Page 93 of From Rakes to Riches

“Didn’t they notify you in the middle of night?” It was past midnight when Bow Street had knocked on his door, though it felt like weeks ago instead of a few days.

“Yes. It was very late.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he abandoned any more questions. Apparently, Stephen wasn’t the only one in the family who’d changed while he’d been away. “Your brother would be comforted to know you had someone with you. Was Stephen pleased by your engagement?”

“Yes.” She found a slight smile. “Although he worried about my dowry. I don’t know why he ever would. My parents left us financially secure.”

Theodore finished his tea and glanced at the waning fire. Margaret’s note had indicated she wanted to ask him a favor, yet he couldn’t imagine what that would be. Especially now learning of her betrothed. He supposed she might ask for help with the customary house visits as friends and family paid their respects or with the burial. Of course, he would oblige. Otherwise, he was at a loss to what she might need.

“The night Stephen was killed he was supposed to be with me, but for some reason he went to Vauxhall instead. I don’t know why. He didn’t send me a note. But it must have been important. He wasn’t in the habit of breaking our plans.”

“No, he wouldn’t have done that without good cause,” Theodore agreed. “Did he give you any indication that something was amiss? Have you looked through his things?”

“I haven’t. Bow Street asked that I do so as soon as possible, but I can’t bear going into his rooms.” She picked at a loose thread on her skirt. “But you knew him like a brother, perhaps you can assist me.”

“Yes, we can start whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “But that’s not why I asked you to come here today, Theo. I need your help with something else.”

“Go on.” He waited, unsure about the determined look in her eyes.

“I want to see the place Stephen was killed.”

She blurted this out so forcefully it took him a moment to process her request.

“No, you don’t.” So, this was the favor? She wanted his help defying propriety in every way imaginable. “You’re in mourning, Margaret. You can’t leave the house or wear anything other than black. I understand how emotional you are at this moment. I’m struggling with my feelings as well, but I can’t bring you to Vauxhall Gardens.”

“Why not?” She huffed, her eyes now sparked with misplaced anger. “I want to see where my brother drew his last breath. I need to see it. I can’t say goodbye to him any other way. When the undertaker delivers his body, he’ll be wrapped in wool and be nothing more than a cold corpse—” She choked on a sob but when he rose from the chair to comfort her, she waved him away.

“Margaret, listen to reason. What if someone saw you there?”

“I’ll keep my eyes down and wear my cloak, the one with the frilly hood. No one can see me for all the ruffles on the trim. And we can go early. Before it gets crowded. Just straight to the spot so I can see it and stand there and say goodbye to my brother.” She struggled with the last words, overcome by emotion, although she managed to get them out.

“You haven’t thought this through. Don’t you suppose people will recognize you as you stand there and mourn your brother? Instead of being discreet, everyone will take notice. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you there.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re asking me to bring you even more heartache.”

“Colin refused, but I thought you would understand.” She searched his face, imploring him to agree. “Please don’t disappoint me, Theo. Won’t you help me make peace with my brother’s death? I need to see where he was taken from me.”

Said in those terms, he struggled with the words to deny her. Yet he couldn’t bring more anguish into her life. If they went about this ill-advised scheme, it needed to be planned carefully.

“There might be a way,” he said after several beats of silence. “I’ve met the manager and can ask if he’ll allow us to enter before Vauxhall opens to the public. That way, no one will see you. But we can’t stay long, Margaret. I’m not willing to take that chance with your reputation.”

“Thank you, Theo.” She sank back against the cushions, visibly relieved. “I knew you would help me.”

6

It was mid-afternoon when Lola headed toward the grandstand to practice in an effort to clear her head. Sleep had come easily last night; exhaustion having won out. But while she rarely remembered her dreams, the images that had tormented her through the night still stayed with her.

In her dream she was walking the rope while Theodore waited on the platform on the other side. He smiled and extended his hand, except when she tried to step forward the rope disappeared. Confused and fearing for her life she’d leapt toward him, but he was too far away and beyond her reach. She fell through the darkness, wildly thrashing at the air around her, while the audience cheered and clapped below. When she’d awoken, her heart thundered in her chest so hard, she’d had to lay quiet for several minutes to calm down.

Now, as she crossed the lawn inside the grandstand, she spied Marco at the top of the platform, crouched low where the line was tied off to the wooden stanchion. Marco played the fiddle and strolled through the grottoes and groves, entertainingpeople with a lively quick step to accompany his songs. He wasn’t a rope walker and had no business atop the platform.

“What are you doing?” She called out before he’d finished descending the ladder. Would nothing return to normal?

“I was checking the knots,” he said, coming toward her.

“I always do that before I practice or perform. You know my routine. Besides, you need to stop worrying over me. You’re going to give yourself gray hair.” She reached up and swept her fingers over the top of his head, the dense curls brushing against her palm. “Now leave. I want to be alone.”

He smirked, but he couldn’t be surprised by her request. She’d made it often enough when they were together. Practicing her craft demanded complete concentration and she wasn’t looking for company or conversation.

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