Ambersley (Lords of London) (24 page)

“
How did I come to be here?” she asked softly.

“
I was hoping you would tell me,” Harry said. “When I arrived, you were out cold and Derek was in the very devil of a fury. Rory was shocked nearly speechless by your secret.”

She turned her head away. “The duke thought—”

“
I know what he thought. Cushing told me the Vaughans had accused you.”

“
Is that why you came?”

“
Cushing said you needed my help. If I’d known you were determined to continue your masquerade as Johnny, I would have come even quicker. Derek might have killed you.” Harry leaned back. “Good God, he still doesn’t know the whole truth.”

Her pulse skipped at this words. “You know about...?”

“
Cushing revealed everything to me.”

“
He’ll have told the duke by now,” she said listlessly.

“
Cushing’s here.” Harry rose. “We brought you to my mother’s home in Bath. Cushing swore he wouldn’t fail you again. Damn. Derek must still think you’re the old duke’s bast—, er, I mean…”

She raised beseeching eyes to him. “You and Cushing are the only ones who know. Please don’t tell anyone. I’ll go away. I don’t want any inheritance; let the duke keep the money. I’ve already hurt him once with my lies. If he learns the truth, he’ll only hate me more than he already does.”

Harry watched her argue his cousin’s defense. Her delicate cheeks were wan against the pillow and the overstuffed bed made her appear small and helpless. He recalled so distinctly the child Johnny had been—small but boisterous, a charming gamin with a ready smile and quick wit. Instead, here lay a young lady with pale cheeks and large aqua eyes.

“
Nonsense,” Harry assured her. “Derek will want to know the truth. Now get some rest, and after awhile, I’ll bring you up some breakfast.” He patted her hand, but she turned away. Ill at ease, he left her to her sleep.

For two days, Harry and his mother hovered solicitously over Johnny. Harry tempted her with rich food and offered to play backgammon or read to her. Mrs. Coatsworth talked of taking measurements for the dressmaker as soon as Johnny was well enough. Johnny remained feverish, picking at her food and begging to be left to her rest. Instead of showing vast improvement as the barber had promised when he helped Harry load her in the coach for the trip to Bath, her health seemed to be declining.

On the third day, Mrs. Coatsworth asked her physician to have a look at the girl. His diagnosis was mixed. “There seem to be few physical complications caused by the large cut along her right side.”

Harry leveled the man with a gaze meant to quell any curiosity.

The physician cleared his throat. “She appears to be out of humor. There’s a deep gloom hanging over her, and if she won’t eat, there’s very little we can do.”

While his mother showed the physician to the door, Harry leaned against the mantle, rubbing fatigue from his eyes. There had to be a simple way to help Johnny.

“
You’re worried about her, aren’t you, dear?”

“
I’ve been trying to see this situation through her eyes.” He began to pace. “There she was, living a happy life with Tom and Martha. Even after she remembered who she was, she didn’t tell anyone. Cushing claims she swore him to secrecy. Now, we’ve taken her away from everything she’s ever known and she cannot return to that life. At seventeen years old she must become a new person. But worst of all, she’s convinced Derek—a man she’s idolized since she was a small child—hates her and will never forgive her.”

His mother sank into a chair. “I’d have thought she’d be glad to have this masquerade behind her, but she must be frightened to death of her future.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. “She’s frightened to death of Derek. And Derek—he needs to know we’ve found the Vaughan heiress."

~

Alone in his study, his mood black, Derek poured another brandy. The Hall was silent; The servants, tired of confronting his tyrannical behavior over the past four days, now avoided him as if were diseased. No doubt conjecture thrived below-stairs, but he no longer cared.

After two days without a sign of Johnny, Paget had braved Derek’s temper to ask what fate had befallen the boy.

Derek’s answer had been succinct. “The boy is no more.”

Paget had cleared his throat. “If I could clarify, my lord—”

Derek’s wrath had exploded afresh. “That’s all you’re going to get, Paget. I don’t want the boy’s name mentioned around here ever again. Now, get out!”

Staring into the flames, he jabbed at the fire with the long-handled poker. He’d tried to curb his emotions, but his anger festered. Anger at his selfish stepmother, vindictive brother, weak-willed sister, and at himself. This incident had proven his own shortcomings and now he couldn’t lay hands on the real instigator.

“
My dear, little friend, Johnny,” he whispered to the crackling sparks. “Damn your lying soul.” The curse did nothing to vent his frustration. He slumped in his chair. If only he could get his hands around the girl’s throat and choke... some sort of explanation from her.

The whole scandalous episode had destroyed his illusions of the successful life he’d built. He’d worked hard these past years to provide Olivia and Curtis with everything they could need, and they had repaid him with lies. They’d pushed him to the point of murder, and Derek was disgusted with himself. And Harry—that betrayal didn’t bear scrutiny.

But for the girl, he had every right to be infuriated with her lies. He should be glad to be rid of her—she was bound to cause trouble. He leaned back and rubbed his gritty eyes, wishing he could forget the happy sound of Johnny’s footsteps skipping through the Hall, Johnny’s voice ringing out with delighted laughter. Realizing where his thoughts strayed, his fury turned inward, because he shouldn’t be missing the boy—the girl—whatever.

Why?
Why had she carried out this charade for years? He thought he’d befriended a buoyant lad, a bastard like himself. Instead, that bastard girl had masqueraded as a boy, much the same way he’d been masquerading as a duke. Derek reviewed the primary lesson about women—never trust them. Given the opportunity, they’d cut out your heart.

“
May she never return,” he muttered. He drained his glass and wished he could drown his memories of the past nine years.

In the kitchen, Stokes interrupted Paget’s momentary peace over a cup of tea. “Mr. Harry’s coach is pulling up the drive.”

Paget responded with alacrity and was able to meet their guest as he reached the front door. “Good day, Mr. Harry, sir.”

“
Good day, Paget.” Harry shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed it with his hat to the retainer. “Awfully quiet here. Where’s the family?”

“
Lady Vaughan and her children have gone to London, sir.”

“
Indeed?” Harry caught the butler’s eye, and by mutual consent, they let the topic go. “And where might I find my cousin?”

“
His Grace is in his study, sir. Shall I announce you?”

“
No, for I don’t want him to have the chance to avoid me.” Delaying the inevitable, he checked his neck cloth in the mirror and straightened his cuffs. “Is he in a rare temper?”

“
If I might say so, sir, I have seen His Grace in better spirits than he’s been the last few days. Perhaps your visit will improve his mood.”

Harry choked out a laugh. “I wish I thought so.” With that, he braved his cousin’s sanctuary.

“
Go away,” Derek said bitterly without turning in his chair.

Harry responded in a light tone. “Come now, Derek, you might acknowledge my presence before you throw me out.”

Derek looked around the chair back, a grimace his only welcome. He rose but did not so much as offer his hand. “I wondered when I would see you again. Come, join me for a drink.” He crossed to the sideboard and looked at its contents. “I seem to be out of brandy, but there’s some cognac here.”

“
Thank you, maybe a glass of wine to take the chill from the road.” Accepting the glass Derek brought him, he studied his cousin.
Not good.
Derek’s eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard. His hair, usually neatly combed, looked rumpled and unwashed. Derek looked as if he’d lost his best friend and, Harry supposed, one could say he had.

Derek sank back into his chair, Harry into its partner. They sat in brooding silence, each unwilling to open the subject that occupied both their minds. Harry noted ashes piled deep beneath the grate. So, Derek had been here all night. Seeking further details, he spied the glint of broken glass on the floor, a telltale spot on the wall where an object had impacted and shattered. He stole another glance at his cousin.

“
If you clench that wineglass any harder, you’ll break it, too.”

Derek started, but his grip on the glass eased. “And to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit, cousin?” He relaxed in his chair and crossed his ankles before the fire. Harry knew the casual demeanor meant nothing. Derek was still simmering with rage from having his life upended. He mimicked his cousin’s pose, stretching his boots toward the flames.

Setting his wine aside, Harry steepled his fingers. “I came to hear your account of what happened here the other morning.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do with her?”

Harry baited him by feigning surprise at the question. “Why, I took your advice and did as I damn well pleased.”

In a flash Derek shot out of his chair and dragged Harry out of his by the collar. His fist drawn back, he visibly struggled to control his reaction. Slowly, he released his cousin.

Harry straightened his neck cloth. “She’s in Bath with Mother, recovering from her wound.” He retrieved the two broken pieces of Derek’s wine glass from the rug and threw them into the fire. He weighed his cousin’s temperament, then crossed to the sideboard to replace his drink. From a safe distance, he said, “Rather a shock to learn Johnny’s a girl, wasn’t it.”

“
I don’t want to discuss it,” Derek growled.

Harry handed him his drink and resumed his chair. “That’s going to be most awkward, because she’s precisely what I’ve come to discuss. You can’t avoid it, Derek. Hasn’t it occurred to you who she is?”

“
What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“
Think about it. When she was a boy, we all noticed her resemblance to Cyril Vaughan. We thought Johnny was his bastard son come to live with the Bendickses around the time of the hall fire. But if Johnny is a little
girl
who resembles Cyril Vaughan and appears at the Bendickses after the fire, doesn’t that suggest something to you?”

Derek’s expression grew thunderous. “Is that little bitch claiming to be Amber Vaughan? Is that her game? What did she tell you?”

“
Very little. Cushing came to me the other night to tell me Johnny’s secret.” Harry recounted what he’d learned of Johnny’s past, her amnesia, how Cushing had learned her identity and his deathbed promise to Tom to look after her.

Listening through it all, Derek stared into the fire, transfixed by this stunning turn of events. For years, he’d accepted that Amber Vaughan was dead. Even in his fury these past days, he’d been convinced Johnny was no more than the late duke’s love child. Instead of toiling her childhood away, she should have had an army of servants waiting upon her. He could return her money—even if it crippled him financially, he would do that immediately—but there was no way to make amends for the years she’d lost nor the indignities she’d suffered.

Finally, he sat up and met Harry’s eyes. “How long has she known?”

“
Her memory came back to her the day she pulled you from the stable fire.”

Derek tensed, recalling that day with vivid clarity. She’d lived in his care for three years knowing he’d had her declared dead so he could refurbish Ambersley Hall with her fortune. Why would an heiress never have given him any sign she was anything more than a gardener’s apprentice? What had she hoped to achieve?

Despite his doubts, the next step was clear. “We must lay this information before Minton and see what is to be done.”

“
Agreed.” Harry replied. “But first, I need your help. I’m worried about Johnny. The wound is healing, but she remains feverish. Mother’s physician thinks she may continue to decline.”