Her Beguiling Butler (13 page)

Finnley sat back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I often wonder if Ranford died of natural causes. Do you?”

Grimes examined him with doleful eyes. “No. I have no reason to ask that.”

“But two people died here.”

“A lot of people die, Finnley.”

“In such a short space of time in one house?”

“The only thing I noticed was Norden talking to himself the last few days of his life.”

“Oh, about what?”

“A dish,” Grimes said.

Finnley arched both brows. “A dish?”

“’It shouldn’t be there,’ he kept saying. I asked him about it and he told me it was none of my business.”

“Odd. Did Norden mutter to himself a lot?”

“No. Not until just before he died.”

“I see,” said Finnley. “And only about this dish?”

“Yes.”

The chimes of Finnley’s pocket watch struck the quarter hour.

“Quarter to eleven,” Grimes said when it had rung eleven times and then three short pings. “Quite a watch you’ve got there. Where’d you get it?”

Finnley put a hand over his waistcoat pocket where he kept the timepiece. “A family heirloom, it was.”

“A nice one. Good thing you have a fob on it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to steal it.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

Grimes picked up his paper. “Never know who’d take it into his head to snitch it.”

“Do you think there are robbers about? In this neighborhood?”

The footman shoved to his feet. “You never know about the desires of people, do you, Mr. Finnley? One day they’re hungering for a good place to lay their heads and the next, they’re after your mother’s jewelry.”

“What are you after, Grimes?” Finnley asked it with good nature and a smile.

“Me, sir?” Grimes scratched his head. “Why a roof over my head and a good woman to cook for me. And no worries of a Bow Street Runner coming after me.”

“Did you worry about that?”

“Once upon a time, I did. But I’ve changed. For the better, I can say.”

Sounds of people shouting, some crying, rose outside in the street.

Grimes frowned at the noise. “What’s that, do you think?”

Finnley cocked an ear, perplexed.

The chorus grew to a ruckus.

“Let’s go outside and see.”

As Finnley passed into the front hall with Grimes right behind him, Preston ran down the stairs. Sweeting and the scullery maid emerged from the stairs, both in their mobcaps, nightgowns and robes, eyes wide with concern.

“What’s happening?” Preston asked him and Grimes.

Mrs. Gordon appeared, wide eyed. “Napoleon’s not up from St. Helena, is he?”

Dora, the scullery maid, began to whine. “Oh, no. Not again!”

“Be calm.” Finnley raised his hands. “I’ll find out. I’m certain it’s not Napoleon.”

“Why not? Could be, sir,” the scullery maid insisted. “He’s like the devil. Pops up anywhere ‘e looks.”

“No, not him. Can’t be. He’s thousands of miles away. Stay here. Mrs. Gordon, why not pour a spot of brandy for everyone? Grimes and I left a bottle on the table in the parlor.”

“Finnley?” Alicia called to him from the top of the stairs. In the faint candlelight, she looked like an angel. She wore a blood red brocade robe, her hand at her throat in alarm, her long blonde hair shining over her shoulders. “What’s the matter? Why is a crowd in the street?”

“I’ll see to it, my lady. Not to worry. We are locked up. Grimes, come with me. We’ll see to the ruckus and return with word.”

He took the steps down at a jog. From next door emerged the butler and two of their footmen.

“Ho, there! Finnley, I say.” Camden the Stanleys’ butler hailed him. He was tying a sash of his robe around his belly. His sparse white hair stood up at all ends. “What do you think?”

No sooner had he asked the question than a servant from across the square whom Finnley recognized came upon them. He waved a single broadsheet.

“An announcement,” he said to them. “Printed. From Windsor Castle, it is. Dear god. Old George is dead! George is dead?”

Finnley thought the man must be mad. “Let me see that.”

“It’s not from Windsor. But the ink’s wet, Camden.” Finnley looked at the butler. “Who gave you this?”

“A rider running all over town, throwing these about, he is. The king is dead. Long live the new king!”

Finnley stared at him. No time like the present to pursue a few issues. “I say, Camden, may I have a word?”

The man nodded. “Certainly.”

“Let me see that,” Grimes stepped near and snatched the paper from Finnley’s hand.

Finnley glared at him. Rude bugger.

“What do you want to discuss, Finnley?” Camden asked him while he craned his neck to watch the crowd leave the Crescent.

With Grimes standing there, Finnley could not talk freely. “I’ll call tomorrow morning, if I might.”

“Of course. Well, good evening. Much to do. See you in the morning. Eleven, shall we say?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I can’t believe it.” Grimes stood, stiff as a board in shock. “But I doubt it’s a joke.”

Church bells began to chime.

“Must be true,” Finnley said, dazed himself.

“And it’s snowing,” Grimes said without emotion, one palm up in air to catch the flakes.

“He’s been king so long, no one thought he could ever die,” Finnley said and wiped weariness from his brow. He had a throbbing headache now, the church bells clanging in his head. He was utterly fatigued again and abnormally so.

Another set of bells began to ring. The chimes came from another corner of London.

And a third began to gong. The chorus was now a racket.

“Finnley?”

He turned to see Alicia next to him, her hand on his arm.

“Is it true?” she asked him, her large eyes luminous in the flickering lamplight.

“You should not be out here in the cold, my lady.”

She stood in her robe and slippers and he killed the urge to wrap his arm around her and hold her close.

“King George is dead. I would say it must be so else all the bells would not ring. Come inside.” He extended a hand and watched her slowly pick her way across the snowy path back to the steps up to her front door.

More than an hour later after all staff had taken to their beds, Finnley donned his banyan and joined her in her bedroom. One look and she rushed into his arms.

“I cannot believe it. He was more legend than man. And now he’s gone. What will we do with his scoundrel son for our king?”

Finnley dropped a kiss to her forehead and stroked her hair down her back. “Parliament will keep him in check. Not to worry.”

“There will be services of remembrance for old George, don’t you think? We must go in the morning.”

He hated to refuse her but she must realize he had to demur.

“Come with me tomorrow, Finnley. We’ll go to services where no one knows us. I want to go with you.”

“Alicia, please.” Here was another indicator that he had to find the culprit in this house soon so that he could reveal exactly who he was and love this woman as he should.

She frowned. “I’ll go to a church in the Seven Dials if I must.”

He barked in laughter. “Darling, I doubt there is one in that part of town.”

She scoffed. “Thieves and cutthroats need to go to church. There should be one there.”

“I will tell Connor to take you. You can go with your Aunt Hortense.”

She pouted. “You are a stubborn man not to come with me.”

“Where you are concerned in this matter, yes. I’ll have no one speak against you.”

She fiddled with the tassel on his robe. “Soon everyone will know I keep company with my butler.”

He sighed.
If they don’t already.
Gordon suspected. Sweeting knew. He was very certain Grimes knew. At the least.

She cupped his cheek, a plea in her purple eyes. “You do want me, don’t you, Finnley? For longer than a fleeting affair?”

Aching with want, he clamped his arms around her. “I want more than this, Alicia. More than the two of us hiding from the world. You deserve more. You deserve a man who can claim you as his own in name and deed.”

“Are you not that man?” she asked, her words forlorn.

“I am.”
Just not yet.

“Then why not come with me tomorrow? Begin the revelation of what we are to each other? Are you not eager to begin our happiness?”

“I am.”
Happiness with a woman I love is a rare prize I never thought to gain.

“Prove it to me.” She was in earnest.

He froze in fear. “How can I do that?”

“Monday morning, let us acquire a license to be married.”

Shock ran through him. This one more visceral than losing his old and infirm king. That was politic. This was personal. And he had no solutions to the mysteries here. “I—I cannot do that.”

She stepped backward from his arms. “Why not?”

“Because I—“
I am not who I say I am. Any license I took would bear a false name.
“I would not—“

“Continue.”

“I would not have money for a license.”

She eyed him. The look chilled him as no other. “Won’t you allow me to pay for it?”

“No.”

She considered her hands. “I see.”

“Alicia, darling, if you’ll give me time—“

“Will time bring you money? Money that is not mine? Money you will freely use for a marriage license?”

Foiled.
“Yes.”

She pursed her lips. A ray of skepticism shone in her eyes. “How will you acquire this money which will save your pride?”

I will give up my position with the Home Office and the Marine force. Resume my rightful station and my title and estates. Much as I hated the very idea, the prospect with you by my side seems…positive. Possible for one who shirked his duty for years.

She snorted, looked away and squeezed her eyes shut. “I understand your inability to answer.”

“You can’t.”

She faced him. “How much time do you need?”

He was losing her. She seemed to drift from him, as if she became a ghost of herself.

He stepped forward. Despair ruled him, made him rash. “A few days.”

“Wednesday, then?” Her tone was a taunt.

He took her cold hands. He was desperate, irrational. “Yes, Wednesday.”

“I don’t believe you.” She slipped away.

“Wednesday. That is a promise.”

She arched a brow. “And tomorrow morning?”

“What about it?”

“You’ll come with me to church?”

He stared at her. He wouldn’t ruin her. “No. I want to save you embarrassment.”
Give me time and I’ll give you happiness.

“I can bear the social censure. Why can’t you?”

“Because you needn’t be censured.”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “Because you will not get a license or marry me or keep me.”

“No!”

“I think you must leave.” She walked to the far window, her lips set in harsh lines.

“Alicia, please. Give me until Wednesday.”

The chimes on his pocket watch rang the midnight hour. Afraid Grimes was too interested in it, afraid he’d steal it from him, Finnley had slipped it into his robe pocket.

Alicia stood, elegant, serene and cold. “It seems your time is up, Mr. Finnley. Midnight. The witching hour. You may leave. Be certain the front door is locked before you go to your rooms.”

Alicia climbed up into her town coach the next morning at ten. She’d not taken Finnley’s hand to help her step up but chosen Connor’s instead. Shocked by that, her coachman had shot a glance at Finnley but closed the door on her with speed.

So much for Finnley’s duties. She would cut them. She would dismiss him.

Her lips quivered and she pressed two gloved fingers to her mouth. She would not cry. Would not show any emotion.

He was leaving her. She’d make certain of it before she made a greater fool of herself.

She stared out the window as Connor made his way to her aunt’s house in Portman Square. Despite the freezing weather, many walked out in the paths. Most men wore black armbands and women wore their black weeds. Alicia had ordered Preston to bring out her widow’s woolens, heavy cape and cottage bonnet to match. She hated them all, but donned them as her duty.

My duty
.

She shook her head. So much of her life had been devoted to duty. At the ripe age of twenty-four, she had honored her father by marrying according to his wishes. She had tolerated the man who was her spouse, unfaithful as he was, profligate as he had been.

Now?

With or without the new barony, she would do for herself. She would keep this promise to herself. Retire to the Ranford country house, cottage as it was. She‘d open it and take Sweeting, Mabel, Preston and Grimes. Those were all she needed. Perhaps Connor if she chose to have horses.

Henceforth, I wish to be my own person, not prized for my title or wealth or my face or figure.

I thought I’d found a man who could appreciate that…but I was wrong. And if I am granted this barony of Bentham, I will simply keep it for myself. Unto myself.

“Oh, my dear, you are so disheartened.” Hortense took a look at Alicia’s face and put a hand to hers after she’d settled into Alicia’s carriage. “The king suffered too much. We must not mourn excessively. He had a good life. A good wife. And far, far too many children.”

That brought a smile to Alicia’s lips. “I quite agree, aunt.”

“Still.” Aunt Hortense smoothed her black skirts. “That’s not what bothers you, is it?”

Alicia shook her head. “You know me well.”

“Wish to discuss the matter?”

“I will dismiss him.”

Her aunt inhaled mightily. “I will not pretend I am not pleased. Such focus on an unsuitable person is foolhardy. But that’s what lu— “

She turned her face toward her aunt. “That’s what love does to a woman?”

“Ah, well. Love was not the word I had intended.”

Alicia nodded. “No, of course not.”

“He was no match for you, my dear girl.”

She gazed at the bright sun reflected off the sheets of brilliant snow. “You’re right. I thought he was more. My instincts about men have always served me well. But not in this case.”