Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (2 page)

She cleared her throat. “It would probably be best if we part here, before entering the house.” She felt him stiffen beside her. Her hand slipped from his arm self-consciously, and she took a small step, putting space between them. “Thank you.”

He paused, as if only then realizing that he was being dismissed. “Of course.” He bowed formally.

Her cheeks heated. “It’s just, well, people might talk—”

“A lady’s reputation is not to be trifled with,” he intoned the accepted wisdom.

“Yes, but I—”

“Ah, there you are, darling.” Dillon, the Marquis of Beaumont, stepped onto the terrace in his perfectly elegant attire. Notwithstanding the slightly
mussed flaxen hair under his bicorne hat, he did not appear the worse for wear from being left alone. Title and a hefty birthright overcame any social inelegance, it seemed. Likewise, they gave Dillon the quality of being a first-rate catch for any young lady.

She noticed that Mr. Redford’s shoulders squared, and he closed his cloak. Was he discomfited to have been found in her company? They had done
nothing
wrong.

Dillon’s cool gaze roved over Redford dismissively and then fixed on her. “I have been wondering where you had taken off to. Everything all right, darling?”

“Fine,” she answered. “I lost my way and—”

“Who is this?” Dillon motioned to the police officer.

Lillian spied Redford’s lips quirk, and she wondered what he found so amusing. Then she realized that Dillon had an oddly affected way of leaning his head back so that he could look down at “the help.”

“This is Mr. Redford, the courageous police officer who—”

“Simply guided a lady back to the house, my lord,” Redford interjected, smoothly, facing away.

She looked from one man to the other. Dillon with his nose up, Redford with his chest out. They were like tomcats stalking each other, each with its fur on end. Ridiculous.

“Dillon, Mr. Redford is being modest. He—”

“—was glad to be of service, my lady,” Redford interrupted mulishly.

“Well, then, my thanks to you, my good man.” Dillon reached for his purse.

“That is not necessary, my lord,” Redford stated, turning away.

“Of course it is,” Dillon replied, tossing a coin into
the air. It clattered onto the stone steps, rolling down to the pebbled path below and flattening with a clank.

Redford stared at the coin a long moment, as if he would rather starve than pick it up.

Lillian looked away, embarrassed by the awkward situation and unable to remedy it. Dillon was oblivious to his boorishness, and nothing she could say would make him fix it. And how could she assuage the police officer’s pride without pricking it further?

Redford straightened. Then, without a word, he nodded to Lillian, strode up the stone steps, and swept into the house, not once looking back.

“Inexcusable manners on that one,” Dillon huffed. “Probably gets away with it most of the time because of his looks.”

“I had not noticed.”

Dillon popped open his snuffbox, took a pinch and sneezed. Wiping a handkerchief across his nose, he drawled, “The man’s manner is indefensible, and I shall have to have a word with our hostess.”

“It is not worth your time, darling,” Lillian stated quickly. “I have forgotten the man already.” She climbed the stairs and locked arms with him. “I would love a glass of champagne….”

He looked down at her, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes filled with concern. “But you don’t like how you feel out of control when you drink….”

She was feeling unsettled and in need of
something
to soothe her nerves. “I am in the mood to be reckless. Will you protect me from myself, darling?”

“I always will, but if I know you, you will take two sips and then beg off.”

“You are probably right. How about a game of casino, then?”

“I would love to play casino!” Russell exclaimed, stepping through the French doors.

Dillon scowled. “You love anything that Lillian loves.”

“She has good taste, what can I say?”

Lillian put on a game face, trying not to appear as worn out as she felt. “The more the merrier, I suppose.”

Russell sent Dillon a look of triumph.

“Lillian is on my team,” Dillon declared. “Find yourself another partner. Come, darling.”

As they stepped inside the French doors, Lillian stole one last look at the gardens. Out there somewhere an owl hid cloistered in darkness, and for a moment Lillian wished so could she.

Thirteen months later

L
illian sat alone at the dining room table in her dishabille, enjoying a cup of cocoa and the
Morning Post.

“Bravo, Mr. Redford,” she whispered to the empty room. There it was, the notice that she had been searching for during the past few months.

Mister Nicholas Redford

Enquiry Agency

15 Girard Square, London

Established 1811

She had followed his illustrious career in the papers with the apt attention of a woman in thrall. Although slightly mortified by her fascination, no one knew of it except her dear friend Fanny, who would
never tell a soul, so she saw little harm. In fact, the man was fodder for her most sensational flights of fancy, and Lillian was not about to give up her favorite escape. There were nights when she excused herself from festivities simply to enjoy the company of his deliciously imagined kisses.

Often the dashing police officer was a crusader saving her from a marauding infidel, or from a ruffian come to steal her away. She schooled herself to recognize that these were girlish fantasies and not in any way related to the lead performer himself. She wondered if she would ever encounter the handsome Mr. Redford again.

The only excuse she could have for seeing him was to retain his services, something she could not quite imagine doing. What excuse could she have to retain an enquiry agent? The possibility of hunting down her natural father flitted through her mind, but she instantly dismissed it. Beyond having caused her mother infinite heartbreak, the dastard had deserted the poor lady when she had been with child. Such an unfeeling blackguard did not deserve to be found.

So Redford would remain a deliciously decadent player in her imaginary fantasies; her own private champion. Looking around to ensure that no one was near, she folded the newspaper along the lines of the advertisement and gently tore along the edge.

“Happy birthday, darling,” Dillon yawned, ambling into the room.

The paper ripped across the wording with a loud tear. “Blast,” she muttered, flipping over the broadsheet and pushing it aside before he could see.

“You woke early for me?” she asked. He was the
picture of a young boy roused from sleep, with his tousled blond hair and air of lethargy. She smiled up at him affectionately. “Now I know that I rank.”

“Of course you do, darling,” he intoned, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “I wanted to be the first to thank you for being born.” He bussed her on the lips, and his clove-scented breath reminded her of an escapade long ago.

“Do you recall our first kiss?”

“How could I forget?” He grinned. “The butler found us in the pantry.”

“How is crotchety Mr. Jenkins?”

“Still scaring the cook and chasing the maids, I’m afraid. But father will not let him go. Says he keeps everyone out of his hair, and he will not give that up.” He sat down beside her. “Speaking of which…” Reaching into his gown pocket, he pulled out a velvet-covered box and set it on the table. “For you.”

“I do not need gifts, Dillon. You have given me so much already.”

“Father insisted.”

She bit her lip, knowing that this gift came with unstated terms. Opening the lid, she gasped. Diamonds glittered like a circle of stars on black velvet. “It is far too indulgent,” she avowed quietly.

Lifting the bracelet, he draped it across her wrist. “Nonsense, you are worth every gem.”

It felt like a manacle, heavy with its demands made with luminous insistence. She yanked her sleeve down, extinguishing the glare. “It is a beautiful gesture, Dillon. But it will not make me change my mind.”

“Do not be so cynical. It is a gift for your birthday.”

“Dillon…”

He shrugged. “So what if we want you to stay when the year is out? It is encouragement only, nothing more.”

“I will not be a puppet dancing on your father’s strings—”

“But you will destroy me, instead.” He crossed his arms, anger infusing his handsome features.

“Stop being dramatic.” Carefully, she placed the dazzling bracelet back in the case and closed it with a snap. “My plans are not subject to debate, by either you or your father.”

“I can give you all the money that you need—”

“The waters might flow between you and your father, but there are expectations involved and you know it.”

“He has been more than reasonable—”

“Which is why I endeavor to deal plainly with you both. I told you from the onset of this arrangement that it is only until my four-and-twentieth birthday.”

“How can you deny him his happiness when he has done so much for you?”

She stood, frustrated. They had been over this ground before. Granted, they only seemed to discuss it on or around her birthday, almost as if Dillon discarded the thought until then, but they
had agreed.
“His efforts were not completely selfless, but more importantly, it is about my happiness, not his. I will stand on my own two feet when I am able and not rely on the generosity of others.”

“It was never a handout between us.” Dillon frowned with injury. “We have been friends since birth, and I would never turn my back on you.”

His accusation hung in the air, but she was not
about to let him make her feel guilty. She moved to the window, staring out at the enclosed rear garden. “Will you be joining us today at Mr. Wigley’s Great Room?”

“I have already seen the Panoramic View of St. Petersburg.”

“Fanny has not. Besides, I, at least, was unable to absorb the entire scene in one viewing. I have examined it twice already and continue to be pleasantly surprised.” She glanced at him, hoping for a truce. “Please join us for my birthday outing.”

“Aren’t you afraid of Kane jumping from behind a tree and stealing you off to marry his dupe?” he scoffed.

“I do not make light of your fears, Dillon,” she stated quietly. “Why must you belittle mine?”

He would not meet her eye; instead he toyed with the velvet package.

She walked toward the door. “I am going to get dressed.”

“Lilly?”

She turned.

Standing, he held the box out to her. “It is a gift freely given.”

Tilting her head, she accepted it. “Thank you.”

“I apologize.” He opened his arms.

She came to him then, encircling his lean waist and resting her cheek on his chest. She welcomed his familiar musk cologne and the support he gave.

He kissed the top of her head. “It was ill done of me to ridicule your situation. Kane is a dastard and you are wise to take care.”

“You know better than any other how he treated me. You were witness to the bruises and the grief.”

“I know. It’s just, well, I have been so happy these
last two years and I never want it to end.” He shrugged, struggling to voice his feelings. “Never in my lifetime have my father and I been so at peace. Never have I felt so…
connected,
to Society, to my peers. With you, I fit, perfectly. We are made to be together. If only you would see that.”

She looked up at his dear face and tried making light. “I simply see things differently from down here.”

“But you are happy with me.”

“I cannot imagine being with any other, but—”

“If only you were not so irrationally set against marriage.”

“Irrationally?” She pushed out of his arms. “Irrationally?”

“Perhaps I used the wrong word. Excessively, maybe.”

“Excessive? My fears are excessive?” She set her hands on her hips. “Tell me, Dillon, how was it that my stepfather Kane had free reign to mistreat my mother?
Because he could.
As her husband, he held every shred of power over her person, her money…her home. She was
nothing
to him, and he treated her as such.
We
were nothing.”

“You cannot think that I would ever—”

“I will never give anyone that power over me. I had to suffer his authority for eleven years, and that was more than enough for a lifetime. And my mother…” Thinking of the frail, despondent lady with lovely golden hair and sad sapphire eyes, her resolve hardened. “It may have been a fever in the end, but she was broken in spirit long before then.”

“Had your grandparents understood earlier—”

“Granted, they only realized after Mother was gone. But realistically, what could they have done
before then? He was the patriarch.” Crossing her arms as if to ward off the memories, she hugged herself. “Had Kane fought them for me, he likely would have won. He is named on my birth records. To the world he is my father, and do not think that he did not hold that over my head from the day I was born.”

“Your grandparents regretted arranging that marriage.”

“Perhaps. But deep down they were still relieved to have given me a name.”

“Would you have preferred it otherwise?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I will never know, will I?”

Quiet befell the room. She sighed. “I do not wish to quarrel with you, Dillon. I just need you to understand that my feelings signify.”

“So we do not marry, and remain as we are.”

“Until my inheritance comes to me.”

“For one more year.”

“Please understand, Dillon. I have dreams, and in them I am other than a man’s mistress. I want to travel the world, see phenomena beyond my imaginings…” In all of her dreams, she did not know exactly where she would end up or what she might be doing, but in all of them she ruled her destiny with a free spirit, unencumbered by any man.

His blue gaze shimmered with vulnerability. “Are you unhappy with your decision to be with me?”

“Never. I might not have liked my choices, but you have been wonderful, Dillon. And I am grateful.”

He reached for her hand and clutched it in a firm grasp. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “Pray Kane knows that as well.”

“He does not touch you now—”

“Not for want of trying. I fear that it is only yours and your father’s influence that truly keeps him at bay. And even then, he is like a hooded serpent lazing in the sun yet ready to strike if the opportunity presents itself.”

Lord Cornelius Kane sank into the tall leather armchair at his club, nursing his brandy and his rotten mood. He had escaped to Brooks’s in the hopes of avoiding his man-of-affairs, who was becoming a dratted nuisance. The bungling idiot did not seem to understand the basic concept of credit. Perhaps it was time to retain a new man-of-affairs. If only he had the blunt to pay for it.

Platter-faced Mr. Pitts ambled across the parlor, wearing breeches that fairly screamed last year’s fashion. Kane turned his shoulder to the man, sending the message that he was not welcome near the square of armchairs by the fire. “They’ll let in anyone these days,” he muttered.

“What’s that you say?” Lord Felton leaned forward, causing the leather to creak noisily.

“Nice day,” Kane pasted on a false smile. The old man was as deaf as a doornail.

“My Sophie always loved the spring,” he sighed.

“Don’t turn maudlin on me, old man. It’ll send me into a panic.”

“Lady Janus?” the ripened gent’s rheumy eyes brightened. “She is yours, isn’t she?”

As always when Lillian was the topic, Kane’s lip curled in distaste. He hated the month of June. It was a reminder of the birth of the she-devil spawn
that had thwarted his best efforts for a reasonable existence. And he deserved a tolerable life as much as the next nobleman, perhaps even more so. He hardly ever skipped on a bill, always paid on a wager and almost never cheated at cards. He was a good man, yet he felt like the angels were sitting upon high, pelting stones at his head every time he was about to land on his feet.

His clever funding scheme was unraveling; Cecilia was making noises about telling her husband about the whole thing (and their affair, but he did not care overmuch about that; Lord Langham should be thanking him for keeping hog-buttocked Cecilia occupied), creditors were knocking at his door, and his favorite valet had off and died on him (at least it saved him from having to pay a month’s wages).

What he could not understand was why everything had to come unstitched at the same time. Sighing, he sipped the brandy slowly, mindful that he could not order another; his bill was outstanding and he could never let anyone suspect that he could not meet his obligations at Brooks’s. It was one thing to let a tailor go unpaid (one could always pretend that the workmanship was shoddy), but a man’s club was his sacred domain. And here he sat in a bastion of recreation, unable to imbibe. His father would be rolling in his grave at seeing his dear son suffering this indignity. Lord Cornelius Kane
economizing:
What was the world coming to?

Emptying his glass, he eyed the room, looking for a lackey to buy him a drink. A young man standing by the far mantel caught his eye. Or perhaps the man seemed to be studying him? The blond buck’s morning coat was beautifully tailored (it had the
look of a Weston cut), his chapeau bras was perfectly seamed, and his Hessian boots were not even scuffed on the heel, they were so new. The man was probably related to someone deep in the pockets.

The man’s eyes locked on Kane’s with intent. Some unknown fire burned in that light blue gaze. The man pushed himself away from the mantel and sauntered over. Kane leaned back, wondering how many drinks he would be able to milk from his quarry.

“Lord Kane?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Russell Mayburn.”

The name rang jarringly in Kane’s ears. Anyone related to the Marquis of Beaumont earned his instant enmity. That Mayburn was Beaumont’s brother made his company insupportable.

“May I?” The man motioned to the chair.

He’d rather have an appointment with his dreaded man-of-affairs. Kane turned sideways in his seat, adding vinegar to his tone. “I would
prefer
that you did not.”

The impudent dandiprat sat anyway.

Kane grunted. Today’s youth were devoid of respect for their elders.

Mayburn motioned to a footman. “Brandy for two and cigars. Your best, mind you.”

Kane frowned to himself. Perhaps one drink with the gent would not kill him. He shifted in his seat, pique rising with the idea that, in fact, bilking this particular dupe of a few drinks would be more satisfying than usual.