"I don't think you're the reason why she vanished," Emily retorted, "But I think you know why. Was Lady Anna with child?"
"With child?" the woman snorted, "She wasn't expecting no bairn. If you want to know why she vanished, then why don't you find her and ask her yourself? Now, sling your hook, before I call for my Jimmy to throw you out on your ar—"
"Excuse me ladies, I believe it's time to leave."
Raff ignored the astonished look on the face of all three women, who evidently had not expected a duke to come rushing through the door. Mary's mouth was opening and closing with shock and she rather resembled a fish out of water.
"Who's this now?" the proprietress of the inn shrieked, turning to Emily with a scowl, "You didn't tell me you'd a gentleman with you."
"I didn't know that I had."
Instead of being grateful for his intervention, Emily was clearly annoyed by Raff's presence. She shot him an angry glare, which he ignored; she had no right to be indignant, not when she had put herself in such danger.
"Thank you for your time," Raff continued, ignoring Emily's protests, "We must be on our way."
Assuming the same commanding, no-nonsense air, that had served him so well in the army, Raff corralled the two women out of the inn, and back onto East India Road.
"Don't say a word," he warned Emily darkly, as he lifted his arm to hail a passing hackney, "Until we're inside."
It had been eons since Raff had last travelled in a public carriage, and as he, Emily and Mary settled inside, he remembered why; the lining of the seats were torn to shreds, there was a puddle of something unidentifiable under his feet, and the stench was so rancid that, had he not had Emily and Mary with him, he would have walked.
"What on earth were you both doing?" he whispered, once the carriage began to move, "Loitering around the docks? I don't need to tell you what people would say, if they caught you here, Lady Emily."
"No one would have recognised me," she shot back, tilting her chin in defiance and looking him square in the eye.
Raff's breath caught in his throat, as her green eyes connected with his. There was something startlingly familiar about those eyes looking out at him from under the rim of the hideous cap. The sense of déjà vu niggled him, though he tried to brush it off.
Of course her eyes look familiar, he chided himself, you've been looking at them since the start of the season.
"What is it?" Emily asked, frowning across the carriage at him.
"Nothing," Raff replied, "You just reminded me of someone for a moment, that's all. And don't try to change the subject; tell me, what were you doing harassing that woman over Lady Anna's disappearance?"
"I just wanted to learn what had happened to her," Emily mumbled in reply, her eyes adopting that overly-innocent look that she used when she was lying.
"Balderdash," Raff shot Emily a dark look, "I heard you mention a child. Does this have anything to do with the servant girl from Lambeth Asylum?"
"W-w-what?"
Emily's face paled and she cast Mary a nervous glance. In turn, the lady's maid gave her mistress a loaded look, before turning her face to Raff.
"Indeed it does, Your Grace," Mary said, "I told her it wasn't right coming down here—that Lady Anna couldn't possibly have anything to do with our maid, but she wouldn't listen. Thank goodness you came along when you did, Your Grace. You're a right hero."
Raff knew when he was being placated, and Mary, for all her charm, was about as subtle as a kick to the head from a horse. He frowned, watching as another strange look passed between mistress and maid.
They were both lying through their teeth—but why?
He lapsed into silence as the hackney wound its way through the busy streets of London. Ostensibly, he had no right to involve himself in Lady Emily's affairs, now that she had called off their engagement. But, he told himself, worrying for her safety was not sticking his nose into her business, it was chivalry—even if that chivalry was motivated by a burning sense of curiosity.
"Promise me you will never do anything like that again," Raff finally said, trying to keep the anger from his voice, "I could not bear if anything were to happen to you."
"I shan't, Your Grace," Emily replied stiffly, uncomfortable in the face of his obvious concern.
The carriage had reached Grosvenor Square and the look of relief on the face of the woman who he had thought would be his bride was rather painful to behold.
Yesterday, when he had confessed to her that when he looked into her eyes, it felt as though his soul had found its home, he had rather expected her to agree with him. The sweetly shy glances, and the understanding which she had always shown him, had lulled him into a false sense of belief; he had thought they were on the same page, but apparently he had been reading from a different book entirely.
It made no sense to Raff, and nor did Lady Emily's assertion that she could not marry him. She had not said "I will not", which rather spoke of certainty but instead had said, "I cannot", which made Raff wonder what was it that was preventing her from giving into the obvious connection between them?
It was, he knew, a rather weak case of semantics, but as he discreetly watched Emily, sitting across from him, he could not help but feel that her expression held more sorrow than it had the day before.
"Perhaps, Your Grace," Mary said, interrupting his thoughts, "You might ask the hackney to stop a little bit away from Fairfax House? Then we can slip in the servant's door unnoticed."
"As much as I dislike aiding and abetting you both," Raff replied, "I can see that some of the neighbours might raise a fuss if they spot Lady Emily parading up the front steps in servant's clothes. Driver, just here," he called, rapping on the roof of the carriage for the driver to stop.
There was no footman to assist the ladies down onto the footpath, but Mary insisted the duke remain in his seat.
"You're rather conspicuous, Your Grace," she said with a smile, as she nimbly hopped down.
"Thank you," Lady Emily said hesitantly, as she scooted across her seat toward the door, "For your assistance, Your Grace."
She had just place her foot upon the step, when—impulsively—Raff reached out and took her hand in his. It was the first time that he had seen her without gloves, and he frowned a little as he felt the callouses on her palms.
"I," he began, then broke off. What could he say to her to make her change her mind? Yesterday he had told her that he loved her, what difference would it make if he told her again?
"I hope that you enjoy your evening," he said, rather stupidly, if truth be told.
"And you," Lady Emily inclined her head, before gently tugging her hand from his, and disappearing after Mary.
Well, Raff thought, as he rapped on the roof of the carriage for the driver to continue on, if he hadn't been sure that Lady Emily was hiding something from him, he certainly was now, after this afternoon's shenanigans.
The question was, what?
Chapter Twelve
The next evening, as Ava was getting ready for a ball in Lady Birmingham's, she and Mary discussed—for the hundredth time—the disappearance of Lady Anna.
"That Harriette woman knew something," Ava said stubbornly, as Mary assisted her into her gown.
"I'm sure she knows lots of things," the lady's maid responded with a shrug, "Though she's not giving up her secrets that easy, and I'm glad she didn't get a chance to call that Jimmy fellow. Thank heavens the duke came along when he did, for we could have ended up in world of trouble."
Ava resisted rolling her eyes at the mention of Kilbride. Mary had practically canonised the man for saving them yesterday from the threat of "Jimmy", and had even forgiven him for upending their plans for an ice in Gunter's. Ava, however, thought that rather than saving them, Kilbride had interrupted them, just when she thought she might be able to get Harriette to confess.
"I just know she knows something," Ava whispered again, more to herself than to Mary, though the Irish woman clucked in disapproval.<
br />
"All I know," Mary said with a frown, as she surveyed Ava in her dress, "Is that that little assistant in Madam Lloris' shop has sewn this sash all wrong—look at it."
Ava glanced down at the velvet sash, which was tied just under her bust. She couldn't see anything wrong in it, but then, she had not had as much experience with ballgowns as Mary. The dress was, Ava thought, rather beautiful; it was made from soft, lilac silk, overlayed with gossamer, and had intricate satin Van Dyke points on the sleeves.
"I think it will do," Ava said with a simple shrug, but Mary did not listen.
"We still have time," she murmured to herself, "I can run down to Brook Street and have the girl fix it."
"Oh, there's no need," Ava argued, but Mary was not to be deterred.
"It's a matter of principal," she said with a sniff, as she exited the room, "I won't tell you how much Lord Fairfax pays to that French woman—the least she can do is make sure that her girls know a how to finish a trim."
The door snapped shut behind her and Ava was left alone. She quite liked the idea of curling up in the chair by the fireplace and reading her book, but was afraid that all hell would break loose, if Mary returned to find the dress wrinkled. Instead, she opted to pace the room restlessly, feeling a little like a caged bird.
Evening was falling outside the window and Ava paused to appreciate the view. For once, the sky was clear, for earlier, a small spring storm had pushed away the clouds of smoke which usually hovered over the city.
Directly across the square, on the opposite side of the garden, Ava saw that the lights were being lit in Lord and Lady Darlington's home. She rested her forehead against the window pane, as she followed the progress of the servant—probably a footman—as he made his way from room to room lighting the candles.
Was it possible that her mother had grown up in that house? It looked so cold and empty, despite the efforts of the servant to ward against the encroaching night. Though perhaps, she reasoned, she only thought that because she was ascribing her feelings toward Lady Darlington to the house, which resembled every other building on the square.
Everything was a muddle, she thought with a frown. She was no nearer to discovering who her mother had been than she was yesterday, and now that she and Kilbride had ended their engagement, she didn't have anything to look forward to. There was no giddy thrill at the thought of the ball, for what fun was a party when she didn't—not truly—know anyone there?
Not for the first time, Ava felt the weight of loneliness crashing down upon her. She had no one; Emily was in Kent, Kilbride had been pushed away, and Mr Hobbs had been taken away from her.
Her self pity had just reached its peak, when the door of the dressing room was flung open and Mary barrelled inside, moving so fast that Ava could have sworn the hounds of hell were on her heels.
"Oh, my Lady," Mary gibbered, so upset that she forgot Ava was no lady, "I had just turned off the square onto Whitechapel Street, when a big lout of a man accosted me."
"What?" Ava paled, rushing forward to take Mary's hands, "Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Why if he did, I-I-I'll-"
"Stutter at him?" Mary asked, with a wan attempt at humour, "No fear, lass, the blackguard didn't harm me. He said that he just wanted to pass along a message."
"What message?" Ava asked, her breath coming out in a rush.
"To leave the past well enough alone," Mary replied gravely, "Or there'll be hell to pay."
Lud, Ava thought, they must have really hit on something if Harriette was threatening them. When she said this to Mary, however, the Irish woman gave a huge, heaving sigh of annoyance.
"Don't sound so excited," she huffed, "It wasn't you who was threatened by the great big brute of a man. Besides, he's right. What's the point in dragging up the past, lass? You've found a family in Emily, don't you think it's time you told her to come home?"
Ava remained silent, for she knew that Mary was right. What point was there in trying to find out what had become of Lady Anna? It was clear that the girl had disappeared under suspicious circumstances, but the likelihood of her having vanished to give birth to Ava and Emily were rather slim.
"You're right," Ava said, with a defeated sigh.
"No. I won't broker any arguing," Mary began, straightening her shoulders as though readying for a fight; "You need to..Wait—what did you say?"
"You're right," Ava, despite herself, smiled at Mary's confusion, "I have been focusing too much on what I want, rather than what I have. I would like to know who my mother was, but whoever she was, I'm sure I would have loved her."
"Oh, my dear," Mary said, wiping a tear away from her eye, before pulling Ava into a bone-crushing hug, "How sweet you are. Your mother would have loved you dearly, of that I'm certain."
Ava felt the hot sting of tears threaten and perhaps Mary noticed the glistening in her eyes, for she gave Ava an extra squeeze, before letting her go.
"Now," the Irish woman said brusquely, "I'll want that embroidered onto a cushion, or perhaps on a sampler that I can hang on my wall."
"Err," Ava frowned in confusion, as Mary smiled mischievously, "What exactly am I embroidering?"
"The words 'you were right, Mary'," Mary said with a laugh, "You don't know how nice it is to hear that for a change—better than an ice in Gunter's."
"Well," Ava said thoughtfully, "There's no reason you can't have both."
"We've no time," Mary said sadly, "Not if we're going to fetch Lady Emily from Kent."
"We can wait another day," Ava replied, a smile lighting up her face, "Tomorrow, for my last day as Lady Emily, we're going to go into town and spend all my pin money, on all the things we've both always wanted to do."
"Oh, we can't," Mary replied, both aghast and excited at the same time.
"But we can," Ava said, not willing to take no for an answer, "Cakes, ices, stockings—anything that takes our fancy. Tomorrow, neither of us shall be servants, we shall both be ladies of means."
On that light note, Mary set about finishing Ava's hair and dress, before sending her downstairs with a cheerful wave.
"Don't dance too much, m'dear," Mary called after her, "You'll need your strength for traipsing up and down Bond Street tomorrow."
Dance? Gemini, she thought with a stab of fear, there was still one more obstacle to overcome before she returned to her life as Ava Smith.
"Would my lady care to dance?"
"No, thank you."
"You've been standing alone all night, surely you'd rather be the belle of the ball? I should like the opportunity to show you off to the room."
"I'm quite fine where I am," Ava replied to Theodore Bellhurst through gritted teeth. The pompous young man appeared to think she must have suffered a blow to the head, to refuse a dance with him.
"I'll have you know," he said smoothly, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from his immaculate, dark jacket, "I'm quite the mover."
"And I'll have you know, that within my satin slippers are cloven hooves," Ava replied evenly, relishing the look of shock on Bellhurst's face.
"I beg your pardon?" he stuttered, aghast.
"Oh, you heard me correctly," Ava replied innocently, before spinning on her heel to seek out a new hiding place.
Lady Birmingham's ballroom was bursting at the seams; underneath the three glistening chandeliers, hundreds of people mingled, dancing, talking, and making fun. It was all a little overwhelming for Ava who, even if she had been able to dance, would still have preferred her position on the periphery of the festivities.
Try to remember it all, she reminded herself, as she watched ladies, dripping with diamonds and dressed in the finest of dresses, flirt outrageously with handsomely attired men. Beside the dancefloor, a small orchestra valiantly attempted to play above the roar of the crowd, whilst liveried footmen nimbly darted from person to person with fresh glasses of sparkling wine.
It was a marvellous sight to behold, and one that Ava knew she would not see again, once she resumed her real
identity.
She had just decided to attempt to wade through the crowds to fetch herself a glass of ratafia, when a familiar face caught her eye.
It was Kilbride, though he did not have his usual commanding air about him—in fact, he looked rather faint.
Ava watched, surreptitiously, as Kilbride extracted himself from the group he had been speaking with, and lurched across the room.
Was he in his cups? He looked as though he was, as he staggered across the room, heading—Ava realised with a gulp—in her direction. She darted behind a pillar, like the coward she was, afraid that Kilbride—if he was drunk—might make a scene.
It was only when he was near enough for her to see his face clearly, that Ava realised something was terribly wrong. He staggered, gasping for breath, toward the French doors which led to the terrace. Fearing that he might collapse, Ava darted forward, reaching out to grasp him by the elbow.
"Your Grace," she whispered, "Whatever's the matter?"
"I—can't—breathe," Kilbride replied, as he gulped for air.
"Let me fetch someone," Ava said desperately, afraid that Kilbride might expire before her. Never had she felt such terror—he needed to be alright, she could not bear if anything happened to him.
"No," Kilbride replied forcefully, "I—just—need—air."
With one final show of strength, the duke lurched forward,stumbling through the open doors which led to the gardens, as Ava fretfully followed him.
Outside a fine mist of spring rain was falling, leaving the terrace mercifully empty. Kilbride threw himself against the veranda's balustrades, and took several deep, shuddering breaths.
"It's alright," Ava whispered, springing forward to take his hand, "Everything will be alright."
She couldn't tell if it was the rain which left the duke's cheeks wet, or if it was tears. Certainly, he looked so lost and helpless, that she impulsively reached out to soothingly stroke his cheek.
"It's alright," she crooned again, feeling a stab of tender protectiveness toward Kilbride. He was so big, so masculine, and yet here he was, almost helpless before her.
The Duke's Bride in Disguise (Fairfax Twins Book 1) Page 13