A Lady to Remember Page 2

  “It should have been you,” she said, directing her anger toward the person who deserved it.

  Harry inhaled sharply as if she’d landed a blow. He dropped his arms to his sides and backed away from her, his mouth agape. She had never spoken against her brother or criticized his choices because she’d always known everything he did was for her. Harry had given up his education, financial standing, and respectability to protect her. If he had stolen from Madame le Shavell tonight—and she couldn’t be certain the necklace hadn’t been a gift—he had done it to pay their rent.

  The dratted lump returned to her throat. Of course, she didn’t want her brother locked away any more than she wanted it for Marcus. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I never intended to involve Mr. Fletcher. It is only… I did not anticipate every gentleman would be searched.”

  He paced several steps further into the alcove, plowing his hand through his nearly black hair and leaving it standing on end. When he turned to face her, he looked properly miserable. “Your betrothal is common knowledge, and it is clear Mr. Fletcher is smitten with you. Everyone gossips about it. I never anticipated he would become a suspect. I am sorry.”

  Her eyes stung as the reality of what had occurred sank in and despair began to overtake her anger. Marcus had looked so helpless being carried from the room. “Where are they taking him? What if we never see him again?” Tears began to slip from the corners of her eyes.

  “Adele...” Her brother returned to her side and retrieved a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket. “The Sûreté arrested Mr. Fletcher to appease the marquis. He will be released within the hour, I promise. Please, do not cry.”

  She wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief, silently admonishing herself for her outburst in the ballroom. She and Harry needed to appear united when they stepped from behind the curtain. To do otherwise would invite questions, and she would not stand-by quietly if suspicions turned toward her brother, and the marquis tried to take him away from her, too.

  “How do you know he will be released?” she asked.

  Harry scoffed. “Marcus Fletcher is a gentleman of means. A small bribe will keep him out of La Force Prison.”

  Adele sniffled, placed the handkerchief in her reticule, and reached to smooth down her brother’s messy hair. “There, now you are presentable.” She stepped back to make one last inspection. “Marcus will need a carriage to take him home. We will wait for him outside the prison.”

  Harry appeared ready to argue, but he snapped his mouth shut when she narrowed her eyes at him. “As you wish.” He offered his escort with a strained smile.

  “Thank you.” She linked arms with him to exit the alcove.

  The great room appeared less crowded than it had been moments earlier, but more than half the guests had stayed to see the ball to the end. She and Harry earned a few curious glances, but they couldn’t compete with the lure of the string quartet returning to the dais.

  Once they were outside, she and Harry hurried along the walkway in the dark, still arm-in-arm. They would need to hail a carriage to carry them to the prison, which would take the last of the coins Harry had given her for pin money a few weeks ago. If they were required to wait all night for Marcus, the rent money would need to be raided. Her betrothed would see that Harry was reimbursed once he was released, of course, but she couldn’t help worrying that her brother might be wrong about how long the Sûreté would keep her betrothed. Their landlord was losing patience, and if she and her brother were unable to pay the rent in full this quarter, they would be evicted.

  “Did you take the lady’s necklace?” she asked in a soft voice. She wanted Harry to deny the charge, for him to dispel the worry that they were in such dire need.

  His silence confirmed her fears.

  “Have you been stealing from them all along?”

  “Not all of them.”

  She and Harry referred to the string of lovers he had taken to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table this past year. After his first lover had tired of him and abandoned them in Paris, few options existed for their survival. Dire circumstances often called for desperate actions. Adele couldn’t help feeling responsible for their predicament, even though she was not to blame. Her stepmother’s brother held that honor.

  Adele’s seventeenth birthday had just passed when her step-uncle began intimating the stipend her father had been providing for her room and board was no longer sufficient payment. In the beginning, he had encouraged her to think creatively in how she could repay him, while leaving no doubts that he wanted her in his bed. He had demanded it in the end.

  Fearing for her safety, she had written to her father and brother pleading for their intercession, but only Harry had responded. He left Oxford, rescued her from their step-uncle’s home, and took her to live with their mother’s family until he was forced to make other arrangements. Father had wasted no time in cutting off support to Adele’s brother for overstepping his bounds, but their father had never invited them to come home. Adele suspected he was happy for an excuse to be rid of them both.

  “The kinder ladies provide me with gifts,” Harry said, “or money.”

  “Why do you take from the others?”

  He shrugged. “We need it, and they do not.”

  She held her tongue. It would be hypocritical to pass judgment on him when she had been ignoring what he had become in order for them to pay the rent.

  When her brother had announced years ago they would be traveling the Continent with a wealthy countess in need of companions, he had presented it as an exciting adventure and an answer to prayers. He had been shielding her from the truth. In Italy, Harry had been referred to as Lady Liliwen’s cicisbeo, her chevalier servant in France. Adele hadn’t known the meaning of these terms until the maid assigned to attend her in Paris had enlightened her. Her brother had become the countess’s paid lover.

  For four years, Lady Liliwen’s fortune had seen to their comfort while the countess treated Harry like a pretty pet. Adele had despised the shameful arrangement—Harry was the heir to a dukedom, for heaven’s sake—but she had also understood their survival depended upon the woman’s generosity. At some point, Adele had become complicit in the lies she told herself.

  She stopped on the walkway, forcing her brother to halt beneath a street lamp. “This cannot go on—the women, the thievery. What if Monsieur le Shavell had discovered you with his wife? You could have been shot.”

  He grimaced. “I know you are right. I barely escaped through her dressing room.”

  Adele gripped his hands in hers and tried to calm the tempest building in her belly. The risks her brother took were too great and unnecessary now. “Promise you will stop this madness. Come to England with Marcus and me. I’ve spoken with him already, and he is in agreement.”

  “I believe his attitude toward me will have changed after tonight. I cannot blame him either.”

  Worry for Marcus and sadness over her brother’s circumstances drained her, leaving her limbs heavy and her heart heavier. “If Marcus is not released tonight, I must come forward,” she said. “I will tell the police we were together.”

  Harry frowned. “That could be unwise. There could be more questions.”

  “There were many men at the ball tonight. Any one of them could have slipped the necklace into his pocket. I would never betray you. You must know you can trust me.”

  He hesitated. “Of course, I trust you, but let’s try to be optimistic. Your betrothed will be home before sunrise.”

  She sighed wearily. “I hope you are right.”

  “I am.” He linked arms with her, encouraging her to walk with him. “Now, let’s make our way home to wait for Mr. Fletcher. To loiter outside the prison would be an invitation to all manner of ne’er-do-wells.”

  “What if Marcus cannot find a carriage?”

  Harry clicked his tongue. “Marcus Fletcher is capable of finding his way back to his a
partments. I will send a message for him to call in the morning as soon as the hour is proper.”

  Adele’s heart quivered at the thought of Marcus being at the mercy of these same ne’er-do-wells when he was released. Nevertheless, she recognized the logic in her brother’s argument. Marcus had lived alone in Paris several months before they met, and at seven and twenty, he wouldn’t take well to being coddled.

  “Are you certain he will be released tonight?” she asked.

  “Without a doubt. Try not to fret.”

  Adele attempted to follow her brother’s advice as she readied for bed, but worry often became her bedmate after the lights were extinguished. Tonight was no exception. The insidious beast snuggled up to her, whispering of all the dangers lying in wait for her beloved. She prayed for his safety and for morning to come quickly.

  Something cold and hard pressed against Marcus’s cheek. He gulped stagnant air as he began to wake. When he stirred, his fingernails grazed stone and sent a chill through him. He was lying on the floor. Flickering candlelight barely penetrated the darkness. Where the devil am I?

  “He is waking.” A man’s nasally French rattled around in Marcus’s skull. He groped for his head, wincing when he touched a grotesque lump at the edge of his hairline.

  “What happened?” His mouth was dry, and his words garbled. His question hung in the air unanswered.

  Slowly, Marcus’s blurry vision cleared and the room came into focus—stone walls, a mattress on the floor, and iron bars crisscrossed over a window. The man who had commented on his state of consciousness loomed over him with a candelabrum in hand. The events at Monsieur de Shavell’s house came back to him in a rush, and nausea threatened to rise up at the back of his throat. He swallowed against the sensation and drew in a shaky breath.

  A second man spoke from the dark, startling him. “Who is responsible for this man’s state?”

  The one standing over him sneered. “The blackguard arrived in this condition. He put up a fight during the search, and he was subdued.”

  “Did the police dump him on the floor like a sack of oats?”

  The man’s gloating smile vanished. “No, sir.”

  “Then help him to a chair,” came the sharp retort. “A gentleman shall be treated as such in my prison, Monsieur Gilson. Do not repeat this mistake or you will find yourself relieved of your duties.”

  The man called Gilson slammed the candelabrum on a table and roughly hauled Marcus to his feet. Before he could gain his balance, he was shoved down onto a hardback chair. He gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from falling as the room spun.

  Gilson’s superior reprimanded him and ordered him from sight. The guard stalked from the room, closing the door behind him.

  “You must forgive Monsieur Gilson’s crude manners,” the other man said as he assumed a seat across the table from Marcus. His eyes appeared black in the dark, making it difficult to read him or his intentions. “Gilson is low born without much to recommend him, but he is malleable. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Monsieur Jaubert, commander of La Grande Force, and you are?”

  “Marcus Fletcher.” His dry mouth made it difficult to form words. “Has anyone come for me?”

  Adele would be frightened for him, but if her brother brought her to the prison tonight, Marcus would tear into him. The Paris streets after dark were no place for a lady.

  Jaubert reached for a glass of water on the table and slid it toward Marcus. He accepted the offer, trying to maintain a dignified air but gulping the water in the end.

  “I am afraid no one has come looking for you, Mr. Fletcher, although I must admit to being surprised. I expected to have the doors knocked down with demands for your release soon after you arrived. It is often that way when an Englishman is brought to the prison.”

  “Is this a common occurrence? Englishmen being apprehended, that is.”

  “More often than one might expect.” Jaubert held his hand out for the empty glass. “Would you like more?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Thank you.”

  “I credit the unnatural restraint of your animalistic appetites,” the commander said. “Indulging in spirits often releases the beasts you English try to keep bridled.”

  The throbbing in Marcus’s head dulled his senses. He had already stopped listening to the other man’s oration on his fellow countrymen and their penchant for unsavory behavior.

  When the commander seemed to recognize he had lost his audience, he sighed. “I suppose it is down to business now. What have you to trade for your release?”

  Marcus reached for his gold cufflinks only to realize they were gone, as was his ring. “I have been relieved of my belongings. What have you done with them?”

  Monsieur Jaubert leaned across the table. “What is missing? My men know they are to touch nothing without my permission.”

  “My cufflinks and ring.” Marcus checked his jacket pocket. “I had several coins, too.”

  Candlelight illuminated Jaubert’s dark glower. He slammed his hands against the table and shoved to his feet. He ripped open the door, bellowing for Gilson. The guard hadn’t wandered far, for he responded to the summons at once.

  “Did you collect Monsieur Fletcher’s belongings when he arrived?”

  “No, sir. He arrived with the clothes on his back and nothing more.”

  Jaubert cursed and returned to the table. He remained standing. “You asked if anyone had come for you. Who are you expecting?”

  “Lady Adele Sinclair and her brother.”

  “Ah, that is a fortuitous turn of events.” Monsieur Jaubert lowered onto the chair, his frown transforming to a smile. “Your friends are members of the nobility.”

  Marcus held his tongue. Clearly, Jaubert was pleased by Marcus’s connections, but he was uncertain as to what end.

  “Are you confident his lordship will come for you?”

  “Yes, I believe that to be true.”

  If it were her brother alone making the decision, he would probably leave Marcus there to die, but Adele wouldn’t stand for it once she was recovered from the shock of the evening. “Lady Adele will insure that he comes.”

  “Splendid.” Jaubert reclined in the chair, his smile spreading. “Until such time, I insist you remain as my guest. Gilson, fetch some refreshment for Monsieur Fletcher. Show him the hospitality one pays to a gentleman.”

  Three

  Adele slept in brief snatches throughout the night, and eventually gave up on the endeavor at sunrise. She dragged herself from bed to dress and tried to occupy the long morning until her betrothed could call on her without raising eyebrows.

  When morning transitioned into afternoon, her restlessness reached agitated levels. She refused to be put off any longer and enlisted her brother to escort her to Marcus’s apartments.

  In the corridor outside Marcus’s door, Harry knocked repeatedly to no avail. “It appears he is out.”

  “Or he never made it home last night.” She met her brother’s gaze and notched her chin. “Will I be visiting the prison with or without you?”

  Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do I truly have a choice? I cannot allow you to walk in there alone.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  It was a short carriage ride to La Grande Force Prison. The driver left them at the corner, and Harry paid their fare.

  “There it is,” she said with a slight tremble to her voice.

  Harry patted her shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “Do you want me to go alone?”

  She shook her head. “I need reassurance that he is all right.”

  “He is well, I promise.”

  Harry’s promises were proving to be nothing more than hot air, but she wanted to believe and grasped tightly to his words like a good luck charm.

  As Adele and her brother passed between two shops en route to the massive stone building sitting at the end of the narrow cobbled street, carts and carriages clattered along the busier thoroughfare behind them
. She noted the iron bars crisscrossed over every window, and her heart knocked against her breastbone. Marcus had spent the night in a cage.

  “We should have come straightaway from the ball,” she said. “I should have spoken up for him last night.”

  Harry stopped her outside the entrance. A French flag drooped overhead. “If you must blame someone, look to me.”

  It was tempting to hurl accusations and unleash her anger on her brother, but doing so would not free Marcus. “Help me bring him home, and we will forget the entire affair.”

  “I’ve decided to use our rent money to buy his release,” Harry said.

  Adele’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

  “If that is what is required. Once you are married, Mr. Fletcher will see that you are taken care of properly. I will have no more need for the apartments.”

  “What will you do? Where will you go?”

  “I will manage. I always do.”

  Nausea turned her stomach when she considered what he had always done for their survival. “Let me speak with Marcus on your behalf. Please.”

  “Stop worrying for me.” He playfully chucked her on the chin before holding the door for her to enter ahead of him. A guard briefly glanced up from his station then returned his attention to the newssheet spread out in front of him on a small table. She waited for her brother to come inside, so they could approach the guard together.

  “We are here to speak with the man in charge,” Harry said. “Our friend was arrested last night, and we would like to see to his release.”

  The man asked for a name.

  “Marcus Fletcher.”

  Without a hint of recognition on his face, the guard rose from his chair and directed Adele and Harry to follow him. They were shown to a parlor with a faded settee and a single wingback chair. The room was far nicer than anything one would expect to find in a prison. Adele sat on the lumpy settee and folded her hands in her lap. Harry joined her.