Page 92 of From Rakes to Riches

“No,” she lied, but she wasn’t sure he believed her. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. You should leave now.”

He stood from the table and checked the window again. It was late and so much had happened. All she wanted was to go to bed.

“Please don’t repeat what I’ve said, Marco. It’s useless information and I told Fredrickson the same. I don’t want him questioning me further. You know about my past. I can’t get involved with the law. If something comes out, I’ll have to leave London.” She added the last sentence to ensure he kept her trust. They were no longer together, but she was certain he still cared for her. He wouldn’t want to see her go.

Theodore handedthe reins of his horse to the groom at the mews behind Fremont House. It was an unusually cheerful morning and yet the ample sunlight did little to warm him. Calling on Margaret was the right thing to do, albeit difficult. He’d thought to give her more time to come to terms with her brother’s passing, but now he couldn’t stay away. Once he’dreturned home last night and opened her message, the decision was made.

Margaret’s distress had added another layer to the emotional maelstrom already inside him. His return to London and Fremont’s sudden death, combined with the intriguing exchanges he’d had with Lola and the complex scene when they’d reached her home, all weighed heavily upon him.

Lola had been laughing, enjoying their conversation, until she’d heard the other man’s voice. That man,Marco, had caused an immediate change in her demeanor. All happiness fell away and her eyes lost their sparkle. The other morning, Marco had tried to take Lola’s hand in the tent, but she’d pulled it away. Theodore remembered that too.

Still, she’d allowed Marco into her home. It was curious, indeed.

Now, as Theodore approached the back door of Fremont House, he exhaled thoroughly noticing the swags of black drapery over the windows and doorways. Full mourning had begun. Fremont’s death would be common knowledge now, not just an overheard rumor or snippet of gossip. His heart ached for Margaret. She was too young to bury her brother. Her parents were also deceased, although she did have a large extended family to assist her. Unfortunately, knowing all this didn’t make his visit this morning any easier.

Death was difficult in and of itself, never mind when a loved one was taken without reason, justice or consequence. There were still too many unknowns. He recalled yesterday afternoon at the club when Huntington had alluded to the fact that Fremont’s behavior had changed over the two years Theodore had been away, but there was nothing for it. He couldn’t question Margaret when she’d only begun to grieve.

He entered through the back door, a frequent visitor to the estate before his travels took him away. The cook’s expressionbrightened upon the sight of him, but then remembering the circumstances, she reclaimed her sadness. He walked through the main hall, knowing the layout as well as his own home, and entered the front drawing room where Margaret waited. She was dressed in black crepe from head to toe, even her dainty hands were covered in black lace gloves. She offered him a weak smile, although her face was tearstained and eyes red and puffy. The silver tea service was already laid out on the sideboard where a maid fussed with the necessary utensils.

“Margaret.” He brought her into his arms for a consoling embrace. “I’m so very sorry. I am at a loss for words.”

“As am I, Theo.” She exhaled a shuddering breath in an attempt to keep her composure, pulling away to move to one of the windows where she looked out. “I struggle to understand everything that has happened. I need answers.”

“Right now, Stephen’s death is an unexplained tragedy, but that doesn’t mean the person responsible won’t be brought to justice. I’m in close contact with Bow Street. I have their word I will be notified if any new information is learned.”

“Ever since the Runners came to the door, I’ve been unable to eat or sleep. I can’t think straight.” She turned, weaving her fingers together as she clasped her hands tight. “This seems like a nightmare I can’t wake from. Stephen, killed, in Vauxhall of all places.” She sniffled and blinked away fresh tears. “He didn’t belong there.”

An image of Lola came to mind. Her long dark hair, full lips and graceful body. She was talented and educated, if her vocabulary was any indication. He had the sense she didn’t belong there either. But maybe that was the irony of it. Vauxhall’s collection of performers belonged nowhere except right where they were.

The maid came forward and poured two cups of tea. When she left, Margaret settled on the couch and he sat in the cane-backed chair opposite her in wait of conversation. He didn’t wish to upset her further. No topic seemed a good choice considering the circumstances.

“My brother changed while you were away, Theo.” She picked up her teacup and put it down without taking a sip. “At first it was only small things. He would come home late or having had too much to drink. I would inquire casually at the breakfast table the next morning, but he was always quick to assure me he was fine. He’d tell me I worried overmuch.”

“That sounds just like him.”

“But I don’t think I was worrying too much.” She picked up her tea again, this time accomplishing a sip. “In retrospect, I feel as though I should have done something. Insisted he stop whatever it was that was making him so unhappy and argumentative. I should have pleaded with him to tell me more. It was unlike him to get foxed and keep irregular hours. Sometimes he never came home at all.”

“When you grew concerned, why didn’t you write to me?”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” she said quickly.

“Was that the only reason?”

“Yes. I don’t know. Maybe. You and Stephen left things on such poor terms. He was foolish for quarreling with you the day before you departed for America. It was selfish on his part. I didn’t wish to be just as selfish, asking you to end your trip abruptly and return home early.”

“I would have done so without a second thought.”

“I know.” She exhaled a deep breath. “That’s exactly why I didn’t write to you. I knew you would cut your trip short and come back as soon as possible when it might prove all for naught. Stephen wouldn’t listen to me, no matter how many times I tried to discuss my concerns. Colin spoke to him repeatedly on my behalf.”

“Colin?”

“Oh, dear. I’ve been remiss with all that’s happened.” She took a moment to remove her gloves and raised her left hand in front of her. “I’m engaged to be married. To Colin Everly, Viscount Sidmouth. We thought to hold our wedding sooner than later, but of course, with Stephen’s passing, everything will have to wait now,” she said the last bit more to herself than to him.

Theodore struggled to place the name, but he couldn’t. He was relieved Margaret hadn’t been alone through this troubling time and that she’d moved on with her life once he’d left. Hopefully, having to postpone wedding plans until next year wouldn’t dampen her spirits further. It could offer her something to look forward to, instead of the reverse.

“Congratulations.” It seemed an odd, out of place sentiment in the dimly lit drawing room. “I’m happy you’ve found a future with Lord Sidmouth.”

“He’s a good man. The night the Runners came to the door, I don’t know what I would have done if Colin hadn’t been by my side.” Her voice trembled with solemn emotion, the brief note of joy in her eyes dimmed again.

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