A Lady Most Lovely (33 page)

Tom took the letter from Rawlins. His heart lifted when he saw that this letter was from Geoffrey. Perhaps this was good news at last. “Thank you, Mr. Rawlins,” he said, and hurried toward the door.

“You’re welcome. Good day to you!” Rawlins called after him.

As he stepped outside, Tom tucked the letter into his coat pocket. He would wait until he had reached a place where he could read the letter undetected. As he mounted his horse, he saw Williams coming out from the butcher shop across the street. Williams waved. Tom returned the greeting, but did not stop.

He rode swiftly, with an occasional glance back to check that he wasn’t being followed. He’d begun to notice that Williams had the oddest way of turning up unexpectedly. But Williams must have remained in town. The only travelers on the road were the farmers bringing in their loads from the harvest. Tom turned into a meadow and rode to the little abandoned cottage where he and Margaret had made their wedding pact. It had become his private spot for reading and replying to sensitive correspondence. As always, it stood empty. Tom eagerly tore open the letter as soon as he was inside.

Dear Tom,

I have conferred with several people whom I can count on for their extreme discretion. Of particular help to me was Lord Ashley. He has conferred with Mr. Charles Dickens, who is a friend of his. Do you know the man—the writer? If so, you may be aware that he is exceedingly familiar with the people generally referred to as “the criminal element.” He has spent a lot of time accompanying the Metropolitan Police, and has seen firsthand their ways of dealing with those who commit crimes, both minor and serious.

Dickens put Ashley in touch with a man named Inspector Field, who was the chief of the Detective Branch until he retired last year. He now works in a private capacity, helping people with matters they would prefer not to take to the police. I believe this Inspector Field can help you find the best plan for dealing with your situation. He is a most congenial and forthright sort of man. He has years of experience and is renowned for his shrewdness as well as his wide knowledge of crime and the law.

He is willing to meet with us at four o’clock on Monday next. This should give you time to come down to London for the meeting. Please write back at your earliest convenience and let me know if this will suit. This seemed a good time, since you indicated in your last letter that the harvest is nearly complete.

Lizzie sends her love. Our prayers are with you.

Yours most sincerely,

Geoffrey Somerville

P.S. Chalmers, the head groom, has done a good job of looking after Castor, but he says the horse is getting restless.

Tom read the letter through a second time, and then burned it. As he watched the flames reduce the paper to
ashes, he considered what he would do. This Inspector Field sounded exactly like the sort of man who could help. What a boon that Geoffrey’s connections had provided access to such a man.

When Geoffrey mentioned Castor, he had given Tom the best reason for going to London. He would tell Margaret that he was going to supervise Castor’s transport to Moreton. He had intended to do this anyway, having satisfied himself that the stables no longer posed a threat.

He would have to make sure Margaret did not go along with him. If anything, she would probably be relieved that he was going away for a few days. Even so, he would not take any chances. He would make sure she did not know about any of this until he had found a way to deal with Spencer once and for all.

*

Margaret stalked into the breakfast room. “I just found Stephens packing your trunk,” she said, throwing out the words as an accusation. “He says you are going to London. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hello, my love,” Tom said, rising languidly. He appeared not the least bit ruffled by her anger. In fact, he grinned. “So you went to my room. Were you looking for me?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Had I known you wanted me, I would have stopped by your room on my way out.”

Margaret took a step back and crossed her arms. She was beginning to recognize Tom’s tactics. He was trying to evade her question by distracting her. “You can’t just
leave for London without giving me any advance notice,” she insisted, her irritation still firmly in place.

He shrugged. “A business matter has arisen unexpectedly. It requires my immediate presence in London. I had every intention of telling you about it at breakfast.”

“What kind of business?” she asked suspiciously. Williams had told her of Tom’s frequent visits to the post office, and she was worried that events were once again slipping out of her control.

Tom gestured to the table. “My eggs are getting cold. Are you going to stand here questioning me all day, or will you sit down to breakfast?”

Margaret stood her ground. “What kind of business?” she persisted.

His eyes flashed in annoyance. “If you will recall,” he said acerbically, “John Sullivan sends me regular reports. The latest dispatch has arrived, along with a fresh shipment of gold. I assume you would like for me to go and look after my money? Or should I say,
our
money,” he added pointedly.

“I—” she stammered, suddenly chastened. It sounded perfectly reasonable, of course, but still she could not shake her worry. “So that’s it, then? Nothing else?”

“There is one more thing I need to do, as it happens.” He paused, picking up his cup from the table. She tapped her foot impatiently while he finished his coffee, knowing he was deliberately making her wait. Finally he set the cup back down with a small noise of satisfaction. “I am going to bring Castor back with me. Geoffrey says the old boy is getting lonely without me, and I don’t trust anyone else to load him on one of those trains. I might
even bring you back a present. Wouldn’t you like a new horse, a proper mount to replace the gelding you lost?”

The warmth was back in his expression. It seemed to her that Tom was as variable as the wind. She never knew which direction he would take next. He took a gentle hold of her hands. This time she did not try to pull back, but said stoutly, “I would prefer one of my own choosing.”

He laughed outright. “Oh, my dear Maggie,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “didn’t anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

*

Well, he had done it. He’d convinced Margaret to stay at Moreton Hall while he went to London. He was free to meet with this Inspector Field. Already he felt one step closer to solving the problem of what to do about Spencer. Tom knew that vengeance belonged to the Lord, not to man. That would keep Tom from finishing the job he’d started at the wedding breakfast. He would not allow Spencer to provoke him again to physical violence. But that did not mean he could do nothing. The laws of England punished extortionists, and surely Tom was justified in seeking that end for Spencer. But he had to find a way to protect Lizzie, too.

It would be good to see her again. Her letters had been getting shorter, and Geoffrey’s were getting longer as though trying to make up for the shortfall. This might not signify anything at all, and yet something kept tugging at Tom’s consciousness. He wanted to see for himself that she was well. He’d come back to England for her sake, yet here he was living far away from her. Although the railway had reduced the distance to one day’s journey,
he still felt as if he’d abandoned her. It was a foolish notion, of course. Lizzie had her husband, not to mention her grandmother and her cousin. She had all the good care that she could wish for.

As he watched the fields roll by, Tom’s thoughts returned to Margaret. He missed her already. He was actually growing fond of her prickly ways and her stubborn self-confidence. He only wished he had been able to find the way to her heart by now.

Every night she responded more and more to his kisses, but by day she was still resisting him. He was under no misapprehension that she loved or trusted him. Nor, he supposed, did he deserve it. Not until he could be completely honest with her.

Holding off, when he longed to take her to his bed, had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. At times the pain of longing was so intense that not even his trials after the shipwreck could compare. But he knew in his heart that he was right to wait. Every night, as he returned to his cold bed, he prayed, believing that when the time was right he would know it, and that they would be coming together for all the right reasons.

*

Margaret was only half listening to the housekeeper’s report of the state of the linens and other household goods. Ordinarily this was a task Margaret enjoyed. She had kept a sharp eye on the few items she’d been able to retain, making sure everything was accounted for and carefully maintained. Today, however, she was unable to concentrate. Her thoughts kept straying to Tom. She was troubled by his sudden departure, and far too keenly
aware of the difference between his being just over the ridge or hundreds of miles away.

Slowly she became aware of a silence in the room. She looked up from the list she had been pretending to read, only to find the housekeeper waiting politely for a response. She must have just asked Margaret a question. Margaret gave her an apologetic smile. “Mrs. Walker, would you mind terribly if we continue this in an hour or so?”

“Will you be needing a bit of a rest, madam?” the housekeeper replied with mild concern. “Shall I call for your maid?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Margaret stood up with an air of briskness that she hoped would convey that she was perfectly well. “Will you ask the butler to come in here, please?”

The housekeeper nodded and left the room.

A few moments later, the butler entered. “You asked for me, madam?”

“Did Mr. Poole receive any correspondence today, before he left?”

“Today? No, madam.”

“Yesterday, then?”

The butler shook his head. “I’ve seen nothing for him these past two or three days.”

“Are you quite sure? Might any of the other servants have received it?”

“I doubt it, but I will be happy to check with them.”

“Yes, please. If you would be so kind.”

The butler left on his errand. Margaret believed he was correct, that no mail had come, but she wanted to be absolutely sure. That would mean Tom hadn’t received
a sudden notice about his business, as he’d implied. It was possible that he had deliberately waited until he was packed and ready to go before he told her about it, to ensure she would not go along. She found the idea disquieting.

Another possibility occurred to her. Williams had told her that Tom frequently visited the post office in Moreton. It was possible Tom was receiving correspondence directly from there. When the butler returned and confirmed that no letters for Tom had come to the house, Margaret gave instructions to have her carriage prepared. She would take a ride into town.

G
eoffrey personally greeted Tom in the front hall and escorted him to the parlor. As they entered, Tom was surprised to see no one there. “Where is Lizzie?” he asked.

“She must remain upstairs now, on strict bed rest.”

This news sent Tom’s worries to flight once more. “What’s wrong with her? Is the baby all right?”

“At the moment, everything is fine,” Geoffrey assured him. “However, the doctor has insisted she remain in bed until the baby arrives.”

“But that’s over a month from now. A long time to remain in bed.” What was more troubling, it sounded too much like what Ria had gone through. Lizzie and Ria were half sisters; would this fatal trait be one thing they shared? The look on Geoffrey’s face did nothing to assuage his fears. “What else did the doctor say?”

“He recommends that we avoid any subjects that would upset or worry her. To my mind, that includes telling her about our meeting with Inspector Field.”

“Of course. That’s been our plan all along.”

“Now it seems more critical than ever. I have been careful in what correspondence I allow her to see, and what news she receives. She still has no notion of what happened at your wedding breakfast, nor of the subsequent troubles. We must keep it that way.”

“Believe me, I agree with you wholeheartedly.” Tom motioned to the door and added, “Can I see her now?”

Geoffrey nodded. As they made their way up the stairs, Geoffrey said, “Even James has managed to curb his tongue and not speak of it. He has restricted himself to mindless babble about the goings-on about town. But he makes her laugh, and that is a good thing.”

They paused outside the door to her room, and Geoffrey said quietly, “I beg of you not to show too much dismay when you see her. If we show fear for her, it will not help her own view of the situation.”

The room was dim. Lizzie lay with her eyes closed as a nurse sat in a chair near the window, placidly sewing and keeping watch over her charge. Tom thought Lizzie must be sleeping, but she opened her eyes immediately as they entered. “Tom!” she cried out joyfully, stretching out her arms in welcome.