Chapter Fifteen
William spent another night at Cecelia’s, enduring her dismay at his somewhat weakened state, secretly relieved to have someone coddle him. He knew he shouldn’t have gone out so soon after being shot. Even sitting up in bed pained him. He couldn’t help but wish, as Cecelia tended him, that he could go to a different woman for care. One who would likely berate him rather than offer sympathy, but whose touch would surely soothe her harsh words.
He and Cecelia also discussed, and agreed, that Chastity must go. As William had spent two nights and much of a day with Chastity, there was no way to combat the marquess’s suspicion other than getting a new mistress. For lack of a better name, and in the hopes this would be a short-lived incarnation, they would use her choice of Valentina.
William returned to his townhouse directly following breakfast. He bathed carefully and dressed himself. Even with his wild ways, he would be hard pressed to explain a bullet wound to his valet, who would convey the information to the marquess.
Suitably attired, William retired to his office. There, he wrote a letter to Lethbridge, informing him he was turning out Chastity. He’d already met a new lover, an up and coming Italian opera singer. Valentina was only an understudy, but William found her attributes pleasing.
He informed Lethbridge new servants would be required, and a sum for Chastity, as a parting gift. He added to that a request for livery for Dodger. William meant to take the boy in, if he’d agree. The livery he requested immediately, along with letting the old servants go, with compensation.
The date for hiring new ones, William left open. Cecilia would have Dodger, hopefully, and always enjoyed a few days on her own. Servants were a strain, for any one of them could turn into a spy if they came across the right information. Making a fuss about moving Valentina in wasn’t necessary. The request alone would shore up the hole in their defenses.
Next, his thoughts grim, William wrote to Darington. He informed his friend of Lethbridge’s deceit. He knew he’d only Lanora’s slightly garbled words to go on, but they rang true. That was the reason for the burned letter in the grate. That was why the funds Darington requested hadn’t gone toward construction.
William should have realized Lethbridge’s duplicity sooner. It seemed inconceivable the man would steal, though. He had a secure position and took in a good living. Why risk that? Then, some men were slaves to ambition, and Lethbridge was a second son. They often felt slighted by life.
Those tasks complete, William unlocked the drawer containing his letters from Darington. Nearly twelve years of missives. At first, William had kept them for their details of Egypt, to be reread to bolster his memory of his subterfuge. Later, he began keeping them because Darington was his one true friend, aside from Cecelia. One could get only so close to a young woman, though, especially one’s own stepmother, and William had never admitted his greatest secret to her, that he’d never been to Egypt.
William took the most recent letters from the drawer. Contained therein was much about the women’s home. That should paint him in a favorable light. Darington also spoke of his daughter, at length, in most of his letters, extolling her virtues.
A wistful smile played across William’s mouth. Darington’s daughter. A lost dream. A kind, intelligent, accepting, loving woman. Was she even real?
He shook his head. She was, but not for him. The reality of Lanora scattered that dream. He hoped Darington’s daughter would find a good man. One she actually knew. Someone to love her.
William tucked the letters into his coat, standing. He gripped the side of the desk, grimacing in pain. Moving with a bit more care, he went to request his carriage.
He arrived at the Solworth townhouse in good spirits. He would show Lanora the letters. She would read them and see the truth. William was a good man. Her father’s partner obviously thought so. They discussed weighty and important things with candor. Among them, ways to better the lives of London’s poor. Lanora would see how nearly she and William were allied.
Perhaps then, once she could see him for who he was, he would reveal all to her. He’d lived on the streets. He was Lord Lefthook. He cared more for the fate of those same women and children she wished to help than for his own class. How his mother had died.
No, not that. He would shelter Lanora from the truth of the marquess’s evil. There would be no talk of his mother, Charles or either of his stepmothers. It was too dark to share, and the marquess still lived. While he did, Cecilia would never be safe. Resolved, William strode up the steps and knocked.
“May I help you, my lord?” asked the stern-faced butler who opened the door.
William glanced around, wondering where the cheerful maid of last time was. This man seemed much more formidable. “Lord William Greydrake for Lady Lanora.”
“Her ladyship is not at home.” The man didn’t blink.
“Not at home?”
“No, my lord. May I take your card?”
William frowned. She must be home. It wasn’t one of the days Dodger said she passed out bread as Mrs. Smith. She had no friends. From her talk of slippers, and all else he knew of her, he imagined she found shopping frivolous. “Not home, or not at home to me?”
“Precisely, my lord.”
“I see.” William took out his card and handed it over. “Please tell her I called.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He permitted the man to close the door. He wouldn’t embarrass her by telling her butler he had letters to show her. That was highly inappropriate. Nor would he make a scene in her foyer. He was in no shape to be forcing his way inside. No, he would have to resort to bribery.
Returning to his carriage, he had his driver take him around the corner. Once there, William disembarked and made his way to the back of the townhouse on foot. The day wasn’t too warm, fortunately, the sky dotted with clouds. When he reached Solworth House, the locked garden gate was no obstacle to him. Closing it behind him, he turned to find six terriers watching.
Taking care of his side, he dropped to one knee on the stone walk, holding out his hands. “Come here, you lot. You remember me.”
They trotted nearer, only the Skye Terrier lingered out of reach. He watched for a long moment, assessing, as William petted the others. Finally, he turned and meandered away, plopping down in the shade of a bush.
