by Gwyn Cready
“She might have that too,” Undine agreed. “If that’s what she wanted.”
“Edward is also to get a bequest, and his, like Sera’s, depends on them marrying.”
Undine’s eyes turned dark. “Bastard. That’s why he’s proposed, isn’t it? He knows that.”
“I think so, yes.”
Gerard gazed into the copper-tinted depths between his feet. “I want him to love her—truly love her. Do you have a potion for that?”
“Mr. Innes, you are treading on very dangerous ground. Trying to force love when it doesn’t exist—or to deny it when it does—is playing with the crux of human emotion. ’Tis nothing to make a man fall in love with a woman for whom he already longs. But to kindle emotion where nothing but cruelty and manipulation exists…”
“I know he longs for her. I saw it in his eyes.”
“Longing for control, or a few moments between her legs, is not the longing I mean. Surely you of all people know the difference.”
I know the difference now. “Nonetheless, that’s what I want. And I’m hoping you’ll give me what I need to make Edward fall in love with her.”
Undine’s eyes held warning, but she was relenting. Gerard could see it.
“You’re playing with fire,” she said.
“I’ll live with the burns.”
Abby flung open the door. “Undine—” Her eyes widened when she saw Gerard in the tub. She looked behind the door for Serafina, and on finding no one asked, “Is everything settled then?”
“Not in the way you’d expect,” Undine said. “He needs a clean shirt and frock coat.”
“From where I’m standing, it looks like he needs breeks as well.” Abby turned for the sitting room.
“Wait,” Gerard called, adding to Undine, “Apologies, but would you mind collecting the clothes? I’d like a moment alone with Lady Kerr.”
Undine and Abby exchanged significant looks, and Undine left. Abby leaned against the door frame, entirely unperturbed by the scene before her. Gerard made a mental note to email his college history professor when he got back. Everything he’d told the class about the modesty of women prior to the twentieth century was wrong.
“I’m going to tell you something I don’t want anyone else to know.”
Abby smiled. “Excellent.”
“Sera’s penniless. She’s lost everything. The only thing she has left to her name is the muslin, which I intend to help her sell. However, there’s a chance—a good chance—she will make an advantageous marriage”
“I feel certain of it,” Abby said with a gentle smile, and Gerard felt a double stab of regret.
“But if for whatever reason she doesn’t,” he said, “would you be able to employ her? She’s very talented, and I know she loves being with you and Undine.”
“Mr. Innes, you needn’t worry. I’ll keep Serafina by my side—forever if necessary.”
“But it must be a proper job,” he said. “She won’t accept your charity.”
Abby smiled. “You’ve gotten to know her well, I see. Aye, I’ll do what it takes. You have my word.”
“Good. Thank you.” He dunked his head under the water and sat up, gathering his courage. “There’s one thing more.”
She must have heard the change in his voice, for she closed the door and leaned against it.
“Sera and I, well, you probably know we…well…”
“Danced the Paphian jig?”
“I-I—Probably. And we didn’t use anything to keep her from getting pregnant—well, I didn’t, in any case. And I’m leaving.”
“Oh.” Abby’s face fell. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So, if there’s a child…” The extent of his villainy overwhelmed him.
“My promise extends to any child of Serafina’s. Neither of them will ever want for anything. Though I’m surprised you’d leave thinking this a possibility.”
“My leaving may help Serafina in ways you don’t understand.”
“Indeed? I’ll have to take your word on that, Mr. Innes.”
“Thank you. Please don’t mention any of this to her.”
The door rattled then opened. Duncan, clean frock coat and shirt folded neatly over his arm, observed the tableau before him. “Are those your balls in here with my fiancée?”
Gerard gulped. “We’re done.”
“Glad to hear it. Here. Wear them in good health.” Duncan tossed the clothes on the floor and exited.
“Don’t mind him,” Abby said, gathering her skirts. “He’s always a bit fashed about other men’s balls.”
Undine slipped back in, next to Abby. “What happened with Elizabeth Hiscock, Mr. Innes? Serafina told us you struck up a friendship.”
Abby ducked her head. “Well done, sir.”
Gerard’s chest puffed. It was one of the few useful things he’d done since he’d arrived. With any luck, he’d be able to get the location of the warehouse out of her tonight.
“Getting a woman to do what I want is no big deal,” he said, and was about to add, “Getting a woman I care about to do it—well, that’s a whole other story,” when he saw Serafina staring at him from the sitting room. He didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to know she’d heard him. The look on her face made it quite clear. Nor did it help that Abby and Undine turned to see what Gerard saw and fell instantly silent. The entire picture was one of three friends having thoroughly hashed over the actions of a fourth.
Gerard exhaled. “I think I’d better get dressed.”
Forty-four
How dare he sit there with that bland look on his face, looking damp and irritatingly handsome, as if he hasn’t embarrassed me to the bone?
Serafina felt the silent waves of sympathy from the room. Poor girl. Not a penny to her name. Even Edward Turnbull wouldn’t stay with her.
She didn’t want a man. Not then, not now. It had been Edward who’d begged and begged.
“…and that leaves Hiscock. Is that all right, Serafina?” Undine checked for agreement.
She flushed again, this time for having been caught woolgathering. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wonder if she should go at all?” Gerard said, avoiding Serafina’s eyes. “Besides the obvious issues with running into Lord Bridgewater, it might do us good to have someone sitting tight with the carriage in case—”
“What Mr. Innes means,” Serafina said, “is he’s afraid I’ll be cut by the partygoers. He doesn’t understand that parties are the one place fallen, penniless women are permitted. They are part of the evening’s entertainment.”
Undine let out a sigh. “Mr. Innes, Serafina understands the risks and has accepted them. Let’s focus on what we can change, aye? Serafina, we’re reviewing the plans for the party in Dean Village tonight. I’ll be working in the background. Topham Finch has asked me to read his fortune, and I intend to flay his conscience so roughly for his disloyalty to Scotland, he’ll be costive for a fortnight.”
Gerard winced. “Why do men seek your service?”
“Take care, or you might find groats growing in your warm places.”
Gerard cleared his throat. “If I could take the floor for a moment, I have a couple of things I’d like to say. First, I apologize for my absence. It was thoughtless. I’d gotten some distressing news, but that’s not an acceptable reason.”
“What news?” Duncan said, catching Serafina’s eye, and she shrugged, embarrassed. Apparently, Gerard did not choose to share his secrets with her anymore.
Gerard sighed. “I’d come to believe Serafina and I were truly married. Our adventure the first night involved a falsified marriage certificate, and I thought it might have also involved a true marriage, but it didn’t. I’ve done the job I was called here for, and according to the terms of Undine’s magic, I’ll be whisked away by morning.”
An aching
loss sweep through Serafina, as if she’d been told of the death of a loved one. She wanted to reach for Gerard’s hand but dared not.
“I’m distressed, of course,” Gerard said, “by the thought of leaving all of you. Before I go, though, I intend to aid Sera as much as I can in the branding and marketing of her muslin. To that end, I took the liberty of having a chemise made for each of you—”
Duncan made a Scottish noise.
“—not you, of course.” Gerard opened the parcels and handed out the delicate items. “They’re rather plain on top—just a single ribbon closure”—he nodded to Duncan—“as I had the tailor concentrate on the parts visible near the hem.”
Serafina was stunned by the intricacy of the embroidered patterns and the subtle elegance of white thread on white. The embroidery appeared only within a tall band on the wearer’s right side, just at the place that might be visible if the wearer were to raise her skirt to accommodate stepping from a carriage, descending a staircase, or even reveling in one’s obviously superior finery. Undine’s had a mother elephant followed by a line of baby elephants; Abby’s had an intricate Persian pear design, and hers, the most beautiful of all, had a tableaux of the myth of Atalanta and Melanion, Atalanta’s suitor, in which they run the footrace that will decide whether he can claim her hand in marriage, and in this representation Atalanta had red hair, the only color in the otherwise all-white scene.
“They’re beautiful,” Undine said.
“The ones we sell will have the embroidery all the way around, but for these, I told the tailor quantity was more important than quality.”
“But the quality is excellent,” Serafina said. “Is it my muslin?”
“Yes. The tailor has a cousin who works in one of the warehouses, and he assured me the cousin could find your muslin and smuggle enough out to make the chemises.” Gerard shrugged apologetically.
“They’re absolutely lovely,” Abby said.
“There’s a fourth that’s even nicer,” Gerard said proudly. “It’s embroidered top to bottom and end to end. But”—he paused triumphantly—“I gave that one to Elizabeth Hiscock last night.”
Serafina froze.
“Elizabeth Hiscock?” Abby employed a not at all subtle tone of “please provide a justification for meeting a woman on a night you didn’t return to your erstwhile lover’s bed,” a signal entirely lost on Gerard, who continued to beam at Serafina with pride.
“Yes, and I have every reason to believe she’ll wear it tonight,” he said.
“Do you?” Serafina said.
“She promised she would. I told her I’d be looking for it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Duncan,” Abby said pointedly, standing up, “could you help me with my clasp?”
“Jesus. Again? I thought we just did that—Oh.” He jumped to his feet. “I’m right behind you.”
“And I’ll put on my chemise,” Undine said, rising. “Thank you, Gerard. All in all, though, I think you’ll find having your fortune read might have been easier.”
“Huh?”
Undine patted him on the shoulder and exited.
Serafina’s face must have shown her shock because Gerard said, “What? I thought you’d be happy.”
“Why would I be happy about you spending the night with Elizabeth Hiscock?”
“Whoa! I didn’t ‘spend the night’ with her. I went to her father’s house and threw a pebble at her window. It was a very chaste carriage ride—”
“Oh my God.”
“She’ll be wearing your muslin, Sera. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Under the dress Edward had commissioned for her?”
Gerard’s shoulders fell. “Yes.”
“And you can’t see how that might hurt me?”
“I-I can, but the word of mouth! Think of it, Sera! It’s one thing to have you wear it, but to have—” He realized what he was saying and caught himself.
“The wealthy, respected daughter of a nobleman who hasn’t chosen to destroy her reputation with an ill-advised affair wear it.”
His color rose. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Mr. Innes,” a voice called, “there’s a delivery for you downstairs.”
“The carriage will be here in a quarter hour,” Serafina said. “I’ll leave ye to do what ye need to do.”
Forty-five
Serafina settled onto the carriage’s cushion to wait for her companions. She’d never been much for face paint or complicated hair arrangements and could always count on being ready many minutes before her female friends. The footman turned up the flame on the lantern that hung near the carriage window, bowed, and closed the door.
My sojourn into the world of the wealthy, she thought with a wry smile. I might as well be a traveler across time myself given the distance between where I sit now and where I shall sit in a few days.
She tucked her skirts around her—Abby’s skirts—and stared into the darkening sky.
The door opened, and Gerard popped in, another parcel in hand, this one considerably larger than the ones that held the chemises. He banged the box with his fist. “Driver, begin,” he called and slammed the door as the vehicle jerked into motion.
“What about the others?” Serafina said, startled.
“Let them wait. We need to talk.”
The locks of his hair, golden in the lantern’s glow, hung like a fringe over the collar of his frock coat. He hadn’t bothered to shave, which made her irrationally angry, and he simmered too, like a pot about to boil.
“You should have worn a plaid,” she said sharply, though what she really meant was Why are you dressing in the breeks that will please Elizabeth Hiscock and not in breeks for me?
“Why?” he said. “What possible difference could it make what I wear?”
“You’re a Scot.”
“Edinburgh is filled with Scots who don’t wear plaids.”
“Not the Scots who fight for independence. Not the ones who cherish their country.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Breeks worked well enough when you needed me to claim a cargo. And in any case, I’m not a Scot—at least not the kind you’re talking about.”
“Of course you are. ’Tis in your blood. Courage, stubborn determination, loyalty—and ye’d talk the ears off a donkey. Anyone could see it. Why can’t you?”
“Courage?” He leaned forward. “If Scots are so goddamned brave, then tell me why you haven’t asked if Scotland survives the vote.”
He held her gaze until she dropped it.
“Because I already know the answer,” she said, baleful. “If we survived it intact, you would have told me long ago.”
He touched her arm regretfully, and she knew she’d been right.
“But I dinna accept it,” she said.
“And there’s that stubborn determination.”
“And neither do you,” she said. “Admit it. You believe the future can change, and you’d like to be a part of it.”
“Jesus, is that why you think I’d help?” He took her hands and squeezed them between his. “I’d do it, Sera, but it wouldn’t be for Scotland. It would be for you. I don’t give an Englishman’s ass about the treaty except in the way it affects you. You told me you needed the cargo; I went for the cargo. You told me you need to sell the muslin; I’ll sell the muslin. I’d do anything for you. And, yes, I do want the future to change, but not because of the bloody treaty.” He collapsed against the back, the fight in him nearly exhausted. “I want the future to change because changing it might mean I could spend another day with you.”
Serafina’s throat dried. “The things you say…”
“Are the truth. Why did you call me here, to Edinburgh?”
“You know why. I needed a hu
sband for the night.”
“If that’s what you called me for, then my time here is truly over.”
Serafina’s heart thumped. He was right. By all rights, she should be willing to let him go. Should be. Time seemed to be going even faster than the streets beyond the carriage window.
“I think that isn’t all you needed,” Gerard said.
“I’m quite certain what I called you for. ’Twas my wish, after all. I’m the one who should know.”
“Maybe you needed something more. Maybe,” he said carefully, “you needed saving.”
“Saving?”
“Listen to me. I went to see Mrs. Turnbull today.”
“What?”
“Sera, I know you’re in bad straits. I know you’re facing some tough decisions. But most of all I know you’re…” He averted his gaze, searching for the words, and the heat blazed up her cheeks. “Sera, I was there. I saw the way Edward’s brother and his wife treated you. I want to help you forget that. I want to take you where no one can hurt you again. Will you come back with me—to New York—to a place and time where none of it matters?”
He waited for her response and, getting none, added quickly, “I think it can work. Undine led me to believe as much. And if it can, I’m certain we can convince her—”
Serafina felt like she’d been slapped. “No.”
“Pardon?”
“No. I willna go back with you.”
“Why?”
“Why, Mr. Innes? I don’t need to go to a place where it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t matter here. Not to me, and I had thought not to you. That is the most offensive thing you could have said to me. Thank you for your help. You’ve done everything that needed to be done and more. I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused you.”
It was his turn to look as if he’d been slapped. “And we’re done? Just like that?”
“I fail to see what more there is to say. Your service,” she said tartly, “is complete.”
He rapped smartly on the box. “Stop.”