Harley Street

by Lynne Connolly

  “I’m sorry to be such a coward.”

  He kept his attention on the busy street. “After what you’ve just coped with? Those weren’t the actions of a coward, my love. But a phaeton is an entirely different thing.” He took a corner, clearing it by what seemed to be a hair’s breadth and flicked a glance at me. “If you like, I can take you out into the country sometime and show you what it can do. Then you can clutch the supports all you like. Or you can never travel in one again. Many ladies choose that course.”

  “I trust you. I’ll try it one more time.”

  He grinned. “I thought you might. You don’t like to be beaten, do you?”

  “No.”

  “You should not be in the same house as my mother for too long then, or you might come to blows. I don’t know which of you I’d back but I’d certainly sell tickets.”

  “Richard!” I wasn’t really scandalised at his words, more horrified at the thought of setting myself up against my mother-in-law, who stood above me in age and rank, in everything in fact except height.

  “The fight of the season,” he pondered. “And a close run thing.”

  I had to admit there was something in what he said. When I next looked at him, I contented myself telling him to keep his attention on the road. His comment was teasing. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring the curricle. I can drive that just as fast but it only has two wheels.”

  “I shall look forward to it.” He glanced at me again, more at ease. The challenge of driving such a highly sprung vehicle and the thought I might take on his mother one day seemed to have restored his spirits, at least for now.

  He drew up outside the house on Piccadilly with a flourish and threw the reins to a waiting groom before coming around to lift me down. He held me for a fraction longer than he needed to before we went inside.

  RICHARD CALLED FOR Carier as soon as we got in. We went to my sitting room and I told the valet what had occurred that day. The valet had brought the Thompson’s box with him, guessing it was business.

  He thumbed through the cards. “There is nobody from the box in that establishment, ma’am, though we’ve provided one or two staff in the past.”

  “We should put somebody there now,” Richard said. “I want to know the belowstairs comings and goings.”

  “I shall attend to it as soon as possible, my lord.” There would certainly be a vacancy.

  “Do we know this girl, Lucy Forder?” Richard was back in control of himself. No one would have guessed this girl meant anything to him.

  “No, my lord, we don’t know her. She never applied to us for employment. When I see Mrs. Thompson, I will ask her if she knows the girl.”

  I wondered at that, why Richard didn’t share his knowledge with Carier. There was little the body servant didn’t know about his master and the two trusted each other implicitly.

  “We’ll visit her tomorrow.” Richard smiled at me. “It’s time you met Alicia.”

  Little time was left to dress for dinner but here the value of a good body servant showed itself. Nichols could dress my hair with speed and still work miracles. Barely half an hour passed before Richard and I met in the sitting room and walked over to the main wing. I was to meet yet more of Richard’s widespread and influential family tonight and I trembled with anxiety. I hated meeting new people but that was part of my new life, so I was doing my best to cope. Richard knew some of my fear but not all and if I could help it, he’d never know. I’d get over it.

  I was delighted to see Richard’s twin, Gervase. Another ally. Although identical, the brothers had spent twelve years apart, enough for them to develop their own style and interests in life. When Gervase was considered a bad influence on Richard and sent away, Richard did his best to follow him to perdition, trying every excess he could find, regardless of personal safety. Until I had arrived in his life.

  Richard introduced me to my new family but I couldn’t get the sight of that grisly room out of my mind. I tried hard to until someone asked Richard about it. It was, of course, his mother. “I hope you don’t plan to become too involved in the business. Naturally, all our sympathies must go out to Mrs. Godolphin but I cannot think it is any of our concern.”

  Richard gave her a tight smile. “It is, however, an intriguing problem. I thought the matter straightforward, the result of a sordid little affair until the Bow Street man mentioned the money found in the room. She had a great deal of it, more than a maidservant should have in her possession. There is more to this affair than at first appears.”

  “Nevertheless, my son, you must have other concerns, especially now.” She stared pointedly at me.

  I did my best to assert myself. Just because I was nervous, that didn’t mean I would allow anyone to ride roughshod over me. “I enjoy the challenge of solving a problem. It is true the circumstances are often depressing but the satisfaction of finding a solution is considerable.” My heart beat a little faster but I held my ground.

  Lady Southwood stared at me, one eyebrow raised, exactly like her son at his haughtiest. But just as he had never defeated me, so she did not. I knew that look too well. “I’m indeed surprised that such a well-brought-up young lady should turn to such sad circumstances for her amusement.”

  “Not amusement but the duty of bringing a miscreant to justice. I’ve never heard of a poorly attended hanging.” Lady Southwood must know I had the right of it there; many people of ton attended such events. She might even have gone to one herself. I wouldn’t enjoy such a thing but it was the fashion to attend executions, especially after the execution of Lord Lovatt after the ‘forty-five.

  My mother-in-law frowned and turned away, displaying her displeasure by the upright posture of her body and the tilt of her head. Richard, seated next to me, breathed, “First skirmish to Lady Strang,” but when I turned to frown at him, he was blandly conversing with the lady on his other side.

  However, his mother wasn’t finished with the subject. “You must not get involved any further, Strang. It is none of your business.”

  Richard regarded her then with such a freezing stare that even she fell silent. “The victim,” he drawled, keeping his voice slow and clear so everyone heard it, “was a maid called Lucy Forder but she used to go by the name of Lucy Gartside.”

  Lady Southwood was too well trained in the ways of polite society to let her son’s pronouncement disconcert her for more than a second but that second seemed to stretch into an hour. An unmistakable flash of recognition and alarm lit her eyes. Her husband’s attention lifted from his plate. His eyes widened; he was clearly appalled.

  “Do you know the name, sir?” his wife asked him calmly. He met her stare. Time moved forward again then. Conversation started up around the table and people moved.

  Lord Southwood took his cue from his wife. “I seem to recall the name.” He sounded suitably vague but it obviously meant more to him, too. His attention had sharpened. “We have so many maids. The girl could have passed through our household”

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught Gervase’s sudden movement as he clenched his fist but when I glanced across the table to Maria, I saw nothing untoward in her. She was chatting with an attractive man standing by her side and hardly stopped to listen to Richard’s statement. I watched but I said nothing and since his mother let the matter drop, so did Richard but they didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the meal. Richard’s attempt to disconcert his mother in public had been uncomfortable to watch, but only those who knew Lucy’s name would have recognised her significance to the family. He’d done it deliberately, testing her public face, and all I could remark was that it was even better than his. I imagine he wouldn’t have cared had she broken down, might have welcomed it.

  AFTER AN EVENING SPENT listening to the usual gossip I went to my room. Nichols helped me out of the gown and hoop and into a loose one, since we were not planning to go anywhere else that evening. Then she brushed and washed the hated powder out of my hair, leaving it to fall loose down
my back, and pinned a tiny lace cap on top.

  I sent instructions that we were not at home. After tonight, Richard and I were due to attend various evening functions but tonight was ours. It might be our last free evening this side of Christmas. I went to our sitting room to find a couple of decks of cards and a bottle of wine, determined not to let the shadow of this afternoon spoil this evening, to give him his ease. I would let him tell me about Lucy in his own way, in his own time.

  Richard, wearing a loose short coat in place of the formal, stiff one he’d worn at dinner, suggested a game of piquet. Since he’d spent some of his time in Venice learning how to cheat at cards I watched him warily but he seemed to be playing fair. It wasn’t until I found myself winning every trick whether I dealt the hand or not that I realised he was letting me win.

  I threw the pack at him. He moved aside, laughing and the cards showered over his right shoulder. He caught one of my hands and pulled me to him so I ended up sitting on his lap. He drew me down for a kiss. “You win. But then,” he added, his arms comfortably around me, “you always should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve to. You’ve made such a difference to me. You deserve some luck of your own.”

  “And you don’t call me lucky?” I slipped my hand around the back of his neck. “You’ve given me everything and you’re still here after six months.”

  His voice bathed me in warmth. “I plan to be here after six years. And sixty, if we live that long.” I laughed. I couldn’t imagine myself that age. “I shall start to show you off soon, show the world what a treasure I’ve won.”

  I frowned. “Why should you want to do that? I’m not special, except to you. Let me fit in and find my place.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “They won’t let you do that. You’re my wife and they’re longing to see you. Now don’t be disingenuous and pretend not to know why. You knew this had to come.”

  I sighed. He was all I wanted, not all this fuss. “Yes, I know. All your mistresses will curse me and wonder when they can reclaim you. Will you tell me which ones you’ve had and which ones you passed by? It might amuse me while they’re sizing me up.”

  “Certainly not.” He made himself busy at the front fastenings of my gown. “You may assume there were a great many. I should be ashamed, I know, but I never preyed on the vulnerable, only on the willing. To tell you the truth I can’t remember precisely myself. You have driven the memory of them away, my sweet.” He found his way through to my stays and slipped his hand around my waist to find the knot at the back.

  “I’ll wager you remember them all.”

  He untied the knot and tugged at the laces to loosen them. “With you,” he protested, his lips against my skin, “I find it hard to remember who I am, much less who they are. Shall we go to bed, my love, my wife?”

  I took his hand and we went through the private connecting door to my bedroom. I gladly let the gown fall away, closely followed by the stays, quilted petticoat, slippers, stockings and shift while I pulled his clothes from him, better than I used to be at undressing a man. I’d had plenty of practice recently. Then, down to his shirt and little else, he picked me up and laid me on the bed.

  Although we had loved each other many times, I found each time as exhilarating as the first, only enhanced by our growing knowledge of each other’s bodies and needs. I had thought he would grow bored or satiated with me but to my everlasting joy he showed no signs of it, enthusiastically exploring, helping me to explore, to give him his delight.

  Tonight he seemed more needy, taking less time than usual before he entered me. Every time I felt his body slide into mine I had the sensation of coming home. He watched me as he loved me and swung me on top of him. I sat up to gain more control and loved him, looking at him all the time, moving gently at first to prolong our pleasure, moving up and down slowly, laughing at his sighs of pleasure. Then I leaned against his upraised knees, letting him pull me hard on to him as my own ecstasy crested. When I cried out in rapture, he responded, calling me his best, his dearest love, caressing my body with his hands, cupping my breasts, urging the nipples to peak hard. The little shots of extra sensation prolonged my joy, pushing me to the heights. This time my peak coincided with his and we fell on the bed together, our breathing short and ragged, laughing breathlessly in sheer pleasure.

  He caressed me, his hands moving slowly over my body, a time I adored, when I had him vulnerable and all to myself. He had allowed no other woman to see him like this before, or so he told me, and some of the endearments he whispered he’d certainly never used with anyone else. I reciprocated, telling him what he most wanted to hear. “My only love, dearest of all men.”

  After a while he lifted himself up on one elbow and gazed at my face more solemnly than he usually did in these circumstances. “I have to tell you, don’t I? About Lucy.” His hand lay lightly around my waist.

  “I’d like to know but don’t tell me if it causes you pain. I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

  He smiled tenderly but his face soon grew serious again. “You have to know. Especially now.” He paused and swallowed. I lifted my hand to touch his cheek.

  He moved his face against my hand and his eyes glazed over with memories. “It happened when I was fourteen, at our country house, Eyton. She was the first girl I’d ever had and a dairymaid, only a little older than me.” The lines between his nose and mouth deepened. I hated hearing about him with anyone else but that was the least of the poor girl’s troubles now and only an instinctive, selfish reaction of mine.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asked and I nodded. I had to know. He held me a little tighter. “I foolishly told my parents I wanted to marry her, you see. Instead of letting the affair take its course, my mother sent her away. I never knew where, though I spent a long time searching for her.” He paused. “I’ve always tried to be fair to the women in my life. Lucy was the only one I wasn’t able to take care of. I resented it deeply. My parents didn’t trust me enough to let me take control.” His voice hardened. “I looked for Lucy but I never found her—until today.”

  I ached for the anguish he was trying to hide for my sake. It revealed itself in the tension in his body where I rested against him. I didn’t know how to comfort him except to hold him and fight back my tears until I was on my own. “She was the last girl I let into my life.” He looked at me and smiled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Until you.”

  I thought of all those loveless years. “Is that why you don’t let your parents close?”

  “Partly.” He paused and studied my expression carefully for signs of distress. Hiding them from him was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. “They’ve always tried to take control of my life, especially my mother. She resents you a little. That’s because she didn’t choose you herself. You fitted in with her plans for me though, so she didn’t choose to object.”

  “What if she had?”

  “Nothing.” I moved my hand away from his face, to his shoulder. He still lay over me, his weight taken on his elbows, watching. “I’d have married you if we’d been forced to run away together. Mother wouldn’t have spoken to you then, much less let you into her house.” He smiled grimly. “It might have been better, at that.”

  “No. You can’t wish to make family disputes public.” He would hate that.

  He smiled. “Perhaps. But we won’t stay in this house too long, or they may well become more public. I can’t stay under the same roof as my mother. I used to love her dearly when I was small but I didn’t understand then that her care came from a desire to support the family. Family is all, you see. The continuance of the line.” He stopped and touched his lips to mine. “It should be possible for us to move just after Christmas. We’ll go into the country for the festivities, your family or mine, or in one of our own houses and then move back into a town house when we return to the city. Would that suit you?”

  “Yes, very much. I’d like to look afte
r you properly.”

  His caresses moved slowly up my body, gentle and loving and he bent to kiss my lips. “You can do that anywhere.” His confidences were over, for the time being, so I joyfully gave myself up to him.

  Chapter Five

  RICHARD TOOK ME TO Thompson’s after breakfast the next day. We travelled in a nondescript, uncrested carriage because we didn’t want to attract too much attention to ourselves.

  My blue gown, while pretty, wasn’t elaborate but Richard gave no hostages to the City in his dress. He presented his usual flamboyant self, in dark blue with the solitaire diamond winking in the folds of his pristine neckcloth. His white waistcoat was so perfect, it might have been embroidered by the army of mice he seemed to employ; his wig was perfectly curled, his cocked hat brand new, his dress sword gleaming. Although dress swords were paltry things, often abandoned in informal wear, my husband liked his Toledo steel weapon. And in the capacious pockets of his coat, along with a lace handkerchief and the jewelled snuffbox, always rested one or two Italian stilettos, knives he wielded with frightening accuracy. A sense of danger always lurked about Richard, the fine sharp blade under the silk, the possibility of an explosion of violence unnerving but shockingly exciting.

  As we passed down Piccadilly, he pointed out several sites of interest—the nobility’s great houses, followed by other houses closer to our destination, now lived in by merchants and gentry of substance. We moved past houses that had seen better days, where the paint peeled on the doors and down at heel footmen lurked, a parody of their smarter counterparts in the West End.

  Society moved farther west all the time and as we travelled in the opposite direction, the streets narrowed. Street vendors jostled gentlemen travelling to coffee houses and clubs, chairmen trotted briskly with their burdens of fashionable and not so fashionable society. Ladies sauntered along the wide thoroughfares, gazing into the large glazed windows of the shops while urchins and more sensibly dressed merchants’ wives pushed past. The busy streets intimidated and excited me. There was no order and I liked London the better for the way everybody moved together about the metropolis.