Page 35 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The carriage sped through the hilly landscape.

Isla had slept for several hours, but now she was awake, her head resting against the window as she pretended otherwise.

Algie sat opposite her, arms crossed, gazing pensively out into the passing scenery.

Catherine, seated beside Isla, appeared to be asleep as well.

Isla had insisted on bringing her, not because propriety demanded it, but more for emotional support.

The thought of spending the entire journey alone with Algie had been intolerable.

They had exchanged only the most superficial pleasantries.

Isla suspected the journey was no more comfortable for Catherine, who remained caught in the unspoken possibility of a relationship that had once hovered between her and Algie.

The status quo between them now was uncertain.

Isla no longer cared. She had resolved to stop playing intermediary between them.

Still, for this one trip, she had wanted Catherine close.

She felt utterly spent. Weary in both body and spirit .

And now she was about to meet Jem.

The real Jem. The boy she had spent years chasing through memories and shadows. She searched her heart and found only a flicker of curiosity. The urgency, the longing, the passionate obsession to find him that had once consumed her was gone.

Why should this meeting be any different from the last?

True, that time, she had met Cam, not Jem, though she had not known it then. A boy from the orphanage she barely recalled. That meeting, too, had been a lesson. A warning. The years had passed. Time had done its quiet work on them both. Their relationship had changed, as had their personalities.

He was no longer the boy she remembered.

Neither was she the timid little girl who’d used to trail behind him, like a puppy.

They had been so very young, so very na?ve. Surely, life had hardened him too, and he must have become more cynical, more world-weary.

So now she travelled northward, not with anticipation, but almost with reluctance and a profound scepticism.

“We will arrive shortly.” Algie sat up and straightened his hat.

She gave no reply.

“I know you are not sleeping, Pixiekins,” he added after a moment. “You might as well look out. The landscape is worth admiring.”

Her eyes fluttered open despite herself.

Snow dusted the rolling hills like icing sugar.

They were nearing the coast. She could smell the ocean.

On a rise ahead sat a manor house, charming, modest, and elegant in its simplicity.

Not too grand, not too small. From this distance, it looked like a doll’s house, poised above the countryside, watching.

Something twisted inside her.

Teddy had once described a house just like this. He must have invented it, or perhaps he had not. Perhaps he had modelled it on this very place. For she recognised it.

And that hurt more than she had expected.

The coach turned and rumbled up a narrow lane flanked by leafless trees, leading to a large, forbidding grey stone mansion. A shiver ran through Isla as an eerie sense of familiarity stole over her. The surrounding park, the stark bleakness of the grounds; she knew this place.

Goosebumps prickled along her arms.

“Surely,” she whispered, “this isn’t Thornyhill Orphanage?”

She didn’t need Algie’s confirmation. She knew. She had last seen it on the day Algie and Mama came to take her away. Jem had run after the carriage, down this very lane, crying her name.

She’d heard his cry ever since in nightmares that plagued her to this very day.

The coach drew to a halt in front of the house. Isla stepped down as if in a dream, as though she had slipped backwards in time.

But it was not the stern matron of her childhood who emerged from the doorway, not the sharp-eyed woman with the grey bun and joyless voice, but a younger woman with kind features and a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Rosehill Orphanage,” she said warmly. “I’m Mrs Anne Gardener, the matron and headmistress. It is always a joy to welcome back our former wards.”

Isla took her hand with a dazed expression. “Rosehill? I remember it as Thornyhill.”

“It was,” Mrs Gardener replied. “The name changed after we acquired new patrons.” She glanced meaningfully at Algie.

“Thanks to their generous support, we were able to renovate the building extensively and make it far more welcoming. We added new windows, an entire additional wing, and modern furnishings.”

She remembered the darkness, the cold, the nights shivering in shared beds for lack of enough linens or space.

Though the stone facade remained unchanged, Isla now noticed cheerful curtains in the windows. Inside, carpets softened the floor, and daylight streamed through widened panes. It was still the same place and yet utterly transformed.

Mrs Gardener ushered them into a sitting room and served tea.

“What wonderful changes,” Isla murmured, wonder lacing her voice. Then she turned to Algie. “Is this your doing? Are you the new patron?”

“Mama was. I took over after her passing.” He hesitated, then added, “I helped fund the renovations. But the real credit belongs to someone else. The estate had been sold some years ago, and the new owner took an interest in restoring it. I supported where I could, as Mama would have wished.”

“We are deeply grateful for that support,” Mrs Gardener said. “We’ve hired more staff, and I daresay the children have never been happier.”

Just then, a line of neatly dressed children passed on the staircase, their chatter light and cheerful.

“I can see that,” Isla said softly. She had never wished to return. Too many painful memories, too many unanswered questions about Jem. Her enquiries had led nowhere, and she had seen no reason to revisit sorrow. But now, seeing the home in such capable hands, she was glad she had come.

“You did well,” she said, at last looking her brother full in the face.

Algie cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I am neither the main patron nor the owner of this place.”

“Owner?” she echoed. “I thought this was a parish-run institution, overseen by a board of trustees.”

“It was. But about a decade ago, it was purchased outright, house, land, and all. It is now privately owned and operated,” Mrs Gardener put in.

Isla stared at Algie. “You bought it?”

He waved a hand. “Not I. That honour belongs to someone else. In fact, it is him I brought you here to meet.”

A wave of unease rose in her chest. She stood abruptly, knocking her teacup against the table so that the last of the tea sloshed over the rim.

“Then let us meet him now.”

Algie chose to remain in the drawing room to speak with Mrs Gardener. Catherine elected to stay as well, wanting to learn more about the history of the place.

A maid led Isla through the main hall, across the house, and out a glass door onto the back terrace, where several stone amphorae stood atop the balustrade, lending an air of bygone grandeur ill-suited for an orphanage.

A wide flight of steps descended to a sweeping garden, now bare and dusted with snow.

The maid curtsied and withdrew, leaving Isla alone on the terrace. She glanced around with a faint frown and nearly missed the still figure beside one of the stone amphorae in the far-left corner.

Her heart pounded. Clad in sombre grey, he blended into the shadow, his back to her, leaning against the balustrade as he gazed pensively over the garden.

Isla trembled. She stopped two paces behind him, pressing her hands together to still their shaking. Her lips parted once, then again. Nothing came. She swallowed.

“It cannot be,” she whispered at last.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable.

“Well met, Lala,” he said after a pause.

A rushing filled her ears. Her vision blurred, and sudden light-headedness caused her to sway.

Teddy sprang forward, catching her arm just as her legs threatened to give way. He guided her carefully to a stone bench by the wall and helped her sit, then remained standing over her, his brow furrowed with concern.

“This must be a dreadful shock,” he said in a voice all too familiar.

“I wish there had been a gentler way to tell you. I was against it from the beginning, but your brother, plague take him, insisted—” He broke off, his frown deepening, and knelt before her so they were face to face.

Reaching for her reticule, he opened it and rummaged inside.

“Ladies usually carry hartshorn salts…ah, here we are.” He drew out the small silver vial, uncorked it, and held it beneath her nose.

The sharp, pungent scent stung her senses, and she jerked her head back in disgust.

“Ah. It works,” he said dryly.

She stared into his deep brown eyes.

“But…why?” she whispered. “How? I saw Algie shoot you. There was blood…so much blood.”

The furrow between his brows eased, and his expression turned rueful.

“A pig’s bladder filled with blood, sewn beneath my coat. The ball was made of wax and fired with a reduced charge, just strong enough to rupture the pouch, but not enough to do actual harm. I wore a quilted waistcoat with a bit of steel reinforcement beneath. None of it was real.”

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head.

“Lucian Night had to vanish. His part was played, and he was no longer needed.” He rose and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. “Your hands are freezing.” He began rubbing them between his own.

“Lucian Night was no longer needed.” Isla repeated the words faintly, her mind struggling to keep pace. She pulled her hands away.

He huffed. “You have a knack for appearing at the worst possible moment. We were just about to bring the entire operation to a close. We had finally managed to gather every last member of the Mudlark Skulls and the Blood Wolves in one place. It would’ve been a clean, swift operation.

The house was surrounded. All Algie and his men had to do was move in and take them.

” He shook his head. “Then the door opened. And who should walk in, bright and cheerful, and entirely unaware? You. We couldn’t stop; we had to go on.

You became a witness to the whole affair.

It wasn’t what we planned. Teddy was supposed to come to you that very afternoon, courting, roses in hand.

It was all meant to be explained and revealed gently, with time.

But once you saw Lucian die, things became complicated.

Teddy had to vanish, too. Algie had him sent to the West Indies.

” He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, then met her gaze with solemnity.

“I regret how that had to be played out. I am sorry for the pain it must have caused. I wish there had been a way to spare you that pain.”

“Pain,” Isla echoed. She stared at him as though seeing him for the first time. “You mean to say it was all a performance? A charade? Something out of a play?” Her hand rose, pointing towards the house. “Planned by you and my brother?”

“It is a long story,” he said softly.

“And Lucian Night?”

“A fabrication. A name I adopted. A role I played. I am an agent of the Home Office, Isla. It was my duty to infiltrate the underworld, and to do so, I had to become Lucian Night. All the crime, the human trafficking, it was all growing beyond our control. Severe and radical measures had to be taken. The entire operation was sanctioned and orchestrated by the Crown.”

Her head spun once more. She closed her eyes and pressed a trembling hand to her temple .

“Stop,” she whispered. She shook her head. “Are you telling me that Algie planned this? That he made you do it?”

“Correct. He has trained me for this for years. Decades, even. By becoming a crime lord, I became the Home Office’s most effective weapon.

I was not only at the very heart of the underworld, but its purported leader.

I had access to everyone and everything and organised it all under the guise of leadership.

Then I passed all the information on, naturally, straight to Algie. ”

Isla’s mouth dropped.

“You may have wondered why Algie never moved against Lucian Night. That was because Lucian was never truly his enemy, but his accomplice. And it succeeded admirably. Thanks to your brother, we rounded them up and cleansed the rookery. Your brother is the mastermind behind all this. He truly has a brilliant mind.”

Isla stared at him in disbelief. “Algie came up with all this. It had been planned for years, if not decades,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“And then, when you didn’t need Lucian Night anymore, he had to be disposed of in that dramatic manner, in front of as many witnesses as possible.”

“We had not counted on you being there,” he said apologetically. “We never intended to deceive you. You were never to know. But once you saw Lucian Night die, he had to remain dead. This meant that Lord Linwood had to go as well.” He pulled a hand through his hair.

Isla gathered all the strength that remained in her to ask the ultimate question that burned most urgently in her soul. “And Lord Thaddaeus Linwood? Was he a fabrication as well?”

He cleared his throat. “That is indeed my name. It is the name my father gave me at my birth. He and my mother ran away together, but Vanya did not care to adapt to a conventional, settled way of life. She tried, but she was deeply unhappy, especially after she realised the marriage was a mistake. One day, she took me, and we returned to her family. There, she gave me another name.”

The trembling took over her again, but she pulled herself together, upright.

“Jem Fawe.” Her voice sounded indifferent, almost cold.

Their eyes met.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Yes.”