Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LITTLE STANHOPE STREET, TWO WEEKS LATER

B eatrix stood in the center of the kitchen like an extra appendage, utterly unnecessary to the preparation of tea, as the servants were more than skilled at their vocations.

The servants…

They were still here.

She couldn’t seem to get rid of them.

“But I haven’t been paying you,” she’d said after the first week.

“Oh, we’re being paid,” said Cook.

Dev.

He was the only explanation.

He knew she wouldn’t use her own money on servants.

He knew her that well.

Quite well, in fact.

Too well.

She shook the man from her mind.

Over the last two weeks, she’d almost become good at it.

Anyway, it was nerves that had her standing in the kitchen while servants whizzed by like a well-choreographed hive of bees.

She was to share this sumptuous tea with a visitor.

As if on cue, a firm tap-tap-tap echoed down the corridor that led to the front door.

The visitor had arrived.

“I’ll answer it,” she said, inhaling a steadying breath and willing her feet into motion. As she made her way, she found Cumberbatch seated on a high-backed chair just outside the drawing room where she and the visitor would take tea.

“Are you feeling tired today, Cumberbatch?”

Immediately, she realized her error. It was there in the contentious angle of his jaw.

Oh, dear.

“I won’t be moving from this spot for the duration of your tea, milady,” he said, confirming her fears. “You can rest assured.”

“I do so appreciate your caution, but?—”

He clenched and unclenched his right fist. “Destroyer of Worlds will be ready.”

“Let us pray his services won’t be necessary.”

Cumberbatch gave a doubtful grunt.

The door knocker sounded again.

Nerves flittering through her, Beatrix wrapped a mildly trembly hand around the handle and pulled the door open.

“I didn’t know ladies opened doors for themselves,” said Blaze Jagger, cocksure smile curving his mouth, the diamond in his left ear winking hello.

She lifted her chin a notch. “Well, I do.”

This was Blaze Jagger, and it wouldn’t do to cede him any ground.

She stood aside and allowed him into the receiving hall. She’d arranged this tea so they could talk. After all, they were family, and she didn’t really know him. Rather, she knew about him—which wasn’t the same thing at all.

“If you’ll follow me.” She shut the door and swept past him into the drawing room.

Of course, they would have to pass Cumberbatch to enter. From his perch, the aged valet glowered at Jagger, who appeared to take it in stride. “Cumberbatch,” he said in greeting, “how’s the day treating you so far?”

Cumberbatch grunted his reply, and Jagger nodded.

Inside the drawing room, Beatrix indicated a settee for Jagger to sit upon as she lowered herself into the one opposite. Brow lifted, he glanced around, his sharp eye undoubtedly taking in every detail. “It’s a grand old room, isn’t it?”

She gave a slow nod, sensing another observation to follow.

He didn’t make her wait long. “Not much grand in it, though.”

“You should’ve seen it before—” She bit off the lone remaining word of that sentence.

Jagger cocked his head. Of course, he would’ve caught her hesitation. “ Before? ”

She shook her head—freeing it from that word.

Dev.

“Suffice it to say,” she continued, “this room has looked far worse.”

And not too long ago, she left off.

Thankfully, a kitchen maid entered the room bearing tea. In the familiar timeworn sequence, the tray was placed on the table, tea poured, and cakes plated. The servant left the room.

All the while, Beatrix felt Jagger’s eyes upon her. He was trying to gain a feel for her, just as she was with him.

As they settled back with their cups of tea, a tetchy silence beat out between them. Though she abhorred small chat, she had no choice but to ask, “How did you find the house party at Primrose Park?”

Oh, why had she asked that question? Couldn’t she have asked about the weather?

But she knew why.

It was those mental roads of hers.

They all led back to Dev.

“It was an experience, I reckon,” he said with a shrug, his teacup and saucer held before him. He wasn’t impressed, his tone and manner suggested.

For a notorious East End scoundrel, he was certainly honest.

Gray eyes eerily similar to hers bored into her. “But you didn’t invite me here to discuss fancy house parties.”

“I didn’t.” No use denying it. “Can you tell me something about yourself? Something about your life? I would like to know you better.”

His head cocked with suspicion. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re family.”

He blinked. She’d surprised him. Good. He needed to be set back on his heels every so often.

Quickly, however, he recovered. “Your tale first.”

Fair play, she supposed.

“My mother perished before I could form a memory of her,” she began. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m like her in personality.” She gave a bemused shake of the head. “Which tells me her marriage to Lydon couldn’t have been a felicitous one.”

Jagger didn’t smile. Rather, he attentively took in her every word.

“I spent much of my youth at the racing courses with Lydon and his cronies.”

“You don’t call him your pa.”

A bitter smile curled her mouth. “He’s not the sort who wishes to be called Pa.”

Jagger nodded, as if she’d confirmed something for him. “I didn’t miss much in not knowing him.”

“You didn’t.”

A few beats of silence ticked past before Jagger said, “I spent my childhood, such as it was, with my grandad. He runs a tavern in Whitechapel.”

“Oh.” She might’ve expected his story to be brushed with tragedy. “Is your mother—” She stopped herself there. An indelicate question, to say the least.

“ Dead? ”

She nodded.

“Nah, she’s still among the living.” A slight hesitation. “But she’s not the sort of woman who can care for a child on her own.”

“Oh.”

Of course, she knew the stories of such women. Women who became dependent on drink or other sorts of libations to the point they didn’t care about anything else in the world. Further, it wasn’t surprising to learn that Lydon would’ve created a child with such a woman and that child would’ve grown into the man sitting across from her.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say—to all of it.

Jagger’s eyes narrowed, as if he were privy to the inner workings of her mind. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Her brow lifted. “Oh?”

“My ma is the loveliest woman you’d ever lay eyes on, if you were to see her.” His tone had gone on the defensive. “And her singing voice has been known to transfix the lowest scurvy scoundrel and reduce him to a puddle of yearning tears.”

Beatrix sensed a but embedded within his words.

She waited.

“But…” He tapped his temple. “Her mind is mostly off with the fairies.”

“Pardon?”

“My ma is simple.” He spoke the words plainly. “When she was born, the midwife said she’d been in the womb too long and there would be a need to watch in the coming years that it might’ve affected her noggin. She’d seen it happen before.” He lifted empty hands, helpless to the facts. “And time proved her right.”

“ Simple? ” Beatrix repeated. It wasn’t the fact of Jagger’s mother’s mental disability that she wasn’t able to comprehend, but rather the implications it presented.

“She’ll keep living with my grandad above the pub until he goes. Then she’ll stay with me.”

Beatrix’s stomach dropped to her feet, and she was speaking those implications aloud… “Lydon took advantage.”

Fury lit into flame within Jagger’s eyes. “She’s been singing nightly in Grandad’s tavern since she was a wee one. That was how Lydon first saw her—and had to have her. She was sixteen.”

Shock ripped through Beatrix. “He forced her?”

Jagger shook his head. “He didn’t need to. The waster has that ability to charm, doesn’t he? Anyway, she fell in love with him and began sneaking off, as happens.” He shrugged. “Then she came up with child—as also happens.”

“ You ,” confirmed Beatrix.

“Aye, me.”

“And Lydon abandoned her.”

It wasn’t a question.

The fury that blazed in Jagger’s eyes… Beatrix experienced a responding fury within.

And through that fury came a realization.

Never again would she lift a finger to help her father.

And the man before her— her brother —she felt a new understanding and respect for him. “You’ve made it your mission to ruin Lydon as thoroughly as he ruined your mother.” She saw how it drove him—that simmering fury. Which led to a question… “Are you going to keep collecting Lydon’s debt?”

Jagger showed no surprise at the question. He’d been thinking about it himself. “Maybe…maybe not.”

And she understood what it was she needed to say to this damaged, determined man… “You’ve made something of yourself, Blaze.” It was time they were on a first-name basis. “At some point, that will have to be its own revenge and reward. My advice?” He wasn’t asking, but she was giving it, anyway. “Take up a new hobby. Lydon is determined to waste his life. Don’t let him waste yours along with it.”

Blaze took in her words and gave no sign how they affected him. At last, he spoke. “Since we’re on the subject of advice and the unprovoked giving of it…”

Tension pulled through Beatrix. He was about to turn the conversation on her—and she wasn’t going to like it. “Yes?”

“From where I’m sitting, I’m seeing something, too.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve earned some happiness in your life, Lady Bea.”

“You can call me Beatrix. Or Bea, I suppose.”

His mouth curved into a slow grin. “Nah, Lady Bea suits you. But what about the other part?”

“What other part?”

“The happiness part.” He had the look of a man curling his adversary around his little finger. “Don’t you think you deserve it?”

“I… I…” The question absolutely flummoxed her. “I’ve never thought about happiness.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, you’re the only one standing between you and it.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Of a sudden, the meaning of his words struck Beatrix… “Are you referring to my broken engagement?”

“ Indeed , as you nobs like to say.”

Beatrix drew herself squarely upright. “I believe you’re laboring under a misapprehension about myself and Dev—Mr. Deverill.”

It felt strangely distancing to call him Mr. Deverill .

But she’d managed it—and that was the important thing.

Blaze’s eyebrows lifted, and it occurred to Beatrix that he might be having fun with her. “Oh?” he said, all innocence. “And what misapprehension might that be?”

“We were never truly engaged to marry.”

If only it were that simple.

Blaze’s brow formed a thunderous furrow. “Do I need to challenge the man to a duel?”

Beatrix resisted a sudden bent toward laughter. It might veer too close to the hysterical. “We had an arrangement.”

Blaze didn’t relent. “The question stands.”

He meant it.

That was the thing.

Surprisingly, it warmed her.

It was a threat of the ultimate violence and could in no way be encouraged, but the gesture was… sweet —and perhaps brotherly.

Over the course of their conversation, a feeling had tiptoed into her mind. Now, it made itself known.

She liked Blaze.

Further, she wanted a relationship with him, even when he was being slightly annoying—like now.

He was her brother, and they just might need each other.

“Mr. Deverill and I had an arrangement,” she said, quelling. “That’s the extent of it. It was all mutually beneficial.”

Blaze waggled his eyebrows. “It’s always better when it’s mutually beneficial, eh?”

A sudden blush washed over her to the roots of her hair. Still, she managed to say with all the primness of an eighty-year-old spinster, “Quite.”

A loud guffaw sprang from Blaze. Beatrix was discovering younger brothers could be decidedly irritating creatures. “Well, aren’t we a grand old family of adventurers.”

She saw his point and, reluctantly, conceded it. Her dealings with Dev from start to finish were possibly— definitely —those of an adventurer.

“Except,” continued Blaze, “why did you end it with him? That’s what I can’t figure.”

“We’d each gotten what we wanted.” She only realized what she’d said when Blaze opened his mouth with what promised to be another naughty rejoinder. She lifted a staying hand. “ Don’t. ”

He heaved a defeated sigh, eyes glinting with mischief. “What was the arrangement?”

She didn’t see any harm in telling him. “He paid me to be his pretend fiancée.”

“Why?”

“There was a certain lady he wished to spur into action.”

“Did it succeed?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Although, it was strange that she hadn’t yet heard even the faintest whisper about Dev and the Countess of Bridgewater—and she would have. Daily—and to her everlasting shame—she scoured every gossip rag in London for the news.

Still, it was only a matter of time.

Blaze wasn’t finished. “What did you get out of it?”

“Ten thousand pounds.” She saw no reason to hide it.

Blaze pursed his lips into a low, appreciative whistle. “You were going to use that to pay me off, eh?”

She gave a curt nod.

“You’re an upright one, aren’t you?” He winked. “ Mostly. ”

Beatrix wished she could stop blushing.

Blaze set his teacup and saucer down, then shifted back and laced his hands behind his head. “You want to hear what I think?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Wise woman,” he said on a dry chuckle. “But I’m going to tell you, anyway.”

Beatrix’s grip on her teacup tightened. She might just snap the handle.

“It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that the man is madly in love.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell?—”

“With you .”

Frustration poured through her. “I believe that look of love was intended for another.”

“That countess chit?”

A laugh escaped Beatrix. She was really coming to like her brother. “Yes, that countess chit .”

Blaze pursed his lips. “Nah.”

“ Nah? ”

“Nah,” he said, definite. “You see, your Lord Devil’s eyes weren’t lighting up when that countess chit entered a room.”

The breath froze in Beatrix’s chest.

“Now, when you entered a room…” He let the sentence hang in the air for dramatic effect. “That was different.”

“It was?”

“When you entered a room, Lady Bea, there was no one but you.”

She shook her head, firm. “It was all for show.”

“Ah.”

“ Ah? ”

“You can’t see it, can you?”

“See what?” she asked, suspicious. This feeling—heart racing…lungs struggling for breath—it was as if panic were chasing her.

Concern shone within Blaze’s eyes. “You can’t see when someone loves you.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“My youth wasn’t a perfect one.” He’d angled forward and made his voice low and soothing. Sympathetic. That was her brother in this moment. “In fact, I was a right handful—still am. But I always knew one thing for certain. My grandad and my ma love me without conditions. But you, Lady Bea, who loved you more than they loved themselves? Who showed you that love?”

A single name wanted to push itself to the front of her mind.

Impossible.

Dev loved another.

“The man is madly in love with you.”

Instinctively, she opened her mouth to refute every word.

Then she closed it, as several facts flooded in at once. First, Blaze hadn’t needed to speak those words. Second, it was plain he believed them. And third, as an outside observer, he saw everything from a different angle. He didn’t have her past clouding his view.

If she were to view her relationship with Dev from that angle of sight, what would she see?

A single, surprising word sprang into her mind.

Magic.

She’d conveniently convinced herself it didn’t exist. That Dev and the spell he wove were fantasy—and all fantasies must end. The money…the servants…the pantry filled with food…the dresses… She’d been able to dismiss them as part of the superficialities of their arrangement and remain protected inside her cocoon of emotional safety, the barren landscape that it was.

Yet, their arrangement was over, and here those material things remained—and now she understood why. They had never been about the image they presented to the world. They demonstrated Dev’s caring…his sweetness…his…

Love.

With those things, he’d given love in the only way she’d been able to receive it—through the terms and boundaries of their arrangement.

For here was the entire, unassailable truth—she’d been too afraid to trust in Dev’s magic.

She’d known its loss would devastate her.

And she’d been correct.

Hadn’t she been living holed up in her house these last two weeks like a devastated woman? She hadn’t accepted a single society invitation or attended a single horse race. She could hardly compel herself to roll out of bed in the morning, in fact.

But love… Love was giving and receiving— allowing oneself to receive it. And the only way one could receive it was to open oneself and risk devastation.

Fear and shame.

Those two emotions had been guiding every step of her life since she could remember, and her one attempt to break free as a debutante had failed.

But hadn’t Dev offered her a different path to tread and possibly share?

Her gaze sharpened into the present and her brother across from her. “ Magic. ”

His head cocked, and he watched her from the same distance one might observe a bedlamite. “Yeah?”

“Sometimes magic is real.”

“Only because it’s you saying it, Lady Bea, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, you’ll experience it for yourself someday, Blaze. You’ll see.” Her teacup and saucer clattered onto the tabletop as she stood in a sudden swish of muslin skirts. “I must go.”

Blaze clearly felt no such urgency as he settled back into the settee. The blasted man even balanced an ankle on the opposing thigh. “Where are you off to, sister?”

“Mivart’s.”

“He’s not there.”

Her throat constricted. “Has he run off with—” The sentence refused to finish itself.

“He gave up the suite, is all.”

Ah… She could breathe again. “He’s in Primrose Park, then?”

“I reckon he’s nearly made it to Dover by now.”

“ Dover? ”

“Accompanying a shipment of steam engines to Paris, I’ve heard.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I have sources.” He sucked his teeth, nonchalant. “I keep an eye on anything related to my sister.”

A tiny roar of frustration escaped Beatrix. Younger brothers were decidedly annoying. “I must hire a coach.”

“You can use mine,” he said. “It needs testing on the open road.”

A possibility occurred to her… “Did you come here knowing I would be in need of it?”

He snorted, but didn’t deny it.

She wasn’t about to let him off easily. Fair play and all that. “Does anyone know how sweet you are?”

He exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll keep that sort of language amongst ourselves.”

She’d beaten about the bush long enough… “Do your sources know if the Countess of Bridgewater is with Dev?”

“Would it stop you if she were?”

And she knew… “No.”

She was going to fight for Dev.

Shame…rejection… Too long they’d been her familiars, dogging her every step, influencing her every interaction with the world.

Preventing her from seeing love and seeking happiness.

With sudden efficiency, Blaze unhooked ankle from thigh and stood. “I’ll speak with the coachman while you pack a few accoutrements for your journey.”

Accoutrements?

Where had he picked up that word?

But now wasn’t the time to sort out her brother.

Now, she must go .

“Blaze?” she called out.

Already halfway across the room, he tossed her a glance over his shoulder.

“Thank you, brother.”

A smile curved his mouth, one lacking mischief and arrogance. A genuine smile from a brother to a sister. Their relationship was too new for them to be beloved to one another, but she sensed they would be—and it felt right .

Love.

One had to be brave and generous with it.

In the giving of it to others.

In the receiving of it for oneself.

There was no shortage of it, but one had to see it…nurture it.

And that was what she wanted more than anything—to nurture and grow in love with Dev.

Oh, Dev.

He’d bungled it on their last night together. He hadn’t spoken what was truly in his heart.

But if he had, would she have been able to hear it?

No.

The answer was swift and uncomfortable.

She’d bungled it, too.

And now she must set it right.

Or try, at least.