His brittle tone told her more than his grave expression. He was furious indeed and she had no idea why. She sat silently, the anger in his eyes a living being in the room.
‘Lord Winton had much to share.’
She might have flinched upon hearing the name. Either that or her nerves jumped in panic. ‘Yes?’ She would not play this unsettling game. If Winton regaled Kent with stories and lies, she would know it all.
‘Winton informed me of a meeting between you and Mr Cole Hewitt, one of the owners of the Underworld, a place of gambling, drinking and immoral women. He saw you in conversation at a bookstore.’
She gasped. Winton was a venomous snake, a man with no moral compass.
‘And mentioned an altercation involving Hewitt at your weekly card social.’
She floundered for a reply, her mind busy with creative ways to murder Winton. Why did he interfere? It couldn’t be her denial of a kiss. That made little sense. What did he want? To ally with her brother and gain influence, ingratiate himself for a future purpose? Perhaps that was all it required.
‘Yes.’ She sounded weak, her thoughts distracted. ‘Mr Hewitt was kind enough to assist me on both occasions. I see no harm in that.’ If her brother only knew Winton served his own purpose, but any objections or accusations would fall on deaf ears now, as if she fabricated nonsense to save her own skin. She straightened in the chair. She wouldn’t cower under her brother’s probing stare.
‘For some time I’ve suspected you of dishonesty. More often than not you leave Stratton House without your maid. I’ve questioned the servants…’
‘You questioned our servants?’
‘Yes. You have created this ill-ease and mistrust.’ His tone sliced through her, threatening her courage.
‘And what did they say, dear brother?’ Her spirit rallied, confident in the answers he received from his enquiries.
‘They had nothing unusual to share, though that does not excuse your lack of judgement.’ He rose from his desk to stand in front of her the same way a parent would admonish a disobedient child. ‘You are the daughter, and now the sister, of the Duke of Kent.’ He paused as if it were the first, and not the umpteenth, time, he had stated this fact. ‘You will carry yourself with grace fitting your station. You are an unmarried female. You will not speak to gentlemen while unchaperoned. You will not speak to commoners at all. Those below your station should not seek your attention and if such a person fails to uphold propriety, you are to ignore them, offer the cut direct and continue on your way.’
‘You sound like a stuffy prig. Father would be ashamed.’ She glared at him, incensed by his attitude.
‘Father’s accident left me with duty. A duty I was unprepared to accept. The ducal responsibilities thrust in my direction are overwhelming. Then there’s Rosalind’s condition and my legislative proposal for Parliament. The list is endless. I will not have a grown woman’s whims added to my troubles atop it all.’
His words rang with finality and she recoiled as if he’d struck her. How could he behave like this? Where was the brother who helped her catch her first fish or purposely ignored her chosen spot when they played hide and seek on a summer’s evening? Those memories seemed so very long ago. Her mother died in childbirth, Gemma only thirteen years old. With Father gone, the future was left in her brother’s hands, but would they nurture or destroy?
She exhaled, the tenable burden of this truth threatening to crush her.
‘I am grateful Winton brought this matter to my attention. You have broken my trust. From this day on, do not leave Stratton House without Nan and my knowledge of your whereabouts.’
‘Winton is a poison.’ She would not argue or cry and provide Kent satisfaction to Winton’s well-planned visit. ‘Is that the whole of it?’
‘Not at all. You should know Winton assured me he has your reputation in his best interest. How easily you would cast it aside. Our family’s title is untainted by scandal. I’ll have none of it now.’ He rounded the desk and returned to his chair. ‘You will not speak to Mr Hewitt or anyone associated with a questionable establishment. I forbid it.’
‘You are unfair in your assessment.’ She clenched her teeth, wanting to say much more, smart enough to wait.
‘Fairness doesn’t play a role in this discussion. Hewitt lives with the distasteful shadow of illegitimacy. Do not stain your reputation with his low beginning. You are far better.’ He raised a hand to her ready objection. ‘Have you become a sympathiser to the lower classes? I am fighting in Parliament for the opposite opinion, one of insight and intelligence. I will not have mutiny in my house.’
‘You speak like Mr Hewitt isn’t a person, like he’s no one.’ She furled her fists in her skirt, while words burst from her with the power she squelched in her palms.
‘He is. At least to you.’
‘But do not all people matter?’ Why did she bother? Her outrage would never be recognised.
‘No. In our world, only some people matter. Your argument is an exercise derived from inanity.’ He sighed with dismissive impatience. ‘Now, I’ve had enough of your muddled thinking and aversion to my decisions. Winton suggested you may have developed a kindness for Hewitt. I assured him you were smarter than he accredited. No sister of mine would perpetuate such a cataclysmic mistake.’
‘What does Winton know?’ She near bit through her lip to hold back further comments.
‘Apparently, he knew more than I on these matters and I will not be made to appear foolish.’
‘The title has changed you, brother.’ Despite her best effort emotion crept into the words.
‘I have already explained my responsibilities. How could it not?’
There seemed no right response. He worried for reputation not genuine kindness, so when her brother’s harangue at last finished, she gathered her skirts and fled the room.
Sunrise did little to alleviate the ache in Gemma’s chest. Her brother had all but caged her and any hope of seeing Cole had disappeared with his strict surveillance. When next she saw Winton he would know her anger.
Having requested a tray in her room rather than share the table with her brother, she grabbed her wrapper, tied the sash, and padded down the hall to Rosalind’s rooms. It took but one knock before her sister answered the door.
Before anything else, Gemma captured her in a tight hug. While her heart broke for her sister’s inability to find words, she would never allow her to believe things had changed in their relationship, despite Rosalind seemed to know a lot more about Winton’s visit than Gemma imagined.
Rosalind hugged her back. It was exactly what Gemma needed.
‘I’ve been informed that I am to go nowhere without Nan, that I will purport myself with the conduct befitting my station, and not lower my morals and speak to a commoner.’
Rosalind folded her arms across her chest in an expression of condescension. Then screwed her face with disapproval in an excellent imitation of their older brother.
Gemma’s giggle burst forth, louder than expected. ‘I know.’ She reached for her sister and drew her closer. ‘That’s how I see him too.’
Rosalind’s expression eased and Gemma’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. How she missed her sister’s lighthearted mirth.
‘I’m not worried about Nan.’ The two sat on the edge of the mattress and let themselves fall backwards onto the counterpane. ‘She has been a mother to me for almost ten years and will want me happy above all else.’
Rosalind linked pinky fingers with her and Gemma turned, her sister’s eyes shadowed, more serene than she’d seen of late.
‘Thank you.’ It was rather silly to be lying on the bed only inches apart in conversation, but Gemma didn’t mind. She was simply grateful to be in Rosalind’s room. It reminded of times before Father died. ‘Someday we will both be happily married and all brother will have at Stratton House will be stacks of legislature and his musty title. Not very good company.’
It wasn’t until later in the day that Gemma realised the error lost to anger. With all her fury focused on Winton, she’d forgotten the toad’s advice from the last time they’d spoken. He’d suggested she question Kent concerning Father’s death. It had become a silent homage to avoid the subject within the household; still, the same bothersome sentiment that all was not right refused to quiet within Gemma’s brain. Now was not the time to press for answers.
But what of Miss Devonshire? Did Winton bide his time or was the information valid?
Perplexed, her mind turned to a more pleasant consideration. Cole and his bone-melting kisses. She tried to convince herself to label them unimportant, a few kisses shared between adults, meaningless gestures in the grand scheme of life, but when she remembered the effort he’d undergone to speak to her at the musicale, and the honest emotion in his voice when they’d last conversed, she couldn’t dismiss his affection as trivial. Worse, she missed him. She yearned to see his handsome smile, the golden twinkle in his eyes that seemed reserved for her alone, that rebellious lock of hair that teased and begged she push it back into place.
It wasn’t as though she could meet him with any regularity, their time together composed of chance meetings. Yet knowing he was not in London caused a shadow of hopelessness that she could only categorise as profound longing.
Now, as she dressed for the day in her bedchambers, she contemplated her plans.
‘How would you like your hair arranged?’ Nan stood before the vanity with silver brush in hand, having already organised the layers of undergarments necessary. A cobalt gown of pressed muslin hung on the wardrobe door.
‘A braided coronet will do. I’ve it in mind to visit Sophie and Vivienne this morning. We’re to meet in one hour. In keeping with my brother’s wishes, you’ll accompany me today so please bring your embroidery.’ She settled on the stool before the cheval glass.
‘It’s the proper decision.’ Nan set to brushing the lengths and sectioning each part. ‘His Grace wants what is best for you and so do I.’ She placed the brush on the vanity and set to work on plaiting.
‘He worries about a great many things.’ Gemma tilted her head to allow Nan a better angle. ‘As I do. Rosalind, most of all.’
‘It’s a pity she remains quiet. My heart breaks for her, as does her governess’s. If only she could continue her lessons, but a tutor is hardly useful when the schoolroom remains silent.’
‘She will join us again. We need to allow her the time to heal.’ Gemma admired Nan’s handiwork in the mirror. ‘I only wish I knew what keeps her words locked away’
She rose and worked with her maid to dress. With a few more tasks completed, they moved to the hall and waited for Dobbs to signal the footman and fetch the carriage. Nan held tight to her sewing basket and Gemma to her patience.
The carriage rushed through the West End, past St James’s and Bond Street, where Gemma knew the Underworld lay tucked away in secret. Conversation was sparse and she preferred it that way, unable to decide if Nan’s loyalties would lie with her or Kent, the consideration unsettling, and therefore holding Gemma mute. At last they arrived at Vivienne’s home in Manchester Square. Nan was suitably impressed and Gemma agreed. No one would question Maxwell’s status, yet he was proprietor of a gaming hell alongside Cole and Mr Reese. Society was a fickle opponent. Gemma and her maid climbed the white stone steps and were settled in the drawing room with Vivienne and Sophie soon after.
‘I was relieved to receive your message. You seemed out of sorts at the musicale and while I know the Chutterly offspring have a gift for instigating megrims and inspiring vapours, you possessed more the expression of the cat who swallowed the canary.’ Sophie dared a little smile over her teacup, ever the one who stirred the pot.
‘Any news on your brother?’ Gemma refused to reveal one word of what had transpired, and besides, there was an invigorating thrill in keeping those stolen moments to herself.
Vivienne’s expression changed with the question. ‘I do hope he returns soon. It weighs heavily on my mind.’
‘I’m sure, but these things take time. Please do not bear any responsibility, Vivienne. You did your best to resolve the situation. Crispin is a man grown. He’s made his decision and now we can only hope he will come to his senses.’ Sophie placed her teacup in the saucer with care. ‘How have you been feeling? Your dizzy spell in Hyde Park has me worried for your health.’
‘It’s rather odd actually. Some days I feel perfectly normal and others I awake with a horribly unsettled stomach. It’s becoming difficult to hide it from Maxwell. I’m relieved he’s keeping long hours at the Underworld since Mr Hewitt and Mr Reese are away on travel.’ She sipped her tea and then, seemingly in regret of the decision, placed it on the table. ‘Feeling ill has interrupted my charity work with the Salvation Saviours. I returned from my wedding trip to discover an abundance of obligations and opportunities, but have hardly accomplished the first task on my list. Today I aimed to visit an establishment in Charing Cross. The woman in charge, Miss Devonshire, provides shelter and relief to a great number of destitute.’
Gemma almost dropped her cup but managed to resettle it in the saucer with the barest amount of spillage. ‘Miss Devonshire? You know this woman?’
‘I’ve heard much of her tireless work to assist the indigent. She manages a lodging house open to all who have found a difficult way. The house assists the homeless as well as orphans, unwed mothers or women with no protector and nowhere to go.’
Nan cleared her throat across the room and drew the ladies’ attention. While distance prevented the maid from hearing the discussion fully, Gemma was certain Nan disapproved of the topic of conversation.
‘How very rewarding.’ Sophie’s eyes lit with interest. ‘I would be interested in seeing such a place. It sounds like a beacon of hope for all who require kindness and support.’
‘And I would love to take you there as I have a number of baskets to deliver, full of provisions and supplies, but I think it unwise until I feel more myself. I wouldn’t trust my unsettled stomach to the sights and scenes which often accompany a trip into lesser-kept areas.’ She placed two fingers over her nose as if the mention alone was enough to evoke another bout of nausea.
‘We shall deliver the baskets for you.’ Gemma fought against a hopeful smile and ignored Nan’s sharp gasp across the room.
‘What a wonderful idea,’ Sophie chimed in straight after. ‘It will lighten my soul to work towards improving the lives of others. Exactly what would we need to do?’
‘It shouldn’t prove a difficult task. Oh, I would very much appreciate your help. From what I understand, Miss Devonshire oversees everything. You need ask for her at the front door. I assume the lodging house is accustomed to donations and acts of good will.’
‘Brilliant.’ Gemma stood, anxious to begin. ‘Sophie, why don’t we gather the baskets right now? That way we can return with haste and share the success of our visit with Vivienne before the hour grows late.’ She didn’t dare glance in Nan’s direction.
‘I’ll have my driver load them into one of Maxwell’s carriages. Your driver and maid can remain here and enjoy a refreshing bite to eat in the kitchen.’ Vivienne also rose, though she grasped the back of her chair for an extra minute. The action did not go unnoticed.
‘An excellent idea, Gemma.’ Sophie sent her a meaningful stare. ‘Vivienne, I know you don’t wish to alarm Maxwell, but have you considered consulting a physician? I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone when you’re not feeling well.’
‘I’m fine, truly.’ Vivienne gave a blithe wave. ‘The feeling passes quickly enough.’
‘Even more reason for me to leave Nan behind.’ Gemma tossed a satisfied smile in her maid’s direction.
‘Nan has been with me for almost a decade. She knows cures for all sorts of maladies.’
‘Then we’re settled. Let’s get busy. There’s nothing like a productive morning to fill the heart with satisfaction.’ Sophie bustled towards the door.
‘Indeed.’ Gemma bit back her smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Gemma harboured no expectations, unwilling to colour her perception with her brother’s dismal viewpoint, so when the carriage rolled to a stop at the address Vivienne had supplied to the driver, she experienced a mixture of surprise and relief. The tall, two-storey building was faced with pale-coloured stone, the window panes intact, foundation sturdy and roof complete from shingle to shingle. Three steps led to a single door, painted black, where a large grey dog slept off to one corner in a patch of muted sunlight.
The ladies gathered two baskets each, intending to instruct the driver to deliver the others once they secured Miss Devonshire was available and able to accept their delivery, which she was. Introductions were made and things proceeded with seamless care.
‘How very generous.’ The amiable woman ushered them into the hall and motioned towards the back of the house. A boy with bright eyes and a toothless smile peeked out from a nearby room. ‘Don’t mind Charlie. He likes to keep an eye on things when Mr Goodworth isn’t here. Reckons he’s in charge, the little scamp.’ She waved her hand in the lad’s direction, and he scooted backwards out of sight.
‘Mr Goodworth?’ Sophie questioned as they moved further down the hall.
‘I manage most everything here at Second Chances, but I’d never be able to help all those in need without the unending generosity of Mr Goodworth. He has deep pockets and a heart of gold for all the financial investment he’s donated over the years.’ Miss Devonshire began to unpack the baskets, setting food aside and separating various sundries. ‘He doesn’t visit often, but when he does the children are thrilled. I confess I enjoy his company just as much.’
‘He sounds an admirable man.’ Sophie lifted another basket to the table.
Into the Hall of Vice Page 13