The Determined Lord Hadleigh. Virginia Heath
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Men always did what they thought was best irrespective of the woman’s feelings. ‘Then how else do you explain twelve months’ worth of rent miraculously paid on my behalf?’
‘Twelve months!’ Her friend seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Someone has paid an entire year of rent? Who? And, more importantly, why?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Clarissa—let’s not play games.’ She wouldn’t feel bad for losing her temper. A line had to be drawn somewhere and her overprotective friend had pushed the boundary between concern and downright interference too far. ‘I appreciate I’ve been the biggest of fools, that I married a man you had the measure of from the outset and cautioned me against, that I put up with Penhurst and did his bidding like a quaking dolt for three years! I am walking proof of how stupidly trusting, misguided and downtrodden a woman can be! But I’m not an idiot. Not any more, at any rate. You directly or indirectly paid my rent without my consent or knowledge to stop me applying for work.’
‘No. I didn’t. I swear it. I had every intention of having another long chat with you about the topic today in the hope you might reconsider. That I will freely admit. I see no earthly reason why you continue to isolate yourself here in this tiny apartment in Cheapside when you could live with us comfortably in Grosvenor Square. And I was jolly well prepared to shake you by the shoulders if you continued to be stubborn, but I respect the fact that only you can make the decisions concerning you and Freddie. After Penhurst, and all the dire and wicked things he did to you, I would never dream of robbing you of free will.’ Her friend leaned forward and clasped her hand, looking worried. ‘I swear to you, Penny, I did not pay your rent.’
‘Then who did?’ It didn’t make sense. She had two distant cousins left, neither of whom wanted anything to do with her. They had been very specific on the subject in their final letter to her during the trial. No other friends. They had all been shamefully quick to desert her, too. Rats hurling themselves from a scuppered and sinking ship. It had hurt, but she understood it. Aside from Clarissa and her husband, she had no one.
‘You don’t suppose one of Penhurst’s old friends paid it for you?’
A cold chill skittered down Penny’s spine at the thought. ‘Why would they?’ Surely those cutthroats hated her? ‘I testified against him...’ Before those same cutthroats had violently murdered her husband in his cell. ‘And they’ve all been rounded up. Haven’t they?’ The ringleaders were all in gaol—but what if the government had missed someone? Would they wish her, a woman who knew nothing outside of what had happed within her own four walls, harm or malice? By the look on Clarissa’s suddenly pale face she suspected they did. ‘I thought nobody bar you, Seb and the authorities knew my new name and address.’ If her new lodgings and identity had leaked outside the safety of her minuscule intimate circle, to people who could feasibly perhaps want her dead, then she would have to take Freddie and leave tonight. Lord only knew where or how. She was down to her last five guineas—thanks, bizarrely, to the money she had not been allowed to pay to those to whom she owed it, six pieces of her mother’s jewellery and the clothes on her back.
Clarissa saw the fear and her tone instantly became reassuring. ‘Believe me, if those people wanted to punish you and knew where you were, they would have done so. Swiftly and mercilessly. It makes no sense they would offer you charity. Besides, they’ve arrested the leaders. Those crooks beneath them would have long fled if they have any sense. Staying in the capital is tantamount to a death sentence if they are caught. Whoever paid your rent doesn’t mean you harm, Penny. We can be certain of that. On the contrary, I suspect. They want to see you safe and well cared for.’
‘I don’t want anyone else’s money or their help. Especially if they are linked to my husband in some way.’ And even if they weren’t, she only had two friends left in the world and Freddie. Being beholden to a complete stranger, no matter how benevolent, made her feel uneasy. ‘But what if it is one of his criminal contacts?’ All manner of dire scenarios flitted through her mind, making her unconsciously tighten her hold on her son.
‘There’s nobody of importance left, dearest. All the authorities are convinced of it. What if I talk to Lord Fennimore or get Seb to investigate it? I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of your mystery benefactor in no time and then we’ll set them straight as well as put your mind at ease. As soon as they realise their well-meaning interference is unwelcome, I’m sure they’ll leave well alone.’
Hadleigh placed the little jade brooch in his desk drawer alongside the dented gold locket, well-worn cameo and the delicate ruby earrings, then locked it and pocketed the key. He was no expert on woman’s jewellery—or women’s anything, for that matter—but he doubted they were worth a great deal. They lacked the sparkle of the gems he saw glittering beneath the chandeliers at the few society events he was forced to attend when he couldn’t find the right excuse to get out of them. If anything, they were a sad, meagre collection of jewellery as far as he was concerned, but they were of great personal value to her. He had witnessed that with his own eyes this time as he had watched her dither outside the pawnbroker’s, staring at the brooch for the longest time lovingly before swapping it for a few coins.
Thanks to the Bow Street Runner he had assigned to watch her since she had moved to Cheapside three months ago, the detailed weekly reports had made it easy to see there was a pattern to those heart-wrenching visits. On the first of the month, every month, she pawned a trinket and used the proceeds to pay her bills. Today, he had paid them all before she left the house and retrieved the latest item within minutes of her leaving the pawnbroker’s shop, supremely thankful that she had not noticed him loitering in that convenient doorway as she had briskly bustled past within a hair’s breadth of him. A little too close for comfort, truth be told, when a man in his position shouldn’t be anywhere near a witness from a prior case.
But the same thought processes which had kept him up at night since the Penhurst verdict still plagued him. Continually worrying about her had compelled him to see her for himself today for the first time since the trial. He had needed to see with his own eyes exactly what was going on in her world and if her situation was as dire as the Runner had intimated it was. Solvent people, he had said in last week’s report, didn’t sell off the family silver.
For a gently bred lady to stoop that low, things had to be dire. She must be at her wits’ end with worrying about how to pay for things. He sincerely hoped she would sleep easier tonight knowing she no longer ran the risk of being evicted. Hadleigh certainly hoped he would sleep sounder. He also hoped that single act of benevolent charity would appease his niggling conscience. A conscience which bothered him the most in the dead of night when he should have been snatching enough hours of rest to keep his legal mind fresh. He was plagued with insomnia and desperately needed proper sleep. And now unburdened, would grab some—just as soon as he finished today’s mountain of paperwork.
He cast a glance at the stack of case notes and witness statements on his desk, next to yet another cold and unappealing candlelit supper his valet had left out for him and allowed himself a pitying groan. There was at least another hour’s work there, perhaps two, before he could even consider heading to his bed.
There was no doubt this was the biggest case of his career. For over a year, the King’s Elite had been seeking the criminal mastermind behind a dangerous smuggling ring. A few weeks ago, they had finally found the person and, as the appointed Crown Prosecutor, Hadleigh’s current and enormous quest for justice had truly started. The infamous, well-connected and dangerous Boss, who had been the scourge of the hallowed halls of Westminster as well as turning more peers than the odious Viscount Penhurst traitor, had finally been unmasked and arrested. And to everyone’s shock, including Hadleigh’s, the man they had been seeking was in fact a woman.
Viscountess Gislingham was now safely under lock and key in the most secure prison in the country—the Tower of London. Six other peers were similarly incarcerated in Newgate. It was Hadleigh’s job to build a watertight case against her and her fellow traitors so they could crush