Lady Rogue (25 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dawn
clasped  her hands tightly together as Mr. Cambridge, the solicitor read the last will and testament of Margaret Anne Harrington Pembrooke in a low, droning voice.  Her baggage was packed with the few possessions she had brought to Pembrooke House, and she was fully prepared to leave, if that was what Oliver wanted as the estate's new owner.  Certainly she could not stay here.

I'll go share a room with Taddie
, she thought.  Taddie would have need of her now, with the baby on its way.

"I
, Margaret Pembrooke, being of sound mind do heretofor put forth my last will and testimony."  The man  read on, using a  string of long difficult words Dawn didn't understand.

"The Pembrooke fortune is rumoured to be at least seven hundred thousand pounds.  Maybe more," a primly coiffed lady
was whispering behind her fan.

"I've heard it is considerably more.  Someone will be unreasonably wealthy after today,"
a bespectacled man answered.

Seven hundred thousand pounds, Dawn thought.  She'd never realized there was so much money in the entire world
, and yet not even such vast riches had been able to grant Margaret Pembrooke her life.  Money, then, could not buy everything!

"To my sister I bequeath the amount of one thousand pounds  annually and all my hats."  All eyes focused on that  fashionably coiffured lady, who sat dabbing at her eyes with a
handkerchief as she sniffled.

"To my brother-in-law I leave two shillings, the exact amount he owned when he married into my fami
ly."  A muffled oath answered.

"To my loyal butler Douglass I declare Pembrooke house his home as long as he wishes.
I have set aside a sum that will pay him his regular salary for the rest of his life." 

Meeting Douglass' eye, Dawn smiled, glad that the man who had been so devoted to Margaret Pembrooke would be secure now that she was gone.  Perhaps all was not lost.  Maybe she too could stay there.
As a maid.  Douglass had proved himself to be her friend and had always complimented her on her chores. With a house as large as this there was always work to be done.  And yet without Mrs. Pembrooke's deep, throaty laughter it would be such a lonely place.

I have to pinch myself to believe that she is really gone
, Dawn thought with a sigh.  And yet, the memory of Margaret Pembrooke lying so still in the coffin at the funeral was all too real.  Oliver had been lavish in choosing a headstone.  A white marble angel playing a trumpet, herolding his aunt to heaven, he had said.

Dawn liste
ned as the list of bequests  went on and on, covering the servants who had been  so very loyal to the matron of Pembrooke House.  Poor Oliver, she thought, he had grieved so for his aunt, though now he seemed to be recovering.  From beneath her lashes she looked his way, not at all surprised to see Garrick sitting by his side.  A pillar of strength, that's what her handsome gentleman had proved to be.  She knew Oliver would have fallen to pieces if
he
had not been there to take charge.  She wondered what they were talking about now as they bent their heads together.

"Garrick, my friend, I'll most certainly have no more need for those silly little drawings again, once this is over." Smuggly Oliver smiled.  "I'm certain that my aunt will not overlook me when all is said and done.  Besides my parents, whom she abhored for their greed, I'm the old woman's only heir."  Counting on his fingers
, he tried to calculate just what net sum he would be granted. 

"Ahem......"  Looking
over the rim of his spectacles, the solicitor challenged Oliver to silence.

"O
h, all right, my good man.  I will be quiet, but do get on with it."

"Ollie, you are incorrigible.  Grant your aunt a measure
of respect."  Garrick scolded.

"I did!  I mourned her for t
hree solid days,"  Oliver muttered in his ear.  "But life is for the living not the dead.  Aunt Margaret is gone and I wish her a safe journey to heaven but....."  As the solicitor turned his way again, Oliver quieted down.

The rest of the will's reading progressed rapidly as
all the servants were named along with the amount they were to receive.  Margaret Pembrooke was taking care of everyone who had been near and dear to her. Suddenly, however, the tempo slowed.  It was obvious that the list was coming to an end, and the mood of anticipation heigthened. 

"To my nephew I leave my carriage and six matched horses, with the stipulation that they not be used for racing purposes nor disposed of.   My house in
Devonshire which, may not be sold nor credited to pay any debts.  A sum of ten thousand pounds to be used for his education and for that alone.  In addition, I leave him a trust fund that shall be  strictly administered  over a monthly period. That trust to total forty pounds a month."

"Forty pounds?"  Oliver stamped his foot.  "'Ti
s a pittance.  I will starve."

"I doubt that, Ollie."  Garrick pounded his fr
iend on the back reassuringly.

"But the rest of the fortune?  Who?  Or what?"  Crossing his arms angrily,  Oliver waited.  "Prob
ably to some willy nilly charities or something."

"The bulk of my estate, including the house I have loved so dearly,
and my jewels, I leave to Miss Dawn Landon, my companion, friend and surrogate daughter."  Those words were met with an amazed gasp as all eyes turned Dawn's direction.

"What?  To
her
?"  Oliver bounded to his feet.  "I protest!  I protest!  She is no kin of my aunt's."  He waved his fist accusingly at Dawn, glaring all the while.  "There is villainy at work here, Sir.  That woman......."

"Silence!"  The solicitor went on
with the terms of the will,  verifying that what he had said was indeed correct.  Margaret Pembrooke had been very diligent in making certain the document was quite legal and binding.

Dawn sat silent, too stunned to speak.  She, once a merchant's daughter, then a begger, then  forced to become a thief was now just as rich as she had once been poor. So very unexpectantly, she found herself to be a woman of means. 

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dawn felt like Saint Nicholas as the carriage rolled down the streets headed for Soho.  Today would be Christmas for her friends. Beside her on the  padded seat were boxes of every shape and size as well as a large iron box filled with coins.  She had rummaged through the finest shops on the West End for presents of coats, dresses, scarves, hats and shoes.  Jamie, Farley, Arien, Taddie and the others would never have to endure poverty again.  There would be no more cold nights fearing there would be no coal for the fire, no torn and patched cloths, nor nights of going to bed hungry. 

Although Dawn had been cautioned, she had been stubborn on the matter.  "If a person can't share their good fortune
, then of what good is it?" she had defiantly said, calmly asking the solicitor to arrange for a large sum to be apportioned from her inheritance.  Certainly she was not of a mind to be greedy or selfish.  Those who had stuck by her through thick and thin, who had shared her misery but still given her loyalty and kindness, would now get their due. 

"I'll give Arien enough money to get his poems published. Leather bound volumns just like those of Shakespeare I read In Mrs. Pembrooke's library.  He'll be know all over
England."  She was certain that if Margaret Pembrooke was looking down from heaven right now she would approve.  "I'll set Taddie  up in her own flower shop and  I'll see that Doris is well coached as an actress." 

She would do the same for Jamie, Murdock, and Farley, a business of their chosing, perhaps as costermongers.  No more would any of them be thieves
—they would be respectable citizens of London.  All they had really ever needed was a chance.

"Driver, stop here, please."Stepping from the coach she struggled with the burden of her purchases as she ascen
ded the dark flight of stairs.

"Oooh, lookee 'ere, Ned.  Ain't she a nice one, eh?  Can I 'elp yer lovely laidy?"  Two men accosted Dawn with smiles that
scarcely hid their intent.

"Go Awaiy yer blokes or I'll knock yer ears from yer 'eads!  Yer won't steal from me, yer won't. I'm not o' a mind ter bother wi' the loikes of ye,"  Dawn quickly retorted, reverting to the way of speaking she'd fought so hard to forget.  Now it came to her aid.  "Well, don't stand their staring. Git, or ye will rue it."  She fumbled in her pocket, making pre
tense of retrieving her knife. "I'll carve yer up, I will.  Move yer blinkin' arses!"

Startled to hear such a well-dressed woman swear at them and fearing she just might make good on her threat, the men turned tail and ran, fleeing down the street.  From the safety of an old rain barrel they looked back but before they had time to give her any further trouble, Dawn had reached the top of the stairs. The smell of stew grew stronger with each step she took.  She'd
come just in time for supper.

"Taddie!  Jamie!"  She called out as she pushed open the door to the main room, the "drawing room" Taddie had once laughin
gly called it.  The  coke stove's fire was bright, making the lid of the tin saucepan atop rattle up and down as steam gushed out. Wooden bowls and spoons cluttered the area, a harsh contrast to Cook's well organized kitchen.  Overhead, on a string that stretched from wall to wall, hung a pair of ladie's drawers, two shirts, a shawl and a patched pair of trousers.  During the cold days of winter every bit of heat was well utilized.

"You there, wot
are yer doing in 'ere?"  As she turned around, Jamie's eyes opened wide in surprise.  "Dawn.  Wot a sight fer sore eyes yer be."

"I've brought presents Jamie.  We'll pretend its Christmas already."  Dawn's eyes shown with exuberance as she dropped the bundles on the faded and tattered couch.  Opening one of the boxes
, she brought forth a blue coat with long lapels and held it up for the little man's inspection.  "You said you've always wanted a double-breasted coat, now you have one, Jamie.  Here, take it."

"For me?"  The dwarf's fingers shook as h
e took hold of the fine cloth.

"Put it on."  Dawn watched as he pulled it over his arms, then fastened the buttons one by one.  Strutting before the chipped and cracked mirror he smiled his grati
tude.  As others of the little family came meandering in they likewise were given their gifts of clothing.  Soon everyone was prancing about exhibiting their finery.

"Yer be a
bloomin' saint, Dawnie dear."

"As generous as anyone could be.  Aye, yer are."  Procurring several chipped glasses and a bottle of gin, Farley proposed a to
ast.  "Ter our Princess 'ere."

"Ter our own dear Dawn," they all chorused.  Tugging on her sleeves and the skirt of her dress, they all made inquiry as to how she had been able to a
fford such luxuries.  Sipping her gin, Dawn told them the story of Margaret Pembrooke's kindness, her sorrow at the woman's death, and her astonishment that she had been named heiress.

"You would have loved her as much as I.  I will miss her more than you can ever know, but I know she would have wanted me to share my newfound wealth with all of you
. So….” Opening the iron chest, Dawn revealed another surprise.  "I want you to share this equally.  It is but the beginning of your boon, but it must be spent wisely.  Not for gin or gambling but to make something of yourselves."

"Lord love a duck, ain't that a grand sight!"  Jamie caressed the coins unbelieving
ly.  "Are they real?"

"Very real."

"And they're ours?"  Laughing merrily, Farley scooped up a handful of shillings and let them trickle through his fingers.

"They're yours to set yourselves up in business.  No more stealing.  Promise?"  She'd been so afraid that eventually all of them would end up in Newgate
, but now she need worry no more.

"Wellllllll!"

"Farley!"

He wriggled his fingers.  "I guess I can put these to a
different skill.  "I promise."

Laughter permeated the room, giving it a warm glow.  For just a moment Dawn forgot the smoke that polluted the room, the broken panes of glass stuffed with brown paper, the patches in the wall, the leaking roof and enjoyed her visit with her old friends.  Only one thing spoiled the moment
. Robbie was not there to join in her good fortune.  Robbie.  She would have used some of her newfound fortune to send him to school, perhaps even Oxford eventually.  Oh, what a fine lawyer he would have made, for he could argue the devil out of his horns, or so he'd boasted often enough.

Taddie read her thoughts.  "Rob, ain't it, that
look of sadness in yer eyes?"

"Yes.  He's always in my thoughts.  Oh, Taddie, what could have happened to him.  How could he have just disappeared like that?  I tried so hard to find out where he w
as......"  Dawn hung her head.

"I know where he is." Lifting his head from his tally of
the money, Jamie met her eye.

"Where,
Jamie?"

"In the swells section of Newgate.  He's alive, or so I just found out from a prison turnkey who is in Weasel's
paiy."

"He's alive?"  Dawn's breath caught in he
r throat.  Her hands trembled.

"Aye, alive.  Seems for some reason or other one of t
he nobs thought fit to keep him from an 'angin'.  There's been more than a few shillings change 'ands to keep him from the gallows."

"Someone has paid to keep him alive?"  Gratitude flowed through her
, for she knew well who that someone must be. Garrick Seton.  "Bless him! Bless him!" 

"Strainge thing about it
though is that this particular swell not only didn't want 'is or 'er identity revealed, but also didn't want it known just where our Robbie was cloistered awaiy.  Strainge, wouldn't yer saiy......"

Dawn barely heard Jamie.  "Robbie is
alive
.  Alive!"  As long as he was,  there was always hope of getting him free.  Somehow!  So Garrick Seton was a worthy man, a compassionate man.  Never had she loved him more than she did at this moment.

"Ole Rob, or so I'm told, is living loike a king.  Not loike some o' the other blokes.  Oh no.  'E plays at dice and cards wi' the guards, eats the finest food,  drinks only the best whiskey, beer and gin, even 'as himself a bed with a feather mattress.  Probably better off than we was 'ere,
until yer caime, Dawnie dear."

"Nevertheless, I must get him out.  But it will take time."  Although she was anxious to approach Garrick Seton, to free Robbie, she had to work slow
ly.  A new trial perhaps, this time with a lawyer of her choosing.  Mrs. Pembrooke's solicitor had recommended John Barrister. In the meantime, at least she knew her brother was alive and living in relative comfort.

It was c
old outside the tenement. A brisk wind whipped at Dawn's hair as she walked along clutching at her cloak.  Still she stubbornly refused to hire a carriage.  She wanted to walk, to let her feet skim over the cobble stones.  She knew just where she was going--to Garrick Seton's office to give him a proper thank you.  It was late, about six o'clock but she thought perhaps he would still be at his desk. 

One lone lamp shone in the window, silhouetting Garrick's splendidly masculine form as he bent before his drawing board.  Taking a deep breath, Dawn gathered up her courage, moved to the door and knocked loudly.  She could hear the steady thump of his feet
as he came to answer the door.

"Dawn!  What a
pleasant surprise."

There had been so much confusion  first with Margaret Pembrooke's death, then with the settlement of the estate, that he had hardly had a moment alone with  her.  He opened the door wide and beckoned her inside, thankful Oliver had already gone.  It would have made for a most unpleasant evening had his friend and partner been there.  Ollie's resentment and dislike for Dawn L
andon now knew no bounds. He was even more determined than ever to prove that Miss Dawn Landon was a fraud.  His obsession bordered on insanity.

Dawn looked around her.  Somehow it looked just as she had imagined it would, from the upholstered chairs to the shelves of
drawings that lined the walls. Masculine. Elegant. Just like Garrick himself.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he was saying, allowing his smoldering gaze to run lingeringly over her. With her wind
-whipped hair she looked a bit wild. 
Like a Gypsy
, he thought with a smile.

"I wanted to see you."  At another time
she would have felt brazen to come here so boldly, but now she was so grateful, so elated by Jamie's revelation that she was beyond thinking rationally.  "Oh, Garrick!"  Impetuously she reached out for him, her hand resting on the firm hardness of his chest.  Standing on tiptoe, her eyes riveted on his mouth, she initiated a kiss.

"Mm
m," he groaned, pulling her into his arms. A hungry desire that clamored for release, swept through his body as he caressed her lips.  If she only knew how he'd longed to be with her.  Now his mouth closed on hers, engulfing her in a maelstrom of delicious sensations.   

Passionately Dawn yielded to him as her lips and teeth parted to allow his exploration.  Her hands slid up to lock around his neck, her fingers tanglin
g in the thickness of his hair.  She sighed against his mouth, trembling with pleasure.  This, this was what she had wanted to experience again, to be in his arms and have him kiss her.  Now that she knew he had not seriously harmed her brother, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the sensations he always aroused. 

The feel of him, strong, warm and loving was all Dawn wanted in the world.  She didn't fully understand everyt
hing that was happening to her--she only knew that he alone could arouse such an urgent need within her.  He was the source of every comfort, every beautiful thing she could imagine at this moment.

Garrick forgot everything but the sweet, soft l
ips beneath his.  All  caution fled as the hungry desire he had tried to put from his mind sprang free.  He was aware of nothing but an intense driving need for her.  He tightened his arms around her and his kiss deepened in intensity as he explored the moist sweetness of her mouth, craving her kiss as others might crave brandy.  He didn't know why she had come, only that she was here.

Garrick inhale
d of her fragrance.  Violets.  Her sweet yet heady  aroma.  Desire bubbled like a powerful tide, hot and sweet as he continued to kiss her.  He had always kept a cool head in matters of the heart, but whenever she was near he was all but overwhelmed by his emotions.  He knew he should stop this blessed assault but he couldn't.  She was too tempting.  The hot ache of desire coiled within him making him overbold. His hand crept up the velvet covering her rib cage to close over the shapely curve of her breast, seeking an entranceway into her bodice.  Just as he'd supposed, her breasts were softly enticing.

Dawn was stunned to feel warm seeking fingers on he
r naked breast, yet she didn't push his hands away.  She thrilled to his touch, surprised that he could rouse in her such rapturous feelings.  As his fingers stroked and caressed  her, she moaned low in her throat and leaned against him.  It was such an intimate act and yet she felt no shame.  Somehow it didn't seem wrong for Garrick to touch her like this.