“Men are stubborn creatures who make unilateral decisions they claim are for the best—which means, the best for them. I will wager that for every time a man says something is ‘for the best,’ you will find a better solution. Then make him think the new solution is of his own making, and you will have much more successful results.”
A LADY’S GUIDE TO PROPER BEHAVIOR, 2ND EDITION
Tom hadn’t been happy to be roused from sleep well after midnight and sent to saddle Meru, but if Sommerset was feeling secretive, Bartholomew had no intention of hiring hacks and attracting attention both by his limp and his person if the rumors had begun to spread outside the circles of the ton.
The leather cuff he tied around his leg wasn’t the most fashionable accessory, but he’d never much cared about that. And the support it provided more than made up for the wrinkling of his trousers. Of more interest was the way the binding didn’t hurt quite as much as it had the last time he’d worn it, and the way he had to lash it tighter. That meant both that the swelling in his knee had gone down, and that the break was beginning to heal.
In his imagination, it meant that perhaps one day he might be able to walk normally again, and that sometime in the unforeseeable future he might be able to waltz with his wife. His wife. He couldn’t quite believe that she’d said yes. He hadn’t even planned to ask her until he’d resolved this damned mess, but out in that garden with her dressed all in emerald and her eyes shining like twin stars, he hadn’t been able to resist. And she’d said yes.
Most of the ton’s parties were ending at this hour, and the street rang with the sound of hooves and tack and carriage wheels. Bartholomew took a deep breath. Since he’d returned home to James House, the only time he’d ever been truly alone was when he’d been asleep—and he hadn’t been alone there since India and the nightmares he’d brought back with him, so that hardly counted.
In all that time, though, he’d felt alone no matter who surrounded him—unless it was Theresa. During the mess he’d made in India and the careless way he lived his life before that, he must have done at least one good thing. Otherwise he couldn’t explain why he deserved her.
Sommerset must have alerted his stable that a guest would be arriving, because Harlow came jogging around to the front of the house the moment Meru set hoof on the front drive. “Colonel,” the groom said, moving around to take Tolly’s weight as he stepped to the ground.
Bartholomew, though, waved him back. “I’ll give it a try,” he said, swinging down right leg first. Thankfully Meru knew by now to tolerate all sorts of nonsense, and the gelding didn’t even flinch as he grabbed onto the cantle to steady himself. By God. He made it to the ground and onto his feet by himself, for the first time in nearly a year.
“Well done, sir,” the groom said, grinning.
Tolly inclined his head as he freed his cane from its restraining straps. “Thank you.”
He considered pounding on Sommerset’s front door, because this time his business concerned the man rather than his Adventurers’ Club. But the duke also represented his best chance at finding a fellow survivor. Angering him for no damned reason other than contrariness didn’t strike him as being very wise. And he was attempting to be wise. Wiser.
Pulling the club key from his pocket, he limped to the half-hidden door and let himself inside. It was crowded tonight; nine men sat about the room, four of them at the same table and playing faro. “Welcome back, Colonel,” Gibbs said, coming forward. “A drink?”
“No, thank you. Where’s Sommerset?”
“He’ll be down in a moment. You might wish to go have a seat by the inner door.”
The inner door. The one that led into Ainsley House proper and out of the Adventurers’ Club. He hadn’t been inside the duke’s private residence since the day he’d been invited to join Sommerset’s odd little mix of outcasts. With a brief nod to the footman, he limped across the room.
“In the nine months since Sommerset began this,” damned Easton’s voice came from one of the tables, “not a one of us has been asked to leave the club. What do you think of that, Colonel?”
Bartholomew ignored him. This place had helped keep him alive when he’d first returned to London, and it would be worse than a shame if the duke decided he didn’t deserve to take his ease behind its walls any longer. But at the same time, he had other concerns, and he couldn’t turn from the path he’d chosen without losing something. He might lose it all anyway, but he’d discovered a reason to take a chance.
The inner door opened. The Duke of Sommerset stood there, taking in the occupants of the room. Then he angled his head toward the inside of the house. “In here,” he said, barely sparing Bartholomew a glance.
“Goodbye, Colonel James!” Easton called, chuckling.
“Sapskull,” Sommerset muttered, closing and locking the door once Tolly limped through it.
Bartholomew took a breath, reminding himself to keep his temper in check. “Thank you for agreeing to see me to—”
“Do you think I meant to give you my word and then do nothing?” the duke interrupted.
“It had occurred to me that you might have stronger ties to the East India Company than to a troublesome member of your club.”
The duke glared at him. “‘Troublesome’ is a damned good description. I knew how much money this could potentially cost me before I made the offer to assist you. Now stop impugning my honor and sit down before you fall down,” he said, leading the way past the stairs and into a small sitting room.
“Does all that mean you have information for me?” Bartholomew asked.
“Have some bloody patience, will you?” Sommerset snapped.
“I was called a coward by General Mayhew this evening. It made me angry.”
“Mayhew’s a fool,” another male voice stated.
At the sound of an additional speaker, Tolly looked toward the back of the room. “Ross,” he exclaimed, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
Major-General Anthony Ross stood at the far side of the fireplace, his expression supremely somber. “Tolly.”
Ironic as it seemed that Bartholomew wore his uniform while the serving officer was in dark civilian clothes, under the circumstances it wasn’t that surprising. “You’re Sommerset’s source at the Horse Guards?” Tolly asked aloud.
“I am no one’s damned spy,” Ross snapped. “I tried to call on you days ago. You wouldn’t see me.”
“I—”
“After the report became public, I couldn’t very well go looking for you. When Sommerset mentioned his friendship with you, I asked him to set up a discreet meeting.”
Tolly finally took a seat in one of the sitting room’s comfortable chairs. “I apologize, Anthony. I haven’t been very social since my return.”
Ross cleared his throat. “Understandable. But you saved my skin in Belgium, and I wanted to repay the debt. It’s too late now to warn you about the East India Company’s report, but I can at least tell you that Hadderly consulted with the Horse Guards before publishing. You are the only known English survivor of a reputed Thuggee attack. Don’t look for allies at the War Office, Tolly. We’ve been warned against aiding you.”
For a long moment, Tolly looked at him. “Why? I’ve served honorably for ten years.”
“Because there is a shortage of wars at the moment,” Sommerset put in, leaning on his elbows over the back of a chair. “In order to keep itself financially and politically…useful, the army has to ally itself with the Company. It’s business, Tolly. But I wanted you to hear it from Major-General Ross, since you seem to think I have ulterior motives.”
“I owe you an apology as well, Your Grace.”
“Yes, you do. I would have been rather surprised—and disappointed—however, if you weren’t suspicious of everyone.”
Apparently the circle of people he trusted was beginning to grow again despite everything that had happened. And for that he owed Theresa another debt of gratitude. “Then what do you suggest I do now, Your Grace?”
“Talk to the army. Persuade them that their soldiers knowing about the Thuggee threat is vital to continued commerce in India. They may not do anything publicly, but within the ranks it may save lives.”
“But not my reputation.” And he needed his reputation in order to enable him to marry Theresa.
“The Company will never admit to a danger they can’t control. They would lose millions of pounds. Compared with that, a few dozen soldiers and a few hundred natives disappearing now and then is justifiable.” The duke glanced at Ross, who looked grimmer by the moment. “In my opinion, the best you can hope for is convincing the Horse Guards and then going north for a few months until the next scandal erupts in Town.”
“And stop wearing your uniform,” the major-general added. “Because while I believe you, a great many of my fellows prefer to believe the Company, and they find you genuinely…offensive.”
“I actually don’t care if the commanders who are deserting me are offended by my actions. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t think you have a choice.”
“I am engaged,” Bartholomew said stiffly. “And I expect you to keep that to yourselves, the same way I’m keeping your…assistance to myself. But I’m not about to drag her into disgrace.”
Sommerset gazed at him speculatively. “The chit who had you thinking about dancing?”
“Yes.”
“Damn.”
The duke spoke so quietly that Tolly wasn’t certain he was meant to hear the curse. But he did, and he knew what it meant. Sommerset saw no way around this. In order for the East India Company to remain successful in India, any stories of the Thuggee needed to be suppressed. And while he might have some success in convincing the army to at least keep their soldiers informed, none of that would be public knowledge. People would continue to vanish, and his reputation would remain where it was—damaged and crumbling further as his leg healed and he lost what sympathy his injury gained him.
He cleared his throat. “Someone suggested that I write a memoir of my experiences in India.”
Sommerset paused, then took a seat. “A memoir with the idea of publication.”
“Yes.”
“You would be denting a great many pocketbooks. Including mine.”
“And my word as a senior officer with the War Office, Ross put in.”
Bartholomew let the hard jolt of tension flow into his shoulders. He couldn’t outrun anyone, but he had a very hard cane in his hand, and he knew how to use it—and the rapier hidden inside it. “Is that going to be a problem?” he asked slowly.
The duke looked away for a moment, clearly running scenarios through his head. “No,” he said finally. “Not from me.”
Ross shook his head. “I had friends in your unit as well, Tolly. They shouldn’t be forgotten.”
“But I suggest you do this secretly,” Sommerset continued. “And quickly. The longer it takes, the more likely someone who isn’t willing to sit by is to discover it. And by that I mean anyone with ties to the Company. Which might be almost anyone, these days.”
“Danger doesn’t precisely trouble me.” Bartholomew stood, keeping his weight balanced just on the chance that one of the men wasn’t as accepting of this plan as he pretended.
“Whose idea was this? Do you trust him?”
“Her. Yes. I trust her.”
The duke stood as well. “Wait here a moment, Ross. I don’t want to risk you two being seen together.” He opened the door and led Tolly back toward the club entrance. “Let me know when you think it’s ready to be looked at. Several other club members have been published, and I know one or two honest publishers who won’t sell your information to the East India Company.” He stopped, blocking the way. “You may be comfortable with danger, Tolly, but there are those around you who aren’t.”
“I’ll manage.” When he straightened, he and Sommerset were eye to eye. “I saved Ross’s life. He owes me a good turn. But I’m trusting you, Sommerset. And in the past trusting people hasn’t done me well. If I see trouble and it looks like it’s come from here, I won’t wait for an explanation.”
“Generally people don’t threaten me in my own home, Colonel.” The duke unlocked the door. “Under the circumstances, I’ll let it go. Yes, some of my wealth comes from the East India Company. Not all of it. And not enough for me to harm someone I consider a friend.” He offered his hand.
Bartholomew hesitated, then shook hands with the duke. The man had already saved his life, and his leg. He hoped he’d become a better judge of character in the past year, because yes, he did consider Nicholas Ainsley, the Duke of Sommerset, a friend. And the duke had already described himself as such to Ross.
“Contact me if you need assistance. But do it discreetly.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And keep Miss Weller close; she seems to have some rather brilliant ideas.”
Of course if anyone knew which lady had caught his eye it would be Sommerset; he rarely seemed to miss anything. “I intend to.”
“Can’t we go home now, miss?” Sally asked, bundling herself tighter in her shawl.
Theresa kept her steady gaze out the hack’s window. “Not until Colonel James reappears,” she said.
They’d been stopped just down the street from Ainsley House for nearly thirty minutes. Whatever his business there, and she suspected that the Duke of Sommerset must be his secret contact, he hadn’t used the front entrance. Rather, he’d disappeared through a door halfway down the front of the house and well hidden by an archway covered with vines.
It was definitely peculiar. And now that she had an additional reason to worry over Tolly, she was very glad she hadn’t stayed at home and waited to see what might come of tomorrow. And if she didn’t see Colonel James reappear in the next twenty minutes, she was going in after him.
He could escape this, if he wanted to. He could leave the country, or go somewhere far from London where no one had heard of the Thuggee or his service in India. But he would go a disgraced man, and he could never return without being seen as the same. Bartholomew could do that, and could more than likely live with the consequences. But he wouldn’t. And that was because of her.
“Miss Tess, it’s very late,” Sally muttered miserably. “If anyone in the household was to wake and see you gone, there would be the devil to pay.”
“Hush, Sally. If everything goes as it should, we’ll be home again without ever having left the hack, and no one the wiser.”
“Colonel James will not like you spying on him, you know.”
“Colonel James will never know that I’m spying on him,” she retorted in a low voice. “And I’m only making certain he’s safe.”
A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself riding about Mayfair in the middle of the night. She wouldn’t have been able to imagine any reason dire enough to justify such a breach of propriety. Now, though, she was beginning to wish she’d left Sally at home so that she could perhaps attract Tolly’s attention and they could find a way to sneak him into her house, or her into his. It didn’t matter, as long as she had another chance to be alone and naked with him.
Finally Tolly reappeared, collecting his lovely gray gelding Meru from a waiting groom and swinging back into the saddle. It was far too dim to make out his expression, but at least he seemed well and whole—or as whole as he’d been when he’d gone inside.
“Duck,” she whispered, pulling Sally down beside her to the rather sticky floor of the hack.
A moment later someone knocked high up on the hack’s door. “I can see you down there, you know,” Tolly’s voice came.
She straightened. From the back of his horse Tolly sat looking in at her. Now she could read his expression—but she still wasn’t certain whether he was amused or annoyed. “Hello,” she ventured.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded, keeping his voice low and sending a glare at the driver when he started mumbling something.
“You said you were going out to meet someone in secret. I was worried.”
“So you came out here to protect me.”
“Well, yes.”
Tolly leaned sideways, grasping the bottom of the hack’s open window with one hand. “Come here.”
Theresa scooted up against the door, covering his hand with hers. She stood, leaning into the opening to kiss him. Warmth crashed through her again, dispelling the evening’s chill with one hard beat of her heart.
Sally gasped. “Miss Tess! You can’t!”
Slowly Theresa straightened again. “That was nice.”
“Only nice? I’ll have to work harder next time.” He glanced up at the driver again. “Take them to Charles Street. I’ll ride along with you just to be certain you arrive home safely.”
“Just to be certain?” she repeated, smiling.
“And to tell you that you’re brilliant.” He grinned back at her. “And that I’m apparently about to become a novelist, after all.”
Arthur Peters ducked back around the corner as the hack and Colonel James on his horse passed by. Once they were well out of sight he returned to his own horse and the two men waiting with it.
“Anything?” one of them, Mr. Williams, asked.
“Several things. Follow James and Miss Weller to make certain they aren’t going anywhere but their respective homes.”
“We’re watching a chit, now?”
“This one, we are. And be glad you’re going after her; I have to go wake Lord Hadderly.”
It was becoming a very crowded and foul kettle of fish. Middle-of-the-night meetings with the Duke of Sommerset, a secret attachment of some sort with Miss Weller, and something about a novelist. He might well be setting himself up for a thrashing, but Lord Hadderly didn’t like secrets. And this smacked of several very large ones.
She’d followed him. Bartholomew kept pace with the hack as it turned onto Charles Street and up to the foot of the Weller House drive. Theresa, until very recently obsessed with propriety, had sneaked out of her house in the middle of the night. And she’d done it because she was worried about him.
The notions of trust and betrayal had consumed him for the past year, but he hadn’t stopped to think that Theresa trusted him. And Sommerset trusted him. How and when had this happened?
“Promise me that you’re going straight home, Tolly,” Tess whispered as she stepped down from the hack.
“I promise.” He reached down for her hand, wishing he could risk dismounting on his own, but fairly certain his knee wouldn’t tolerate any more of that tonight. “I want you in my bed, Tess,” he breathed, twining his fingers with hers.
“I want to be there.”
“Miss Tess,” the maid said, hurrying up to them, “we must go inside.”
She nodded. “I’m calling on Amelia tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll bring some writing tablets.”
“You should stay away from me,” he countered, still gripping her hand. “Sommerset is of the opinion that if word of my intentions gets out, things could get very nasty. And there’s absolutely no reason for you to be caught up in that.”
Her shoulders rose and fell, and he abruptly realized he wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to agree with him or not. Her safety was of course paramount, but he felt like a better person when she was with him.
“Don’t forget,” she said with a clearly forced smile, “I’ve already published a booklet. I may be of some assistance.”
“Tess.”
“Don’t try to make me stay away, Tolly.” A tear ran down her cheek.
God. He would give her the moon, if she only asked him for it. “Come if you wish, then. I’ll leave it to you.” Reluctantly he released her fingers. “But now go inside. It’s cold.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, I did, Miss Tess.” The maid took her arm and began half dragging her mistress toward the front door. “Please, miss. Before someone sees.”
It was far too late to keep Theresa from being ruined, but at the moment the two of them—and Lackaby—were the only ones to know it. For her sake, he wanted to keep it that way.
Once she was inside the house and the door quietly and safely closed, he clucked to Meru. At the corner he slowed a little, making a show of adjusting his stirrup while he took in the two riders hiding in the shadow of the large oak trees there. For a brief moment he considered confronting them, but at night and unarmed but for his boot knife and the cane rapier, he decided against it. And he wanted to make certain that they followed him home rather than staying close to Weller House.
Sommerset had warned him that things would get more dangerous. He just hadn’t expected it to begin already.
“What do you think?” Bartholomew stood back from the billiards room curtains the next morning and looked out over the street.
Lackaby moved up to the other side of the window. “This one looks tougher than that fellow last night. And he’s better at hiding himself in plain sight.”
Bartholomew nodded. “Hopefully the Company is just trying to avoid being taken by surprise.”
“By what? You suddenly decide to run for prime minister?”
“I don’t know. But as long as they don’t know we’re watching them, I suppose we have the advantage.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
No, it didn’t. “For the moment keep this to yourself.”
Lackaby left the window, passing by the billiards table with a longing gaze. “Who would I tell? The grooms? The butler? They ain’t much in the way of military assistance.”
Bartholomew limped after the valet. “No, they aren’t. Which is why I don’t want to involve them.”
“Aye. I’ve never heard of winning a campaign by writing a book before, but I suppose we’ll find out.”
“Just remember that we’re not discussing any books, either. Only Stephen knows.” And that had been quite the conversation earlier that morning. Surprisingly, though, his brother had finally agreed that this seemed the best solution.
“Only Lord Gardner and you and me and Miss Tess, you mean.” Lackaby sent him a sideways glance as he hefted Bartholomew’s arm over his shoulder to help him down the stairs. “She does know what you’re about, I assume.”
“Yes, not that it’s any of your damned business.”
“Aye, Colonel.”
Gripping the balustrade to stop them both on the landing, Bartholomew pushed his valet back a step. “I take that back. If anything does go wrong, you have one duty—see that Theresa Weller is safe and protected. Is that clear?”
The valet drew himself up for a crisp, precise salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. And thank you.”
“I only hope you can write, or all this will be for nothing.”
“Get me down the damned stairs, Louis.”
“You’re a cruel man, Colonel.”
“You have no idea. And settle in; this is going to be a siege.” Privately he hoped he could put the swirling nightmares in his mind into some sort of coherent order, as well, and that he could do it quickly. Because the longer it took him to save his reputation, the more likely the East India Company would be to discover what he had planned.