12. Chapter 12-Bradford
Bradford carefully arranged his hair the next morning, stopping twice to throw down his comb and scowl at himself in the mirror.
What on earth was he doing?
It was the same question many people had levied at him with various levels of suspicion.
Mrs. Clark hadn’t been suspicious at all when he told her business took him to town.
Still, she had inquired after his trip. Mr. Thornton had asked—quite a bit more shrewdly—what Bradford intended to do once he’d found his erstwhile governess.
The lady herself had asked it most bluntly of all. Bradford hardly knew how to answer her.
Before he’d arrived in London, he told himself it was the principle of the thing that had drawn him there.
He’d convinced himself that he was going to right some great wrong.
After all, how could he let the fact that a stranger had been living in his house for four months go unanswered?
Surely there should be some justice in the matter!
But on that sunny day when Bradford saw Lily picnicking in the park with her sisters, all pretense of justice and recompense and every other bit of balderdash he’d told himself had flown out the window.
Lily had tossed back her head and laughed. Had Bradford ever seen anything as beautiful? He’d grown up with the impressive landscape of Northumberland at his feet, and he’d never seen anything as finely formed as that tiny nose, those soft cheeks.
She’d never laughed with him before. Of course Bradford had heard her laughter, but only trailing down the hall from the nursery.
The first time, he’d hurried toward the sound, lured inexorably as if it were a mythical siren song, only to have her glance up, wide-eyed, at where he stood in the doorway, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
As if Bradford were there to punish her for her loss of decorum.
No, Bradford had wanted to say. Please, do it again.
But of course he hadn’t. He’d frowned and turned his back and walked stiffly from the room, berating himself for his interest in the first place.
No wonder Lily now looked at him with wide eyes of fear! No wonder she kept asking him why he was there!
Bradford could hardly tell her the truth—that he didn’t know why he’d been so driven to find her. But now, staring in the mirror, his hair somehow still too much, even though he’d trimmed it last week and pomaded it carefully, Bradford knew the real reason he’d come to London.
And it made him want to punch the dumb face staring back at him in the mirror.
“She isn’t going to want you,” he grumbled to himself. “Not when you only ever frowned at her. Not when you’re nigh on ten years older.”
But there was a small voice inside of him that whined its tiny, relentless hope: What if she might?
Then he could have her, to love and to cherish, to honor and to hold…
No, he didn’t even know the lady, not truly. And he wouldn’t allow his baser instincts to prevail this time around. He wouldn’t be fooled by a beautiful face and an innocent-looking smile. He would be measured, careful.
Bradford turned from the mirror and began to pace the grand bedroom.
The townhome could use a bit of refreshing.
No wonder—he hadn’t darkened its doorway in years, and home fashions changed at only a slightly slower pace than that of the ladies.
Bradford supposed that the carpeting and the drapery were years out of mode.
Even so, it had all been spotlessly clean when he arrived. The home was as charming as the last time his mother had redecorated—and Bradford supposed that was the problem. His parents had been much more inclined to city living than he was. He himself had enjoyed town much more before…
Well, before.
That was what his life was—the before and the after.
Which was yet another reason he couldn’t have Miss Lily Preston, and another excellent reason to leave her well alone.
Bradford found himself much like a young man at the races who didn’t have enough money to buy a horse. He just wanted to look. Just wanted to be near her. And wasn’t that quite enough, for the moment? Wasn’t he perhaps owed as much, considering?
Even as he had the thought, he frowned. The lies Miss Lily Preston had told weren’t damaging in the least. She had been polite to his staff, an excellent resident of his household, and a wonderful governess to Rebecca.
Still, Bradford thought it reasonable that he might want to know more about her. That he might wish to spend as much time as possible learning who she truly was. For the sake of justice, if nothing else.
Lies, that perpetual truth-teller within grumbled.
Bradford shut the mental door firmly in that voice’s face and once again set about tidying his hair.
Though Bradford had contented himself that his hair looked as well as it was able, it didn’t seem as if it was going to matter. When he arrived at Lily’s house, he was waylaid before he even made it to the parlor where the Preston ladies were accepting gentleman callers.
“This way, Lord Hayes,” the butler said, gesturing down the hallway perpendicular to the front parlor.
Bradford was certain he heard Lily laughing at someone inside.
Was this her way of getting rid of him? He wondered if she’d faked the kindness in their conversation yesterday, if she was looking to prevent him from visiting her again.
Perhaps Bradford was being led toward a trio of large footmen in a room so far removed that none of the other guests would be able to hear the scuffle.
The butler must have seen the flicker of foreboding on Bradford’s face, for he said, “Lord Cavendish would like to have a word with you.”
That was hardly more reassuring than the footmen scenario. Lord Cavendish had a reputation as a dangerous pirate. Bradford didn’t believe such nonsense at face value, but he knew better than most that rumors often had some basis in fact. He’d learned that the hard way.
The hallway the butler led him down was half the width of the main one, though it was no less grand.
Thick woven rugs from the Orient muffled their footsteps as they passed a carved sideboard whose surface was inlaid with gold filigree.
The piece of furniture had been placed cleverly opposite a window, and with the light streaming through, the sideboard glowed.
The butler stopped and rapped his knuckles against a thick paneled door. There was a murmur within; Bradford waited as the butler announced him and waved him through, shutting the door behind him.
For all the opulence of the house, Lord Cavendish’s study was nearly spartan.
A thick plain green rug spanned the room.
A large desk faced two chairs, and beyond those, two floor-to-ceiling windows.
Two sitting chairs angled towards a fireplace.
There was a globe, a brass telescope, and a large world map hanging on the wall, and that was all.
Bradford realized it reminded him vaguely of a captain’s quarters in a ship—containing only what was necessary and nothing else.
The owner of the office was dressed much in the same manner.
Lord Cavendish’s suit was of excellent quality, but there were no frills or flourishes.
This, Lord Hayes could appreciate, as he was under much the same opinion of clothing.
If one bought classic pieces, well made, one only had to replace one’s clothing when it wore out.
Hayes had seen him before—once in the park that day he’d first seen Lily in London, and again at the first ball. Neither of the sightings had given him the full scope of the man, however. Lord Cavendish was tall and broad through the shoulder.
Lord Cavendish didn’t rise from his chair behind the desk as manners dictated. Instead, he studied Bradford for moments that stretched under some unnamed tension.
Unnamed until Bradford realized the issue and half smiled. “You know who I am.”
Though his coloring wasn’t dark or his jaw as chiseled as his own, Bradford understood why some men claimed Cavendish was dangerous. There was something sharp as a honed edge about his eyes, something that made Hayes think of sharks—those leviathans of the sea with rings of teeth.
Cavendish nodded and gestured for Bradford to take one of the chairs facing the desk. “Though I haven’t figured out what you’re doing here. Forgive me, Lord Hayes, but you’re not known for spending time in London. In fact, before you arrived a month ago, you hadn’t set foot here in years.”
It was clever of Cavendish, to let Bradford know he’d looked into him, that he knew something about him. Bradford refused to shift under the discomfiting thought. What else, he wondered, had Cavendish learned? How far back had he looked?
But there was no possible way Cavendish knew—the only people who truly knew lived in Northumberland and were loyal to Bradford. There were people out there who might suspect, but that was far different than knowing.
“I’m going to rob you of your speculation and tell you the truth,” Bradford said. He was proud that his voice was even. “I came here to see Lily.”
Cavendish’s frown deepened. “For what purpose?”
“Wouldn’t you be curious, if you’d found out that the governess who’d been raising your child for months wasn’t who she claimed to be? Wouldn’t you want to know the truth of the matter?”
“Perhaps, but there are people you can hire to do that. I’ve heard you already hired one. A very good one.”
“He’s as discreet as he is expensive,” Hayes said truthfully.
“Which is why he still enjoys breath.”
Bradford found the veiled threat amusing; he smirked.
Cavendish leaned forward and steepled his fingers over his desk. “His motivations were easy enough to figure. What are yours?”
“I appreciate the directness of your questioning. Most gentlemen would try to feel me out, see if they could figure it out without actually asking.”
He frowned. “That was nowhere close to an answer.”
“No disrespect meant, Lord Cavendish, but I hardly think I owe you one.”
Cavendish glowered at him. “I’m her brother.”
Bradford smiled evenly back, an expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re acting as if she’s the wronged party here, when the opposite is true.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’d come to force us into some settlement.”
It was a casual hint, but Bradford saw the hook hidden in the worm. “I’m not interested in blackmail, if that’s your fear.”
Cavendish cocked his head and frowned. “Yet aren’t you blackmailing my sister with your very presence?”
“She hasn’t requested that I leave, yet,” he said lightly.
“Because she doesn’t realize she has the right to do so. She’s gentle and sweet. It never would occur to her to ask you to leave.”
Bradford shook his head. He supposed he might have seen Lily in the same light, once, when he first met her.
Now, he knew there was a backbone of iron underneath that fragile beauty—one that had served her well both in obtaining her governess position and in acting as such to Rebecca, who was exceedingly strong-willed.
Bradford couldn’t fault Cavendish for not knowing the depth of his own sister’s fortitude and resolve. After all, he wasn’t the one who had tracked her determined trek across the Northumberland landscape.
Cavendish took his silence as consideration and pressed. “Her mind doesn’t tend toward the devious; it never has.”
“Yet she was devious enough to take on a false identity and lie to my face for four months.”
Cavendish studied him for long moments and said, “Is that it? You’re here because she fooled you? It was an act that was completely out of character, born of desperation.” Her brother sighed. “You don’t know Lily as I do?—”
“Funny, I might say the same to you.”
“And you’ve come to…what?” Cavendish flicked open his hands in question.
There was a moment of taut silence where Bradford decided how to answer. He finally said, “Figure out who was living in my house under false pretenses. Wouldn’t you be intrigued, were our situations reversed?”
Cavendish frowned. “Perhaps.”
Bradford relented enough to add, “Though my business in town is my own, I understand your protective instincts. The best I can do is to assure you that I have no plans on disclosing my previous contact with your sister to anyone. As far as I’m concerned, Miss Sarah Hughes and Miss Lily Preston are two completely different persons; one has naught to do with the other. ”
Cavendish frowned as if unsatisfied with his answer, but there was little he could do about it, and they both knew it.
“We are at a stalemate of sorts,” Bradford said. “You cannot throw me from your house and prevent me from seeing her, because I have information detrimental to your family.”
His eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a threat to me.”
“On the contrary. It would be an embarrassment on both sides were that information to come to light. Please believe me when I tell you that, apart from every area in which you and I disagree, we at least share one firm spot of common ground.”
“Which is?”
“Neither of us wish for Lily to be forced to marry me to salvage her or her sisters’ reputation.”
Cavendish studied him; Bradford stared back and let him see the seriousness with which he’d said the words.
The man nodded. “And you’ll respect her wishes? If she wants you to go, you’ll go?”
“Yes.” Bradford nodded. “You may rest assured that I have no ill will toward Lily or your family at large.”
“It would have been cleaner if money and not curiosity were your goal. I’d much rather send you away with a check rather than have you hanging about,” Cavendish grumbled, leaning back in his chair.
“I imagine so.”
Cavendish frowned at him and mulishly added, “You might have at least brought her some roses.”
Bradford stood. “Roses make her sneeze.”