An Encounter at Hyde Park

by Karen Hawkins

  He frowned. It was true. He did quickly see past most people’s worldly trappings. He put together what he knew with attitudes and actions, small and large, and he often gained a good picture of their strengths and weaknesses, their fears and hopes. It gave him a great advantage in cards, in the betting books—and in the manipulations and maneuverings he undertook against his father. But nobody had ever caught him at it. Hestia had never mentioned it. “How did you—”

  “You did it to me. No one else in Society, during this entire Season, really looked at me. Child of scandal or The Celestial, they see what they want to see. No one else has a clue about the girl with the saucy tongue and the penchant for causing trouble and telling stories to get out of it.”

  The discomfort swung back and mixed with desire. She was too perceptive. He felt entirely too exposed. They were trapped together in this small space, so close. She smelled delicious and she looked even better, with her color high and her mouth pursed in earnestness. The light streaks in her hair matched the silver flecks in her eyes.

  But she wasn’t finished. “I wanted to tell you—”

  He couldn’t take any more. He reached across and ran a finger along the curl that draped her neck.

  She fell silent.

  His hand drifted up, cupped her jaw.

  Her breathing ratcheted higher.

  He leaned forward and kissed her.

  He’d done it to stop her, to save himself embarrassment and further unmasking. He’d done it to regain control—of himself and of their careening relationship.

  Which made this kiss a colossal failure.

  His vast experience failed him—for this, this was utterly new.

  He let loose the reins. He released all the urgency burgeoning in him and pressed his mouth to hers.

  It didn’t frighten her. She kissed him back, tasting of shining innocence and sweet, fiery response. Measure for measure she met him, countering his darkness, hurt and anger with light and life and willing eagerness.

  Her hand was at the back of his neck. His had traveled down. One rested on her shoulder, the other clung to her waist. The air around them was alive again. Hungry yearning coursed through him, connected them with something more ancient and elemental than mere touch.

  He deepened the kiss. She responded with a little moan, inching closer. It sent unexpected pleasure bursting inside him, like fireworks over the gardens they headed for. Sensual heat pooled in his belly.

  More. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to drown in her fresh scent and shining light. He wanted to bury—

  No.

  Breathless, he pushed away from her. That had gone stupendously, earth-shatteringly wrong.

  She looked as dazed as he felt.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

  She merely shook her head.

  He moved away, gazing out of the window while he wrestled his pounding heart, his pulsing flesh and his ragged breathing back to normal.

  Suddenly he leaned forward and slid open the window. “You mentioned a debt to be paid?” he asked.

  “My mother’s.” She swallowed. Her hands were busy patting her hair, touching the closures of her spencer, feeling along the ribbons of her bonnet as if she couldn’t believe she’d been left in the same state as before.

  Clearing her throat, she continued. “She charged me with the mission before she died, although truly, it’s mine as well, is it not? Without Hestia Wright, I would not be here today.”

  He felt a pang. Not the intense physical response of moments ago, but the same sort of sharp ache that he’d had when he’d thought about not knowing her just days earlier.

  “Well, here’s your chance to thank her,” he said as the carriage began to slow. “We’re here.” He slid over so that she could have an unobstructed view out the window. “Welcome to Vauxhall.”

  Good heavens. Well, let that be a lesson to her. She’d poked the dragon and he’d kissed her back.

  He’d done it to distract her, to shut her up, much in the same way that she’d used that story to dissuade the girl at the salon.

  Which didn’t make it any less wonderfully devastating.

  So many implications and consequences, that kiss, both close and far-reaching.

  Most of them she’d deal with later, but for now she had to fight to see in front of her, to notice that Vauxhall showed to beautiful advantage in the light, with the tips of the trees bright with sun and the triumphal arches shining.

  Trying to rally, she looked about. It was lovely, but so empty. Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones. How wonderful it must look, cloaked in the magic of the night, and lit with the famous lanterns. Vickers appeared to be perfectly at ease now, damn him, but she struggled to remain calm as he pointed out to her the wonders of the art and the walks and the infamous Grove, with its supper boxes and orchestra hall.

  Yet still she clung to him a bit when he led her to the top of the South Walk. There, partway down, a table sat in the shade of a tree. It had been laid with a sumptuous tea. Hestia Wright sat there. Spying them, she stood and beckoned them closer.

  He let her go alone, for which Addy was grateful. On slightly unsteady feet, she approached until she was mere feet away from the stunningly beautiful woman.

  Hestia Wright smiled kindly and covered the last bit of distance. “I can see why they’ve saddled you with that nickname.” She stepped close and ran a finger across her cheek. “You are the most beautiful combination of both of your parents, my dear.”

  Belatedly, Addy curtsied. “I’ve heard about you all of my life,” she whispered.

  “Have you?” Genuine surprise showed on Hestia’s lovely face. “Well, that does make things easier.”

  Addy followed her to the table and sat where she indicated. She watched as the other woman unhurriedly prepared the tea.

  “She always spoke of you. Even when I was little, she named you the one who made their happiness possible.” She took the cup Hestia handed her. “She explained it all, once I was old enough to understand.”

  “She always was a courageous woman, your mother.” Hestia stopped stirring her tea. “I was very sorry to hear of her passing.”

  “Thank you.” It came out a whisper. A near thing, but she didn’t cry. “She followed the news of you. She said it gave her a thrill to think of you leading such a grand, glittering life. And when you came back—when you opened Half Moon House—she was so proud. She felt like a part of your legacy.”

  “She was a part of it,” Hestia said quietly. “I never forgot your mother, my dear. She was the first. I couldn’t help myself, could never recover all that I’d lost, but I could help her find happiness. I’m so glad it lasted.”

  “You inspired her.” Addy felt a little shy, sharing this, but she forged on. “When she heard of your work here in London, she began a ladies charitable league at home. The women of our village worked together to remove less fortunates from the parish poor house. They found them a place or saw them trained for something better.”

  Now Hestia looked as emotional as Addy felt. Her hand shook a little as she raised her cup. “That is the highest compliment she could have paid me.”

  Reaching for the reticule at her waist, Addy removed a velvet-covered box. She set it on the table. “It’s yours now.” She nodded. “Open it.”

  With a questioning look, Hestia did. “Ah.” She tilted the box so that the morning sun set the rubies within to sparkling. “Lord Rowland’s betrothal gift. I heard about it, but never saw it. She said she meant to return the set.”

  “She tried. Lord Rowland would not take them back. He said they were tainted.”

  Hestia shook her head. “He was foolishly consistent, from beginning to end.”

  “Mama never wore them, of course. She showed them to me just before she passed. Officially they were left to me in the will, but . . .” She had to pause. “She asked me to find you, to give them to you. She wanted you to use them to help another girl like her.”

  Very
gently, Hestia closed the box. “Your mother was a very fine woman.”

  “She always said the same about you.” Addy gathered her courage. “Which is why I won’t hesitate to ask for your help, in much the same way my mother did.”

  Hestia stilled. “You must know I am at your service, my dear.”

  “It’s nothing that will require the use of those rubies, to be sure. I suppose I just would like your advice.”

  “I would be glad to give it, but would you explain?”

  Addy did, leaving nothing of her predicament out, save for her inconvenient and apparently uncontrollable reaction to Vickers. “I’m not like mother. I don’t have one burning vision for my life. In fact, I suppose the problem is that I don’t know what I want. My father left me in the care of his family, and they seem to think that their only recourse—and mine—is a marriage to be arranged as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, that’s the general consensus of those with a young girl on their hands,” Hestia said with a smile.

  “I understand their points of view. Great-Aunt Delia worries about her age, that something will happen to her and I’ll be left in the hands of Cousin Rosamond, who just wants to be rid of me, really.” She sighed. “No one has considered any possibility that I can see, beyond the idea that I catch a husband in the few remaining weeks of the Season. Yet I don’t want to be rushed into anything. Surely they can look at my parents and see the folly of that. Is it so much to ask, really? I just want to find a way to make myself—and my sister—happy.”

  “Very wise, my dear. You’ve also been very smart to cultivate a reputation for everything correct and proper. It can only help, but truly, the sort of situation that you speak of is rare indeed. Single women on our own, we’re a frightening lot, apparently.” Her ironic smile was as beautiful as any of her others. “I think you must talk to your family. I don’t think my interference will help.”

  “You’re right, I know,” Addy sighed. “I just wanted to talk to someone about it before I broach it with them. Thank you.”

  “Something that might help you is presentation of your case with calm logic and full preparation. Be armed with all the details of income and cost, all the practical aspects as well as with plans for your sister. Where did you say she is now?”

  “With my mother’s sister, at Crawley, in Sussex. She was the only one with children and a nursery already set up. But she took her begrudgingly. I’m afraid Muriel will be shunted off to the servants and forgotten until she’s of an age to marry.”

  “Well, to play devil’s advocate, it’s a safe home with a good family. I am acquainted with many who would simply be happy with regular meals and a warm bed.”

  “Yes, I know that you are right, but an indifferent upbringing is a far cry from the love, education and encouragement that I grew up with,” countered Addy. “It’s not what Mother would have wanted for Muriel. It’s not what I want for her.”

  “Good,” Hestia praised. “Say it just like that.”

  Addy blinked. “To Great-Aunt Delia?”

  “To her, to your future husband, to anyone who needs to know about your convictions regarding your sister.” She glanced up and over Addy’s shoulder, towards the start of the Walk. “In the meantime, why don’t I set my people to looking for a sublet of a reasonable lodging in Sussex, nearby to where she’s been sent? If they won’t let you take her, perhaps a lodging close by might go a long way toward appeasing objections. You could still be a formative part of her life. It may not be quite what you want, but it can’t hurt to be armed with facts regarding different alternatives.”

  “Oh, yes, what a good idea. Thank you!” Addy felt her enthusiasm dim a little. “My chances are not good, are they?”

  Hestia considered. “I’d say they are better than most. Both sides of your family have seen what happens when they push young people according to their own agendas. Perhaps they will see the wisdom in allowing you to listen to your heart.”

  “I hope so.” Addy only wished her heart would start to come up with some ideas. So far it seemed stubbornly fixated on Vickers—the one man she could not have, if she was to have the rest of her hopes.

  She shivered. That kiss was not going to help matters in that direction.

  Hestia set down her cup. “I should have the information on leases in a matter of days.” Casually, she asked, “Shall I send it via the post?”

  Addy grew shy again. “Could we—if you wouldn’t mind, as I know you are very busy—but could we meet again?”

  She blinked at the tenderness in Hestia’s expression. “I was hoping we could.” She looked again over Addy’s shoulder and this time waved someone over. “I’m so glad you arranged to see me, but I admit I was surprised by your choice of messenger.”

  “Vickers?” Addy strove for nonchalance. “Yes, we met quite unexpectedly—and found that we could be of use to each other.” Miraculously, she didn’t choke on that bit of understatement.

  “Did you?” Hestia looked quite serious. “I am glad to hear it. The man has precious few friends and even fewer people willing to do him a good turn.”

  “Truly?”

  “I’m afraid so. He is a good man, despite what you hear about him. I’m glad to find that you are treating him fairly.”

  Addy took a great swallow of tea, hoping the heat of it would provide an excuse for her deepening flush. “Of course. He’s been everything kind.”

  “Good. Then I will leave him in your capable hands.” She raised her tone. “And here he is. My dear Vickers, thank you for delivering Adelaide to me. We are getting on famously, so I didn’t want to keep you waiting unnecessarily. You can leave her to me, and I shall see her home.”

  Hestia Wright was no one’s fool. What did she know? How had she guessed? With that glint in her eye, Addy couldn’t help but wonder if this plan was truly meant to provide them some extra time together—or to keep her from Vickers’ company.

  “Is that wise?” he asked with a frown.

  Hestia paused. “I applaud the two of you for taking such care with Adelaide’s reputation.”

  They both flushed higher at that.

  “Thankfully, I brought the carriage instead of my little cart. It’s innocuous enough and I’ll sit back and take care not to be seen.”

  Addy felt the weight of his gaze on her skin. She tried valiantly not to react. She felt Hestia was watching them closely. “Thank you so much for your help today, Mr. Vickers.”

  “I feel as if I am being summarily dismissed,” he complained.

  “But darling,” Hestia chuckled. “We merely mean to set you free. However, we would like to use you as a go-between again, if you are amenable.” She glanced carefully between them. “We have a further bit of business to take care of,” she finished.

  “Of course. You know I’d do anything you asked.”

  “I know you would, my friend.”

  He bowed and kissed her hand. He gave Addy a nod, which she returned. She fought back a sense of panic and a sudden sense of loss, as just like that, he was gone.

  “Now we have time to chat,” Hestia said with satisfaction. “Tell me about your sister, won’t you?”

  For two days Vickers stalked restlessly through his natural territory—the shabby, fringed edges of the ton. The young bucks noted the sharpness of his temper and gave him a wide berth.

  Vickers, in turn, gave Lady Mitford a wide berth, even as he watched her closely as she moved through the social whirl. He told himself he was biding his time, allowing her to relax after he’d given her an obvious alarm. He told himself he was not wild for a glimpse of Addy Stockton, that he was not nervous about seeing her again after that shattering kiss, that he was not twitchy fifty times a day, thinking about kissing her again.

  Then he called himself a liar.

  On the third day he cursed himself for a fool and did what he usually did when he faltered or lost focus. He fed the dragon that lived in deep in the dungeons of his soul. He went to see his mother.r />
  “James!” She brightened for a second as he entered her private parlor. “How lovely to see you!” The smile faded, however, as she glanced fearfully at the open door behind him. “Your father is not about, is he?”

  “No. I made sure of it. He has a committee meeting today that will occupy him all afternoon.”

  “Good.” Still, she didn’t relax. “The servants didn’t see you?”

  “No. Only Jeddings knows I’m here.”

  Jeddings was her personal servant and the one comfort in her life. The greatest discomfort of his own was that he could not fulfill that role for her.

  “Oh, that’s fine then.” She smiled at last again and patted his hand.

  They spoke quietly of small things. The word characterized his mother’s life, as she’d long ago learned to make herself as small and invisible to her husband as possible.

  “We hosted the committee chairmen for dinner a few evenings ago. Your father said I did well.”

  He knew if he asked her, she wouldn’t be able to name the committee. Instead he smiled broadly. “Of course you did. You’ve always been a wonderful hostess.”

  The worried, distracted look reappeared on her face. He tried to head it off. “Do you remember the time you led the children’s games at the village fair? I vow, those boys and girls had never had such a grand time.”

  She didn’t respond. Her head was cocked, listening. “You don’t suppose your father will come home early, do you?” She gripped his hand.

  “No. He’s committed all day. I made sure.” He tried again. “Do you recall the children’s faces when you served them ices? They could scarce contain themselves.”

  “I do hope they will not release early today,” she fretted. “He’s promised that I can go home to Shropshire, you know. Soon.”

  He sighed, knowing the visit was over. “I hope he keeps that promise this time, Mother. But perhaps I should be going, just in case.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Perhaps it’s best, dear, although you know I’m so sorry to see you go.”