Page 26 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“D o you want to go out of the house today? Or will it be another day for hiding indoors?” Honora’s voice made Frederica freeze.

She had been working on a silhouette portrait, for it had been so long since she had indulged in the activity. Despite the fact he was not here for her to sketch first and work from, she remembered Allan’s profile so well that she had created it faithfully on the black paper before she knew it.

She was halfway through cutting it out, preparing it for its white background when Honora appeared, peering around the doorway to watch her.

“I’m content, here,” Frederica whispered, returning to her work.

“Content. Funny choice of word, isn’t it?” Honora asked, striding into the room and sitting down primly in the seat beside her. “I’ve been content for much of my life, you know. When I first ran away from London, it was all I ever hoped for to be content.”

Frederica paused, knowing Honora never talked much about what had led her to retreating from London in the first place. All she ever knew was that it was a scandal.

“Contentment is good for a time, I can say that,” Honora said calmly. “After a while though, you start seeing what everyone else has and what you don’t. You see happy marriages, happy smiles, and you realize that contentment isn’t quite as good as happiness.”

Frederica sighed and put down the black paper. Sitting neatly on the white page, she had recreated Allan perfectly.

“What would you have me do, Aunt? There is no way back for Allan and me now.”

“You do not know that.”

“I told him I didn’t care for him, that I wanted out of the marriage.”

“He will forgive you that lie.”

“Would he?” Frederica was not so convinced of it. “Even if he did, he would be in danger from Lord Wetherington. I cannot take that risk.”

Judging it to be an end to the conversation, she reached forward and picked up the scissors again. In her haste, she chopped off too much of Allan’s hair. In anger, she picked up a fresh piece of black paper. She would now have to start again.

“Do you know why I left London?” Honora said quietly. Frederica stiffened, not daring to move, in case it spooked Honora into silence. “I… I fell in love.”

Frederica looked up, meeting her aunt’s eye.

“Oh, and it was wrong to fall in love, very wrong indeed.” She tried to smile, a way to shrug off the sadness, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He was already married.”

“Married?”

“What made it worse was that he loved me too,” Honora whispered. She could no longer look at Frederica, so she stared down at the black paper in front of them instead.

“How is that worse?”

“Again, he was married,” Honora said very quietly, apparently afraid to admit it aloud. “We tried to avoid it, to avoid each other. Then, one night, it spilled over. All the tension, all the hope.” She released a juddery sigh. “It was one kiss. That was all, but we were seen.”

“Oh,” Frederica gasped.

“We were seen by Ernest,” Honora whispered in horror, shaking her head. “Not to mention about half a dozen of his friends, all of whom spread the rumor at once. Ernest was appalled. I had brought the family name into disrepute, and as for the man I loved, he was now scandalized by our weakness.”

She shook her head, clearly despairing of herself. “If I could have taken back that kiss at the time, I would have done. He would have been safe from a tainted reputation. He would have been happy.”

“So, you retreated here?” Frederica whispered.

“I did.” Honora nodded. “He couldn’t marry me to mend my reputation, and Ernest, as my guardian, disowned me publicly at an assembly.” Tears appeared in her eyes.

Somehow, Frederica didn’t doubt her father was capable of such cruelty.

She reached out and took Honora’s hand, gripping it tightly in her own.

“I have been able to be comfortable here with my own home as I was fortunate enough that one of my grandmothers left me an annuity,” Honora said hurriedly to Frederica. “It was a good thing, for Ernest took the money that was to be my dowry, saying I no longer deserved it. I have indeed been comfortable. I have been content, but such things don’t mend broken hearts. They simply live alongside them.”

Frederica found her own breath had hitched. She held back her own tears and offered a handkerchief to Honora, but she shook her head, choosing instead to breathe deeply, and fight those tears.

“I tell you this story not to make you sad, my dear,” Honora said gently, holding Frederica’s hand back just as tightly, “but to ask you to see that if you are offered the slightest chance of true happiness, you will take it. Not everyone is fortunate enough in this life to have that chance. Take it. You’ll live to regret it if you don’t, believe me.”

Frederica fought back the tears even more. To know that Honora had been through such pain and yet continued to bear it, living comfortably and contentedly yet at all times with a pain in her heart, made her ache all the more.

Frederica pulled her aunt close and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. Honora laughed into her shoulder.

“That is a rather tight embrace,” she said softly.

“It is, but it is needed.”

Frederica and Honora held onto each other for some time, the two of them rocking a little, side to side, as they nursed one another through their pain.

When Frederica released Honora, she looked down at the silhouette in front of her, running her fingers over the black paper.

She didn’t think she would be given that chance of true happiness again. Lord Wetherington had put a stop to any chance she had of truly being with Allan. Despite a small voice telling her it was better to crumple up that silhouette and stop recreating tiny images of the man she married, she could not. With great care, she returned to the silhouette and fastened his image to the page.

* * *

“Well, this is a happy image, isn’t it?” Stephen said in a tone that was far too buoyant for Allan’s comfort.

He topped up his brandy glass from where he sat at the head of his empty dining table, knocking back the dark amber liquid as he stared at his guests in the doorway.

Stephen and Gerard were there. Stephen, as ever, was dressed very formally with a long black frock coat over his suit. In contrast, Gerard wore a very informal coat without a tailcoat or even a waistcoat beneath it.

“Who said I was going for happy?” Allan asked, reaching for the carafe again.

“Oh nay, nay more drinking tonight.” Gerard marched around the table. He took the carafe out of Allan’s hand before he could top up the glass anymore. “If ye are going to be of use to yer wife, how will this help?”

Allan paused, looking up with interest at Gerard.

“You have found her?”

“Nay. I have found him.” Gerard smiled. “I ken where Lord Wetherington is going to be tonight. So, shall we?” He waved a hand at the door.

Allan was on his feet so fast, he kicked back the chair and knocked it onto the floor. Stephen hastened to right it, but Gerard had just as much purpose in his step as Allan did and they shot toward the front door together. Allan didn’t even bother to stop and get a coat, but Stephen picked one up off the coat hooks and flung it to him as they reached the awaiting carriage outside.

“You found his home?” Allan asked in expectation as he climbed into the carriage.

“Nay.”

“What!?”

“I said I ken where tae find him.” Gerard waved a hand, clearly asking for patience. He closed the door behind the three of them and leaned out of the window to call to the driver. “Thatcher’s club. Soho.”

“Thatcher’s?” Stephen repeated, leaning around Allan to stare at Gerard. “I’ve never heard of that club.”

“That’s because it is nae in Covent Garden. It is nae a club that gentlemen of the ton commonly frequent,” Gerard said with unease. “Ye might be surprised at what happens in this sort of club.”

Allan decided he didn’t want to know. After all, he’d see everything he’d need to know about the club when they got there.

“How did you find him?” Allan asked as the carriage rolled away down the driveway and took them out into the streets of London.

“Contacts. A particular business associate of mine frequents this club himself. He says that Lord Wetherington is there every Monday, like clockwork, from eight o’clock until the early hours of the morning.” Gerard sighed and shook his head. “He’s learned quite a bit about Lord Wetherington by gamblin’ alongside him. It seems the man’s tongue becomes loose after alcohol.”

“What did he learn?” Allan asked impatiently.

“Did ye ken that Lord Wetherington is the youngest of three sons?”

“The youngest?” Stephen repeated. “How did he get the title of viscount then?”

“That’s just it. They all died.”

“What?” Allan spluttered.

“My friend said he was in the club a few weeks ago when he mentioned to Lord Wetherington that he seemed rather happy to risk losin’ his fortune. Wetherington laughed and said that life had a habit of going his way. He even said he was never supposed to inherit his father’s fortune, but then a sickness came. It took his father and his brothers, leaving him with the money and the title.” Gerard shook his head. “There is an entitled man if there ever was one.”

“A man who is used to getting what he wants then,” Allan observed.

“Exactly.” Gerard pointed at him. “Arrogant, determined, and entitled. Those things daenae mix well together.”

“Are you saying that this is why he has been going after Freddie?” Allan mistakenly used his nickname for her. Stephen and Gerard jerked their heads toward him, but to his relief, neither of them commented on it.

“I’m saying that a man who feels as if life just falls his way may nae accept a woman’s rejection very well. He may do whatever it takes to make sure that life does fall his way,” Gerard said uneasily, levelling a firm gaze at Allan.

Slowly, Allan nodded; he understood what Gerard was trying to warn him of.

He will not be a man who will take being beaten easily.

“He may deny having anything to do with her disappearance then,” Stephen said. “Just as long as he gets the outcome he wants.”

“Exactly.” Gerard nodded. “We need to be careful how we handle tonight.”

It didn’t take long to reach the club though perhaps because Allan’s mind was racing the whole way there, the journey felt short. When they arrived, Allan jumped down from the carriage first with Gerard and Stephen following closely behind.

“Excuse me, sir,” a footman from the doorway stepped in Allan’s way. “This is a member’s only club.”

“Out of my way,” Allan snapped at the young man. The man’s eyes widened, but he refused to move.

“Let me handle this,” Gerard said smoothly, stepping in the way. He whispered something in the man’s ear. Whatever persuasion he was giving the man, Allan didn’t wait around to hear it.

Instead, he looked impatiently at the door, just as a familiar face he had not been expecting to see came out.

It was Lord Campbell, Frederica’s father. He looked happy and must have won some cash at the gambling table, for he was patting his pockets, checking they were full. When he saw Allan, the smile dropped from his cheeks, and he came to a stumbling stop.

“Lord Padleigh?” he said in surprise.

“You!” Allan snapped and moved toward Lord Campbell. Before he could get anywhere near the Earl though, Stephen had taken hold of his shoulder, holding him back. “Did you know? Did you help him orchestrate it all?”

“Orchestrate what?” Lord Campbell blinked. There was utter confusion in his expression, a confusion so strong, he could not have been acting.

“You do not know?” Allan muttered. “You do not know that your favorite friend, Lord Wetherington, has orchestrated my wife’s disappearance?”

“What!?” Lord Campbell spluttered. “That can’t be true.” He shook his head repeatedly. “No, no, you must have this all wrong, My Lord. It cannot be. I had nothing to do with such a thing.”

“Strange.” Allan narrowed his eyes. “You have not asked after your daughter. Your first thought when faced with an accusation is not to ask after the health of your daughter but to defend yourself.”

Lord Campbell blinked, still in that confused and dazed state.

He doesn’t see what is wrong with this.

“You have made your daughter afraid of her own shadow,” Allan spat with anger, shrugging Stephen off his shoulder and moving forward, towering over Lord Campbell and making the man retreat. “You have refused to think of her happiness and only of your own self-preservation and advancement, time and time again.”

“Wh - what do you mean she’s gone? Are you two… getting a divorce?”

“No!” Allan practically barked the word in Lord Campbell’s face, figuring it wasn’t a lie as, technically, Frederica had asked for an annulment. “Out of my way.”

Allan tried to sweep Lord Campbell aside as Gerard beckoned to him, showing him he could now go inside.

“But —” Lord Campbell tried to move in the way again.

“You will never be welcome in our house unless you realize what you have done to Frederica, and you apologize for it. What sort of man cares for his own advancement more than he does the health of his daughter?” Allan didn’t think his words had gotten through to Lord Campbell, but other men moving in and out of the club had certainly heard him.

Lord Campbell blushed beetroot purple and did his best to avoid all of their scrutinizing looks as Allan swept past him into the club.

“Allan, maybe you should try and calm down a bit?” Stephen pleaded, following Allan into the club.

“Why?” Gerard asked, so Allan didn’t have to. “Wouldnae ye be in this state if it were Dorothy?”

“Maybe,” Stephen said reluctantly.

Allan looked around, moving from room to room in an avid search. He swept aside a deep red curtain which had separated off a gaming room where card games were being played with a heavy, thick atmosphere of pipe smoke hovering in the air. Courtesans walked through this space, offering drinks in dresses that were cut very low indeed. Most men seemed more interested in the courtesans than their card game but not Lord Wetherington.

Lord Wetherington sat at his gaming table, laughing about something and smoking his clay pipe. He had a fist full of cards, and beside him was a stack of tokens to represent all the money he had won that night.

Allan veered toward him.

“Allan!” Stephen hissed, trying to calm him down again. “For God’s sake, just talk to him. We need to know where Frederica is, not hurt the man.”

He hurt Frederica. He tried to force himself on her.

A blanket of red ire had fallen over Allan. Nothing could stop him now as he forced his way through the gamblers to Lord Wetherington’s table. He stopped beside the man, just as Lord Wetherington looked up, staring back at him.

“Where is she?” Allan asked.

There was the glimmer of a smile across Lord Wetherington’s face. Plainly, he felt no need to adopt a pretense now. He put his cards down on the table and pulled the pipe out of his mouth.

“She has left you then? Good,” Lord Wetherington said, that smile growing menacingly across his face. “It was high time she did. I expect to read the news of your annulment in the scandal sheets any day now.”

“You have her — where is she?” Allan said, not backing down. His aggressive tone and his words made not only Lord Wetherington look at him again but every other man at that gambling table.

“You mean… she’s missing?” The worry on Lord Wetherington’s face was a shock. “How can that be?” He stood up.

Allan glanced at Gerard and Stephen, and he saw the same shock in their faces. Neither of them had expected Lord Wetherington not to know she had gone.

“Then, she’s not with you?” Allan said, needing to be certain. “She didn’t come to you after she left our house?”

“No.” Lord Wetherington shook his head.

Allan stepped back. All the rage, all the fury, billowed into something new — an unbridled mixture of fear and anger that he could not contain. He turned on the spot, not knowing what to do next.

“Well, perhaps it’s for the best, eh?” Lord Wetherington said with that smile returning to his cheeks. He leaned an inch toward Allan, earning his gaze. “She never was supposed to marry you, you know?”

“Oh, and you think you deserved her, do you? You think that just because you wanted her, you get to have her? Life doesn’t work like that. She was never yours. She never will be,” Allan barked, his voice seething now.

“Hmm…” Lord Wetherington stood taller. “If I can’t have her, why on Earth should you?” He looked down at Allan, his eyes suddenly small and beady as they worked themselves down Allan’s being and back up to his face again.

That billowing anger spilled out of Allan. Before he knew what he was doing — before Stephen could even grab his shoulder to stop him — Allan lashed out.

The first punch hit Lord Wetherington squarely across the nose, and a bone-cracking sound filled the air.