by Locke, Laura
Yes, Cornelia is very much in love.
Another thought occurred to her. Francis was a very close friend of Valerian. If anyone held secrets of his past, it would be him. With some luck, she might have a chance to ask him something.
Her opportunity came at interval. Cornelia and Claudia had gone to the terrace for some air, and Francis stayed with their drinks, waiting for them to return. Theodore was talking to another friend, and Cornelius was fetching wine. They were alone together.
“It's lovely to see you here, my lady,” Francis said warmly. “I am so pleased your party could come up to London.”
“I am too,” Pauline smiled. She knew, then, that Cornelia had contrived to come along for him. She nodded. “It is in some ways a pity to miss spring in Darbyshire.”
“I know,” he nodded. “Though I'm not sorry to be away from the barracks a while.”
“I'm sure,” Pauline nodded. “Though you must miss some friends?”
“Well, I have Dunstan and Neville with me,” he said, nodding a head towards Theodore Neville, who stood some feet away. “I miss the countryside, though.” he said wistfully. “I'll be glad to get back.” He chuckled.
“You are billeted near Lieutenant Harrington?” Pauline asked, trying to turn the conversation to him. “He mentioned he had a good view from his lodging.”
“Not far,” he nodded. “Though he has the better view, lucky devil. He always manages that somehow. Luck of the wicked, I tell him. He doesn't appreciate it.”
“Is he so wicked, then?” Pauline asked, worry creasing her brow.
“No! That's the trouble. He's so damn scrupulous – pardon the swearing, ma'am – but really! The man doesn't mislay so much as a pin, never mind renege on anything. And so neat! Bless him, but he'd drive me barmy, were I billeted with him.” He chuckled ruefully.
“Is he so meticulous?” Pauline was surprised. This was a side of him she wouldn't have imagined.
“Ever so meticulous,” Francis nodded, taking a sip of his drink and nodding appreciatively. “A nice man, but too careful for me.”
“You think his neatness hides some dark secret?” she laughed, lightly, though she was in earnest. Often, the neater and more impersonal a person was, she found, the more they were hiding or holding back about themselves.
He gave her a surprised look. “Why no, my lady. Valerian's a direct sort. Any secrets, he's probably have told me by accident. No, I don't think he hides anything. He seems unhappy sometimes, and sometimes he withdraws – moody sort, is our Valerian – but nothing secret there. Be assured.” He smiled.
“Thank you,” Pauline smiled. “I thought he seemed quite open.”
“Oh, he is, he is,” Francis nodded, sipping his drink appreciatively. “Except when he's in one of his moods. Doesn't happen often, though. Usually he's good company. I say, where have our friends got to?” he looked around, a wrinkle of concern twisting he brow.
He meant Cornelia, Pauline knew, though he was too polite to say so. She bit back a grin and looked around. “I see Claudia there,” she said, singling out the feathers in her hair.
“Oh! There they are. Cornelia is with her...I see the back of her head,” he added. Pauline peered over and noticed he was right – red hair in an elaborate bun crossed with pearls, the curls left free, appeared beside Claudia.
He must be infatuated if he knows her so well.
Pauline smiled. Even she would not have seen her cousin from so far away, from the back, in a darker part of the hall!
“Well, I think I'll go over,” Francis said. “Pardon me, my lady?”
“Of course,” she nodded. She stayed where she was, sipping her cordial and watching their things. They all returned to the table shortly thereafter, and had to drink hastily, since the interval was almost ending.
When they rejoined Cornelius – who was mercifully still engaged with his associates and barely noticed the rest of the party – Pauline found herself lost in thought.
Francis – who has known him long – thinks Valerian is moody. He also says he's trustworthy. I am sure there is no truth to what Cornelius said.
She leaned back and studied him. With his cravat tight around his tanned throat, his firm face relaxed with the music, though a frown still marked his forehead, he seemed to her a child overgrown. All he thinks of is his own needs for attention. He craved it, and did not countenance the possibility that he could in any way be in the wrong.
She sighed and delicately lifted her fan, the easy motion a soothing counterpoint to the tumult in her mind. I should confront Cornelius, accuse him of lying. But what good would that do?
She knew how he would react. He would be angry, and offended, and accuse her of chasing the man's attentions. And being branded a wanton by Cornelius Stanmore was the last thing she wished.
No, she decided. It would be better to gather whatever information she could – from Francis, Captain Dunstan and their colleagues – and then, when she returned home in the next few days, confront Valerian.
As she watched Cornelia, her head close to the shoulder of the handsome, compactly-built officer, she knew she would have plenty of time to talk to their new military companions. She would, in fact, likely have a hard time getting away from them.
Chapter 15
The next morning Pauline slept late. She rolled over to see the sun blazing in through the windows, shining brightly off the linen of the bed. She stretched deliciously and sat up, enjoying the tranquil warmth. The maid brought her tea and a pastry for breakfast and she stayed in bed, watching the wisps of cloud cross the sky outside.
I should go and see what everyone is doing, she thought. But she felt so deliciously drowsy that it was hard to persuade herself to leave the bed. She slid out from the bedclothes when tea was done and pulled the bell to summon the maid to help her dress.
In the upstairs parlor she found Cornelia, bent over some sewing. “Pauline! There you are. I wanted to ask if you would come to the coffee-house?” she asked, smiling uncertainly.
“I'd like that,” Pauline nodded. She found a novel and took a seat beside Cornelia's, leaning back on the soft cushions in the sunlit warmth. They spent the remainder of the morning together, chatting about tranquil, happy things. Claudia joined them and the parlor was soon full of merriment.
“...and so I said we should test that out – we can play at croquet in the park, and I shall beat him.” Claudia said firmly. She was speaking of Theodore. They all laughed.
“Yes! Let's make a day of it! We can go to the park tomorrow. Oh, please let's, Pauline?” she said, turning earnestly to her cousin. “It would be such fun!”
Pauline smiled. “We're leaving the day after tomorrow, Cornelia,” she reminded her softly. “But yes – why not? A day in the park would suit us all, I think.”
Cornelia looked happy and even Claudia seemed quietly pleased.
Cornelius will probably go along with it.. He seems to have been most obliging of late. Or at least, I haven't seen him long enough to tell the difference.
Indeed, Cornelius had been keeping himself aloof the last few days. Pauline was not sure why, but she was enjoying the respite from his oppressive attentions.
Cornelius did join them for luncheon. He took his place at the head of the table, seeming bluffly cheerful as usual.
“Well, capital news from Jennings, sister. Our investment in trade is paying off well.”
“Oh?” Claudia raised a groomed brow and reached for the beaker of sherbet. “I'm glad to hear it, brother.”
“I won't tax your pretty heads with the details,” Cornelius added, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Suffice it to say we will have a fair budget for enjoying the diversions of London.” He smiled at Pauline.
“I'm glad to hear it,” she said, echoing Claudia's noncommittal comment. Inside, she felt a prickle of distaste at being called a “pretty head”. Lucas wouldn't have balked at sharing some financial details with her...he didn't see her as a child that cared only fo
r entertainments. But then, Cornelius isn't much better. He is a child in many ways. An inconsiderate and pettish one.
“Brother?” Claudia spoke up softly. “Might Cornelia and I attend the coffee-house this afternoon?”
“I don't see why not,” Cornelius said. “I should go to the office to speak with Jennings again...we had not quite concluded our business before midday and luncheon called me away.” He pushed away his plate, leaning back, replete.
“Well, then, that's settled,” Pauline nodded. “I think I will accompany the ladies?”
“If you must,” Cornelius said lightly. “I shan't be here anyway. I had thought tomorrow we might visit the botanical gardens?”
“Maybe,” Pauline nodded. “I understand Cornelia and Claudia are otherwise engaged tomorrow?” She prompted the two younger ladies with a steady gaze.
“We had hoped you could join us in the park, though,” Claudia said, looking hurt. “And you too, of course, brother.”
“I don't care for parks,” Cornelius said airily. “But if you will insist on attending?” he asked Pauline.
Pauline felt uncomfortable. “We'll see,” she said, not wanting to take sides. “I have been feeling off-color lately,” she added, raising her hand to her forehead where in truth her headache was just starting up, a dull throb over her eyes.
“Well, then,” Cornelius pushed away his chair. “Until later, then. You will join me in the drawing-room for drinks when I come back?” he asked Pauline hopefully. She nodded, studying her hands. One glance at his flushed face, the glint in his eye, told her that he planned for her to be alone with him.
“Perhaps, my lord.”
His face darkened, but he nodded. If he was going to object, he wasn't about to do it here in front of her cousin and his sister. “Very well. Until later.”
When he had left, all three of them heaved a sigh of relief. Claudia cleared her throat.
“Well, then. We should get ready to go out.”
Pauline nodded. She stood and went lightly to the bedroom. She and Cornelia dressed together and went to where Claudia had thoughtfully organized the open coach.
At the coffee-house they were met – as Pauline had expected – by Francis and Theodore. They both smiled at Pauline and bowed. Francis and Cornelia instantly moved toward each other, Claudia hanging back more shyly.
“Well, then,” Theodore said warmly. “Should we go in? We reserved a table on the right...dashed crowded in here.”
Pauline followed them to the seats, looking about with interest at the darkened room with its tables at which sat poets and painters, lords and ladies and literati. The place was a den of ideas, intrigue and interest, and Pauline, sinking into her seat by the window, loved it.
I'm glad we decided to come.
While Cornelia and Francis chattered, and Claudia and Theodore sat more quietly together, Pauline found herself studying the place. The oldest coffee-house in London, it was the place to discuss ideas, meet people, talk business or theater or politics, or just to relax. The place smelled of coffee and, thinly, of tobacco and the musk of perfume. It made her feel alive just being here.
The conversation turned, slowly, to the countryside. Pauline was pleased to hear mention of the lieutenant who was always on the edge of her thoughts.
“And Harrington will probably be training the new troops,” Francis commented to Cornelia. “A dab hand, he is.”
“Oh?” Pauline asked, intrigued.
“Yes. He has a way with new recruits – they see something in him...a sort of presence, he has. As if he was born giving orders. They listen to him without question. Funny, that.”
“He comes from noble stock?” Pauline asked, despite herself. Her curiosity always overwhelmed her with him.
“No idea,” Francis admitted. “We put our history aside when we join. Well, some of us don't,” he chuckled wryly, catching Theodore's eye, who laughed. “Major Tomlinson, now, he never stops reminding us all he's an earl...but those who wish to forget, do so. We don't ask.”
“Oh?” Cornelia beamed. “That must be fascinating!”
“I suppose,” he smiled.
Pauline sat back, thinking. There was a lot of mystery about this man. What did she know about him? He is intense, interested in everything. A fine horseman. Scrupulous. Neat. Quiet. He had an air of command. He had secrets.
All of it painted a picture of a man thrust from his natural station, a man pushed out of his own social tier by disgrace. She didn't want to believe it.
All I can do is ask him.
“My lady?” Francis asked her. She blinked, realizing she had been lost in her own thoughts.
“Yes? Did you ask something?”
He smiled. “We just wanted to know if you'd be there for the croquet tomorrow? I hope you'll join in. It would be more fun.”
Pauline smiled. “I'd like to,” she agreed absently. “Though I warn you, I'm a handicap for my team.”
“Nonsense!” Cornelia exclaimed, giggling. “Cousin, you acquit yourself well on any field.”
“You're kind, Cornelia,” Pauline said fondly. “But really, it's not true,” she added, grimacing at the rest of the company, who laughed.
“I'll be first off the pitch, my lady,” Theodore said, grinning. “I feel it.”
They all laughed and Pauline sipped her coffee, wondering idly if they should order some pastries to go with it – the time was creeping up to four o' clock, and the outing might just extend to teatime.
“My ladies? Sirs?” a man appeared – Pauline recognized him as one of the men serving the coffee. She looked around, about to ask if anyone wanted cake.
“Yes?” Francis asked at once.
“You are Lady Pauline, yes?” he asked, glancing at Pauline, who nodded. Her heart began to pound, worry thrilling through her.
“Yes. What is it? Are we called home?” Was it Cornelius, summoning them back? What did he want? Was he vexed with her..?
“Yes, my lady. It's urgent. Please, come at once.”
Pauline looked at the others, who looked worriedly back.
“I'll call a coach for you,” Francis said to Cornelia, who took his hand nervously.
“No need, sir,” the man said, swallowing. “His lordship the earl sent a coach to fetch you. He says to make haste.”
Pauline stood, holding her skirts as she pushed back her chair. “We are on our way,” she said. She glanced at Claudia, who nodded. The two younger women stood. Francis followed Cornelia. Pauline noticed them whispering earnestly as she donned her cloak and hat.
Outside in the street, the wind had come up. The day was cooling with the evening and she shivered, walking to where, as the man had said, the coach awaited.
They clambered in.
“Quickly, please,” Claudia instructed Godwin, the driver. “I understand it's urgent.”
Godwin nodded and he shook the reins, sending them heading quickly into the street.
Inside the coach, Pauline, Cornelia and Claudia looked at each other.
“What is it?” Cornelia asked. “Do you think that..?”
“I don't know,” Pauline said quickly.
“Maybe it's nothing bad,” Claudia said softly. “It could just be a change of plans. Some kind of minor problem.”
“I hope so,” Pauline said grimly. In her head, a thousand possibilities flowed. Mother had taken ill. Lucas had received news. Father had a relapse of the terrible illness that had plagued him.
It's Father. I know it. That must be it. Poor Matilda! She must be so worried.
But when they reached the townhouse, Pauline rushing up the steps in her uncomfortable shoes, it was not that news that awaited them.
“I heard word from your family,” Cornelius said. Even he looked grave. “Your sister has been taken ill. You must return at once.”
Pauline stared at him. Matilda, ill! Oh, no! What of Henry? Where was he? What of the child...
“Cornelius? It's not the babe, is it?”
He shook his head. “I don't know, Pauline. I'm sorry.”
Tragically, he looked as though he meant it. He was polite, caring and helpful. He ordered the maids to go upstairs to help pack their things, sent to the inn to summon a stage-coach to take them back. Offered to go with them, at least as far as the Highfell Inn.
“...I will do anything, my lady. Anything, to help.”
“Thank you,” Pauline said in a small voice. “You're kind, Cornelius.”
“I do my best. I am sorry for this terrible event.”
“It's not your fault, Cornelius,” Pauline said softly.
“Allow me to do anything I can.”
“I will. Thank you. You're most helpful...”
Numb, shocked, and with her mind hundreds of miles away, Pauline allowed Cornelius to lead her to the coach. There, he got in with them and together they all sped off to the inn. They changed carriages there, taking a stage-coach that would change horses, traveling through the night. At this rate, the journey would take two days.
“Thank you, Cornelius,” Pauline said quietly.
“Nonsense, my lady. I barely helped.”
As the coach sped away, drawn by six fast horses into the night, Pauline leaned back and closed her eyes. Be safe, Matilda. Please. Be alive when I get there.
Chapter 16
When they arrived, Matilda was alive. She was very ill, though, pale and in bed.
“Sister!” Pauline said, dropping to sit on the bed, taking her hands in hers. “Oh! Thank Heaven.”
She didn't mean to do it, but the instant she saw that familiar, pretty face, she burst into tears. Matilda smiled.
“Oh, dear sister. I take some killing,” she said, then gasped as a pain gripped her.
“Don't move. Rest yourself,” Pauline insisted. “I can't believe you're safe!”
“I can't either.” Her sister grimaced.
They were alone in the bedchamber together. A maid had banked the fire so that it roared comfortably from nearby them, flooding the room with warmth and reddish glow. Pauline took her sister's hand. She studied her face.
