The Determined Lord Hadleigh

Chapter One
Cheapside—five months later

‘You are mistaken, Mr Palmer. I promise you I haven’t yet paid the account. I came in here today specifically to pay the account.’ Penny once again held out the money the pawnbroker had given her for her mother’s jade brooch only minutes before.

The shopkeeper smiled kindly, but made no attempt to take it. ‘’Tis all paid, Mrs Henley. In full.’ He turned around the ledger and pointed to the balance. ‘There is no mistake, I can assure you.’ His eyes wandered over to another woman in the corner who seemed perfectly content examining the rolls of ribbon all by herself. ‘If there’s nothing else I can help you with, Mrs Henley, I’d best see to my other customers.’

‘But I didn’t pay you, Mr Palmer!’

‘Somebody did, because it’s been noted down and I shan’t be taking the money twice. That wouldn’t be honest now, would it? And I pride myself on my honesty. Spend it on that little lad of yours, eh? I dare say he needs something. Growing boys always need something.’ He closed his ledger decisively. ‘Will there be anything else you need, Mrs Henley?’

He didn’t strike her as a stupid man, but it was obvious he was a stubborn one and too proud to admit his error. Perhaps his wife would be more accommodating? ‘Please send my regards to Mrs Palmer. I had hoped to see her today.’ She cast a glance over his shoulder to the little anteroom beyond the counter. ‘Unless she’s here so I can do so in person?’ The shopkeeper’s wife was meticulous and would find a way to gently correct her husband’s blatant accounting mistake.

‘She’s gone off to visit our daughter and the grandchildren, I’m afraid. I shall pass on your regards when she returns next week.’

Not wanting to argue further in public, Penny decided to come back then and attempt to pay her debt to the Palmers’ shop. She said her goodbyes and, mindful of the time, walked briskly up King Street to the home of her landlord, Mr Cohen, fully intending to pay in advance for her next month’s rent, only to find that, too, had been paid. Unlike the cheerful shopkeeper, Mr Cohen was a humourless individual who didn’t like to waste words.

‘I tell you it’s been paid, Mrs Henley. A full twelve months’ rent!’

‘But that is impossible! I haven’t paid you.’ But the coincidence was not lost on her and she found her teeth grinding at the suspicion as to who might have. ‘Who paid it?’

‘That I can’t say. Nor will I, as much as I don’t like it. Your benefactor wants to remain anonymous.’

‘Benefactor?’

The old man scowled and shook his head. His rheumy eyes burning with accusation. ‘That’s what I’ll call him for now, Mrs Henley—because he assured me he wasn’t your fancy man and I choose to think the best of my tenants, no matter how new they are to me or how implausible their stories.’

‘Fancy man?’ Penny didn’t need to hide her outrage at the suggestion. ‘I can assure you...’ The old man rudely held up his hand.

‘And I can assure you, rent or no rent, I’ll toss you out on your ear if I get so much as one whiff that he is. I won’t tolerate any scandal in one of my buildings, Mrs Henley—if indeed you are or have ever been a Mrs. If you hadn’t been vouched for personally by Mr Leatham, I never would have accepted you in the first place. I wonder what he’d have to say about a strange man paying a year’s worth of rent?’

An interesting question indeed. Exactly what would Seb Leatham have to say? He was a man of few words, but one used to blending into the background and doing covert things behind the scenes. Never mind that he would walk on hot coals if Clarissa asked him to.

Suddenly, a nasty suspicion began to bloom in her mind. This was all a little too contrived and convenient. Less than twenty-four hours before she had had a disagreement with Clarissa, the only friend she had left in the world and wife to the aforementioned Seb Leatham. It had been about her decision to seek employment somewhere as a governess or housekeeper or some such to make ends meet which had so thoroughly outraged Clarissa. She had been very vocal on the subject before she had backed down. Her friend had claimed she respected Penny’s decision even if she did not agree with it. Yet now, by some miracle, her rent and her household accounts were miraculously all settled by a mysterious benefactor. Twelve months gratis in Cheapside kept her close enough so her well-meaning friend could continue to keep an eye on her and Penny would have no need to sully her poor, pathetic hands with work in the interim.

‘I insist you give the money back whence it came, Mr Cohen! I’ll pay my own rent, thank you very much.’ She wasn’t that pathetic woman any longer. As much as she had grown to hate her husband, she had hated the woman she had been during their marriage more. A scared, spineless and stupid girl who had ignored everyone’s cautionary words about the man she had set her heart on marrying who had lived to rue the day. Oh! How she had hated being powerless and subservient, and because it went against the grain of her character she was determined to be a different woman now. She was neither worthless nor useless. Nor would she be beholden.

Because accepting charity and feeling beholden allowed others the opportunity to control her life and she was done with all that. How was keeping her in Cheapside any different from keeping her in Penhurst Hall? And just because her friends meant well, that didn’t give them the right to use their wealth secretively to get their own way. After three interminable years of being powerless and controlled, the only person who had any say about her life now was her son, Freddie. As he was still unable to talk, there was nobody else who held that power.

To prove her point, Penny began rummaging in her reticule for the money. What was the matter with working for a living anyway? Perhaps such a prospect daunted an aristocratic woman like Clarissa, but it didn’t faze Penny. She had come from trade, spent her formative years working within it and had enjoyed every second. Her mother and father had worked all their lives with her on their knee. Why, her father had built his business from scratch, from the ground up, and those same principles of hard work and honest enterprise were as ingrained in her as good manners. There was no shame in honest labour and she wouldn’t be deterred from finding a way to stand on her own two feet after everything she had endured. After three years she was finally free and intended to remain so. Making her own living, living her own life, was something she was looking forward to rather than dreading and just as her dear parents had, she would find a way to make it work around Freddie. A fresh, clean slate that left her shameful past firmly in the past.

‘He made me promise not to allow that—and paid me over the odds to ensure I complied.’ Old Cohen crossed his arms. ‘But if I find out there’s any funny business going on between you and him...’

‘For any funny business to be going on, Mr Cohen, I would first have to know who he is, don’t you think?’ Although whoever he was, he was linked to Seb Leatham somehow. The man was a high-ranking government spy, one who had a legion of subordinate spies to do his dirty work for him. She was going to strangle Clarissa. How dared she?

How dared she?

Not caring that she was being rude to her mean-spirited landlord, Penny turned on her heel and began to march home, imbued with the determination and outrage of the self-righteous. How dare Clarissa use her husband to go behind her back like that? When her friend had explicitly promised to support her in her endeavours and claimed she understood why Penny wanted to leave her old life and all its horrid memories well behind.

What other choice did she have? Her parents, God rest them, were dead and the distant relatives who still lived had disowned her before the trial had even started. Either she earned her own living or she lived on Clarissa’s charity again as she had during the humiliating trial. Because Lord alone knew there wasn’t enough of her mother’s old jewellery to pawn to keep her head above water for more than a few months at most. There certainly wasn’t enough of it yet to buy Freddie and her a cottage of their own in the wilds of the country.

And yet was the operative word, because one day she would have one. That was her dream. The only thing which had sustained her these past months. A pretty place to call her own where she could finally put the past three years behind her. Of that she was determined. If those dreadful years married to Penhurst had taught her nothing, it had taught her that it was long past time she needed to stop being dictated to by others and take control of her own destiny in whatever shape she chose to make it.

Her respectable lodgings in Cheapside were only ever meant to be temporary. A place to lick her wounds in private while she considered all her options. She had happily taken Seb Leatham’s advice on that. Aside from the fact she had spent the first fourteen years of her life living here before her father could afford Mayfair and had always loved it. It was a busy area of the city which allowed a person to hide in plain sight. With all the businesses, merchants and transient visitors from far and wide, nobody looked twice at a well-heeled woman with a child in Cheapside. Nor did any of the upper crust of society venture here. They might send their servants, but they would never be seen dead on the same streets as those in trade.

Heaven forbid!

Any more than they would consider continuing their acquaintance with the widow of a traitor.

She stopped dead outside her building and sucked in a calming breath. Perhaps she shouldn’t be too hard on Clarissa? Her friend had stalwartly stood by her throughout everything. Quite openly. She would have sat with her through every minute of the trial if Penny hadn’t stopped her. She had claimed at the time she wanted Freddie to be with someone he knew, someone who cared for him, rather than admitting she didn’t want to taint or ruin her friend’s good reputation by well-meant association. Even now, months after Penhurst’s death, Penny refused point blank to darken Clarissa’s door in Grosvenor Square. That wouldn’t be fair, no matter what her friend said to the contrary. That hadn’t stopped her coming here and stepping into the breach when Penny needed somebody to watch her son and for that, she was in Clarissa’s debt.

This wasn’t worth losing her only true friend in the world for.

Wearily, she took the two flights of stairs slowly and tried to think of a more tactful way of voicing her annoyance at what was obviously meant to be a kindness. Especially as her life had been devoid of such niceness for so long.

She found Clarissa in the tiny parlour sat cross-legged on the floor helping Freddie build a lopsided tower with his wooden blocks, his current favourite toy. ‘You’re back early. I thought you had heaps of errands to run.’

Penny hadn’t confided to her friend that she was visiting the pawn shop and didn’t intend to. ‘I did—but something peculiar happened and I thought I’d better come back.’

‘Peculiar? You weren’t recognised, were you?’ Her only friend looked concerned at the prospect. People had been quite cruel during the trial. The press had positively hounded her.

‘No. Nothing so terrible.’ She untied her bonnet and placed it on the table with her gloves, then stalled for more time by carefully hanging up her cloak on the peg by the door, needing to give herself a stern talking to in order to be that better, stronger, independent version of herself.

Be tactful. But be assertive. This is your life and you can now live it exactly as you choose. Something you have yearned for. For three long years. ‘However, I did learn something niggling. Something probably best discussed over a cup of tea.’ More stalling, which irritated, although was annoyingly typical when one considered she had always shied away from conflict—even before Penhurst. It didn’t matter. All this self-flagellation at her supposed flaws was misplaced and pointless. One could still be fundamentally nice and assertive at the same time. It was not as if Clarissa would punch her.

She kissed her son noisily on the cheek before walking to the fireplace to grab the kettle and prepare the teapot. The lack of servants was another thing Clarissa worried about, but Penny genuinely rather liked her new privacy. It wasn’t that much work to clean up after herself and her son. Preparing meals was getting easier, but was certainly not her forte, yet a small price to pay for proper privacy. Besides, she still wasn’t completely over the sheer joy of being able to spend unrationed and unmonitored time with her boy. Proper time where she could be his mother rather than the scant few minutes her husband had allowed each day before her little cherub was taken back up to the nursery to the paid sneak, Nanny Francis, and out of her control. Penhurst’s servants had been her gaolers. Good riddance to the lot of them. She wouldn’t mourn their loss any more than she mourned his.

Clarissa took charge of pouring the tea a few minutes later, while Penny settled down with Freddie in her lap. Once done, her friend placed the steaming cup in front of her, then stared at Penny intently. ‘What’s happened?’

Best to get straight to the point. ‘I know you mean well, but you shouldn’t have paid my rent.’

Her friend blinked, then frowned. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Perhaps not in person, you’re far too clever for that, but you arranged for it to be paid behind my back and you settled my account at the shop as well.’ She smiled, softening the admonishment, but was quietly pleased that she had given it.

‘I didn’t. I wish I had...because heaven only knows you need someone to help you and I can well afford it. But honestly, Penny, I didn’t. I value our friendship too much to go against your express wishes and I meant it when I said I would respect your wishes. After everything, you of all people deserve to be mistress of your own life.’

‘Then Seb arranged for those bills to be paid without your knowledge.’

‘He wouldn’t do such a thing behind my back. Or yours for that matter. I know you have a justifiably jaded view of men and marriage, but Seb is an honourable man and he would never do anything without my knowing. He loves me.’

Penny picked up her tea and tried not to be irritated at her friend’s naivety. Men always did what they thought was best irrespective of the woman’s feelings. ‘Then how else do you explain twelve months’ worth of rent miraculously paid on my behalf?’

‘Twelve months!’ Her friend seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Someone has paid an entire year of rent? Who? And, more importantly, why?’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Clarissa—let’s not play games.’ She wouldn’t feel bad for losing her temper. A line had to be drawn somewhere and her overprotective friend had pushed the boundary between concern and downright interference too far. ‘I appreciate I’ve been the biggest of fools, that I married a man you had the measure of from the outset and cautioned me against, that I put up with Penhurst and did his bidding like a quaking dolt for three years! I am walking proof of how stupidly trusting, misguided and downtrodden a woman can be! But I’m not an idiot. Not any more, at any rate. You directly or indirectly paid my rent without my consent or knowledge to stop me applying for work.’

‘No. I didn’t. I swear it. I had every intention of having another long chat with you about the topic today in the hope you might reconsider. That I will freely admit. I see no earthly reason why you continue to isolate yourself here in this tiny apartment in Cheapside when you could live with us comfortably in Grosvenor Square. And I was jolly well prepared to shake you by the shoulders if you continued to be stubborn, but I respect the fact that only you can make the decisions concerning you and Freddie. After Penhurst, and all the dire and wicked things he did to you, I would never dream of robbing you of free will.’ Her friend leaned forward and clasped her hand, looking worried. ‘I swear to you, Penny, I did not pay your rent.’

‘Then who did?’ It didn’t make sense. She had two distant cousins left, neither of whom wanted anything to do with her. They had been very specific on the subject in their final letter to her during the trial. No other friends. They had all been shamefully quick to desert her, too. Rats hurling themselves from a scuppered and sinking ship. It had hurt, but she understood it. Aside from Clarissa and her husband, she had no one.

‘You don’t suppose one of Penhurst’s old friends paid it for you?’

A cold chill skittered down Penny’s spine at the thought. ‘Why would they?’ Surely those cutthroats hated her? ‘I testified against him...’ Before those same cutthroats had violently murdered her husband in his cell. ‘And they’ve all been rounded up. Haven’t they?’ The ringleaders were all in gaol—but what if the government had missed someone? Would they wish her, a woman who knew nothing outside of what had happed within her own four walls, harm or malice? By the look on Clarissa’s suddenly pale face she suspected they did. ‘I thought nobody bar you, Seb and the authorities knew my new name and address.’ If her new lodgings and identity had leaked outside the safety of her minuscule intimate circle, to people who could feasibly perhaps want her dead, then she would have to take Freddie and leave tonight. Lord only knew where or how. She was down to her last five guineas—thanks, bizarrely, to the money she had not been allowed to pay to those to whom she owed it, six pieces of her mother’s jewellery and the clothes on her back.

Clarissa saw the fear and her tone instantly became reassuring. ‘Believe me, if those people wanted to punish you and knew where you were, they would have done so. Swiftly and mercilessly. It makes no sense they would offer you charity. Besides, they’ve arrested the leaders. Those crooks beneath them would have long fled if they have any sense. Staying in the capital is tantamount to a death sentence if they are caught. Whoever paid your rent doesn’t mean you harm, Penny. We can be certain of that. On the contrary, I suspect. They want to see you safe and well cared for.’

‘I don’t want anyone else’s money or their help. Especially if they are linked to my husband in some way.’ And even if they weren’t, she only had two friends left in the world and Freddie. Being beholden to a complete stranger, no matter how benevolent, made her feel uneasy. ‘But what if it is one of his criminal contacts?’ All manner of dire scenarios flitted through her mind, making her unconsciously tighten her hold on her son.

‘There’s nobody of importance left, dearest. All the authorities are convinced of it. What if I talk to Lord Fennimore or get Seb to investigate it? I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of your mystery benefactor in no time and then we’ll set them straight as well as put your mind at ease. As soon as they realise their well-meaning interference is unwelcome, I’m sure they’ll leave well alone.’

Chapter Two

Hadleigh placed the little jade brooch in his desk drawer alongside the dented gold locket, well-worn cameo and the delicate ruby earrings, then locked it and pocketed the key. He was no expert on woman’s jewellery—or women’s anything, for that matter—but he doubted they were worth a great deal. They lacked the sparkle of the gems he saw glittering beneath the chandeliers at the few society events he was forced to attend when he couldn’t find the right excuse to get out of them. If anything, they were a sad, meagre collection of jewellery as far as he was concerned, but they were of great personal value to her. He had witnessed that with his own eyes this time as he had watched her dither outside the pawnbroker’s, staring at the brooch for the longest time lovingly before swapping it for a few coins.

Thanks to the Bow Street Runner he had assigned to watch her since she had moved to Cheapside three months ago, the detailed weekly reports had made it easy to see there was a pattern to those heart-wrenching visits. On the first of the month, every month, she pawned a trinket and used the proceeds to pay her bills. Today, he had paid them all before she left the house and retrieved the latest item within minutes of her leaving the pawnbroker’s shop, supremely thankful that she had not noticed him loitering in that convenient doorway as she had briskly bustled past within a hair’s breadth of him. A little too close for comfort, truth be told, when a man in his position shouldn’t be anywhere near a witness from a prior case.

But the same thought processes which had kept him up at night since the Penhurst verdict still plagued him. Continually worrying about her had compelled him to see her for himself today for the first time since the trial. He had needed to see with his own eyes exactly what was going on in her world and if her situation was as dire as the Runner had intimated it was. Solvent people, he had said in last week’s report, didn’t sell off the family silver.

For a gently bred lady to stoop that low, things had to be dire. She must be at her wits’ end with worrying about how to pay for things. He sincerely hoped she would sleep easier tonight knowing she no longer ran the risk of being evicted. Hadleigh certainly hoped he would sleep sounder. He also hoped that single act of benevolent charity would appease his niggling conscience. A conscience which bothered him the most in the dead of night when he should have been snatching enough hours of rest to keep his legal mind fresh. He was plagued with insomnia and desperately needed proper sleep. And now unburdened, would grab some—just as soon as he finished today’s mountain of paperwork.

He cast a glance at the stack of case notes and witness statements on his desk, next to yet another cold and unappealing candlelit supper his valet had left out for him and allowed himself a pitying groan. There was at least another hour’s work there, perhaps two, before he could even consider heading to his bed.

There was no doubt this was the biggest case of his career. For over a year, the King’s Elite had been seeking the criminal mastermind behind a dangerous smuggling ring. A few weeks ago, they had finally found the person and, as the appointed Crown Prosecutor, Hadleigh’s current and enormous quest for justice had truly started. The infamous, well-connected and dangerous Boss, who had been the scourge of the hallowed halls of Westminster as well as turning more peers than the odious Viscount Penhurst traitor, had finally been unmasked and arrested. And to everyone’s shock, including Hadleigh’s, the man they had been seeking was in fact a woman.

Viscountess Gislingham was now safely under lock and key in the most secure prison in the country—the Tower of London. Six other peers were similarly incarcerated in Newgate. It was Hadleigh’s job to build a watertight case against her and her fellow traitors so they could crush that evil smuggling ring once and for all. Months of painstaking work lay ahead of him, work that would need his full attention. Already Lady Penhurst had occupied far too much of it, when he desperately needed his rest and was tired of mulling over and fretting about her situation. Paying her debts had been an act of charity to himself as well as to her. How was he supposed to be on top form when he spent night after night tossing and turning? Dreaming of knotted handkerchiefs, proudly set shoulders and pretty blue eyes swirling with heart-wrenching emotion.

The question brought her image starkly into view and he ruthlessly banished it as he sat down.

Enough! She was not his problem!

This case was.

He tore a chunk of bread from the half-loaf near his elbow, sawed off a slice of ham and chewed both dispassionately as he reread the meticulous interrogation notes he had made only this morning during another interminable stint with the traitors at Newgate. Five were still pleading their innocence. One had broken and was blabbing everything he knew. Whether or not the information he had given was enough to justify lessening the man’s sentence was still in doubt. But in his experience, once a criminal committed to turning King’s evidence, they committed wholeheartedly. Tomorrow could be interesting, but he needed to be fully prepared.

Within minutes, Hadleigh was so engrossed, the sound of a fist pummelling his front door had him jumping out of his skin. People didn’t bang on his door. Especially not this close to midnight. One of the main reasons he continued to live in bachelor lodgings at the Albany, rather than his own house less than an hour’s carriage drive from the capital, was that there was always a porter at the main entrance to dissuade unwelcome visitors from calling at unsociable hours—or any hours, for that matter—and bothering him. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. He was a solitary beast by nature, partly because his work made it difficult to have unguarded conversations with most people and partly because he had been on his own for so long he was used to it. The Albany, close to his work, made perfect sense. That haunted house down the road didn’t.

The fist bashed the door again, reminding him that Prescott, his valet, always took Thursday afternoons off and rarely returned before Friday morning. It also told him whoever was pummelling his woodwork with such vigour was probably known to the porter, hence he had been let in. Something important must have happened since he left chambers. ‘I’m coming!’

He had expected it to have something to do with the government, so was not surprised when he flung open the door and Seb Leatham strode in, looking furious.

‘What’s happened?’ Immediately his mind went to the prisoners and his case. Experience had taught them that The Boss’s smuggling gang had no respect for the law or its institutions. Viscount Penhurst and another conspirator, the Marquis of Deal, had been brutally murdered in their cells in Newgate a few days after their sentences had been issued in case they made any final confessions. The bloodthirsty crew of assassins had also ruthlessly sent three prison guards to meet their maker that same night. It had been a grim and stark reminder of exactly how powerful the group of criminals they were dealing with were. ‘Please tell me nobody else is dead!’

‘Not yet. But the night is young and as I’m royally furious I shan’t rule it out.’ His friend barged past him and stalked into the only room with a light burning—Hadleigh’s study. He tossed his hat on the desk, folded his meaty arms across his chest and glared.

‘I am not entirely sure I follow...’

‘I made allowances for the Bow Street Runner.’ Seb’s eyes bored into his, his tautly controlled stance quietly terrifying. ‘After everything she has suffered, and in light of the dangerous people her husband dealt with, I reasoned the more people who had eyes on her the better.’

He knew about the Bow Street Runner?

Oh, dear. All ideas of anonymously appeasing his niggling conscience with a secret act of charity swiftly disappeared. ‘This is about Lady Penhurst?’

‘You’re damn right this is about Penny!’ One pointed finger prodded him right in the breast bone. ‘What the hell were you thinking, paying her debts off like that?’

Confused that Seb had so swiftly traced it back to him and even more confused that the man was angry about his obvious thoughtful and noble generosity, Hadleigh grabbed the still-prodding digit and made a point of pushing it away. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I reasoned she would be pleased not to have to struggle to make ends meet after the Runner informed me she was struggling.’

‘Then clearly you don’t know Penny very well. And clearly you know nothing whatsoever about my wife!’ Seb began to pace, his hands waving in annoyance. ‘Good grief, man! Talk about taking a mallet to crack a nut! What were you thinking?’

‘After the Crown abandoned her, I was trying to help.’

‘Well, you’ve gone and made a splendid hash of it. What the hell am I going to tell Clarissa?’

‘As it was meant to be an anonymous gesture, you will tell her nothing, because it has nothing to do with her either.’

At that, Seb finally sat down with a huff in Hadleigh’s chair and shook his head. ‘Spoken like a true bachelor. Unfortunately, as it was Clarissa who expressly asked me to investigate her best friend’s mystery benefactor, and because your ham-fisted attempt at being a Good Samaritan has spectacularly served to scare the living daylights out of both women, I have no choice but to tell her.’

‘Why would they be scared?’

‘You really have no clue, do you? Which is exactly the reason why you should leave the spying and covert machinations to us trained spies and stick to barristering.’

‘I don’t think barristering is an actual word.’

‘And still you fiddle while Rome burns!’

‘The Devil is in the detail...’ Words he lived by. He was good with details, although clearly he had missed one here.

‘Shall I spell it out to you in simple terms?’ Seb did not wait for a response. ‘Firstly, think about the particular circumstances of your good deed. Only a few months ago, that poor woman’s vile husband was arrested on charges of treason. Your own investigation linked him to a whole host of unsavoury characters. Cutthroats. Smugglers. Cold-blooded murderers. When Penny testified against him, she testified against them, too. We assume we’ve rounded them all up now that we’ve captured the ringleader—but what if we haven’t? It is entirely reasonable to assume any stragglers might have an axe to grind with her. It is one of the main reasons I actively encouraged her to assume an alias!’ He stood then and began to pace. ‘Furthermore, in paying those debts covertly, you have also alerted a very proud and determined woman to the fact she is under close watch at all times.’