“But to hide it. It makes no sense. However, though we were forbidden to remove anything from the residence, I believe I will hold on to this.” He slipped it in the pocket of his coat.
“I won’t tell.” She didn’t know why the words came out sounding like a vow she would die to fulfill.
They worked together to finish searching the desk, but it held no more secrets. They spent the next three hours going through every room inthe residence, and in each one, he revealed something about himself. Not with words, but with his facial expressions. He was not usually so easy to read, and she suspected he’d be appalled to know that his emotions here were too great and close to the surface. In his father’s bedchamber, anger ruled. In his mother’s, sorrow. Remorse in his sister’s. Admiration in his brother’s. In his own . . . in his own, she detected him struggling to come to terms with the enormity of what he’d lost. Her heart ached for him as he hunted for answers to a past that would lead him to a better future. But they found nothing.
As they wandered back along the hallways, preparing to take their leave, she said, “I know this journey must have been hard. You grew up here.”
“No. I don’t think I grew up until I found myself on the streets.”
Marcus felt raw and exposed, haunted by the memories that had bombarded him as he strode through the various rooms. The lack of love, the unkindness, his father’s oppressive nature. He’d thought when it all became his, he would shape a different destiny for himself and his descendants. Instead, his father had shaped it for him, and it wasn’t one he much liked.
Although he certainly found no fault with his life at the moment. Somehow, Esme had known what a trial the search through the residencewould be for him, and she’d arranged for them to have a picnic. While they’d been occupied, her driver had picked up a hamper at Fortnum & Mason, a company that prided itself on providing the best of fare for those who wanted any easy means of carting food around with them. She’d brought him to a park in an area of London that had been renovated by Mick Trewlove, a man known for rebuilding decrepit neighborhoods. Surrounding the park were homes that ranged from simple terrace houses to more elaborate residences with lawns surrounding them. People from all walks of life, except the nobility, lived here so it was unlikely anyone would recognize either Esme or himself.
He was stretched out on a blanket, raised on an elbow, sipping the red wine she’d poured for him. After what the past few hours had entailed, he shouldn’t feel content to simply be here with her as she scrounged around in the hamper.
“How about a Scotch egg?” She held up a hardboiled egg encased in sausage and crumbs.
“Absolutely.” She extended it toward him, but he merely arched a brow.
With a wicked smile and a murmured, “You devil,” she delivered the delicacy to his mouth, her fingers lingering as he closed his lips around them. He’d probably eaten a hundred of Fortnum & Mason’s famous Scotch eggs over the years, but he couldn’t recall a single one that tasted better than this one, with the saltiness of her fingers asshe withdrew them lingering on his lips. Closing his eyes, he nearly groaned at the simple savoring of so delicious a morsel.
Opening his eyes, he discovered her studying him intently, her cheeks pinkening, just before she returned to her task of setting out the offerings. “It’s been well over a year since I’ve had a Fortnum & Mason hamper,” he confessed.
“Who was the lady with whom you enjoyed it?”
Since the establishment was known for providing delicious picnic fare, he wasn’t surprised by her question. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
“So kissing was involved.”
“It would have been a waste of an expensive basket of goodies if not.”
She laughed, the sweet trill echoing around him and piercing his heart as effectively as Cupid’s arrow. He suddenly found her to be more dangerous on a sunny hillside in a park than in a darkened alleyway because she made him long for what he’d once had, made him believe it might all be his to hold again. “I imagine you’ve been on your share of picnics with gents.”
With everything set out before them, she picked up her own glass of wine. “Actually, this is my first. I do hope I’m doing it correctly.”
He couldn’t imagine that she’d not gone on picnics aplenty, with young swains who would be vying for her hand. Taking a sip of her wine, she gazed off into the distance where children frolicked about, and he wondered if she regretted the confession. “How did you come to be where you are today?”
“The same as you. I came in a carriage to the park.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, and you damned well know it. I suspect you noted a good many of my vulnerabilities when we were traipsing through corridors earlier. Tell me how you happened to become a protector of royalty.”
She took another sip, licked her lips, and studied him. He wanted to reassure her that she could trust him, but words shouldn’t be needed. He was willing to trust her with everything. He wanted her willing to do the same.
“Shortly after my father perished, my mother received a letter of condolence from the Queen”—the relief that swept through him with the realization that she was going to share her story, that she trusted him enough to do so, was astonishing—“in which Her Majesty mentioned that she was aware my father had a daughter. I later found out that Victoria had spoken with him when he served at the palace. Anyway, in the letter, she wrote that when I was old enough, she would find a position for me in the royal household. Mother was beside herself with the notion that I might meet someone of import and marry well. Hence the reason she sent me to the finishing school. As for herself, not six months after my father died, during her period of mourning, she married the parish vicar who was somewhat of a drunk, but as strict in his ways as she was. Theykept me on such a tight leash, I couldn’t wait to leave home. As I had no means for supporting myself, the opportunity to be elsewhere didn’t happen until I was nineteen and went to work as one of the Queen’s two wardrobe maids. Are you familiar with the position?”
“I can’t say as I am.”
“It allowed for a good deal of intimacy to develop between the Queen and myself. Not as much as if I’d been the Queen’s dresser, who was Marianne Skerrett at the time and was my superior, but I had a chamber down the hall from the Queen’s. I tended to her wardrobe and her personal items and remained near should she require anything at all. I had great ambitions of one day advancing to the position of queen’s dresser. Quite a bit of prestige comes with it as well as a rather good salary. I’d been a year in my post when Prince Albert passed, and the Queen and I became closer because she knew I’d suffered a devastating loss as well and so even though it had been years since my father’s death, still I commiserated with her and was more understanding of her overwhelming grief than most.”
As she took a moment to gaze in the distance, he could envision her bringing comfort to her monarch. He also had the sense that what was coming next was not so easy for her to share. She released a long sigh that contained the tiniest of shudders as though she was steeling herself for facing the past.
“I shared my duties with the other wardrobemaid. Her name was Beatrix. She was half a dozen years older than I was and we were the firmest of friends—or so I thought. I told her everything. I even confided that I fancied one of the palace guards. His name was Richard, and he was so incredibly handsome in his uniform. I was quite smitten. Near the end of my second year as a wardrobe maid, I began to experience pains and noticed some swelling. Here.” She flattened a palm to her abdomen. “I shared my worries with Beatrix—in the strictest of confidence—and soon after I noticed staff looking at me rather strangely. People who were talking would go quiet when I neared. Eventually I discovered rumors were circulating that I’d had an affair with a palace guard and was with child. Beatrix had to have started them because the change in my shape wasn’t noticeable when I wore clothing.”
“Did you confront her?”
She gave him a wry smile. “I did, but I wasn’t then who I am now, and was rather meek in my confrontation. She admitted that she’d told people, but also that she did, in fact, believe I was with child. After all, I’d told her about my infatuation with Richard, and also unfortunately about all the times my mother got after me for my disobedience. Why would I not flout society’s rules by lying with a man.”
“She betrayed your confidence. Something must have driven her to do that.”
