Adam didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing. Or, rather, he knew exactly why he was doing it. He just couldn’t believe he was actually going through with it.
His duty was to the Crown. The army had saved him, had fed him, had trained him. He’d transferred his allegiance from the army to the War Office and it was as strong as ever.
Yet he was skirting dangerously close to violating his duty at the moment.
He wasn’t sure that he had a clear picture about anything, and that lack of understanding made him both frustrated and angry. It wasn’t just seeing Hackney at the War Office. It was Roger putting a second operative at Marsley House. It was the sensation he’d always had that he was being manipulated.
What the hell had Hackney been doing in Roger’s office? Why had Roger been entertaining a wealthy former East India Company director?
Had Hackney always known who Adam was? The look on the older man’s face had been one of surprise, so it was possible he hadn’t.
The one thing Adam was certain of in this entire fiasco was that he wanted to tell Suzanne who he was before Hackney had a chance to mention their encounter this morning. He didn’t want her to think that he’d violated her trust or taken advantage of her. Although how she could think anything else, he didn’t know.
The truth was always best. He would just have to tell her who he was and let fate decide what happened after that.
He gave the driver the address to his lodgings, normally twenty minutes away in good traffic. It took them twice as long to reach the house he’d considered home for the past six and a half years.
He and Suzanne talked of inconsequential things, like the weather or the new maids at Marsley House. Both of them were settling in well and performing their tasks admirably. In fact, Mrs. Thigpen had asked if there was any way that the two girls could come back to work after the birth of their children.
“What do you think?” he asked now, desperate for any subject other than why he was taking her away from Marsley House. If he began his explanation too soon, she could easily command the driver to turn the carriage around and take her home.
“I think it would be a wonderful idea. And the babies can come and stay, too.”
He glanced at her in surprise.
“We’ve all those rooms, Adam. It seems to me that the infants would be better there than at the Institute or the Foundling Hospital. The girls don’t seem willing to abandon their children, thank heavens. Their babies need to be somewhere safe, just like them.”
She stared up at the ceiling of the carriage. “We could turn one of the rooms on the third floor into a nursery. Maybe Mrs. Armbruster knows of a young girl who could come and watch the babies during the day.”
“You realize that the girls are unwed?”
For the first time since he’d spirited her away from Marsley House, she looked annoyed.
“And they’re women of ill repute, little more than prostitutes, isn’t that what people say? Harlots.” She shook her head. “If you ask either of them, Adam, they were in love. They made a mistake, true, but must they be severely punished for it?”
She stared out at the street a moment before returning her gaze to him. “And another thing. Where are the men? Where are the men that they fell in love with? Have you noticed that they’re nowhere around? Nor does the law compel them to provide for their children.”
Only one time had he seen her so fierce and that’s when she’d fired Ella.
“Tell me about the Foundling Hospital,” he said. “And the Institute.”
She frowned at him. “Are you really interested?”
He nodded.
“It’s Mrs. Armbruster’s project. Hers and her husband. She didn’t say, but I suspect that their efforts began in the church. A great many charities are run by the church for sinners. Only you can’t be too much of a sinner.”
That comment surprised him, but he didn’t speak.
“You can be a fallen woman, but if you also have an illegitimate child, there aren’t many places where you can get help. People like the Armbrusters step in and offer a solution. Otherwise, these poor girls would have nowhere to go. They would be living on the streets with their children.” She leaned back against the seat. “It’s not an ideal situation,” she added, describing the layout of the Institute and the Foundling Hospital. “But at least those poor babies aren’t doomed to die a terrible death.”
He suddenly understood why she was more than willing to open up Marsley House to the two girls and their infants. Her need to help, to rescue those girls, had at its roots her inability to have prevented Georgie’s death.
The carriage slowed. A glance out the window showed him that they were in Pimlico and nearing his lodgings.
He hadn’t seen Mrs. Ross since he’d brought the kitten to her. The kitten, strangely enough, was the first to greet him when he jumped down from the carriage and held out his hand to help Suzanne.
The kitten jumped from an overhanging branch to land on the top of the carriage roof. He gave Adam a quick once-over, then calmly settled in to wash himself.
Adam chuckled.
“A friend of yours?” Suzanne asked, smiling up at the kitten.
“I’d say he was a friend of yours,” he corrected her. “I found him at Marsley House. Outside your bedroom window, as a matter of fact.”
“And you brought him here?” she asked, looking up and down the avenue.
“It’s where I live.”
On one side, terraced houses lined the street, the hedges pruned to militaristic precision in front of each home. Steeply pitched slate roofs sheltered each identical-looking house, the bay windows acting like eyes on their neighbors. On the other side of the street sat detached houses, one of which belonged to Mrs. Ross. The white stucco structure had been built only twenty years ago when her husband died.
“I lost a husband and gained a house,” she was fond of saying.
The residence, with its four classical columns, was a sprawling structure consisting of four floors and a substantial basement. His lodgings opened up to the garden, an overgrown hodgepodge of colorful blooms and out-of-control greenery. When he’d first seen it, Adam had smiled, realizing that Mrs. Ross’s garden represented England to him. An England that had remained the same for centuries and would likely resist change.
He offered Suzanne his arm and they proceeded up the curved walk. Mrs. Ross, who had acute hearing, opened the front door, smiling a greeting.
“Mr. Drummond, how lovely to see you again.”
She looked from him to Suzanne, an expectant expression on her face and curiosity in her eyes. He glanced at Suzanne, then at his landlady.
“Mrs. Ross, I’d like you to meet Suzanne Hackney. My cousin.”
Both women looked at him.
“Your cousin?” Mrs. Ross said. “I thought you had no family in London, Mr. Drummond.”
“I’ve only recently returned,” Suzanne said. “I was living in Sussex.”
At least she’d managed not to lie on that point, which was more than he could say for himself.
He’d known that he’d have to appease Mrs. Ross. He hadn’t planned on lying to her, but at the last moment he hadn’t been willing to divulge Suzanne’s identity. Mrs. Ross was not above a little gossip over the hedges. What he didn’t want was for Suzanne to be the topic of the week.
“Then welcome, Miss Hackney. Any family member of Mr. Drummond’s is welcome here,” Mrs. Ross said, turning and holding the door open.
“Actually, it’s Mrs.,” Suzanne said as Adam stepped aside and let Suzanne precede him inside the house.
As usual, it smelled of cinnamon and oranges and something else that reminded him of pepper. He’d rarely tasted Mrs. Ross’s cooking, preferring to do for himself, but occasionally he’d shared meals with the other two lodgers. After the first experience, he’d learned to decline a meal whenever Mrs. Ross was making something fancy. She was good with roasts and fish but tended to odd flavors in her stews and casseroles.
“I noticed the kitten outside,” he said.
“The best mouser I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Ross replied, straightening her apron. “Can I do anything for you, Mr. Drummond? Or your cousin?”
“We don’t require anything, Mrs. Ross, but thank you.”
“You’ll let me know?”
He smiled. “Indeed I will.”
He led the way down the hallway, turned to the left, and inserted his key in the lock. Mrs. Ross stood behind them, even as he put his hand on the small of Suzanne’s back and urged her inside.
Once more he turned to his landlady and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Ross.”
“Mr. Drummond,” she said, nodding.
She glanced once more at Suzanne, taking in her black silk dress.
He closed the door in his landlady’s face, wondering how long she was going to remain in the hall.
Moving into the sitting room he stood in front of the now cold fireplace. The day wasn’t chilly enough to build a fire. Yet it would have given him something to do rather than stand here and wonder how to begin this conversation.
“Why did you lie?” he asked, removing his coat and tossing it onto the back of the chair.
“Why did you?” she said when he took her cloak from her and placed it beside his coat.
Time had run out. He needed to tell her the truth now.
Suzanne walked slowly into the room, looking around. The rebels had burned everything they’d owned at Manipora. There was nothing of his life with Rebecca here. No traces of his life in India or anything to indicate that he’d spent a substantial amount of his life there.
Instead, the room was furnished with Mrs. Ross’s castoffs: a comfortable sofa upholstered in a faded blue fabric, a chair with a flower print beside the fire, two tables, each equipped with a lamp. A few bits of statuary, a faded blue-and-red carpet on the wood floor. Shabby yet welcoming. Nothing pretentious or costing a fortune, just a few places to sit and talk or read.
He had arrived back in England with a valise and two changes of clothing. That’s all. He’d acquired some additional clothes, but he hadn’t made any substantial purchases for his rooms. Without much effort he could walk out the door and leave little trace of himself behind.
He glanced toward her, then away. The moment the words were spoken, things would change between them. The friendship that had grown in the past few weeks, the easy camaraderie they enjoyed, all that would vanish.
He’d be left only with the longing.