Chapter Four

A s Ruadh passed the Stancroft townhouse on his way to see his grandfather, he remembered Lady Rosalind's reaction to his request for a waltz. He had been thinking about it ever since the night before—that, and about how easy it was to talk to her. She had been relaxed in his company, he'd thought, but then he asked his question. She had been at first surprised and then appeared worried.

She had given him the information he asked for… they were going to the theatre tonight but would be at the Dellborough Ball the following night, and yes, she would grant him another quadrille and another waltz, and one would be the supper dance.

He should be delighted, but he had spent much of his wakeful night wondering why his invitation bothered her. Indeed, thoughts of Lady Rosalind had distracted him throughout his patrol of the rookeries streets he thought of as his own to protect. It was just as well the night had been quiet, and the few malefactors out and about had fled at the first sight of the Wolf.

Which was all to the good. Quite apart from his mind not being focused, his arm had been troubling him more than he expected. And there had been people out on his patch hunting him. The boy he had saved two nights earlier had warned him some bounty hunters had been asking questions and were out in the night waiting for something to happen. "I didn't tell them nothin', Wolf. Ain't nobody sayin' nothin'. But watch out."

For now, he had to push all that to the back of his mind, for here was his grandfather's door. He plied the knocker and waited.

The butler opened the door and let him immediately. "Lady Hardwicke is expecting you, Lord Merrick. This way, if you please."

Instead of leading Ruadh to the drawing room where he had met with Lady Hardwicke last time, the butler continued straight on up the stairs to the second floor, and into a wide passage, gloomy and shadowed because the only light came from the stairwell behind him. A female figure was waiting near a door at the end of the passage.

The passage struck him as bare. He thought he detected slightly lighter squares of wallpaper where he might have expected paintings. There were no candles in the sconces and only a few items of furniture. Odd. He wondered what he would find if he opened some of the doors he passed.

"Good afternoon, Lady Hardwicke," he greeted his grandfather's wife.

"Good day, Lord Merrick." Today, her voice was all business. "You will remember, please, that you are entering a sick room. You must not raise your voice, and you will not be permitted to remain for long."

Ruadh bowed an acknowledgment, which she must have taken as agreement, for she opened the door beside her, and led the way inside.

The room was even dimmer than the passage. Lady Hardwicke picked up a holder with a single candle from a table by the door. By its inadequate light, Ruadh could just make out a huddled figure in the old-fashioned four-poster bed, propped up on pillows and covered with blankets. The bed curtains were closed on the other side of the bed and beyond them, heavy drapes covered most of one wall—presumably covering windows.

"Your grandson has come to visit, my love," Lady Hardwicke cooed. "Step over here, Lord Merrick." She put a hand up to shade the flame of the candle, casting the figure on the bed into deeper shadow. "My husband cannot bear bright light," she told Ruadh in a hushed voice. She stepped away to place the candle somewhere it was masked by the bed curtains.

From his position next to the bed, all Ruadh could see in the dark cavern of the bed were the dim rectangles of the pillows and the darker shape of a head against them.

"My lord," he said, formally, "I was sorry to hear you have been ill. I trust you are recovering?"

"Slowly, Ruadh," said his grandfather, the voice low and husky. "Merrick, I should say. My Anna-Louise is a countess now, my wife tells me. Congratulations, Merrick."

Ruadh swallowed a surge of distaste. Congratulations on the death of my uncle and my cousins? He should not take offense. The man's reaction was not unusual. "My mother asked me to call, sir," he said. "She was concerned when her last two letters were not answered. She will be sorry to hear the reason." She still loves you, you old curmudgeon .

"Thank her for me," said the earl. "I hope to be able to write again soon. My eyes, you know. Can't stand the light. Perhaps I will dictate a letter to Yvonne, my wife, and she can write it for me."

"I am sure my mother will be pleased, sir."

The countess interrupted. "That is enough, my love. You tire so easily. Lord Merrick?"

"I am glad to see you, sir," Ruadh said, bowing. "Farewell. I hope you shall be much recovered when I next call."

Ruadh's eyes had adjusted enough that he could easily see his way back to the door, though the countess left her candle behind as she followed him. She stopped at the door to say to her husband, "I shall return shortly, my love."

He waited for her outside the bedchamber, and when she had closed the door, he asked, "What do the physicians say about my grandfather's chances of recovery, Lady Hardwicke?"

"They believe he will never again be as vigorous, Lord Merrick, but that he will improve over time. We hope that his eyes will grow more tolerant to light and that he will sleep less often and spend more time out of bed."

She dabbed at her eyes with a cloth. "It is hard to see him laid so low. It is why I am so protective of him. I apologize if I was harsh with you yesterday, Lord Merrick."

"It was not my intention to upset you or my grandfather," Ruadh told her. Perhaps he owed her an apology, too, but he rather thought not. Perhaps, if he had not heard what Rose had said about the earl, he would have accepted the scene that had just been performed for his benefit, but again, he rather thought not. He would need to retreat to decide on his next moves.

She began walking, and he kept up with her.

"May I call again, my lady? Perhaps at this time tomorrow?"

"The day after that, I think, Lord Merrick." She frowned. "I do not wish to be inhospitable, but my husband's wellbeing must come first. I trust you have friends or other family with whom you can stay?" He wished he could see her eyes. It was hard to judge whether this was an interrogation with purpose or casual conversation. Did she want to know if he had people who would miss him? Or how to find him at his most defenseless? Or was he being over-suspicious?

He had one way to find out where she would go with the conversation if she thought he was friendless. "Not here in London, my lady," Ruadh admitted, "but I have rented rooms, and I shall not be here long."

"You came to London to see my husband?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. I had some business to complete here before I resigned my commission." Not untrue. He would continue being polite until he had enough information to take action if it was truly necessary.

"I trust your business is going well?" she asked.

"I expect to have it all settled within a week. I'll be on my way north after that. Without friends or family in London, I have nothing to keep me here once my business is over, but I should like to take my mother good news of her father." There. If she had malignant intent, that should be enough to tempt her.

They had come downstairs while talking and were now in the entry hall. The butler emerged from somewhere to hand Ruadh his hat and coat. He wished Lady Hardwicke a good day and allowed himself to be ushered into the street.

On the off chance the lady might send someone to watch him out of sight, he continued past the Stanhope front steps, along the row, and around the corner. Then he hurried back along the lane between the back gardens and the mews, counting until he got to the Stancroft townhouse.

He was not going to miss a chance to see Lady Rosalind, and perhaps she could help him make sense of the inconsistencies between what she had said about Lord Hardwicke, and what Ruadh had observed.

The Stancrofts had made the most of their long, narrow garden. Ruadh passed a thriving vegetable garden, a row of fruit trees, a berry cage, and a substantial glasshouse before coming out from between two large shrubs onto a path that led between flower beds to the house.

A large shade tree hid him from anyone looking out of the Hardwicke windows and also obscured the part of the Stancroft terrace closest to that neighbor. He continued towards the house, accompanied by the perfumes of more flowers than he could name, though some of them, at least, were roses.

Once beyond the tree, he was brought up short by an unexpected sight. Not Lady Rosalind, leaning close to the trellis between her terrace and the next. He was pleased to see the lady—if he'd still had a heart, he'd have described the odd feeling in his chest as his heart bounding—but what stopped him in his tracks was the man she was talking to.

Imperfectly seen through the trellis was a man in an invalid chair. Bent and shrunken though the man was, Ruadh recognized his grandfather.

*

Lord Hardwicke saw Lord Merrick first. "Ruaa!" he said, his eyes fixed down the garden. "Ruaa!"

Rose looked over her shoulder and there he was. Lord Merrick, leaving the path to cross the lawn to the wall between Peter's townhouse and that of the Hardwickes, then hurrying toward her in the shelter of the wall.

In moments, he had joined her on the terrace. "Lady Rosalind," he greeted her, and bowed briefly over her hand, his eyes fixed on the elderly invalid next door.

She stepped to one side and waved him toward the trellis. "He is glad to see you," she said unnecessarily, for Lord Hardwick had a grin spread across the side of his face that still worked and was bobbing his head up and down and flapping the hand he could still use.

"Ruaa!" he repeated.

Lord Merrick dropped to one knee to bring his head level with that of the old man. "Grandfather, I bring greetings and best wishes from my mother. She is concerned about you."

"Goo' gir'," Lord Hardwicke said. "Shorry. Dell 'er shorry."

Lord Merrick slid his eyes sideways and up, to catch Rose's eye, a plea for help in his own. "Good girl, he said," she explained. "Sorry. Tell her sorry."

"You are sorry for how you treated my mother?" Lord Merrick asked, his voice stern.

Lord Hardwicke nodded, and tears welled in his eyes, some of them spilling down his cheeks. Lord Merrick softened. "She has forgiven you, Grandfather," he said.

"Goo' gir'," Lord Hardwicke repeated.

"Better than any of us deserve," Lord Merrick agreed. "She will be sorry to hear that you are so unwell."

"Dying," Lord Hardwicke corrected him. "Abou' dime. Ruaa, shdop Efong." He waved his good hand towards the house. "Aw' yours. No' for 'er. No' Wolf."

Both men turned their eyes to Rose.

"Lord Hardwicke says that he is dying, and it is about time. Then he wants you to stop someone. Efong?"

"Yvonne?" Lord Merrick asked his grandfather, who nodded. "Lady Hardwicke's name is Yvonne," Lord Merrick told Rose.

That made sense . "Lord Hardwicke says the house is all yours."

Lord Hardwicke objected to that with a grunt and a head shake.

Rose made a guess. "All that he has is yours?" Yes, that fetched a nod. "All yours. Not for her. Not Wolf's. I think he means his valet, whose name is Wolfendale."

The old man nodded his agreement. "Efong and Wolf. Shdop dem."

"I will stop them," Lord Merrick agreed, without waiting for Rose to translate. "I will find out what they are up to, and I will get you away from them."

"Be carefu'," warned the invalid. "Dangerous."

From his skeptical look, Lord Merrick did not think he had much to fear from a woman and a valet. Rose hoped he was not being overconfident.

"Proud of you, Ruaa," Lord Hardwicke said.

At that moment, they were interrupted as a pair of footmen came out onto the terrace. "It's back inside for you, old man," said one, as he took the handles on the invalid chair and turned it towards the house.

Lord Merrick had ducked out of sight behind a large pot. Rose was still in plain view and flushed as the footmen sneered at her. "Mind your own business, your ladyship," said one. Perhaps the ironic twist she heard in the honorific was in her imagination, but she did not think so.

The man with her heard it too, for he made as if to stand. Rose put a hand out, signaling caution. He must have agreed, for he subsided.

"'uv you. 'Uv Anga-Leez," Lord Hardwicke shouted.

"Shut up, old man. No one can understand you. Nobody cares," mocked the footman who was lifting the front of the invalid chair into the house. The other footman lifted the back wheels over the threshold and closed the door behind them.

The footman was wrong. Lord Merrick cared. And Rose understood most of what Lord Hardwicke said. Love you . That was easy. But who else did he love?

"Anna-Louise." Lord Merrick had straightened to his full height. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw set. The gaze he sent after the footmen left no doubt about his anger, but his voice was mild as he said, "My mother's name. He wants me to tell her that he loves her. Lady Rosalind, how long has my grandfather been outside?"

"He was here when I came out to check my seedlings," Lady Rosalind said. "That must have been an hour ago, so at least an hour."

"May we go inside, my lady?" Lord Merrick asked. "I need to talk about what I found when I visited next door, and I would welcome your thoughts, and those of your brother and his wife."

*

"Reuben, where is my brother?" Lady Rosalind asked the footman who was polishing the brass finials on the stair posts.

Ruadh nearly greeted the man but remembered in time that the young footman had no idea they had met. "He is in the drawing room with her ladyship, my lady," said Reuben.

"Order tea, please, Reuben. Or would you prefer coffee or a wine, Lord Merrick? Or something else?"

"Tea would be pleasant, thank you," Ruadh told her.

She nodded and led Ruadh up two flights of steps to the next floor. The drawing room door was open, and Ruadh followed her into the room, where Stancroft was reading the newspaper, and Stancroft's other three ladies were busy with activities of their own. Lady Stancroft was using a lap desk, her pen moving busily over a sheet of paper. Lady Vivienne was cutting out paper—making silhouettes, Ruadh would guess. And Miss Turner was reading a letter or some similar document.

"Sisters, Peter, I have brought Lord Merrick to see you all. He has a problem he hopes we can help him with," Lady Rosalind said. "I believe everyone has met him except Pauline. Pauline, may I present Lord Merrick? Sir, my sister, Miss Pauline Turner."

He had met her on a dark London street, but she, of course, did not know that. He gave the expected shallow bow. "I apologize for interrupting your afternoon."

"Not at all, Lord Merrick," said Lady Stancroft. "Rose, will you ring the bell for refreshments? Lord Merrick, please be seated."

"I have ordered tea," Rose told the countess.

"I did not hear the door knocker," Stancroft observed.

"I came up the path from the mews lane," Ruadh confessed. "I was next door visiting my grandfather, and I suspected that Lady Hardwicke might set her servants to watching where I went, so I avoided your front door, and thus learned I had not been visiting my grandfather at all."

Stancroft's eyes opened wider at that. "This is the problem to which Rose referred? Your grandfather?"

"We have been concerned," Lady Stancroft commented. "Rose and Pauline have become well-acquainted with Lord Hardwicke through their joint interest in the gardens, and have tried to visit several times since we heard he had suffered an apoplexy."

"We were turned away," Miss Turner said. "We have, however, been able to see him since the servants have begun putting him outside on a fine day."

"He has been distressed about Lady Hardwicke," Rose said. "Exactly what worries him is unclear. His speech is hard to understand, though he is improving."

A knock on the door interrupted Stancroft as he was about to speak. As servants streamed in with tea makings and plates of little sweet and savory treats, he said, "Your regiment has been serving in Ireland, I believe."

Of all the topics he might have introduced for conversation in front of the servants, that was close to the top of the list of matters Ruadh would rather avoid. "I have been in Ireland with my regiment for close to ten years," he said.

Perhaps Stancroft picked up something from Ruadh's tone, for he commented, "A difficult service. You are currently on leave?"

Another difficult topic. "I have been. Since my father's elevation, my parents have asked me to resign my commission and return home." To his ears, that sounded calm enough, but perhaps not, for Stancroft grimaced.

"A good plan to learn the estate while you are still the heir."

But it turned out, Stancroft was speaking of his own experience. "I served in the Peninsula and at Waterloo and came home when my father died." For a moment his gaze was far away, and Lady Stancroft paused in her tea-making to put a gentle hand on his. He turned his hand over and met her sweet smile with his own.

The heart Ruadh was sure he didn't have ached in his chest at the intimate connection they showed in that one moment. What would it be like to have someone who cared? Someone who knew when his mind wandered back to battlefields and misery, and was there to draw him home again with a touch?

The servants had withdrawn again by this time. Rose returned to their previous conversation with a question. "You have concerns about your grandfather, Lord Merrick? May I ask what you have learned?"

"Lady Hardwicke led me upstairs to a darkened passage and a darker bedchamber," He explained to the group. "She said the apoplexy had left Grandfather with weak eyes, so even a little light hurt him. His words to me were quite clear and I remembered that Lady Rosalind had implied he could not speak. As we talked, Lady Hardwicke was keen to know when I planned to leave London, and whether I have friends here."

Stancroft's frown had deepened. "For what purpose did they deceive you?"

"That is the question," Ruadh agreed. "I can only think that Grandfather had something to say to me they did not want me to hear."

"His speech has improved," Rose said. "Today, he warned Lord Merrick about his wife and his valet."

Ruadh nodded. "He asked me to stop them, and told me to be careful."

"I think, my dear," Stancroft said to his wife, "we must share the servants' gossip about Lady Hardwicke and Wolfenden, the valet."

"An affair?" Ruadh asked. That was the most obvious conclusion, confirmed by his own observation of the pair leaning together as he left them a couple of days ago.

"Gossip would have it so," Lady Stancroft said, her expression showing she was uncomfortable with the topic.

"Lady Hardwicke told Lord Hardwicke that Phillip said it would be a mercy to put a pillow over Lord Hardwicke's face." Lady Rosalind's cheeks colored as she admitted, "They were on their terrace, and I overheard because I was behind the pots. Phillip is the name of the valet."

"That would be simple," Stancroft mused. "Why haven't they done it? Squeamish about taking a life?" He looked around at his audience. "Sorry. I did not mean to offend your sensibilities."

"Nonsense." It was the third sister, Lady Vivienne, who had not so far contributed to the conversation. "If you start treating us like ninnies, Peter, then we shall be offended. It is a good question. One would think Lady Hardwicke would enjoy being a rich widow."

"That is what she said," Lady Rosalind commented. "‘I wish you had died in your fit. Then I would be a rich widow.' But when we met him in the garden, Lord Hardwick said she was not in his will, and he told Lord Merrick he wanted him to inherit everything."

"I wondered if they are selling the paintings from the wall," Ruadh said. "The walls have patches of a different shade, as if paintings have been removed. There were also fewer furnishings than one would expect, though that might be a matter of taste."

"Does your grandfather have children other than your mother, my lord?" asked Lady Stancroft.

"My mother was an only child," Ruadh replied. "I never thought to ask Lady Hardwicke… have they been married for long?"

Lady Stancroft frowned as she considered the question. "A little over a year, perhaps?"

Lady Vivienne spoke up again. "They were not married when we were in Town the year before last, but they were by the time we came up last Spring. Lord Merrick, you probably know that Lady Hardwicke was the housekeeper next door before your grandfather married her."

Ruadh nodded.

"She was always so nice to him," Lady Rosalind commented. "Right up until he was helpless."

"If she has a child," said Lady Vivienne, "the child will probably inherit. The title and entailed properties, at least. Perhaps everything, depending on his lordship's will. That might be why they cannot kill him. Yet."

"Surely not," Arial protested. "That sounds like a plot from one of your gothic novels, Viv."

"No more gothic than we have lived through," Lady Vivienne retorted. Ruadh was considering the suggestion and deciding it made sense but put Lady Vivienne's remark away to think about later.

"Whatever the reason, Merrick needs to get his grandfather out from under Lady Hardwicke's control," Stancroft said. "Merrick, I have a suggestion. There's a husband-and-wife team of inquiry agents I've used before. Very good. Very discreet. You need evidence to put Lady Hardwicke and the valet out of the house and replace them with people you can trust. Perhaps some of the other servants, too. The Wakefields can find you that evidence."

That was the second time someone had mentioned the Wakefields to him. The third, if he counted the boy who told him people were hunting for him, though that might have been a coincidence. Still, nobody except Nate knew that Ruadh was the Wolf, and Nate would never betray him. Perhaps it was time to retire the Wolf, as he would have to do soon enough anyway.

As to his grandfather, if Nate and Stancroft both agreed that the inquiry agents were effective and trustworthy, that was good enough for him.

"If you are able to give me their direction, Stancroft, I should like to engage them."