Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Priscilla arrived home, pleased with how her outing had turned out. Not only had she received some answers from Lard Ware—Wyatt—the name made her smile to herself, but she felt increasingly positive about their prospective engagement. Being married to him would be a far sight better than Eugene.
She shook her head. Had her plan actually worked?
Would her father be proud of her problem-solving skills? He might have been impressed…then again, he might have chastised her for being so reckless.
Much as he’d taught her to use her brain, he’d also loved her and her mother deeply and went to great lengths to protect them. Odd that he’d taught her as much as he did about work that wasn’t a woman’s, but perhaps that had been for her protection too.
She set her parcel in the entry, removing her gloves and untying the ribbons of her hat.
The butler appeared before her, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “You have visitors.”
“Visitors?” she asked, her brow crinkling.
“The Duchess of Durham and the Countess of Westmoreland, along with Lady Brightmore, and Miss Clara.”
She gasped. All her friends had arrived. It had been weeks since they’d all been together. What had brought them here now? She hurried to the morning room eager to see them. Tell them about her article. About Wyatt.
Mona’s bright shock of red hair caught her notice first. Being a duchess agreed with her; every time that Priscilla saw her friend, she noted that Mona practically glowed with happiness. A rush of emotion made Priscilla stop, taking in each of them.
Charlotte turned to her. “Priscilla,” she gushed, reaching out her hands. “How I’ve missed you.” She wrapped Priscilla in a hug, her slender frame pressing close.
Priscilla fell into the embrace. “I’ve missed you too.”
Alexi’s pixie features broke out into a smile. “Clara told us that you’ve been very busy. Come. Tell us what’s been happening.”
Sitting, she began in a rush of whispered words, just in case Eugene might try and listen, sharing the details of how she’d come to meet Wyatt through her ad in the paper.
When she’d finished, her friends stared back at her in stunned silence.
“You put an ad in the paper for a husband?” Mona asked, her fingers pressed to her cheeks.
Priscilla stiffened in defense. “You found your husband through the paper. You cut out articles about him and then proposed a match of convenience during your first meeting.” She turned to Charlotte. “And Charlotte put an ad in for her husband too.”
Charlotte raised a single finger. “Technically, I advertised for an investigative assistant. He just happened to be an earl and I decided to marry him later.”
Alexi bit her bottom lip. “None of us have had traditional courtships, but it makes me nervous to think that he would have answered your ad. I know why you’re eager to make a match, but why is he?”
It was an excellent question. And one they’d hinted around, but even Priscilla could confess, at least inwardly, that his answers hadn’t sufficiently explained.
“Priscilla told you. He has a scar,” Clara jumped in, “here.” She ran her finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “He seems very insecure about it, so don’t stare when you meet him.”
Priscilla said a silent thank you to her friend. For some reason, she felt defensive on Wyatt’s behalf. While she might question his motives…
“I’ve not heard of him before so I’m curious; what else do you know about him? He’s a viscount, he’s scarred, he doesn’t participate in society. Is he financially stable?”
Priscilla shrugged. “We’re still getting to know one another, which is why there has been no formal agreement.”
Mona straightened. “All of us should gather with our husbands. I’d wager the men could gather some information that we can’t.”
“Good idea,” she nodded, relaxing. Not only would that give her a chance to see Wyatt again but perhaps their husbands could inquire about him in their clubs or find out more information through their acquaintances.
Clara touched her arm, frowning. “Will Eugene allow you to attend?”
Charlotte’s brows drew together. “Surely he’s not restricting your activities that much?”
Priscilla’s lips pulled tight with tension that always came when she considered Eugene. “The longer I resist a match with him, the worse it becomes. And with Viscount Ware visiting the house…”
All her friends nodded.
But it was Charlotte who stood, beginning to pace. “I begin to understand why you placed the ad.”
“I don’t want to make a foolish move and marry Lord Ware too hastily, but I do need to do something.”
“Brax and I can help you,” Mona offered. “If Lord Ware isn’t a viable option.”
She reached for Mona’s hand. “Thank you.”
But truly, if Eugene didn’t allow her to leave the house, not even Brax could help.
“Enough about me. Tell me about married life. How have all of you been?”
One by one, her friends began to share, and by share she actually meant gush, about their new marriages. Priscilla was so happy for them and some deep part of her felt a touch envious. To have the chance at a love match…
But that envy quickly subsided when she considered Wyatt. If he was the man she hoped he was…she’d be more than content.
An energy crackled between them. Between that and his steady nature, he’d make a fine husband.
She looked over at Clara, her head bowed and her mouth pinched as she picked up the paper on the table between the settees.
Poor Clara. Was she lamenting her own fate that left her unwed?
“And what of you, Clara?” Charlotte asked. “What, besides Priscilla, has kept you busy?”
Clara looked down at the pages of the paper. “Same as ever.” Her fingers trailed down the page. “Though I have been following the story of the Bushy Hero. Did you all know that he’s successfully captured several criminals this week?”
Clara held up the page, pointing to the drawn illustration that accompanied the article.
It wasn’t the first time Clara had discussed the hero who seemed mostly fictional to Priscilla.
“And now,” she lowered her voice. “The paper says he has a second man helping him.” She gave a romantic sigh.
Clara’s father, a baronet, ran a successful coal business in Pembrokeshire. Clara had a large dowry and her parents held great aspirations for her match.
But Clara’s heart had always been for another. Was that why she seemed so infatuated with men in the paper?
“Clara,” Priscilla started, attempting to choose her words very carefully. “What has you so interested in this hero?”
“Likely, they’re criminals themselves.” Charlotte pointed out. “Probably thieves who just rob criminals.”
“Like Robin Hood?” Clara asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Clara?” Priscilla made a note to check on Clara the next day.
Clara’s face fell. “Don’t mind me. I’m allowing romantic fancy to sweep me away. It’s not as though I would or could do a thing about it. I’m as helpless in this fancy as I was in my last.”
Priscilla cringed, scooting closer to her friend and taking her hand in hers again. “When the time is right, you’ll meet your special someone. I promise it will be so.”
Clara nodded, her eyes seeming to mist before she waved her hand as though banishing her feelings or the conversation away. “Enough about that. How are we going to get Priscilla out of Eugene’s clutches long enough to get everyone together?”
“Leave it to me,” Mona said with a smile. “I’ve got a plan.”
* * *
Wyatt stood on the dark corner outside a pub, the smell of the Thames curling his nostrils. Or perhaps, the foul smell were the clothes he’d donned, bought from a fisherman earlier that day.
Dirty, ripped, and reeking of fish and stale body, they stank to high heaven. Between his scar and his mussed hair, Wyatt appeared an everyday fisherman.
Hell, even his hands looked the part, bruised and bloodied from his hours of training and his nightly activities.
Next to him, Ralph stood looking exactly like, well, Ralph.
But as a boxer and a long-time working man, he didn’t need much help to look the part of an East End criminal. In fact, it had been far more challenging to make Ralph appear like he belonged in Wyatt’s house.
“You ready for this?”
Wyatt’s jaw clenched. “Tell me again what we’re doing.”
“I was sniffing around some old haunts earlier and I heard about a whole ring of gangsters on a robbing spree through Cheapside,” Ralph clenched his fists. “They wait until the husbands are out and then attack the ladies when they’re alone.”
Wyatt’s insides churned. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but picture Priscilla.
She’d be safe, of course. The servants who cared for her home were also a measure of protection that the mercantile class frequently didn’t have.
They might have a few maids, but no footmen, butlers, or grooms to help protect their homes.
“We’re going to go in there and offer ourselves up for the next job.”
“And you know they’re here?” Wyatt asked, leaning around Ralph to study the heavy oak door.
“That’s what my man said.”
“Who’s your man?” Wyatt asked, still staring skeptically at the door.
“Former sparring partner. Owns a pub now and hears the chatter about these parts.” Ralph waved his hand to signal they should start moving.
Ralph started for the door, Wyatt following. He appreciated the zeal with which Ralph had taken up the cause, but he had questions about his brother’s sudden commitment to helping beyond training.
When he’d asked earlier, Ralph had simply mumbled something about keeping Wyatt alive long enough to make it to the altar.
Wyatt shook his head. He appreciated Ralph’s concern a great deal, but as a grown man, he no longer needed Ralph’s protection. His help, yes. Perhaps Ralph needed a wife and family of his own to look after.
“Have you considered finding your own bride?”
“No.” Ralph said with such a sharp bark that Wyatt paused.
Ralph claimed to have hit out all his anger, but Wyatt had to wonder what sort of resentment Ralph harbored toward their father still.
But he didn’t ask as they entered the pub, Ralph scanning the room.
While none of the occupants looked upstanding, a group at the back was by far the loudest and most raucous of the bunch. With a single nod, Ralph started toward them, settling at the table next to them and ordering up two pints of ale.
Wyatt sat, making certain that his scar was clearly visible. Why not use it to his advantage?
It hardly took two minutes before Ralph had engaged them in conversation, his voice taking on a rough accent. In three, he’d told them of his need for work, and in four he’d been inducted into their band.
Wyatt shook his head.
He might have taken up the cause of routing out the thieves of London, but Ralph was the true talent.
“And what about ‘im?” one of them asked.
“Me brother?” Ralph replied. “He don’t talk much. Lost part of his tongue when he got that.”
The men gave him an appreciative stare, assessing him.
Ralph gave a chuckle. “His hands are fine and between the scar and his fists, he’ll be an asset to ye.”
All the others laughed even as Wyatt’s hands clenched under the table.
“Meet back ‘ere tomorrow night. Midnight,” one of them said before he spit on the floor. “Don’t be late.”
Ralph took a large swig of his ale. “Not a problem.”
But Wyatt grimaced. He’d received an invitation today to dine with the Duke and Duchess of Durham tomorrow.
He knew without asking that Priscilla was behind the invite.
It was the only explanation that made sense considering his reputation as a recluse and her promise to find another way to see him. He intended to go.
But with Ralph’s new plan, there was nothing to be done for it. He’d have to leave dinner early. Much as marrying Priscilla was a priority, this business was his primary concern.
Ralph finished his ale, Wyatt doing the same as he tossed a few coins on the table.
They left again, Ralph closing the door behind them. “You’re not really going tomorrow night, are you?”
“Of course.”
Ralph started to say more but a rustle in the shadows made them both still. Wyatt peered into the dark and seeing nothing, looked at his brother to continue the conversation.
In answer, Ralph started walking the short distance to where they’d left the carriage discreetly tucked in an alley between two buildings. Once inside, Ralph gave him a fierce glare. “You’ve courting to do.”
Wyatt glared back. “I am capable of managing my schedule. You need not worry.”
Ralph scrubbed a hand through his hair, making the ends stand even straighter than normal. “Yes, I do need to worry. This is important.”
“So is routing out thieves.”
“Not more important than your future.” Ralph’s fist came down hard on his own knee.
“Why are you concerned with the title’s future? I thought you’d hate what the aristocracy represented?”
“I don’t give a damn about the aristocracy.”
Wyatt stared in complete confusion. “But you’re always going on about an heir and—”
Ralph shook his fist. “Because you should marry. Make babies. I’m the skulk-in-the-shadows sort, Wyatt. You’re a man who should live by his heart.”
Wyatt blinked at his brother as he attempted to understand why Ralph was so upset. “If this is your way of telling me you’re better at being the Bushy Hero than me, I confess—you’re likely right.”
“No!” Ralph’s voice boomed through the carriage. “You’re a better man than me. Calm, caring, strong when you have to be but not ruled by your emotions like him…like me.”
His jaw worked as he tried to answer. “No. I’m not ruled by emotion. I’m exactly the opposite, in fact.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked down at his hands, not sure he even wanted to explain. “You said it yourself. I don’t let people in.”
“You don’t have to let everyone in. Just a few.”
Wyatt shook his head. Didn’t Ralph understand?
If men like his father or those cutpurses or thieves could best him on any given day, how could he ever be a good protector to anyone?
Everyone who loved him ended up hurt. Especially Ralph.
“And when thieves like the ones we met tonight come to rob my house? What then?”
Ralph’s head whipped back. “You’re worried about that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore.
I’ll go to dinner and tell the duke I need to leave at half till midnight.
You can wait for me in the carriage.” He swallowed down a lump.
“And for the record, I’d like it stated that you should live in the light, not the shadows.
You’re nothing like him and probably the best of all of us. ”
Ralph, for once, didn’t argue as they rolled on in the night.