“A man who may have information concerning my former home, Penrose,” Cecilia replied.
Peggy frowned at the vague response and Cecilia forced a smile. “You know as much as is safe for you to know. I would not have you lie to Lionel or withhold anything from him if he returns and asks. I will bear the brunt of his anger if there is any. If he or Mr. Blackwood returns, you may tell them what I have told you.”
Cecilia watched the tall buildings flow past, the streets now largely empty. The absence of people simply served to emphasize the scale of the buildings which flanked the streets. Made them even more like deep chasms framed by steep, unclimbable cliffs. She found herself shrinking back into the plush upholstery of the seats and, when she realized that she was cowering before this monumental place, forced herself to sit upright. She folded her hands in her lap and looked out of the window with chin raised and face set. She would not go before Thorpe as a meek and frightened rabbit. She was a Duchess, and by the rules of their society, she was deserving of deference and respect. She had no idea if Lord Thorpe was the kind of man to honor such conventions and, based on his previous behavior, had every reason to think that he was not. But she would at leastplay the part that she was entitled to, that was hers by right of her marriage.
Regent’s Circus was a huge circle of houses, centered on an ornamental park. At the northern end was the new Regent’s Park. The address she sought was halfway around the eastern curve of houses. It was of red brick and white plaster with five stories and a veritable forest of chimneys above. A uniformed doorman stood in the portico that shaded the building’s entrance.
When Cecilia alighted, her driver, a man named Flock, stepped down with her. As a precaution, she had asked him to accompany her inside. Flock was a man in his forties with a square face and few words. He was also, she gathered, very loyal to his employer and rather too fond, in his younger days, of brawling in taverns. Mrs. Hardcastle had insisted that Flock be the one to drive Cecilia and had given him orders not to let her out of his sight.
“Once inside, you will wait in the main hall for my return. I see no danger. This is the home of a gentleman after all and there will be many servants,” Cecilia told him as they ascended the steps.
“Right you are, Your Grace,” Flock said in a strong, rural Surrey accent.
At the door, a card was requested, which Cecilia duly produced. It bore Lionel’s name as well as her own. The doorman went inside and returned after a minute or so. He opened the doubledoors wide and ushered Cecilia into the house. Flock followed, shouldering a door aside with a grunt when the doorman tried to close it on him. He took up a position just inside the door, hands folded in front of him, feet planted shoulder width apart, and looking for all the world as if he would be there forever.
A footman led Cecilia into the house. It was not as grand as Bruton Street. The floor was of wood and dark. Similarly, dark paneling covered the walls. The ceiling was high but there was no chandelier. There were no pictures on the walls though several squares and rectangles in a different shade to the rest of the walls gave evidence that there had been artwork at some prior time, and for a long time too.
The footman led her to the end of the hall and to the right, opening a set of double doors that led into what seemed to be a library. Within were a number of bookshelves, none of them more than half full. Several wooden crates stood about the room, packed with volumes and sawdust. Still more crates stood, nailed shut, beside the door. Cecilia wondered if Lord Thorpe was in the process of moving in or out. Debrett’s had indicated that this residence had been the official residence of the Viscount Thorpe for three years. Before that, it had belonged to the Duke of Salisbury, its first owner since the Circus and Park had been built on the Regent’s orders a handful of years before.
Thorpe had added some bulk to his frame since Cecilia had seen him on the day of the fateful hunt. He was tall and straight-backed but with a sense of power to his shoulders and chest that Cecilia did not remember. The man she had met previously had been a rapier. His blue eyes and rosebud lips were the same though. To her shock, he was wiping what seemed to be mudfrom his face with a piece of linen. There was a basin of water on a table next to his chair. The bowl and linen were black. His boots were crusted with mud and there were spatters of it up his light-colored breeches and onto his vest. He rose as she entered.
“Your Grace, the Duchess of Thornhill. What an unexpected but welcome surprise,” he said, smiling.
CHAPTER 32
“My lord. It has been a long time since our first meeting. I trust this time is convenient?” Cecilia said, looking Thorpe up and down.
He looked down at himself, spreading his arms, then grinned wider.
“Quite convenient, I assure you. I have been on somewhat of an adventure tonight. Most exhilarating. I had considered myself defeated, but now, I am not so sure. Please, take a seat.”
He indicated a chair opposite his own but Cecilia shook her head, standing her ground.
“I will not, if that is all the same to you. I do not intend to stay long. I don’t suppose that Sir Gerald Knightley is still lodging with you?”
Thorpe’s face fell for a moment, from smiling politely to blank and dangerous for all his lack of expression. He dropped the linen into the dirty water of the bowl and walked slowly to a sideboard heavy with assorted decanters and bottles. He was silent as he poured himself a large measure of a liquid of deep, golden brown color.
“He was, until this evening,” he said, finally. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Thank you, but no,” Cecilia replied. “Is he no longer a guest then?”
Thorpe took a long swallow and began to walk towards Cecilia. She noticed a slight limp, as though his left leg pained him. As he approached, she also noticed a bruise rising on the left side of his face. She stood her ground as he approached, feeling somewhat more confident now that it seemed he was in some way incapacitated. He stopped a few yards away, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.
“He is no longer a guest… not of mine anyway. Why the interest in Sir Gerald? I understood that you and he were not on the best of terms.”
“He is a bully who believes he can take what he wants from women,” Cecilia retorted, “but he intimated that he was the owner of the Penrose estate…”
Thorpe threw back his head and laughed, cutting her off. “Penrose? That is why you are here? The bloody fool. I knew hewould not be able to resist taunting you. It was an extravagant waste of money. But the Sinclairs were desperate for money and Gerald was desperate for something to hold over you.”
“I did not know that my aunt and uncle were short of funds. That explains why they kept Penrose from me,” Cecilia murmured, more to herself.
Thorpe took another generous swallow from his drink. His eyes roved across Cecilia’s body but she hid the discomfort such a look engendered in her. She was looking at him directly when his eyes returned to her face.
“They pursued appearances they could not afford. When your brother died…”
“Wasmurdered. By you,” Cecilia corrected, rather matter-of-factly.
Inwardly, she wondered if she should not be smiling and trying to affront this man. After all, Sir Gerald was his associate, if not his friend even, and she wanted to find out all she could about Sir Gerald’s plans for Penrose. Challenging Thorpe directly might not be the best of ideas, but the words left her before she could bring them back. Thorpe’s face did not change. He maintained his polite, even courteous smile and turned away, returning to his chair.
