by Brown, Em
Turning to the butler, Gertie said, “You may show her into the library.”
Belinda and Sarah let loose a cacophony of protests, but Gertie left the drawing room without addressing them. She, and not they, was the Countess of Lowry.
“Our tea will be served shortly. Will you partake?” Gertie asked as she entered the library.
Georgina turned and smiled, and Gertie was reminded instantly of Phineas. The brother and sister shared the same disarming smile.
“Thank you, no,” Georgina replied. “You are kind—as you were that day I met you—to grant me an audience.”
“Will you not sit?” Gertie gestured to a sofa.
Georgina obliged. “You will think me forward in coming to you. You do not know me well, and our families have not been the best of friends.”
“I harbor no ill will towards the Barclays,” Gertie assured her as she, too, sat down.
Georgina nodded. “In truth, I know not what good will come of my speaking with you. I only know that I feel compelled by my love for my brother.”
“How fares the Baron?”
Georgina colored. “My other brother—Phineas.”
Gertie took a deep breath. Of course Georgina had meant Phineas. All the same, she had hoped it would not be.
“How is Lord Barclay?” Gertie rephrased politely.
Georgina stared. “Do you not know? He is misery itself.”
Gertie felt herself grow pale. “Indeed? I’m sorry to hear it.”
Her curt reply seemed to surprise Georgina.
“Phineas would not explain much to me,” Georgina said, “but he need not have.”
Gertie rose to her feet and turned away. She could feel Georgina’s stare upon her and wondered what the woman knew.
“You could do much to ease his pain.”
“I doubt it,” Gertie replied, grateful her voice did not tremble as much as her insides. “I have not heard from him in over a fortnight.”
“That is because he has taken himself to Bath to nurse his grief. And he detests Bath.”
Gertie felt her heart breaking once more. She had allowed her own misery to consume her, not thinking it was possible that he suffered as well. The thought of his agony was too much.
“I know not what your brother has told you,” Gertie said, “but I think you must have misunderstood him.”
“I understand him to be deeply in love with you.”
Gertie nearly choked on her breath. The tears pressed hard against the back of her eyes.
“Are you not in love with him?” Georgina asked quietly.
“It matters not,” Gertie replied weakly.
“I would not recommend any woman to suffer what I have, but the laws can be a remedy.”
Gertie shook her head. “Our situations differ.”
“Lady Lowry, I know you little, but what I have seen, pleases me. And I think that you are not without sorrow in the absence of my brother. I would see both of you happy.”
“As would I,” Gertie relented. “And I have considered it many, many times. But it were not possible. Not for us. I think Phin—your brother will forget me soon enough.”
“I think not. He may have taken many a woman to bed on whim, but love—love he takes not lightly.”
“He did not pursue me afterwards with much effort,” Gertie said with a touch of bitterness as she recalled how easily Barclay had capitulated to her demands. She had expected him to make at least one or two attempts to convince her otherwise. Apparently, it had been rather easy for him to give her up.
“Yes, which is unlike him, such that I think it can only be the greatness of his love and respect for you that he has not.”
“Mrs. Westmoreland, you are a romantic.”
“A trait I inherited from my father. You would not think it for he, as well as my mother, had reputations as libertines and debauchers. But my father was madly in love with my mother. After she passed, I think he was beside himself, attempting to erase the memory of her through the companionship of others.”
Gertie remembered well what Phineas had shared regarding his father. She remembered every moment with Phineas.
“Mrs. Westmoreland,” Gertie began.
“Pray address me as Georgina. I shall not be Mrs. Westmoreland for long.”
“I commend you for your devotion to your brother, but if you understood my state—you see, I am expecting a child and I am resolved to be happy in my marriage and my new...situation.”
The revelation drew a gasp from Georgina, who knitted her brows in thought.
“It is useless to persuade me otherwise,” Gertie finished, her tone unwavering though she felt like crumbling inside.
“I did not know—much felicitation to you and your family.”
Gertie smiled wanly. “You are welcome to stay for tea.”
“I wonder that the Lady Dowager and Lady Sarah would welcome me?”
“You are my guest,” Gertie insisted.
“Thank you, but I shall not trouble you further.”
Georgina rose to her feet and headed towards the door. She hesitated, then glanced back at Gertie. “I do hope you achieve the happiness you desire, Lady Lowry.”
Gertie could not move herself to walk Georgina out. She could see herself becoming friends with Georgina, but Mrs. Westmoreland had the most imploring eyes—eyes that could wear down her resolve. It was best not to foster relationships that would only ignite painful memories. She had made her decision, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Eighteen
“THE BIGGEST LOAD OF copper we have ever come across,” Robert was saying. “Why, it shall sustain our mines for years to come!”
Phineas, reviewing the clothes his valet had laid out upon his bed, listened with half an ear. He picked up a silk waistcoat and tossed it aside onto a chair.
“I have been speaking with Mr. Wempole, a banker here in London, to finance improvements to our smelting house,” Robert continued. “I should dearly like for you to be part of the discussion.”
“Robert, you know that I am in London but a few days. Once I have dispensed of my properties here, including this apartment, I am taking Prudence to Scotland.”
Robert shook his head. “I think you shall enjoy Scotland as much as you enjoy Bath.”
“Nevertheless, Prudence wishes to see the lakes of Scotland. Did you know she is quite the poetess? I am sure the landscape will inspire her pen.”
“And since when did you take in interest in our little sister?”
“A young woman should not be confined to lessons in French and dance alone. There is more to the world than Lowry—or even London.”
“And you intend to learn her the other worlds?”
“I have no intention of corrupting her if that is what you fear, but I intend that she learn more of human nature than what is taught by her governess and tutor.”
“No, no, I think it splendid that you will be playing the father to Prudence. I said as much to my wife when she voiced concerns.”
Phineas smiled. “Did you indeed? I knew you would grow into the role of the Baron in time.”
“But I’ve no skill at negotiating. Will you not meet with Mr. Wempole? He will be at the Bennington soiree tonight.”
Phineas paused, the memory of the Bennington ball pressing on his conscience. “Robert, I trust your abilities.”
“Georgina may be there tonight, and she would be delighted to see you. I take it you received her letter regarding her successful petition for divorce?”
“And happily ensconced with her lover now.”
“Yes, well, I have not decided whether I like the fellow, but he cannot be nearly as bad as those that Abigail has entertained.”
“I shall pay Georgina a visit on mine own. I have no interest in attending a soiree.”
Phineas returned to examining which of his attire he wished to pack for the trip.
“If you would but accompany me at this one meeting—to ensure the discussion starts o
ff properly, I think that would leave me with greater confidence to finish the matter.”
“And why do you think I should prove persuasive with this Mr. Wempole? I am no favorite among men.”
“Have you seduced his wife before?”
“What does she look like?”
“It is unlikely. She is near sixty in age and has the gout.”
“Robert–”
“Surely you do not intend to evade all the places where you and the Countess...”
Phineas looked sharply at his brother.
“Georgina told me...you cannot fear crossing her path.”
“Fear?” Phineas echoed. He longed for the sight of her. Even in Bath, when he knew it to be impossible, he would round the street corner thinking how marvelous it would be if he should come across her. It was true he left London for he could not bear seeing her and knowing he could not have her. But escaping London provided no relief. The memory of her plagued him everywhere.
But he had assured the Marchioness of Dunnesford that he would cause no pain to Gertie. How he had longed to write to Gertie, to ask after her and hear how she fared. He contemplated if they could be friends for he missed her company as much as he missed her body, but such notions were beyond foolishness for a man of his understanding.
“I should not have spoken,” Robert apologized.
“One meeting,” Phineas said. “And that is the last concession you will wrest from me.”
He picked up a waistcoat he had had worn at that little posting inn where his life had changed, fingering the fabric as if he could feel her essence upon it. He knew that time would heal his broken heart, and a small part of him wished that his heart might never heal completely. He never once regretted his love for Gertie, and there was a bit of satisfaction that he could help bring about that which she had longed for, that which would make her happy. Beyond anything, he wanted for her the greatest of happiness.
“I FEEL BETTER,” GERTIE responded to Harrietta’s question as they strolled arm in arm down one of the allées of the Bennington property. “The lethargy is much improved, and it is a relief to be able to leave the house.”
Also a relief was the lack of attention from Alexander once it became known that she was pregnant. She suspected that he had taken up once more with his mistress, for which she was glad. The Dowager paid little attention to her son for her supreme wish—that of an heir—had been satisfied. Her next project was ensuring that Sarah married Mr. Rowland in a wedding ceremony that would be the talk of London for years to come.
“I can hardly believe how much I have had to loosen my stays,” Gertie commented. “I remember with you, the evidence that you were carrying was not visible until two months before the babe came!”
“I thank you for your overstatement, but the blush of motherhood never sat upon me quite as lovely as it does you,” Harrietta returned.
Gertie placed a hand to her belly. “I am in love with her already.”
“Convinced of a daughter?”
“I cannot attest to why, but I am nearly certain it is. Perhaps it is merely my hopes. I had always wished for a little sister growing up. A daughter would be perfect.”
Somehow, she felt that Phineas would have been glad of a daughter. She rarely thought of the babe without thinking of Phineas. How bittersweet life could be!
“The Dowager Lowry would be devastated,” Harrietta grinned.
“And Alexander beyond disappointed, but, Hettie, I no longer care what they should think.”
Harrietta squeezed her arm proudly. “Shall we see no more of Lady Athena for a spell?”
“Aye, I know not that Lady Athena shall return to The Cavern, but I shall always have a special place in my heart for her.”
“I can hardly wait for the babe to arrive. I know our children will become the best of friends. It grows dark. Shall we return to the house?”
They turned and headed back towards the house.
“Do you suppose,” Gertie began after a moment of silence. “Do you suppose it would be awkward if I inquired from the Benningtons if they had word of Phineas—Lord Barclay?”
“Do you wish that he had communicated with you?” Harrietta asked sharply.
“Yes. And no. It would have broken my heart anew each time I heard from him. And yet, I wonder that he could sever me from consideration so easily?”
“I doubt he did that. You were quite persuasive when last you spoke.”
“Yes, but...I had expected that he would not have capitulated so easily lest his affections for me were less than profound.”
Harrietta bit her lower lip. “Does it matter to you his affection for you?”
“It should not alter the outcome, but it pains me to think that he did not care enough to attempt more than he did. I believe him to be the sort of man that allows no obstacle in the pursuit of his objective—certainly not where the fair sex is concerned.”
“Gertie, I...“
“I know there is little evidence to sustain my belief outside his seductions, but I felt it when I was with him. I suppose I had suffered many delusions where he is concerned.”
“You did not,” Harrietta said with a heavy sigh. “Gertie, you may not forgive me once you hear what I am to say, but I hope you will know that I acted out of my love for you.”
Puzzled, Gertie stared at her friend.
“After you had—after our visit to the orphan asylum,” Harrietta unfolded, “I went to see Lord Barclay. It broke my heart to see you in such pain. And I suspected, as you did, that he might not relent so easily. When I had spoken with him, it was clear to me that he would not leave you alone. I revealed—I revealed that you were with child.”
Gertie stopped in her tracks and allowed Harrietta’s arm to slip from hers. “He knows?”
Harrietta nodded. “And I think that is the sole reason he ceased his pursuit of you. And I could tell it was no easy agreement for him. If ever a man loved with all his heart, it was—is Lord Barclay.”
“Pardon me, madam, but did you speak the name of Barclay?”
The two women turned to find one of the guests, an Army officer dressed in full regimentals, at their elbow. Harrietta glanced at Gertie, but neither recognized the man.
“Who wishes to know?” Harrietta asked.
The man bowed. “Major Summers, your servant, my ladies.”
“There are any number of Barclays,” Gertie supplied.
“I seek Phineas Barclay, a man who was assumed dead at one time.”
“Are you an acquaintance of his?”
“I should like to be.”
The edge in the man’s voice gave Gertie pause. There was a look in his eye that she did not trust.
She shrugged, “Alas, I think the last we heard he was in Bath.”
“But you are acquaintances, or friends, of his?” Major Summers pressed.
“My husband’s family is a distant relation of the Barclays. We are not close. If you would excuse us, we have a need to visit the powdering room.”
Though the man had another question on his tongue, they swept past him before he could utter a word.
“I wonder what he wanted of Phineas?” Gertie questioned aloud.
“Do you despise me?” Harrietta asked.
Gertie studied the aggrieved face of her best friend. She threw her arms about Harrietta. “Never! Never could I despise you. But I wonder that you did not speak to me sooner?”
“I am a silly fool,” Harrietta laughed shakily.
“You are indeed, Lady Dunnesford!”
Harrietta returned the embrace. “Come, let us to the card tables. I will let you win at piquet.”
“Are you so assured I would lose?”
“After my first foray into cards, I vowed to be as adept as I could!”
Gertie nodded, knowing the story behind the Marchioness and how she once found herself in debt to the wrong person. “I will need the winnings as I am sure Alexander will have been at dice for quite some time tonight!”
They walked, arm in arm once more, to the card room. Gertie felt her thoughts swirling about her head like churning butter. She had a dozen questions she wished to ask of Harrietta, but they would have to wait until they could talk in greater privacy. Her tread felt lighter to think that perhaps it had not been such an easy thing for Phineas to give up on her. Phineas, Phineas, Phineas. She hoped he knew that it had not been easy for her to forsake him.
And then she felt Harrietta stiffen. She looked up and felt the blood drain from her. It was as if her thoughts were toying with her vision, mocking her with the mirage of her memories. For there stood Phineas Barclay, as gloriously dressed as was his custom. The only aspect that made her question if he might not be an illusion afterall were the dark crescents beneath his eyes and the whiteness about his lips when he caught her gaze. It seemed her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She could move no limb. She could only stare, blinking, expecting him to disappear at any moment. But he did not. He stood as frozen as she.
“I—I think I shall see if Vale wishes to join us in a round of whist,” Harrietta mumbled before scurrying into the card room.
“I shall ask for our horses,” Robert Barclay said.
Gertie had not even noticed the presence of the baron, but she knew that she now stood alone with Barclay. He spoke first.
“Gertie.”
The simple utterance, nearly a whisper upon his lips, told her that all that Harrietta had said was true. It was at once a caress and a tribute to time passed.
He straightened and his tone became more formal. He bowed. “Countess, what an unexpected pleasure. I hope you are well?”
His eyes searched her. She felt a lump growing in her throat. Nodding, she replied, “And you? You have been well?”
He nodded. The silence of embarrassment over their mutual lies fell upon them.
“I heard you had been in Bath,” Gertie said at last.
“And I leave for Scotland in a few days. From there...perhaps I shall travel to the Continent once more—Italy or Greece. I am sure to have a different perspective if I am there of mine own choosing.”