Jack Bender thoughtfully chewed on the end of his unlit cigar. He should be reveling in his escape, should be glorying in the damage done to Ethan’s home. Instead he was reliving one of his worst memories. Peace would never be his until William suffered.
It felt like only a few short months ago Jack stood in the dormitory hallway at Eton; he had happened upon a room where a group of boys all sat together in a room laughing uproariously. He had wanted to slink away, unseen and unheard, but they stopped him before he could turn back and hide around a corner.
“Jack, come in here, my friend,” Andrew, Marian’s older brother, had called to him.
With dread, he had inched into the room and looked at each of the boys present. “What do you want, Andrew?”
“Oh come now, don’t be so angry all the time. If you are to be family . . .” They had all burst out laughing. “If we are to be brothers . . .” The laughter had increased, the boys clutching their sides.
“Did you really think she’d say yes?” one of the boys had asked. Robert, Earl of Lambton he was called now.
Seamus, the most pompous one of the lot, had made the comment Jack would never forget. “What on earth made you think you had any right to kneel before the daughter of a duke and petition her hand? What do you have to offer her? You”—Seamus had sneered—“The son of a steward.” They had laughed even harder, their voices echoing down the hall and drawing a crowd from other rooms.
The more people who pushed into their small apartment, the more nervous and agitated Jack had become. His face had begun to twitch. He’d felt his eye blink uncontrollably. No! Flashbacks of his mother’s face twitching through the carriage window, on the road to bedlam, her body wrapped and tied to itself, had blinded him. His eyes had darted all around, seeking an escape. A crush of boys had blocked the door behind him. He’d tried to push through them and leave the room. But they’d pushed him back inside, laughing. Fireworks had gone off behind his eyes. The window had beckoned to him as an open door, freedom. If I could just get out that window . . .
“What’s the matter, Bender? You look a little flushed; embarrassed, are you?” Robert had nudged him.
Seamus had added, “Not as embarrassed as Marian would be if she were married to you. She can have any man in all of England to wed, you fool.”
Jack had shoved his way through the crowd toward the only other exit available. He had picked up speed and dived through the window, breaking the glass and thundering to the ground two stories below.
His arm had felt the brunt of the impact. He had lain on the cobblestones, stunned, for several seconds; then hearing students begin to gather, he had risen dizzily, tottered to the right and left and tried to run, cradling his arm as he went.
After stumbling along, tilting to one side for several minutes, a large man holding a club had stopped him. “Jack Bender, is it? I’ll need you to come with me. Destruction of school property is not a minor offense.” Jack had swayed and fallen into a blessed blackness.
The memory of that night haunted him still. Jack put down his unlit cigar and ran his fingers along the scar on his face: the only lasting physical evidence. Jack’s morose thoughts were interrupted as Charles Lemming sauntered into the room.
Jack steeled himself, hiding any hint of vulnerability. He wasn’t sure what to think of this young man so closely tied to the duke’s household and yet seemingly loyal to the cause of freedom. Perhaps Lemming would benefit from a history lesson. Jack narrowed his eyes. He let Lemming remain standing and said, “I spent ten years in prison, you know.”
The man, too young, raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Jack nodded. “I was forced out an upper-story window—crashed to the ground, narrowly avoiding death. And do you know what they did?” Lemming shook his head. “They threw me in jail for destroying a window.”
Lemming frowned. “Let me guess, the window in a noble’s room.”
Jack laughed bitterly. “Not just any nobility—a future duke, earl, and marquess.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Long ago, before prison, he would have used peaceful and political means to make change. He could have become a barrister. Even after the window incident, he had planned to make something respectable of himself. But the boys had testified of his violent behavior, which had increased his sentence. Ten years to ponder his hatred had fueled a pulsing venom within him that nothing could quench except for the absolute misery of the Cumberland family. Even that seemed insufficient. Every noble. The thought made him smile. He now ran the largest crime ring in London, using his vast resources to bring terror and unrest.
But Lemming didn’t know that. He thought Jack wanted freedom for the poor families of the working class. Those helpless whelps. He cared nothing for them. A man who could not help himself was a worthless man indeed. Jack walked a careful line with Lemming and all of the idealistic fops in his gang. Many of his followers fought solely for the causes of freedom: for landownership, for a new system in England in which everyone had an equal chance. The ones he did not control with blackmail, he moved with passion. A nobler bunch Jack had rarely seen.
Lemming definitely fell in with the altruistic set. Lifting Jack away from his memories and back to the conversation, Lemming said, “Naturally they pushed their suit against you. Sorry lot of spoiled soft hands with nothing better to do.”
He stepped farther into the room and rested his hand on the back of a chair. Jack flipped two fingers open toward the chair and nodded his head. Lemming sat down, and Jack changed the subject. “Our team made some serious mistakes this time.”
Lemming looked directly into Jack’s eyes and comfortably answered, “Almost everything went as smoothly as we planned. Everybody was in position. The timing was perfect.”
“And yet, Amanda remains at home safe in her bed! The purpose of the night has not been met.”
Alarm and confusion crossed the whelp’s face. “You meant to harm Lady Amanda?”
Jack considered him for a moment and answered slowly, “I asked you to come today because I feel you are ready to be taken into my confidence. You have proven yourself dedicated to the cause and completely loyal.”
Lemming leaned forward in his seat as Jack continued. “We had hoped by the end of the evening to have Lady Amanda in an old cellar under guard.”
Lemming’s face went white but maintained a neutral expression. He said, “I was not aware that this was the goal of the evening. Perhaps if you had told me . . .”
“Others were tasked with that responsibility. Unfortunately, they failed.”
Obviously treading cautiously, Lemming cleared his throat. “May I ask, sir, what did you hope to gain by abducting the daughter of the most powerful duke in England?”
“That’s just it, isn’t it? The most powerful duke in England would have a lot of influence to support our cause, wouldn’t he?” Jack’s smile curled slowly.
“The duke wouldn’t rest until he found her, sir, and punishment would be the most severe . . . Lady Amanda and the Duchess Marian mean everything to him, and they love him—”
Jack’s fuse suddenly became short. He slammed his fist onto the table and shouted, “I mean to make him suffer as I have!”
Charlie swallowed and stared at the man in front of him for a few long moments, and then Jack Bender continued in his eerie mock-calm voice. “And then, after leaving him to agonize over his lost child for a time, I would’ve written a letter explaining our mission and petitioning his help. Surely a duke on our side would be a major victory for freedom and equality in London, would it not?”
Charlie stared at the man and wondered at his sanity. What duke would ever support the cause of anyone who had abducted his daughter? “What went wrong?” he said aloud.
Bender grunted and sifted through the papers on his desk. “That’s not your concern. What I need you to do is to keep a close eye on the duke’s household.”
Dread filled him. “I am not entirely sure I am the right person for this assignment. They know me too well. I would need a viable reason to give them for my presence in London so close to their town house.”
Bender studied him for a moment. Charlie hoped his face didn’t show his concern. Bender finally replied, “I have arranged a position of employment for you nearby in the home of one Lord Nathaniel. His father is Duke of Somerset.”
“Yes, I know him. He wouldn’t remember, but we have crossed paths before.”
This assignment was getting worse and worse. To be employed in the service of that rake and to be so close to Amanda was almost more than he could stomach. It would be a sore trial indeed. And yet for the cause of freedom, he knew he needed to maintain a close relationship with Bender. Charlie nodded. “When do I start?”
“They are expecting you two days from now. Report to the servants’ quarters and speak with the housekeeper there. She will direct you further. If it’s any consolation, Lord Nathaniel is reported to treat his servants very fairly.” Bender smirked.
Charlie grunted and rose from his chair, ready to leave the room. Acting as though it was an afterthought, he turned and asked, “Who is the next target?”
Bender shook his head and waved him out of the office.
With a deep sense of foreboding, Charlie made his way back through London toward his small lodgings. At least he would now have a better source of income and a more comfortable place to sleep, excellent food to eat, and likely good company.
Early in the morning, hoping to avoid the crush of all her neighbors prancing about, Lady Amanda sought the peace of a park near her home.
A familiar figure, eyes on the pavement startled her.
“Charlie? Charlie, is that you?”
He turned and stopped, seemingly speechless for a moment. Clearing his throat, he said, “Lady Amanda.” He bowed to her as she arrived in front of him. Molly followed her at a distance, and Amanda knew she was curious. Charlie’s face flushed, and she wondered if he too was thinking of the rose and note he had left her. “Lady Amanda, I . . . How are you this morning? Out early as usual, I see.”
“A good walk helps me think.” She smiled, her gaze flickering to his face. She said, “It always has.”
“I remember.”
Amanda wrinkled her forehead, sighing inside. “The rose was beautiful, and I thank you. But it was risky and wholly inappropriate, and you could’ve gotten yourself and others in a lot of trouble.” She had never been comfortable putting other people at risk.
“I know it was unwise,” he said. “But I couldn’t let you leave without doing so, knowing I won’t be there when you return.”
“Not return? What do you mean?”
“I have come to London in search of work here. I am saving, and as soon as I am able, I will study to become a barrister.”
Amanda felt sparks of admiration and pride for her dear friend.
She thought he stood a little taller as he said what he’d told her many times before, “England is changing. It might be a different place for us someday.” His voice seemed to bubble with hope.
But she weighed her words carefully before she spoke next, and noticing her pause, Charlie stiffened. He seemed to brace himself.
“This change you speak of . . . I don’t know if there’s a change big enough to merit any kind of hope that you—that we—could ever make anything work. What change could be so grand? You have never explained it to me. Though I have asked countless times.”
“I am not at liberty to give details . . . but our social system, our habit of nobility, our rule of government are all under attack.”
“Attack? Surely you don’t mean Jack Bender and his attack on my uncle’s home? Is that why you were there?” She stepped back in alarm, swaying a bit.
Charlie reached his hand out to steady her. “No! Lady Amanda, no. That is not the method of change—I am talking about votes, landownership—civilized ways to make a difference right now. What if Father and Molly and I could choose elected representatives? We could vote for laws that served us as well as them, or I mean you—the nobility. England could become a free nation. Much like what they’ve started over in the Americas.”
“The Americas?”
“Anyone can own land there. They all vote to determine their form of government and leaders.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She knew nothing about America’s form of government or this freedom that Charlie described to her now. But she had to admit broadening freedoms appealed to a part of her soul, a part she had forgotten more than eight months ago. As she thought of the ramifications of such a government for the poor people in England, her heart rose in hope by degrees, and her mind was taken back to her days of pretending to be a sparrow at the top of a mountain. Did a part of her long for that freedom still?
Charlie searched her face, understanding her expression and the emotions that flitted through her eyes all too easily, she feared. A sigh left her lips as the wisps of freedom vanished from her thoughts. “Freedom is a precious and elusive blessing. Even now, how many in England are truly free? The nobility of which you speak—the power that you seem to feel they hold—how much of it is available to me?” Amanda thought of upcoming marriage vows. Her future husband would be given her dowry and then assign her an allowance in return. “Others in England lack freedom besides your poor or working classes.”
She hesitated, reluctant to deliver what would surely be a blow to his heart. “I need you to understand something.” She paused, looking intently into his eyes. “We were close, growing up.” His face clouded a bit. “You were a true friend to me, Charlie, and I will never forget all of our time together and all that you did for me as a young girl. But you must know, in our separation over the course of the last year, I have changed. My mind has been opened to a larger world than the beautiful acreage of my ancestral home.” She smiled at him and reached for his hand. “There’s so much more I wish to know and do and understand! I feel I can make a difference in this world. I can help others. I will have tenants and servants and others in my care. I have my work in the children’s home and with the parsonage. And I hope to travel someday and continue my education.”
He took a step back from her. “And those are things I cannot provide you.”
She watched his face closely, shook her head, and said, “It is not only that. My feelings have also changed. I feel the warmest friendship . . . but nothing more.” She hated to say it.
Hurt moved across his eyes in a great wave. His conflicted expression would be a source of pain to her for many years to come, she knew it. But even though he still caused her stomach to leap, she could not allow herself to explore minor fluttering with so much at stake.
Clearing his throat, he shifted from foot to foot and looked into her eyes. His mouth pulled down on one side. “I see.” And then his brow seemed to clear a bit. “I understand. Please know you always have a friend in me. And if you do ever think of a way I can help you or if you find yourself truly in need, in danger even . . .”
“Danger?” She remembered her earlier question and narrowed her eyes.
He must have noticed her change of expression immediately. “You are wondering what I was doing at your uncle’s home. You saw me from the window the other night.”
“Please tell me you are not with the group who attacked Uncle Ethan’s house. I’ve been arguing within myself day and night, grasping for a reason that you would’ve been there that did not involve attacking his home.” She looked imploringly up at him, feeling certain betrayal would break her heart.
Charlie stepped closer to her, held both her hands in his own, looked deeply into her eyes, and said, “I know it looked—I know it seemed just the opposite, but I promise to you, I did not attack your uncle’s home that night.”
“But Charles—”
He shook his head. “There is much going on you do not understand, and I cannot explain it to you. Please, trust me. You and your house have nothing to fear from me, and I will see that no harm comes to you. I swear it.” He stepped closer to her, their faces inches apart.
Amanda’s head spun. He would give her no explanation. But how could she not trust Charlie? The intensity she saw in his eyes spoke of truth.
Molly cleared her throat.
Charlie stepped back. “I must go. Farewell, Lady Amanda.” Then he turned on his heel and walked quickly in the other direction.
Molly approached her, and they both watched the back of his tailcoat until he rounded a bend.
“Did you hear our conversation?”
“That I did, my lady. And I was right proud of you, I was.”
She smiled at Molly. “Do you believe him?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” Molly looked at her mistress. “Do you?”
“Yes, I believe I do.”