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  “I have secured a job as assistant to the manager of Drury Lane,” she explained.

  Fanny brightened. “Oh, that’s wonderful, miss! Though you might not be needing a job very soon.” She gave Amelia a wink, bobbed a curtsy and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ~*~

  “You saw what?” Ms. Denby looked as though she might keel over at the news she’d just received.

  Meg and her headmistress sat in what was perhaps the nicest parlor she’d ever seen in her entire life, with five stunning and seemingly powerful ladies of the ton. She struggled to remember their titles, though the leader of their little group was most clearly the Duchess of Weston, who had just told Ms. Denby a most shocking piece of news.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, Ms. Denby, but I thought you should know the truth,” Her Grace went on. “At the very least, we know she’s safe. That must count for something.”

  “It counts for nothing!” This came from Lady Leyburn, cousin to the duchess and sister to the scoundrel who’d taken up with Amelia. “I told him to stay out of trouble. He’s got responsibilities now, and a name to uphold, for heaven’s sake! Besides, if this is the same girl—your Miss Harding—then she had a far more appropriate offer from me. Not to mention a pocket full of money with which to secure her own housing.”

  “Ladies, it won’t do to go into histrionics over the situation,” said Lady Hastings. “We simply must try to stop this nonsense before word gets out to the gossipmongers.”

  “Shall we all descend upon Lord Grantham’s townhome then, and demand he hand over the maiden?” Lady Eastleigh asked, her eyes wide and challenging.

  Lady Leyburn closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “No, you’re right. We can’t simply march over there and demand she come with us. I’ve already tried, anyway, but clearly she prefers the company of my reprobate brother over me.”

  A giggle escaped from the duchess, and Lady Leyburn shot her a curious look.

  “I’m sorry,” Her Grace said. “It’s just that he can offer certain things you cannot.”

  “Good heavens!” Ms. Denby had clearly heard enough, and Meg had to admit that though she wasn’t quite sure what the duchess spoke of, it made her blush just the same. “Thank you, ladies, for all your help. We are, of course, very glad to know she is safe. I think a ruined reputation is far preferable than being returned to her father’s clutches.”

  Mrs. Wetherby, who had been silent up until now, shook her curly, red head and tsked. “The poor dear. I take it her father has a temper?”

  “Enough of one that I fear for my life whenever he enters my school, Mrs. Wetherby. I let Miss Harding stay on far longer than she should have, but when her time was truly up, she chose to run rather than go back home. I can’t say I blame her.”

  “None of us blames her,” Lady Leyburn said. “Though I wish she had allowed me to take her under my wing rather than my brother. It’s just so inappropriate.”

  “Says the woman who robbed people at gunpoint a couple years ago,” the duchess teased.

  The legend of Lady Leyburn was one that most knew by now, but Meg still found it outrageous they teased so easily about such a serious topic.

  “Yes, well…it was for a very good cause.”

  The ladies laughed and then all was silent, though only for a moment.

  “So, what do we do now?” Lady Eastleigh asked.

  Her Grace stood from her seat, as if she were taking the floor in the House of Lords. “Ladies, only one of us need go to Lord Grantham’s residence, and I think it should be his sister, of course. The rest of us have a duty to this lost young woman. Should we hear any words spoken against her, we shall lie through our teeth and assure the offenders that whatever they have heard simply isn’t true. We shall uphold her reputation as best we can.”

  All the women nodded their agreement.

  “Furthermore,” the duchess went on, “I think someone should keep an eye on Mr. Harding. Make sure he doesn’t come near her.”

  Lady Leyburn put a hand up. “I’ve a connection to a Runner. I shall enlist his services post haste.”

  “Good,” Her Grace said. “Meeting adjourned, ladies.”

  One by one, the women made their departures. Meg prepared to follow Lady Hastings and Ms. Denby out the door, but Lady Leyburn stopped her before she could leave.

  “My dear Miss Pickering,” she said, taking both Meg’s hands in hers. “Is there anything I should know about your friend?”

  Meg smiled at the woman. “She wants to be an actress, my lady, more than anything in the world.”

  Lady Leyburn nodded her head. “Then it is her,” she whispered. “She’s going by Amelia St. George now.”

  “I’m not surprised she changed her name,” Meg said. “The longer she can fool her father, the better.”

  “Yes, Miss Pickering. On that we are all agreed.”

  Meg nodded and then, feeling bold, jumped at the opportunity to ask a burning question. “Why?” she said.

  The duchess blinked at her several times. “Why what, dear?”

  “I-I just wonder why you’ve agreed to help her?” she clarified. “You don’t even know her.”

  Her Grace took a step closer and clasped Meg’s hands in her own. “Miss Pickering, there’s not a single lady you met today that hasn’t met with scandal and misfortunes of their own. Take Lady Leyburn, for instance. She broke the law repeatedly for two years. Or Mrs. Wetherby, though her story is far too scandalous to share with a young lady such as yourself.” The duchess gave her a friendly wink.

  “Even my own story resembles Miss Harding’s.” Lady Hastings stepped forward and put an arm around Meg’s shoulders. “I know what it’s like to fear your own father.”

  “It is our duty to band together,” Her Grace continued, grabbing Lady Hastings’ free hand. “Besides, any friend of a friend of Lady Hastings is a friend of ours.”

  Fourteen

  Tom shouldn’t have been surprised to see his sister in his drawing room, tapping her foot angrily against the floor, but he was. How had she found out so quickly about Miss St. George?

  When she realized he was in the room, she leapt from her seat and crossed the floor until she stood directly in front of him.

  “What on earth are you thinking?” she demanded, her eyes alight with fury.

  Tom held up a hand as he backed away and stepped around her toward the sidebar. He assumed they could both use a drink just then.

  “Claret?” he asked his sister.

  “No,” she bit out. “And you’re not supposed to be drinking either.”

  “Don’t worry,” he replied. “I’m only having enough to take the edge off the conversation we’re about to have.”

  Victoria pursed her lips, but she held her tongue.

  “Take a seat, Vic, and then you may yell at me all you want.”

  “I will not sit down,” she said through clenched teeth. “You could ruin this girl. She is an innocent, for God’s sake. Does your debauchery know no bounds?”

  “Apparently not,” Tom replied, his tone droll and flippant, which made Victoria turn an unflattering shade of red.

  “You’re supposed to be turning yourself around. You’re the viscount now—you can’t just go around bedding young, innocent ladies anymore.”

  Tom had tried to maintain his cool, but this last statement sent him over the edge. “For your information, I haven’t bedded anyone.” Then he thought he should probably amend that. “At least not recently. Furthermore, I found Miss St. George lurking outside Drury Lane in the middle of the night. She meant to sleep in the streets and I, not wanting her to die, offered her a place to stay for the night.”

  “You should have brought her to me.” Victoria’s tone had softened but she still looked murderous.

  “Don’t you think I gave her the choice?” he spit back. “I’m not the complete cad you make me out to be. I was raised a gentleman, and though I may not always act it…in this case, I
did.”

  His sister fell silent, and Tom thanked the heavens for small miracles. Perhaps she’d leave him alone now she knew the truth.

  “You can’t keep her here, you know?”

  Tom laughed at his foolishness. Of course his sister wouldn’t give up trying to save the young woman from a life sentence in the demimonde. He leveled her with look that he hoped would put an end to this conversation. “I will keep her here as long as she wishes to stay, Victoria, and I won’t allow you to bully her into an arrangement in which she’s not comfortable.”

  Much to his surprise, his sister didn’t respond with the immediate, visceral diatribe he’d expected. Instead she just stood there, concern in her eyes as she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. Tom narrowed his eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling him.

  “What is it?” he demanded, his voice quiet, but commanding.

  “Miss St. George—or rather, Miss Harding—might be in danger.”

  Tom felt the blood drain from his face. He’d known she was running from something—or someone—but he’d never imagined she was in any danger. Merely a young miss trying to get out from under the watchful eye of an overbearing papa, perhaps.

  “What do you mean?” Tom’s heart raced faster than a well-sprung phaeton.

  “Well,” Victoria began, “according to my sources—”

  “What sources?”

  “Never mind that right now,” she shot back, her nostrils flaring with her aggravation. “The point is that her father is looking for her.”

  “And? Isn’t that to be expected since she lied and ran away?”

  “Yes, well, she ran from school, so that she wouldn’t have to go back to her father, now that her education is complete. Now that he knows, he’s on the hunt.”

  Tom’s brows lifted. “Hunt? You make it sound as if the man means to murder her.” Just saying the words caused his stomach to clench.

  Victoria stared back at him silently, her brow furrowed, her breath coming faster…

  “Good God,” Tom whispered. “Do you mean to say…?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s his intention, but he apparently has a temper, and we know that it must be bad enough to make Miss Harding want to sleep in the streets rather than return to him.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. Damn it all to hell! Why did Tom end up becoming the savior for these wayward girls? How? How would he protect her?

  Of course, the first thought that popped into his head was that he could marry her. But he’d been down that road before, when he’d offered to help Bianca in the same way to keep her from having to marry a wretched cousin of hers. Or a gypsy. Who would have thought she’d choose the gypsy over him?

  No, he knew better now. That rejection had been great and painful enough for him to never want to offer for another woman again. He could protect Amelia without marrying her. He could make her his mistress. He could be with her always, and when he couldn’t be with her, he would hire someone to be with her.

  “She needs protection, Tom,” Victoria said quietly. “Do you really want to go through this again? Hand her over to me. Please.” She closed her eyes briefly and clutched her hands together. “Fin and I can take care of her. We can find her a husband to offer true protection—”

  “And what of her dreams?” Tom asked, cutting his sister off and surprising both of them.

  “Her dreams?” Victoria repeated.

  “She longs for a life on the stage.”

  “She’s young. I can’t imagine she knows what she wants.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you.” His sister had barely been out of the schoolroom herself when she decided to become a highwayman. Bloody irresponsible chit.

  Victoria sucked in a breath and put her hands on her hips. “What I did was different, and you know it. Look, Tom, I don’t wish to deny the girl her dreams, but I think her main priority should be staying alive, don’t you? No dream was ever fulfilled by a dead man.”

  Damn it, she had a point. Tom rubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary all of a sudden. “Fine,” he said at last, giving in. “I will talk to her. I’ll bring her by later today.”

  Victoria nodded. “I’ll have a room ready for her.”

  Tom sat down with his glass of brandy as his sister made her departure. He needed to work up the gumption to call for Amelia and tell her what was to be. It was in her best interest. But then why did he feel so…sad? It was too difficult to admit that he didn’t want to see her conform to Society. That he didn’t want her to be courted by other gentlemen. That he wanted her all for himself, even though he didn’t have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage. Perhaps it was best he just accept that he would never be lucky in love.

  With that final thought, he rose from the sofa, put down his drink and rang for Fanny. She arrived in the doorway moments later and bobbed a curtsey.

  “You rang, my lord?”

  Tom still wasn’t accustomed to the formality of my lord, but he supposed that was another thing he ought to get used to.

  “Yes, Fanny. Can you send Miss St. George down as soon as she’s ready?”

  “Oh.” Fanny covered her mouth with one hand.

  Tom turned back to her, eyebrows raised. “Something the matter?”

  “Well, it’s just that…Miss St. George, you see…”

  “Out with it.”

  “She’s gone,” Fanny blurted out.

  Tom couldn’t relieve the vice grip panic held on his heart. “What do you mean gone?”

  Fanny waved her hands in front of her and let out a little giggle. “I mean to say, she’s gone for the day, my lord! She’ll be back, though, at the end of the day.”

  The maid’s correction might have comforted Tom a half hour earlier, before Victoria had come to see him, but now, knowing her father was in Town looking for her, they offered no peace at all.

  “Good God,” he growled as he stormed to the doorway. “Why did you let her go?” And then he yelled out the door, “Carlisle!”

  Poor Fanny looked panicked, and Tom almost felt bad for the girl, but there wasn’t time for that.

  “Well?” he yelled, waiting for her to answer him.

  “I—I don’t know, my lord,” she stammered. “I didn’t know I had instruction to keep her locked up.”

  Tom closed his eyes and took a breath. It was true. There were no instructions of the sort, and how could Fanny have known the circumstances when Tom didn’t even know them himself until a short time ago?

  He opened his eyes again, grabbed Fanny by the upper arms and bent his knees so he could look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry, but I need to know where she went. Please.”

  “Of course, my lord. Drury Lane theatre. She’s working for the new manager there.”

  Tom didn’t hesitate another moment. Carlisle appeared with his hat and greatcoat, and informed him that the carriage was being brought ‘round. Though some might find it impertinent that their servants listened at doorways, Tom couldn’t help but be extremely grateful for Carlisle’s eavesdropping ways in this moment.

  Minutes later, Tom was headed for Covent Garden with as much speed as could be managed on the city streets. Every second felt like a lifetime. Perhaps he was overreacting, but if her father was as heartless as Victoria made him out to be, Tom wasn’t willing to take any chances. He arrived at Drury Lane’s back door nearly a half hour later.

  He’d been here many a time to pay calls to Ms. von Engel. He prayed with all his might as he traversed the busy corridors that he could avoid seeing her today. Thankfully, he made it to the manager’s office without incident and knocked lightly upon the door.

  “Come in!” came a male voice, and Tom pushed the door open. The dark-haired man looked up at him with a smile. “How can I help you?” he asked in a distinct American accent.

  “You must be Mr. Price,” Tom said, though he wasn’t sure why he was even bothering with pleasantries.


  “The very one.” Mr. Price stood, but remained behind his desk.

  Tom peered around the room for any sign of Amelia, but there was no one. Just the two of them, staring at one another.

  “I’m afraid I’m rather busy today,” Mr. Price said when Tom failed to speak.

  “Yes, of course. Forgive me. Thomas Barclay, Viscount Grantham. I’m looking for someone and I pray you can help me find her.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re talking about Miss St. George, are you?”

  Tom didn’t know why, but his heart raced as he replied, “Yes, that’s exactly who I’m searching for.”

  “Sadly, you won’t find her here,” Mr. Price said.

  “Then where?”

  “Hell if I know.” The man shrugged his thin shoulders. “I can only imagine I scared her off last night, for she didn’t show up for work this morning.”

  A pit formed in Tom’s gut, heavy and foreboding. “And what was it you said—or did—to her?”

  Mr. Price stared at him for a moment and then came around the desk, shut the door, and turned back to face Tom.

  “I trust I can confide in you, my lord?”

  “Of course,” Tom replied.

  “It is my deepest desire to rid this theatre of Ms. von Engel. My plan was to train Miss St. George to replace her as our leading lady. I can only imagine this prospect frightened her enough to send her running. Too bad, too. She was a tremendous help to me, and she would have been splendid on the stage.”

  “Oh, God.” Tom’s legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed to the chair behind him.

  “Are you well, my lord?” Mr. Price asked, concern in his tone.

  “I know Miss St. George. Well, I know her enough, that is. I doubt it was you who scared her off.”

  “Then who?”

  “She wasn’t scared off at all, Mr. Price. She’s not even Miss St. George.”

  Confusion marred the American’s brow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “She’s a runaway debutante named Amelia Harding,” Tom said. “And I have a feeling the person she’s been running from has finally caught up to her.”