Page 9 of The Lyon’s Love Letters (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #78)

E lliott waited in front of the gate to the lodge at Green Park, fighting the urge to sit down and run both hands though his hair until he looked as mad as he felt.

It had not been an easy night. It had taken him hours to dispel the surge of desire rolling like waves through his veins. He had barely slept. But at last he had conquered it, beating it back relentlessly with despair and a single, futile question.

Why now? Why must he meet this girl now? This lovely, brave young woman whose sweet nature dissolved his protective layers of cynicism and ennui. Who sparked his interest and protective instincts, who challenged him and made him laugh and long for more. So much more.

This girl who craved independence, who stood in defiance of the men who sought to manipulate her. The girl he could not ask to be his, because he could not turn himself into just another man who would free himself while trapping her.

“Good morning!”

She’d caught him by surprise. He looked over and caught the bewilderment she felt at the sight of him.

“Are you well?” she asked. “You have shadows under your eyes.”

“Well enough.” He had shadows winding their way all through him, though he felt most of them must be chiseling away at his aching heart. “I borrowed a carriage from a friend, so we need not have our senses assaulted on the long ride or worry about finding our way back.”

“Thank you. That was sensible.” She grinned. “And appreciated.”

He ignored the longing to make her smile again and again. Dismissed the thought that he could spend half his life teasing laughter from her, and the other half counting her freckles. “Let’s go, shall we?”

They sat in silence for a while as the carriage wended north. Elliott stared bleakly at the passing city until she made a little noise of distress. He glanced over, finding she’d gone pale.

“Mr. Ward,” she began, “perhaps I spoke too freely yesterday, or behaved in a way that might have raised—”

“No,” he rasped. “No. Do not harbor any such doubts about yourself. Or of me, for that matter. You did nothing wrong. Neither of us did. I meant every word I said to you.” He swallowed. “And I meant every kiss. Every touch.”

She raised her chin. “As did I.”

“If I am too silent, you must forgive me. I am merely quietly railing at the whims of fate, and at my own failings. But I would never rail at you.”

Her shoulders lowered as some of the tension in her drained away.

“You are the finest young woman I have ever met. You have a chance at a rare sort of freedom, the sort that scarcely exists for a woman in Society. I cannot blame you for reaching for it.”

Swallowing, he decided to tell her the painful truth. “Nearly everything inside is screaming for me to reach for you.”

Her head came up. So did the color in her face. “Why don’t you?”

“Because I am discovering that I am a prideful man. And pride is the part that is stopping me. It won’t let me reach out an empty hand or offer you an empty future. Not when a better one awaits you. So I will do what I can. I will do everything to see that you can safely grab it.”

“I see,” she said quietly.

She turned to the window then, and he sat alone on his side of the carriage, nursing his resolve and pushing dark grief aside.

He would face that when this was all over.

The coach pulled up before a pretty little cottage. Two stories, with a fence all around and gardens in the front and back. Anna took Elliott’s hand, admiring the place as she stepped down.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting,” she said quietly, “but it was not this.”

They went through the gate and to the front door, painted a cheerful blue. Raising his brows, Elliott gave a shrug and knocked politely. They waited. He knocked again.

After a moment, the door was yanked open. A man stood inside, scruffy and in slightly shabby clothes. He had flour dusted across his paunchy middle and a smear of jam at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes?” he said impatiently. Behind him, from somewhere deeper in the house, came the trill of a girlish giggle.

“We have come to speak with Mr. Lawson, please,” said Anna.

“Who’s calling?” the man asked, frowning between them.

She exchanged glances with Elliott. “Robert Tunley sent us.”

Immediately, the man stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “You cannot come inside and you cannot stay long. Walk around the right side of the house and wait beyond the gazebo. Keep behind the shrubs and make sure you are not seen from the house.” He started to go back inside but stopped and glared out at the carriage. “And move your coach beyond the curve ahead. If she sees it, she’ll start a ruckus and want to take a ride.”

“If who sees it?” asked Elliott.

“Miss Matilda. And you do not want to have to disappoint her, believe me.” Without another word, he went in and shut the door.

Anna blinked at Elliott and gave a little huff of laughter.

He nodded. “Again, not what we were expecting.” He lifted a shoulder. “Come along, then. And take care not to be seen.”

There were several large current bushes beyond the gazebo. They stood behind them, and Anna could not resist peering through the branches to the back of the cottage.

“Here he comes.”

“The same man?”

“Yes, he’s carrying a broom.”

The scruffy man marched out to the gazebo, stepped inside, and began to sweep. “Just stay there a moment, in case she comes to the window. We have been making pies. I told her I would clear the gazebo so that we might enjoy them out here after they are done.”

“Are you Mr. Lawson?” asked Anna.

He glanced at her, surprised. “Yes. Who else?”

Elliott stepped closer to the structure. “What has any of this to do with Viscount Kenniston?”

The man stopped sweeping. “Did Tunley not tell you?”

“He said only that we should hear the story from you.”

“Damn his hide,” Lawson cursed. “As if I ain’t got a hundred other things to do in a day.”

“Please,” Anna said. “We thought we were coming to find something we could use against the viscount.”

Lawson’s face softened. “And so you shall, if you are brave enough to use it.” He motioned at Elliott, waving him back. “You must not be seen. Miss Matilda cannot abide the sight of a man. Other than me,” he added at Elliott’s pointed look.

“Who is Miss Matilda?” asked Anna.

“She’s Kenniston’s cousin. Her that he beat near to death.”

Anna gripped a post of the whitewashed gazebo.

“Here now, sit down on the steps and I’ll tell you all. I’ll have to be quick about it.”

“A younger cousin?” Anna asked.

“Four years younger.”

“But I heard… She sounded… Does she have a child?”

“No, that was her laugh you heard.” Lawson sighed. “Miss Matilda is a bit off , as they say when they want to be polite. It was a hard birth that did it, or that’s what I was told. Mother and babe both nearly died. She turned out weak and fretful. She didn’t thrive like some babes. She was slow to walk and talk. Slow to learn other things. Oh, but quick of temper. Quite wild with it. More so when she was younger, but still, there are things that set her off.”

“You are her caretaker?”

“I was a groom in her father’s stables. I was to teach her to ride when she was just a sprig. She took a shine to me. I was the only one who could calm her, betimes, or get her to behave. So my duties were changed. Miss Matilda became my job.”

“She was lucky to have you.”

“And I her. She was growing to be a loving little mite. Quite settled. Until her parents died of the influenza and she were sent to live with her uncle, the old viscount.”

“She moved in with Kenniston and his father?” Elliott asked.

“Aye, she did. And I went with her.”

“Kenniston was cruel to her?” Anna asked in a whisper.

“Not at first. He seemed amused by her when we first arrived, but he was a bad influence. He would encourage all her difficult traits, urging her on when she tried to be selfish, or mean, or troublesome. He would get her worked up into a state, then laugh and laugh.”

“Horrid man,” Anna bit out.

“It got worse as Miss Matilda got older. I’d noticed the boy had a real hatred of women. He would pinch the maids and knock over dishes in the kitchens and steal ribbons from the village girls to make them cry.” His mouth thinned. “As he grew from a boy into a man, his offenses became more…serious.”

Anna knew what he meant. So did Elliott, by the look of thunder in his face.

“And Matilda?”

“The more womanly she became, the more he seemed to hate her. Lord, but he was cruel. He scared her, teased her. He put something in her food once that made her powerful sick. I started to notice bruises on her and began to watch carefully. The day I caught him striking her, I held him against the wall and put a knife to his b—” He stopped, flushing. “Sorry, miss. In any case, I threatened to end the Kenniston line, there and then.”

“He didn’t like that, I’ll wager,” said Elliott.

“He did not, but he’s a bully, and he backs down at a show of strength. Things got better after that—for a few months.” Lawson stopped. Drew a breath. “And then Miss Matilda disappeared.”

Anna closed her eyes.

“It was a few days before the young lord was to be home on break from school.” Lawson shook his head. “I was frantic. We all were. For two days we searched high and low.”

“And?” asked Elliott.

“And she was found late on the second day, washed up against a bank, several miles downstream from her home. Barely alive. What had been done to her—it was torture. Scarcely an inch on her that hadn’t been beat. And she’d been…violated.” Lawson turned away. “We took her home. The doctor did what he could. She didn’t wake up for two more days. By then, the young lord had arrived home. Miss Matilda woke up, hurting and befuddled. Everyone wanted to spoil her, pet her, welcome her home. She was confused. Didn’t seem to remember anything of what happened, but she liked the attention. Until he walked in her room. She took one look at him, drew a great breath, and started to scream. You ain’t never heard the like. I thought she would scream the house down. He fled, but she wouldn’t stop. They had to bring the doctor back. He forced opium down her to knock her out.”

“My God,” Elliott whispered.

“When she woke, she was fine—until she caught sight of a man. Then the screaming would start again. I was the only one she could tolerate near her.”

“And what of Kenniston?” asked Anna.

“His father told everyone she was mad. ‘Had all the good sense beat out of her,’ was how he put it. But the local constable heard of it. It set him to thinking, so he went looking and thought he found the place where she had been dragged and dumped in the stream. He searched about and found a bloodied handkerchief caught in a bramble patch nearby. A woman’s handkerchief. The constable took it to the young lord’s valet, who confirmed it was one that Kenniston had kept for years. He took the man’s sworn statement. And then the constable asked around the village and found someone who had seen the young lord in the area days before he showed up at home. He took that statement, too.”

“Then why wasn’t Kenniston taken up before the local magistrate?” Elliott sounded incredulous.

“Because the constable never presented the evidence to the magistrate.”

Elliott sighed. “Let me guess—Kenniston’s father was the magistrate?”

“Indeed, he was. And suddenly, the constable discovered that he’d inherited a parcel of land in some Canadian province.”

“I’ll just bet he did.” Elliott looked as disgusted as Anna felt.

“But what, then, did my father use to blackmail Kenniston?” she said.

“Martindale is your father?” Lawson asked, surprised.

Anna nodded.

“I don’t know how your father got wind of the story, but he came here looking for details. I told him the whole tale, same as I told you.”

“He must have somehow tracked down those reports,” she mused.

“No,” Lawson said. “He couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have them.”

Anna froze. She and Elliott exchanged shocked glances. “Here? You have them here?”

“Hidden away. Safely, but not here,” Lawson explained. “I couldn’t let the only hint at the truth be destroyed, so I went and took it off the constable before he sailed. Forcefully.” He shrugged. “I thought I might need it someday. The old viscount wanted Miss Matilda out of his house—”

“And away from his son,” Elliott said bitterly.

“Aye, that too. He set us up here, and it’s been for the best. We have a cook and a maid who come in. Miss Matilda’s days are more peaceful. But I had a notion that Kenniston might come around, so I brought that evidence with me.”

“ Did he come around?” Anna felt like she already knew the answer, but she had to ask.

“Of course he did. Just a few weeks after his father died. I refused to let him in, and I told him I knew where those reports—and that handkerchief—were. I threatened to go to the papers if he showed up again.”

“If you still have it, then my father must have bluffed Kenniston,” Anna said. “Told him he had the evidence, thinking he wouldn’t know the truth.”

“And he was right,” Elliott pointed out. “Kenniston thinks you have it now.”

“He’s bothering you, miss?” Lawson asked sympathetically.

“Yes, but I am scarcely the only one. The viscount has only grown worse.” She frowned, thinking. “Mr. Lawson, would you be willing to give a statement of your own?”

“To who?”

“To Bow Street, perhaps. Or to someone in the Home Office. We’ve heard hints of other, more recent abuses. If we all tell our stories, it will paint a picture that cannot be ignored.”

Lawson looked skeptical. “In my experience, the Quality can ignore just about anything when it comes to their own.”

“Then perhaps we will do as you said and go to the papers. We have to try.” Anna’s hands tightened into fists. “I have to do something .”

Lawson regarded her for a moment. “Yes. If you can get someone to listen, I’ll talk. And I’ll do you one better—I’ll give you copies of the statements I took from the constable. I’ve got the originals tucked away safe, but I’ve got several copies hidden here.” He raised a brow. “Had your father asked, I would I have given him a set, too.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I believe I can put them to good use.”

Leaving the broom, Lawson went back to the cottage. He wasn’t gone but a moment, coming back with a sheaf of papers, which he handed over. Taking up the broom, he nodded at her. “You be careful, now. There is not much I would put past that man.”

“I believe you are right about that.” She gave him a quick curtsy. “Thank you, Mr. Lawson. For your story. And for your promise.”

“Go make them listen, miss. I’ll talk when it’s time.”

Anna turned to Elliott. “Let’s go, shall we? We have much to do.”