Miss Goldsleigh's Secret Read online

  “Well, this is a very big house and I have a lot of sisters.”

  Warren leaned over conspiratorially. “They seem a little loud,” he whispered.

  Henry choked on his stew with a snort. “Excellent observation. I’m afraid that you’ll also find them to be bossy as well.”

  “Oh.”

  They ate their lunch in silence for a while before Henry ventured forth with more pressing concerns. “Where do you and your sister call home?”

  “Nowhere,” Warren responded cryptically. He took another handful of bread and sopped up the rest of the thick broth in his bowl. He seemed to be studying the bowl very hard.

  Henry tried again. “Where are you from then?”

  Warren chewed then swallowed a large hunk of bread, and gulped his milk before answering. “Draycott on the Moors.”

  “That’s in Staffordshire, isn’t it?” The empty bowls were whisked away and replaced by two generous helpings of pudding. Warren’s smile grew wide again. Henry nodded his thanks to Cook and picked up his spoon. “When did you come to London?” Oh, the pudding was fantastic. Henry rolled it around on his tongue, savoring it.

  “Two months ago, I think.” Warren looked as though he wanted to lick the pudding bowl clean.

  “Where have you been staying?”

  Warren met Henry’s gaze for the first time since the questions got serious. The boy seemed every bit as young as he was, all hollow-eyed and scared. Gone was the assuredness from Bond Street. He hesitated as if wary of betraying someone. His sister or someone else?

  “It’s all right to tell me,” Henry assured him as he led Warren to the garden.

  “Fennyman was trying to buy her for whoring, but we got out of there. No matter what, or how bad it got, I didn’t want her doing that,” the boy said with emphasis the minute they cleared the doorway outside.

  Jesus Christ. “No. How long ago was this?”

  “Three days ago, sir.”

  “And where have you stayed those nights?” Henry guided them both around the path and past a giant oak tree where they sat on a bench and looked out over the shrubbery, their backs to the house and any nosey eyes.

  “Nowhere.” Warren sighed a huge, watery breath. “Livvy tried a couple of places, but no one would help us. I slept on benches and such. Livvy didn’t though.”

  “What do you mean Livvy didn’t?”

  “She didn’t sleep.” Warren kicked at the dirt. “She kept watch. Livvy’s very stubborn.”

  The girl hadn’t slept in at least three days?

  Warren continued, “She wouldn’t let me steal anything or join up with a crew for the coin.”

  Henry raised a brow. “That sounds very honorable of her.” What else was he to say?

  Warren swiped at a frustrated tear. “But it would have been easy.”

  “Sometimes easy isn’t the best way out.” Henry said what he knew were the right words, even as he contemplated what he would have done in the lad’s place. Warren might be a boy, but his desire to protect his family were the urges of a man.

  “Why did you come to London in the first place?” Why would a daughter of a peer come to London, unescorted, and end up in this abhorrent state? Dirty, hungry and sleep deprived, Olivia was in desperate need of help. There must have been someone she could stay with in town. Who was the heir to her father’s barony, and why wasn’t that man helping her?

  “Because Reginald was a horrible man.” Warren said it with such vehemence that Henry was taken aback. “He was mean and he hurt people and, and, and…I hate him.” Now the lad was crying in earnest, deep, pitiful sobs that hurt Henry’s soul. He waited patiently next to him on the bench, and eventually the sobs gave way to hiccups and then to sniffles.

  “Warren.” Henry waited until the boy looked at him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to figure it all out and we’re going to fix it. You can trust me.” It was a stupid thing to say. He couldn’t possibly promise any such thing.

  He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders as they walked back into the house. “Let’s go find your room.”

  “My room? For how long?”

  “For as long as you want it to be.”

  Chapter Three

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with the girl other than being undernourished and completely exhausted.” The doctor adjusted his spectacles.

  Henry nodded. “Nothing else?”

  “She’s not regained consciousness during my examination, so I can’t know for sure. I recommend allowing her to sleep for as long as she needs to. Then plenty of rare meat to build up her blood again.” He shifted his black bag from one hand to the other. “Send for me when she awakens if you believe she warrants further examination.”

  “I will.” Henry extended his hand to the doctor before the man was shown from his study.

  Between the conversation with Warren and the diagnoses from the physician, Henry was even more curious about the girl.

  The traffic in and out of the guestroom had ebbed by the time Henry dismissed the doctor and checked on Warren. When he poked his head in the girl’s doorway, he found Penelope had changed into her nightclothes and had taken up residence in an armchair by the fire with a book and a pot of tea.

  “You’re not going out tonight, butterbean?” He could sense her eye roll from across the room.

  Penny kept her voice low. “No, I think I’ll stay here in case she wakes up. I wouldn’t want her to be afraid.”

  “No change with her then?” Henry peered into the darkness of the far side of room, but all he could see on the bed was a small human-shaped lump under the covers.

  Penny rose from her chair and tiptoed over to the door. “Still asleep. Did the doctor speak with you?”

  Henry signaled with a nod for her to step out into the hall. “Who is this girl?”

  “You know her name already, Olivia Goldsleigh. Her father was a baron and quite scholastic in nature. They didn’t come to town much.” Penny shrugged. “I only spoke with her in person a few times. Mostly our contact was through correspondence.”

  “How did you come to make her acquaintance?”

  “Do you remember Astrid Schulz?” she asked.

  “Who? No.”

  “Astrid,” Penny repeated as if she said the name again it would suddenly click with him. “Remember she was over here much of the spring and summer two years ago. Pretty little brunette?”

  Henry shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, Henry, Astrid.”

  “How could I possibly be expected to remember all the girls running in and out of this house? Especially from two years ago.” Penny had more friends than anyone he had ever met. It seemed she knew just about everyone. Henry made it a point to ignore most of them.

  Penny clicked her tongue in irritation. “Anyway, Astrid was from Germany. She was here with her family because her father was working with some astrologists, no astronomers – you know, the star and planet people. Olivia’s father had something to do with that group, so she was in town for a bit that summer, too.”

  “Hmmm.” Henry vaguely remembered the summit Penny was referring to. He’d wanted to attend some of the symposiums held for the general public but had been too busy to break away. “But that doesn’t explain how you came to meet her.”

  “Through Astrid.” Penny stated it like he hadn’t been paying attention.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me your endless fascination with our solar system drove you to seek out the daughters of international experts on the matter?”

  “No.” She said the word impossibly slow, letting him know with one long syllable she thought him a complete ass. “I met Astrid through Roseanne Atwater.”

  “Yes.” He matched his dry tone to hers. “That explains everything. I certainly know who Roseanne Atwater is.”

  “You do?”

  “No. I have no bloody idea who Roseanne Atwater is, and at this point I no longer care. The poi
nt I was getting to before this conversation ended my will to live was that we know very little about this girl or what kind of trouble she could be in. She never mentioned anything in her letters?”

  “No, but it’s obviously very bad trouble.” Penny put her hand on his arm in emphasis. “You can’t possibly be thinking of turning her away.”

  Henry wasn’t sure what he was thinking. He was certain his mother and aunt with their penchant for social causes were already planning an entire rehabilitation back into society for the chit. Still, the responsible thing to do would be to ensure his family was safe, and who knew what dangers came in the same package with Olivia and Warren? “I’d like to know a little more about the girl is all.”

  “I’m certain when she wakes up, she’ll explain everything.” Penny looked remarkably like their mother just then—certain of her place in the world and her ability to make everything turn out as it should. “You’ll see. Once you hear her story, promise me that you’ll do what you can for her.”

  “I’ll promise no such thing, cornflower.” He kissed her cheek and strode down the hall. In truth, it wasn’t Penny’s request that ensured he would assist their guests. It was how spooked Warren had been in the garden. They were running from something awful, and the boy had been terrified.

  When Olivia woke she had no idea where she was, but the bed was warm and comfortable and the sheets were soft. She rose on her elbows and peered around. A lone candle burned, and she could barely spy the slumped form of a person in a chair.

  She pulled back the covers—the counterpane felt like silk—and discovered she was wearing a nightdress. And she felt clean. When she stepped out of the bed, her feet sank into thick, plush carpet. She scrunched her toes into the deep pile.

  She blinked into the darkness to make out the person sleeping across the room. She should be afraid, but she didn’t sense any threat. Her instincts having been honed in the past months, she was fairly attuned to danger, and there was a singular lack of it here. She sought through her mind, searching for the last thing she could remember—a god or maybe an angel, his hair glowing golden around his head. She couldn’t see his face. All she saw was the halo.

  But that strange memory could not explain why she was here and why she was clean and wearing someone else’s clothes.

  Upon further contemplation, Olivia concluded she didn’t have amnesia. Unfortunately, she remembered every other dreadful thing that had happened to her, at least up until whatever event occurred that landed her here. And Warren—where was he? She must think reasonably and not allow panic to take hold.

  She tiptoed across the rug to the sleeping person, a woman she determined from the shadow of a skirt gathered around the bottom of the chair. Inching forward, she knelt before the lady and tucked her head down to look under a drape of hair.

  “Penny Cavendish!” She gasped after a shocked intake of breath. She couldn’t have been more surprised to recognize her old acquaintance. Penny jerked awake, and Olivia laid a calming hand upon her knee. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Penny gave her head a disoriented shake and replied in a groggy voice, “’S all right.”

  “Are we in your house?”

  “Yes, yes.” Penny came more alert and reached for Olivia’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Is my brother here too?”

  Olivia had to wait for Penny to stifle a yawn before she answered. “Yes, he’s just down the hall. Do you want to go to him?”

  With a cleansing exhale, the panic and tension eased from Olivia. “No, I just needed to know he was safe.”

  Penny blinked several times in rapid succession like she was trying to bring Olivia into focus. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story and it’s the middle of the night. Can we talk about it in the morning?” Olivia had no idea what lies she was going to tell Penny and her family, but she needed to think over this serendipitous development before she opened her mouth. She needed a plan.

  Another yawn accompanied by a sleepy nod before her friend spoke again. “Over breakfast. That would be best, I think. Henry always has questions that are best handled over bacon.”

  Olivia wrapped her arms around Penny. “Thank you so much. I’ll never be able to thank you.”

  “I’m just happy we were there at the time.” Penny squeezed back. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  After Penny retired to her own room, Olivia wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Since she didn’t have to look for her brother, she listened to the growling in her stomach. Inside the wardrobe there were no clothes. Not even her old dress. Ragged and filthy as it had become, it was the only dress she had left after everything had either been sold or stolen. She clucked her tongue in irritation and peered around the inky-black room, at a loss. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders then slipped out the door into the dark hallway. After several long hallways, a monumental staircase and an overabundance of sitting rooms, she finally peeked through a set of double doors and discovered a dining room. A swinging door in the back of the room led to a dark corridor that emerged, just as she knew it would, into the kitchen.

  With great satisfaction she bit into a crisp, fresh apple. It very well may have been the best apple she’d ever tasted. She closed her eyes and savored the sweetness. She took another and returned the way she came, retracing her steps down the dark corridor, emerging back into the dining room. She tried to reverse her earlier directions, making all right turns on her way back. Only she didn’t find the main hall. She turned in a slow circle. Nothing looked familiar.

  The next room had the look of a study about it. After twenty minutes of aimless wandering, she succumbed to the need to sit, her exhaustion returning now that she had some food in her belly. The room smelled a bit like her father’s study had, tobacco and leather, and she found the aroma quite soothing. She sank onto a giant leather sofa. Her feet were cold, so she tucked them underneath her nightgown, wrapped the small blanket more firmly around her shoulders and rested her head on the padded arm of the sofa.

  “Just for a moment,” she told herself, but she was barely even able to complete the thought.

  The hall clock chimed three as Henry stooped and kissed his mother on the cheek, “Good night, Mother.”

  She looked up and smiled at him warmly, suppressing a yawn. She patted his cheek. “Thank you, Henry, for being such an excellent escort.” Her voice was low in a private, conversational tone. “I know you would rather be anywhere else.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, his voice dripping with irony. “There is nowhere else I can imagine being than here, in the midst of this circus, with my giggling, gossiping, matchmaking women.”

  “It’s too late for your sarcasm, darling.” This time she hid her yawn behind her hand. “I’ll check how our guests have gotten along and then I’m done for the evening. See you in the morning.” She turned and ascended the stairs.

  Henry stood alone in the empty hall. He looked up at the landing and saw the last of her skirt disappear around the corner. A headache set heavily across his brow, which he suspected would be cured by a little quiet after the loud and crowded ball and the ride home with three feminine chatterboxes who insisted on recounting every last detail of the party they’d just left as if they hadn’t lived through the whole thing together.

  Henry stood in the middle of the entry hall and listened intently to the sound of silence. There were no other noises except the ticking of the hall clock. No servants bustling about. No sister’s vying for his attention. No Mother or Aunt or Grandmother hassling him good-naturedly to hurry and get married. He could almost pretend he was alone.

  He entered the inner sanctum, his study, by far his favorite room in the house. He still sensed some of his father in the place, and it made him peaceful. He suspected his father had chosen a room far removed from the family’s apartments so as to have his privacy for much the same reason that Henry so cherished his own. Henry’s older
relatives respected him enough not to interrupt him here, and his sisters rarely came in because he had a tendency to growl when pestered there.

  He was pleased to find the coals had been lit in the fireplace. The room was pleasantly warm, so he pulled his coat off and turned to toss it on the sofa. He halted in mid throw. There was a tiny, sleeping woman curled up on the leather cushion.

  He had to admit she looked much improved from this afternoon after being cleaned up—so much so he barely recognized her. The ribbon had come loose from her hair and lay unfurled next to her on the sofa. He was bewitched to find the loose strands spread along her shoulders and over the brown leather of the furniture like watery silk, flowing loosely across the cushions down past her waist. She wore a plain, white cotton nightgown. Only the smallest amount of lace adorned the neckline, and tiny pearl buttons gave it, and her, a virginal appearance.

  Henry crouched on his haunches next to her. Her ivory skin held a luminescent quality, with a natural blush along her cheekbones even while she slept. Her features reminded him of one of Helen’s porcelain dolls, everything in perfect proportion. He had no idea what color her eyes were as he’d never been close enough when she was awake to see them open. Her hands were folded under her chin. Although she was tucked up inside her nightgown with a light throw over her legs, one small foot poked out at the end. He looked up the curled length of her body and wondered what other surprises might be under the demure nightgown.

  He settled cross-legged on the floor and watched her sleep. At one point she let out a deep sigh, and Henry found himself more intrigued than ever. In his initial appraisal, he had thought her childlike, but he realized that was solely based on her size, and his impression may have been influenced by her weight loss. She had a remarkably pretty face, but even sleeping he could tell it wasn’t the face of a child. She had a mysterious, mature quality. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was of an age with his oldest sister, or that he knew she had escaped something or someone and had managed to keep herself and her brother alive on the streets of London for however long they had been on their own.