Royal's Bride (28 page)

Sherry’s hazel gaze went in the same direction and he leaned toward Royal, the friend who knew his heart. “There is always the chance your fair lady will change her mind and the two of you can still be together.”

Royal couldn’t help hoping that would happen, even as he felt guilty for the thought. Lily deserved a husband and family. If he truly loved her, he would leave her alone.

Dillon St. Michaels walked up to the group just then. He took one look at Royal’s solemn expression and sighed. “At least your money problems will be solved.”

That much was true. And since Matilda Caulfield pressed for the wedding to take place just three months hence, he wouldn’t have long to wait.

Other friends arrived in the circle, Lady Annabelle Townsend and her friend, Lady Sabrina Jeffers. They both professed their profound good wishes and best regards for Royal and Jocelyn’s happiness, but both the women’s eyes seemed to hold a trace of pity. Surely they didn’t know the way he felt. Then again, women had sense of such things.

Royal straightened. It wasn’t fair to Jocelyn to harbor these feelings for Lily. It was time he tucked them away. He had duties, obligations. And soon he would have a wife and family to care for. Lily would always remain in his heart, but from now on, only he would know the truth of how he felt.

Royal managed a smile he hoped looked more genuine than those that had come before. “If you ladies
and gentlemen will excuse me, it is time I joined my beautiful future wife.”

All of them looked at him. Annabelle summoned a smile, but no one said a word.

Lily couldn’t sleep. By this late hour, Jocelyn and Royal had announced their engagement. She slid out from beneath the covers, crossed to the door of her flat and descended the stairs to the shop. Creeping quietly to the backroom, she looked in to see Tommy next to Mugs on the pallet she had fashioned for them. Earlier, she had made him the offer of a bath and amazingly he had accepted.

“A bath?” His dark eyes widened. “You mean with real hot water?”

Lily laughed. “Hot and steaming.”

“Blimey, I can’t remember me last hot bath.”

“And I got you some clothes and a new pair of shoes so you would have something clean to put on after.”

He stared up at her with big, awestruck brown eyes that turned slightly misty. “Someday I’ll repay ye, miss, I swear it on Mugs’s life.” The dog whined as if he wasn’t too sure about that, and Lily smiled.

“Someday I’m certain you will.”

Tommy fetched the copper bathing tub off the wall where she kept it and they heated hot water on the tiny stove in the backroom of the shop. She set the clothes on the counter, hoping they would fit, and closed the door, giving him the privacy he needed. Lily smiled as she listened to his off-key singing of some bawdy sailor’s song.

The bath was a lengthy affair, which meant he was
enjoying himself. When he finished, he came out of the room dressed in a pair of brown twill trousers and a muslin shirt that were only a little too big for him.

His grin went from ear to ear. “The clothes is great, miss. Loose enough so’s I can grow some and they’ll still fit.”

“You look very dapper.” She glanced over at Mugs, pleased to see the dog had also got a bath.

Later, as usual, boy and dog had lain down on the pallet—this time between clean sheets.

“Now, ain’t this the life?” Tommy shoved his hands behind his head. “Me and Mugs clean as a whistle, our bellies full and a warm place to sleep. I can’t thank ye enough, miss, for all that ye’ve done.”

“There’s something else I would like to do, Tommy—if you will let me. I spoke to one of my customers, Mrs. Symthe, the grocer’s wife. She said she and her husband are in need of a hardworking, trustworthy young man to handle deliveries for the store.”

He sat up on the pallet. “Trustworthy? Ye don’t mean me?”

“Well, you would be, wouldn’t you? If you had a job, you wouldn’t have to steal. Mr. Smythe would pay you a fair wage and you and Mugs could live in the room above the stable where the delivery cart is kept.”

That was the difficult part, giving up Tommy’s company. Whenever he was there, it helped to keep her mind off Royal and his upcoming marriage.

“Blimey, miss, I ain’t never had a real job. Ye could trust me, fer sure. I wouldn’t steal a thing.”

“And you could still come over,” she added. “We could still have supper together whenever you wished.”

Tommy grinned. “I’d be pleased to take the job. When do I start?”

“Monday morning, if you’re ready. I’ll go with you to see the Smythes, help you get settled in.”

Tommy laughed. “Ain’t it somethin’. Me first real job—and all because I picked some fancy duke’s pocket.”

Lily’s couldn’t help a smile. But thoughts of Royal crept in and her smile slowly faded. “I’ll see you in the morning, Tommy.” She reached down and ruffled the dog’s furry coat. “You and Mugs sleep well.”

He closed his eyes, but the grin remained on his face. Lily smiled as she left the backroom and headed up to her apartment.

Now, hours later in the middle of the night, as she stood in the doorway watching them, she felt a soft tug at her heart. She sighed into the darkness. Tommy and Mugs slept soundly, but for her, sleep would remain elusive. Perhaps in time, she would be able to put her love for Royal behind her, but not tonight.

Not tonight.

Lily ignored the pain in her heart as she turned toward the stairs and headed up to her empty bed.

F
our days had passed since the engagement ball. A cold April wind scoured the air and blew bits of paper into the street. Soon the daffodils would be in bloom, but today an icy chill blew in off the Thames.

A few blocks from the river, inside the big brick building that housed the Hawksworth Munitions Factory, Royal stood next to Benjamin Wyndam, Lord Nightingale, behind a glass window three stories above the main floor of the plant.

Situated in the Tooley Street area not far from the docks, the location had been chosen for the easy distribution of the products being made. Nightingale owned the plant. He chuckled as he watched the two men walking the floor three stories below, moving along the assembly line, one thin and dark-haired, the other sporting a thick, silver mustache.

“Loomis keeps nodding his head,” Night said. “The man who is with him must be good. I think our friend is buying whatever the fellow is selling.”

“He’s saying something to the effect that batty old Mrs. Crowley’s plant is worth far more than she knows. With the Americans on the verge of war, the stock Loomis is buying will soon be worth a fortune.”

“Who is he?”

“Jack Moran calls him Gulliver. He’s a member of
the mob
—a group of actors who do this sort of thing for a living.”

Nightingale shook his head, dislodging a strand of heavy dark hair. “Watching the ease with which a man can be duped gives one pause. I can certainly understand how your father fell victim to this sort of swindle.”

“I guess we’ll find out if Loomis is as gullible as the rest of us.”

Nightingale looked back down at the men, who kept moving along the line, pausing here and there to examine one of the rifles being made, apparently pleased with the quality, which, of course, was excellent. “So far, it would seem he is.”

Though the plant was highly profitable, Night was thinking of selling it. The notion of making weapons just didn’t sit well, he said.

Royal watched the men below. When Loomis and Mrs. Crowley’s solicitor had arrived, no one had approached them. Everyone continued to work, ignoring them as if the solicitor had some sort of permission. Later, when Loomis discovered who the real owner was, Nightingale would simply say that his plant manager hadn’t been working that day. He was sorry, but he knew nothing about any visitors.

Royal watched Preston Loomis leave the plant and wondered if he was convinced, and if so, how much stock he would purchase. Once the money was received
by the man named Gulliver, it would be turned over to Charles Sinclair for distribution.

Then everyone would disappear. Tsaya would vacate the house in Piccadilly and Mrs. Crowley would no longer exist.

In a few more days, all of this would be over.

Royal felt a pang of longing. He wished he could talk to Lily, discuss what was going on. Instead, he followed Nightingale out of the office and the two of them headed downstairs.

It was nearly closing time when Lily heard the bell ring above the door. She set her sewing aside, rose from the chair and walked out of the backroom. She froze at the sight of her cousin standing in the middle of the shop.

She swallowed, for a moment unable to speak. “Jocelyn…I—I am surprised to see you.” That was an understatement. The last time Jo had been there, Lily had been wrapped in Royal’s arms.

Jocelyn twisted the embroidered handkerchief she held in her hand and Lily realized her cousin was as nervous as she.

“I need to speak to you, Lily. There is no one else who will understand. No one but you. Please say you will talk to me.”

Lily didn’t hesitate. If Jo had come to her after all that had happened, it had to be important. “Of course. Why don’t I lock up and we’ll go upstairs. I’ll make us a nice pot of tea.”

Jo just nodded.

Lily closed up quickly, then led Jocelyn up the stairs to her flat and put the teakettle on to boil. While the
water heated, they sat down in the parlor in front of the small, coal-burning hearth.

“What is it, Jo? I can tell you are upset. What can I do to help?”

To Lily’s amazement, Jocelyn’s beautiful violet eyes filled with tears. Since Jo never cried, the impact was startling.

“I’ve done the most foolish thing.” She glanced up, used the handkerchief to dab the moisture from her eyes. “I’ve fallen in love, Lily. Like a green girl in from the country, I have let down my guard and allowed a man to capture my heart.”

Lily’s chest tightened. Had Jo fallen in love with Royal? Was that the reason she had come to Lily?

She swallowed. “Royal?” she asked.

Jo’s head came up. “No, of course not. You are the one who is in love with Royal. It is Christopher. Christopher Barclay.”

Lily’s heart began to pound. She could scarcely believe what her cousin was saying. It wasn’t like Jo to let her emotions rule her. Not like her at all. “How does…how does Christopher feel about you?”

Jocelyn dabbed at her eyes. “That is the problem. Christopher doesn’t…he doesn’t love me.”

“Are you certain?”

She sniffed. “Not entirely. I mean, when we are together, he seems…he seems to care very much, but when I asked him to marry me—”

“You asked Christopher Barclay to marry you? But you are engaged to the duke!”

“I wasn’t at the time. But that is hardly important.”

It seemed incredibly important to Lily.

“The point is, Christopher refused my offer. He said I would regret it later. He said…he said he wouldn’t be one of my
lapdogs
.” She started to cry, and no matter what had happened between them, Lily’s heart went out to her. She knew the pain of loving someone. And it was clear this wasn’t one of Jocelyn’s famous ploys to draw attention. Her cousin’s heart was clearly broken.

Lily hadn’t realized Jo was capable of such deep emotion. It made her begin to see her cousin in a completely different light.

“I don’t know what to do, Lily. I ache to see him again. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. If I had known I would feel this way, I…I…Drats, I don’t know what I would have done. All I know is that I love Christopher and I want him to love me back.” She looked up, tears glittering on her thick dark lashes. “Please, Lily, tell me what to do.”

Lily came out of her chair, crossed the small space between them and sat down next to Jo on the settee. She took hold of her cousin’s hand. “What you have to do, Jo, is tell Christopher the way you feel.”

Jo shook her head. “He won’t believe me. He’ll think I’m just saying the words in order to get my way.”

She had a point. Jo had a history of behaving in whatever manner necessary to get what she wanted. “Then you will have to find a way to prove it. You will have to give Christopher a reason to believe you are truly in love with him.”

“How do I do that?”

Lily squeezed Jo’s hand. “I can’t tell you what to do. You will have to figure that out for yourself.”

“I don’t know, Lily. What I do might not matter. He might not care for me in the least.”

“I suppose that could happen. But if you discover he really doesn’t want you, then he isn’t the man you want, either.”

Jocelyn seemed to mull that over, then her head came up. “You are right. I shall find a way to prove my love for Christopher. If he doesn’t want me…if he doesn’t want me—” She broke off and started to weep. “If he doesn’t want me, I shall simply curl up and die.”

Lily’s heart pinched. She knew exactly the way her cousin felt. She wondered if Jo had begun to understand how Lily felt, as well.

A special meeting had been called. Lily had received the note requesting her attendance just that morning. Standing on the street in front of the Red Rooster Inn, she drew her cloak a little tighter against the wind, opened the door and walked inside.

As she descended the stairs to the taproom and crossed to the room in the back, she could hear the joviality in the air. Molly’s laughter rang out, followed by Uncle Jack’s chuckle of mirth. Charles Sinclair spoke gaily, saying something Royal answered with a smile in his deep familiar voice.

Anticipation made her heart pound. No matter how wrong it was, she ached to see him again.

As she walked through the door into the backroom, every eye turned in her direction.

Uncle Jack beamed. “There’s my girl!” He came to his feet along with the other two men.

Molly shot up beside him. “We did it, luv! We fooled the bloody bastard out of a soddin’ fortune!”

Her eyes widened. “Then it worked? Loomis came up with the money?”

“Indeed he did, my dear,” said Sinclair. “He was so impressed with the factory, he bought twice as much of Mrs. Crowley’s worthless stock as we figured he would. Even after we take our cut, His Grace will get back a very sizable chunk of his father’s money.”

Pure joy bubbled inside her. A laugh came from her throat. Their plan had worked! They had done it! “That is wonderful news! Wonderful news, indeed!” For the first time, she allowed herself to look at Royal.

There was a smile in his golden eyes that seemed meant just for her. It was a sweet, yearning smile that made her knees turn to jelly. Inside her chest, her heart trembled. It wasn’t fair that one particular man could have such an effect on her.

His gaze lingered a moment, then he straightened and his features became remote.

“Everything you did was perfect, Lily. Tsaya was amazing. Molly was magnificent as old Mrs. Crowley, and Jack’s man, Gulliver, delivered the final blow. Loomis bought the whole package. He was so certain Tsaya’s prediction would come true, he invested nearly half his fortune.”

Lily’s eyes misted. “I am so happy for you…Your Grace.”

His gaze found hers. “I owe it all to you, Lily. If you hadn’t introduced me to your uncle, my father never would have gotten the justice he deserved. Thank you.” He turned to the others. “Thank you all.”

“This calls for a celebration,” Jack said. He waved at a barmaid in a mobcap, who ambled over to take their order. “Drinks all round—on me!”

“Not a chance,” Royal said. “Today the bill is mine.”

All of them cheered. The laughter and gaiety continued. It was a great day for everyone.

Everyone but Lily.

Still, she had learned to celebrate the small victories in life and this definitely was one. They drank and ate and talked. Loomis’s bank draft had been cashed as soon as it was received and the money dispersed as agreed. Mrs. Crowley had disappeared and Molly and Dottie Hobbs had taken care of closing up the house in Piccadilly. And there was no way for anyone to locate a solicitor name Stevens.

“It’s over,” Royal said. “We can all go back to our lives and feel that justice has been served.”

“Hear, hear!” said Jack, lifting his mug in a toast. “And we’ll all have coin in our pockets!”

Lily raised her glass with the rest, but her lips trembled. She was no longer welcome at the Caulfields’. And now that the charade was over, she might never see Royal again.

Preston Loomis sat in his favorite chair in front of the fire, a satisfied smile on his face. The
London Times
sat open on his lap. All week he had been scouring the newspapers, reading the articles that dealt with the problems in America.

Things were ratcheting up between the northern states and those in the southern part of the country. Both sides were quietly arming. The states in the North had facto
ries that could eventually be refitted to produce weapons, but the southern lands were mostly agricultural.

Both would need to be prepared, just in case. They needed armaments and as of last week, he was in the armaments business in a very big way.

His smile widened.

Finishing the paper, he started at the sound of his butler’s voice coming from the doorway.

“I am sorry to bother you, sir, but Mr. McGrew is here to see you.”

Bart McGrew lumbered into the study. Preston started to smile, but the tension in Bart’s ugly face put him on alert.

He set the paper aside and rose from his chair. “What is it?”

“I took the message to the Gypsy’s house like ye asked.”

He had sent word to Tsaya, eager for a meeting. “Yes, and what did she say?”

“She weren’t there, boss. She’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“She’s a Gypsy, boss. I guess she packed up and left. Servants is all gone, too. Ye know how them people are.”

He sighed. They were a footloose bunch, and unreliable. He should have expected this sort of behavior and yet he was sorely disappointed.

“There’s more bad news.”

Preston arched a sterling eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“After I left her house, I went by to see that fellow Stevens what works for old lady Crowley. Just to be on the safe side, ye know.”

“That was very good thinking.”

“I went to the address on the card he gave ye. No one there’s ever heard of a Mr. Stevens.”

Loomis’s jaw tightened. “That is not possible.”

McGrew made no reply and his lack of a response said more than words.