The woman sniffed. Her eyes widened, then she offered the envelope. “The woman is certainly known to you, sir.”
Once the envelope was in his hands, it was as if the late afternoon sun had found its way to his soul. “Yes,” he said, lifting the envelope to inhale its sweet fragrance before slipping it inside his jacket by his heart. “She most certainly is.”
• • •
HE FOUND A QUIET SPOT IN THE TINY VILLAGE TO READ his letter, not wishing to have the others on the drayage crew interrupt him in the pleasure. It was not as if this were a love letter, far from it. There was no gushing of affection, no pronouncements of undying adoration or devotion. Just Edwina’s unique and immensely enjoyable retelling of events of the day. Through her letters, he began to know and appreciate the other women of the Rake Patrol, as she called them. She told of her brothers’ adventures and between the lines he recognized her admiration and yearning to travel as they did. He even had to chuckle at some of the “secret” postings in the personals that Edwina decoded. This letter, though, added the news of a different sort of decoding. The Guardians were to meet next week, which he assumed meant his request for membership would be presented. Traveling at the pace of two Clydesdales pulling the freight cart along country roads, he’d almost forgotten about the Guardians and the threat they potentially posed to his family. Instead he’d spent the time contemplating his future, contemplating Edwina, and realizing that thanks to her, he’d discovered he had the capacity to truly trust again.
• • •
EDWINA’S HUMOR INCREASED STEADILY AS IT NEARED the date of the Guardians’ meeting. Ashton would surely be back in London. Hopefully, she’d have an opportunity to see him before he returned to the drayage routes. With this in mind, she watched everywhere for his unique gait, his enticing face and listened for his endearing voice. Even as she dressed to accompany her parents to the theater, she did so with Ashton in mind.
After the invitation to Lady Sutton’s soiree, her mother had gone to great lengths to improve Edwina’s wardrobe. She’d received several new dresses, a consequence of her mother’s renewed social obsession, and she relished the idea of wearing one in public. Tonight she wore her favorite of the new gowns. Clearly, the print of bright oranges and orange leaf clusters on a deep blue, almost black, background had Japanese influences. She could well imagine the silk fabric appearing on a kimono on a shunga print. The many pleats in the front and back created a particularly pleasing symmetry while the effect on the fruits gave the gown a kaleidoscope quality that made her think of Ashton’s gift of the spyglass. The neck was designed to be worn either with a concealing lacey jabot, or without. She chose without. Thus a small amount of daring skin was visible—not as much as one might see in a ball gown, but a small amount nevertheless. When she reviewed herself in the mirror, she smiled. She looked bold and fearless.
Edwina suspected attending the performance of Oscar Wilde’s latest play, Lady Windermere’s Fan, A Play about a Good Woman, was part of her mother’s plan to advance their family’s social position. Her father grumbled about the time removed from work and the need to dress to the nines for a play, but her mother insisted, and in the end he acquiesced.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Walter was waiting in their box at the theater; her father’s intervention, she supposed. She knew Walter was not enamored with plays and the theater. He’d made that quite clear weeks ago when she suggested they see a play to satisfy her story about the need for Faith’s parasol. Of all the new, exciting playwrights, Oscar Wilde was his least favorite, but Edwina assumed he approved, at least, of the title of this play. She settled into the chair next to where he stood waiting.
His eyes slipped almost immediately to her daring neckline. “Did you bring your wrap, Edwina?” He frowned. “You might catch a chill without one.”
“I’m quite comfortable, Walter. Sit down.” She tapped him with her black feather fan.
“I would gladly sacrifice my jacket for your comfort,” he insisted. “I can rest it on your shoulders.” He started to shrug out of his evening jacket.
“I’m fine, Walter. Please sit back and enjoy the play.”
Her mother, seated on the other side of her and in vigorous employment of a pair of opera glasses, urgently patted her knee. “The Trewelyns are directly across from us. Do you see? Oh, look! Mrs. Trewelyn just nodded in our direction.” She lowered the glasses, beaming. “It’s a good sign. I knew that following up the Sutton soiree with a round of calls would prove productive. Mrs. Trewelyn wouldn’t have acknowledged our existence before then.”
Edwina borrowed her mother’s glasses and peered across the theater. Ashton smiled in her direction and nodded. Her heart leapt to her throat. He was so incredibly dark and handsome. In spite of her mother’s exuberance, Mrs. Trewelyn did not appear pleased with his attention. The house lights lowered before she could see more.
Edwina enjoyed the first two acts more than she had anticipated she would. The play revolved around a young bride who suspected her husband was having an affair. When her husband insisted she invite the mystery woman to her birthday ball, the bride contemplated running off with another man. Unbeknownst to her, the mystery woman was really her very own mother. Her husband’s involvement with the woman had only been to assist the mother back into society. When the young bride left a note behind of her intentions to run away with a known rake, the mother intercepted the note and pledged to help her daughter avoid making the same mistake she had made herself so many years ago. The curtain was lowered for intermission.
“I don’t know why they call this a play about a good woman,” Walter complained. “A good woman would have accepted without question her husband’s statement that he wasn’t having relations. A good woman would never contemplate running away with another man.”
“Perhaps the good woman is the mother, the one society rejected,” Edwina offered.
“That can’t be right,” he argued. “If she had been the good woman, she would be married. Her own daughter would certainly recognize her.”
She looked at his face. Sweet Walter. The concept of hypocrisy was lost on him. Society’s restrictions were necessary and beyond question in his mind. She wasn’t certain if that was an admirable trait, but it was a reliable one. “Perhaps we should go to the mezzanine during intermission,” she said. “I feel the need to stand and take some refreshment before the next act.”
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for leaving their box to stand in the mezzanine, but she couldn’t tell Walter that. Her mother, however, understood the social aspects of being seen at such an event. She joined them to make a party of three. Her father remained behind to talk to an acquaintance in the next box.
Edwina spied Ashton immediately on the far side of the mezzanine. He was surrounded by women, several of whom she recognized from the soiree. Ashton immediately broke away from the group and walked toward her, a generous smile on his face. “Mrs. Hargrove and Miss Hargrove. What a pleasure to see you both again.” He extended a hand to Walter, who begrudgingly shook it.
“Was that Lady Sutton I saw in your box?” her mother asked. Before Ashton could answer, her mother hurried off. “I must inquire about her health. She had suffered a chill the last I heard.”
Ashton waited until Mrs. Hargrove had left, then turned toward Edwina. “You are a vision of beauty this evening.” His eyes warmed with his words. He leaned heavily on an elaborately carved stick at his side. Edwina was tempted to ask if it concealed a fishing pole or perhaps a life preserver, but that would have required explanation to Walter. “I imagine the other women are seething with jealousy at your unique style,” he said, the wicked gleam in his eyes causing her exposed skin to heat.
He was most likely right about glances of envy—not due to her style, but rather her company. Walter stepped slightly forward, almost as if to shield her from Ashton’s app
reciative gaze, but not before a thrill rippled through her.
“Are you enjoying the play, Mr. Trewelyn?” she asked. It was not the question she longed to ask, but Walter stood near.
“I’m enjoying the intermission much more.” He always knew the right words to make her knees weak, but, she reminded herself, he’d had lots of practice in this area. Walter scowled.
“You remind me of that scoundrel in the play, that Mr. Darlington,” Walter said. “He’s a charmer much like yourself.”
“Mr. Wilde did give him the best lines,” Ashton replied. “‘I can resist anything but temptation,’” he quoted as he turned to Edwina. “Do you believe that, Miss Hargrove?”
“I believe Mr. Wilde spends considerable thought on the subject of temptation,” she said, remembering that Ashton had quoted him before. “I wonder what temptation obsesses him so?”
Ashton laughed, then nodded to her in a sort of salute.
“Walter,” she said, turning to her side, “would you be so kind as to bring something for my parched throat?” Walter continued to glare at Ashton. “I’d ask Mr. Trewelyn, but given the stairs and his leg injury . . .”
Walter nodded tersely, then bumped Ashton as he passed. Ashton quickly regained his balance and watched Walter tread down the stairs to the lower lobby with a wary expression.
“That man has no love lost for me,” he said.
“No,” Edwina agreed. She knew Walter didn’t wish to leave her side but she needed the privacy to see if Ashton had received her last letter. Sweet Walter would never deny her such a simple request as a glass of lemonade. “He has his reasons.”
Ashton straightened. His lips tightened. “I imagine he recognizes my affection for you.” His eyes narrowed. “Just as I can see that you care for him.”
She laughed lightly. “Walter has been a friend of the family for many years.” She grasped Ashton’s arm and turned him slightly to carve out a small bit of privacy in a mezzanine packed with people. “Did you receive my message about the Guardians’ meeting tomorrow night?”
He took her gloved hand in his and studied it. “I’ve received all of your many messages.” His finger stroked her knuckle. “Edwina . . . it’s difficult to describe how much those letters mean to me.”
She didn’t know what to say. Strange how she found it easy to tell him of her thoughts through the pages of a letter, but felt tongue-tied now addressing him in person.
“As a result of your encouragement,” he said, “I’ve created a prototype of a rifle scope that may work for the Martini-Henry rifle. I delivered the casing to Thomas Harris this morning. He’s providing the optics.”
His face beamed with his accomplishment. She wished his father, who was missing in that box across the way, could see his son now. “How exciting! I’m so proud of you,” she said. Should the design succeed, no one would think of him in terms of “Casanova” again. Especially his father. Lost in her admiration for Ashton’s news, she’d lost track of what exactly he was saying. She refocused.
“. . . I hope that even after we search the gallery for more notes, you’ll consider—”
“We?” Panic filled her voice. “Surely you don’t expect me to assist in your search. I can’t go back there.”
“Why not? The timing is perfect. You’ve already seen the collection. You examined it quite thoroughly if I recall.”
Her cheeks began to heat. It wasn’t the woodprints that she feared, it was her feelings when she viewed them. They made her want to do things, explore things that she knew she mustn’t. Not with this man. She glanced at his face. That, of course, was the problem. It was precisely this man that made her blood hum with taboo desires. She couldn’t imagine doing the things the pictures depicted with Walter, but with Ashton . . .
He smiled, seemingly ignorant of the hot currents flowing through her body. “We’ll be able to perform a much more efficient search if we work together. It was your suggestion, after all.”
She bit her lip, worried that her voice would betray the improper yearnings that coursed through her veins. “I suggested you search for more messages.” She cast her voice low, not wishing to be overheard, but that only drew him closer. “Not that I would assist.” She glanced quickly to the stairs. While sending Walter off for a beverage had been a ploy for privacy, now she wished she had the cool liquid in her hand. She looked across the mezzanine, anywhere but at Ashton. She spotted his stepmother speaking to . . . her mother! Her gaze returned to Ashton. “How could I possibly explain my presence to your stepmother? She certainly wouldn’t allow me in that gallery.”
“As luck would have it, Constance is leaving for a stay at a friend’s country house. With both of my parents gone for the evening, we’ll be able to search undisturbed.”
“The servants?” Her voice squeaked as Ashton competently removed her objections one by one.
“A few will travel with Constance. I’ll suggest several others take the evening off, as their services won’t be needed. There will be a minimal staff, but we should be able to avoid those few. Trust me.” He winced. “I have a bit of experience in this.”
Edwina glanced at her mother’s animated conversation. “I wish you had experience in keeping my mother occupied,” she said, half in jest. From the look on Constance’s face, Edwina imagined her mother was being more tolerated than encouraged to climb the higher rungs in society. She feared for her mother’s feelings if all her efforts resulted in rejection.
“Is that a problem?” Ashton smiled. “I have experience in that area as well. Your mother won’t be home tomorrow evening to notice you’re missing.”
She jerked her gaze to his. “How?”
Walter climbed the final steps to the mezzanine with a glass in hand. Their brief interlude of privacy was quickly coming to a close.
“Seven o’clock,” Ashton managed a moment before the bells sounded to return to their seats. He crossed to his stepmother, who waited impatiently on the far side of the mezzanine.
Edwina accepted the glass of lemonade from Walter and sipped at it greedily to refresh her suddenly dry mouth. How did she manage to get into this pickle? She could, of course, decline to participate. It was difficult to refuse Ashton when he turned those expressive eyes her way, but she could refuse. She could stay in her room and, inspired by that netsuke, she could . . . Netsuke! This would provide the perfect opportunity to return that blasted annoyance. Ashton wouldn’t have cause to think she stole it, and she wouldn’t live with the worry that someone would find it in her room.
Thankfully, Walter took her arm to guide her back to their seats. With her thoughts on returning to the secret gallery, she didn’t pay attention to such a mundane thing as a third act. She had managed to escape unscathed from her first unorthodox visit to the Trewelyn library. Would she be as fortunate the second?
• Fourteen •
“I KNEW, I JUST KNEW, SPEAKING WITH LADY SUTTON last night at the theater was the right thing to do,” her mother exclaimed, her enthusiasm causing Isabella to jump and pounce with joy. “Why earlier today I received a note inviting me to her town home to play cards this evening. Cards! I wish I had time to brush up my skills.”
“Is father invited as well?” Edwina asked hopefully.
“No. This is for ladies only. But your father won’t mind. He has another appointment this evening. I hate to leave you alone, but I know you’ll be content with your books and letters.” Her mother covered her mouth for a moment like a young girl. Indeed she hadn’t seen her mother this excited in years. “We’re on the verge of stepping up higher in society, I just know it. And it’s all due to your chance meeting with Lady Sutton in the park. I’m not certain why she was so taken with you, but she is. She always inquires after you.”
Guilt tempered Edwina’s enthusiasm. Her mother was so excited over her rise in society, while Edwina knew
the invitation was a result of Ashton’s manipulation to lure her back into that secret gallery.
“If I’m accepted into Lady Sutton’s circle, it will mean improved contacts for your father.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And for Walter, as well. We’ll be invited to balls and soirees and . . .”
“Won’t you miss your meetings at the Perennial Society, or the Ladies Society for Good Works, or Matrons for a Common Cause?”
“I can still participate in all of those groups, dear.” She bit her lip. “Maybe not as frequently as before but I’ll still participate. Or”—her face brightened—“you can take my place. That’s a wonderful idea! I will take you to the next meetings of all of my groups and introduce you. You’ll just love the ladies. Love them.”
“But what of my friends? The Crescent . . .”
Her mother’s face dimmed slightly. “Once you’re properly married and established in your own household, I’d imagine you won’t have time for those ladies. Associating with that firebrand Claire won’t be helpful to Walter. And Sarah . . . well, you just won’t have as much time for them as you do now.”
Edwina could feel the bars on her cage tighten.
Her mother sat on the corner of the bed. “Edwina, I want you to promise me something.”
Isabella jumped onto the bed as well. After accepting a few strokes down her sleek back, the kitten hopped off the bed to set about exploring the room.
“You must admit your pursuits are a little peculiar,” her mother said. “I believe it’s time for you to stop some of your more radical behavior and conform to the roles society expects of young women.”
Edwina heard scratching and a roll from the vicinity of her bureau. Looking beyond her mother, she saw Isabella’s thin tail whipping the air from the partially open drawer. Her mother glanced back as well, smiled, then continued with her lecture. “You’re not getting any younger, Edwina. Most young women your age have married and are well on their way toward producing children.”
The Casanova Code Page 18