Читать книгу Unlacing Lilly - Gail Ranstrom - Страница 11

Devlin separated his papers into stacks. One for his barkeeper, one for his solicitor, one for his valet and his own private list. Within a day or two he’d be ready to put his plan in action, and just in time.

A soft knock at his study door as the clock chimed eleven drew his attention. This would be Basil Albright, his solicitor, prompt to a fault.

The door opened a crack, and Knowles, his valet, announced, “Mr. Albright, sir.”

Devlin nodded and Knowles widened the gap to allow the solicitor through, then closed them inside. A smallish, balding man, Albright looked meek and ineffectual, but in reality, he was a shark. Nothing got past the man, and he was ruthless in dealing with his opponents.

“Mr. Farrell, what is this nonsense about drawing up a will? Has someone challenged you?”

How interesting that Albright would think in those terms. And yes, it was a very distinct possibility someone would, considering what he was about to do. Nonetheless, Albright’s impertinence should not be indulged. “I am simply trying to tie up loose strings before I turn my attention to other matters.” He gestured to the chair across the desk from him.

Albright gave him a sharp look as he sat down, opened his portfolio and withdrew a lead pencil. “Give me the particulars and I shall have it drawn up immediately. If it is not complicated, I should have it ready for signature tomorrow.”

“Not in the least complicated. First, I wish to leave the gin house, both business and building, to Knowles.”

“The valet? But what does he know of running a gin house?”

“We’ve lived above it for five years now, Albright. Do you think he’s absorbed nothing?”

Albright looked around and Devlin knew he was assessing his apartments above The Crown and Bear. He’d said on more than one occasion that he found Mayfair quality above a Whitechapel slum to be a poor investment. But Devlin liked living above his business. He hadn’t acquired wealth by delegating responsibility to others. No, he’d learned early to cling tight to what was his.

“The contents, as well?” Albright asked.

“Everything as it stands at the moment I cease to breathe.”

“Mr. Farrell, the furnishings alone must be worth—”

“As it stands,” Devlin repeated.

He waited until Albright finished making his notes, then continued. “My investment portfolio to Mick Hadden.”

“Why, that’s—”

“He wasn’t always a barkeeper, Albright. Michael Haddon. M-i-c-h—”

“I can spell Michael, sir. And what of your cash accounts?”

Devlin turned in his chair and gazed out his window to the teeming street below. He lived in the midst of poverty and squalor. There was no way to end it, and he hadn’t enough to make a scintilla of difference to the inhabitants of Whitechapel. He was not even certain most of them wanted a better life. But a few did. And he’d already made provisions for them.

Had his own mother had the wherewithal, she’d have gone back to Wiltshire when she’d found she was expecting him. Instead she’d been discharged into the Whitechapel rookeries to make her way the best she could. At first that had meant sewing and mending for a bawdy house, and when her eyesight began to fail when Devlin had been merely eight, she’d done whatever had come her way to put food in his mouth. Yes, even that.

“I want you to look into establishing a fund—a foundation, if you will—to assist women who wish to leave a dissolute life.”

Albright coughed and glanced up from his writing. “Surely I did not hear you correctly.”

“Surely you did.”

“But you…”

He raised an eyebrow, daring Albright to continue. After escaping the orphanage when he was eleven, he’d done many things to build his fortune, most of them illegal, some of them immoral, but he’d never made money off women’s backs. That one sin, at least, was foreign to him.

Albright wisely bent his head to his notes again. When he was finished writing, Devlin continued.

“Open a separate account at my bank for a thousand pounds under the name of Mr. Carson. I shall be making withdrawals over the next few weeks and I do not want them traced. During that time, you will not be able to reach me. If you need clarification or direction, meet with Haddon.”

“He will know how to reach you?”

“Aye, and he’ll be the only one.”

“And meantime?”

Devlin stood and went to the door. “Meantime, I have long-overdue business to take care of.”

“Farrell! Here you are. I’d have come sooner, but I was tying up some loose ends on a case.”

Devlin heaved a deep sigh and looked to the side to find that Jack Higgins had occupied a chair at the table next to his. He’d sent word this morning before his solicitor arrived that he wanted to see the investigator this evening. “About time, Jack.”

Jack signaled the barkeeper to bring a tankard before he spoke again, scanning the barroom as if looking for trouble. “And as it happens, if you are about to offer me work, I have just had an opening.”

Jack had been one of the best of the Bow Street Runners, knew the rules of the Home Office and knew how to break them. Too bad he hadn’t known how to avoid getting caught breaking them. Thus, Jack Higgins was no longer employed by the Home Office—he was a disgraced police investigator who now hired out to any man with the price. Men like Devlin.

He stood and tilted his head toward the back passageway. After he unlocked his office door, he left it ajar for Jack. He sat at his desk, took two glasses and a bottle of port from the cabinet behind him, poured a measure in each glass, then sat back to wait.

A few minutes later, Jack slipped through the office door and closed it behind him. “So, what do you need, Farrell? I know you didn’t ask me here just to pass the time of day.”

Devlin shrugged, hoping the gesture would belie the importance of the errand. “I need you to do a little snooping for me.”

Jack’s right eyebrow went up. “This is interesting. I thought you knew everything that went on in the rookeries. Why do you need me?”

“Because this has nothing to do with the rookeries. It has to do with the ton.”

“You could still find out whatever you wanted. Put one of your snitches on the case.”

“I need finesse, Jack. I can’t have a heavy-handed gutter rat making a muddle of this. Or even getting himself noticed, for that matter.”

“Ah, finesse. Discretion.” Jack grinned. “This has to do with a woman, does it not?”

Devlin nodded and endured Jack’s inevitable chortling.

“At last,” Jack said when he’d controlled his laughter. “Pierced by Cupid’s arrow. Oh, this will be the talk of the town. Well, certain parts of it, at least.”

“Cupid has nothing to do with this.”

“Do tell?”

“I am offering you a job. I need to find someone.”

“Then give me the particulars of the search.”

“The family name is O’Rourke. They are from Belfast. A mother and her daughters. I believe they have been in town since May. Their lodgings will be a good address, but not extravagant. They are gentry, not nobility.”

“Hmm. Not much to go on. When do you need the information?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Jack laughed.

“Tomorrow night,” he repeated. “Twenty-four hours. And I have one other piece of information that should help you.”

Sitting forward in his chair, Jack nodded. “Spill it, then.”

“One of the daughters is betrothed to the Marquis of Olney.”

The smile faded from Jack’s face. “Rutherford’s heir? Tell me you are not dallying with the fiancée.”

“I am not dallying,” Devlin confirmed, wondering if Jack would see through the subtlety.

“Rutherford. This puts a different light on the matter. He’s a nasty one. I wouldn’t put much past him. And if his cub follows in his footsteps, I’d watch Olney, too.”

“Scared?” Devlin asked.

The pause was just long enough to confirm the charge. “Why do you need the information so soon?”

“Because the wedding is set for day after tomorrow.”

“Do you think you’re going to rescue the girl?”

Rescue? It hadn’t even occurred to him to use such a label, but he supposed his plan could have that effect. “This actually has very little, if anything, to do with the O’Rourkes.”

“Then—”

“A means to an end, Jack. And that’s all you need to know.” He removed a small stack of banknotes from his drawer and laid it on the desk. “Will you do it?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight with what I’ve uncovered.”

Lilly stood at the French windows looking out on Rutherford’s back gardens, remembering her odd conversation there with Mr. Devlin. A shiver passed through her, and she had a sudden fear that she would never marry Lord Olney. That something would happen to tear them apart. What silliness. All Mr. Devlin had done was tease about improving her fortunes and wanting to marry a duke. He’d certainly meant nothing sinister.

What an odd man Mr. Devlin was, a quixotic mix of brash impudence and unexpected chivalry. And certainly more complex than any of the men she’d met in London so far. Of course, she hadn’t met many. She’d only mixed in small groups for the past six weeks since her family had been in half-mourning.

And tomorrow would mark three months since her oldest sister’s death, and official mourning would end. Her wedding was scheduled for the day after—the soonest Mama and Lady Vandecamp would hear of allowing the ceremony. And not a moment too soon! As the day approached, Lilly grew more and more anxious to have it done with. She grew increasingly worried that something would happen to ruin her dream.

“So pensive, Miss Lillian?”

Olney had come to stand behind her and his breath was hot on her neck. A little frisson of excitement passed through her with the sudden realization that her wedding night loomed ahead. “Just thinking,” she answered.

“About the wedding?”

She nodded, unwilling to turn and face him when she was certain she must be blushing. “Actually about Mr. Devlin.”

“Who?”

“Your friend. The one I met in the garden the night you proposed.”

She noted Olney’s frown in his reflection in the window. “I do not believe I know a Mr. Devlin. Did you tell me about him?”

“You returned with your father’s answer and I forgot all about meeting anyone.”

He tilted his head, and his breath tickled her ear. “Ah, well. Never mind, m’dear. He could be a friend of my father’s. Perhaps he was invited to the wedding. If you see him, you must introduce us.”

The wedding! Since the duchess had taken over, Lilly couldn’t even be sure who had been invited and who hadn’t. “Yes, I shall look for the opportunity.”

“Thank heavens Lady Vandecamp backed down from the duchess. Though your side was in favor of a small, discreet affair, my mother has been determined to make a lavish splash with the event. I vow she has invited half the ton—even those who have removed from London for the country.”

“My sister…”

“Yes, my dear, we’ve all heard about Cora. And, to be perfectly honest, just the mention of her casts a pall over the occasion. Is it not time to put it behind you? After all, it has been three months.”

She turned to look up at him. Olney had led a charmed life if he hadn’t lost anyone dear to him. He chucked her under the chin as he might a child. “Chin up, m’dear. Better days ahead. Soon you will be mine.”

She forced a smile, pretending that the mere thought of such a thing cheered her. And, in truth, it did. Marriage to Olney would brighten her life once they settled in together.

“My dears, come join us,” the duchess called in her imperious voice. “There will be time for sneaking away together after the wedding.”

Olney cupped her elbow and turned her toward the grouping of chairs around the low table bearing a silver tea service. He sat her on the divan and went to stand behind her, resting one hand on her shoulder.

“The most exciting news, my dears. Rutherford believes the king will grant permission to proceed with the wedding.”

Lilly’s heart stopped. “I was not aware that was in question.” She twisted to look around at her betrothed. “Olney, did you not say you had acquired a license so that we would not have to wait for my parish in Belfast to forward the declaration of banns there?”

He nodded. “Yes, but then Queen Caroline died and that has muddied the waters.”

“A delay would be terribly inconvenient,” the duchess declared. “The invitations had already gone out when Caroline died. Why, the flowers, the food, the church—all are in readiness.”

Mama put her teacup down with a sharp crack. “Mourning is a most serious matter, madam. I, for one, would never have cut short our mourning for Cora, and—”

Behind her, Olney cleared his throat. Yes, Cora was not supposed to be mentioned. She sighed and looked down at her lap waiting for the inevitable rebuke from the duchess.

“Are you correcting me, Mrs. O’Rourke?”

“Oh, I am certain my mother would do nothing of the sort,” Lilly hastened to explain with a quick glance at her mother.

The duchess nodded. “Well, dear Lillian, the wedding of a future duke takes precedence over some things. The acceptances to the wedding and the supper following have been pouring in. Evidently most of the ton does not think it in poor taste to continue with one’s obligations. There may be a somber tone and a surfeit of drab colors, but there will be a large attendance.”

“I suppose there will be time to mourn the poor queen afterward,” Mama allowed with a conciliatory smile.

Olney’s mother, always conscious of being a duchess and superior in all ways to her son’s future in-laws, sniffed impatiently. “Mrs. O’Rourke, it is unlikely that any but commoners will truly mourn Caroline for long.”

Lilly stiffened. The duchess could not have been clearer in her meaning. Mama was a commoner—one of the unwashed masses who would mourn the queen.

As if sensing her rising protest, Olney’s hand squeezed her shoulder, warning her to silence. “Yes, yes, Mother. But can we not talk of something else? That topic is growing old,” he said.

Lilly sighed gratefully for Olney’s attempt to defuse the situation and glanced at her mother, praying she would let the comment pass. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Mama drew a deep breath. “If you cannot mourn the queen, surely you can respect the dignity of her station.”

The duchess’s mouth worked but no sound issued forth. Mama had rendered the woman speechless! Oh, dear Lord! She glanced up at Olney again, hoping he would smooth things over, or at least change the subject, but the duke returned from his brandy in the library and provided the needed distraction.

“Rutherford, come join our little group,” the duchess said, still flushed from Mama’s impertinence. “You will never guess. Mrs. O’Rourke is a Queenite. Is that not amusing?”

Lilly shot a glance at her mother to see a deep crimson flush her cheeks. If something were not done quickly, disaster would ensue. What if Olney’s parents withdrew their approval of the marriage? Olney had already told her that they were less than pleased. Still, to insult her mother by suggesting that she supported the scandalous queen! Insult? No, humiliate. She started to rise, but again Olney’s comforting hand on her shoulder held her back.

The Duke of Rutherford took a seat next to the duchess and looked down his long aristocratic nose at her mother. “Is that so? Well, I pray you have enough good sense to keep your opinions to yourself, madam. Yours is not a sentiment common in our circle.”

“I believe your wife misunderstood my mother, your grace. She is not a Queenite.”

“Hmm,” was his only comment to that. “Well, the queen’s body has left English soil to return her to Brunswick today, and we are well quit of her. She has proved to be as much trouble dead as she was alive. Such disgraceful goings-on! And now…well, the timing of her death is damned inconvenient.”

Good heavens. Was the duke so arrogant that he suspected the queen of choosing a date to die that would inconvenience him? Olney cleared his throat and turned the conversation to the impending wedding. Lilly merely sat with a stiff back and allowed the chatter to wash over her as she studied the duke and his duchess.

Graying, and heavy through the bosom, the duchess was also possessed of a pinched mouth for pursing in disapproval. Apart from that, she was fairly unremarkable. It was the duke who really interested her. Dark hair with silver-gray streaks lent him distinction, cold blue eyes regarded all around him with suspicion and superiority, and a rod-stiff posture made him look as if he’d been carved from stone.

Still, there was something vaguely appealing about him. Perhaps the part Olney had inherited. Yes, the similarity was in the looks, not the bearing. Thank heavens! Then Olney would age well and she prayed her influence would save him from the insufferable arrogance displayed by his parents.

“Are we to be treated to the presence of your sister, Miss Eugenia, at the wedding? I must say that I find her absence to be unseemly.” The duchess put her teacup down on the low table. “Why, any ordinary girl would be indulging in the rare opportunity to shine in society. What illness keeps her at home?”

“She took a bit of a spill not long ago,” her mother answered for Lilly. “She knocked her head and has headaches since. Our physician says they will improve given time. And she has promised to stand up with Lilly on her wedding day.”

“Then we shall not meet her until then?”

“There is only tomorrow,” Lilly interjected, praying that was so, and that they would not call off the wedding now that they knew how “unsuitable” the common O’Rourkes were. “I shall be needing her to assist me in preparing to remove to Olney’s apartments here.” In truth, she did not need her sister’s help; she only wanted to spare her the duchess’s scrutiny and judgment.

At the moment, she only wanted to end the uncomfortable situation and the possibility of further disaster. Alas, the duchess had one last reminder of the O’Rourke’s unsuitability.

“Well.” She sighed deeply as she put her cup down. “Rutherford and I are just relieved Edward has finally proposed to someone. We began to despair of ever seeing grandchildren.”

“Though we could have wished for someone…”

“Exactly like you, my dear,” Olney finished for his father.

But it was too late. The unspoken words more suitable hung in the air like a dark cloud. She stood and gave the Duke of Rutherford the barest possible curtsy. “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, but Mama and I should be returning home. I do not want to come to the wedding exhausted.”

“If,” the duchess emphasized with a glance at Mama, “there is to be a wedding.”

Oh! What else could possibly go wrong? Surely Olney’s parents would not withdraw their consent? A cold dread invaded Lilly’s vitals.