A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Page 7

  What to do next? He had nearly two hours before his appointment with Planta at the Foreign Office. A visit to the family solicitors would not be amiss. He could assure himself Millicent hadn’t bankrupted the family to appease Franco.

  * * * * *

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Maitlin.” The voice belonged to Mr. Dudley, senior partner of the firm that had handled Maitlin family business for as long as Devlyn could remember.

  He was ushered into a tiny office.

  “Your mother is in good health?”

  “She is in very good health, thank you.”

  He had a great amount of respect for Mr. Dudley. His father had relied on the man to safeguard the family’s wealth and he trusted his late father’s instincts. The solicitor was very conservative and that was the primary reason his firm still represented the Maitlin family. Tradition and respectability were the qualities Devlyn’s father had sought in any individual he conducted business with.

  The solicitor waited for Devlyn to be seated before taking a seat behind a battered mahogany desk. The furniture in the room looked to be as ancient as Mr. Dudley.

  “Your mother must be in raptures at your return to England.”

  “To put it mildly,” he replied with a grin.

  The older man asked, “Do you care for refreshment or shall we get down to business?”

  “Business,” he replied and added, “I am here about a rather delicate problem.”

  Mr. Dudley merely nodded.

  “Has my sister-in-law approached you regarding her allowance?” He looked at the solicitor closely and wasn’t surprised to see confirmation in the other man’s expression.

  “Lady Cameron did visit me. It was nearly a year ago.” Mr. Dudley paused a moment, a wide smile appearing on his face. “Your sister-in-law came to see me the afternoon of my thirtieth wedding anniversary. My wife had surprised me with a picnic luncheon in my office. The date would have been the 12th of April.”

  He was struck by the blissful expression on the older man’s face. It resembled the way his mother looked whenever she spoke about his late father. He experienced a stab of envy. His foreign service hadn’t been conducive to finding a wife. Would he someday find a woman who would look as happy when she thought of him? He doubted it. His inability to father a child didn’t bode well for the possibility of wedded bliss in his future.

  “May I ask the purpose of my sister-in-law’s visit?”

  He knew the man seated before him wouldn’t have taken kindly to Millicent’s unorthodox behavior.

  “She wanted an increase in her monthly stipend,” the solicitor replied with obvious disapproval. “I told her to speak with her husband. If your brother would approve more funds, I would give them to her.”

  Millicent would never have approached Cameron on the subject. He chuckled. “I trust she did not voice her displeasure too harshly?”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Dudley replied with a wink.

  “I haven’t yet spoken with my brother since my return to England. There are no problems with the estate accounts?”

  The solicitor shook his head. “It has been my honor to ensure your father’s diligence in adding to the family fortune did not go to waste. Lord Cameron requested I take the reins of his financial dealings until such time as he returns to London.”

  There were a lot of things to reflect upon in Mr. Dudley’s last statement. According to his mother, Cameron hadn’t been to London since the accident. He wouldn’t ask the solicitor to elaborate on the agreement he had with Cameron and put Mr. Dudley in the same awkward position Millicent had placed him.

  “Thank you for your loyalty to my family,” he said and rose from his chair.

  Mr. Dudley got to his feet. “Do you have any concerns about your own holdings, sir?” the solicitor asked.

  “I have every confidence in your junior partner’s ability to manage the small bequest my aunt left me.”

  He was at ease on the matter. It was time to proceed with more pressing concerns.

  * * * * *

  “It’s about bloody time you checked in.” Joseph Planta’s welcoming smile belied his belligerent tone of voice. “My spies tell me you’ve been back in England for two days.”

  He accepted a hearty backslap from his father’s childhood friend.

  “Having me followed, are you?”

  “Until you submit the final report on your assignment you still work for the crown,” the under-secretary replied. “Your last missive alluded to a problem with one of our attaché’s. Captain Boothe, I believe was the name of the man.”

  “Your assistant has my report. The captain’s mistress has moved on to other prey. She is no longer a distraction to the good captain.”

  Planta looked intrigued but didn’t comment. The story of how he ultimately convinced the woman, who he believed to be a spy, to return to her home country wasn’t included in his report.

  Devlyn’s work as a translator had brought him into contact with an unattractive, unassuming British captain being pursued by a beautiful French woman. The captain had neither fame nor fortune. He arranged for the man to find the French woman in a compromising position with Wiggins. The valet had more than relished his role in the escapade.

  Devlyn looked around the rather dingy nondescript office. The Foreign Office was housed in two rather unremarkable houses.

  Planta snorted. “No funds for a proper building. Fighting Napoleon took enough from this country.”

  He didn’t want to think of all that Napoleon had cost Britain.

  Joseph Planta had attempted to recruit Devlyn for the Foreign Office straight out of Cambridge due to his ability to learn foreign languages. His Cambridge classmates had marveled at his fluency in German, French and Italian. As a younger son he’d resisted the usual vocations for his station: buy a commission, enter politics or pursue a career as a clergyman. With his mother’s indulgence he’d managed to avoid finding an occupation for some time after he left university.

  Devlyn only decided to work for the government after the accident in Kent. Like a runaway child he’d decamped to the Continent. Within a few weeks of his arrival in Amsterdam he quickly mastered Frisian. He’d found Dutch much harder to grasp and resided in the Netherlands for a year before he felt comfortable with the language.

  “What do you know about Lord Pickerel?” he asked the other man.

  “He’s a nasty piece of work, Devlyn. Avoid him if you can.”

  His interest was pricked. “A nasty piece of work?”

  The under-secretary sighed and shook his head. Lord Planta was his godfather and well knew Devlyn’s inquisitive nature. He could wait for the man to explain his last statement.

  “Lord Pickerel is ambitious, dishonest and cruel.”

  “Do you know his wife?”

  “I’ve met her on a few social occasions. She’s quite beautiful. Whenever I’ve seen her, she looks unhappy. If any of the stories about her lecherous husband are true, I imagine her life would be hell.”

  “Have you ever had cause to believe Lady Pickerel is entangled in anything unpleasant?” Devlyn knew his question would raise the other man’s curiosity. He was at a loss how to avoid such a thing. The under-secretary would very likely know if Franco’s activities had touched more than the three women Devlyn knew about.

  “Other than being married to a nasty womanizer?” Planta leaned forward and placed his arms on his desk. “What are you involved in, my boy?”

  “I’m not quite sure. Millicent has accumulated some debt and Lady Pickerel is somehow involved.”

  The other man resumed a more relaxed position in his chair. “Lord Pickerel is a veritable miser. Perhaps his wife needed funds. Millicent gave Lady Pickerel a loan and is now out of pocket.” The under-secretary’s tone sounded dismissive.

  There was no further information to be had from Planta and he was relieved the other man showed little interest in the subject.

  “You’re probably right,” he
said, bringing the topic to a close.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay with us? Italy is beautiful this time of year.”

  “I’ve neglected my family long enough,” he replied, thinking not only of his mother but Cameron as well. Although he didn’t know what conclusion his current course of action might have, he would play it out until the end. He owed his brother that much. “I do thank you for the opportunity to serve my country.”

  “Let me know if I can be of aid to you in the future,” the undersecretary replied, his tone gruff. “I am proud of the man you have become. Like your father, you are a good man and a good friend.”

  Chapter Ten

  When Anna awoke feeling slightly better than she had earlier that morning, she waved off the laudanum Mary offered. She preferred not to replace one dependency for another. The curtains in her room were open. The inky blackness of the sky informed her she had slept the day away.

  “I think I would like some toast,” she said to the maid. “And marmalade. I have a craving for marmalade.”

  After helping Anna into a dressing gown, Mary hurried from the room to do her mistress’s bidding.

  Now seated on the edge of her bed, Anna slowly stood, all the while grasping a bedpost. Her limbs were stiff from inactivity and it took her a few moments to stumble to the armchair near the fireplace. Mary returned with a tray which she placed on a small table next to Anna’s overstuffed chair.

  “Thank you, Mary.” She sniffed appreciatively at the cup of drinking chocolate on the tray. The maid knew the sweet beverage to be one of her favorites. Anna felt touched at the small gesture.

  “Let me air the room out a bit.” Mary opened the bedchamber window that had been closed while Anna slept. Cool evening air poured into the room.

  Anna chewed a bite of toast and swallowed, determined to get some food into her stomach. She took a sip of the chocolate and the warm drink slid down her throat. The thought of food had been more appetizing than the reality. Her stomach churned in revolt.

  The maid went about straightening the coverlet on the bed and fluffing the pillows. “Lord Stafford was very disappointed not to see you before he left for York. He asked me to be sure and look after you. And Lady Pickerel called this afternoon.”

  “Mary-” She had intended to ask the maid the details of Cecily’s visit. To her utter dismay, her battle against nausea was lost and the little sustenance in her stomach found its way down the front of her nightdress. The sound of her retching caught the attention of her maid. Ceramic bowl in hand, the girl rushed to Anna’s side.

  “It will be all right.” Mary held the bowl under her chin.

  Her only response was to vomit again. She wiped away the tears pouring down her face. Mary continued her litany of calming phrases. Anna closed her eyes and prayed for the nausea to stop.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, the queasiness of her stomach had quite abated. The severity of that condition was replaced by the likes of a headache she’d never suffered before. Her moans of distress stirred Mary from her slumber in a nearby chair.

  “No more laudanum,” she mumbled when she saw her maid reach for a goblet on the bedside table.

  The only way she had been able to find relief from her nausea and fall asleep the evening before had been to drink a large dose of the dreadful liquid.

  “It is lemonade, my lady.” Mary held the crystal glass up for Anna’s inspection. “I will fetch you some barley water or tea if you think you’re ready for it.”

  Her lips dry and her throat parched, she took the goblet from the maid’s hand and tentatively took a sip. The lemonade was neither strong nor particularly sweet. She drank the rest of the lemonade while Mary watched her like a mother hen.

  She vaguely remembered the maid sponging the sick from her body and dressing her in a clean nightgown. She was ashamed of her weakness and for being such a burden on the girl. She would make it up to the maid later. Right now, she needed Mary’s help.

  “I would like some tea and a hot bath.”

  “A bath would do you a world of good.” The maid took the empty goblet and left the room with the promise to return as quickly as she could with water for her mistress’s bath.

  Anna moved to the end of the bed and swung her legs over the side. She could surely get through a bath without throwing up. When the maid returned a few minutes later struggling to carry a bucket of water, Anna stood near the doorway to her dressing room, her hand grasping the corner of a bureau for support.

  “Mary, get a footman to do that.”

  “There’s one coming up right now.” The maid walked into the dressing room. Anna could hear the metal clang of the bucket as it was placed on the wood floor. When the girl returned to Anna’s bedchamber, she eyed her mistress with a critical eye. “You’re in no state to be seen, my lady. Go on into your dressing room and I’ll bring in the rest of the hot water.”

  With a brief glance in the tall cheval mirror next to the bureau, she determined Mary was correct about her appearance. Uneasy sleep had tangled her hair and her face looked red and blotchy. She moved to the other room; her steps measured to keep nausea at bay. She could hear Mary speaking to someone before the girl entered the dressing room with an additional bucket of water. A housemaid followed Mary into the room and together the women poured the buckets of water into the waiting brass hip tub. Steam rose from the tub in a cloud. Once the housemaid had been dismissed, Mary assisted Anna with her nightdress.

  “No bath salts,” she said to her maid. “I don’t believe I could stomach the fragrance.”

  The girl nodded her agreement and assisted her mistress into the tub.

  “Ahhh…” Anna sighed and relaxed into the cocoon of warm water. Eyes now closed, she heard the maid moving around the assortment of toiletries on a small table against the wall. “I would like to rest for a moment, Mary. Tell me about Lady Pickerel’s visit. You did speak with her?”

  “Yes, my lady. She had the lad with her and was right worried about you. I told her you would contact her as soon as you felt better.”

  Although she had never discussed her need for alcohol with Cecily, she was sure her friend knew about it. By the time Danforth had died, Anna had become accustomed to drinking at least a bottle of wine every night. Her daily schedule rarely varied. She would rise after noon and either visit with Cecily and Andrew or read during the afternoon. With Danforth gone she had no social obligations. She could drink the evening away.

  When Neil was home for school holidays she made an effort to go out during the day with the young man. Although few in London had embraced the meal of luncheon, she had grown accustomed to eating a small meal with Neil when he rose for the day. Her favorite place to drink wine was either in her bedchamber or the library. If Neil was home, she drank in her room and excused herself after dinner to do so. She encouraged her brother-in-law to attend entertainments with his friends in the evening all on the pretext of keeping her addiction a secret.

  She needed to get better. She had to resume her hunt for a husband. Tears pooled in her eyes as the nausea returned. She took several deep breaths. It didn’t help. With a loud sob she leaned over the side of the tub and vomited.

  * * * * *

  Devlyn told himself there was no reason to return to Lady Pickerel’s residence after he spoke with Joseph Planta. Hadn’t the woman’s butler stated his mistress would be out until evening?

  His assignment with the Foreign Office had turned him into a task driven man. When he was given a mission, he completed it efficiently. He chose not to think about why he wasn’t trying harder to find out what connection Anna had to a blackmailer.

  Wiggins assisted him in dressing for dinner and it gave him a chance to speak with the other man about the future.

  “We never discussed the terms of your employment upon my return to England.”

  “Are you dissatisfied with how I perform my duties?” Wiggins asked in reply.

  It was a funny thing
that the valet didn’t sound particularly concerned with Devlyn’s answer. Not for the first time he wondered who Wiggins really was. The valet’s mannerisms and speech suggested he’d been raised as a gentleman. Planta had recommended Wiggins with the highest of praise. If the under-secretary trusted the man, he would too.

  “You have been an asset to me not only as a valet but as a confidante. Your talent at information gathering was vital to me while I was on the Continent.” He paused, uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation had taken. “I was concerned that now we have returned to England you might have other responsibilities you must attend to.”

  Wiggins had finished knotting his master’s cravat and now stood back to judge the result.

  “Suffice it to say that at the present time I find it convenient to remain in your employ.”

  The valet’s matter of fact response didn’t surprise Devlyn in the least. He replied, “Good. Now there is another subject I must discuss with you. I need your assistance with a delicate matter.”

  “I am at your disposal, sir.”

  Wiggins helped him to don his waistcoat and jacket as Devlyn explained what little he knew of Franco and his involvement with Millicent, Lady Pickerel, and Lady Stafford.

  “I have contacts in numerous gaming hells,” the valet said when Devlyn finished his report of recent events. “A man who resorts to blackmail may have a gambling problem and have outstanding debts. The people I know could hold the vowels of this Franco gentleman.”

  His conversation with Wiggins only added more mystery to the identity of his companion. Devlyn studied his reflection in the mirror over the chest in his dressing room and admired the result of his ablutions. Whoever the man beside him might be, Wiggins was a damn fine valet.

  * * * * *

  Nausea all but gone, Anna sat up and peered through the darkness in her room to locate Mary. The maid occupied the same armchair as she had that morning. She could hear the girl breathing deeply. She couldn’t risk looking for any of the bottles of wine she’d hidden in her room. She might wake up Mary and didn’t relish dealing with the disappointment she would see in the maid’s eyes.