Ladies of Deception 03 - Betraying the Highwayman (16 page)

Tuesday, May 24, 1814

Lord Grayson walked into White's, ignoring the customary greeting from the attendant, as he walked back to the familiar table in the corner. The man he was coming to meet was already waiting for him. He sat in the chair opposite him without saying a word. He knew it would be time for him to make his excuses soon enough.

Finally the man spoke. “Did you bring the money?”

“About that,” Lord Grayson said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. “It's going to take me a while longer to get it. Lord Brattondale hasn't been in London for quite some time now.”

The man growled, “That is not my concern, it is your obligation to retrieve the money for me whether it's convenient for you or not.”

“Pardon, but how do you expect me to get it from him if I don't even see him? Would you have me go to his house and rob him in the middle of the night?”

“That's one idea.”

“And that's completely absurd. We had a deal, and that deal included me cheating him out of the money in cards, not robbing him blind.”

The man sat back and palmed his glass of scotch, watching the liquid slosh back and forth in his glass as he twirled it. “How badly do you want to keep your mistress a secret from your wife?”

“You know she must not find out. Why else do you think I've agreed to your blackmail?”

The man shrugged. “I'm trying to decide if it's important enough for me to keep it a secret, seeing as how you haven't kept your end of the bargain entirely.”

“Are you saying you'd tell her?”

“I'd consider it. Unless...” He let his words trail off.

“What now?” Lord Grayson asked impatiently.

“I'm growing impatient with my revenge. As far as I can tell, Lord Brattondale doesn't suspect anything is aloof, and my wife hasn't suffered any consequences either. All my plan has been is an elaborate and entertaining way of retrieving my money. I want to see them both suffer.”

“But they will,” Lord Grayson quickly interjected persuasively. “Just give it some more time. As Lord Brattondale continues to lose his money, he'll eventually lose everything else. It's only a matter of time before he ends up in debtor’s prison. Your wife will be heartbroken when it happens.”

“But at this rate, it could take ages. He's been coming to London less and less, and it has been taking you longer and longer to get me the money.”

“I think his son might have something to do with that.”

“Lord Bridgerton? What do you mean?”

“He's not as bacon-brained as his father. I presume that he is aware of his father's gambling addiction and is trying to keep him from continuing. He is his heir, after all, and has a vested interest in his father's finances.”

“Do you think he's caught on to us?”

“Don't you mean me? There's no possible way that he could know your involvement, seeing as how I'm the one always doing the dirty work. I have no idea if he suspects anything at all.”

“I want you to find out. Keep an eye on him. I want to know if he suspects if anything is amiss.” Lord Grayson nodded. “In the meantime, I've been thinking of another plan, one that will promise immediate results, a way to make my revenge complete but I'm going to need your help.”

Inwardly Lord Grayson groaned. He didn't want to be involved with the man any more than he already was, but he knew that if he voiced that opinion, the man would become irate and would seek out every avenue he could to destroy Lord Grayson, beginning with his marriage. It was his own fault he was in this mess. He should have never taken a mistress, no matter how tempting the willowy actress had been, but though he had tried to resist at first, he had been too weak and there was no going back in time and changing what he had already done. He sat with his jaw clenched, waiting for the man to reveal his plan.

When the man finally spoke his voice was so low he almost couldn't hear. “It's time to go after the girl.”

***

Elenore had experienced an odd mixture of relief and disappointment when she had been informed that Lord Brattondale had returned to Westbrooke Hall. She was relieved to know he was safe at home where he wouldn't be causing Devon undue grief, but she was disappointed that she'd have to cater to his every whim.

Lord Brat was in a particularly foul mood as she entered his chambers, balancing a tray of food in her arms. “You're slow this morning,” he muttered, not even bothering to make an attempt at cordiality.

“This is the time you always break your fast,” Elenore pointed out in vain, as she set his tray of food down on the table next to the bed. She didn't know why she bothered arguing with him.

“What is this?” The earl barked.

“Your breakfast, my lord.”

“This isn't what I asked for. I said I wanted honey for my biscuits not this,” he said as he pushed the small dish of fruit preserves away from him.

Elenore breathed in deeply, hoping to fortify herself against his tantrum. “I apologize, my lord, but this is what Tabitha sent up. I'm certain she wasn't aware of your preference for honey.”

Unfortunately, her words did nothing to soothe him. “Nobody cares about me or what I want. I should just get used to it by now.” He hefted his arms across his portly chest and huffed in defiance.

“I think you are overreacting. Certainly many people care about you. I'm sure it was an honest mistake. I can go back to the kitchen immediately and retrieve your honey.”

“Fine,” he said sulking and refusing to look at her.

Elenore quickly left the room, wishing she was leaving for good and didn't have to return. She walked the familiar path down the stairs and to the kitchen where Tabitha was busy kneading a round blob of dough, her hands and apron covered in flour. Tabitha looked up at her expectantly as she entered. “Can I help you miss?”
“The master insisted on having honey instead of the fruit preserves you sent up. I came to see if I could get him some.”

“Oh, bother,” Tabitha said, dusting her hands off on a rag. “I think he's just being difficult.”

“I think you are correct,” Elenore said with a smile. “He seems to be exceptionally difficult this morn.”

“You know, it seems that he's always that way when he returns from London. I'm not sure what he does whilst there, but whatever it is seems to put him in a foul mood.”

Elenore unfortunately knew what he did in London, and she had hoped that this time he would have refrained from gambling away any more money, but if his attitude was any indication, that most likely wasn't correct.

While Elenore was feeling sympathetic for Devon, she watched Tabitha struggling to reach up for the jar of honey on one of the high shelves. She watched in amusement before finally offering, “May I help you?”

Tabitha dropped her arms to her side and turned to Elenore. “Go ahead, deary.”

Elenore wasn't much taller than Tabitha, but the few inches made all the difference, as she stood on tiptoe and reached up to grab the honey. She turned in victory towards Tabitha, “May this bring some peace to the earl.”

Tabitha let out a low, guttural laugh. “If only that is all it would take.”

Elenore nodded in agreement before thanking Tabitha and turning to leave. She knew she should hurry back to Lord Brattondale's room, but she dreaded seeing the man once more. She had to remind herself that the sooner she fed him his breakfast and got him comfortable, the sooner she could have some time to herself. Perhaps a ride with Sally would be the perfect distraction on the beautiful sunny day.

Thinking of Sally made her quicken her step, if only slightly. As she reached the earl's room she noticed the door was slightly ajar, and as she moved closer, she heard voices coming from inside. At the sound of a woman's voice, she just assumed it was Charlotte, but as she opened the door an inch and peered inside she realized she was wrong. Standing next to the earl's bed was an older lady Elenore had never seen before. She was wearing a simple but tasteful yellow day dress with a chip straw bonnet sitting atop her head. Elenore knew it would be poor form to interrupt, which kept her from entering the room, but her curiosity kept her rooted next to the partially-open door, straining to hear the conversation between the pair.

“You were supposed to meet me in our usual spot at the usual time. I waited for you for nearly an hour before realizing you weren't coming.” the lady gently scolded Lord Brattondale.

“I would have been there, had planned to be there, but an unfortunate encounter with my son led to my early return home.”

“You could have at least sent me word. When you didn't show I became worried, thinking that something might have happened to you. In ten and eight years you have never missed a month.”

“Please forgive me, Gertie, I will make sure it doesn't happen again.”

Elenore was surprised by the informal way Lord Brattondale addressed the lady. Was she perchance a longtime lover of his? Before she could think on that thought any further, the lady was reaching into her reticule to retrieve an envelope that she then thrust at the earl.

Lord Brattondale took the envelope and laid it on the mattress next to him. “Thank you. I truly do apologize for the inconvenience. It wasn't necessary for you to make the trip to Surrey. I had planned on calling on you when I was in London next.”

Waiving her hand dismissively, she said, “It's no bother really. There's no way I could have stayed at home worrying about what could possibly be wrong. I feared that you weren't well or that something may have happened to her.”

Her? Elenore leaned in closer, placing her ear up to the crack in the open door. Had she heard correctly? She wondered to whom the lady was referring.

“No, no,” Lord Brattondale was quick to reassure her. “She is fine. I assure you. I would have made sure to see you if something was amiss. Would you like to see her? I could call on her to do my bidding so you can see for yourself that she is well.”

The lady shook her head back and forth violently, so violently that Elenore was afraid her bonnet was going to topple off of her head. “Absolutely not. I couldn't. I mean it just wouldn't...no, it's best if I just go,” she stuttered, clearly flustered by his suggestion.

“Suit yourself.” Lord Brattondale stated somberly. “And thank you for this.” He held the envelope up in his hand.

“No, thank you. Now I really must be on my way. Next time, if you can't meet as arranged, please do send word so I don't worry needlessly. It really was inconsiderate of you not to think of me.”

“You worry too much. Now hurry along before your husband starts wondering where you have gotten off to.”

The lady nodded curtly, before turning to leave. Elenore stepped back from the door, still gripping the jar of honey tightly in her hand. The last thing she wanted to do was get caught eavesdropping. Though the conversation she had overheard left her confused and intrigued, she picked up her skirts and tried to hurry as fast and as quietly as she could to the top of the stairs, where she descended a couple of steps, before turning to make it appear as if she was just coming up the staircase. She would have to try and decipher the confusing conversation later, when she had some time alone to think. Just as she was reaching the landing at the top of the hall, the lady came whisking past her. She acknowledged Elenore with a slight dip of her chin before hurrying on her way. Elenore smiled when she realized that the lady didn't suspect a thing, then continued on to the earl's chambers.

Elenore pasted a smile on her face as she entered. “Sorry it took so long, my lord. Tabitha had a hard time locating the honey.”

“It's no bother at all,” came the earl's circumstantially cordial response. Apparently, the lady's unexpected visit had buoyed his mood.

Friday, June 10, 1814

Devon sat waiting for Pierce at his favorite corner table at White's, methodically drumming his fingers against the wood in his impatience. He was growing restless, feeling useless since he had commanded his father to return to Surrey under threat of making his financial situation known to his sister and brother-in-law, if he didn't do as Devon instructed. Fortunately, the likelihood of the duke finding out about the dire straits Lord Brattondale was in, due to his gambling, was enough to embarrass him, sending him straight back to Westbrooke Hall where he couldn't get himself into any further trouble. Hopefully.

Though he was grateful his father wasn't in London, he had to admit his life was rather boring without the task of constantly keeping alert to his whereabouts. Instead, he tried to spend his time scouting out prospective ladies for marriage, but everyone he met he couldn't help but compare to Sister Genevieve. He didn't want to court somebody that was eager to become a countess or somebody with a large dowry just because he needed the money. He didn't want to court a proper lady raised with impeccable breeding. No, the only lady he was interested in courting was a wild and carefree chit with a sharp tongue, who also happened to be completely and totally married to the Lord.

He pushed back from the table and rose to his feet, irritated with himself for thinking of and wanting what he couldn't have. He had already very nearly resorted to begging Sister Genevieve to reconsider her devotion to being a nun and be with him instead, but she had made it perfectly clear that nothing would stand in her way of sailing to America. Devon made his way over to the infamous betting books, hoping that he could find something to distract him from the vexing nun.

Scanning the pages filled with a plethora of bets, ranging from the practical to the absurd, he was grateful to note that his father wasn't mentioned anywhere on its pages.

“What bet are you placing tonight?”

Devon turned to face Pierce, who had finally decided to show up, the betting book all but forgotten. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming.”

Pierce laughed. “I'm still what they consider fashionably late. I had a hard time getting away from your sister.”

The two began making their way back to the table. “Frankly, I do not want to hear about what my sister did to make you late. Some things a brother does not want to know.”

Pierce ordered a drink from the server, before turning his attention back to Devon. “I wish I could give such a shocking excuse, but unfortunately my evening wasn't that delightful. Hope is pretty apprehensive about the upcoming birth of the baby. I think she fears I'll be gone when her time comes and she'll have no way of contacting me. It's getting harder and harder for me to slip away.”

“I could have come to your home. I have nothing better to be doing,” Devon pointed out.

“And why is that?”

Devon shrugged but didn't respond. In the last few weeks, his life had been painfully dull. Without having to masquerade as Black Lightening and with no real interest in the marriage mart, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, though explaining that to Pierce didn't sound that appealing. He changed the subject instead. “Where's Lord Martineau these days? I thought he might come with you tonight.”

“I guess you haven't heard that he recently wed.”

“Really, to whom?”

“The former Lady Felicity Pemberton. Nobody has seen him much since he wed, including myself. Though knowing Elliot the way I do, I'm not surprised.” Pierce's eyebrows wagged suggestively, as he grinned knowingly.

It was silly of Devon to feel jealous, but he did. He wanted to be the one happily wed and enjoying his love's company not sulking around London trying to find something to give his life meaning. He wondered if there was a polite excuse he could come up with to get out of spending the evening with Pierce. He really wasn't in the mood to keep up a jovial pretense. He had to try and figure out what he was going to do about Sister Genevieve's passage to America. He knew he needed to keep his word to her, but with his brother-in-law already gone, he had no connections to anyone who could aide her. He knew it would be simple enough to purchase her fare, but he had also promised her safe passage with trustworthy people who would ensure her journey was comfortable and safe, and now he couldn't provide that. He was starting to feel useless. First, he couldn't keep his father from gambling away their much needed funds, nor could he manage to retrieve said funds, and secondly, he couldn't keep his end of the bargain he had made with Sister Genevieve.

He was just about to tell Pierce he wasn't feeling well and needed to leave, when he felt somebody come up behind him. Before he could turn and see who it was, he heard them say, “Well if it isn't Lord Bridgerton.”

Devon turned and beheld a stoic Lord Grayson. He wondered if it took him much effort to keep so little emotion showing on his face or if he was naturally so impassive. He rose in greeting, but Lord Grayson didn't seem concerned with formalities. Instead he ignored his gesture completely and sat in the empty chair between Pierce and Devon, acting as if he had been an invited guest.

All but ignoring the duke, he turned to Devon, “I thought you weren't a gambling man.”

Confused, Devon answered, “I'm not.”

“Funny that I should find you at White's then and with a notorious gambler at that.”

Pierce leaned forward and interjected himself into the conversation. “I don't gamble, at least not enough to be considered notorious.”

Lord Grayson guffawed rudely. “What about your infamous wager that won you the hand of Lord Brattondale's daughter? Or have you already forgotten about the romantic way your marriage started?”

Devon was surprised by the man's boldness. His eyes flickered to Pierce, waiting to see how he'd respond. His expression was fierce, and his black eyes looked dangerous. Lord Grayson was a fool to mess with the duke.

Finally, Pierce spoke. His voice was low and angry as he said, “If you ever speak a single derogatory word regarding my wife, myself, or my marriage again, you'll regret the day you were born. Did you come here tonight seeking a death sentence or is there some other important matter that brought you? If so, I suggest you get on with it before I change my mind and act on my impulse to teach you a lesson right now.”

Lord Grayson turned his attention back to Devon, oddly unconcerned with the duke's threats. “How has your father been? I haven't seen him in some time.”

Devon's hackles instantly went up at the mention of his father. The only possible reason for Lord Grayson to be concerned with him was because he was interested in winning more of his money. Devon was sure many people were beginning to view his father as an easy target. “He's fine. Just spending some time at his estate,” he replied tersely.

“Well, I was hoping to invite the two of you to a dinner party. I have a good friend who has recently introduced me to some very promising investments and thought that both of you may very well benefit from the knowledge he has agreed to share. It'll be an exclusive gathering,” he added, hoping it would up the appeal, then as an afterthought turned towards Pierce. “I suppose you may come as well.”

Pierce snarled, “I don't waste my time on shady investments.”

Lord Grayson turned back to Devon, ignoring the insult. “I'll send you a formal invite. Do you think you can commit to attending?”

Truthfully, Devon didn't have much of a desire to attend, agreeing with Pierce's sentiments, but slowly an idea starting forming in his head. “I think I will take you up on the offer.”

Lord Grayson graced him with a rare smile. “Very well.” He rose from the table, his purpose for being there fulfilled. “Expect a formal invite to arrive shortly. Good evening.” He nodded cordially at Devon, then stiffly in Pierce's direction, before leaving.

Pierce waited until the man was out of earshot before speaking. “I do not like that man at all. I think it's unwise of you to associate with him in anyway, especially regarding finances. I advise you not to go to his dinner party.”

“Truthfully, I don't care much for him myself, but I will admit some curiosity in his friend's investments.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in that sort of thing, but since you are, I would be more than happy to give you some advice. I have several diverse investments that are performing exceptionally well right now, and there's nothing illegal about them either.”

“Do you think Lord Grayson is involved in something illegal?” Devon asked curiously.

Pierce shrugged. “I couldn't say, but from what I do know of the man, he's not one to be trusted. I'm not one to beg, but I'll resort to begging if it'll keep you from associating with that man.”

Devon was thoughtful for a moment, pondering on how much he should reveal to Pierce. He truly did like and respect his brother-in-law and didn't want to do anything that would disappoint him, but there was no way he was going to pass up an opportunity to gain access to Lord Grayson's home to search for his father's money, or at the very least, gain some insight into what he could have done with the money he had won from his father. “I agree with you, he's an unsavory character, and I promise to be careful in my dealings with him. I suppose I could always decline the invitation.” Though he suggested it to appease Pierce, he knew he wouldn't do it.

“Very good.” Pierce breathed a sigh of relief and Devon knew he had successfully pacified him.

***

Lord Grayson slipped out of White's into the dark night. The black carriage waiting for him on the curb blended in perfectly with the obsidian sky. As soon as he slid inside the carriage, the man asked, “Were you successful in your mission?”

“But of course, he's agreed to come.”

“And what of his father?”

“He's currently spending time at his estate in Surrey, but Lord Bridgerton assured me he would extend the invite and encourage him to come.” It surprised him at how well the lies were beginning to slip off of his tongue, but he rationalized to himself that it was just a slight exaggeration of the truth, not a full-blown lie and the man didn't need to know the difference. Besides, he was confident that even if Lord Brattondale didn't attend, Lord Bridgerton could be coaxed into giving him the information he needed.

“What did you say to lure them to your house?”

“I promised them a friend would be in attendance with some valuable investment knowledge.”

“And what happens when they show up and there's no such person or information?”

“Who cares? All you told me I had to do was get them there and get the information you seek. I'm sure I'll come up with some valid excuse once they've arrived as to why my so called friend couldn't attend.”

“Very well. I see you have this all under control. Get me the information I need and do not disappoint me or this will be the end of our little agreement.”

Lord Grayson couldn't resist asking, “And if I do what you ask?”

The man smiled wickedly. “Then I'll continue to keep your secret safe from your wife. It's as simple as that.”

“Of course,” Lord Grayson replied cautiously. If there was one thing he knew for a fact, it was that nothing was ever that simple with the man. He had a sinking feeling that the man had a plan brewing and that Lord Grayson would find himself a central figure to his plan, a plan he was sure would be dangerous and foolhardy.