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The housekeeper—fair-haired with green eyes—jumped. “Yes, My Lord?” she asked, leaving her dusting of the room’s paintings.
“Will you take Mr. Smythe to the rooms I spoke to you about?” Reginald asked. “Ensure that he’s treated well. He is, after all, our valued guest.”
If Marcella was surprised to hear that Matthew, who most certainly did not look like a wealthy man, was to be treated as a proper guest rather than given some dreary room in the servants’ quarters, she hid her surprise well. The servants’ quarters wouldn’t be unpleasant for long, though. As soon as Matthew managed to find the cause of the estate’s financial difficulties, so Reginald knew how much money he really had, he’d investigate those quarters and see how they might be improved. The staff quite clearly needed something to help their low morale, and Reginald anticipated that increased wages and better living conditions would both help tremendously.
“This way, Mr. Smythe,” Emily said, waving for the clerk to follow her.
“Thank you, Reginald,” Matthew said.
Reginald nodded, and his friend hurried after Emily. Once they were out of sight, Marcella turned to him. “An old friend of yours?”
Maybe Matthew was right. He ought to tell Marcella about his past. She deserved his honesty, and even if he couldn’t tell her about his motivations for marrying her, there was no practical reason to keep the truth of his past in Southwark from her.
“He is,” Reginald replied reluctantly. “He’s probably the closest thing I have to a real friend. He and his wife used to invite me to dinner in the evenings, and I always pitied them. Both he and his wife worked so hard, and they could never make enough money. They barely support themselves in London.”
“Oh,” Marcella said.
Reginald set his shoulders. “There were times when I wouldn’t have survived without their generosity—and the generosity of a couple others. I do have some other old friends who are going to stay with us. You can trust them. I promise I kept good company.”
Except for Isaac. Once Charles and Edward arrived, though, Reginald planned on asking them about Isaac, and if the three of them couldn’t learn why the man had betrayed them, Reginald would find the constable and ask him. Then, maybe Isaac.
If it had just been a betrayal, Reginald might’ve not bothered. He had no time for revenge when he had an estate in shambles, a new wife, and struggling people to help. He felt that Isaac’s actions weren’t merely for self-gain. There was something else. Had Isaac known all along who and what Reginald was?
“I trust your friends,” Marcella replied. “I just…I’ve never seen a man quite like your friend before. Not in a grand house like this.”
“He’s the best,” Reginald said.
“You’re quite loyal to them,” Marcella said.
Reginald nodded. “I try to do right by them. Would you—would you like to do something together?”
“Yes,” she said, a small blush coming to her face. “Actually, I had come down hoping you might join me for a walk. When I’m stuck in my stories and unable to continue them, I find that walking is one of the few things which helps me.”
Indeed, for the first time, Reginald noticed that his wife’s lady’s maid Jane stood behind her, parasol in hand.
“You can regale me with you stories of Southwark, while we walk,” Marcella said.
Reginald slowly nodded and offered his arm. “I shall do my best to provide you with suitable entertainment.”
Out they went, Reginald and Marcella, accompanied by the lady’s maid. Reginald steered his new bride down the garden path, which circled the entire length of the estate’s massive grounds. There were numerous other paths which branched off from it, which Reginald imagined they’d take if the length of the estate proved too much for the lady. He knew she liked to walk, but he had no idea how far or how often.
“Well,” Marcella said, letting her open parasol rest on her right shoulder, “I think you ought to begin regaling me, as promised.”
Reginald frowned. “I should, but it’s difficult to say where to begin.”
“When you left?”
He drew in a sharp breath. Her suggestion was wholly reasonable, but he wasn’t sure if he was entirely ready to open those wounds just yet. “Perhaps, a little after,” he offered. “I’ll tell you about my disappearance in time.”
She nodded, and her eyes were sympathetic, as if she knew intimately what it was like to have experienced something so utterly dreadful that one could not even speak of it.
“Shortly after I left my home, I found myself in Southwark,” Reginald said. “I had nothing, and I knew no one. It was a very different sort of London than I’d seen before, and it was frightening. I was only an adolescent, and I’d assumed that I could conquer anything. I learned quickly that wasn’t true, and it was really luck that I survived the first several months without finding my death to cold, hunger, or disease.”
“I can’t even imagine…” Marcella murmured.
Reginald nodded, taking comfort from the warmth of her arm linked with his. “I survived as a pickpocket.”
He glanced at Marcella, anticipating a scandalized expression, but she only nodded. “I was told you were a vagabond,” she said, in response to his look. “I had anticipated that some small amount of criminality might be involved.”
