Gertie bristled, but there was little she could do if she intended to keep her engagement. They rode in silence for most of the way—which baffled her since he had sought her audience. Now that he had the opportunity to speak with her, he said nothing. How perturbing this man was!
She allowed herself one glance in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking. He seemed perfectly at ease, content to be accompanying her as if they were out for a spring ride in the woodlands instead of heading into one of London’s poorest parishes. The only time he appeared bothered was when the stench of human waste and refuse that had been tossed out the windows proved too much. He had pulled out a scented handkerchief to cover his nose. Despite the hour, they passed a tavern where two men lay prone in the streets, sleeping off the effects of rot-gut gin.
They stopped before a two-storied building in need of a new roof. Most of its windows had lost at least one if not both shutters. A faded wooden sign above the door read Orphan Asylum for Girls. Gertie dismounted before Barclay could offer to assist her and rang the bell. She turned to inform Lord Barclay that she would be a while, but he, too, had dismounted.
An older woman opened the door and showed them into a small parlor. Gertie sat upon the settee. Barclay, after a skeptical review of the furniture, opted to remain standing. A short, stout gentleman whose grey hairline cut a crescent at the top of his head entered the room, followed by a gaggle of little girls. Gertie smiled upon seeing their delighted faces. Her friend Harrietta, the Marchioness of Dunnesford, had introduced her to the orphanage. They would often come together, but now that the Marchioness had a child of her own and spent more of her time at Dunnesford, Gertie had taken to visiting the orphanage by herself.
“Lady Lowry,” greeted Mr. Winters, the founder of the orphan asylum. He noticed Barclay. “Ah, this must be your husband, the Earl?”
Gertie flushed as she watched the man bow obsequiously before Barclay.
“This is the Baron Barclay,” she supplied. “A close relation.”
Without looking, she could feel Barclay’s brows rise in amusement for he no doubt remembered that she had described him as a distant cousin at the Bennington ball.
“Welcome, sir,” Mr. Winters said. “I am Mr. Winters. May I offer you some tea?”
“Thank you, no,” Gertie answered for the both of them. This would have to be one of her shorter visits.
“Lady Lowry, Lady Lowry!” a couple of girls chanted. “I have sewn the lace you gave us to my cap!”
“’ave you brought us a treat?” asked a girl with freckles splashed across her nose.
“Catherine!” Mr. Winters chided.
“Of course!” Gertie replied as she pulled a small satchel of confections from her reticule.
The girls squealed and thrust their eager hands before her. The room fell silent save for the sounds of chomping.
“Aw come we ain’t seen you afore?” one of the girls asked Barclay.
“Maggie, that is no way to address a gentleman,” Mr. Winters admonished.
“I confess I knew not the existence of this place before today,” Barclay replied with ease.
“What sort of relation are you to Lady Lowry?” Catherine inquired.
Gertie interjected, “Tell me, girls, what activities you have engaged in this week? Did you like the books Lady Aubrey sent you?”
“Aw like your garments,” Maggie said to Barclay. “Aw ‘ave a drawing of a prince in one of me books. You look as if you could be a prince.”
Barclay gave her a warm smile.
“A prince who dances with the princess,” supplied another girl. “Do you dance, sir?”
“When the occasion arises,” he answered.
“It is not often that these girls meet a gentleman,” Mr. Winters apologized. “If you should find them taxing–”
“You are to be applauded for fostering such inquisitive minds.”
Gertie stared at Barclay, surprised and reluctantly impressed by his patience.
“I should dearly like to learn to dance,” sighed Catherine, “and to attend a ball! Like Cendrillon!”
“A minuet!” added another girl.
“Is it very hard to dance the minuet, Lady Lowry?”
“Not particularly difficult,” Gertie said.
“Can you show us?”
Gertie hesitated.
The girls jumped up and down. “Show us! Show us!”
“Very well,” said Gertie, rising to her feet. She turned to Mr. Winters, who shook his head.
“I have not danced in too many years,” he explained.
“With the prince!” Maggie cried.
“Yes! Yes! With Lord Barclay!” the girls shouted as they clapped.
Gertie stole a glance at Barclay, who did not appear averse to the idea. He stepped towards her and bowed. She looked at the hand he presented to her. Not wanting to disappoint the girls, she placed her own hand in his. He grasped her hand firmly and gently led her to the center of the room.
“It is rather difficult without the music,” she began.
“First you perform the honors,” Barclay told them. He bowed to the girls, then to her. “A basic step consists of four steps in six beats of music.”
They demonstrated starting with a plié on the left foot, rising to the ball of the right foot before straightening the legs and bringing their heels together. The motion was repeated starting with the opposite foot. They stepped forward, then sank into a plié.
The girls applauded. “Once more! Once more!”
Gertie felt the pronounced thudding of her heart against her chest. Barclay sought her gaze for permission. She nodded. He turned her around and they repeated the steps in the opposite direction. His hand felt warm and comforting about hers. He would not lead her astray and seemed to imbue her with his own grace and elegance, the hallmark of the minuet. When they finished and performed the honors, her head felt light, giddy with accomplishment.
“How marvelously lovely!” Catherine exclaimed. “How I wish I could dance the minuet!”
“Would you do me the honor then, my lady?” Barclay asked with a sweeping bow.
This threw the girls into another frenzy. The flush upon Catherine’s face was so deep, her freckles disappeared, but she executed a curtsy and eagerly put her little hand in his. Glad for the respite, Gertie sat back to watch Barclay as he instructed Catherine on the steps. After Catherine, many of the others wanted a turn. He humored each and every one of them and proved a skilled dance master. Soon the room was filled with girls dancing the minuet.
The smiles and giggles made Gertie glow. A part of her frost towards Barclay thawed, though in truth, it had begun to the instant he took her hand for the minuet and stared into her eyes as if he had wanted to dance with her. How that could be when she as good as loathed the man stunned her. That same hand had fondled Sarah Farrington, had drawn cries of ecstasy, and the memory both disconcerted and excited Gertie. She could not keep her mind from wondering how his hand would feel upon her own body.
It was deucedly unfair that a man of his sort should have such powers to charm. Even the little ones fell victim to his spell, Gertie noticed wryly as the girls argued over who would have a second dance with Barclay.
“That is quite enough,” Mr. Winters pronounced, eliciting a chorus of moans. “If Lord Barclay is amenable, I should like to show him the grounds.”
Barclay surprised her by accepting the invitation. The girls followed. Gertie shook her head at how quickly they had forgotten her in favor of their ‘prince,’ but smiled at how much they had enjoyed their dancing. Foregoing the tour, she made her way upstairs to the nursery, where she found Mrs. Devon, a wet nurse who had worked in the orphan asylum for over twenty years, in the midst of swaddling a thrashing babe.
“I was about to bathe the wee one when Peggy awoke from her slumber cross as can be,” Mrs. Devon explained. “I fed her but still she hollers.”
Gertie took the howling babe from Mrs. Devon and paced a
bout the room as she bounced the child in her arms. Peggy had been in the asylum three months. A man had delivered her here after finding her in a dwelling that had caught fire from an unattended hearth. Peggy had been badly burned, and Gertie’s heart broke upon seeing the charred skin. They had bathed her in ointments and salves to ease the blisters. Her skin was finally beginning to heal, but she still had patches of red and white. Nonetheless, Gertie thought her beautiful.
With Peggy occupied, Mrs. Devon was able to tend to the other infants. Gertie sang to little Peggy, eventually seating herself in a rocking chair. After sucking on Gertie’s finger, Peggy drifted into sleep. How calming the warm little bundle felt in her arms, Gertie reveled as she stared down at the small splotchy face. She imagined that she would never tire of holding Peggy. She would be content and want for nothing more if only she could have a Peggy for her own. Even the mighty Lady Athena would bow to such a sweet creature.
Feeling eyes upon her, Gertie looked up. Lord Barclay stood upon the threshold. How long had he been there? she wondered.
“It grows dark soon, my lady,” he informed her, his voice low as not to wake the sleeping babes.
Gertie nodded. Rising, she reluctantly returned Peggy to Mrs. Devon. Downstairs in the parlor, the girls clamored for Lord Barclay to return.
“You will bring him again, will you not?” Catherine begged Gertie.
“Will you show us another dance next time?” another asked.
“Well, I—I suspect Lord Barclay is a busy man,” Gertie stuttered.
“On the contrary, my schedule is quite open,” Barclay supplied.
Gertie bristled for he seemed amused to gainsay her. “Let us—we shall see then, my darlings.”
Barclay bid adieu with a gallant leg to the little girls, who gathered at the door to wave to them and see them off until their horses rounded the block and went out of view. Silence descended once again between them. Gertie decided to fill the void.
“It was…kind of you to learn the girls how to dance.”
“It would have been unseemly to deny such eager students.”
“You have a—you have endeared them to you. I confess I thought your charms reserved for…” She could not finish the thought as the memory of him and Sarah came to mind.
“I have two younger sisters,” he explained. “Prudence, the youngest, is nearly twenty years my junior.”
“Ah. I have not met her. She has not had her come-out, I take it?”
“Another year. She is in no hurry, though I would merit her with having the greatest maturity amongst us Barclays despite her years.”
“I should have liked to have had a sister,” Gertie thought aloud. “A younger one.”
“You have many at the asylum.”
“Yes, though I feel more like a doddering aunt to them at times. They are quite lively.”
“I have no doubt they could eat a man alive with the voracity of a pack of wolves,” he reflected.
Gertie chuckled. “They would not eat you alive. You have entranced them—like a snake charmer.”
He studied her. “Somehow I think I am at once the charmer and the snake?”
“Yes, well…there is the matter of your repute, sir. Alas, you have a way with the fair sex, young and old—or so I am told.”
And witnessed. Gertie scolded herself for surely she had given him an opening to make a spiteful remark as he had that night at the ball.
“And you have a way with the littlest ones,” he said. “The one named Peggy—she suits you.”
Perhaps she was nearing her menses, when maudlin sentiments could overcome her, for she nearly choked at hearing his words. She had never told anyone how much she longed for a child of her own. For a man she barely knew to have come close to touching that chord was too much.
“She survived a horrific fire,” she explained, feeling safer discussing the babe. “She was apparently alone, and whoever cared for her did not return to claim her.”
“Hers is a cruel world.”
“Yes, but what I have learned from the girls at the asylum is that children are remarkable creatures. They are driven to be happy, their resiliency unmatched. Their presence invigorates me.”
“Indeed? I think they have drained me completely of my vigor.”
An inadvertent laugh escaped her lips. “All the better, that you may wreak less of your mischief.”
She caught herself voicing her thoughts aloud and quickly added, “In truth, I find the girls tiring at times as well.”
But he would not be diverted so easily. “And you disapprove of my ‘mischief.’”
She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth. To her surprise, she was enjoying her tête-à-tête with him and had no wish to be reminded of their night at the Bennington ball.
“Of course,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Who does not?”
“Is it so hard a question for you to answer?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “The mark of a self-absorbed man is one who insists the conversation revolve around him.”
Turning up her nose, she quickened the pace of her horse. But he matched her and grabbed her reins, forcing her to turn and face him.
“If you disapprove, why did you watch us?”
Her heart began to beat rapidly, and she had to force herself not to look away from his intense stare.
“You came into the room of a sudden,” she threw at him.
“You did not have to hide and…observe.”
“I did not…” She felt herself turn red. “I hid only because…oh, you are an insufferable man!”
To add insult to injury, he threw his head back and laughed. “I have had much worse said of me, madam.”
“I am sure you have!” she snapped with a tug of the reins.
“Do not mistake that I disapprove of your Peeping Tom. I understand its titillation.”
She sucked in an incredulous breath. “You overstep your bounds, my lord, if you think I am a woman who would discuss such matters with you!”
She jerked her reins free from her hand. Fortunately, Lowry House was just around the corner.
“You prefer dialogue with Alexander.”
“Decent folk would not–”
The specter of Lady Athena would not allow her to finish her sentence.
“Forgive me, but many a decent folk are dreadfully tedious.”
“Yes, well—I mean—no. Of course a cad like you would find decency dull.”
“And certain ‘decent’ persons are not what they seem.”
“And you would know?” she asked archly as she pulled up before the house and slid off the horse before he could offer her assistance.
“The benefit of what you term my ‘mischief’ is that I have come to know a great many people, most of whom are not what they seem.”
She was not looking at him, but she felt his gaze boring into her as he meant to unearth her secrets.
“How ironic,” she declared, “for you are exactly what you seem. Good evening, sir!”
To her relief, the butler had seen her approach and opened the door. She did not have to hear Barclay’s rebuttal before entering the sanctuary of her own home.
“Are you well, my lady?” the butler inquired as she untied the ribbon of her bonnet with trembling hands.
“Yes, yes,” she lied.
Upstairs in her boudoir, she took several deep breaths. She ought not to let that Lord Barclay disconcert her so. He was not worth the agitation, even if the girls at the asylum did enjoy his company. She had spoken true when she said that he was what he seemed, but he also seemed more than her initial judgment of him. She tried to envision Alexander at the asylum, and concluded that her husband would never have had the patience to deal with the girls. He would not have accompanied her to the asylum in the first place. Alexander did not even venture to ask where she went on her Wednesdays.
As she removed her riding jacket, Gertie realized that Barclay had not broached his to
pic with her. Surely all his requests for her audience was not about the Orphan Asylum? Having stayed at the asylum longer than she had intended, Gertie quickly changed into her evening attire and went downstairs to dinner. She hoped Alexander would not be put out by her tardiness.
“I will be dining at White’s with Millington,” he informed her when she came across him in the hallway.
Millington was a classmate of his from Eton, but she happened to know that Millington had left for Bath yesterday for she had overheard Millington’s mother discussing the trip with the Dowager. Alexander, however, did not know that Gertie knew.
He was off to see his mistress, she realized. She wondered who it was. Was the woman pretty? Of course she was. How long had Alexander had this mistress?
But the answers would serve her no purpose, so she let Alexander by without a word. She decided that night she would return to Madame Botreaux’s.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE POUNDING IN HIS EARS intensified as Phinease held back his arousal. Standing before him in her scarlet corset, Lady Athena nudged him with her boot. She had him on his knees again, this time using his hands. But for nothing so enticing as licking cunnie. Rather, he shone her black boots with a rag.
He had returned every night to the Ballroom to await her. For a sennight, she did not show.
“Do not flatter yourself,” Penelope had told him when he voiced his concern that perhaps he had caused her disappearance. “I doubt that the world of Lady Athena centers around the Ballroom—or you.”
He had often speculated who Lady Athena personified in the world above the Ballroom. He had studied the women of London, wondering with each one if she might be the glorious Lady Athena, but none were obvious suspects. Lady Athena was bold, strong, confident, and electrifying. He felt his senses come alive in her presence. No woman in the world outside the Ballroom produced such a surge in his body. He could attribute the thrill to the hunt, his desire to conquer the warrior-goddess, but his days at the Ballroom without her had proved how keenly he awaited her. When he was not thinking of Lady Athena, his thoughts turned oddly to the Countess of Lowry.
“You may rise,” she commanded when her boots gleamed even in the dim lighting.
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