Chapter Twenty-Two

Secrets and Control

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I sat at my mirror, combing and pinning my curls for my evening with Wycliff. I’d given my tresses a good stiff brushing, trying to make them look smooth before I secured them with a ribbon.

I hated the theater, the noise, the busy people looking to be seen.

I hated pretending that I hadn’t heard one of Adam’s and my attackers come to Blaren House.

Putting my head down on my vanity, I lay next to my silver reticule. This beautiful beaded purse had been a birthday present years ago. It would be perfect this evening to go with my mazarine-blue gown. The sleeves were full and slimmed at my wrists. I was elegant, covered, and colorful.

The reticule held coins, a starched handkerchief, and Papa’s knife. Papa had a few, but this one with a pearl handle I’d kept with me these past few weeks. I didn’t know why, but I had.

It was palm sized with a blade that folded. Even if I never used it, it was with me.

The orange polish that anointed the vanity tickled my nose. I fingered the outside of the reticule, slipping my pinkie up and down the seed-pearl trim.

Now, I understood why Wycliff carried a sjambok. I needed something to feel a little more powerful when evil came calling.

Should I tell Wycliff?

What proof did I have other than recognizing a voice?

Though some things could never be forgotten, I needed proof, undeniable proof before I accused someone of something so vile.

Madame Talease would know. I would write her and ask those questions I had avoided.

I sat up and glanced at my reflection. My bodice was lower, with lace covering up my curves. I had curves. I hadn’t shown myself, not truly, not until Wycliff.

My neck looked long. It was devoid of a necklace, those things a fiend could twist and rip off.

Why did my thoughts fall back upon that memory? I didn’t want to dance with pity. It wasn’t my chosen partner. I chose joy. I could be happy about spending time with Wycliff and watchful. The noise of the theater was nothing to his fingers entwined with mine.

The theater was Wycliff’s world, and he needed me. I could protect him.

The door to my room opened.

No knock.

Some things never changed.

Soft footsteps sounded behind me. Ester’s.

“Where is Lord Wycliff taking you today?”

“The theater.”

My sister looked pretty in a high-lace salmon-pink gown. I thought of Wycliff’s paint and I burst. I laughed and felt at ease doing so.

Ester frowned, seeming cross enough to hold her breath. “You hate the theater. You went once with me. You’ve never wanted to return.”

I rubbed my temples, pushing away that lingering headache. “I get uncomfortable sometimes, but Wycliff will find a way to make me comfortable. He always does.”

Ester paced from the closet to the bed and then back. “I don’t understand. You haven’t seen the barrister, not once since the garden party.”

“I wrote Mr. Marks. I sent him a note wrapped in red ribbon, telling him we should no longer correspond. I’ve heard no response.”

“Ruth, Papa vetted the barrister. We’ve learned nothing about Wycliff except that he’s in finance.”

“Haven’t you heard, Papa’s rooting for him? I think he’s betting on the Black Prince or was it blackjack? He doesn’t have to pay a dowry if I marry Wycliff.”

“Let me get Bex to dig around and find out more, then maybe you could reconsider the well-respected barrister.”

I tossed my brush onto the table. “His letters are very nice, but I’ve seen him four times in six months. He’s always working. Wycliff is like Papa, and he’s making a space for me and Chris in his world.”

I was done, done with my hair, with justifying things to a beloved sister who didn’t understand. I lifted from my stool, kissed Ester’s cheek. “You can wait downstairs and fuss at Wycliff.”

One look at her flustered olive face and I knew my sister was just beginning her argument. “I sound like a nag, Ruth.”

“You are a nag, Ester.”

The pacing began again. “I feel so strongly. He’s dangerous. I feel it in my soul.”

“You know what I feel. I feel respected and secure with Wycliff. I didn’t think I could have both.”

“How can you be so sure of him? You would risk your safety and Chris’s for a man you just met? Three weeks ago, he was a whip-swinging loon.”

“It’s a sjambok. You heard your Bexeley’s voice on stage, and you knew it to be love.”

“I was in love with his voice for years, but I grew to love the man passionately. I know the difference between infatuation and the deepest love.”

“I know, too. I had it once, Ester, and everything was perfect. Things are close to perfect with Wycliff, as close as I ever thought I could get to being loved again. That’s the worst thing, to let the bad make you forget you’re valuable.”

“Ruth, you deserve to be happy.”

“That’s something we tell others, to help us sleep. How many actually mean it?”

I spun and looked at my reflection—my brave reflection—in the mirrored glass. “I’m happy. I choose him.”

Ester came to me and draped her arms around me. “I love you.”

“I have been tested, Ester. I’ve come through as gold. I stopped believing that for so long. But I believe in me again.”

“Because of Lord Wycliff?”

“It started with him, but it’s me. Once you remember you deserve better, you won’t accept less.”

I turned Ester so that we could have both our faces in the mirror. “We Croome women deserve to be loved.”

“And you deserve a better chignon. Let me make you a beautiful braid and pin curls for your wild man.”

Wycliff was wild and wicked and wonderful. I just needed him to be lucky, luckier than Adam, and wiser, too. But he’d invited me and a devil to the theater. That didn’t seem wise at all.

…

Sitting at his father’s desk, Wycliff waited for word of Johnson’s arrest. The magistrate would work quickly on behest of the bankers now that all his notes had been called.

It was a little early to be dressed in his formal black trousers for the theater, but he didn’t want anything left to chance. This day felt fluid, and he hadn’t heard Johnson’s fate. The man needed to be locked away, no longer a threat to the Croomes.

Uncle would be next to pay. It was a mistake to think these evil men would go quietly off to prison.

He heard motion at the front door. Then a knock upon his study.

“Enter.”

Lawden announced Wilkinson.

Wycliff readied his sjambok, but it was his cousin, not Uncle Soulden.

A bit of relief swept over him, but a baby viper was still a viper.

“Cousin, this is not the theater. Did you get lost?”

“You weren’t joking. They came and got him. Johnson is with the magistrate.”

“Yes. Marshalsea by nightfall. Did you think I stuttered?”

“You’re just a step ahead of us. You and I need a truce. Things have gone too far.”

Now they’d gone too far? “Your father tried to kill me. Killed my wife and Captain Steward, and now things are too far?”

“Well, you’re not dead. Traitors need to be dealt with, and wives are replaceable.”

That was a sad commentary. The man hadn’t loved a woman like Ruth. How terrible for Nickie’s wife and mistress. He set the sjambok down and pulled out his blunderbuss. “I hear cousins are replaceable, too. Or is that shippable, to be banished to the Navy. Stop with the pleasantries. Did Uncle refuse to come out of his hole for this evening?”

“Uncle wants to meet, but it’s too public.”

“Then there’s no meeting. Good-bye, Nickie. Do come back and describe Uncle’s expression when they come for him.”

“Adam, Father is prepared to deal.”

“I’m prepared for him to fail.” He tapped his nose. “Perhaps we should meet at Captain Steward’s grave.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I didn’t ask. I know that your side did. The captain had friends. I wonder how they will respond when they figure it out. I highly doubt the lumbering man here last night could rouse sailors into killing their captain.”

His cousin sputtered as Wycliff had expected. He didn’t have evidence of their hand, but Nickie didn’t know. He wanted them looking over their shoulders, fearing retribution every moment. That would keep the Croomes safe and poor Cicely, too, if he ever found her.

Their side definitely didn’t have her. She or Ruth would be the ultimate leverage.

Nicholas shifted in his seat. “Why don’t you come to him?”

“I don’t walk into traps.”

“Then let him come here. He doesn’t want this any more public. He’s worried that the same runners that took Johnson will come for him at the theater. The man was rousted out of his bed.”

Oh, so the men who’d ruined his life and his father’s were scared for theirs. Didn’t people know that if they sowed death, they’d reap it?

This was the one time Wycliff didn’t mind being thought of as a rake, a tool to make the ground fertile for judgement.

“Let my father come to you. Guarantee his safe passage.”

Wycliff tapped his desk, again fingering N for no. “I said no. Uncle will be torn to pieces if he steps a foot over Blaren House’s threshold. I don’t stutter.”

“I suppose Fournier Street is also off-limits.”

“Fournier?”

“Johnson said you’re seeing a woman there.”

“I see a lot of people. I see you.”

“But you don’t take me to Vauxhall. Still have a thing for those people. I haven’t found one of them worth anything but a good toss.”

His cousin baited him, Wycliff knew that, but there was something extra. Nickie had always tried to best him.

Wycliff sat back and shrugged. “Maybe you haven’t found the right one.”

He delivered the line as Nickie would’ve expected, but then Wycliff saw it.

The glimmer in the man’s eyes, then a subtle smirk. “I’ve some experience. Madame Talease and such. I found the act lacking. But you always had better luck.”

Wycliff’s mind shot to Mr. Croome’s warning about finding Ruth in a brothel. Then to Mrs. Johnson. She’d said she and Ruth had roomed at Madame Talease’s bawdy house.

Was his cousin insinuating that he’d been a patron of Ruth’s?

“Wycliff, are you sure there’s nothing I could tell you? I’m sure I have some information that might be of use.”

“Like what?”

“What if your wife did not die? What if she was last seen at a bawdy house? Wouldn’t you want to know that? Would you pay a huge reward to find her?”

“I’ve moved on, as you said. But bring the little woman if you have her. Four years in a bawdy house, I’m not sure I want to see what’s become of her.”

Nickie balled his fists, then eased them to his side. “I don’t know where she is, but Madame Talease does. The shrewd woman’s been reclusive lately, staying at her bawdy house outside of town. I’m sure she knows what happened to your wife.”

“I’ll have to fit in a visit in a week or two, after Uncle’s business has collapsed and he’s jailed. Maybe we can go together, if you are not with your father in Marshalsea.”

His cousin ran a hand through his sad, dark hair. “Nothing disturbs you. I tell you your wife could be alive, and you do nothing.”

“You come with a story that sounds like a fairy tale. I don’t live in fantasies. I like facts and figures, like how much you are losing every day as Uncle’s shipments rot on the docks.

Nickie wandered to the sideboard. “Wycliff, you are cold.”

“I’m blackhearted and you, Uncle, Johnson, and Nacknel made me this way. Enjoy.”

His cousin poured a glass. Hopefully, he believed Wycliff’s act of indifference. “Tonight is Uncle’s only opportunity. I’ll see you at Drury Lane Theater.”

“No, Wycliff, here or—”

“Or where, Nickie, some darkened road? Finish your drink and go. Leave two bits for the service.”

“Madame’s prices are higher, but this tastes better.”

Wycliff was too practiced in keeping his emotions buried. His face didn’t reflect the acid he wanted to spew. “When the appraiser comes to Uncle’s, set aside a few pieces of Wedgwood for me. Tell them I’ll pay top dollar.”

Nickie downed the glass and slammed it on the desk. It wobbled a few times before stopping.

But Wycliff wasn’t done. “Oh, don’t fret. I won’t buy anything of yours. You’ve never known the difference between fine art and trash.” Wycliff tapped the ugly porcelain statue that he’d left on his desk. “Yet, I do like this bride thing. Reminds me of not letting things slip through my fingers.”

“Drury Lane is your only offer? Fine, we will meet you there.”

The man started to leave.

“Nickie, I’m considering stopping the war when Uncle is jailed and can’t harm anyone else, but if any of my ladybirds have a feather ruffled… You don’t want to see me angry.”

Eyes darting, his cousin lost his smirk. “Nacknel is dead, Johnson is jailed. What happens if you are angry?”

He smiled at his cousin. “The tribulation. Final judgement and everyone will go to their private reward. Yours will be hell. Don’t tempt me to start early. See you tonight.”

Wycliff tossed his cousin a few coins. “This should pay for your admission. Uncle’s, too.”

Nickie caught it, opened the door, and almost walked into Lawden’s flintlock rifle. His hands went up. He looked green, as if he’d vomit.

“Let him go for now, Lawden. We’ll have target practice later.”

Lawden waved him through and kept his gun aimed and pointed at the fleeing man until the outer door slammed.

The control Wycliff had mastered on the HMS Liverpool broke. He picked up Nickie’s glass and pitched it into the fireplace. It shattered with a crackle against the iron pit.

“My lord?”

“The fool hinted at having my wife when she was at Madame Talease’s bawdy house.”

Lawden’s face looked as mournful as Wycliff felt. “What do we do?”

“Have someone armed and ready to protect every last one of the Croomes, even the politician. I’m not sure where they will strike. I just know that they will.”

“My lord, your hands. You look as if you will break the desk.”

Wycliff yanked out his sjambok and cracked it three times in the air. Pow, pow, pow. “They want me blinded with rage. Anything hurting Mrs. Wilky will do that.”

Lawden moved to the fireplace and stooped. He picked up a large shard of broken glass. “You put plans into motion. The Croomes are safe. Don’t give in to despair.”

“I want to dispense mercy and judgement, but I may be out of mercy.”

“If one works at a brothel—who are you mad at, the client or the woman? Talease doesn’t force her employees.”

Wycliff was glad his man was careful in his speech. He couldn’t take Ruth being called a harlot for being one of Madame’s girls. He rubbed his beard. “I’m mad at me, Lawden. All this goes back to me. I was rash to leave Gretna Green. I made Ruth vulnerable. Whatever happened at Talease’s is my fault.”

“It’s an odd thing, my lord. Men want fidelity and purity in their women, but how often do we keep to the same standard?”

That was true, but that didn’t stop the buzzing in his ears, the hate stewing in his gut thinking his cousin had had Ruth. She’d met him once. He knew her to be Adam’s. Could he have intentionally selected her? Had he hurt Ruth? Was Nickie responsible for her struggles?

His head exploded, and he grabbed his sjambok and strangled it.

Whatever had upset Ruth in her father’s study had not been consensual. That he knew.

“Pull the carriage round in an hour, Lawden. As I stew, I’ll forget to tell you.”

“My lord, we have a tip about Cicely.”

“Then let’s leave now. No time to waste.”

Lawden nodded and left.

If it was Cicely, he’d impose her on Mrs. Croome. That woman would get her into shape, but his gut told him it wouldn’t be. Cousin Nickie would have found her by now if she were in London, but Wycliff would check and then head to Ruth.

He reached into his desk and pulled out the ring he had fashioned, a single diamond, perfect and resilient, impervious to ruin. The gold woven about the gem held it secure. It was new. It symbolized a fresh beginning.

The past didn’t matter.

Ruth didn’t need to tell him her secret, but she would have to forgive his, about his name.

She needed him to be her friend, her loving friend.

He adored Ruth.

Their secrets should never keep them apart.