“Beggars can’t always be choosers.”
But Lavinia was not a beggar. She was the daughter of an earl, the sister of an earl, the fiancée of a duke. He abhorred the thought of her scrounging through these items, which very likely were infested with fleas and the like.
“While I doubt anyone would have use for her gown as it was,” Gillie said quietly, “I’m rather certain she could have made a pretty penny off the silk and lace that no doubt comprised it.”
She was striving to ease his worries. Perhaps she could sense his consternation because his brow was furrowed so deeply his skull and everything inside it was beginning to ache. He nodded, then shook his head. “She’d have not included this place in her plans.”
“So now you’re convinced she had it all thought out?”
“Dear God, I hope so.”
“Which leaves you with an even bigger question, I think. What was she running from? You? Why not just tell you she wanted out?”
She made things sound so reasonable, as though he came from a reasonable world. “There was the contract between our fathers. Then along with our solicitors, her brother and I hammered out the settlement and signed additional contracts. It’s not as easy as saying, ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ People are taken to court over broken betrothals. Perhaps she thought to protect her family. I don’t know and I won’t know until I find her. But I should confess I’ve had a letter from her stating she had misgivings and begging my forgiveness. It was waiting for me when I initially returned home after you cared for me.”
“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”
“Pride, I suppose, or perhaps I feared you wouldn’t help me if you thought I was at fault, that she was indeed running from me specifically. Her letter gave no details regarding her misgivings, only that they existed. I need to know specifically why she ran, if it had to do with me in particular, something I did or said. Perhaps there is a chance we can reconcile her concerns.”
“You’d still marry her?”
The thought of doing so brought him absolutely no joy. Could he honor the vow he’d made to his father when it meant unhappiness for all concerned? “I don’t know. People in my position do not marry for love. We marry for greater gains, out of obligation, for duty.”
“I think your lot has the wrong of it. Love is the greatest gain of all.”
He offered her a small smile. “So I’ve heard. If I can’t see my way clear to marry her, at the very least, she should be able to return to the bosom of her family, knowing there will be no retribution from me. I need to find her to tell her that.”
“Right then. Let’s show her portrait around, shall we?”
Another effort in futility, as one person after another merely shrugged and stated, “I’ve never seen her.”
He refrained from asking if they were certain, because they’d surely remember a lady walking in outfitted in an elaborate wedding ensemble.
“Don’t look so discouraged,” Gillie said. “There are other missions.”
But at each they met with a similar lack of success.
After their fourth try, when they were back on the street, he said, “You’re being a jolly good sport about all this. I appreciate it.”
“Do you appreciate it enough to purchase me a sweet?” She indicated a nearby sweetshop.
He suspected she never asked anyone for anything, that she was striving to cheer him. “Absolutely.”
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d popped into a sweetshop but the aromas of chocolate and vanilla and cinnamon brought a calming to his soul, as he remembered the many times he’d snuck into the kitchen when at the family estate simply to hear the cook laugh, because there was so little joy expressed by his own parents abovestairs.
A gentleman in a brown jacket was perusing the offerings as was a lady with a little lass in tow. He wasn’t surprised Gillie was the sort of woman who knew immediately what she wanted.
“A peppermint ball, Matthew,” she announced.
Nor was he surprised she knew the man behind the counter by name. “Make it a dozen,” Thorne said.
She swung her head around, her brow furrowed. “I don’t need that many.”
“It’s not a matter of what you need, but what you deserve.”
He could see she was on the verge of arguing, but instead gave a nod and acquiesced. “I can share them with others.”
Of course she could, and he had little doubt she would. He settled for a dozen toffees, intending to eat only one and handing the remainder over to her to dispense as she pleased. She seemed to enjoy giving out little treats.
After Matthew gave them two brown bags filled with their sweets, and Thorne paid for them, she said, “Let me see the portrait.”
He removed it from his pocket and gave it to her. She set it on the glass countertop. “Matthew, have you seen this woman about?”
The sweetshop man squinted, studied it. “No, can’t say as I have.”
“I’ve seen her.”
With a startled jerk, Thorne looked past Gillie to where the man in the brown jacket on the other side of her was peering over her shoulder. “Where?” he demanded.
The man looked taken aback. “Can’t remember exactly. Gave her a ride in my cab.”
He was a hansom driver then, could have picked her up outside the church. “When was this? A week or so ago?”
He seemed surprised. “Nah, it was years ago.”
Years ago? That made no sense whatsoever.
“Are you certain?” Gillie asked.
He nodded, pointed to the portrait still resting on the counter. “She’s a bit older there, but I remember the eyes, sad eyes. I can’t remember where I picked her up, but will never forget the posh house where I delivered her. Not often I get asked to go to Mayfair.”
“Well, if you happen to see her again,” Gillie said, “let me know. I’m Gillie Trewlove. You’ll find me at the Mermaid and Unicorn. And you might also tell her, if the occasion allows, I’d like to have a word. There’s a free pint in it for you.”
He grinned. “I’ve been meaning to make it to the Mermaid, but my woman considers liquor a sin.”
“Then come for a bowl of soup.”
“I might do that.”
She picked the portrait off the counter and held it out to Thorne. He merely shook his head. “Perhaps you should keep it. You seem to have more luck showing it around.”
“At least we know she’s been in the area before.”
“The question is: For what purpose?”
Chapter 13
Thorne assumed if Collinsworth or the men he’d hired had located Lavinia that the earl would send word. He needed to speak with the man who was to have become his brother-by-marriage, but all the activity from yesterday and that afternoon had his thigh and shoulder rebelling at the abuse, so he’d instructed his coachman to return to Coventry House. While he could push through the discomfort, he saw no need at the moment and thought a bit of rest would do him some good. The earl had already admitted he hadn’t a clue regarding why his sister had gone to Whitechapel, so it was unlikely he’d have any idea regarding why she might have visited some years before. Besides, her visit then might have nothing at all to do with her going there now. Perhaps she’d simply fancied that area of London, although he couldn’t imagine why she would.
Not true. He could see the appeal. While the poverty visiting on that district didn’t attract him, a certain tavern owner most certainly did. He appreciated her frankness, which in turn caused him to be equally forthright with her. Never before had he realized he often said what was expected instead of what was actually felt. He was less guarded with her, which he found to be quite liberating.
The coach came to a halt in front of his residence and he disembarked, his leg protesting more than he’d have liked but not as much as it had three days ago. His injuries were improving; just not fast enough to suit him. Patience was not his strong suit.
Once inside, he strode to his office,
grateful he didn’t pass his mother on the way as he wasn’t in the mood for her harping. He poured himself a whisky and started to head for a chair by the window when his gaze fell on the stack of correspondence on his desk. The afternoon postal delivery. He recognized the handwriting on the top envelope. Changing course, he took the chair behind his desk, set down his glass, grabbed the gold paper knife, and slit open the envelope. After taking a sip of whisky, he proceeded to take out the sheet of thin parchment nestled inside.
Dear Thorne,
I beg you to cease searching for me. I should have been more forthright in my earlier correspondence. There is another, you see, who holds my heart.
I know contracts were agreed to and signed. I know what my duty entails, but carrying it out will crush my soul. I care for you too much to burden you with a wife who would view marriage to you as a chore rather than a delight. You deserve better than I can give.
I tried to explain this to my brother, but he would not hear it. Nor would my mother who was quite insistent I carry through with my duties. I had hoped my earlier letter would dissuade you from trying to find me but I misjudged your resolve.
Please let me go. Find happiness with someone deserving of you.
Sincerest Regards,
Lavinia
Considering her words, he leaned back in his chair. She loved another. He should have felt jealousy or disappointment or betrayal. Instead he felt relief. She’d told him before she was safe, but that hadn’t been enough to dissuade him from trying to find her. He’d needed an explanation and now he had it. He was actually glad for her, glad she had someone she loved, glad she hadn’t married him when her heart had called to another. When his heart had not belonged to her. He wasn’t certain he was even capable of loving someone, that he even grasped the fundamentals of how one came to love. His parents had never shown him any affection, and as a boy, he’d been rather frightened of them, their sternness, their inability to be pleased by anything he did.
So when his father had asked him to honor the contract he’d made with the previous Earl of Collinsworth, to acquire the land that generations of dukes had yearned to possess, he’d gladly given a vow, thinking he’d please his father at last, that finally he might gain his love.
In his experience, marriages among the nobility were frigid affairs. While he’d given Lavinia baubles, he’d given her nothing of himself. That knowledge now left him feeling rather disgusted with himself. Little wonder she had not confided her doubts to him.
They had not been close. They’d both been seeing to their duty, as outlined by their fathers. He’d always admired those who upheld their responsibilities, but his respect for Lavinia had gone up a notch with her rebelliousness. He rather regretted not making the effort to know her better.
Then another thought struck him. She knew he was looking for her. How had she learned of his quest to find her? Had she observed him yesterday, searching for her? Had he seen her and not recognized her, overlooked her? Had he spoken with someone who had relayed the information to her? Perhaps she had numerous friends in the area, numerous friends along with a love. She was a woman of unfathomable mysteries—but it was no longer his place to solve them.
“I’ve had further word from your sister,” Thorne said moments after he entered the earl’s library, the butler closed the door on his way out, and Collinsworth came to his feet behind his desk. “Were you aware there is someone else for whom she holds affection?”
With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, Collinsworth began pouring whisky into two tumblers. “There was a boy in her youth. Father saw to him. I thought we were done with him.” He handed Thorne a glass, took a sip. “I suppose there could be someone else.”
“Does he reside in Whitechapel?”
“To be honest, I thought he’d been shipped off to Australia.”
“Not the good sort then.”
The earl dropped into a nearby chair. “No.”
Thorne took the one opposite him. He couldn’t imagine Lavinia with a possible criminal, but as he’d recently acknowledged, he knew so very little about her. “Her previous letter indicating she is safe seems to bear out.”
“As though she has the good sense to judge her well-being properly. I think the fact she left you standing at the altar is a testament to her bad judgment. Unfortunately, the two men I hired have failed to find her or any hint of where she might be hiding out.”
“I’ve been continuing with my search as well.” Although based on her latest correspondence he wondered if he should give up his quest. But giving up the hunt meant giving up time with Gillie. “Why didn’t you tell me she had a history with someone?”
“I didn’t think it would make any difference. It was years ago, and he was entirely inappropriate. A commoner or worse, from what I was given to understand. I didn’t know much about him, except that she fancied herself in love. Father put an end to it.”
Thorne took a sip of the whisky. It was good quality, but again he didn’t enjoy it as much as that served by Gillie. “I won’t marry her now, even if she returns here.”
“Then she is destined to be an old maid.”
Was that such a bad thing when the alternative was to spend the remainder of her life with one man while longing for another? He wasn’t quite certain he could claim his decision was based solely on her not wanting him. He was no longer convinced he could be happy, or even content, with Lavinia, not when he, too, would find himself thinking of another. “She could already be wed.”
“Dear God, I hope not. Father will be rolling over in his grave if she’s with that fellow from before.”
And his father would be rolling over in his grave because Wood’s End would not be coming into his hands, but suddenly that all seemed unimportant when compared with a woman’s happiness. “The missive she sent me came without an address. Can you have these blokes you’ve hired spread the word that she is free of me?”
Collinsworth nodded. “I shall see it done. I was looking forward to having you as a relation.”
“But Lavinia wasn’t. Shortly before the wedding, she’d grown remarkably solemn, distant even, whenever we’d have an outing to the park. I assumed it was nerves regarding the approaching nuptials. I didn’t question her. My lack of concern leaves me to believe she was quite right not to go through with the ceremony. I wish only that our relationship had been such that she’d been able to confide in me before a church filled with people witnessed my humiliation.”
Now he needed to let Gillie know that his need for her had come to an end. Strange, though, how he feared his need for her was only just beginning.
She was an idiot, continuing to help him search for the woman he would marry, willingly spending additional time with him when nothing could come of it. She didn’t like that he intrigued her or that she thought about him so much. But her interest in him was no doubt simply because she’d nursed him back to health. That sort of thing created a bond.
Just as tending to all these folks who visited her tavern night after night created a bond. She’d come to know them well, could tell when life was treating them kindly and when it wasn’t. She knew when Jerome was taking refuge here because his wife was in a foul mood, when Pickens had no luck finding an odd job for the day, when Spud had lost at the gaming tables. She recognized when Canary sauntered in with a full belly and when he was hoping she might set a bowl of soup in front of him and forget to collect for it. She knew when babes were born, children took ill, and misdeeds were done for good causes—to put bread in tiny bellies. She’d poured them drinks, cleaned up after them when they overindulged, and listened to their worries. They were as familiar as the back of her hand.
So standing behind the bar now, while darkness shrouded the streets, she recognized when something was amiss with one of her regular patrons. “Roger?”
Polishing a tankard, her barman wandered over. “Aye?”
“How long has Charlie McFarley had that swollen jaw?”
He narro
wed his eyes, puckered his mouth as though those actions made it easier to recall memories. “A while now. Ever since he came in flush. Might have been that first night you were indisposed with the female curse.”
Rolling her eyes, she almost snapped that he had the wrong of it, but it wasn’t worth the breath needed for an argument. Besides, something else had caught her attention. “Flush?”
“Aye. Came into some money. Told me where he got it but I couldn’t understand his mumbling. He paid off what he owed so I poured him a drink. He’s been back a couple of times since, but always has coin, so I serve him.”
“Right. Keep an eye on him. If he starts to leave, stop him. I want to have a word with him.” Turning, she headed into the kitchen. Hannah was done for the night, everything put away except for the myriad of glasses Robin was washing at the sink. “Robin, I need you to fetch a constable.”
The boy swung around, his eyes wide. “I ain’t done nuffink.”
She ruffled his hair. “I know that, lad. But I think someone else has. Tell him to come into the tavern and find me. And be quick about it.”
While common sense told her to wait for the constable’s arrival, memories of the malice done behind her establishment had her charging across the taproom toward the corner table where Charlie sat with three of his mates. Four chums, all looking a bit weathered, with fading yellowing bruises marring their faces here and there. Charlie had obviously gotten the worse of it, but then she recalled a crack echoing through the alleyway had first garnered her attention to the misdeeds being carried out. It was quite possible that swollen-looking jaw was going to be a permanent addition to his face. “Hello, lads, everything all right here?”
There were some mumbled ayes, but Charlie merely studied his tankard as though he might be required to create a duplicate on the morrow. “Your jaw looks painful, Charlie. What happened there?”
“Mam intu a dure.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“’E ran into a door,” one of his cohorts said.