A Secret Surrender Read online

Page 7


  “I’ll look for her when next I visit.” Selina tucked the package into her reticule.

  “Splendid. May we walk for a bit while we discuss your meeting?” He offered her his arm.

  “Certainly.” She clasped his sleeve and ignored the jolt of awareness that was not unlike what happened when he’d kissed her hand.

  “Well?” he asked expectantly. “What did you learn about your future?”

  “That Beatrix will marry exceptionally well.”

  “How wonderful to hear.” He laughed. “If you believe that. Do you?” He turned his head to look at her as they made their way along the pavement.

  “No, but I’d like to. For that reason, I will pretend Madame Sybila is actually capable of seeing the future.”

  “Pretending is fine, I suppose, but I can’t see why anyone would pay money to do that.”

  Selina could. “People spend money on all manner of things that give them comfort. I imagine, for some, hearing about a future they want is incredibly reassuring.”

  “How insightful of you, Lady Gresham.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t say I was one of those people, however.”

  He chuckled again. “No, you did not. Does that mean you didn’t ask her about your future, just your sister’s?”

  “That’s correct.” Turning over the cards relative to her and the man whose arm she was currently clutching was as close as she ever meant to get. And that had been far too unnerving.

  “Did she sell you any tonic?”

  “No, but I mentioned that I’d heard she had some. She didn’t offer any information.” Selina preferred to avoid placing any of it directly in his hands. She sold them as sleeping aids or mood enhancements, but they were little more than flavored water with a dash of herbs that might help one sleep or calm one’s nerves.

  “A pity. What of the charities? Were you able to learn anything about them?”

  “Yes, she was quite pleased to discuss the good works of the Magdalen Hospital in particular, in addition to a home for wayward children, which is apparently run by friends of hers.”

  He snorted. “I’m sure it is.”

  “She certainly had a great deal of information about it. A Mr. and Mrs. Winter opened their home to wayward children after not being blessed with any of their own,” she explained. “They feed, clothe, and even teach the children. Like the Lambeth Asylum for Orphan Girls, they hope to train the children for domestic service. It’s a far better place for them to be than on the streets or in a flash house.”

  He glanced at her in surprise. “You know what that is?”

  “I am not ignorant of the world, Mr. Sheffield.” She tried not to sound as indignant as she felt. Of course she knew what a flash house was, and she might have ended up in the Lambeth Asylum if not for her brother.

  “No, you are not,” he murmured. There was a hint of admiration in his tone. Selina didn’t quite know what to make of that. So she made nothing of it.

  “Honestly, it sounds like a wonderful endeavor,” she said. In truth, she wished she could help children in that way. Maybe someday. If she married a duke perhaps. The thought nearly made her laugh.

  “Oh no, has she fooled you too?”

  “No,” Selina said calmly. “I’m merely repeating what she said, but yes, if it’s real, it does sound wonderful. Surely you can agree with that.”

  “Of course, but it’s not real.”

  “Shall we go and look? She said the house is over near St. Paul’s.”

  Sheffield stopped abruptly then blinked at her. “You know where it is? Then yes, let us investigate.” He looked about. “As it happens, we are on our way in that direction.” He smiled faintly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t even paying attention to our direction. I was too distracted by your lovely company.” His gaze met hers, and there was a rush of that same sensation as the kiss or the feel of his arm.

  Selina didn’t understand what was happening. No man had ever affected her in this manner. She didn’t like it one bit.

  Except that she rather did.

  He’d clearly said “us” in reference to investigating, but Selina wanted to know for sure he meant that. “You wish for me to accompany you?”

  “Yes, if you want to.”

  Of course she wanted to. This gave her the opportunity to ensure Luther and whomever he’d recruited to portray his wife behaved convincingly. She also couldn’t deny that she was enjoying Mr. Sheffield’s company too, but that wasn’t the reason she wanted to go.

  Of course it wasn’t.

  “I’d find it ever so fascinating. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. This is not a dangerous excursion.” He gestured east. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, and they started along the pavement once more. “Is your work usually dangerous?”

  “I wouldn’t say usually, but sometimes. This will be a straightforward discussion. If we even find this Mr. Winter. I suspect he doesn’t actually exist.” He cast her a glance. “I don’t suppose Madame Sybila mentioned where near St. Paul’s?”

  “Just off Paternoster Row. She said there was a sign.” Luther had chosen the location because the owner of the home had been looking for boarders.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Sheffield responded. “Though we won’t find this charity,” he added.

  “At what point do you decide you’ve exhausted every avenue of investigation? I mean, when will you conclude that he and the home don’t exist?”

  “Not today. I’m very thorough. So while I don’t expect to find him, I will continue my search until I am confident there is no such person or home, and that this entire ‘charitable’ endeavor is a fraud.”

  “Will you tell your mother, or simply allow her to realize Madame Sybila has been arrested?” Selina slid him a guarded look. “I assume that would be the next step—arresting Madame Sybila for fraud.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I will be the one to tell my mother, and yes, once I can prove this Mr. Winter doesn’t exist, I will determine whether Madame Sybila took money for this counterfeit charity, and then likely arrest her for fraud.”

  A chill raced down Selina’s spine, but she didn’t let it encompass her. She’d faced far greater risks in her life and almost certainly would again. “Will your mother be angry with you?”

  He looked at Selina in surprise. “No, not when I can prove that she’s been taken advantage of. She’ll be angry with Madame Sybila. As she should be. I’m just trying to protect her.”

  “You’re a good son,” Selina said softly. The notion of a family who looked out for each other wasn’t completely foreign—she’d had Rafe, and she had Beatrix—but to have parents… She couldn’t imagine it.

  She was intrigued by Mr. Sheffield’s family and yet terrified of them at the same time. But when it came to Mr. Sheffield, she was simply intrigued. Well, not simply. She liked him, despite the fact he was intent on putting her out of business, and wondered if, in another life, things might have been different. She’d met so few kind men. Just him, really, and Sir Barnabus Gresham. And her brother. Not that Rafe had been a man when she’d last seen him. Except in the East End, fourteen was generally regarded as manhood.

  “I try to be,” Mr. Sheffield said. “Although, my mother would probably argue that if I was truly a good son, I’d find a wife.”

  Selina smiled because he was absolutely right. She wished she could tell him how his mother’s concern was truly rooted in her love for him, as was his desire to protect her. “I’m sure she just wants to see you settled and happy.”

  “I am happy. I don’t need a wife to be so.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “You were wed and now choose not to be, so surely you understand.”

  Though she hadn’t actually been wed, she did understand. Happiness was what you made it.

  She suddenly noticed St. Dunstan-in-the-West just up ahead. She’d been unable to learn anything about the Vicar when she’d gone to the service the day before, and she hadn’t been allowed to search the corner
s of the church. Though they didn’t identify themselves as his gang, the handful of boys and young men who had prevented her from investigating the building were clearly loyal to him.

  Selina felt Mr. Sheffield’s arm tense as they walked beneath the clock that extended over the street from the church. “Are you thinking of that other case?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” He turned his head briefly toward the church. “If you weren’t with me, I’d go inside and see if today might be different—perhaps the Vicar would agree to see me.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Selina said, nearly breathless with anticipation. If he thought there was a chance they would see the Vicar…

  Then what? She couldn’t very well interrogate him about her brother’s death in front of Mr. Sheffield. To do so would be to reveal the secrets of her past, and she wouldn’t. And she certainly couldn’t kill him in front of a Bow Street Runner. She wasn’t sure she could kill him at all, but that was what he deserved.

  “Lady Gresham?”

  Mr. Sheffield’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Yes?”

  “You slowed. Is everything all right?”

  “Indeed. I didn’t mean to lag. Let us hasten to St. Paul’s so you can prove Madame Sybila is a fraud.”

  He gave her an appreciative look that would have warmed her if not for the fact that he was responding to their apparent shared goal of destroying Selina’s life.

  Chapter 6

  What the hell was he doing bringing someone along on an investigation? Let alone a woman he liked and was attracted to?

  How Harry wanted to deny the last, but he would admit—to himself at least—that he was past that. He admired her intellect, and he’d be damned if every time they touched he didn’t have the urge to wrap his arms around her and see if her lips felt as soft as they looked.

  Harry dragged his gaze from her mouth and tried to focus on the matter at hand as they arrived at St. Paul’s.

  “Such a beautiful cathedral,” Lady Gresham said.

  Tilting his head to look up at the dome, Harry said, “I’ve always preferred Westminster.”

  She smiled, her blue eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. It was difficult not to lose himself in her alluring gaze. “I do too. I think it’s the history of it—all the monarchs being coronated there.”

  “Except Edward the Fifth.”

  “Because his uncle killed him. Now there’s a crime that requires resolution.”

  Harry chuckled. “You aren’t wrong about that, but I fear that’s beyond my skill.”

  “Is it? You strike me as rather tenacious. Perhaps you should give it a try.”

  “Perhaps if you agreed to conduct the investigation with me, I might.” Harry barely recognized himself. He didn’t flirt. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself with Lady Gresham.

  Adopting a more modest tone, Harry gestured toward the south side of the cathedral. “Did you know Guy Fawkes and his coconspirators met in a tavern on Carter Lane?”

  “I did not,” Lady Gresham said, sounding impressed. “Shall we walk that way? Carter Lane sounds the perfect place for a criminal enterprise. Perhaps Mr. Winter and Madame Sybila are in that very tavern plotting their next scheme.”

  He grinned at her, seeing the amusement in her gaze. “Possibly. But I’d argue that Paternoster Row on the other side of the cathedral and where this supposed Home for Wayward Children is located might be even more conducive to crime.” Still, he led her onto Carter Lane, which would increase their time together as they walked around the cathedral.

  “And why is that?” Lady Gresham brought her other hand over to clasp the top of his arm.

  “Are you familiar with the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury?”

  “I am not. Did this crime happen recently?”

  “No, two hundred years ago. Overbury was thrown in the Tower after trying to caution his friend, Lord Rochester, against marrying his lover, the already wed Countess of Essex.”

  Lady Gresham’s brow creased. “How could he marry the countess if she was already wed?”

  “Rochester was the king’s favorite, and His Majesty supported the annulment of the Essexes’ marriage on the basis that Essex was impotent.”

  Lady Gresham gasped. “Was he? How could they know?”

  Harry shrugged. “There’s no telling for certain, of course, but Lady Essex had friends who dabbled in magic and poison. It’s assumed she made sure Essex took something that made him unable to perform in bed.” He glanced at her as a rush of heat swept over him. “My apologies. This is a rather indelicate conversation to be having.”

  “Not at all. It’s fascinating. And if you don’t finish the tale, I shall never speak to you again.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want that.” He was enjoying himself far too much.

  She looked over at him. “It sounds as though this Overbury fellow was sent to the Tower for unlawful reasons.”

  “Indeed he was. He had the misfortune to anger the wrong people. Which was how he found himself murdered in the Tower.”

  “What has any of this to do with Paternoster Row?” Lady Gresham asked.

  “I’ll get there,” he said, as they turned from Carter Lane onto The Old Change. “It’s quite a convoluted story. Suffice to say that Overbury annoyed many people, including Rochester, who’d been his dear friend for quite some time. However, in the end, Rochester, sided with the manipulative woman who would eventually become his wife—”

  “The former Countess of Essex.”

  “Yes, her,” he said with a smile. “She and Rochester masterminded a plan to murder Overbury, and that planning took place—”

  “In Paternoster Row,” she finished, giving him an eager look. “Do you know exactly where?”

  “I don’t. It was the home of Anne Turner, the widow of a prominent doctor and supposed cunning woman. She dealt in potions and was, if you can believe it, a fortune-teller.”

  Lady Gresham tripped, and Harry clutched her forearm before she lost her balance. “Thank you,” she said. “This is such a fantastical tale. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

  Harry cast a look back over his shoulder but didn’t immediately see any impediment. “You’re all right?”

  “Quite. I promise I am not usually this clumsy.”

  “Just when I’m around?” he asked, not intending to make it sound flirtatious, and yet it did. Or perhaps that was only in his mind as he considered whether he might distract her the way she distracted him. Hell, where was he in his story? “We studied the trial when I was at the Inns of Court.”

  “The trial?”

  “Two trials, actually. The first was regarding the annulment of Lord and Lady Essex, which involved the question of whether Essex was impotent. He was found to be, and the marriage was finally annulled after raising a considerable cloud of gossip.”

  “I should say,” Lady Gresham murmured.

  “The second trial, or trials, really, was regarding the murder of Overbury who was poisoned in the Tower. Lord and Lady Somerset—Rochester had been made Earl of Somerset upon his wedding to the former Lady Essex—and four conspirators, including Mrs. Turner and two employees at the Tower, were tried for a variety of crimes. It’s a quite fascinating study, really.”

  “It sounds like it. Perhaps I’ll look for a book to read on the subject.”

  “I have several, as well as my own treatise about it.” He guided her to the end of The Old Change, which had been lined almost exclusively with merchants, and no signs about a home for wayward children, and came onto Cheapside, where he turned left toward Paternoster Row.

  “What happened to the accused?” she asked.

  “All the coconspirators were hanged, including Mrs. Turner, who was in possession of wax figures that she apparently used in sorcery. She was found guilty of poisoning.”

  “What a horrid affair.”

  “It was, particularly when you consider the evidence presented and, in some cases, lack thereof.
” Harry lifted a shoulder. “The trials of two hundred years ago were not as fair as they are today. If one was arrested at that time, he or she was almost universally found guilty. The process of the law has improved greatly.”

  “I should hope so. Were Lord and Lady Somerset also hanged?”

  “They were tried by their peers, and while Lady Somerset pled guilty, her husband did not. Nevertheless, both were convicted. However, they were not executed and instead lived in the Tower for seven years before they were released to live quietly in the countryside—without their titles or holdings, of course.”

  “That punishment hardly seems fair. They organized the entire crime, did they not?”

  “Yes.”

  She scoffed. “People with wealth and privilege are held to different standards.”

  Startled by the bitterness in her voice, Harry snapped his head to look at her. She looked as serene as ever, so perhaps he’d imagined the emotion in her tone. “You’re correct. And in this particular case, it served Lord and Lady Essex well. I’m sure a couple of Henry the Eighth’s wives would argue their privilege didn’t help them.” He said the last to provoke humor, just in case Lady Gresham had been angry. Did she dislike inequity as much as Harry did?

  As they reached Ivy Lane, Lady Gresham pointed up the narrow street. “There’s the sign.”

  His pulse quickening, Harry guided Lady Gresham around the corner. The house was across the lane and bore a small sign that read House for Waywerd Children. “I hope they aren’t teaching the children to spell.”

  “At least they can write,” Lady Gresham said. “Many people in this area cannot. It’s terrible that not everyone can learn to read and write.”

  He pivoted toward her. “Lady Gresham, you are a woman of singular thoughts and opinions when it comes to the less fortunate. How did you arrive at these sentiments?”

  She hesitated briefly before answering. “I came from a poor family, Mr. Sheffield. I was fortunate to have caught the eye of my husband. I shall always care greatly for those in poverty.”