A Waltz in the Park (10 page)

“Another spoke up.  ‘But to be safest, go for the carriage.  A wiggle at the junction with the spring and the brace—’

“His friend stopped him, nodding toward me.  They went back to their game.”

“Oh, no,” Addy said.

“Yes.  I knew, then.  He’d done it.  Tried to kill my mother.  Why?  Her money, perhaps.   A mistress who wanted to be a viscountess?  I don’t even recall what happened next, I only remember pulling him away from a terrified woman—and hitting him.  Again and again, until they pulled me off him.”

She waiting, knowing it wasn’t the end.

“For two days I didn’t go home.  Until I heard the news.  My friends tracked me down, told me my mother was injured.  Unconscious.  There had been a row, the servants said, and she’d fallen down the stairs.”

Addy gasped.

“She slept for three days and I never left her side.  He stayed away until she woke up.  She was confused.  She still is, really.  She’s never been the same.  She doesn’t remember him standing over her, threatening her life unless I stopped overreacting and did as I was told.  She doesn’t remember my threats, either.  She was to be kept out of it, kept safe and protected or I would expose him for the liar—and murderer—that I now knew him to be.”  He sighed.  “We’ve been at war ever since.”

Addy stood.  She touched him gently, but he flinched—and somehow that summed up their entire quandary.

“And the worst part is,” she whispered, “that neither of you will ever win.”

Chapter Nine

“DeeDee!  Look!”

“I see, darling.”  Addy pressed a swift kiss to her sister’s head.  “It’s a lovely pinecone.”

Content at the praise, Muriel wandered over to show her treasure to Mary, her cousin.

“MeeMee!  Look!”

“A big one!” the eight year old said.  “Now, put it with the others.”

Muriel laughed.  She was methodically moving a pile of rocks, pinecones and acorn caps from one blanket to another.

Addy smiled, blinking back tears again.  She’d been crying on and off since she’d left Vickers yesterday, but these were happy tears.  Muriel remembered her.  Her baby face had lit like the sun when she’d caught sight of her.  Addy had snatched her up and hugged her close and had a good cry, not caring who saw her.

Which turned out to be nearly the whole household, in fact.  They’d lined the steps in a formal welcome.  Even her mother’s sister had been noticeably warmer.  “I’m sorry I was so curt when last we met,” she said, shamefaced.  “I just think your father is making a terrible mistake, running away from you girls.  But Muriel is a delight and we are glad to have her.  And I hear you are one of the belles of the beau monde.”

Addy had demurred, then gratefully agreed to a tour of the large, comfortable nursery.  She’d been presented to all the toys and invited to a picnic in the gardens.

Muriel was happy.  Healthy.  She clearly loved the other children.  Mary, at just the right age, acted as a little mother to her.  Even her aunt was clearly not as removed as she’d thought. 

Addy was relieved, but also a little gut-wrenched.  She’d thought moving the two of them to their own household would be a better situation, but now she was not so sure.

About anything, as it happened, and she had another good cry in the carriage on the way home.  Nothing had truly gone awry—except everything.  Nothing was as she’d thought, planned or hoped.  Muriel.  Rosamond.  Vickers.  Her heart was breaking over his revelations and the misery that haunted him.  She couldn’t pretend any longer that she didn’t want him.  She did, fiercely.  She’d give up her stories again to help him, gain a future with him.  He wanted her too, but his damned, endless vendetta left them hopeless, and she couldn’t really fault him for it.

So she dissolved into another spate of tears. 

But as the carriage neared home, she struggled for control.  She tried to repair herself before she crossed the threshold—only to find that she needn’t bother.

The house was in an uproar.  Servants huddled outside the parlor, where she found Great-Aunt Delia stamping her cane and demanding explanations.  Rosamond wailed, paced and wrung her hands.

“Oh, Addy,” she cried, once she’d spotted her.  “It’s happened!  The worst!”

“What?  What is it?”

“Lord Vickers was here—in a state!”  Delia said.  “I heard him shouting at my girl from my room!”

“He’s in a fit,” Rosamond moaned.  “He accused me of telling his secrets.  And the threats!” she wailed.

Feeling like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, Addy reached for calm.  “Steady, please.  Think!  He cannot say a thing against you without exposing himself.”

“You’re wrong!  He brought them with him—papers, signed and witnessed.  Accounts against me, naming me as a conspirator, accusing me of proposing his schemes and trying to seduce him and his friends into taking part.  The liar!  The cheat!  I didn’t have a thing to do with kidnapping that girl—when they started plotting that was when I pulled away!”

“Kidnapping!”  Addy reared back.  “What are you talking about, Rosamond?”

“This Spring—the Grand Duchesses’ Russian servant girl that went missing.  I heard them making plans.  I had nothing to do with it, I swear!  But he says if the questions continue, he’ll see me taken up to Newgate and held for trial!”

“No, he won’t,” Addy replied forcefully.

“He’s right,” Rosamond moaned.  “There’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“He’s wrong.”  Addy pulled away, heading for her room.

“What are you doing?” her cousin called.

“I’m writing letters—and then I’m taking steps.”

She sent the letters off, then stood in the hall for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching.  A thought struck her and her head went up, just before she headed for the front door.  Outside she paced along the pavement, then went to stand in the wide street, turning and searching.

“Looking for sumptin’?”

Addy breathed a sigh of relief as the slight shadow slid from the servant’s stairway.  “I thought you had a day free, Francis?”

“I stopped by to be sure you made it back.  Looked like a storm busting loose in there, so I waited.”

“Bless you.”  She bent down.  “Here’s what I have in mind.”

The girl’s eyes grew large as she listened.  “He ain’t gonna like none o’ that.”

Addy straightened.  “He’ll get over it.”

***

Vickers dragged himself up the stairs to his rooms, his heart feeling heavier than his feet.

The day had begun with such promise.  A few simple questions and he’d found that two new ladies had joined the Queen’s women at the start of the year.  Interestingly, neither were still at Court.  A little investigation revealed Lady Hargraft had only just left for her lying in.  But Lady Pilgren had requested leave to return to the country to care for her ailing husband.

The timing of that request interested Vickers, as it came exactly at the same time, weeks earlier, that Hestia Wright’s oldest enemy, Lord Marstoke, was found to be scheming against the crown.  Marstoke had disappeared, Lady Pilgren had fled home and Rosamond had broken ties with his father, all near the same time.

It required further investigation, but now he needed a good night’s sleep.  He was so tired that he just might drift off without tossing, turning and fixating on Addy Stockton.

He opened his door—and hoped like hell he was tired enough for hallucinations.

“I thought you’d never get here.”

Real, then.  All for the best, as he hoped, if he was going to dream Addy into his rooms, he’d have the sense to drape her in sheer linen and lace rather than ratty linsey-woolsey and a frantic look in her eye.

He looked at the key in his hand, at the door, then at her.

“Francis.”

Sighing, he tossed the key onto a shelf.  “Something has to be done about that girl.”

He thanked the powers-that-be when Addy rose out of his favorite lounging chair.  Some very creative images had begun to come to life in his head.

“There’s trouble.”

“I gathered.”

“We can’t delay.  Something must be done.”

He perched on the arm of the chair.  “What is it?”  He didn’t want another crisis.  He wanted to strip her of that cloak and lay his head on her cozy, cushioned bosom.

She related her story, although she grew unhappier in the telling.  Vickers, however, began to straighten.  His weariness dropped away, chased by excitement.

“He must have heard I was asking questions.  It spooked him.”

“Yes, and he did worse to Rosamond.”

“I’m sorry.”  His heart was beating fast.  He felt strange, almost sick.  Light-headed.  “Don’t you see?  This is it.”

“What?”  She frowned.

“All this time I’ve waited for him to make a mistake, and now he’s done it.”  He could see she didn’t understand.  He took her hands and grinned.  “Addy, you darling!  To think, it’s Marstoke.”  He shook his head.  “I was just beginning to wonder if he might perhaps have been fool enough to get mixed up with Marstoke—and this proves it.  We can link him with a traitor.”

His heart felt light.  Almost.  He was nearly free of the dark shackles that had tied him to his father for so long.  “We have him, Addy!”

She still looked confused.  “Not yet, we don’t.”

“That kidnapping caused all sorts of problems with the Grand Duchess and the other foreign dignitaries.  Hestia has friends in the government who are very interested in whatever information they can get on it—and on Marstoke.”

“But will they believe us if we tell them?  It’s just second hand information.”

“Lady Mitford can tell them.”  He let her go and walked in a circle, running his hands through his hair.  “She heard it directly from the source.”

Her extended silence had him turning to face her.  When she spoke, her tone was as icy as her eyes were reputed to look.  “No, she won’t.”

His hands dropped.  “Why not?”

“Because our original agreement still stands.”

“What are you talking about?  Addy, don’t you see?  This is the last shot.  It’s finally over.”

Her face crumpled.  “I’m sorry, James, but it’s not.  You
promised
.  When we started this, you promised to keep Rosamond’s name out of trouble.”

Wild anger and denial began to build.  “This is different.”

“It’s not.  It will be your father and his documents and his friends versus her word.  They might believe him!  They might take her up!  Even if they did listen, her name would still be ruined.  She’s already got blots in her copybook.  She can’t survive a brush with treason.  This will be the end of her.”

The whirlwind was rising inside.  “She can give her testimony in secret.  Surely they’ll agree to keep her name confidential.”

“It won’t happen, but even if it did, her name would leak out.  Everything does.  Look at the secret testimony against Princess Caroline.  It ended up splashed all through the papers.”

Swiftly, savagely, he knocked over a stack of books, then toppled the table they’d stood on.  “Are you asking me not to use the evidence that marks my father as a traitor?  That will finally set me and my mother free?”

She stood quietly.  “No.  I’m not asking.  I don’t have to.”

Fists clenched, chest blowing, he stared at her.

She approached.  Her eyes shone sad, but her face was strangely proud as she cupped her fingers along his jaw. 

He wanted to lean into her touch.  He wanted to slap her hand away.  “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because no matter what your father is—you are a man of honor.”

He did turn away, snarling.

“You are.”  Her voice sounded soft as velvet, but it cut like steel.  “I see you, James, the same way that you see me.  I know you are a fine and honorable man, no matter what mask you show others.  I know, even to help your mother, you won’t harm Rosamond.”

He almost hated her.  “Go,” he said after a moment.  “Leave.”

She didn’t answer.  For a long moment there was no sound at all, then her footstep sounded behind him just as she pressed herself all along his back.

She hugged him tight.  He stood, blank, empty, not moving.

“I’ll help,” she said.  “We’ll find another way to use this information.  Someone, somewhere knows something.  We just have to look.”

She pressed closer.  Her hands began to move, to explore the expanse of his chest.  Behind him, she began to press small kisses against his coat.  He turned.  “What are you doing?”

“This.”  She pressed her mouth to his.  Her lips moved, featherlight.  The kiss was slow, confident, coaxing.

He stood silent, unmoving.

Eventually, she drew back.

“Did you think to make a trade?” he asked harshly.  “Your honor for mine?”

She recoiled.  “You know I didn’t.”

He held his silence.

So did she.

“Years,” he spat.  “Years of misery and pain.  Through it all, I waited for this moment and you are stealing it.”

“Delaying it, only.”

“So confident,” he sneered.  She’d broken something inside him.  All the stirring and confusion he’d felt since the day she’d addressed him in the park flipped on it’s end, turning from new and anticipatory to dark and defensive. “You know me?  You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

She looked hurt, but still resolute.

“But of course, how could I think so of The Celestial, the perfect girl who never makes a wrong step.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  You know that’s not me.  You deserve that appellation more than I do.”

He laughed.  “Now that’s ridiculous.  I’m not perfect.  I’m the Wicked Vickers.  You know what I am?  I’m
tired
.  Broken.  Lonely.  You saw the real me?  Well, you never showed it.”

She frowned her confusion.

“You never danced with me.  You turned me away every single time I asked.”  He shifted his gaze away from her.  “That was a step wrong.”

“But . . . your personae.  Your image . . .”

“No!  It’s time for truth, now, not stories.  It was never about my image, but yours.  Did you never think that you might have used that perfect image
for
me?”

“What?”

“If The Celestial found something worthy in the Wicked Vickers, then perhaps others might have stopped to think.  Reconsidered the old, tired view of me.  If they began to look favorably on me, then they might have begun to examine their views on my father, as well.  But we’ll never know, will we?”