by Nicole Byrd
He’d called Louisa lovely. Although she had been complimented often enough before, his words seemed to carry the hint of a caress, and the graceful Scottish lilt lingered in her memory. A smooth-tongued devil, but perhaps he praised all the ladies. . . . Still, something about his easy urbanity and dashing good looks made Louisa regret his hasty departure. She could still feel the heat that had colored her face when he’d looked at her with that laughing gaze that seemed to see all the way inside her, past her fair hair and smooth cheeks, to her very essence. . . .
Of course, she was betrothed, so she had no business being attracted to some probably penniless ex-officer, just because he had merry eyes and a smoldering smile. Whatever would Lucas say?
Lucas didn’t have to know everything, Louisa told herself.
Having a few acquaintances in town would make her time in Society much more pleasant. Besides, this gentleman obviously had Lady Jersey wrapped about his sun-bronzed finger; he might aid Louisa in her quest for vouchers to Almack’s. She was merely being practical, she thought, as she signaled to Miss P to depart.
Or perhaps she simply wanted to enjoy the gleam of those wicked eyes one more time.
His gaze ostensibly fixed on a dreadful bonnet trimmed in purple plumes, Colin McGregor murmured his responses to Lady Jersey while he watched—from the corner of his eye—as the fetching fair-haired lass slipped out of the shop. She was a treat to the eye, indeed, even if she did rush in like a mountain hare who does’na sight the fox lurking amid the heather.
He wondered who she was and if she was married or betrothed. He wondered if she had any money—her clothes were well-made and obviously expensive. This stupid hat he jested about just now carried a price that would have paid the rent on his miserable rooms for a sen’night. Most of all, he wondered how it would be to kiss those soft, delightfully pouty lips. . . . He felt his body respond to the vision and pushed such an idea hastily aside. He could not afford to offend Lady Jersey.
Hiding a sigh, he looked down at a new hat the salesgirl had brought forth, a straw bonnet trimmed with large berries dyed an unlikely shade of puce. He shook his head. “The crows would follow you down the street,” he suggested, “hoping to devour the berries.”
Both women giggled.
And Colin wondered, not for the first time, just how in the name of heaven he had ended up mired in such a miserable situation?
Four
Gemma dipped her quill into the inkwell and signed her name with special care. Despite her uncertain background, or because of it, she must make every effort to appear educated and respectable. Her handwriting must look ladylike when her brother perused this note.
Writing it had taken her an enormously long time. She had discarded several drafts before she was satisfied. Feeling guilty over wasting expensive paper, she glanced at the wadded sheets of scratched-out first attempts. But she had done her best. Sighing, Gemma folded the letter carefully, then picked up the silver wax jack and dropped a dollop of melted wax onto the edges of the paper. She had no seal to affix, so the wax was left to stiffen into an irregular blob. When it was solid, she pushed herself back from the desk in the drawing room, put the crumpled paper into the fire, and went to find the footman.
Fortunately, she had discovered in conversation with Louisa that her friend had visited Lord Gabriel’s London home last year, so she was able to give the footman directions.
Smelters nodded as he accepted the letter. “A connection of yours, is he, his lordship?”
Ladies did not write to unknown gentlemen, so she could hardly deny it, but neither did she want the servants gossiping about her.
“Something like that,” she said shortly, and gave him a coin from her small store, hoping that it would be enough. If not, his curiosity seemed strong enough that he did not scorn the errand.
“I’ll take it out right away, miss,” he assured her.
Gemma climbed the stairs and found Lily, the housemaid, in the guest chamber unpacking Gemma’s valises. “These gowns are sadly crushed, miss,” the servant said. “It appears that your maid at home folded them very ill.”
Gemma, who had packed the bags herself, grimaced. “No doubt.”
“Mind you, traveling is always hard on a lady’s wardrobe,” Lily added, as if afraid she had been too forward. “Not to worry, I’ll just press them for you. Which one would you like to wear for dinner?”
Gemma glanced at her small collection of dresses and hoped her brother would not expect her to venture much into Society. She did not have the wardrobe for extensive socializing, nor the funds to replenish her stock of gowns. And she could not ask him for money the moment they met! He would think she was a mercenary wretch who only sought him out for the advantages that might come to her.
Her cheeks flamed at the very notion. She did not mind scraping by on a small income; she had done that all her life. What she lacked was a family, a real family, and that was what she hoped to gain by this impulsive quest.
The pale green muslin was her newest and best-looking dress, but she would save that for the first meeting with her brother, and she could not know if that would happen at once or later in the week. “The jonquil-sprigged muslin, I think,” she told the maid, nodding toward her second best.
“I’ll see to it, miss,” the girl said. With several frocks draped over her arm, she took her leave.
Thinking ruefully that she had now put most of her hostess’s servants to work, Gemma hoped that Louisa would not mind. Or was that appropriate behavior for a guest? Gemma had no frame of reference. Once again, she wished for a proper childhood, a large and loving family, a mother who would have taught her daughter the finer points of social behavior. . . .
This was no time to sink into melancholy. She had received an amazing invitation, and soon her long-held questions would receive answers. Just remembering the letter from her mother lifted Gemma’s spirits.
In the meantime, she wished she could make herself useful and find some way to repay Louisa’s amazing kindness. Gemma thought of going down to the kitchen and offering her help with dinner, but she knew enough to know that would only make the servants stare and think her strange, indeed. Ladies of the Ton did not labor over a mixing bowl or a chopping board.
Gemma wandered downstairs again and found a few books in a glass case in the drawing room. She opened the door and looked over the sparse selection: a collection of sermons; a book of Latin verse, which reminded her too much of the schoolroom; and a two-volume set of Alexander Pope’s poetry. She selected Pope and sat down to try to lose herself in witty couplets. But she raised her head every time she heard a carriage drive by or detected the sound of men’s voices along the walkway.
When the footman reappeared, she shut the book at once and waited, knowing that her heart beat fast.
“Were you able to deliver the note?” she asked, trying to keep her tone even.
“Yes, miss; ’is lordship ’as a very nice ’ouse, if I do say so. But the servant who answered the door says that ’is lordship is not at ’ome, and ’e can’t say for certain when ’e will be arriving in London.”
Gemma’s heart sank. “I see.”
“But I left the note, and the footman says ’e will be sure to give it to ’is lordship as soon as ’e arrives.”
“Thank you, Smelters.” Gemma maintained her composure until the footman had left the room, but then she put her hands to her flushed cheeks. She felt like weeping.
This was folly. She had waited more than twenty years—what would a few more days matter?
But they did. She jumped to her feet and paced up and down on the slightly worn Oriental rug. What else could she do? Until her brother returned to London, until she could seek an audience and ask for his help in journeying to meet her mother, she had no other avenue to explore.
No, that wasn’t true. Gemma thought suddenly of the London solicitor who handled her allowance and school fees. She had written to him once, when she was sixteen, and begged him for
any scrap of information about her family. He had written back in his usual dry legal tone and advised her he was unable to answer her plea.
Did he not know, or had he been forbidden to say?
She would face him in person, this time, Gemma thought. And surely he must tell her something! Through their correspondence, limited though it might be, she knew the address of his office. She hurried upstairs and found a shawl to throw about her shoulders. Fortunately, she was still wearing the gray traveling dress.
Smelters caught her as she was about to go out the door. “Can I be of assistance, miss?” His eyes were bright with curiosity.
“I am going to see my man of business,” she said, with as much composure as she could manage. “He is located at Lincoln’s Inn.”
“Ah, that’s down by St. Paul’s, the Inns of Court where the barristers and solicitors ’ave their offices,” the footman told her, his tone knowing. He raised his brows. “It’s not a place where ladies usually visit, miss, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I must,” Gemma told him, determined not to be put off. “It’s business of a personal nature.”
“You could send a note and ask him to come to you,” the footman suggested.
And what if Mr. Peevey refused to come, she thought. It would be too easy for him to hide behind a note; she wanted to see him face-to-face. “No, I wish to see him at once.”
Smelters looked resigned. “Then I will summon a hackney. And I’ll tell Lily to prepare herself to accompany you.”
“Oh, no, she’s so busy—” Gemma started, then caught herself. Ladies did not walk alone in London; she knew enough to know that. “Very well. But I don’t need a cab. I would quite like a walk.”
“It’s a fair distance, miss,” the servant warned.
“I’m accustomed to walking,” she persisted, aware of the small size of her cache of remaining coins.
“As you wish.” After a trip upstairs to find the housemaid, he returned and explained how to find Lincoln’s Inn. Gemma paid careful heed to his directions.
“I’m sorry to take you away from your chores, Lily,” she told the housemaid as they started out.
“That’s all right, miss,” the girl said. “It’s a lovely day, nice to be out a bit. I lived in the country before I went into service, so I’m not such a namby-pamby about walking a few miles as some of the servants here.”
So Gemma felt able to set a smart pace. Indeed, the crowded streets and byways were a treat to see, crowded with men and women of all classes, from the hot pie seller and the ragman with his cart to fine ladies riding by in open carriages and men on sleek steeds. She tried not to stare like a country cousin, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by the bustle and noise and energy of the city. No wonder Louisa had been eager to come to London.
Between the cry of the street vendors, the rattle of carriages and wagons passing on the busy street, and the tlot-tlot of horses that negotiated the wheeled traffic, she felt quite invigorated. The streets of York, a city which she had visited a few times with school parties, were nothing to this.
Soon they came upon a row of shops, with dresses and hats displayed in the window. Gemma couldn’t help slowing for a moment to take a better look at a stunning dinner dress of indigo-hued silk set off with wide flounces of Brussels lace.
“Look out, miss,” Lily murmured.
Gemma dodged a young page with his arms full of parcels. “Sorry, ma’am,” the boy said as he hurried past.
“Thank you, Lily,” Gemma said. Turning reluctantly from the enticing apparel out of reach beyond the glass panes—not to mention beyond the size of her purse—she resumed her trek.
Unhappily, by the time they neared the business district, not only were they getting curious stares from the increasingly male-dominated passers-by, but Gemma found she had gotten quite lost. And she did not fancy asking for directions from the men who already leered at her in a most unpleasant way.
So she resigned herself to paying a fare and sent Lily to the street corner to hail a cab. At least it would shield her from the stares of the men on the pavement.
The hackney delivered them the rest of the way, rattling north of Fleet Street and onto Chancery Lane. When Gemma climbed down from its high step and made her way through the archway and into the dark-beamed ancient set of buildings, she took a deep breath to fortify herself, asked a staring young man for directions to the right door, then marched into Mr. Peevey’s outer office. Lily hurried after her.
A clerk wearing a collar that seemed almost as high as the stool upon which he perched looked up at her in amazement.
“I am Miss Smith and I wish to see Mr. Peevey, if you please,” Gemma said, pleased that her voice sounded so firm. Her heart was beating fast at her own audacity, but having come this far, she would not stop now. If Mr. Peevey refused to see her, she would gain his inner office by force, if need be. The clerk was a slight fellow who looked unlikely to put up a spirited resistence.
But such drastic tactics proved unnecessary. In a moment, the clerk returned and showed her into the solicitor’s private office.
“Wait for me here, Lily,” she muttered to the maid and, squaring her shoulders, prepared to face the lion.
Or perhaps the tabby cat.
Mr. Peevey sat behind a broad desk. He rose and gave her the briefest of bows, then gestured toward a chair. She had always imagined him as big and powerful, Gemma thought as she took a seat. But, as slight as the clerk and not an inch taller, he was elderly and as withered as an autumn leaf. A good cough would blow him away. His cravat was tied just as precisely as his cramped careful script, and his dark jacket was untouched by any speck of lint. Gemma lifted her chin as he gave her a critical look, obviously examining her in his turn. She tried to sound as dignified as possible.
“We meet at last, Mr. Peevey.”
“Indeed.” He did not sound excessively pleased at the fact. “This is a surprise. I did not know you had left Yorkshire.”
“I am newly come to London,” Gemma agreed, then paused, trying to think how to begin. The silence seemed heavy, and he broke it first.
“How may I be of assistance, Miss Smith?” the solicitor asked, his tone guarded.
“The note you forwarded to me on my one and twentieth birthday—”
“I have no further information about its contents,” he interrupted. “As I explained in my cover letter.”
“I am not here about the note,” Gemma told him. “It was self-explanatory. I was very pleased to learn the name of my mother, and as soon as my brother returns to town, I hope to arrange the meeting she invited me to pursue.”
His eyes widened for just a moment, as if in surprise. Gemma felt her heart sink. Did he truly not know the details about her birth? But she had come this far, and she forged ahead.
“But as for the source of my allowance—”
This time, his eyes narrowed. “Miss Smith, we have addressed this subject before—”
“But not satisfactorily.” She interrupted him this time, anger fueling her courage. She would not be dismissed like a child.
His skinny lips pressed into an even thinner line. “I am not permitted to tell you the source of that income, Miss Smith. I’m amazed that you should inquire. I should think you’d simply be grateful that parental responsibility has not been abrogated as happens too often in these cases—”
“So my allowance does come from a parent? Do the funds come from my mother?”
He looked alarmed. She had caught him off guard; he had not meant to tell her even that much, Gemma thought.
“I did not say that.”
No, she didn’t think that surmise was correct. He had seemed too surprised at the mention of her mother. Gemma bit her lip. “My father, then.”
Peevey did not meet her gaze. “I did not say that,” he repeated, shuffling the papers on his desk.
“No, you didn’t.” But it was the answer, Gemma thought, her heart beating fast, even if this dried-up lit
tle man was not going to reveal her father’s name. “And what do you mean, in ‘these cases’? You assume I was born out of wedlock?”
He looked pained. “If you please, Miss Smith, this is not a suitable topic for a female to discuss.”
“My own family must always be a suitable topic for me to discuss, Mr. Peevey. Do you know for a fact that I was a child born . . . without benefit of marriage?” She leaned forward and tried to catch his eye, but he did not look up.
She thought he blushed slightly. “No, I do not ask questions about my clients’ personal affairs. But—”
“But you assumed that would be the only reason for an child to be sent away by her parents,” Gemma finished for him. She could hardly blame him for drawing such a conclusion. She could not think of another reason, herself, and she’d had years to dwell on the dilemma.
“The fact remains, as a solicitor, I am bound by certain rules. When I give my word, I do not go back upon it. I have pledged that this information will remain private, and I will never break that confidence. Not only would doing so ruin my professional reputation, such a breach would impugn my personal honor.”
Even though she wanted to shake that scrawny neck until the hidden facts burst from his lips, Gemma had to admire, for one moment, the resolution that made him lift his head and at last meet her frustrated stare.
She made one last try. “You understand why this is so important to me?”
His expression might have softened just an iota, but she knew even before he spoke that the man would not budge.
“Your feelings are natural ones, but I fear that I am unable to oblige you.”
Gemma felt tears flood her eyes, and she blinked hard to hold them back. She would not betray such weakness before this stiff little man.
He gave the faintest rustle of a sigh. “You must take your comfort from the fact that, ah, an unknown patron does continue to offer you financial support, and thus, you may assume, goodwill. When I sought out a boarding school after you left the foundling home—and it was not easy to find a good school willing to take a child so young, I assure you—it was impressed upon me that this time, we must be confident that you would be assured of comfortable and affectionate surroundings.”