Saving Persephone (The Haberdashers Book 4) (29 page)

“George doesn’t plan. She just would have poisoned you.”

Gideon laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “Making me even more grateful that she was in not-Scotland when we met.”

Jack set Oliver on his father’s chest and snuggled closer. “And she met Casimir.”

“True. And who knows how things might have gone differently between Sabre and Quince if the three of you had been together.”

“Also poisoned,” Jack admitted. “We’ve discussed it.”

“Good Lord, how many people has that woman actually poisoned?”

“None to our knowledge, but her threats are easily in the thousands.”

Gideon hugged her closer. “Perhaps it was wise to redirect her energies in service to the Crown.”

“You know that Sabre and I are still upset that
we
didn’t get to be spies.”

“Again, perhaps I’m happy with exactly the way it all worked out.”

Jack laughed and kissed her husband and her son. Who could have known that reading Greek could lead to all this?

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Also by Sue London

Haberdashers Novels

Trials of Artemis

Athena’s Ordeal

Fates for Apate

Saving Persephone

Coming Soon:

Taming Chiron

Read the Haberdashers Tales novellas!

Note: The Haberdashers Tales are sweet (just kissing)

A Common Christmas

Fortune Said

Sweet Tannenbaum

Read the Haberdashers Nights novellas!

Note: The Haberdashers Nights are SPICY

Lord Lucifer’s Disciple

Author’s Note

This was a tough one for me to write. Robert is complicated and dark. He’s smarter than me, which is always intimidating to try to capture. But he’s also fascinating, and he fairly quickly won me over to his perspective of the world - violent, cold, and cynical though that perspective may be. Imogen was a bit of a surprise. The typical answer for “what does our dark, cynical hero need?” is someone light. Innocent. Robert rejected the idea when I proposed it, and then Imogen swept in and took over. I thought to make her something nearly psychic without really confirming or denying any such talents. She ignored me and defined her own category of aura-reading empath.

It’s fair to say that I fought with this couple for quite awhile, then decided to let them be themselves. They insisted. You may have heard “Man plans, God laughs,” but it’s also true “Authors plan, characters laugh.” I was able to dictate their circumstances, but they absolutely determined how they dealt with it. They surprised me in all the delightful, insightful, and gut-wrenching ways that you hope. If you ran across anything in here where they shocked you, just know that they pulled it on me, too. Robert is certainly the hero who made me cry the most.

Oh, and if you added seventeen plus seven and come to twenty-four, and then thought you caught an error when I refer to Robert being twenty-five… his birthday is in November. Yes, the poor boy has a birthday during the book and it doesn’t even get a mention. Hopefully his character is such that you aren’t even surprised by that. His siblings love him, but they don’t know what to
do
with him most of the time.

Now, on to the history stuff. One thing you are probably wondering is if I know anything about the spy techniques of Regency England. I absolutely do not and made the whole bit up. Hopefully it sounded believable. What did I research? Aura reading, female business owners of the 19
^th
century, and the Home Secretary (plus other general topics on UK governance). Some other things that I looked up I could never find an answer for. Like, was it already called Étretat in 1815? I’m not sure. The chateau they were running around, though, was based on the Chateau de Creully in Normandy. It was being bought and sold after the revolution, making it a very plausible location. Something I didn’t dive into until the very last minute was whisky (thanks to Doreen Knight posting on I Love Historical Romance). Robert had much earlier chosen Scotch as his drink. It was illegal in Regency England you say? Well, doesn’t that just make it perfect. Robert is such a bad boy. Baron Chester had some on hand as well. When his novella, His Illicit Devotion, comes out you can see if you think he’s the type who would have illegal spirits about his house.

You may have already seen that the Haberdashers will be a twelve book series (not including novellas), and this book marks the end of what I call Act I. Thanks for coming along so far on the ride! Act II will start with Charlie Bittlesworth, in his novel Taming Chiron. The first chapter is provided here for your entertainment.

Taming Chiron

Chapter One

July 1817, London

Charlie Bittlesworth read through the invitation with a sinking feeling. The pleading tone was subtle but unmistakable. However much he might adore Lolly Higgenbottom, now wasn't a good time for him to take to the country for over a fortnight for an estate party. And he wasn't fool enough to think that Lolly was inviting him because she was interested in
him
. No, he might be entertaining to flirt with, a good friend, but the second son of a perfectly healthy and vigorous man with a perfectly healthy and vigorous first son held hardly any attraction for the beauty. Charlie knew what he was, what he was good at. And second only to his talent with horses, Charlie Bittlesworth was excellent at rounding out numbers. Dinner parties, garden parties, and, of course, country parties, where having the right good-natured and entertaining guest could be a feather in the hostesses cap.

"Why so glum, your lordship?"

"I'm not a lord," Charlie reminded the lad yet again, "and it's nothing for you to worry about, Mouse." He ruffled the boy's hair, causing a mild protest and little fingers set to straightening the brown locks. Mouse was the latest of what his brother Robert would call Charlie's "projects." Robert always injected the word with a mild disgust to make sure Charlie knew his older brother's disapproval. But in Charlie's estimation, when one encountered a good person in a place of misfortune, it behooved one to give that person an opportunity to improve themselves. Mouse had been just such a person. A street urchin who had somehow not let his misfortunes tarnish the good that was in his soul. An orphan who had no memory of family or even if he had a real name. He was just known as Mouse. The moniker fit, really. Quiet, tidy, and blessed with a cautious alertness that had served him well on the streets and even had its uses in a proper household. Provided that Charlie would ever be able to set up a proper household. He'd spent a good bit of his savings paying off the ruffian who had insisted he owned Mouse. Provided a bit of dirty floor to sleep on and questionable protection for the benefit of Mouse's blunt from begging and odd work, more like. But that meant Charlie's goals of moving out of his bachelor quarters was set back by months, perhaps more than a year. He had no great desire to build a house, but his stables were complete and it made no sense to live so far from them. After years of begging, borrowing, and stealing stall and pasture space from friends and relatives, he had finally mustered the funds to buy land just outside London two years ago. The design and construction of his stables had taken a considerable amount of time and resources, but now all of his stock was making its way there to be housed in what Charlie liked to think was one of the best stables in England. 

Most of Charlie's projects found their way to his stables or positions in his friend's houses. He had not yet decided what to do with Mouse, as they were still less than a fortnight in acquaintance. Typically Charlie didn't like servants in his bachelor quarters, but Mouse had proven to be more help than bother. The boy might be well on his way to becoming a valet or butler. For now he was making himself useful by taking on all the tasks that Charlie would prefer not do himself. Not that he'd been assigning them to Mouse as such, more that the boy took them on. Boots were polished. Floors were swept. Coats were brushed. Given another few weeks and Mouse might even have Charlie looking reputable.

"Do you know how to read?" Charlie asked.

"No, milord."

"I'm not a lord. Would you like to learn?"

The boys eyes rounded. "Oh, could I?"

"Undoubtedly you could. I'll ask my friend Jack to tutor you." Charlie set down the invitation and nodded decisively. If someone read his invitations before he did, sending out polite regrets for items that did not suit his schedule, then he could avoid conflicts such as this. He wanted to say no, but already knew that he would say yes. "By the by, Mouse, I have a dinner tonight. I'll be in late but will bring you something from the kitchens." It was a survival tactic of bachelors such as himself to attend dinners strategically throughout the week, to take any offered leftovers and other scraps from the kitchens. Now that he had another mouth to feed, it was doubly important.

"Yes, milord."

"I'm not a lord," Charlie said absently, already turning his mind to the sale at Tattersall's he planned to attend later in the day.

Mouse's response was so quiet and solemn that Charlie almost didn't hear him. "What should I call you then?"

Charlie frowned. "Mr. Bittlesworth, or sir, or even Charlie if you like."

Mouse nodded gravely. "I'll call you Mr. Bittlesworth, sir."

The address felt oddly formal to Charlie, but he merely nodded. "Good enough, Mr. Mouse."

* * *

Charlotte Ayres bit her lip and looked at the pile of clothing on the bed, then at her trunk. "It's not all going to fit, Tess."

"Nonsense, Lottie," her little sister said, hopping up to sit on the bed.

"Mathematics," Charlotte countered. "A simple calculation of mass and volume."

"If we sit on the lid..."

Charlotte tilted her head, considering. "Even then, we could not change the density enough."

Tess rolled her eyes. "You are always so pedantic when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

Tess rolled her eyes again, a behavior that she had been exhibiting with alarming frequency of late. Charlotte didn't remember being so melodramatic when she was fourteen. With Tess things were always 'brilliant' or 'horrid' or some other superlative. Granted, it had been some years since Charlotte was that age, but she remembered it as being a rather peaceful time. Tess had been a bit of a hellion underfoot, only six at the time, but Charlotte had enjoyed new tutors and her first forays into the natural sciences. Tess had not, as yet, shown any particular intellectual interests. She did, however, excel at the use of thread and needle, which was why Charlotte had so many clothes to pack in the first place.

"It will only be a fortnight," Charlotte said. "I don't need nearly so many clothes."

"It is
more
than a fortnight, and of course you do. Cousin Lolly has given you this opportunity to find a husband and you must take it."

Now Charlotte found herself wanting to roll her eyes. "Cousin Lolly is
not
worried about whether I find a husband. She undoubtedly needs someone to even out the numbers and grew quite desperate."

Tess managed to look as skeptical as a woman thrice her age. "You can tell yourself that if you like. But it certainly wouldn't do to make her look poorly by not having the proper attire. You will be among
ladies
, Lottie. Do you know how often they change clothes?"

Charlotte despaired that Tess might tell her. "Quite often, I assume."

Tess ran her fingers through the bits of lace and silk close at hand. "Easily twice, often more times each day. I worry that you won't remember my advice on how to accessorize and make your dresses fresh enough to be worn again after a few days without notice."

"Of course I'll remember," Charlotte assured her, knowing that it was untrue.

Tess scowled. "I wish I could go with you."

"Well, perhaps-"

Tess held up her hand. "No, I need to stay with father. We both know that left to his own devices he will forget to eat."

"And where he put his glasses."

"And what day it is."

The two girls laughed and shared rueful grins.

"So," Tess said. "I shall stay here and take care of father, and you shall go find a husband."

Now it was Charlotte's turn to frown. "You know that I have an understanding with Professor Diggleby."

"No, I know that Professor Diggleby expects to have an understanding with you. Has he asked for your hand?"

"Well, not as such."

"Has he spoken to father about his plans?"

"Not that I know."

"Lottie, you cannot rely on a man's ramblings for your future. Diggleby is as interested, more so I would argue, in your intellectual contributions to his work as he is in you."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"Ah," Tess held up a finger. "How did you feel when he published that paper last year that was not only based on your theory but documented your research as his own?"

"But if we were married, then it would be as though my research were his anyway."

"How did you
feel
?"

Charlotte bit her lip. She wasn't, in general, much for
feelings
. They were messy and chaotic. Rather than answer, she distracted her sister. "Perhaps if I could borrow your satchel, we could make a go at this."