Page 4 of Not a Chance in Hell (The Chances #6)

March 10, 1840

H e’d promised himself that he would never walk down here. But then, Arthur had promised himself a lot of things.

The carpet was more frayed than he remembered. Arthur’s foot almost caught on the edge when he turned a corner, but that wasn’t why his pulse was beating so frantically in his ears.

They’re all here.

Arthur heaved a sigh as he started to walk slowly along the portrait gallery. It had been a pleasant enough idea. He had no idea which Earl of Taernsby had first thought of it, but the family legend went that it had been long before any royal family or ducal line had had the thought to collect such artwork.

Heaven forbid the idea that a Nelson wasn’t original.

The family line, generation to generation, each earl painted in his own fashions in his own style. Arthur paused for a moment beside a Tudor-era-looking earl, his lacey ruff surrounding his neck as he held a globe in one hand and a book in the other. The man had Arthur’s nose. It was quite disconcerting.

He moved on, lingering at some paintings longer than others. Each earl held the objects he felt most encapsulated his time as the earl. For some, keys. For others, compasses, architectural tools. Those were the ones who had built wings onto the manor. One of them held the lead to a pair of hunting dogs. Only one was painted beside his wife.

Tension scratched at Arthur’s temples as he progressed down the line, the fashions becoming more and more familiar. There was a headache building at the base of his skull by the time he reached one wearing breeches and stockings, a powdered wig on his head.

His grandfather.

To his right, his father. Arthur peered into the painting, wondering if he would spot anything new. But no, there was his father, just as he had always been. A little stern, a little defiant, but no real harm in him.

And there…

Arthur swallowed as he stood before the painting of his brother. Archibald.

He’d spent a great deal of time worrying about what he should have been holding, Arthur could remember.

“It’s got to define me for an age!”

The words came echoing back into Arthur’s mind as though they had only been spoken yesterday. The odd thing was, it had only been a year ago.

Four weeks after the paint had dried and the new Earl of Taernsby’s painting had been added to those of his forefathers, the earl in question had been dead. There’d then been a new, new Earl of Taernsby.

Arthur’s stomach lurched as he took another step to the right. There. That gap on the long corridor wall. That was where he would go.

He stood there for a moment, gazing back the way he had come. From this angle, he could not exactly see the details of each painting he had passed, but the shimmer of their gold-gilt frames was enough to give a sense of just how many there were.

And then him.

He would not let the line die out.

He was alone now. Oh, in a way, he had always been alone, his older brother treated by the world like a king and Arthur himself just… there. Their mother had died shortly after Arthur’s birth, and their nannies and tutors had been cold, old biddies and bores, the lot of them. But even as the sole object of their father’s affection, Archibald had always attempted to ensure that Arthur had been included. That he had still been considered family, as much as he could be.

And now Arthur was completely alone. Just him against the world.

He would not be the last Taernsby.

“I promise you that, Archibald,” Arthur said quietly, as though the old rotter could hear him. He glanced back at his brother’s portrait. The young man stared out, unseeing, unknowing what was to occur in just a few short months. “I will marry. I will bear heirs. I will not let the line die out.”

“Ahem.”

The clearing of the throat was quiet, but in the utter silence of the portrait gallery, it rather felt as though someone had let a gun off.

Arthur jumped, then cursed his own foolishness.

What, did you think you were going to be shot too?

“I do apologize for the interruption, my lord,” said Haslehaw awkwardly.

Arthur winced. My lord. He still was not used to that. He always looked around for his father instinctively when he heard that phrase.

“Please do not concern yourself, Haslehaw, I was just…” Just what? Just walking up and down morbidly, thinking of death and the end of your line? “Just thinking.”

“Indeed, my lord,” said the butler, gaining a little of his own equilibrium. “I would not have disturbed you, naturally, but there is a… a visitor for you. One I could not send away.”

Now that was different. “I was not aware it was a butler’s duty to turn away his master’s guests.”

Haslehaw shuffled his feet and glared at the carpet. “This one, my lord, I am sure is unwelcome. But then I thought, perhaps you do things differently to my previous lord. Perhaps you delight in the visits of street urchins with nothing better to do than infringe upon a lord’s time and charity.”

Arthur grinned. “Ah, now that’s a guest I am very much looking forward to meeting.”

It was worth it, just for the look on his butler’s face. The gaping expression only became more horrified when the two men descended the stairs, then descended the servants’ staircase when the butler indicated the way.

Haslehaw bristled. “I won’t have that—that thing above stairs!”

It had been a good few years since Arthur had been downstairs in the servants’ quarters of the Bath townhouse. It was smaller than he remembered. The kitchen was bustling, too many people attempting to work in a space that appeared designed for one. Cook was shouting orders as footmen and maids rushed about, and what Arthur presumed was a scullery maid was hastily picking things up and moving them about without, as far as he could see, any real purpose.

In the middle of the chaos was a large, oak kitchen table. Sitting at the table, elbows leaning on it and leaving dirty marks wherever they were placed, was—

“I thought you said it was an urchin?” muttered Arthur as he smiled at the little girl.

The butler shrugged. “I do apologize, my lord. Is there a feminine equivalent of urchin?”

Though it was on the top of Arthur’s tongue to curse his butler to high heaven for making him feel the fool, he didn’t bother. The man was clearly exhausted, attempting to acclimatize to a person like him. An earl like him.

“This—this thing has forced its way in here and is demanding food!”

Arthur took a swift step back. The wiry-haired Cook, her mobcap askew, had limped forward with a rolling pin in one hand and what appeared to be either a very fancy pastry knife, or a torture implement designed for the nostrils.

“What am I supposed to do with it, eh?” Cook glared.

Arthur swallowed. Well, the answer feels obvious . “Feed it?”

Cook’s glare did not waver, but the direction of her gaze did. It fell on Haslehaw, standing just behind Arthur.

Arthur did not see precisely what his oldest servant did in those few heartbeats, but Cook lowered her rolling pin, stuffed the torture device into a pocket of her apron, and muttered something that could have been, “Waste of good food.”

Still, it appeared that Arthur’s tenuous grip on power remained. A bowl of stew was dropped in front of the urchin along with a spoon that had seen better days. The child pulled the bowl close and, ignoring the spoon, picked it up and started pouring the food down her throat.

“Careful now. You’ll get hiccups,” said Arthur with a broad grin, sitting opposite the scrap of a child.

And she truly was a scrap. Nothing of her at all. How old could she be—eight? Nine? Perhaps older but half-starved half her life.

“You should get yourself to St. Thomas’s,” he said quietly. “I hear they feed their children well.”

The girl snorted. “There’s never enough room there, sir.”

The words were said swiftly so she could return to the business at hand: putting as much of the stew in the bowl into her belly as she could manage.

Arthur waited this time, rather than attempt to talk with her. Only when the girl had licked the bowl thoroughly and looked up with just a hint of stew on her nose did he try again.

“I told you that you could only return if you had information,” Arthur said pointedly. “And so far, you’ve only informed me about St. Thomas’s.”

The girl grinned. “How much is it worth?”

Haslehaw gasped. “The cheek!”

“Oh, she knows how desperately I need the information, that’s all,” said Arthur with a laugh. “Good for you, chit. Here.”

Plunging his hand into his waistcoat pocket, Arthur pulled out a handful of coins. The girl’s eyes widened.

“Yes, please!”

“I don’t think you’ll have enough information for all of this, even for me,” he said dryly. “Look. Here’s half a crown, and that’s before you’ve told me anything.”

The girl snatched at the coin, but her eyes never left the pile of sovereigns, crowns, shillings, and pennies still resting in his palm.

“If you want more,” Arthur said slowly, “I’ll need more information. The better the information, the better the coins.”

The girl nodded, her quick eyes flickering to him. “I’ve followed her now a few days and I can tell you almost anything you like about her. What do you want to know?”

Arthur hesitated.

What did he want to know? Everything, but that wasn’t exactly a helpful directive. Anything that would help me woo the precocious Lady Lilianna Chance into my bed , which wasn’t the sort of thing one could say to an urchin, especially not to a girl.

“What do you think I should know?” he returned quietly.

The girl’s face grew pink. “If you want to court the lady, milord, I’d say… where she goes and who with and what she do there and favorite flowers and the like. Wouldn’t you?”

She was a marvel. Arthur returned her smile. “Something like that, yes.”

“The lady likes her routine,” said the urchin happily. “Goes to the same places almost every day. She likes Milsom Street the best, and then she always…”

And the details poured out of her. Really , thought Arthur as he made a mental note of everything the child said, the government should look into this. No one noticed a child, did they? And their minds were like sponges, taking in everything they saw. They were goldmines.

“—and she don’t like roses,” the girl finished.

Arthur’s smile evaporated. “She doesn’t?”

Blast . It could have worked so well. What woman doesn’t like roses, for pity’s sake?

“How do you know that?” he added, frowning slightly. “It doesn’t seem to be the sort of thing you could just pick up walking past her.”

The urchin stuck out her chin. “I tell you why, because she was walking along with a friend or sister or cousin or something, and she was going on about how some idiot—”

“Yes, well, thank you,” Arthur interrupted hastily.

He decidedly ignored the pinched lips and overall look of mirth on his butler’s face. Well, the man had to have some enjoyment in life, didn’t he?

“I don’t know what she do like, though,” the girl said, frowning. “She hasn’t mentioned anything else.”

Well, that was no matter. There were only so many flowers a woman liked.

“Haslehaw,” Arthur said, turning to him. “Send an order up to the florist, will you? A thousand delphiniums.”

There were stifled gasps about the kitchen. Well, if he was going to make an impression…

“Better make that two thousand,” he said thoughtfully. “Or three—I leave it up to your discretion, Haslehaw.”

The butler looked as though he were experiencing a sudden migraine. “My… My lord, the cost!”

“Oh, figs to the cost,” said Arthur, standing up and brushing a few pastry flakes from his shoulder. How had they gotten there? “I can’t hang around and argue with you. I’m off to Milsom Street.”

The girl’s eyebrows grew severe. “Oi!”

“Oh, yes, whatever you say,” Arthur said absentmindedly, handing over the entire handful of coins to the startled child. “There you go. Keep an eye on her, would you?” he added to the staff. He tried to ignore the muttering.

The urchin blinked. “How much will you give me next time?”

Arthur cuffed the girl about the ear before remembering her gender. “Damn, I do apologize.”

“I’m not a lady ,” said the girl with a crinkled nose, as though to be a lady was a most unfortunate thing. “Can I have more stew?”

“No,” grumbled the Cook behind Arthur.

“Yes,” said Arthur vaguely, his mind already in Milsom Street. “Have as much as you want.”

Milsom Street wasn’t that far from the Taernsby townhouse. In truth, there were few places in Bath far from Milsom Street. The place was all a bustle, the bright sunshine and the sultry air welcoming out all those who had come to Bath for the Society, and all those who had come for its restorative waters.

The pavements were packed.

“Oh, sorry,” said Arthur helplessly as he accidentally knocked into a woman whose parcels went flying. He stepped back hastily but only succeeded on stepping on the toes of a gentleman. “My apologies!”

It was crowded. How he was supposed to find Lady Lilianna Chance in this, he had no idea…

“And I told him it was absolutely ridiculous,” came a genteel voice with an edge of steel. “I mean, a waltz! Was he mad?”

Arthur grinned. Ah, there she was—fortune had smiled upon him. And he had the perfect excuse.

“See you tomorrow,” Lady Lilianna said to her companion, a young woman with very similar brows to her and a smiling expression. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Evelyn.”

“You’ll be all right on your own? You don’t want a ride, at least? I know I promised your mama I would accompany you, since we turned away your maid as chaperone.”

“Don’t worry. You go home and rest. It’s not a long walk. I shall be perfectly safe.”

“Very well. I won’t tell your mama if you don’t tell mine.”

“I’m no tattler. Besides, with my bonnet adjusted just so, no one of the ton ought to recognize me.”

Oh, she was sure of all that, was she? That she was to wander around alone, unremarked, unaccompanied? Arthur was quite certain he was what chaperones had been designed for.

The other woman said something else that Arthur didn’t catch and the two women laughed before Evelyn, whoever she was, departed.

Leaving Lady Lilianna alone.

Reminding himself that he was now one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton , and that ladies had been throwing themselves at him all week, Arthur stepped forward. Lady Lilianna was walking slowly along, a basket on her arm, and it was not difficult at all to nudge her elbow with his own.

She turned around to see who had bumped into her. “Excuse you, I—oh, hell.”

Arthur grinned. “Goodness, hello! What a surprise!”

“Go away, you poor man,” Lady Lilianna said wearily before turning and walking away.

Arthur almost halted in his tracks. That was not the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to flutter her eyelashes, blush at the sudden contact between their bodies, invite him to walk her home and—

Damn, she was getting away.

He had to put more speed into his pace to catch up to her, and when he did so, Lady Lilianna rolled her eyes.

“Do you have no concept of being unwelcome?”

“If I ever am, I shall let you know what it feels like,” Arthur said cheerfully. “And may I say how pleasant it is today?”

“I dare say you will, but I wish you wouldn’t,” said Lady Lilianna calmly. “Good day.”

The woman was infuriating enough to drive a saint to drink. That was surely why all this fire was pouring through his veins and he simply had to keep talking to her.

Lady Lilianna had turned a corner and departed from Milsom Street onto the quieter Green Street. Arthur followed her, relieved he would not have to be fighting his way along the pavement to keep alongside her.

Not that he was particularly welcome to do so, of course.

“You know, I think fate is conspiring to push us together,” Arthur said conversationally, ignoring the snort of derision from his unwilling conversational partner. “Here we are, running into each other, you without a chaperone in sight—”

She pinked a little at that but seemed eager not to acknowledge her faux pas. “Don’t be daft, man. It isn’t fate conspiring to push us together—it’s you !”

Her color was high and it did nothing but heighten the perfect symmetry of her mouth. Arthur swallowed, trying not to stare. He almost tripped over a stone on the pavement in doing so.

When he looked back up at Lady Lilianna, her mouth was quirked in a smile. “Do you honestly think I don’t know?”

“How beautiful you are?” Arthur said swiftly, always ready to step into an opening. “I am not sure. When was the last time anyone told you—”

“Really? That tired, old line? I have such low hopes for you, my lord, yet still you manage to disappoint,” Lady Lilianna said wryly. “Honestly, man, I know !”

Whatever it was she knew, Arthur was completely lost. She’d said the two words as though they were obvious, and the slight lift of her brow suggested she was waiting for him to reply.

Arthur wet his lips. Well, damn . It was unpleasant to the extreme to be on the back foot like this. How did every other gentleman manage it? “I… I don’t—”

“Kay is the sister of our stableboy, you dolt,” said Lady Lilianna with a laugh as she halted, turning to look at him, hand resting on her basket. “You think I don’t know you’re having me followed by a little girl? You think she isn’t telling me absolutely everything—well done on the handful of coins, by the way. It was almost a sovereign, all told. She’s delighted.”

Arthur opened his mouth and absolutely nothing came out.

Hell’s bells, she knew all this time? She knew. The girl had told her—naturally, the girl had told her, why wouldn’t she? There was no reason for her not to attempt to gain money from both sides. He should have thought of that.

A sensation started trickling down his spine, pouring through his body, that was new. It was hot, and sticky, and uncomfortable, like sitting through a heatwave in the blaze of the midday sun in your mourning suit.

It took Arthur a few moments to realize what the devil it was.

Embarrassment .

“I… I feel stupid,” he found himself saying in a low voice.

Lady Lilianna smirked, those delicate lips coming together in a delicious line. “And so you should.”

Irritation fueled by the embarrassment flared through him. “There is no cause to be so arrogant.”

“I don’t have time for your nonsense, I’m afraid,” Lady Lilianna said dismissively. “I’m busy.”

“‘Busy’?” Arthur chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You’re standing here talking to me, as I knew you wished to! Why would you say that you’re busy?”

“I’m actually standing here because I have an appointment,” said Lady Lilianna silkily. “Ah, here he is.”

Arthur swung round to face the incomer. Whatever gentleman was attempting to have his way with Lady Lilianna Chance, he had another—

The words he was about to shout, whatever they were, died in his mouth. The man approaching them was at least double their age, perhaps older, wearing clothes that had seen better days. So had the man. He was quite evidently a man without a home.

Arthur swallowed. His father had always ensured he never spoke to what every previous earl but one had called “the undeserving poor.” They were dirty. They were criminals. They were—

Bowing to Lady Lilianna?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Creighton,” the genteel woman said politely as she curtseyed.

It was impossible not to stare. Just what is going on?

“I haven’t forgotten your favorite, Mr. Creighton,” Lady Lilianna said with a wry expression. “I know I did last time, and I apologize.”

“Oh, fine ladies such as y’self can’t be expected to remember little, old me.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Mr. Creighton. You are not little and you are certainly not old,” she said with a chuckle.

Arthur stared in confusion between the two of them. So… So one of the most beautiful and infuriating women in the world… fed the homeless?

“—and that pie there is for your wife, Mr. Creighton. Do give her my best wishes,” Lady Lilianna said, pointing at something in the basket.

Mr. Creighton was beaming. “Oh, she’ll be so pleased that you remembered, Lady Lilianna. Why, she always said…”

Arthur could not help but stare. This was not the sort of activity a young lady got up to, and most certainly not alone, and yet here she was, doing it. No big charity gala, no beaming for the newspapers as she cut a ribbon. No, Lady Lilianna Chance was doing something real. Something important.

He watched as the man bowed again, receiving a curtsey from the noblewoman, then departed, holding his head significantly higher than it had been when he had arrived.

“You’re still here,” said Lady Lilianna quietly, raising herself up and staring boldly.

And all the clever lines, the impressive flirting, it all vanished the moment he caught her gaze. “I want to know you better.”

“Get in line,” Lady Lilianna said with a wry laugh. “Half the ton knows I am eligible, and my dowry—”

“I don’t care about dowries or eligibility or any of that rot,” Arthur said urgently, taking a step toward her, almost brushing his hand against hers. Dear God, so close… “I care about you .”

She stared, eyes wide and lips parted. Her breath blossomed across his face and Arthur longed to have it on his neck, his own breathing life into her as he pressed a hedonistic kiss on her lips.

“I…” Lady Lilianna whispered.

A jolt roared through Arthur and he willed himself to lean forward, to close the gap and kiss the dratted woman.

Show her, don’t tell her. Show her just what delights you could offer. Show her what being the Countess of Taernsby could be.

“You care about me?” Lady Lilianna murmured.

Arthur nodded, wishing to goodness his boldness was not failing him. Why wasn’t he kissing her?

She smiled, and this time, it was a genuine smile, perhaps the first he had seen from her. “But you don’t know me, my lord. You don’t know me at all. You desire a dream, and when you wake up, you’ll be left… with me.”

Just as he leaned forward, pushed beyond all endurance and aching to know how she tasted, Lady Lilianna Chance stepped back.

Arthur blinked. She must have stepped down a side street, for she was gone.