Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

C ecilia woke abruptly, eyes immediately wide. She stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wondering why she was lying in bed, in her nightclothes. It had been morning. She felt a dislocation, that she had fallen asleep without intending to. It was an almost guilty feeling. She sat up and saw Peggy sitting beside the bed and drowsing over her knitting.

"Peggy. Why am I in bed? Is it evening?"

The curtains were drawn and she could see no daylight leaking from between them. The sensation of having misplaced a day was alarming. She tried to remember what she had been doing prior to falling asleep. Memories of that terrible sickness came back to her. Of her stomach heaving and her limbs like water.

"It is evening, Cecilia. You've been asleep for most of the day. I think this morning's sickness was a particularly bad bout. I have beef broth and bread keeping warm on the hearth. My mother says you are to eat all of it now that the sickness has passed. She was very insistent."

Cecilia pushed herself up in the bed and Peggy busied herself rearranging the pillows.

"She needn't worry. I am famished," Cecilia admitted.

The aroma of the broth wafted to her. The bread smelled freshly baked. She supposed that Mrs. Hardcastle would have made fresh broth and bread to ensure that Cecilia got food in her. She was grateful for that care, her stomach protesting at a day without sustenance. Peggy brought a tray over to the bread and Cecilia barely waited to spread the napkin before tucking into the delicious broth.

"Where is Lionel?" she asked as she tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the broth.

"I do not know," Peggy replied, somewhat stiffly.

"Well, it would be nice to see him. I did not expect him to wait by my side for the entire time that I was asleep but… could you let him know that I am awake now?"

Peggy looked uncomfortable, staring down at her feet, fingers entwined around each other. Cecilia stopped eating.

"Peggy? Look at me, please. What aren't you telling me?"

There was a growing feeling of coldness spreading through Cecilia. It was a thick, viscous dread. Peggy's cheeks were scarlet and she was chewing her lip. Finally, she looked up, eyes bright and even a little defiant.

"Forgive me, Cecilia. But I was sworn to secrecy by my mother and by Mr. Blackwood. I was told how much trouble I'd be in with the Duke if I spoke out of turn. They said he would be back long before you woke up. But he is not. And now Mr. Blackwood has gone out in the middle of the night to look for him."

"Where has Lionel gone?" Cecilia asked, quietly.

"I was not told. I would not lie to you, Your Grace. Just that he was leaving the house and would be back and not to tell you."

Cecilia nodded to herself. "And Mr. Blackwood is also absent?"

"Yes, this past hour," Peggy admitted.

"And he gave you no indication as to where he was going?" she asked.

"None."

"Did he leave on foot?"

"No, he summoned a cab."

"He would not follow Lionel unless he was concerned for his safety," Cecilia murmured, "so Lionel was heading out to put himself into danger and now Mr. Blackwood has followed. And he promised me to remain by my side…"

"I have spoken out of turn…" Peggy began.

"No, Peggy, you have not," she assured, "I thank you for your loyalty. I need someone in this house who is on my side. You know, for some wives, finding their husbands vanished while they were incapacitated would, I'm sure, have only one answer. But for Lionel, I am not worried about that. I am far more concerned that he has put himself at great risk for the sake of his obsession with revenge. And he promised me!"

There were tears pricking at her eyes and choking her words. She blinked them away. Anger was pushing them out but also worry. She had visions of Lionel lying dead in some rookery, Lord Thorpe standing over him. And she had no way of knowing where she would need to begin looking.

"Please take this away, Peggy. I do not have the stomach for food," she muttered.

Peggy removed the tray with some hesitation and Cecilia threw aside the bedclothes. She swung her feet to the floor and tentatively pushed herself upright. There was a tremor in her legs but nothing worse than the general feeling of unsteadiness after more than a day without food. Nodding to herself, she strode across the room to the door that led to what was now her dressing room. There were her wardrobes containing the clothes she had brought with her from Hamilton Hall, but also the much more numerous garments that Lionel had ordered to be made for her upon their marriage. She selected a dress of dark blue, something well-made and dignified without being ostentatious, and allowed Peggy to help her dress.

"I am not sure you should be out of bed, Cecilia," she protested.

"Nonsense. Morning sickness is not an illness. It is part of carrying a child and it comes and goes. I will not lie idle in bed while Lionel is gallivanting on his damnable mission of revenge. Who knows what trouble he might have gotten himself into."

Worry was warring with anger within her, fighting for supremacy. She was furious at Lionel for making a promise to her and then promptly breaking his word. How could she trust her husband if he lacked the strength to remain true to his word? She was also angry at him for putting himself in jeopardy. If he expected to be home before she awoke, then something had happened to prevent it. She could not think of many things that could do that other than injury or… death.

That thought was one she refused to dwell on, instead stoking her anger to keep it at bay. If Lionel was going to put his quest for revenge above her, then she owed him no loyalty when it came to her own quest.

Penrose was very much on her mind.

Before leaving Thornhill, she had availed herself of the library and, with the help of a copy of Debrett's and William Darton's map of the city of London, Westminster, and Southwark, she had located the London residence of Gordon Locke, Count of Thorpe.

Sir Gerald Knightley had been lodging with Lord Thorpe at his country residence. If Thorpe was now in London, and Cecilia had to assume he was or else why had Lionel gone off without a word, then there was a chance that Sir Gerald was in tow. If not, then Thorpe might have some light to shed on Penrose.

Cecilia looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman who was calm and dignified. The suitable appearance for a Duchess? It was hard to tell. She hoped so—the success she hoped for all depended on Sir Gerald taking her seriously. And she was sick and tired of nobody taking her seriously.

First, it had been her aunt and uncle. A sheltered existence that inevitably led to her learning that they had likely conjured a plot to have her brother's true will burned and her inheritance denied. Then, it had been Sir Gerald Knightley, the man who stole and promptly burned down her family home. Now, it had been her husband, who was so focused on his revenge that he'd broken his promise and risked their future together.

So be it. She would go through with this, for herself.

"Peggy, I will need a carriage. One of ours, not a cab," she said.

"Yes, Your Grace. Might I ask where to?" Peggy asked nervously.

"An address in Regent's Circus," Cecilia told her, suppressing the note of uncertainty in her voice.

"And to whom might I say you have gone to visit? If His Grace returns before yourself," Peggy quickly added.

"A man who may have information concerning my former home, Penrose," Cecilia replied.

Peggy frowned at the vague response and Cecilia forced a smile. "You know as much as is safe for you to know. I would not have you lie to Lionel or withhold anything from him if he returns and asks. I will bear the brunt of his anger if there is any. If he or Mr. Blackwood returns, you may tell them what I have told you."

Cecilia watched the tall buildings flow past, the streets now largely empty. The absence of people simply served to emphasize the scale of the buildings which flanked the streets. Made them even more like deep chasms framed by steep, unclimbable cliffs. She found herself shrinking back into the plush upholstery of the seats and, when she realized that she was cowering before this monumental place, forced herself to sit upright. She folded her hands in her lap and looked out of the window with chin raised and face set. She would not go before Thorpe as a meek and frightened rabbit. She was a Duchess, and by the rules of their society, she was deserving of deference and respect. She had no idea if Lord Thorpe was the kind of man to honor such conventions and, based on his previous behavior, had every reason to think that he was not. But she would at least play the part that she was entitled to, that was hers by right of her marriage.

Regent's Circus was a huge circle of houses, centered on an ornamental park. At the northern end was the new Regent's Park. The address she sought was halfway around the eastern curve of houses. It was of red brick and white plaster with five stories and a veritable forest of chimneys above. A uniformed doorman stood in the portico that shaded the building's entrance.

When Cecilia alighted, her driver, a man named Flock, stepped down with her. As a precaution, she had asked him to accompany her inside. Flock was a man in his forties with a square face and few words. He was also, she gathered, very loyal to his employer and rather too fond, in his younger days, of brawling in taverns. Mrs. Hardcastle had insisted that Flock be the one to drive Cecilia and had given him orders not to let her out of his sight.

"Once inside, you will wait in the main hall for my return. I see no danger. This is the home of a gentleman after all and there will be many servants," Cecilia told him as they ascended the steps.

"Right you are, Your Grace," Flock said in a strong, rural Surrey accent.

At the door, a card was requested, which Cecilia duly produced. It bore Lionel's name as well as her own. The doorman went inside and returned after a minute or so. He opened the double doors wide and ushered Cecilia into the house. Flock followed, shouldering a door aside with a grunt when the doorman tried to close it on him. He took up a position just inside the door, hands folded in front of him, feet planted shoulder width apart, and looking for all the world as if he would be there forever.

A footman led Cecilia into the house. It was not as grand as Bruton Street. The floor was of wood and dark. Similarly, dark paneling covered the walls. The ceiling was high but there was no chandelier. There were no pictures on the walls though several squares and rectangles in a different shade to the rest of the walls gave evidence that there had been artwork at some prior time, and for a long time too.

The footman led her to the end of the hall and to the right, opening a set of double doors that led into what seemed to be a library. Within were a number of bookshelves, none of them more than half full. Several wooden crates stood about the room, packed with volumes and sawdust. Still more crates stood, nailed shut, beside the door. Cecilia wondered if Lord Thorpe was in the process of moving in or out. Debrett's had indicated that this residence had been the official residence of the Viscount Thorpe for three years. Before that, it had belonged to the Duke of Salisbury, its first owner since the Circus and Park had been built on the Regent's orders a handful of years before.

Thorpe had added some bulk to his frame since Cecilia had seen him on the day of the fateful hunt. He was tall and straight-backed but with a sense of power to his shoulders and chest that Cecilia did not remember. The man she had met previously had been a rapier. His blue eyes and rosebud lips were the same though. To her shock, he was wiping what seemed to be mud from his face with a piece of linen. There was a basin of water on a table next to his chair. The bowl and linen were black. His boots were crusted with mud and there were spatters of it up his light-colored breeches and onto his vest. He rose as she entered.

"Your Grace, the Duchess of Thornhill. What an unexpected but welcome surprise," he said, smiling.