Chapter Twenty-Six
Helen lay on her side, Fletcher curled around her smaller form, listening to sound of his own heart beating only for her.
He was madly, inescapably in love with Helen Cosgrove and would remain so until the day he breathed his last. Letting her go, though by all accounts he should, was no longer an option.
Damn.
Dawn broke over the rookery turning the dirty, sooty buildings to pink and gold, making them almost beautiful.
He stared out the window as Helen stirred, already calculating the best route to leave the city without being seen.
He’d hire a private carriage, perhaps. Fletcher still had the bag of coins he’d taken from Ripps.
It would be enough to get them to St. Oysth.
“We must leave,” he murmured into her hair. “Annie’s charity will soon expire. Will you come with me, Helen?”
“Yes,” she answered with no hesitation.
“I have a piece of property. Close to the ocean, or at least, close enough you can taste the salt in the air. A bit remote.” He made a sound. “At least, I believe it to be. Bought it sight unseen. Needs a great deal of renovation. But I’ve ample funds.”
“Is that why you asked me about color schemes?” She twisted to look at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? So we aren’t going to live in Cheapside?” she teased.
“No,” he laughed softly. “I planned to leave The Devil’s Acre long before I met you. Never wanted that life. I have another identity. A fairly enormous pile of gold in the Bank of England, thanks to Roxboro. Enough to keep you in underthings. Care to live in the country with me?”
Helen’s eyes widened. She nibbled on her lower lip. “There’s something,” she rolled out of bed and went to her dress laying crumpled on the floor. “I need to tell you.”
Fletcher felt the physical punch to his heart. She’d changed her mind. Bedding a killer and thief was one thing, he supposed spending your life with one, another. “Helen.” He reached for her. “We’ll have a good life. I promise you.”
“You might change your mind, Fletcher.” Helen pulled out the letter she’d scooped up in the boarding house.
“I should have given this to you sooner, but what with running for our lives and such I—well, I didn’t.
” She paused and held the letter to her chest. “It changes nothing for me, Fletcher. But it might for you. I love you with my whole heart no matter who you are.” The paper dangled from her fingers.
“I found this in Mary’s hand after Lark…
well, I think she meant to give it to him but didn’t have the chance. ”
Fletcher sat up looking at the familiar scrawl.
My darling Freckle,
“Probably no more than instructions on how to run The Swan, which I’ve no intention of doing,” he said, even as a chill tickled his spine. Delores Bean wasn’t fond of writing notes.
Calmly, she picked up her chemise and pulled it over her shoulders, hiding all her lovely parts from him. “Please, read it. Now. I must insist.”
Fletcher took a shuddering breath as he scanned the words.
You aren’t mine. Nor Hannah’s, mostly because she didn’t exist, but you guessed as much.
Time I told you the truth. Sorry I didn’t before.
Your Mam were the Duchess of Roxboro. Your father the duke who was slaughtered outside Parliament.
You look like the Roxboro because you’re brothers.
The duchess came to The Swan, bleeding something fierce about to give birth.
As you know, I don’t give charity lightly, Freckle. But I did for that poor woman.
“Christ.” He put a palm to his forehead. “Blunt as always.”
Helen came to the bed and sat beside him.
I hid you and the other one. Only told Philpott about the first babe, the one that was to be the duke. I did it out of kindness because I didn’t think you and the other would live. You were so small. But you did. So I took you, darling Freckle, and told no one.
And then later, I was too afraid to say a word.
“All this time. She fuckin’ knew.” Fletcher was furious. Confused. He wanted to shake Delores Bean though it was far too late. “Why didn’t she give me over? Why keep me?”
“Because Mrs. Bean knew who killed the Duke of Roxboro. Your father,” Helen whispered.
“How could she possibly know?” But Mrs. Bean ferreted out secrets. Kept them. That was her real business.
“The murder is in Bean’s Book,” Helen informed him. “Written out in detail. I think you are why she wrote down the details. Everything she found out which was significant, I think. Lark…told me about the duke’s murder. I think he intends to blackmail the murderer. But he never said the name.”
“What?” Fletcher was struggling to believe the words staring back at him. This is why Mrs. Bean worried over the book. “Who is it?” he snarled.
“I don’t know,” Helen replied. “He didn’t let me see the page.
Someone titled and powerful, I think. He said the duke’s murder was personal because,” a small sound came from her.
“Of the state of his body. And Fletcher, Lark was…afraid. I could see it.” She touched his hand.
“But he didn’t mention you. I don’t think… Mrs. Bean put you in the book.”
“No, she just wrote me a fuckin’ letter.” Fletcher looked down at the note he held once more.
I came across a great deal of information, Freckle.
More than I cared to know. More horrible than anything I’ve seen.
I realized I couldn’t let anyone know about you.
Or the other. I laid out what he done in the book.
All of it. You’ll read it now, now that you know my secret.
I couldn’t tell you before. I was too afraid you’d hate me.
Or he’d find you. But, knowledge is power, my darling Freckle.
Remember, the Devil always wears a smile.
“Who was she so intent on hiding me from?”
“It wasn’t only the duke and duchess who died.
When Lark was reading, I saw his surprise that it was also the duke’s solicitor.
Your…grandfather. The murder of nearly your entire family is the fault of one individual, one Mrs. Bean feared might find you.
” Helen placed a hand on his arm. “You are the son of the Duke of Roxboro.”
Fletcher jerked away from her. “So this is why you’ll stay with me? Because I’m a fucking lordling and not a criminal from The Devil’s Acre?”
Mrs. Bean had lied to him, all these years. He’d suspected though, hadn’t he? Fletcher thought he might just be the by blow of the late duke or something not a bloody—he looked down at the letter once more—triplet?
“No, Fletcher.” Helen wiped a tear threatening to spill. “You don’t know how society works. If anything, as the brother and son of a duke, a lady’s companion of uncertain background is unacceptable. I’m quite far beneath you.” She stood and went to the window. “Which you’ll soon find out.”
“You’re unacceptable? I was born in The Devil’s Acre.”
“To a duchess. I’m merely a lady’s companion with no family. No prestige. Certainly no wealth.”
“You think I’d give you up?” He held up the letter. “Because of this?” Fletcher could see that she did and yet Helen had still told him. “What do I care for such things? The letter means nothing.”
“This letter means everything.” Helen kneeled and picked up the paper once more. “When you see Roxboro—”
“I’m not going to see that bloody twit.”
“You are,” Helen said in a firm tone. “The letter provides an explanation although once Roxboro and the duchess see you, neither will require much convincing of your identity. Mrs. Bean found out about the murder and she…protected you the best way she knew how. By hiding you in the last place this horrible murderer would ever look for you. Think about it, Fletcher. Mrs. Bean lived in The Devil’s Acre and likely saw the most terrible things every day, but yet she was afraid of…
him. The murderer. Whoever him is. Thankfully, Mary didn’t give this letter to Lark right away.
If he knew why Mrs. Bean was so interested in the duke… ”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know. And you aren’t leaving me,” Fletcher stood and went to Helen, wrapping his arms around her waist, soaking in her warmth. “Let us just go to my manor house. Become someone else.”
“We cannot.” Helen leaned back against him. “Roxboro deserves to know the truth if nothing else. So do you. Don’t you want to know who murdered your father?”
“Never gave much thought to a father,” he mused. “Never had one.”
“Or a brother. Possibly two. Mrs. Bean mentioned the ‘other’.”
“Could be anything. Mrs. Bean liked to be vague.”
Helen turned in his arms. “We are going to see Roxboro, if nothing else, Lark would never find you there. We’d be safe.” But he could tell by the look on her face, she wasn’t completely certain.
“Fine. But then we go to St. Osyth.”
Fletcher didn’t want to put himself at the mercy of a duke, especially not one he’d been impersonating to steal from the wealthy. But Helen was right. Roxboro deserved whatever truth Mrs. Bean had written.