Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5) (16 page)

“I put myself out once for no good reason and will not do so again. A pity she came back. Lady Brighthurst is much more reliable when it comes to keeping one company. At my age, I have no need of new acquaintances or the renewal of old and distressing ones.” Her glance flittered over his rumpled appearance, eyes narrowing in disapproval. “And neither do you it seems. Have you spent the night in a hell?”

“No.”

“Then you need a new tailor. Go buy something befitting your station. That gel has always had a lowering effect on your consequence.”

He suddenly understood some of Miranda’s reluctance to return home with him. After all this time, he couldn’t believe his mother would continue to speak so dismissively of someone who’d saved them from debt and the prospect of future difficulty. He still remembered how matters had stood upon his inheritance. His father had run the estate to the brink of ruin. If not for Miranda’s dowry, there would be no new suits from his tailor, and his mother would not have led so comfortable a life these past years. When she continued scorching his ears over Miranda, his blood boiled.

“Mother! Enough. Miranda might be in the wrong to have left me, but that problem is ours to overcome. I will get to the bottom of the strife without any assistance from you. You will do nothing to offend Miranda. She is my wife and marchioness. Whatever troubles we have are not for you to stick your nose in.”

Her gaze grew flinty. “Well if that is the case, then I believe I shall return to Twilit Hill.”

Kit sighed in relief. Without Mother here there would be one less source of friction to deal with. For both of them. “That is an excellent idea. Thank you.”

Mother looked startled a moment before she calmly folded the paper and set it aside. “Next week. I shall of course greet your wife properly today and see what she has made of herself. Reports say she is quite unremarkable. I don’t know what you ever saw in her.”

Kit almost groaned aloud. He’d seen her money first, but the rest of her was equally as attractive to him. “As you wish.”

The dowager shook her silver head. “Miranda will be woefully out of touch with what matters. I suppose I will have to
show her the ropes
again.”

Something that Hallam had suggested finally made sense. Women chose where they wanted to be and how they would live. Once he’d urged Miranda to follow his mother’s advice and that suggestion might have been another factor to turn her against him. This time round he would do things much simpler. He would have to learn to trust Miranda’s judgment if he wanted to make this marriage work.

“Mother,” Kit interrupted. “Miranda is no longer a new bride nor a young woman without the wits to hold her own in society. She will make her own decisions anyway and decide how to go on without interference, yours or mine. You will not need to take her under your wing.”

His mother slapped her hand on the paper. “You would let her ruin us. Drag our name further through the muck and insist we give her leave to do so?”

“She saved us once and will not ruin anything, but I am sure things will change. Perhaps for the better. I will devote my time to seeing her restored to her rightful place as my marchioness. After all, this is her home and I would like her to be at ease here.”

“And if she parades her lovers beneath your nose and humiliates you beneath your own roof, will that be to your liking too? I suppose then you’ll eventually want to cry on my shoulder and curse the day you married her.”

Crying on his mother’s shoulder was so ludicrous he laughed. He’d been raised by servants and only been presented to his parents once a week when he’d been a boy, twice if he’d misbehaved. “I’d never dare do something so vulgar.”

Her gaze grew troubled. “She will have had lovers. Women of her background always do.”

Kit did not want to think about that, not when he held suspicions about a friend’s loyalty in the back of his mind. If Miranda had taken lovers he wouldn’t like it, but he’d put a stop to her affairs one way or another until he had his heir. “Just as many ladies of rank do, as you well know,” he mused.

Her gaze turned pitying. “Just don’t complain when she leaves you for another man. The woman is as flighty as they come. I cannot contemplate why she should come back now of all times. You were just about to start over.”

“I was, but I cannot now. I am married to Miranda and look forward to being her husband.” He met her gaze directly. “Just so there can be no misunderstandings between us, I am not sorry to see Miranda again. I once liked her very much.”

His mother’s face turned a startling shade of pink. “Please, share your delight in your wife with someone else. My sympathy is with Lady Brighthurst. She’s devastated by Miranda’s return.”

“Why? Emily is our friend.”

 
“But you would have married her if not for Miranda.” His mother protested. “How can you be so unfeeling toward her?”

Not Mother too
. Kit folded his arms across his chest. “Even if Miranda had not come back, I assure you I would never have married Lady Brighthurst.”

His mother clucked her tongue. “Of course you would have. You know your duty to the family. Lady Brighthurst was the wife you were destined to have, even if she did not have a dowry large enough to please your guardians. I’ve been grooming her to take over from me for years now.”

That was startling news to him. He would never marry Emily. He’d never considered it, even before he’d met Miranda. “That is where you are wrong. Emily and I understand each other. We are no more than friends. That is all we will ever be. I’ve no patience for your ridiculous and far-fetched notions, madam. Do excuse me.”

Kit might find his mother’s insistence he was destined to marry Emily mildly alarming, but he had more important matters to occupy his thoughts: how to woo his wife and keep her satisfied so she might not look for affection with another man.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“This is the place,” Martin assured her, but his disapproving expression spoke volumes.

Miranda slid toward the doorway of the carriage, her heart racing eagerly in hope. They had searched the area for hours since dawn’s rays had first lightened the great city. Taverham’s extravagant pin money loosened the tongues of all they met. This was where Mr. Fenning was last known to be according to their enquiries, although he moved from place to place constantly as work came and went, or so they’d deduced.

Martin held out his hand to assist her from the carriage. Miranda joined him on the street, looking up at the shabby building’s windows, in search of her son’s face peeking out. Fenning had taken rooms in a run-down boarding house that made Miranda’s skin crawl and her eyes fill with tears. To think he’d brought her son here and not come up with better made her furious and equally guilt-ridden too.

She was to blame for this. She’d warned him against seeking additional students from those likely to come into contact with her husband’s circle, and this was the best he’d made of his options after the fire.

Once inside, the staircase creaked underfoot alarmingly as they moved upward, unopposed and unseen. Landry and the other fellow Miranda had hired as help took up positions on either side of the door where Miranda believed Fenning resided.

The door to Fenning’s chamber hung poorly from the hinges, and when Martin hammered on it, the wood rattled wildly as if in danger of splintering apart. That door had no hope of keeping dangerous men out, and Miranda’s concern grew. If any great evil had befallen Fenning or her son while they’d been here, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Inside, heavy footfalls drew closer and when the door did open, she barely recognized Fenning. His hair needed trimming and his shirt collar hung open without cravat or necktie to be lend even a little respectability. His unstarched shirt draped across his thin chest, which spoke of horrible poverty and dissipation. He’d not dressed for company, and it was clear to Miranda how bad his straits were.

Martin pushed his way inside and Miranda followed, leaving the servants at the door to ensure their privacy for the conversation.

“Mr. Fenning.”

“Oh, God,” Fenning groaned as he backed away, tumbling over fallen chairs and discarded shoes. “You found me.”

“Of course I would find you.” She looked around at the debris littering the tiny room. Enough empty wine bottles to make her uneasy lay abandoned in all parts of the room. A padded chair had been tipped against the wall, and a mouse peeked at her from beneath papers and scurried away again into the cold hearth. She took a deep breath to stifle her scream. There was nothing worse in her opinion than scurrying vermin. “I understand an accident befell your house some time ago and take it coming to London was unavoidable.”

“Yes, my lady. I had no choice but to seek other work.”

“I see.” Miranda righted a chair that appeared sound and gingerly sat in it. “And did you not consider returning to Lord Louth’s employ instead of this?”

“I couldn’t.” Fenning shook his head violently. “Bad things would happen if I did that. I couldn’t go against them.”

Miranda gasped. “Against whom?”

Fenning covered his mouth and glanced toward the door anxiously. After a moment his shoulders slumped. “Guess it doesn’t matter much anymore. Don’t know who they were. Never saw them before or since, but they were a rich pair. Determined to flush out the boy and sure I had him. I tried to pretend I didn’t.”

Miranda leaned forward. How could anyone else know about her son? “A pair? Describe them.”

“Woman as pretty as a picture. Man who’d likely never worked a day in his life.” Fenning drew in a deep breath as tears slipped over his grubby cheeks. “Paid me ten guineas to set the fire and step outside. I refused of course, but they had a pistol aimed at me and I had no choice in the end.”

“What?” Miranda gasped. “No. No. No.”

Fenning shook his head quickly. “Oh no, Master Christopher wasn’t killed in the fire. Clever child. Heard it all and knew what to do. I saw him slip out a back window and flee into the nearby trees before the fire truly caught hold. Didn’t find him till morning though, long after the swells had gone. I was about to give up when he came up to me and told me we were bound for London.”

Miranda set her hand to her chest as relief slammed into her. “Well, I’m here now. Take me to him.”

Mr. Fenning’s skin paled and he hugged himself. “I wish you’d not found me.”

When Martin moved to stand behind her and settled his large hands lightly on her shoulders, Miranda’s heart began truly to race. The room was too small for her son to be in the next room and her not have heard him. “And why is that?”

“I don’t have him anymore. He’s vanished.”

A scream bubbled in her throat and Martin’s grip tightened, effectively holding her in place and curbing her hysteria. It was too much. She broke away from Martin’s touch and curled over as unbearable pain filled her chest. Her worst fears had come true. She should never have allowed herself to be persuaded to part from her son.

Martin’s hand smoothed over her back as he questioned Fenning over Christopher’s disappearance.

Fenning’s chair scraped and she looked up quickly. The fellow sat across from her like a naughty schoolboy, hands pinched between his thighs and a mournful expression on his face. “Came to London after the fire as the boy wanted. He said it was safer to be one of many than sticking out like a boil in the quiet countryside, but I’d lost almost everything to the fire. Had some money so I wasn’t desperate at first. I left a note behind, which he was sure you would return to collect.”

Miranda nodded as dismay filled her, numbing her senses until she couldn’t do more than sit and listen.

“Everything was fine for a few weeks. Had a nice place, food, and tricked my way into a good position because the man’s daughter fancied me. I thought it was going well until one Sunday a month after our arrival. I turned my back for just a moment and then found myself alone.”

Miranda sobbed, and her body swayed of its own accord despite Martin’s attempt to contain her movements.

“Breathe, Miranda,” Martin begged, but her chest burned with pain and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not the end of the world,” he promised. “Calm down.”

“How can I be calm?” She stared hard at Fenning, hating that they had all failed. “He lost Christopher. He almost got my son killed and now he’s lost him?”

Mr. Fenning swallowed and he looked near to tears too. “I didn’t lose him, my lady. I swear to you,” he insisted. “The boy up and ran away. He stepped out of the carriage we were traveling in with only a few pennies in his pocket. I thought he was happy with me. I thought coming to London was what he wanted.”

Martin left her side and leaned close to Mr. Fenning. “Explain how you lost the child and do not leave one thing out. Start with where you were that day.”

“Near St. George’s. We’d just come back from taking a peek at Asterly’s. The young master insisted on seeing all the sights of London from the start and was having a grand time. I indulged him because he looked more excited than I’d ever known him to be.”

Miranda pictured her son, barely nine years old and seeing London for the first time and then shook away the vision as tears toppled down her cheeks. “Do not think to blame my son for this disaster. He was your responsibility.”

“Begging your pardon, Lady Taverham, but the boy told me what to do and never the other way round. He’s very clever at getting people to do what he wants.”