Rogue's Honor (37 page)

These and other questions hammered so
persistently at her brain that it was all she could do to keep up
her role as Lady Bountiful among the prisoners. The masses of
clothing she had brought were distributed, she gave what she hoped
were appropriately rallying speeches to two groups of women
prisoners, and finally felt she could reasonably leave.

"I have your word, Mr. Werner, that the
quality of the food will be investigated?" she asked the gaoler as
they made their way back into the noon sunshine.

"Of course, my lady. And the overcrowding, as
well. If you could prevail upon your esteemed father to influence
Parliament to set aside funds for a larger facility . . ."

"Yes, I certainly will," she agreed. "And
now, I have other work to do." Glancing up and down Ludgate Hill as
she climbed into her carriage, she saw no sign of any disturbance,
and hoped that meant Luke had escaped cleanly with Flute. Bidding a
dignified good day to the turnkey and the rest of her temporary
entourage, she signaled the coachman to whip up the horses.

Pearl's apprehensions lasted until
mid-afternoon, when she received a scrap of paper, brought to the
house, so the footman said, by a filthy street urchin. On it was
scrawled but one word and an initial, but it was enough to relieve
her mind:

Success.—L

She tucked the paper into her bodice just
before her stepmother returned to the parlor, her afternoon
conference with the housekeeper concluded.

Pearl still had countless questions she
wanted to ask Luke, about today, tomorrow, and the future— Flute's
and theirs— but for now she tried to be content. Still, needlework
had never seemed so dreary. She was about excuse herself, intending
to retire to her books in hopes of more effective distraction, when
a visitor was announced.

"Why, Lord Bellowsworth!" the Duchess
exclaimed as he entered. "I vow, we had nearly despaired of seeing
you again, it's been so long. I assume it was some urgent business
which has kept you away from us?"

"My apologies, your grace," he replied with a
bow. "I have been extremely busy, yes." He sat in the chair she
indicated and answered a few more questions rather absently, then
turned to Pearl.

"I was hoping that you might consent to step
out with me my lady— perhaps into the gardens? We could . . .
talk."

Obelia answered for Pearl. "Yes, you two
young people run along. I'm certain you have much to say to each
other after several days apart."

Pearl rose obediently. "Certainly, my lord."
Though not particularly eager for a private conference with Lord
Bellowsworth, it would be preferable to stilted, empty chatter —or
worse— in her stepmother's presence.

They passed through the house in silence, out
to the formal rose gardens behind. The blooms, nearing their peak,
filled the air with fragrance as they traversed the graveled path.
When they reached the wooden bench beneath the arbor, Lord
Bellowsworth finally spoke.

"I had hoped to receive word from you before
this, my lady, putting an end to our betrothal. Under the
circumstances, I cannot imagine why you have not done so."

Though he spoke stiffly, Pearl understood
that he was hurt by her faithlessness and felt a pang of guilt.
Pompous and boring he might be, but none of this was his fault.
While she was quite certain he had never truly loved her,
discovering that she preferred another must have been a blow to his
pride, no small thing for a man to absorb.

"My lord, I owe you the deepest of
apologies," she said sincerely. "It was never my intent to deceive
or dishonor you, but the Duchess—"

"Would not allow you to cry off?" he asked,
his frown lightening with sympathy.

She nodded, trying to frame the words that
must be spoken. "I realize, however, that her feelings are of no
consequence —nor even my father's. I had no right to leave you
dangling in this way."

To her surprise, he took her hand in his.
"Lady Pearl, if your esteemed parents insist, I am yet willing to
marry you, if you can but assure me that you are virtuous. Lord
Hardwyck is not the sort— That is, I have reason to believe—"

"I love him, my lord," she said simply,
stopping him mid-sentence.

His eyes widened. "But you scarcely know the
fellow! You can't possibly know—"

"I know enough." Pearl sat down on the bench,
and reluctantly he sat beside her.

She continued, "I confess I had a
tendre
for him before I knew anything about his title, but I
did not believe my feelings were returned." That was close enough
to the truth to cause her only the slightest of qualms.

"I understood from the start that you
accepted my suit out of obedience to your parents, but if you cared
for another—" he still seemed unconvinced.

"My stepmother —the Duchess —can be most
persuasive." There was no need for him to know what weapon she had
used for that persuasion.

Now he nodded in understanding. "Yes, I have
noticed that myself —as persuasive in her way as my own mother. If
your obedience went so counter to your own inclinations, however,
your agreement, though admirable, was perhaps unwise."

Pearl blinked at him in surprise. Was he
attempting to be humorous? But no, he appeared completely
serious.

"Yes, I know that now," she admitted with
equal seriousness. "Once I learned that Lord Hardwyck did indeed
return my affection, I should have cried off at once. I will do so
now, of course. Then you need not fight him."

She expected him to exhibit relief, but
instead he rose and began to pace. "It is too late for that, I
fear. Everything is arranged." After another moment, he turned to
face her. "He has duped you, my lady, as he has duped us all. I had
hoped not to be the one to tell you this, but Lord Hardwyck has
been involved in . . . illegal activities."

Pearl faced him steadily. "I know," she said
quietly.

He stared. "You know? And yet you claim to
love the fellow?"

"He has reformed." She spoke earnestly,
determined to convince him. "He made some unwise choices, yes, but
purely from necessity. Now he has no further need to do so. He was
only forced into such circumstances through his uncle's
villainy."

Bellowsworth started. "His uncle?"

"It is not generally known, but the man we
all knew as Lord Hardwyck achieved that title through the murder of
his brother and the attempted murder of his nephew —the present
Lord Hardwyck. Only through the cleverness of his mother did he
escape into hiding."

Horror replaced surprise. "Surely not, my
lady! The man who moved among us for so many years, a pillar of
Society, a murderer? If true, how could such a thing have been kept
quiet?"

"The Prince Regent wished it," she responded.
"You may ask my father about the truth of it, however, for he is
familiar with all of the particulars, as am I."

Now Bellowsworth began to pace again. "Oh my.
Oh dear. This is dreadful news, simply dreadful. I should have
known something was wrong. And now you say you love the fellow." As
she watched, he grew more and more agitated, muttering to himself
and wringing his hands.

"My lord, what are you going on about? Why is
this news so particularly dreadful now? It all happened more than
twenty years ago."

He stopped then, and met her eyes, his own
filled with misery. "Knox— Lord Hardwyck's uncle —is here in Town.
It . . . it is he who told me Lord Hardwyck was a thief —in fact,
the notorious Saint of Seven Dials."

Pearl felt a cold knot begin to form in her
stomach, but retained enough of her wits to say, "How preposterous!
But you say he is in Town? Now?" That explained Flute's arrest, and
the trap laid for Luke, she had no doubt. Bellowsworth's next words
confirmed her suspicion.

"He meant to have him arrested before the
duel— that is why the meeting was not scheduled until tomorrow. But
he now has told me that I must meet him after all. That he has an
alternate plan to bring him to justice." He began wringing his
hands again.

"What plan? Tell me, my lord, quickly."

Her urgency seemed to help him to focus.
Seating himself again, he explained. "He . . . he told me that I
need merely make it look good— that I should aim at him, but miss
my shot. Not that that will be difficult, as I have never been much
of a marksman."

"But he has promised you that Luke . . . Lord
Hardwyck will not shoot you?" Pearl had to fight the urge to run to
Luke instantly to warn him— but first she needed to know all.

"Yes. He said his pistol would be rendered
inoperable. That is to be merely a safeguard, however, for he
expects that the authorities will arrive to take him into custody
before either of us can fire."

Pearl frowned. "Did he say how he intended to
tamper with Lord Hardwyck's pistol?"

"No. But as I said, he claimed it would not
matter —that things would not get that far. Do . . . do you think
he has not told me all?"

"I think it distinctly likely that he has not
told you all," she said, "but I thank you for telling me what you
have. I hope to be able to use the information to avert a
tragedy."

She rose abruptly. "I will tell my father
that our betrothal is at an end, my lord, as I have promised." Her
mind, however, was focused on Luke and how she might warn him.

"Of . . . of course, my lady," he said,
standing hastily. "Mother will be pleased —er, that is . . . If
there is anything—"

Pearl managed a smile of reasonable
sincerity. "Thank you, but I believe I can handle it myself. I give
you good day, my lord."

Leaving him to find his own way out, she
walked quickly back into the house and directly up to her own
chambers. Ringing for Hettie, she sat down to compose a letter to
Luke. Hettie appeared, and Pearl motioned her to wait while she
continued writing. A few moments later, she sanded and sealed the
letter and handed it to her maid.

"See that Lord Hardwyck receives this," she
said. "It is to be delivered into his own hand and none other. I
wish to be informed as soon as it is accomplished, and to be
brought any reply he may wish to send."

"Yes, my lady." Hettie took the letter and
hurried out. Five minutes later she returned to say that John had
left with the letter, and would report back directly.

"Thank you, Hettie. Is my father at home?"
Now that the most pressing task was done, she might as well fulfill
her promise to Bellowsworth and officially end their betrothal.

"I don't believe so, my lady, but I will
inquire." When she returned again, it was with the news that the
Duke was from home.

Pearl preferred to present her broken
betrothal to her stepmother as an accomplished fact once she had
spoken with her father, so she settled down with a book to await
both the Duke's return and Luke's reply to her warning.

* * *

"You should be safe enough here," Luke
informed Flute as they drove up to the door of Knoll Grange, one of
the smaller Hardwyck properties, only two hours' drive from London.
"I may as well introduce myself to the staff here, in any
event."

Flute clambered out of the carriage and
looked around with wide eyes. "Is this the only house hereabouts,
sir?"

"For a mile or more, yes, unless you count
the farm buildings," said Luke with a smile. "Down you come, Argos!
You should enjoy all of this space, even if Flute finds it
oppressive."

"Op . . . If that's a bad thing, then no I
don't, sir. I've just never seen so much of it in one place before,
is all."

Luke stepped up to the door, but before he
could knock it was opened by a stout, motherly-looking woman in a
cap and apron. "Mrs. Meecham?" he guessed, remembering the name of
the housekeeper for the Grange.

"Aye," she responded in a thick Scottish
brogue, her eyes shrewd and appraising. "Be you t' new master? I
see the Hardwyck crest on your carriage. I dinna know you were
coming, or I'd ha' prepared rooms and ordered up a fowl or two for
dinner."

"No need, nor are any apologies necessary. I
won't be staying. However, this lad will. His name is Flute, and
I'd like you to create a position for him here. He's been training
as my valet in Town, but he's up to most tasks, I've found."

She regarded the boy appraisingly, a smile
beginning to soften the severe line of her mouth. "Aye, we can find
summat for him to do, milord. Come in, come in, both of ye." Gray
eyes now twinkling, she swung the door wide for them to enter.

His uncle, Luke soon discovered, had rarely
visited this property, spending most of his time in London or at
the main Hardwyck estate in the North. The staff was therefore
small, consisting only of the housekeeper, two maids, a cook, and
one manservant.

The house, as its name implied, sat atop a
small hill, with a pleasant prospect of the surrounding
countryside. Luke could not imagine preferring the crowds and fogs
of London to this, now that he'd seen it. What must Knox Abbey be
like? He would find out as soon as everything was settled, he
decided.

He spent an hour or two touring the house and
surrounding farms, saw Flute installed in a comfortable room and
Argos happily tussling with the farm dogs, then had a quick supper
before heading back to Town.

"I'll return when I can," he promised his
erstwhile valet. "If all goes as I hope, I'll be able to bring you
back with me before long."

"No hurry, my lord," replied Flute with a
grin, mopping up the last drops of a bowl of hearty country stew
with a slice of the cook's delicious brown bread. "I'll be fine
here."

Secure in the knowledge that Flute would be
safe— and very well fed— Luke headed back to London, his heart
lighter than it had been in days, despite the fact that he still
faced pistols at dawn. It was nearly midnight when he reached the
city, but he directed his coachman to stop at Lord Marcus'
residence before returning to Hardwyck Hall.