Galen did his best to keep his countenance unruffled, as other guests at the nearby tables began to look up in amusement at the odd tableau they presented, with Herbert still pumping his arm wildly and blathering on about the evils of gambling as if ignorant of his own presence in the middle of a card party. “You’re a wiser man than most, Mr. Trumble, but I must beg the return of my hand.”
“Oh, dear!” Herbert let go immediately. “What a dreadful habit! And even worse, I’m forgetting my manners when it comes to introductions.” He glanced back and summoned the woman who had been waiting a few paces behind him with a gesture. “You must meet the incomparable angel who has graced me with her company! Darling, this is Mr. Galen Hawke, a good friend of mine who has been very generous to me during my stay in London.”
Galen hoped the shock didn’t show on his face as it was clear that Herbert Trumble had bounced back from his disappointment with amazing speed and versatility. “Miss Langston, a pleasure. I recognize you from the theatre, of course.”
“Herbert has been so sweet to introduce me to all his friends, and I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.” She held out her hand, and he took it briefly, bowing over it without kissing it.
Herbert beamed, drawing his “angel” next to his side, but then looked embarrassed as he recalled Galen. “Oh, dear . . . this may look inappropriate . . . if you hadn’t heard . . .”
Galen swallowed and was sure he could taste crow. “I’d heard.”
“Ah! But not the latest happy news!” Herbert said. “I want you to be one of the first to know that for some miraculous reason, Miss Beatrice Langston has agreed to become my wife and we’re to be wed at the end of this month!”
Miraculous reason?
“Herbert, please! You are too sweet!”
Galen eyed the beautiful actress towering three inches over her beloved’s balding head, and would have consigned her to a dismissive and damning judgment of character, but in his next breath, he noticed something miraculous after all.
She was blushing, and not an overly pretty practiced blush, but the truly natural blush of a woman as the color crept up from her breasts and even altered the tint of her ears. She was holding his arm with both hands. And the most telling thing of all, she hadn’t really taken her eyes off of Trumble the entire time.
“Congratulations, Mr. Trumble,” Galen said, and meant it. I suppose it’s fitting that at least one man in the room finds a little happiness where he can.
“Thank you, Hawke! Is she not a treasure?”
“She is. She is that, and more.” His throat threatened to close, and he grimly held onto his composure. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He stepped away with a polite nod to the lady and made his way more purposefully toward the other room with every intention of leaving immediately. He’d had enough for one night. He’d received enough revelations and painful blows to fell a giant, in his opinion. He needed to retreat and regroup, sorting through the fact and fiction of the life he’d made for himself in the last few weeks, so that he could come to Haley with more than just apologies.
And then, as if the very thought of her magically summoned her, Galen saw her at one of the small tables at the far end of the room.
As beautiful as a cameo, Haley’s profile was comprised of graceful and wistful lines, and Galen’s chest ached to see her. She looked paler, and thinner, but there was nothing that could have dulled the luster of her skin and hair in the lamplight; nothing to dampen the quick fire that the sight of her invoked inside of him. Her shoulders were bared by the evening style of dress she wore, and his breath caught as he realized that the ribbon in her hair trailed the column of her neck and down her elegant back where his hands had once freely explored.
I could walk up and force her to speak to me. She wouldn’t dare to snub me in public—I could . . .
The idea died quickly. Galen wasn’t going to force Miss Haley Moreland to do anything for the rest of his days. And confronting her in public would only add to his woes. It wouldn’t be a conversation. It would be a farce that would hurt her no matter how it turned out, and she would hardly thank him later. Even if I honestly believed I was in any position to prostrate myself at a card party and bare my soul with Herbert Trumble ten yards off—I’d be ready for Bedlam.
Galen gathered up what he could of his dignity and allowed reason to overrule passion just this once. He knew he would speak to her and make his case. But it would have to be another time and another place.
And then if she didn’t kill him, he would just take it as a hopeful sign.
“A lovely party, wasn’t it, dearest?” Mrs. Shaw asked as they settled inside the carriage.
“Lovely.” Haley wasn’t sure that an evening listening to Mrs. Greeley outlining the errors Lord Kendall had made in arranging the card tables as he had qualified as “lovely,” but she couldn’t muster the strength to complain. She was numb and exhausted after another night of pretending that she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Lovely!” Lord Moreland agreed sarcastically. “In light of a sad lack of entertainment for a man who has neither the coins to gamble nor the comfort of a good glass of brandy, I’d say it wasn’t too painful.”
“Alfred, please!” Alice reached for her fan. “If you’re going to mope at every turn, you could at least make yourself useful and see about a rich widow or two! I’m not clear as to why all the pressure is on poor Haley to marry us out of this stew! You’re the one who got us into it. It only seems fair that you be the one to find a rich wife and take a quick march down the aisle!”
“Like hell!” he sputtered, then turned to Haley. “Any interesting prospects, dearest?”
“No, Father.”
“Well, I don’t think you were looking too hard. For you’ll never guess who I saw this evening!” he said, ignoring Alice, who was rolling her eyes in the corner.
“Who?” she asked, trying to play along, a ghost of a smile on her face as she became aware of Aunt Alice’s antics.
“Mr. Hawke!” he announced. “You remember him, don’t you? I was sure I saw his name on several notes in the hallway and—”
“Out of the question!” It was Aunt Alice’s turn to sputter. “Alfred, you’re to have nothing to do with the man!”
Haley felt a wash of ice-cold air lash through her body at the sound of his name. “Mr. Hawke was . . . at Kendall’s?”
“He was, indeed, and made a point of speaking to me,” Lord Moreland said. “Frankly, I like the man. And although I’m no judge in these matters, he seems easy enough on the eyes, and I can make an inquiry or two into his finances to see if—”
“No! Alfred, please!” Alice was beside herself at the prospect.
“Father, please.” Haley’s softer plea commanded his complete attention. “I would rather that you didn’t.”
“Then can you tell me why?” he asked just as softly, and Haley thought her heart would break all over again at the gentle look of sympathy in his eyes. “Why are you sending back this man’s notes and flowers? I know I’m generally thought of as too incoherent to pay attention to these things, but sober, I’m noticing quite a bit these days, Haley.”
Haley shook her head. “I can’t say why.”
“Very well.” He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes suspiciously and studying the pair of them. “You realize I could very well just assume the worst and call the man out!”
“First of all, dueling is illegal, and I can’t remember the last time you shot a gun, drunk or sober.” Alice challenged him with an arch look and put her fan down. “And secondly, how is your subsequent suicide going to help the situation? And thirdly, if your assumption is off, which in this case, it is, Margaret will at last meet you in heaven with the ultimate confirmation that you are a fool! And if she doesn’t throw you off for some other dead soul who displays more sense, I’d be shocked and disappointed in the justice of the afterlife!”
“Aunt Alice!” Haley gasped in shock, and her fath
er just sat in stunned silence as the sound of the horse’s hooves on the pavement was the only noise to be heard for the space of at least ten seconds.
Finally, Lord Moreland once again turned to his only child. “Is there something the patriarch of this family should know?”
“No!” both women replied simultaneously, but Haley recovered first, leaning over to take her father’s hand. “Please, Father. If you ever loved me, please don’t ask again. You must simply trust me to know what’s best in this instance!”
He cradled her hand in his, and finally nodded. “I do trust you, Haley. So, we’ll leave off the subject for now, and I’ll do my very best not to send off for pistols at dawn or scare off any of your suitors.”
“Thank you.” Haley relaxed against the seat, wishing they were already home so that she could give in to her tears. One mention of his name and the spiral of memories was paralyzing. She pulled the fur around her cloak’s collar a little closer and buried her nose in the softness. She hated the weak part of her that wanted to ask her father what they’d spoken of, or if Galen had asked after her.
What difference did it make what Galen said? Why do I care about a man who hates me enough to draw me as a whore for all the world to see? Her breath hiccupped as a new realization crept over her. I am my mother’s daughter. Once I was in love, I never saw anything else around me, and I lost all sense of logic and reason, just as she did. And no matter what Aunt Alice says about getting your heart back again and again whenever you wish, for me that will never be true. Because I’m my father’s daughter, too. And we only love once in a lifetime.
And at that, the tears wouldn’t wait.
Chapter 24
Dearest Son,
It is with a heavy heart that I summon you home to Stamford Cross. Your elder brother has taken ill, and the doctor informs me that there is not much time left before he has passed from our hands back into those of our Maker. Fly home, Galen, and bring with you what comfort you can to your family.
Yours in Sorrow,
L .
Galen reread the note again, reeling at the quick turns of fate and folly that could bring any man down without warning. He’d been in the middle of trying to come up with an excuse not to storm Moreland’s brownstone and refuse to leave until Haley forgave him when the messenger had come with the terrible news.
It didn’t seem possible that Trevor was dying. The last time he’d seen him they’d gone riding, and spent an entire day talking of nothing, as only brothers can. He’d left for London knowing that no matter what else happened in the world, Trevor would never change. And he had never wished him to.
But now the carriage was waiting and he could hear Bradley banging around the house coordinating his sudden and immediate departure for the country to sit vigil and wait for the unthinkable.
He’d sent word for Michael, asking him to come urgently, but the clock began to chime and Galen accepted that he’d run out of time to—
“Your note said it was life and death.”
Michael stood in the doorway, and Galen was too grateful to ask how he’d managed it. “I’m leaving London.”
“Is it anything to do with Miss Moreland?”
Galen shook his head then felt the refusal fade. Doesn’t everything now have to do with Miss Moreland? Isn’t that why I summoned him? “My brother is ill and may be dying. I’m praying that my father is overstating how serious it is, that he wrote his note in a state of unwarranted worry, but . . . I have no choice but to go home.”
“I’m sorry, Galen.”
“Thank you.” He took a slow deep breath. “Trevor has always been one of the heartiest men I’ve ever known. I have to believe that this is a false alarm, but I cannot risk staying away. Not even when things in London are so . . .”
“Unfinished?”
“Unsettled was the word I would have used.” Galen crossed his arms. “I was the worst cad to her—and for not a single reason that mattered! John did love her, but . . . they were literally children together and he never said a damn word after the age of thirteen to that girl! I tried to destroy her because John had a boyhood crush!” He began to pace, self-loathing coating every word. “I misunderstood it all, and then wouldn’t listen to anything you said to try to ward off this unbelievable disaster! And now, before I can convince her to see me or even speak to me—damn it! The timing couldn’t have been worse, Michael.”
“Things can always be worse, Galen.”
Galen smiled. “Ever the optimist!”
“Look on the bright side,” Michael played along. “With you out of Town, our friends from the Company will just have to bother someone else for a while.”
“So long as it’s not Miss Moreland!” Galen retrieved a small leather packet from his desk. “Here, Michael. These are invitations to a few parties where I’m certain she’ll be.”
Michael’s hand had automatically extended to take it, but with the words invitations and parties, his fingers froze midair. “You cannot be serious! I’m a soldier, not a gentleman to sashay about dusty drawing rooms and play parlor games.”
“I need you to keep an eye on her, and even speak to her if you can. I don’t want her to think I’ve simply abandoned her without cause, Michael.”
“So send her a note! Tell her your brother is ill! Tell her you’re sorry! But for the love of God, don’t make me attend a string of fussy tea parties!”
Galen pressed the envelope into his hands, folding his own fingers over Michael’s to guarantee that there would be no misunderstanding. “I’ve sent a dozen notes and emptied three flower shops to no avail, and now I’m out of time! I’m not asking you, Michael. I’m begging you to do what you can on my behalf until I can return.” The muscles in his jaw flexed, the humiliation of the request outweighed by the pressing urgency of his heart. “Please do this for me.”
Michael took the packet and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat. “I will. But I’d have been happier if you’d proposed kidnapping her.”
“We’ll make that our next plan of action if this one doesn’t work.” Galen smiled in spite of himself. “Thank you, Michael.”
Michael left without preamble, aware of the pressure on Galen to depart immediately. And within moments, the time had come to go.
“All’s ready, sir. It’s a private coach all the way, so you can make great speed on the roads as best you can,” Bradley advised as he helped Galen with his coat. “Cook packed a basket, so you won’t suffer on that account, she says.”
“Give her my thanks for her thoughtfulness, and . . .” Galen took a deep breath. “I can’t think of anything else.”
“Your hat, then.” Bradley held it out. “Good journey, Mr. Hawke.”
“Thank you, Bradley.” Galen turned to go and then stopped for a moment, his own reflection in a small mirror on the wall catching his eye. He stared at the stranger staring back at him. Love should leave a mark. That’s what I told her, and by Jove, I believed it. But that man . . . that man doesn’t look as if he’s let anything touch him in a long time. Galen walked over to his reflection.
“Sir?” Bradley followed him, confused at the sudden halt in his employer’s momentum. “Are you all right?”
I was so sure that a person shouldn’t be able to truly love another and then walk away, pure and untouched, as if the encounter with flame didn’t burn you. . . . Can you be human and walk away from love without so much as a single tear?
But his reflection mocked him, and Galen finally turned away from the mirror. “I’m fine, Bradley. I just don’t think I’m ever again going to judge another human being by their face or their appearance for as long as I live.”
“Very good, sir,” Bradley replied, a little mystified as he watched Galen head down the steps and into the coach to disappear into the fog like a ghost.
Chapter 25
“Are you wearing that?”
Haley had to bite the inside of her lip to keep herself from saying anything inappropriate in resp
onse to such an impossible question. They were already late, and she’d taken particular care in choosing a dark blue satin gown that showed off her figure. Her father’s temperament was deteriorating quickly, but Haley knew it was directly related to the mounting pressure he was suffering from their debts and creditors. He was trying to keep her from the worst of it, she suspected, to assist her in keeping a calm and more attractive demeanor on her hunt for a suitable husband. “I am, Father.”
“I liked the red,” he said in a surly tone. “You look like your mother in the red.”
“I cannot wear red to every occasion.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek as she reached the bottom of the staircase. “But for the dance at Milton’s, I will, I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll have a good offer before the dance at Milton’s and you can wear any color you choose!”
“Leave her be, Alfred!” Aunt Alice came down the stairs at a more peaceful pace. “How in the world is a girl supposed to attract a husband when you keep haranguing her until she has the vapors?”
“I wasn’t—” Lord Moreland cut himself off and took his daughter’s hand with an apologetic sigh. “Ignore your father and enjoy yourself this evening, dearest.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and kissed him again, wishing once more that she could have managed both their happinesses instead of sacrificing her own to recover and make a match that would save them all from financial ruin.
For Haley, these last few days were a blur, and every smile tasted of ashes in her mouth when she thought of the caricature she was in danger of becoming—a woman who would sell herself to the highest bidder. Galen’s memory haunted her at every turn, and she still caught herself looking for him before remembering their last night and the horrible revelation that had followed it. Bascombe’s strange offer came back to mind, but again, she dismissed it, although more and more she wondered if she should send Galen a note to warn him that Mr. Bascombe’s interest had taken a strange turn.
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