The Countess' Lucky Charm (27 page)

“
Criminy
,” she muttered. “It’s him again. Mona told me he’d be coming back.” The pounding started again, vibrating down her back. She rolled her eyes. Now this was an awkward set to. Not unseen, mind you, but still awkward.

“Mrs Dougherty! I know you’re in there. Please let me in, I must talk to you.”

“I must talk to you,” she mimicked beneath her breath.
I don’t think so,
m’lord
. Mona told me about you. I got nothing to say
.

“Open the door. Please.”

The note of desperation in the ‘please’ softened her up a bit. She always was an easy mark for a heartfelt plea. “Only if ye quit
yer
pounding,” she shouted over the din.

The pounding stopped. Silence reigned for a few seconds before she pulled back the latch. The door barely opened a crack before the gentleman barged through, almost setting her back on her bottom.

“Mona Dougherty, I know you know her. Where is she, I must find her.” Temple grabbed the woman by her shoulders, barely restraining himself from giving her a good shake just to loosen her memory a bit. Just in time, he remembered his manners and dropped his hands.

“I told ye last time, she
ain’t
been here for two years.”

Mrs Dougherty was clearly not one to be intimidated. She hauled up her considerable bulk and crossed her arms, looking down her nose at the gentleman standing before her.

“She’s my wife, where is she?”

“It seems to me a gentleman such as
yerself
should keep better tabs on his woman,” she replied. “Anyway, ye wouldn’t be marrying the likes of Mona.”

“Simone. Her name is Simone.”

“Simone, I don’t know a Simone. And Mona?” Mrs Dougherty shook her head. “Mona
ain’t
here.”

Temple
stepped back and took a long hard look at the obese woman. She was immoveable. Not only in her bulk but her mind.

Nonetheless, she lied to him. He could see it in the way she kept glancing away. Very well, she wouldn’t talk. He would just have to wait around and see what he could see. This time he wouldn’t be dissuaded by her refusal to help him.

“I must beg pardon, I seem to have made a mistake.”

He let his scepticism show so the woman would know he saw straight through her. He swept her a bow that left her gape-mouthed before he moved out into the street, pushing through the crowded street until he found a convenient niche from which to watch the workhouse.

Simone was near. He could feel it in his bones.

* * *

“Insistent bugger,” Mrs Dougherty sniped as she entered the kitchen. “As arrogant as the rest of them.”

“Yes. Yes he is,” said a weary Simone, leaning against the one and only table. She had spent the morning scrubbing the kitchen floor. Anything she could do to take her mind off Temple—the more laborious, the better, as if her very sweat could wash away the thoughts of him. “I told you he would come back. Thank you for not giving me away.”

“Well now, Mrs Dougherty always looks after her own.
Yer
like a daughter to me, Mona. As long as ye need to stay here, ye can.” She plopped down on the ladder back chair by the fireplace and began fanning her face vigorously. “Ale, if ye please.”

Simone handed Mrs Dougherty a battered mug filled to the brim. “I’m grateful for your help.”

“What are ye going to do now? He
ain’t
giving up, you know.” The other woman drained the mug and held it up to Simone. “That tasted like I need another one.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Simone again dipped the mug into the ale barrel by the door, wiping off the dripping foam with one sleeve before handing it back. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She sank to her knees in front of the woman and sat back on her heels.

“Aye, it’ll be hard
fer
ye, having lived the life and all. I wager this house
ain’t
so fine anymore. Not that I don’t try to make it welcoming,” Mrs Dougherty said with a self-deprecating grin, knowing full well her job was not to make the workhouse welcoming at all.

It wasn’t meant to be a haven for the idle at the expense of the parish, but simply a temporary solution for those on hard times. Accordingly, the rules were strict, the life grim. No alcohol, no tobacco, no personal possessions.

“I know I can’t stay here forever.” Simone pulled off the chain and medallion from around her neck. “What do you know of this? Temple—
er
, Lord
Leavenby
thought this would be a clue for me.” She handed it over.

“What?” The older woman squinted at it. “I suppose it could be a clue,” she said slowly as she handed it back. “Ye had it on ye the day ye came to me. I had a mind to sell it but ye were such a sweet little thing, I didn’t have the heart. I kept it for ye until I thought ye old enough to look after it
yerself
.”

Simone nodded. She well understood how lucky she had been to have been taken in under Mrs Dougherty’s wing.
 

“Any time
yer
ready to talk, I’m ready to listen. Ye been quiet since you came back, Mona.
Yer
hurting real bad but maybe it’s time to let it out.”

“I can’t go back to him, I simply can’t. I don’t belong in his world.” She clasped her hands in front of her and rested her chin on her knuckles. As much as she denied it, the heavy ring on her left hand was evidence she had been part of that world. “But I’ve been thinking.”

“Aye, that ye have, I’ve seen it on
yer
face.” The woman leaned over and patted Simone on the hand. “What have ye decided?”

“I’m going to go back to the street life. I want to open my own ale house and I need money to do it. I’m still the best there is at picking pockets. I know if I put my mind to it I can get what I need.”

And if I can’t, I shall retrieve the package I hid and see what it is.
Temple
had thought it valuable so it must contain something of value she could use. He hadn’t asked about it after their arrival in London so it would be safe to assume he no longer wanted it—would it not?

 
“And then?”

Simone patted the medallion. “Then I’ll hire a Bow Street Runner to find out what this means. Maybe it can tell me where I’m from.”

“
Yer
sure?
Ain’t
it a bit risky? Stealing money to open an ale house? What if
yer
fancy lord finds out? As much as ye ran away,
yer
still the wife of a peer.”

“Well, he won’t know, will he?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for ye to fight for him? To be his wife? Ye can do it,
yer
a bright little thing.”

“No.” Aghast, Simone shook her head. “I love him, Mrs Dougherty. I love him too much to be a constant embarrassment to him. After a lifetime of running, he finally has what he wants. A home, a position, a hopeful future. He deserves someone better than me.”
Someone like the woman I saw with him the night of the ball.

Mrs Dougherty gave her a searching look. “
Yer
not giving yourself enough credit. But I can see
ye’ve
made up
yer
mind.” She nodded. “
Yer
welcome to stay here as long as ye like, then. Just be careful.”

“Thank you, Mrs Dougherty, I will be. I promise I’ll help you here in any way I can. If you don’t mind, I need a little time to get back on my feet. I’m tired, so very, very tired.” Fatigue haunted her every waking moment, a fatigue that pierced her very bones, a fatigue she couldn’t shake.

“Of course, my dear, ye have all the time ye need. Just having ye back is help enough. I missed ye, ye know. Ye and
yer
twinkling blue eyes.”

“’Like the blue skies of your country childhood,’” quoted Simone. “Whenever you said that to me, it always made me feel like I came from the country where the air was always fresh and the sun always shining.”

“One day I have a mind to go back there. London’s nice and all but it can be a dreary place, what with the smoke and stench.”

“Maybe one day you will,” agreed Simone. She vowed then and there she would help Mrs Dougherty return to her country roots. It was the least she could do for the woman who had been kindly to Simone in her own way.

* * *

Temple
buried his chin in his collar against the chill evening air, unwilling to admit the day had been a fruitless one. Women of all sizes and shapes had passed through his view but none had been the one he sought.

Daylight had faded but not the bustle on Bishopsgate Street. The lamp lighter had been by long ago and the gathering darkness had been thwarted by the welcoming glimmer of street lanterns. Couples strolled by arm in arm, carts and wagons clattered over the cobblestones and watchmen passed by periodically, bellowing out the hour.

“Eleven o’clock,” he muttered, needing a warm fire and a stiff drink. Simone wouldn’t be out and about now, would she? Perhaps he should call it a day and return at first light tomorrow. His stomach rumbled as if in agreement. He stamped his feet and slapped his stiff hands together, trying to get some feeling in them. Bloody hell, but he had had enough for one day.

He moved out from his niche, joining the flow of humanity. He had left his horse at the public mews a street or two away so didn’t have far to go. He adjusted his hat and jammed his hands in his pockets, using his arms as a shield against the bodies jostling around him.

“Well, if it isn’t Lord Wellington.”

His skin crawled at the familiar voice—the voice that had driven him away from London, the voice that he had hoped never to hear again.

The voice of Peter Mortimer-Rae.

Pretending not to hear, he hastened his pace, reaching his intended street in a matter of seconds. He turned onto it and began to jog the last few yards toward the relative safety of the stable.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, slowing him. “What’s your hurry?”

He tried to pull away but a second hand joined the first, only this one grabbed his arm, twisting it around behind him. Pain shot through his elbow.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong man.” He didn’t turn around, didn’t want to see the hated cold grey eyes.

“Oh, that could be right, then couldn’t it, my lord. I heard you’re now the Earl of Leavenby. That’s right, that would make you Lord Leavenby, not Lord Wellington. My mistake.”

The sneering tone set up waves of loathing. Peter Mortimer-Rae, the man who had sucked a very vulnerable and very naïve Temple Wellington onto the road to ruin.

“What do you want?” Temple demanded. “I have nothing to say to you.” He stood stock still to avoid any pull on the elbow twisted back at an unnatural angle.

“Is that how you speak to old friends, my lord?”

“I do not consider you a friend.” He deliberately made his voice cold.

“Really.” The other man clicked his tongue. “And here I thought we had a good friendship. I’m disappointed in you, my lord.”

“Release me.” Temple ordered, knowing full well he wouldn’t be but hoping that if he stalled along enough, a watchman might pass by and come to his aid.

“You think you can order me about like the lackeys that run your estate and your house? I think not.” The man pulled on Temple’s arm, the movement sending spears of pain up into his shoulder.

“The lackeys that run my house are good, decent people. Unlike yourself.”

“Oh, now you seek to insult me? Really, my lord Leavenby, time has changed you.” Mortimer-Rae leaned into him to whisper in his ear. “Not for the better, I might add.”

“I suppose that would be a matter of opinion.”

“Actually, your opinion doesn’t really matter to me.” Temple felt the other man shrug. “What matters to me is the bit of unfinished business we have between us.”

“We have no business together. You and I are through.”

“Is that so? I wager others would not be so quick to agree with you. Come, we’ve wasted enough time standing here in idle chit chat. I should like proper compensation for the package you stole from me.”

Pain shot up Temple’s arm again as his companion manoeuvred him into a dark alley beside the mews. Several shadows moved to surround him, familiar shadows, the shadows of Mortimer-Rae’s henchmen.

The unmistakable prickle of fear raced over Temple’s skull and he began to struggle, ignoring the throbbing in his arm.

“I don’t have it,” he snarled, impotent rage burning in his breast. “Unhand me.”

He lashed back with one booted foot, colliding heavily with what he surmised to be a shin. He took grim satisfaction in the corresponding grunt of pain but his satisfaction was short-lived.

An explosion of stars ricocheted before his eyes and all went dark.

Chapter Twenty-One

 
“
Tedham
?” The querulous voice resounded through the grand entrance hall of the Leavenby townhouse as Lady Frederica picked her way down the grand staircase. “Have you word of my son?”