Page 18 of An Honorable Deception
“Happy for an excuse to leave London.” Just as when she’d seen him through the crack in the doorway in London, good humor sparkled in his eyes. His hair looked damp, where it waved onto his forehead, making it nearly black. Strange how Alethia could at once see the resemblance in the siblings’ faces and yet marvel at how different they appeared. He with that dark hair, Lady Marigold’s so fair a brown as to be only a shade or two off from blond. He so tall and broad, she so slight. He wearing the shared features in a bold way that made him without question among the handsomest men she’d seen in England, while on his sister, they were understated—not unattractive, by any means, but also not attention-grabbing.
Both, however, looked at her with intelligence and a sort of honest care that put her at ease. And then made her unease redouble.
These were good people. Kind people. Faithful people. And she was putting them in danger by her mere presence. She never should have consented to this arrangement, despite having no idea what alternative would be better.
Lord Fairfax darted his gaze to his sister before settling it back on Alethia, the amusement in his eyes snapping into seriousness. “I can see you mustering your resolve, my lady, but please don’t. I assure you, we invited you to our home with our eyes fully open to the risks. It is our deepest desire to help you in this time.”
She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words—she couldn’t, not given the way he looked at her as he delivered them. What she doubted was the wisdom of them. “Butwhy? You know how dangerous the people I’ve angered are.” She motioned to the bullet wounds that bore testament. “Why would youwillingly put your own family at risk to help me? We’ve never even met before now.”
He lifted a brow. “Are we not called to help our neighbors?”
Her cheeks flushed, and her side ached. “The Good Samaritan may have picked up the broken pieces, but he didn’t fight off the bandits. My concern, my lord, is that you would be called upon to do both—because this attack was targeted, not a crime of opportunity by highwaymen.”
“All the more reason to lend our aid.”
“Perhaps you ought to assure her that you’re no stranger to dangerous situations.” The new voice came from the doorway, dragging Alethia’s gaze from her handsome host to another face that looked somewhat familiar.
Lady Lavinia Hemming—that was it. Yet another young lady of her own generation that her mother had deemed a rival and hence had never bothered with introductions to, despite the fact that their London homes were so near each other. But Lady Marigold had mentioned that they were Northumberland neighbors, and that Lady Lavinia would be staying with her too. Because the newcomer wore a bright smile, Alethia offered one back.
Lady Lavinia took the chair at right angles to her sofa, at the end closest to her. She reached out a hand, her smile still bright and soft and ... something more. Something with depth and shadows, not light and cheer. “Lady Lavinia Hemming. How do you do, Lady Alethia?”
“Improving, thank you.” She squeezed the newcomer’s fingers as she had her hostess’s and then allowed the frown to retake her brows. “But what do you mean about dangerous situations?”
Lady Lavinia kept her gaze on Alethia, but Lord Fairfax had lapsed into a frown of his own, which he sent to hisneighbor with a pointed enough look that Alethia knew in a heartbeat that, like the siblings, Lady Lavinia spoke their silent language. He might as well have shouted at her,“Yes, Lavinia, what do you mean?”
Lavinia’s smile went small, pained. “You perhaps heard that my mother died last year?”
She had, in passing. Mama had made a comment about her absence during the height of the Season—and had then been disappointed when she came back to London this year, during Alethia’s debut Season, because she was now an heiress to rival all, beautiful to boot, and had those mysterious shadows in her eyes that seemed to attract men like bees to honey. She nodded.
Lady Lavinia’s expression became more serious. “What you can’t know is that the papers’ report wasn’t accurate. It was no heart attack that felled her. She died in an attempt to harm others.” The lady looked to her friends, who were both staring at her in utter shock. And something more that Alethia couldn’t name. “My father, namely. And when my dear friends the Fairfaxes tried to intervene, my mother turned on them.”
The words were so calmly delivered that, for a moment, Alethia could have believed that she was reciting a story from some novel she’d read, rather than her own tale. Given only the tone and the delivery, she would have doubted the truth of the words. But the lady’s eyes spoke of truth. A dark, ugly, ruinous truth.
“My lady.” Her fingers were still resting on the arm of the sofa, so Alethia covered them with hers again. There were no words she could offer to make that reality any gentler. She could only try to assure her that while she could never fully understand, she did in a way. She understood the pain of finding that someone who should have loved you had secrets dark enough to destroy you. “I’m sorry.”
Lavinia offered the kind of smile that was less about cheer than determination to survive. “Thank you. I bring this up only to tell you that the Fairfaxes are no strangers to encountering danger in their quest to help others. You’ll find them both most capable allies, my lady. Had they not been at hand last year, I fear that neither I nor my father would be alive to reassure you now.”
She believed it, impossible as it sounded. But a lady—a mother—plotting to kill her own family? She’d heard of such things happening now and then, but never among the aristocracy.
And yet didn’t she know better than anyone that a title and money did nothing to make one noble? Didn’t she know firsthand what twisted souls could reside beneath a well-coiffed exterior?
Her nostrils flared with the deep breath she dragged in, which in turn made her side ache. The old dangers, the old horrors might have passed, but a new one had arisen to take their place, and she had no hope of facing it alone. She looked at her hosts again.
Host—if she was being honest. Somehow that intense gaze of Lord Fairfax, as he shifted his eyes from Lady Lavinia to her, insisted she meet it. “I had the opportunity to speak with Mr. A of the Imposters before we left London, my lady. He is happy to come here for another meeting if you request it, or you could answer the questions he sent along now, with us, and we can send them along to save him a trip. That is, of course, if you trust us with such sensitive details. He didn’t break your confidence to tell us what you’d hired him to do, and I’ve yet to unseal the envelope with his questions. I will do so only if you agree.”
She wanted to refuse. Not because these people didn’t deserve her troubles, despite being no stranger to them. Butrather because she could see in each earnest pair of eyes that these three were offering more than help. They were offering friendship and trust. And she wanted it so badly that it must be unwise to indulge the desire.
The things she wanted most were always the things that hurt the most when they were ripped from her.
Her mouth didn’t seem to get the message. When she opened it to refuse, she heard herself instead say, “That does seem easiest. I’d hate to make Mr. A travel up here.” And then, as if she weren’t consigning them all to danger, she leaned forward a bit and said, “You see, I’m searching for my ayah, Samira. But she wasn’t where she said she would be.”
SEVEN
Yates pulled out the envelope he’d sealed that morning with the black wax and theIstamp, offering it to Lady Alethia in case she cared to examine it. Given the pain lurking in her eyes, though, he wasn’t surprised when she smiled and shook her head.
“If you’re willing to read the questions and transcribe my answers, my lord...” She’d leaned back against the cushions during her brief recounting of her missing friend, in which she’d added no more details than she had in the confessional, though no less either. To his mind, that meant she trusted them as much as she did the Imposters ... but that she didn’t know much about what information an investigator actually needed to solve a case.
That was all right. Careful not to glance overlong at either his sister or Lavinia, Yates opened the envelope, pulled out the paper, and unscrewed the cap from the fountain pen he’d brought in with him as well. The side table would have to serve as a desk.
