Phaedra was one of the few good friends Alexia could claim besides her cousin Roselyn. Theirs was not an especially public friendship, although they sometimes spent time together in town, as they did today. Phaedra was the friend Alexia normally called on for private conversation about books and ideas.
The illegitimate daughter of a reforming M.P. and a bluestocking, Phaedra lived alone in a small house on a poor street near Aldgate. She had inherited from her parents the ability to discard rules and beliefs if they seemed stupid to her. Since a good many did, Alexia and she engaged in some strong arguments on occasion. It was such an argument two years ago, one exchanged the day they met while both examining the same painting at a Royal Academy exhibition, that began their friendship.
“I think your plan to make hats is admirable. As you have finally learned, a dependent woman is a woman enslaved,” Phaedra said. Since an uncle had left her an income of one hundred pounds a year, Phaedra was not enslaved by anyone or anything.
They strolled through Pope’s warehouse on Albemarle Street while Alexia bought millinery materials. She had decided to make one hat and one bonnet. She chose some iron wire she would use to create the latter’s brim.
“Do not let that milliner rob you. Your hats are worth a great deal,” Phaedra said. “Design is everything in art.”
“She will want to profit too. Even a few pounds a month and I can support myself.” Barely, but it could be done. If she was frugal, she might save some money too. In a few years she might open a school for girls. That was a common and respectable way for ladies to employ themselves.
“I am the last woman to preach against this course of action. Still, you care more about the world’s opinion than I do, Alexia. Do not discount that as you make your choices. If it is learned that you engage in such piecework for a shop, your attempts to maintain your station will be in vain.”
Alexia sorely wished she did not care so much about that opinion or her station. Phaedra didn’t, and her life was probably a lot more interesting than her own would ever be. Phaedra did not worry about propriety at all. She traveled alone if she wished. She entertained writers and artists in that small house. Alexia had reason to suspect that Phaedra had lovers too. Alexia did not approve of that, but she could not deny that her friend’s indifference to social rules could be alluring.
Phaedra did not even wear caps or bonnets. Her long, rippling red hair just flowed too. She did not dress it.
As a result, they received a lot of looks from patrons in the warehouse. Once people looked at that hair, they noticed the garments and looked some more. Phaedra wore mostly black. She could be in mourning if not for the hair and the unusual, flowing cut of her dresses. The apollo-gold silk lining of her black cape further announced that black was her preference.
“I will confess that I am surprised by your decision to leave that house,” Phaedra said as Alexia chose some Dunstable straw for the hat. “You have this day to yourself and use of the carriage. You are not a prisoner. You are far more comfortable there than you will be on your own.”
“I do not want the dependency, no matter what comfort it brings. Nor is it secure. I could be put out at any time, for any reason. Then where would I be?”
“How is that different from what you knew before?”
“Before it was family. Family do not put you out.”
“That one did.”
“Please do not criticize them, Phaedra. I received a letter from Rose today, and things are not going well. Tim is ill most of the time, and they ration fuel like peasants.”
“Perhaps your cousin should improve his health quickly and find employment.”
Alexia avoided the argument. Today was not really about the Longworths. They were not the reason she was buying materials to secretly do piecework.
She wished she could tell Phaedra about Lord Hayden and those kisses. If she did, however, her friend would bluntly name it as the base lust it had been. Phaedra would probably remind Alexia that she had not long ago written three long letters to Phaedra that heaped hatred on the man in question.
Her face burned at the thought of the carriage ensemble and dresses being made by Madame Tissot. She was sure Rothwell, not Easterbrook, was paying for them. Phaedra would scold her soundly about that. Phaedra might have lovers, but she opposed the practice of men paying for favors with gifts.
Alexia checked the supplies laid out on the counter to make sure she had everything. She added up the long bill of sale and paid. The clerk wrapped her purchases in several bulky packages. Balancing them in a clumsy pile that reached her nose, she aimed for the street and the carriage.
“You will be wanting to start on the hats today,” Phaedra said. “Otherwise you will have to wait until next week to make progress. Do not tell me that you will craft those hats by the light of a lamp after you are finished with your duties either. It will affect your health, and I will not countenance that.”
“I suppose it would be best to get started if I am going to do this at all.”
“I will go home in a hansom cab, so you do not waste an hour crossing town. It was kind of you to come for me, but I will not mind making my own way back.”
Alexia turned her head to thank Phaedra for her consideration. From the corner of her eye she saw someone step in her path. She noticed just in time to avoid bumping into him.
Suddenly the top two packages on her stack disappeared.
She swung her attention to the thief and began to raise a cry before he ran away. Only it was not a thief.
“They were about to fall,” Lord Hayden said. “I see that you are using your free day more actively this week, Miss Welbourne.”
“Lord Hayden. What an unexpected surprise.” He was the last person she wanted to see.
She had no choice but to introduce him to Phaedra. He did not even blink at her friend’s appearance. He exuded an affable grace.
He looked at the packages. “The carriage is nearby? I will carry these and escort you ladies to it.”
“I will be using a cab, thank you,” Phaedra said.
“I will not have that.” Alexia tried with a firm tone to communicate that Phaedra must now remain with her. “I will bring you back in the carriage.”
“You have better use of the afternoon.”
“Allow me to obtain the cab for you,” Lord Hayden offered. He gestured to the man who stood sentry at the warehouse door. He fished some coin from his waistcoat pocket and gave instructions that a hansom cab should be hired for Miss Blair.
He then guided Alexia away from the door and toward the line of carriages waiting down the street.
“Your friend Miss Blair is distinctive.”
“She is honest and true and incapable of dissembling.”
“I meant no disrespect. She is an original. I should introduce her to Easterbrook. They can braid each other’s hair.”
“I suspect Phaedra would find Easterbrook rather boring. That is how distinctive and original she is, you see.”
The slightly surly attitude with which her coachman had begun this outing disappeared when he saw Rothwell approach by her side. He rushed over to take her packages, then carefully tucked them inside the carriage.
“In the future, when Miss Welbourne uses the carriage to shop, a footman is to accompany her,” he told the coachman. “My apologies, Miss Welbourne, for not making that clear to the household from the start.”
He opened the door for her. She stepped inside. He did too.
“I do not need an escort. The coachman can protect me the short way back to Hill Street.”
He ignored her pointed lack of welcome and settled across from her. “Was Miss Blair correct? Do you have another use for this afternoon?”
Yes, I do. I intend to take these packages to my chamber and begin making hats so I can earn the money that will permit me to never again have to suffer your presence.
“Some private matters,” she said.
Apparently he thought that meant she h
ad nothing important to do after all. He gave the coachman instructions to drive to Hyde Park.
“It is rather cold for a turn in the park,” she said.
“Our stroll will be brief. I would like to speak with you about something.”
Her heart filled with the heaviness that heralded bad news. “I doubt this conversation will include the apology you owe me. Nor do I anticipate receiving your reassurances of being spared such behavior in the future, since your intruding on this carriage would itself raise eyebrows.”
Kindness softened his expression. A frank, knowing gaze added a sardonic touch, however, compromising the effect. “I am sorry that you are offended by my silence. I accept that you are due both the apology and the reassurances. I cannot say the necessary words yet, however.”
“Why?”
“Because they would be lies.”
The carriage grew very small then. He still appeared friendly. Nothing in his face or pose threatened her. Her entire being became too aware of him, however. Her body reacted as if he titillated her with a long, slow caress.
It was a mistake to be alone with him. She hated how this devil could so easily call forth such scandalous reactions.
“Lord Hayden, I will consider any further addresses of that nature as insults of the cruelest kind.”
“I cannot decide if that is true. That you want it to be true matters, of course.”
“How generous of you to consider my preferences.”
“It is your true preferences that I contemplate. However, be content that I do not intend to discover what they are today. I wish to speak with you about something else entirely.”
“What would that be?”
“A topic you will enjoy much more. Benjamin Longworth.”
Dangling Benjamin’s name silenced her objections. He suspected she would suffer all kinds of addresses if they included reminiscences about her beloved cousin.
If you become my mistress, I agree to hold two conversations a week about Benjamin Longworth. Only not in bed, if that is acceptable to you.
She ignored him as the carriage took them to the park. He spent his time wondering what was in the packages and noticing the careful mending along the cuff of her brown pelisse robe. The carriage ensemble being made by Madame Tissot would look lovely on her, and its cerulean hue would complement her eyes.
It was not yet the fashionable hour, but enough broad hats and nipped waists dotted the park to banish the sense of their being alone. She suffered his company beside her as they strolled. Her posture bespoke how she remained on her guard.
“We are in a public place, Miss Welbourne. I can hardly importune you here.”
“You speak too boldly. One stolen kiss does not give you rights to such familiarity.”
“Bold talk has marked our conversations from the start, and not by my initiative. Nor was it one kiss, and I stole very little. However, let us not argue today but instead speak of friendly things.”
Her glance said he was no friend, but the allusion to the pending topic softened her. Her stride slowed and her ice melted. “Will you tell me how he decided to go to Greece?” she asked. “It was a shock to us, and so unexpected.”
Reference to Ben brought a lovely flush to her cheeks and lively sparkles to her eyes. She appeared much as she had when he kissed her, and the memory caused the gentleman to disappear for a long count. In his mind he gazed into a field of violets while the breeze carried the rhythmic groans of a woman welcoming the pleasure as he stroked into her—
Vigilance. Vigilance.
“He learned I was going and decided to join our motley brigade,” he said. “I believe it was one of those impulses for which he was famed.”
“A generous one. He risked his life in a noble cause.”
“Certainly.”
Like hell. No one expected to really get hurt, let alone die. Nor had Ben gone on principle. He was motivated by an urge for adventure and the hopes of impressing an unattainable lady.
It was not his place to disillusion Miss Welbourne, however. Nor would she thank him if he did.
“I’m sure he was very brave,” she said. “I imagine him there, like a hero in a painting.”
He bit back the urge to tell her the truth. Ben had been very brave once, that was certain. Madly, impulsively so. The desire to confide in her confounded him.
“He fought as best he could, as did we all. The Greeks are not well commanded, however. They have no sound strategy, and their factions will not cooperate. I fear that the current siege of Missilonghi will end very badly.”
“Ben said the Greeks must be freed. As a symbol, and to repay them for all that civilization owes their history.”
Ben did not give a damn about that. He parroted the philhellenes to give you an excuse for leaving. He knew little about the politics or the history.
Those altruistic reasons had motivated the rest of them, however. They had been his own justification for doing something that, on hindsight, was irrational and impetuous and a mad grasp at the romantic heroics found in poems.
His principles had been noble, but the reality of that war had not been. He had seen unbearable atrocities committed by both sides. He had returned jaded and disenchanted, only to watch others go after him, all full of the same simplistic ideals.
“Do you think they will win?” she asked. “I would like to believe he did not waste the last year of his life.”
“The Ottoman Empire is old and corrupt. It stands only with the help of countries like ours. The Turks will leave Greece someday, and the current war and its support in England will have helped that to happen.”
They talked about that as they paced along, his boots crunching dried leaves that blew into their path. She peppered him with questions, forgetting that she was supposed to be angry with him or even that they were supposed to be talking about Benjamin. For twenty minutes the world stage occupied her inquisitive, intelligent mind.
He was the one who herded the conversation back to Ben. He did so regretfully, but this accidental meeting had a purpose.
“Was it difficult for the family while he was gone?” he asked.
The allusion to the Longworths produced a perceptible stiffening. “Timothy had begun at the bank by then, so it was not a strain that I could tell. We still lived in Cheapside at first too. It was soon after Ben left that their situation improved so significantly.” A touch of resentment lifted the last words. Only to be completely destroyed by you, of course. She did not say it, but the accusation was there. It probably always would be.
“You saw no improvements the first years you were with them, while in Cheapside? It all came later?”
“Tim explained that the bank had been building itself those earlier years but now was established. We could enjoy the fruits of his and Ben’s careful stewardship. I will admit that I thought Tim enjoyed those fruits rather too freely, but perhaps it was normal to indulge too much.”
He looked at her pelisse again. It was at least several years old. He thought about her dull, high-waisted dresses. Tim had indulged himself and his sisters but not his cousin.
The bastard had been robbing people of their legacies and had not even bothered to shower some ill-gotten gains on the poor cousin in his house.
“Actually, the bank enjoyed steady growth all along,” he said. “The overnight change to extravagance was not due to how it matured. Ben could have enjoyed some of the fruits earlier. I would have expected there to have been a slow but steady evidence of that. You say there was not?”
“Not in ways I noticed. We lived very comfortably in Cheapside. He had his club and a carriage the whole time. There was no indication matters were changing one way or another.” She looked over with sharp curiosity. “Why do you ask about this?”
“I have been thinking about him of late, Miss Welbourne. I am seeing him on that ship those last days. He was in a deep melancholy. I wondered if he returned to financial problems, but it appears not, from what you say.” He pause
d and assessed whether to go on. “I now wonder where the increased income he received those last years went, if not to his own household and habits.”
“Back into the bank, I expect. Then Tim inherited it all.”
It was a good answer, just the wrong one. He had seen the records of Ben’s personal account at the bank. Little had been sitting there for Timothy to inherit.
Some money would have been used to pay the people who expected to receive the income from the funds that had been stolen, of course. That amount had grown with each theft. Much more than that had disappeared, however.
He would have to work it out, now that he knew Ben had not been spending a big portion of it on luxuries. And he should probably determine if Ben had other accounts at other banks, ones that held the fruits of his criminal labors.
Their walk had taken a circular path. The carriage waited ahead. Hayden put Benjamin out of his mind and just enjoyed strolling beside Miss Welbourne for the last hundred yards.
She kept forgetting to hate him. Their walk had been too friendly, and he was no friend to her or those she loved.
Now here they were in the carriage again, and that other lure, that damnable excitement, interfered even more. She found that very disconcerting. To sit across from a man whom your mind cursed but your body did not—the various vexations got all jumbled.
He regarded her the way he did too often now, with a lazy contemplation that created a subtle predatory mood. His drifting gaze paused and lingered on her hands. “My apologies are due. I have been inconsiderate of your comfort and health. I should have noticed that you wore half gloves and had no muff.”
She looked down at her fingers, pink beyond the gloves that ended just past her knuckles. She had worn half gloves so she could touch and assess the materials at the warehouse.
He flapped open a carriage blanket and wrapped her hands in it, swaddling them so the wool could warm her quickly. She suffered the attention, and her fingers tingled in the toasty cocoon. His closeness made her heart beat too hard. The sensation of his hands pressing hers through the wool stole her breath.
The Rules of Seduction Page 10