Chapter One
February 14, 1818
London, England
Storme House, Grosvenor Square
Mr. William Charles Storme, or Inspector Storme as he preferred everyone to call him since he’d made his identity and career as a Bow Street Runner—or principal officer—years ago, glowered at the newel post of the staircase when his mother called his name.
“Mother, I’m on my way out to Lord Northington’s rout as you requested.” He could tarry there, or he could show himself at a society event, but he couldn’t do both.
“I need one moment of your time, if you please.”
Well, he didn’t please, but how could he ignore her summons? She battled with a wasting disease of the lungs, and she would soon leave this mortal coil, so every moment with her was precious—whether he had time for it or not. While he backtracked along the corridor toward the family’s private parlor, knots of worry tugged in his stomach. How long did his mother have left on this earth, and what would happen to his family once she finally did pass? William had lost his father years ago, and his sisters… he winced. His sisters were problems just waiting to respectively explode, as evidenced by the Christmastide holiday the whole Storme conglomeration had spent in the Derbyshire countryside this last past December.
Isobel would rain scandal down upon them if given an inch of freedom. Caroline, well, her intentions and potential remained shrouded in darkness and anger for the moment. And also, for that moment, she wasn’t underfoot, but he didn’t doubt she’d soon break with incoming disaster. The responsibility of keeping his branch of the family together through these current challenges weighed heavily upon his chest and would steal his breath if he allowed himself to concentrate on only that.
“What is it, Mother?” he asked, attempting to keep the annoyance from his voice as he popped into the room. “I’m already late.”
“This will take but a moment and practicing patience can only help you.” She lay stretched out on a low sofa with a colorful quilt spread over her slight form. Though a cheerful fire burned behind an ornate grate and the room felt stifling with heat to him, his mother clutched a wool shawl tight about her shoulders with one thin, pale hand. She found his gaze, held it, and gestured him further into the room. “Promise me that tonight you’ll make an effort of doing the pretty with eligible women.”
Not this again.William rubbed a hand along his jaw. “I’ve attained the age of eight and thirty without much assistance from women, so trust me when I say that I’m not of a mind to marry just now.” Not when the family was on such rocky ground, when he didn’t know if his sisters would be settled or even happy, when his career was finally gaining him respect within the Bow Street organization. He’d been poised for great things until his cousin Andrew had come along and mucked everything up, plunging them all into a different form of chaos than the family usually enjoyed.
A tired sigh issued from her. Disappointment flitted over through her expression. “That’s already too old. You’ll be nine and thirty in two months. Who will have you then?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mother, a woman to whom age doesn’t matter?”
“Or perhaps a desperate woman.” Was that hope in her tone now? Would she truly wish for him to marry a woman with no other prospects merely to say he was wed?
“As if I’d align myself with such a situation.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes heavenward. Only by counting to ten—twice—silently in his head did he stave off the urge to respond with a biting comment, for his temper could easily resemble a storm if he weren’t careful. But that’s what made him different from his hot-headed cousin Andrew. He was careful, and it earned him a decent living with Bow Street. “Yet, somehow, I’ve still managed to live a good life without the nuisance of a wife underfoot. It’s quite baffling, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ugly, William.” His mother coughed, and when she drew a white handkerchief away from her mouth, flecks of blood stained the fabric, putting her position once more front and center of his concern. “I’ll die soon. You know this, the girls know this, and all I want is to see you married and happy. Let me go to my grave hoping you’re not like your father.”
A huff of annoyance escaped him, all the more damning when it mixed with hot guilt. “Can I not be happy without being thrust into parson’s mousetrap?” He hadn’t the time nor the inclination of taking a wife, who would prove a distraction and yet another worry to add to his current pile. “There is nothing to indicate that marriage will make my life infinitely better.” It certainly hadn’t done with to his parents, especially there at the end.
She lifted a thin, dark eyebrow. “Are you happy then?”
Hellfire and damnation.For her ill health, she was still sharp as a tack. A tendril of heat crept up the back of his neck. “It largely depends on the day.” Perhaps he was content enough.
“Oh, William.” His mother shook her head. Her brown hair sprinkled heavily with gray, dressed in a simple braid, didn’t shine as much as it once did. “I’m too tired to argue.” Sadness filled her eyes. “Don’t be obstinate in this. The love of a good woman can do wonders for a man of your nature.”
“As it didn’t for Father?” he asked softly.
“Not for my lack of trying, but the Stormes are… difficult men.” She stared for long moments into the fire before transferring her regard back to him. William attempted to banish his grin of amusement. “You are handsome in your evening clothes. Please promise me you’ll make some sort of an effort tonight. I don’t like the thought of going to my grave knowing you’re alone and perhaps hurting from the trials of the past. Everyone should have someone to share their life with—struggles and all.”
“Don’t talk that way. You’ve perhaps months left.” His chest tightened, for her death was soon and inevitable. The doctor had already confirmed that it was only a matter of time. He shoved that worry to the back of his mind and rubbed the heel of one hand over an eye. Perhaps he could humor her. “For you, I promise to give more thought to the eligible ladies who might be in attendance this evening.”
“And talk to a few,” she added with a slight smile. “It’s not enough to stare at them, William.”
“Yes, I’ll engage a few in conversation, and if they prove interesting, I might invite one for a drive later in the week.” When the muscles in his jaw clenched, he reminded himself to relax. “Does that satisfy you?”
“A bit.” She pleated her handkerchief. “You could always ask your cousin Andrew for help in finding a wife.” The words were tentative, almost as if she feared censure. “He’s an earl and has a wide reach. Above that, he’s happily wed. Perhaps he knows of someone suitable.”
Oh, dear God, please save me from my meddling family.Again, he counted to ten in his head. “Though Andrew and I have mended the rift between our branches of the Storme family, I’d rather not involve him in this matter.” Though he hadn’t seen his cousins since that Christmastide house party, he wasn’t of the inclination to pop over for a visit.
I don’t need their help.
Already, Andrew had shown how high-handed he could be by assuming sole responsibility for William’s middle sister, Caroline, and her particular brand of insanity. Even now, she currently resided with his cousin across Mayfair, and God only knew what Andrew was urging her to do. Did she even care about her own siblings?