Noble Intentions

  “What are you wantin’ with a ’alf-dozen armed Runner footmen?”

  She gave the pirate butler a disgruntled look. “They’re not for me, Crouch, they are for his lordship. For protection. Noble is in danger, and since I have been forbidden to leave the house, you must be my legs and see to all the arrangements.”

  Crouch thought briefly of telling her about the three Runners already in place in the house but decided against it. Lord Weston was angry enough with her at the moment—if he were to find out she had subverted his Runners into protecting him, there was no telling what he would do.

  “Aye, m’lady, I’ll do my best, but I can make no promises that I’ll be able to ’ire any Runners.”

  Gillian smiled a smile of pure sunshine that sent warmth clear down to Crouch’s toes. “All I ask is that you do your best, Crouch,” she said, turning back to her letter.

  ***

  Charlotte sat in her bedchamber, staring into the mirror of her dressing table, her eyes unfocused and thoughtful.

  “Very mysterious,” she murmured to herself in a thrilled voice.

  “Lady Charlotte?” Her maid’s voice jolted her out of a reverie. “Lady Collins is asking for you. Shall I tell her you’re indisposed?”

  “No, tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  She glanced at the letter in her hand. “Oh, Penny, one moment—tell Will or one of the other footmen I will have a letter for him to take to my cousin.”

  She rose and went to a small writing desk, pulling out ink and quill, and while searching for a clean sheet of paper, she mused over the wording of her letter.

  Dearest Cousin,

  The enclosed was sent to me because the writer feared it would not make it to your hand. I do hope you meet him at the appointed time and place—I believe it would be to your benefit to hear what he has to say, Gillian. Do let me know if you need my assistance.

  Your loving cousin,

  Charlotte

  Her smooth brow furrowed for a moment as she called the maid back. “This is simply too good to miss. I wonder who I could cozen into going for a stroll with me…ah, Caroline! Just the person. Penny, I’ll have another note for the footman to deliver.”

  ***

  “Charles, I have a letter I’d like you to deliver for me.”

  “Certainly, Lady Weston.”

  “The direction is on the front. You need not wait for a reply.”

  Charles looked at the front of the paper and blanched.

  “Charles? You aren’t going to faint again, are you? Are you well?”

  “Oh, my lady, please don’t make me deliver this letter.”

  “Whyever should you not?”

  “Lord Weston’ll string me up by my nether bits, my lady. He surely will!”

  “Nonsense. Your nether bits are perfectly safe in my hands. Lord Weston need not know anything about this unless you tell him. And you aren’t about to tell him, are you, Charles?”

  Charles felt a cold, painful grip on his nether bits as he shook his head that no, he would not be telling Lord Weston anything. He was powerless against her ladyship’s smile and he knew it, but he hoped for the sake of his unborn children that the Black Earl would not discover what role he had played in the countess’s plan.

  ***

  “Nick, you are not attending me. What is it you are finding so fascinating outside the window? Come, my boy, another hour and we shall take a stroll in the park and look at the flora and fauna.”

  Nick sighed and, patting Piddle’s head, turned back to look at the book in front of him.

  “Now as you can see, an equilateral triangle is one in which the length of all sides are equal. I shall draw one here for you, and assign a numerical value to one side. If we know the length of this side, what does it tell us about the lengths of the other two sides?”

  Nick frowned at the triangle and muttered an expletive he’d heard his father use. Rogerson dropped the slate and stared.

  ***

  “Where are you off to then, Crouch?”

  “’Er ladyship’s off on one of ’er wild ’ares. She wants me to employ a couple of Runners for ’is nibs’s protection.”

  “Does she really, now?” Devereaux rubbed his chin. “That’s most interesting. Does she know about his lordship’s newest footmen?” He nodded toward one of the Runners, currently engaged in chatting up one of the under parlormaids.

  “No, I didn’t tell ’er. I figure if ’is lordship wants ’er to know about them, ’e’ll tell ’er.”

  “You’re not actually going to go along with this wild scheme of hers, are you?”

  “Aye,” Crouch said, slapping a powdered wig onto his head, adjusting it so it sat at a rakish, dashing angle. “I’m thinkin’ it might not be a bad idea for ’is lordship to ’ave a bit of comp’ny when ’e’s out and about.”

  “But, but—” the round little man sputtered. Crouch gave him a cheeky grin, saluted him with his hook, and sauntered down the back steps toward the mews.

  ***

  “My lord, if you would allow me to call for my physician…”

  “No need, Jackson. The swelling will go down in time. I believe your man set the bone correctly.”

  John “Gentleman” Jackson, that renowned pugilist and famed instructor of the science of boxing to half the men in the ton, the man who won the championship when he beat the infamous Mendoza senseless, watched with worried eyes as the Black Earl tipped his head back to allow his neck cloth to be tied.

  “I’d never have suggested you go against young MacDonald, my lord, if I’d thought he would give you a pasting.”

  Weston flinched, but Jackson wasn’t sure if it was due to the injury or the reference to having been bested in the ring by a much younger, and less skilled, man. “You’d best put something cold on that until the swelling goes down.”

  Lord Weston nodded stiffly, muttered something, and left the establishment. Jackson sighed with relief as the earl departed.

  “Did you ever think you’d see the day?” his man asked, peering out the window to watch Weston get into his carriage. Jackson shook his head. He never wanted to see such a day again.

  “The Black Earl taken down by a mere pup,” the man said in an awestruck tone, loudly sucking his tooth. “What was it he said to you as he was leaving?”

  Jackson’s lips twitched. “He asked how the hell he was going to explain to his wife that he’d broken his nose.”

  ***

  “Do you think she’ll come?”

  Lord Carlisle looked at the smaller man standing so arrogantly before him and wondered for the hundredth time what his motive was for involving himself in the affair. He shrugged. “I have no idea. He might be keeping her prisoner in the house. I heard they had a terrible row, and Weston threatened to send her away.”

  “If she comes, you know what to do.”

  “I shall do what I think best,” the earl said with a frown. Upstart; who did he think he was to order his betters around?

  “Yes, yes, certainly, I don’t question that it will be for the best, but if you really wish to keep him from harming her, it might be better to move up our plans.”

  Carlisle’s frown deepened. “That won’t be necessary. I told you I was meeting with Weston in the morning. I’ll take care of the murdering whoreson then.”

  “Yes, there is that. Ah…is that the time? Should you not be on your way?”

  Carlisle swore. “I don’t need you acting the mother hen. I will be there on time.”

  “You’re in a prickly mood today—I was simply trying to be helpful. I wouldn’t want you being late. I doubt if the lady will wait for you.”

  “I’ll be there,” Carlisle ground out and deliberately turned his head away from the garish figure. Why was the little man so interested in helping Lady Weston?


  ***

  “Good lord, man, what happened to you?”

  “Nothing, Harry. What news do you have?”

  “Hmmm?” Rosse stared at Noble’s swollen nose that had all the earmarks of a break. “Oh, nothing other than the fact that Mariah is no longer with Sunderland. She’s disappeared again, it seems.”

  Noble rubbed his head wearily, taking care not to touch his nose. “Why do I feel as if I’m running in circles, Harry?”

  The marquis smiled. “Might be the result of the beating I suspect you took at Jackson’s. Come.” He stood up and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “What you need is a bit of air to clear your head. Come along with me and we’ll take a ride through the park while we discuss the problem.”

  ***

  Nick scooted over to the window seat and peered out the window at the mews. Normally the yard would be busy, but it was teatime, and most of the servants were in having their tea. He watched idly as a gray stable cat sat in the dirt lane and washed his tail.

  “Nick…ah…Nick?”

  Nick ignored his tutor.

  “Come, my lad, just one word. Just a hello? My name? How about a greeting to that hound, there?”

  Nick watched the cat finish his bath, stretch, and saunter off past the stable.

  “Nick, I know you spoke. I heard you quite plainly. Now, if you could do it once, you can do it again. I’m thinking only of how happy your father will be, my boy.”

  Nick turned his head and gazed at his tutor with steely silver eyes. Rogerson blinked and rubbed his jaw. “I could have sworn you said…maybe I imagined it. Perhaps I just thought I heard you say it.”

  Nick looked back out into the yard and was surprised to see someone climbing down the water pipe that clung to the corner of the house. A strand of fiery red hair dangled down from the back of the dashing little hat with the long pheasant feather that complemented so charmingly Gillian’s green riding habit. Nick jumped up and tugged on his tutor’s sleeve, then pointed to the clock.

  “Eh? Oh, yes, yes. I did promise you a visit to the park. Capital idea. Just what we both need—a bit of air to clear away the cobwebs. Come along then; let us be on our way.”

  ***

  “I don’t understand your sudden desire to go for a stroll in the park, Charlotte, but I’m excessively pleased Mama said I might join you.”

  “’Tis a bit of a mystery, is it not, Caroline?”

  “A mystery?”

  “Yes, a mystery. You know—something mysterious. Something dark, and secret, and fabulously thrilling!”

  “And a mystery is a good thing?”

  “It is wonderfully good, Caro. Haven’t you read any novels with vengeful ghosts, mad men locked in towers, mysterious rooms with secret panels, poisoned wine, ghastly family curses, and frigid, sepulchral hands reaching through the bed-curtains in the very dead of night?”

  Lady Caroline looked horrified and glanced behind her to where their maids were following. “No, certainly not. Mama would never countenance my reading something so very provocative!”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Your loss, Caro.”

  “But—but this mystery we are going to see in the park—it is nothing that has sepulchral hands?”

  “You’re a bit of a ninny, aren’t you, Caro?”

  “A ninny?”

  “Never mind. Just come with me. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  “With the mystery? Or with Hyde Park?”

  “Saints preserve me from ninnies!”

  ***

  Gillian sidled into the stables and looked around carefully. The stableboys and grooms were at tea. Excellent. It took her little time to get Ophelia saddled and slightly longer to convince her to stand still while she climbed up the mounting block, but all in all, she felt she was on schedule when she directed the mare toward Hyde Park. She sincerely hoped she could count on Charlotte’s overwhelming curiosity to witness the scene with her and Lord Carlisle. Ladies, she knew, did not go riding without grooms in attendance, and she was more than a bit nervous about meeting the Scottish speeler by herself. Although if what the note Charlotte had included said was true, she would have a few choice things to say to him, things better said in private.

  ***

  “Here, isn’t that Lady Weston?”

  “Wot? Where?”

  “There, riding off on that white mare.”

  “Bloody ’ell, it is! Get Johnson. ’Is bleedin’ lordship’ll skin us alive if’n we let ’er go out unprotected.”

  ***

  “Lord Carlisle!”

  “Ah, Lady Weston. I wasn’t sure you would answer my summons. No footmen? No Crotch? No hounds or cousins or any of the army of attendants you seem never to be without?”

  “No, my lord, it is just me today, but I will mention that I am here against my husband’s wishes, and so desire you to be as quick as possible with what you have to say.”

  The earl made a slight bow and offered his arm. “Perhaps we might walk that way, away from the crowds?”

  Gillian hesitated, and then took his arm. “Your letter was quite intriguing, my lord. You say you know the truth of what happened the night the late Lady Weston died, yet your brief narration of the events does not make sense.”

  “In what way does it not make sense?”

  “Quite simply, my lord, my husband was not responsible for the death of his first wife.”

  Carlisle snorted. “You are judging him by means of your tender woman’s heart, my dear. I assure you that were you to take an unbiased view of the events, you would come to a much different conclusion.”

  “An unbiased view? Such as yours?”

  “If you like, yes. My judgment is universally known to be trustworthy and free from any bias.”

  “Except where Lady Weston is concerned.”

  Carlisle glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing. Gillian felt the sparring had gone on long enough. She stopped and faced the earl.

  “My lord, just what was your relationship with Lady Weston?”

  Carlisle squinted into the sky to watch two ravens fighting over a bit of food. “She was my friend.”

  “And lover?”

  “And lover.” He looked down into her green eyes and saw no censure, only curiosity and a bit of pity. A strand of hair blew over her cheek; he reached out and gently brushed it back. “So beautiful she was, like one of those Nordic ice maidens come to earth.”

  “You loved her?”

  Carlisle put his hand on Gillian’s back and gave her a little push. They resumed their walk. “He murdered her, my lady. He shot her in cold blood. She had begged and pleaded with him for a divorce—it was apparent from the first that they were not suited, that his foul habits would destroy everything good and kind in her. She came to me during a house party and begged for my help, pleaded with me on her knees to save her from the nightly tortures he exacted upon her.”

  Gillian said nothing. The Noble Carlisle was describing wasn’t her Noble; she felt that for certain.

  “I was there that night, you know. I came in answer to a desperate summons from Elizabeth—she had overheard Weston plotting to take her life that night, and she begged me to save her from him.”

  Gillian shook her head. “Not Noble.”

  “Noble, my lady. I saw him with my own eyes, swooned with bloodlust, lying in a pool of his wife’s blood, the pistol that killed her still clutched in his hand.”

  Gillian shook away the terrible picture Carlisle so vividly painted. “Not…Noble?” she whispered. “Perhaps…perhaps he just happened upon the scene and was struck down by…or perhaps he was defending her and accidentally…my lord, Noble would never hurt someone weaker than he, never!”

  “I can assure you that I speak the truth, Lady Weston. I saw the marks, you see. I saw the mark
s that fiend had left upon her body—bruises from beatings, stripes on her back where he had taken a lash to her, and…and worse. I won’t be specific about the other things he did to my fair Elizabeth, other than to say that they were the most unnatural of sexual practices.” The earl’s face darkened as he was again swept up by the remorse and helplessness he had felt that night. “If I had been a peer then, I might have had a chance to bring him to justice, but as it was, I could do nothing. Your husband escaped unpunished for that heinous crime.”

  Gillian looked at two children running along the graveled footpath, a small terrier at their heels, barking excitedly as he chased the pair. They were so young, so innocent, so new and untouched and clean. Was she just as young and innocent as they were? Had she allowed her feelings for Noble to override her common sense? Was she being blind, not seeing him for what he really was?

  Random images of him came to mind: Noble grinning at her the night he was shot, Noble ruffling Nick’s hair as the two walked together toward the garden at Nethercote, the exasperated patience in the wry twist to his lips when he saw her blue hands, the love shining out of his beautiful silver eyes when they joined together as one.

  “No.” She turned back to Carlisle. “No, my lord, you are wrong.”

  “I saw him with the pistol! I had seen the marks—”

  “Then they are from another, not Noble. If he had a pistol in his hand, there must be an explanation for it. An explanation other than the one you offer.”

  Carlisle shook his head. “You are allowing affection to blind you to the truth, my dear. Your husband is a consummate liar, a concealer of secrets of the most heinous sort, a vicious, cruel man who will think nothing of destroying you as he destroyed my Elizabeth. You are in danger, Lady Weston, grave danger, and I wish to help you before it is too late.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I could not…I could not help Elizabeth, but I will not fail you.”

  “Secrets and lies,” Gillian said softly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Secrets and lies. That’s what Palm…a gentleman told me.” She looked up into the earl’s face. “Secrets begetting lies. But what is the secret that started the lies?”