CHAPTER THREE
* * *
Averil clung to the banister despite its greasiness. She was beyond such niceties now. Her sister—Rose, she would call her Rose, Rose was a sweet name—had been taken to the orphanage at St. Thomas’s, which was probably close by. Surely there would be a record of her? Someone must know something.
Please, oh please, Averil’s thoughts were agonizing, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, don’t let her be dead. Was her journey coming to an end, in one way or another? Was she finally to know whether or not she was truly alone in the world?
She cast an anxious glance about the room, hoping to see Lord Southbrook among the noisy mass of humanity. Her head was aching and she wanted to go home. Perhaps she could persuade the sullen girl to fetch her a hackney cab? Slip away before Southbrook returned?
But it was too late. He was coming toward her, and he wasn’t alone.
Lord Southbrook had his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who looked like him, and his other hand tucked rather like a jailer into the arm of a gentleman who also looked like him, only older, with graying hair.
Good Lord, three generations of Southbrooks!
Averil swallowed and forced a wan smile to her lips.
“Lord Southbrook, there you are. I was just going to ask someone to fetch me a hackney cab. Jackson sent ours away and I’m sure you have enough to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance. Or more of a nuisance than I have already been.”
His face darkened. “I’m taking you to my coach. It is completely safe. I will see you home.”
“Really, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You couldn’t possibly refuse,” he cut her short.
The older man leaned forward and said in a confidential voice, “Best to just say ‘yes,’ my dear. My nephew is a bully and will have his own way whatever you say.”
“Papa isn’t a bully,” the boy piped up, dark eyes narrowing. “Hackneys are grubby and we have a nice coach.”
Averil sighed.
The older man peered at her with interest. “Are you coming to Southbrook Castle, too? It wouldn’t be so bad if she could come, too,” he added to Lord Southbrook with a hopeful note. “Do introduce us, Rufus.”
Lord Southbrook introduced them, as if they were at a perfectly respectable house, rather than surrounded by drunken revelry.
“Lady Averil Martindale, this is my uncle, the Honorable James Blainey. And this is my son, Eustace, Lord Turrif. Lady Averil fell and hurt herself on her way here so we are taking her home in the coach.”
“My lord,” she tried again, “I really don’t think this is necessary. I can find—” Find what? Frustration filled her. How dare Jackson run off and leave her in this mess. Averil all but stamped her foot and might well have done, if her knee wasn’t so sore. She would be having words with him the next time she saw him.
Lord Southbrook ignored her, stepping forward and lifting her into his arms. “Don’t be an idiot, Lady Averil,” he murmured in her ear.
Cross and startled, she stared up at him.
“You have placed yourself in danger. I am coming to your rescue. You can thank me later.”
A bully, mouthed the Honorable James Blainey, standing at his nephew’s shoulder.
They left The Tin Soldier and set off into the maze of dark streets, but the earl strode along as if he knew exactly where they were going. Averil was rather impressed. In a short time they reached a main thoroughfare where he had left the coach. The coachman jumped down and opened the door, trying not to stare at this extra passenger his master appeared to have acquired. Lord Southbrook murmured something to his coachman and then leaned inside the coach and set Averil upon the soft leather seat. As she sat there, dazed, her fair hair tumbling over her shoulders, her gray eyes wide, he preceded to tuck a blanket about her. Averil hoped he couldn’t see her face flaming. Thankfully it was quite dark.
Next, the earl gave his uncle a boost up into the coach, and his son scrambled in after him, seating himself beside Averil. The earl sat opposite, with his uncle. He reached up to give a firm thump on the roof, and a moment later they clattered off into the traffic.
Averil sighed, and snuggled under the blanket. She was trapped. She knew she couldn’t walk unaided and Jackson, if he’d returned, wouldn’t know where she was. There was nothing she could do but make the best of a bad situation.
For a time all was quiet in the coach, the occupants deep in their own thoughts, but Rufus knew it couldn’t last.
Lady Averil was the first to speak. “You do not know where I live?”
“I do know where you live,” he replied, knowing he would surprise her. He surprised himself. After he’d seen her at the opera he had inquired after her, curiosity he’d told himself, and refused to ask himself why he should be curious about Lady Averil and none of the other women who were there that night. He’d learned rather a lot: that she was an heiress and that she was an orphan and was heavily involved in Dr. Simmons’s charity work, he being a cousin of hers.
“We live in Mayfair,” Eustace announced. “The house has been in the family for generations.”
“Oh,” she said carefully. “You are very fortunate then.”
Rufus felt his spirits sink even lower. What would he tell his son when the house was no longer in the family, when strangers were occupying its rooms?
“As you’ve gathered, Lady Averil, we Blaineys are a rather ramshackle lot but we usually fall on our feet.” The Honorable James gave her a charming smile, currying favor as usual.
Rufus sighed. James had really gone too far tonight but as angry as he was, Rufus’s affection for him remained.
When Rufus was a child he lived in a colorless and austere world. His father was often away and his mother found children a bore. It was James who had been his friend and companion. It was James who had brought color and joy into his life, playing wildly imaginative games, dressing up as pirates and soldiers, and one time, when he was so ill they all thought he was going to die, James had sat in his room and read to him and tempted him to eat with little treats. No matter how infuriating and difficult his uncle now was, Rufus still loved him for that.
“Why were you at The Tin Soldier, Lady Averil?” Eustace said, insatiably curious. “You were the only proper lady there, at least I think you were, but I wasn’t allowed into the upstairs rooms. Do your father and mother know where you were?”
Rufus knew he should tell his son to mind his own business, but he was curious, too, and rather wanted to hear what Lady Averil had to say, so he held his tongue.
“Well, my father died when I was a little girl. My mother, too. And . . . my reasons for being at The Tin Soldier are personal, Lord Turrif.”
That only held Eustace up for a moment. “Why are they personal?”
Averil sighed. “Because they are private.”
“Surely you can tell us?” Eustace wriggled closer. “My uncle James was there because he plays cards and loses money, and I went with him because I knew Papa would want someone to keep an eye on him. I knew Papa would find us when he read my note. There”—he wriggled closer still—“now you know why we were there. It’s only polite you tell us why you were there.”
Averil looked to Rufus for help but he pretended to be gazing out of the window at the dark streets, although she could see the quirk of a smile on his thin lips.
She squared her shoulders. “I have a sister,” she said. “I think her name is Rose. At least that is what Mrs. Jakes at The Tin Soldier called her. When I was a little girl my mother . . . went off somewhere. But I saw her again, just the once, before she died. And that was when I saw my sister, too. She was just a baby but I remember her. No one knows what happened to her and I’m trying to find her. That was why I was there tonight.”
Eustace was staring at her with enormous dark eyes. Rufus tried not to smile. His son had a soft heart and Averil’s story had captured his imagination. He could guess what his next words would be.
“We can help you! Find your sister, I mean. Papa is good at finding people.”
Averil smiled at the boy, tucking a heavy strand of fair hair behind her ear. “You are very kind, Lord Turrif, but . . .”
“Call me Eustace.”
“You are very kind, Eustace, but my sister is a secret. I don’t talk about her. And I have a man called Jackson who—”
“Leaves you to fend for yourself in the middle of the East End,” Rufus said mockingly. “My son is right. I can help you, Lady Averil. I am rather adept at finding lost souls.”
It was true. During his days with The Guardians Rufus had been called upon many a time to seek out people who for whatever reason were attempting to hide themselves away.
He watched with amusement as she tried to find suitable words to turn him down, without hurting Eustace’s feelings. Eustace wasn’t the only one with a soft heart. And then she glanced out of the window and relief filled her face.
“Oh, we are home!”
At that moment the coach came to a halt outside a modest-looking town house in a quiet street. There were no lights visible and the house was in darkness. The coachman jumped down to open the door, and Rufus sprang out, reaching his hand for Averil’s. She inched forward, clearly in pain, and when she almost fell out onto the road, he lost patience and swung her up once more into his arms.
She was light, but he could feel her soft curves. He’d always liked a woman with curves, and Averil Martindale was a nice armful. She was glaring up at him with sparkly gray eyes, and he knew she’d like to tell him to put her down, but he also knew she couldn’t in the circumstances. For all her soft voice and polite words, she had a temper. For no reason at all he smiled, and then he chuckled.
“What is so amusing, my lord?” she asked in biting tones.
“You are, Lady Averil.”
“Is this where you live?” Eustace inquired with interest. “It isn’t nearly as big as our house.”
“Don’t be rude, Eustace,” Rufus said, and glanced over his shoulder to make certain the other member of the Blainey family had remained safely in the coach. He had.
They’d reached her door and he reached to ring the bell when a gasp from the woman in his arms stopped him. “Please, oh please, don’t! Beth, that is my companion, doesn’t know I’m out and . . . oh please, she’ll be so upset with me.”
Rufus searched her eyes with interest. Her lips were slightly apart as she gazed up at him, and with her hair tumbling about her she looked angelic. Unfortunately she also looked very enticing and he was unexpectedly tempted to lean down and kiss her.
“I don’t think you should ring the bell,” Eustace said quietly. “Not if there’s a cross lady called Beth in there.”
Rufus eyed his son carefully. His face was pale in the light from the street lamp, and there was a tension to his narrow shoulders that was worrying. Damn that woman, he thought. Eustace’s nanny had been subjecting him to all manner of cruelties and Rufus hadn’t known about it at first. Of course when he found out—through Uncle James, not Eustace himself, the boy was too proud to let on—he had sent the woman packing. Unfortunately some damage had already been done.
“So what do you want me to do?” Rufus asked evenly of Averil. “Leave you here to be found by the maid in the morning? You could say you were sleepwalking.”
Eustace chuckled nervously.
Averil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being sarcastic,” she said. “I hate sarcasm. No, you can take me around to the back and I will make my own way upstairs.”
Rufus did as she asked, following the side path around the house to the small courtyard at the back, with Eustace trailing behind them. He was singing under his breath and Rufus realized it was one of the risqué songs from The Tin Soldier.
Lady Averil had left a key out, no doubt so that she could sneak inside without anyone knowing, and when Eustace unlocked the door he found they were in what appeared to be a boot room. A dog rose from its bed on the slate floor with a gruff “woof” and Averil shushed it quickly.
“Down, Hercules,” she hissed.
In Rufus’s opinion Hercules was a good name for the animal. It was huge—some sort of massive hound. He eyed it uneasily as Eustace approached, but Averil assured him it was harmless.
“He’s big but he’s a dear,” she added.
Eustace grinned as Hercules came up to him with much tail wagging and wriggling. “We don’t have a dog in London,” he said, with a sideways glance at his father. “Although we have several at Southbrook. I wanted to bring one with us but Papa says they’re a damned nuisance in town.”
“Your father is probably right,” Averil said primly. “And he can put me down now. I can manage from here.”
Rufus gave a snort. “You can barely walk. I’ll put you down when we reach your room. Direct me if you please. We don’t want to wake Beth,” he added silkily, and then cursed himself as Eustace edged closer.
“Very well,” she said huffily, and proceeded to tell him where to go.
Along a corridor and through a door, then up some stairs and along another corridor, and then finally to Averil’s room. Eustace, a finger to his lips, reached out to open the door and they slipped inside. She’d left a lamp burning low, and Rufus could see at once that for a woman who would one day be very rich Lady Averil was modest to the point of Spartan.
Apart from the bed, with its pretty flowery quilt, the room was very plain. He might have been puzzled, he might have asked her about it, but just then he realized that Hercules had followed them up. The dog, which in the lamplight he could see was brown and short-coated with a big head, went over to a sofa by the window and jumped up, making itself comfortable with an ecstatic groan. Eustace sat down beside the dog with a smile and began to rub the big floppy ears.
Rufus took the two steps to the bed and lay Averil on it. She leaned back on the pillows, grimacing at the jolt to her knee, and looked up at him. Her creamy skin was a little pale and there were shadows under her gray eyes, while the thick waves of fair hair that had escaped her pins tumbled about her. He noticed her skirt was torn by her fall, the hem was muddy, as were her gloves, and she was still wearing her boots. And yet . . . and yet for a moment he could only stare.
Perhaps, Rufus thought, his mind had been turned by worry. Yes, that must be it. Why else was Lady Averil suddenly so incredibly desirable? It was like that night at the opera, when he had spied her across the crowded room, and there had been a moment when he’d thought he must have her. Of course, afterward, he’d wondered what on earth he was thinking. And now here it was again, that feeling. He was tempted, very tempted, tempted in a way he hadn’t been for years, to climb onto the bed with her and take her in his arms and make wild and passionate love to her.
Behind him, he heard Eustace asking Hercules if he was hungry, because he was, and Rufus came to his senses.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Averil said grudgingly, watching him through long dark lashes at odds with her fair hair.
Rufus laughed.
“Oh, do be quiet!” she cried out in a strangled whisper. “Beth will hear.”
Eustace jumped up and took his father’s hand. “Come on, Papa!”
Rufus took a step back, and then another, and once at the door he gave a little bow. And then he closed it and he and Eustace made their way back outside the house. They were halfway around the side when they bumped into his uncle.
“Did you know, dear boy, this is the house of the Heiress?” James said, as Rufus turned him about and bundled him back toward the coach. “Well, of course you do. That is the Heiress, isn’t it? You said her name was Lady Averil Martindale and even I’ve heard about her.”
Rufus, aware of Eustace’s interested expression, said, “Uncle James, this has nothing to do with you.”
His uncle was clutching at his sleeve.
“But Rufus, don’t you see? This could be the answer to all your troubles. The woman is rich, or will be. Incredibly rich. Southbrook and the London house and . . . well, you can save everything! All you have to do is marry her.”