by Nicole Byrd
Good heavens, if her fiancé ever learned what had happened today, he would call out the lieutenant! But, looking back at the steady gaze and sure hand of the man half-kneeling before her, his position almost a parody of an anxious suitor’s, Louisa knew that if that should happen, she would fear for Lucas, not for the battle-seasoned man with the wicked hazel eyes.
“Ah, I see. And I suppose you would not consider jilting him?”
“Of course not!” Louisa blushed even more deeply, glad that the lieutenant could not know that last year she had, most improperly, ended a too percipient engagement. She could hardly do it twice!
“Why are you asking such questions?” she demanded.
“Because I need a rich wife, Miss Crookshank. As you can easily see, I have no funds of my own, and now that the war with Napoleon has ended, no prospects. So I must marry for my money.”
“Oh.” She could not think what to reply to such bluntness.
But this highly improper man was not finished. “Just as well for you,” he said, though his expression had darkened. “And if you are not available for courtship, then I advise you to stay well away from me.”
“Why?” she could not keep from asking. Her pulse was still racing, and whether he realized it or not, his hand still rested lightly on her cotton-wrapped ankle. She was all too aware of his touch.
“Because I am your—or your parents’—worst nightmare, the half-pay officer looking to marry an heiress. I am a man with no social connections, no landed estate of my own, in short, the fortune hunter who is every mother’s worst fear. So I give you fair warning, stay away.”
“Why are you telling me this?” She stared at him.
“I may set my own rules, Miss Crookshank of Bath, but I always play fair,” he told her.
“If you are so bad, how do you come to escort a countess?” Louisa said, before she realized her own words were almost as improper as his.
“Because I am charming and wicked, and the lady, being already married, has no need of a husband, only some amusing and worldly flirtation. And she opens the doors to the kind of Society I must join in order to find a suitable bride,” he admitted readily.
He had no sense of shame whatsoever, Louisa thought. And his hand still lay against her ankle.
She should move her foot, but she felt frozen.
“I see,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “And if I don’t stay away?”
“Then next time, I make no promises,” he said. The light in his bright hazel eyes flared with a passion with which Louisa had no experience.
And for the first time, she thought that might be something to regret.
But she pulled herself together and stood up so hastily that she knocked a book off the table. Ignoring it, he stood more gracefully and offered her his arm again.
But she stepped away, her heart beating fast until he opened the door to the hallway. After she hurried through, he closed and locked it behind them. They descended the steps and, on the street, she accepted his arm, but only, she assured herself, so that her pose as the lady with the injured foot would be more believable. She bent her head and tried to keep her face down, hoping that no one would recognize her. For the first time she was glad to have few acquaintances in the city.
And at last, since she seemed to have suffered enough to satisfy even the most capricious of fates, her luck changed. At the end of the street, a hackney appeared. The lieutenant hailed the cab. When it slowed to a stop, he helped her inside.
“A gentleman should see you home, but, as I said, since my pretense at gentility is somewhat threadbare, it’s better that I do not,” he told her.
“Yes, I mean, thank you for your help,” Louisa told him.
Colin watched the carriage drive away. Good God, what fires she lit in his blood! But she was out of his reach, in more ways than one. If circumstances had been otherwise, he might have tried to make her change her mind about this fiancé, and propriety be damned! He shook his head.
If only—if only he had not been born without a ha’penny to his name. If only he had not so rashly thrown away his chance for advancement during the war. If only he had not been a fool in so many ways, he would not now be in such an ignominious position that any decent woman would have every right to spur his advances and there were times he despised himself. . . .
Bitterness burnt both his throat and—perhaps—his soul. Colin braced himself and strode off to rescue Lady Jersey from the risk of an hour of tedium.
Louisa gave the driver the address of her leased house, then realized that she had forgotten about Miss Pomshack. The good lady would be frantic if Louisa simply disappeared. “No, go back to the bookseller’s on Bond Street, first.”
The cab pulled away, and Louisa leaned back against the cushions. Hopefully, no one had seen her come out of a man’s lodgings. Hopefully, no one would remember who the lady was who had lost her shoe and soiled her stocking in such a ridiculous manner.
She would forget the whole incident, Louisa told herself. Except that she could still—almost—feel his hand against her bare skin, touching her leg, her foot. Just remembering made her belly tighten and her heart beat faster.
When the cab returned to the book shop, she found Miss Pomshack standing in front of it, holding a small paper-wrapped parcel and scanning the street with an anxious expression.
“Oh, Miss Crookshank, thank goodness. I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry to have distressed you. Do get in,” Louisa directed.
The older lady climbed up, saying, “I found the perfect color of ribbon, but when I returned and you were not inside the bookseller’s, I feared the worst. I am so happy to see that you are safe.” Then she looked down and saw the bandaged foot. Throwing up her hands and dropping her parcel, she shrieked. “Oh, dear girl, what have you done?”
“Only a slight mishap,” Louisa tried to reassure her. “I turned my ankle, that is all. But we should get home.”
“At once, and we will soak your poor foot in Epsom salts. And then I will make you a mustard plaster. My mother passed on to me an excellent receipt for healing plasters.”
Miss Pomshack retrieved her shopping and took her seat, but she continued to fuss while they made the short drive back to the house. Louisa barely listened.
Her reflections echoed Miss Pomshack’s words, but their meaning was quite different.
Oh, heavens, Louisa thought. Indeed, what had she done?
Seven
Gemma studied the ledgers for most of the afternoon. She soon found the list of girls who had resided in the foundling home. The most current were written carefully in dark letters. In the middle of the book, she saw the name of the captain’s sister, Clarissa Fallon. Pages back in faded ink, she came across her own name: Gemma Smith.
Like the others, the dates of her arrival at the foundling home and her departure were scrawled beside it, but no clue, no indication of any family connection. Even the name was a disappointment; she had hoped for more than the anonymous Smith.
Sighing, Gemma read on.
The other books seemed to be the most innocuous accountings of household purchases, and if the matron sometimes seemed to pay very high prices for her produce and staples, especially considering the poor fare that Gemma remembered receiving in the dining hall, that was of little help to her.
She felt doubly disappointed. Aside from her own hopes, she had wished to find something to show Captain Fallon. If the ledgers turned out to be no help at all, they had both risked a potentially disgraceful theft for nothing.
Her spirits low, Gemma was glad enough to be distracted by Louisa’s return. She put the ledgers back into the wrapping paper and retied the string, then went into the hallway to greet Louisa and her companion. But as her friend came inside, with Miss Pomshack fussing beside her, Gemma was startled to see that her friend had a bandaged foot.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Louisa looked more embarrassed than hurt. “Yes, indeed. It’
s only a small mischance. I shall just put my foot up for a while, and I shall be fine.”
“And the theater planned for this evening.” Miss P clucked her tongue. “We shall have to tell your inestimable Sir Lucas that you will be forced to cancel the outing.”
“No, indeed,” Louisa contradicted quickly. “He has taken a box! And I’m sure by dinnertime I shall be quite recovered.”
“But—” The other lady wrinkled her nose.
“Why don’t you go make up that mustard plaster?” Louisa suggested. “I’m sure I shall feel much better after its application.”
Miss P looked pleased. “Indeed, I shall.”
She hurried away toward the kitchen, and Gemma came forward to offer her friend an arm up the stairs. “Do you need assistance?”
But Louisa seemed to climb the steps without effort. “I’m really quite all right. I only twisted my ankle—it’s not really even a sprain.”
“And lost your shoe, I see, a pity. Who bandaged your foot?”
She saw that Louisa blushed intensely. “A, um, Good Samaritan,” she said quickly.
“How fortunate,” Gemma murmured. When they reached Louisa’s bedchamber, Louisa rang for the maid. When Lily appeared, she helped her mistress take off her soiled walking dress. Louisa pulled on a dressing gown and sat down upon a chaise longue so that she could put up her foot.
It did not seem bruised or swollen, Gemma noted, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Louisa seemed strangely embarrassed by the small accident.
“Lily, I wish a hip bath prepared before I change for dinner, please,” Louisa told the maid. “I feel very grimy, indeed.”
“Yes, miss,” the girl agreed. She took the dirty gown away, and Gemma stared at her friend.
“All right, what really happened?”
Louisa blushed again. “Just as I said. Well, no.” Then the story of the misstep into the horse dung rushed out.
Gemma tried not to laugh. It was obvious that Louisa had been mortified. “Oh, I’m sure that was most distressing. And they were handsome walking shoes, too, and almost new. Though I suppose the cobbler can make a replacement to match the one that remains, so all is not lost.”
“True,” Louisa said. “I shall send the remaining shoe around with the footman tomorrow. And I shall insist that the repairs to my carriage be completed, so I am not again left on foot!”
“And who did help you? You said the countess did not witness your mishap, which is fortunate.”
Louisa shivered. “Oh, yes. And as to the other, I think . . . I think I do not wish to say, just now.”
Gemma stared at her. Such reticence from the impulsive Louisa was something new. “Of course, I did not mean to pry.”
Louisa bit her lip. “No, no. It is only . . . well, you know I would do nothing unladylike, not on purpose, and if Sir Lucas ever heard of it . . .”
Gemma nodded.
Louisa sighed. “I know I can trust you not to repeat the tale, Gemma. I was forced to go to Lieutenant McGregor’s rooms.”
“Forced?” Gemma looked at her friend in alarm. “You don’t mean—”
“That is, forced by the circumstance. I was on the street with only one shoe and a dirty gown, and people were laughing at me!”
“Of course, and the lieutenant was no doubt only trying to be chivalrous,” Gemma said, making her tone as soothing as she could.
“Actually, I think he was.” Louisa’s distress seemed to subside. “And of course, nothing improper happened.” But her cheeks reddened once more.
Gemma pretended not to notice, and now Miss Pomshack returned, carrying a truly noxious-smelling plaster.
“This will make your poor ankle feel much better, Miss Louisa.”
She fussed about, arranging the plaster on Louisa’s foot, offering to fetch tea or a healing tisane.
Eyeing the plaster, Louisa asked for tea, and the older lady bustled off again.
“The confounded thing burns! This is my punishment for lying,” Louisa said glumly. “But we shall not give up our excursion to the theater. I have been looking forward to it since Lucas told us about it yesterday.”
When Miss P returned bearing the tea, Louisa sipped it, then announced that her foot was miraculously healed. “You may take off the plaster, Miss Pomshack.”
“Already?” the lady asked in concern. “Perhaps you should lie abed for a while.”
“No, no, I wish a bath before dressing for dinner and the theater, and my ankle truly feels much better. Your plaster was just the thing.”
Miss Pomshack seemed gratified, and Gemma hid her smile. “Do you need any assistance?” she asked again.
Louisa waved her away. “No, you go and change. We shall have a lovely evening. I shall enjoy showing you the theater.”
Gemma departed, grinning a little now that Louisa could not see, and washed and changed into her only dinner dress, a demure silver-gray with rose-colored piping along the bodice. She was pleasantly excited about going to the theater, a first for her.
Sir Lucas arrived in time for dinner and pronounced Louisa stunning when she came down the stairs—with no sign of a limp, Gemma noted—wearing a white dress with pale blue silk roses around the flounce, and fine lace at the sleeves and bosom.
“You look first-rate, Louisa!” he told his fiancé, who blushed and smiled, then he offered his arm to take her into dinner.
Gemma followed with Miss Pomshack, who murmured, “My mustard poultice worked even better than I expected, did it not, Miss Smith? My mother’s receipt is certainly an excellent one.”
Gemma managed not to laugh. “A wonderful remedy,” she agreed.
They all chatted gaily through dinner. Even Louisa’s middle-aged companion seemed quite stimulated at the thought of the outing, and Louisa herself positively sparkled. When Louisa’s restored carriage drew up to the door, the ladies donned their best shawls and were handed into the chaise.
The drive to Covent Gardens did not take long, although the street was crowded with vehicles as other play-goers descended and headed into the theater.
Gemma watched her footing, not wanting to duplicate Louisa’s mishap with the horse dung, and not until they were inside and she could lift her head did she get a good look at the splendor of the building.
The gilding on the boxes and the handsomely adorned ceiling were quite amazing. But she could not linger to stare. The crowd was dense, and she hastened along, not wanting to get separated from her companions.
Sir Lucas led them to the second tier and to the box that he had procured for them. Louisa took the best seat, of course, and Sir Lucas sat beside her. Gemma was quite happy to sit behind them, with Miss Pomshack at her side.
She let her shawl drop to the back of her chair, and now she could look about her at the beautiful dresses of the ladies and the fine coats and dazzling white linen of the men. She felt again the usual tremor of uncertainty—did she have the right to be here, or was she merely an impostor? Lord Gabriel and his wife must come often to the theater when they were in town. Did Gemma deserve to sit among the Ton in a tiered box and enjoy this luxury? Determined to enjoy the evening, she pushed the thought away.
And when the curtain rose and the footlights shone on the elaborately painted scenery behind the actors, Gemma forgot everything else. Tonight the actors and actresses were performing As You Like It. As she watched Rosalind moving lightly about the stage, impudent in her man’s clothing, her face very handsome and just as obviously painted as the panels behind her, Gemma leaned forward to hear every line above the occasionally noisy audience.
Many in the pit and even the boxes carried on loud conversations, oblivious to anyone else’s pleasure, and some of the men below were flirting outrageously with women whose dresses seemed scandalously low-cut. But even this did not dint her delight. Time flew by as Gemma laughed at the jests and gasped at the near-disasters that Shakespeare’s script inflicted upon his players, and she clapped heartily as the play ended.
“Wasn’t it romantic, Lucas?” Louisa sighed, turning to her fiancé. She held out her hand, and he patted it.
“First rate,” he agreed. “Very handsome, these ac-tresses. Ah, I see some chaps I know from my club. Excuse me, please, Louisa. I shall be back presently.” Sir Lucas bowed and disappeared into the corridor.
Louisa looked disappointed, but she turned to speak to her companions. “Did you like it?”
“Oh, it was divine,” Gemma told her. “I have never seen such a delightful comedy. I read the play at school, but that was nothing to seeing it performed.”
“A very handsome production, indeed,” Miss Pomshack agreed. “Even my father, the vicar, always said that the Bard could not be condemned, though Papa did not approve of play-going in general.” Despite this somewhat qualified praise, her cheeks were pink, perhaps from suppressed laughter, Gemma thought, grinning to herself.
Louisa glanced at the audience, the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen now chatting and moving about. She frowned for a moment, then gasped. “Gemma! Do you see—no, of course, you do not know his face. In the third box to the right.”
Gemma scanned the boxes, but she had no idea what to search for. “What is it?”
“Lord Gabriel and his wife, Psyche!” Louisa hissed.
Gemma winced and turned quickly back, suddenly afraid they would be detected. Louisa might think she was being discreet, but her voice seemed loud. “Hush, pray do not let them hear you.” She did not wish to make a bad impression before she had even been introduced to her brother.
“There’s too much noise. I’m sure they did not. They are not gazing this way, look again,” Louisa directed. “She is blond and he is dark, and they are the handsomest couple in the theater, I’d wager.”
Such praise from Louisa was saying a great deal. Gemma looked cautiously to the side. Now, she saw them!
She felt a thrill go through her. Her brother—could it be so? He was regarding his wife, speaking to her ears alone, and Gemma could see his face only from the side, but there was no doubt he was an amazingly handsome man. And his wife, fair and well proportioned, her fashionable gown so elegant that Louisa was no doubt swooning over it, yes, they were indeed a fine-looking pair.