by Diane Gaston
‘I had best hurry.’
Xavier opened the drawing room door and both his parents sprang to their feet, welcoming him with loving embraces.
‘We had about given up on you,’ his mother said, hugging him tightly.
‘Not I.’ His father clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I told her you would come late.’
The butler appeared to announce dinner, also greeting Xavier warmly. He and his parents headed straight for the dining room.
* * *
The meal passed pleasantly, filled with news about his older brothers and his sisters and their assorted children. He was the youngest of four boys, with two older sisters and two younger ones. Every one of his brothers and sisters was married. All his brothers were occupied in what his father deemed worthy occupations. It took a great deal of the meal to fill him in on everyone, from his eldest brother to the youngest niece.
When dessert arrived their attention turned to him as he knew it eventually would.
‘You cannot spend your life running a gaming house,’ his father said after lamenting Xavier’s lack of direction.
‘I do not intend to,’ Xavier assured him. ‘I am merely assisting Rhys.’
‘I do like Rhys very much.’ His mother took another bite of custard. ‘But I cannot like that he runs a gaming house. It isn’t at all the thing.’
‘I agree,’ Xavier assured her. ‘It is only temporary.’
Rhys already had bigger plans. He’d be in manufacturing, if not of steam engines, then something else. He’d make a fortune and prove himself to the father who sent him penniless into the street.
Xavier’s desire to succeed was equally as strong as Rhys’s. He did not want a factory, though.
At least his mother and father could be grateful for that. Owning a factory would probably be less genteel in their eyes than a gaming house.
His father took a sip of wine. ‘I admit that I am glad you have given up the army. You know I never wanted that life for you. So dangerous. Kept you far away, as well.’
His father did not have to add that Xavier had been sent to the army because of Daphne and her husband’s threat.
Xavier winked. ‘Well, do not ask me again to read for the law or to join the church—’
His father held up a hand. ‘I know better.’
Xavier wished to avoid a heated exchange with these dear people. He loved them too much.
His father brightened. ‘How about farming? We can help you purchase a pretty estate—’
Xavier interrupted him. ‘I have money enough to buy land. I do not need yours. Perhaps I will end up doing exactly that, but farming is suffering since the war. So much is changing. It may not be the wisest course.’
It would be the simplest one. Become a gentleman farmer, overseeing others doing the actual work.
Where was the challenge in that?
Xavier finished the custard Cook had prepared especially for him. ‘Do not worry over me. I will manage something.’
* * *
He did not remain long after that. He kissed his mother, shook hands with his father and walked out of the town house feeling unsettled. It was just turning dusk and on this mild night the streets were still busy, the shops still open.
Xavier trusted that he’d know when the right opportunity came his way. It must spark his interest. It must test him in some way, make him more than he was right now.
He walked on Piccadilly past St James’s. As always happened, women turned to look at him. A few streets over in Covent Garden, the women would openly proposition him. He would not walk that far.
He reached the new Burlington Arcade and stepped inside. What a grand idea Cavendish had to make this property into an arcade of shops. It was said Cavendish had built it to prevent oyster shells, bottles and other refuse from being thrown into his garden. No matter the reason, the shops employed many workers. Having employment was precious in these difficult times.
He walked past shop after shop. Lace makers, hosiers, milliners. Shoemakers, watchmakers, umbrella-makers. Even a music-seller.
On impulse Xavier entered the music-seller’s shop.
‘Music for pianoforte. Whatever is newest and best,’ he requested of the shopkeeper.
He purchased ‘Bid Me Discourse’, a song written from Shakespeare’s poem Venus and Adonis.
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair,
Dance on the sands...
Would it please Phillipa? He hoped so.
He walked out of the shop and noticed the beadles in uniform, standing tall, watching over matters, making certain the rules were enforced. Cavendish had recruited them from his former regiment, the Tenth Hussars. A clever way to provide work for at least some of the former soldiers whose regiments were disbanded and who were left to fend for themselves.
Xavier left the arcade and headed back towards St James’s and to Rhys’s gaming house. He passed former soldiers on the street, wearing their old uniforms for want of other clothing. Some begged. Some were filled with too much drink.
One man leaned against a building, his eyes watchful. His face bore a still-healing cut on his cheek and neck, the cut Xavier had inflicted.
The man nodded towards Xavier. ‘Spare a penny for a soldier?’
Xavier advanced on him and the man’s eyes widened.
‘Do you remember me?’ Xavier asked in a low, deep voice.
The man lowered his gaze. ‘We should not have done what we done to you and the lady. No forgiving that.’ He touched the cut on his cheek. ‘I got what I deserved.’
‘Why did you do it, then?’ Xavier demanded.
‘Too much drink, sir. Our bellies were filled with gin.’ The man looked ashamed.
Xavier eyed him. ‘You were hungry?’
The man nodded.
‘Are you hungry now?’
The man nodded again.
Xavier reached into his pocket and drew out several coins. He dropped them into the man’s hand. ‘Meet me right here tomorrow at noon.’ He pointed to the coins now in the man’s open palm. ‘There will be more of that tomorrow.’
The man looked from the coins to Xavier. His eyes narrowed. ‘How do I know you won’t bring the Watch with you?’
Xavier held his gaze. ‘You don’t. But I’ll tell you this. I was in the East Essex. I was in the battle, too.’ He did not need to tell the man which battle. They both knew he meant Waterloo.
The man bowed his head respectfully. ‘I will be here tomorrow when the clock strikes twelve.’
* * *
That night, as before, Phillipa crept down the stairway in her stocking feet and quietly let herself out the town house door. After stopping to put on her shoes, she walked quickly and confidently to the corner where she knew Xavier would be waiting with the hackney coach.
He greeted her as she walked towards him. ‘How are you, Phillipa?’
He never complained about accompanying her, yet she knew she inconvenienced him in a myriad of ways.
‘Very well, Xavier,’ she responded as he helped her in to the coach. ‘And you?’
‘Tolerable.’ He sat next to her.
‘Just tolerable?’ Perhaps she inconvenienced him once too much.
He waved a hand. ‘Nothing dire. I dined with my parents tonight.’
‘I hope they are in good health.’ She had not seen Lord and Lady Piermont since her mother’s ball.
How long ago that seemed.
‘They are in perfect health. As is everyone in the family. The Campions are a hearty lot, you know.’
There were eight Campion children. When she’d known Xavier in Brighton, the oldest sons h
ad been at Oxford. She’d hardly glimpsed them during those summers. Xavier’s younger sisters were near her age, but it had been Xavier who’d singled her out for friendship.
He still acted her friend even with the trouble she caused him.
‘What made dinner with your parents merely tolerable?’ It was rare he talked about himself, she realised.
Even in the dim light of the carriage, she could see him smile ruefully. ‘As you might imagine, my parents wish me settled. They would prefer I occupy myself in ways other than helping to run a gaming hell.’
‘It is not a hell, surely!’ It seemed quite tasteful to her, not dark and dangerous.
‘No, it is not a hell. But it is not what they would choose for me.’
‘Of course they would not choose that for you.’ The aristocracy did not run gaming houses. Her brothers had got Rhys to do it for them. ‘My parents would not choose for me to play the pianoforte in a gaming house either. That is, my mother would not. I doubt my father would trouble himself to give it a thought.’ But she was talking about herself again. ‘I do not think we should be confined to society’s expectations. The question should be, are you happy doing what you are doing?’
He grinned at her. ‘Phillipa Westleigh. I did not know you espoused such an enlightened philosophy.’
She turned away. ‘Now you are making a joke of me.’
He put his fingers under her chin and turned her back. ‘Perhaps a little, but, believe me, as vexing as you’ve been, wanting to walk the streets alone, I admire your determination to do what you most wish to do.’
She looked into his startlingly blue eyes. ‘I have you to thank for it, Xavier. You provided me this opportunity to perform my music and my songs in front of an audience. It has been a joy for me and I thank you.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Show me your gratitude.’
‘Show you?’ She was puzzled.
One corner of his mouth turned up. ‘With a kiss.’
She felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
He averted his gaze. ‘I am teasing you.’
Of course. He’d meant it as a jest. What could be more amusing than the scar-faced lady kissing the man once called Adonis by her friends?
He placed his hand over hers. ‘I almost forgot.’
This gesture of affection confused her more. ‘Forgot what?’
He stroked her hand with his thumb. ‘I purchased a piece of music for you today. The store clerk assured me it is quite new, so you are unlikely to have it already.’
‘Xavier.’ Her throat tightened. ‘Thank you.’
Impulsively, she touched her lips to his.
He held her and prolonged the kiss, a wondrous sensation of soft flesh somehow firm and strong against hers. She felt the kiss throughout her body, filling her with yearning.
The driver rapped against the side of the coach and they jumped apart. Phillipa’s heart pounded so hard she thought Xavier must be able to hear it.
‘I guess we have arrived,’ he said, his voice thick.
He climbed out to help Phillipa and pay the driver. They entered the house and, as usual, Cummings took her cloak.
Xavier touched her hand again. ‘I will come to listen to you when I am able.’
She nodded, but she was still under the power of the kiss and everything else seemed unreal.
Checking to make certain her mask was in place, she made her way to the supper room where the tables were filled with patrons waiting only to hear her sing and play.
Mr Everard sat at a table close by the pianoforte. That meant the beautiful widow, Lady Faville, was here again. She’d been at the gaming house every night Phillipa had performed.
Not to listen to Phillipa, though.
Mr Everard nodded a greeting as she sat on the bench.
She smiled.
In front of her sat a new music sheet with a brief note written in pen on its cover—
For your pleasure,
X
Her fingers trembled as she opened the cover and scanned the first pages.
These lyrics caught her eye:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
Phillipa took a deep breath. She must never aspire. No matter the kiss, which surely was part of his jesting with her. She’d come perilously close to aspiring after one dance, after one Season. No more.
She glanced over to the door and saw Xavier...with Lady Faville upon his arm. Xavier, tall and dark, his blue eyes fringed by dark lashes. Lady Faville, dainty and light in contrast. They were so beautiful, so perfect, she had to look away, only to notice that all eyes were on the stunning couple. Lady Faville seemed to bask in the attention. Xavier looked as if he’d not noticed. He escorted Lady Faville to Mr Everard’s table.
Poor Mr Everard appeared stricken.
You also must not aspire, Mr Everard, Phillipa thought.
To her surprise, Xavier stepped away to stand at the back of the room.
Phillipa put the sheet of music he’d given her behind her other music and selected another song to play.
She sang:
Her hair is like a golden clue
Drawn from Minerva’s loom.
Her lips, carnations dropping dew,
Her breath a perfume...
The room applauded when she finished. Lady Faville beamed.
Xavier bowed his head and rubbed his forehead.
* * *
Lady Faville remained in the room when Phillipa stopped playing to take her usual respite about halfway through her time there. The lady leaned towards Mr Everard and said something to him. He immediately jumped up and hurried to the buffet. To fill a plate for her, Phillipa supposed.
She straightened her music and rose, flexing her fingers.
‘You play beautifully,’ Lady Faville said to her. The lady smiled and patted the chair next to her. ‘Please do sit with me a little. I’ve asked Mr Everard to fix us both some plates of food and to order you something to drink.’
Phillipa had no choice but to sit. ‘That is kind of you...and Mr Everard.’
Lady Faville tossed him a fond glance. ‘He is such a dear. I do not know how I would cope without him.’ She turned back to Phillipa. ‘I believe I told you I am a widow.’
‘You did, indeed.’ What possible reason could this woman have for inviting this conversation?
The lady glanced around the room again. ‘This club is finely decorated, would you not say?’
Phillipa could easily agree. She especially loved this room, decorated in the Adam’s style, all pastels and carved plasterwork.
Lady Faville did not give her time to say so, however. ‘I suspect the décor was influenced by Mr Campion. I understand he has been at Mr Rhysdale’s side throughout everything. All the rooms show such refined taste. I quite did not expect it. But seeing how involved Mr Campion is in the running of the house, I just attribute it to his influence.’
Phillipa’s hackles rose. How dare she assume her half-brother would have no taste if not for Xavier?
She immediately smiled inwardly at herself. She certainly had accepted Rhysdale into the family if she felt like flying to his defence.
She tried to keep her tone neutral. ‘I presume you have never met Mr Rhysdale?’
Lady Faville laughed. ‘Goodness, no. How would I?’ She looked down at her wine glass and twirled it absently by its stem. ‘I also understand that Mr Campion escorts you to and from the gaming house.’
‘Yes, he does.’ Now she understood why Lady Faville had sought her out.
She supposed everyone knew that she came and left in Xavier’s company. She’d been attending the Masquerade Club for so many nights, it would certainly have been noticed. But
this lady would have had to deliberately seek out this information.
Lady Faville continued to fiddle with her glass. ‘When you so generously helped me with my dress, you did not leave the impression that there was any...attachment between you and Mr Campion.’ She glanced up and looked earnestly into Phillipa’s eyes. ‘Because I would not for the world come between a woman and her—her—paramour. If there is one thing I respect above all other things it is the love between a man and a woman.’
Phillipa held the woman’s gaze. Inside her Lady Faville’s words felt like a daggers stabbing her heart, but she did not know why she should feel so.
Except for the kiss.
She found her voice. ‘Why do you ask me such a question? I do not know you and your question is of a very personal nature.’
Lady Faville coloured slightly. ‘Oh, I am being presumptuous, am I not? It is merely that I do like you excessively. I wish us to be friends. And I would not in the world do injury to a friend.’
This was sincerely said, but Phillipa felt wary. Perhaps it was her own envy of the woman that made her doubt.
Lady Faville reached over and touched Phillipa’s mask. ‘I assume Mr Campion has seen the face beneath this mask and has fallen desperately in love with you.’
Phillipa lowered her gaze. Xavier had indeed seen beneath her mask.
Lady Faville went on. ‘I think you should remove your mask and let all the gentleman admire you.’
Could the woman be mocking her? How could she know of Phillipa’s disfigurement? No one here knew her except Xavier and she did not wish to believe he had talked of her to anyone.
He certainly had seen beneath her mask, though. How could he not compare her scars to this lady’s perfection?
Phillipa resisted the urge to touch her marred face.
A servant brought her a glass of sherry. She lifted the glass and took a sip before answering Lady Faville. ‘The mask suits my purposes.’ She took another sip and met Lady Faville’s eye deliberately, smiling enigmatically. ‘I can tell you that Mr Campion and I are...friends.’
