Wherein the Candle Burns Low
This unpretentious York public house was much like a London dinner party in one regard: While they dined, people talked around Audrina and about her, but never to her. It was not at all difficult to slide back her chair and slip from the parlor unnoticed.
In the corridor, she wrested a dripping candle from its sconce. Clamor rolled up from the public room below; speech, laughter, the thump of tankards and platters. Near yet unseen, just like the people in the parlor. Unaware of her being aware of them.
As she held the acrid-smelling tallow candle, its flame flickered in the stir of her breath. She shivered, her limbs as chilled as they were weary.
Your departure and your guilt are the same . . . I do not want you seen in London.
This, from her own father. He would rather spend the journey back to London with the man who had stolen his daughter than with the daughter who dared to be imperfect.
Though she had rinsed her mouth, the remnants of laudanum made her stomach heave—as did finding herself in York with no warning, tied to a scoundrel, her only potential ally a hulking, impatient American stranger.
The young Mr. Rutherford had said he believed her, though. Which meant he was better than no ally at all. And though his tone had been brusque, his hands were kind. His manner was careful. Far more respectful than his words.
But it was Llewellyn with whom she needed words now.
Knowing that Llewellyn was enjoying a bit of privacy, as Giles Rutherford had put it, Audrina had no trouble locating him. The story above the parlor was lower and plainer than the rooms on the ground or first floor, with small bedchambers on either side of the corridor. From one of these, thuds echoed against the door. The corridor, Audrina noticed as she affixed her candle into another sconce, was devoid of servants. Her father must have paid them off. He thought of everything.
Everything except noticing with whom she had spent her time months ago. A bit of parental intervention could have stopped all this nonsense with Llewellyn before it started. Flirting, daring, exploring the pleasure of stolen freedom, she had sped along a reckless path, thinking someone would stop her soon. Any time. That someone would notice and care what she was doing.
But no one did. And now she was truly lost, terribly far from where she had intended to be. She had never been good at stopping herself, not with the shadow of her family always to flee.
With thwarted anger giving her new strength, she pounded the door with her fist. The thumping within stopped. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Lady Audrina. For God’s sake, Llewellyn, stop that racket or I shall have you tied up and thrown in the cellar.” Another bright moment generated by Mr. Rutherford. Really, it sounded like quite a good idea.
“Audrina. Finally. Let me out!”
“Not likely. Since you dragged me in a cold carriage all the way from London, I think you can stand a bit of solitude in a nice warm bedchamber.” Lowering her voice, she spoke into the seam between door and frame. “You shall remain here overnight. In the morning, my father intends to transport you back to London with him. You shall travel with him peacefully and we shall never see each other again.”
“Oh, is that how he intends to play off the situation?” The ass sounded amused. Audrina could imagine his expression: mouth a wicked, smug curve; thick, hawkish brows arched. He fancied himself quite the rake.
She no longer fancied him at all. “This is not a game. There is no question of play on my father’s part.”
“Play is what it’s all about, dear Audrina.”
“I will not respond to you again unless you address me appropriately.”
He released an impatient sigh. “Fine. My lady. It’s all a matter of money. Either you marry me, or I shall get your dowry some other way.”
“No, you are mistaken. Marriage is the only way to get my dowry, and I shall never marry you.” She tugged at the bodice of her gown, slumping against the door. Perspiration made her neck and breasts itch, yet her extremities were still clammy. She wanted a hot bath. In her own home. In London.
She wanted it to be a week ago. Or three weeks from now in a bright new year, with her elder sister Charissa safely married to the Duke of Walpole. With the family fortunes safe for a while longer.
“How pedantic you’ve grown, dear lady,” drawled Llewellyn. “You used to be an entertaining sort. But if you want to be exact, then yes, I should have said I would be content with the equivalent of your dowry. If you won’t marry me, your father shall instead pay for my silence about your romantic journey to York with me. An investment, shall we say, to avoid the scandal of the fastidious Walpole canceling the ducal wedding.”
These last words were spoken with a sneer. His voice sounded close, too close, like a murmur in her ear, and she jerked away from the wooden barrier that suddenly seemed not nearly solid enough.
“And…if he cannot pay?” Audrina hated her voice for catching on the words. But her father could not pay, she knew. The earldom’s farm rents had declined year over year since the disastrous winter of 1816. A few months ago, a ship carrying tea and silks had been lost, dragging the earl’s investment to the ocean floor with it. Though their dowries were safe in the Funds, protected by their parents’ marriage settlements, the Bradleigh sisters had seen the family’s income plummet in the past year. Yet another reason why an alliance with a solvent dukedom was vital.
Llewellyn laughed off her concern. “Earls can always come up with necessary funds. If he needs a bit of encouragement, dear girl, I have a pair of your garters in my possession. Your maid has assured me they are quite distinctive. Bespoke, aren’t they? There will be no question that they belong to you.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. Her maid ought to be tied up and thrown in the cellar alongside Llewellyn, since they got along so famously.
Really, that was not a bad idea. “Then keeping you tied in the cellar until the new year seems like an excellent plan. Mr. Rutherford thinks you should be fed, but I am not at all sure that would be necessary.”
“Tut, tut, my pigeon. I am not a fool. You should have known I’d take precautions to ensure my own safety.” He chuckled. “When I said your garters were in my possession, that was not strictly true. They are with an accomplice of mine, and if I am not safely returned to London by the last day of the year, one of your garters shall be sent to Walpole. Plenty of time for him to call off the wedding, should he reconsider his marriage to the sister of . . . such a woman.”
A woman who had done nothing more—and in fact, far less—than Llewellyn himself had done. Who was being blamed by her own father for Llewellyn’s disrespect of her. As though his crime reflected her worth rather than the rotten state of Llewellyn’s heart.
No, it wasn’t her worth her father was concerned about. It was his own.
When she next spoke, she managed a scornful tone. “I must still be fog-headed, because I do not understand how you will benefit if my sister’s wedding does not take place.”
“To whom did Walpole almost become engaged last season?” The soft words wound about Audrina like a snake. “You remember, don’t you, my lady? My sister almost entrapped him, until yours began flinging herself at him. He could not resist her coin. But coin won’t be enough to hold him if scandal touches your family, and my dear sister will make sure she’s at hand to console him.”
True; very true. The Duke of Walpole was a serious sort, conservative and traditional. He had almost drifted into a betrothal with the colorless Miss Llewellyn, until the laughing, chattering Charissa turned his head in another direction. Should their betrothal be severed—should there be a scandal—
Hands fluttering behind her, Audrina caught the wall by the door. She leaned back gently, not making a sound, not jarring her exhausted frame. If she did, she might shatter.
Llewellyn did not require the full attention of his audience to perform a soliloquy. “So you see, I shall have your dowry or a . . . let us call it a settlement. Or I shall be brother to a duchess. I do not care whether you’re ruined or not. You are a means to an end, my dear.”
It did not befit an earl’s daughter to slide to the floor and wrap her arms around folded-up legs, nor to hide her face in the cradle of her weary limbs. But there was no one here to see her, and for the moment, she didn’t give a damn how an earl’s daughter ought to behave.
Especially when Llewellyn realized she wasn’t going to reply and began hammering on the door again.
A quiet voice slid below the thumping. “I’m sorely tempted to tie him up, no matter what Lady Irving recommends.”
Audrina’s head snapped up. Giles Rutherford was crouched on the floor at her side, his large frame neatly folded like a stack of lumber.
“What are you doing here?” she asked warily.
His teeth flashed bright in the warm light of the candle overhead. “I noticed that you have a habit of not being in your expected location, then instead turning up in the company of London’s most fascinating gentleman.” He tilted his head toward the door. “What’s going on? Are you trying to talk him into sense?”
Against his tanned, ruddy skin, his eyes were light and clear. He said he believed me, Audrina reminded herself. And so by way of reply, she simply said, “Yes.”
“How’s that working?”
“Not terribly well.”
“He has a fool’s ingenuity, doesn’t he?”
“If he is indeed ingenious”—and since he’d stolen a pair of her garters, she had to grant that he was—“we should not consider him a fool.”
Rutherford rocked back on his heels. “If he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t treat a woman as badly as he has you.”
“How chivalrous of you.” She allowed her tight grip about her folded legs to loosen a bit, her head to sink back against the support of the wall.
“Was it? Dear me, we can’t have that.” He winked. “What I’m sure I meant to say was—if he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t sap his strength hammering at this door.”
Raising his voice, he beat his square fist on the door—just once, then grimaced and shook out his hand. “Stop that racket, you thief,” he called. “We all know you’re in there, and no one will let you out.”
Llewellyn did not, as requested, stop that racket.
Rutherford turned in his crouch back to Audrina. “Sorry, princess. I tried.”
“If you are to exaggerate my status by calling me a princess, I ought to return the favor. Should I call you ‘peasant,’ Mr. Rutherford?”
His mouth twitched. “If you must, though ‘draftsman’ might be more accurate. Or ‘tradesman,’ if you’ve an objection to a man who uses his hands.”
“That depends on the man,” Audrina replied pertly. “And how he uses his hands.”
The twitch of his lips turned into a smile. He had rather a nice mouth, mobile and sharply cut, with a small scar slicing one side of the upper lip in a pale line. After this hellish day, she was glad that he felt human enough to smile and that she felt human enough to enjoy the sight.
Unfolding to his great height, he leaned down and extended a hand. “Hop up, your ladyship. We might as well talk a little farther away from your would-be bridegroom.”
She allowed his hand to close upon hers. It was a solid hand, broad and strong, its fingers and palm rough and warm. A shiver ran through her body. The warmth of his touch reminded her again how cold she was, and how long she had been that way.
Once he drew her to her feet, her eyes were at the level of his mouth. She was accustomed to looking down on half the men in London; it was rather a nice change to have someone watching over her. The flickering candlelight traced his cheekbones, and she noticed: “You have freckles?”
“Is that so odd for a big redheaded lout?”
Llewellyn was hammering at the door louder than ever. How could he not be tired by now? She felt she could lie down and sleep on the wooden floor. “You’re not a lout.”
“Princess, you’ll make me blush. And no one wants to see a redhead blush.” Releasing her hand, he turned back toward the stairs.
“My candle,” she blurted. “I can’t leave it.”
Rutherford waited at the top of the stairs as she popped the tallow taper free from its holder again. It felt safer to have something to cling to, even if it was only a cheap stick of hardened fat.
When they reached the turning of the stairs, Llewellyn’s din faded and the light and noise began to leak up from below. Holding her candle in one hand, Audrina worked a fingernail into its soft surface. “I had to get away from the dining parlor,” she said. “My father did not want my opinion of his plans, though they all involve me. And after that creature”—a tip of her head to the upper story and Llewellyn—“fed me laudanum, I could not bear the idea of any food.”
“I wondered if it was something like that. But you ought to try to eat.” He reached into a pocket of his dark-blue woolen coat and pulled forth a cloth napkin, extending it to her.
With a cautious hand, she flipped open the folds. “Bread. You brought me a slice of bread?”
“It’s not very good, unfortunately. Pretty dry. It might be from yesterday’s baking.”
She found a wall holder for her candle, then broke off a bit of the bread. It was hard, as he’d said; so hard that it scratched the inside of her mouth and she wound up sucking at it like a boiled sweet. The oaty crumbs began to dissolve, slowly. When she swallowed, her protesting stomach began to quiet. “Thank you,” she told him.
It was difficult to look a man in the eye when he had seen one at one’s weakest and worst. Instead, Audrina peered over the handrail of the stairs but could see nothing but more stairs, winding up and down. “I learned how to make bread,” she recalled. “When I was a girl. I sneaked into the kitchens and asked the cook to teach me.”
“Why?”
The stairs seemed to stretch out long, then collapse. Tired; she was so tired. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she turned back to Rutherford. “Because I wanted to know how it was made. Wouldn’t you? It starts with all these flat dry ingredients and ends in something so light. Well—sometimes it does. In the hands of a good baker.”
She popped another stale morsel into her mouth. “That was a long time ago. When my father found out, he told me it was unsuitable for one of his family to be in the kitchen. Then he threatened to dismiss any servant who allowed me in there again.”
“I can imagine.” Rutherford was quite good at keeping a bland expression on his face, even as his light eyes were full of mischief. “Wanting to know how something is made, then taking steps to pursue that knowledge, seems unsuitable indeed. A hazardous attitude for a young Englishwoman. The sort of conniving behavior that should be squelched at once.”
“Yes, well, connivance is the only way a young Englishwoman can learn something besides the directory of the peerage and a bit of decorative embroidery.”
Her companion looked at her with a sympathy she did not want, and she picked at her bread just as she had at the candle. “What was decided after I left the dining parlor? Everything was settled, I assume—but in what way?”
“You know your father’s methods well, I see. Yes, it’s settled that we’ll all leave tomorrow. Llewellyn and your father shall return to London in Llewellyn’s carriage—”
“His mother’s.”
“What? Are you joking?” Rutherford shook his head. “Fortunate fellow, to have a parent willing to aid him in an abduction. She’ll have her carriage back in a few days, for your father intends to begin the journey south at first light. Lady Irving’s carriage shall bear the rest of us to Castle Parr, a few hours’ ride from here.”
“The home of the Viscount Dudley? Why should we go there?”
“Listen to you, as good as a book of reference. You weren’t exaggerating when you said you knew the peerage.”
She crumbled a bit of crust between her fingers. “All elegant young women memorize the peerage of England, so as not to neglect an opportunity of making themselves agreeable to gentlemen of quality.”
An elegant young woman, ha. She felt, and probably looked, as though she had been stored in a dirty closet. This red gown had been her favorite, but the fabric was creased and soiled beyond repair. And now it would remind her of Llewellyn. She wouldn’t wear it again.
But she had nothing else to wear, did she? She had no possessions with her at all. “What of servants to accompany us? A maid?”
“Lady Irving will allow her maid to serve you both. I think she’s brought along a bunch of baggage for you so you can be more comfortable. Your father’s footman will also come with us. Those two will ride in my father’s carriage, since Lady Irving was convinced hers would be more comfortable to the tender backsides of the nobility. No offense meant.”
“I am far too tired to take offense. I think.” She wadded the napkin around the stale bread. “You still have not told me why we are to go to Castle Parr.”
“True enough. The answer, my lady, is that we are chasing a wild goose because my father believes it lays golden eggs.”
“I am also far too tired for metaphors.”
“A pity. That was a good one, I thought.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “Somewhere in Castle Parr, says your father, is a puzzle box that belonged to my late mother. He had the information from Lady Irving, whose marvelous network of servants and informants seems to know everything in England. And somehow, says my father, that puzzle box contains a fortune.”
Audrina unspooled this information. “Then we had better find it.”
“There’s more to the matter than that.” Rutherford’s mouth drew flat and grim. “If you want to return to London in time for your sister’s wedding, your father insists that you be betrothed. Otherwise he won’t allow you in the church.”
Oh, for God’s sake. She caught herself on the handrail before she could sag to the floor. “How very unoriginal. He is the second person to try to marry me off against my inclination today.”
Rutherford looked not upstairs toward Llewellyn, but away—in the direction of the parlor, maybe, or just of the anywhere else he surely wished to be. Worry tightened his strong features. “Sorry to be the bearer of... news. I’m not sure what adjective to put to it.”
“I’m far too tired for adjectives.”
When he looked back at her, his expression was smooth again. “Of course. Let me show you to your chamber. Or would you rather return to the parlor?”
Her stomach pitched. “No. Not the parlor.”
“Not much point, really,” Rutherford agreed. “Your father and Lady Irving are arguing about which of them is more indebted to the other. My father, meanwhile, is cheerfully finishing his dinner. Since he has six children, he’s used to ignoring a din.”
He retrieved her candle—not much more than a stub now—and led her to a door that, she was glad to note, was not within earshot of Llewellyn’s cacophony. He handed her a key.
“You’re safe for tonight. Lady Irving’s maid will probably check on you soon, and then you can lock yourself in if you like.”
As Audrina took the candle and opened the door, Rutherford fell into shadow. “Sleep well, princess. Fruitless quests require an early start in the morning.”