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Chapter 16

sixteen

A NGELINE'S HEART CLENCHED for Royston.

She'd had no idea where his dislike of dancing came from. Now she almost wished she hadn't learnt the truth. The truth hurt too much.

Mr. North was indeed a despicable man.

She watched Royston's broad shoulders as he strode out of the ballroom after the incident with the maid. It'd looked like he'd shoved her, but she hadn't seen him properly because Lady Redvers had blocked her view.

People turned their heads towards him, and ladies whispered behind their fans as the servants cleaned up the floor from the broken glass.

"Mama, please come." She took her mother's hand and pulled her aside to a quiet corner. "Please tell me you have nothing to do with what happened to Royston."

"Excuse me?" Mama put a hand on her chest. Her pearl earrings swung back and forth from her earlobes.

"Mr. North blurted out some details about Royston's life he couldn't have conjured up out of thin air. He must have had help."

Mama's lips parted. "You think it was me?"

"You had the opportunity. I'm sure you know how to dig into someone's life."

A flush crept over Mama's cheeks. "I assure you I did nothing of the sort. Was I tempted to teach a lesson to the baron? Yes. He stole documents. He hurt you, and no one hurts my daughter. But you asked me to leave him be, and that's what I did. Besides, he did a good job at humiliating himself without my help."

"Forgive me if I don't trust you, but you have the tendency to keep secrets from me."

Mama's cheeks flamed further. "It wasn't me. If you don't trust me, I have nothing else to say."

"Mama—" Angeline winced as her mother walked away.

Goodness. Everyone she talked to lately ended up angry with her.

Mama had sounded honest, but if she hadn't found that information about Royston and passed it on to Mr. North, then who? Was it possible that Mr. North had acted alone?

Somehow, she doubted it. He didn't have a reason to attack Royston so viciously. Although Royston had antagonised him. But Mama definitely had a better reason to get revenge on Royston.

"Miss Haywood," Miss Taylor said, close to Angeline.

She hadn't seen the viscountess's daughter coming. "Evening."

Miss Taylor fiddled with her fan. "If you see the baron, will you tell him I'm sorry for what my mother said?"

Angeline softened. "I will." Although it was unlikely she would meet Royston any time soon. "But I think Mr. North did the greatest damage. Did the baron shove that maid?"

"So it seemed. He was in a hurry to leave, though. I feel sorry for Lord Wharton." She lowered her gaze. "He seems rather fond of you if you don't mind my saying it."

Actually, Angeline minded it. Because she wasn't sure it was true. "Do you think so?"

Miss Taylor blushed and lifted a shoulder covered in muslin. "It's the way he looks at you as if he were lost. It's the same way my Dani—" She coughed in her closed fist. "Excuse me. I think my mother is looking for me."

She hurried away before Angeline could say anything.

Angeline didn't have time to ponder Miss Taylor's words before Mr. North joined her.

"Angeline," he said her name as if making the point of not wanting to address her properly. "Not a dull night. You should thank me."

"Why?"

He nodded in the direction of the door. "I showed you who Wharton really is, a deranged coward. Did you see how he pushed that poor woman?"

"No, I didn't, and I don't believe he did it on purpose." A hot flare of anger surged. "Mr. North, I must speak my mind."

"You're welcome."

"I found the manner in which you behaved towards Lord Wharton very…" She had to take a breath. "…not worthy of a gentleman."

"I only spoke the truth." He gave her a glare. "I hope you made up your mind about my offer. Naturally, you can forget my three thousand pounds. I'll give you one thousand this time."

Never a bow and an arrow when she needed them. But she had a better weapon.

She removed her long glove with one snappy gesture, uncovering the scar in all its ugliness. "What do you—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Mr. North glanced at her arm and let out a silly squeak that offended her ears. He stepped back from her. "Is it syphilis?"

"How dare you. It's a scar."

He paled, his legs shaking. "It's syphilis."

"No, it's not. Goodness, how ignorant are you."

His jaw clenched. "You can forget our deal."

"Great."

"You won't see me again."

"Good," she said, but he didn't hear her because he hurried away from her.

It was what she wanted, but she didn't expect such a dramatic reaction from him.

Well, who was deranged now?

After the horrible scene at Lord Fountaine's ball, the only thing Royston wanted was to be alone and not think about Angeline's face filled with pity.

Pity. There wasn't a more horrifying feeling to face in the world. She shouldn't pity him. He didn't pity himself.

He wondered how North had found out about what happened in the brothel. No one knew about that detail, and the man who had murdered his mother was dead.

Enright, his butler, entered the room, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea. On instinct, Royston stood up. Old habits. Although he found it disrespectful to stay seated in front of the older man.

Enright smiled under his beard. "My lord, you don't need to stand up for me."

Bugger. If he apologised, he'd make things worse. If he said, ‘I know,' it sounded pretentious. He opted for a non-committal grunt. Great.

Enright put the tray down. "Lord Havisham would like a word, my lord."

"Oh hell." He winced. "Sorry, Enright. Today I'm not myself."

Or maybe he was more himself on days like today than on other days… if that made sense.

"Shall I tell Lord Havisham you're indisposed?"

"No, I'll see him. Thank you, Enright."

"My lord."

Royston poured two cups of tea, hoping whatever Havisham had to say was quick. If he wanted to discuss what had happened, Royston wasn't in the mood.

Havisham entered the drawing room and waited for Enright to close the door before talking. "You shouldn't have stormed out like that, Wharton."

"Good afternoon to you as well." Royston sipped his tea. "North shouldn't have made that comment. Lots of things that shouldn't happen actually happen."

"You're in a philosophical mood." Havisham exhaled. "Allow me to tell you that after the disaster of the other night, your popularity has plummeted. What the hell happened with that maid? It looked like you pushed her out of your way."

"An accident. I slipped."

The earl didn't look impressed. "The key to getting you a seat in Parliament, in the House of Lords, is all about how the other peers see you. If you want to be one of us, really one of us, you must earn respect and sympathy. Right now, North has more chances of getting a seat than you."

"Thank you, Havisham. I feel much better now."

Havisham chuckled. "I didn't come here to discuss your behaviour although you need to think about it. I have some news that may or may not please you."

"I doubt my mood could get worse."

"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news first?"

"Good news."

The earl sat in an armchair. "I think I know where Mrs. Haywood keeps her other documents."

"What's the bad news?"

"They're probably in a safe in her small parlour. I thought about where she could keep the documents, and I remembered having seen her storing her jewels in a safe behind a mirror. It's worth a try."

"Opening a safe is no small deed."

"How much time would you need to open a safe?"

Royston pressed his fingers to his temples. "An hour, maybe two. It depends on the safe. But I can't search Mrs. Haywood's house again. I'm not welcome there."

Havisham held up a hand. "I understand, and I'm here to help. I'll ask one of my friends to organise a soirée this week, something small. I'll make sure that both Mrs. and Miss Haywood are invited. Their house will be empty, and you'll have the opportunity to search it and plenty of time. I'll make sure they stay out for the whole evening."

He shook his head. "I don't think I can do it."

Havisham inched closer. "I'm going to be honest. I have my documents. You did your part. Helping those girls is your choice. If you need help, I'm more than happy to keep the ladies busy for a few hours. If you don't want to do it, I understand. But no one else is going to help those girls."

That was true. Still, he didn't want to break into Angeline's house, even though his relationship with her was ruined anyway.

"Your choice, Wharton," Havisham said. "Whatever you choose, I'll help you."

It wouldn't be the first time Royston had done something against the law, but he held a title now and had responsibilities towards the people he employed. But the earl was right. No one was going to help those girls. He'd failed his mother. The least he could do was to help those girls, using his criminal skills to do something good.

He nodded. "I'll accept your help."

In a plain woollen jacket and brown trousers, Royston left his house from the rear door.

No coachman or footman to accompany him. With the flat hat pulled down over his face and the scarf up to cover his mouth, he doubted anyone would recognise him.

He hadn't worn plain clothes in a long time. The collar of the shirt chafed his skin, and cold gusts of air somehow found their way through the fabric of the jacket, and through his thoughts. Sitting in front of a blazing log fire and enjoying a nightcap would be wonderful, but he had to finish the damn job and then move on.

When he arrived at Angeline's house, he paused in a dark spot on the street.

Mr. Wright appeared from behind a corner, and since the lights in the house were still glowing, Royston followed his instinct and tailed him. Wright's involvement in Mrs. Haywood's affairs was still unclear. The pianist could be another victim or an accomplice. Or worse, Wright could be another North, annoying Angeline.

Wright walked with his shoulders hunched as if he were sitting at a piano.

"Mr. Wright." Royston sped up.

Wright turned around and glanced at Royston before breaking into a run. What the hell?

"Mr. Wright!" Royston chased him. "It's me, Lord Wharton. I just want to talk to you."

Wright stopped, his breath coming out in hard pants. Wheezing, he put a hand on his side and bent over, panting.

Blimey. The pianist needed to spend some time outdoors and to move more.

"Apologies, my lord. I thought you were someone who wanted to rob me," Wright said among shallow breaths. "I didn't recognise you."

"I opted for more comfortable clothes for an evening walk. I'm sorry to have given you a fright."

Wright straightened, as pale as milk. "I don't feel well."

"Let me help you." Royston led him to a bench and helped him sit. "I must ask you a personal question."

The pianist dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. "What is it?"

"Does Mrs. Haywood blackmail you?" Straight to the point.

Wright stopped wiping his face. "I beg your pardon."

"By chance, I happen to have heard a conversation between you and Mrs. Haywood about money. If Mrs. Haywood is causing you trouble, I can be of help."

Wright chuckled, but the chuckle turned into a coughing fit that caused him to shake hard. "You misunderstood, my lord. Mrs. Haywood is helping me."

Royston found it hard to believe that.

"Pianists, even pianists as famous as I am, don't earn much. I live in a small room above a tailor shop in Bloomsbury. I have barely enough money to pay for food and coal." Wright fiddled with the handkerchief. "I love playing. Music is my life. I wouldn't need the money if not for the fact I wish to marry the woman I love. She's the daughter of a viscount, and I can't afford to give her the type of life she's used to. Mrs. Haywood is generous enough to help me."

Miss Georgiana Taylor, as Royston had suspected.

Wright took a few more deep breaths. "I hope to marry her and move to Paris where musicians receive better salaries, and thanks to Mrs. Haywood, I'm putting aside a decent sum."

That fit the frantic conversation between Mrs. Haywood and Mr. Wright Royston had witnessed.

"What does Mrs. Haywood ask in exchange for her help?" He couldn't believe Mrs. Haywood helped Wright out of her good heart.

Wright shrugged. "Nothing really. Small favours. She asks me to bring her pouches of herbs from the market. She gives me a list, and I buy the items."

"Why doesn't she get them herself?"

"I haven't the foggiest. To be honest, I'm happy to receive her help without asking questions."

Royston helped him up. "Thank you."

After attending an endless stream of parties and balls, for the first time, Angeline was glad she'd never had a Season.

It wasn't only about the money spent on gowns, shoes, and accessories, but all the energy and effort put into chatting and being pleasant with everyone, even when her mood was forlorn.

Also, if she was completely honest, after what happened at Lord Fountaine's ball, she wasn't so keen to mix with the upper echelons of society again. Her last conversation with Royston had left her shaken, but he didn't deserve to be mocked for his past.

She was ashamed of how others had reacted to Mr. North's accusations. Miss Taylor had been the only decent person.

If anything, she should think of how to talk to Royston. Maybe she should write a letter. His face had been absolutely dejected; her heart had broken.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Mama asked as Bassett helped her slide into her evening cloak.

Angeline handed her the bag. "Yes, don't worry about me. A soirée is the last thing I'm interested in tonight."

Bassett draped Mama's cloak nicely over the bustle. "If your shoulder is still sore, you should apply that numbing poultice your mother prepared. I tried on my aching fingers. It worked."

Angeline shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sore shoulder?" Mama's tone turned sharp. "Have you practised with the bow again?"

"You've never had problems with my bow training. In fact, you've always encouraged it, saying you never know when you need to shoot someone."

"I encouraged you when you didn't have to attract the attention of sophisticated gentlemen. I don't care how you amuse yourself, but I do care about what people say. Did you see what happened to Lord Wharton? He's almost an outcast now. He went from being London's darling to London's imbecile in a second. That poor maid is traumatised."

"It was an accident."

"For the moment being, you must renounce any public, unladylike activities until further notice. After all, you asked me for advice on finding a husband."

That was true.

Angeline leant against the newel post. "May I ride?"

"You must. Ladies meet the best gentlemen when riding in Hyde Park." Mama tugged her gloves on. "Pick someone you like. As long as he's rich, I will approve."

"You're angry because of the conversation we had the other day," Angeline said.

Mama pressed her lips hard. "No, I'm not angry. Any man will fall at your feet if you use the right technique."

"What technique? Oh, forget it." She waved a hand.

The conversation was a useless exercise.

"Would you like me to stay here until your mother has returned?" Bassett asked.

"No, thank you. I'll go to sleep early."

Angeline exhaled when finally Mama and Bassett were gone and the house was all for her. Her shoulder throbbed, and she winced as she went upstairs to her bedroom.

No, she didn't want to go to another soirée with potential targets for Mama's drugs.

She wanted a quiet, nice evening by the warm hearth with a good book. A scary story was the maximum level of excitement she wished for tonight.

What could a girl want more?

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