Pippa and the Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway

5

Present

The following afternoon, Pippa arrived at the appointed time at Lady Charlotte Fayne’s gracious Mayfair residence. She looked the part of the grieving widow in her black bombazine dress with a fitted bodice and narrow sleeves, the plain skirts draped over layers of petticoats. An autumn breeze stirred her black veil as she climbed the steps, an echo of her inner tempest.

How is Charlie going to react to my actions last evening? she thought with gnawing worry. How am I going to explain Timothy Cullen’s reappearance in my life?

Pippa set aside her fretting to return the greeting of Hawker, Charlie’s butler and one of the Angels’ instructors. He was a big man with an even bigger heart, hidden beneath a gruff and rather piratical exterior. He directed her to the private chamber adjacent to Charlie’s study, where Pippa’s fellow Angels were waiting.

Lady Olivia Wodehouse, Miss Fiona Garrity, and Lady Glory Cavendish greeted her with cheery hellos. Pippa joined the ladies on the divan in the sitting area, where they were taking refreshment. Chairs were lined up along the wall that separated this chamber from Charlie’s study; through discreet viewing holes, the Angels would be able to observe Charlie at work when she brought in the next client, Lady Hastings.

A wealthy widow, Charlie maintained a spotless reputation. The world believed that her Society of Angels was a genteel charity. Only a select few knew the truth: Charlie ran an investigative agency to help women whose interests had not been served by the male establishment. For these clients, the Angels were their last hope; Pippa knew this because that was how she had felt when she’d hired Charlie to uncover Edwin’s secret.

At the time, Pippa hadn’t known that Livy, Glory, and Fi were the inaugural members of Charlie’s covert team. Charlie simply told her clients that she had “contacts” who could find information; no one suspected that those contacts were three well-bred young ladies, which was the beauty of Charlie’s plan. Her detectives were hiding in plain sight and had access to society’s highest echelons.

Pippa had only discovered the truth when Livy found Edwin’s body. Having known Livy, Glory, and Fi for ages—the girls’ parents and Pippa’s were close friends—Pippa had been astounded by the younger women’s audacity. Her shock had gradually turned into curiosity.

Couldladies become investigators? What skills were necessary to carry out clandestine surveillance? How did one keep up the subterfuge of being a lady by day and an agent by night?

Those questions had led Pippa back to Lady Charlotte. Charlie had revealed her own story: she, herself, had once sought help from male investigators who either did not take her seriously or tried to take advantage of her. Thus, she had taken it upon herself to learn the trade of detection, and the Society of Angels represented her desire to empower future generations of ladies with her hard-won knowledge. To teach these members of the “weaker sex” to hone their physical and mental strengths...and to enable them to determine their own destinies.

Having lost her own husband at a young age, Charlie had come straight to the point with Pippa.

“Loss can either destroy one or make one stronger,”she’d said. “Which will it be for you?”

The choice had been easy. The work had given Pippa purpose and the company of friends who understood her situation in ways her other genteel acquaintances could not. Knowing what they did of the dark business that had killed Edwin—which Pippa kept under wraps to preserve his honor—Livy, Glory, and Fi had offered Pippa their unconditional support. They’d even made her an honorary member of the club they’d started back in finishing school: the “Willflowers” aptly described the ladies’ unconventional and spirited approach to life. One that Pippa now embraced.

She and the Angels helped themselves from a cart of refreshments, chatting as they awaited Charlie and Lady Hastings’s arrival.

“I cannot believe you jumped off a bridge and onto the Prince of Larks’s barge,” Livy said as she poured out the tea.

A petite brunette whose jade-green frock matched her eyes, Livy possessed an inquisitive and determined nature. Last year, she had wed her longtime crush, the Duke of Hadleigh, and two months ago, had given birth to a baby girl named Esmerelda (Esme for short). Being a new mama didn’t seem to hamper Livy’s natural exuberance; if anything, she was even more energetic. Pippa fretted about her friend overdoing things.

Luckily, Livy’s husband was as protective as he was doting. The duke supported Livy’s independent spirit, including her work with the Angels; at the same time, he kept a close eye on her. The loving acceptance between Livy and her husband filled Pippa with admiration…and regret. If her own marriage had been as intimate and free of secrets, then perhaps Edwin might be alive today.

“As I said last night, the Prince of Larks left me no choice.” Accepting the tea from Livy, Pippa took a sip of the fortifying brew. “He intruded upon my surveillance of Hastings.”

“But why did he do so?” Livy pressed.

Pippa chose her words with care. “I met him briefly fourteen years ago when he recuperated from an injury at my parents’ home. His real name is Timothy Cullen, and his sister Maisie was a pupil at the Hunt Academy. After Cullen recovered, he left.” She made her shrug nonchalant. “I haven’t the faintest idea why he showed up last night and chose to make an inconvenience of himself.”

“Perhaps Mr. Cullen feels he owes your family for helping him,” Glory suggested as she helped herself to an egg and watercress sandwich.

Glory was a sporty girl with russet-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a dusting of freckles on her nose. There was a hint of her paternal Chinese heritage in her pretty features. Curled upon Glory’s shell-pink skirts was her pet ferret, Ferdinand II. Ferdinand II raised his furry white head expectantly, his dark eyes bright and pink nose twitching. When Glory gave him a bit of her sandwich, he gobbled it down.

“But why show up now?” Fiona narrowed her blue eyes. “After fourteen years?”

The morning light set Fi’s red curls aflame. She wore an à la mode white carriage dress and matching pelisse, a gold ceinture circling her tiny waist. At nineteen, she’d already been declared an Incomparable, with suitors lining up outside her door, but she enjoyed adventure more than ballroom flirtation. Or, rather, she saw no reason not to engage in both.

“That is a good question, Fi.” Livy furrowed her brow. “And how would Mr. Cullen know you were in need of assistance, unless…has he been watching you?”

Pippa’s nape tingled at the notion. She wasn’t used to garnering male attention. Truth be told, she’d worried about keeping Edwin’s interest. In the early stages of their courtship, he’d lavished her with praise and trinkets, his attention making her feel special and loved. Once they were engaged, however, his compliments had taken on the flavor of criticism. The change had been so subtle that it had taken her months to notice.

“A fine effort, my dear,”he would say of a portrait she’d painted. “Next time, you might consider flowers or fruit as your subject. Something more suited to your feminine sensibilities.”

When it came to his own painting, he liked to use sultry redheads and brunettes for his models. He’d claimed that his work captured the “decadent drama of humanity”; as a homebody who liked domesticity, Pippa had feared she didn’t supply her husband with the excitement he seemed to crave. When she’d mustered up the courage to ask, his reply had been dismissive.

“There is nothing more tedious than insecurity, my dear,”he’d said.

She’d shut up after that. The irony of it was that she’d only discovered her own capacity for adventure after his death. When it was too late. When it no longer mattered how intriguing she became.

The fact that Timothy Cullen—who was not her husband, her family, her anything—would take an interest in her was baffling to say the least. Why would he look out for her and claim to be her friend? At any rate, Pippa needed a man ruling her life like she needed tighter lacing on her corset. She was learning to breathe freely once more, and no overbearing male was going to stop her.

Pippa set her cup down. “I told Cullen in no uncertain terms to stay away from me.”

“Having males constantly underfoot can be tiresome,” Fi drawled.

“You would know.” Glory gave the redhead a teasing look. “I nearly got trampled by your horde of admirers at the ball last week.”

Fi sighed, giving her pristine skirts an expert flick. “There was not an interesting fellow in the bunch. Lemmings, all of them…no offense, Ferdinand.”

“Ferdinand isn’t offended,” Glory replied as the ferret bobbed its head in agreement. “Lemmings are rodents, a different family from ferrets entirely.”

“Is it too much to ask for a suitor who is clever, rich, and attractive?” Fi mused. Then she turned to Pippa. “By the by, you haven’t told us what the fabled prince looks like.”

Big. Muscular. Overwhelmingly masculine.

“I wouldn’t know,” Pippa said casually. “He was wearing a mask.”

Yet her artist’s imagination had filled in the spaces hidden by black leather. She’d pictured the lad she’d known as a full-grown man with blunt cheekbones and rough-hewn features. Raw and powerful lines that defied conventions of beauty.

“Was he tall?” Fi inquired.

Pippa gave a reluctant nod.

“Young?”

“He is a year older than I am.”

“Broad-shouldered? Full head of hair? In possession of all his teeth?”

Pippa dipped her chin grudgingly in response to Fi’s rapid-fire questions.

Fi arched her brows. “And he left no impression upon you?”

The sensation of being pressed up against Cullen’s sinewy ridges flooded Pippa with warmth. Her insides fluttered as she recalled one ridge in particular. His male member had felt shockingly...substantial. Much larger than anything she’d encountered in her marital bed.

Good heavens. I cannot seriously be comparing Cullen’s manhood to Edwin’s.

Fighting back a blush, she answered firmly, “None whatsoever.”

“Then you are a more sensible woman than I am,” Fi said. “If some virile masked stranger came to my rescue, I would be hopelessly intrigued.”

“If you didn’t need to be rescued,” Glory argued, “wouldn’t you find his interference annoying?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

Fi’s eyes sparkled. “On what lies behind the mask, of course.”

Livy and Glory chuckled, and even Pippa had to smile at Fi’s irreverence.

“Whatever the case,” Livy said thoughtfully, “what if he obstructs Pippa’s work again? We cannot have him getting in the way.”

“Charlie will have a plan for dealing with him,” Glory said.

Pippa fought a surge of anxiety. “Charlie probably blames me for going after Hastings on my own. What if she holds me responsible for Mr. Cullen’s interference—and thinks I’m more trouble than I’m worth?”

“She would never think that.” Reaching over, Livy patted Pippa’s hand. “Don’t forget our vow. We Angels stick together.”

Upon joining the society, the Angels had taken an oath of secrecy and sisterhood:

No matter what danger may await

An Angel is loyal, brave, and true.

We will not betray our society’s aim:

“Sisters first” will see us through.

“Following one’s instincts can land one in hot water.” Glory shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Following my instincts or getting into trouble?” Pippa asked.

“Both,” her friends chorused as one.

Their laughter was cut short by approaching voices. They quieted instantly, moving to the chairs in front of the viewing holes. Peering through, Pippa saw Charlie lead Lady Julianna Hastings into the study.

A thin, plain brunette, Lady Hastings was around Pippa’s age. At social gatherings, Pippa had found the lady timid, always deferring to her charismatic spouse. The viscountess’s violet silk dress and matching bonnet emphasized the pallor of her cheeks, her gloved hands clutching her reticule as she took the seat facing Charlie’s desk.

In contrast, Charlie radiated vitality, and it wasn’t just because of her lustrous honey-gold hair and flawless figure, shown to exquisite advantage in a flounced butter-yellow gown. Charlie had an innate, magnetic confidence: one couldn’t help but be drawn to this woman in her prime, who lived life as it suited her.

Not long ago, Pippa had occupied the same chair as Julianna Hastings. She remembered her own desperation and hope as she’d divulged her troubles to Charlie. As she’d shared things she hadn’t shared with anyone else.

“Do you have information on my husband?” Lady Hastings asked in a timorous voice.

“He was in Limehouse last night.” Charlie handed the client a cup of tea; she’d perfected the art of being comforting yet direct. Seating herself across the rosewood desk fancifully carved with birds and flowers, she said, “He visited a gaming house, where he lost five hundred pounds on dice.”

Lady Hastings’s hand flittered to her bosom. “F-five hundred? In one night?”

“He has gambled three out of the seven nights since you hired us to watch him, wagering similar sums. He has also indulged in…”—Charlie paused, no doubt to prepare the lady—“other vices.”

“Such as?” Lady Hastings said faintly.

“Whores and opium.”

“Father was right.” Lady Hastings spoke as if to herself. “He married me for my money.”

The only child of wealthy mill owner Jonas Turner, Julianna had married the impoverished Hastings against her father’s wishes three years ago. Hastings had apparently wooed her with promises of love. After her father’s death, Hastings had shown his true colors, promptly taking control of Julianna’s inheritance and squandering it on depravity.

Charlie’s expression was sympathetic. “At our last meeting, you mentioned seeking legal counsel?”

“I spoke to a solicitor.” Lady Hastings’s chin quivered. “Even if I were willing to brave the scandal, I haven’t sufficient grounds for divorce. Hastings is too well connected; his cronies in Parliament would kill any petition I submitted for a divorce. And the truth is…I am afraid.”

Even through the peephole, Pippa saw the fear etched on the lady’s face.

Charlie grew still. “Has your husband hurt you?”

“He…he hasn’t laid a hand on me, if that is what you mean.” Lady Hastings exhaled. “But he constantly criticizes me, and nothing I do is ever good enough. As hard as I try, I can never please him. I know that he has been keeping secrets from me since the start of our marriage.”

Anguished empathy squeezed Pippa’s chest. God help me, I have more in common with Julianna Hastings than I realized.

“I have no say in anything, and sometimes…” The lady’s voice hitched. “Sometimes I fear he wants to be rid of me altogether.”

Pippa’s blood ran cold. Looking at her fellow Angels, she saw their brooding expressions. Was Lady Hastings implying that her husband wanted to kill her?

“Are you in danger?” Charlie demanded. “Life-threatening cruelty is grounds for divorce—”

“I am being dramatic.” Lady Hastings’s smile had a forced quality. “Hastings wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s hardly convincing,” Pippa said under her breath.

“You have been of great help, Lady Fayne. Now that I know the extent of my husband’s vices, I will plan for my future accordingly.” Depositing an envelope on the desk, Lady Hastings rose. “The remainder of your fee, with my thanks.”

Charlie got to her feet. “Please wait. Are you certain there is nothing else—”

“When our mutual friend, the dowager duchess, told me that you’d assisted her and were a champion of women, I did not believe her. But now I do.” Lady Hastings gave a graceful nod. “You have listened and taken my concerns seriously, and for that I am most grateful. Now I must ask that you respect my wishes and terminate the case. I shall see myself out. Good day.”

After hearing the front door close, Pippa and the Angels rushed into Charlie’s study. Their mentor was sitting at her desk, tapping a pen against the blotter. Lady Hastings’s distinctive violet, musk, and ambergris fragrance lingered as heavily as the concerns she’d shared.

“What do you think?” Charlie asked pensively.

“I think it is dashed unfair that Lady Hastings is bound to such a cad.” Glory’s pink skirts swished as she paced in front of the hearth, her ferret trotting at her heels.

“Is she safe?” Pippa nibbled on her lip. “Perhaps we should continue surveilling Hastings.”

“Lady Hastings terminated our services. She is an adult, and we must respect her decision…even if we disagree.” Sighing, Charlie tossed the pen into a filigree tray. “Knowing our role and honoring our client’s wishes can be the hardest part of the job.”

“I suppose we did help,” Livy said. “Now she knows what she is dealing with.”

“A pyrrhic victory,” Fi muttered. “To find out that one will forever be haunted by one bad decision.”

Pippa’s throat clenched. I know how that feels.

“On that cheery note, I’d best be on my way,” Livy said. “I am spending the afternoon with Esme since Hadleigh and I have an event this eve.”

“The Westerfield ball?” Fi asked.

“The British Museum. They have a new exhibit of spiders”—Livy lovingly rubbed her thumb over her spider-shaped engagement ring—“and Hadleigh has arranged for a private viewing.”

“I’ll never understand your interest in museums,” Fi said. “Visiting them is such a bore.”

“Not with Hadleigh.” Eyes twinkling, Livy asked, “Shall I drop anyone off on my way?”

Before the Angels could reply, Charlie said, “Pippa, I’d like a word with you in private.”

Unease prickled Pippa. The others gave her sympathetic looks as they left.

Pippa drew a breath. “If this is about last night, I had everything under control—”

“You broke the most sacrosanct rule of the Angels. Sisters first,” Charlie said with emphasis. “You are part of a team, Pippa, not some rogue agent.”

“I know. But Hastings was moving quickly, and I was so close—”

“By putting yourself at risk, you also endanger others. The rest of the team will go after you, no matter the peril. You are fortunate the prince meant no harm last night.”

Guilt swelled. She opened her mouth…and closed it. Because she had no valid excuse for her recklessness.

“Now you will tell me what he wanted from you.” Charlie’s grey eyes were as sharp as a steel blade. “All the details, if you please.”

Faced with her mentor’s scrutiny, Pippa had no choice but to relate her history with Timothy Cullen. She did, however, leave out her inexplicable physical reactions to him, which were as mortifying as they were irrelevant.

At the conclusion of the report, Charlie gave Pippa an assessing look. “When you told Mr. Cullen to steer clear of you, how did he respond?”

I am your friend, sunshine. You have my word that you and your secrets are safe with me.

“He seemed to understand that I was serious,” Pippa hedged.

Charlie leaned back in her chair. “Do I need to have a parley with him? While the Prince of Larks may be a ruthless and powerful man, I will not countenance him interfering with our work.”

“He won’t,” Pippa said in a rush. “I promise.” If he does, he will answer to me.

“Very well. I will let this go for now. But I wish to be apprised of any further contact by the prince, Pippa. Do I make myself clear?”

Nodding, Pippa said, “If there’s nothing else, I thought I would get some sparring practice in with Mrs. Peabody—”

“About that.” Charlie’s expression was grave. “I think you should take a break.”

Pippa’s pulse skittered with fear. “I do not need a break. I have naught better to do.”

“And that is the trouble. My dear, I brought you on because I thought the work would be a good distraction—”

“It has been. The very best diversion.” The only thing keeping me afloat.

“But your entire life cannot revolve around a diversion.” Rising, Charlie crossed over to Pippa, taking her hands in a gentle yet firm grip. “I have been where you are, my dear, and I won’t lie that investigation gave me purpose and the will to carry on. At the same time, I see signs that the work may be affecting you in less desirable ways.”

Pippa pulled away. “The work is doing me good.”

“It is also feeding a latent recklessness in you. It worries me, my dear. No matter how important a lead may seem, nothing is more important than your well-being. You must take better care. If the mudlarks hadn’t intervened, you might have found yourself in quite the predicament.”

“I was perfectly capable of handling the situation,” Pippa protested.

Charlie lifted her brows. “By handling, do you mean engaging in combat with the target who wasn’t supposed to know that you were there? Or perhaps you meant to do nothing and let him shoot you in the head?”

Pippa’s cheeks flamed.

“In this instance, we owe the Prince of Larks,” Charlie said sternly. “And I do not like to be indebted to anyone, least of all a man with murky motivations.”

“It is not as if I invited him to meddle in my affairs!”

“Be that as it may, if he approaches you again, you will tell me.” Charlie headed to the door, her yellow skirts rustling. “In the interim, get some rest. It will do you good.”

Heart pounding at the thought of the long hours alone in her cottage, Pippa choked out, “How long am I to be barred from participating in the society?”

“This isn’t a punishment, my dear.” Turning, Charlie pursed her lips. “I genuinely believe that a respite would be healthful. Perhaps you could take up a hobby; was painting not a passion of yours?”

Pippa saw the blood dripping from her brush, and a cold droplet slid down her spine.

“How long until I may return?” she repeated.

Sighing, Charlie opened the door. “Take a week, my dear. Then we’ll revisit the matter.”

When Pippa returned to her cottage that afternoon, she was greeted by Whitby, her butler. She had hired her small and loyal staff based on Charlie’s referrals. To Pippa, her servants were a dream: they didn’t gossip or question her comings and goings, nor did they bat an eye when she went out at night in one of her myriad disguises. Balding and built like a teapot, Whitby, especially, was the soul of discretion.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said with a bow. “How was the visit with Lady Fayne?”

Pushing back her despair, Pippa managed a smile. “It was fine.”

“A letter arrived. I left it on your desk.” The butler cleared his throat. “It was delivered in person by Mrs. Hunt.”

A vise clamped around Pippa’s temples. She wasn’t ready to deal with her family. During supper three months ago, Papa had gone on a rant about Edwin’s character. She couldn’t argue with Papa’s points; Edwin had been condescending toward her relations. Yet what point was there in speaking ill of the dead? Moreover, Pippa bore responsibility as well, for she’d made the choice to wed Edwin contrary to parental advice.

She’d sat tight-lipped through course after course, frustration and despair decimating her appetite. Since then, she’d been avoiding her family. She loved them but didn’t know how to mend the rift caused by her marriage. Taking the coward’s way out, she’d kept her distance.

Entering the parlor, Pippa went to her escritoire and picked up the letter. A spasm hit her chest at the sight of her mama’s untidy script. She traced the seal with her index finger but didn’t break it. She knew her mother was worried about her and was likely asking her to visit…or to move home. Despite Pippa’s yearning to return to the vibrant, loving household of her youth, something in her balked.

Because you cannot go back. You have made your bed and now you must lie in it.

Plagued by restless melancholy, she went to look out the window…and froze.

Stationed across the street was a child in a scruffy cap. By all appearances, he was a crossing sweep, cheerfully wielding his broom and accepting a coin from a passing couple. Pippa, however, knew that adorable bespectacled face. It was one of the mudlarks from last night…and there could only be one reason for his presence outside her cottage.

“Devil take you, Cullen.” She balled her hands. “Haven’t you interfered with my life enough?”

Because of him, she’d lost Hastings. Because of him, Charlie had discharged her from duty. Anger charged through Pippa in a cleansing, powerful rush.

I am no longer the naïve chit you once knew, Timothy Cullen. You wish to play with me? she thought with grim anticipation. Then let the games begin.