The Husband Plot Page 19

  His sister was desperate. His wife was angry. But Adrian had a mission. He couldn’t possibly sacrifice his plans for anything. Not even his sister’s happiness.

  He truly, honest-to-god, wished he could.

  Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lisbeth had to summon all of her patience to review the plan again. They had spent three days discussing nothing but the plan, whenever Adrian disappeared and they were out of earshot of the other staff. Still, Mary was nervous, Suzy remained unconvinced, and they had to wait another three days before they could do anything.

  It was enough to drive anyone wild.

  They were cloistered in Mary’s chamber at Upper Norton Street in the late evening. Unusually, Adrian had been called out after supper for a business meeting with Robert and Lord Brabourne. It had been on the tip of Lisbeth’s tongue to beg him not to go; but it was easier to get a swath of time alone with Mary and Suzy with him out of the house. Still, he had met her eyes with a long, regretful look, and Lisbeth knew he wished he could extract himself from the clutches of the Brabourne business.

  Everything would be that much more complicated in a few days when she had smuggled Mary and Suzy to safety. Including Adrian’s feelings for her.

  Well, let him have his principles. Lisbeth had hers, too; she didn’t see why they couldn’t save Mary and the slaves, and she certainly wasn’t going to resign herself to one or the other.

  “What happens once we get on the ship?” Mary asked, though Lisbeth knew she knew the answer. She paced before the fireplace, her skirts flouncing with increasing fury at each turn. Suzy sat on a little stool in the corner of the room, having declined the proper seats in front of the hearth, and so far hadn’t uttered a word.

  Lisbeth picked at the embroidery in her lap, which she had brought mostly as a prop in case one of the other servants found it strange that she would seclude herself in Mary’s room. Mary was supposed to be working on the other end of the tapestry, but she had begun pacing almost as soon as Suzy closed the door shut.

  “You behave as if it is perfectly natural to be traveling with your maid. You chat with the other passengers about how excited you are to make the full journey to India, and how you wish there weren’t so many stops along the way. If they say how glad they are to have a day to see Lisbon, you wrinkle your nose and profess to have little interest in sightseeing.”

  “I daresay I shan’t leave the inn at all until the ship is ready,” Mary practiced, pitching her voice high and haughty. Then the anxiety crept back. “Then we find Baltasar at the Café do Gelo on Praca do Comercio street.”

  Annabelle was behind almost the entire plot. She had spent seven years traveling Europe with her husband; she seemed to have friends tucked in every corner of the continent. Mary and Suzy would sail on a ship captained by one of Annabelle’s friend, under assumed names, and as far as the captain knew, they were joining Mary’s parents in Calcutta. When the ship docked in Lisbon, he would believe they were changing to a tea clipper, but in fact, they would find Annabelle’s friend Baltasar. Annabelle was writing ahead to him and also arming Mary with a copy of the letter, so that Baltasar would agree to transport them in his wagon from Lisbon to the cottage a few miles outside, where a second letter would introduce them to the farm owner and secure them safe lodging.

  It all made sense, and yet even Lisbeth couldn’t help tremble at the hundred things that could go wrong.

  “I found a dictionary that translates Portuguese into English in my father’s library,” Lisbeth said. “He walked in before I could steal it, but I’ll go back tomorrow.”

  “I’m hopeless at languages.” Mary’s attempted laugh came out as a bark. “My governess called me a complete failure at French, and that was after seven years.”

  There wasn’t much to say in reply. Lisbeth threw a desperate smile at Suzy. “Then it will be Suzy’s task to be your translator.”

  This, apparently, was not the right response. Suzy, who had been a near-silent participant all these past five days, flushed an immediate and deep red. She glared at the ground. “At what point will you realize this idea is pure folly?”

  There was such acid in her tone – and such omission of propriety – that even though Lisbeth knew Suzy was more than just a maid, she still bristled at the absence of a “beg your pardon.”

  Mary, however, didn’t flinch. “It’s the only way, Suzy, and you know it. We can’t stay in England or anywhere within my grandfather’s reaches.”

  “We’ll be murdered or worse before we even get to Lisbon,” Suzy shot back. “Two women can’t travel unaccompanied, especially if we’re not your grandfather’s wards. No more can we live alone in some strange countryside. They’ll slit our throats rather than give us that cottage.”

  “What would you have me do?” Mary wailed. “I can’t marry him. You know that. Don’t you know that?”

  “There are worse fates than marrying a lord, Mary!” This came out as a shout. Lisbeth had never heard any servant raise their voice to their master; she had to fight down a very unnatural response to Suzy’s anguish. But it was apparently too much of a breach for Suzy, too. Almost as soon as she said it, she let out a sob, and then she raced from the room.

  Mary watched her go, taking a half-hearted step to follow. “She doesn’t mean it,” she mumbled, as if to apologize to Lisbeth.

  “Never you mind.” Lisbeth looped an arm around her sister-in-law’s shoulders and guided her to the chair. “It is as scary for her as it is for you, if not more. She’ll see what needs to be done.”

  “I should go clear this up with her.”

  Even as Mary said it, the hall clock chimed eleven. Lisbeth tugged her closer. “It is too late for you to venture upstairs without sparking curiosity from the other servants. Let her have her sulk, and you have yours, and in the morning everything will look clearer.”

  Although Lisbeth couldn’t quite speak from experience there; after her nocturnal arguments with Adrian, everything had always looked worse in the mornings.

  She was so glad they had moved beyond that in their marriage. And she dreaded finding out whether it would return, once Adrian discovered his sister escaped.

  Lisbeth anchored her thoughts firmly to Mary at her side, who was sniffling in a desperate attempt to keep from sobs. She needed Lisbeth’s loyalty far more than Adrian did, who was currently doing god-knows-what with Lord Brabourne as if it were natural for the man to become his brother-in-law.

  “Have a good cry, then,” Lisbeth urged, smoothing back Mary’s hair the way her mother had always done for her. “It will help.”

  Mary didn’t need further encouragement. The clock had chimed quarter past by the time she calmed back down to a sedate sniffle, accepting Lisbeth’s handkerchief since hers was soaked through.

  “It did help.” Mary managed a smile, though her eyes and nose were so red that it came off as pathetic.

  “There, you see?” Lisbeth had resorted to murmuring platitudes. “Just wait until you see what a little sleep will do. Shall I help you into your nightgown, then?”

  This brought out a few more tears, for of course Suzy was usually the one who saw Mary changed into her night things. Mary summoned her inner strength, however, and together they rustled her out of her muslin day gown and into a cozy night rail, with a nightcap tucked around her curls.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep,” Mary protested as Lisbeth guided her to the bed. “My mind is too full of terrible thoughts.”

  “Let’s talk, then,” Lisbeth suggested, climbing onto the mattress beside her, “but only of happy thoughts. Tell me your favorite thing about Suzy.”

  For the first time in days, Mary’s lips curved into a real smile. “Must I choose just one? How can I? She is Suzy. That’s what I love about her.” She lifted the blankets, inviting Lisbeth to snuggle in with her. Lisbeth had already changed into her night clothes and was quite happy to tuck under the covers. “I never expected to fal
l for my maid, of course. I didn’t even realize I didn’t care for men until far too late. Ned – my fiancé, the one who died at Trafalgar – kissed me before he left, and I hated it. I thought perhaps it was only his kiss I detested. When I was reintroduced to society, I stole a few more kisses here and there.” She shuddered. “Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl. It was worse than nothing; their lips were slimy and grubby and I always felt I had to slither away.”

  Lisbeth thought of her own stolen kiss at Vauxhall Gardens. It had not shattered the earth, but neither had it given her the willies.

  “Then my maid, Clarissa, married one of our grooms. Suzy replaced her. From the minute she walked in the room, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I jumped when she touched me. There was that much electricity. I can’t explain it. I simply knew that she was the soul put on this earth for me.”

  The sentiment made Lisbeth’s heart ache. She hadn’t had the same instantaneous experience with Adrian. But she knew exactly what Mary described. That feeling that Adrian understood her. That he had been built to cradle her. He was her home.

  When you walk into the room, the sun comes out.

  She hoped he didn’t regret those words in three days, when the household awoke to discover that Mary and Suzy had disappeared.

  “Adrian is the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he is with you,” Mary said. Her words came more slowly now, her eyes drooping.

  “I’m going to miss him when he leaves for Jamaica,” Lisbeth admitted. Every night she ticked the days off, each one taking them closer and closer to Adrian’s departure. And each one disappearing without a conversation about what that meant for them.

  She hadn’t visited his bedchamber since Mary came to stay, mostly because she didn’t think she could keep their plan secret if she cuddled against the warmth of his body. Suddenly, Lisbeth couldn’t stand the absence. Her body burned with phantom memories of his touch, and she ached for him to come home.

  She only had a few more weeks with him.

  But the hall clock chimed half past eleven, and still Adrian had not returned.

  As if reading her thoughts, Mary murmured, “Will you stay here a bit longer? I’m almost asleep.”

  “I’ll stay as long as you need,” Lisbeth promised. Her eyes, too, felt heavy, and as she lay in silence, listening to Mary’s breathing grow steadier, she was aware, dimly, that she fell into slumber.

  She awoke with a start, her eyes full of a dream image of Adrian carrying her through a green field. Blinking, she remembered she was in Mary’s chamber. Yet the bed beside her was empty. When she put her palm on Mary’s pillow, it was warm, and she remembered now that she’d awoken when the door had clicked shut. Mary must have gone up to speak to Suzy after all.

  Blearily, Lisbeth rolled out of the bed. The fire glowed dim embers in the hearth, so they must have slept for a while, at least. She splashed some water on her face to wake up. She would go see if Adrian had returned yet, she decided. She wanted to taste his kiss, as if somehow that would put the world at peace.

  She had just turned to the door when it opened. At first, Lisbeth thought it must be Mary returning. But the figure that approached was not female. He wore dark clothes, and his black eyes gleamed in the firelight.

  A burglar.

  Or worse.

  She waited too long to scream. By the time her brain had processed what was happening and she opened her mouth, he was upon her. His hand clamped over her lips, his other arm snaking across her neck, and the last thing she saw was a black sack dropping over her head.

  Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Adrian did not want to go home. He knew what awaited him there: a silent sister, a sullen wife. Oh, Lisbeth was polite enough during the day, asking after his activities and even throwing him a smile here and there. But ever since his father’s letter had arrived, the nights had stretched long and empty. He knew what to expect that night because it was the same as all of them: he would spend the night curled alone on his mattress, stealing snatches of sleep in between hoping each creak of the house was Lisbeth creeping into his room.

  He could, technically, visit her room. He was her husband. He could march into her apartment and climb into her bed because that was his right.

  But it did not feel right. Lisbeth had her reasons for keeping her distance, and Adrian could sympathize. He was not about to force his attentions upon her, even if those attentions were simply to lay by her side.

  Still, there was no reason for him to return to Upper Norton Street, not even once Lord Brabourne took his slimy leave of them. Brabourne had been the one that summoned them to White’s in the first place, under the pretense of discussing the minutiae of their shipping agreement. But the man had barely said a word of business, instead droning on about his recent visit to Carlton House and all the compliments Prinny had lavished upon him. Then, almost exactly at the stroke of midnight, he had excused himself, citing an appointment elsewhere.

  If Adrian didn’t hate the man so much, he would find it very odd. Alarming, even. As it was, he didn’t have the heart to waste one more thought on sniveling Brabourne. Nor did he want to go home, which was why he found himself accepting Robert’s invitation to go watch a pugilist fight at a pub in Covent Garden.

  Adrian had never been out in London so late, nor had he been to a pub in Covent Garden. He expected it to be mostly lords and gentlemen like himself and Robert, and there certainly were plenty of them. However, the majority of the men packed shoulder to shoulder to watch the fight were a class or two below that, with worn jackets and cheap shoes about their feet. They spoke with broad accents and their language offended. Most surprising to Adrian was how many weren’t white: he spotted a trio of Bengali sailors, a tan man in a Turkish-style turban, and a few darker men with skin close to Adrian’s.

  Perhaps he hadn’t needed to shun London society quite as a whole. Simply the upper crust.

  The fight was ugly. Adrian had never particularly enjoyed watching one man pummel another, hearing the slap of fist against flesh, watching blood spray through the air, feeling the sinister excitement of a crowd cheering for the suffering of a fellow human. Yet that night, he was the man who had betrayed his sister. He was the man who had smoked a cigar with the fiancé she didn’t want. And Adrian discovered that he craved the fight and the gore and the hope they gave him that he, too, could be that vicious, if he needed to be.

  It was when the back molar of one of the fighters went flying into the crowd – and when Adrian cheered with delight at it – that Robert clapped a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”

  Robert maneuvered him to a table inside the pub proper, away from the fight in the back room, and somehow made two foaming tankards of ale appear. Adrian didn’t hesitate to taste his.

  “What is troubling you, then?” Robert asked. “You’re not yourself tonight.”

  Adrian evaluated his cousin. He had already had three stiff brandies at White’s, and his sight was a little bleary. Still, he could see Robert was more sunburned than usual, a sign that he’d spent extra time at the docks recently, and that shadows hung beneath his eyes.

  The two of them hadn’t spoken of Mary’s nuptials yet; they tolerated the subject in others’ company and pretended it wasn’t happening when they were alone. But perhaps Adrian had been wrong to assume that Robert agreed with Their Graces. Perhaps Robert could understand the guilt that coated every moment of every day.

  “This business with Mary and Lord Brabourne,” Adrian started, watching Robert for any kind of reaction, “…it doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Robert grimaced. “He is a snake who found his way into the garden.”

  “Mary doesn’t want to marry him.” He heard Lisbeth’s belligerence in his own tone. Perhaps it was his belligerence, too, and this was the first time he’d felt safe enough to voice it.

  “I wish I could call him out,” Robert said, taking an angry sip of his drink. “I’m
the better marksman. I would kill him in a duel without a problem. And then Mary would be free of him. If only we could catch him doing something dishonorable.”

  Now there was an idea. Adrian gulped down more ale, considering. Lord Brabourne was too slimy by half to be goaded into offending someone’s honor, but he was exactly the kind of man who might be keeping a mistress throughout his betrothal period, or perhaps cheat at a game of cards. All they needed to do was discover how he sinned and where.

  His better sense knocked through the fog of alcohol. Robert could brag, but he had no claim to marksmanship. He could just easily be injured – or worse – in a duel as he could do the injuring.

  “Lisbeth has a plan, I think,” Adrian admitted. “She and Mary keep whispering when they think I don’t notice. I told her I couldn’t help, though.”

  He hoped she would forgive him one day.

  Robert frowned. “They could get themselves hurt.”

  “Mary is already hurt.”

  “Not physically.” Robert shook his head at Adrian now. “Whatever plan they come up with, it will only make things worse. You had better put a stop to it.”

  Adrian heard his own thoughts in Robert’s words. Was this not what he had said to Lisbeth just a few days ago?

  And yet, he couldn’t agree with Robert. Whatever Lisbeth and Mary were planning may be terrible. But if it were Mary’s idea, it couldn’t be worse than marrying Lord Brabourne. Not from her perspective, and wasn’t hers the only one that mattered?

  Sighing, Adrian helped himself to another gulp of ale. “I would pay for Mary to live in her cottage myself, if it didn’t complicate the other matter.”

  “What other matter?”

  Adrian’s stomach turned. He had never come so terribly close to coming out with his secret. He shook his head, unsettled. “Nothing. I’m in my cups.”