by Claudia Dain
Except that the way he avoided her told her that he did not want her help. Perhaps he didn’t want happiness. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it, which was why she had to go. Before she seriously annoyed him or made a fool of herself.
She smiled reassuringly at Aurelia. Perhaps she should have left her at home. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come at all. But as fascinated as she was with Lord Cotwell, she could have gone a lifetime without seeing James Vickers again—until she thought of a way that he could help her out of her predicament.
James knew the work she had done. They’d met when his father, tired of his wastrel, scandal-courting ways, had sent him to rusticate at one of his lesser estates, the one that just happened to border Lisbeth’s own home. Over the months of his stay he’d seen the workload she carried, remarked on the breadth of knowledge she’d gained and sense of duty that drove her, and joked that his father should hire her to run his property.
Well, he could put that knowledge to good use by writing her a letter of recommendation—and if he could write it on his mother’s stationary and somehow see her signature affixed as well—then so much the better. It was the least he could do after luring her to London and leaving her high and dry.
The carriage slowed. Aurelia stared with trepidation at the slightly dilapidated home. “Your friend lives here?”
“He has rooms upstairs, I believe.” Lisbeth stared too. “It doesn’t look very promising, does it?”
“We should just go home.”
“Soon,” she promised. Climbing out, she made arrangements for the hack to wait, then spent a few minutes coaxing Aurelia out. By the time she’d succeeded, a woman had emerged from the house. She stood on the stoop, adjusting her faded brown hat and eyeing them with displeasure.
“What’s this, then?”
“We’re here to see Mr. Vickers.” Lisbeth smiled. “Are you the landlady here?”
“Aye.” The woman narrowed her eyes at Aurelia and frowned. “Some folks just don’t learn the first time, do they?”
Lisbeth didn’t understand, but she reached out to stop the woman as she tried to brush past them. “Is Mr. Vickers at home?”
The woman shrugged.
“May we go in and try his door?”
“Do what you will, much good it will do,” the woman huffed. “Second floor. On the right. And if you see him, tell him rents are due at the end of the week.”
Lisbeth stared after her. “Well, that was unpleasant, wasn’t it?” She took up Aurelia’s hand and led the way into the house and up a somewhat grimy set of stairs. Aurelia’s grip grew tighter and she edged a little behind Lisbeth as they stopped before the door. She gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then disentangled her hand to give a knock.
They waited.
She knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she blew out a breath of exasperation and gave the door a good pounding.
“He’s not here,” Aurelia whispered. “Please, let’s just go home.”
Lisbeth swallowed and lifted her fist away. “All right, then.”
Wasn’t it just like James Vickers to not be at home? Still, she wouldn’t let him defeat her. She’d make the trip again, perhaps on her free day.
It was time for her to focus on her future.
James Vickers heaved over in bed. Wincing, he dropped an arm over his eyes to block the indecently bright light. A constant, low moaning sounded somewhere near. As the rhythm of it kept respectable time with the heaving of his gut, he felt fairly certain that it came from him, but at least the incessant pounding in his head had quit.
Wait.
He moved his arm away—a little too fast—and groaned again. No. No. The devil’s pick axe still slammed in his temples. The noise that had invaded his dreams and then woke him with its abrupt ceasing had been something else. What?
And what the hell time was it? Too damned early to be awake, judging by the light in his rooms. Gingerly he lifted his head and looked around. Alone, this time, thank God.
His gaze drifted across the mess of his bedroom, to the sitting room and the door. Ah, that was it. There was someone at the door. Absurdly glad to have solved the mystery, he rolled over to go back to sleep. But something pricked him—something more than the diamond stickpin listing from his halfway unraveled neckcloth. He had the nagging feeling that he’d forgot something.
With a grunt he urged his brain to function. What could it be? Not the rents, not yet. Not a gentleman’s debt—he always paid promptly when he lost, draining his coffers as quickly as he could just to poke his father’s annoyance into full flame.
He sighed. Whatever it was, it was not going to let him sleep. He stumbled out of bed, waited for the world to slow down to its normal spin and threw open the door.
Only to find no one there. He stared blankly at the empty passage for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at the sitting room window, facing the street. Gripping furniture as he went, he made his way over and leaned on the sill.
There. A hack in the street below. Breathing heavily, he waited.
Beneath him, a woman and child emerged from the building. He narrowed his eyes. Yes, it was Freddie’s chit again, wasn’t it? Did they think to try leaving her here again? Hadn’t he told them he couldn’t care for a child? His life’s work was set and every day he drew closer to his goal of driving his father utterly mad. Let Cotwell have her, the pompous prick.
Disgusted, he turned away, intent on going back to bed. But something drew him up short. The woman. There was something about her.
He turned back, but saw only the flick of her skirt as the carriage door closed. He frowned as the carriage moved away. There had been something familiar about that profile. It hit him as he staggered back towards bed. Lisbeth. She had reminded him of Lisbeth.
The bigger realization burst in his brain like fireworks over Vauxhall. Oh, God. Lisbeth! He’d meant to meet her, here in Town. He’d sent a reply, had he not? When? What day was it? Where was that damned letter? Frantic, he tore through his desk and then his apartment, but could find no sign of her missive, or his answer.
Damn!
Gut roiling, head pounding, he sank down into an armchair. He’d meant to help her. He’d been genuinely fond of Lisbeth once—and helping her escape her stepfather’s machinations promised the added benefit of a scandal that would send his father right up into the boughs.
Oblivion called, pulled him back into the cushions. He rested his aching head. What the devil had Lisbeth been doing with Freddie’s chit? The mystery tugged, but exhaustion won out.
Lisbeth. Images of her lingered as he drifted into sleep.
Hell and damnation. What was he doing? Wasting good daylight, Edward grumbled. He gripped the handle of the box he carried, kept his spine rigid and his pace leisurely as he strolled toward the Serpentine in Hyde Park.
Nothing at all had changed, even after all this time. People still stared. He still felt like a beast on display at the local fair. Everyone wanted a look, but no one wished to get too close.
He sighed. He had nothing to prove. Not to these people, not to himself. Certainly not to Miss Elisabeth Moreton. She wasn’t the first to run an eye over him and find him wanting. God knows she wouldn’t be the last.
Yet here he was, striding through the park instead of accomplishing something in his lab.
He moved aside, stepping off the path to make room for a small, open carriage moving toward him. The stunning beauty inside inclined her head at him and he bowed in return. Not until he straightened did he realize who she was. Hestia Wright, the famed beauty, the former demi-rep who now spent her days and her reportedly vast funds helping women.
His fists clenched. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of downtrodden women and girls cast alone and helpless in the city—and Aurelia might have been one of them. Vickers had turned her away, fully expecting someone else to deal with his unwanted responsibilities. Just like the old days. But what if Edmund had been away? What if Freddy’s s
olicitor had been a less honest man? He might have abandoned Aurelia to her fate. He might have sold her into a brothel or kept her for his own nefarious purposes.
He turned abruptly around and hailed the carriage. With a word from its occupant, the coachman slowed.
“Forgive the intrusion, Mrs. Wright,” he began.
She smiled and it was dazzling. “Not Mrs. Wright. Just Hestia, if you please.” She tilted her head. “Lord . . . Cotwell, is it not?”
“At your service,” Edmund bowed again. “I had a sudden thought to thank you for your service to the fairer sex. I’d like to make a pledge to help you in your work.”
Her smile widened. “Your praise and your donation are both much appreciated, my lord.”
“Shall I send a draft to Half Moon House?” The name of her home, where she admitted any female in need, was infamous.
“No, send it along to Hoare’s Bank, if you please. The good gentlemen there appreciate the irony and the business.” She waved a hand and the carriage started forward again. “Good day to you, sir. And thank you.”
Grimly satisfied, he turned and went on his way. He hadn’t gone far before he spotted the Serpentine ahead. As he surged forward, he had to admit that his step felt lighter.
Lisbeth noticed him first. Laughing, she looked up from the edge of the water where Aurelia and her friends had fashioned tiny boats of acorns, twigs and leaves. Amusement died quickly beneath a wave of pure, unbridled want.
Everything faded. The lovely, green expanse of the park, the riders in the distance, the few bright accents of ladies’ gowns—it all receded, existing only as a backdrop to the high-relief, eloquently male, advancing figure of Lord Cotwell.
Oh, good heavens. She was in such terrible trouble.
“Good afternoon to you, ladies.” He nodded to her and then to the little girls as he arrived. A couple of the girls shrank back a little, unused to being so addressed by such an imposing figure. Lisbeth held the greatest sympathy for them. She felt unable to catch enough breath to reply, but Aurelia climbed to her feet to greet him.
“What is that you have, sir?” All serious innocence she peered at his burden.
“A gift for you, of course.”
His coat was creased, his neck cloth off center. Matching dark spots marred the knees of his trousers, but the smallest smile hovered at the corner of his mouth and his eyes had gone . . . tender . . . at Aurelia’s approach. He glanced up at Lisbeth and the smile grew just a little, as if they shared a secret.
Some floodgate inside her gave way. Such terrible trouble indeed.
“What is it?” Aurelia asked with equal parts pleasure and confusion. The mention of a present was enough to reconcile the other girls and they gathered around as he hefted the wooden, wire mesh covered box.
“It’s a specimen box. You complained that it was too difficult to sketch the insects you captured while they were in the net. I remembered my father using this and had it dug out of the attic.”
He glanced at Lisbeth and the muscles in her chest tightened almost painfully.
“Sometimes you must keep a creature close for a while, in order to study and learn to know it.”
The little girls all buzzed around her as Aurelia quietly held the gift. Her charge had slipped back, grown a little somber again for the last couple of days. Lisbeth gave herself a mental shake and knelt next to her. “Why don’t you thank his lordship, Aurelia?”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered. Swallowing, she looked to Lisbeth. “May we look for something to keep inside it?”
“Of course. Your net is over on the bench, but you must remember to give everyone a chance with it.”
“We’ll have better luck if we move to that clump of trees just there,” the baron indicated.
As a group, the girls swarmed in that direction. Lisbeth wondered at the look he cast after them.
“Interesting, how they interact, isn’t it?” he mused.
“Is it?”
“Similar to the dynamics of a large family, I would think.”
She gazed after them. “A little different, perhaps. They use better manners with friends.” She smiled. “Are you interested in large families, my lord?”
“I’d say most only children are. I find them fascinating myself. Almost like clockwork, how each member interacts with everyone else to make an interesting whole.” He made to follow the girls. “I’ll help,” he called and waggled his brows as he went. “If we turn over enough leaves we might even find a newt.”
A chorus of shrieks, echoes of terror, anticipation and joy, rang out at this pronouncement. Lisbeth followed along, but hung back, wanting the baron to have this moment with Aurelia.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of him as he grubbed about with the girls, admiring their finds, identifying insects and plants and fungi. Even the shyest of the girls dropped their reserve and unabashedly brought their treasures for his inspection.
If she didn’t think he would crawl back in his shell, she’d be tempted to tease him about causing a spectacle. The group of nurses and servants who had hung back from the water’s edge to gossip now drifted over. Lisbeth watched them watch the baron, and her annoyance grew as they exchanged whispers and glances.
At last a shout of triumph rang out as Lord Cotwell stood, a tiny newt scrambling inside his cupped hands. The little creature was proclaimed a darling by all and Aurelia was given the honor of transferring him to his temporary home.
They were all startled at the sudden, close clearing of a masculine throat. Lisbeth started, and as one they all turned to find a very finely dressed gentleman looking on with amusement. The young lady on his arm, however, wore an expression of horror.
“Margaret!” she scolded. “Whatever have you done to yourself? Your dress is smeared with grass and your hands are dirty!”
One of the girls peeled away from the group. “Oh, Carina, do stop,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just a bit of dirt. We’ve had the most fun.”
The girl’s nurse rushed forward to brush her off. Lisbeth offered her a handkerchief.
“Well, come along, in any case. Mother is in the carriage. You know how she hates to wait.”
“I’m coming.” Young Margaret thanked Aurelia prettily for sharing her fun and prepared to set off with her family.
“I’m sure I don’t know what she’s going to say about your disgraceful appearance.” The young lady swept a censorious glance across the lot of them. She allowed it to linger a little longer on the baron.
Interest or blame? Lisbeth knew she should hope for the first.
Suddenly the other servants were collecting their charges and moving away. Girlish goodbyes and promises rang out. The imperious young lady turned away, beckoning her sister, but the gentleman stopped suddenly.
“I say . . . Sparsebrow? Is that you?”
Lord Cotwell straightened, his expression darkening.
“It is you! God’s teeth, man, it’s been an age!” The gentleman leaned in. “Do you not know me? I’m Ashburn.”
The baron did not appear half so delighted to renew the acquaintance.
Oblivious, the other man continued. “Great Gods, never tell me that you’ve been married long enough for one of these to be yours?” He gestured to the departing tide of girls. “How could I have missed that tidy bit of news?”
Lisbeth sagged a little in relief when the baron unthawed enough to answer. “No.” He gestured toward Aurelia, still absorbed in her newt and bidding her friends a good day. “My ward. Freddy’s daughter.”
Ashburn’s face fell. “Ah. I did hear about that. I’m sorry indeed for your loss. I know you were close.” He brightened and reached back for the frowning young lady leaving his side. “Well, since you are still single, allow me to introduce my sister. She’s out for her first Season this year. Carina, make your nod to Lord Cotwell. He and I were at school together.”
The girl dipped a shallow curtsy and her gaze slid away. Lisbeth’s fists tighte
ned at her rudeness.
“You should have had a look at him his first Season,” Ashburn laughed. “He’d had some sort of fire in his rooms—”
“An explosion,” the baron interrupted.
“Yes, and it singed near half his eyebrows off! An odd-looking thing it was too. We called him Sparsebrow that year. Did we have a few laughs over it, I’ll tell you!”
“More than a few,” Lord Cotwell murmured.
Miss Ashburn’s eyes flew to the baron’s perfectly lovely brows, then visibly traveled over every crease and stain on his person. “Yes, well. So nice to meet you, my lord.”
An artist might have captured her attitude and titled it Polite Dismissal. It set Lisbeth’s teeth to grinding but Lord Cotwell appeared impervious. He wasn’t even looking at the young lady. Instead his gaze had settled on her.
Miss Ashburn turned her head. “Mother awaits, Ashburn.”
The gentleman sighed. “True enough. Come along, Margaret,” he called. He stopped though, before they left. “I say, Cotwell, we’re having a party Friday—out in the gardens along the river. You’ll remember how ridiculous my mother is about her gardens? In any case, you must come! We’ll go over old times and you’ll give me a reason to avoid the match-making mamas.” He laughed. “Perhaps I’ll set them after you, and give myself a respite.” He nodded toward the younger girls. “Mother even has a fancy tea al fresco arranged for the young ones.”
“Yes,” his sister sighed. “The event grows less like a party and more like a village fair every year.”
“Come along, do,” Ashburn urged, “and bring Freddy’s girl.” He beamed down as Aurelia approached. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”
