Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (7 page)

“Give it here. The express, I mean. Leave the rest on the blotter, and you may go.”

Thatcher did as asked, as always.

Julian broke the wax seal and quickly scanned the letter in his hands. He now demanded twice-weekly expresses from the mills, and he always read them first thing. Worker morale remained high, his agent reported, and production was steady.

Good, all good. After the flare of labor riots earlier that year, he’d been keeping close watch on his mills. Outside efforts to mobilize dissent amongst his workers had so far met with little success. And little wonder—his laborers were the best paid of any textile workers in the region, and he took pains to make them feel secure in their posts. He’d even gone so far as to visit each mill personally and assure the workers no jobs would be lost to the new machines.

It wasn’t such a radical formula to Julian: Invest a measure of good will in the workers, reap benefits in the form of steady production. He’d never understand why the other mill owners didn’t grasp the concept. But then, their loss was his gain. His mills’ reputation for consistent, high-quality production was the source of many lucrative military contracts. Over the course of the past decade, more than half the enlisted men in the British Army had marched into the fray wearing Aegis wool on their backs. When they fell in battle, their wounds were bound with Aegis flannel.

Now, with the wars over, England’s economy was depressed. But the wealthy still had coin to spend. Mr. James Bell made certain the country’s finest mercers, drapers, and upholsterers all carried Aegis cloth in their shops. Meanwhile, Julian Bellamy set the fashions, assuring those shops of a steady trade.

He called Thatcher back in. “Here,” he said, hastily scrawling his signature on the lease before passing it across the desk. “This is done. Tell the Benevolence Society we’ll renew the subscription, and direct the warehouse to send over any surplus bolts of cloth for their use.”

“Yes, sir. And if you please, sir, the tailors are here.”

“Send them in.”

Schwartz and Cobb filed into the office, laden with patterns and samples. With a curt nod of greeting, Julian waved the latest sketches to his desk. He had not lied to Lily on this count, at least. He
was
late for this meeting with his tailors. Unconscionably late. The drawings and samples before him represented the culmination of a year’s preparation and strategy, and his men had teetered on the brink of action for months. The plans wanted only his final approval before a production schedule could be set. But something always held him back. The patterns weren’t right, or the dyes were inferior, or the price of wool too dear … Again and again, he’d found himself delaying, for one reason and another.

Strike that.

He’d been delaying for
one
reason. No other.

Lily.

Her sweet rosemary scent bloomed in his memory, and his thoughts tangled in the lush fringe of her eyelashes. He forced down the tide of emotion in his chest. Not here. He could not allow himself to think of her here. Whatever nocturnal exploits Julian Bellamy enjoyed, Mr. James Bell did not have time for women.

And neither man could afford to contemplate love.

“I told a dreadful lie today,” Lily said, even before the greetings were out. Standing in the entry of the Duke of Morland’s drawing room, she hugged her hostess tightly and confessed, “Several lies, as a matter of fact.”

Amelia pulled back from the embrace. “Really? That seems unlike you.”

“It is.” With a fretful shake of her head, Lily squeezed her friend’s arm in supplication. “I’m here to beg your assistance, Amelia. I have to make those lies the truth. At least some of them.”

“Well, I am all anticipation to hear what this is about. It’s not often I’m recruited into clandestine schemes, you know. But please, do sit down first and take some tea.”

Lily’s racing pulse insisted there wasn’t a moment to waste. But she would win no favors by being rude. And today she needed to ask a very big favor indeed.

Amelia steered her toward a pair of French armchairs situated beneath a tall, lace-draped window. A small table between the two chairs held a tea service and refreshments. In accordance with Amelia’s talent for homemaking, all was the picture of refinement and good taste. When Lily sat down, she found the striped silk upholstery to be so smooth and taut, it took some effort to keep from sliding off the seat.

“What’s brought you to Town?” Lily asked, as her friend poured tea. “I thought you and the duke would remain in Cambridgeshire until the babe is born.”

Amelia nipped a lump of sugar into the teacup and stirred. “Oh, it was Spencer’s wish to return to London. He wanted us closer to specialists and physicians when my time draws near.” She shrugged, extending the cup and saucer to Lily. “Never mind that the man owns England’s largest stud farm and has attended hundreds of equine births. When it comes to his own child, he’s suddenly a bundle of nerves.”

“It only proves how much he adores you.”

Despite the duke’s terse, autocratic nature, Lily had suspected from the first he’d make Amelia a surprisingly tender husband. It would seem she’d been right.

“I am no specialist,” Lily said. “But to my untrained eye, you look the picture of robust health. Not only health, but true contentment.”

From her radiant complexion to her gently rounded belly, Amelia
embodied
domestic bliss. And despite herself, Lily knew a brief moment of envy. Perhaps this was the real reason she’d let her friendships with women fall by the wayside over the years. One by one, they’d all become wives, then mothers. Much as she’d loved Leo and valued her financial independence, Lily found it hard sometimes, not to want what they had, too.

“I do feel well,” Amelia replied modestly, lifting her own teacup. “No sickness anymore. I’m more fortunate than many women in my condition.”

They each sipped their tea.

After they lowered their cups, Lily looked to her friend expectantly, waiting for her cue to begin. A long moment passed. She threw an anxious glance toward the clock, growing increasingly concerned with every swing of the pendulum.

Lily cleared her throat. “Well.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows and gave a benign smile. “Yes?”

Had she forgotten Lily’s confession, or was she simply playing coy? Just when Lily was beginning to wonder whether she needed to start at the beginning again, recognition snapped in Amelia’s eyes.

“Oh, yes!” she said, setting down her teacup to frantically churn the air with her hands. “You told a lie, or several of them, and you desperately need my help.” She slid forward on her chair. “I’m so sorry dear, it’s an effect of breeding, it seems. Strong fingernails, weak memory. Please, tell me what I can do.”

Relieved, Lily said, “It’s Julian. He’s still obsessed with finding Leo’s killers, to the exclusion of all else. He wanders the streets at all hours of the night. He scarcely eats or sleeps. He’s neglected all his friendships, declines every invitation. He’s on course to join Leo in the grave, and I don’t know what to do. Perhaps it’s naïve, but I can’t help thinking … if only I could nudge him out into society, you know? Then perhaps he would return to his old, carefree self.”

Amelia nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”

“This morning, we … argued. In the end, I extracted a promise from him. He agreed to escort me to three social events. I gave him some flummery about wanting to enjoy life again and considering taking a husband, but in truth, I just want to keep Julian out of harm’s way. And I didn’t want to delay, so I told him the first event would be tonight.”

“I see,” said Amelia.

Not yet, she didn’t.

Lily bit her lip. “Here is the lie. I told him you and Spencer were hosting a dinner party.”

“A dinner party? Tonight?” Now Amelia looked to the clock. “Oh, dear. Already half two.”

Lily grabbed her friend’s hands. “I know it’s a tremendous imposition, and here you are in such a delicate state. But believe me—nothing less than the truest fear for Julian’s life would drive me to suggest it. It needn’t be anything too grand, and I’d help you however I could with supplies, kitchen staff …”

“Menus and servants are no problem. I have both in ample supply. But inviting guests, on this short notice …” The corner of Amelia’s mouth twisted. “And then there’s Spencer to contend with. He abhors parties of every sort.”

“Perhaps if you explain to him what’s at stake.”

“Tell him he must host a party to save Julian Bellamy’s hide?” Amelia shook her head. “Forgive me, but I don’t think that argument will work. There’s no love lost between Spencer and Mr. Bellamy.”

Lily’s heart sank. “Is there no way to convince him?”

“Oh, I have my ways of convincing Spencer.” Amelia’s brow made a flirtatious quirk. “But it’s not only him I must worry about, unfortunately.” Her demeanor grew serious, and she drew her chair closer to speak in confidence. “I’m sorry, Lily. I wish I could help you, I truly do. But there are more obstacles here than the late hour and my husband’s reluctance. This isn’t to be repeated, you understand.”

Lily nodded, encouraging her to continue. She focused intently on her friend’s lips. “Slowly, if you please.”

“We’re not alone here in Town. Do you recall last summer, when we were all at Briarbank and my—” Amelia’s head suddenly jerked, as though she were heeding a call from somewhere behind her.

Lily looked over Amelia’s shoulder. A young woman stood in the door. It was Claudia Dumarque, the Duke of Morland’s cousin and ward. Claudia was a rather strange girl—a fractious mix of rebellion and sensitivity—but Lily attributed the awkwardness to her age. She was fifteen, or at least she had been the past summer, when they’d all been together at Amelia’s family home in Gloucestershire. Perhaps the girl had turned sixteen by now. Regardless, she was very young.

And she was pregnant. Hugely so.

Lily’s mouth fell open in shock.

Claudia said something to Amelia as she moved into the room. The loose smocking of her dress billowed and stretched as she walked. Her time of delivery must be fast approaching.

“I didn’t realize you were entertaining a guest,” the girl said, stopping before them. “I was just looking for my …” She paused when her eyes met Lily’s. A self-conscious smile dimpled her cheeks. “Goodness, Lady Lily, I’m not a ghost. I’m only breeding.”

Lily snapped her mouth shut, feeling a blush work up her throat. She’d been staring at the poor girl like something that crawled out from a crack in the plaster.

To Amelia, Claudia said, “You hadn’t told her?”

“Not yet,” Amelia replied. She cast an apologetic glance in Lily’s direction.

At last, Lily recovered herself. “It’s so good to see you, Claudia.” She embraced the girl as best she could around her massive belly, planting a light kiss on her cheek. “I hope you’re well?”

Stupid question. What possible answer could the girl give? Pregnant and unmarried, and sixteen at the most—she could not be feeling entirely well.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“Will you join us for some tea?” Lily gestured toward the chairs.

“No, thank you. I’m on my way to have a rest. I was looking for my book, but I must have left it upstairs. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Lily.” She nodded in lieu of a curtsy and moved to leave.

“One moment,” Amelia told Lily, extending a hand in the universal gesture for
wait
.

Lily resumed her seat as Amelia rushed to her young ward’s side. Together they ascended the grand staircase, Claudia with one hand on the railing and the other arm on Amelia’s shoulder.

Tearing her gaze away, Lily busied herself pouring yet more tea. She didn’t want to be caught gawking again.

After a minute, Amelia dropped into the chair opposite. “So,” she said.

“So …?” Lily prompted.

As Amelia began to tell the tale, her strength of emotion was evident. Unfortunately, it also made her speech difficult to follow. Her story was a rapid stream of words, twisting in several directions as it flowed from beginning to end. Though Lily couldn’t catch everything her friend said, she gathered that Claudia had been seduced by one of her tutors. Her pregnancy was to blame for her strange behavior at Briarbank that summer, it seemed. The poor girl had hidden her condition from everyone.

At last, Amelia’s words slowed. “We
are
in Town to be close to specialists, but not for me. My own pregnancy has gone easily, but Claudia has had episodes of bleeding and pain. At least here we’re closer to the best physicians.”

“My goodness,” Lily said, trying to absorb it all. “What a difficult situation.”

“Claudia is confined to the house. We’ve kept the pregnancy secret for now. It only seems the prudent thing, since we’re still uncertain whether she’ll keep the child.”

Lily briefly wondered whether Amelia referred to the option of fostering the baby with another family, or the possibility of a stillbirth. Both, she supposed. “I thought you said you’re not often recruited into clandestine schemes.”

Amelia shrugged. “It
has
been occurring with more frequency of late. Poor Spencer was going mad with worry in Cambridgeshire, but the stables were always his refuge. Now he’s away from all that, trapped in a London house with two breeding women, one of whom is ill … It’s understandably trying. So you see, a dinner party may not be the best idea.”

“Of course. I see.”

“You’re disappointed.” Amelia laced her hands together and squeezed.

“No, not at all,” Lily lied brightly. “It was only an idea, and a flawed one at that. We’ll do it another time. I’ll just send Julian a note to tell him tonight’s dinner is canceled.”

And hope he doesn’t turn up dead by morning
.

She shut her eyes, and red dots swam behind her eyelids. The same bright crimson shade as his blood.

When Amelia leaned closer and put a comforting hand on her arm, Lily couldn’t help it. The tears welled in her eyes and overflowed. Soon she was sobbing on Amelia’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so worried for him. This morning the costermonger delivered him to our doorstep before dawn. He’d collapsed on the street, and he was bleeding, and for a moment …”