The Determined Lord Hadleigh Read online

  Not that he had anything in this instance to be guilty about. Penhurst was a traitor. He had robbed the Crown of taxes, as a minion of the infamous and still-unidentified mastermind known only as The Boss, he had willingly consorted with England’s worst enemies and had blood on his hands. Lots of blood. Too many innocent men had died thanks to that smuggling ring and it was hardly his fault the evidence had been so plentiful and compelling the man had got his rightful comeuppance. Hadleigh had no earthly reason to feel guilty at doing his job well. None whatsoever.

  So why did he? Those eyes perhaps?

  ‘All rise.’

  Putting his misplaced guilt and odd mood aside, he stood with the rest of the chamber and forced his gaze to remain fixed on the judge as he entered. The judge sat and so did the rest of the chamber, while Penhurst was brought in to hear the sentence. He appeared terrified and rightly so, his eyes darting around the room nervously while the whole indictment was read. Then, as Hadleigh and most of the baying crowd had expected, the clerk placed the black-silk square atop his wig as an eerie hush settled over the room.

  Hadleigh’s gaze flicked to her and she was ashen, those lovely eyes swirling with emotion, his heart lurching painfully at the sight. All he could think of was what she might be thinking and what in God’s name was to become of her. No husband. No home. No money. None of it her fault.

  Professional detachment be damned! Once the judge was done he would offer some help. He wouldn’t leave her all alone to be fed to the wolves today. He would escort her home. Give her money. A chance to start afresh. Something—anything—to make his misguided conscience feel better.

  ‘William Henry Ashley, formally the Viscount Penhurst and the Baron of Scarsdale, the court doth order you to be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and thence to the place of execution, and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and that your body be afterward buried within the precincts of the prison in which you shall be confined after your conviction. And may the Lord have mercy upon your soul.’

  ‘No!’ Penhurst broke free of his guards, scrambled over the dock and lunged at the bench. Instinctively, Hadleigh stepped forward to stop him and the Viscount’s fingers gripped his robe with all his might. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know. Everything!’ The genuine fear in the man’s expression was visceral. ‘You have the power to appeal! To respite my sentence! Transport me. Imprison me. Flog me. Do whatever you see fit, but surely I am more use to you alive than I am dead?’

  Around them, the gallery had jumped to their feet and surged forward to get a better view. It took two clerks and four men to restrain the panicked Penhurst and several minutes to drag him kicking and howling from the melee of the court room before order was resumed. By the time it was, her chair was empty. The ruined, twisted handkerchief lying crumpled on the floor, still damp from her tears.

  Chapter One

  Cheapside—five months later

  ‘You are mistaken, Mr Palmer. I promise you I haven’t yet paid the account. I came in here today specifically to pay the account.’ Penny once again held out the money the pawnbroker had given her for her mother’s jade brooch only minutes before.

  The shopkeeper smiled kindly, but made no attempt to take it. ‘’Tis all paid, Mrs Henley. In full.’ He turned around the ledger and pointed to the balance. ‘There is no mistake, I can assure you.’ His eyes wandered over to another woman in the corner who seemed perfectly content examining the rolls of ribbon all by herself. ‘If there’s nothing else I can help you with, Mrs Henley, I’d best see to my other customers.’

  ‘But I didn’t pay you, Mr Palmer!’

  ‘Somebody did, because it’s been noted down and I shan’t be taking the money twice. That wouldn’t be honest now, would it? And I pride myself on my honesty. Spend it on that little lad of yours, eh? I dare say he needs something. Growing boys always need something.’ He closed his ledger decisively. ‘Will there be anything else you need, Mrs Henley?’

  He didn’t strike her as a stupid man, but it was obvious he was a stubborn one and too proud to admit his error. Perhaps his wife would be more accommodating? ‘Please send my regards to Mrs Palmer. I had hoped to see her today.’ She cast a glance over his shoulder to the little anteroom beyond the counter. ‘Unless she’s here so I can do so in person?’ The shopkeeper’s wife was meticulous and would find a way to gently correct her husband’s blatant accounting mistake.

  ‘She’s gone off to visit our daughter and the grandchildren, I’m afraid. I shall pass on your regards when she returns next week.’

  Not wanting to argue further in public, Penny decided to come back then and attempt to pay her debt to the Palmers’ shop. She said her goodbyes and, mindful of the time, walked briskly up King Street to the home of her landlord, Mr Cohen, fully intending to pay in advance for her next month’s rent, only to find that, too, had been paid. Unlike the cheerful shopkeeper, Mr Cohen was a humourless individual who didn’t like to waste words.

  ‘I tell you it’s been paid, Mrs Henley. A full twelve months’ rent!’

  ‘But that is impossible! I haven’t paid you.’ But the coincidence was not lost on her and she found her teeth grinding at the suspicion as to who might have. ‘Who paid it?’

  ‘That I can’t say. Nor will I, as much as I don’t like it. Your benefactor wants to remain anonymous.’

  ‘Benefactor?’

  The old man scowled and shook his head. His rheumy eyes burning with accusation. ‘That’s what I’ll call him for now, Mrs Henley—because he assured me he wasn’t your fancy man and I choose to think the best of my tenants, no matter how new they are to me or how implausible their stories.’

  ‘Fancy man?’ Penny didn’t need to hide her outrage at the suggestion. ‘I can assure you...’ The old man rudely held up his hand.

  ‘And I can assure you, rent or no rent, I’ll toss you out on your ear if I get so much as one whiff that he is. I won’t tolerate any scandal in one of my buildings, Mrs Henley—if indeed you are or have ever been a Mrs. If you hadn’t been vouched for personally by Mr Leatham, I never would have accepted you in the first place. I wonder what he’d have to say about a strange man paying a year’s worth of rent?’

  An interesting question indeed. Exactly what would Seb Leatham have to say? He was a man of few words, but one used to blending into the background and doing covert things behind the scenes. Never mind that he would walk on hot coals if Clarissa asked him to.

  Suddenly, a nasty suspicion began to bloom in her mind. This was all a little too contrived and convenient. Less than twenty-four hours before she had had a disagreement with Clarissa, the only friend she had left in the world and wife to the aforementioned Seb Leatham. It had been about her decision to seek employment somewhere as a governess or housekeeper or some such to make ends meet which had so thoroughly outraged Clarissa. She had been very vocal on the subject before she had backed down. Her friend had claimed she respected Penny’s decision even if she did not agree with it. Yet now, by some miracle, her rent and her household accounts were miraculously all settled by a mysterious benefactor. Twelve months gratis in Cheapside kept her close enough so her well-meaning friend could continue to keep an eye on her and Penny would have no need to sully her poor, pathetic hands with work in the interim.

  ‘I insist you give the money back whence it came, Mr Cohen! I’ll pay my own rent, thank you very much.’ She wasn’t that pathetic woman any longer. As much as she had grown to hate her husband, she had hated the woman she had been during their marriage more. A scared, spineless and stupid girl who had ignored everyone’s cautionary words about the man she had set her heart on marrying who had lived to rue the day. Oh! How she had hated being powerless and subservient, and because it went against the grain of her character she was determined to be a different woman now. She was neither worthless nor useless. Nor would she be beholden.

  Because
accepting charity and feeling beholden allowed others the opportunity to control her life and she was done with all that. How was keeping her in Cheapside any different from keeping her in Penhurst Hall? And just because her friends meant well, that didn’t give them the right to use their wealth secretively to get their own way. After three interminable years of being powerless and controlled, the only person who had any say about her life now was her son, Freddie. As he was still unable to talk, there was nobody else who held that power.

  To prove her point, Penny began rummaging in her reticule for the money. What was the matter with working for a living anyway? Perhaps such a prospect daunted an aristocratic woman like Clarissa, but it didn’t faze Penny. She had come from trade, spent her formative years working within it and had enjoyed every second. Her mother and father had worked all their lives with her on their knee. Why, her father had built his business from scratch, from the ground up, and those same principles of hard work and honest enterprise were as ingrained in her as good manners. There was no shame in honest labour and she wouldn’t be deterred from finding a way to stand on her own two feet after everything she had endured. After three years she was finally free and intended to remain so. Making her own living, living her own life, was something she was looking forward to rather than dreading and just as her dear parents had, she would find a way to make it work around Freddie. A fresh, clean slate that left her shameful past firmly in the past.

  ‘He made me promise not to allow that—and paid me over the odds to ensure I complied.’ Old Cohen crossed his arms. ‘But if I find out there’s any funny business going on between you and him...’

  ‘For any funny business to be going on, Mr Cohen, I would first have to know who he is, don’t you think?’ Although whoever he was, he was linked to Seb Leatham somehow. The man was a high-ranking government spy, one who had a legion of subordinate spies to do his dirty work for him. She was going to strangle Clarissa. How dared she?

  How dared she?

  Not caring that she was being rude to her mean-spirited landlord, Penny turned on her heel and began to march home, imbued with the determination and outrage of the self-righteous. How dare Clarissa use her husband to go behind her back like that? When her friend had explicitly promised to support her in her endeavours and claimed she understood why Penny wanted to leave her old life and all its horrid memories well behind.

  What other choice did she have? Her parents, God rest them, were dead and the distant relatives who still lived had disowned her before the trial had even started. Either she earned her own living or she lived on Clarissa’s charity again as she had during the humiliating trial. Because Lord alone knew there wasn’t enough of her mother’s old jewellery to pawn to keep her head above water for more than a few months at most. There certainly wasn’t enough of it yet to buy Freddie and her a cottage of their own in the wilds of the country.

  And yet was the operative word, because one day she would have one. That was her dream. The only thing which had sustained her these past months. A pretty place to call her own where she could finally put the past three years behind her. Of that she was determined. If those dreadful years married to Penhurst had taught her nothing, it had taught her that it was long past time she needed to stop being dictated to by others and take control of her own destiny in whatever shape she chose to make it.

  Her respectable lodgings in Cheapside were only ever meant to be temporary. A place to lick her wounds in private while she considered all her options. She had happily taken Seb Leatham’s advice on that. Aside from the fact she had spent the first fourteen years of her life living here before her father could afford Mayfair and had always loved it. It was a busy area of the city which allowed a person to hide in plain sight. With all the businesses, merchants and transient visitors from far and wide, nobody looked twice at a well-heeled woman with a child in Cheapside. Nor did any of the upper crust of society venture here. They might send their servants, but they would never be seen dead on the same streets as those in trade.

  Heaven forbid!

  Any more than they would consider continuing their acquaintance with the widow of a traitor.

  She stopped dead outside her building and sucked in a calming breath. Perhaps she shouldn’t be too hard on Clarissa? Her friend had stalwartly stood by her throughout everything. Quite openly. She would have sat with her through every minute of the trial if Penny hadn’t stopped her. She had claimed at the time she wanted Freddie to be with someone he knew, someone who cared for him, rather than admitting she didn’t want to taint or ruin her friend’s good reputation by well-meant association. Even now, months after Penhurst’s death, Penny refused point blank to darken Clarissa’s door in Grosvenor Square. That wouldn’t be fair, no matter what her friend said to the contrary. That hadn’t stopped her coming here and stepping into the breach when Penny needed somebody to watch her son and for that, she was in Clarissa’s debt.

  This wasn’t worth losing her only true friend in the world for.

  Wearily, she took the two flights of stairs slowly and tried to think of a more tactful way of voicing her annoyance at what was obviously meant to be a kindness. Especially as her life had been devoid of such niceness for so long.

  She found Clarissa in the tiny parlour sat cross-legged on the floor helping Freddie build a lopsided tower with his wooden blocks, his current favourite toy. ‘You’re back early. I thought you had heaps of errands to run.’

  Penny hadn’t confided to her friend that she was visiting the pawn shop and didn’t intend to. ‘I did—but something peculiar happened and I thought I’d better come back.’

  ‘Peculiar? You weren’t recognised, were you?’ Her only friend looked concerned at the prospect. People had been quite cruel during the trial. The press had positively hounded her.

  ‘No. Nothing so terrible.’ She untied her bonnet and placed it on the table with her gloves, then stalled for more time by carefully hanging up her cloak on the peg by the door, needing to give herself a stern talking to in order to be that better, stronger, independent version of herself.

  Be tactful. But be assertive. This is your life and you can now live it exactly as you choose. Something you have yearned for. For three long years. ‘However, I did learn something niggling. Something probably best discussed over a cup of tea.’ More stalling, which irritated, although was annoyingly typical when one considered she had always shied away from conflict—even before Penhurst. It didn’t matter. All this self-flagellation at her supposed flaws was misplaced and pointless. One could still be fundamentally nice and assertive at the same time. It was not as if Clarissa would punch her.

  She kissed her son noisily on the cheek before walking to the fireplace to grab the kettle and prepare the teapot. The lack of servants was another thing Clarissa worried about, but Penny genuinely rather liked her new privacy. It wasn’t that much work to clean up after herself and her son. Preparing meals was getting easier, but was certainly not her forte, yet a small price to pay for proper privacy. Besides, she still wasn’t completely over the sheer joy of being able to spend unrationed and unmonitored time with her boy. Proper time where she could be his mother rather than the scant few minutes her husband had allowed each day before her little cherub was taken back up to the nursery to the paid sneak, Nanny Francis, and out of her control. Penhurst’s servants had been her gaolers. Good riddance to the lot of them. She wouldn’t mourn their loss any more than she mourned his.

  Clarissa took charge of pouring the tea a few minutes later, while Penny settled down with Freddie in her lap. Once done, her friend placed the steaming cup in front of her, then stared at Penny intently. ‘What’s happened?’

  Best to get straight to the point. ‘I know you mean well, but you shouldn’t have paid my rent.’

  Her friend blinked, then frowned. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps not in person, you’re far too clever for that, but you arrange
d for it to be paid behind my back and you settled my account at the shop as well.’ She smiled, softening the admonishment, but was quietly pleased that she had given it.

  ‘I didn’t. I wish I had...because heaven only knows you need someone to help you and I can well afford it. But honestly, Penny, I didn’t. I value our friendship too much to go against your express wishes and I meant it when I said I would respect your wishes. After everything, you of all people deserve to be mistress of your own life.’

  ‘Then Seb arranged for those bills to be paid without your knowledge.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do such a thing behind my back. Or yours for that matter. I know you have a justifiably jaded view of men and marriage, but Seb is an honourable man and he would never do anything without my knowing. He loves me.’

  Penny picked up her tea and tried not to be irritated at her friend’s naivety. Men always did what they thought was best irrespective of the woman’s feelings. ‘Then how else do you explain twelve months’ worth of rent miraculously paid on my behalf?’

  ‘Twelve months!’ Her friend seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Someone has paid an entire year of rent? Who? And, more importantly, why?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Clarissa—let’s not play games.’ She wouldn’t feel bad for losing her temper. A line had to be drawn somewhere and her overprotective friend had pushed the boundary between concern and downright interference too far. ‘I appreciate I’ve been the biggest of fools, that I married a man you had the measure of from the outset and cautioned me against, that I put up with Penhurst and did his bidding like a quaking dolt for three years! I am walking proof of how stupidly trusting, misguided and downtrodden a woman can be! But I’m not an idiot. Not any more, at any rate. You directly or indirectly paid my rent without my consent or knowledge to stop me applying for work.’