Regency Silk & Scandal eBook Bundle Volumes 1-4. Louise Allen

that nightmare time when they had found themselves utterly alone. Then, in Nell’s grief after her mother’s death, it had seemed so much easier to continue with the familiar and the secure, however humble.

      Perhaps, when all this was over, she could talk to Miss Price, ask her advice about securing a similar position. But that assumed that this would all be resolved simply and happily with her reputation and her secrets intact.

      ‘Here we are.’ Marcus helped the two women out and Nell stood on the pavement looking at the tall, shabby house with new eyes, seeing it as her companions must, contrasting it with the crisp elegance of Albemarle Street.

      ‘I am fortunate in my neighbours,’ she said as the front door opened and they were greeted by a strong smell of stewing mutton and onions, a squall of crying from the Hutchins’ baby and the powerful voice of Bill Watkins who appeared to have been imbibing rather freely with his Saturday noon meal and was now roaring out one of the latest ballads.

      ‘Is that you, Miss Latham love?’ Mrs Drewe put her head round her door, chattering on despite the presence of two strangers. ‘Only Mr Westly was round for the rent.’ Her gaze was avid.

      ‘We called at his offices a few minutes ago,’ Nell said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Drewe. I shall be away for a few weeks, visiting friends. Mr Westly is keeping my room for me,’ she added as she led the way to the stairs. ‘So there’s no need to worry.’

      ‘They are all very honest,’ she murmured, trying not to sound defensive as they toiled up the stairs.

      ‘I am sure they are,’ Miss Price said tactfully as they reached the top landing. She sat by the cold hearth while Marcus went to stand at the window. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and was pointedly not staring round at a room that seemed to Nell even smaller, darker and shabbier now his tall, elegant figure was in it. She set about packing.

      Her few clothes, her hairbrush and toilet things went into two valises, her gold chain and simple pearl stud earrings she was wearing already, another bag was sufficient to hold her few books. Nell bit her lip in indecision: should she take the other things, the items that were so carefully hidden?

      ‘My lord, would you be so kind as to move the bed to one side?’ She had, thank goodness, placed the chamber pot in the bedside cupboard, so his lordship would not be edified by a view of that. His servants’ rooms were doubtless infinitely more respectable than this. ‘Thank you.’ The narrow bed shifted easily on the well-waxed boards. She poked out the knothole in the middle of the floor, hooked her finger in and pulled.

      ‘Cunning,’ Marcus observed, then tactfully looked away while she lifted out the items inside. A bag containing the emergency reserve of money she kept in her room—the rest, her small savings, were in the bank—was tucked into one of the valises. The only other thing in her hidey-hole, a worn writing slope, held her parents’ letters and her mother’s diary.

      ‘Read them,’ her mother had urged in those last few days after the sudden fever had taken hold of her lungs. ‘Read them and understand, you are old enough now.’ But Nell had never felt strong enough to do so. She knelt on the hard floor, lifted the lid and looked inside, wondering if she would find the name Carlow in those yellowing pages, whether she wanted to know what they held. Finally she turned the key in the lock, hung it on its ribbon round her neck inside her bodice, replaced the floorboard and stood up, the box in her hands.

      ‘I will take this; it contains my mother’s letters,’ she said, hoping that sentimental reason was sufficient explanation for wanting to take a battered old box with her.

      ‘You are all alone?’ Miss Price asked, enough sympathy in her voice to bring tears to Nell’s eyes. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment and the other woman turned away under pretext of scolding Marcus for slipping his arm out of the sling.

      ‘Miss Latham and I are quite capable of managing two valises and a writing slope between us, if you take the other bag,’ she said with some asperity. ‘Why is it, Miss Latham, that gentlemen insist on treating us as though we are weaklings?’

      ‘Good manners, gallantry—’ Marcus began.

      ‘A desire to show off your superior muscles?’ Miss Price murmured, shaking her head, and he gave in, thrust his arm back in the sling and picked up just the book bag on his way to the door.

      Nell stood for a moment, wondering why she felt such a strong premonition that she would never come back here. Something must have shown on her face, for Miss Price tucked her free hand under her arm. ‘Ready? You must call me Diana. I am sure you are going to be very happy staying at Stanegate Court.’

      ‘Thank you. And you must call me Nell,’ Nell responded, managing to find a smile from somewhere.

      Mrs Drewe was lurking when they reached the front hall again. ‘Did the other gentleman find you, Miss Latham?’ she asked, her eyes darting over every detail of Marcus’s tall figure. ‘Forgot to ask when you came in.’

      ‘Other gentleman?’ she asked. ‘Which other gentleman?’ She could guess the answer.

      ‘The dark one. Looked like a foreigner, if you ask me, duck. One of those Italians, I’ll be bound. Nice clothes though, for all that.’

      ‘No,’ she said steadily, conscious of Marcus moving up closer behind her. ‘Did he leave a message?’

      ‘Oh no, duck. Just to say he’d catch up with you when he needed to.’

      Chapter Six

      Nell travelled to Stanegate Court in the carriage with Diana Price and the Carlow sisters. Lord and Lady Narborough took another carriage and a lumbering coach followed conveying valets, dressers and luggage.

      Despite the cold, Marcus rode, giving Nell an excellent opportunity, should she feel so inclined, to admire his horsemanship, his well-bred mount, his glossy boots and the breadth of his shoulders under the caped riding coat. He appeared to have discarded his sling. After one glance, she turned her attention firmly to the interior of the carriage and told herself it was his business if he chose to aggravate the wound by vigorous exercise. She was not responsible for male pride.

      ‘Marc prefers riding to driving,’ Verity confided. The direction of her gaze had been noted. ‘He rides very well.’

      ‘So does Hal. He rides even better,’ Honoria said, with the air of someone continuing a long-standing argument. ‘Hal is our other brother and he is a cavalry officer, Miss Latham.’

      ‘Marc drives better than Hal,’ Verity retorted.

      Diana rolled her eyes at Nell. ‘Your brothers ride like centaurs,’ she said. ‘Both of them. They also ride neck or nothing, have been brought home on a hurdle many times and I hope I do not have to remind you, Honoria, not to try and emulate them.’

      ‘Miss Latham—’

      ‘Nell.’

      ‘Oh, thank you, that is much cosier.’ Verity, with her engaging smile, seemed little more than a girl, hardly ready for her first Season. Nell smiled back. ‘It is very nice that you are able to join us. But I didn’t know Marc knew you, so how—’

      ‘Verity—’ Diana began.

      ‘Nell saved Marc from a footpad,’ Honoria said, regarding Nell’s flushed face a little quizzically. ‘And she delivered that parcel for Papa, only—’

      ‘It was such a shame that when your brother went to thank her he met someone with a pistol,’ Diana said brightly.

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Verity subsided, obviously satisfied with the explanation. Honoria, it was equally obvious, was putting two and two together and coming up with at least six. A little smile tweaked at the corner of her very pretty mouth and there was a twinkle—not unlike Marcus’s—in her eyes.

      She thinks he and I are…involved, Nell thought with a sudden flash of insight, followed by a wave of embarrassment. But surely she would not think her brother