Chapter 40 #2
“Anyway, the next day, a footman arrived in a carriage and brought me here,” she made a sweeping motion of the shop around her, “I asked how I’d ever repay the young lord and he said, ‘I’m sure as many enemies as I make, I’ll need your help out of some scrape or another.’ And here you are.”
Noelle had leaned toward the woman, so riveted by her tale, how it rang true with Adelaide’s.
“Who…who was the young lord?” Noelle asked, but she had a sharp feeling that she already knew.
“I asked myself the same question. He is almost impossible to know, he’d rather keep all of his goodness a secret and let the world think him some base, carefree libertine.”
Noelle looked to Fitz, who had sat up a little behind her. “You helped her escape the brothel?”
Fitz looked at Letitia with reverence, “And I’d do it again. She’s meant more to me as a friend than that night ever could have.”
Letitia smiled down at her hands, “So when he asked for my help with some scheme of his, I was glad to return the favor.”
“You were the one…who helped me that night…at the masquerade. You wore a mask…embroidered with stars…your hair was different…but I assume that was a wig,” Noelle said, finally seeing the woman clearly.
Letitia smiled at her. “It was my honor to be a part of it. Fitz asked me to read Adelaide, and I had never read a character like hers before. A story similar to my own. Then he asked how to get the book out to the public, so more people could read it who weren’t just the upper orders.
If I thought penny novels were a good idea…Lady Noelle, I believe the two of you make a fine team.”
Noelle looked back at Fitz like she was seeing him for the first time all over again. The man who’d help out a stranger, a helpless girl at his mercy with such generosity, who cared deeply for the well-being of a furry companion, who had overcome such obstacles to make it back to her.
He was the same man, the same Fitz she’d always known, though had she really?
“I like to think so,” he said. He planted a kiss to her temple and retreated upstairs to bathe in the tub prepared by Letitia’s maid, leaving her and the seamstress, the friend, alone.
“How long have the two of you been…. friends?” Noelle asked. She wouldn’t speculate on whether this woman knew him as more than a friend, she wouldn’t go picking at threads.
Letitia placed a plate of fresh scones that smelled of citrus and butter on the small table in front of her.
“There were…a lot of nasty rumors when he…when he set up this business for me about 6 years ago. But the trail between us went cold for several years, he believed no one would think that he’d trust me with vital information, but I’d already kept secrets for him.”
Noelle took a bite of scone, awaiting answers.
“About eighteen months or so ago, he came to call on me. He told me about his…difficulties with reading, which was why I hadn’t heard from him, and asked me to help him with some correspondence.”
Noelle looked up at her. “With whom?”
“He said that a young lady that he cared for needed encouragement, that he wanted to write to her, but if she knew it was from him, the effect likely wouldn’t be the same.”
Noelle’s hands covered her mouth. “Queen Victoria,” she whispered; she could feel a tear glistening at the corner of her vision.
The other woman nodded. Noelle felt Moria’s arms slip around her.
She hadn’t been alerted to her entrance, but Moria had shown up with perfect timing as though she’d sensed Noelle needing her.
“Carry on,” Moria said, looking at the seamstress as though she’d tear her apart if she said anything that made Noelle spout tears that weren’t of the happy or “of relief” variety.
Letitia took a sip of her tea, “He didn’t want you to know, for fear you’d be angry with him, or think he’d tricked you. He only wanted to help you through your grief. I’m only sharing the truth now, at his request: were you to come, I was instructed to give you the envelope.”
Noelle looked at the envelope in the seamstress’ hands, covered with a red wax seal heralding the Pomfrey crest identical to the one on the invitation she’d received earlier.
Those she’d received from Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, had borne a different seal.
She didn’t put it past him, or this woman, to find a way to accomplish that.
When she’d entered this establishment, she’d had no idea what she was walking into.
But meeting the seamstress, hearing the extent of her revelations, it was a declaration.
Fitz had loved her perhaps far longer than either of them realized, that he was willing to do things she’d never dreamed, and ultimately- he was hers.
Moria narrowed her eyes, her head tilted to the side, “Do you know anything about the fete being hosted at Pomfrey house this evening?”
“Who do you think penned the invitations?” Letitia smirked and turned to Noelle, “Read the letter, my lady. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Noelle tore the seal in a fever, and a letter tumbled out.
Princess of My Heart,
I’ve asked Letitia to keep this letter to give to you in the event of my peril. I suppose you know several things by now. The first: while I’m no saint, I’m no devil either. Sad to disappoint. I know how much you enjoyed my devilry.
Second: you’ll also have figured out, clever girl, that while I was cavalier about my uncle being after me to achieve his ends, there was a real threat behind his overtures.
Third: you’ve heard of the secret that I kept from you. Please don’t be angry. Or do, I should have been honest. In a way, I was honest. The words exchanged between us kindled something in me that I didn’t know was there before, my darling girl.
Trust that I won’t let harm befall you, and I won’t leave without vast amounts of fanfare and revelry. One might say…that I could even swindle everyone one last time.
Be ready, as Adelaide.
Your Very Own Rake,
F
She was carried along on the tide of hopefulness that he had built for her with his words.
She knew what it had cost him, how he’d struggled to pen such beautiful words for her.
She wondered whether or not he’d written it with Letitia’s assistance.
It didn’t matter, honestly. There was the true essence of Fitz, candor mixed with levity.
He had time to kiss her into a fever pitch, to share his plan for retribution, before she’d had to return to Pembrooke House to ready for the ball that evening.
But she didn’t enter through Pomfrey House’s front door.
The trap she planned to set required finesse.
Since Sir Edward Clarkdale had proposed, he’d been busy.
Rumors of Fitz’s disappearance had spread throughout their circles.
Lawrence had reported that there had even been betting pools at White’s over where Fitz had gone and whether or not the engagement was still on.
Noelle knew there were as many stories as to where he’d gone as there were hours he’d been missing.
It was almost as though Clarksdale wanted to force her hand, literally.
So a masked lady slipped in through the servants’ entrance. She found the girl, the maid who’d assisted her the day she’d discovered Fitz gone, and asked for her help once more.
“I knew you’d be back,” the girl said, almost breathless, a smile etching across her features.
Adelaide slid a coin in her palm. “Do you know which one of the gentlemen at the ball is Sir Clarkdale?”
The maid shook her head. Noelle placed a hand on the girl’s arm in encouragement. “The footmen will know. Deliver him this note for me, please.”
She took the note from Noelle and hid it in the pocket of her black skirts then looked back at the lady in front of her as though a thought struck her. “But…what do you want with ‘im?” the girl questioned, then remembered her place, “Apologies, me lady.”
“Your employer, he has engaged me in a complicated game.”
The girl's eyes widened, and her mouth formed an “oh.”
A few minutes later she returned to Adelaide, who was positioned comfortably in a second floor sitting room. “It’s done. So, you found ‘im then?”
“Pardon?”
“It was you, that I dressed in the viscountess’ robe that morning? Came as Adelaide and left as his betrothed.”
The last sentence she added in a whisper as Noelle looked around to make sure the sitting room was in fact empty and no one had overheard.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul, me lady. No one would believe me, anyhow.”
There was a knock at the door, and the maid went to answer it, “Wait, tell me your name,” Noelle called to her.
“It’s Maddie.”
“Maddie,” she said, releasing a long breath, “Thank you for your help. If I’m not out in ten minutes, find the Pembrooke family.”
Noelle padded her concealed pockets in her gown to ensure her reinforcements were still in place.
The girl nodded, gave her a friendly smile, then opened the door.
Sir Edward Clarkdale stood on the other side, looking pleased.
Noelle wanted to wipe the expression right off his face and replace it with one far more terrified.
He took in the sight of the young woman on the settee in the sitting room then looked to the maid, “Good evening, sir,” she curtsied blandly, then left
.
The game was afoot.