Page 37 of Loving an Earl
A soft moan came from the young woman. “Please come close.”
How could she refuse? Lilly approached the side of the bed and gasped. If she ignored the sweaty, matted hair and pale skin and malnourished body, the woman had fine features. In health, she must have been beautiful.
“Please send word to my father, Baron Winslow, that I have died and left him three grandchildren.” She gasped and cried out.
“The physician left this for you.” Lilly held up the vial, and the mother shook her head from side to side.
“Not yet. I need to tell you. I fell in love with my father’s valet. He died a fortnight ago. Killed during a tavern brawl. Tell my father I’m sorry.” She gasped for breath and blood trickled from her mouth. “Beg him to take my children in.”
Lilly grabbed her cold hand. “What is your name?” For some reason that became most important to Lilly. She needed a name to put with the face and person dying right before her eyes.
“Annabelle.” She gasped and gurgling noises came from her throat as she took her last breath. The hand Lilly held fell to the bed.
Lilly covered her mouth, tears stung her eyes, and she found herself sobbing for the poor woman who had grown up privileged, fallen in love with a servant, and died in squalor. Would the baron take her children in? Would he come for her body and bury her in the family plot?
She covered the body with a blood-stained sheet she found on the floor, the only option she had, and hurried into the other room. “Emmeline, I’m going to find Mitchel. I have to send a message.”
She ran out the door, down the dark, dangerous stairs, and burst out the door to the street her eyes darting around looking for their carriage. It was a little way down the road outside a rowdy tavern. Lilly pulled the hood up on her cloak, which she’d never taken off, and hurried to their conveyance. “Mitchel, I am so relieved to see you. I need to get a message to Baron Winslow and the duchess.”
“Lady Langford, where is Mrs. Fitzpatrick? And what about the mother?”
“Oh, it is so sad. The mother and baby have died. But the mother was the daughter of Baron Winslow. We must get word to him so he may come and rescue his grandchildren and take his daughter’s body home.”
“I cannot leave you and Mrs. Fitzpatrick here unaccompanied.”
“Please.” She grasped his hands. “You must at least go to the duchess and relay my message. She will contact the baron, and then you can come back for us.”
“The duchess will have my hide if anything happens to you or Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
“Go. We will be fine.”
He nodded reluctantly and nudged the horses into movement. Lilly took a moment to watch the carriage maneuver through the crowded streets. Not crowded with vehicles but with people, mostly drunk. Just as she turned, she gasped. Was that Langford exiting a hack? It was dark, and he was dressed in respectable clothing though not of the finest quality he usually wore, but she would recognize that face and swagger anywhere. She ducked into the nearest doorway and watched, her heart pounding, as he made his way toward her. What was he doing here? As he neared her, she pulled her hood lower to shield her completely and swallowed her gasp—it truly was him.
When he ducked inside the nearby tavern, Lilly hurried back to Emmeline, wondering what Langford was doing in St. Giles this late at night or at any time. Of course, he could wonder the same about her if he recognized her. Her entire body shivered. It was a good thing he hadn’t seen her.
“Shhh.” Emmeline met her at the door. “Fredrick, Sophia, and Anna are finally asleep.”
Lilly shut the door as quietly as possible once she was inside.
“What are we to do now?” Emmeline asked.
“I’ve sent Mitchel with messages for the duchess and Baron Winslow informing him of his daughter’s death and of his grandchildren.”
“Baron Winslow?” Emmeline looked as though she’d lost her mind.
Lilly told her what the mother, Annabelle, had confided in her.
*
Edmund, feeling asthough he needed punishment for his less than gentlemanly treatment of Lilly, hired a hack to take him to a tavern in St. Giles, the last place the baron said his man had spotted Thomas Dane, his erstwhile valet who had run away and married his daughter. Though the baron had been hunting for them for years, it seemed they’d moved often, evading him. The poor baron had been heartbroken when his daughter left. As shocked as he had been to learn she had fallen in love with his valet, he never would have turned his back on her or thrown her out. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been given the chance to have that conversation with her.
At the time, Edmund had been courting Annabelle Brown and thought perhaps they had a future together. Edmund fancied himself in love with the beautiful, delicate debutante. When she ran off with Thomas, Winslow spiraled into such a desperate state that he reached out to Edmund for help. Edmund had swallowed his pride for the sake of the old man and searched high and low for Annabelle and Thomas to no avail. Winslow finally hired an investigator after hunting for a solid year, but the investigator’s luck in locating them wasn’t any better. These days their leads amounted only to an occasional sighting.
Tonight, Edmund, dressed shabbily, entered the tavern and sat at an empty table in the back facing the door so he had eyes on everyone who came and went. Winslow had told him that Thomas had been seen in here recently. That led Edmund to think Annabelle and Thomas lived nearby—there was no reason to travel far just to have an ale. But his insides clenched up tight at the thought of Annabelle living in one of the dilapidated tenement houses in the area. They barely looked habitable for animals, never mind people. Was she even still alive? Had she succumbed to disease like so many living in such squalor?
Tears stung his eyes, and he fought them off. Annabelle hadn’t wanted him. Yet somehow, he felt some sort of responsibility to her and the baron. Why else had he spent so many nights in the back slums of London whenever he was in town searching for her? She was all the baron had left and Edmund wanted to bring her home to him.
After pretending to sip on the bitter-tasting ale for what seemed like an age and seeing nothing useful in his hunt, he tossed a coin to the man behind the bar and left. The stale, sour stench from inside the tavern was even worse outside as it combined with the slop tossed onto the street. One had to watch where one stepped. There were no hired hacks around, so he walked down the street, his eyes scanning from left to right and occasionally behind himself as well. There were prostitutes, drunks, and thieves filling the road. Still scanning the area, he spotted someone small in a dark cloak, hood up, huddled in a doorway. Deeming the person not dangerous, he kept walking until the road opened up, and he walked some more. If he didn’t find a hack soon, he’d be walking all the way to Mayfair.
