“I think I’ll sample one of them meat pies to get this taste out of me mouth,” the cook declared. “Will you be coming along then?”
Sebastianne shook her head and took a step backward into a wide band of shade cast by the leafy canvas of a nearby oak. “You go on. I’m content to remain here.”
“As ye will. I expect that contraption will be sailing up to its doom before long,” Mrs. Tremble stated with a nod toward the now-fully-inflated balloon. “You’ll have a prime view of the catastrophe when it happens.”
Sebastianne smothered a laugh, well aware of the cook’s dire views concerning manned flight. Mrs. Tremble was convinced that poor Mr. Carter wouldn’t make it through the day alive. Sebastianne certainly hoped the other woman was mistaken.
Once the cook departed, Sebastianne moved deeper beneath the sheltering canopy of the great tree, free to observe the comings and goings of the meandering crowd. As she watched, a familiar face came into view several yards distant. She couldn’t recall his name . . . Lord something or other that started with G . . . but she knew that the dark, broad-shouldered man had been one of Drake’s guests the night of his dinner party.
On Lord G’s arm strolled a strikingly beautiful, fashionably dressed young woman with eyes so blue, Sebastianne could discern their color even from a distance. The woman had silky, evening-dark hair that was pinned upward in an elegant sweep beneath her sailor-style straw Victoria hat whose yellow satin lining matched her glorious, primrose-and-white-striped walking dress. With clear, creamy white skin, she presented a perfect foil for her handsome, swarthy-skinned companion, the two of them making an extraordinarily appealing couple.
Accompanying the pair was a girl who looked to be around her own brother Julien’s age, twelve or perhaps thirteen. She was a pleasant-looking child, but judging by her bone structure and the overall shape of her face, Sebastianne knew the girl would one day be as heartbreakingly lovely as her older sister was already.
The fact that she and the young woman were sisters was obvious. The fact that they both bore an unmistakable resemblance to Drake was plain as well.
Heavens, those must be his sisters, she realized.
And the man, whose name she abruptly recalled as Lord Gresham, was his brother-in-law.
She hadn’t realized Drake’s family would be in attendance. Were his brothers and their wives there as well? Perhaps his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Clybourne?
A quick scan of the crowd didn’t reveal any other familiar faces. Then again, with so many people milling around, it was easy to be swallowed by the mass.
Just then, Lord Gresham bent his head toward his wife and murmured something into her ear. Whatever it was must have been amusing, since she gave a deeply appreciative laugh that rang out as harmoniously as church bells. She gazed into his eyes, her face alight with clear happiness and love. As for Lord Gresham, his expression of adoration made Sebastianne look away, feeling that what she’d witnessed was far too intimate for another’s eyes to have seen.
She’d known a girl’s love with Thierry. She knew a woman’s ardor now with Drake, and yet she found herself wondering what it must be like to share that kind of intense, unwavering mutual devotion? To live in a world where she was free to let herself love without fear of its being taken away. To know there was a future with years and years of joy ahead, where there would be children and family and the certainty of being able to build a life.
She turned away, not wanting to see any more, not wishing to dwell on what she knew she could not have. Her chest ached as she stepped deeper beneath the tree’s sheltering embrace, the rough bark of the wide trunk pressing up against her back.
She stood there in the cooling shade, fighting her emotions, finding herself wishing and wondering once again if she dared trust Drake with the truth? Could she, should she, risk everything on the chance that he would help her rather than turn away? Dare she throw herself and her family’s lives on his mercy and pray he could find a way to bring them all to safety? His family was powerful, influential, with deep ties to the government. Perhaps there might be some way.
As for her love, had she the right to hope he felt affection for her too? That he might care enough that he could find a way to forgive her? She sensed he felt strong emotions for her, but was it love? And even if it was, would it be enough?
Sighing, she drank the last of her lemonade and supposed she ought to venture forth to watch the festivities. She was about to step away from the tree when a cold voice whispered from behind her shoulder. “Be quiet and stay where you are. It wouldn’t do for us to attract unwanted attention.”
A shudder chased over her skin, leaving her arms peppered in gooseflesh despite the warmth of the day. Her fingers twitched nervelessly, the empty glass sliding from her grasp into the soft grass below.
Vacheau.
Like the devil, he had a knack for being able to appear out of nowhere.
Chapter 21
“What are you doing here?” Sebastianne asked in a calm tone that in no way revealed the true state of her emotions. “I thought we weren’t to be seen together.”
“And I thought you were supposed to be working to acquire the cipher, not traipsing around London attending showy amusements,” he remarked from where he stood in the deepest shadows behind the wide tree trunk.
She resisted the urge to turn around despite the awkward nature of their conversation. “His lordship invited the entire household staff. I couldn’t very well say I did not wish to come. My absence would have caused talk.”
“Talk among the servants? Or talk from Lord Drake? You seem rather cozy with your employer these days. Is there anything you’d like to share?”
Her blood turned to ice at his question, a shiver raising fresh goose pimples on her skin. Had he been watching earlier when she’d been talking to Drake? Had he noticed their relaxed, casual rapport and read through their friendly regard? Did he know they were lovers? Her stomach gave a nauseated turn at the thought.
“No, I have nothing to share,” she said, unable to keep the sour taste of disgust from her tone.
He laughed, cruel and without humor. “Not to worry, ma petite. I don’t mind if you’re working your wiles on his lordship. All the better if it aids you in retrieving the item we seek.”
She heard a faint rustling at her back and sensed him step closer. “Speaking of retrieving things,” he continued in an unctuous drawl, “I have something I believe you were supposed to acquire today.”
Before she could react, he caught her wrist in his grip and forced something solid into her palm, closing her fingers over it.
The key!
“How did you—” she gasped.
“—You don’t think I haven’t been keeping an eye on your progress, do you?” He released her wrist but leaned closer, his serpentine breath wafting against her neck.
Exactly how much does he know? she wondered. Too much, she acknowledged with a sinking heart.
“I was quite pleased when I learned from the locksmith what you’d brought for him to copy,” he went on. “When I realized you weren’t going to be able to keep your appointment this morning, I took the liberty of retrieving the key myself. I assume you will be putting it to good use soon, otherwise—”
He didn’t need to say anything further. Sebastianne knew precisely what was at stake and that he held even more of the cards than she’d originally assumed. He’d laid his trap far too well, making sure there were no flaws or possible avenues of escape.
As for her foolish notion of confiding in Drake, the idea was absurd. Even if he were inclined to aid her, which was highly doubtful, he could no more help her out of her dilemma than he could wave his hand and end the war. He couldn’t save her or her family. She was alone, trapped with no way out. As much as she hated the realization, she knew she would have to go through with her original plan.
Just as Vacheau had intended from the very beginning.
She squeezed the key tightly in her hand, letting the bite of the tiny metal teeth mirror her inner agony.
“Two days,” he said, “and I expect to have the cipher in my possession.”
Her heart gave a desperate beat. Only two more days! “But that may not be enough time,” she said hurriedly. “I have to get into the safe, then have a chance to copy—”
“Two.” The word was a command, absolutely nonnegotiable. “I grow weary of waiting. We will meet in Covent Garden again. Do not bother to look for me. I shall find you, comprenez-vous?”
She nodded with a kind of deadened resignation.
And then, as if he’d been no more substantial than a breeze, he was gone.
Sebastianne sagged, her entire body shaking and cold.
Dieu, help me.
“Oh, lordy, ’tis astonishing, ain’t it?” Parker exclaimed in clear delight as the balloon sailed higher and higher into the sky. “Just look at it go. A right marvel, ’tis, that flyin’ machine.”
Agreement rang out among the servants, who’d gathered into a small group to watch the ascent. Cobbs and Polk applauded, while Jasper and Lyles let out whistles and whoops. Morton, the coachman, puffed ruminatingly on his pipe as Mr. Stowe and Waxman traded remarks about the marvels of the modern age.
Mrs. Tremble, for her part, tsked loudly about the dangerous display, making more dire predictions that the craft would come crashing back to earth at any moment. “If God meant man to fly,” she stated tartly, “he’d have dressed us all in feathers.” But even she couldn’t help but gaze upward with an expression of wonder on her aging face, a hint of an amazed smile teasing the corners of her mouth.
Sebastianne listened with a curious detachment, as if she were watching everything from a distance, even herself. For in spite of the half hour that had passed since her unexpected encounter with Vacheau, her mind and emotions were still reeling.
Her first instinct after he’d gone had been to leave the park, to flee to a place of safety where she could hide from her pain and fear. But even as she turned to go, she’d realized there was no place of safety, nowhere in the world she could find refuge from the path she was being forced to walk. Her fate was set, and her only choice was to accept it. Besides, if her deception was to continue successfully, she couldn’t make a mad dash back to the town house on her own. The other servants would want to know what was wrong. As for Drake, he would demand a better explanation than a headache, and she worried that in her present humor she might end up making a fatal mistake by saying more than she should.
And so she’d rejoined the others, pinning a happy expression on her face as though she were enjoying the festivities as much as everyone else. Thank heaven, Drake hadn’t come in search of her to ply her with sweets as he’d promised. Instead, he’d remained across the way, occupied with his family and a few aristocratic acquaintances, their group looking like a bevy of elegant swans amidst flocks of ducks, geese and pigeons.
Now that Mr. Carter and his balloon were aloft and on its way to Dover, where he planned to set down again, she hoped the event would conclude and she would be able to return home again. She wanted to hide the key, which burned inside her pocket like some evil talisman, a portent of the misery and betrayal that soon awaited her. For now, though, she must continue to pretend, to act as though she were carefree and happy and wasn’t about to rip out her heart and stain her soul in treachery.
“Well, that were something, I must say,” Finnegan piped dreamily. “And ever so kind of his lordship to bring us all here today to see.”
A fresh round of agreement went through their small group, all the servants heaping effusive praise on their employer.
Mrs. Tremble folded her hands at her waist and nodded. “We’re lucky to work for such a fine and generous gentlemen. Not many have it as good as us, even if his lordship doesn’t keep a regular household, as some might say. It’s regular enough fer me.”
“Hear, hear,” Waxman said with his usual steadfast loyalty.
“Seems as though it might be regular enough fer someone else soon too,” the cook continued, directing her gaze across the field to where Drake and his companions stood. “I’m friendly with the cook at Clybourne House, you know.”
“Mrs. Mays,” Waxman put in again, plainly eager to share his knowledge.
“Just so,” Mrs. Tremble said. “I were talking to her not long ago and she says his lordship’s been driving out with a certain young lady who’s in London for the Season.”
The fog around Sebastianne abruptly melted away, her attention coming into sharp focus.
“I happen to know,” Mrs. Tremble continued, “that the young lady in question is here today and is talking at this very moment with his lordship. See her just there, the one in the peach frock. Her name is Miss Verity Manning. I know because she was pointed out to me one day while I was visiting at His Grace’s house.”
Sebastianne’s gaze swung across the field, her eyes going immediately to the woman dressed in an exquisite gown of peach silk. She looked hardly more than a girl, seventeen or eighteen, with a pretty heart-shaped face and blond hair. Sebastianne had thought nothing of her before, but now . . .
“The rumor is,” Mrs. Tremble offered in notes of barely contained excitement, “that Lord Drake may finally have found himself a bride.”
For several long seconds, Sebastianne forgot how to breathe.
Marry that child? Non! C’est impossible!
But as she watched, she realized she had no right to protest.
Miss Manning was precisely the sort of girl Drake should court. Refined and graceful, she was a blooded aristocrat who’d been tutored over a lifetime to be the wife of a nobleman. And from the look of it, the girl idolized Drake, her face glowing with undisguised pleasure as he bent his head to address a comment to her.
Does she love him?
Sebastianne suddenly hoped so. Drake deserved a wife who adored him. Anything less would be a crime.
Praying the agony in her heart didn’t show, she turned away.
Drake had made no promises to her, she reminded herself, nor she to him. Truly, it was better if he found someone else. After all, in two days, she would be gone. In two days, Drake would hate the very sound of her name and would have no trouble turning to another. Perhaps Miss Manning would be exactly the comfort he needed.
She swayed and fought back tears. A brief touch on her arm moments later forced her to blink them away.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Greenway?” Jasper asked quietly.
“Of course,” she said, turning to him with a false smile. “Too much sun, I think. And excitement. Yes, far, far too much excitement for one day.”
“—do you not agree, my lord?” Miss Manning said, her soft words coming to him like the ebb and flow of a tide.
“Hmm,” he murmured, as whatever she said next faded out of his consciousness. He knew he ought to be listening, but his thoughts were on Anne as he surreptitiously observed her where she stood among his household staff several yards distant.
Ever since he’d left to help Carter finish the last of the calibrations and preparations for the balloon launch, he’d been trying to find a way to rejoin her. The few words they’d exchanged earlier in the day had been nothing more than a tease. He’d invited her here today in the hopes of sharing a few pleasant hours together, but circumstances kept interfering.
After he’d broken up the minor scuffle with the onlooker who’d wanted to climb into the gondola, he’d gone back to work helping to prepare the balloon for flight.
Once done, he’d been reaching for his coat when Carter called him over to consult on a new problem. The wind speed had apparently increased, and he needed Drake to verify his calculations and trajectory so that he didn’t overshoot his landing. “Wouldn’t do to put down in
the Channel,” Carter had quipped with a toothy smile. “Or worse, in France!”
Nodding, Drake had returned to do what was needed to reassure his friend.
He’d just shrugged into his coat of tan summerweight wool when he’d been hailed by a pair of acquaintances who had a fascination with aeronautical science. Without intending to, he’d found himself pulled into a lengthy debate on the potential of air travel and that day’s impending flight.
Then various members of his family had arrived, beginning with Adam, Mallory and Esme, the youngest of his siblings at thirteen. Sketch pad in hand, Esme had settled herself on the grass to capture the highlights of the day in pencil and pastels. Drake noticed after a glimpse at one of her drawings that she seemed to be paying particular attention to the dogs and birds in the park rather than the people. Typical, he thought with a smile, given her love of animals.
Cade, Meg, their toddler son and infant daughter had appeared next, with Edward, Claire and their own fifteen-month-old daughter not far behind. Claire’s sister, Ella, had accompanied them as well, clearly happy as she divided her time between two of her most devoted suitors.
In addition to a trio of nursemaids who’d come with their party to attend to the children, one of the Clybourne House footmen had accompanied them as well. As Drake saw to his amusement and amazement, it was the servant’s job to carry around a chair for the heavily pregnant young duchess. When she noticed Drake’s expression, Claire, who everyone knew ought to have been in confinement by now, declared that she wasn’t going to be held prisoner inside her own home simply because she was increasing. Nor, she stated as a clearly concerned and exasperated Edward helped lower her into the chair, was she going to miss out on such an entertaining event as a balloon ascension.
“I am not due to give birth for ten more days,” she stated, linking her hands stubbornly over her huge belly. “So I fail to see why I should have to miss out on all the fun.”
The Bed and the Bachelor Page 20