“You are certain they would want me?”
“You fit right in as manager of Redcake’s, but as a marquess’s brother, you shall be an utter coup. I would imagine the board will elect you in that very night.”
They both stood, shook hands, scheduled an appointment for Thursday night. Judah never thought he would find enduring friendship with a sergeant, but life had taken him strange places this past year.
He held up a finger and hunted in his desk for the letter to Lieutenant Cross. “For your Khan.”
Redcake took it and tucked it into his coat. “I will send it along.”
The next day Judah called at the Cross home. The news from Redcake might not be worth passing along, but he wanted to check on Miss Cross.
He found George and Miss Cross much altered from the cheerful duo of his last visit. Dressed in black, the lady looked glum. Even her hair had lost its sheen. The shabby house’s vitality had fled as well. The children were still at the nursery at Earl Gerrick’s home so that the house could be thoroughly cleaned, an activity that had not taken place in some months thanks to Mrs. Cross’s illness.
“She ran this home as neatly as you please,” George told him earnestly, setting down a black-rimmed teacup. The contents had been openly doctored with a flask. “I wish you could have known her before our life became all about doctors, medicines, and treatments.”
Miss Cross patted her brother’s hand. “She was truly the best of women.”
“At least now”—George hiccuped—“we won’t need your salary anymore to pay for Mrs. Gortimer and you can run the house. I know you learned a great deal from Nancy.”
Judah watched Miss Cross’s eyelids lift as she heard this bit of news. He could tell George’s plan had not been discussed.
“Dear George,” she said, patting his hand again. “You know you cannot depend on me. I might marry.”
“You might, you might,” he said mournfully.
With a glance at Judah, she said, “I think the best plan is to keep my salary and hire a housekeeper. That way you’ll have someone trained if I do leave.”
“We cannot afford a housekeeper,” he cried. “That is for a greater home than this.”
“Then at least someone to do the heavy work,” Miss Cross said. “Hetty is quite competent if she doesn’t have to do everything herself. Then there might be money left for school fees for at least one of the boys, once we’ve paid the doctor bills.”
“Well,” he sighed, with a sidelong glance at Judah. “It is true that Cross ladies should not go unmarried. Our blood runs too hot, you know.”
“Really, brother,” Miss Cross said, her cheeks flushing. “I simply meant that I am still young and might have a household of my own one day. And you might remarry in time. I know dear Nancy wished it.”
“I’m sure Captain Shield does not want to hear of our domestic trials.”
“Captain Shield may find them quite interesting, in fact,” she replied. “Since he has so recently come to London and set up his own household.”
“That is true,” George agreed. “Have you found satisfactory servants, Captain? I have never had a bachelor establishment, at least until now.”
“I am not home very much,” Judah confessed. “But the house is warm and clean.”
“Make sure they are not robbing you,” George said, emptying his teacup and filling it again with his flask. “The maid we had before Hetty was a dreadful thief.”
Judah set down his teacup. “Employees are necessary but can be troublesome, I give you that. However, I came to speak of troublesome relatives, not of staff.”
Miss Cross pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. “Do you have word of Mark?”
“I do. Apparently he’s been trading in gems, so he might be building his fortune. But, I’ve also heard he sustained minor injuries.”
“How?” said Miss Cross as George barked, “What?”
“Nothing serious. Some kind of arm injury. I considered not sharing the information as you’ve had so much trouble already, but if it were my brother I’d want to know any insignificant detail.”
“Quite,” Magdalene said.
“I took the liberty of sending him a letter. I assume you’ve done the same.”
Her fingers laced over her heart. “We wrote him in care of the army as usual, but I don’t suppose that will get to him now.”
“It is hard to say,” Judah agreed. “I sent mine through a different channel. Perhaps one or both of the letters will reach him.”
“I’ve dreamed of opening the door one day and finding him on my doorstep, restored to us,” George said.
“It may happen,” Judah said. “How about Manfred? Is he in residence presently?”
George pulled out his flask. “Took himself off to Brighton directly after the funeral. Went to stay with some friends there. Seemed odd with the Season beginning.”
“He can cast off mourning in the south,” Miss Cross said, a decided edge in her tone.
“Youth,” George said, touching his black armband. “He does not understand what we have lost.”
“Captain, I should tell you that I think it will take me a little longer before I can return to work. We have much to do here before the children can come home.”
He nodded. “Take as much time as you need.”
“I thought another week, past this one. I absolutely plan to see you in the Square on the twenty-fourth of the month.”
“I shall tell Betsy.”
“Have Irene and Tom started to work in the Fancy?”
“On Monday, I believe.”
She licked her lips. He couldn’t help remembering their kisses. He shifted in his chair.
“Should I return sooner?”
“Of course not. You need to settle the house for the children. And hire the new servant you mentioned.”
Miss Cross gave him a grateful smile.
George turned his gaze to Judah as if he had not been paying any attention to the conversation. “We are planning to pick up the children on Monday next, Captain Shield. I wonder if you’d do us the honor of dining at our uncle’s home that night. Our family feels so strongly about the connection with you.”
Judah wondered if the earl was befriending him in the hopes of winning back Hatbrook’s regard, securing his sister’s hand in marriage to his second son, the Honorable Geoffrey Cander, perhaps, or his heir, Viscount Napsea. All this talk of marriage made him a bit nervous. He liked the girl, but she was an employee, after all.
However, he’d absolutely like to talk to some of the family, to hear the gossip about the Prince of Wales. “I would be pleased to accept.”
“Jolly good,” George said with a burst of enthusiasm. “I shall not keep you any longer.”
“Thank you for relaying the information about our brother,” Miss Cross said. Her gaze met his.
He thought she meant to convey some message, but wasn’t sure what it was. At least he would see her again soon.
On Friday evening, Judah was sitting in front of his fire when he heard a thumping at the door. As he set down his papers, his valet appeared.
“The Marquess of Hatbrook and Lady Elizabeth Shield are here to see you,” he announced.
Judah jumped to his feet. “They are? I was expecting a summons to appear at Hatbrook House.” Without instructing his valet, he rushed into the front hall.
Beth was all dimpled grin as she rushed into his arms. “I knew you’d be happy to see us!”
“Of course I am.” He set her at arm’s length and admired her fashionable black gown. “Aren’t you all grown up? But you could have sent me a note. I’d have come to Belgravia.”
“I wanted to see your cozy nest and understand why you would choose bachelor digs rather than stay at the mansion.” She glanced around the hall. “I do not know what I expected. Dancing girls? Purple velvet fainting couches and mysterious smoke drifting through the doors?”
“You’re confusing me with some ladies’ novel, I expect,” he said. “Penny, take the coats, if you will.”
His housemaid came into the hall and took the outerwear. Judah ordered tea and took them into the parlor.
Beth glanced around her, proclaiming everything full of charm. “Do you play?” she asked, pointing to the hired piano.
“No. The furnishings came with the house. You can try the instrument for me and see if it is any good.” He turned to light the fire.
Beth sat on the bench and lifted the keyboard cover. The familiar sound of a Mozart piece assaulted Judah’s ears with flat keys. He hoped his fire would be more successful than the music. His only callers before now were George and Manfred Cross a time or two when the weather had been much warmer.
“Stop that racket,” Hatbrook said, laughing. “A piano tuner must be called immediately.”
“I agree,” Judah said. “On my list.”
“Are you going to purchase your own furnishings?” Hatbrook asked, settling himself in an armchair.
“I haven’t thought to do so,” Judah admitted. “Seems like the duty of a wife, and I have no thought to marry.”
“You should.”
“Bah. I do not know what I have to offer a wife. My paternity—”
“Is irrelevant,” said Hatbrook. “You are my brother and that is good enough for most any woman, excepting a royal.”
Judah held back a smile. What would his brother say to his suspicions about his parentage? The parlor door opened and he looked up, hoping to see a decent presentation of tea and cakes, but instead, it was his valet again.
“Mr. Gawain Redcake to see you, Captain. Are you at home?”
“Yes, of course.”
The sergeant stepped into the small room a moment later, followed by the tea.
“You’ll have to tell me if the tea is any good, Beth,” he told his sister, who frowned at the piano as she tried each key. “I haven’t hosted a lady yet.”
“Ah, but we have a connoisseur,” Hatbrook said, nodding in return to Sergeant Redcake. “The importer himself has arrived.”
“How are you, Hatbrook?” the sergeant asked, shaking hands.
“Very well, Gawain. Have you come to sort my brother out about Redcake’s?”
The sergeant bowed to Beth, who smiled at him before returning to her keys. He stumped to the sofa. “Not at all. I came to offer my congratulations if you want them.”
“Good news?” Judah asked. “Beth, shouldn’t you pour the tea?”
She left the piano and took a chair next to Hatbrook. Judah noticed the sergeant watching her pour with an air of complete concentration.
“Sergeant?” he prodded.
“You should call me Gawain,” said the man absently. “We are related by marriage now.”
“I shall in future. What news?”
“Ah, that. As I expected, you were voted into the Euphonious Commerce Society yesterday. Are you going to become a member?”
“You’ve chosen a club without consulting me?” Hatbrook asked. “You know I could find you a place in one of mine.”
“This is a club for businessmen,” Judah said. “I fit right in.”
“I see.” Hatbrook’s face was impassive as he thanked Beth for his tea and slice of bread and butter.
“Where do you live, Gawain?” Beth asked.
“At the family home in Bristol,” he said, smiling at her.
Judah had never thought Gawain the type to smile, not since their acquaintance had been refreshed. His wounds had served to make him taciturn. But now he saw a toothy smile, a certain geniality of manner. Could Gawain have feelings for Beth?
Chapter Nine
J
udah wondered how his brother would feel if Gawain, his wife’s twin, asked for their sister’s hand. Gawain was rich, true, but Beth had an acceptable dowry for her station. There could be no doubt that she’d be marrying beneath her if she accepted him. Gawain, the son of a manufacturer, made no pretense of being a gentleman.
Hatbrook’s forehead creased, his gaze moving from Gawain to Beth to him. Judah had his answer. Hatbrook would not be pleased at the match. Gawain, insensible to the marquess’s irritation, enticed Beth to share her favorite piano pieces.
“I am sorry I cannot play you anything,” she said. “Judah’s instrument is in no condition for that. But you have heard me play before, I think.”
“No, I have not had that pleasure,” he said, leaning forward.
Hatbrook cleared his throat. “Alys is learning to play,” he announced.
“Speaking of my sister,” Gawain said, turning to Judah, “I wonder if I might trouble you and your brother for a private word?”
Beth pouted prettily, but before she could speak Gawain bowed his head in her direction. “I would not abandon such a charming lady, but the matter is a delicate one that requires speed.”
“I understand, of course,” she said.
Judah stood. “We shall leave you to the tea and go into the study for a moment.”
Hatbrook rose and the two men followed Judah up the creaking stairs to a spare room he had designated as his study.
“This is a cozy nook,” Hatbrook said, glancing around. “It must be a wonder to engage in creature comforts after so many years in India.”
Someone who had never been to India could not imagine the place properly. His brother’s guilt that he had been so far away from home was evident in letters he’d sent over the years. He had always wished Judah could have had a private income and a place in Society, seeming to forget Judah had entered the army long before Hatbrook’s father died. What else could he have done with no money and no education?
Judah invited them to sit and took his favorite tattered armchair. “A drink?” he offered, pointing to the decanter next to his chair. Upon both men refusing, he said, “This is the room I would refurbish first. As you can see, I simply appropriated bits of furniture from other rooms.”
Gawain sat on a faded red fainting couch and Hatbrook took a straight-backed chair.
“Now, what is this about?” Hatbrook asked, still a little cold.
“Theodore Bliven,” Gawain replied. “The seducer himself.”
Hatbrook rubbed at his temples as if the name brought on an instant headache.
“Have you located him?” Judah asked.
“Is he wed to that woman he claimed to be engaged to?” Hatbrook asked at the same time.
“Unwed and yes, he’s in Madras.”
“Should I go after him?” Gawain leaned forward, almost as if he wanted to perform a service for Hatbrook.
“For what purpose? To drag him back to marry Matilda?” Hatbrook said.
“If he isn’t married, why not?”
“I cannot imagine it would be a successful marriage. He’d probably live off her funds.”
“You cannot see the average marriage through the lens of your own happy union,” Gawain said. “Would not any husband for my sister be better than none?”
“You cannot go to India and be back before the child is born,” Hatbrook said. “You cannot even reach India in time.”
Gawain leaned back on the couch and used his arms to lift his bad leg onto it. “You are right, of course. I just wish I could do something. If he’d just gone to Scotland or somewhere like that, you’d have wanted me to go after him.”
“If he was in Scotland, he would know what has transpired by now,” Hatbrook told him. “As he insisted he was seduced, he may continue to feel an ungentlemanly lack of interest in the outcome.”
“You speak of my sister, my lord,” Gawain said.
“She is also my wife’s sister,” Hatbrook returned. “And a resident in my home. I cannot see any reason to pursue this subject further this evening. Beth is downstairs with no one to entertain her.” He stood.
Judah followed suit, with the sure knowledge that Gawain was deeply hurt by Hatbrook’s dismissal. Different classes had different expectations about behavior. Such misunderstandings were the outcome of unequal families coming together.
Judah stared across Earl Gerrick’s table very late Monday evening, wishing he had declined the invitation. The ton’s hours were the opposite of a working man’s. Miss Cross, seated next to him, still appeared quite fresh, though rather pale in her mourning gown, but she had not returned to work. One more week until they resumed their morning walks.
She caught his eye and he smiled at her. Her chin ducked down, as if for a moment she hadn’t recognized him, just seen him as some gentleman, but then she smiled back. He wondered what the countess had meant by seating them next to each other. Were they aware of the professional relationship? Or did they suspect him of some other interest in a hot-blooded Cross?
Society understood you did not have to marry a Scandalous Cross. You might, of course, but that ran you the risk of being cuckolded. Across the table, for instance, was the case in point—Lady Amelia March, the earl’s sister, who had been the Prince of Wales’s mistress at one time. He had learned that from the Cross brothers.
He regarded the lady, still rather slim and pretty though she must be nearly his mother’s age. Lady March, who had married a baronet after her affair had come to a close, turned from her dinner partner on the right to the man at her left, her gaze raking Judah’s as she did so.
He inclined his head, hoping to somehow convey the message that he’d like a word with her. Her slight smile indicated she understood him, though they were strangers.
An hour later, they were enjoying an intermission between an indifferent singer and an underfed poet, the evening’s entertainment, when Lady March came up to Miss Cross, who was at Judah’s side.
Her bustle twitched as she settled herself in front of her niece. “You must introduce me to this handsome young man, though of course I knew his mother well.”
“Please, Aunt, may I present Captain Shield,” Miss Cross said, then completed the formalities.
“I understand you have been speaking to your mother’s old friends,” Lady March said. “I believe I can count myself among them.”
“Then I am doubly happy to make your acquaintance, Lady March,” he said, bowing slightly.
“I also have been led to understand you all but recoil when called ‘Lord Judah’ these days,” she said, her shrewd gaze considering him.
“I am proud of my military title,” he said.
“Oh, I do not think that is the reason.” Her lips tilted upward in a private kind of smile. “I am guessing you have learned something about your mother.”
Miss Cross frowned and glanced at him. Judah felt torn, desperate to learn what the lady knew, but not sure he wanted Miss Cross mixed up in his business. Still, given that her family were notorious gossips, she would find out eventually.
“I understand you were a close friend of the Prince of Wales,” he said baldly.
Lady March nodded.
“My mother? Was she also a close friend of His Royal Highness?”
Her eyebrows rose and she smiled openly this time, delightedly. “My dear boy! Is that what is troubling you? Why dear Bertie didn’t even have close friends, as you say, until after you were born. No, I’m quite sure of that.”
Judah’s next breath stuck in his chest. He held himself rigid. “You don’t say.”
“Oh, I do. His mother did her best to marry him off right after Irish Nellie got her claws into him. I ought to know as I was next.” She tittered. “How very indiscreet I’m being, but you know it was a very long time ago.”
“The wine was a bit strong,” Miss Cross murmured, taking her aunt’s arm. “Why don’t we sit in the anteroom? I’m sure it is much cooler there.”
Judah was left to stare at their backs as the two women walked away. He could not help but note that Miss Cross had her aunt’s charming walk. What about Miss Cross? Was she as pure as she seemed?
She might have thought they had too much wine at dinner but he rather felt he’d had not nearly enough.
Magdalene helped her aunt sit down and found her a glass of lemonade. “What was that about?” she asked.
“I believe Captain Shield has discovered he was not the late marquess’s blood son,” Aunt Amelia said.
“Oh. How dreadful.” She seated herself next to her aunt on the settee. “Do you really think so?”
“I am very sure of it. What young man, when faced with the truth about his parent, would not at least hope he was the son of a member of the royal family? But no, I am sure that is not the case.”
She couldn’t help asking, “Then who do you think was his father?”
The older lady shrugged, a movement as graceful as any dancer’s. “I have no idea who he was, just who he was not. The prince held nothing from me when he was mine. We were terribly young then.”
“Did he love you?”
“I’m sure he did in his way. He was a bit backward and naive. All long ago.”
“And best forgotten?”
“Not at all. My memories are precious to me, and I harmed no one. I never had children who might be embarrassed.”
“Unlike Lady Hatbrook.”
“Quite. This is unfortunate. I hope his brother is standing by him.”
“As much as the captain allows.” Magdalene found she was gripping her skirts. “He is my friend, a very good friend to me, and to George. If you don’t mind I’d like to go to him.”
Aunt Amelia nodded graciously and Magdalene took her leave, swiftly walking back into the music room, but she could not find the captain. Had he left the party? She went into the corridor, opening doors because she was certain he would not have gone into the cold night, but didn’t spot him until she had reached the front hall.
He was speaking to a footman and she suspected he was asking that his coat and hat be fetched. She increased her speed and was breathless by the time she reached him.
She put her hand on his arm and drew him into an alcove. “Surely you cannot be leaving.”
His face was very stern. “I must be at Redcake’s early.”
“You only go there so early because of me,” she said. “I know you used to leave later until you were concerned for my safety.”
He said nothing, only put his hand over hers where it rested on his opposite arm. “Miss Cross.”
“Yes?” Without thinking, she went on her tiptoes, the better to see his face in the dim light. He was so very tall.
He bent his head to hers. “Now you know the truth about me, that I am a bastard, and yet you still come for me,” he murmured.
Before she could respond, his mouth found hers, hot and demanding. His body remained still, an inch from hers except where their hands met, but his lips, how they plundered, stealing her senses as thoroughly as they stole her breath.
The blood rushed from her brain, leaving her with nothing but a craving for the taste of him, the pressure of his mouth, the faint taste of wine on his tongue as it dipped into hers. Her free hand tangled itself in his lapels, slipped lower than it should until her fingers danced along his low-cut waistcoat. She felt the hard ridges of muscle under his shirt and her mouth opened further in a hot rush of pleasure at his strength.
His tongue took full possession, tangling with hers. She felt his hand in her hair, heard the small clatter of pins hitting the floor. Her breasts tingled where they made contact with his chest, her nipples tightening into hard peaks desperate for further sensation.
Giving in to the moment, she arched her neck. More pins fell and she felt a lock of her thick hair brush her cheek. The sensation shocked her into sense.
Her hand moved back up his chest and she pushed at him, stepping away. “Captain! We cannot keep doing this if I am going to be employed by you!”
“No?”
She could see his breathing was ragged, forced herself to keep her gaze on his face, not drift lower down and see if he was hot and bothered, like she was, below his waistcoat. “I cannot possibly work for a man who kisses me.”
“I am not your direct supervisor, nor indeed the owner of the establishment,” he countered.
“You are still in authority over me.” She pushed at her hair, knowing there would be no hiding what she’d been up to if anyone saw her.
“I am not demanding you kiss me as a part of your position.” He knelt before her.
“Captain Shield!” What was he going to do? Propose? Her heart skipped a beat and she took a deep, involuntary breath as black spots danced before her eyes.
He grinned then, the expression so alluring that she felt moisture dampen her thighs. Heavens, but he was a rake. And she, a Scandalous Cross who could fall so easily.
Her spine straightened and her nose lifted, even as her knees quavered and her female parts hummed with expectation. She clasped her hands in front of her breasts.
He picked up the pins that lay on the floor and handed them to her. “I will see you at Nelson’s Column next Monday, Miss Cross,” he said.
Footsteps sounded on the marble floor behind them and a footman called for the captain.
“I am off to bed,” the captain said. Then after a pause, he continued, “Alone, unfortunately.”
With that, he turned away, striding confidently like the military man he was, but with just a hint of boyish swagger that she, disgustedly, recognized from her brother, Manfred, when he was pleased with one of his conquests.
She was no conquest to be swaggered about, and tomorrow, she resolved, no matter how impertinent, she would tell him so. How could he leave her so wanting . . . so . . . disappointed and empty? Continuing on like this would be unbearable.
Magdalene persuaded George the boys would be better behaved if they had some of Redcake’s petits fours, and that they weren’t too dear since she received a discount now. Early the next afternoon she had dodged omnibuses, carriages, and carts in the rain to go there. When she went up the steps to the offices in her wet, dragging mourning skirts, she felt like an interloper, an outsider, and hated the feeling. She wanted to be back here, not sitting at home staring at the walls. Nancy’s things had all been sorted, given to servants or friends, or removed to the rag basket when necessary. The children would be home tomorrow.