The Leading Lady (Half Moon House Series) Read online

  This time, though, Tru and Stoneacre walked at her side and a gaggle of Prinny’s troops trailed behind.

  The house in Cock Pit Alley was small and looked to be crumbling under the weight of its own misery. Callie had never been inside, but she knew where Birch lived. Everyone knew—and knew to stay away.

  After a short consultation, the men all melted into the darkness. Only Callie stepped up to knock on the door.

  It took several attempts before someone answered. A dirty boy, rail thin, and perhaps twelve years old, yanked it open with impatience. “Wot ye want?”

  “I want to talk to Birch.”

  The boy eyed her up and down. “He’s busy.”

  She pulled her cloak tighter about her. “He’ll want to see me.”

  “Look, he’s already got company. So, git.”

  A querulous call sounded from within. The boy turned to shout over his shoulder. “Some doxy to see Birch!”

  “I don’t need to come in,” Callie told him. “Just tell him to step out here.” Suddenly inspired, she added, “Tell him it’s about a job.”

  The boy sighed, then spat in the corner. “Wait here.”

  She did, looking neither to the right nor the left, but only at the weathered door before her. No telling whose eyes might be trained on her right now.

  At last the door swung open again. Birch motioned her back and stepped out to join her. “Who’s that?” he asked roughly.

  She tossed back her hood.

  He groaned. “Callie Grant, I have no time for your foolishness.”

  “No, you don’t,” she agreed.

  “You did not come here about a job.”

  “I did. I want to ask about the job in which you were hired to take Letty Robbins to Dover.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Callie. I’m busy tonight and I’ve no time to tell you again to let that girl go.”

  “I know who hired you for that job,” she said quietly. “And I know he’s inside right now.”

  That got his attention. “Turn around and head right back to Half Moon House, girl, before you get yourself hurt.”

  “I can’t, Birch. It’s over. Lord Stoneacre is with me, and a mess of soldiers too. Your place is surrounded even now. They won’t let Marstoke get away again. But you’ve been kind to me, in your own way. I don’t want you to go down with him.” She pursed her lips. “I also know you would never live in a place without a way out—one that most don’t know about. Tell me where it is and where it leads and you can walk away right now.”

  He frowned. “My boy . . .”

  “Will be released into your custody. Think, Birch. If you shout now or run back in there to warn him, there might be shooting. Your boy could be hurt. Marstoke might escape, but you’ll hang in his place.”

  “Damn it, Callie Grant. I always did hate to go up against you.”

  The secret passage was a cobwebbed stairway, leading from Birch’s parlor to the basement next door. Tru and Callie and a dozen ready rifles were waiting when Marstoke and Anselm burst through it, fleeing Stoneacre and his men.

  The marquess froze when he saw the tableau—and reached for a pocket.

  “Please, do,” Tru urged him. “You will save the government the expense of your trial.”

  Marstoke’s hands went up. Murder lived in his face. Two soldiers rushed forward to take him and chain his hands behind his back. He merely continued to glare, a temple to cold fury and the promise of revenge. And then he and a still-protesting Anselm were marched out.

  Callie turned to one of the torch bearers. “Tell Stoneacre to send a message to Hestia Wright right away.” She looked at Tru, tears starting to form. “It’s over. It’s finally over.”

  Tru was staring after the departed men. Now he heaved a huge sigh. Smiling, he beckoned her over and wrapped her in his arms. He kissed her, swift and fierce. “No. Now it’s just beginning.”

  * * *

  They were married at Half Moon House, at Callie’s insistence. As she’d hoped, many of the women there entered into the spirit of the thing with zeal, making the place sparkle and arranging an abundance of gauze and garland. Victoire was thrilled, as she got to learn how to make salmon mousse shaped like a fish and a dozen types of little cakes.

  The Duchess of Aldmere made a gift of the bride’s gown, an exquisite dress of ivory, embroidered with sparkling gems and a trim of deep red blooms. Callie had never felt more beautiful than when she came down the stairs to where Letty stood poised to escort her to the makeshift altar in the blue parlor.

  Tru waited for her there. He smiled hugely when she appeared and she caught her breath. The old restlessness was gone, the perpetual frown that creased his scar had disappeared. Constant tension had given way to purpose and confidence. Her chest tightened. So much joy, so much promise for the future. She teared up at the shining happiness of it all.

  “What’s this?” He welcomed her with a smile and wiped a tear with a thumb.

  She gave him a watery grin. “I did promise to cry at your wedding.”

  He laughed and leaned in. “I believe you promised to cause a ruckus, too?”

  “Only if you married inappropriately,” she whispered in pretend outrage. She cast a jaundiced eye over the happy gathering and down the front of her gown. “I’ll get to the ruckus later,” she conceded. “In private.”

  He raised a brow. “Promise?”

  Her mouth twitched. “I do.”

  Epilogue

  They took a bridal trip to St. Malo, driving up to the inn in a colorfully painted delivery wagon, which they presented to Edgar even before setting foot inside.

  “It’s larger than my other cart,” he said happily. “I’ll have to redo all of the figures. It might be as much as six wagon lengths less from the docks!”

  A new innkeeper had been appointed, as Nardes had been recalled. This one was a subordinate of Stoneacre’s as well, tasked with keeping the inn in trade and watching the area for a few months, at least.

  Tru shook his hand and apologized for arriving with the sole purpose of stealing away some of his staff.

  “We are truly innkeepers now,” Callie told Marie. “We have need of good help, if you would ever consider leaving Brittany.”

  The Oyster had been Hestia’s bridal gift. She’d given it to Callie in exchange for her promise to use it as the Crescent House, as she’d once planned.

  “This place was left to me by a woman with a soft heart and a generous nature. I promised to honor her and vowed to find someone with the same qualities. You have them, Callie, and so many more strengths to go with them.”

  Callie had cried and laughed and promised, and when their bridal trip was over, she and Tru traveled to inspect their new prospect.

  It had stood empty for quite some time.

  “It’s going to need a lot of work,” Tru warned as they went through the rooms hand in hand.

  “I know,” she answered happily.

  They spent the first months of their marriage working together to restore the place and turn it into someplace welcoming and safe. An auspicious beginning for any couple, Callie thought. And when Hestia came for a visit, bringing the Duke and Duchess of Aldmere along, her happiness was complete.

  They’d also brought her first special guest.

  “She’s had a hard time of it,” Hestia warned. “She needs a gentle touch. I know you’ll treat her well.”

  “She was a dresser to Lady Ashe, but was treated roughly by her son. Stoneacre has put the fear of God into the young man, and I hired her away,” Brynne said. “I put it about that I’m sending her to Paris to be specially trained in the art of the coiffure.”

  “We’ll take care of her,” Callie assured them, “and by the time the baby comes, I’m sure we’ll all have several options to offer her. Now come, you two. I want Hestia to see the parlor upstairs.”

  “You’ve done well,” Hestia said as they sat down to tea. “Thank you for restoring it so beautifully. Your mother would be proud.”
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  “We have plans for further improvements,” Callie began.

  “Don’t get too caught up in them right away,” Brynne warned. “Aldmere didn’t ask Tru to go riding on a whim. He is even now asking your husband to take up the reigns on some of the ducal business ventures. He needs someone organized and easy to work with, and most importantly, someone he can trust.”

  Callie blinked.

  “Don’t look so dismayed. With a good courier system, he should be able to do a vast amount of work from here. And this way we can tempt you back to London for regular visits, too.”

  “You are sneaky,” Callie accused her with a grin. Looking to Hestia, she asked, “And speaking of sneaky, what is the news of Marstoke?”

  “He’s still being held in Newgate, despite pestering for release. Preparations for his trial have begun. Stoneacre is at work on the political side. I’ve offered up quite a few accounts of his abuse of women and several witnesses eager to testify against him. The barristers are working around the clock, trying to catalogue his misdeeds.”

  “No one speaks of anything else,” Brynne told her. “London is plastered with caricatures and broadsheets mocking the Wicked Marquess.”

  “And I’ve taken great pleasure in commissioning a few of them,” Hestia said with a smile. “He despises being mocked, so I make sure he has a new one delivered every morning with his gruel.”

  They all grinned.

  Hestia set down her tea. “Aldmere mentioned something about some training sessions with Tru. When our visit is finished, Tru may take my place in the carriage back to London.”

  Brynne looked surprised. “And what will you do?”

  “I am going on to Rennes. I must find out what’s happened to Rhys. There may be clues there that will help me find him.”

  Callie choked on her tea.

  “It’s fine, dear. I’ve spoken to Brynne and told her the truth.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I’ve never heard you speak openly of . . .”

  “My son? No. It has never been safe to do so. But I was hiding him from Marstoke, not the world. Even before he was born, I knew I could never let that monster near my child. So I did the hardest thing I’ve ever been called to do—I gave him up. I made the world think he’d never been born. It’s been an ache in my heart every day since.”

  “I do think Marstoke was searching for him. Although how he found out you’d left him in Brittany . . .” There was no telling how such information got out. “Somehow he learned of him, but are we sure that he found him? How can you know if he’s ever telling the truth, Hestia? He would say anything to hurt you.”

  “He knows. I’ve failed.” Hestia’s complexion had paled. It put Callie right on edge. She’d never seen her friend and mentor look anything but serene. “That sculpture at Lady Pilgren’s ball. It was a message to me. And my son created it.”

  Callie reached out to grip her hand. Brynne took the other.

  They all jumped at a knock on the door.

  “Sorry to disturb, Madame.” Marie poked her head in. “There’s a message and the boy says it’s urgent.”

  Callie rose to take the note. “It’s for you, Hestia.” She handed it over and closed the door. While Hestia opened it, she set about to refresh everyone’s tea. She looked up to hand over a fresh cup, and instead slowly set it down.

  The note had fluttered to the floor. Gone was the forlorn expression. Hestia’s entire body had tightened. She looked hard, angry and unforgiving.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  Hestia did not whisper. She spoke in a tone that Callie had never heard before. “It’s Marstoke. He’s escaped.”

  Author’s Note :

  Thank you for reading The Leading Lady! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Nothing helps readers find books like word of mouth and reviews—so I hope you’ll tell your friends or leave an honest review. Thank you!

  If you would like to read about what happened at Lady Pilgren’s ball, between Marstoke, Penrith and the mysterious Mr. Lawrence McConnell, you can find the scene included in Beyond a Reasonable Duke.

  Would you like to know when my next book is released? Sign up for my newsletter at my website: http://www.DebMarlowe.com

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  And don't miss the other books in the Half Moon House Series

  The Novels:

  The Love List

  The Leading Lady

  and

  Coming Soon:

  The Lady’s Legacy

  The Novellas

  An Unexpected Encounter

  A Slight Miscalculation

  Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

  A Waltz in the Park

  Beyond a Reasonable Duke

  About the Author

  USA Today Bestselling Author Deb Marlowe adores History, England and Men in Boots. Clearly she was destined to write Historical Romance.

  A Golden Heart winner and Rita nominee, Deb grew up in Pennsylvania with her nose in a book. Luckily, she'd read enough Romances to recognize the true modern hero she met at a college Halloween party--even though he wasn't wearing breeches and boots. They married, settled in North Carolina and produced two handsome, intelligent and genuinely amusing sons. Though she spends most of her time with her nose in her laptop, for the sake of her family she does occasionally abandon her inner world for the domestic adventures of laundry, dinner and carpool. Despite her sacrifice, none of the men in her family is yet willing to don breeches or tall boots. She's working on it.