Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge
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towards the sacks of food assembled in the hall.
‘Yes, sir!’ Eagerly the men began to load the carriage. Alec helped, too, and when they were finished he guided Rosalie out to the vehicle.
‘That’s about it,’ Alec said to Garrett. He looked around. ‘Oh, and by the way—we’re going to drop a sack of food off at the corner of Lothbury.’
‘Right you are, Captain.’ Garrett nodded. He turned with an awkward smile to Rosalie. ‘All right, ma’am? Your little ‘un, she’s fine, but she’ll be glad to see you back!’ Then he scrambled up on to the driver’s box next to McGrath, who was already holding the reins.
Alec shot Rosalie a look of complete astonishment. ‘My God. Garrett smiled at you. What magic have you worked on him?’
‘I don’t know really. Perhaps it’s because I was kind to his dog?’
Alec lifted his eyebrows. ‘You’re a witch, Mrs Rowland,’ he said softly, ‘and in another few days you’ll have us all eating out of the palm of your hand.’
Rosalie froze again. Mrs Rowland—oh, God. She’d told him about Linette, but she hadn’t confessed to the rest of her lies—for example, her fictitious widowhood. But if she told him she was not married, he would perhaps start to doubt every single thing she’d ever said and might refuse to let her stay at Two Crows Castle. Might refuse flatly to help her any further.
He was watching her quizzically. ‘Something wrong?’
‘No!’ She shook her head, forcing a smile. ‘And, Alec—thank you. For offering me your help.’
‘Think nothing of it.’ He was about to hand her up into the carriage, but then he hesitated. ‘Although one thing worries me. Even though we know—you and I—that you are quite safe with me, staying at Two Crows Castle, your reputation will be shot to pieces, to put it politely.’
She almost laughed. That was the least of her problems. ‘Oh, goodness! And there was I, hoping for a top-lofty proposal or two at the start of the next Season! I’m afraid, Captain Stewart, that my hopes for a respectable future are already pretty low. And appearing at the Temple of Beauty most definitely did nothing to improve my chances!’
‘You had no dreams of getting married again?’ he asked quietly.
‘Lord, no.’
‘You feel that no one could replace your husband?’
She shrugged. ‘If you wish to put it like that, yes.’
He was watching her carefully. ‘Mrs Rowland—Rosalie—I hope we can at least be friends.’
She nodded mutely as he handed her in and followed behind. Out on the driver’s box, Garrett and Sergeant McGrath were singing heartily as the horses pulled the laden coach briskly eastwards into darker, narrower streets. Alec joined in, his voice a melodious baritone that she instantly adored.
‘Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules,
Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.
But of all the world’s great heroes, there’s none that can compare
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row
To the British Grenadiers …’
He smiled at her. She smiled back, even joining in the chorus. But her heart was heavy. She had mistrusted him and lied to him. Yes, she now had him on her side in her struggle to find Linette’s seducer. But he had also promised her that he would never touch her again and she was just realising how devastating those simple words could be.
‘Horse,’ said Katy, happily waving her new little wooden toy. ‘Horse.’
Katy was in the parlour off the kitchen when they returned, sitting in Mary’s comfortable lap. All around was evidence of a pleasant family shopping trip: gingerbread men, a penny whistle, ribbons and other toys. ‘We took the children up Bishopsgate,’ Mary explained. ‘With some of the Captain’s men, of course. I do hope you don’t mind, ma’am?’
‘Not at all.’ Rosalie smiled down at Katy. ‘Your little horse is beautiful, darling.’
‘For Polly-doll.’ Katy perched her little rag doll on the new horse. Alec had entered the room behind Rosalie and came over to gently ruffle the child’s dark hair. When Rosalie saw the look of tenderness in his eyes for Katy, it lanced her.
‘Bedtime, Katy,’ she said lightly. She picked the little girl up, breathing in the sweet infant scent of her skin, and started for the stairs, but turned back. ‘Thank you,’ she said fervently to Mary and Garrett and all the others, ‘for looking after her so well today. For looking after both of us so well.’
Mary beamed. ‘It’s a pleasure, ma’am.’
Rosalie put Katy carefully in her little bed and sang her sister’s child to sleep. Alec had offered her his help and protection; therefore she had to endure living under the roof of a man who affected her as no man ever had done before. And Lord, it was going to be difficult.
Alec went to his room and cursed softly under his breath. Ever since he’d seen Rosalie Rowland at the Temple of Beauty, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. And today, at his father’s house, how he’d managed to control himself, he’d never know.
He could have taken her so easily. But he’d restrained himself with an iron will, because he still had not been sure of her motives. And—because, strangely, she seemed to trust him. She wouldn’t if she knew his secrets.
He raked his hand through his hair. Earlier today, a note had been delivered for him. He’d cracked open the seal with a bitter heart, not needing to look at the signature to know who it was from, because he was already alerted by the faint scent of gardenias that imbued the expensive notepaper.
Alec. I am back in London before your father, who is following in a few days. I’m staying in Bedford Street, because the Belgrave Square house needs to be prepared. I know there are risks, my dear, but might I see you at Lord Fanton’s ball? There are things I need to tell you.
It was from his stepmother. His beautiful stepmother. And Lord Fanton’s ball was tomorrow night.
There was a knock and Garrett came in. ‘Captain. You asked us to find out who started the fire at the place where the girl lived—and who smashed up the printing press there, too.’
‘I take it you’ve found out?’
And Garrett told him.
After Garrett left, Alec paced the room. Stephen’s men. In God’s name, why?
He rather feared he was beginning to know the answer.
That night Stephen was at his father’s house and in a raging temper. This evening’s gathering was to have been a fine one for his friends: a delectable supper followed by drinking and gaming, with a few high-class whores performing their tricks at midnight.
But—there had been no food. No wine. Devil take it, Stephen’s failure of a party would be sniggered over around the clubs of London for weeks to come, thanks to his damned brother!
And then Jarvis, the old fool, had directed Stephen specifically to the drawing room, where he was immediately confronted with—the paintings. The labels that had been tied to one frame after another. Counterfeit, those labels had screamed out in large letters. Stephen had roamed the house, his agitation increasing. Counterfeit. And every identification, without fail, was correct.
It must be Alec! But how had his damned brother detected it, when the whole business had been conducted with such care? Sending them for cleaning, having them copied and selling off the originals had seemed an inspiration.
Hell’s teeth, would Alec tell their father?
Finally there was the fact—which he’d forced out of old Jarvis—that Alec still