Chapter 10
What was Thomas getting himself into? He ought to have pretended he knew nothing about himself. Instead he was going to face a full investigation. But if anyone was going to tell Lady Lavender about the Duke of Fenleigh, who better to tell her than he?
“Where is his family seat?” Lavender asked.
Thomas held up a finger. “As much fun as it would be for me to answer every one of your questions, I must insist on a trade. I’ll answer a question of yours, if you promise to answer a question of mine afterwards.”
Lavender’s eyebrows hitched up on her forehead.
He’d surprised her. . . . of course he had. A servant wouldn’t presume so much as he had. But he refused to back down from the arrangement.
“I can agree to those terms.”
“Wonderful. Now, do you have the same question as earlier, or would you like to reconsider?” He would come to know this lady better; she was a breath of fresh air after avoiding the traps of women of the ton these past years, and this was perhaps his best way of doing it.
Maybe one day soon he could court her. He was a little surprised at his wanting to court anyone, but Lady Lavender was too kind and genuine to not at least throw his hat in the ring.
He was only a few days shy of his two-week agreement with Samuel—maybe in that time, Thomas could scrape up some evidence of his innocence and come out of hiding.
“Oh, I’ll surely reconsider. I can find that information from anyone. But you will have insights into his character that most people would not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the aristocracy don’t realize that the servants know and see everything. Most of them are too aloof to the lower classes to pay them any mind at all.”
Sadly, she had the right of it. Until fifteen years ago, Thomas had been in that category, but he knew better now.
The staff he surrounded himself with was more important to his success than people believed.
Their reliability and loyalty was the reason Thomas had felt comfortable leaving everything to his name under their care.
Lady Lavender tipped her head to the side and then asked, “Now, for my first question: How much does the Duke of Fenleigh like to be in his cups?”
Thomas felt his chin drop. What a forward question to begin with .
. . and he was not overly proud of the answer he would have to give.
“Fenleigh did have a propensity for drinking,” he paused, but wanted her to know the whole truth of it—he couldn’t explain why, even to himself, “beginning early in the day even. But he never drank so much that he became angry.”
“Why do you think he did that?”
Thomas put up a hand. “Sorry, it’s my turn.”
Lady Lavender quirked her lips to the side and nodded. “You are correct.”
She’d started with an uncomfortable question for him, thus it was only fair that he returned fire. If his questions were too mundane, she would question him all night long. “What are your goals for this Season?”
“Oh,” Lady Lavender’s smile dropped from her face. “I am here to find a husband before my father’s illness . . . well before my father . . .”
Thomas put a hand over hers. “I understand. And I am sorry.” Lord Gardner always had a level head when Thomas had spoken with him in past years. He didn’t realize the earl was ill. “What illness does he have?”
“Consumption.” Lavender turned her hand over and held Thomas’s all the tighter. “I feel quite guilty being here while he is sick. But this is the last thing he has asked of me . . . and I want to bring him peace. It’s my job.”
Thomas forced himself to focus on the conversation. It was no small feat when his hand hummed with electricity. He cleared his throat. “Your job?”
She shook her head. “That is another question.” Her voice broke. She let go of his hand and stood from the bench. “I apologize for leaving so suddenly. I’ll have another question for you tomorrow. Don’t think that because I am overset, it was any of your doing. It is simply the way things are.”
Thomas followed her until she entered the house once again and then turned back to their bench. He retrieved the plank of wood and set it against the gardening shed before he turned in for the night.
His mind was full of her. Her questions about the missing duke, her goals of bringing peace to those around her, how even when she was emotionally distressed, she’d made sure to put his mind at ease before she left, her intoxicating smell, and most concerningly, the way her gloved hand fit in his.
It had been the most natural thing Thomas had ever experienced. And he wanted to do it again.
Perhaps it was time he had a talk with Samuel. He didn’t know how long he could keep his identity from Lady Lavender a secret.
He crawled into his bed, which was too short for his tall frame—his feet hung off the end, but he was getting used to it.
At least the blanket covered all of him.
He shared the thin room with Jack, who was snoring loudly with his mouth half-open.
Thomas smiled. This was not the life of luxury he was accustomed to, but he was around people who cared about him, and he had a purpose . . . things had been worse in his past.
Thomas had successfully delivered a lady from her carriage to the front door of the duke’s townhouse. It was a moment he celebrated with Jack over an extra helping of cheese from Mrs. Bitters.
Jack looked at Tom in his livery. “I’m proud of you. I never thought such a momentous occasion would occur. There is hope for you yet, my elderly assistant,” Jack pretended to wipe a tear from his cheek.
The two of them and Mrs. Bitters laughed at Jack’s antics, but Thomas also felt the pride of having redeemed himself after the spectacle he’d made with Lady Lavender.
The woman he’d helped out of the carriage today was with the duchess and Lady Lavender in the drawing room, the door shut.
What was more impressive was that she hardly spared Thomas a glance—another success as a servant.
The closed door to the room was a rare occurrence, however.
Usually Tom could walk by and hear tidbits of conversation.
He was always trying to hear something about the treason accusation.
At least that was what he told himself. He also just enjoyed listening to Lady Lavender speak.
Her voice calmed him. What Thomas would give to be a fly in that room and hear what it was they were discussing in such privacy.
Thomas worked out in the garden the remainder of the afternoon.
The hedges were all trimmed and the weeds gone.
With his spare time, he worked with his knife to make holes in the plank of wood he’d asked Jack to procure for him.
Not far from the bench he and Lady Lavender met on was a large oak tree with a strong branch practically begging for a swing.
Thomas was certain that Samuel’s little lords and ladies would enjoy the swing immensely when he was finished, but it was Lady Lavender that inspired the idea.
He wanted to make it as memorable a place as he could.
Once he was finished making the holes, he and Jack were given permission from Mrs. Bitters to take a trip to Oxford street and find lengths of rope from the ironmonger there.
The shop itself was a bustling din of people with a purpose.
Bins of nails and bolts were stacked under the front counter, and coils of chains and stacks of buckets ran along the edges of the shop.
Jack walked confidently to the counter. “We’d like to purchase two lengths of strong hemp rope, please. Four meters each.”
The burly man with a leather apron turned behind him and began pulling on the large spool of rope. “What are you making?”
“A tree swing for the duke,” Jack answered.
“Fenleigh?” The man asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
Jack laughed and Thomas pulled his cap lower on his head. “No, we’ll be putting this on the Duke of Gilfordshire’s account.”
“Ah.” The man nodded, losing his enthusiasm. “That’s too bad. I’ve heard that Lord Chilcott has offered a hefty sum to anyone who has information on Fenleigh’s whereabouts.” He set the rope on the counter and tied the lengths together with a piece of twine. “Good luck, boys.”
Jack thanked the man and Thomas nodded, silently, hardly daring to breathe.
He kept his gaze on his boots the remainder of the journey back to the townhouse in Mayfair, his mind spinning all the while.
Thomas had disappeared just under two weeks ago now.
Why couldn’t Lord Chilcott let the matter drop and stop harassing people to find him?
How large was the sum of money he offered for information?
And what was Chilcott going to do if he did find Thomas?
Thomas hadn’t helped any French spies during the war, and his father had been dead for the past fifteen years.
Unless Chilcott was planting evidence somewhere, the entire case would come to naught.
Then again, if he was so determined to see the case through, he must have come across some piece of compelling evidence to begin his own personal reign of terror.
Thomas doubted the man woke up one morning and thought to himself.
I know. I’ll just have him tried for treason and killed.
Their spats had never come to anything so serious as to make the baron sink so low as that.
No, there had to be more behind his claims .
. . but what was it, and how could Thomas find the truth of the matter?
He sat on the garden bench and rested his head in his hands, trying to give his mind a rest from the questions that had plagued him every spare minute the remainder of the day.
He was so consumed with them that he didn’t hear Lady Lavender enter the garden.
She walked in front of him, and he jerked backward, almost knocking the wooden bench over.
“Goodness.” He tried to wipe the embarrassment from his face. “I didn’t realize you were here.”