“I could not tolerate him at first,” Gertie explained. “I was convinced he had no redeeming qualities, but then…”
She recounted how he had insisted on chaperoning her to the orphan asylum, how he had danced with the little girls, and how he had insisted on accompanying her on future trips into St. Giles.
“He has a kindred heart. I wonder that he might get along with my Vale?” Harrietta commented.
Gertie made no reply. Somehow she did not envision Barclay and the Marquess becoming fast friends.
“I thought perhaps he meant to befriend me that I might agree to a business proposition he had,” Gertie said instead. “But then he makes remarks that infuriate me to my wit’s end that he cannot possibly have that motivation—or he is an idiot, but I think not for he has had far too many conquests where the fair sex is concerned.”
“My dear Gertie has fallen for a rake? This is far too intriguing a man.”
“Intriguing that he is a debaucher?”
“Intriguing that he should yet command your admiration and tendre.”
“Admiration? I hardly think that I admire him.”
“But, Gertie, I know you would not risk your marriage for any mere mortal.”
“But I think I am as silly as most of the women who have succumbed to his charms. He has a—a physical prowess that is hard to deny when he presses his advantage. He seduces for sport, and I am but the latest of his diversions. I first met him when he was with—with Sarah.”
Harrietta wrinkled her nose. “Granted, Sarah is quite the pretty thing, but I would hardly consider her a desirable conquest.”
“Perhaps it was my jealousy of her that prompted me to seek his company. Or my distress over learning of Alexander’s mistress.”
“Then the rumors I heard are true?”
Gertie nodded. Harrietta cursed.
“I feel like a fool,” Gertie said. “And I was quite beside myself when I first discovered the matter. Since then, oddly, it has not been as devastating as I expected. What I mourn is the prospect that I shall not have a child, and I do believe that I could be happy with a child to love. Perhaps it is because of these other distractions that I have not had time to lament the state of my marriage.”
Harrietta listened raptly to Gertie describing the encounters between Lady Athena and Hephaestus.
“My word, Gertie, you are attracting quite the cadre of men these days!” Harrietta exclaimed after Gertie told her that she had dismissed Hephaestus and did not expect to see him again. “But let us return to this love of yours. Surely you will not dismiss him so easily?”
“Love of mine?” choked Gertie.
“La, dear Gertie, is it not apparent?”
Her cheeks flamed. “I do not think that I love him.”
“Love whom?” came a deep tenor from the doorway.
Gertie nearly spilled her tea. At the threshold stood the imposing form of the Marquess of Dunnesford. His dress was nearly as fine as Barclay’s, but Vale Aubrey preferred fewer accoutrements. Aubrey did not have the easy, affable smile of Barclay, but his countenance was no less handsome. As with Barclay, he kept himself in formidable shape and possessed the same wide brow and piercing gaze.
The Marquess walked into the room. “Gertie, you are welcome sight. We are pleased that you could stay with us. I hope you ladies will not mind if one from the other sex joins your company?”
He kissed her hand, then kissed his wife next on the forehead and sat himself down beside her.
“Gertie has fallen in love!” Harrietta announced to her friend’s horror.
Aubrey smiled and poured himself a cup of tea. “I hope not with that worthless husband of yours?”
“Not at all,” Gertie protested. “And I would not ascribe the word ‘love’—”
“Perhaps not yet,” Harrietta teased.
“Who is this fortunate man?” Aubrey inquired.
“Yes! You have yet to name him. I must meet this man before I die of curiosity. Or do I know him already?”
“I think not,” Gertie answered. “He left England before you were married to Vale.”
“Left England? How mysterious.”
“There is no sense in pursuing the matter. I am married, and nothing will come of it.”
“Happiness can come of it. You may be married, but why should you be doomed to misery? Marriage has not stopped your husband from acquiring a lover.”
Gertie paused, hardly daring to hope that Barclay might consider becoming her paramour.
“Who is he and when can I meet him?” Harrietta prompted.
“My dear,” Aubrey interjected, “are you so sure Gertie desires for you to meet him?”
“Well, why not?” blustered Harrietta.
“As I have said, he is—he has a repute,” Gertie supplied.
“But I shall not hold that against him, especially as I have yet to meet him. I profess I am predisposed to adore him if he has won the heart of my Gertie.”
“He is not likely to consider me more than…than a conquest of his. And I am satisfied that our liaison be confined to the three days at the inn.”
“Is that what he wishes? Did he proclaim it?”
Gertie recalled how Barclay had urged her to have no regrets, but that did not mean he wished to continue their liaison.
“No, but I think we will resume our prior association — an acquaintance of the Lowry family.”
“You said he engaged you in a business proposition?”
“That is merely because his land adjoins Lowry.”
This time the Marquess looked up from his tea. “Who is this?”
“He…” Gertie could not lie to Harrietta out of friendship, but she could not lie to the Marquess because he was the sort to ferret out the truth regardless. “Phineas Barclay.”
Aubrey frowned.
“You know him!” Harrietta cried gleefully.
“Yes, and Gertie is right to limit her association with him.”
This time it was the Marchioness who frowned. “Why?”
“He is not a man worthy of her esteem.” He turned his gaze to Gertie. “I should stay far from this man.”
“But why?”
“My dear, there is no mystery why he left England. He fought a duel and killed a man he had made a cuckold.”
Gertie could not help rising in defense of Barclay. “Because Jonathan Weston came at him after the duel was done. Barclay only attempted to defend himself.”
Aubrey paused. “That improves the light of the duel, but it does not alter my opinion of the man.”
Gertie stared into her tea once more.
“I still wish to meet him!” Harrietta declared.
“He is not worth meeting, my dear.”
“Do you worry that he should seduce me and make a cuckold of you?” she teased.
“Most assuredly.”
“That is a fine opinion you have of my fidelity, sir!”
He smiled lovingly at her. “I will suffer your indignation for I will not have that man near my wife.”
Gertie wanted to protest that Barclay did not seek to destroy marriages. Only those that were already weak drew his attention. But how could she come to the defense of a self-proclaimed debaucher?
The Marquess softened his tone as he turned to Gertie. “It is only because of the affection that I bear you that I warn you against Lord Barclay. I have known of him for many years, and nothing good ever came of consorting with him. I should not wish to see you harmed.”
Gertie nodded. She trusted the Marquess not to cast his judgments lightly.
“It were best you had nothing more to do with him,” Aubrey concluded.
“I indulged in a dalliance, but I am done with Lord Barclay,” she assured him.
* * * * *
Her dreams, even those of her waking hours, were harder to reign in. As Gertie lay in bed, she could think of nothing but Lord Barclay. Her body tormented itself, longing for his touch, his kiss. She closed her eyes and imagined
all that they had yet to do, all the ways they could explore each other’s bodies. And in her heart she yearned for his presence, his company. There was no denying that she missed him—deeply.
A soft knock at her door stirred her from her bed. It was Harrietta.
“Vale can be far too stubborn at times.” Harrietta sighed when the two had settled under the bedcovers together. “I attempted to reason that Barclay cannot be as bad as he deems if Gertie could tolerate him. I know no woman more sensible than you.”
“Hettie, Vale is right. I trust his judgment. It takes a man to know a man.”
“But you are even now sad just thinking of this Barclay!”
Gertie gave her friend a wan smile. “Yes, but a sensible woman would not be guided by feelings of sorrow. Even if I had no wish to end the liaison, why would you believe that Barclay sees me—me, of all women—differently from his other coterie?”
“Because you are different.”
“Are you not prejudiced by your affections?”
“Then why did he kiss you? Why did he take you to his bed?”
Gertie shrugged. “Perhaps he does see me as different and wishes to satisfy his curiosity, like a patron in a confectionary sampling the many selections. Perhaps he was bored, and I was the only woman at the inn.”
“He could have easily bedded a maid.”
“I do not dispute that he might have even been a little intrigued by me, but I doubt that he wishes to continue our affair. What good would come of an affair?”
“Companionship, love, happiness.”
“Forgive me, but those are easy answers for a woman who has found love and happiness.”
“But–”
“Do not worry of me, Hettie. I have Lady Athena to keep me company.”
“I told Vale that I wished to return to London with you. I did not tell him that it is because I wish to see for myself if this Barclay is as treacherous as he says.”
Gertie brightened at the thought of having Harrietta back in town.
“I think the little one can travel with us,” Harrietta mused aloud. “And Vale agreed to come as well. I might even persuade him to make a visit to Madame Botreaux’s.”
“I should love to have you in London! And Penelope would be quite ecstatic to see you and Vale again.”
Harrietta grinned. “That place will always hold a special place in my heart. I wonder that my marriage would have turned out happily if not for Madame Botreaux’s?”
“It would have, for you have always loved Vale and he you.”
“Strange, though, how the hand of Fate works. And to think I almost did not share that wonderful place with you. When I first told Vale my idea of taking you to the Ballroom, he questioned the wisdom of it, but you took to it as easily as a horse to trot!”
“I do remember being aghast when you first told me.”
“I remember the look upon your face! Your jaw nearly grazed the floor!”
They laughed at the memory.
“That first night Vale must have asked me a hundred times if I were certain I wished to present,” Gertie recalled.
“I think he were as anxious as you. He eyed every patron who approached you.”
“It was kind of him to watch over me.”
“He can be far too protective.”
“I was glad for it. It made me feel safe.”
“I think you should grant this Hephaestus a second chance.”
“Why?”
“Because he brought you pleasure. I would have your life filled with pleasure.”
They talked long into the night until they both fell asleep. Harrietta did not broach the subject of Barclay too often after that, but Gertie suspected that did not mean her friend did not dwell on the matter.
Gertie stayed a happy month at Dunnesford. Though she could not stop thinking of Phineas, she felt her resolve strengthening. She would, as Aubrey suggested, cease her association with him. There was no need to keep his company. When Aubrey learned that she had ventured into St. Giles alone, he insisted on loaning his groomsman to the Lowry House twice a week. She would miss her visits to the orphan asylum with Phineas, but it was all for the best.
She became further convinced of her decision when her menses failed to show, followed by lethargy and nausea.
She was with child.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“AND THIS LACE—feel its intricacy—so delicate it could only be woven by the hands of children,” the mercer said.
Phineas picked up the lace but allowed it to drop from his hands without much attention. He wandered to a different table to view the bolts of fabric.
“Are you ill, Phineas?” Robert inquired as he examined the lace. “You must be for I have never seen you pass up such finery.”
“This silk, Lord Barclay, hails from the East. See how the golden thread shimmers in the sun?”
The mercer held up the silk. Phineas looked at the rich coloring and decided it would bring out the glow in Gertie’s skin. He imagined her wearing a corset lined with the silk, her favorite riding crop in hand.
“Perhaps another day,” Phineas told the mercer.
The man looked stricken. “But—but I have others coming in this afternoon. I—I told them they would be the first to follow you, the first to know what you have favored.”
“Convey my condolences for it is quite a strain to have to make a decision for one’s self.”
Phineas reached for his hat and walked out of the shop, followed by his astonished brother.
“My word,” Robert breathed, “something does ail you.”
“And you detest visits to the mercer, yet you have chosen to accompany me.”
“I came to thank you for your efforts with the Countess and to tell you that the papers are drawn and ready for the Lowry seal and signature. I forgot when I encountered your cheerless demeanor. Ah, perhaps a good cup of coffee will lift your spirits.”
They walked by a coffee house on their way back to Phineas’s apartment.
“Worry not of my spirits, Robert,” Phineas advised.
“Did it take much persuasion with the Countess?”
“She is a sensible woman and immediately saw the merits of the proposal.”
Robert nodded. “I noticed she must have suggested a few provisions of her own. I saw her at Hyde Park the other week–”
Phineas stopped. “You saw her?”
“Yes, is that so very odd?”
“How many days past?”
“I—perhaps a sennight—or more. Roughly a sennight.”
Gertie was back in London, Phineas contemplated. She had been back for some time and had made no effort to contact him.
“Here now, why does such news upset you?”
Phineas did not answer. It was as he had feared. The regret had set in. She had allowed herself a few days indulgence but no more. He knew it would be no easy battle against her sensibility and her misplaced dedication to self-sacrifice, but he had held out hope that she had developed more tender feelings towards him and that those feelings might prove the stronger.
“Phineas, you did not seduce the Countess?” Robert pleaded.
He looked at his brother’s fallen face.
“Oh God, you have. Damnation, Phineas!” Robert threw up his hands. “I might as well have Mr. Hancock tear up the papers for surely she will despise you when you are done with her.”
“She will not jeopardize the mining venture. She is not that sort of woman.”
“Then her husband surely will when he learns of this.”
Phineas pressed his lips together grimly. “Alexander will not know.”
“Your affairs always become public knowledge. You ought to know how servants talk.”
“There were no servants,” Phineas murmured. “Save for Francis.”
“What the devil do you—no, no, I need no details. If you found the Countess such a sensible woman, why did you feel compelled to seduce her?”
“If you did not want her se
duced, why task me with the responsibility?”
“I certainly did not urge you to lift her skirts!”
“Robert, I did not seduce her to win her approval.”
Robert twisted his face in a strange form. “Then why? Because you can! Because it is your nature to attempt the dastard!”
Phineas stared into the distance, remembering his conversation with Georgina that night after Vauxhall. How was it that women could detect the truth so easily? He turned back to look at Robert, who was shaking his head as he stared at the ground. He wondered if he should deal another blow to the poor fellow.
Robert straightened. “I retract my gratitude to you!”
“I am fond of her, Robert.”
The words took a moment to sink in. When they did, Phineas could see the blood drain from Robert’s face.
“Of Lady Lowry?” Robert asked weakly.
“You look as if you need to sit down.”
He guided his brother to a stone wall encasing a small courtyard. He remained standing while Robert sat down.
“Odd’s blood, Phineas,” Robert said, his mind still turning. “Why Lady Lowry?”
“The whim of Love and the cruelty of Fate.”
“Cruelty?”
“That I should fall in love with a woman I cannot have.”
“That has hardly stopped you before.”
Yes, Phineas thought to himself, but this time it was different. This time he wanted Gertie all to himself. He certainly had no desire to share her with Alexander Farrington.
“Come,” Phineas said. “I will have that cup of coffee with you, Robert, an’ you will stop looking at me with such pitiful eyes.”
Robert rose to his feet. “What will you intend with the Countess?”
“I know not what she intends with me. For once, I am at a loss.”
Robert shook his head. “For once, I feel bloody sorry for you, Phineas.”
“Pray do not. As you’ve discerned, we have yet to obtain the Lowry seal.”
“Ah, yes,” Robert remembered. “And I suppose you were due your comeuppance.”
Phineas said nothing. He was not ready to concede the Countess just yet.
* * * * *
“Will you not tell Barclay?” Harrietta asked when Gertie had divulged her state. They were riding in the Dunnesford carriage to St. Giles.
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