A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club)

by Diane Gaston - A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club)

  Hugh looked at her as if she were an infestation. He handed her a crumpled paper.

  She glanced at it. ‘But this is— How did you get this?’

  ‘From Xavier, obviously,’ Hugh said, his voice rough.

  ‘How did Xavier—?’ She handed the letter back to Hugh. ‘I did not send this!’

  He came closer to her, his eyes burning like fire. ‘It is your handwriting, Daphne.’

  ‘I do not know how to explain it,’ she said. She’d sent the note to Mrs Everard.

  Hugh huffed. ‘Do not make an attempt to explain. I will not believe you.’

  Daphne’s legs weakened. She clutched Carter’s arm, needing to steady herself. ‘I did not send this to Xavier!’ She glanced at Xavier. ‘I do not know where you live.’

  ‘You knew of my shop,’ Xavier countered. ‘You could learn of my residence, as well.’

  ‘Your shop?’ He owned this shop as well as a pianoforte shop?

  It felt as if the walls were falling in on her, like the walls of the inn had fallen in from the fire. Hugh would never believe she’d not known this was Xavier’s shop.

  Everard’s wife must have known. But would it not be even more unbelievable to say that the wife of her man of business must have set this up? It was no use. He would never believe her.

  No one would ever believe the beautiful Lady Faville would ever change. She’d once made a fool of herself over the incredibly handsome Xavier Campion, and no one would ever think that she no longer cared for him. Xavier was not the man who mattered to her.

  Hugh mattered.

  She gripped Carter’s arm. ‘It is no use,’ she whispered to herself, but she made herself look Hugh in the eye. ‘I misled you once. I made you think I was someone I wasn’t, but I never lied to you then and I will not lie to you now. I did not arrange a meeting with Xavier. I am nothing but ashamed of that time. I spent two years trying to change, and I have changed.’ She summoned all her remaining strength and rose to her full height. ‘What I cannot change is what other people think of me.’ She took a breath. ‘I cannot change your mind, Hugh.’

  He blinked and lost the red rage that had tinged his face.

  She turned to Carter. ‘Let us take our leave, Carter.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady,’ he responded, giving her something solid to hold on to while her world shattered into little pieces.

  Carter escorted her outside to where Smith waited with the carriage and helped her inside. Before he closed the door and climbed onto his seat on the outside, he touched her hand. ‘Some things we’ve done never go away, m’lady, but we move on anyway, do we not?’

  He sounded as if he knew firsthand of what he spoke.

  She tried to smile. ‘We move on.’

  The coach pulled away and Daphne tried to stitch herself back together. She needed to move on. There never had been a chance that she and Hugh could be together. Her past would always separate them. No more trying. He was a beautiful memory. Proof she could truly love a man. Proof she could feel real emotions, real joy, real despair.

  * * *

  By the time the coach reached her town house, she’d regained a modicum of composure. She could stand. She could walk. She could speak.

  She could move on.

  As soon as they entered the hall, Monette ran up to her. ‘My lady! My lady! Look who is here! Toller has come a day early.’

  Toller stepped forwards. ‘M’lady. I hope you approve of my coming early. I was able to settle my affairs in Thurnfield more quickly than I’d anticipated.’

  Daphne put on a smile. She would not ruin Monette’s happiness with her grief. ‘I am so happy to see you, Toller. You have arrived at the perfect time. Now we can leave for Vadley tomorrow.’ She turned to Carter. ‘Will you arrange it, Carter? Toller can help you.’

  ‘We are leaving London so soon?’ Monette sounded disappointed.

  Daphne felt a twinge of guilt. ‘We’ll come back again later, but I need to return to Vadley.’

  ‘What of Mr Westleigh?’ Monette asked.

  ‘He knows.’ Daphne’s voice lowered. ‘He knows.’

  Hugh knew she would be gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  He’d recovered nicely, Hugh thought. He’d thrown himself into his duties at the Masquerade Club, abandoning the idea of leaving it. After the club closed at night, what did it matter that he consumed too much brandy in order to get to sleep?

  He ignored the nearly daily summons from his mother. He saw no one outside of the club. In fact, he rarely went outside. The Season flourished without him. The preparations for the king’s coronation created extra excitement, but what had that to do with him?

  A good week went by. Daphne, he was certain, had returned to her country house, wherever that was located. He’d never bothered to discover where she lived and now it was of no importance. No importance at all.

  This evening he opened the door to the supper room and walked in to make certain all was ready for the night ahead. He’d taken to checking things two or three times—to help the days go by more quickly. This evening he stared at the pianoforte, idle since his sister had stopped performing. Having a performer in this room had been a good idea. Phillipa had drawn more people to the gaming house simply to hear her. Surely there was another songstress who could be hired to play?

  He sat down at the bench and closed his eyes. As he had done once before, he picked out the notes of ‘The Last Post’.

  He turned away and rose from the bench. He strode from the room and wondered if there was any brandy left in the bottle he’d left in the drawing room.

  Before he could climb the stairs, Cummings approached him. ‘Captain Rhysdale to see you.’ Rhys was always Captain to Cummings.

  ‘Where?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Hall,’ Cummings said.

  If Hugh had heard Rhys was back in town, he’d forgotten. He’d had notes from Ned and Phillipa as well as their mother, but he’d paid them little heed.

  When he reached the hall, he saw Rhys was still wearing his hat and gloves.

  Before Hugh could say anything, Cummings handed him his own hat and gloves.

  ‘Come with me, Hugh,’ Rhys ordered.

  Hugh held up his hands. ‘I cannot, Rhys. I need to get ready for tonight.’

  ‘No, you do not,’ Rhys said. ‘MacEvoy and Cummings will see to it. We have been summoned by your mother and I am charged with making certain you answer her call this time.’

  ‘I am not going.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Rhys placed the hat on Hugh’s head. ‘Do not make me fight you.’

  Hugh grimaced. ‘I’d rather like to fight someone.’

  Rhys pulled him out the door. ‘I can still beat you.’

  ‘I can still beat you,’ Hugh countered, but it wasn’t worth the effort. He had to face his family eventually, so why not now?

  At least Rhys did not ask any questions as they made the short walk to the Westleigh town house. Xavier must have told Rhys about Daphne and the note. Hugh suspected all the family knew the whole story.

  Not the whole story. None of them knew he’d shared her bed. None of them knew she’d nursed him through blindness. He held those memories for himself alone.

  * * *

  When he and Rhys reached the town house and walked into his mother’s drawing room, the rest of the family was there. His mother. The general. Ned and Adele, who was thickening around the waist. Xavier and Phillipa, looking sympathetic. Celia, alert and not about to miss a thing. His mother had obviously issued an edict that they were not to talk to him about Daphne, because they hardly talked to him at all. They asked him nothing he couldn’t answer in one or two syllables.

  Through dinner, he had more appetite for the wine than the food. The conversation washed over him, and a sec
ond after, he could not recall what was said. He watched his family as if they were exotic animals on display at the Tower, an entirely different species. He’d felt that way once before when they’d tried to convince him that Daphne was not to be trusted.

  Of course, they’d been right.

  Although how did the passionate nights he and Daphne shared fit into the picture they created of her? That was like a piece to an entirely different puzzle.

  After dinner, they retired to the drawing room, where Hugh sat with a glass of brandy, which he refilled each time he emptied it.

  Hugh’s mother pulled out a letter. ‘Adele, dear, I received a letter from your grandmother. I entirely forgot to tell you. Shall I read it?’

  ‘Oh, please do!’ Adele cried with an enthusiasm that made Hugh wince.

  His mother lifted up the letter, making a big show of it. ‘It begins “Dear Honoria”—I do not know why she becomes so familiar, using my given name like that. Imagine. “Dear Honoria.”’

  Hugh sat up straight. Dear Honoria...

  Something he’d not considered before this moment struck him like a hammer to anvil.

  ‘A salutation.’ His voice came out louder than he’d intended and everyone gawked at him. He turned to Xavier. ‘It did not have a salutation, did it?’

  Xavier looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘What did not have a salutation?’

  His mother pursed her lips. ‘Really, Hugh. You do not say a word all evening, then you interrupt with nonsense.’

  ‘It is not nonsense.’ He rose from the chair and walked over to where Xavier stood. ‘The letter you received from Daphne. It did not have a salutation.’

  Xavier looked puzzled, but said, ‘I do not believe it did.’

  Phillipa broke in. ‘I know it did not have a salutation. I remember thinking it odd at the time, but what does that matter?’

  Hugh felt as if a fog in his brain had suddenly cleared. ‘It means the letter might not have been for Xavier.’ He tapped his lips with his fingers. ‘Tell me, did that note two years ago have a salutation?’

  Xavier obviously knew precisely which note he meant—the one Daphne sent asking him to meet her in the supper room at the Masquerade Club. Xavier shook his head. ‘I do not recall.’

  ‘I remember,’ Phillipa broke in. ‘I remember every word of it. It began “My dear Xavier...”’

  Hugh stabbed the air with his finger. ‘So why would she not start this letter the same way?’

  What a fool he’d been. He’d seen what he was led to expect. That she’d wanted a liaison with Xavier. But what if the letter had not been intended for Xavier at all?

  ‘She wrote the letter to someone else, someone who cut off the salutation.’ Hugh was sure of this. The pieces fit perfectly now.

  ‘Hugh.’ Ned threw up his arms. ‘You have taken leave of your senses again. That woman was after Xavier.’

  ‘I agree with Ned,’ Adele piped up, as if Adele’s opinion carried any weight with Hugh.

  Ned went on. ‘You know what the woman was like.’

  ‘Was like,’ Hugh emphasised. ‘Was like. She changed. She is not the woman she was then.’

  ‘Utter nonsense!’ his mother cried.

  The general wisely remained silent.

  Hugh turned back to Xavier, as if his mother had never spoken. ‘It was a note she sent to someone else.’

  Xavier looked unconvinced. ‘It seems like such an elaborate hoax, then, for her to send someone the note, for them to cut out the salutation and then know to send it to me. Why would a person do such a thing?’

  ‘I do not know why,’ Hugh admitted. ‘I only know they did it.’

  Xavier shook his head again. ‘The only sensible explanation is that it was sent by her.’

  Rhys joined the conversation. ‘Hugh’s version is possible, though.’

  ‘There is one way to find out,’ Celia said. ‘Go to her. Ask her. Hear what she has to say.’

  Things he had never done.

  ‘You are right, Celia,’ Hugh admitted, though his spirits dropped. ‘There is only one problem.’

  ‘And that is?’ Celia asked.

  Hugh met her eyes. ‘She is gone.’

  * * *

  Hugh rode the horse he’d purchased in Thurnfield, the horse Daphne had arranged for him to ride while there, the one he’d ridden when he made his solitary way back to London after Daphne left him. This time, however, Hugh rode towards her.

  It had been an easy matter to find where she’d gone. He simply tracked down Everard, her man of business. To Hugh’s surprise, finding Everard also solved the mystery of the note. Daphne had written the note to Everard’s wife, who knew from her husband of Daphne’s past infatuation with Xavier. Mrs Everard had cut off the salutation and sent the note to Xavier, hoping to make trouble for Daphne. Mrs Everard had done so out of jealousy, which made perfect sense to Hugh.

  At least Everard did not seem to know of Hugh’s relationship with Daphne, and Hugh did not enlighten him. He offered no explanation of why he needed to contact Daphne, but Everard told him her country house was in Vadley, near Basingstoke, a long day’s ride from London.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon by the time Hugh reached the village. He stopped at the public room of the inn for some refreshment and to ask directions to the house.

  The publican took a fancy to him and chatted a great deal about Lady Faville.

  ‘She was not a favourite here when she first came, let me tell you,’ the man said. ‘I do not care how beautiful she was, she thought nothing of making her servants’ lives difficult with her demands, but no more. Now they say she’s made improvements in the cottages and she’s raised all the wages.’ He went on to detail her other good deeds and poured another tankard of ale for Hugh. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’

  ‘I am,’ Hugh replied. He intended to be a faithful friend from now on.

  Armed with directions and the publican’s good wishes, Hugh rode to Daphne’s house, reached its gates and made his way down its tree-lined private drive to the large brownstone Jacobean house that stood at its end. When he reached the front entrance, he dismounted and sounded the knocker.

  Toller opened the door. ‘Mr Westleigh!’

  Hugh smiled. ‘Toller. I am surprised, but pleased to see you here.’

  Toller grinned. ‘Mrs Asher—Lady Faville, I mean—offered me a position.’

  Another good deed. ‘Is she in?’ he asked. ‘Would you see if she will receive me?’

  Toller shook his head. ‘She is out visiting the tenants, I think. You could wait for her in the drawing room.’

  He could not bear waiting. ‘Might I catch up to her where she is?’

  ‘Surprise her? That would be a treat, wouldn’t it?’ Toller directed him to where the tenants’ cottages would be found.

  Hugh was soon back on his horse and hopeful it would not take long to find her.

  * * *

  He spied her from a distance, at first unsure if it was indeed her. She wore a dress so simple it could have belonged to one of the tenants. It was covered by a white apron and she carried a large basket. Her face was shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat. He approached slowly and saw the moment she recognised him.

  He dismounted. ‘Do you see what horse this is?’

  ‘Yes.’ She stroked the animal’s head.

  The soft light of late afternoon illuminated her face and tinged it with colour. The blue of her eyes rivalled the sky’s hue. He did not think he’d ever seen her more beautiful.

  Her expression, though, was guarded. ‘Why did you come here, Hugh?’

  He realised she’d had to ask him that question several times before when it seemed they had parted, but he’d come back to her. ‘This time, to apologise.’
r />   She started walking again. ‘To apologise.’

  He fell in step with her, leading his horse. ‘For not listening to you. Not believing you. I was wrong.’

  ‘It does not matter,’ she said without emotion.

  ‘What do you mean, it does not matter?’ He was filled with emotion. Joy at seeing her. Regret for his behaviour. Fear that she would not forgive him.

  ‘I mean, it does not change things.’ She sounded sad.

  ‘I have come back to you, Daphne.’ Had he missed his chance? His heart pounded. ‘To ask your forgiveness. I have held on to the past. Listened to my family. Let both blind me. But I see clearly now. I want to start over. I want to be with you.’

  She stopped and looked up at him, her eyes filled with pain. ‘I am reconciled with this. The past is always with me, always there to come between us.’ She reached up as if to touch him, but withdrew her hand. ‘We’ve tried, but the past always comes back. I cannot change what I’ve done. I can never change it and it will always come between us.’

  An ache grew deep within him. ‘But you have changed. Even the publican at the inn knows this.’

  She started walking again. ‘Yes, I have changed, and I do not wish to ever be the woman I was. But that woman is still part of me. What she did, I still must pay for.’ She glanced at him. ‘Your family will never forgive me, nor should they.’

  ‘Blast it, Daphne. If your behaviour was unforgivable, then mine must be, too.’ He walked a few steps before halting. ‘I do not care about your past and I intend never to repeat mine.’ She tried to walk away, but he took hold of her arm. ‘I want to be with you. I asked you to marry me once and you said yes. I renew that proposal. Marry me and let us live together. Forget the rest of it.’

  * * *

  Daphne searched his face, his dear face. She looked into his eyes, gazing so intently at her, and rejoiced again that he could see, remembering how it had been for him to be bandaged and blind, groping tentatively with a cane.

  She wanted to be with him more than anything, but they’d come this far before and everything had shattered. Could she bear it another time?