Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
K eynsham flattened himself against the side of the coach, drawing Miss Ryder with him and placing his arm across her body. He’d protect her with his life, if it came to that.
But first he was going to kill that bastard Wilkes.
The footsteps stopped. Whoever was coming had seen the horses and carriage. There was a long, tense pause. A man spoke. “Who’s there?”
Miss Ryder had one hand over her mouth. Tears of terror stood in her eyes. Young, on his other side, already had his fists raised.
“I said, who’s there ?” The footfalls began again, squelching through the mud. One of the horses snorted and stamped. He heard the man pat it. “Steady there. Aren’t you a fine fellow!”
Keynsham frowned. That didn’t seem like something that one of Wilkes’s thugs would say.
“Good God!” The man came around the front of the carriage, saw them and leapt back, clapping a hand to his chest. “What the...?”
He was tall, broad shouldered, and wore a blue workman’s tunic. His gaze traveled suspiciously from the fine matched pair of greys, to Miss Ryder, to the long gouges in the side of the expensive carriage, and finally to Keynsham’s bruised face. “Who the devil are you ?”
At this, Young took offense. “Now see here…”
The man noticed the coat of arms on the coach door. He studied it, then let out a whistle. “Well, I’ll be! Lord something, eh? I thought you was one of them damned banker fellows—begging your pardon, your ladyship!” He doffed his cap, made Miss Ryder a surprisingly passable bow, threw back his head, and began to laugh. “Was I about to give you a piece of my mind!”
Keynsham felt himself beginning to relax. It would be almost impossible not to, around this man. “I assure you that I am no banker.”
“No more you are, your lordship! No more you are! Oh, this is something! Why, afore I saw you wasn’t one of them , I was fit to knock you down! Can you credit it? Me, knocking down a lord?” He shook his head. “Ah, well. But none of us has been paid, you see.”
Considering everything that had already happened today, Keynsham wouldn’t have expected that a conversation with a random man in an abandoned construction site would be the most confusing thing of all. “Paid? Paid by whom?”
“Them fellows what put up the money for all these houses. They’ve scarpered. That slick banker come round this morning. ‘Money’s gone,’ he says. ‘No wages for you, lads.’” He put his cap back on. “The other fellows didn’t know what to say, so I spoke up. ‘In that case,’ I says, ‘what gives you the right to be here?’ He saw what I was driving at, and took himself off in a hurry.”
Keynsham frowned. “Do you mean to say that the investors in this project have disappeared without paying you?”
“Aye—you’ve hit on it, your lordship. That they haven’t. Not for the past fortnight. I only came back to fetch me tools. Who’ll finish building these houses now, I’m sure I can’t say. And with families going without roofs over their heads too! ’Tis a sin.”
Keynsham noticed the tools scattered about the yard—a mason’s hod, a wheelbarrow half full of bricks, a ladder. Without the slightest regard for precedent the man stuck out his hand. “Downey. Tom Downey.”
“I am Charles Keynsham—Viscount Alford.”
They shook hands. Downey’s grip was almost painfully firm. “ Viscount , eh?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Well, well. Never seen one of them before.”
“Are you the foreman? What is the name of this place?”
“Foreman? Me?” Downey guffawed. “No. I’m just a mason—though they had me checking the plans, seeing as I can read and write. These here new streets is what they’re calling Grange Grove. Or as I call it, ‘No grange, no grove.’”
It was an inconvenient time to have an idea. Nevertheless, Keynsham had one. “Are these all to be houses?”
“Aye. This terrace is twenty-eight houses—and was to be finished within the fortnight too. Other side of the street, thirty-two.” He waved a muscular arm. “And over yonder, three more streets and a square was to be built next. I’ve copies of the plans—all drawn up official-like. Hundreds of houses. Them money men talked a big game, all right. All us masons and carpenters and glaziers and roofers was to be in work building for at least the next year or two.”
The idea was beginning to take shape in Keynsham’s brain. He tried to push it away. It persisted. “What does this terrace of houses require?”
“Not much. Roof tiles and windows and doors. Kitchen stoves. Plaster. Paint.” Downey shrugged.
Miss Ryder must be inspiring him… because suddenly Keynsham’s mind was filled with thoughts and plans. Gentlemen did not engage in trade. But as it happened, there was a very large asterisk next to that statement when it came to property development...
Of course, this wasn’t some stately Knightsbridge square of townhouses for the wealthy. Nor was he standing on a tract of land that he’d conveniently inherited in Mayfair. And he’d have to persuade someone to loan him money…
But he could do this. He knew it. “I should like to discuss this with you further, Mr. Downey, but I cannot leave my, ah… her ladyship standing in this mud. Here is my card. Tell me your direction, and I shall be back to speak with you.”
Downey turned his card over in his large, callused hands. “Discuss what? Begging your pardon, but if you will speak plain, I’d appreciate it. I’ve had all I can take of double talk and no pay.”
“I—I may be able to involve myself in financing the building of these houses.”
“ Financing , eh? And here I thought we just needed money.” Then Downey’s tanned face split into a wide white grin. “I’m joking! Well, well. Just when I told the missus that money doesn’t fall from the sky, here you are to prove me wrong, I suppose.”
Keynsham hoped that he wouldn’t disappoint him. “I cannot promise that it will come off.”
Downey folded his massive arms and studied him. “No more you can. But I’ve a good feeling about you, Lord Something.” He clapped him on the shoulder—a friendly blow that nearly sent Keynsham staggering sideways. “Any man with bruises like those ones doesn’t back down from a fight.”
They trudged down the road. Young led the horses. Keynsham and Miss Ryder followed behind the carriage. One of the horses had lost a shoe in the deep mud of the building site, and they couldn’t risk laming him. Downey had directed them toward a farrier a mile or so farther south, where they could have him re-shod before the drive back to London. According to Keynsham’s watch, it was already mid-afternoon, although the thick fog blotted out the sun.
Miss Ryder was silent.
The moment in the carriage weighed on Keynsham. He’d nearly kissed her. He’d nearly imposed his private fantasy version of Miss Ryder on the very real, very vulnerable woman walking next to him. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t free to court her. He was as good as engaged!
Yet even now his palm seemed imprinted with the warmth and curve of Miss Ryder’s cheek. And something had shifted in his thoughts, too. His mind—dull sludge for over a year—was suddenly alight with ideas and plans and possibilities. How he would get the money to finish building the houses, he didn’t know—yet. But now that Miss Ryder was here, he felt as though he could overcome almost any difficulty.
Except, of course, the difficulty concerning Miss Spry.
A carriage was coming up from behind. He stiffened. There was no chance that they’d lost Wilkes and his thugs for good. No, he’d still be hunting them, looking for a chance to strike again. Now that they were on foot, they were easy targets.
But the carriage passed them without slowing. Keynsham let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.
“You were right.” Miss Ryder startled him by speaking. “I—I ought to have waited in the house as you asked me to do. This is all my fault.” Her voice broke.
“ This ? This is not your fault! Miss Ryder, I…” How he wished that he could tell her how he felt! “No. Wilkes is a madman! He fired on us on a public roadway! Unless… does he have some reason to believe that he may operate with impunity?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her clamp her lips together, as though she were afraid that words might slip out.
“Will you not tell me why he is pursuing you? What is it that he wants?”
She shook her head. Another carriage passed them. They had to get off this road. “Miss Ryder…”
“I do not know! I did not know that he was still looking for me until yesterday. It does not make sense. I…” She stopped herself, as though she’d already said too much.
The carriage in front of them slowed. “This must be the place,” Young called back.
The blacksmith’s workshop was a low building with a gated yard outside. Unfortunately, the farrier—according to the apprentice who ran out to meet them—had gone to a wake that afternoon and wouldn’t be back until after nightfall.
Keynsham and Young unhitched the horses, examined them, and found another shoe loose.
“His lordship can stay at the inn,” suggested the apprentice.
“Inn? Does it have horses for hire?”
“No, your lordship. For that you have to go to The Bullock, where the stagecoaches stop. It’s three miles away—over to the London road.”
“Ah.” He looked at Miss Ryder. His heart was racing. He’d have more time with her.
She avoided his eyes.
“Well. The inn it is, then.”
They left the carriage and horses in the farrier’s stables and walked through the tiny village to the inn—a square, whitewashed building whose front wall directly abutted the road. At first, a servant told them that they were full for the night. But when Young made a point to refer to him as Lord Alford , a room suddenly became available “for you and her ladyship.”
Young said that he would see to the horses and sleep in the carriage, and went into the inn’s snug for an early dinner and a pint or two.
Keynsham didn’t dare look at Miss Ryder as they were led upstairs, away from the noisy public rooms. It was this or nothing. She folded her arms as she surveyed the low-ceilinged room. “I shall sleep in the chair. I grew accustomed to sitting up with Mrs.…” She stopped, as though she were keeping a state secret.
“I insist that you take the bed. I may just as easily sleep on the floor.”
She sighed and took off her pelisse. “I shall take the chair.”
Before they could resolve the argument, several inn servants arrived with a meal. The fare looked much better than they could have expected at most coaching inns, and explained the crowded dining room below. Soon, the small table was loaded with plates of buttered new peas and roasted parsnips, sliced ham, pickles, a salmagundi of cold chicken, chopped boiled eggs, capers, and anchovies, and more.
When they were alone, he piled food onto a plate for her and tried not to think of all the things that he wished he could say. He wished that he could promise her that he would always be by her side. That he would keep her safe, and that she need not face Wilkes—or anyone else—alone, ever again.
But he couldn’t—not truthfully. For a moment, he imagined the empty promises that his father must have made to his many conquests, and was revolted to realize how easy it would be to lie. He cleared his throat. “Well. Let us eat.”
She picked up her fork, but rather than eating, pushed some of the pickled beets a half inch across her plate. “He… he knows who you are. I am certain of it. And he must have worked out that I—” She broke off. “That is to say, he seemed to know where I might go next.”
“Yes. I believe that you are correct. I believe that he may have been watching my house last night.”
She gasped. “ Last night ? But that is everything that I… How can you be so calm?”
“I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” And you too , he wished he could add. “You may have noticed that Wilkes did not win today. Or last night.”
“But we did not win ! We barely escaped!”
He shrugged. “Winning and escaping are often the same—at least, in war. I do not mind a fight, Miss Ryder. I should have thought that you would have realized that by now. What I do mind is seeing a bully get his way merely because no one is willing to stand up to him.”
Her eyes flashed. “This is not some—some entertaining diversion from your life. He is dangerous .”
“Yes. So I have gathered.” He poured some wine into her glass, met her eyes, and gave up his resolution not to speak of the past. “Miss Ryder, when I met you, you did not strike me as a lady who would give up easily.”
“Well, that was because I was a fool.”
“Perhaps you were not foolish, but brave.”
She pursed her lips in a momentarily bitter moue. “And perhaps it was easier to be brave when I did not know that he would pursue me, and that even after a year of hiding and…” She broke off and ate a butter-drenched parsnip.
He didn’t think that she was aware that she was eating. Well, so much the better. “He is a thug. He cannot be allowed to dictate what you can and cannot do.”
She set down her wine glass. “If you think that Wilkes is a mere thug, you are much mistaken. You may be certain that powerful men in London are already in his debt.”
“Then he is a moneylender?”
Her face grew guarded. “He is many things. He has always been… well, a man of great ambition and no scruples.”
“Ah. Then he is either a crime lord or a politician.”
Unlike his fantasy Miss Ryder, she didn’t laugh at his joke. “I shall say nothing else.”
“You make it difficult to help you.”
“There are some situations that cannot be helped.” She ate some salmagundi. “You would not understand.”
“Are you certain of that? You are not the only one in this room who is in a difficult spot.”
“Oh yes? What can be your complaint? Gaming debts?” Her tone was caustic.
“No, in fact.” He took a deep breath. “Well. As you will tell me so little about your situation, I will tell you something about mine instead—something that almost no one knows: My father, the late fifth viscount, left the estate nearly bankrupt.”
Her eyes widened. Slowly, she set her fork down.
“If he had not died when he did—well, even another year of his spending would have left my mother and sister with nothing. And so, since his death, I have spent nearly every waking minute attempting to rescue the estate. This… this escapade, today?” He gestured at the room. “This is the first time that I have been more than a mile or two from my desk and my ledger books in over a year.”
She stared at him. “But you are a viscount. You… you drive a new carriage.”
“My father ordered that carriage. It was delivered only the week before he died. And he had not paid for it. It was left to me to find the money to pay the bill.”
“Oh.” Her voice was small.
“I am managing to make all the payments that I must make—for now. But I must find a new source of income so that I can begin to redeem the mortgages on the farms. If the truth gets out before I can do that, the lenders will all call in their loans and my family will be ruined.”
She was silent a moment. “But that proves my point.”
“What point?”
“That you ought not to involve yourself in my situation! You have troubles enough of your own. You cannot afford more.”
“I assure you that I am quite capable of helping you and managing my own affairs at the same time.” He folded his arms. “So. It appears that we are at an impasse.”
“I have not asked for your help. You cannot simply… impose yourself on my life.” Her slightly pointed chin was quivering in indignation. “I have made my own plans.”
“Really? Do those plans involve being abducted the moment that you return to London?”
She glared at him. “I shall go about things differently now that I… Well. I shall take precautions.”
He opened his mouth to make a retort. But on at least one point, she was right. He had no claim upon her, and no say in her decisions.
And yet he was more and more certain that she was the only woman he could ever… No. He must not even think the word.
He stared into the small fire. This was all wrong. He ought to be able to take her into his arms, stroke her hair, kiss her face, reassure her that he’d solve all her problems, and promise her that he’d protect her for the rest of his life.
But, because he’d been stupid enough to open that library door, he couldn’t.
“Have you no family that you might go to?”
“No. My mother died when I was a child. My father died last year—the day before we met, in fact.”
“I am very sorry. I had no idea.”
She looked down. “No.” The corners of her mouth tightened for a moment. “You see, he had…” She stopped. “At any rate, I am alone.”
Alone. It broke his heart to hear her say that. “And your father did not provide for you in his will?”
She stiffened. He could see that he’d hit a subject that was painful. “No.” There was a silence. “I—well, I suppose that I must tell you the truth.”
But then she said nothing for a long time. Splinters of light glanced off the old wavy glass of the windowpanes as someone carried a lantern across the inn yard. The window was darkening with the onset of evening and the heavy fog. “I do not know how to tell the story, or where to begin.” She was hugging her own elbows. “I have never told it before.”
She paused. “Perhaps I should begin by trying to describe my father. When I was small, I—I idolized him. I thought that he must be the most important man in the world. He was so clever! So lively! So handsome and popular! But then I grew older, and I realized that he was…” She trailed off and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand.
She was crying.
“Please—take my handkerchief.”
She dabbed her face. “You may not… you may not like me very much, when you hear all of it.”
“There is nothing that you could say that would make me like you less, Miss Ryder. Nothing .”
It was perilously close to an admission of his feelings—but there were only so many times that he could playact.
She took a shaky breath. “Then the first thing that I must tell you is that my father promised my hand in marriage to Wilkes. And the second is that my name is not Catherine Ryder.”