Page 10 of Forgotten No More

Then again, men were no different. Certainly, he’d been guilty of being less than completely honest with the young women he’d met while in town. Brock insisted Harold insinuate he lived on the property adjoining the Haversham estate, when in truth his father’s home resided on Haversham property and his family had proudly served three generations of Havershams.

He was discouraged to realize he’d thought Ruby different—above other women of her class. Alas, her words were guarded and at best half-truths, if not outright lies. He wondered what she had to gain by keeping her actions hidden.

Harold was not only loyal to the Haversham family as a whole, but he was indebted to Brock. If Ruby was involved with someone or something that would ultimately shed a bad light on Lord and Lady Haversham, he had a duty—no, a responsibility—to find out what it was and right the situation. Lady Haversham had been hurt by so many in her short life, and Harold would do anything in his power to make sure the one person she trusted more than her husband did not destroy that trust.

Standing, he moved to Ruby’s desk. The normal womanly items littered its surface: fancy stationery, a quill and three ink pots, fashion plates, a book, and a wax seal kit. He picked up the book, which sat in the middle of the desk. Peers of the Realm. The volume, dated by society standards, was heavy and smelled of years of use.

He thumbed through the book noting several notations within, but the words and the families they were written next to meant nothing to him. Setting it aside, he looked at the papers scattered on the desk. He’d be crossing the line and invading her privacy if he read any of the neatly scribbled words on the loose pages.

He entertained the thought only briefly before he gathered them and moved back to his seat on the chaise. She would not have exited the room, leaving the papers, if they truly were of a sensitive nature. Perhaps her correspondence included simple letters to an elderly aunt or instructions for the headmistress at Foldger’s Foundling House, the orphanage that Harold knew Ruby helped Lady Haversham oversee.

But he feared he’d find a letter from someone special, possibly a man awaiting her return in the country. The feeling was ludicrous, utterly foreign to him—and now was not the time to waste contemplating his own inner workings. What he felt for Ruby—if he felt anything at all—would be misplaced and unwanted based on the woman’s attitude thus far.

He merely sought to confirm her true nature and the possibility of her less-than-honest actions.

Still, he took in her classic, crisp handwriting, not focusing on the words but on the movement across the paper, so unlike her haphazard movements from the previous night. She’d been hurried, nervous, and consumed by whatever it was she sought. He hoped she’d found what she’d been looking for and would not put herself in danger again.

The door, still firmly closed, could be thrown wide at any moment and the papers—his only means of insight—could be snatched from his hands as easily as that, and this opportunity to know her better would be gone.

He focused on the words before him.

Both sheets held lists—one of titled gentlemen and the location of their homes within London, and the other a list of unsavory qualities.

Time being of the essence, Harold grabbed a blank sheet of paper and scribbled down as many of the names as he could. He recognized a few as either business associates or acquaintances of Brock’s. Still, most he’d had no previous knowledge of. The list was comprised of men from every level of society, from a baron to three dukes. They were in no particular order on the sheet. Many were crossed off for no apparent reason, as no notes accompanied the names.

He again studied her odd list of transgressions. He wondered if they applied to the men on her list or possibly herself. It seemed that every time he ran across the woman, she was up to something.

Hopefully, he would be able to figure out what she was doing before he returned to the country. If not, he’d need to enlighten Brock to his suspicions and any findings.

Chapter 5

The alcove Ruby sat in afforded her privacy while allowing her a direct view of the door to the sitting room. She’d been so perturbed by Harold’s intrusion that she’d left the room with only half her things, completely neglecting to gather her papers.

Now she had no other choice but to wait for him to leave—and pray he didn’t look through her writing desk in the meantime.

The hallway, windows shuttered against the late morning sun, was clouded in shadows.

“Whatever are you doing?”

Ruby slunk a bit more into the darkened alcove at Vi’s question, hoping her friend hadn’t spotted her, and instead was addressing a passing servant. The tapping of her shoe against the polished floor erased any hope Ruby had of staying undetected.

She stood from her seat on the shallow sill of the window, stepping into the light of the hall. “Oh, Vi,” she said, adding a note of shock to her voice. “I must have been daydreaming and lost track of time.”

Her friend knew the words were a mistruth, just as Ruby feared. “About?”

Ruby had so much on her mind, she failed to quickly come up with anything she could convincingly be daydreaming about.

“Come now,” Vi continued. “You’ve acted oddly since we arrived in London, and you and I both know you’re as likely to daydream as to spontaneously begin speaking Italian. Are you under the weather?”

“Under the weather?” Ruby asked, confused. “I feel fine—”

“Mr. Jakeston informed Lord Haversham and myself that you were not feeling well last evening, and he was kind enough to escort you to our carriage. I would have gratefully accompanied you since I was fatigued as well, if you’d only come to me.”

Ruby must remember to thank him when next they met, though she was uncomfortable with the untruth. She was grateful for his quick thinking, but she did not need Harold to lie for her.

Vi touched Ruby’s forehead. She stepped back, startled by Vi’s movement.

“Well, you have no fever.” Viola crossed her arms dubiously. “Does your head ache?”