The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(83)

She turned the little carved leopard in her hands. He looked back at her, his eyes blank inside his cage. Did Harry see himself in the animal? She hadn’t meant to cage Harry; she’d only wanted to love him. But no matter how she wished, she could not change the fact that she was an aristocrat and Harry a commoner. The very circumstance of their disparate ranks seemed to be the basis of Harry’s anguish. And that would never change.

She rose carefully from her bed, hesitating when her stomach gave an unpleasant roll.

“My lady!” Tiggle burst into the bedroom.

George looked up, startled. “What is it?” “Mr. Thomas Granville is dead.” “Good Lord.” George sat back down on the edge of the bed. She had almost forgotten the fire in her misery.

“The Granville stables burned last night,” Tiggle continued, oblivious to her mistress’s consternation. “They say it was set afire on purpose. And Mr. Thomas Granville ran in to save the horses, but he didn’t come out. Then Mr. Bennet Granville went in despite his father’s pleas not to.”

“Was Bennet killed as well?” “No, my lady.” Tiggle shook her head, dislodging a pin. “But he was inside so long that everyone thought them both dead. And then Mr. Pye rode up. He ran inside right away—”

“Harry!” George leaped to her feet in terror. The room spun about her sickeningly.

“No, no, my lady.” Tiggle caught her before George could run to the door. Or fall down. “He’s all right. Mr. Pye is fine.”

George slumped with a hand over her heart. Her stomach was backing up into her throat. “Tiggle, for shame!”

“I’m sorry, my lady. But Mr. Pye, he pulled them both out, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Bennet.”

“He saved Bennet, then?” George closed her eyes and swallowed.

“Yes, my lady. After what Lord Granville did to Mr. Pye, no one could believe it. Mr. Pye, would have saved them both, but Mr. Thomas was already dead. Burned fearfully, he was.”

George’s stomach lurched at the thought. “Poor Bennet. To lose a brother in such a manner.”

“Aye, it must have been bad for Mr. Bennet. They say he held his brother’s body as if he’d never let go. But that Lord Granville didn’t turn a hair. Hardly looked at his dead son.”

“Lord Granville must be mad.” George closed her eyes and shuddered.

“There’s some who think so, indeed.” Tiggle frowned down at her. “Gracious, my lady, you’re that pale. What you need is a nice cup of hot tea.” She bustled to the door.

George lay back down, closing her eyes. Maybe if she was very still for a bit…

Tiggle returned, her heels tapping across the wood floor. “I thought that pale green gown would look very good when Mr. Pye comes to call—”

“I’ll wear the brown print.” “But my lady.” Tiggle sounded scandalized. “It’s simply not the thing to see a gentleman in. At least not a special gentleman. Why, after last night—”

George swallowed and tried to summon the strength to battle her lady’s maid. “I won’t be seeing Mr. Pye again. We’ll be leaving for London today.”

Tiggle drew in a sharp breath.

George’s stomach gurgled. She braced herself. “My lady,” Tiggle said, “just about every servant in this house knows who came to call last night in your private rooms. And then the brave thing he did at Granville House! The younger maids have been sighing over Mr. Pye all morning, and the only reason the older maids aren’t sighing as well is the look in Mr. Greaves’s eyes. You cannot leave Mr. Pye.”

The whole world was against her. George felt a wave of self-pity and nausea well up in her. “I’m not leaving him. We’ve simply come to an agreement that we’re better off apart.”

“Nonsense. I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t usually speak my mind,” Tiggle said with apparent sincerity, “but that man loves you. He’s a good man, Harry Pye is. He’ll make a good husband. And you’re carrying his babe.”

“I’m well aware of that.” George belched ominously. “Mr. Pye may love me, but he doesn’t want to. Please, Tiggle. I can’t remain, hoping and clinging to him.” She opened her eyes wide in desperation. “Can’t you see? He’ll marry me out of honor or pity and he’ll spend the rest of his life hating me. I must go.”

“Oh, my lady—”

“Please.”

“Very well,” Tiggle said. “I think you’re making a mistake, but I’ll pack to leave if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, it’s what I want,” George said.

And promptly threw up into the chamber pot.

THE SUN HAD LIT THE morning sky for more than an hour by the time Harry and Bennet rode up to the small, dilapidated cottage. They’d spent most of the night waiting at the Cock and Worm, even though Harry had suspected it was useless within the first half hour.

They’d first made sure of Will’s safety by taking the sleepy boy to Mistress Humboldt’s cottage. Despite the unholy hour, that lady had been glad to have the boy and they’d left him contentedly stuffing his face with muffins. Then they’d ridden to the Cock and Worm.

Dick Crumb and his sister both lived above the tavern in low-ceilinged rooms that were surprisingly tidy. Searching the rooms, his head grazing the lintels, Harry had thought that Dick must have to continuously stoop in his own house. Of course, neither Dick nor Janie had been there; in fact, the tavern had never opened that night, much to the disgust of several yokels hanging about the door. Dick and Janie had so few possessions, it was hard to tell if anything had been removed from the rooms. But Harry didn’t think they’d taken anything. That was odd. Surely if Dick had decided to run with his sister, he would have taken at least Janie’s things? But her few clothes—an extra dress, some chemises, and a pathetic pair of stockings riddled with holes—still hung from the pegs in her room beneath the eaves. There was even a small leather pouch with several silver coins hidden under Dick’s thin mattress.