London was to Boston what Savege Park had been to Aidan’s plantation. Sprawling, with endless streets and countless people and every sound imaginable-from animals’ snorts and neighs to the clatter of carriages and the shouts of vendors. Thick with coal-scented air, it teemed with motion and life. She stared out the window, pulling off her shawl and peeling away her gloves from sticky palms.
“The air in town is remarkably insalubrious this early in the autumn, Miss Carlyle,” Lady Emily said, finally closing her book, her green eyes bright. “But there are a great many places a lady may enjoy the finer pleasures of life.”
“Lady Fiona told me about Gunter’s confectioner’s shop,” she said distractedly. Far to the right the unmistakable points of ship masts clustered beyond the roof of a building. A trickle of relief went through her. London was not all alien.
“I meant museums and scientific exhibits and lectures, of course.”
“Are we near the river? I see ships.”
“Several blocks to the north. Are you fond of sailing, Miss Carlyle?”
“A little.”
A grand, elegant, and astoundingly large abode, Alex and Serena’s house sat on a corner of a square and seemed a veritable mansion. It boasted two parlors, a receiving room, a drawing room, dining room, broad foyer, a modest ballroom at the rear, a garden behind, and innumerable bedchambers above. Serena had furnished it with an eye toward comfort but also with simple beauty. Viola supposed she must become accustomed to the splendor. Despite being titled nobility, Serena was still Serena, after all, and Alex was as kind and solicitous as ever, and baby Maria had made the journey well. She told herself she was more fortunate than most anyone she had ever met.
But without the constant company of friends, and without a bluff overlooking the sea to wander along, she swiftly grew restless. Stationary. When Sir Tracy called to drive her in the park in his new curricle, she gladly accepted. When Lady Emily invited her to an afternoon lecture by a noted female essayist, she agreed with a bit less alacrity but enjoyed it even better. The famous essayist employed any number of cuss words that Serena and Mr. Yale had strictly enjoined Viola never to utter, and her lecture was all about how women should be allowed to explore the professions as any man. Several ladies left the lecture hall pale and whispering behind their fans, but Viola felt positively buoyed up.
It took very little to batten her down again, however. Against her inclination she accepted an invitation from Lady Fiona and Madame Roche for an evening of cards.
“But, ma chère mademoiselle, you play less well ce soir than at the country house of your sister.” This said in a French whisper.
“In point of fact, I am playing wretchedly.” This said in a grumble.
“How are the pins doing to hold up your hem?” Lady Fiona looked hopeful.
“They are sticking me in the ankles. But that is the least I deserve for stepping all over them when dismounting from the carriage.”
“The tears, they will occur!” Madame Roche laid down the King and Queen of hearts.
“Tears?” Prickles erupted at the backs of Viola’s eyes.
“Tears as in rips, Miss Carlyle.” Lady Emily peered at her cards with a furrowed brow. “Clarice’s accent is quaint but occasionally inconvenient.” She flickered Viola a focused glance.
Indeed, Viola feared her friends and sister mistook none of her melancholy. They were solicitous to the point of annoyance. London’s sights and marvels could not be fully enjoyed in such a state of irritation, and in any case Viola disliked feeling irritated. She required activity to scare away her fidgets.
With that in mind, four days into their London residence she accompanied Serena and Alex to an evening supper party with dancing. She danced. She trod on gentlemen’s toes. None of them teased, or laughed, and perhaps most devastatingly of all, when the music halted there was no perfect man striding down the corridor to take her into his arms and make love to her.
He was gone. She was living like a lady although she most certainly was not one, with no connection to what she had known for so many years. And that was the mess she had made of her life.
The following evening, beyond the parlor windows the sunset layered gold and gray, terraces of shimmering bronze stacked upon billowing smoke. But Viola could not enjoy it. She sat in a beautifully upholstered chair, an embroidery frame on her lap, a book on the table beside her, and could do nothing but stare out through the glass and wish she were back at sea on the quarterdeck of the April. For then she could revel in the loneliness that gripped her so powerfully still, here in London, surrounded by those she loved. All but one.
Serena touched her on the shoulder. She jumped, knocking the embroidery frame to the floor.
“I am sorry.” Her sister sat on the ottoman before her, a vision in aqua silk and pearls.
“Are you going out tonight?”
“Yes. At breakfast I told you of this evening’s musicale fete. I came looking for you to tell you the carriage will be about shortly. But I see you are not dressed.” She tilted her head.
“I am sorry, Ser. I don’t think my disposition is suited for company tonight.”
She touched her on the back of her hand. “Vi, are you unwell? What I mean to say is, are you happy?”
He had asked her that, told her he could not stay away from her, then he left.
“I am so glad to be here with you, Ser. And Alex and Maria. And tomorrow we shall meet Kitty and Lord Blackwood. After all I have heard of Alex’s sister, I do look forward to that.”
Serena’s fingers tightened around hers. “But are you happy?”
Viola’s throat tightened.
“He brought me here,” she whispered, allowing the words to finally come, “and you made me a lady, but I will never really be one. Not truly, no matter how hard I try. On the outside I might rub my face with lemon juice and pluck at the harp-albeit wretchedly-but on the inside I am still cussing like a sailor.” She turned her gaze back to the sunset, now pale pink and gray, the gold entirely gone. “But I cannot go back to my old life. Oh, Ser, what am I fit for now?”
“Don’t you want this, Vi?”
“Yes, I want this.” She ducked her head and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “But I want him more.”
“Him, Mr. Castle?” Serena sounded skeptical.
“Him, Mr. Seton.”
A moment’s silence. Then, “Oh, Vi.”
“I know,” she groaned, leaped up and went to the window, as close to the sunset as she could. “I do know. I think I have known since the moment I met him.” She gripped the brocade drapery and leaned her brow into its thick folds. “Yet to him I have been nothing but a bounty to line his pockets.” And momentary pleasure. She had given him that, at least. Perhaps even some amusement. It felt good to make him smile, to see stars. But that joy was not to be hers again.
“A bounty?”
Viola sank onto the window seat. “The bounty Alex paid him for finding me and bringing me home.”
Serena came to her. “Alex paid him no bounty, Vi.”
“Of course he did.”
“No, he did not. Even if Alex had offered him payment, Jinan would not have taken it. Why, he is rich as Croesus. Quite likely wealthier than my husband, given the many nights Alex spent at the card tables at one time. Didn’t you know that?”
She swallowed through her thick throat. “No” came out like a peep. “I did not.” She shook her head. “But then, why did he spend so many months searching for me, and so much effort convincing me to return here, if not for Alex’s money?”
Serena sat at her side. “It was rather the other way around. He felt he owed Alex a debt.”
“He owed a debt?”
“It is not really my place to share this information, but now I think you must be told. As a boy, for two years Jinan was a slave. Alex, not much older than him at the time, had him freed.”
Her breaths came fast. “But that was twenty years ago.”
“The
n you do know.”
“I didn’t know Alex’s part in it.”
“Jinan found you for me because he believed it was the only manner in which he could repay my husband. Of course Alex never expected or asked it. Jin needn’t have ever done anything.”
Viola stood and crossed the chamber, abruptly hot all over.
“All this time I believed-” She could not think. “I never-” Her return to England had meant more to him than she had ever imagined. He had understood his friend’s love for his wife, and somehow also Serena and Viola’s bond as children. He was a man as alone as any could be, both by life’s tragedy and by choice, yet in this manner he had chosen to pay his debt. Because what Alex had given him meant everything to him.
She ached inside so profoundly, for the boy he had been and the man he had become. And she loved him beyond bearing.
“Viola, will you dress now for going out?” Serena’s voice sounded strange.
She turned and swallowed back her grief. “Ser, I don’t really wish to-”
“Please dress. I should like us to pay that call on Kitty before the party tonight, actually. You needn’t even dress for the evening. We will drop you off here again after we visit Lady Blackwood.”
“Well, all right.” She moved to the door, head heavy and not particularly caring where she went.
Jane buttoned her into a gown suitable for making calls, muttering all the while that Viola should use cucumber slices over her eyes at night to relieve the puffiness. Viola ignored her and met her sister and Alex in the foyer. Serena and the earl made superficial conversation as they drove the two blocks to Lord and Lady Blackwood’s town house, a more modest establishment than their home but still remarkably elegant.
The lady that met them in the receiving room was as elegant as her surroundings, tall and slender, with dark hair and gray eyes much like her brother’s, and exquisitely dressed in the richest shade of blue. She came forward, took both Viola’s hands into her own, and kissed her softly on either cheek.
“How eager I have been to make your acquaintance.” She spoke as beautifully as Viola had ever heard, her laughing eyes belying her superior mien and dress. “And how immeasurably glad I am that you are in our family now.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Kitty it shall be to you. And I shall call you Viola, the long-lost sister I never had.” She cast a sparkling smile at Serena and winked. “My other long-lost sister.” She glanced at her brother. “You will not find Leam at home. He has gone out for the evening. He is attempting to track down Wyn, who cannot be found lately and who, by the by, was so charmed by you, Viola, he vows he will never glance at another lady unless she possesses a thorough knowledge of the sea and no desire whatsoever to paint watercolors.”
Viola wished she could smile. She managed a wobbly grin. “I hope he is well.”
“He is playing least in sight these days, so we don’t have any idea and it is a bit worrisome.” Kitty released her hands. “But at least before he disappeared he told us all about his time at the Park and about you. Naturally, he was much more forthcoming than Jinan, who I suspect had many stories to share but was predictably reticent.” Her lips twisted. “One never does know what Jin is thinking or doing, does one, Alex?”
The earl leaned against the mantel, arms crossed. “Rarely.” He glanced at Viola.
She had the most peculiar sense they all expected her to speak next. And so, though it cost every ounce of her self-possession to hold her voice from trembling, she obliged.
“I suppose he was very busy preparing to depart. Perhaps now that he is on his way across the sea he will have leisure to write l-letters.” Her voice stumbled. “I always kept a journal aboard ship, of course. And-sometimes-I wrote letters.” The last came forth as a mumble. It was not pleasurable speaking of him. That he was apparently well known and liked by all her family and friends was a wretchedly unwelcome discovery.
The room had gone silent. She glanced about. Kitty was looking at Alex, her brow drawn. Alex nodded.
“Viola,” Kitty said, “Jinan is not on his way across the sea. Not yet, at least. He is here in London.”
“Here?” She stared at Kitty, then Alex. “In London?”
“Yes.”
“He told me he was putting to sea, sailing to-” Her voice cracked. “He lied.”
“Not necessarily. That may be in his plans, eventually.”
“And until then?” But the truth didn’t matter. He had left Devonshire almost certainly knowing how she felt. “What is he doing in London?”
Serena said softly, “He is looking for his family, Vi.”
Viola’s heart tripped. “What family? He said his mother died long ago.”
Serena shook her head and shrugged. Viola found nothing useful on Alex and Kitty’s faces either.
“I suppose I am relieved not to be the only person with whom he shares so little,” she finally muttered, winning a grin from Alex and a tender smile from Serena. But Kitty remained sober.
“It is difficult not to understand him, I know, Viola. But Jinan is a good man. He is doing what he believes to be right. If you care for him-which I think perhaps you do?-you must trust him.”
An hour later, as Viola paced her bedchamber, Kitty’s words still racketed about her head. Perhaps he was doing what he believed to be right. But need he do so alone? He might not love her or need her. But she loved him and she wanted to help him. She longed to help him, as he had helped her.
She would.
Serena and Alex had no direction for him, nor did Kitty and Lord Blackwood. He lived like a shadow in London, apparently. But Viola knew her way around docks better than her aristocratic relatives. If his ship were still there, she would find him. She could not go about it, however, dressed as Viola Carlyle.
She darted to her garderobe, dug deep, and found her breeches, shirt, and waistcoat. The challenge of escaping the house and getting to the docks without being noticed by her sister’s solicitous servants would be considerable. She was tugging on her left shoe, tucking in her shirt, and hopping on one foot while sticking her head out the window to study the trellis crawling down the side of the house, when Jane entered.
Jane gasped.
Viola dropped her shoe.
Jane’s eyes narrowed. She backed toward the door.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
Jane’s lips pinched. “Where are you going?”
“To the docks.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
“Of course I will.” Viola stalked forward, limping on one stockinged foot. “And you will assist me.”
“Oh, no, I will not.”
“Oh, yes, you will. Because if you do not, I will tell Lady Savege how you stole one of Mr. Yale’s neck cloths and are hiding it amongst your underclothes.”
Jane’s palm shot up to cover her open mouth. “You wouldn’t,” she hissed.
“I would.” Viola cocked her head. “So what will it be? Assist me now, or never find another position amongst the Quality again?”
Jane glared. But she assisted.
Viola thought she was getting the hang of being a lady quite nicely.
She found Matouba first. It was remarkably easy. The footman that Jane bribed with intimate favors (possibly chosen for the task for his black hair and gray eyes that resembled a particular Welshman’s) found a hackney coach for Viola. Once spirited out the back door while said footman and Jane distracted the other servants, it was a quick trip through evening traffic to the docks.
Pulling her hat down around her face, she went into the first pub she came to, and there he was. Ebony among chestnut and leather and walnut and rawhide, he stood by the crowded bar, his white globelike eyes trained directly on her. Her father’s Irish luck was with her tonight. Or perhaps her father himself was watching over and guiding her actions. Fionn was wily enough to succeed in this plan. He had stolen a girl from a baron, after all. Stealing back a man’s family ought to be a breeze.
She shoved her way through the crowd.
“I am glad to see you. Where are Mattie and Billy? But more to the point, where is he?”
To Matouba’s credit, he tipped his hat respectfully before grasping her arm and trundling her out of the pub without a by-your-leave. She yanked out of his hold. Lamplight from the pub’s door shone on the pavement and voices and laughter tumbled across thresholds all down the block. It was the sailors’ district, and she was perfectly comfortable. But Matouba clearly was not happy with her presence. His eyes continually flickered about, and he stood close, his stance protective on the dark street.
“Where is he, Matouba?”
“Well, miss, I reckon I can’t be tellin’ you that now.”
“Why? Because I am not supposed to know?”
“Because he don’t know,” came from behind her.
She swung around to face Mattie. Billy hovered at his beefy elbow wearing a toothy grin.
“It sure is good to see you again, Cap’n ma’am.”
“Thank you, Billy.” She turned her attention up to the hulking helmsman. “Do you know where he is?”
Mattie shook his head.
“We don’t never know, Cap’n ma’am.” Billy’s head bobbed. “He don’t never tell us.”
“Then how do you communicate with him?” Her gaze flashed between them. “He tells you when and where, doesn’t he?” She lodged her fists on her hips. “And he says I’m impossible.”
“Begging your pardon, miss.” Mattie’s grin lacked several teeth. “But we know where he ain’t tonight. Where we were thinking about going us’selves. Fact is, we could use a sailor that can talk good as a lady for the job.” Bowls and jugs clinked from within the pub and a fiddler took up a tune, a cart clattered past, stirring up dust that smelled like sweat and fish, and the most glowering, harrumphing sailor Viola had ever known winked.
Her heart pattered fast. She thrust out her hand, palm down. “I’m in.”
A skinny freckled hand slapped atop hers. “I’m in, Cap’n ma’am.”
Fingers like pitch-coated sausages covered Billy’s. “Me too, miss.”
Mattie’s came last, big and brown and as comforting as a whole ham on Easter Sunday. “Let’s go.”
How to Be a Proper Lady Page 30