by Jane Ashford
Arthur looked down. Her face was inches away. Her dark eyes were wide, her lovely lips slightly parted, as if primed for a kiss. She raised her chin. He bent his head to touch them with his, an instant of exquisite pleasure.
She jerked away, nearly sending him reeling once again. Her expression had gone stark. All the beautiful animation had drained out of it. “Do not play such games with me,” she said.
“Games?”
“I told you that what I said at the theater meant nothing!”
“So you did,” replied Arthur, stung. “And I heard you.”
“Yet you try to take advantage.”
“The bird startled me. I tripped.”
“Into my lips.” Her tone was contemptuous.
“I beg your pardon. In the moment I thought you…”
“You know nothing about me. But I will tell you that I despise tricks like that.”
“It was no such thing.”
She made a derisive sound.
She had no grounds to address him with such disdain, to practically call him a liar. “Do you doubt my word?”
“I observe your actions,” she answered, moving away from him. “Where has Tom gone?”
“I have no idea.”
“Tom?” she called. “Where are you?”
“Here,” came the reply from downstream. “Come and see. There’s a waterfall.”
Señora Alvarez walked away. Arthur paused to master his annoyance. It took a few minutes. Perhaps he had mistaken her reaction. Though she’d looked… But she said he had, and that was that. He was sorry. He would apologize more fully if she allowed it. But honest mistakes did not deserve such complete contempt. She must know him better than that by now. Yet it had seemed that nothing he could say would change her mind.
There was worse, however. He still wanted desperately to kiss her again. He wanted more than that. She’d set him afire, as he hadn’t been for years. If she felt nothing for him, his prospects were melancholy. The situation seemed all difficulties and little hope.
When he finally made his way down the stream bank, he found her with Tom, admiring a small cascade in the stream. She did not look at him, and Arthur’s spirits sank further. “I meant no insult,” he murmured as they walked back toward the carriage.
“We will not speak of it again,” she snapped and hastened away.
He could only follow.
At Tom’s urging they went on to Penn Ponds, two small lakes in the middle of the park with water birds nesting in the reed beds and groves of massive oak trees nearby.
“This old fellow’s been through a bit,” said Tom, running his fingers over a lightning scar in a huge oak’s bark. “How old do you reckon it is?” he asked Arthur.
“Four or five hundred years, I expect,” he replied absently.
“Here before Mr. Shakespeare then?”
“I would say so. It might have witnessed the Wars of the Roses.”
“Does England have fighting flowers then?” Teresa heard the anger in her voice when she spoke, but she couldn’t help it. She was furious—with the earl, with the world, but mostly with herself. How she had wanted to kiss him! He hadn’t been wrong. Pressed against him, feeling the lean length of his body on hers, she had longed to do more than that. She was still flushed with desire. The mere touch of his lips to hers had told her that lovemaking would be intoxicating with this peligroso earl. Intoxicating and disastrous. It would wreak havoc in her safe, settled life. This was very bad.
“Warring roses, battles among the bluebells,” said Lord Macklin.
Was he joking about it?
“Battles?” asked Tom.
As of course he would, after that remark. And of course he would look from Macklin to her and back again, wondering. Teresa imagined pushing them both into the stream and leaving them to drip their way back to the carriage. Boots full of water, squelching. Hair streaming onto damp and bewildered faces. An image muy agradable. But then Tom would want to know why she had done that.
“A duel at least,” said the earl.
What was he going to say?
“I came upon one, in a bluebell wood a bit like this, when I was nineteen,” he continued. “I’d almost forgotten.” He glanced at Teresa as if she’d made him remember.
“With pistols?” asked Tom.
Naturally he would want all the gory details. Men loved such things. Idiotas.
“Swords,” replied the earl. “Though neither of the fellows really knew how to use them. They were dancing about, waving cavalry sabers like carriage whips. I’ve always wondered where they got the weapons. Because those two were definitely not army officers.”
Yes, that was the important thing, thought Teresa. Where had the sabers come from?
“Their seconds were twittering about in the most distracting way. Obviously they’d never been present at a fight before, but they all looked even younger than I was. I never learned their names.”
“Oh, everyone didn’t pause to exchange bows and visiting cards?” Teresa asked.
Her companions looked at her. “I was on horseback,” said the earl, as if this actually answered her question.
A thread of amusement snaked through her anger.
“What was the affair about?” asked Tom.
“From the taunting, I gathered that the taller one had compared the other’s new hat to an antique chimney pot.”
And so the young man had to skewer him, Teresa thought. Of course that made sense. None. At all.
“Would that be a matter of honor?” Tom asked. “Don’t seem so to me.”
“Well, I didn’t see the hat,” replied Lord Macklin.
Teresa burst out laughing. “Imbéciles,” she said. Their blank looks made her snort. “I don’t suppose you tried to stop them from hurting each other.”
“You can’t interfere in a duel,” said Tom.
“Can’t? I certainly would,” she replied.
Lord Macklin gave her a half smile. “When they noticed me watching, they all ran off.”
“That is something at least.”
“I did worry that one of the combatants might stab himself in the leg with a saber.”
“You should have taken them away.”
They both looked genuinely shocked. “He couldn’t do that,” said Tom.
“Because it would be a great insult?” asked Teresa.
Tom nodded as the earl said, “And I hadn’t the assurance or presence of mind at that age to intervene. I would now, as you say.”
His gaze swept over her like warm sunshine after a chill. A sharp yearning filled Teresa. Was it really so impossible? Immediately, a flood of memories assured her that it was. Hadn’t she learned? Shaking her head, she turned away, and suppressed her emotions, as she knew so well how to do. She would simply make sure she was never alone with him again. “We are wasting time,” she said. “We are here to look for Maria.”
“Right,” said Tom. “Where to next, my lord?”
As if he was the only one to ask. As if no one else could possibly be in charge.
“We will drive out through a different gate and continue our inquiries on the other side of the park,” the earl replied.
He spoke with an air of command that was so familiar to Teresa. He didn’t ask for other opinions. The idea didn’t occur. Teresa wondered what it would be like to be a wealthy, high-born man whose orders were obeyed with deference? Did they even notice the bowing and scraping, the way people jumped to comply? Or was it simply the nature of their world, the atmosphere in which they moved?
They returned to the carriage and drove on, passing more lovely vistas. Teresa drank them in. It had been a long time since she’d walked in a forest, and who knew when she would again. Wild landscapes were not part of her life now. True, commented a cutting inner voice. Nor were many unpl
easant things that she’d endured and regretted.
She gave herself a mental shake. She would speak to Mr. Dolan as soon as she got home and engage him to remove the cobbles. Then she would plant a raft of flowers in her small space, and she would be very grateful to have them.
They continued their stop-and-start journey, with no luck in their inquiries until they reached a small inn on the far side of Richmond. There, the innkeeper remembered Maria when shown her likeness. “Yes, my lord,” he said to Lord Macklin. “She was here with a fashionable gentleman like yourself.”
This earned the man a raised brow from the earl.
“That is, not exactly like,” added the innkeeper, clearly sensitive to the reactions of his customers. “But well dressed, with fine boots and a fancy coat with a deal of capes.”
“He was driving himself?”
“Yes, my lord. One of them high-perch phaetons. Back wheels up to here.” The man held a hand above his shoulder.
“He had a blue waistcoat with yellow stripes,” piped up the young ostler. “Bright as bright. Never seen nothing like it.”
“Did he?” The earl looked thoughtful, as if this meant something.
“What about Maria?” Tom exhibited the sketch again.
“The young…lady seemed to be enjoying herself,” the innkeeper replied. “I believe she had some refreshment while they were here.”
The ostler spoke again despite his master’s discouraging glances. “She told me, ‘I’m riding high, I am.’ And she laughed.”
“What did he look like, the man she was with?” asked Lord Macklin.
The innkeeper grew uneasy. “Is there some trouble, my lord? I wouldn’t want to—”
“The young lady is missing,” the earl told him.
Teresa wondered if revealing this was the best course of action. But it was too late to protest.
“Missing.” The innkeeper looked more anxious.
“We are looking for her,” the earl added. “And would appreciate your aid.”
There was a brief gleam, as of a gold coin, Teresa thought. Of course the earl knew the power of money. She felt both grateful for and resentful of his help.
“The gentleman didn’t get down from his phaeton.”
“He wore a scarf that hid most of his face,” said the ostler, clearly relishing his position as informer. “He seemed in a hurry, like.”
The lad might be embroidering his tale, Teresa thought. But Maria speaking to him had clearly left a strong impression.
“Was he fat, thin, tall? Dark-haired? Light?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord,” replied the innkeeper. “Like I mentioned, he wore a long coat. A hat too. And he didn’t get down.”
Lord Macklin asked a few more questions, but he discovered nothing more, and soon after this they resumed their drive back to London.
“The striped waistcoat suggests this fellow is a member of the Four-Horse Club,” said the earl.
“What is that?” Teresa asked.
“A group that drives racing vehicles one behind the other to Salt Hill to have their dinners,” he answered dismissively. “And then they come back.”
“But why?”
“To excite admiration and envy,” he answered. “They hope.”
“Sounds daft to me,” said Tom. “Can’t they can get a better dinner in London?”
“Certainly,” said the earl. “But not draw as much attention to themselves.”
“Are there a great many of them?” Teresa asked.
“I do not know the exact number. I will inquire.”
“They must keep a list of members.”
“You could act like you want to join up,” said Tom. “Say you’d like to know who’s who before you decide.”
The older man’s expression showed his distaste for this idea. “If I must.”
“We would not want you to inconvenience yourself.” Teresa hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic. This man seemed to magnify all her emotions.
He acknowledged her barb with a nod. “You are right. We must do whatever is required to find out what happened to the dancers.”
She felt rebuked.
“But we must also take care that our quarry doesn’t notice the hunt,” he added.
“Miss Deeping and the others could ask about Richmond Park at all these parties they’re invited to,” said Tom. “Like they want to know if it’s worth a visit. Maybe find out who’s been there lately. Who’s also in this horse club.”
“They might do that,” the earl agreed. “Carefully.”
“If they have not tired of their ‘investigation’ by this time.” Everything she said was coming out caustic, Teresa thought. What had become of her serenity? It was true she had no great confidence in the young lady detectives. The many amusements of the ton had probably diverted them already. But she needn’t have said so.
“They won’t have done that,” said Lord Macklin.
Tom indicated agreement.
“So you will allow these young ladies to continue?” she asked the earl.
“However would I stop them?”
“By speaking to their parents, I suppose. Wouldn’t they forbid it?” English families were not so different from the one she’d grown up in; Teresa had seen this for herself.
“That’d be low,” said Tom.
He was frowning at Teresa for the first time that she could remember. “I didn’t mean he should,” she added.
“I don’t see why I should interfere,” said Lord Macklin. “Miss Julia Grandison may do that. But what happens then will be up to the young ladies.”
“They’ve gotten ’round her before,” said Tom. He and the earl exchanged a smile.
They seemed to share a real comradeship. She had seen them together a good deal by this time, and the aristocrat never condescended to the former street urchin. It was puzzling. Teresa looked from one to the other. “You take them so seriously?”
“I do,” replied the earl. “I have observed them in action. It is impressive.”
Tom nodded admiringly. “You should see Miss Deeping with her charts,” he said. “And Miss Moran with her books, Miss Finch ‘organizing.’”
“Miss Ada Grandison is most adept at interrogation.” Macklin’s tone held amusement, but he also seemed to mean it.
“They are young ladies,” said Teresa. She couldn’t quite believe that this aristocratic man respected females’ abilities.
“Older than me,” said Tom. He gestured to emphasize his presence as part of their quest.
The case was completely different, and they knew it, Teresa thought.
“You don’t think young ladies can have such skills?” asked Lord Macklin. “I’m surprised. I would have thought you held the opposite opinion.”
“It is not a case of my opinion,” Teresa answered. “Or even of abilities. They are not given the chance. They are not well educated. They are controlled, patronized, treated as exhibits rather than persons. Loved by their families, yes usually, but not allowed to undertake real actions of their own.”
The earl nodded. “That is often true, I think. I admit I hadn’t realized how true until I met these particular young ladies and found them very different from others I’d encountered. They are quite enterprising in using their intelligence and curiosity.”
“Time will take care of that,” said Teresa. “Society will wear it out of them. Unless their world falls apart, of course, and they become part of the invisible flotsam of disaster.” This remark earned her a sharp look from Lord Macklin. She pressed her lips together. She was exposing too much. And why was she bothering to argue? Did she care so greatly what he thought?
“They mean to keep on,” said Tom. “They told me so.”
“They will acquire husbands who will not allow this.”
“They mea
n to find husbands who do.”
Teresa shrugged at the lad’s naivete. “Young men make many promises when they are wooing. But once married they expect ‘proper’ behavior. Why else do people say it that way—the knot is tied? That sounds like imprisonment, no?”
“You are harsh to us men,” said the earl. His gaze was even more speculative.
She must stop this, Teresa thought. It was too revealing. But she couldn’t seem to. “Do you claim to know of liberal husbands?”
“Only a few,” he acknowledged. “And some of them have had to learn hard lessons to achieve that state.” He smiled as if this was half a joke.
“I don’t believe in them.”
“But—”
She cut him off with a gesture. “You do not see these paragons when they are left alone with their wives. Or hear what they say to them then.”
The earl hesitated. She waited for a sharp response. But he said, “That is true. I suppose I can only speak for myself as a husband.”
“Yourself?” Teresa became aware of an acute interest in the nature of his marriage. The thought of Lord Macklin as a husband was riveting. She pushed on, even though she knew she should end this conversation. “I suppose you will say you allowed your wife to do as she pleased?”
“I did.”
“And she also had the power to give this permission to you?”
“What?”
“Oh, it did not occur to you that she had that right?” His expression was answer enough. The idea had never entered his head.
“Perhaps it did not,” said the earl slowly. “Not in those terms.”
“I suppose she never wanted to do anything you thought wrong,” Teresa added. “Because she was too well trained. That is what draws men. Along with beauty, of course.” No doubt his wife had been lovely and serenely biddable. One of those fortunate women to whom life gave everything. She felt a ridiculous spike of envy.
The earl seemed to be pondering her words. “That is not so,” he said finally. “We disagreed.”