Whispering Twilight

by Melissa McShane

  Bess stood before the full-length mirror in her bedchamber and peered at her reflection. Her new gown of pale green satin with the lace overlay and puffed sleeves fit her awkwardly, but neither Naughton nor her mother had commented on it, so perhaps it was only her imagination. Many things had felt awkward since her return to England three days before, as if her old life were a shell she had grown too large for. She had done very little resting, as it seemed everyone wanted to see her, heroine of an adventure story that even to Bess seemed as if it had happened to someone else. It still felt unreal that she would not sit down at supper to salt pork or a ripe tomato instead of a proper English dinner. She hoped the feeling of unreality would pass soon.

  A knock sounded at her door. “Bess?” her mother said, pushing it open. “The first guests are arriving. Are you—oh, my dear, you look lovely.”

  Bess adjusted her spectacles, which she felt gave her a rather villainous look. “I look forward to this evening,” she said. “It has been so gratifying to be surrounded by friends.”

  “Not like yesterday at the theatre. I regret going.”

  “Oh, I did not mind.” She had minded, a little, being thronged by people she did not know well, all of them wanting a sensational story they could dine out on. But now that she had accepted that her adventure was public knowledge, she felt she should tell it herself rather than permit rumor to turn it into a bloated caricature of itself.

  “Nevertheless, we will return home in a few days, and tonight is for your true friends. I have made it known privately that pestering you for stories will be extremely impolite.” Mama tugged on Bess’s skirt, smoothing out a wrinkle. “Shall we?”

  Bess’s familiarity with the Wimpole Street house made it easy for her to maneuver down the stairs and through the hall to the large drawing room, where all the furniture but a few chairs had been removed to allow for dancing later. Beyond the drawing room, the doors of the room opposite had been flung wide, and card tables set for the entertainment of those who did not choose to dance. Only a few guests had arrived, and Mama left Bess by the fireplace to go to welcome newcomers.

  The fire burned low, for which Bess was grateful; the room would become overheated soon enough, if all Mama’s guests attended. She flexed her gloved fingers, which had not yet become warm, and stared at its flickering flames. They reminded her of torchlight, dancing across a black wall, and a stone ceiling pressing lower and lower—she gasped, and turned her face away, closing her eyes against memories. The ceiling was high and white and would not crush her, she was safe…

  A tingling in her temples preceded Rose’s Voice exclaiming Bess! We are nearly there, but I could not resist Speaking to you—I am so eager to see you and assure myself that you are well!

  Bess smiled, and the fear retreated a little more. We have Spoken half a dozen times in the last three days. You know I am well.

  It is not at all the same. And I have the most delicious news! But I will restrain myself, and tell you when I am there in person. Did you wear your new gown? I have a new white muslin that makes me look older than I am.

  Rose’s preoccupations were always the same. It was a comfort. I cannot wait to see it. Rose, I must go, someone wishes to speak to me. She ended the connection and turned her attention to an older woman she felt she should remember, and was swept up into conversation about the previous evening’s play. The woman made no mention of Bess’s Peruvian adventure, and Bess relaxed. Perhaps Mama’s warning had been effective, after all.

  She conversed with half a dozen men and women as the rooms filled up. So many people…it would be quite a crush, and if she were at all concerned with her popularity, she would be gratified by it. As it was, her pleasure was dulled somewhat by the absence of the one person she most wanted to speak to. Mr. Addison had been invited, but she did not see him anywhere. She had not spoken to him since her return and had had no opportunity to question him—delicately, of course—to prove whether he was Mr. Quinn. She had not Spoken to Mr. Quinn either in all that time, though the urge was strong. Tonight, she was certain, she would meet him face to face.

  The music began, and someone solicited Bess’s hand for the first two dances. Concealing her disappointment, she joined the line and commanded herself to be entertained. It was impossible to feel dull of spirits when one was dancing, and Bess went from partner to partner feeling increasingly cheerful. What if she did not discover Mr. Quinn this evening? As impatient as she was, there would be other times.

  She left her last partner with a laugh and found a seat for herself. The muscles Amaya had gifted her with in the treasure chamber had diminished the following day, leaving her temporarily sore, but her time running across Peru had strengthened her legs naturally. While she did not become exhausted from too much dancing, she still felt weary enough that a rest was pleasurable. She closed her eyes and let the music and conversation wash over her.

  “Miss Hanley.”

  Her eyes flew open, and her heart beat faster than the rhythm of the dance. Mr. Addison stood before her, impeccably dressed, his attractive lips quirked in a smile. “I wonder,” he said, “if you would join me for the next dance.”

  Bess could not stop her eyebrows lifting nearly to her hairline. “Mr. Addison,” she replied, “I believed you an enemy of such activity.”

  He extended a hand to her. “I am not fond of dancing, true, but I see no other way of receiving your undivided attention for even a short time, and I wished to speak with you.”

  Bess rose and took his hand. “That would be most enjoyable, sir.”

  She recalled her mother telling her that Mr. Addison was an awkward dancer, but he did not trip or miss his step, was merely a little stiff in his manner. “And upon what topic are we to converse, sir?” she asked lightly as they moved through the figures of the dance.

  “I hoped it would not be objectionable for me to ask after your health, and your experiences in Peru,” Mr. Addison said. “But if you are tired of being asked that question, I withdraw it.”

  “It is true I have been rather besieged by people wanting a sensational story. But I know you are interested in the knowledge for its own sake, so I do not mind telling you what happened.”

  His smile widened. “I hoped you would feel that way. Tell me, how did your kidnappers manage to snatch you away from a public gathering?”

  “Señor Mendoza, the Peruvian viceroy’s secretary, had a Bounder following me—he was even at the lecture, did you know?” Bess shuddered. “It is so unnerving to know one has been followed.”

  “I agree. Your absence caused quite a stir.”

  “But, do you know, I cannot regret my adventure?” Bess continued. “Not when it brought me such interesting experiences, and introduced me to so many interesting people. And…” She cast a glance at him through her lashes. “It showed me who my true friends were.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Addison said without a trace of self-consciousness. “Even being nearly buried alive?”

  A jolt of excitement thrilled through her before she remembered that event was common knowledge, and did not prove Mr. Addison’s identity. “That, I could do without,” she said, “but the Incas are a fascinating people, with unusual customs.”

  “Some of which may have developed in the time since the Conquest,” Mr. Addison said. “The jaguar warriors you spoke of…it has been barely one hundred and fifty years since talent arose, and the cult of the Shaper warrior could not have existed in Pizarro’s time.”

  “Unless it existed, and was altered by the advent of talent,” Bess said. “Though I am inclined to your point of view. I wish you could have seen the battle for dominance I saw. You would likely have understood its significance better.”

  “You should not have been forced to witness it at all,” Mr. Addison said sternly. “Such violence…and you were in terrible danger.”

  “But it is a way of life for them, and I did not feel threatened or revolted by it. I apologize if that makes me indelicate.”

&n
bsp; “I meant no insult, simply—” Mr. Addison looked away for a moment, then his eyes met Bess’s with an uncomfortable directness. “I find I would like to prevent you enduring such dangers.”

  “Oh,” Bess said, and could not think of anything else to say. “Mr. Addison, that is thoughtful of you.” It was almost a declaration, and yet Bess was not certain it was what she wanted. If she was wrong, and he was not Mr. Quinn, how dreadful to receive protestations of love from someone she did not love in return!

  Mr. Addison smiled wryly, and the moment passed. “I admit to moments of misplaced chivalry,” he said. “Tell me of your friend. Is it true she is one of the jaguar warriors?”

  “She is, though I do not know if she can ever return to her old life. She is more of a curiosity than I am. Already she has made the trip to Oxford to tell her story—she knows everything about Incan culture, and my brother Vincent assures me she is being treated with the greatest respect.”

  “I regret not having met her before she left. She sounds intriguing.”

  “I owe her my life.”

  They danced in silence for nearly a minute while Bess considered conversational gambits and tossed them aside as unsatisfactory. Finally, she said, “I wish I knew what the outcome of the battle between the Incas and the Spaniards was, or whether the Incas successfully made their escape.”

  “No news has come out of Lima yet, though naturally England is unlikely to be on the list of entities the Spanish government will inform about their success or defeat. I imagine we will learn about it when rumor makes its way to our shores.”

  “I should not sympathize with the Incas, but many of them were kind to me, and I hope they were not killed in the conflict.”

  “You saw nothing of the Sapa Inca after leaving his presence?”

  “Nothing. I wonder if he left in advance of the others? That strikes me as uncharacteristically cowardly.”

  Mr. Addison shook his head. “The Sapa Inca is like a god to his people. His capture or death would be a tremendous blow. So securing the safety of his person would be of utmost importance to every Inca.”

  “That makes sense. I have never asked you how you know so much of the Incas.”

  He smiled. “I have long been fascinated by cultures other than our own.” His smile turned mischievous. “You have not said anything about treasure.”

  “That is because there is nothing to say.”

  “I have already heard that the Euthymenes Club is gathering a subscription for an expedition to retrieve it. Be warned: they intend to ask you to guide them.”

  Bess shuddered. “I will never return to Peru.”

  “That is what I told Mr. Dumfoy, but I fear he is irrepressible in his search for knowledge. And ancient gold.”

  Bess laughed at that. “He may search with my blessing. I doubt he will find anything.”

  Mr. Addison drew closer to her. “In seriousness,” he said, “I am grateful you will not return. Your safety is of great concern to all your friends.”

  Bess found herself unable to look away from his intent gaze. “And you are my friend.”

  “I hope so. And I hope you think well of me.”

  “I…you are not who I believed you to be.”

  Mr. Addison grimaced. “I spent many years isolated by choice, and it turned me into someone I am almost ashamed of. I hope you will overlook my earlier haughtiness.”

  Ashamed of. Isolated. “I…of course,” Bess said. “And I hope you know I consider you a friend.”

  “That is reassuring,” he said as the dance came to an end. He pressed her hand lightly in his own. “And…if our friendship were to continue?”

  Bess felt ready to scream. He had said he would not reveal himself, and yet here he was on the verge of a different declaration? She could not address him as Mr. Quinn until she was sure of his identity. “I think we would have to see,” she said, knowing it was inane but feeling unequal to any more direct response.

  Mr. Addison bowed over her hand. “That is enough for me,” he said. “I hope to speak with you again, Miss Hanley.”

  Bess watched him walk away, then returned to her seat and let out a deep breath. She was all but convinced of his identity; now to find a way to tell him so.

  “Oh, Bess!” Rose Fanshawe dropped into a seat beside her. “It is the most wonderful evening, and I simply must tell you my news!”

  “It must be very exciting,” Bess said with a smile, grasping this conversation as something simple and uncomplicated to hold onto.

  Rose’s smile was blinding. “It is only this,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Lord Saxby has made me an offer!”

  Bess’s mouth fell open. “Rose—that is exceedingly happy news!” she said, embracing her friend. “I thought—” No point in telling Rose she had believed Lord Saxby merely to be toying with her. How good to know she had been wrong. “I am so glad for you!”

  “So am I—but it is still a great secret, as he has not formally approached Papa,” Rose said. She let out a dramatic sigh. “I am quite in harmony with all the world. Now we must simply find a husband for you, and my joy will be complete.”

  “I think…perhaps I am closer to that than I believed,” Bess said.

  Rose’s eyes widened. “Then—oh, but I believed myself mistaken, it is too unlikely for words. But if you say so…he is not the man I expected you to love, but then, love can be so strange, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you both have been quite circumspect, never fear, it is just that I am very observant, and Lord Ravenscroft does not always conceal his interest when you are present.”

  “Lord Ravenscroft?”

  Rose’s brow furrowed. “Is he not the man you meant? He does give you the most intent looks—but it is true I have never seen you give him the slightest encouragement, so—oh, never mind, Bess, do tell me who it is?”

  “It is…no one, Rose. I would prefer not to speak until I know his heart.” Lord Ravenscroft, watching her? But he was definitely not Mr. Quinn; she had proved it. Still, that did not prevent him having an interest in her. It merely meant his interest was hopeless.

  Rose pouted. “Oh, be sensible if you must, but I believe you should share these things with your friends.” She bounced up from her seat. “I must tell Honoria my news, and remind her that it is a very great secret.”

  Bess watched Rose walk away and once more contemplated her problem. Perhaps she should simply draw Mr. Addison aside and confront him. Simple, honest, and direct. The upstairs drawing room was unoccupied now, and would be suitably private without being too private.

  “Meditating on your mortality, dear sister?”

  Bess looked up at Edmund. “On matters of deep and abiding interest, namely, the book I intend to read tomorrow as I recuperate from this party.”

  Edmund took the seat Rose had vacated. “You should take care not to turn into a bluestocking. They are all so prosy and uninteresting.”

  “It is hardly uninteresting to be committed to one’s education and intellectual life. I believe you simply feel intimidated by them.”

  Edmund shrugged. “I prefer a lighthearted woman like Rose Fanshawe, though I understand she is engaged to Lord Saxby.”

  “She told me it was a great secret.”

  “Oh, it is. I was told it by only three young women, all of whom impressed upon me the need to keep it secret. Bess, I admire you for your fortitude in actually keeping your secrets close.”

  That filled Bess with unaccountable dread. “What secrets do you imagine I have?”

  “Well, I know you are not saying everything that happened in Peru. Have you told your story to the Crown? Is there a king’s ransom in gold buried in the Andes Mountains?”

  “I would not tell you if there were.”

  “You see? Fortitude.” Edmund leaned back and regarded the room. “Mama seems to have outdone herself. You have many friends.”

  Bess remembered Mr. Addison’s near-decla
ration of love. “Indeed.”

  “I’m surprised to see Ravenscroft here. I did not expect him to be recovered.”

  Bess followed Edmund’s gaze to where a flash of bright copper hair moved among the figures of the dance. “I am surprised Mama invited him. She told me definitively that she does not care for him.”

  “Oh, I convinced her he could only benefit from the influence of good company. No, I meant that he was dramatically ill a few days ago. Went into convulsions in the middle of a game, in front of the whole club. Anyone else, I’d have suspected of trying to get out of a losing hand, but Ravenscroft has luck like I’ve never seen.”

  “Convulsions? That seems rather serious.”

  “He left immediately to see an Extraordinary Shaper, so he was recovered enough to walk out on his own, but I haven’t seen him since, so I believed him still recovering.”

  Bess watched Lord Ravenscroft dance for a few more steps. “I am glad he came. I do not consider him so bad as you led me to expect.”

  “Just so he isn’t making overtures toward you, Bess.” Edmund stood and stretched discreetly. “You are not dancing?”

  “I need a rest. I have been plagued by partners this evening.”

  “Including Mr. Addison?”

  Edmund’s arch tone made Bess blush. She searched the room for Mr. Addison, but saw him nowhere. Perhaps he had joined the card game. “Mr. Addison is far more congenial than I believed at first,” she said.

  “Well, I find he’s a decent sort of fellow, and I wish you well, if that’s what you want,” Edmund said, and moved off into the crowd, leaving Bess feeling flustered. Her gaze once more traveled to Lord Ravenscroft’s bright hair, easy even for her to make out. Had Mr. Addison danced with anyone but her? That seemed more definitive than a declaration. Why, then, should she not confront him?

  She thought about Mr. Quinn, about everything he had done and said, and a memory came to mind. It was a small thing, but one that had troubled her at the time. Now, as she contemplated that memory, understanding struck, leaving her breathless. She knew, finally, that it was the key to her dilemma.