by Sara Bennett
“Next week you have the champagne supper at Baroness Sessington’s,” Beth reminded her. “Do you think you can still attend?”
“Of course. Gareth needs me there to help persuade the guests to donate their money to his cause. I can’t let him down.”
She also didn’t want to let down the Home for Distressed Women, which she passionately believed in. Not just for the sake of her mother, who had died so tragically, but for all the poor and unfortunate women she had met in her search for her sister.
Beth fussed around her, making sure her knee was raised up on cushions on the sofa where she lay.
“I so wanted to go to St. Thomas’s, Beth,” she said wistfully.
“Write a letter to the superintendent. I will see it is taken at once,” Beth offered. “At least then you’ll know if they are aware of your sister.”
It was the only course of action available to her. Averil wrote a carefully worded letter and Beth sent if off with one of the servants.
What if the superintendent knew where Rose had gone, or even if she was still there? But no, that wasn’t possible. Rose must be eighteen and she would have left the orphanage by now, perhaps found work as a maid or a companion. Perhaps she was married and happy somewhere.
Averil closed her eyes and hoped very much that was the case.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
The champagne supper fund-raiser was held at Baroness Sessington’s house in Bloomsbury. The baroness was an enthusiastic supporter, sometimes rather too enthusiastic for Averil’s tastes, but she couldn’t say so. Dr. Gareth Simmons frowned upon those who spoke ill of his patroness—come to think of it, there were a great many things Gareth frowned upon.
Despite her injured knee, Averil had been determined to attend and do her bit. Besides, the knee wasn’t so bad anymore, and she had her ebony cane to lean upon. Looking about her, Averil was pleased to note that so far their guests included a duke, a marquis, and four honorables. Surreptitiously she patted her fashionable curls, which were caught up on her crown with a wreath of waxed flowers, checking to see if they were still in place. Her hair did not curl as prettily as other girls’ hair; its weight eventually caused all its manufactured curls to fall out. By the end of the evening it was always hanging as depressingly straight as a horse’s tail.
Gareth was greeting some late arrivals, his caramel-colored hair brushed neatly forward over his brow.
To hide his receding hairline?
Averil smiled fondly. Gareth was a little vain sometimes when it came to his appearance. Not quite the unworldly saint he liked to portray himself as.
Someone else was watching Gareth.
Averil’s gaze crossed with that of Baroness Sessington, who was standing by the supper table. Knowing that Gareth would not like to see his patroness being neglected, she hurried to join the other woman before he could notice.
The baroness was prone to simpering, and Averil found her mannerisms and giggles sometimes difficult to bear, but she was Gareth’s patroness and so she did her best.
“We are serving a very good quality champagne,” the baroness pronounced, lifting her eyeglass to ogle the bottles. “Not French, but I’m certain half of the guests won’t know the difference.”
Averil forced a smile. She did try to like the baroness, really she did. For Gareth’s sake.
He was currently a guest in her house in Bloomsbury, and as for those who whispered that for a single gentleman to be living in the baroness’s home was most unseemly, well Averil didn’t believe for a moment that there was anything untoward about it. Gareth was not a wealthy man and his practice as a doctor was not well-paid. He treated the poor for what they could afford to pay—which was nothing usually. And besides, the baroness was sixty. At least!
Averil’s thoughts had been drifting, but luckily Gareth arrived at that moment and took the baroness’s arm, leading her away toward the crystal glasses and the champagne.
With a sigh, Averil hobbled across to share the chatter around the supper table, heavy with silver trays of food, and heard her stomach rumble discreetly as the strawberry-adorned cream cake was cut. Averil took a small slice, telling herself she deserved it, and tried not to think about her generous curves.
I find your proportions exactly to my taste.
The earl of Southbrook’s deep, velvety tones echoed in her head. She felt her cheeks warm at the memory. She’d thought of the earl a great deal since their encounter at The Tin Soldier. A great deal too often, if she were honest. He might be someone who lived on the fringes of society, he might be considered dangerous and wicked, but there was something about him that struck a chord with her. Perhaps it was that she, too, had a past, a shadowy secret that she kept to herself. Averil knew that she, too, could easily have become a person cast out of society because of her mother’s behavior.
What had the earl done to earn such condemnation? What was his secret crime? Or was he, like her, simply suffering from the ill-conceived behavior of some member of his family?
The string quartet began to play again and Gareth was back at her side.
“You do look very well tonight,” he said, and for the first time his gaze took in her rose silk dress with its daringly low neckline. “Although perhaps something a trifle more modest next time?”
“Gareth, you told me to wear this! You said that when General Bunnington saw me he would be sure to give a generous donation.”
Gareth appeared perplexed, a man with a great deal on his mind. “Did I? General Bunnington does give generously whenever you are at one of my evenings, Averil, but surely I did not suggest you dress immodestly?”
Immodestly! “You are very forgetful, Gareth,” she said sharply.
The members of the string quartet took their bows and began another piece. The music drifted pleasantly over the gathering and Averil let her thoughts drift with it. There was no word back from St. Thomas’s orphanage yet and she was keen to pay a visit as soon as possible. Tomorrow, perhaps, if she could persuade Beth. Now that her knee was getting better surely her companion would have no objection? Averil knew it wasn’t rational—after all it had been fifteen years since she’d seen her sister—but she felt as if there wasn’t a moment to lose. She’d planned to meet with Jackson at the Home for Distressed Women—he worked there for Gareth, although exactly what he did Averil wasn’t sure—but lately she hadn’t been able to visit there either because of her knee.
At her side, Gareth interrupted her fretful thoughts. “Averil, are you listening to me? Lady Jane Viney hasn’t arrived.” He was casting anxious looks over the crowd. “She promised faithfully. And what about Mrs. Mulgrave? I know for a fact she is in town this week. That is two guests who haven’t turned up. Two donations we desperately need.”
“Three,” said Averil automatically.
“Three? Who else . . . oh, the Earl of Southbrook!”
Averil started and stared at him with wide gray eyes. “What do you mean? Sir Stephen was the third guest. The earl isn’t invited!”
“Now there you’re wrong. He wrote asking if he could be of assistance and I sent him an invitation. I hadn’t thought the earl the sort to be interested in charitable works but one never knows. Besides it was too good an opportunity to miss.”
Averil wasn’t listening. She was feeling curiously light-headed. Lord Southbrook was coming here? Why? It made no sense. As Gareth said, he had never shown an inclination for charitable works. And despite her memories of their encounter, memories she liked to relive in the privacy of her room, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to see him again, not in the flesh.
Liar, whispered a voice in her head. Seeing him in the flesh is all you think about.
“Does the baroness know?” she asked, slightly breathless. “His reputation, Gareth . . . she won’t be pleased, and neither will your guests.”
Gareth’s face took on a mulish expression. “I do not judge people by their reputations, Averil. If the earl wants to come here and
help us then I will welcome him with open arms.”
And he would, too, she thought darkly.
Could this be all her fault? When she’d told her friends at Miss Debenham’s that she was going to marry the earl, had the words been ill-omened? By saying them aloud had she invited some dreadful calamity into her calm, quiet life? Well, certainly a little more excitement than she was used to. And surely that was no bad thing?
For a moment she saw again his dark, piercing gaze and scarred face, as he carried her upstairs to her bedchamber. The Earl of Southbrook in her bedchamber! Well, his son, Eustace, had been there, too.
“How did . . . his face . . . how did . . .?”
Gareth got the gist of her clumsy question. “The scar, do you mean? No one knows. He never speaks of it.”
“I thought perhaps a duel or . . .” She stopped herself before she repeated any more of her friends’ silly explanations of the earl’s injury.
“A duel?” Gareth smiled and shook his head at her. “Dear me, what a very romantic view you have of the world, Averil.”
Stung, Averil’s retort was louder than she meant. “I am the least romantic person I know!”
Just then a hush fell over the drawing room.
She followed the turning heads.
“Southbrook! Southbrook . . .” the whispers went around the room. Because there in the doorway stood the dramatic figure of the earl. He seemed to fill the space with his broad shoulders in a dark, tailored jacket over a white silk shirt and a waistcoat of teal blue.
Oh, he was devilishly attractive. There was no doubt about that. The earl of Southbrook would turn heads in any crowd.
But the guests in Averil’s drawing room weren’t staring just because he was striking. They were staring because the earl had not bothered himself with polite society for years, since some scandal—and Averil wouldn’t mind knowing what it was—had barred him from its doors. Some of them, Averil was certain, would have refused Gareth’s invitation if they’d known the earl was coming tonight.
“Rufus, Earl of Southbrook,” the footman called out nervously and rather belatedly, just as Gareth started forward to greet his guest. “Lord Southbrook, you are most welcome. Most welcome.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The earl’s dark and brooding gaze dismissed Gareth then moved on, and Averil realized with shocking awareness that it was her he was looking at.
Looking at with such intensity that she found herself believing—and the thought struck a strange sort of excitement into her heart, rather like the flare of a match—that she and she alone was the reason Lord Southbrook had come here tonight.
“Lord Southbrook, I am flattered you have graced our humble supper with your presence.”
The man was still blathering and Southbrook gave him an impatient glance. As far as he was aware his “presence” was causing more trouble than flattery.
He guessed this was Dr. Simmons, who’d sent him the invitation, the fellow the Baroness Sessington paid to share her bed, although to the world she bleated that she was only his patroness. Was anyone really fooled by such playacting? Was Averil?
But tonight Rufus could not have cared less about Dr. Simmons and his peccadillos. He was here because of Lady Averil Martindale, with her pale beauty and her stormy gray eyes. He’d spent the previous week wrestling with his conscience and his desperate circumstances and his uncle James’s latest advice.
Marry her, my boy, before someone else gets their hooks into her!
He’d tried to rationalize the idea of seducing an innocent young woman for her fortune, but he couldn’t seem to manage it. Somewhere deep in his wicked, dark heart there was still a spark of decency.
Now Simmons was introducing them, unaware they had met before.
“Lady Averil, how do you do?” Rufus said politely with a hint of amusement.
“So-so glad you could attend our . . . function, your lordship.”
Averil was speaking in a soft little voice, managing at the same time to give a quick glance at the good doctor. Rufus understood that the words and the voice were meant to prevent Dr. Simmons from noticing anything was amiss.
Or was the girl in love with him? Dr. Simmons was too busy with his charities to love anybody, but that had never stopped the relentless march of unrequited passion before. Perhaps Averil found goodness lust-inducing? And no doubt the doctor encouraged her; he would find her money very useful for building orphanages and saving whores. He would take everything and leave her poor and miserable, whereas at least with Rufus she would have Southbrook Castle and a title to keep her warm.
Oh, well played! He mocked himself. Pretending to be doing her a favor by relieving her of her fortune!
Baroness Sessington, standing by the supper table with her wig askew, was gesturing wildly toward Dr. Simmons, while he was trying to ignore her. When she started hissing like a snake he gave in to the inevitable and excused himself, leaving Rufus and Averil alone. They might as well have been entirely alone. The other guests were keeping their distance, some gossiping and staring in his direction, others preparing to leave in case they became contaminated by his mere presence.
He found it darkly amusing and would be sure to tell Uncle James all about it when he got home.
Averil gave him a surreptitious glance full of anxiety. Was she thinking he was about to announce his presence in her bedchamber the other night? The memory of her propped up against her pillows, her fair hair in loose waves about her, her skin like cream, and her lips just begging to be kissed, made his body tighten.
“How is Hercules?” he asked, meeting her eyes and willing her to keep looking at him.
“Very well. Thank you. My lord.” Her eyes had widened slightly at the question but she faced him without any apparent need to rush off and remove herself from his contamination.
“And your injury?” He gestured toward her cane.
“I am recovering,” she replied calmly. “How is Eustace?”
“Eustace is well. I have given him firm instructions that he is not to frequent London by night again.”
“I think that is wise. You could point me and my injury out as a cautionary tale.”
“I have.”
Her mouth twitched up despite herself, and then she giggled. “I’m glad our adventure served some purpose, my lord.”
He smiled back. “Our adventure. I like that.”
Averil was looking into his eyes as if she had all the time in the world, and Rufus was sorry to have to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. His next words sobered her. “I wished to speak to you about your sister. I presume you have not found her?”
Her manner grew less calm, and she glanced across at the doctor and the baroness, huddled together in furious discussion. “I would rather not discuss that matter, my lord. It is a private one.”
After a moment of awkward silence she took a step closer, and lowered her voice. “I do not wish to be rude, Lord Southbrook, but why are you here? I do not believe you have any intention of donating to Doctor Simmons’s cause, and as you can see, you are disrupting our guests.”
His smile was rather grim. “Disrupting your guests was not what I intended when I decided to come here tonight, Lady Averil. I wondered if you were recovered from . . . well, recovered, and I thought I would be able to speak to you without doing you any harm, with so many watchful eyes upon us. Eustace wanted to call on you at your house, you know, but I dissuaded him.”
Averil blinked up at him. He noticed her hair was beginning to hang rather unsteadily from its pins and the wax flowers were sliding down from her crown. His fingers itched to free the heavy tresses and he clenched his hands to remind himself where he was.
“Then . . . you came here to see me?” she said. “But why?”
“I did come to see you,” he agreed, “but don’t tell anyone. It would ruin your reputation if they knew the Wicked Earl was seeking you out. I have only to smile at a woman and she is cast out.”
&n
bsp; Averil gave an impatient sigh. “Don’t be silly,” she declared. “You are not as hazardous as you think you are, my lord. Your reputation may be a little shadowy but it isn’t so very bad. Is it?”
Mockery filled his face. “You underestimate the power of public opinion, Lady Averil.”
“Oh, but surely—”
“Please, no pity. I am happy being an outcast. I can no longer imagine putting up with the excruciating boredom of conforming to society’s rules.”
Her gray eyes sparked a challenge at him. “And yet you have conformed enough to come here tonight.”
He noticed that her cheeks were colored a faint, delicious pink, and surprised himself by wondering whether her blush went below the neckline of her silk gown as well as above it. He could see the swell of her breasts over the top of her dress, the way the rose silk nipped into her small waist, and he found that his imagination was perfectly good enough to visualize what she looked like without her clothing.
Could he marry Lady Averil Martindale for her fortune? Always assuming she would take someone who was an outcast from society! For a moment he allowed himself to imagine pursuing her, wooing her, making her fall in love with him, wedding her and bedding her in that order. Or maybe the wedding and bedding could be interchanged, if it became necessary.
And afterward?
Damned and blasted misery for them both, more than likely.
No, it would not do and he must stop thinking that it would. Lady Averil was no solution to his troubles, no matter what James might think.
“Lady Averil,” he said, bending his head to be closer to her. “I visited St. Thomas’s for you last week, aware as I was that you were incapacitated. I hoped you would be glad of my help.”
“Hush!” She put her hand upon his arm to stop him, evidently innocent of the fact that it was unseemly to touch a man such as he. “This is a private matter, as I said before.”
