Page 40 of Never a Duke
“And?”
Walden swiped an idle finger across the windowsill. “All those years ago, Jane and I arranged a discreet exit from Newgate for you. The proper parties were in readiness, the way was clear. You refused to go.”
“I was a boy. Boys are foolish.” And Walden never referred to the circumstances under which he and Ned had met.
“You were loyal,” Walden said, “and fierce, and principled, in your odoriferous, foul-mouthed way. You faced transportation with all the horrors attendant thereto, and I arranged a reprieve for you. You did not take that reprieve, and Jane has told me your reasoning.”
Blast dear Jane to perdition.“What has this to do with my needing to get to work?” Ned did not want to sit while the duke prowled the room, and he couldn’t seem to find anywhere to stand. He settled for a place by the hearth, though on such a pleasant day, the fire had not been lit.
“Ned, you refused to abandon me. You watched my hanging because you felt it unfair for me to face death alone. You had more conviction and principle as a boy than the entire English system of justice has amassed in centuries of trying.”
The worst part of those memories was the sound of the platform dropping. The morning had been pretty as only springtime can be, sunny and peaceful, birds pecking at the dirt and chirping a greeting to the new day. By virtue of great expense, Walden had arranged for his execution to be private.
“You were innocent,” Ned said, around an ache in his throat. “You were an innocent man, and what happened to you was wrong.”
Walden prowled away from the window and stood two feet from Ned. “I never told you I was innocent. For all you knew, I was a killer.”
“Guilt has a reek,” Ned said, shaking his head, “a way of cramping a man’s movements, shadowing his gaze. You were innocent of taking anybody’s life. You didn’t have to tell me that, I could smell it on you. You were solitary and hard and determined—I admired you for that—but you were not a killer. I did what I could to stand by you, little enough though it was.”
“Precisely,” Walden said. “For the sake of your stubborn notions of right and wrong, you threw away your own freedom. Now Lady Rosalind has involved you in another situation wherein the innocent are at risk for a bad fate, and you cannot help yourself. You are caught up in her cause, and you will jeopardize all you’ve worked for to aid her.”
Ned sidled away. “No, I won’t. I will do what I can, just as I did what I could in Newgate. It was precious little then, and I suspect it will be precious little now.” Ned had had a plan of his own all those years ago, a plan that would not have ended in his transportation to a far-off land.
Walden ran a hand through his hair. “Women go missing from London’s streets and alleys all the time, Ned. Some of them want to go missing.”
Right now, Ned wanted Walden to go missing. “And most of them do not want any such thing. I appreciate the warning.”
“Jane told me to keep my mouth shut.”
Ned took the place at his desk. “And just this once, you had to ignore your duchess’s good advice and inflict your concerns on me?”
“Jane is worried for you too. She is well aware that locating missing women will force you into proximity with…bad elements.”
Ned pulled a ledger at random from the stack on his blotter. “You’ve become a diplomat in your dotage. I’ve already started the inquiries at the brothels, and I will spend the evening along the river, assuming I ever get through my reports.”
“Fine. You’re a Wentworth. Stubbornness is emblazoned on your soul, but for the love of God be careful, Ned. Jane will be inconsolable if anything happens to you, and I will be…”
Ned looked up. “Yes?”
“I will bederanged.”
The notion of His Grace not in possession of his wits.…Hyperbole, surely. The Wentworths were given to hyperbole.
“I will do my utmost to spare you any grief, Your Grace.”
Had Walden lectured, exhorted, scolded, or otherwise resorted to displays of authority, Ned could have countered with silence, patient humor, and polite promises to address the duke’s concerns.
Walden instead headed for the door without another word.
“How bad were the conditions of Rothhaven’s confinement at that asylum?” Ned asked before the duke could make good his escape.
“Awful, at least for a time. Why?”
“Imagine yourself a lady’s maid, Walden. You were brought up to know your psalms and guard your virtue. You work hard, but you don’t complain because you’re glad to have your post and you do the best you can with it. Then you end up in hell.”
Walden winced, but Ned wasn’t finished.
“You are afraid,” he went on, “without friends, your person violated, your good name gone forever. The pain in your body isn’t the half of it, and nobody—nobody at all—knows or cares that everything you loved and everything you were has been ripped away from you. No laws protect you, no vestigial decency remains in the people exploiting you. Livestock and lapdogs have more value than you do, and are given more respect.”
