Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Cavendish Square, Mayfair
Home of the 4 th Viscount Hanberry
Dawn had broken an hour before Reid returned to his grandfather’s home in Mayfair, tired and exhausted from the endless questioning and lack of sleep. While the world woke to a bright April morning filled with promise, he walked amid a cloud of despair.
Burns, the butler, scanned Reid’s morbid black attire—a fitting ensemble for a man who’d barely escaped the noose—and received his dusty hat, explaining Lord Hanberry was in the dining room, enjoying an early breakfast.
An honest conversation with his grandfather was long overdue.
But how did Reid explain he was being framed for murder when the news would have the viscount clutching his heart and slumping over the fine china? How could he reveal his plan to marry his herbalist when the shock might send the lord to his grave?
His grandfather’s bushy white brows rose when Reid entered the elegant room. From the head of the table, he captured his monocle, looked at Reid’s attire and frowned. “Don’t tell me there was another accident on the road last night. Coachman drunk again, I presume. There should be a law against imbibing spirits when in charge of a horse.”
“Yes, it might prevent the reckless young bucks from downing brandy while racing their curricles. A young woman was maimed during a midnight charge along Park Lane last week.”
“I recall no mention in the broadsheets.”
Reid nodded when the footman offered to pour his coffee. “It wasn’t reported in the broadsheets because the injured woman was a maid.” He moved to the sideboard and lifted the lid on a silver tureen.
“Ah.” His grandfather gave a nod of recognition. “I suppose such casualties are to be expected in the metropolis.”
Reid filled his plate with ham and eggs, though he barely had an appetite for anything but the taste of Miss Moorland’s lips. “To your earlier point, many accidents are preventable.” He sat adjacent to his grandfather, as was their usual morning custom. “Is there a reason you’re up with the larks?”
“I’m to visit Chesham Park for a few days. Romford negotiated the purchase of ten hectares to the south. You know these men of business are pedantic. He wants me to survey the area and read the small print.”
“Send Uncle Edmund or Algernon.”
The viscount balked. “I’ll not put my faith in those feather-headed fools. They haven’t a brain cell between them.”
“Perhaps it’s time they showed an interest in land management.”
Much to his chagrin, the viscount had recently turned eighty and wouldn’t live forever. Cousin Algernon had studied the Classics at Cambridge and had just returned from his third Grand Tour, a sure sign the future of Chesham Park was bleak.
“They cannot manage their own purses, and waste ridiculous amounts at the tables and bordellos.” The viscount eyed Reid as he sipped his coffee and was quick to broach a contentious topic. “If you managed Chesham Park, I could die a happy man.”
“You know why that’s impossible.”
The viscount glanced at the footman. “Leave us and close the door.”
Once alone, his grandfather proved he was not averse to begging. “Nothing is impossible. Give up the practice and accept the position of estate manager. Edmund will see it’s a wise decision if it enables him to continue his lavish lifestyle. The neighbouring Bretton Hall will be yours. It’s what your father would have wanted.”
Reid relaxed back in the chair. His grandfather had grown tired of most tasks but was determined to do things his way. A trait that had caused untold misery thirty years ago.
“You know I share my father’s passion for medicine.”
“And look where it got him. Dead before his time.” The viscount grasped Reid’s arm with his gnarled fingers and a strength that belied his years. “If you’re worried about Edmund, I can?—”
“I’m not worried about Edmund. I’m afraid of no man.” Except for a faceless killer who struck without warning.
“Good. Good. Then come with me to Chesham Park. Let Turner deal with your patients. Let the man run the practice if it pleases you. Set your sights elsewhere. You have a duty to this family.”
Reid inhaled a calming breath.
The time to tell the truth was nigh.
“I can’t leave. I have decided to marry.”
A stunned silence ensued, then a beaming smile lit up his grandfather’s wrinkled face, and he clapped his hands in glee. “Well, this is excellent news, my boy. Root through the invitations on my desk. The Earl of Ravenhope’s youngest daughter is out and is said to be a beauty. Mind you, she is a bit of a dullard but comes with a dowry that would make Croesus blush.”
Reid inwardly groaned and wished he had a large brandy to hand. “I have already chosen my bride.”
His grandfather’s eyes sparkled. “Viscount Brigham’s daughter? I know you treat the lord’s ailments and have dined at their home.” The old devil winked. “Why, this is splendid news, truly splendid.”
“I’m not marrying Brigham’s daughter.”
A peer’s daughter did not marry a doctor.
He was marrying an intelligent woman with a wealth of common sense, though the unexpected pull of attraction stirred something far more salacious.
“Who is she?” Sensing the tension, his grandfather’s happiness turned to bitter suspicion. “Tell me you’re not marrying for love. Love is fickle and shifts with the tides. You understand that better than most.”
The sudden weight of grief settled in Reid’s chest.
He would never forget his mother’s mournful wail when she received news of his father’s death, killed by mortar fire while treating injured soldiers near La Haye Sainte. But what killed her was the letter hidden amongst his personal effects. A love note from his mistress.
“I’ll never marry for love,” he said coldly.
“Thank heavens for that.”
He would marry out of duty and because he couldn’t see an innocent woman hurt by circumstances he had helped to create. Besides, what more could he hope for than to marry someone who shared his interests, a passionate woman unconcerned with vanity? Someone strong who understood the importance of living separate lives?
“I’m marrying my herbalist.”
The world seemed to stop and hold its breath.
The viscount stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“My herbalist. We plan to marry by licence.” To expedite matters, Aaron Chance agreed to present Reid’s case to the bishop to prevent the paperwork from being lost amid the pile.
“Your herbalist?” His grandfather’s mouth twisted like he’d sucked a lemon. “What lunacy is this? We agreed you would marry someone of respectable standing. A lady of good breeding.”
They had agreed no such thing.
Reid snorted. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten I’m your son’s bastard. It’s one thing to deceive strangers; it’s another to deceive a daughter of the nobility. My conscience won’t allow it.” Indeed, it was a conversation he’d have with Miss Moorland before they exchanged vows.
“Your conscience?” the viscount scoffed. “Half the babes in the ton are sired by men who aren’t their fathers. No, I’ll hear no more talk of marrying your herbalist. And let’s not mention what possessed you to hire a woman, by Gad.”
“I gave her my word.”
Miss Moorland had refused at first, knowing he’d been backed into a corner and not made the offer willingly.
I can’t let you do this, sir. I’ll not add to your burdens.
Perhaps you might save me from them, madam.
“If you think I’ll permit you to marry a commoner like your father, you’re mistaken.” The words left the viscount’s mouth in haste, though he soon realised his error. “I mean no slur on your mother’s character but merely wish to state she was not of blue blood.”
The resentment Reid thought he’d buried surfaced. “Life always makes us pay for our mistakes. You caused my illegitimacy when you lied to my mother. Part of me will always distrust your motives.” Yet he’d wanted to believe things would be different now.
The viscount thumped the table. “I’ll hear no more talk of you being baseborn. That woman ruined everything when she told you. We agreed to take the secret to the grave.”
Reid was born three weeks early, a tiny babe who fooled the masses. Fate had conspired to bring his father home. And the baptism reflected a date of birth that was wholly fictitious.
“What of the midwife who attended her? The friends who helped her until my father discovered the truth? What of her pious father who threw her out when he noticed her swollen stomach?”
“Keep your voice down. Do you want all and sundry to hear?” The viscount dragged his hand through his mop of white hair. “It was thirty years ago. Why would anyone care now? Besides, there’s no proof. Any whispers can be blamed on gossip.”
The viscount slept easier at night, having erased his mistake.
“If I know the truth, others might. Can you imagine what would happen if I married into the nobility and blackmail letters arrived with the morning post?”
“I did everything in my power to make amends. Your father should have told me about his plans before he left for Edinburgh. I cannot be expected to trust the word of every waif and stray who knocks on my door.”
“Waif and stray?”
“I speak in general terms. Stop looking for a reason to whip me.”
An uneasy stillness settled around them.
Should Reid mention he had been falsely implicated in a murder?
No. His grandfather would attempt to ride roughshod over him. He wouldn’t look for the culprit but merely find ways to make the problem disappear. He didn’t care if they hanged the wrong man.
They ate their breakfast in silence, the air of disappointment growing heavier with each tick of the mantel clock. Reid felt like a fifteen-year-old boy again. He could still picture those quiet meals together as they both battled their grief. Yet he had never been made to feel like a burden. Guilt and a deep sense of loyalty ran through his grandfather’s veins. Reid loved him and loathed him—a strange concept few would understand.
“I ask that you respect my decision.” He knew he would have more chance of catching a star in a bottle. “We have not been intimate, in case you fear she trapped me into marriage.”
He thought of Miss Moorland and their imaginary night at the Adelphi—a passionate encounter that heated his blood. As they would need to consummate their union, he hoped the reality would be just as enthralling.
“Then why, in God’s name, would you marry her?”
“I placed her in a predicament.” In truth, her desire to help him caused the issue. The situation may have been prevented if he’d simply been honest. “As a gentleman, I offered a solution.”
The viscount mumbled under his breath. “With your bloodline, I doubt she took much persuasion.”
A knock on the door brought the footman carrying a letter on a silver salver. Although the viscount straightened, the footman addressed Reid.
“For you, sir. I’m to inform the sender that you’ve read the missive. His footman is waiting at the door.”
Reid snatched the note, broke the seal and read the message. “Confirm I’ll keep the appointment.” After dismissing the footman, he turned to his grandfather. “I’m to meet the Earl and Countess of Berridge at Fulham Palace this afternoon for an audience with the bishop. I trust you’ll not interfere.”
His grandfather gripped the table and stood slowly. “You mean to spite me, is that it? Don’t tell me this is a case of history repeating itself. At least your father thought he loved your mother. Must I spend my whole life suffering imbeciles? Am I to bear witness to another tragedy?”
Reid downed his coffee. He understood his grandfather’s disappointment, but he would not bear the burden of his family’s legacy. “I have patients to visit.” And he had to call on Mrs Ludgrove before she met a grisly end. “I wish you a safe journey to Chesham Park.”
“All that promise wasted on a whim,” his grandfather grumbled as he hobbled from the room without a backwards glance.
A deep empathy for his father settled in Reid’s bones. The pressure to please was suffocating. The weight of expectation was a cross too heavy to bear.
Perhaps rebellion was in the blood. Much like his forebear, he refused to become his grandfather’s puppet. Indeed, his father’s last letter to him had carried an important message.
Be your own man.
No matter the cost.
Sofia paced the floor in the dispensary, wringing her hands and trying to come to terms with last night’s events. It didn’t help that she had only slept for an hour and hoped work might distract her from thoughts of Mr Gentry.
She could not marry him.
No matter how tempting the proposition.
Had he offered of his own free will, she may have accepted out of sheer desperation. But to spend their lives bound together, knowing he’d had no choice? It would bring nothing but untold misery. He deserved better. A point she would make clear when he returned after visiting his morning patients.
It was best to write a note, leave London and save him from a wretched fate. The sale of her mother’s brooch should fetch twenty pounds. That would cover the cost of a packet boat to France and a year’s basic lodgings. Dover was a better option, and the stage left The Golden Cross at eight the next morning.
She braced her hands on the workbench, a flurry of emotions twisting knife-like in her gut. How would she fare alone in a foreign country? How could she leave when every fibre of her being urged her to stay? The dilemma proved confounding. How could she abandon Mr Gentry in his hour of need?
Mr Hickman’s breathless voice reached her ears, his panicked stutter suggesting he was dealing with a disgruntled patient. It was probably Mr Dennison’s footman, come to demand a jar of leeches for the third time this week.
“Stop faffing, man, I know my way,” came a masculine voice Sofia didn’t recognise. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
She straightened as an elderly gentleman dressed in finery appeared in the doorway. “May I help you, sir?”
The fellow leant on a silver-topped walking stick. “How much do you want?” His scornful tone hit like a sharp slap. “Name your price.”
“I beg your pardon? Are you referring to the leeches?”
“Leeches!” he bawled, nostrils flaring. “You’re the leech, madam.” His dull blue eyes fixed her to the spot while he lingered in the doorway as if to enter was beneath him. “Five hundred pounds? Might that persuade you to retract your suckers, or do you mean to drain him dry?”
Sofia stared, somewhat baffled.
“Five hundred pounds for what, sir?”
That’s when he crossed the threshold, and the air turned arctic. He raised his cane, prodding it at her like it was an extension of his finger. “By Gad, you’re a cunning devil. A veritable vixen. I’ll agree to a thousand, no more. You can have the money within the hour.”
Sofia shook her head. “You have me at a loss, sir. I fear you’ve confused me with someone else. Allow me to call Mr Hickman so he may?—”
“Oh, I can see why he likes you.” Disdain filled the gentleman’s eyes as he lifted his monocle and scanned her sad dress. “You’ve got the same innocent look his mother had when she came begging at the door. An air of sweetness disguising a hidden passion. I imagine you beguiled him with knowledge of your witch’s potions.”
That’s when she realised the man with the acid tongue was Mr Gentry’s grandfather. “Might you come to the point, my lord?” She wasn’t afraid. Nothing was as terrifying as Mr Merrick’s sinister stare. And she’d learned to take criticism during lessons in confidence at The Burnished Jade. “You’re attempting to bribe me to do what, exactly?”
The lord sneered. “You know damn well why I’m here. Refuse my grandson’s suit, take your money and leave. Herbalists are ten a penny. He’ll soon fill the vacancy.”
Most people in her situation would grasp his hand and thank him. She could live comfortably for years on such a vast sum.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Her being arrested for absconding wasn’t the issue. The magistrate had been quite clear. She was to remain in town until he had the villain in custody. No. She suspected Mr Gentry would be furious at his grandfather’s interference. “Not without discussing the matter with Mr Gentry.”
The lord’s cheeks ballooned like a storm cloud about to burst. “Don’t try my patience, girl. I don’t know what hold you have over him, but you’ll do the decent thing and stop this foolery.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she took a calming breath. “I’m a woman, not a girl. Mr Gentry is a strong-minded man of thirty. An honourable man.” A handsome and somewhat dangerous man, too. “I’m surprised you’ve not stopped to ask what prompted him to make such a grand gesture.”
“Why would he?” Mr Gentry said, appearing in the doorway behind his grandfather, his face hard as stone. “My grandfather has no interest in people. He cares about land and legacy.”
The lord turned swiftly, his face flushing like a thief caught escaping with the silverware. “That’s not true. I care about you. This creature has bewitched you. I’ve seen?—”
“Her name is Miss Moorland, and you will show her some respect.” Mr Gentry met her gaze, letting her see the pain behind his stern facade. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “There’s a reason we agreed to marry.”
“Yes, she’s been drugging you with her potions.”
Mr Gentry ignored the outburst. “There wasn’t an accident on the road last night. A man was murdered. He was found gripping my calling card.”
The elderly man frowned. “Was he a patient?”
“No, but I’ve lost four patients since the beginning of December. All women of a certain age, though their conditions were minor.” Mr Gentry inhaled deeply before explaining he believed they were murdered, each victim a means of drawing him closer to the hangman’s scaffold.
The lord stared, aghast. “Why didn’t you mention it to me? I would have hired the best investigators and called the coroner to account. I’d have demanded the Home Secretary put his best man on the job.”
Mr Gentry paused before saying, “I can handle my own affairs. The culprit covered his tracks. The only way to catch him is to predict his next move. I cannot risk the truth being buried only to resurface years from now.”
“Perhaps he’s a grieving husband who blames you for his wife’s death or a father angry at losing a beloved child. I said this work comes with too many risks.”
“Who can say?”
A shadow of suspicion passed over the lord’s features. “Surely you don’t think it’s someone we know.”
Mr Gentry shrugged. “Jealousy makes men do foolish things.”
They mentioned no names but were clearly discussing the same person.
The lord cast Sofia a disparaging glance. “What bearing has this on your need to marry your herbalist?”
Sofia’s pulse rose. She looked at Mr Gentry, willing him not to mention the Merricks’ plan. Based on the disdain emanating from the viscount’s pores, he would be the first to tell Judith where to find her.
“I wasn’t entirely honest earlier.”
Please don’t tell him.
“By all accounts, you’ve not been honest for months,” the viscount scoffed. “Your father kept secrets. I presumed the pain they caused would be enough to deter you from doing the same.”
Mr Gentry shifted uncomfortably, and a lie fell easily from his lips. “I know your views on love, which I shared until I met Miss Moorland.” He moved to stand beside her, taking her hand in his. It was warm and comforting despite being a prop in a play. “She is extremely bright. We have similar goals and aspirations. I admire her resilience and respect her desire to change opinion.”
“Devil take it, I feel like I’ve leapt back in time and am listening to your father’s drivel.” In a temper, the viscount struck the floor with the end of his walking stick. “Have some sense. If you marry her, you’ll come to regret it. You’ve inherited your father’s foolish heart. Your mother held him to ransom for years. Why do you think he accepted a commission?”
Mr Gentry released her hand and pulled back his shoulders. “Isn’t it time you were on the road to Chesham Park? Don’t let me keep you. As you refused to attend my parents’ wedding, don’t feel the need to rush back for mine.”
His grandfather shuffled towards the door, muttering foul words under his breath. “Had I upped the stakes to two thousand pounds, she would have taken the bribe. Remember that when you say your vows.”
The viscount left the dispensary, but Mr Gentry didn’t see him out. Instead, he closed the door, breathed deeply and stared at nothing.
Sofia came to stand beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back. “I suspect you rue the day you agreed to hire me. It’s not too late to call him back and explain we’ve changed our minds.”
He faced her, brows drawn in confusion.
“This is all my fault,” she said before he could speak. “I’m not your responsibility. I would have agreed if you’d wanted to marry for convenience, but you were forced to make a declaration. I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice. I’ll find another way to escape Judith’s clutches.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She expected him to bemoan their fate, not remove her spectacles and place them on the workbench. Nor tease a lock of hair from her bun and watch it slip slowly through his fingers.
“Perhaps I have selfish reasons for suggesting the match.” His eyes trailed over her jaw and throat, leaving a scorching path in its wake. “Perhaps I want a night like the one we shared at the Adelphi.”
Either his grandfather had stolen his sanity, or Mr Gentry desperately needed a distraction. Why else would he stare at her with strange fascination?
“Only one night,” she teased. “What was it about our imagined encounter that lives in your memory?”
He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, something he did when deep in thought, a sight that held the ladies at The Jade spellbound.
“Maybe I long to see the treasures you hide beneath that saggy dress. When we’re married, I’ll buy you a wardrobe of clothes that hug your figure.”
“This dress used to fit me perfectly. When the Merricks left for Scotland, I cut the grocer’s bill by limiting myself to one meal a day, and put the money aside for my escape.”
“You’ve been starving yourself?” His expression tightened while his tone rang with concern and disbelief.
“I’m not starving,” she reassured him.
His hand came to rest on her waist. “We’ll dine out tonight. You’ll have whatever pleases you. We’ll order two desserts and bring one home.”
Sofia swallowed. “Home?”
“I’ll remain here with you until we marry. You need someone to protect you from the Merricks, and I have tenants in my house in Jermyn Street. They’ll require three months’ notice.”
Mr Gentry painted an idyllic picture, one that would fade in time. Not on her part. Who wouldn’t want to marry a handsome man who valued a woman’s work? Yet she feared he had another motive for saving her. One relating to his parents’ tumultuous past.
It came with a depressing realisation. She liked seeing the glow of desire in Mr Gentry’s striking blue eyes. She liked hearing the sensual hum of his voice. It wouldn’t be a marriage of convenience if she fell in love with him.
It would be an unbearable tragedy.