A Daring Liaison

Chapter Fourteen

Charles knocked on the door of a small cottage in St. John’s Wood. Praying the address was correct and the man was still alive, he

breathed a little easier when an elderly man with silvered hair peeked around the panel and smiled. “Something I can do for you?”

“Are you Tom Clark?”

He nodded. “I am. And who might you be?”

“Charles Hunter, of the Home Office. I’d like to talk to you about one of your old cases.”

“Call me Tom,” the man said, opening the door wider to admit Charles, then led him into a small room inside the tidy cottage and

waved at two chairs set before a fire.

“Thank you for seeing me, Tom.”

“Not too many people come looking for information about things that happened back then. What case is it?”

“I found your name in a file, Tom,” he explained as he settled in the chair. “I gather you were one of the first to arrive at the accident.”

“What accident was that, sir?”

“A coaching accident involving a young woman—Lady Caroline Betman.”

The man frowned as if he was trying to recall the incident. Then his face cleared and he ran his gnarled fingers through his hair. “That

wasn’t an accident,” he said.

“The report says that the coach overturned as it came around a corner. Speculation had it that the driver was going too fast.”

“Aye. That was the story. And the driver was dead, so there weren’t no arguing the point.”

This piece of news was interesting, but could this man’s memory be trusted? “And you think it was not an accident?”

“Stake my life on it, sir. One of the worst cases I ever worked.”

Charles sat back in the chair. This was a surprise. He hadn’t expected to learn anything so very different from the facts in the file.

“Then why do the files say—”

“It’s who she was, sir. A lady. A peer’s daughter. Nobody wanted a scandal. And I was ordered not to talk. Ever.”

“Your secret is safe within these walls, Tom. We are on the same side here. Lady Caroline passed away six months ago, and her

father a few years after the accident. No one could be hurt by the truth now.”

Tom looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. “Then why is it important?”

“It concerns a case I am working on. I think there may be a connection. At the very least, I need to determine if your case has any

bearing or effect on the one I am investigating.”

“Don’t know how...”

“Neither do I, but there are some circumstances that are the same.”

“I hope not. The Betman case was awful. Tragic.”

Charles tented his fingers and waited. He sensed that Tom wanted to talk but was still wrestling with his conscience.

After a moment the man sighed and looked up again. “Me and Frank Grayson were first ones there. Someone put a ramp on the

inside corner so that when a coach turned the corner, one side of the wheels would raise and it would tip. It wasn’t no accident, sir. It

was a robbery. The driver was already dead, but not from the wreck. Somebody slit his throat. Blood everywhere. Everywhere.”

“What of Lady Caroline?”

“She’d been pulled from the coach and we found her in a nearby alley. She’d been cut real bad. Couldn’t even make out her face.”

“Were her injuries from the accident or from the robbers?”

“Robbers, we thought. Not enough broken glass to do that kind of damage. Only thing we wondered was if it happened before or

after.”

“If what happened before or after the accident?”

“What was done to the young lady.”

“What was done to the young lady?”

Tom looked at him for a long moment, then looked away. “She was dragged outta the coach and robbed, sir. They’d cut her purse

strings and pulled her jewelry off. Left marks on her throat where her necklace had been. Even her clothes were in shreds. Whoever

did it musta liked his work. Went beyond the usual. Vicious, it was. We—me and Frank—thought she might have put up a fight for

her jewels.”

Charles stilled as Dick Gibbons flashed through his mind. He and his brother, Artie, would have been operating at that time, and

they were notorious for using a knife as their weapon of preference. But even this went beyond their usual methods.

“The lady was incoherent. Couldn’t have talked much if she wanted to. Her mouth was cut from the corner to her jawbone and in

other places, too.”

“Why didn’t they finish the job and kill her? Were they interrupted?”

“Maybe they thought she was already dead. She was the next thing to it. Lost enough blood to be unconscious.” Tom began to wring

his hands, a nervous gesture Charles could appreciate. The retelling of such a gruesome attack could not have been easy.

“Did you have any leads at all? Any clues pointing to who might have been behind this?”

“Nothing. We got a description of what was stolen and watched jewelry shops for more than a year in case anything showed up.

Nothing. It was like it never happened.”

“You worked the case that long?”

“Me and Frank did. On our own. The Home Office didn’t want any part of it. Told us to leave it alone and keep our mouths shut.”

“Why? If this had happened to my daughter, I’d have hounded the authorities until this day—if I hadn’t already handled the matter

myself.”

“That’s what me and Frank thought. But we were called in and told to stop askin’ questions. His lordship had whisked the girl back to

the countryside and wanted the whole thing kept quiet. We were to say it was an accident if anyone asked. And we have. Until today,

sir.”

Charles took a deep breath and sat forward. “I appreciate the truth, Tom. It may help on the case I’m working now. But tell me, when

did you retire?”

“Few years ago. Still do some work on the side to keep body and soul together.”

“Have you ever heard of Dick and Artie Gibbons?”

The blood drained from Tom’s face. “Aye. Run afoul of ’em once or twice. Artie’s dead now, I hear.”

“Is there any chance this could be their work?”

“Me and Frank wondered that. They’d been at work for a while by then. We wanted to talk to them about it, but, like I said, we were

told to drop it.”

Lord Betman had evidently been determined to hush the whole matter up. Charles tried to put himself in Betman’s place and shook

his head. How could the man just let this pass? Yes, he’d have wanted to protect his daughter from scrutiny and scandal, but he

should have wanted the bastards who did that to be caught and punished.

Charles remembered the papers in the ancient file he’d pulled at the office. The scant information it contained was largely useless

since the report was fictitious. The file had been cleaned of any trace of truth. “I did not find a description of the stolen goods, Tom.

Do you recall the details?”

The man shook his head. “I remember there was a necklace, a ring or two, earbobs and a comb for her hair. But I don’t remember

what they looked like. Her purse was never found. Don’t know how much of the ready she had.”

Charles knew the habits of an agent—after all, he was one. “Any chance you might have notes on the case?”

“’Twas a long time ago, sir. Might be able to dig something up. Lots of boxes in the attic.”

Charles stood and pulled a banknote from his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Tom. “Thank you for talking to me. You’ve been a

great help. Should you remember anything else or find your notes on the case, please come to me.”

Reluctantly, Tom took the banknote, stood and walked with Charles to the door. “I’ve thought of that poor girl often over the years.

Whatever happened to her?”

“As I mentioned before, Lady Caroline died recently. I believe she lived the remainder of her life in virtual seclusion, but she took an

orphan in after her father died, so she was not entirely alone.”

“Aye. That’s good, then.” The man nodded to himself as he closed the door.

The circumstances of Caroline Betman’s tragedy must have haunted the man all these year to have asked such a question. God’s

witness, it haunted Charles now. One thing was certain. He could not tell Georgiana. She was too vulnerable now to bear such

disturbing details.

He mounted his horse and turned back toward the city.

* * *

The packet from Lady Caroline to Lord Carlington secured in her reticule, Georgiana settled herself in Charles’s coach and met his

gaze as the coach started off for Lord Carlington’s house. She could not think what to say considering that she dared not blurt what

she was thinking. How could she marry him under false pretenses?

“You are looking pensive, Georgiana. Care to share your thoughts?”

She cleared her throat and smoothed the soft coral gown that had arrived from the dressmaker’s this afternoon. “I was thinking

about tomorrow, Charles.”

“Ah, yes. Lockwood has insisted that we say our vows at the family home. Lockwood’s home, actually. The minister will attend us

there, and my family has promised to be present, as well. Lockwood and Andrew will sign as our witnesses.”

She twisted the cord of her reticule, dreading the answer to her next question. “And did they try to persuade you to think better of

such a rash decision?”

“Hmm. Well, something was mentioned regarding the hasty nature of our wedding.”

“How did you answer?”

He grinned. “I told them I could not wait and that you’d tried to dissuade me but I would not hear of it. They said no more. Sarah,

however, mentioned that she’d be looking for a new pastime now that all her brothers would be married. And what was said on your

side, Georgiana?”

She sighed, beginning to feel a bit better now that she knew Sarah hadn’t been angry. “Clara is beside herself. Between our

marriage and Finn’s arrival, she has more than enough to interest her. Sanders and the others are taking the news in their stride. I

think, given our behavior the past few days, they were expecting something of the sort.”

“Did you tell them that my staff would be coming to facilitate your move?”

“Sanders said he would supervise. Unless you have need of furniture and household items, Charles, I think we should leave mine in

place and only remove the personal things and the few valuables I have.”

“My furniture should be adequate.” He paused and frowned. “I say, you have not been to my house, have you?”

She shook her head.

“Remiss of me. I apologize.”

“For heaven’s sake, Charles! That will be remedied tomorrow. We’ve only been reacquainted for...what? Little more than a week?”

He laughed. “Bit of a whirlwind, eh?”

“I shudder to think what the ton will say. I shall be accused of heaven knows what. I used to wonder how Aunt Caroline...how she

found me husbands so quickly. I think I may have beaten her record.”

“She chose your husbands? Did you have nothing to say about them?”

“Whatever I thought did not seem to matter. She was determined to see me settled, and the one time I had a decided opinion, it

came to nothing.”

“When was that?”

Oh, no. She would not give him that satisfaction. Not yet. He was too smug as it was. She waved her glove airily. “A few years ago.

A young man who turned my head and disappeared.”

He frowned. “Were you between husbands at the time?”

“Between marriage and mourning, I have hardly been anything but between husbands, Charles.”

“Your luck is turning, Mrs. Huffington. You stand to be married now long into your old age.”

“Pray that is so,” she murmured under her breath. But the looming alternative sobered her buoyant mood.

Charles leaned forward from his position across from her and took her hands in his. “Count on it, Georgiana. Count on me.”

And she would have, had she been no wiser today than she’d been yesterday. But today she was not his equal. Today she was

illegitimate.

They remained holding hands until the coach arrived at a lovely two-story stone manor house. A liveried footman opened the coach

door and Charles, ever the gentleman, sprang down to offer her his hand.

She was surprised to find that the dinner party was intimate indeed—just Charles and herself. They were shown to a gilt-ceilinged

dining room, where Lord Carlington waited, a glass in his hand.

“When Hunter did not bring you to tea right away, I thought I could lure you here with dinner,” he explained. “There’s so much I’d like

to ask you, m’dear.” He held her chair, on the right side of the head of the long table.

Charles sat across from her and Lord Carlington took his place at the head. At a nod to a footman, the servants brought the first

course, a delicious chicken bisque soup.

“I hope you do not mind discussing your late guardian, my dear.”

“Not in the least,” she said. “Aunt Caroline was a wonderful woman. I have so many happy memories.”

He grinned. “Did she grow fat and content in her later days?”

She returned his smile. “She was trim to the end.”

“Did she ever speak of me?”

Georgiana considered how to answer the question without hurting his lordship’s pride. “She never mentioned names, Lord

Carlington, but occasionally, when she was melancholy, she would speak wistfully of a young man for whom she had a deep love.”

“Ah.” He sighed. “Was she often melancholy?”

More often than Georgiana wanted to admit. She would not strip her mother of her pride, even in death. “Only on occasion. She kept

herself quite busy, you know.”

“Did she? What sort of thing occupied her time?”

“Me.” She laughed. “I fear I was not always biddable.”

“And I fear that is a continuing problem,” Charles said, putting his spoon aside. “Georgiana has a very strong will.”

“Ah. A strong will serves a girl well. Had Caroline a stronger will...”

She would have liked to hear the end of that sentence, but Charles broke the awkward pause. “’Twas all I could do to persuade her

to marry me on the morrow.”

Lord Carlington looked surprised. “You are to wed? So soon?”

Georgiana felt the now familiar heat of a blush rising to her cheeks as Charles answered for them both. “Not as suddenly as one

might think, Carlington. Georgiana and I have been long acquainted. Sadly, I had not been able to catch her between husbands till

now.”

Lord Carlington guffawed. “Well done, Hunter! Keep after your quarry until she is yours, eh?”

“If you want something badly enough, it is the only path.”

The next course was served and conversation flowed easily. Lord Carlington seemed interested in the details of Lady Caroline’s

daily life, and in her illnesses, as well. Sooner than Georgiana expected, a strawberry ice was served and dinner was over.

Lord Carlington held her chair for her and they retired to the library.

“I hope you do not mind joining us for brandy, my dear,” he said. “I should have invited some ladies to keep you company.”

“I do not mind in the least,” she said, taking his arm.

The library, a cavernous room with floor to ceiling bookshelves and fireplaces at both ends, was softly lit and inviting. She could not

help thinking that Caroline would have enjoyed being mistress of such a house.

Then the thought struck her. Could Lord Carlington be her father? Had he and Caroline...

Lord Carlington led them to a grouping of chairs near one of the fires and indicated where they should sit before going to a side

table to pour brandies for himself and Charles. “Would you like tea or wine, my dear?” he asked her.

Still puzzling the sudden notion that this man might be her father, she needed something stronger than tea. “Wine, if you please,

Lord Carlington.”

He brought her a glass, then sank into his chair with a contented sigh. “I suppose, by now, that you have guessed that I was a little in

love with Lady Caroline.”

She glanced at Charles and noted his grin. “I wondered at your uncommon interest.”

“I wrote her many times after her accident, you know. She ceased to return my letters after a while, begging me to get on with my life,

and without her.” He drank deeply and stretched his legs out toward the fire.

“I am sorry, Lord Carlington,” Georgiana said.

“No. She was right, of course. Had she not pushed me away, I’d still be waiting for her.”

She and Charles exchanged a glance and she surmised they were thinking the same thing—that Lord Carlington had not gotten on

with his life. He had never married. And, in his own way, he was still waiting for her.

“Was she...was she badly scarred, my dear?”

“I loved her. To me, she was beautiful. But to the outside world, she would have been...hideous. Only her eyes were unaffected. They

were beautiful eyes, I recall.”

“The most beautiful ever I saw,” he agreed. “I wish she had not hidden from me.”

“She hid from everyone, my lord. She wore a veil even around the servants. I think her Abigail and I were the only ones who saw her

without it.”

“Did she ever speak of me?”

“She spoke of her years growing up, her days at school, and then of her life after the accident, but she did not speak of the short

time between. That is why I was so very surprised when I found this with her final instructions.” She pulled the little packet from the

reticule dangling at her wrist and leaned forward to present it to the earl.

His eyes widened and his hand trembled as he took the packet, staring at the writing as if it were something precious. She realized

he wanted to open it more than he wanted to breathe.

Charles stood and went to put his glass on the mantel, a pensive look on his face. “Would you mind if I showed Georgiana the

gardens, Carlington?”

He looked up at Charles with an expression of profound gratitude. “Please do. I believe the roses are budding.”

Charles gave him a small bow and took her by the arm to lead her out the French door. “You did not mention you’d brought

Carlington a present, Georgiana.”

“I did not know if the opportunity would arise for me to give him the letter.”

“I am glad you did. What was in it?”

She shrugged. “It was sealed, Charles. I haven’t the faintest notion what is in it, but there is something more than a letter. I could feel

a small lump.”

“A love token, unless I miss my guess.”

“Do you think...they might have been lovers?” Georgiana glanced back toward the house.

“Appears to be a tragic love story. If she had not encouraged him, if there had not been something deep between them, he would

not still be sighing over her all these years later.”

Tears stung her eyes. How impossibly sad. Lord Carlington had remained faithful to Caroline all these years. Had lived with hope

that she might someday return to him. While she, who had loved Charles since the first time she’d seen him, had allowed herself to

be passed from husband to husband because she’d lost all hope.

Charles stopped and turned to look into her eyes. “You are deeply affected by this, are you not?”

“My...aunt Caroline’s life was very lonely. I cannot help wondering what would have happened if she had allowed him to visit. To see

her. I am tempted to believe that he would have loved her anyway.”

Charles was silent as they began walking again and she knew that he doubted her words.

“She really was horribly scarred, you know,” she reminded him. “Perhaps, if Lord Carlington were not a public figure, or hadn’t had

obligations, Aunt Caroline’s appearance would not have mattered.”

“But he did, Georgiana. And that made all the difference.”

Her own guilty secret rose to taunt her. Perhaps, if she weren’t illegitimate, she would not have so many misgivings about marrying

Charles. Would her circumstances hold him back? Cause him embarrassment? “Do you think it is so terribly important, Charles?

Who we are? Should it make a difference?”

He was silent as they strolled past an arbor where fragrant roses would soon bloom. When he spoke, she knew he had considered

his answer. “Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it does. Futures rest upon who you are and what you do. Caroline was right to have refused to

see him. He could not deny his responsibilities. That could only have brought more pain.”

“Yet you have overlooked who I am. An orphan with no connections. A woman who has become scandalous by virtue of her

circumstances. Marriage to me could damage your reputation or your prospects. We should call if off before it is too late.”

He turned her back toward the house. “It is growing late, Georgiana. I think Carlington has had enough time to read your aunt’s letter.

We should go back.”

His lack of a reply to her offer was telling—an acknowledgment that she was inferior in society’s eyes but that he was determined to

go through with the marriage at any cost. Would he still if he knew the worst of her past? She took his arm again as they turned. “Do

you think it is because of her that he is still unmarried?”

“He had an obligation to provide an heir for his title, and he did not. Any wellborn woman would have fit his needs, yet he remained

single. There must be a reason for that.”

“I did not realize that men could languish over lost love as women do.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Did you not?”

“I have seen no evidence of it. Most men have wives and mistresses. Which do they love, if either?”

“That would depend upon their reason for marrying, Georgiana.”

What would that say about Charles’s reason for marrying her? “Do you have a mistress, Charles?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Will you have one again?”

He coughed. “We are marrying tomorrow.”

“Yes, but—”

The French doors opened and Lord Carlington peered out. “There you are. Wondered what happened to you.”

Georgiana noted his reddened eyes and his flushed cheeks. Whatever Caroline had written him had affected him deeply.

Charles saw his state, too, and interceded. “We really must be going, Carlington. Much to do tomorrow, you know.”

“Oh, of course. Well, thank you for coming.” He led them toward the door. “Lovely visit. And I was quite pleased to read Caroline’s

letter after all these years. Still the most beautiful script. She had a very fine hand, did she not, Georgiana?”

“Yes. I think she was a bit vain about it.”

He laughed. “I recall. I used to peek over her shoulder when she’d write in her little journals. She’d shoo me away and say that her

scribblings were not meant for men. Did she keep them up, my dear? Those little diaries?”

“Every day, though I wondered what she could possibly have to say when our lives were so quiet.”

Carlington cleared his throat as a footman opened the door for them. “If there is nothing too personal, I’d like to read them. I would

be interested in what her days were like. And her nights.”

Georgiana blinked back her tears. She had not thought of her aunt’s journals since she’d died. In fact, she could not remember her

aunt writing in them at all after their last return to Kent. Perhaps there were some in the attic at the town house. She would have to

read them first, of course, to make certain there was nothing that would compromise Caroline’s dignity.

“I will look for them, Lord Carlington. If I should find one or two fit for male eyes, I will be glad to share them.”

He took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “I shall look forward to it.”