Hope Tarr - [Men of the Roxbury House 02]

by Enslaved

  They shook hands, and Gavin took his seat. “Grandfather, it was good of you to come on such short notice.”

  Maximilian snapped the engraved casing on the timepiece closed and slipped it back into his vest pocket before answering, “Your invitation came as something of a surprise. What is the trouble?”

  Tamping down his annoyance—must something always be the matter?—Gavin signaled the waiter and they ordered sherries. Turning back to the table, he said, “There is no trouble, Grandfather. Quite the contrary, I asked you here to share some happy news. I wanted you to hear it directly from me.”

  Maximilian’s craggy countenance softened. “You landed the Stonebridge account? Good show! I knew you’d bring it in if only you’d stop taking on every milksop charity case and set your mind to it.”

  Gavin felt his earlier good humor souring. True to form, his grandfather was incapable of thinking of anything but work and, of course, only the profitable clients counted as worthy of his notice. “My news is of a personal nature.”

  The light in Maximilian’s eyes dimmed. “I see.”

  Gavin rather doubted he did but forged ahead anyway. “I’ve decided to marry.”

  “Why, Gavin, that is jolly good news. Isabel will make you an admirable wife. Her father has been a friend of mine since our Harrow days.”

  The waiter returned with their drinks and two menus. They gave them a perfunctory glance and then ordered the oxtail soup and turbot in brown butter.

  Gavin took a sip of sherry and set the glass aside. “I’m not marrying Isabel Duncan.”

  Good manners precluded his adding he’d sooner spend the rest of his days rotting in a monk’s cell than sign up for marriage with a mean-spirited shrew like Isabel. He’d never been fond of her but knowing how she called out the Vigilance Committee on Daisy, he couldn’t abide the sight of her.

  His grandfather hoisted a heavy brow and regarded him. “If not Isabel, then who?”

  Gavin girded himself. He knew full well his grandfather’s poor opinion of anyone in the theatrical profession and that Daisy had started her career in music halls would paint a dark portrait of her. Still, she was his choice and his grandfather would simply have to grow accustomed to the idea.

  “Miss Daisy Lake.”

  “The actress you’re keeping?” Maximillian’s jaw dropped and his gaze widened as if Gavin had just admitted she carried syphilis or the plague.”

  “She’s an actress and she’s absolutely brilliant. In fact, she’s landed the lead of Rosalind in As You Like It at Drury Lane, quite a feat for a newcomer.”

  “If this is meant to be a joke, Gavin, and I dearly hope it is, then I must say it’s in very poor taste.”

  The waiter returned and set down their soup. When he asked if they wished for rolls with their meal, they both turned to him and barked “no” in unison. Looking between them, he murmured “Very good, then” and hurried away.

  They left the soup to grow cold and regarded one another. The thunderous expression on St. John’s face had cowed Gavin many times as a boy, but he was a man now and instead of the familiar gut twisting terror, he felt his own answering anger escalating apace. “I assure you it’s no joke, Grandfather. I love Daisy and she loves me.”

  “Keep her as your mistress if you must, but for God’s sake, Gavin, don’t fling your future away on a dance hall doxy.”

  Gavin gripped the table’s edge. Over the years, he fantasized about hitting his grandfather on more than one occasion, but never before had he come so close to doing so as he was now. “Like my mother flung hers away on an under-gardener, you mean?”

  Max St. Claire’s rheumy gaze flared. “Mind where you tread, boy.”

  His jaw clenching, Gavin ground out, “I’m not a boy. I’m a man.”

  The fish course arrived. The waiter hesitated and then bent to clear away the soup, but Gavin’s grandfather waved him off with a rough hand. “Since you have the poor taste to bring up your mother’s indiscretion, you should know I’ll not sit by and watch history repeat itself. If I must, I’ll cut you off without a farthing.”

  A moment of silence fell as the two men sat back and took each other’s measure. Grappling for self-control, Gavin was the first to break the stony silence. “You should know, sir, I invited you here as a courtesy only.

  With or without your blessing, I mean to make Daisy my wife. As for your money, both it and you can go directly to the Devil for all I care.”

  Maximilian’s mouth twisted in a snarl. “I wouldn’t be so hasty to consign either it or me to Hades, were I you. These days a pretty young actress with half a wit about her might have her pick of any number of wealthy protectors, titled ones even. You may find your Daisy considerably less eager to wed a struggling barrister than the heir to a sizeable fortune. On the other hand, if you paused long enough to employ that famous brain of yours, you’d see you can have your cake and eat it, too. Marry as duty dictates, Gavin, and you can still keep your canary on the side and in high style.”

  “The crassness of that suggestion, Grandfather, only goes to prove how little you know of Daisy’s character—or of mine, for that matter. She’s not like that. She’s warm and loving and bold and brilliant and a wonderful mother to her daughter, Freddie.”

  They were drawing stares from the occupants of the adjacent tables. There was really no point in going on. Gavin scraped back his chair and rose.

  “If you had managed to put aside your prejudices all those years ago, your daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter would have had no need to live in a fire trap of a tenement house. They would all be alive today. Now, answer me this, Grandfather. Which of us is the greater fool?” Throwing his napkin down, Gavin turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

  Sitting alone at the table, Maximilian felt the trembling he struggled to hold in check during the argument take over. He reached out a shaking hand for the glass of water and, with difficulty, brought the rim to his lips. Swallowing, he set it back down but not before spilling a liberal amount on the white table cloth. The waiter came around to clean it up, and feeling feeble and old, Maximilian took the opportunity to leave before he invited further disgrace. In public he might muster the appearance of an avenging Old Testament patriarch, but the truth was he was crushed. If he made good on his threat to disinherit Gavin, both the money and law firm would pass to the son of a cousin. The St. John line would be a good as dead. Beyond that, over the past decade and a half he’d come to love this strange young man whose blue eyes and poet’s soul brought back his dear Lucy. The very last thing he wanted was another rift in the family. He’d disowned his daughter and, as a result, his darling girl had lost her life. Though he’d never admit it, he bore the blame for her death and that of her baby daughter and, yes, her Irish husband, as his personal cross every day of his life for the past fifteen years. He was simply too bloody old to weather that cataclysmic a heartache again. Stopping at the coatroom to retrieve his hat and walking stick, he swore to himself he wouldn’t lose Gavin, too, and certainly not to some strumpet only after his fortune.

  Delilah du Lac or Daisy Lake—whatever you call yourself, you’ve met your match in me.

  “Were it not better,

  Because that I am more than common tall,

  That I did suit me all points like a man?

  A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,

  A boar-spear in my hand; and—in my heart

  Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will …”

  Reciting her lines later that afternoon, the early pivotal point of the play where Rosalind decides to disguise herself as a boy, Daisy paced the four corners of her dressing room, dog-eared script in hand. She didn’t know why she bothered with holding the thing. She knew her lines by heart as well as those of every other cast member. The weight of the play in hand was a comforting feeling, for whatever reason. Theater people were notoriously superstitious and though she was less credulous than many, she was not above observing a small ritual her
e and there. In her case, she kept a copper penny she always tucked into her left shoe before going on for luck.

  The past week with Gavin had been not only the luckiest but the happiest of her life. Before, missing Freddie had blunted her bliss, not to mention the effort she expended on deceiving Gavin into believing she had a lover waiting for her. Looking back from the vantage point of only a week, the ruse seemed silly, certainly self-defeating. Now that she’d sworn off lying to him, the scattered pieces of her life seemed to be finally falling into place. She had the man she loved, the child she adored, and the parents to whom she was devoted, finally all on English soil. Her future was by no means assured, but it was shaping up to look as if she’d be able to provide for them in their old age. Last but surely not least, she had the leading role in a proper play—by Shakespeare, no less. With so many blessings raining down upon her, how could she possibly feel otherwise than blissfully, extravagantly happy?

  Impatient rapping outside her dressing room door interrupted her musing. Wondering if it might be Gavin come to deliver that good luck kiss he promised her earlier, she took a moment to check her reflection in the mirror. She might not be the most beautiful woman in the theater—her upside down mouth and turned up nose guaranteed she was not—but she was definitely the happiest. And happiness, she was discovering, lent one a radiance which was impossible to manufacture with powder and paint. Tucking a loose curl behind one ear, she gave the call to enter.

  “Gavin, chéri, I wasn’t really expecting—”

  Instead of Gavin, a fierce-faced man of sixty-odd stepped inside the narrow room. “Miss Lake, I presume?”

  Daisy backed up a step and nodded. “That is so. I’m afraid the theater is closed to the public at present. If you’ve come about tomorrow’s performance, you can purchase your ticket when the box office opens at five.”

  “I’m not here about a play but about my grandson. I’m Maximilian St. John, Gavin’s grandfather.”

  Feeling as if a cold draught had just swept inside the room, she stepped back for him to enter. “Won’t you come in?”

  He stepped inside, the tip of his cane clacking on the uncarpeted floor. She gestured him to a pair of chairs but he shook his head. Looking her up and down, he said, “I haven’t set foot in Paris since my Grand Tour as a young man, but still you don’t sound very French to me.”

  Wishing she might be wearing anything other than her breeches, she answered, “I’m not. I’m English … as English as you are,” she added on impulse, and regretted it at once.

  This sour-faced gentleman was Gavin’s grandfather, after all. Determined to demonstrate her manners, if not her pedigree, were those of a lady, she asked, “Would you care for some refreshment? Shall I send out for tea?”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. This isn’t a social call but a business one.”

  Determined not to let him intimidate her, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “What business could you possibly have with me?”

  “I’m here on behalf of my grandson.”

  Already on alert, his statement sent her spiraling toward full-blown panic. “Gavin’s all right, isn’t he? I mean, nothing has happened, has it? I left him just a few hours ago.”

  She stopped short of saying more, such as the circumstances in which she’d left him—lying naked in her bed. Snuggled next to him so close she could feel his heart beating against her breast, their limbs interleaved as though they were of one body in truth, she’d felt utterly warm and replete, wholly satisfied and content for, quite possibly, the first time in her adult life. Even jittery with nerves about this night’s performance and how its success or failure would decide her future, tearing herself away from all that peace and contentment had required considerable willpower.

  “His physical condition is sound though his judgment at the moment is fatally flawed.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve just come from lunching with Gavin at my club. It seems my grandson has his mind set on marrying you.”

  It took Daisy several heartbeats to absorb the news. As often as Gavin had mentioned their being a family, she hadn’t counted on that meaning marriage. To broach the subject with his grandfather, he must be seriously considering it. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Please don’t feel obliged to demonstrate your acting skills on my behalf, Miss Lake. I have no doubt you’ve been leading Gavin to this point for some time, ever since you arranged to have him see you perform at that … that supper club. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn his other two chums, the Scot and that photographer chap were in league with you all along.”

  “I assure you, I arranged nothing. Our meeting again was purely by chance. If you must know, I tried sending him away.”

  St. John let out a snort. “Which as a woman of the world you well knew would only increase his ardor, but no matter. Be that as it may, you should know I have no intention of allowing you to ruin Gavin’s life. If I must, I will cut him off without so much as a penny.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt Gavin for the world. I … I love him.” She’d yet to say those words to Gavin. Confronted with this cold-eyed man, she worried she might never find the courage—or the chance—to do so.

  “I have in my pocket a bank draft for five thousand pounds, enough to keep you in reasonable comfort for the rest of your days, more than modest if you invest it wisely.”

  “You can’t think to bribe me.” He tried handing her the note but she backed away, shaking her head.

  “Don’t be a fool, Miss Lake. Take this and send him away and start a new life for yourself and your family.”

  “It is you who are the fool, Mr. St. John. Your bribe and your threats are both unnecessary. There is no need to induce me to cry off an engagement to which I never would have consented. As much as I love Gavin, I’m not such a fool to think a marriage between us would ever be acceptable to his family or anyone else in society.”

  “If that is even half of the truth then you, Miss Lake, are a young woman of rare good sense.”

  She tore the bank draft in half and handed him back the pieces.

  “What’s this? I don’t understand. I warn you, young woman, if you’re angling for more …”

  Daisy felt tears burning the backs of her eyes, but she’d sooner go blind than give him the satisfaction of shedding them. “I don’t care if your offer is five thousand pounds or five hundred thousand. Arguably, I may need it, I most certainly could use it, and yet I won’t take it, not so much as a farthing.”

  For the first time since barging in, the old man looked less than sure of himself. “In that case, I rescind my earlier statement. You, young woman, are a fool, indeed. If you won’t look to your own future, then look to your daughter’s.”

  At his contemptuous mention of her child, Daisy felt her tether hold on her temper snap. “My family’s well-being is my affair, and I don’t welcome your intrusion any more than you would welcome mine. As for the other, when it comes to Gavin, I am a very great fool, a fool for love.”

  Sweeping past him, she reached for the brass knob and yanked open the door. Standing aside, she sent a pointed look out into the empty corridor.

  “Good day to you, sir. Consider whatever business you thought to have with me concluded once and for all.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I pray you, do not fall in love with me,

  For I am falser than vows made in wine.”

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Rosalind,

  As You Like It

  The slam of the dressing room door at his back brought Maximilian St. John out of his stupefied state. Never had it occurred to him the chit might turn down his offer—or his check. When she first refused, he supposed her game was to bargain for more money, but now it seemed that wasn’t so. Instead of haggling, she turned him down flat and showed him the door, hardly the actions of a scheming adventuress. Might Gavin’s actress have more substance to her than met the eye?

  When it comes
to Gavin, I am a very great fool, a fool for love.

  It was a pretty speech, but for any actress worth her salt, such a siloquy must roll off the tongue easily enough. More than the words, it was the earnestness in her eyes and the trembling about her mouth when she’d said them that caught at his curmudgeon’s heart. Old age must be softening his brain as well because he could almost believe the gel really loved his grandson.

  Her stage name was Delilah du Lac, a tart’s moniker, but earlier Gavin had called her by her true name. Daisy Lake, wasn’t it? Why that name should ring so familiar he couldn’t say. Ah, yes, wasn’t that the name of the little orphan girl Gavin had always run on about, that first year especially?

  The same little orphan girl whose letters he made very certain Gavin never saw?

  All at once he felt as if his cravat was choking him. Dear God, what have I done?

  Stepping out onto the sunlit street, he set out in the direction of his parked carriage. At his approach, his driver started up from the box but Maximilian shook his head. “I’ll walk a bit.”

  He forged blindly on, for the first time in his sixty-five years not caring where he went or how long it took him to get there. It was one of those rare spring days blessed with a canopy of cornflower blue sky without a rain cloud in sight. There was even a bit of balm to the breeze, and yet Maximilian fancied he felt the draft of Daisy Lake’s icy emerald gaze at his back as though it were November instead of May. Before he knew it, he was at the entrance to a small public park. Stopping to catch his breath, he took out his pocket watch, a relic from his own grandfather’s day which still managed to keep the time, and realized he’d been walking for nearly an hour.

  The park wasn’t much of a park at all but rather a gated green space scattered with benches and boasting a small pond in its center that was obviously manmade. Across the green, a trio of boys played ducks and drakes, skipping stones across the still water and taking delight in terrorizing the ornamental fishes. Picnicking on the grassy knoll were a young man and young woman, newlyweds, he suspected, and seemingly very much in love. Perched on the edge of the blanket with the remains of their feast spread out before them, the woman leaned over the wicker hamper and accepted the slice of cheese the man slid between her parted lips.