Thick as Thieves (8 page)

After she had talked to Percy, she might very well have to suffer the megrim she’d been falsely claiming for the better part of a week.

“
You’ve done
what
?”

From one of the leather armchairs in Lord
Upton Grey’s study, where he’d granted her a private audience with Percy once he’d bathed and become at least somewhat more sober, Freddie stared aghast at her brother. He stood by the hearth, even his defeated posture reflecting the broken man he’d become. Percy Bexley-Smythe, Marquess of Stalbridge, was virtually unrecognizable as the carefree and charming brother she’d known for the whole of her life.

It was gradually
growing clearer to her that the redness in his eyes and his state of distraction weren’t due solely to inebriation, but also—and perhaps even primarily—due to panic.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” He dragged a shaking hand through his overlong hair, nearly ripping some of it free. “He wanted Edie. She’s only sixteen, for God’s sake. I couldn’t…”

The words stopped coming, and all he could do was shake his head dumbly at her.

“No, you couldn’t let him have Edie,” Freddie agreed. But Bexley Court? Their
home
. It was the only thing she thought she had left.

Where would she and Mama and Edie go? The
Upton Greys had been more than gracious in inviting them to come to Padmore Glen for the Christmas holiday, but she couldn’t imagine they would be welcome for any longer than that.

“Just how much do you owe this Mr. Vernon?”

Her stomach clenched as the doors opened right as she asked her question. A maid came in carrying a tea service, but it was Lord Preston who Freddie’s eyes fell upon as he paced just outside the doorway. His gaze locked onto hers, piercing through her.

Bother and blast, she didn’t want him to know anything about anything. Yet now he knew money was involved, and he knew a name.

Once the maid scurried out again and the door closed behind her, Percy crossed over and sat down beside her. With an unsteady hand, he poured himself a cup of tea, nearly spilling it before Freddie took over the task for him.

“I don’t even know,” he said after he’d taken a few sips. When he looked up at her, it was with tears filling his eyes. Freddie couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen her brother cry. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old, still a lad in short pants. “Easily more than Bexley Court is worth.”

All Freddie could do was sit back in her chair and try to remember how to breathe.

“How could…how could you do this, Percy?”

Instead of answering, he just sat there looking wretched. She hadn’t really expected that he would answer. Even if he did, there was no response he could give that would change anything.

Almost instantly, her mind turned to calculating how much money she would need to be able to support herself, Mama, and Edie. She would have to find some sort of home they could pay for. The remaining servants would all have to find new employment, other than possibly one maid—paying even one maid’s wages would quickly become an extravagance. Thank heavens Papa had set up a trust for Mama and for each of the girls’ dowries. But now, at least Freddie’s dowry would have to be used for expenses.

“You have to help me,” he said, interrupting her calculations. “I don’t know how to tell Mama. I can’t…”

There were a great many things he couldn’t do, but that was beside the point.

Freddie nodded. “I need time to think, and you need rest. I’m sure Lord Upton Grey will allow you to stay for at least the night. We can talk about it more in the morning.”

By then, she would have to have a plan. There was simply no alternative.

The very thought
of Stalbridge spending the night—even if it was only the night and nothing more—at Padmore Glen set Preston’s teeth on edge. Whatever doubts he may have had about Lady Frederica were compounded into an outright dislike and distrust of her brother.

His distrust was only compounded by the fact that the reason Stalbridge was here in the first place had something to do with a debt.

Would she tell her brother about the library upstairs and all the treasures found within? Preston had gotten to know her fairly well over the last week, or so he thought, but there was still a niggling doubt ringing through his mind over that question.

For the remainder of the evening, Preston kept watch not only over Lady Frederica, but also over her derelict brother whom
Upton Grey had—unwisely, in Preston’s opinion—allowed to stay until he was sober enough to ride elsewhere.

Such a great sense of disquietude had taken over him that tonight, he
felt it imperative to stand guard outside the library. Once everyone had dispersed and gone up to seek their beds, he made his way there, only to find Goddard already acting as a sentinel just where he intended to be.

He was surprised, but not thoroughly shocked. They all knew of Stalbridge’s character, so it would be foolish to trust him very far.

“My lord,” Goddard said quietly, holding a candlestick aloft so they could better see one another. Then he gave a grim smile. “It seems we are of the same accord.”

“Did
Upton Grey send you?” Preston asked.

“No, he seems to trust Stalbridge.” Goddard shook his head, as though he was trying to shake off thoughts. “I have more than enough reasons not to trust the man, thanks to my brother.”

His brother
? That was a curious statement, but not one Preston felt inclined to explore at the moment. There were more pressing matters.

“Since there are two of us, why don’t I stay here to watch for him? Then you could stand in the corridor outside his chamber. It would raise suspicion if I were to be there instead of my chamber, should someone other than Stalbridge come into the hall.”

“Agreed. If someone comes upon me, I’ll say I heard a strange noise and was investigating, or something else of that nature.”

Once Goddard left him, Preston placed his candlestick in one of the wall sconces and took a seat in the armchair
halfway between the stairs and the library. He hoped he could count upon it being a long and tedious night, free from any of the many things he dreaded.

He feared it might be one filled with a sort of excitement he’d rather not experience.

Sleep was a
luxury Freddie could ill afford.

After her maid left her alone in her chamber, she lay down upon the bed, but her mind never stilled long enough for slumber to be even a remote possibility.

Percy was to leave in the morning after breakfast; even if Lord Upton Grey did not send him on his way, she doubted he would remain. If his debts were even half as numerous as she now believed them to be, there was no telling what he might do in order to obtain a bit of blunt. Remaining in the home of one of his peers—far away from any of his usual, seedy haunts—was undoubtedly low on his list of priorities.

One thing Freddie knew with absolute certainty was that she could no longer count on Percy for anything. He may yet sort himself out and become an upstanding member of society, but she couldn’t expect it to happen any time soon.

His concern was how to tell Mama about all the wrongs he’d done.
Hers
was how to protect her and Edie.

Freddie’s dowry was one thousand pounds. The widow’s trust in Mama’s name was another three thousand. With that, she would have to find a modest home for them, invest a small amount so they could have an annual living, and ensure they had enough to meet their day-to-day expenses.

No matter how she tried to make the numbers fall into line in her head, none of it would work.

It would be easier—not
easy
, but easier—if she used Edie’s dowry as well. But she couldn’t possibly do that. How would they ever secure a match for Edie with no dowry and the stigma of Percy’s foibles attached to them? No, using those funds was absolutely out of the question. They might not ever be able to give Edie a Season like she deserved for her come out, but Freddie
refused
to steal her sister’s only true hope of a happily ever after.

Perhaps she could find work as a governess or a paid companion. Then she could send her wages home to Mama and Edie. She might be able to earn enough for their expenses, which would mean more of the funds could be put into securing a home.

But what would happen if she couldn’t secure a position?

Every time Freddie thought she’d come up with a solution, another flaw in the plan burst forward and thwarted her.
She pulled the pillow out from under her head and tossed it across the room in frustration. This was one of those rare moments in her life where Freddie wanted to give in to tears, but crying never solved anything.

The only thing that would help her now was more money.

And then a thought ran through her mind—one which had no business whatsoever being in her head at all. That library upstairs was filled—
filled
—with so many valuable items, things which Lord Upton Grey didn’t even know existed.

If he didn’t know about them, then he couldn’t possibly miss them—could he?

There might be more jewels or other similar items of value which she could easily conceal in her trunks until they were gone from Padmore Glen. But with each day that passed, Mr. Goddard and the other servants uncovered more of what had been stored so carelessly for so long. If she waited, she might miss her opportunity.

And then another thought returned, one which had
finally ceased its refrain a few days ago:
five thousand pounds
.

Even if she didn’t find enough jewels to be worth five thousand pounds, any amount she could obtain would be more than she had.

She couldn’t truly become a thief, could she? But what other choice did she have?

Freddie sat suddenly, then raced to her chamber pot. She had never felt more ill in her life.

Footsteps
.

Preston was sure he heard footsteps, soft ones, padding over the rug lining the long corridor and coming in his direction.

He’d been half asleep, exhausted from sitting in the dark, silent hallway all alone for so long. He’d even halfway convinced himself that both he and Goddard had been mad to think that Stalbridge would attempt to steal anything from Padmore Glen during his brief stay.

Until he heard the footsteps.

Had Goddard fallen asleep? Or, heaven forbid, had something more nefarious taken place in the gentlemen’s corridor in order for the marquess to slip past the butler without Preston hearing something? Surely he would have heard if there had been a commotion. Wouldn’t he? Or had
he
truly fallen asleep without realizing he’d done so?

He sat up straighter, stretching the aching muscles in his back and shoulders. Armchairs were not designed to be sat in for quite such extended periods. Or perhaps his body was not designed to sit in armchairs for great stretches. Either way, his neck felt as sore as he could ever remember it being, his buttocks were both numb and sore at once somehow, and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the back near his left shoulder blade.

The single candle he’d brought with him had burned past usefulness and flickered to a silent death an hour or more ago. The few windows opening up to the corridor allowed in only the merest hint of light from a cloud-shrouded moon. He was essentially invisible where he sat.

Stalbridge hadn’t brought a candle with him
, and there wasn’t sufficient moonlight to illuminate him—but that also meant the cur couldn’t see Preston.

He stayed in his chair, as still as he could, listening to the other man’s progress. Stalbridge’s movements were surprisingly quiet for a man of his size, but Preston didn’t give that too much thought. The other man surely wanted to avoid making any noise, lest he wake someone below stairs.

Like a thief in the night…

Preston had to stifle a laugh as the thought crossed his mind. How very accurate the saying was proving to be.

Once he was certain Stalbridge had fully passed into the library, Preston inched out of his chair and crept towards the open door. His boots were not nearly as quiet upon the carpet as Stalbridge had been. The other man must be wearing only stockings, or he might possibly be barefoot. Either way, he had an advantage over Preston in terms of remaining quiet.

When he
passed over the threshold and fully into the library, however, Preston heard something which properly shocked him: a thump, followed by a very muffled, but very
feminine
curse.

Lady Frederica?
And therefore not Stalbridge. He moved closer to the sounds, dimly aware that he was always moving closer to the hearth.

“So I was right all along,” he said—quietly, but more than loud enough for her to hear in the otherwise silent library.

She gasped. Before he could react, he heard iron scraping against stone. She struck him on the upper arm with the flat of something hard, and he shouted in surprise. It clattered to the floor and she darted away.

Preston reached down to pick it up. The iron felt cold and deadly in his grip.
A bloody fire iron. She hit me with a damned fire iron.
He ought to have trusted his instincts about her all along.

He laughed, but it was an entirely cold and mirthless sound.

A series of small thumps sounded, followed by a singular, much louder one, and she let out a pained whimper. “Lord Preston?”

The desolation in her tone chipped into his heart. Damnation, she was attempting to steal from his brother-in-law in order to aid her worthless rascal of a brother! There was no cause for him to feel sorry for having caught her before she could.

But she might have hurt herself.

It didn’t matter that she’d tried to hurt him, or that she was a thief, or anything else.

Preston had never been able to stand by with a woman hurt—not since what Rachel had been through in her first marriage.

“Where are you? Say something so I can find you in the dark.”

“Please don’t blame Percy for this, or Mama or Edie.” Even though her words were hardly more than a whisper, he couldn’t miss the fact that she was crying. “They didn’t…they didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He bent to the floor next to her. “Lies do not suit you, my lady. You do yourself no favors by trying to protect your wastrel of a brother.” Even still, he lifted her into his arms and began a careful exit from the room. “Where are you injured?
”

“Truly, Percy didn’t know I was up here.
He doesn’t know anything about—”

Preston hissed in lieu of cursing out loud when he stubbed his toe on something. “Really, my lady—”

She squirmed in his arms until he was forced to let her down. As soon as she was on her own two feet, however, she nearly fell over in pain. Her hands gripped his coat, and she pulled her weight fully off of one foot. Had she turned an ankle, then? She’d never answered his question in her quest to argue her brother’s innocence. He put his hands upon her waist to support her, and she leaned into him.

“Please,” she begged in such a heartfelt
and desperate manner as to give him pause. “I wasn’t really going to go through with it because the very thought of it makes me feel ill, utterly and completely ill. I just don’t know what else to do. I swear, I only thought to take some small trinket, something Lord Upton Grey would never miss but might allow me to help Mama and Edie once—”

She cut herself off as quickly as she’d begun.

Not a single word in all of that had been about Stalbridge.

He’d been certain she intended to take something to help him pay off whatever debts he’d accumulated. It seemed he’d been wrong about as many things as he’d had right, of late.

But then again, could he truly trust that she was telling him the truth of it now?

“
It might aid
you in helping your mother and sister once
what
?” Lord Preston’s voice was still filled with suspicion, and Freddie couldn’t blame him for it.

How could she have been
so stupid as to think she could go through with it and actually
steal
something? Even though she’d come all the way up to the library after she’d been ill, once she stepped foot inside the room, she had known without even the tiniest bit of doubt she could never actually do it.

She would do
anything she had to in order to make certain Mama and Edie were well taken care of, within reason, even if that meant giving up her chance at a future.

But she was not a thief.
She could never be a thief. It made her feel ill all over again to think what she’d almost done, how she’d almost turned her back on everything she’d ever believed in out of fear.

That her fear was nearly crippling in its intensity didn’t matter.

If Papa could see her now, he would be so disappointed in her that she’d even thought of stealing in the first place. This was not the lady he’d raised her to be.

Her ankle throbbed something fierce, but that wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was that
there absolutely
must
be someone who could care for her mother and sister. That clearly wasn’t going to be Percy, so it could only be Freddie.

She had to convince Lord Preston, somehow, not to alert the magistrate about what she’d almost done.
Could one be sent to gaol for thinking about committing the act of thievery? She wasn’t certain, but she couldn’t allow it to happen whether it was a possibility or not.

“I was already on my way back out, my lord. I wasn’t going to actually take anything. I couldn’t.” Freddie pushed herself away from him and attempted to take a few steps, but nearly fell over again from the pain.

Somehow, he caught her even in the dark and pulled her against his chest to support her weight. He was so warm, so soothing as he held her. Why was he trying to help her like this? It didn’t make any sense to her in the least—not with what he had walked in upon her attempting to do.

“You didn’t answer me.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “What is going to happen that you feel it’s your responsibility to help your mother and sister? What has Stalbridge done this time?”

“I—”
I don’t know how to tell you.
The words wouldn’t come to her tongue. No matter how far Percy had fallen, it felt so disloyal to tell anyone what she knew. She didn’t even want Mama or her sisters to know, yet she didn’t think she could possibly hide it from any of them.

But Percy was beyond her help now.

They were not.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Percy’s debts have grown to the point that he’s lost Bexley Court. We have no home to go to once we leave here.”

Freddie never could have prepared herself for what happened next. Lord Preston lifted her gingerly into his arms even as a growl emanated from his lips. Then he carried her down the stairs to her doom.