Chapter 13

Thirteen

Ruth said nothing as she set the breakfast tray on the foot of Cassie's bed. She didn't need to speak a word for her concern to come across plain as day. The lady's maid could control her tongue, but she'd never mastered controlling her expressions. The furrowing of her brow and the nibbling on her bottom lip gave her worry away.

"I'm not unwell, Ruth," Cassie assured her as she pushed herself up from where she'd been lying stretched on her side, staring out the window into the milky mid-morning sunshine. She sat against the bolster pillows and accepted the cup of tea her maid offered.

"Forgive me, milady, it's just that you're usually up long before now."

"I suppose I needed a morning to laze about," she said, hoping it would placate her.

Lazing about wasn't something Cassie did well. She liked to be busy, not bored. But that morning, she'd found all motivation sapped right out of her as soon as she opened her eyes. It was as though the muscles in her legs and arms simply didn't want to work. Sleep beckoned her, causing her to wake then fall asleep again, however light the slumber was. It was how it had been all night. After returning from the art showing, she'd gone to her room and held herself together while Ruth undressed her. Once the maid had finally taken her leave for the night, she'd crumpled. Literally.

The soft, thick pile of the carpet had padded the strike of her knees as she'd folded, sobs and tremors wracking her body for what felt like hours. Eventually, she'd crawled into bed and, exhausted from crying and from the overwhelm of seeing Lord Renfry again for the first time in years, fallen into a black, fathomless sleep.

But when morning arrived, the truth was waiting for her. It was why she'd stayed abed so long. She'd wanted to avoid it.

Cassie sipped her tea without tasting it. "I'm not hungry, Ruth. If you'll draw me a bath, I'll get ready."

There was no point avoiding anything now. Her unexpectedly wonderful meeting with Madame Archambeau and Miss Stone, all thanks to Grant, had been tainted by the appearance of Renfry and her disappointing inability to control her reaction to him. She thought she'd overcome everything that had happened. Countless times, she'd imagined what it would be like to meet with him again. The cold, stony glare she would level him with, how she would exude detachment and serenity, as if she thought nothing of him. Her poise and disinterest would assure Renfry that he was nothing to her.

Instead, she'd frozen. Her pulse had throbbed in her neck, her breaths becoming stilted and panicked. In that moment, with Renfry looking at her like she was something amusing, making her feel small and filthy, she'd been transported back years in time, to the very moment she'd read the wedding banns in the society pages for Lord Winston Renfry and Miss Evelyn Rothchild, the exorbitantly wealthy daughter of a shipping merchant. This, weeks after he'd promised to visit her brother Philip at Fournier Downs in Hertfordshire to ask for Cassie's hand in marriage. Weeks after he'd bedded her while whispering vows of love. And three days after she'd realized she was carrying his child.

All that pain, disappointment, and fury had surged up again last night and threatened to drown her. To make things cataclysmically worse, it had all happened in front of Grant Thornton.

She hadn't been able to look at him, too afraid he'd see the truth in her eyes. But of course, he needn't have made eye contact with her to know something had occurred between her and Renfry. His stifled anger, his hot confusion, had filled the carriage on the way back to Grosvenor Square. At least Grant had done her the honor of respecting her plea to stop asking questions.

It would not last.

She set her tea down and stood from bed. Her legs still felt heavy as she went toward the window. Looking out over the square, she could only think about what a tenuous life she led. Within a glass room, it seemed, where one crack in the thin wall could send the whole thing into shambles. First, her secrets about Hope House, and now, about Renfry and the baby. Good God, what would Grant think of her if he knew everything? As soon as she thought the question, she shook it off. Why should that matter? He might not be as depraved at Renfry, but he was still using her for his own gain. Would he truly go to Michael and reveal everything he knew about Hope House if she no longer played along with his scheme? Cassie didn't want to believe it. But she'd been wrong before. She'd made an awful misjudgment of character with Renfry. What a fool she'd been!

She would not make that same mistake with Grant Thornton.

Cassie bathed and dressed, and then jotted a letter to Emily Strafford, apologizing for what occurred the previous day. She thought to send it to the shop directly but after wondering if Mrs. Lindquist might open it, crumpled the letter and rewrote it. She wrote as Miss Banks instead, who had just heard from Lady Cassandra of the mix-up. She expressed hope that she was getting on well in her new position. There was no way to know if Emily would be able to infer the truth from the cryptic letter, and after sending it off, Cassie rubbed her eyes. Once again, she questioned how much longer until her life in Spitalfields erupted into her life in Mayfair.

Concerned though she was, she still set out for Crispin Street. Elyse was in, and when she saw Cassie, she drew her aside, into the privacy of her small bedchamber.

"I heard about Sister Nan's visit, and what she revealed about Mr. Young."

Instantly, Cassie flushed with guilt. She hadn't given anything to do with Mr. Young or Isabel a lick of thought yet that morning. She'd been too self-absorbed with everything having to do with Grant, Renfry, and Emily Stafford.

"I'm worried," Elyse went on, and indeed, the press of her brow emphasized it.

"As am I." Cassie felt the same jittery alarm as she had the afternoon before, when Sister Nan had explained how the man had tracked Isabel down. "If he knows our location, what is to stop him from breaking in? We have a few locks. No guard."

"Or he could make it public," Elyse added. She began to pace the braided rug, her fingers rubbing her temples. Cassie wished she knew the answer. Wished she could do something to put Elyse at ease. She'd given herself to this place. Her time, her energy, her skill. She was here day and night, while Cassie was able to come and go as she pleased.

She sat on the edge of Elyse's bed. "It's been over a week since he approached me in the alley?—"

"He attacked you, Cassie, he didn't approach you."

"Yes, all right, attacked," she conceded, though she didn't like to make it sensational. Playing the matter down helped her to deny how dangerous the situation really had been. "My point is, it's been days. If he hasn't tried again, he might not be coming back. Perhaps he began to doubt Sister Nan's information. Or the woman who obtained it."

Elyse stopped pacing and then perched on the bed beside her. "I hope you're right. I would hate to have to shut this place down."

Cassie knocked into her shoulder. "What's this? Shut down? That wouldn't happen. We'd simply find a new location." She turned to face her friend. "I know I don't do much around here?—"

"Stop it, that's not true."

"—but I can at least manage to keep a roof over everyone's heads."

Elyse smiled but looked doubtful. "I've seen our ledgers, Cass."

So had Grant, she thought, again prickling with annoyance. But that put her in mind of Madame Archambeau. With an excited hop that jounced them on the bed, Cassie told Elyse about her meeting with the benefactress the evening before. Elyse leaped to her feet when she heard about the invitation to call on them.

"You want me to go?" she exclaimed.

"It should be you," Cassie replied. "You're the one who runs Hope House."

Elyse eyed her curiously. "We run it together. Why are you discounting yourself?"

Cassie stood up and smoothed the skirt of her gown. "I'm not. I'm just being realistic. I can't apply for their aid—they know me as Lady Cassandra. I can't show any knowledge of Hope House without risking them saying something to the wrong person."

Elyse crossed her arms, nodding. "All right. I'll go. But goodness, what will I say?"

"We'll think of something," Cassie said, "though right now, we should visit Isabel."

As it wasn't a Saturday, Grant wouldn't be there. Hopefully. They left Hope House in Mabel and Sister Agatha's capable hands and took Cassie's carriage to Church Street.

On the way, Elyse inquired more about the benefactress, including how Cassie had even come to be introduced to her.

"There is something I should tell you about Doctor Brown," Cassie said. "His real name is Lord Grant Thornton."

Elyse jerked back, her eyes popping wide. "The rake you were stuck in a closet with?"

"Yes."

"Why did you not tell me before?"

"I don't know really. I suppose I didn't want you to despise him."

"Whyever not?"

What to say? That any time someone said something disparaging about Grant, she wanted to defend him? Even though she was constantly complaining about him herself. It made no sense.

"Well, for one, he's the reason we have the interest of Madame Archambeau," she said.

Elyse perked up. "Is he?" She frowned. "Well, that is kind of him. I suppose he received an invitation as well, to discuss his free clinic?"

Until then, Cassie hadn't thought of it. But Grant hadn't uttered a word about his clinic.

She shook her head, and Elyse sighed. "What is his game then?"

The midwife had never been very open about her private life, but Cassie could tell she had reservations about men and their intentions. But then, she huffed a laugh.

"A lord with a charity clinic and a nom de guerre." She arched a brow at Cassie. "How much you two have in common."

She nudged Elyse, refusing to rise to the bait. But her friend had a point. The clinic was of paramount importance to him, just as Hope House was to her. And it wasn't the clinic itself he cared about; the people it served were important to him. He'd shown that clearly with Mr. Mansouri and his son, Amir.

Cassie was thinking of the riddles he'd put to Amir, to distract the boy from the pain of his injury, when they arrived at Church Street. Patrick let them off down the street, out of caution, since they couldn't be sure if Mr. Young had still been watching the Crispin Street building. She and Elyse walked to the corner of the block, then went around and onto the mews lane. When Elyse knocked twice, then three times more, they heard footsteps approach. Tris appeared and ushered them inside before he shut and locked the door again.

"You're in time for stew," Isabel said gaily as she stood at the stove, stirring a steaming pot. Her flushed cheeks appeared fuller, and her eyes fairly sparkled when Tris joined her.

He had doffed his hat, allowing his black curls to spring unrestrained. "It's the rabbit stew my mum used to make," he said, leaning over the pot. "Though I think this smells even better than I recall."

"I thought you said I couldn't even boil water," Isabel replied.

He shrugged bashfully. "I suppose you've learned a thing or two since then."

The two of them looked at each other for a moment longer than strictly necessary, and Cassie exchanged a glance with Elyse. They both suppressed their grins. It appeared Tris was completely smitten with Isabel, and she with him. And here they'd been, alone together all week, allowed the freedom to converse and get to know each other. Cassie didn't want to think anything untoward had occurred between them. However, she easily recalled the moment in Grant's office, when the intensity of his closeness nearly stole away her good sense. Imagining a whole week alone with Grant in this house, with no one to interrupt them, made her belly flutter.

"The stew smells delicious," Elyse confirmed. "How are you feeling?"

Isabel let out a small laugh. "Mostly just tired."

Tris took the spoon from her hand. "Sit, and I'll stir."

She sighed as she sank into a chair, a look of appreciation cast toward Tris's back.

"Isabel," Cassie said after a few quiet moments. "I regret having to bring it up, but we spoke with Sister Nan yesterday. From St. Paul's in Shadwell."

The young woman frowned and nodded. "She told me of Hope House."

"Yes, and she thinks she knows how the father of your child came to find you there." Cassie briefly explained about the woman pretending to be with child and the man Sister Nan saw her meeting with immediately after.

Isabel paled, the healthy flush of her cheeks draining. "It must have been my aunt."

At the stove, Tris put down the wooden spoon. "How did that horrible woman know to go to Sister Nan?"

Elyse sighed. "The more women we help, the more risk we face. One whisper is barely audible. One hundred whispers together become a roar."

"Elyse is correct," Cassie said, knowing that something would have to change if they were to continue offering a safe haven. She then peered at her driver. "Tris, you know about Isabel's aunt?"

"I've told him everything," she said. Then blushing, "I should have told you too."

"You only have to share what you want at Hope House," Elyse assured her.

She looked to Tris, who nodded. Then, Isabel explained. "My aunt was the only family I had left after my parents died, so I had to go live with her, even though my mother had deliberately cut her out of our lives. Lydia…well, she…"

Tris settled his hand on her shoulder, encouragingly.

"She supplies men with companions. High quality ladies," she continued.

Cassie tried not to let her shock show. How awful it must have been for Isabel, to be made to live with such a woman. No wonder her sister had cut her out.

"One of her clients saw me one day. He was charming, bashful almost. Or so I thought, at first."

Cassie nodded. "Mr. Young?"

Isabel sat up straighter, surprised that his name was known. But then, she corrected Cassie. "Mr. Youngdale. My aunt warned him that I was not an option, but he would not accept it. His offers for me became exorbitant. And at last, my aunt was too tempted."

Cassie gasped in revulsion. "She sold you to him?"

Isabel nodded. "In a fashion, yes. With the stipulation that he marry me. He was obsessed, though I cannot account for why. He didn't know me at all."

She was pretty and young, but perhaps it had been the quest for her, or for her innocence, that had held him in her thrall, not actual affection.

"The witch didn't even ask Isabel before agreeing," Tris put in, his hand still on her shoulder. Isabel covered it with her own.

"Lydia said I was her burden to do with as she wished."

It was barbaric and cruel. How someone could be so twisted as to do such a thing to a family member left Cassie grasping.

"Who is this Mr. Youngdale?" Elyse asked. "Is he gentry? A peer?"

Isabel took a bracing breath. "He is the third son of a baronet and quite wealthy. At first, he didn't seem so awful, and I did want to be free of my aunt, so I didn't put up a fuss. But…" She shook her head forcefully. "He is no gentleman."

Cassie peered at Isabel's left hand. She wore no wedding band. "Did you marry?"

"No. He found excuses to delay the wedding, as well as to pay Lydia. But that did not stop him from…" Her chin quivered. "From treating me as if we had married."

The poor woman. She'd been manipulated and used, and she'd likely felt as though she had no one to turn to for help.

"He was already married once before," Tris said. Then gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tell them, Isabel."

She nodded. "She died. He said she fell down the stairs and broke her neck, but he's said other things to me, warning me that if I disobey him or make him angry, I might just find myself at the bottom of some stairs too. I think… I think he pushed her."

From his anger in the alley, Cassie didn't doubt Mr. Youngdale was a violent man. But if his wife died in such a manner, it had to have been investigated. Cassie thought of Hugh and Audrey, and wondered if they might be able to find out more.

"I hid the fact that I was with child for as long as I could, but then, he noticed my growing middle. After accusing me of being unfaithful, he said he was going to marry me at last and keep the child." Isabel frowned. "But he made it sound like he wasn't going to keep me. I got scared. So, I ran. I'd been moving around for a week when I heard of Hope House and…" She shrugged. "And here I am. I won't marry him. And I won't allow him anywhere near my child."

Cassie reached across the table and clasped her forearm. "You won't have to. We'll protect you."

They would find a way.

"We'll make sure you're safe," Elyse agreed.

"And we can arrange for you to leave London before your baby is born," Cassie adds, thinking of Fournier Downs or Greenbriar. She had resources, and she wanted to share them with Isabel more than anything.

Isabel's eyes shone with tears. Tris stood beside her, and Cassie knew he would not yield. He cared for Isabel, even if the affection was new and formed under difficult circumstances.

As she and Elyse took their leave, a weight settled onto Cassie's shoulders. This was becoming more complicated. And dangerous. Mr. Youngdale was wealthy, and he likely had many connections to people with power.

Well, so did Cassie. Yet only one such connection knew of her ties to Hope House and her involvement with Isabel. She had no choice—she had to ask Grant for his help. As much as she dreaded seeing him again, Isabel's safety was more important than her own damn pride.