Ice and Embers (Regency Redezvous Book 10)

by Melanie Karsak

  Gathering together, we took the stage once more to cheers and calls of bravo. It seemed to me that the crowd, merry from their enjoyment of being at the fair, was far more enthusiastic than the simple play warranted. But, all the same, they seemed to be pleased with the performance. And in truth, Lizzie had played her part very well.

  At last, they let us go.

  “Well done,” I cheered Lizzie, linking my arm in hers.

  “I think it went over well. I felt the character—as you are always telling me to try to—and it did change my performance, I think.”

  “You did wonderfully,” Agnes told her with a smile.

  “Nice work, Lizzie,” Marve told her.

  “Sir, Miss Lizzie,” Harold said, approaching Marve and Lizzie. He handed Lizzie a copy of the playbill on which I saw some handwriting.

  Lizzie took it from him. Her hand trembling, she read: “For the cinder girl. Very notably enacted. I invite you to call on me. Master James Grady, Sadler’s Wells Theatre.”

  Everyone went silent.

  When Lizzie looked up, her eyes were wet with tears.

  “Oh, Lizzie,” I whispered. “Sadler’s Wells! That’s…remarkable,” I said then pulled her into an embrace.

  The others soon wrapped their arms around her as well and all at once, we fell into a crushing hug, everyone giggling and laughing, Lizzie in tears at the center.

  When we finally let her go, Marve cleared his throat. “I’m making buckets of money at this fair, but it hardly seems worth the expense of losing a wonderful actress.”

  “Well, I’m not lost yet,” Lizzie said.

  “Dear girl, we all know what a note like that means. Call on him tomorrow morning. Amy can play the role of Cinderella for you. We’ll have Skippy play the other sister,” Marve said.

  I laughed. Skippy, our young errand boy, would not be in a good mood after learning this news.

  “Come on. Let’s go celebrate. Elyse?” Amy said.

  “Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Elyse and her gentleman,” Lizzie said with a roll of the eyes, teasing me.

  I smiled at her.

  “Let’s go,” she said to the other girls and they headed to the tent, leaving Marve and me alone.

  “I’m sorry, Elyse,” Marve said.

  “Sorry? Whatever for?”

  “Marion…if you had played Persephone this morning, there would have been two notes. The faerie godmother was well-played, but it’s such a small, trifling part.”

  “If I was the suspicious type, I’d say you sabotaged me on purpose,” I jested.

  Marve went pale. “Elyse, I’d never—”

  I grinned then kissed him on the cheek. “I know, I know. Granny used to say there was no more honest man of the stage in London than you.”

  Marve wrapped his arm around me then, patting me on the back.

  “Now, let me see about my gentleman.” With a wave, I headed toward my small dressing area. On the other side of the tent, I heard the girls gushing loudly, all excited for Lizzie’s great news. I pulled my hair out of its bun. Sighing, I rested my elbows on my knees, my forehead on my hands. I was a fool to chase love when what I should have been chasing was my career. I should never have let Marion take my part. I was too nice, and it had cost me. Tomorrow, I would not be so nice. And if John was not waiting for me at the front of the Ice House, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  I looked back into the mirror and rearranged my hair once more. I then took my ballet slippers, which I had left sitting on my trunk, and placed them back inside with the rest of my costumes. I noticed then that the Persephone costume had not been returned. I slipped out of my costume, laying it in the trunk, then pulled back on my winter gown and blue coat.

  If John was not there, I’d go find Kai. I had to tell him about what had happened with Marion and Lizzie. If anyone could advise me, it was him.

  I headed out of the tent toward the entrance of the Ice House Theatre. There I found a carriage waiting. A black horse, its mane decorated with bells, exhaled deeply, creating huge clouds of steam. John was sitting in the driver’s seat.

  I smiled when I saw him.

  Slipping out of his seat, he offered me his hand.

  “Come, faerie godmother, and grant me three wishes.”

  “I am a faerie, not a genie,” I replied, placing my hand is his.

  He laughed. “Then grant me just one wish,” he said, stepping close.

  “And what might that be?” I asked.

  “A kiss,” he whispered.

  Hidden behind the steed, I leaned toward him. John lowered his lips onto mine. They were warm. A heady scent of sherry clung to him. I leaned into his kiss, tasting the sharp herbal and salty flavors in his mouth.

  When we broke apart, my heart was beating hard. “Let’s go,” he said, helping me into the carriage.

  “Go where?” I asked.

  “And ruin the surprise? Never,” he replied with a laugh.

  I joined him on the seat of the carriage. He pulled a blanket over our legs, and with a click to his horse, he turned the carriage away from the Frost Fair toward the city. Under the cover of the blanket, I set my hand on his knee. John grinned, and we headed off on an adventure.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where are we going?” I asked with a laugh as we headed away from the frozen Thames and back into the city.

  “It’s a surprise,” John replied.

  I held my hood and looked back toward Captain Behra’s frozen ship. I bit my lower lip.

  The carriage rolled off the Thames and onto the cobblestone London street. A gust blew up from behind us, the wind whipping angrily off the Thames. Angry snowflakes swirled around us then died down as we made our first turn into the city.

  “Strange weather on the Thames this morning,” I said.

  “How so?” John asked.

  “The wind…one would think it has a mind of its own. It seems to whip with such purpose.”

  John grinned. “You have a very healthy imagination, Miss McKenna. Perhaps that’s how you play so well.”

  I smiled. “I do try to take on the emotions of my characters, to feel what they feel.”

  He looked at me, an odd expression on his face. “You deceive with great craft.”

  “What can I say, I am an artisan,” I said with exaggerated drama.

  John laughed.

  I snuggled closer to him as we turned through the London streets. At that moment, I hardly cared where we were headed. I loved that we were close to one another, that I felt the warmth of his body. All my worries melted away. Lizzie’s warning, while well-intended, had stirred my worries and had my imagination going at the City of Moscow that morning. But as I leaned into John, all those fears disappeared.

  We were getting quite close to Buckingham Palace when John turned the carriage on a side road. Unfamiliar with this part of town, I had no idea where we were headed. What I could discern, however, was that we were driving down a path through a very elaborate garden. A moment later, I spied a metal and glass roof. The white metal frame of the building was interspersed with panes of glass that glinted in the sunlight. The place was shaped like a series of domes.

  “Oh my,” I exclaimed, placing my fingers against my lips. “What is this place?”

  “Rose House,” John said with a smile. “The only warm place left in London,” he added with a laugh.

  “It’s a herbarium?”

  He nodded. “You will see. Rose House is no false moniker.”

  “To whom does it belong?”

  “The crown, of course.”

  “But John…” I started, thinking to ask how in the world he would manage entry into such a place but stopped my words short. A gentleman would know such ways. An artisan would not.

  He pulled the carriage to a stop outside the elaborate greenhouse. The carriage drive circled around a fountain. At its center, a marble lord and lady danced, their garlands of flowers made of stone. Ice clung to their
arms and faces, and their heads were covered in inches of snow.

  John slid out of the carriage then took my hand and helped me out. Given its appeal on such a cold day, I was surprised to see there were no other visitors. The path had not been cleared. Only a single set of footprints heading inside marred the snowy ground.

  I stepped lightly through the snow, John holding my hand, as we went to the door. John rapped lightly on the door then called a “hello?”

  A moment later, an old man wearing a heavy coat came to the door. He was the gruff sort, his face squinting with annoyance at everything he saw.

  “You got it?” he asked John from the other side of the door, not bothering to even respond with the appropriate courtesy.

  John nodded then lifted a small packet to show the man. “And your touring fee,” John added.

  The old man raised an eyebrow at him then looked at me. He snorted then turned and unlocked the door.

  John handed him the package and some coin.

  “You have an hour. No more,” the old man told him.

  John nodded, took my hand, and then led me inside.

  “How very discourteous,” I whispered. I tried to think of a way to ask what was in the package, but finding none, I let the matter lie.

  John shrugged. “Age wears courtesy to the bone.”

  We passed from the outer chamber through the second set of doors into the herbarium. All at once, I was overcome with warmth and the moist air of summer. The smell of roses, water, grass, and sunshine on green leaves perfumed the space.

  I gasped. “It is summer captured in glass.” A butterfly passed by. I reached out, beckoning it to come to me, but it fluttered away.

  John smiled and removed his top hat and gloves, setting them on a bench just inside the door. “You have such a lovely mind. Others might say ‘it’s so charming’ whereas you find summer trapped in glass.”

  I giggled. “I almost said I felt trapped in a terrarium,” I said as I pushed my hood back and pulled off my gloves. “But I thought that might sound strange.”

  He chuckled. “May I take your coat?”

  I nodded then undid the fastens. I handed it to him. He draped the garment over his arm then motioned for me to follow.

  “I enjoyed your faerie godmother,” he told me as we made our way down the twisting path through the green. Palm trees and other wide leafy greens grew all around. “Were you not to play Persephone as well?”

  I nodded. “There was some…conversation,” I said, unsure how much squabbling amongst actors he’d want to hear, “and we decided that Marion would take the role for today.”

  “Conversation? I take that to mean argument.”

  “Marion was upset.”

  “So she stole your role.”

  “For a day.”

  John looked thoughtful. “You’re too kind, Elyse.”

  I didn’t reply. I might have given Marion the role, but I hadn’t wanted to and was completely vexed about the whole thing. That didn’t feel very kind to me.

  “Look,” John said then, pointing to a path that led through an arbor of roses. The red blossoms perfumed the air around us. From somewhere inside the herbarium, a bird chirped happily.

  “It sounds like someone has found somewhere warm to shelter this winter,” I said, listening to the sweet song.

  We passed under the arbor of roses and entered a rose garden. At the center of the space was a tall fountain. Around it sat four benches, and on every side, roses blossomed in a variety of hues. Blossoms in yellow, pale pink, fiery red, and even a soft white with a pale pink hue, grew all around.

  “Amazing how one can fool Mother Nature,” I said, stopping to smell one of the yellow roses.

  John leaned in beside me to smell one of the blossoms. When he pulled back, he set a quick kiss on my cheek.

  Taking my hand, he led me to a bench. With his free hand, he unbuttoned his coat. “What do you think?” he asked, stroking his finger across my knuckles.

  “I love it,” I said wistfully. If this place truly belonged to the crown, then I was enjoying the garden of a king. Such a thing was…unthinkable.

  “Are you fond of flowers?”

  I smiled. “Aren’t all women?”

  He laughed. “You’re right. I just…I hoped you would enjoy this place.”

  Oh no. I bit my lip. Stupid, Elyse. “John, it’s remarkable. I only meant to say that all women—”

  He chuckled then set his finger on my lips, silencing me. “My dear, no apology is needed. I understood your jest. I just hope you are happy. I’m quite fond of gardens, of flowers. I hate winter.”

  I smiled. “My grandmother grew a beautiful flower box outside the window of our flat. She and Missus Murray, Doctor Murray’s grandmother, worked the whole spring and summer to grow the most beautiful flowers. My grandmother nursed roses around the window of my garret. I remember their fragrance, and their thorns, very well.”

  “Your grandmother. The ballerina?”

  I nodded.

  “Your parents?”

  “They…they died when I was very young. I was raised by my grandmother.”

  “How long have you been on your own?”

  “Three years. My grandmother passed away, and then Doctor Murray’s grandmother passed a month after. Doctor Murray and I helped one another after that.”

  “But you and Doctor Murray are not related.”

  I chuckled. “Oh, no. We are friends. More like family. We support one another.”

  John nodded, a slight squint creeping across his face. Was he worried I had a romantic attachment to Kai? Perhaps he thought our friendship was beyond propriety? I chewed my lip again. What would someone like him think of a low-born girl like me and her friendship and, really, dependency on a man to whom she was not related?

  “It is good of Doctor Murray to watch over you. As young and as beautiful as you are and without family…” he said, his words faltering at the end as if he wanted to say more but did not. “Shall we go around more? I understand there is some exquisite statuary.”

  I nodded.

  Linking his arm in mine, we toured the place, pausing, it seemed, to smell every flower. It was such a heavenly escape, and the time passed very quickly.

  John took out his pocket watch. “I’m sorry. We have to go now.”

  We walked back to the door of the herbarium, stopping to button up once more.

  “The warmth was wonderful, but we’ll feel ten times colder once we go outside now,” John said.

  “Well, we’ll carry that sunshine in our hearts, like a little ember to keep us warm until spring.”

  John paused and gently pulled me toward him. “Ember? No. Since the moment I laid eyes on you, a torrent has swept through my heart. The mere thought of you provokes an inferno,” he said then leaned toward me.

  I returned his kiss, letting the passion I’d been holding inside me loose. I fell into the softness of his mouth, felt the heat emanating from his body, and pulled him close to me. The feel of my breasts pressed against him, the curves of my hips pressed toward him…it was terrible to bear. Longing made me ache.

  “But infernos devour you,” I said between kisses, my heart beating hard.

  He kissed my face, then his lips moved lower, and he drizzled kisses down my neck.

  A soft groan escaped my lips. “John…John, I—”

  He covered my mouth with his once more. Between kisses, he asked, “Will you meet with me…will you…will you come to me?”

  I understood his question. He wanted me, and I could not deny that I wanted him as well. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Shall I come to you tonight?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, suddenly feeling alarmed. The thought of Kai seeing John in my garret apartment filled me with intense shame. All at once, I realized I’d made a mistake. “I…I’m sorry. I spoke hastily. I cannot,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

  John, who’d gone back to kissing my neck, stopped. He exhaled deeply the
n set his forehead against my shoulder. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I…I cannot afford the scandal if we are discovered, and I was wrong to push. You know my intentions toward you are honorable. It…it can wait a bit more.”

  “Barely,” I said with a soft smile, stroking his hair.

  “Indeed,” he said with a laugh. “Barely.”

  He took my hand and kissed it. “Best put on your gloves.”

  I nodded and pulled them from my pocket while John pulled on his hat and gloves. Holding the door open for me, we headed through the second set of doors then outside. There, the old gardener waited. His eyes were focused down the lane.

  We turned to see another carriage pulling up behind ours.

  I looked at John who squinted at the newcomers, an irritated expression on his face.

  “Come on,” he said. Taking my hand, he led me toward the carriage.

  Behind us, the new arrivals laughed merrily as they got out of their carriage. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a well-dressed man and woman approach. The man, who had a slight limp, walked with a cane. His voice, a sultry baritone, sounded familiar.

  John got into the carriage beside me and took up the reins. Was he trying to leave quickly?

  The man and woman stopped beside our carriage.

  “Good afternoon,” the woman called, giggling merrily.

  Frowning, John lowered the reins.

  I turned and found myself staring into the face of a tall, slender woman in an expensive-looking coat. Straw-colored curls stuck out from under her bonnet. She smiled at me, a wide toothy grin. Her round stomach gave away that she was with child. Beside her stood Lord Byron.

  “Good afternoon,” I said politely, quickly turning my attention away from the poet. I hoped he would not remember me.

  “I see we aren’t the only ones looking for a little warmth today,” Byron said, a smirk in his voice. “Lord Byron, and this is my sister, Augusta Leigh. How do you do?” Byron said, tipping his hat politely.

  I turned to John.

  “Lord Waldegrave, and this is Miss McKenna,” he said as he fussed with the reins.