Chapter 10
Two weeks slippedby in a haze, and Dorothy seemed to have no time to stop and think. Her aunt saw to that, rarely leaving her alone for more than a minute at a time.
The day arrived, and the marriage ceremony was over by noon. Numb, Dorothy returned to the Polkinghorne townhouse to collect her meager belongings. She still couldn’t believe that she’d muttered the correct words through quivering lips and was now married. In the carriage, her strongest sensation was a deep desire to cry.
What had she done? While she was attracted to him and desperately wanted him to look at her with admiration—even love—in his eyes, she knew he’d only married her for the sake of duty. And her money, of course. She couldn’t forget that.
Although no one had ever told her, or Grace, that they had inherited anything. Sighing with exasperation, she realized that most likely her money had been handed over to Lord Arundell—her husband—as part of the marriage contract. No one, certainly not Uncle Cyril, would have felt it necessary to tell her anything about it. Women weren’t supposed to worry about such things, even when in truth, it was the one topic that no woman could safely ignore.
The thought made her feel like a horse, traded for the best price, with nothing to say about it.
Valise in hand, she glanced around the grand entryway of the Polkinghorne townhouse. “Where is Grace?” she asked her aunt.
“Grace?” Aunt Mary laughed and reached forward to push Dorothy’s bonnet into a position she clearly thought was more flattering. “Why, she’s gone for a walk with Stephen, Cecilia, and Jane.”
“But I thought… That is, I thought she was coming with me?”
“Coming with you?” Aunt Mary laughed and shook her head. “When you are but newly wed? No indeed, Lady Arundell.” She took great pleasure in pronouncing Dorothy’s new name. Patting Dorothy on the arm, she edged her closer to the door. “She will stay with us, of course. At least, for the time being. You do not want her following you about and causing difficulties at this point in your marriage. Take it from me, there is much to get used to—well, you will find out soon enough.” She winked and laughed again. “If you both wish, she can join you in a month or so. Before we leave London for the summer, perhaps.”
“But…” Dorothy stared at her, feeling abandoned. She’d assumed her sister would go with her, and she’d counted on her presence to make things easier. At least she would have been a familiar face, and someone to talk to over the breakfast table besides Lord Arundell.
Her pulse raced at the thought of facing her husband at breakfast. It pounded even more loudly at the thought of facing him tonight. The notion both excited and terrified her. If only he loved her, even just a little…
“Why did you not want Cecilia to marry him?” Dorothy asked impulsively.
Her aunt stared at her in surprise. “Cecilia? Oh, no—not my darling Cecilia.” Flushing, Aunt Mary’s glance bounced around the hallway, landing anywhere except on Dorothy’s face.
“Not your darling Cecilia? Why not?”
“Well, he’s… Well, if you must know, they would not suit.”
“Not suit? Why would you think the earl and I would suit?”
“Well, you are desperate, are you not? And quite old—too old for a Season, and he is an excellent match, although none of us quite cares for him—well, never mind that. Any girl would be thrilled to receive an offer from an earl. It is a great honor, as you well know. At any rate, it is too late, now.”
Too old for a Season. Was that really the reason, then? That they did not want to waste money on a Season for Dorothy? Was that petty notion worth wasting an alliance with an earl on a mere niece?
How completely demoralizing.
“I see,” Dorothy replied.
“You really must leave, my dear.” Aunt Mary laughed as she pushed her playfully toward the door. “I know you must be dying to see your new home. And your husband. He is so handsome, is he not? And an earl…” She clasped her hands together over her heart, and her gaze grew distant as she considered such a delightful prospect. “You are so fortunate, my dear. You must come and visit us often.”
“Very well.” Dorothy sighed. “Please tell Grace to come and see me at her first opportunity.”
“Of course. We shall all visit.” Her aunt giggled. “More frequently than you might wish, perhaps.”
Seeing their familiar faces could never become that tiresome, Dorothy thought. On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed her surprised aunt on her cheek before walking through the front door. Aunt Mary might have been petty when she arranged this marriage for Dorothy, but she was still her aunt.
The earl had sent a carriage for her, the side emblazoned with his family crest, and she flushed as the coachman handed her inside. Dressed in her best, but still shabby, blue traveling dress, she felt like an imposter. Lady Arundell, indeed. A flare of irritation made her straighten her back against the soft leather squabs.
Despite what her husband thought, she’d never aspired to the nobility. She didn’t particularly want the heavy responsibilities that always came with such a position, and it both annoyed and frightened her that Lord Arundell had been so busy with his duties that he could spare no time for her after their abrupt, plain wedding.
More a successful business meeting than a wedding. She didn’t even have a new dress to wear, although her aunt assured her that after they were married, Lord Arundell would see that she got a wardrobe befitting the wife of an earl.
Despite her gloves, her fingers felt for the smooth hard surface of the ring on her left hand. The slim metal felt foreign and rubbed the inner surfaces of her finger, irritating the skin. She sighed and supposed she would soon develop a callus and barely notice it. A mocking smile twisted her mouth. Over time, she might even develop a callus over her heart and become less aware of her handsome husband, although she wasn’t sure that was possible.
When the carriage jerked to a halt, she glanced up at the grand fa?ade of Arundell House. Her gloved hand clutched the leather strap near the door as her stomach sank. Even her breath stopped for a moment, her chest tightening. For one horrifying moment, she realized that she hoped—no, wanted—to walk into the entryway and see Lord Arundell—no, Marcus, her husband—waiting for her with open arms and a warm welcoming smile. She wanted to see the rich golden flecks in his eyes sparkle with admiration and love for her. Most of all, she wanted to feel his strong grip around her waist as he pulled her to him…
Her heart hammered. Her thoughts were terrifying. Despite everything, she feared she’d somehow fallen in love with him.
And he didn’t love her. In fact, she sensed he was disappointed in her. A hot surge of tears sprang to her eyes before she could swallow them back. As a footman opened the carriage door, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.
Now was not the time to cry.
The servant’s blue eyes were wide with curiosity as he held out his white-gloved hand to assist her to alight. He cast a series of quick glances at her, his eyes avidly taking in her shabby garments before he politely dropped his gaze and guided her through the open door.
She hardly had time to take in the wide black and white marble floor, tall columns gracing the doorways on her left and right, and the gorgeous clouds lit by a sunset painted on the ceiling several stories above her head before a thin, small maid curtseyed and gestured to the large room on her left.
“If you please, my lady, Mr. Grover asked that if it is acceptable to you, he’d like to present us—” She stumbled over what appeared to be her rehearsed greeting. A deep flush rose over her sallow cheeks, and she shook herself, staring down at the floor as if searching for her words on the shiny marble. “Beg pardon, my lady. He—that is, Mr. Grover, the butler, would like to present the servants—your servants, that is. The earl’s servants. Us, that is.” Her blush rose again, and her gray eyes widened as she stared in obvious terror at Dorothy. She bobbed another curtsey, shaking so much that she nearly fell over.
Dorothy instinctively thrust out an arm to catch the girl, but the maid managed to regain her balance before that became necessary. Smiling, Dorothy said, “I shall be happy to oblige Mr. Grover. And you are?”
“Betty, my lady. Betty Kirk. I’m to be your maid—oh, just for now—if you wish it. His lordship thought it might be suitable until you could hire one you like.” Her words tripped over themselves in a rush, and in a curious gesture, she crossed her arms behind her back so that she could clutch her elbows in her hands. Her white-knuckled fingers revealed her anxiety, and she kept flashing shy glances at Dorothy, although she tried to keep her gaze properly trained on the floor.
Rather high-handed of her new husband to assign her a maid, but perhaps he only meant to be helpful.
And she did rather like Betty. The girl wasn’t a beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but then neither was Dorothy. Betty’s face was too long and thin with barely any chin at all and a terrible overbite, but she was so earnest and trying so desperately hard that Dorothy just wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be all right.
“I am very pleased with Lord Arundell’s decision, Betty.” Dorothy smiled and took a step forward. “And I think we may not have to search any further for a lady’s maid, after all.”
A nervous giggle erupted from Betty, and she smothered it behind one fist. “Thank you, your ladyship. I shall try my best—my very best!”
“I’m sure you will.” Dorothy looked at the open double doors on the left to control a second urge to put a reassuring arm around Betty. Dorothy didn’t have a great deal of experience with servants, but she knew better than to be overly familiar, especially when she’d just met the girl. She could show sympathy, certainly, but not overly much. “Now, did you not say that Mr. Grover is waiting for us?”
“Oh, yes! This way, Lady Arundell.” Betty held out her right arm and took several jerky steps forward, cutting off Dorothy. Flushing again, she jerked to a stop, curtseyed, and gestured for Dorothy to precede her.
The large room at the front of the house had tall, wide windows set off by rich ochre-colored brocade drapes and Corinthian columns, bringing in a feeling of glorious sunshine. An additional set of half-columns were arranged near their taller cousins and were graced by blue and white vases. Furniture was scattered in comfortable clusters, arranged around thick carpets echoing the ochre, dark gold, sky blue, and white colors of the curtains and vases.
Dorothy barely had time to look around the room before a man approached her and bowed with solemn gravity. Beyond him, two lines of servants—women in front and men behind them—faced her. Although everyone maintained the carefully blank faces of well-trained servants, their eyes were alive with curiosity.
“May I welcome you to Arundell House, Lady Arundell,” the butler said. “I am Mr. Grover, and I serve Lord Arundell as butler here.”
“Thank you.” Dorothy nodded and smiled, despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. There were at least ten servants, and the thought of managing such a large household was daunting. Even the Polkinghornes had only had four, though Mr. Polkinghorne kept talking about hiring a butler, or at least a footman, to relieve poor Elsa from the task of answering the door.
Dressed formally and neatly in black and white, Mr. Grover still lacked a certain presence and seemed far more retiring than she’d expected from a man in his position. A fringe of pale, graying brown hair, nearly the color of rabbit fur, circled his hairless dome, and his eyes were fawn-brown in a soft-featured middle-aged face. He stood only a few inches taller than she was, and sunlight glinted off his wide forehead when she glanced at him. In fact, he was nondescript—so much so that he was remarkably easy to overlook. His features were so ordinary that when Dorothy looked away, she had a great deal of difficulty remembering his appearance—or even that he was there.
As he performed the introductions, his low voice droned through the names and positions in a very soothing cadence. Halfway through, she found her attention drifting away and had to straighten her shoulders and nod to focus on his words.
“Mr. Grover, the front door!” Betty exclaimed suddenly.
The butler clasped his plump hands behind his back and frowned at the maid. “Did I not dismiss you?”
Betty nodded, but remained where she was at Dorothy’s side, pointing at the hallway. “Yes—but there’s someone at the front door, Mr. Grover!”
“If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell.” He bowed, but didn’t move.
The clang of the brass door knocker echoed through the hallway.
“Certainly. You may answer the door,” Dorothy said at last when it appeared Mr. Grover wasn’t going to respond to the summons unless she gave him permission.
When she turned back to the servants, they were all staring at her, their eyes showing various degrees of speculation. She took a deep breath to keep a threatening blush from coloring her cheeks. There was no reason to be nervous, after all, even if she did wish more than anything to retire to some small room somewhere and have a cup of tea.
She clasped her hands at her waist. “I am very pleased to meet all of you. However, I am sure you have duties to which you must attend. You are dismissed.”
The plump, sandy-haired woman Mr. Grover had introduced as Mrs. Yornold, the housekeeper, nodded and flapped her hands. The servants seemed to collectively let out a long breath and scattered, melting away through the door as quickly as mice scattering at the sight of a cat.
Mrs. Yornold opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Mr. Grover returned. A very tall, slender man followed him into the room. When he caught sight of Dorothy, the stranger nodded.
“If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell?” Mrs. Yornold’s brows rose above nearly lashless blue eyes, and she took a step toward the door.
“Of course,” Dorothy murmured.
The visitor waited in silence. His black hair was tinged with silver at the temples, and wrinkles around his dark eyes and mouth gave his long face an attractive, distinguished look. A general air of quiet command, coupled with a hint of steel, made him seem like an older, thinner relative of her new husband. She flushed and clasped her hands at her waist.
For all she knew, he was a relative of her husband’s.
“Lady Arundell, may I present Mr. Gaunt. He is here to see Lord Arundell, who is not at home at present.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grover. You may go,” Dorothy said, her gaze never leaving their visitor’s face. “Perhaps I may assist you in my husband’s stead, Mr. Gaunt?”
A polite smile curved Mr. Gaunt’s mouth. “I beg your pardon.” He gave her a shallow bow. “However, my business is with Lord Arundell.”
“If that is so, I am at a loss to explain why you wished to see me. Surely, Mr. Grover explained that Lord Arundell is not at home when he answered the door.” Her head tilted to the right as she studied Mr. Gaunt’s face, but his features seemed to be fixed in a permanently pleasant but uninformative expression. A sense of irritation rippled through her at her profound ignorance of her husband’s affairs.
She had agreed to marry Lord Arundell despite the fact she barely knew him, and now she was paying the price. Nonetheless, she was determined to make a success out of her impulsive action, and that meant that she had to ensure she was included in his life. If their marriage was to have any meaning, they had to share the burdens and joys that lay ahead of them.
To her surprise, Mr. Gaunt’s eyes crinkled and amusement passed over his face in a blink. “I confess that I wished to meet the new Lady Arundell. I apologize for my curiosity and forwardness.”
“Well, now that your curiosity has been satisfied, it is only right that you satisfy mine.” Her chin rose, and her hands knotted together more tightly at her waist. Asserting herself made her stomach clench, but now was as good a time as any to practice the art. The new Lady Arundell would not be a shy, retiring wallflower. She waved to one of the small clusters of chairs. “Please be seated. I am sure my husband would not object if you explained the nature of your business.”
Mr. Gaunt took a step forward before a frown creased his brow. He cleared his throat behind a fisted hand. “Unfortunately, my business depends a great deal upon my discretion. I am afraid that I cannot divulge the details of your husband’s case without his permission.”
The flutter in her stomach felt like an entire flock of blackbirds taking flight, but she would not retreat now. “Discretion… And you used the word case, did you not?” She gestured more firmly to the gold damask upholstered chairs. “You are an inquiry agent, then. Perhaps involved in investigating the tragic events surrounding the death of my husband’s older brother?”
His black eyes flickered over her face. His polite mask slipped sufficiently to reveal astonishment as his brows rose and his mouth partially opened. Before she could feel a sense of triumph at finally discommoding him, his bland expression returned.
“I am an inquiry agent,” he admitted, his hands clasped behind his back. He did, however, move closer to the chair she indicated. “That much is certainly accurate.”
Dorothy sat down, forcing him to sit, as well. “And you are investigating the matter to which I referred?” she asked coolly.
“Has your husband spoken to you about the matter?”
Ah, there it was. She could tell the truth and the conversation would end here, or she could lie.
Or perhaps she could simply equivocate and leave him to draw his own conclusions. “It was such a horrific event—I am relieved that Lord Arundell has your assistance.”
He nodded, but didn’t offer anything helpful to move their conversation forward. Discreet, indeed. She swiftly searched through her memory of what her cousin had told her. It wasn’t much.
“That poor little girl,” she murmured.
“Unfortunately, it does seem likely that she perished. It is possible that she will never be found.”
“I understand she was thrown into the Thames. I can only hope her death was quick and merciful.”
“Indeed.”
She shifted in her chair, irritated by his lack of a more lengthy response. He seemed determined to avoid telling her anything of importance, and she couldn’t quite remember everything Cecilia had told her.
Well, if the girl was thrown into the Thames, she was probably tossed from a bridge. The only bridge with which she was familiar was the one they had clattered over when they traveled to London. “Is it true that she was thrown off London Bridge?”
“The new London Bridge is certainly a possibility.”
“Could she swim? What did she look like?”
“The earl has decided to keep such details private as a way of sorting through true reports and false ones.”
She smiled, desperately trying to find some other way to elicit the details she wanted. With a sad grimace, she shook her head. The memory of the urchin who had stolen the apples from Farmer Cavell’s cart unexpectedly rose when she considered the bridge.
Without considering, she said, “I saw the strangest child stealing an apple from our cart when we arrived in London. It is too bad that the earl’s niece was not so distinctive in appearance.”
“Distinctive? How?” He sat up. His expression sharpened into the predatory look of a circling hawk that has sighted prey.
“The child had one blue eye and one gold. That is certainly distinctive enough, is it not?”
“A girl?”
“I don’t really know. Most likely not.” She shook her head. “Mrs. Cavell thought it was a boy. He wore trousers, even if he had what appeared to be a blue skirt knotted around his waist.”
Mr. Gaunt opened his mouth and then glanced at the door to their left, apparently hearing something she had missed.
“Mr. Gaunt!” Lord Arundell exclaimed as he walked into the room. Brows raised, his gaze flickered from his visitor to Dorothy before his expression solidified into a polite mask. “Lady Arundell. I trust everything is well?”
Mr. Gaunt stood and faced Lord Arundell.
Heart pounding, Dorothy hesitated a moment before she, too, rose and faced her husband. “Everything is quite well. Mr. Gaunt arrived and elected to wait for your return.”
“You were discussing a child when I entered the room,” Lord Arundell—Marcus, her husband, said. His mouth thinned as he studied Mr. Gaunt. Abruptly, he smiled at Dorothy, although his eyes remained dark with emotion.
She had the distinct impression that he was angry at what he’d overheard when he walked into the room.
“I am sure you would like to retire. Have you met Betty?” Marcus asked abruptly.
“Yes, I have met all the servants, including Betty. However, I am not the least bit in need of rest. Perhaps we may be seated?” She smiled and gestured to the chairs surrounding them.
“We have business—you would not be interested,” Marcus stated.
“Indeed, I am very interested.” Dorothy sat down gracefully, arranging her skirts and smoothing them over her lap. “Mr. Gaunt has been very discreet, of course, so I have been unable to discover anything of importance. I hope that your arrival will persuade him to speak more freely.”
Marcus sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. Standing in front of her, she was reminded again of his broad shoulders and muscular legs. He was younger than his guest, but despite their relative ages, he seemed to have a natural leadership and a presence that made her pulse race. His brown eyes, square chin, and the fleeting dimple in his right cheek made him infinitely more handsome, too—too attractive for her peace of mind.
She wanted to stand next to him and press her hand against the side of his face as she breathed in the faint salty scent of his skin. Their kiss lingered in her memory, along with his scent of spicy bay and the more pungent fragrance of leather.
To her relief, her statement seemed to ease his tension. His dimple appeared with his quick smile, and gold flecks of amusement sparkled in his eyes. “He is paid to be discreet, my dear, so you cannot blame him too much.”
“You cannot blame him, perhaps. I certainly can,” she replied, waving at the two empty chairs across from her.
He looked at Mr. Gaunt and a wrinkle appeared between his brows as he took a seat. He gestured to the chair next to him. “You were speaking of a child, Mr. Gaunt?”
“Your wife was simply recounting a story,” Mr. Gaunt said, taking a seat.
“Yes.” Dorothy laughed. “I was describing an urchin we met upon our arrival to London—a boy, I think. He stole one of Farmer Cavell’s apples, directly from his wagon! Quite an impudent little soul.”
“A boy…” Marcus repeated, an expression of disappointment drawing the corners of his mouth down.
“Yes, I am sorry.” Dorothy sighed. “It is too bad, though, for he was certainly distinctive.” She waited for one of the men to request details, but both men appeared to be brooding over other concerns and ignored her comment.
Marcus stared down at his clasped hands while Mr. Gaunt’s black eyes were fixed on some distant point beyond the open door.
When no one asked, Dorothy forced a smile and said brightly, “He had one blue eye and one amber. I have never seen anyone with such a combination before.” She laughed again, trying to be amusing in order to see the gold flecks in Marcus’s eyes again. “And he had a tattered blue skirt tied around his waist. I imagine he wanted it to hold whatever he might be able to steal—” She broke off abruptly when Marcus leapt to his feet. “What is it? Is something amiss?” She glanced at Mr. Gaunt.
Mr. Gaunt’s gaze was locked on Marcus, and he appeared as startled as she was.
When Marcus rose to his feet, so did Dorothy.
“Why did you not say something?” Marcus towered over her, his face thunderous.
“Say something?” She looked at Mr. Gaunt and then back at her husband. What was the matter with him? With both of them? “What should I have said? It was simply an amusing tale—nothing of consequence.”
“Your niece…” Mr. Gaunt said in a low voice. “Did she also have one blue eye and one amber?”
“What did it matter?” she asked. “As I mentioned, the child was a boy.” She stopped abruptly in thought. “Or so Mrs. Cavell said, and she has seen the child more often than I have. I only saw her—him—that one time.”
Marcus gripped her arm, his gaze flashing with heat. “Where? Where did you see her?”
“Him! I saw a boy!” she insisted, despite the flutter of doubt.
Her husband’s touch sent a tingle through her and coherent thought fled in the face of her reaction. His nearness raised a tumult of emotion coursing through her, anger with his repeated questions collided with the desire to reach up, touch his stubborn chin, and breathe in his warm scent.
When had her sensible side deserted her?
“Where?” Marcus demanded.
“Well, we were in the alley next to Mr. Cavell’s home—Mr. Frank Cavell, that is. Not his brother, the farmer who brought us to London in his wagon.” Words tumbled out. She couldn’t organize her thoughts. “She—he—was waiting for us. He stole an apple. I suspect he heard the wagon and knew what it meant. Farmer Cavell mentioned he always turned up when he came with a wagonload of goods…” She drifted off, glancing from Marcus to Mr. Gaunt and back, aware that she sounded like a nervous fool.
Marcus stared at her, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
Mr. Gaunt stared at him.
She flushed, shook her arm loose from her husband’s grip, and studied the lovely carpet covering the floor. After a long breath, she lifted her chin and met her husband’s gaze. “Perhaps you would be good enough to explain why the child interests you?”
Once more, Marcus raked a hand through his dark hair, making the thick curls stand up in wild waves. He turned to Gaunt. “We must find where this Cavell fellow lives. She must have survived—she must have!” He jerked around and strode to the door.
Gaunt nodded. “We know where Mr. Cavell has his shop. The question, however, is if the urchin can be found since no one seems to know where the child goes.”
“But my lord!” Dorothy called. “Marcus!”
He flicked a glance at her over his shoulder and gave her a nod, though his eyes were already distant, focused on his own thoughts.
Mr. Gaunt had the good grace to bow to Dorothy before following.
Mouth open, Dorothy watched the men go. Abandoned. They’d gone out without her, without even giving her the courtesy of an explanation. Was this her future, then? To be ignored and pushed aside, even when she might be of assistance?
Was she that inconsequential?
Her previous sense of longing, to be with him even when he was clearly irritated with her, returned. She flushed in embarrassment at her weakness in wanting him even in such a revealing moment. He could not have made it clearer that he had no real affection for her. There was only one conclusion, then. All he was interested in was her five thousand pounds.
Well, he could have that and enjoy it, as he certainly would.
She’d never wanted or expected to have such an inheritance, and it had clearly done her future more harm than good. No wonder her uncle had been so disappointed when she’d accepted the earl’s offer.
Well, what was done could be undone. It was not too late. She would seek an annulment. After all, no one could pretend that this single day was a true marriage. Not when he’d left her alone just as soon as their vows were said.
Her arms wrapped around her waist. At least he could have pretended to have some interest in her, some affection. Her anger flared hotter and hardened into a lump in her chest. Her lungs ached when she took a breath, and she felt almost physically ill. Nonetheless if she wanted to seek an annulment, she would have to do it now. She could not wait.
She could not wait in case Marcus actually remembered that he had a wife and a duty to her. Once he realized that, he would likely do his husbandly duty, and it would be far more difficult to seek an end to this sham of a marriage.
With a sinking heart, she knew beyond any doubt that once she allowed him into her bed, she would not have the strength to push him away again or seek an annulment. He had only kissed her that once, but she couldn’t forget his touch, or the way it made her feel. Longing ached within her, and she nearly panicked at the sense of something wonderful floating away, out of reach.
How could she feel such deep, searing pain at the thought of parting when they’d known each other such a short time? And what she knew of him wasn’t altogether flattering, either. He might very well be a murderer, seeking his niece to ensure she would never have the opportunity to speak against him in the future.
A wise woman would get an annulment now. An even wiser one would never have married him in the first place. She trembled. It wasn’t simply the thought of never seeing Marcus again, it was all of it. The annulment itself would lead to scandal, and then what? What about Grace and her future? If her younger sister still wished to marry Mr. Blyth, then Dorothy could not take such a drastic step, at least not yet. A curate in search of his own living and in hopes of marrying a suitable spouse could not afford to associate with a family involved in such a scandal.
Grim worries circled back to the child. Her cold fingers pressed against her mouth. What had she done? If the child was a boy, he might be safe, but if it was truly a girl, she might be in terrible danger. An ache twisted through her heart. She clasped her hands together at her waist. A murderer? Was she really married to a murderer? How could she think such things about Marcus? About her husband? It was only gossip, just a conclusion her cousin had come to, based upon no knowledge of the actual events.
That poor little child, though. She remembered the cocky grin on his—or her—face as she stole one of the apples from the barrel. She abruptly strode to the bell-pull. When Mr. Grover arrived, she ordered a conveyance, whether one of the earl’s or a hired carriage. Anything would do.
Unlike her husband, she had a fairly good idea of where Mr. Frank Cavell lived, just a short distance from the old London Bridge. She was determined to find the child first and protect her at whatever cost.