Chapter One
London, 1815
It was themost foolish thing Louisa Babcock had ever decided to do.
She had waited for her uncle’s household to fall asleep before trying to slip out undetected. It hadn’t taken long, considering the only people in the house were Louisa; her Uncle Malcom; her sister Kitty; Mrs. Hummel, the cook; and a pair of ancient hunting dogs. The hounds, affectionately known to everyone in the house as Castor and Pollux, were nearly blind and deaf now in their old age, but Louisa hadn’t forgotten about them. She had two slices of cheese tucked into her mother’s ratty old reticule, just in case they woke.
It had been several months since Uncle Malcom had to let the rest of the servants go, due to his inability to pay thanks to some ill-advised investments he made the year prior. In fact, Uncle Malcom had been trying to minimize the household expenses for so long that Louisa couldn’t remember a time before the meager meals and ill-fitting gowns that she and Kitty had been forced to recycle into new patterns. Neither sister was much ofa seamstress, and the idea of a new gown had become a coveted dream shared by the sisters.
But it was just one more reason for Louisa to rid herself of this damned, cursed brooch.
Kitty must have been waiting to hear the creak in the floorboards just outside her room, for the door opened at the exact moment Louisa passed her threshold. She did not look pleased.
“Louisa, you mustn’t,” Kitty whispered loudly, scolding her sister. Louisa clutched a black velvet pouch she was carrying to her chest, and her sister eyed it with pity. “It’s the only thing of value that Mother’s left to us.”
“It isn’t Mother’s to give, Kitty. That’s the entire point as to why I have to return it,” Louisa countered. “Now please, go to sleep.”
“That brooch isn’t cursed, or hexed, or whatever you think. It’s nonsense and you know it.”
“I know no such thing.” She tucked the pouch into the folds of her dress. “But even if it isn’t, it still doesn’t belong to us.”
Kitty shook her head, obviously distressed, but Louisa would not allow her sister to sway her. With a single nod, she turned as she slipped down the stairs, wrapped herself in one of her uncle’s heavy cloaks, straightened her bonnet as she tucked a long, loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, and hurried out the front door.
It was madness, dangerous, and extremely shortsighted, but Louisa could not bear it anymore. She would break the family curse by returning the stolen bit of jewelry to its original owner, or rather, the original owner’s offspring. Then and only then did she believe that she and Kitty would finally be free of the misery that had plagued their family for three generations. She could still hear her mother’s bitter words from years ago ringing in her head.
Blasted and cursed thing! I wish it never came to me…
Well, soon she would fulfill her mother’s wish, although it was too late to help her. Mrs. Mary Babcock had passed away two years ago, leaving Louisa and Kitty under the protection of their father’s older half-brother, the Honorable Malcom Babcock.
As the granddaughters of a viscount, Louisa and Kitty had been born into a life of privilege, and yet, it hadn’t been a pleasant one. Both of their parents had been considerable drunkards, and while they had some advantages in life, they had squandered what little they had and complained constantly about deserving more, though Louisa could never quite understand why. She had loved her parents, as was the duty of a good daughter, but their constant complaints paired with their lack of finances and then early deaths had left her slightly bitter towards their memories. Both of her parents should be alive, accompanying her and Kitty to the theater, balls, and musicals. But her mother and father had chosen the drink over their daughters and while Louisa knew she shouldn’t be angry at them, for really it was a sickness, she couldn’t help but feel that need to take matters into her own hands.
Louisa made a right onto Trafford Street, then a left, then another, before making a final right turn. She had been memorizing the directions from her uncle’s home to the Lyon’s Den over the past several weeks. Uncle Malcom’s favorite sweetshop was just around the corner from the infamous gaming hell, and he had a standing weekly order. Louisa had managed to convince her uncle that she and Kitty were capable of going to pick up his delivery, accompanied by Mrs. Hummel of course. Louisa had made it a point to memorize the streets, sometimes even with her eyes closed in the carriage, as she knew she would be walking to the famous house of ill repute in the dark.
Foolish, yes. Dangerous? Absolutely, but she had no choice. She was determined to return the cursed brooch to the Black Widow of Whitehall, lest it continue to curse her and her sister for the next fifty years. If it wasn’t already too late.
The memory of her former beau John’s ashen face flashed in her mind as she walked, but she pushed his image out of her head. As much as she wanted to blame John’s death on the brooch, the truth was that he had been a sickly sort of fellow since he was a child. He had often said that he believed he would die young, despite Louisa’s urgings to stop him from talking about things like that. When the fever finally took him though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was the latest victim of the cursed brooch.
Shaking the memory of John from her mind, she focused on the street in front of her. Well-dressed gentlemen were now stumbling past her, and she was grateful her choice in attire let her go unnoticed. Counting the brick buildings that lined the street, Louisa wondered what Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the owner and operator of the Lyon’s Den might say once Louisa explained about the brooch. She would more than likely laugh at the whole situation, but Louisa would meet the devil himself if it meant she had a chance at avoiding the same fate as her mother, and retaining a cursed object simply would not afford her that chance.
“Perry, old boy, it’s been an age!” a masculine voice called out as the empty streets slowly became more populated with well-dressed men in top hats and capes.
“It has, hasn’t it? Have you seen Rhys?”
“Not since July. Is he coming?”
The second man shrugged.
“Supposedly.”
“Well then, it should be an interesting night indeed.”
Although the night was cool, Louisa didn’t feel particularly cold as she ducked her head to hide her face and hurried by the group of peers. In fact, the accelerated speed at which she walked had warmed her, and her pounding heart lit her blood on fire. Marching up the front steps of the famously distinct blue building, she heard music drifting out of the front doors as several gentlemen entered. Then, in front of the door, she met a ruthless looking man with a clean shaved head, ungodly massive shoulders, and a look of suspicion on his pox-marked face.
Louisa swallowed as he folded his arms across his chest.
“Hello—”
“No.”
