her path. He kept insisting that he needed to restore his reputation, but he didn’t. Not if he intended to marry her. She was nearing the end of her third Season. Her father would happily accept any offer at this point, so long as she would go through with it.

As she peered around the ballroom, looking for any sign of him, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Mr. Jacob Danvers was present and he was making a beeline for her.

“Miss Whitmore, we need to have a word in private… about mutual acquaintances,” he said when he reached her.

“Mr. Danvers, that would be highly inappropriate,” she replied coolly.

“More or less inappropriate than your nightly meetings in the garden with Mr. Williams?” he asked with a single arched brow.

Elizabeth glanced about her, terrified someone might have heard. But everyone around them was engrossed in conversation and paying them not the least bit of mind. The benefit to being on the very cusp of spinsterhood, she thought somewhat bitterly. The closer she was to being firmly on the shelf the more invisible she became.

“Fine. Where?”

He looked pointedly toward the terrace doors. “You’re quite fond of gardens, as it seems. That should suffice.”

“Five minutes,” she said. “I will meet you there.”

After he left, Elizabeth began a circuitous route to the intended location. When she finally stepped outside, her cheeks were heated from her nervousness and the crisp night air was an immediate relief.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Elizabeth glanced over at the sound of his voice, finding him concealed within the shadows. “What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

“In truth, it isn’t what I wished to say to you. It’s what I wished for you to hear Stanford Williams say to me… If you would be so good as to conceal yourself behind those potted trees yon, he should be here momentarily,” Mr. Danvers stated.

Perhaps it was those ugly suspicions that she’d been having, but she found herself nodding and then seeking shelter behind the potted plants he’d indicated. It was only a matter of seconds before she heard Stanford’s voice.

“What is it that you wanted, Danvers? I don’t appreciate being summoned like some sort of errant servant!”

There was a hint of amusement in Danvers’s voice as he replied, “I came to inform you that I am no longer willing to be a party to your schemes.”

Stanford laughed. “As if it matters now! Lady Crowden has St. Aiden locked up nice and tight.”

“Actually, she does not. I didn’t simply have a change of heart, Williams. I had a change of allegiance… or rather, I remembered where my allegiance was actually due. I’ve surrendered her ladyship to the less-than-tender mercies of her husband while Caleb—and Miss Ashton—are all set to marry. They are likely on the road to Scotland even now. Your schemes are at an end, as is our agreement.”

Stanford’s temper was obvious when he fired back. “You owe me!”

“I did,” Mr. Danvers said. “But I made some inquiries… you’re a known cheat, Williams. Always with an ace up your sleeve or a marked deck in your pocket. And you didn’t purchase my markers—you won them. I can only presume that you cheated in order to get them and force my cooperation in your schemes. Well, no more… And the more I learn about you, the more I’m convinced that Miss Ashton must have had a very good reason to leave you at the altar. Infidelity? Fortune hunting? Or were you plotting to have her eliminated as soon as you’d secured her settlement? Isn’t that what you did with that pitiable merchant’s daughter?”

Elizabeth bit back a gasp. Was all that true?

“Of course, I had planned to eliminate her! Why would I want a wife who’s the bastard offspring of a woman little better than a common doxy? Had it not been for her supremely generous fortune, I’d never have looked twice at her.”

“And Miss Whitmore? What are your plans for her?” Danvers asked.

“She’s convenient for the moment. Hardly wealthy enough to tempt me, but her animosity toward Miss Ashton is an asset. I’ll string her along until I no longer need her then I’ll end it. If she makes things difficult—well, it would hardly be shocking for a young woman on the cusp of spinsterhood to take her own life, would it?”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be surprising,” Mr. Danvers agreed. “But if something happens to her, you’ll have me to contend with.”

Stanford scoffed. “You’re hardly the heroic type, Danvers. You’re a wastrel through and through.”

“I have been. I’ve made some truly terrible choices, and I have many things to atone for. This is how I begin. From this moment forward, you will leave Caleb and Miss Ashton alone… and Miss Whitmore, as well. I daresay you’ve done more than your share to drive the animosity between the two of them anyway as it has served your purpose.”

“I think you’re mistaken about which of us has the power here, Danvers. If I tell anyone what you’ve done—”

“The only people who matter already know. You think I care what these sycophants and liars think of me? I don’t. You’re the worst of the lot and for a moment, I forgot that I was better than this. I let jealousy and spite blind me to what actually mattered. Well, I’m done with that now and done with you.”

Stanford stepped forward, leaning in and poking his finger into Mr. Danvers’s chest. From her hiding place, Elizabeth stifled a gasp. Whatever was about to occur, she knew it would not be good.

As she’d predicted, it happened in a matter of seconds. Mr. Danvers drew back, his fist flying forward and connecting with Stanford’s jaw, sending him sprawling. Unfortunately, he fell against a potted plant at the edge of the terrace and the vessel went careening over the edge and crashing onto the flagstones below. There was a rush of people emerging from the various rooms that faced that side of the house, drawn by the noise.

“Miss Whitmore!”

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to see their host and hostess staring at her aghast from the French doors that flanked her hiding place. There was no question of how it looked. She was alone on a terrace, entirely unchaperoned, with two disreputable gentlemen.

“Miss Whitmore and I had sought a moment’s privacy,” Mr. Danvers said. “I had a very particular question to ask her. Alas, we were interrupted by Mr. Williams before she could give me an answer… He has been attempting to woo her, as well, much to my dismay. And to hers.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, the lies falling easily from her lips. “He’s been most insistent in his pursuit, despite my protests. But do proceed with your question, Mr. Danvers, as I am most eager to hear it.”

“It is my fondest wish, Miss Whitmore, to be granted the blessing of your hand in marriage. Will you do me the honor?”

Despite having anticipated the outcome, that he would propose in the face of such scandal, she was still shocked by the answer that simply fell from her lips. “Certainly, Mr. Danvers. I am most happy to graciously accept your proposal.”