She took the small plate and cup Mr. Pakenham handed her and said, “And you, sir? If you were in my position, would you have wanted to avoid the adventure entirely?”
“I am not as brave as you, because I would choose to warn my earlier self to avoid a long sea voyage,” Mr. Pakenham said, sitting beside her.
“And yet you are a member of a club devoted to exploration. I find those things contradictory.”
“I am fond of exploring new places. I simply prefer to explore them as I choose, taking as little risk as possible.”
Bess glanced around for Edmund, but he had disappeared. “I appreciate that perspective. I, on the other hand, look forward to a quiet life ahead.”
“You have already done quite enough exploring,” Mr. Pakenham said. He put his hand on her knee. “And I admire you for it.”
The unexpected intimacy, such blatant forwardness, threw Bess into confusion. Her first thought was that Mr. Pakenham must be Mr. Quinn, for who else would dare such a touch? Her second thought was Does he mean to make a declaration here, now? She shot to her feet, making the tea in her cup slosh over her hand. “I am—oh, how clumsy of me—”
“Please permit me to fetch you a cloth,” Mr. Pakenham said, also rising. She was close enough to see the pleasant smile on his face before he turned away. Her mind a blur to match her surroundings, she walked around the sofa toward the windows, the only thing in the room she could see clearly.
With the light from the window filling her eyes, she did not see the man standing near it until just before she would have collided with him. “I beg your pardon,” she said, wondering if some fell curse had befallen her that she was doomed to bounce off strangers for the rest of her life.
“Of course,” the man said. “I confess your method of starting a conversation has growing appeal.”
“Mr. Addison,” Bess said. “Forgive me, I was simply—that is, the light from the windows blinded me to other, nearer obstacles. Oh! Not that I see you as an obstacle—”
“I understood you,” Mr. Addison said. “May I ask if you have yet read The Heroine without seeming importunate?”
“I have begun it, but am still in the second volume. You are correct, it is quite funny and very exciting. I look forward to discussing it with you.”
“As do I. I am glad to speak with you again today, though. Your lecture was quite enlightening.”
“Are you a member of the Euthymenes Club, then?”
“No, but when I learned of your presentation, I was curious. We of Lamberton were all naturally very concerned for your safety, and I consider it very brave of you not to have been overset by such a small thing as a shipwreck and everything that followed.” Mr. Addison’s lips curved in a smile just as pleasant as Mr. Pakenham’s, if more handsome—he really was attractive, and seemed as relaxed as he had in the bookseller’s during their last meeting.
“As I said, there were parts of my experience that were not at all unpleasant,” Bess said, mesmerized by his face. He gave no evidence that he was discommoded by her presence, or, more specifically, by some knowledge he chose to keep hidden from her. But he was normally rather standoffish and distant, just as Mr. Quinn had been, and Bess had no evidence that Mr. Pakenham was anything but a gentleman apparently interested in courting her…oh, it was all too confusing.
“I found it fascinating that the Sapa Inca—you know that is a title, yes, and not a proper name?”
“I did not know that. He was introduced to me in such a way that I believed it to be his name.”
“That is perfectly reasonable. At any rate, it is fascinating what you relate of the Sapa Inca’s behavior, which aligns perfectly with the records the Spanish kept. The first emperor Pizarro and his men encountered, Atahualpa—he, too, sat on a low stool when he received them, and would not speak to them directly. It makes me wonder what other aspects of their culture the Incas have preserved.”
“Had I not been there as a captive, I would have been more curious. Much of what they did was alien to me. I fear I was not the ideal representative of European civilization, so far as understanding them went.”
“Perhaps the Euthymenes Club will succeed in sending an expedition that will find the Incas, and real diplomatic negotiations can proceed. Though I fear I cannot wish them good luck.”
His voice lowered as he said those last words, and Bess inclined her head closer to his. “Why is that, sir?”
“Because wherever the Incas are, their land is almost certainly claimed by Spain,” Mr. Addison said, “and the Spanish are not known for their generosity in ceding territory to natives. Though with revolution coming to the Spanish colonies, perhaps now is the best time for the Incas to make themselves known—the best time for their purposes, that is.”
Bess remembered her glimpses of European guns in the hands of Inca warriors and felt chilled. “Because they would be taking advantage of disruption, you mean?”
“Precisely.” Mr. Addison’s head went up. “Pakenham. I take it you encouraged Miss Hanley to contribute to today’s entertainment?”
“I did. Miss Hanley, may I take your cup?” Rather than offering to wipe her hand himself, Mr. Pakenham handed Bess a soft cloth and held her cup while she cleaned herself off. “You weren’t pestering her, were you, Addison?”
“We will have to leave it to Miss Hanley to decide,” Mr. Addison said with a smile that came and went so swiftly Bess almost thought she had imagined it. The two men did not converse like a couple of friends—but then, Mr. Pakenham was new to Lamberton, and he and Mr. Addison likely did not know one another well.
“Of course not,” she said with a smile.
“Then if you don’t mind my stealing her away, Addison, I would like to introduce a few of our members to Miss Hanley,” Mr. Pakenham said.
“It was good to see you again, Mr. Addison—and I hope to see you at the theatre soon,” Bess said, once more hoping for a flash of expression that would give Mr. Addison away. But he merely nodded, and turned back toward the window, leaving Bess feeling disappointed.
She spoke with a few other men, not really paying attention to the conversations because she was too caught up in analyzing her interactions with Mr. Pakenham and Mr. Addison. Neither had shown decisively that he was Mr. Quinn, but neither had they positively ruled themselves out. And there was still Lord Ravenscroft to consider, though Bess believed him an unlikely candidate. Which, if this were a story, would make him the one, she told herself, and had to make an excuse to her current conversational companion for her sudden burst of merriment.
The clock in the Tea Room tolled five, and Mr. Siddowes appeared, reminding their guests that visitors were no longer permitted on the premises. Bess and Edmund left the club and walked a few yards down Pall Mall before Edmund could hail a cab. “You were a success, sister mine,” he said when they were settled inside.
“It was more enjoyable than I expected. Not that I expected it to be dreadful. You understand.”
“I do, though I doubt anyone less sagacious than I would.” Edmund stretched out his long legs. “My friend Randolph in particular—you recall Mr. Randolph, do you not?”
“He is another member of your translators’ corps, is he not?”
“The very fellow. He was quite complimentary of you, enough that I nearly had to have words with him.”
Bess pretended disapproval. “I do not need you to warn off every man who shows an interest in me, Edmund. Suppose Mr. Randolph and I are destined to be one?”
“Since Randolph is married, I hardly believe this is the case.” Edmund sat up. “On that note, is there anything I need to mention to Father about Stephen Pakenham?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are blushing too hard not to know what I mean. He seems intent on paying you particular attention.”
Bess did not think Edmund had seen Mr. Pakenham touch her so intimately, or this conversation would have a decidedly different bent. “I…am not certain. That is, I agree with you a
bout his attentions, but I do not yet know how I feel about them. He is not objectionable.”
“How very tepid a response!”
“Oh, I do not know my own mind sometimes! Do not tease me.”
“It is not your mind, but your heart, that you should be concerned with.” Edmund leaned forward. “In all seriousness, you know I want only the best for you, and if you believe Pakenham is that—”
“I know too little of him to make that decision. But I confess becoming better acquainted with him is not an unpleasant idea.”
But she could not stop remembering a Voice in her head, saying I fear you would no longer call me friend if you knew the truth, and the ache she had felt every night since Mr. Quinn’s final goodbye. If she wanted to become better acquainted with Mr. Pakenham, it was primarily because she wanted to prove he was someone with whom she was already very well acquainted indeed. Or prove he was not. In either case, it did not seem very fair to Mr. Pakenham, if he really did care for her…it was a disturbing tangle of thoughts, one which Bess did not know how to unravel.
Finally she set it aside in favor of an evening of cards with some of her mother’s friends, simple and uncomplicated. And if he is Mr. Quinn, then… she thought as she drifted off to sleep that night, unsure whether she even knew the conclusion to that sentence.
Chapter 27
In which Bess finally realizes what is likely obvious to the reader
Bess ran her fingers over a rose-colored silk and pictured it made up into a gown from the new pattern Mama had discovered. It was her favorite color, and she was often grateful that as an Extraordinary, she was permitted to wear any color or fabric despite being young and unmarried. Not that she was a demure maiden just out. Her time with the War Office made her sometimes feel much older than her years. She touched the silk again and wondered how far from home it was. Had it been woven in France, or did it come all the way from a dhow off the East China Sea?
“Are you air-dreaming, Bess?” Mama said. She lifted the rose silk and examined it. “Yes, this will be lovely. Pink suits your complexion. And I have found just the ribbon for it. How unfortunate that it will not be ready in time for this evening’s entertainment, as I am certain Mr. Pakenham would appreciate it.”
Bess blushed. Edmund had let slip Mr. Pakenham’s attentions to her at the lecture, and now he and Mama delighted in making her blush as she was doing now. “He is not the only one, Mama,” she said. “And I am not certain—that is, I do not feel I know him well enough to judge his character.” She had met him twice in company since the afternoon at the Euthymenes Club, at Almack’s and while riding in Hyde Park, but neither time had afforded her opportunity of proving his secret identity or lack thereof. He was charming, and attractive, and she enjoyed his company, but was that enough?
And then there was Mr. Addison. His manners at the bookshop and the lecture had been unexpectedly pleasing, and they had spoken during intermission at the theatre, as promised. Bess had enjoyed their conversation very much. She wished she knew why he should suddenly be interested in her, after years of being an indifferent neighbor who had never once asked her to dance. To her surprise, she found herself attracted to him. His discourse was intelligent and to the point, he spoke to her as an intellectual equal though she suspected he was better educated than she, and once or twice she caught him looking at her intently, as if there were something he wished to say that was too intimate for a public gathering. He might well be Mr. Quinn—but so might Mr. Pakenham.
She wished she could Speak of her dilemma to her reticulum—but that would mean revealing Mr. Quinn’s existence, and she respected his desire to remain anonymous even as she was impatient with it. She did not believe their friendship had ended, not if Mr. Pakenham and Mr. Addison were so intent on pursuing a different kind of friendship, but it had been days since she had Spoken to Mr. Quinn, and she missed him more than she had believed she might. Discovering his true identity would ease her mind considerably.
They purchased the rose silk, and a figured muslin that would do for a day gown, and arranged to have the lot sent to Mrs. Hanley’s modiste. Mama drew Bess’s arm through the crook of hers and they proceeded down the street toward the jeweler’s where they had arranged to meet Edmund. The day was clear and warm, though passing carriages sprayed up dirty water onto the sidewalks, forcing Bess and her mother to walk well to one side.
“In seriousness, Bess,” Mama said as if their conversation had not been interrupted by the demands of purchasing, “Mr. Pakenham is a most pleasing gentleman, and we would be happy to see you settled, particularly if he intends to remain at Seven Pines. So very nearby!”
“He has made me no offers, Mama. Celebration is premature.” Bess hesitated, then asked, “Mama, what do you think of Mr. Addison?”
“Mr. Addison?” Mama gave her a sharp, startled look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that his recent behavior is at odds with what I believed him to be, and I wondered what your opinion of him was.”
“Well, he…he is always polite, though rather aloof. Though I have often said I believe his manners to be the result of shyness rather than arrogance. I have seen him dance only once, and he did it rather awkwardly, which is why he chooses not to, I imagine.” Mama shot Bess another calculating glance. “You do not mean…Bess, have you developed an interest in Mr. Addison? Bess—you are blushing.”
Bess wished her fair complexion had not betrayed her. “It is not that, it is—he appears to have developed an interest in me, and I cannot account for it. Not that I believe myself unattractive, but he—oh, you understand me, I am sure.”
“I see.” Mama went silent for a moment, then said, “Of course we would not object to Mr. Addison either, if you felt an attachment, but…it would be so very unexpected.”
“I might be wrong. Pray do not mention this to Edmund. It is a suspicion only.”
Mama waved at someone ahead, possibly Edmund, and walked a little more briskly. “Of course, my dear.” But Bess knew her mother well enough to realize she would likely find time to interrogate Mr. Addison at that evening’s entertainment. She hoped Edmund would assume her cheeks were rosy from the chill in the air and not from embarrassment.
“I take it your shopping was fruitful?” Edmund said as he took his place on his mother’s other side, bracketing her between himself and Bess. “You have the look of women who have successfully contributed to the economic well-being of our fair country.”
“We have, and was your errand successful?” Bess asked.
“It will take them a few days to reset my ring, but as I expected that, I will call it successful.” Edmund tipped his hat to someone who passed them; Bess recognized only that the person was male, he moved so quickly. “I must say I am looking forward to tonight’s musical evening. Even such a philistine as I has heard of Mrs. Ramkin. And a private performance…it feels rather as I believe meeting the Prince Regent might feel. Your contacts continue to astonish me, Bess.”
“It is a rather indirect contact,” Bess said, “as Miss Eldridge is a member of my reticulum, though not a close friend, and Mrs. Ramkin is her sister’s husband’s sister. But as it garnered us an invitation, I choose not to quibble.”
“I was surprised at how many of my set were impressed by my gaining access to that rather refined circle. In fact, Ravenscroft told me he had been invited as well. I would have thought it was not at all his thing, but he claims he is quite the connoisseur of opera.”
Edmund’s words sent a frisson of excitement through Bess. She had met Lord Ravenscroft only once or twice, and had not encountered him since her adventures in Peru. Suppose the reason Mr. Pakenham and Mr. Addison had not identified themselves as Mr. Quinn was that her mystery man was neither of them? Bess did not seriously believe Lord Ravenscroft was Mr. Quinn, but he was frivolous and a gamester, both of which might qualify as an identity Mr. Quinn was ashamed of. And Mr. Quinn had confessed a partiality to opera. She owed it to herself to at least speak wit
h Lord Ravenscroft, and rule him out as her secretive friend.
“I am sure he will be most welcome,” Mama said in a rather cold voice. Bess knew her parents saw Lord Ravenscroft as a bad influence on Edmund, and while they had never been rude to him, they did not encourage the relationship.
“Oh, Ravenscroft is welcome wherever he goes. Not a bad sort at all,” Edmund said.
“He cannot be too awful, if he is a lover of fine music,” Bess said. The scent of pastries drifted toward her on the chilly breeze. “Now, let us have tea, and then return home so I may rest before this evening.”
“You mean,” Edmund teased as he held the door of the tea shop open for her, “so you may read your new book before supper.”
Bess scowled pleasantly at him. “That is the most restful activity of all.”
Bess realized the evening would be uncomfortable the moment she stepped into Mrs. Graeme’s salon. Warm air thick with a score of competing scents wrapped around her like a damp blanket, heavy and unpleasant. The low murmur of dozens of conversations rolled over her, none of them intelligible, adding to her feeling of dizziness. But what made it worst was the many sharp flashes of Speech she picked up from the crowd, idle thoughts that tangled with their words until Bess felt herself overwhelmed.
“Are you well, Bess? You look a little flushed,” Edmund murmured.
“It is rather warm,” Bess said, clinging to an obvious excuse for her confusion.
Edmund found her a seat, which she sank into gratefully. The cushion was thin, but its silk was soft, and she rubbed it between her fingers until she felt calmer. There must surely be a way to block out these unwanted thoughts as she did unwanted communications from other Speakers, but she had not yet discovered it, primarily because it was a problem mainly when she was in company with many others. In those circumstances, she was always preoccupied with social interaction and had no leisure to turn to investigating her new talent. Perhaps Clarissa knew the secret, but Clarissa had been busy with War Office duties for nearly two weeks and unavailable for casual conversation, even as important as the subject was to Bess. Surely the war would be over soon, and that terrible Extraordinary Coercer Napoleon captured.
Whispering Twilight Page 27
