Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(11)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Godric raised his brows.

Makepeace’s face was grim. “You also need to find this workshop. Last time, some of the girls nearly didn’t make it out alive.”

Chapter Three

One moonless night, the Hellequin came upon the soul of a young man lying in the crossroads, dying in the arms of his beloved. The woman was lovely, her face both innocent and good, and for a moment the Hellequin paused, staring at her. There are those who whisper that the Hellequin was not always in the Devil’s service. Once, they say, the Hellequin was a man like any other. If this tale is true, perhaps the girl’s face sparked some human memory, wandering lost, deep in the Hellequin’s mind. …

—From The Legend of the Hellequin

Megs perched on a settee in the home’s cozy sitting room and sipped from her dish of tea as she glanced around at the other ladies in the Syndicate. The membership hadn’t changed, it seemed, in her absence. Her sister-in-law, Lady Hero Reading, one of the two founding members, sat beside her on the settee, her hair nearly the same color as the fireplace flames. Next to Hero was her younger sister, Lady Phoebe Batten, a pleasant girl with a plump figure who smiled rather vaguely at nothing in particular.

Megs knit her brows in worry. The girl’s eyesight had been very poor when last she’d seen her—had Phoebe gone entirely blind in the intervening years? Beside Phoebe was Lady Penelope Chadwicke, rumored to be one of the wealthiest heiresses in England—and with her pansy-purple eyes and black hair, certainly one of the most beautiful. Lady Penelope was nearly always accompanied by her lady’s companion, Miss Artemis Greaves, a retiring but pleasant lady. On the far side of Miss Greaves was the other founding patroness, the daunting, silver-haired Lady Caire. Next to Lady Caire sat her daughter-in-law, Temperance Huntington, Lady Caire, and next to Temperance was her brother’s wife, the former Lady Beckinhall—Isabel Makepeace.

The membership may not’ve changed, but there were other differences since last she’d attended a meeting. This room, for instance. When last Megs had seen it, the sitting room had been clean and neat but far from homey. Now, thanks to what she suspected was the new Mrs. Makepeace’s intervention, the room boasted a lovely landscape over the fireplace and a series of amusing knickknacks on the mantel: an odd little green and white Chinese bowl, a gilt clock held aloft by cupids, and a blue statuette of a stork and what appeared to be a salamander.

Megs squinted. Surely it couldn’t be a salamander?

“I’m so glad that you decided to come back to town, sister, dear,” Lady Hero interrupted her thoughts. Hero had acquired the rather sweet habit of calling Megs sister since marrying Megs’s brother Griffin.

“Did you miss me at the meetings?” Megs asked lightly.

“Yes, of course.” Hero gave her a faintly chiding look. “But you know Griffin has missed you, and I have as well. We don’t see you nearly as much as I’d like.”

Megs wrinkled her nose, feeling guilty, and reached for a biscuit from the plate sitting on the table beside her. “I’m sorry. I did mean to come up for Christmas, but the weather was so bad. …” She trailed off. Her excuse sounded weak even to her own ears. It was just that ever since Griffin had intervened on her behalf with Godric—had found a way to save her from her own folly—she hadn’t known how to face him. Wasn’t even sure what she could say.

Hero folded her hands in her lap. “All that matters is that you’re here now. Have you seen Thomas and Lavinia yet?”

“Er …” Megs took a hasty sip of tea.

Hero’s eyes narrowed. “Thomas does know you’re in town?”

Actually, Megs hadn’t informed her eldest brother—otherwise known as the Marquess of Mandeville—of her arrival.

Hero, with her usual quiet perception, seemed to realize that Megs hadn’t told anyone of her trip. But instead of badgering Megs with questions, she merely sighed. “Well, your visit will be a fine excuse to have everyone over for dinner. And perhaps you can come early to see my sweet William. He’s bigger than Annalise now, you know.”

And Hero nodded to one of the other changes in the room.

Petite Annalise Huntington, the daughter of Temperance and Lord Caire, clung to the edge of a low table as she carefully, but very determinedly, tiptoed toward Her Grace. The pug was under Great-Aunt Elvina’s chair and keeping a wary eye out for the toddler. Annalise was a year and a half now and wore a lace-trimmed white gown and sash, her delicate dark hair ornamented by a single blue bow.

She was about the same age Megs’s baby would’ve been—had he lived.

Megs blinked and swallowed down the old, bitter grief. When she’d first miscarried—and lost her last link to Roger—she’d thought she’d not survive. How could a body endure so much pain, so many tears, and live on? But it seemed that grief really couldn’t kill a person. She had lived. Had healed from the physical trauma of the miscarriage. Had risen from her sickbed, had—slowly—taken an interest in the things and people around her. Had, in time, even smiled and laughed.

But she hadn’t forgotten the loss. The almost physical ache to feel a babe in her arms.

Megs inhaled, steadying herself. She hadn’t seen her brother’s son since he was a week old—a visit she’d cut short after only three days. It had simply been too torturous for her.

“Does William still have such bright red hair?” she asked wistfully.

Hero chuckled. William had been born with carrot-red hair. “No, it’s begun to darken. I think Griffin is disappointed. He claims he wanted an heir with hair as red as mine.” She touched a finger to her own fiery locks.

Megs felt her lips curve in a smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing my nephew again.”

And she meant it—she’d lost too much time with William already because of the pain it had caused her to see the happy, healthy baby.

“I’m glad,” Hero said simply, but there was a wealth of understanding in her eyes. She was one of the few people who knew the true reason for Megs’s hasty wedding.

There was a smatter of laughter as Annalise reached Her Grace only to have the pug get up and flee. Megs was glad of the distraction to look away from her sister-in-law’s too-perceptive eyes.

Her Grace circled the room, panting, before taking refuge under Megs’s chair.

Annalise stared at the dog, her face beginning to crumple. Temperance bent toward her daughter, but the elder Lady Caire was faster. “There, there, darling. Have another biscuit.”