by Kerryn Reid
“I wanted to, by God,” Lewis snarled.
Gideon laughed and went on. “If you win the fight, she’s a lady of impeccable virtue.” He stood, wiping some pretended smudge from his sleeve. “If I win, she is—er—not.”
Lewis surged to his feet. “Don’t you dare say that!” He would have fallen if he hadn’t been gripping Gideon’s lapels.
“Dear Lewis. Women are all whores.”
Lindale and several others rose, surrounding and separating them, talking and laughing to throw onlookers off the scent. Gideon disappeared, and someone gave Lewis another cup of gin.
Past that point there were only vague images—Jack crowing over a lucky bet, another bloody death in the ring, and finally, being lifted bodily into the carriage for the ride home. He’d wanted oblivion, and he’d gotten it.
“There you are, Anna.” Mama set her pen in the inkstand and turned to face her. “Sloth is the devil’s pillow.”
“I’m not feeling well.” This morning, Anna had managed only a few bites of toast and half a cup of tea, and her stomach threatened to eject even that meager breakfast. She wandered to the window and sat in the windowseat.
Mama came close, took Anna’s chin in her hand and angled it upward. “Not looking well either. Just as well you missed our callers.”
Anna said nothing. She’d been ready to come downstairs earlier, but any urge to do so fled when Putnam mentioned there were visitors.
Mama withdrew her hand. Her questions would come next. Anna could almost see them forming in her head.
She spoke first to forestall them. “How was your evening, Mama?”
“It was pleasant. The company was very select. So cultured, so well-dressed. I did quite well.” Mama preened, plucking the lace at her cuffs into shape. “And you? Did you dance with Mr. Aubrey?”
“He didn’t come until very late. Sir John and Lady Wedbury were already—”
“Because I’m told you did. That’s good, Anna. Very good indeed.”
Of course Mama knew. How could I have thought otherwise?
“Did he apologize for treating you so shabbily?”
“He did not.”
“Humph. Well, I trust you did everything you could to attach him? Provocative glances, and smiles?”
Oh yes, she had smiled. But she was finished with provocative glances. “Mama, I’ve told you, I don’t—”
“Don’t be snippy with me, girl. The Season is more than half over, and you’ll not get another. You’ll make Mr. Wexcombe rub his hands with glee.”
Mama strode away to the desk and took up her pen again. “Eligible husbands don’t grow on trees. That brother of his hasn’t two pennies to rub together, I’ll be bound.”
Anna returned to her contemplation of the raindrops wending their way down the windowpanes. Lewis would make a far kinder husband than Gideon, no doubt about that. He would be loyal, and considerate, and respectful. Cassie said he had a respectable income, left him by the uncle he’d been named for. It wouldn’t be enough for Mama and Papa.
Anna didn’t care much about the money. Yet somehow, loyalty and kindness paled beside the things Gideon had offered—verve, excitement, kisses that buckled her knees and weakened her will. Why should that be? She’d read about love. It was supposed to be glorious, beautiful, timeless. Sometimes tragic, to be sure.
None of the poets had said it would make her stupid.
Chapter 9
Anna’s cotton chemise stuck to her skin as she walked. Why was she nervous? She’d paid visits to Cassie before and there was nothing clandestine about this one. Mama knew all about it, and a maid walked very properly behind.
Cassie had promised her an opportunity to make things right with Lewis. It had been a week since that dreadful night at Almack’s, and she had not seen him once. That shouldn’t matter—yet she had come to depend on his support, his and Cassie’s. More than that, his friendship. She’d had no chance to explain her compulsion to dance with his brother, and Cassie said he’d been hurt by it.
Did he really like her well enough to be hurt? Surely he was merely being kind?
“Anna!” Cassie cried, trotting into the hall when Anna arrived at the house. “Oh, do send your maid home. We’ll see you get home safely. Robert, please ask Meg to send some lemonade up to the morning room.” She linked her arm with Anna’s and led her upstairs. “We won’t get intruders there. At least, none that we don’t want.” She giggled. “Poor thing, you’re so pale. Isn’t this weather dreadful?”
Anna suppressed a sigh. “I wish it would just rain. Maybe it would wash everything away and we could start over.”
Cassie spied up and down the hallway and eased the door shut. “Lewis doesn’t know you’re coming. It’s like an ambush.”
Anna didn’t like the sound of that. So deceitful.
They talked of fashions. That is, Cassie talked. Anna interjected a word here and there as she sipped her lemonade, cool and sweet.
“I wish you’d have some of this shortbread,” Cassie complained. “Otherwise I’ll eat it all.”
Anna took a small piece, but it still sat on her plate untouched when Lewis strolled into the room a few minutes later.
“Robert said you wanted to—” He broke off with a frown when he saw Anna. He bowed in her direction, avoiding her gaze. “Miss Spain.”
She sat straighter in her chair. “Good day, Mr. Aubrey. I hope you are well?” There were shadows under his eyes.
“Quite well. Thank you.” He did not return the civility. He stood for a moment, twisting his hands behind his back. “What did you want me for, Cassie?”
Anna flushed. He was often tongue-tied, but always polite—he must be angry indeed. She jumped from her chair and took a couple of hasty steps toward him. “I hoped I might see you at the Willetts’ concert.”
He shook his head. “I had other—er—commitments.”
Cassie spoke up. “Jack’s been dragging him about town every night, keeping him out until dawn. Doesn’t he look dreadful?”
“Not at all,” Anna replied. His rigid mouth and the crease between his eyebrows showed his annoyance with Cassie’s remark—not the best time to attempt an apology. But it might be the best chance she would have.
“Mr. Aubrey, I must tell you how sorry I am for reneging on your dance last week. It was—”
He cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Forget it, please. It doesn’t matter.”
She moved closer. “But it does. I was horribly rude, and I’m not surprised you’re angry. After all the consideration you’ve shown me…”
“This is quite unnecessary, Miss Spain. I’m not—”
“Please let me finish.” How can I make him understand? “When I saw Gid… When I saw your brother, I felt such rage, I simply had to use it. I think my blood would have boiled away.”
She had his attention now, at least. “Didn’t look like anger.”
“I could hardly stab him in the middle of Almack’s, no matter how badly I wanted to do so. You are the one who taught me to smile when I feel least like doing so.” She saw doubt in his eyes, but his expression softened. Had he missed her too, this week past?
“Good heavens, Lewis,” cried Cassie, “why do you think Gideon was so incensed afterward? If she had just laid her heart at his feet, he’d have been grinning like a cat in the cream-pot.”
Anna touched his sleeve, a momentary gesture she doubted he could feel. “I cannot bear the thought of spending the rest of the Season as your enemy, Mr. Aubrey. Please say you understand. And if we should find ourselves at the same event, may I hope you won’t cut my acquaintance entirely?”
“I’m sorry I took it the wrong way, Miss Spain.” He bowed low over her hand in a formal gesture, touching his lips to her fingers. “I could never think of you as an enemy.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Cassie said. “Now, both of you sit down and have some shortbread.”
For Anna, it had been very hard indeed. But Lewis sat beside he
r, and for the first time in a week, she felt hungry.
The following day it rained, and Lewis resumed his visits to the Spain residence. Cassie accompanied him once or twice, but he preferred she should not know how often he went. Anna accompanied him and the Wedburys to a concert one evening, the theater another.
Lewis and Captain Fuller escorted Anna and Cassie to a picnic “for the young people” hosted by the Landrums in Richmond Park. Jack cried off, as he usually did these days. “Why would I want to watch Miss Landrum making sheep’s eyes at Gideon? I see plenty of Gideon in the hells at night.”
In the end, Gideon never came. Miss Landrum moped all afternoon. And it rained.
When Lewis visited her at home in the days that followed, Anna seemed pleased to see him, offering a sad smile and a bit of quiet conversation. Each time she appeared more wan than the time before, the shadows beneath her eyes more pronounced. Any color she had looked painted on.
And then one day early in June, she wore no smile at all. The smiles came instead from her mother, who welcomed him almost as though he were Gideon.
“Why, Mr. Aubrey! What a delightful surprise on this dull afternoon. We were just saying we needed a visit from you to cheer us up. Were we not, Anna?”
Anna murmured something Lewis couldn’t catch and shot him a look he couldn’t interpret. Then she devoted her attention to her hands, tense in her lap.
Mrs. Spain gestured to a seat on the sofa. He winced when she sat beside him, her skirts touching his leg. Cornered.
“Poor Anna is feeling this muggy weather. She is so sensitive, so—”
“Mama!”
Mrs. Spain ignored her. She placed a hand on Lewis’s sleeve and spoke, so softly he had to lean in to hear her. “The truth is, dear sir, she’s pining for you.”
Lewis drew back and almost laughed out loud. Did she think he was such an idiot? “I think we both know better than that, ma’am.”
“Your attentions have been rather marked, you know. Lady Bridgmont said to me only yesterday—”
“Please, Mama!” Anna’s cheeks were scarlet. This strident, thoughtless woman had no business raising children, any more than his own parents did. No doubt she would say she only wanted the best for her daughter. Until today, she had thought him far from the best.
“I honestly do not know what Mr. Spain will do if she comes home unattached. I fear he…” Here she paused, with one hand to her brow and a spurious expression of concern. “I’m going to leave the two of you alone. Don’t be shy, Mr. Aubrey. She’s dying to hear the words.”
Mrs. Spain stood. Lewis did too, purely a matter of ingrained courtesy. Abandoning the throaty, conspiratorial voice she’d used on him, Mrs. Spain spoke again. “Anna, you come sit here with Mr. Aubrey. I want none of your missish airs, now. Mr. Aubrey has no time to waste on that nonsense.”
Anna did as she was commanded. Lewis watched her, but if she looked his way at all, she saw no higher than his knees.
He remained standing until the door closed behind Mrs. Spain. Then he sat again.
And Anna jumped up. “I can’t… This will seem rude, Mr. Aubrey, and I truly don’t mean it to be, but you must go now.”
He scrambled back to his feet. “Miss Spain, what’s wrong? Is there some sort of trouble?” He took her hand, holding on to it when she attempted to pull away. “Please tell me. Is it something I’ve done? Is there any way I can help?”
“No, there’s nothing. It’s nothing to do with you.” Jerking her hand from his, she strode to the door and yanked it open.
“I hate to leave you so upset.”
She summoned a smile that seemed to break in the middle. “I’m quite well, Mr. Aubrey. Thank you for calling.”
For five days Lewis attended every bloody social event there was, but he saw no sign of Anna or her mother. Finally, he called again in Clifford Street but got no response to his knock.
Frowning, he rapped the knocker again. The sharp click of metal on metal resounded through the hall inside. Still no butler, no maid, no one at all. What the devil? He hadn’t known what sort of reception to expect, but it wasn’t this.
He knocked once more. Still the door stared back at him, obdurate.
He lowered the bouquet he’d brought, face down to the ground. Sweet Williams and cornflowers, the girl had said. A waste of money.
Admitting defeat, he trod down the steps and glanced up at the façade. No movement, no ashen countenance in the bow window above him. Perhaps she had paled into invisibility.
But Mrs. Spain would never consent to that. And where in hell’s name were the servants?
Anna had said they’d be in London until the end of June, when their lease expired. Two more weeks. Then they’d pack up and join the exodus from the city, along with Lewis, the Wedburys, and every other soul who had anyplace else to go. Already London felt sticky and sluggish, the smells festering.
If he had more time, he might ask her… God no, not for her hand. She was not ready for that, and neither was he. Merely, whether she would welcome a visit from him later in the summer, should he happen to find himself in Bristol. Whether she liked him well enough to consider his suit at some unspecified time in the future.
But he did not have two weeks, or any time at all.
Lewis handed the flowers to an old woman trudging her way down the street. “Bless you, laddie,” she said.
What a gudgeon he was. A gullible, feeble-minded greenhorn.
Chapter 10
“I swear, Lewis,” Jack growled, pulling him aside before entering the green room at Covent Garden. “If you’re going to stand there and glower like some goddamned governess, I’m going to punch your lights out.”
Lewis opened his mouth to reply, but Jack went on without giving him a chance.
“Tonight’s the night I grow up. I’m going to bed a woman. You might try and do the same.” Jack released his arm and edged his way through the gentlemen crowding the doorway.
Lewis found his mouth was still hanging open, and closed it. He wouldn’t be growing up tonight, but he’d never been in the green room and he was curious.
He knew which chit he would head for, if he were Jack. A pretty girl with a mop of curly brown hair and long, slender legs shown off by the trousers she wore in her breeches role. It had been only a bit part, and she wasn’t in the green room at all. He wasn’t sorry. Nice to think she was safe from the lechers who crammed the overheated room. He could smell them—years’ worth of their sweat and the scents they wore to mask it. He had no ambition to become one of them.
He spotted Lindale chatting with one of the actors. And there was Jack, sitting by the long mirrored counter where the actors removed their make-up and costumes. The target of his attentions was no chit, but an older woman, the only one with talent. On stage, she had played a widow, courted by the older male character. If she’d lived one day less than thirty-five years, Lewis would eat a newt.
Lord Portleigh hung over her as well, double Jack’s age and far more experienced—but Jack had gotten the stool beside hers. As unlikely as it seemed, she showed every sign of interest in him. His leg touched hers as they talked, she leaning toward the mirror, he leaning toward her. She must have worn a wig on stage because the hair that fell to her shoulders was brown, not blonde.
Is she the best you can do, Jack? Not that thirty-five was old, precisely, but for a man of twenty-two…
The woman met Lewis’s gaze with eyes like none he’d ever seen, topaz that sparkled from across the room. Her age didn’t matter, nor the color of her hair. She was a beautiful woman. Jack wasn’t doing badly, after all.
She lifted one sculpted brow and said something to Jack over her shoulder. He laughed, and she smiled at Lewis, mockingly. Then they turned their attention to each other. Lewis spun on his heel and left the room. He had no obligation to provide them with entertainment.
On his way out of the theater he stooped to pick up a playbill, one of dozens littering the dirty floor. Scanning
the cast list, he found her. Juliet Squires. It wouldn’t be her real name, and it didn’t matter in any case. Jack could have her.
In the week that followed, Lewis saw little of his best friend. He rode by himself a couple of mornings while Jack slept off his exertions of the night before, and spent his afternoons seeing the sights and surveying London’s noblest buildings. In the evenings he accompanied Cassie and her parents to a dinner party, a concert, the theater—but no balls. He had not danced a step in the two weeks since he last saw Anna Spain. Didn’t miss it either…except for the feel of her hand on his arm. Her smile directed at him. Pretending for half an hour that she was his.
Around midnight, he met up with Jack for whatever entertainment Lindale had planned for the night—not that Jack cared if he came or not. Lindale, at least, welcomed him. And later, he went home alone. Jack might continue with Lindale or go to Miss Squires; Lewis didn’t know, and he didn’t want to. God forbid he should be accused of glowering like a governess.
“Foul! The button’s come off!” Angelo’s was packed, and a crowd had gathered to watch their match. Without its protective cap, the sharp point of Jack’s foil glittered as it sped Lewis’s way.
Lewis parried and stepped back, turning his own weapon toward the floor. They had graduated from the blunted practice swords just last week—perhaps it had been a mistake.
Jack could not possibly have missed the shouts and Lewis’s disengagement, but it seemed he didn’t care. He continued his attack, ignoring the men hissing in censure.
Incredible that his best friend would keep fighting without the button. Incredible, too, the wave of rage that rose from Lewis’s gut. He had tolerated all of Jack’s fits and megrims these past weeks, stifling the harsh rejoinders that sprang to his lips, delivering a pat on the back instead of the punch in the nose Jack deserved. Because they were friends, and friends…
Well, friends did not come at you with a naked weapon, damn it!