The Determined Lord Hadleigh Read online

Not that he had intended to stay away so long. He had meant to return the next day and make things right, but he had approached the first of the traitor’s wives, the Countess of Winterton, and, just as Penny had said, the woman had wanted to talk. Her extensive and damning testimony had led to more unforeseen work as Hadleigh had followed up each of the new leads. At least he could tell Penny that and thank her for opening his eyes.

  One other wife had also co-operated, perhaps less enthusiastically than the Countess, but now he knew that there were undeniable links between the leader of the smuggling ring and the peers she had lured to be part of it, because both wives had known that their husband and the traitorous Viscountess Gislingham had been lovers at some point. The Countess of Winterton had even given him love letters sent to him by the other woman, although love didn’t really feature in the graphic list of sexual acts the Viscountess had promised to bestow upon the man. Just like Penny’s husband, he had been seduced to stray.

  Although that put the blame wholly at the door of the seductress when as much lay at the door of those unfaithful husbands who were agreeable to straying in the first place.

  Hadleigh didn’t understand that at all. If Penny were his, he doubted he’d notice another woman if she were sprawled naked on his bed and it went without saying he would honour his marriage vows. His father had taught him that by default, too. Why marry at all if you wanted to live like a bachelor all your days? Besides, if he failed to honour his, he could hardly expect his wife to honour hers and the thought of Penny kissing anyone else made his blood boil!

  Had he just thought the words Penny and wife in the same sentence? Yes, he had. Twice, apparently. And, more importantly, why did the prospect not terrify him as it should?

  Good grief, this was all spiralling out of his control. When his mind should be occupied with suspected treason and the trial, his was filled with her. Not more than a few minutes went by before she encroached on a thought. Last night, despite being bone weary and despite the lateness of the hour, he had forgone his unappetising cold supper, put away the pile of work on his desk begging for his attention and taken himself to an inn to eat instead. Simply because she had wanted him to look after himself and rest.

  He turned his horse on to the drive and was halfway down it before he realised he didn’t feel queasy at the prospect of going home. He supposed he had her to thank for that, too. While he wasn’t looking forward to stepping inside the house, that was more to do with the humiliating apology he had to make to Penny rather than the usual dread he suffered at the mere sight of those forbidding four walls.

  Things were changing. At speed. But, bizarrely, he was keeping up. Last week, he would have rather died than sleep a night under that roof. Yet folded neatly in his satchel were two clean shirts, cravats, drawers and stockings in case he happened to find himself sleeping here again. Or was that wishful thinking? Brought about by one too many fevered and erotic dreams over the last three nights involving a certain brunette who had all too briefly fitted so perfectly in his arms.

  So much for his new resolve to redouble his efforts to concentrate solely on the case now the Crown had insisted it be brought forward. Another reason why his return here had been delayed. Against his sound and reasoned arguments to the contrary, the Attorney General had scheduled the Gislingham trial to the second week of December instead of January. Which meant he had two weeks to put it all together now. Two weeks to dot every i and cross every t and try his hardest not to think about that kiss and that woman at all.

  An agent stepped out of the stables to take his horse. ‘Where is Mrs Henley?’ Because the King’s Elite would know her exact movements. Something he perhaps should have thought of before he’d taken advantage of her so thoroughly in her room.

  ‘She took her son for some air in the gardens not half an hour hence, my lord. They were headed towards the lake.’

  The fact she was outside came as a relief and Hadleigh set off at pace to find her. It would be easier to apologise to her without the usual audience and he didn’t want to worry her by summoning her to his makeshift study where they would be alone, or, heaven forbid, turn up unannounced and uninvited at her rooms again.

  He spied her as promised at the closest edge of the lake, holding Freddie’s hand as he toddled along beside her. She must have sensed him, as she turned and momentarily stopped as if surprised. Hadleigh raised his hand in greeting and sprinted the last few yards towards her in case she got any ideas to flee before he had said his piece. He had rehearsed his apology throughout the hour’s ride to get here and needed to get it out to be able to move on.

  ‘You are back, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, a little later than I would like.’ Because she was still walking he fell into step beside her, wishing he didn’t feel so relieved to be with her again. It really didn’t help his cause. ‘But you will be pleased to know I followed your advance and questioned the wives.’ He was stalling. Pathetic, really, but he reasoned he was easing himself in gently.

  ‘You did?’ Her blue eyes locked with his, curious. ‘Was it fruitful?’

  ‘What you mean to say is, were you right?’ She merely smiled slightly in confirmation, staring off to the lake. ‘And, yes, you were. The Countess of Winterton was very eager to talk. The Marchioness of Nethway less so, but thanks to you I now know both of their husbands enjoyed a particular sort of friendship with the Lady Gislingham. As a consequence of those conversations, I have left both men in no doubt I have enough evidence to link them to her treachery, so I am hopeful they might come to their senses soon and confess to their crimes. I doubt either of them relish the thought of having the ugly truth spilled by their own spouses in court. As we know, juries have a great deal of sympathy for wronged wives.’

  She frowned at that statement, her eyes finally locking with his in disappointment. She had to be thinking about the kiss. There was clearly no putting it off any longer. This woman was peeved. ‘I came here to apologise for what happened the other night.’ The words came tumbling out. ‘It was a mistake... I was tired, you were vulnerable...’

  ‘Vulnerable? An interesting choice of word.’ Hadleigh cringed at her annoyed tone.

  ‘What I mean to say is, it was wrong of me to take advantage of you as I did. I am heartily disgusted at myself, if it is any consolation. It won’t happen again.’

  She exhaled slowly and he assumed she was considering his apology. ‘Is that how you see me still—the wronged wife?’

  What was he supposed to say to that when it had nothing whatsoever to do with their kiss? ‘You were wronged...’

  ‘Of course I was. The world knows that...only that is not the way I see myself. It is such a small part of who I am, yet it appears to be the version of myself others are most content with accepting as if it is a fait accompli. Chiselled somewhere into stone in perpetuity. Maybe I should have it written on my forehead to make it easier for people to decide how to view me? Poor, downtrodden Penny! Rather that, than as that brave women who spoke out in the dock. Or the woman who is a good mother or was a good daughter. Or the diligent housekeeper here at Chafford Grange who has things running like a well-oiled wheel? I was a wife for just three out of my near twenty-five years. For twenty-two of those nobody would have dared call me poor Penny at all.’ She was staring straight ahead, her expression slightly wistful for a moment, making him wonder if the flash of temper he had just witnessed was gone and she was merely reminiscing. ‘I was an heiress. A catch, if I say so myself. When Clarissa and I first met and became friends, I was vivacious and witty, a little daring, quite outspoken. Certainly not your average debutante by any stretch thanks to my upbringing. Some gentlemen even considered me rather pretty and told me so at every opportunity. They sent me flowers and poems and asked me to dance.

  ‘Before that I was considered resourceful and level-headed by all those who knew me. My father thought me an asset to his business. Until he sold it, of c
ourse. In fact, as my mother’s health began to decline, I ran Ridley’s for a time. Did you know that? I was barely nineteen, but I could negotiate with hardened merchants, balance the books, organise the staff and sell practically anything to anyone. I had her eye, too—I knew which pieces to select, exactly how to price them and they flew off the shelves. Papa said I had the knack for making money. A talent for charming people. An apple which didn’t fall far from both the trees which made it.’

  She paused again while Freddie kicked some leaves about and Hadleigh tried and failed to come up with a suitable response, completely confused by the strange way the conversation had turned. He had barely uttered a tenth of his apology and, while she had every right to be angry at him for taking advantage, he got the distinct impression it wasn’t the kiss that pinched her lovely features with blatant irritation or made her voice positively sharp.

  ‘I am not entirely sure what you want me to say.’ Because he had worked out she did expect him to say something. Or at least he thought she did, although lord only knew what about.

  ‘I suppose what I am trying to say is this: simply because the cap fits, a person shouldn’t be expected to always wear it when the world is joyously filled with different hats and we, as individuals, have the right to choose, try them on for size and discard them as the mood takes us.’ She began walking again, taking the path towards the house which went through his mother’s beloved rose garden. He would have attempted to lead her on a different route and subtly avoid it, except he could see she was in no mood to be led. Now he was trapped. Cornered. Petrified. He wasn’t ready.

  ‘Let us take you, for example. Who are you, Lord Hadleigh? Are you the dedicated and dogged lawyer your reputation claims? Or are you the wealthy Viscount who owns this grand house? The good friend to the Flints and the Leathams and the Fennimores of the world? Or the charming, thoughtful fellow who sweeps up flour and rocks little boys to sleep? Or perhaps you are that remorseful man I met fleetingly in the kitchen the other evening, who wished he had done more to help his mother? The one who fears the memories inside that house more than he cares to admit and feels responsible for all abused women everywhere.’

  Her astuteness brought him up short and he realised she had brought him down this path on purpose. His mother’s beloved roses now flanked where they stood. The prickly bushes dormant, only a few inches of their barren stems protruding from the ground. ‘Which one of those many hats fits you best?’

  ‘All of them, I suppose...alongside a few more.’ He took her arm, tried to turn her, but she refused to budge. Although now that she was stubbornly stationary, at least they weren’t moving forward.

  ‘Of course! Because people are more than one thing. We are all multi-faceted and complex in our own way. Brave and afraid. Clever and daft. Downtrodden and proud. Stubborn and charming and annoyingly overbearing.’

  ‘This is a very philosophical conversation so early in the morning.’ Confusing, more like. She was running rings around him but, for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom her intention or dismiss the growing unease.

  ‘I am in a very philosophical mood.’ She gripped his arm and purposefully dragged him round the bend and there it was.

  His mother’s grave.

  He had placed her here on purpose, he suddenly recalled, so she would be among the flowers she had always tended with such care. Upon it were three hothouse roses, left by the old gardener perhaps, their pretty blooms withered by the biting winter frost. Much like his rehearsed apology and his hope to smooth things over.

  ‘Why is she here when the family plot is on the other side of the lake?’

  ‘She loved this rose garden.’ The past was suffocating him. He could barely breathe.

  ‘And your father is safely and symbolically buried on the other side of the lake under a thick block of granite. She is out of harm’s way.’ He didn’t deny it. Instead he schooled his features to become unreadable to hide the guilt and pain which simultaneously hit him square in the gut like punches.

  ‘I remind you of her, don’t I? That is why you paid my rent and that is why you now heavily subsidise my wages. Do not bother denying it because I have checked.’

  ‘I failed to help her and have regretted it ever since.’ His fixed his gaze on the gravestone. The cold, hard rock seemed a safer option than looking back into Penny’s perceptive blue stare and admitting she was right. But he felt her stare regardless and wondered if he’d made a total hash of things yet again. Because she had reminded him of his mother once upon a time...

  ‘Tell me, out of interest, when you look at her headstone what do you see? An abused wife...or more than that?’ A little of his rigid composure cracked. Hadleigh felt his eyebrows furrow as she forced him to see more of the past than he was prepared to. ‘Because you do her memory a gross disservice if that is all she has become to you, for the woman who put together this magnificent home, filled this garden with summer roses and raised you to be the crusading, vexing man that you are wore many different hats and I’ll wager she preferred all of them over the one you have consigned her to eternity wearing.’

  * * *

  Penny had allowed him to stalk off, not caring that he had been obviously angry by what she had said because she was livid at him. And livid at herself for believing him when she should have trusted her nagging doubts about his miraculously convenient and fortuitous offer of employment. What had her father always said? If something appears to be too good to be true, then it usually was. Ugh! She knew that!

  Yet instead of squirrelling away the six guineas she had in her hand, she had frivolously spent them, confident she would soon have more than enough to do exactly what she wanted. Freddie had indulgent new toys and she had treated herself to five new dresses. Dresses she adored which were nothing like the shapeless, dull garments Penhurst had forced her to wear because he knew she loathed them. Now she was stuck here, unwittingly beholden and feeling very silly to have been so easily convinced.

  Lord Hadleigh had got one thing right, though—he had taken advantage! Although not in the way he thought. He had taken advantage of her desperation for employment and presented her with an offer he had known full well she would have been mad to refuse.

  Logically, she knew it was hardly a betrayal in the true sense of the word. She liked it here and there truly was a job for her which the government were still paying her handsomely for. Fifty guineas for less than three months’ labour was astonishingly generous for a housekeeper by any standards—and her role was so much more than housekeeper. She was a confidante, an advisor, the essential component to the smooth running of a house filled with government spies and secrets. It was a unique role and not one just any old housekeeper could adequately fill. It needed Penny’s unique experience and insight—he hadn’t lied about any of that. Nor had he expressly ever told her the government were specifically paying all her wages. She had to give him that, too. In part—

  But he had certainly omitted telling her the truth he so rigidly claimed he stood for with every fibre of his being. After she had realised he was doubling the ridiculously generous salary out of his own pocket, she had gone through the wording of her contract and not once had it stipulated where the money came from either, nor mentioned the exact sum she would receive. But it had certainly been worded to make her think the government were paying ‘the sum agreed’.

  Just as his convincing words the night of the flour had heavily hinted at their involvement.

  ‘We suggest an amount of ten guineas per month... We will recruit the staff... We cannot risk anything leaking to the defence, or, heaven forbid, the press before the trial.’

  A great many ‘we’s had been flung about to embellish things with the right amount of gravitas to get her to believe him. And procuring the refund from Mr Cohen had been a masterstroke on his part. It had made it appear he had listened to her assertions about standing on her own two feet and respec
ted them. Except, he hadn’t believed her truly capable of managing her own life in the long run, what with her being nothing beyond the tragic abused wife who needed rescuing and thus had felt the need to become her anonymous benefactor once again.

  Quite frankly, if she hadn’t grown to like the man so much, or grown to understand what a complex, wounded and thoughtful character he was beneath the inscrutable lawyer’s mask, she would cheerfully roll up that duplicitous piece of legal parchment and bash him over his irritatingly noble head with it!

  But she did like him and she did understand his motives, even if she fundamentally found them exasperating at the same time. Somewhere in his irritating and noble head he had decided to appoint himself the rescuer of abused women everywhere, because obviously they all needed rescuing, the poor things. When, in actuality, in doing it the way he had, by assuming control, he’d labelled her as hopeless and stuffed her unwillingly back in the same box she had been desperate to get out of. Couldn’t he see that she loathed Poor Penny and everything she had stood for? Wasn’t it obvious she wanted to take the whitewash to those awful three years and paint them out of her memories, pretending they’d never happened? That was not who she was! She was more like the old Penny again now. Perhaps had always been the old Penny, because despite the enforced subjugation, inside she had always railed against it. Her thoughts and her actions were different, that was all. And only out of dire necessity.

  ‘Penny...can I come in?.’ She had been expecting him. So much so, she had even gone to the trouble to indulge in a little of Clarissa’s staging in preparation.

  ‘Yes.’

  The door to her private sitting room opened and, because she purposely had her back to it and was facing the fire, she made no attempt to turn when she heard him softly click it shut again. He came to stand awkwardly in front of her as she embroidered. He had no choice but to do otherwise as she had dragged the big chair far away from the others, giving him nowhere to sit. She wanted him to stand and squirm.