All Dressed in White EPB

by Michaels, Charis

  In silence, they walked along Barrack’s Way, the spindly wheels of the pram popping over the gravel walk. After a moment, she said, “He is easier to become accustomed to when he is asleep.” Two children ran past, giggling, holding fast to the straining leash of a dog. “It was ambitious, perhaps, to have introduced you during our time at the park.”

  “Is it your wish that I become accustomed to the baby?” Joseph asked. He was determined to discover what she really wanted.

  Tessa glanced at him and then looked left, steering the pram toward High Row. He held his breath.

  She nodded. “If you are so inclined.”

  “I would like that,” he said. In his head, he thought, I would like to become accustomed to you both.

  Suddenly, she stopped walking. Joseph was two steps ahead and turned around, nearly colliding with his horse. “What is it?” He peered into the pram at the sleeping baby.

  “On Friday, Sabine and I have plans to visit Vauxhall Gardens. In Kensington.”

  Joseph paused. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Vauxhall Gardens,” she repeated. “Do you know it?”

  “Yes, I know it.” Vauxhall Gardens was a centuries-old outdoor public entertainment venue with music, food stalls, dancing, and fireworks. Men and women from every class frequented the Gardens for mischief and merriment—and trysts. So, so many trysts.

  Joseph worked to keep his voice level. “Have the two of you visited Vauxhall before?”

  She shook her head. “’Twill be our first time. Sabine, who has been exploring the city bit by bit, has begged me accompany her for an age, but I only now feel it is safe enough to leave Christian with Perry for an evening. We are looking forward to it, to be honest.”

  “Indeed,” Joseph said. She was walking again, and Joseph was grateful to follow two steps behind. His sight narrowed to the vulnerable vision of Tessa and Sabine embarking on Vauxhall Gardens alone on Friday. Or any day. Ever.

  “I mention it only,” she went on, “to see if you might like to join us? Mr. Stoker, too, of course, as long as you don’t reveal to Sabine that I mentioned it. She is strenuously opposed to any machination toward Mr. Stoker.”

  “We’ll be there,” Joseph said. He let out a trapped breath. The very thought of Tessa and Sabine venturing alone into Vauxhall stopped his heart. The gardens were festive and diverting, but every manner of rake, swindler, inebriate, and thief prowled the dark paths and secluded bowers. And these were the upstanding patrons. The fights and assignations that he and Stoker had enjoyed at Vauxhall through the years were too numerous to count.

  But she was not going alone, he reminded himself; she had just smoothly invited him, despite his general ineptitude at anything resembling manners throughout this outing.

  And of course he had no right to forbid her to go anywhere. She’d been making her way around London, including to two separate Blackwall docks, for months.

  He took a deep breath. “Will you allow us to collect you? I’ve a phaeton that rides four, and if the night is not too chill—”

  “Oh, no, an escorted journey would spook Sabine for certain. There are front gates, I understand. Let us simply convene there. Shall we say at six o’clock?”

  Joseph bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of the rabble that loitered outside the gates of Vauxhall Gardens. “Six o’clock,” he repeated tightly. “We will be there. I shall look forward to it.”

  “Lovely,” she sighed, smiling up at him. “Sabine will be irritated that we’ve included Mr. Stoker, but she will survive.”

  Joseph smiled and nodded, his brain choked by the terrible vision of his wife and Vauxhall Gardens and survival.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tessa and Perry had quarreled over the dress.

  Tessa had prudently chosen the brown wool for the evening at Vauxhall and asked Perry to press it, but Perry had defiantly wadded that very dress into a ball and hidden it in the bottom of the mending basket. She had pressed a blue silk instead, a beautiful gown she’d found in one of Tessa’s trunks. The maid had aired the dress and carefully repaired snags to the myriad tiny, rose-colored embroidered flowers that swirled up and down the bodice.

  “Perry . . . no,” Tessa had said when she emerged from a bath. She frowned at the bold blue dress splayed out across her bed.

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes . . .” Perry had chanted, artfully arranging the matching hat on the pillows as if an imaginary woman lay prone across the bed.

  In the end, there hadn’t been time to rethink the blue dress, which had always been one of Tessa’s favorites. On it went, and Tessa allowed Perry to dress her hair in two looped braids and pin a small blue hat at the back of her head. How nice it was to feel the kiss of braids on her shoulders each time she turned her head, even nicer to enjoy the unobstructed peripheral vision of no stiff bonnet brim. Looking at her reflection in the dress and the little hat, the braids and the matching leather gloves, was like catching sight of a long-lost friend.

  An hour later, some combination of the New Tessa, who felt nervous and conspicuous, and the Old Tessa, who really did love this dress, stood beside Sabine in front of Vauxhall Garden’s bustling gates.

  “Tell me again why I must share my long-awaited outing to Vauxhall Gardens with Joseph Chance?” asked Sabine, peering through the gates at the garden beyond. Strains of lively music drifted above the hum of voices. They heard the unfamiliar squawk of an exotic bird. Someone out of sight hurled a torch, its fiery tip painting a glowing arc through the air.

  “Joseph and I have so much to discuss. Chief among them my move from Belgravia,” Tessa said. “His arrival caught me off guard, despite my planning, and then we had to contend with the new dock. I haven’t quite gotten around to discussing the future yet.”

  “Naturally you chose a crowded pleasure garden as the most useful setting for this conversation.”

  Tessa laughed. “It was never going to be one discussion, I’m afraid. I must . . . ease into it. It’s no small thing to ask him to buy a little house or to sort out a means for me to support myself.”

  “You cannot think he intends to leave you with the Boyds forever, Tessa,” said Sabine. “He will have anticipated some change.”

  “If so, he has not mentioned it. And I have very specific plans for a fresh start.”

  “Yes, but they are not greedy plans. And you are his wife, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes, and he had aspirations to run for Parliament. He must own property in a district that has the potential to elect him. There is much to be considered.”

  A small eruption popped and fizzled just beyond the gates. Whoops and gales of laughter followed. They turned to peer inside, but queuing revelers blocked their view.

  “Again,” sighed Sabine, “a pleasure garden? And what of your new vow? To innumerate exactly what you want, when you want it?”

  “Yes, well.” Tessa ran a flat hand against the corset stays beneath her gown. She had not worn a proper corset since before the pregnancy and strangely, it heartened her. She was likely the only female in England who relished the tight squeeze of a finely made corset, but it made her feel long and lithe and dressed up, it made her feel as if she was going somewhere important. “Determination and execution are two different things.”

  “You know what I believe?” asked Sabine. “I believe you wanted to pass a diverting night in a lovely park with your husband.” She tapped her friend on the hand with her closed fan. “And why shouldn’t you?”

  Oh, because he cannot abide me, thought Tessa. Because I’ve saddled him with Christian and me forever. Because I am about to ask him to buy me a house in County Durham . . .

  She said, “I did rather hope they would say yes for that reason.”

  Sabine went stiff beside her. “They? They, who?”

  Tessa made a repentant face. “Hmmm?”

  “Tessa, you did not,” said Sabine. “You did not arrange for me to prowl around this park at dusk with Jon Stoker.”

  “I made no
arrangements one way or the other,” said Tessa defensively. “I merely mentioned that you and I planned to take in the gardens together. Given what I know of Joseph and Mr. Stoker, I’d say there is a chance he will come. But Sabine, what could be—”

  “Tessa!” Sabine hissed. She wore a deep purple shawl and she snatched it tightly around her shoulders. “If he is coming—if there exists even a chance he is coming—I will go in alone.”

  “Sabine, no, wait. It won’t be nearly as enjoyable if you set out by yourself. You cannot go in alone.”

  “I’ve explored every other corner of London alone—I very well can. And I shall.” She tugged her gloves, tightening the purple leather. “Good luck, Tessa. Give my regards to Mr. Chance. And Mr. Stoker, if he turns up. I will meet you here at nine o’clock.”

  “Sabine,” Tessa implored, but her friend was already walking away. A moment later, she slipped through the gates, joining the throngs of revelers streaming into the gardens.

  Tessa shook her head and checked the timepiece in her reticule. They’d made far better time than expected, arriving a quarter hour before she and Joseph were meant to meet. She was given little choice but to stand alone, feeling the strange balance of conspicuous and so very comfortable. She felt so much more like herself in the blue dress than ever she did in the brown or the grey, she wondered what could one night hurt?

  She waited only five more minutes before she spotted Joseph. He appeared like she’d fantasized about his return from Barbadoes, striding up the hill from the Thames, confident, proud, handsome. Mr. Stoker was beside him. They were a head taller than most men, their skin tanned compared to the clammy, pale-faced, London throng.

  Tessa’s heart began to pound. She checked over her shoulder for Sabine—gone now—and looked back. Joseph was dressed for evening in head-to-toe black except for his shirt and snowy cravat. He was as finely turned out as any of the well-heeled men she’d seen gliding up to the ticket booths, their servants scrambling behind them with purses or umbrellas.

  But how much more substantial Joseph seemed, more solid, broader chested, with big shoulders and large hands. He’d been tall and strong before Barbadoes, but he returned with the size and bearing of something akin to a conqueror.

  Without thinking, Tessa looked down at the blue dress and gave the skirts a shake. She raised her hand to squeeze her cheeks but felt her own natural flush even through her gloves. She was just about to wave but Joseph turned his head, and their eyes locked. Tessa’s hand froze. He quickened his pace and scanned her appearance as he walked. His eyes moved up and down her body like fingers on a pianoforte, from high C to low A, and her body responded as if he’d touched her. She heard the music in her head.

  “I worried you might arrive before us, and now you have,” he said when he reached her.

  “We made excellent time,” she told him. Such mundane conversation, when what she really wanted to do was launch herself at him. She wondered idly if they would discuss the weather. Or the crowd.

  We’ve done it, she wanted to exclaim. We’ve moved beyond. You know about Christian and I’ve docked your boat, and we’re here, together, on a beautiful night.

  We’ve started again.

  Joseph held out one large, gloved hand and Tessa’s breath caught. She placed her fingers over his, and he bowed. She stared down at the tussle of sandy blond hair, thrilled by the propriety of the gesture. When his head came up, she tightened her fingers, unwilling to let him go. Joseph looked at her, a question in his blue eyes.

  Yes, she wanted to say. And why not?

  She was just about to slide her hand down his wrist and tuck it into the crook of his arm when Jon Stoker caught up.

  “Stoker, mate,” Joseph said, almost as if he’d forgotten he’d arrived with his friend. He looked at Tessa. “Sabine is . . . ?”

  “Oh . . . she was very impatient to see inside, I’m afraid.” Tessa glanced apologetically at Stoker. “She has bought a ticket and gone ahead.”

  Mr. Stoker said nothing, but his eyes went narrow and hard. He nodded slowly, once, twice, and began backing away.

  “Stoke, no—don’t go,” implored Joseph. “Come inside with Tessa and me and have a look around. She’s inside, Tessa has just said as much.”

  “This,” said Stoker, still backing up, “was a bad idea. As I knew it would be.”

  Just then, a group of staggering young men broached the garden gate, their arm-and-arm progress heralded by whistles and two bars of a bawdy song in uneven harmony. An outlying man used his walking cane to lift the skirts of an unsuspecting young woman in his reach. The woman shrieked and skittered away while the men gave a cruel laugh.

  Joseph mumbled a curse and stepped more closely to Tessa. Stoker paused in his retreat. He frowned at Joseph and closed his eyes. “How long?” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How long has Sabine been alone inside?”

  “Oh,” said Tessa, “Not so long. No more than ten minutes.”

  Stoker nodded curtly and left them, crossing to the gates. He cut the queue, tossed a handful of coins at the ticket taker, and slipped inside.

  “I implored her to wait,” Tessa told Joseph. “But she is very . . . conflicted about seeing him again.”

  Joseph nodded. “He works hard to feign indifference, but he wanted to come.”

  “Have the two of you been to Vauxhall before?”

  Joseph looked down at her with an odd expression, like she’d ask him if he’d ever been to church or the market. “Many times. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you feel you’ve seen enough from here? That we might retire to a proper dinner—in Kensington, perhaps? With footmen to serve the talents of a French chef?”

  She laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. I cannot wait to get inside.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joseph devoted so much thought to what he would say and do in Vauxhall Gardens, he’d made no assumptions about what Tessa would say or do.

  The result was his brain wiped clean. He spoke very little. He reconciled himself to simply observing her.

  No, not observe. Observe was too passive and detached. Joseph was relishing her. How could he resist, when she twirled and laughed her way through wet flowers, torchlit pathways, dancers, pantomimes, and trained dogs.

  How, he wondered, returning her dazzling smile with a thin, uncertain grin, had he not braced for Tessa’s joyfulness? He’d felt something very akin to love with her at Berymede because of little more than her joy.

  The combination of fair hair, blue eyes, and splashy silks had also played some part, of course—he’d loved those too. Like a sneak attack, she’d trotted these out tonight. Gone were her horrible dresses and severe hair.

  The sight of her in this dress had quite literally stopped him where he stood. Stoker had nearly collided with his back and mocked him, which Joseph supposed he deserved. He’d been blindsided. Again.

  But perhaps this had been his chief failing from the beginning. He’d never stopped to anticipate. Not in Belgravia, when he’d been on the attack, not at St. Katharine Docks, or in the park.

  He wondered if it would always be this way. Would she always take him by surprise? And if so, was it so terrible?

  Yes, he thought, watching her gasp at the antics of a diminutive juggler, it is. He was unsettled by surprises. Surprises meant he was unprepared. Surprises put him at a disadvantage.

  You love the surprise of her, he thought, the notion as nonsensical as it was true.

  “How talented he is,” Tessa said of the small man, clapping breathlessly.

  She turned to Joseph and put two gloved hands on his forearm. “Can you believe it? Five teacups and a pot of water? And all the while on one foot!”

  Joseph stared at her hands on his arm, blinking down at the snug blue leather. It was unnecessary to look, of course. Her touch reverberated through him like the lash of a whip. The juggler’s foot was the furthest from his mind. He saw only her hands, he lived and breathed her
hands.

  “Sorry,” she said, snatching herself away.

  It’s nothing, he wanted to say. Come back. But she was already spinning, her attention caught by a five-person choir singing a ballad in a gazebo across the path. She took two steps toward their syrupy voices, and then rushed to the periphery of the assembling crowd. Joseph followed as if tied to her with a string.

  “It’s lovely,” she whispered when he caught up. He glanced down. Her blue eyes were filled with wonder, her lips slightly apart.

  Joseph squinted into the gazebo. Musicians at Vauxhall were a mix of spotlight-hungry hobbyists and seasoned professionals. The assemblage in the gazebo was clearly the former, but Tessa clapped enthusiastically as they garbled their final note.

  “Shall we seek out supper?” he said, hoping to veer her away before the choir came to some consensus on their next song.

  “You don’t really enjoy Vauxhall, do you?” she said. “You wish you hadn’t come.”

  Joseph frowned at the impossible thought of him not coming. “I don’t not enjoy Vauxhall. I’m just a bit jaded, I suppose.”

  “Oh,” she said. She gave an exaggerated, knowing nod. “You’ve sailed the world and seen sights far more fantastical, have you?”

  “It’s not so much that my travels have outpaced Vauxhall,” he said, “more so the perception of what I enjoy.”

  She laughed. “What do you mean? Either you enjoy something or you do not.”

  I enjoy you, he thought, but he said, “When your earliest years are spent in service—literally cleaning mud from boots, emptying chamber pots—and you rise above it, those early trappings become a little warped in your view.”

  They came to a fork in the path, two smaller walkways branching around a great trellis, heavy with roses. Tessa admired the flowers, stepping forward to smell each blossom.

  “Stoker and I came to Vauxhall often as boys,” Joseph said. “Sometimes we had money to buy tickets, sometimes we navigated the river on a skiff and slipped over the wall. Now that I’ve the means to avail myself of any meal or entertainment in London, it’s difficult for me to return.”