by Lauren Smith
James almost crowed with triumph. “What do you know of her? I’ve been trying to find out more, but no one seems to know her, and Miss Sheridan wouldn’t reveal anything to me when I visited her before I came here.”
Again, Jonathan’s face closed down. “Oh, I mean I know her, but not in a way that would be helpful to you, I fear. How well does anyone know any person, really?”
“You were there with me in that club. She was there with Miss Sheridan. They were both in danger, and I don’t know why everyone is keeping quiet about Miss Beaumont.” He curled his fingers against his sides. “The woman is a bloody mystery, and it’s driving me mad with worry for her.”
Jonathan’s expression turned from emotionless to speculative.
“You like her, do you?”
James didn’t deny it. “If I could find her, I’d likely ask her to marry me, but she keeps disappearing on me at every turn.”
Jonathan laughed as he walked over to a table along one wall and reached for a decanter of brandy. He poured two glasses and held one out to James.
“Well, that’s something you have to get accustomed to. Women like her rarely sit still and certainly don’t waste time waiting around to be rescued. The best we can do is run to keep up.”
James sipped his brandy and scowled. He didn’t like the thought that he couldn’t seem to catch up to Gillian. That meant he might not be there to protect her when she needed him most. “Are you going to the house party at Rochester Hall next week?”
“I hadn’t thought to, but my brother was just there and convinced me that I should.”
“Good, we can suffer together. Miss Sheridan said I am to be invited, but it has been a while since I’ve attended a house party.” He had turned down many offers in the last two years. His mother’s illness had worsened, and he had been afraid to leave her.
Jonathan rolled his glass between his palms and faced the window again. The street front outside was filled people and coaches.
“Do you ever feel like you’re an outsider looking in on this world? Like your face is pressed to the glass? All you hear is muffled, and what you see is blurred. And most maddening of all, you can’t get closer.” The melancholy in Jonathan’s voice burned deep into James.
“More than you know.” In his own way, he did understand. Many men his age with titles like his were married or had mistresses. They were living their lives, for good or ill.
But not me. Dr. Wilkes was right. I’m not truly living.
Since his mother had fallen ill, he had become accustomed to shuttering himself from the world. It was easier not to face the things he knew he was missing. A wife, children, a life. And he felt guilty that his mother had lost hers so early in life. Gillian had changed all that.
She had awakened his sleepy heart, like a bolt of errant lightning. She’d resurrected him, reminding him of all that he could have. He knew she would never send his mother away.
“Jonathan, tell me everything about Miss Beaumont. Please, I need to know.”
Jonathan glanced at him. “I can tell you the small things—her favorite color, the way she takes her tea, her favorite books—but I cannot tell you much more than that. She has her reasons for her privacy.”
“So I’ve been told,” James grumbled. “Tell me everything you can.”
Jonathan gave a nod of his head toward the door. “Very well, how about a game of billiards while we talk?”
James followed him. At last, he would have more pieces to the puzzle that formed Gillian Beaumont.
6
Gillian stepped down from the coach behind Audrey and faced the vast entrance of Rochester Hall. “I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Nonsense. I had to watch you mope about for an entire week, and now you owe me.” Audrey’s smile was far too sweet, and Gillian’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Her mistress was up to something again.
Gillian let the hood of her cloak fall back, even though a cold breeze played with her skirts and tugged at her hair.
“But to act like a lady when I am not one—”
“Hush. You are a lady gently born. Your circumstances after that do not make you any less a lady.”
Gillian frowned. She was certain her mistress had taken leave of her senses. When Audrey told her two days before that she might need Gillian to play a larger role in her future endeavors, she had worried about what that might entail. When she was told she was to act as a lady at Audrey’s sister’s house party, Gillian had prayed she’d been joking. But as usual, with Audrey, she hadn’t been.
“Horatia knows to put you in a room close to mine, and the servants who know you have been made aware of the situation.”
“The situation?” Gillian hissed. “What exactly did you tell them?”
“That you are learning to act the part of the lady so we might be actresses in a play that some friends in London are putting on for a house party in a few weeks. They’ve been told you are helping me in the act and therefore must play the part of a lady in the story. Horatia knows it’s really because we are perfecting our acting for espionage. She doesn’t like me spying, but I convinced her that you and I would stay close to London, so she thinks it’s safe enough.”
“Spying? My lady—”
“Audrey. You’d best get in the habit of calling me that. The rest of the guests will think it too curious if you always call me my lady. For the next several days, you are a lady yourself. Do not forget it.” Audrey dropped her own hood as they reached the entrance to Rochester Hall. It opened, and several young footmen darted past them to the coach to fetch their valises.
“You are Miss Beaumont,” Audrey reminded in a whisper. “Don’t forget, no matter what.”
Miss Beaumont. Lord, what a mess.
“Audrey!” Horatia appeared in the doorway, one hand outstretched and the other resting on her swelling stomach. Her first child was due in a month, and she was positively glowing. The League of Rogues and their wives were well on their way to making a league of baby rogues, heaven help them all. Aside from Horatia and Emily, the Duchess of Essex, they’d only learned a week ago that Audrey and Horatia’s sister-in-law, Anne, was to give birth around the same time as Emily.
“Sister!” Audrey embraced Horatia, and Gillian remained a small distance away, watching the sisters with no small amount of envy. She would never have a close, intimate familial bond like that.
“Miss Beaumont.” Horatia beckoned Gillian inside and gave her a small hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, everything is prepared. Simply enjoy yourself and relax.”
“Thank you.” Gillian forced herself to look to Horatia with her head held high. If she was to play the part of a lady, she had to make it convincing.
“You are both in the east wing, along with most of the other guests.”
“How many guests are coming?” Gillian asked, then cursed inwardly. That was a servant’s question, wasn’t it? A lady would not care, nor would she dare inquire into the matter.
“About thirty. Mostly some local families and a few other guests.” Horatia suddenly winced and put a hand to her stomach lower down.
Audrey grasped her sister’s hand. “Horatia?” She and Gillian shared a concerned glance.
“It’s the baby. He’s kicking my… Pardon me, I must avail myself of the facilities.” Horatia hastily headed down a corridor.
“Do you want us to help you?” Audrey called out.
“No. I’ll be fine,” Horatia assured them and quickly rushed down the nearest hall.
“The baby was kicking?” Audrey tilted her head in puzzlement. “Whatever for?”
Gillian chuckled. Her mistress knew very little about babes and birthing.
“Sometimes a babe can be positioned in a way that when they move, it can hasten the need for a lady to relieve herself.”
“Oh, I see!” Audrey blushed and peered in the direction her sister had gone. “That sounds quite awful.”
“It can be uncomfortable, I’m told.”
Audrey tur
ned back to her as they waited for the footmen to bring in their luggage.
“How do you know so much about babies?”
The question made Gillian smile. “My mother was open to sharing such details with me. Her mother, my grandmother, had been a midwife. We helped a neighbor deliver a baby before the doctor could arrive.”
“How did I not know this?” Audrey tucked her arm in Gillian’s, and they followed the footmen carrying their bags to their rooms in the east wing.
“Because I’m not sure I should be sharing this with you, what with you being so squeamish on such matters. You’d likely never want to have a child.”
“I’m not squeamish!” Audrey objected.
“You are,” Gillian insisted. “Remember that time you pricked your finger on your needle and the blood—”
“Oh hush! Don’t remind me. It was so mortifying. It’s been hard to forget how silly I felt waking up on the floor. And in front of Emily and Anne, no less.” Audrey bit her lip, frowning at the memory, and Gillian gave her hand a pat.
“I wish Lady Essex and Lady Sheridan were here tonight,” Gillian admitted.
“As do I. But they are leaving for Brighton with their husbands. Something to do with buying a few stud horses. Emily is most interested in joining Cedric and Anne in breeding those new Arabians.”
“And Ashton and Rosalind?” Gillian asked, wondering about Audrey’s other friends who couldn’t make the party.
They paused at the opening of a hallway that would lead to their rooms. “In Scotland to see Rosalind’s brothers and their families. They’re such devils, you know, though I mean that lovingly of course. She’s trying to coax them down to visit, but I suppose a castle in Scotland is far more interesting than a boring country house in southern England. Wouldn’t you agree? I’d get into such delightful scrapes if I had the chance to run about a castle. Do you think it could be haunted? Castles are always haunted, aren’t they?”
Gillian laughed. “I suppose there’s a ghost or two in any old house. But we really ought to get changed and see if your sister needs help with anything.”
Audrey fixed her with a stern glare. “She has a fleet of servants, and you aren’t one of them. Now go and change into that gown I bought you, the one with the white sash around the waist and the little white flowers on the sleeves and hem. It will be perfect for tonight. You will look fetching.”
Gillian gave in to her mistress’s wishes, even though she knew she had no reason to look fetching, no reason at all. The little thought made her heart ache.
They parted ways, and Gillian found her room farther down the corridor. It was strange to think she would be sleeping in this bedroom, with its stunning colors and large four-poster bed. She had gotten used to the quaintness of the servants’ quarters, and having this much space to herself was unsettling.
She touched the blue coverlet, her fingers tracing the gold threading. She walked to the window, happy to see a view of the gardens, but her heart stopped when she saw that there were two men by a small open lawn, swinging croquet mallets as they talked.
James. James Fordyce was here, talking to Jonathan St. Laurent. For a long moment Gillian couldn’t get past the shock of seeing him here. She’d believed she would never see him again, that everything that had happened between the two of them was in the past, but now…
“Oh!” She gasped as she realized Audrey would have to have known James would be coming. She always knew such details. There was no other explanation. Audrey’s excuse that it was for bettering her spycraft had been a lie.
Her mistress had led her right into this. She’d betrayed her. Gillian rushed from the room and went straight to Audrey’s door, pounding on it.
“Yes?” Audrey’s voice came from within, and Gillian didn’t wait. She burst inside and glared at Audrey.
“He’s here.”
“Who?” Audrey asked. Her brown eyes were wide and guileless.
“Lord Pembroke. He’s here.”
“James? Really?” Audrey’s eyes brightened, and then her gaze narrowed. “Oh dear, you will have to see him, won’t you? That does complicate matters…”
Gillian stared at her, wordless for a moment. “You…we—” She drew in a shaky breath. “You didn’t invite him here for me, did you?”
“What? No, of course not. You told me you wanted to forget, to move on. We are friends, and I respect that.”
“Yes,” Gillian murmured. “Of course.” Did she really believe Audrey hadn’t meddled? She honestly wasn’t sure.
“I suppose we will have to make doubly sure that he believes you are a lady, won’t we?” Audrey folded her hands together, pressing her fingertips together in a contemplative fashion.
Gillian leaned back against the closed door. “Perhaps I should feign illness for the remainder of the party.”
“Nonsense! We should face this head-on. You saw him? Let’s go and have a little meeting and get it over with. You can say hello, he can say hello, and then we can return to the house.”
“I don’t think—”
“Fetch your shawl and let’s go,” Audrey commanded.
Gillian returned to her room and selected a white shawl that accented the dark blue carriage gown she wore. She joined Audrey in the hallway, and they walked down the hall arm in arm. Gillian had been to this house a few times in the last year, and she always lost herself in the beauty of the architecture and the marble statues in the grand hall. The Marquess of Rochester had exquisite taste.
“Where did you see him?” Audrey asked.
“In the gardens. I think they were playing croquet.”
“They?” Audrey asked. “Someone was with James?”
“Yes. He was with Mr. St. Laurent.”
Audrey jerked to a halt, her face paling. She looked like she might faint.
“You didn’t know he was coming?” Gillian asked.
“No, I was told he wasn’t coming.” Audrey drew in a slow breath and raised her head. “Very well. We shall face the meeting together.”
“Yes,” Gillian said. “We will face them and then run back to the house with our tails tucked between our legs.”
“Nonsense. We are ladies of quality, Gillian. We do not flee. We walk briskly away from that which distresses us.” Audrey declared this with such a pompous, mocking dignity that Gillian couldn’t help but giggle. Yet she worried about her mistress. What had happened between her and Jonathan? Was it close to what she and James…? Gillian banished the thought. Surely her mistress would not be so reckless.
They left the house and walked along the path close to a line of succession houses. There was a series of walled gardens, which were lined by wooden doors that could be locked when not in use. Gillian knew from her last visit here that the cook at Rochester Hall used the gardens to grow melons, grapes, peaches, nectarines, and even exotic blooms like orchids and carnations for decoration. The carnations were, of course, her favorite, and the last time she’d been here, Audrey’s brother-in-law had allowed her to take a bloom to her quarters. She’d kept the bloom in a small cup of water for several days, watching it in the sunlight pouring through the small window of her chamber. It had been her little joy that week.
Ahead of them, Jonathan and James were putting away their croquet mallets while a footman rushed to collect the wickets on the lawn.
“James!” Audrey waved at both men near the little garden shed. Jonathan hit his head as he straightened from the shallow doorway of the little shack. He scowled and rubbed the top of his head, then turned and smiled hesitantly at Gillian as she and Audrey approached.
“Ladies!” James dusted off his palms on his trousers and grinned. “Miss Beaumont, I’m pleased to see you again, and looking so well.”
“Thank you.” Gillian barely stopped herself from looking down and instead met his gaze. She had to act as though they were equals. She was stunned by the dynamic vitality he exuded in that moment. He was looking at her as if they were utterly alone, back in his bedchamb
er where the world outside held no sway.
“Gillian, I’m going to check on the pineapples. Horatia asked me if I could.”
“Pineapples?” She didn’t remember Horatia asking her to do any such thing.
“Yes. The pineapples.” Audrey gave her a knowing look and a slight nod at James.
“Oh…yes…” Gillian recovered and played along. “I do hope they are growing well.”
“And that is exactly what I shall go and investigate.” Audrey bid them goodbye.
Jonathan watched her go, then stomped off in the other direction with a half-muttered excuse. Gillian was alone with James again. That hadn’t been part of the plan she and Audrey had agreed upon, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the scandalous nature of the moment. Seeing him again made her forget she wanted to avoid him.
“You left before I could say goodbye,” James said, drawing a step closer. His brown eyes warmed her, and for a dangerous instant she wanted to throw herself at him. Beg him to kiss her, to make her forget her worries, her dull, boring, and quiet life.
“I’m sorry. You were sleeping so peacefully, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“But that’s the best part of the morning, waking up beside a lovely woman. I missed it immensely.” His sweet words and the tender gleam in his eyes as he drew close made her heart quiver. She couldn’t believe they were here, together, talking about the night they’d shared and how he’d missed her the next morning.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a red carnation.
“For you. I’ve been told it’s your favorite.” He frowned as he noticed the petals were a bit crumpled. “I’m sorry, I was hoping to get it to you sooner once I learned you would be here.”
She accepted the flower, her hand shaking slightly. He’d carried it around until he saw her? “How did you know it was my favorite?”
He bit his lip and grinned sheepishly. “Mr. St. Laurent relented to my begging and gave me a few details about your life, your likes and dislikes.” But he hadn’t told James she was a servant? She wanted to hug Jonathan, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been a servant himself once and knew what hardships they faced.