A Compromised Lady (26 page)

Thea ripped open the letter and quickly scanned the contents. The little lawyer’s disapproval dripped from every clipped sentence, but he had done as she asked. The meeting was arranged for two days hence. Just in time. She would be off to Blakeney two days after that.

With a shock, Thea realised that all her indecision was gone. Not her misgivings, just the indecision. She must know the truth. This afternoon she had nearly been killed. If not for Richard, she would likely now be dead and cold in the street.

Mortality brushed past, ruffling her skirts, leaving her chilled to the soul.

If she had a child, then she must provide for it. She must make a will, and to do that she must know the child’s name. Her mind refused to go any further, refused to dwell on the forming thought that to know the child’s name might be dangerous, might bring her perilously close to wanting more…

‘M iss Winslow.’ Mr Sydenham appeared from his office to greet her. ‘You received my note, I see.

Ma’am, all the arrangements are made. The individual you requested is here, but really! This is all most irregular! If you would give me your instructions, I could pass them on without you having to demean yourself, and—’

She cut him short. ‘Sir—I asked you to find the most reliable, discreet man available. You have done so?’

‘Well, yes, but it is not fitting that a lady should involve herself with such—’

‘My business is private, sir. I need not reiterate that if I find word of this has reached Lord Aberfield, I will be searching for a new man of affairs when I attain control of my fortune.’

‘No, ma’am. But surely his lordship would be the most fitting person—’

‘No. You will conduct me to this gentleman and leave us.’

Mr Sydenham looked thoroughly disapproving, but obeyed, ushering her into an office occupied by a burly man with small, shrewd eyes.

He arose as she entered the room.

Sydenham floundered, his respectable soul evidently harrowed by the situation. ‘Er, Rufton, this is, ah…’

Thea took pity on Mr Sydenham’s mortification and stepped forward. ‘I am Miss Winslow, Mr Rufton. I understand you may be able to help me.’ To the little lawyer, she said simply, ‘Thank you, Mr Sydenham. You may leave us.’

As the door closed behind him, she said, ‘Do sit down, Mr Rufton.’

He did so and said, ‘Thank you, ma’am. But as to helping you, I couldn’t rightly say. Mr Sydenham refused to tell me what it is you want. All I’ve been told is that someone wanted to hire me.

Privately.’

‘That,’ said Thea, ‘would be because Mr Sydenham has no idea what it is that I require of you. And I wish it to remain that way. All I told him was that I wished to hire a Bow Street runner, and that the man must be utterly honest, reliable and discreet.’

Mr Rufton looked gratified. ‘A private matter, would it be, ma’am?’

‘Very private,’ she assured him.

He nodded. ‘Well, then, there’s one or two things you need to know first. One: I won’t step outside the law. Two: if I find something that does step outside the law, I’m duty bound to report it.

Three: any foreseeable expenses, travel and suchlike, need to be paid upfront. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I’ve got my family to think of.’

She nodded. ‘Very well. I accept your conditions. My conditions are simply that you are to say nothing of this to anyone. You will report your findings to me in writing.’

He looked at her keenly. ‘One thing, ma’am—be very sure you want to know whatever it is.’

‘I’ve thought of that, Mr Rufton.’ She took a very deep breath. ‘I wish you to trace a child for me.

A…a girl.’

He flung up a hand. ‘Ma’am—no matter if it’s inside or outside the law—I’m a married man with childer of my own. I won’t be party to anything that brings hurt to a child!’

At that moment the last of Thea’s doubts about what she was doing melted. This was a man she could trust.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I shall explain what I require and you shall be the judge. She is currently a pupil at Miss Dale’s Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen in Bath. I believe her to be about seven years old with a birthday in…late March.’ Her heart contracted. She knew the date. None better, but it was possible it had been changed to avoid questions.

‘A name?’ asked Rufton quietly.

‘Her initials are SG,’ said Thea. ‘I wish you to discover as much as you can. I believe she was brought up at Kelfield in Yorkshire by a Mistress Kate Parsons, but I wish you to check. Find out, if you can, where she was born and if…’ the words backed up in her throat ‘…if she is happy.’ If she is my daughter… She couldn’t say that. Surely Rufton would be able to discover enough for her to know. One way or the other.

‘It is Miss Winslow?’ said Rufton slowly.

She nodded. ‘What has that to say to anything?’

He looked at her gravely. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time a monied lady wanted to find out about something on the quiet like this. Like I said, I won’t be party to anything that might bring hurt to a child. Ain’t the child’s fault her father had no proper respect. No more it mightn’t have been the mother’s fault neither.’

Thea shuddered. ‘Mr Rufton—I wish to be assured of the child’s welfare above all. I give you my word. I…I wish to know if…if there is anything…anything I can do to help her.’

After the near accident the previous day she could not take the risk. Mortality had breathed an icy warning. Only Richard’s courage and swift response had stood between her and death. If her child were alive, then she must know it and make a will…one worded beyond all fear of challenge.

For a long moment he stared at her, as if summing her up, weighing her in the balance of his mind. She felt the colour surging in her cheeks, as if he read all her secrets with those shrewd eyes. Proudly, she held his gaze.

Finally he nodded. ‘I’ll take it on then.’

Her sigh of relief shocked even her. She had not realised that she was holding her breath. ‘Very well. You will please to take this money for your expenses. It is a generous sum, but if I have not allowed enough, you must tell me. Here also are three names—a midwife, a doctor and the rector at Wistow, near Kelfield.’ She handed him a sealed note. ‘They may perhaps have information.

Naturally your travelling expenses there would be defrayed if you needed to go there.’

Rufton took the purse she held out and the list of names. ‘I’ll be needing an address, ma’am.’

‘Send the report here,’ she said. ‘Mr Sydenham will have it sent on. I shall also instruct him to pay whatever you are owed. One thing—’

‘Ma’am?’

‘The money in that purse—that is separate to your fee. You will render that in full and separately.

If any of the expenses money is left, you may keep it with my goodwill.’

‘Now, ma’am—’

‘Keep it, sir. You will buy something for your wife and children. I shall like to think of that.’

His eyes bored into her. ‘Ma’am, you are sure?’

He did not, Thea knew, refer to the money.

She lifted her chin a notch. ‘Quite sure, Mr Rufton.’

She stepped out of the dimness of the chambers to find it drizzling and looked around for the hackney before descending the few steps to the pavement. It stood a few yards away on the opposite side of the road. The horse had a nosebag on and was munching rhythmically while the jarvey consumed his own lunch. She breathed a sigh of relief that he was still there as she adjusted her veil. Not that she was likely to meet anyone, but…Scarcely had she framed the thought when she saw a tall, very familiar figure strolling along the pavement towards her.

In the shadow of the veil her eyes widened, as she froze halfway down the steps. What on earth was Richard doing here? He’d said something at breakfast about being at the museum this morning. She did a mental calculation—the museum wasn’t all that far. Obviously he’d had some business. Thank God she had decided to put the veil down inside. He’d never recognise her like this—probably wouldn’t even look her way. Why should he?

At that moment Richard, seeing the hackney waiting for her, stepped across to it. The jarvey shook his head and to her utter horror she heard him say, ‘Sorry, guv’nor. The lady there asked me to wait. Bound to be someone along in a mo’ for yeh.’

Richard turned to look at her. She stopped dead. At this distance he couldn’t possibly recognise her…Yes, he was turning away, nodding to the jarvey in acceptance of the situation. Without hurrying, she started across the pavement—and Richard’s gaze snapped back to her. His jaw dropped.

Then he was striding across to her, staring intently.

How on earth? He couldn’t have recognised her. He couldn’t!

He stopped in front of her, still staring.

The best defence…

‘Good morning, Richard. Whatever brings you here?’ she asked.

He blinked. ‘It is you! What brings me—? Some papers to sign for my house. And what about you?

You know quite well that you shouldn’t be here unescorted.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I was visiting my own solicitors and my business was private.’

‘You should still have brought an escort,’ he told her.

To her shock she realised that he was handing her into the cab.

‘The lady and I are acquainted,’ he told the driver. ‘Grosvenor Square, if you please.’ And stepped in after her.

‘Richard—’

He shut the door. ‘I didn’t ask you anything about your business,’ he pointed out gently. ‘Only why you were here unescorted.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry…’

A large hand enveloped hers as the cab pulled away from the curb. ‘No. There’s no need. I’ve not the least right to question your actions. Have I?’

Regret echoed in his voice and her fingers clung to his instinctively as she forced herself to give the answer she must. ‘No,’ she whispered. But, oh, how she wished he had! That it was not so impossible…

He sighed and released her hand. She felt utterly bereft and was grateful for the screen of her veil for what she had to say next.

‘Richard—I’m not going straight home. Please ask the driver to take me to Half Moon Street before taking you on to Grosvenor Square.’

Shock sliced into Richard, but he put his head out and called the change of destination up to the driver.

‘Right y’are, guv.’

‘Half Moon Street, Thea?’

Beside him, she nodded. ‘Yes. I must.’

‘Thea—’

‘No, Richard!’ she burst out. ‘Don’t tell me I can’t, or ask me to let you deal with it. This…this is something I have to do. For myself as well as David. Alone. I have to try and ensure she never does this again.’

She turned to him and raised her hands to the veil. As he watched, she lifted it and put it back over her bonnet. Resolution was steady in the blue eyes, in the lift of her chin and set of her mouth.

‘Alone?’ Couldn’t she understand how he felt? That he wanted to stand between her and the whole world? Between her and anything that might harm her, be it a runaway horse or Lady Chasewater.

By now the woman must know that her attempt to ruin Winslow and Thea had failed. He told himself that Lady Chasewater could hardly hurt Thea, whether he was there or not. It was just…

just that he could not bear the thought of her facing the old dragon by herself, facing more of Lady Chasewater’s bitterness and rancour. He looked at her again, and remembered…there were things, some things that one had to face—

‘Alone,’ she repeated, finishing his thought. And shyly she reached out to touch his hand. Swiftly he caught it in a gentle grip.

‘I owe her that much at least,’ she said in a low voice.

Anger stirred. ‘You owe her nothing!’ he said savagely, his grip tightening. ‘It is she who owes you

—an apology amongst other things!’

She shook her head. ‘No, Richard. None of this has been her fault, although it is not completely mine. Or David’s. But none of it is hers.’

Her hand returned his clasp, and he fought the urge to haul her into his arms and kiss her resistance, her scruples into oblivion.

‘You’re asking me to let you walk into the lion’s den alone?’

It was important to her. He understood that. That fierce drive to stand unbeholden and independent—only, that didn’t have to mean alone.

She nodded. ‘Not because I do not trust you. It is just one of those things, that—’

‘—one has to do for one’s self,’ he finished for her. ‘Thea, I have not the least right to ask this, but would you mind if I came in with you…’ He saw the denial forming. ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘not to see her. Just let me wait downstairs for you. Whatever you have to say to her will remain between the two of you, I’m not asking for an accounting afterwards—’he smiled at her wryly ‘—you neither owe me one, nor do I require it. Whatever you are doing will be the right thing—just let me wait.

As a friend. No more.’

He could not know how that simple request affected her.

‘As a friend?’ she whispered. He was asking nothing. Except that she allow him again to stand her friend. In some odd way—her second. It was her battle, all the way.

Richard held her back slightly as she made to descend from the cab in Half Moon Street.

‘Your veil, Thea.’

She gave him back a straight look. ‘I don’t need it now.’

Because of you. She left that unspoken. She didn’t understand it herself. She had intended entering Lady Chasewater’s house veiled. Quite why she could not now remember. There was no reason to hide this visit. There never had been beyond her own cowardice.

She knew as she trod up the front steps at his side and rang the bell that she did not need the veil now. Not because Richard was coming in with her. But because his unswerving trust had shown her that there was no need to sneak into Lady Chasewater’s house in secrecy. She would discharge this obligation openly; if Lady Chasewater refused to receive her, then she could do so—openly.

As the door opened, she took a deep breath and said very clearly to the butler, ‘Miss Winslow. To see Lady Chasewater.’

She was ushered into the drawing room.

‘Miss Winslow, my lady.’

The door was shut behind her.

Lady Chasewater was seated upon a sofa with a small black pug, which leapt yapping from its place and rushed growling at the visitor. Thea stood still and waited until the little dog reached her and sniffed around her skirts. Then she bent down and offered a lightly closed fist. The pug sniffed, bared its teeth and then scampered back to its mistress.