Page 64 of An Honorable Deception
“Whoever came up with that hadn’t met Barclay Pearce, I suspect.” He stood, brushed off the bark clinging to the seat of his trousers, and held out a hand. “Trust me?”
“I see no reason to stop now.” She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. Then paused. Because she hadn’t trusted him, not fully. Not with everything. Even now, whenhe’d discovered so much, she hadn’t been able to put voice to the last piece he no doubt needed.
“Whoever has told you never to speak of it—you let them win when you obey.”
She swallowed and let her fingers fall away from his. “My father...” Even those words felt big as marbles in her mouth, awkward and threatening to choke her.
Lord Fairfax waited, brow creased in expectation.
She had to draw in a long breath and try again, praying silently for the strength to break the silence. “I realize how my mother’s words sounded—and what she may even think is true, if Samira was too frightened to use names in her warning all those years ago. But my father isn’t the one who would have dragged Samira to that place.” He was likely complicit—and that made him guilty of much.
But not of the worst.
The crease between Lord Fairfax’s brows deepened, and something flashed in his eyes that looked horribly close to pity. He thought she’d lapsed into a state of denial. Perhaps even that she was scrambling to protect her own reputation from that sense of shame they’d discussed.
“It was my uncle, my lord—Mama’s brother. Lord Reuben Babcock.” The monster that haunted her dreams.
Fairfax’s face washed pale. “Babs. Lionfeathers—how did we miss that?” He spun on his heel and sprinted back toward the house.
She watched him go for a moment, a smile tempting her lips. Perhaps she ought to be offended that he’d run off like that, abandoning her again to the rain and her own company.
But he was trying to save Samira. Trying to stop Father and Uncle Reuben from harming anyone else. Trying, she hoped and prayed andknew, to deliver those still captive to the Empire House to a better life.
She didn’t begrudge him his haste.
Penelope chattered from somewhere above her, and Samira craned her neck until she spotted the monkey’s bright pink skirt in a branch over her head. “Come down, Penny,” she said, snapping her fingers like Hector always did.
She gave one more hoot and then jumped from branch to trunk to fallen log, then climbed back onto Alethia’s shoulder. Her little feet were wet, but so was Alethia, so she didn’t mind. She started back through the swampy lawn toward the house.
She’d covered about half the distance when Lord Xavier came into view, striding her way with a large umbrella in hand. And given that the moment he reached her the rain went from steady shower to punishing downpour, she greeted him with a smile. “Perfect timing, my lord.”
He nodded, offered his arm, and led her onward, only the rain speaking as they walked.
Strange. He had a reputation for always knowing the right thing to say, for taking such interest in everyone he met, for asking exactly the right question to draw them out and make them feel like the most interesting person in the room.
But it was in his silence that she felt as though she finally got a glimpse of who he was. Not a silver-tongued charmer, not a single-minded bloodhound, not a smug cat. But, without question, a faithful friend.
Never had a silent walk said so much.
NINETEEN
Two weeks later
Lavinia had to give credit where it was due—Barclay Pearce and his family were thorough and deliberate. He sent packets of updates by post every other day, and the information—written descriptions, photographs, and even diagrams mapping out people’s routines—kept her so busy that she scarcely had time for anything but updating their dossiers and case files.
She didn’t mind the busyness. Perhaps Marigold pretended to complain that her supposed companion was neglecting her, but she had a feeling her friend didn’t mind. Sir Merritt was here on leave for a fortnight, and Lavinia knew well Marigold would rather spend those days and hours with her husband than with her. Not to mention that Gemma and Graham had arrived last night for a few days’ holiday ... so far as they said in company.
In reality, the other two Imposters were here very much for work. Graham had unloaded a treasure trove of schematics they would need for their final plan, and Gemma was hard at work on her part of the plot—and subsequently in dangerof missing tomorrow’s deadline for her usual column inLondon Ladies Journal.
Lavinia stood from her place on the floor, stretching sore muscles and blinking tired eyes. The busyness was welcome, but she really ought to have obeyed Yates’s advice and found a better place to set up her work. The desk was too small, but bending over everything on the floor was taking its toll.
The dining table would have worked if it weren’t being used every day. She would have recommended it, had it only been her and the Fairfaxes in residence. But no one had even considered inviting Lady Barremore to eat in the kitchen, nor suggested that their guests continue to dine on nothing but bread and cheese and fruit.
When Lavinia had gone into the kitchen the day they’d returned from London and seen the panic on Drina’s face as Marigold whispered that their guests would be staying with them for several weeks, she’d understood it in a glance. Drina was an acrobat. An aerialist. Accustomed to cooking for her family but not the sort of meals that either Xavier or Lady Barremore would expect.
So Lavinia had sent for the chef from Alnwick Abbey and any staff he needed to bring along, and she’d told him to purchase whatever he needed. Which meant that meals fit for a king—or at least a duke’s son and a viceroy’s wife—were taking up that valuable table space thrice a day, and Lavinia’s neck had to get used to the knots.
She moved to the window and rested her head against the warm pane, drawing in a long breath in the hopes that it would revive her. She still had at least two hours of work to do, and the next packet would no doubt arrive in this afternoon’s post. If it was any thicker than the last one, she’d have to give in and let Marigold or Yates help her.
