A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Read online

  A dressing gown rested at the end of her bed and she pulled it on as she ignored the pounding of her head. If she could just find some wine, the agony of the last day would be over.

  The curtains in the room were open and her eyes had adjusted to the low light. Barefoot, she tiptoed to her bedchamber door and made very little noise as she carefully opened the door and closed it behind her.

  She’d never held with the custom of having a footman stationed at the end of the corridor, so she didn’t expect to encounter any servants until she reached the floor below. Anna descended the main staircase guided by the light of candles in wall sconces. The senior footman was asleep on a bench in the entry hall.

  Only a few steps from the bottom of the staircase she heard Mary’s voice above her.

  “My lady, why are you out of bed?”

  She needed a drink and she needed one now. The girl would have to mind her own business and remember her place. Anna released the hold her left hand had on the railing of the staircase and turned to confront Mary. One of her bare feet caught in the hem of her nightdress and she pitched backward. She felt herself fall into space before she landed heavily against someone. Two strong hands grasped her arms and pushed her to a standing position.

  “My lady, are you all right?”

  She turned to see a now awake and very concerned footman.

  “Quite all right,” she answered with more force than she meant to.

  Mary now stood beside her. “May I be of some assistance, my lady?”

  Tamping down embarrassment and distress at her near accident, she pondered her next move. She should just tell both servants to go about their business and continue on her way to the drawing room to locate a bottle of sherry or port.

  Something in the footman’s eyes stopped her. Beneath his subservient expression she sensed disapproval. He knew what she was up to. A glance at Mary confirmed the maid did too. The servants knew of her dependency and from the look Mary and the footman exchanged they pitied her for it.

  She raised her chin and through clenched teeth addressed her maid, “Mary, if you would, please help me back to my bedchamber. I wanted to find something to dull the ache in my head. You will have to ask cook for something to relieve my migraine.”

  The maid nodded agreement and the footman took up his place near the front door of the house. She was sure neither servant believed her excuse for being downstairs so late at night.

  Both women remained silent until they were inside Anna’s bedchamber.

  “Find me some wine, Mary,” she said and took a seat on her bed. Eyes closed, she willed the pain in her head to go away.

  There was a long silence. She opened her eyes and directed a sharp look at the maid.

  “Mary?”

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” the girl replied in a low voice. “I took all of the bottles from your rooms while you were sleeping.”

  The maid’s voice sounded full of tears. Anna wanted to cry herself. Cry, stamp her feet, and throw things. The pain in her head was unbearable. She started to shake. The tremors had nothing to do with a sudden onset of tears. What new hell must she endure now?

  “Am I to assume you refuse to bring me any spirits?” It was hard to adopt a stern expression with the pain in her head.

  “Would you like another maid to watch over you? I won’t help you hurt yourself, my lady. You eat very little and never leave the house. The only people you see besides the master are Lady Pickerel and her son.” The girl took a shaky breath. “Dismiss me if you will, but I’ll not be a part of it anymore.”

  Mary stood ramrod straight, her expression unyielding. The girl cared about her and would risk being tossed out on her ear to keep her mistress from drinking. Anna couldn’t summon the strength to argue. She moaned in frustration and pain.

  “Shall I get the laudanum, my lady?”

  She groaned in resignation. “Please, Mary, before my head splits in two.”

  The disgusting concoction swallowed, she settled under the bedcovers and willed herself to sleep.

  Visions of Devlyn Maitlin filled her mind. Where was he? She had fallen asleep after their lovemaking and when she woke up he’d been gone. Inexplicably, her thoughts turned to Cecily and Andrew. She wanted a child of her own. She needed to find a husband.

  Sleep would not come. Thoughts of Princess Charlotte and her recent death now came unbidden. The princess had been in good health and had still died in childbirth. If she herself became pregnant would her overindulgence of alcohol have any effect on her pregnancy?

  She closed her eyes and almost immediately reopened them. Cecily had been in a lot of pain while giving birth to Andrew. The doctor had suggested part of the difficulty was due to Cecily’s narrow hips. Anna had wide hips but had lost a considerable amount of weight during her marriage.

  Anna sat up to see Mary asleep in her chair. The maid did not stir. Placing several pillows behind her back, Anna sat propped up in the bed. Afraid of what new images her brain would summon, she resolved to keep her eyes open as long as possible. It would be a very long night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Devlyn couldn’t stand to be idle. Wiggins informed him Lady Stafford was still ill and Lady Pickerel was not receiving callers.

  “Is Lady Pickerel ill as well?” he asked the valet.

  “According to one of the footmen, the lady received a visit from her husband yesterday and is still recovering.” Wiggins grimaced. “The lord and his lady live in separate residences. Lord Pickerel decided to check on the well-being of his only heir and evidently wasn’t pleased with his son’s demeanor. The footman told me hysterics by Lady Pickerel are a foregone conclusion when Lord Pickerel visits his wife.”

  He wasn’t at all disappointed by the fact he wouldn’t be able to speak with Lady Pickerel that day. Anna was still under the weather. He would have to pursue other avenues of investigation.

  “Have you turned up any information in regard to our friend Franco?”

  “The real name of the man cannot be Franco,” Wiggins replied. “Not one of my contacts in London has heard of anyone by that name.”

  Devlyn also believed the man they looked for must have another name. Also, having spoken with Franco himself, he had to concede the blackmailer was educated. The man was possibly a member of the minor gentry or related to a prosperous tradesman.

  He said, “I don’t know anyone who is a member of Boodle’s. It always had a reputation for attracting the serious gamesters.”

  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a shadow pass over his valet’s face.

  Wiggins shrugged. “I’m very sorry, sir. I can be of no assistance with Boodle’s.”

  “Thank you for your help in this matter, Wiggins. I think it is time I visit the clubs and see what I can find out. Maybe I’ll get lucky and stumble into the man.”

  * * * * *

  St. James’s Street was Devlyn’s destination as the primary clubs of Boodles, Brooks’s and White’s were all located there. Having no particular political affiliation, he was a member of both Brooks’s and White’s. His father had been a member of both clubs and he felt no need to change a family tradition.

  Devlyn considered Boodle’s a haunt for gamblers. Although he had partaken of wine and women often enough in his youth, gambling had never made sense to him. He preferred to invest his money rather than risk it in a game of chance.

  The dinner hour was fast approaching. He made a quick pass through the Great Subscription room, small drawing room and the card room of Brooks’s. He looked forward to dining at White’s as the club was known to serve the best prime rib in London. The gaming rooms at Brooks’s were busy. Franco was not to be found in any of them.

  His next destination was White’s, conveniently located across the street from Brooks’s. Old copies of The London Times had been available at embassies on the Continent, so he’d kept abreast of much of the local news. He knew Byron had fled England to escape his gambling debts and Lord Alvanley was t
he new ringleader of the dandies who were wont to sit in the infamous bow-window.

  Lord Alvanley was not at the bow-window but in the card room. The baron called to him and although Devlyn was more than ready to visit the dining room, he greeted the man with a hearty backslap.

  “How are you? Still fancy a game of faro I see?”

  The baron remained seated at the card table, a rueful expression on his face. “And still as unlucky at the game as I ever was.”

  “I’m off to enjoy a meal in the dining room if you would care to join me.”

  He wasn’t a gambling man and Alvanley was known to bet on just about anything. The man was said to be squandering his family fortune at the clubs and gaming hells.

  “Another time, perhaps,” the baron replied, his attention on the dealer at the table. “I think my luck could be turning.”

  Devlyn bade Alvanley good evening, completed his circuit of the card room and looked in the billiards room before he entered the dining room.

  The prime rib was delicious, the boiled potatoes slathered in butter and the claret of the finest quality. The solitude of his meal had been a welcome break from the women of his household. He was enjoying a glass of port after his meal when a man he’d worked with on the Continent approached his table.

  “Good evening, Mr. Maitlin. May I join you?”

  “Lord Sheridan, how very good to see you. It has been a long time since I saw you last.”

  The man took a seat and a waiter approached. Lord Sheridan ordered a glass of port. The younger brother of an earl, he explained that he had already dined. The undersecretaries and clerks he’d worked with in the Netherlands had been a close group. Devlyn was glad to see an old friend from The Hague as he’d found himself missing the camaraderie of his fellows in the Foreign Office.

  “Word is that you are home to stay.”

  “I think I would like to remain in London for a while.”

  Lord Sheridan nodded. “Although I now work out of London, I’m still with the Foreign Office. There is a need for interpreters in London if you’re interested. I did hear your name come up when the Secretary spoke with Joseph Planta.”

  “I’m working on some family business right now. I do appreciate the information and wouldn’t rule out a position in either the Home or Foreign Office.”

  Both men sipped their drinks.

  “I noticed you were looking for someone as you walked through the club,” Lord Sheridan said. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “It concerns the family business I mentioned.” He paused, unsure how much to tell the other man. “As you are a member of Boodle’s perhaps you can help me.”

  Both men ventured down the street to Boodle’s. Lord Sheridan was well acquainted with the majordomo at the club and smoothed the way for Devlyn to ask the man a few questions.

  The name Franco and a description of the bounder didn’t produce a positive response from the majordomo. Lord Sheridan led Devlyn through the club. Franco was in none of the rooms.

  “I’m sorry your search was fruitless,” the other man said to him as both men exited the club. “If I can be of any assistance in the future please let me know.”

  “You’re not going to ask me any questions about who I was looking for?”

  Lord Sheridan shook his head. “Your business is your own. Wellington had a high opinion of you when you were in Vienna. If he trusted you, I do too.”

  Sheridan took his leave and Devlyn stood there, speechless. During the few weeks he had been a translator for Wellington the duke had said little to him. Wellington had left Vienna when Napoleon returned, and Devlyn hadn’t worked with the man again.

  His search for Franco had yielded nothing. He could drag his feet no longer and must speak with either Anna or Lady Pickerel. Tomorrow was another day. It was time he got some answers.

  * * * * *

  Cecily agreed to Anna’s invitation to a mid-morning stroll in the small private park down the street from Stafford House. The fresh air would be welcome, and Andrew could feed the pigeons.

  “Pigeons, I want to see pigeons,” Andrew said so many times during their brisk walk from the house to the park, she became concerned that the slight headache lurking behind her eyes might intensify back into a migraine.

  She’d slept fitfully for a few hours before waking again with a pounding head. Cook sent up a foul-smelling tincture which helped ease the pain. She prayed headaches would not replace nausea as her constant companion. The next morning, she rose with the first light of dawn. Dry toast and tea were the breakfast of choice and helped to calm her stomach. Despite now being afflicted with fits of tremors, Anna hoped the worst was behind her.

  During the long hours of the night she had come to the decision she must not resume her drinking habit. She was neither healthy nor happy. She was no longer satisfied with her small life. A clear head was needed to find a path forward.

  She and Cecily took a seat on an iron bench. Andrew held out a greedy hand for the bird feed his nursemaid carried in a small sack. Although the day was cloudy it didn’t look or smell as if rain was on the way. She had worn a light cloak in hopes the extra layer of fabric might disguise her trembling.

  Cecily reached out and took one of Anna’s hands in her own. “I noticed you were shaking a bit during our walk. Are you sure you feel well enough to walk home? I could send Emily back to Stafford House for a carriage.”

  Anna transferred her attention from Andrew to the woman seated beside her. Her friend wore a pale-yellow walking dress accompanied by cream boots and gloves. Her bonnet accentuated the fragility of her face and not for the first time Anna thought her flaxen haired friend the very picture of angelic beauty.

  “I feel much better today. I need the exercise after being inside for two days.” For some reason, she didn’t want to tell her friend the true nature of her recent illness. Something about her relationship with Cecily had changed in the last few weeks. She’d noticed a difference ever since they’d first spoken about Franco. “I merely suffered from a touch of influenza.”

  Cecily nodded although she didn’t look quite convinced.

  “Lord Pickerel is currently in residence at the townhouse?” she asked her friend. She couldn’t refer to the lecherous goat as Cecily’s husband. The thought of having to endure attentions from a man more than twice her age made her stomach queasy again.

  As both women watched, Andrew and his nursemaid moved closer to the center of the park where a few birds cavorted in a birdbath.

  “Thank heaven, yes. His new mistress is there as well. I hope she keeps him occupied for quite a long while.”

  Ann was no longer shocked by the arrangement of Cecily’s marriage. It had been an advantageous match for both parties. Cecily had married after finishing school and before her first season.

  Cecily was not in the least concerned that her husband kept mistresses. She told Anna those women would provide services a gentleman did not expect his wife to perform. She had never mustered the courage to ask what those ‘services’ involved. Reminded of her own less than perfect marriage, how could she judge her friend?

  Danforth had been a means of escape from a life passed between relatives. As an orphan, her guardianship had been allotted to her uncle who in turn handed Anna to her maternal maiden aunts. The two women were kind although they had no idea what to do with a small child. Summers were spent with her father’s brother and his wife at the family seat in Essex. Her uncle had taken the opportunity during her visits to let Anna know there would be no further support for her once she reached marrying age.

  “One season is all I will pay for, so you’d better make the most of it. Only use for a woman is to marry and breed.” A sneer directed at her aunts followed this announcement. “Don’t get any ideas from those useless cows you live with. A woman without a child is no woman at all.”

  There had been enough money left for her in trust to guarantee a year of finishing school and her presentation on the marriage mart.
Her uncle had pushed her at the first decent match. She’d gone like a lamb to the slaughter, eager to finally have a family of her own.

  Her married aunt had given the only advice about the marriage bed she would receive: “Just lie still my dear and it will all be over before you know it.”

  Despite his comment about her thighs, Danforth had been eager to bed Anna on their wedding night.

  “I’ve never had a virgin before.” With a leering smile he mounted her. The groans she made from the pain he inflected with his rutting only intensified his lust. She thought he might actually believe she enjoyed his disgusting attentions.

  She soon learned a few glasses of wine with dinner helped dull her senses. Before long she began to drink through the tedious evening entertainments she attended with her husband. Part of her toilette in preparing for an evening out was to pray her husband would not desire intimacy in the wee hours of the morning after they returned home.

  Danforth did not bed her again after the first year of their marriage. She’d imbibed several glasses of champagne after observing a look of interest in his eyes during a rout they’d attended together. While alcohol dulled her senses, it seemed to have the opposite effect on her husband.

  Lord and Lady Pickerel were at the event as well. Several times during the evening Lord Pickerel asked Anna to accompany him out to the terrace alone. Danforth was aware of Lord Pickerel’s behavior. The idea of another man coveting his wife worked like an aphrodisiac. Danforth hurried them home.

  Her husband had added to his considerable girth during their short marriage and she cringed at the thought of him lying on top of her.

  Anna’s bedchamber had been illuminated only by a thin sliver of light coming from the corridor outside her room. She closed her eyes and the mental image of Danforth naked caused her stomach to rebel. Her bed dipped from his considerable bulk, she felt his hot breath on her face and his heavy weight on her belly, turned her face away and vomited.