Six
Lady Lorraine swept in with a lot of noise and commotion as she always did. She wore a velvet dress in deep green with a matching cape. Burr hurried in her wake and she had two maidservants with her as well. As soon as Rowden heard her laugh, Mostyn cocked his head and climbed under the ropes. In the middle of the round. What man walked away from a fight before the bell was rung?
Rowden put his hands on his hips in annoyance as he watched Mostyn greet his wife. She smiled up at him, her cheeks pink from the cold. The cape concealed her figure, so Rowden couldn’t see if there was any sort of bump indicating she was with child, but she certainly didn’t act like she had slowed down at all. She was speaking rapidly, as usual, directing everyone in her wake hither and yon.
She came to a stop before the ring and looked up at Rowden. He gave her a slight bow. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”
Mostyn threw his shirt at him, hitting him square in the face.
Lady Lorraine laughed, and Rowden tugged the shirt over his head. “It is a pleasure to see you as well, my lord.”
He raised a hand. “I’m not a lord any longer.”
“You should be,” she said definitively. “And I will simply never get used to calling you Mr. Payne. You are Lord Rowden Payne to me. I deem it so.”
“How can I argue then?”
“You can’t. Now, where is my charge?”
Rowden shook his head. “She isn’t a charge, exactly.” It was best if Lady Lorraine didn’t begin to think of Miss Brown as a little injured bird to take under her wing. Rowden was trying to keep himself from thinking that way. Yes, Miss Brown needed help, and yes, he wanted to help her insofar as he could. But there was only so much he could do. She needed someone to assume care for her, and he was not a relation or a husband, and therefore couldn’t do more than he’d already done.
In fact, a young unmarried woman like her should not be associating with him too frequently. Even if she did have captivating eyes...
But he had to put her out of his head, as he had been doing, because she wasn’t the sort of woman he could have anything to do with or would want to have anything to do with him. Better to give her to Lady Lorraine and have her assist. She was always looking for something to do.
“She needs help finding her aunt, one Augusta Ryan.”
“Never heard of her, but I can make inquiries.”
“I thought you might. She’s in a bit of a fragile state. Her father has gone missing and she has nowhere to go. Burr found her sleeping on the stoop outside this morning and brought her to me.”
“Why you?” Lady Lorraine asked.
“That’s a long story. Mostyn can tell you.”
She glanced at her husband. “You know he will never tell me.”
Rowden pointed to the closed door of the antechamber. “She’s in there.” He climbed under the ropes. “I’ll introduce you.”
“So your fall from grace did not strip you of all your manners, I see.”
He winced. “I suppose that pun was intentional.”
“Anyone with the sobriquet The Royal Payne must appreciate a good pun.”
Mostyn moved ahead of them and opened the door to the antechamber. He stopped, stared, and looked back at his wife. “She’s asleep.”
Lady Lorraine peered around him. “Why is she dressed like that?”
“She’s a Methodist or some such thing,” said Rowden.
“The Methodists I know don’t dress like that.”
Rowden didn’t know any Methodists. Or if he did, they hadn’t confessed to it. Come to think of it, she’d never said she was a Methodist. He’d just assumed. “Maybe she’s not a Methodist. She’s part of one of those churches who stand outside taverns and yell at the soiled doves to repent. Her mother is dead, and her father is missing, and all she has is some memories of an aunt. She was supposed to be reading these letters we found to see if they contained any information on the aunt.”
Lady Lorraine moved into the room and looked down at Miss Brown, who was curled into a ball, her face pressed into the cushions of the longue. The letters were clutched in her hand.
“Poor thing. And why were you involved again?”
She did not surrender easily.
“Mostyn will tell you. I have to get back to the studio.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he watched as Ewan’s wife bent and put a hand on Miss Brown’s shoulder. “What is her name?” she asked quietly.
“Modesty Brown.”
“Miss Brown.” Lady Lorraine shook her slightly. “Miss Brown, time to wake up.”
Miss Brown’s striking eyes opened, and she sat quickly. “I fell asleep.”
“That’s quite alright. You must be very tired after your ordeal.”
“Lady Lorraine,” Rowden said, “may I present Miss Modesty Brown.”
Miss Brown got to her feet. “Should I curtsy?”
Lady Lorraine held out a white-gloved hand. “Why don’t we shake hands?”
Miss Brown shifted her letters to the other hand and took Lady Lorraine’s.
“Did you read the letters?” Rowden asked.
Miss Brown looked sheepish. “Not yet. I was about to, but I must have fallen asleep.”
Rowden believed her, but he didn’t think that was the whole of the reason. He would have thought she would start reading the letters immediately, almost as soon as he removed them from the trunk. But she had hesitated to even take them. Was she afraid of what she might find out?
“You must be tired and hungry,” Lady Lorraine said, taking her arm. “You will come home with me, and after you have rested and eaten, we can talk about the aunt you’re searching for. I know almost everyone and surely someone knows someone who knows who and where Augusta Ryan might be. I have the carriage, and we can be home shortly.”
“Lorrie,” Ewan said, his voice a warning. He was a man of few words, but he didn’t need them. Clearly, he was not happy with the plan for Miss Brown to travel to his home.
“I will see you this evening,” Lady Lorraine told him. “I’ll tell Cook to prepare your favorite for dinner tonight.” She led Miss Brown out of the antechamber then directed one of her maids to return and gather any correspondence. “I’ll read it, and we can discuss any necessary replies after dinner,” she told her husband. He scowled at her, but she merely waved and was gone.
Everyone who had served closely with Mostyn in the war knew he couldn’t read very well. Although Colonel Draven also had a stake in the studio, Rowden suspected Lady Lorraine was far more involved in its operations than anyone but Mostyn himself. It was her connections that brought the initial clientele in for lessons, and it was obviously her participation in the actual business affairs of the studio that were making Mostyn’s such a success.
“Well,” Chibale said, coming to stand beside Rowden. “That’s done.”
Yes, it was. Rowden was relieved.
“How about another round?” Chibale suggested.
Mostyn shook his head. “Lesson in a quarter of an hour.”
Chibale nodded toward a set of leather sacks filled with grain. “Let’s see how you do against those. Your left hook could be stronger.”
Rowden wanted to object that he was done for the day, but he had to win the fight with Abraham Strong and win it soundly. Then the German couldn’t possibly refuse to fight him again.
* * *
LADY LORRAINE CHATTED all the way to her home. Modesty hardly heard what she said. She was too busy gaping at the ornate interior of the carriage. The door handles appeared to be gold and the curtains framing the windows were velvet. As a child, the chance to sit in the back of a wagon or take a brief ride in a hackney was an enormous treat. And of course, she had seen the conveyances of the upper classes pass by on the street. Lady Lorraine’s was by no means the grandest she had seen. Once she had glimpsed the Duke of Devonshire’s and had stopped to stare.
But even in her wildest imaginings about the interior of the Devonshire carriage, she had not imagined comfort like this—plush seats, a soft blanket and hot bricks to keep her feet warm, and Lady Lorraine had even produced a tea service.
“Ah, here we are,” Lady Lorraine said, and it took a moment for Modesty to tear her gaze from a panel under Lady Lorraine’s seat, which she had been informed held a small library.
Modesty looked out the window and spotted a small white house with trees out front and greenery across the door. It was not one of the terraced houses but freestanding. She imagined in the spring the trees were lovely with green leaves and buds. The empty flower boxes in the window were probably filled with color. “It’s lovely,” she murmured.
“I should have had the greenery removed after Epiphany,” Lady Lorraine said, “but I rather like it. The front of the house looks so bare without it.”
The carriage halted and a footman came forward to lower the stairs and open the door. Lady Lorraine alighted with ease and Modesty followed more clumsily.
The interior of the house was just as spectacular as the carriage. The foyer was wide and airy with a grand marble Y-shaped staircase. While Modesty looked up and up at the high ceiling, Lady Lorraine spoke with a housekeeper who gave Modesty dubious glances before taking her coat. Then Lady Lorraine led Modesty to a small pale blue parlor where she immediately sat on a couch and put her feet on a footstool. A small white and brown dog trotted in, sniffed at Modesty, and then climbed on the couch and put its head in Lady Lorraine’s lap.
“This is Welly,” she said, stroking the dog’s soft ears. She sighed. “The problem with pregnancy,” Lady Lorraine said, “is that I am tired all of the time.”
Modesty glanced at Lady Lorraine’s midsection. There was just the slightest protrusion where her waist would be. As even the mention of pregnancy embarrassed Modesty, she quickly turned the subject. “I am sorry to trouble you. I assure you, you needn’t have gone to this much effort on my account.”
Lady Lorraine waved a hand. “When I have my breath back, I will write a few letters and we will discover what there is to know about your aunt Augusta Ryan. Until then you are welcome to stay here. It is just Mr. Mostyn and me, so obviously we have plenty of room to spare.”
“His boxing studio must do very well,” Modesty said before she could think better of such a comment.
But Lady Lorraine laughed and did not seem offended. “Mr. Mostyn is absolutely making a name for himself in addition to the notoriety he had acquired from being a war hero and a younger son of the Earl of Pembroke. But this house was a wedding gift from my father, the Duke of Ridlington.”
Modesty had been to a wedding breakfast once or twice. She had given the newlyweds a basket with bread and jam. Clearly, she had stepped into a different world.
Uncertain what to say in response to Lady Lorraine, Modesty pulled the packet of letters from her pocket and looked at them. She had not been able to read them earlier that day. She had wanted to. She had even stared at them for a long, long time, willing herself to open the first one.
“Do you require privacy?” Lady Lorraine asked. “I can certainly give you privacy. I can retire to another room or have one readied for you or...what is the matter?” She rose and went to sit beside Modesty. A moment later the dog trotted over as well.
“I am a great coward,” Modesty said, wiping her eyes. She must stop crying and acting as though her father was dead. She must have hope and faith. She must be strong. Modesty couldn’t ever recall her mother crying, and Modesty must show the same resolve in difficult times. God was still with her and though it might feel as though the whole world was against her, she knew that was just her fear speaking.
“You cannot be a coward,” Lady Lorraine said, patting her shoulder. “You spent the morning with my husband and Lord Rowden. That takes a great deal of courage.” She smiled.
“Lord Rowden? Do you mean Mr. Payne?”
“Yes. I forget that he is Mr. Payne now. His father is an idiot.”
Modesty knew she should not gossip, but she still hoped Lady Lorraine would continue. Instead, the lady tugged at a bell pull and when the door opened to admit the housekeeper, she said, “Is Miss Brown’s chamber ready? Show her to it, will you? She requires some time to refresh herself.”
Modesty rose and Lady Lorraine took her arm. “Are the other items in your valise as...black as these?” she asked, indicating Modesty’s dress and hat.
“Yes. We believe sober dress shows humility.”
“It certainly does. If you would like a change of clothing, I might be able to find something suitable. You and I are not of a similar size.” This was true as Lady Lorraine was several inches taller than Modesty and had more womanly curves, though that might have been due, in part, to her condition. Even so, Modesty could never wear the sort of clothing Lady Lorraine wore. It was not even afternoon, and she wore a gown that revealed her collarbone and showed the swells of her breasts. A gauzy fichu did nothing to hide the flesh on display. “Nell might be able to find something. She is my lady’s maid. Send for her, will you?” she directed one of the footmen standing outside.
“Come down when you are ready,” Lady Lorraine said. “I will fortify myself with tea and then begin my correspondence. I have to think who is still in Town,” she said almost to herself as she turned away.
Modesty followed the housekeeper, a Mrs. Keefer, to a chamber on the second floor. It was a small chamber but still grander than any Modesty had ever seen. It was papered in mint green and contained a large bed with an inverted V-shaped draping of silky fabric at the head. There was also another of those chaise longues, this one in cream, and a table with a pitcher of water and a basin.
“The fire hasn’t had time to warm the room much,” Mrs. Keefer said. “But you should be cozy enough in a quarter of an hour.”
“I am perfectly cozy now. Thank you.”
The housekeeper turned to leave then hesitated and turned back again. “I hope you don’t think to take advantage of my lady. She is trusting and kind, and sometimes those qualities cloud her judgment of people.”
Modesty understood the warning clear enough. “I assure you, I have no ill intentions. I am grateful for her generosity.”
“Good. Mr. Mostyn is a gentleman, but he is protective of Lady Lorraine and her unborn babe. I wouldn’t want to anger him.”
Modesty wouldn’t want to anger him either. She nodded and when the door closed, she removed her hat and went to the wash basin. She washed her face and hands then took a seat on the longue and stared at the letters. She had put it off long enough. Nothing in these letters could change her life more than it had already been changed.
She didn’t mind that some of it had changed. If she never had to stand outside a tavern and yell about sin again, she would be perfectly happy. But she did miss her father, and she missed the routine of their days and listening to his sermons on Sunday. She missed the comfort of being in her own home and knowing what the next day would bring. Now everything was uncertain, and she feared life would never return to what it had once been. More importantly, she worried she might never see her father again.
Modesty opened the first letter and began to read.
And then she understood how very naïve she had been because, after only a few words, she realized her whole life had been a lie.