Page 20 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

Allie wasn’t given to sleeping in late.

Perhaps because, as a child, she’d spent far too much time in bed. Now she was always eager to be up early. With the dawn in the spring and summer and just before first light now that the months were inching toward winter.

The day after her visit to Jo’s, after those moments in the garden with Ben, Allie lay in bed, waiting for dawn to rouse her. But the weather was as gloomy as her mood. Rain pattered against the window and storm clouds hid the sun.

Lottie had come in to clean the grate and open her curtains, but Allie had sent her away. She knew the reprieve was only temporary, and sure enough, as her mantel clock ticked over to eight, a soft rap sounded at her bedroom door.

“Come in, Lottie.”

“Are you quite all right, miss? Should I call for Dr. Allen?”

“I’m not ill, Lottie.”

The girl approached the bed and stood as if trying to assess her.

Allie lay with her back to her, but it felt rude. When she turned over, Lottie let out a little gasp.

“Oh, miss. Heartsick, are you, then?”

Allie swiped at tear. “I’ll get up. Will you choose a dress for me?”

“Of course.”

Lottie seemed thrilled to have a task to accomplish and soon had a pretty robin’s-egg blue gown laid out, along with matching earbobs.

Allie yearned to feel as bright and vibrant as the gown Lottie helped her get into a quarter of an hour later.

“Shall I fetch you a tray for breakfast?”

“No, I shall come down.”

She met the girl’s eyes in the mirror. “I don’t wish to wallow.”

Lottie gave her a soft, dimpled smile. “No, miss. That’s not your style at all.”

A few minutes later, Allie kept her word and went down to eat the breakfast the staff had prepared for her. She usually sat near a window in the morning room when she was the only family member at home, but the weather was so gray that she opted for a spot at the long dining table.

Lottie walked by more than she usually would.

Allie appreciated her concern and wished there wasn’t cause for it.

“The post has come,”

Lottie announced when she entered the dining room ten minutes later.

She usually left it on the table in the foyer or brought it up to the desk in Allie’s bedroom, but Allie understood that Lottie was kindly attempting to offer her a productive distraction.

So she scooped up the post and headed to the drawing room. A few pieces were invitations for Eve, one was a suspiciously perfumed letter for Dom, and one large envelope was addressed to her.

The return address listed their insurance company, Lloyd’s of London. She’d begun the claims process by sending a note on the day of the break-in and returning a form the next day.

Allie pressed a hand to her middle and sent up a prayer before opening the envelope.

Their coverage would only provide five hundred pounds, which would not be enough to cover the loss of the diamond.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, willing her breakfast to stay down.

What on earth were they going to do?

She had to see Holcroft immediately, inform him of the loss, and determine his valuation of the stone.

A knock at the front door made her heart leap into her throat. Her foolish, hopeful heart.

It wouldn’t be Ben, though that was the first thought when she heard the sound.

Lottie stepped into the room. “Lady Josephine Wellingdon to see you, miss.”

Jo hadn’t waited and stood behind Lottie, already pulling off her gloves. She wore an eager smile. Nothing at all like the forced one Allie returned.

“Thank you, Lottie.”

Jo swept in and closed the door behind her with a soft snick.

“You look better than I expected you to,”

she said as she sat in the chair catty-corner to the settee Allie sat on.

“Do I? I suspect I feel precisely as you expected though.”

Jo abandoned the chair and slumped down onto the settee next to her. “Oh, my dear. Do you want to cry?”

“No,”

Allie told her honestly. “I’ve cried enough.”

“Quite right too.”

Allie loved that Jo was prepared to support her, whatever her mood.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

She reached out and patted Allie’s cheek. “Now, what’s all this, then?”

Jo tipped her head to scan the papers in her lap. “Oh dear. This is about the break-in, isn’t it? Look at your poor safe.”

Allie hadn’t noticed that there were photographs included in the envelope. And underneath the letter, she also found a document marked “duplicate.”

It was Detective Constable Baker’s report on the theft.

She pulled out the photographs and held them out so Jo could see too.

“Does anything seem odd to you?”

Jo narrowed her eyes and studied the image. “Other than the safe being broken into and still filled with jewelry?”

“Yes, other than that.”

Jo squinted again. “No.”

“How about those bits of paper?”

Allie handed the photographs over to Jo and went to the secretaire that Eve used. In the first drawer, she found what she sought and came back to the settee.

With the little gold filigree magnifying glass, she tried to make out what was written on the pieces of paper in one of the photographs.

“Do you have your little notebook?”

“Of course.”

Jo was in the habit of carrying far too many things in her skirt pockets, but she was almost never without a tiny notepad in a pretty etched metal case with a little dangling pencil attached by a chain.

“Write these letters down.”

Jo dutifully extracted her notepad, flicked it open, and positioned the tiny pencil above a pristine page.

“I see a D and an M.”

Allie adjusted the magnifying glass. “What’s that, do you think?”

Jo took another look. “A clock face. It appears to be an advertisement for a clock or a watch.”

Allie frowned. “Why would that be in the safe?”

“Isn’t Mr. Gibson a repairer of clocks and watches?”

Jo mused. “Perhaps it’s from some magazine about watch repair.”

“I think the letters must mean something,”

Allie insisted.

“I suppose they do, but you cannot solve this case for him.”

Jo laid a hand on Allie’s. “I know you wish to help. But let’s do something diverting. Something that will make you feel better.”

Allie managed not to blurt that what would truly satisfy her would be assisting to bring the case to a successful end. Somewhere, in the most wistful corner of her heart, she hoped that if the case were at an end, life would go back to the few perfect days she’d had with Ben.

Jo chafed her hand. “Tell me what would cheer you.”

“I’d like to go to Princes,”

she admitted. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I feel that I should be there. I miss it.”

“Then Princes it is.”

Jo smiled and stood, pulling Allie along with her. “Let me take you in my carriage.”

She cast a glance toward the front window. “We can make room for that handsome constable too.”

Allie groaned. She’d almost forgotten about Collier.

“You needn’t accompany me if you have other engagements.”

“Nonsense. I have none but to cheer you. Though there is some Christmas shopping I need to do on Bond Street, so I’ll stay out of your way for a bit.”

“Thank you.”

The prospect of returning to the shop did make Allie’s bruised heart feel a tiny bit lighter.

Ben loathed the taste of whiskey.

It reminded him of the man his mother had taken up with, and that man’s rages and fists. It reminded him of how volatile George became after a glass or two.

He’d never seen it do any good. It made men boisterous and often violent.

But last night he’d craved it, and he’d recalled that Helen kept a bottle for medicinal purposes and poured himself a glass. Now, somehow, yesterday had merged into today, and the bottle was nearly empty.

He understood why others found solace in it.

It sheared the edges off pain and blurred reason. And memory. The first glass had filled his mind with a kind of idealistic warmth. He could almost believe that the world was a good place.

The second glass allowed him to think that he could make amends with Alexandra, and then make a life with her. It wouldn’t matter where he’d come from, and she’d disregard his darkness. She’d love him despite all that. And he’d love her for all the magnificent things she was.

He’d cheer her as she wrote lady pirate books, and he’d spend hours with her poring over marriage and death and birth certificates if she wished it. They’d take the journeys she’d never been able to as a child.

In a whiskey haze, anything felt possible. But hours had passed since his last glass, and his logical mind had punched through his liquor-tinged dreams to remind him that life wasn’t that kind.

At a rustle against the front door, he had the wild thought that it might be Alexandra. Not entirely sober, apparently.

But soon he recognized his sister’s footsteps. He winced at her reaction when she saw the state of him and realized that he’d downed her whiskey.

“I see we’re back to late nights.”

Helen walked in with her usual briskness, discarding her coat and already planning the next activity, despite having worked a ridiculously long day.

But when she drew near him, she stopped and let out a little gasp.

She stomped closer and swept up his empty glass.

“Good God, Ben. It’s ten in the morning.”

“I started last evening if that eases your mind.”

“It does not. Have you slept at all?”

He was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. “I don’t think so.”

He squinted up at her. She’d turned up the gaslights, and they were suddenly a menace. “Did you?”

“I slept late yesterday. It was an overnight round. If you were compos mentis, you’d remember that.”

She let out a weary sigh and bent to look in his eyes. “You never drink. What’s wrong?”

She took the glass and bottle from him, but there wasn’t much alcohol remaining in either. After setting them aside, she sat down in front of him and took his face in her hands.

“Ben, what’s happened? Is it Miss Prince? Has something happened to her?”

“Miss Prince?”

Calling her that reminded him of the day they’d met. The spark of a lady, Helen had called her.

“Yes. Goodness, are you still completely addled? Shall I throw cold water on you?”

Too many questions. She was the truly relentless Drake. Not him.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,”

he told her, his voice gravelly. “I don’t think it would fix anything.”

“Well, it might get you to talk some sense to me, and I need to know what’s wrong.”

Helen was rarely shaken. In years of nursing, she’d seen loss and terrible injuries and illnesses and remained stalwart, but he could hear the tinge of real worry in her voice, and he felt like a royal ass for causing it.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,”

she told him in a low voice. “And to be honest, it’s a bit frightening. Benedict, what has happened?”

He stood and found his head weighed a thousand pounds and every muscle in his body fought him. How long had he been slumped in a straight-backed chair?

“The problem is what hasn’t happened,”

he told Helen. “I should have caught him by now. And Miss Prince is safe and well. Or at least she will be if she keeps her distance from me.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m not good for her. You know that as well as I do.”

Helen stood. All the tenderness and worry he’d seen a moment ago turned to distaste. “I will not give credence to your drunken self-loathing.”

Ben approached her, and she winced. He knew he looked a fright and no doubt smelled like a whiskey barrel. But he had to make her understand. He’d convinced himself. He could convince her too.

“You’ve met her. She’s full of energy and vibrancy. And hope. And I’m none of those things.”

Helen began tidying. She could never remain still for long. “That’s not true. You do have hope, or you wouldn’t do the work you do.”

Ben scoffed. “Helen, you’re describing yourself.”

She walked out of the room, and he thought perhaps that was her answer, but she returned soon after with a damp rag and began wiping down the table he’d made his home for the last several hours.

“People without hope don’t become detectives. They don’t become doctors or nurses. We do these things because we have hope that we can make things better.”

“I can make the world better by finding him. By stopping him.”

“And by walking away from Miss Prince.”

She tipped a look over her shoulder at him. “You know, there’s nothing less appealing than a man playing martyr.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

Helen proceeded to dust the mantel, which she well knew Mrs. Pratt had likely attended to this week. “You know it’s what you’re doing. Or at least you would know without whiskey.”

Suddenly, she spun to face him. Anger fueled her now. He could feel it.

“I cannot believe this is the vice you choose, knowing our history with it.”

“Maybe it’s the vice I turn to because I do know our history.”

“Benedict, you cannot solve this case if you’re drunk.”

He dragged a hand across the thick stubble on his face. “That is a good point.”

“So this is because you’ve cut yourself off from Miss Prince, is it?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

She rolled her eyes. He hadn’t seen Helen roll her eyes since she was ten years old. “And why are you so bent on believing you’ll lead that lady to destruction?”

The warm alcohol haze had entirely worn off now, and exhaustion swept in, but this answer was easiest.

“Because I have nothing to offer. I work all hours of the night. I deal with the most vile of creatures. And at the end of the day, what do I have left?”

He spread his arms, lifted his hands. “Does she not deserve more than this?”

Helen assessed him grimly. “This is not what you’re usually like at the end of the day. You’re not a man prone to feeling sorry for himself on your best days.”

He closed his eyes. This battle had been fought and won. He didn’t have the strength to fight it out with Helen too.

“You do love her, don’t you?”

The question came softly and hurt all the more for her tender tone.

His logic dredged up a reply. “I’ve known her little more than a week.”

“And what does that matter? Love is not measured in length of acquaintance.”

Ben opened his eyes again. The room spun a bit, but then came into focus.

Helen wore a fierce expression. “You should get some sleep.”

He glanced at the table where he’d scribbled a few notes about the case before succumbing to whiskey’s siren call.

“I have work to do.”

“Sleep first or you won’t be fit for work.”

Ben felt a smile crack the tired lines of his face. “You’ll make a fine doctor one day.”

“Yes, I know I will. And may I boss you about a bit more?”

A rusty chuckle burst out of him. “You wouldn’t be you unless you did.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

She sniffed imperiously, then closed the distance between them. “Heed me, brother. I say this from my heart, and you know that’s rare.”

He stilled and drew in a long breath.

“Because of Miss Prince, I have seen you happy. Lighter. More yourself than you have been in years. She brings you joy, and I suspect you do the same for her.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“You weren’t always this grim-faced man, Ben. You are also kind and caring and generous.”

“I need to solve this case.”

That was all that mattered. Especially when he wasn’t certain he was any of those things anymore.

“Sleep. Then think on what I’ve said when the whiskey is out of your system and the case is solved.”

She reached out to pat him once on the center of his chest. “And don’t forget to consult your heart in these matters, not just your very prodigious mind.”

Ben knew she was right, but he couldn’t consult his heart. Not yet.

“I’ll try for a few winks,”

he told her. “Thank you, Helen.”

She waved him off, apparently done with the moments of tenderhearted advice. “I’ll thank you to stop drinking my medicinal whiskey.”