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He inclined his head to his sister and Isabel. ‘And now your dear brother must take his leave as I trust two such enterprising women will have this night well in hand.’ His glance lingered on Isabel’s face, then her injured arm.
‘Miss Morton, it might be best if you stayed at my sister’s an extra day or so, unless you have a dress with long sleeves with you. That cut on your arm might raise questions.’
‘Yes,’ Sophia inserted. ‘I’ll be able to get you a gown with longer sleeves, but wearing too much covering in this heat might cause more notice. You even have a slight bruise...’ She tapped a spot near her cheek. ‘But after all, the wasps were chasing me at a rapid pace before you flung your bonnet like a sword and frightened them away.’
William’s smile turned to Isabel alone. ‘Do not let her get too carried away or she will have you saving scores of infants and battalions of soldiers, and it will get difficult to remember the details.’ He leaned so close to Isabel that she could feel the flutter of his lashes, but the motion was in her chest. Almost whispering, he said, ‘But don’t even tell her one tiny little untruth and expect her not to remember every last detail.’
‘I heard that,’ Sophia said, voice loud. Then she resumed her regular tone. ‘It’s true.’
William murmured assent and spoke to Isabel. ‘I regret we met under such unpleasant circumstances and I hope you forget all about this night soon.’
The doorway framed him, then he left. His footsteps faded into distance and the room became just a room and she could feel the bruise on her face without touching it.
* * *
William trod down the stairs, forcing himself not to turn around. He rang for the butler and waited, tapping the pull against the wall.
Finishing the last two buttons of his coat, the butler arrived and asked, ‘Yes?’
‘I realised my sister has a friend visiting, so I’ll not be staying.’
‘Yes.’ He pulled his coat tight.
‘Watch over them.’
‘I always do.’ The knowledge of the first time William had visited Sophia in the middle of the night with his own key and nearly got his head bashed in by the servant reflected from the man’s eyes.
‘I know.’ William stayed a second longer, acknowledged the memory with a grim-lipped smile and walked out into the night.
The bolt in the door clicked.
William looked at his carriage, the three-quarter moon and the houses with mostly dark windows.
He heard the woman’s voice again and turned to the open window well above him. Murmurings and a ‘Goodness!’ from Sophia, and then more murmurings and a shocked exclamation. Sophia should know better than to let in the night air, but he stood until one of the carriage horses whinnied and then he turned to go home.
He sat in the carriage, crossed his arms and leaned back into the leathered cushions. A hint of her rose fragrance remained in the vehicle. The knowledge of how close he’d been to leaving Wren’s earlier in the night gnawed at him. He needed to push all recollections of the past hours away and think of nothing but the fact the woman was safe, alive and cared for.
The vision of her face when the knife had been at her throat stayed in his mind. He’d been so close to walking out the door and the Songbird’s life would have been altered for ever. If not for the waggling feather, he would have.
He ran a hand over his knuckles and swollen fingers, inspecting them. When they healed, he might visit Wren again.
Then he brushed a smear of dried blood away. But before the singer left London, he would make his way to his sister’s house and ask Isabel to sing something for him. He smiled. He imagined them standing side by side at his sister’s pianoforte and music filtering through the room.
* * *
The thought remained in his head until he walked inside his parlour. The view from the window was not fascinating, but he never seemed to tire of it. He stood at the middle of the three windows looking down and could hardly see outlines in the darkness below. Another row of town houses, just like his. Another row of windows, just like his. He didn’t care to see the interiors of them or what lay beyond the panes. He feared he might see a rug, just like his. But he knew he wouldn’t see furnishings like his. The room had almost none except for the two tables, the stiff-backed chair and a pretence of a desk with serviceable lamps. The servants’ quarters were better fitted than this room, he hoped. The starkness suited him. Kept him from getting too close to the memories of the past where the picture of home could be painted by the fripperies spread about and the little flower shapes sewn into table coverings.
None of that appeared in his domain and his bed was the only softness in the entire house. A large beast of a bed that had once been his grandfather’s and had been no easy chore for the workman to reassemble.
But he didn’t want to go to bed because he kept reliving the quiet moments with the woman in the carriage, trying to think of the exact tilt of her nose. The colour of her hair was easier to recall and in all the upheaval he wasn’t quite sure what had happened to the plume.
He shook his head. He was standing at the window, thinking of a bit of fluff just as a schoolboy would do. His head must have been hit harder than he realised. But the moment he’d stepped into the room at Wren’s and seen the knife and her eyes widened in fear had left more than a few scrapes on his hand. The knowledge of how fast a person’s life could turn to dust shook him. Now his insides shivered.
His eyes flittered to the decanter on the side table. Half-empty. The servants were not allowed to refill it until it became completely empty. If his father had walked into a room in the family home and not found it full, someone would have heard about it. If not everyone.
His father. William wished the man still looked at the world through hazed eyes.
William resisted the urge to walk forward and put a boot through the bottom glass. That would change the window, but as soon as a servant became aware, the window would be fixed.
One by one he could smash out each pane, yet the world would go on as it always did before. He could not change the way the world rotated and even if he broke the glass, other people would rush to bring the order back.
And his father, after years of a waking sleep, had truly awoken and decided he needed order back and he wanted the world on his path, a path he’d ignored the presence of for years. His father didn’t remember the broken panes swept into the dustbin. He didn’t remember the shattered glass.
Now, the Viscount just cared that his son be married and provide an heir. He had instructed William much like he might tell him to go to a sideboard and pick a confectionery.
The man planned to force marriage on to his son by any means possible—taking the rents William lived on would accomplish a lot. Removing the funds wouldn’t hurt William alone, though, and William knew it. Twelve servants lived in the town house. Thirteen if he counted the little child he pretended not to know about—a boy who had some claim on the cook the housekeeper had hired the year before. He’d only found out about the lad because one of the servants had hidden a badly written note near William’s pillow. Apparently life always didn’t run smoothly among the staff either.
William took the decanter and filled his glass almost to overflow—just to see how close he could get to the edge without a spill. He placed the decanter on the table and slowly brought the liquid to his lips, not spilling a drop. He drank the liquid in one gulp, enjoying the burn.
The glass still in his hand, he stretched and strode to the windows. The servants needed their employment.
William would somehow get the horses back, then he would attend a soirée and dance with all the unwed ladies. Give his father some hope. Fruitless hope, but it wouldn’t do to torment the man.
Everyone would be happy. William would find a way to have the horses returned to the stables. His father would believe a search for a bride had commenced. Sylvester would know his son would inherit the Viscount’s title. Everyone satisfied if not happy. End of plan.
* * *
William slept well into the next morning and lingered through his morning wash. His dreams had been of birds fluttering about with feathered bonnets.
When dinnertime came, he would be at Sophia’s house. He pulled a book from the table where it had sat for a year, planning to read enough of it so he could say he’d finished, then he would return it in time to sit for a meal with his sister, and her guest, and hopefully an evening around the pianoforte. It was only natural that he might want to visit and make sure their plans were progressing well and offer assistance.
* * *
With the mostly finished book tucked under his arm and his chin feeling raw from the second shave of the day, he strode to the front door when a carriage pulled to the front of the house.
Sophia didn’t have a town coach. It could only be his father.
William put down the book and walked to the staircase before the butler could answer. The front door shook with a violent knock.
William opened the door. His father brushed by him, bodies connecting as a shove, and William stepped back.
His father raised his eyes to his son’s face, slammed his beaver hat and gold-tipped cane into William’s hand and said, ‘Get used to that.’ He continued up the stairs. ‘I will see that if you are not hanged, then you will be transported. It is apparently your wish.’
Transported? Hanged? His father was daft. Completely. The years of liquid grief had turned his mind into pudding.
The Viscount rushed ahead, more at a run than William had ever seen him. William followed, knowing he didn’t want his father’s conversation carried to the servants’ quarters. His father stopped inside the parlour, whirling around. ‘You thankless piece of conceited tripe. You’ve gambled your name away and mine, too. Generations of our heritage. Destroyed. For ever. By you. I thought you cared more for your sisters than this.’
William put the hat over the globe of a cold lamp and propped the cane against the wall. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘My sister—’ his father jabbed his own chest ‘—my sister, Emilia, came to me in tears. You are less than a son.’ He splayed his hands, fingers arched. He pulled in air through his teeth. ‘You called my bluff, only it was not bluff. I merely threatened to circumvent the inheritance laws. But I had no need. You were quite willing to take care of that yourself.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’ His voice grated on each word. ‘I only wished for the horses.’
The Viscount whipped his head away from William and stared to the windows. ‘I cannot even bear the sight of you.’ His words raced. ‘I didn’t think you would perhaps jump to marry someone suitable, but I didn’t expect you to destroy our entire heritage.’
‘I’ve done no such thing.’
His father waved his hands in the air. ‘You wanted to make sure no woman would consent to wed you. You abducted a woman in daylight, in front of as many witnesses as you could find.’
‘Abducted? Are you foxed?’ His voice rose. The man had lost his senses.
‘Do not try to turn this back at me.’ He rushed by William and to the windows. He stretched his arms at each side of the window, as if holding himself erect. His head dropped.
‘Your Aunt Emilia has even begged to say that you were with her to save you. But I have forbidden it. Besides, too many have seen you.’
‘The woman was attacked.’
‘Attacked? Of course she was attacked. It’s said you near dragged a reddish-haired woman screaming from a brothel.’
‘No.’ William’s throat clenched. ‘No.’
‘Why am I not surprised? I have heard. Always I have heard. I have heard of the night you were foxed and fought the Duke of Wakefield’s brother. I have heard of your gambling. But I never thought you to be so low as what transpired last night.’
The Viscount put closed fists over his eyes. ‘My son,’ he gasped out the words. He pulled his fists away, eyes reddened. ‘I caused this. I caused it.’ His voice cracked, then gained momentum. ‘But I can correct it. You will vacate the premises by the end of a fortnight. I suppose sleep in your new carriage. I do not wish to see you again.’ His lips trembled. His voice had the same fury as when he had told William to take the ring from Will’s mother’s finger on the last night of her life.
The jewellry had slipped easily from her finger and he’d felt as if he had stolen her last breath.
Pushing the memories aside, William turned so he would not see his father’s face. The same vice clenched him that had surrounded him so many times before, only this time, he had to use all his might to push it away so he could speak. ‘What happened?’
‘Tonight,’ the older man said, ‘I have lost my only son. I could not sup with someone such as you.’ He stepped around William, pulling his hat from the shade and grasping the cane.
William turned. ‘Father. What is going on?’
The Viscount took his hat, and clenched the cane. ‘I must blame myself, William. But it does not change a thing. I shouldn’t have mourned your mother so long. I should have opened my eyes before it was too late. But it is now too late.’
He stepped forward, but lowered the walking stick. ‘Oh, you showed me. You really did. But I will not ignore such behaviour. No longer. This was beyond the pale. Even for you.’
William squinted at his father. ‘The woman is safe at Sophia’s house. I took her from Wren’s, but she wished for me to.’
‘Sophia?’ His father started. ‘What does she know of this?’ His fists clenched. ‘I could pay the hangman myself for you attacking an innocent woman.’ He stepped back. ‘Your sisters. Think of your sisters.’ He dipped his head. The room was silent. ‘This will reach their ears. They’ll be humiliated.’
Attacking an innocent? His father believed William attacked Isabel? The vice gripped again.
‘The whole town will hear of it.’ His father’s voice ended on a high shriek. ‘Apparently the talk of your—behaviour became the centre of the dinner. Your aunt was mortified. The whispers have already started and will become shouts. She came to me in tears. She found Sylvester and he agreed that you dragged a woman from Wren’s. He said he was so shocked he didn’t think to chase you and rescue her until after you had spirited her away in your carriage.’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘All the men saw you leave carrying a woman of quality from Wren’s. A copper-haired woman with a bruised cheek. The men at cards heard her scream. Saw her in tatters. Blood on her sleeve. You forcing her out the door and into the carriage. Leaving a knife behind. It is thought her body was tossed into the Thames.
‘Oh...’ William stepped back, reaching a hand to the wall, steadying himself. ‘No. No. It is not that. I didn’t—’
This... This would destroy his sisters.
‘You will never step foot in my house again. You will distance yourself from your sisters for their sake. I hope you care enough for them for that.’ His father’s eyes twitched.
Events of the night before careened through William’s head. He’d done nothing wrong, except perhaps in letting Wren escape a magistrate, but he’d not wanted any notice of the night.
Now his name would be destroyed. The tales of his past weren’t enough to grieve his sisters, but with this added, everything would be embellished. The tarnish would never be cleansed.
William took in a breath. ‘Father.’ He laughed, but could barely manage the sound. ‘That is so absurd.’ He waved a hand. ‘She was to meet me, but was early and confused at her direction. When she was alighting the carriage, a dog, obviously trained by a cutpurse, ran out and startled the horses. The culprit knocked her about, but Isabel fought back before running into the back door of Wren’s. The criminal chased her and caught her there.’ He hoped no one had truly noticed her in the shadows before. But he doubted they had. At first, the bonnet had hidden her face and covered her hair. She’d remained in shadows, her presence overridden by the woman on the stage. Then, when he’d moved her outside, her clothing dishevelled—everyone had noticed them and the light reflected on her hair when the door opened.
He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. ‘The driver had to keep the horses steady while fighting off the dog and didn’t realise Miss—’ If he’d heard her surname, he’d forgotten it ‘—my Isabel had exited the carriage and been attacked.’
His father stared. ‘And why would a woman of quality be wishing to meet you there?’
‘We had corresponded. We were to go to Gretna Green. I plan to wed her, but could not start out with her in such a state. That is why I bought the new carriage. To elope. She is waiting at Sophia’s to recover and then we will marry.’
The heat of the day had collected in the room and the Viscount rubbed sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘She is alive? A reddish-haired woman?’
‘Very much alive. She is a good woman. I wish to marry her. We are betrothed.’
His father examined William’s face. ‘Without so much of the piffle spread in—did you attack her?’
‘No. I could never do that.’ He used his eyes to convince his father. ‘She didn’t realise where she was.’
‘You believe her?’
He nodded. ‘She is a country squire’s daughter. She had no notion.’
‘From the country, you say?’ He shut his eyes. ‘And you have been corresponding with her and she agreed to meet you—’
‘Father. We have corresponded many times while she trained to be a governess. We were not certain, with the differences in our station, that people would accept our union. So I thought it best, to avoid dissension, to present Isabel as my wife.’
‘You can produce her for view?’
‘Of course.’
The Viscount slammed his cane against the door frame. ‘I will remember this story well enough. I cannot have my only son accused of defiling a woman. I cannot.’
‘I didn’t. When she didn’t meet me as planned, I found her crouching behind Wren’s and without thinking I took her through the place, hoping I might see the cutpurse and have him contained.’
‘I could not believe what the others are saying, but I have heard the tales of your courting the women of the demi-monde. You are known in every gambling hell and tavern in London. And yet, you say you were with an innocent miss. If she weds you I will know you tell enough of the truth. If she doesn’t, I forbid your name spoken to me and I’ll not have it said in my presence that I have a son.’
He stopped mid-turn to the door and then returned his gaze to William. ‘Should I trust you enough to spend the day at the club laughing at the tale Sylvester is telling because he thinks to get me to switch funds his way and a jest got out of hand?’
‘Yes.’ The word had the strength of a church bell.
