Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘We? Do I get to come, too?’ Lily’s eyes were wide with excitement. She’d never been further than the village.

  ‘Yes, Lily. I will need you very much.’ Annorah smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. ‘A well-bred lady goes nowhere without her maid in the city.’ The maid was supposed to act as a chaperon and lend a sense of decorum to a woman out and about in the city, but Annorah thought it would be the other way around. She’d be more of a chaperon to Lily than Lily would be to her.

  Still, London set great stock by the rules. She knew she was pushing the boundaries of decency by calling in person. It was beyond the pale for a single woman to go to a gentleman’s abode. She knew enough about the neighbourhoods to know Jermyn Street was known for its more expensive bachelor quarters. Annorah hoped the presence of a maid and her more mature age would compensate for whatever else the call might lack in decency. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was going to a home per se. This was a business.

  * * *

  Only it didn’t look like a business. Annorah was rethinking that last argument for decency an hour and a half later. She peered out of the carriage window once more and then back at the card in her hand to make sure she had the address right: 619 Jermyn Street. This was the place, but it appeared to be a town house. In its defence, it was a well-kept town house. The only difference between it and the other residences lining the street was that this one didn’t give the appearance of having been converted into apartments. This one looked like a fully intact home.

  ‘Is this the place?’ Lily asked in awed tones, craning her neck to see outside.

  ‘I think so.’ Annorah gathered up her courage, her heart beating fast. There were so many reasons for that rapid pulse beat—what would she find at the door? Would she be turned away? Would she be admitted? Would that be worse, actually going inside? Would he be there? She’d never know the answers to any of those questions if she didn’t forge ahead. ‘Wait for me, Lily. I may be a while.’

  At the door, a black-and-bronze plaque announced this was indeed Argosy House, but nothing more. There was no indication this was the offices for the agency. She raised the knocker, a thick, bronze lion head, although she was sure anyone inside would have already heard the pounding of her heart. The knocker seemed superfluous.

  The door opened, answered by a butler just like any well-run home would be. Annorah had her own card and rehearsed speech ready. ‘Good afternoon, I am hoping to speak with Mr D’Arcy.’ She passed the butler her card.

  ‘Right this way, miss, I will see if he is at home.’ The butler ushered her in and she drew a breath of relief. She had not been left standing on the step. Not that anyone in the city knew her or would have recognised her, but there was something unnerving about being left to wait on someone’s front steps while the people inside decided if one was worthy to grace their halls.

  The butler led her to a small sitting room just off the main hall. ‘Would you like tea?’

  Annorah shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’ She took the offer as a hopeful sign, though. Surely he would not have offered tea if Nicholas was not at home. Tea took effort to prepare, too much effort if she was to be merely turned away.

  The butler left and she entertained herself by studying the room. It was warmly done in striped wallpaper of cream on cream, the subtleness of the striping lending elegance to what might otherwise have been plain. The matching sofa-and-chair set was upholstered in dark-blue floral chintz and a vase in Chinese blue graced the cherry side table, filled with colourful summer blossoms.

  Fifteen minutes passed. No one had come. Perhaps she should have rethought the offer for tea. A horrid thought came to her. What if he was with someone? Would he have already forgotten their agreement? Annorah closed her eyes and willed the thought away. She would not think like that. Yet she had to be realistic. He’d come back to London. He’d gone back to work. It was what he did and she knew that. She had to keep her mind focused on her goals. She tried to summon her anger.

  She was here to give him money. She was here to see him one last time because she wanted to bring the whole matter to an end, not because she was harbouring any impossible fantasies about mutual love. She could admit she’d fallen for him, as long as she understood what that meant and what it didn’t mean. It did not require that he had fallen for her, that her fantasies had been reciprocated. There were footsteps in the hall, purposeful steps on the hardwood. He was coming! Annorah looked up and stood, her eyes fixed on the doorway where they were promptly met with dismay.

  It wasn’t him.

  The man who entered the room was nothing like Nicholas. He was tall, but that was where any resemblance ended. This man was gracefully slender and had the purest gold hair she’d ever seen. He also had kind eyes. ‘Miss Price-Ellis, what a pleasure. I apologise for the wait. I’m Channing Deveril. Welcome to Argosy House.’ Those eyes matched his tone, making it easier to swallow her disappointment.

  ‘Please be seated. I have tea on the way.’ He took the chair and crossed a leg over one knee. ‘How can I be of assistance?’

  ‘Will Mr D’Arcy be joining us?’ It didn’t sound as if he would if this man was offering his assistance.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Mr D’Arcy is out this afternoon, but I am more than happy to convey any message you’d care to leave or answer any questions you may have.’

  The tea tray came and Annorah busied herself with serving, trying to gather her thoughts. What did all this mean? Was Nicholas upstairs right now, avoiding her? Had this Mr Deveril been sent as his emissary to politely dispose of her? Or was Nicholas simply out and Mr Deveril spoke the truth?

  ‘Cream, yes, thank you.’ Mr Deveril took the tea cup from her. ‘Please, Miss Price-Ellis, you can talk to me. I know Mr D’Arcy thought highly of you. He’ll be sorry to have missed your call.’ It was a practised, rote kind of response. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d had to intervene.

  ‘Do you have to do this often, Mr Deveril, console Mr D’Arcy’s clients?’ Annorah smiled over the rim of her tea cup to mitigate the sharpness of the comment.

  ‘I usually let Nicholas do that by himself.’ It was a neatly worded assurance. Nicholas was indeed absent from the premises. Irrational jealousy stabbed. Was he out with another woman even though he’d promised not to be?

  ‘I’ve come because he and I have unfinished business. I owe him payment. I have reason to believe he will not take the wage if I merely leave a note for the bank.’

  Mr Deveril’s eyes lit with understanding and with reserve. ‘Ah, yes, the payment for the ill-favoured house party and the engagement. I appreciate you bringing it, but I hope it was not your sole reason for coming to town. He will not take it. He cannot. He’s been very clear with me on his position.’ He would not tell her any more than that. They both knew he was walking a careful line between assisting her and protecting his employee’s privacy.

  Annorah put the envelope full of money on the table between them. There was nothing like the actual sight of a thousand pounds all in notes to sweeten any pot. Tangible money was so much harder to refuse than theoretical. ‘I hope you can see that he gets it at some point. You don’t have to give it to him directly. Maybe you know the state of his finances and can apply it towards any obligations on his behalf?’ Deveril seemed to hesitate. ‘I know he has family—perhaps I could convey the money to them.’

  The comment got Deveril’s sharp attention. ‘Has he spoken to you of his family?’

  Victory at last, a very little one but still the polite ice of this tea party was starting to thaw. She grabbed on to the offering. ‘He told me of his brother, Stefan, and their summers hunting for hidden treasure. I believe his family is in Stour.’

  Deveril gave her a long, considering look. ‘Did he now? I find that very interesting. Nicholas is an extraordinarily private person. There’s much he doesn’t even tell me.’ He reach
ed for a little cream cake from the tray, but Annorah was not fooled by the casual gesture. He was probing for something. ‘What else did the two of you talk about?’

  There was no malice in the probe. Deveril could be trusted and she had to trust him. He was the only key to Nicholas she had right now. ‘Lutefisk. We talked about lutefisk.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He mentioned he once lived with a Norwegian fisherman and his family.’ A moment’s insight hit her. ‘Are you the reason he left them? Did you offer him something better?’

  Deveril nodded. ‘He would not have lasted long on the docks. Clerking was not for him. He’s too alive to be buried in a clearing house.’ He set down his tea cup and rose, scooping up the envelope. ‘I’ll see to it that his family gets this. Is there anything else?’

  This was her cue to leave. Annorah followed his lead and rose, too. ‘Thank you for sending him to me. I care for him greatly. He is a good man.’ She saw Deveril take a breath. He was going to say something conciliatory, something polite and generic he probably said to all the broken-hearted women darkening his door hoping for a glimpse of Nicholas D’Arcy. She held up a stalling hand. ‘Please, you can think what you like, but for me this is no passing infatuation. I wish things could be different. We made each other happy. I know the value of that. Thank you for your time, Mr Deveril.’

  She made to move past him, but he fell into step beside her. ‘I hope you enjoy London. Will you be staying long?’ He seemed hesitant, as if he were weighing a decision in his mind.

  ‘No, I don’t have much use for London. I come as seldom as I can.’ Annorah laughed. ‘I have rooms at Grillon’s for this stay.’ She paused and decided to be completely honest. ‘I came specifically for Nicholas.’ After this visit, she doubted she’d have reason to come again for a long time. How could she come, knowing Nicholas was in London, somewhere, and not accessible to her? It would be a type of torture. Better to stay at Hartshaven and take out her memories one by one. Still, a type of torture, but far less dreadful.

  Deveril drew a breath. ‘I told you the truth when I said he wasn’t here.’ He took her by the elbow and drew her aside in a little antechamber by the front door. ‘Before he came to you, there was some business involving a duel. London is not safe for him at the moment. More than that, he means to honour the year of your supposed engagement. He could not do that and remain in the city, as I’m sure you understand. Since he has spoken to you of his family and because of your extenuating circumstances, I will tell you this in the strictest of confidences. Nicholas has gone home.’

  Then she was going after him. She’d come to London. She could go to Stour.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It wasn’t working. Nicholas had to acknowledge the truth of it after three weeks. Being home didn’t erase the loss of Annorah. Neither did it make facing his ghosts any easier. Not even hard work, like roofing the stable in the heat of July, seemed to help. Nick stopped, laid down his hammer and wiped his brow. It was as hot as Hades up here. He reached for the water he’d brought up and drank. It might have helped if everyone wasn’t being so damn nice to him. His mother, his sisters, even Stefan had welcomed him home like a prodigal son.

  Stefan had been so glad to see him, so willing to pick up where their relationship had left off years ago. They’d always been close, but Nick had not expected Stefan’s reception to be warm. After all, it was his fault Stefan was paralysed. But Stefan did not see it that way.

  As for his sisters and his mother, they’d been so happy to see him, too, so eager to show him all they’d been able to do with the money he’d sent home over the years. He wondered what they would do if they knew everything they said simply riddled him with more guilt. For them, he felt guilty over the money he hadn’t taken from Annorah. He felt guilty for hiding his London life from them. He felt guilty every time he looked at Stefan and knew he was responsible for his brother being confined to that chair.

  Nick went back to work, hammering in a shingle with unnecessary force. Annorah was wrong, he wasn’t good. He’d been very bad and these were the rewards for his sin. Even when he tried to do good, it turned out poorly. Wasn’t Annorah proof of that? He should have stuck with what he knew: sex and women, not matrimony. He’d brought scandal to her when he’d stepped outside his boundaries, no matter how noble his intentions had been. He hoped she was weathering it all well, that life at Hartshaven hadn’t been compromised.

  ‘Nick, we’ve got company!’ Stefan’s call interrupted his thoughts.

  Nicholas looked down to see his brother wheeling himself towards the stable. It did amaze him how proficient Stefan had become with the chair since he’d last seen him. In those days, Stefan had been pasty and thin, an invalid who had been confined too long to the sick room. The man who had met him on his return was robust and tanned, his arms muscled and strong from the exertion of wheeling himself around.

  ‘Who is it?’ Nicholas asked, climbing down the ladder.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Stefan teased him with a grin. ‘Isn’t this your big surprise? I was wondering when she would show up.’ When Nicholas said nothing, Stefan went on. ‘Your fiancée? The one we’ve read about in the London papers? Surely you remember her?’ he jested.

  It was all Nick could do to stay upright. Annorah was here? Stefan knew about his supposed fiancée? ‘How do you know we’re engaged?’ Nick asked hesitantly.

  ‘We might live in the country, but we’re not entirely out of touch. When you left for London and started writing these fabulous letters home, Mother decided we’d better take a subscription to The Times so we could keep up with you. She feared you’d find us dull dogs when you came home. We saw the announcement. We’ve been waiting for you to say something.’

  A knot of dread began to form in Nick’s stomach. How much did he need to tell them? ‘Stefan, what else does the family know?’ How could he tell them the engagement was not real? Was Annorah already in there, laying out his latest sins to his mother? Or was she in there creating false hope? His mother yearned for him to marry. She would have been over the moon about the engagement. Part of him dreaded walking into the parlour and facing Annorah in front of his family and part of him wanted to race up to the house.

  Stefan touched his arm. ‘I know you’re not a clerk in a shipping firm,’ he said quietly, confirming the worst.

  ‘Mother and the girls? What do they know?’

  ‘Mother knows you’re quite the ladies’ man. She sees the references in the society column. I think that’s all she knows. She knows about your latest scrape with Lord Burroughs. She was frightened for a week that you’d be duelling. I have tried to shield them from a bit of your reality.’ Stefan smiled. ‘All has ended well. Perhaps you will tell me about it some day.’

  There Stefan went again, assuming they were close once more, brother-companions roaming the land in search of adventure as they had in their boyhood, but there was hurt mingled there, too, ever so subtly. Stefan wanted to be part of his life. It hurt him to be pushed away as much as it hurt Nick to be included. His throat thickened at the realisation. Annorah would tell him this was the gift of a family and a home, these relationships; people who loved you and cared for you no matter what.

  But that made accepting those gifts even more difficult. He didn’t deserve Stefan’s goodness. All these years, Stefan had covered for him when he should have stood in shame. ‘It hasn’t ended all that well, Stefan. The engagement isn’t real. It’s a ruse to protect her inheritance. I’m not sure why she’s come, actually.’ He could guess. Annorah would not have liked having her money returned. That opened up another question. How had she discovered he was here? Only Channing could have told her. He’d have a bone to pick with Channing next time he saw him.

  ‘She’s come a long way for something that isn’t real,’ Stefan remarked as they began the slow trip back to the house. ‘I liked her. I only spoke with her for a f
ew minutes before Mother sent me out after you, but I liked her. She’s kind. She knew who I was right away.’ Stefan paused. ‘She’s wearing Mother’s cameo, too, which makes me think that you lie, Brother.’

  ‘I can’t marry her, Stefan.’ Nick picked up a pebble and threw it, releasing some of his pent-up frustration.

  ‘Can’t or won’t? The engagement might be a façade, but your feelings aren’t. She means something to you and I think you mean something to her. I know you, Nick. You’re very private. You don’t talk about yourself to just anyone, yet you talked to her about your family.’

  ‘It’s complicated, Stefan. There’s no time to explain. She’s wealthy and if I ask her to marry me now, to make the engagement official, she’ll always think it’s for the money. There are people who will say I kissed it out of her.’

  Stefan seemed to contemplate that for a moment. ‘Is that the only reason you won’t marry her?’

  ‘I’ll drag her down. She runs a school in the village.She’s goodness personified.’

  ‘Wait, you’re not still blaming yourself for the night of the storm?’ A tremor of anger ran through Stefan’s tones.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Nick answered sternly. ‘I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Father died and you were injured.’

  Stefan placed a firm, restraining hand on Nick’s arm. ‘I’ve never blamed you for that. Tragic accidents happen. Don’t let the past hold you back from the future, Nick. If anything, you saved me that night. You pulled me out.’ They’d reached the steps, where a ramp had been constructed for Stefan to access the house. ‘Go on—’ Stefan motioned ‘—I’ll be along shortly. Go in there and tell her why you won’t marry her and let her be the judge.’

  That was the problem. He’d already told her the worst and it still hadn’t been enough. She’d simply not been driven away. Instead, she’d hunted him down. Nick heard her before he saw her, her laughter drifting out into the hall as she and his mother talked. She was precisely the kind of woman his mother would want for him, he realised. He’d never stopped to consider it before. There was no need to. But now, suddenly, there was every need. He could see her here with his family, could see her starting a summer school like she had at Hartshaven and his heart nearly broke.