Courting Miss Vallois

by Gail Whitiker

  ‘Aye, but who’s to prove it?’ McIntosh asked. ‘Oberon would sell his own mother if he thought it to his advantage.’

  And blackmail his father into the bargain, Robert reflected bitterly.

  ‘Problem is,’ McIntosh went on, ‘there’s not many who’ll risk running afoul of him.’

  Robert slowly looked up. ‘Except someone who already has and has nothing left to lose.’

  The Captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Lawrence?’

  ‘Who else? If Oberon believes Lawrence destroyed, and Lawrence likewise believes himself ruined, perhaps he would be willing to tell us what happened. We need to show that Oberon’s investment scheme was fraudulent from the start. If we could find proof of a criminal act, we could use it against him.’

  McIntosh sat back in his chair. ‘You’d have to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. Leave no stone unturned, as it were.’

  Robert thought of his beloved Sophie and of the bleakness in her eyes during their last encounter. ‘I would raise the Rock of Gibraltar if I thought a clue lay concealed beneath it.’

  ‘Would you now.’ McIntosh smiled. ‘I wasn’t aware Lawrence was that good a friend.’

  ‘He isn’t,’ Robert admitted. ‘Though I would gladly see him cleared of any wrongdoing, there is someone else far dearer to me who stands to lose a great deal more. I would give my life,’ he said quietly, ‘not to see that happen.’

  Sophie did not expect to see Robert again. Though he was never far from her thoughts, the feelings they had for one another and the nature of what had passed between them would make it impossible for them to be easy in one another’s company. The debilitating pain she would feel at seeing him, the knowledge that she might have been his wife, would always be there between them.

  Besides, she was betrothed to Mr Oberon now and must endeavour to play the part. And so she shopped with Lavinia for wedding clothes and talked of flowers and churches, and showed her ring of rubies and emeralds, an ugly, ostentatious thing drawn from the bowels of the Oberon family vault, to the young ladies who asked to see it, and professed herself suitably pleased with her good fortune. More than that she could not do. She could not feign an appearance of happiness, or act light-headed and giddy as newly engaged girls were supposed to do. Instead, she grew quiet, locking her pain deep within, keeping the secret of her broken heart from those she loved the most.

  And then the final axe fell. Antoine was called back to France. A distraught letter from Monsieur Larocque’s wife explained that her husband had fallen on broken glass and badly lacerated his hands. She wrote that he was incapable of performing even the most basic of surgical procedures and begged Antoine to return as quickly as possible, saying there were many patients in desperate need of his care.

  It had been a heart-wrenching decision for Antoine. Weighted against his desire to stay and see his sister through what would surely be one of the hardest days of her life was an equally strong desire to go back and help those who were in need of his skills. It pained him to know that without his assistance, some of those people might well lose limbs, or their sight—or even die.

  Nicholas tried to make him stay, saying he would do whatever was necessary to enrol Antoine in a university where he could begin his studies towards becoming a doctor in earnest. Even Lavinia had pleaded with him not to go, saying that Sophie would be heartbroken if her only brother was not there to see her get married. But Antoine’s life was about helping the sick. To turn his back on them now would be to deny his life-long calling—and Sophie had no intention of asking him to do that.

  And so she told him to go back to Paris. She convinced him that to ignore Monsieur Larocque’s cry for help would be poor repayment for everything the man had done for him, and said that if he did not immediately return, she would always wonder about his true desire to be a doctor.

  It was of little comfort to her that he agreed. They had been through so much the last three years, growing closer as brother and sister than many wives and husbands ever would. But she knew that going back was the right thing for Antoine to do. Not only was he was finding it increasingly difficult not to see Jane, but Sophie knew how he felt about her marrying a man she did not love, a man for whom he could feel no respect or affection.

  ‘There will be no turning back from this mistake, petite,’ Antoine said the night before he left. ‘When you are his wife, you will belong to him. I will not be able to help you. If he wishes it, you will be lost to me for ever.’

  And Sophie had walked into his arms and held him tightly because she’d known he was speaking the truth. A man could beat his wife or have her committed to an institution without fear of retribution. When a woman married, she and her husband became one person—and in the eyes of the law, that person was the man.

  But, marry him she would, because she had made a promise to protect the lives of the people she loved. Surely it was better knowing that Antoine was living the life he wanted in Paris than to sit here wondering if the next person who walked into his surgery might be there to arrest him. Surely it was better knowing that Nicholas and Lavinia were able to move freely about London than to live with the fear that someone might jump out at them from the shadows of a darkened alley.

  Surely it was better knowing that Robert was going on without her than to lie awake at night wondering if he would meet an unfortunate accident, as Oberon had so casually suggested that morning outside Clark and Debenham’s.

  How much happiness could she have known with that kind of fear dogging her every step?

  And so it was that on the day Sophie walked out of the drapers after the final fitting of her wedding gown, that she was able to find the strength to look Robert Silverton in the eye after all but colliding with him. To speak to him in tones resembling those of a normal conversation.

  ‘Mr Silverton. Forgive me. I should have paid more attention to where I was going.’

  ‘The fault was not yours, Miss Vallois.’ He bent to retrieve one of the parcels she had dropped. ‘I should have known better than to walk so quickly along so crowded a street.’ He straightened to look at her and she saw the pain reflected in his eyes. ‘Especially during the height of the shopping hour.’

  Sophie closed her eyes. She had been so close. So close to convincing herself she had the strength to do this. To know that she would not crumble the first time she saw him again. But meeting him like this was her undoing. An inadvertent collision on a busy street served as a bittersweet reminder of all they meant to one another—and all they were destined to lose. And it took every ounce of courage she possessed to pretend an indifference she was far from feeling. ‘I trust your sister is well?’

  ‘Well enough.’ Robert’s voice was quiet, but strained. ‘She spends a great deal of time in her room. Writing letters.’

  ‘Yes, writing can be…a pleasant pastime,’ Sophie agreed. Poor Jane. The girl’s heart was as badly broken as her own. Since Antoine’s return to Paris, she had received not a single word from Jane, and the girl had been all but absent from society.

  Sophie bit her lip and glanced behind her, hoping to see Lavinia emerge from the shop.

  ‘I was surprised your brother decided to return to France before the wedding,’ Robert said, fixing his attention on a nearby curricle. ‘I thought he would have wanted to be here to see you…marry.’

  ‘He did, very much,’ Sophie said, unhappiness falling like an iron bar across her chest. ‘But he received a letter concerning the gentleman to whom he is apprenticed and learned that he himself had been badly injured. His wife begged Antoine to return to take care of his patients. Naturally, Antoine wished to help in any way he could.’

  ‘Of course. Your brother is dedicated to his work.’

  ‘It means everything to him.’ Oh, why did Lavinia not come out? This unbearably polite discourse was growing more painful by the minute. And then Robert made it even worse.

  ‘I have no right to say this to you, Sophie, but I cannot let you go to Oberon without
telling you that I love you with all my heart and that if you ever have need of my help for any reason, you have only to come to me and I will—’

  ‘Mr Silverton,’ Lavinia said, finally emerging from the shop. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  Robert stepped back. His jaw tightened as he belatedly offered her a bow. ‘Lady Longworth.’

  ‘Nicholas and I were talking about you just the other day. He said he sees very little of you about town these days.’

  ‘I think it merely that our paths do not cross.’

  Lavinia smiled. ‘Of course. And how does dear Jane go on?’

  ‘She engages herself with writing. I think she pens a novel in secret.’

  ‘A novel! How exciting,’ Lavinia said. ‘I have always wanted to write a book, but find myself sadly lacking in imagination. No doubt it would be a very dry and boring effort.’

  ‘I’m sure you underestimate your abilities, Lady Long worth.’

  Sophie felt him glance in her direction, but knew better than to meet his gaze. It was heartbreaking to see him like this, knowing he would never be more than a passing acquaintance. How would she ever bear it…?

  ‘Well, I suppose I had best be on my way,’ Robert said at length. ‘Good morning, Lady Longworth. Miss Vallois.’

  ‘Mr Silverton,’ Lavinia said quietly, only to breathe a deep sigh a few minutes later. ‘Poor man. He thinks he conceals his pain, but it is there for all to see. And dear Jane obviously pines as much for your brother as you do for Robert.’

  Dangerously close to tears, Sophie whispered huskily, ‘I do not pine for Mr Silverton.’

  ‘Of course you do. Oh, you can say what you like to everyone else, but I know what’s in your heart, Sophie,’ Lavinia said as they turned and walked in the other direction. ‘I too married one man when I was falling in love with another. And I cared a great deal more for François than you do for Mr Oberon. And though you refuse to explain your reasons for marrying Mr Oberon, I know there is an explanation. Oh, no, dear, please don’t cry! I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

  Sophie shook her head, dashing away tears. ‘It was just so hard to see him again.’

  ‘Of course it was, and I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Lavinia said. ‘I know how deeply you’re suffering. But if you will not change your mind, there is nothing we can do but carry on. The wedding is only a few days away and we still have much to do.’

  Sophie nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Where are we to go next?’

  ‘We should go to Madame Egaltine’s for gloves. However…’ Lavinia smiled as tucked her arm in Sophie’s. ‘I think we shall call at Gunter’s for ices instead. I believe we are both in need of a little refreshment.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Given the nature of Oberon’s crime, Robert suspected there were very few people who would know the full extent of the scheme, or the scope of the financial damage done to Lawrence Welton. Oberon would, but there was no point in looking to him for answers. And while Lawrence might know, it seemed he was unwilling to disclose any details as to what had really happened.

  ‘I signed the papers,’ was all he would say. ‘I gave them back to Oberon and he assured me he would send me a copy once the lawyer had finalised the details. But he never did. And by the time I realised I had nothing in writing, it was too late.’

  The disappointing results forced Robert to focus his attention on two other possible sources of information, the first being the legal firm where the papers had been drawn up, and the second being Mr Stanley Hunt, Welton’s man of business. Unfortunately, discreet investigations carried out over the course of the next few days yielded little of use. Having been as effectively deceived by Oberon as his employer, Mr Hunt was deeply embarrassed at being asked about the case and sought to bring the interview to a close as quickly as possible.

  As for Sir Thomas Buckley, senior partner with the law firm Buckley, Stevens and Mortimer, the results were equally disappointing. Sir Thomas had worked for both the present Lord Mannerfield and his father for many years; though Robert was not granted an interview with the lofty barrister, he was informed by the clerk who guarded that gentleman’s office with the ferocity of a Trojan that much of the work done for the son had been handled by a Mr Adrian Brocknower.

  When Robert asked to see Mr Brocknower, the clerk informed him in the most discouraging of tones that the gentleman was no longer in the employ of the firm and that he had no idea where he lived or for whom he might be working—both of which convinced Robert that he had to find Brocknower as soon as possible. A position with a prestigious company was hard to come by. Had Brocknower left of his own volition, or had he been forced out by circumstances beyond his control?

  Unfortunately, finding Adrian Brocknower turned out to be even more of a challenge. After asking endless questions and checking out three addresses, Robert still had nothing. The rooms were all empty and the landladies had no idea where their tenant had gone. Nor did they care, since, unlike many of the young men who passed through their doors, this one had paid his account in full.

  It was enough to drive a sane man to drink and, in a mood to work off some of his excess frustration, Robert made his way to Angelo’s. There were always a number of cocky young men anxious to perfect the finer points of the thrust and salute, and while few of them were up to Robert’s level of play, they would serve to take the edge off his anger. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, most of the better fencers had already paired themselves off, and those who were new to the game were happy to practise their lunges in front of a mirror.

  Robert made his way to a bench along the back wall and set down his foil. He’d just have to wait it out.

  ‘Are you engaged to meet a partner, sir?’

  The voice was quiet. Refined. A mellow baritone perfect for reciting Shakespeare. Robert turned to find a tall gentleman in fencing garb standing opposite him. The man’s hair was almost black, and though his face was partially covered by a mask, Robert knew from what little he could see that the man was a stranger to him. ‘I am not, sir.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would care to spar with me?’

  Robert inclined his head. ‘By all means.’

  The man led the way on to the floor, walking with the unconscious dignity of a prince. Robert noticed he kept a distance from the other fencers, but was equally aware that no one seemed to be paying them any mind. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before,’ he said casually.

  ‘I usually practise in private, but I thought this afternoon I might benefit from the company of others.’ He stopped and turned around. ‘Are you ready?’

  Robert up took his position. ‘When you are.’

  The match was surprisingly good. Robert soon determined the man’s skill to be equal to his own, if not slightly better. He moved quickly, expending no unnecessary effort, but his swordplay was quick and well aimed. He struck three times before Robert managed his first hit, and when they drew even at six, they agreed to take a break.

  ‘You fence well, sir,’ Robert said, breathing harder than his opponent. ‘It is evident I have been too long from the game.’

  ‘You present an excellent form and style, Mr Silverton,’ the gentleman said. ‘I think only your physical stamina is lacking.’

  Robert reached for a towel and wiped the sweat from his face. He hadn’t missed the fact that the stranger had addressed him by name. ‘Perhaps you have more time to practise than I.’

  ‘I agree that technique generally improves with regular practice, but I find extra tutelage also helps. There is a gentleman near Covent Garden who gives private lessons.’ The stranger pulled out a card and handed it to Robert. ‘You will find him at this address. But I suggest you go tonight. And if he asks, tell him Parker sent you.’

  Robert took the card, his eyes widening at the sight of Adrian Brocknower’s name and address. ‘How did you know—?’

  ‘Let’s just say it has come to my attention that you have been asking questions about a common enemy.
I happen to be in possession of information that may prove useful to you.’

  Robert inclined his head. Whoever this Parker fellow was, he obviously had a grudge against Oberon too. Strange he didn’t want to settle it himself. ‘I am indebted to you, sir.’ He tucked the card securely into his pocket. ‘Can I interest you in another match?’

  He saw the gentleman’s mouth curve behind the mask. ‘Always. But I give you fair warning, Mr Silverton. This time, I intend to play.’

  There was nothing Sophie could do to alter the path upon which she had set out. But when she thought about Robert’s last words and realised what the rest of her life was going to be like, she knew she could not go any further without allowing herself one brief moment of happiness. Insanity it might be, but it was surely no worse than the madness she was already contemplating.

  As she stepped out of the hackney late that afternoon, she looked up at the house on Portman Square and was aware of feeling strangely calm. Was this how a condemned man felt as he enjoyed the last few hours of his life? Was this heady feeling of freedom common amongst women who were on the verge of betraying their husbands or lovers?

  As she walked towards the front door, she took some comfort from the fact that she had not yet stood before God and his angels and sworn fidelity to a man she despised.

  The door opened to her knock and, ignoring the butler’s quickly concealed look of surprise, she was shown into the drawing room. It was well past the hour for social calls, but Sophie had sent Jane a note advising her of her intention to call, and asking if she could please make sure her brother was there. She had also asked that Jane not tell him she was coming. It was best he had no opportunity to prepare for her arrival.

  Jane was waiting for her in the drawing room. She rose as Sophie entered and Sophie saw how deeply she suffered. She seemed to have lost weight, and her beautiful green eyes were dark and haunted. ‘Dearest Sophie, I am so glad to see you again.’