Chapter Nineteen

T he only good thing about widowhood was that no one expected her to parade herself about in society. It was a relief not to have to put on a show, to keep up the pretense of being a grieving wife to a husband that she couldn't muster much feeling for one way or another.

"Will you be dining alone tonight, madame, or will you have guests?"

From the way the butler sneered when he said guests, she could only surmise that he meant her sister and Vincent, whom he clearly felt was inappropriate. "No guests. And no need for a big fuss. A simple tray in my rooms will suffice."

He dipped his head in a slight bow. There was no outward insolence, but it was quite clear to Hettie that her position in the household was precarious. The servants knew that she was on the way out—or thought they knew. Being with child would complicate matters for everyone. To what degree, she could not yet say. But she knew that Simon would take some sort of action when he discovered it.

Climbing the stairs to her room, she slipped inside and settled herself on a small settee that was flanked by the fireplace on one side and the window on the other. Before her was a small table where she often wrote letters, read her books, and, when the occasion called for it, took her meals. That had been a more frequent event prior to her kidnapping.

It was truly a strange turn of events that the moment where she had faced the most danger, where she had been utterly terrified, had given her more power in her relationship with Arthur than she'd ever had prior. His lack of action on her behalf was scandalous enough, that a rescue had to be mounted by the notorious Hound of Whitehall—well, even if Arthur hadn't met an unfortunate demise, it was quite likely she'd be spending the evening alone in her own home.

Well, it was still her home. At least until Arthur's affairs were settled.

A moment later, her maid knocked softly. "Enter," Hettie called. When the door opened, Foster was there with a tray for her dinner, which she promptly deposited on the table before her.

"There you go, my lady. Is there anything else you need before you retire for the night?"

Hettie looked at the tray. It was roast lamb in a heavy sauce. The very thought of it turned her stomach. She was quickly learning that morning sickness did not only strike in the mornings. "I am not very hungry, Foster. Leave the bread, but take everything else away. And have some tea sent up."

Foster looked up, her expression troubled. "My lady, I don't mean to speak out of turn. But you need to eat. It isn't good for you or for the baby." The last words were whispered, despite the fact that they were the only ones in the room.

Hettie stilled. "Who knows? Who in this house knows, Foster?"

"Right now, it's just me. When I begun to notice that you hadn't had your courses, I took over all your laundry. Wouldn't let the other girls touch it cause I said they ruined your clothes before. I was very mean to them, but I didn't know what else to do. I was afraid he'd kill you if he knew."

It wasn't an unfounded concern. He might have. But someone killed him first. It would only make her appear more guilty if it came out that the child wasn't Arthur's. "It's all a muddle, Foster. And I do not know how to unmuddle it all."

"You can't," the maid said. She broke protocol by sitting on the settee next to Hettie. And Hettie welcomed it. She needed the comfort of having someone else in that house who understood what was happening. "There's too many folks that know it can't be his. And with the kidnapping, there's questions as to who the father might be. And it doesn't matter what you say to anyone, they're going to choose their own truth... and it'll be the one what benefits them most."

There was no denying the wisdom of those words. It was something that Hettie had learned the hard way. "Do whatever you must to keep the secret a bit longer. I know it will come out eventually, but I'd prefer it to be on my own terms. Simon is... well, he's greedy and grasping. And dangerous. Whether this child is Arthur's by blood, it is by law. And that makes me and my child a threat to him."

There was no chance to say more. A strange sound at the window halted their conversation. Turning to identify the source, she was stunned to see an all-too-familiar face at her window. Her third story window, at that!

"Good heavens! Foster, let him in before he falls to his death."

The maid just sat there for a moment, blinking owlishly at the window.

"Foster! Let him in," Hettie insisted more sharply.

Instantly, Foster rose and crossed to the window, undoing the latch and letting the casement swing inward. "Good heavens, sir! There's a door downstairs that you could have used!"

"There is," Joss agreed, levering himself into the room. "But then others would know I am here, and that's not good for anyone. Is it, Hettie?"

"No. It isn't. Foster, I think it goes without saying that this should remain a secret."

"Mum's the word, m'lady," the maid replied quickly. "Should I stay?"

"No," Hettie said. "You may go. The tray can be seen to in the morning. I imagine that Mr. Ettinger could use some sustenance."

When the maid had gone, Hettie turned back to him. "What were you thinking to come here this way? Uninvited and slipping in through a bedroom window like a thief in the night!"

"I was thinking to protect you... your reputation and your life. If Simon Dagliesh is responsible for Ernsdale's murder, he's likely experiencing some paranoia. My former association with Bow Street is well known. If I were to be seen coming and going, it might prompt him to take action against you."

Hettie's lips parted. "Oh. Well, of course, I hadn't considered that he might be watching us."

"Even if he's not, you can bet money that Maurice Bates is. There's no love lost between us. If he thinks I'm aiding you in some way, he'd be more likely to try and drag you to the gaol."

Hettie shuddered at the thought. "I have been locked in enough small, filthy rooms for my lifetime. I'd really prefer not going to another."

"I know you would... I came tonight because I've discovered something. Simon hovers on the verge of eviction from the Albany. His rent hasn't been paid for two months now, and patience with him and his promises of a windfall is wearing thin from creditors both respectable and... not so respectable. It is likely that the windfall he has promised them could only be his inheritance from his uncle. I think, Hettie, that you are in more danger from him than either of us had initially imagined, because he's not just greedy. He's desperate."