by Amelia Nolan
“You care nothing for the starving poor in the slums.”
“I do when they are me! Go – do it – take notes. I expect a full accounting tomorrow of the glories that should by all rights be mine.”
“A gentleman never tells about a lady.”
“Since you are a close confederate of mine, you are surely no gentleman – and she is a lady by title only. Or so I hear. Or expect to hear tomorrow morning.”
Evan smiled. “May I use your carriage? I don’t want anything to seem amiss amongst the other guests.”
“Of course. Just send it back once you’ve… reached your destination. I won’t expect you back at the house until morning.”
Evan nodded, clapped Pemberly on the shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Blake?” Pemberly said.
Evan turned back.
“If you come back having forfeited the prize, I swear to God – ”
With that, Pemberly drew his finger along his own throat with a slicing noise.
Evan grinned and left the room.
“In your sleep, Blake! In your sleep!” Pemberly called after him.
44
The carriage dropped Evan off in front of the Countess’s lodgings, then set off down the street to return to the ball.
Evan steadied himself for a moment, then rang the bell. His stomach was tied in knots as he waited for the answer.
A candle flickered at the window beside the great oak door. It creaked open, and a withered old man appeared. “Lady Lawton is expecting you.”
Evan followed the old man inside to a small bedroom. A few candles burned around the room, just enough to show off the rich tapestries hanging on the walls and the four-post canopy bed. Near a chaise longue, a small table held a bucket with ice and a bottle of wine, and two crystal flutes next to it.
The little man bowed to Evan, then backed out of the room. A few moments later the Countess entered, her gorgeous blonde hair combed out in shimmering waves upon her shoulders.
Evan stared at her. She looked lovely in the candlelight.
She smiled at him. “I was afraid you would not come.”
Evan was at a loss for words. “…here I am,” he finally managed.
“Some wine?”
“Please.”
The Countess poured a glass for Evan, then one for herself. She looked at him hungrily over the edge of the glass as she drank.
“I must say, you have a beautiful home – ”
He did not even get out the last word before she launched herself at him. Stepping up on tiptoes, she placed her lips against his. They were soft and warm, and her breath was pleasantly scented as he kissed her.
She put down her own glass on the table, then took his and did likewise.
It was all over ten minutes later.
45
As Evan lay naked in bed beside the Countess, he wondered exactly where things had gone wrong.
Everything had been enjoyable, yes. But the sex was more mechanical than meaningful, more perfunctory than passionate.
He wondered if he was just out of practice… or if, having tasted the most exquisite fruit imaginable a year ago, all others seemed bland by comparison.
He thought of Marian, of her skin next to his, and his heart skipped a beat. He was filled with pain, and sadness… and bittersweet joy.
It was more emotion than he had felt during the entire act with the Countess.
The Countess was even less enthused.
“Well, that was… pleasant,” she said as she lay there next to him, her body not touching his.
“Yes. Very… nice,” Evan agreed awkwardly.
“…‘nice,’” she repeated, her voice managing to blend sarcasm, disbelief, and indignation all at once.
Silence reigned for another minute.
“I must confess, it seemed your attention was elsewhere,” she said coolly. “Until the end, that is.”
He did not want to admit it, but in the dim light, his brain had played tricks on him. He had seen Marian’s face in the final moments, and that was what had pushed him over the edge.
“I… forgive me. My mind wandered.”
He winced as soon as he said it.
“A bit of advice for the future, Mr. Blake?” the Countess said as she rose from the bed and began to dress in her undergarments. “No woman likes to be told that a gentleman’s mind ‘wandered’ during the act of love. One can only assume it wandered to another woman.”
“No, I – ”
She interrupted him with a sigh. “I was afraid this might happen. Pemberly warned me you were still besotted with her.”
Anger and indignation welled inside him, but he didn’t say anything.
The Countess smirked. “Well, judging from your performance, either your mind was elsewhere, or she has greater powers of imagination than Shakespeare and Dante combined.”
The anger and indignation spilled out.
“I am sorry the ‘performance’ was not to your liking, my lady.”
Her face softened the tiniest bit as she gathered her gown in her arms. “Pay no heed, Mr. Blake. It is just that no woman likes to know she has a competitor – especially one impossible to vanquish.”
“You are leaving?” he asked, astounded.
“Yes. Once you are dressed, you will find James waiting for you in the hallway. He will show you out.”
Being treated like a common strumpet filled him more with shock than anger. Actually, it was his pride that hurt most of all.
“One bad outing should not be the end of the matter,” he sulked.
“When one of the two is in love with a third, it should be. And is.”
“I am not in love with her,” he protested vehemently.
She gave him a wry smile and turned towards the door.
He tried again. “Let me call on you tomorrow – we can have lunch, get to know one another – ”
She turned back, her patience at an end. “As lovers, it would appear we are incompatible, Mr. Blake, and I am not trying to find another husband. Even if I were, I would seek to marry up, rather than down.”
With that, she slipped out of the room and closed the door.
46
I am not trying to find another husband, Mr. Blake. Even if I were, I would seek to marry up, rather than down.
Evan walked down the cobblestone streets, the dark night closing around him.
He was dazed, angry – and hurt.
This woman whom he barely knew, and cared nothing for, had dealt him a single blow that had leveled him to the ground.
I would seek to marry up, rather than down.
But after the first moment of bruised pride as he dressed alone in the bedroom, the realization had set in:
He had hurt Marian in exactly the same way.
And that knowledge was a thousand times worse than anything Lady Lawton had done to him.
No, not ‘exactly the same way.’
The Countess was a momentary diversion to him. He was a conquest to her – and apparently a disappointing one at that.
Marian had loved him.
When he told her he could not marry her, it must have not only broken her heart, but shattered it into a million pieces.
He had not only told the woman that he loved that they could not be together, but that she was unworthy of him.
He had not meant it that way, of course; but in the end, that was what it came down to.
That was surely what she must have heard in the words he spoke.
He had not only thrown away the one true chance at happiness he had ever had… he had not only driven away the only woman he had ever truly loved, and who had loved him in return… but he had been as cruel as humanly possible, while still supposing himself ‘reasonable’ and kind.
He wished he could have throttled his younger self.
He wished he could return to the past and do it all differently.
He wished he could have kept her with him and never let her go.
47
Evan was sitting in the drawing room, halfway through his second bottle of wine since arriving home, when Pemberly walked in after midnight.
“Williams told me you were back. I must say, this does not bode well for your throat remaining intact through the night.”
“That is the least of my worries,” Evan muttered.
“Death – murder at the hands of your good friend – is the least of your worries! Hm! It seems someone’s life has taken a turn for the overly dramatic in the last couple of hours!” Pemberly collapsed onto the sofa opposite Evan, held up a single finger, and let it slowly wilt. “Did things not go so well with the Countess? Too much to drink, perhaps? Happens to the best of us, dear boy – well, not me, of course. Never to me.”
“That was not the problem.”
“Oh? Then what, pray tell, was the problem?”
“Events were… less than satisfactory.”
Pemberly glanced over at the two open wine bottles on the table next to Evan, then gave a questioning look as he held up his finger again and let it wilt.
“NO, not that!” Evan snapped.
“Did you consummate your rather brief acquaintance?”
Evan hesitated. “I should not say.”
“Would you like to know the list of lords the Countess has slept with since her late husband’s death? She was quite open in reciting the list to me. I’m sure you’ll be appended to it in whatever conversation she next has, probably with a good deal of disparaging remarks, judging from your disposition.”
Evan glowered.
“…yes,” he finally said.
“‘Yes,’ you joined together in the bliss of earthly delight?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“You made the beast with two backs? You ‘knew’ her in the Biblical sense? You – ”
“Yes, yes, for God’s sake, just shut up.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Afterwards, when I tried to make amends for my less than stellar performance, do you know what she said to me? ‘I am not trying to find another husband, Mr. Blake. Even if I were, I would seek to marry up, rather than down.’”
Pemberly looked at Evan as though he were waiting for the resolution to a joke. When it did not come, he frowned comically. “That is your great and terrible crisis?
“I never said it was a – ”
“I never thought of you as a social climber, Blake.”
“I’m not – good God, what do you think I – ”
“I mean, she does have a point, after all.”
Evan yelled in his exasperation. “Pemberly, what the Countess said to me is exactly what I said to Marian before she left!”
Pemberly froze on his sofa.
“Ah,” he finally said.
“Not in so many words… but almost the same,” Evan finished lamely.
“I see.”
“Do you understand now why I am so upset? I have only just realized how cruel I was to her – how much I must have hurt her – ”
“If you knew then what you know now, would you have married her?” Pemberly asked.
Evan slumped back in his chair and stared at the wall.
“…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” Pemberly cleared his throat. “Well, then this is a great hullabaloo about nothing, isn’t it? You don’t even know if – ”
“Yes, I would have,” Evan interrupted.
Pemberly stopped in shock. “You would have married her?”
“Yes.”
“Inheritance and title be damned?”
“Inheritance and title be damned.”
The two men sat in silence for a long moment.
“But what good is this, hm?” Evan chuckled bitterly. “I cannot go back and undo the past, so this is just the drunken talk of a self-pitying fool, and nothing more. Never mind me.”
“What would you do if you could make things right?” Pemberly asked quietly.
“I can’t, that’s the whole point – ”
“What if you could render her a service that would set things right? Would you do it?”
“Of course.”
“Even if it meant putting your life at risk?”
“Well, as I said before, death is the least of my worries,” Evan said flippantly, and downed the last of his wine.
“I am being serious,” Pemberly said – and he was, more serious than Evan had ever seen him before. His voice was quiet, his face an impassive mask.
“Pemberly, what the devil’s gotten into you?”
“Just answer the question. Would you render her a service that would set things right, even if it meant putting your life at risk?”
“Of course – without a second thought.”
Pemberly nodded slightly, then rose from the sofa. “I have a meeting tomorrow at lunch. You should go with me.”
Evan frowned incredulously. “After all this talk of ‘putting my life at risk,’ all you have to say is you have a meeting? What is this?!”
“You should go with me,” Pemberly repeated, and walked out of the room. “Don’t drink any more, dear fellow, you’re going to have a devil of a hangover tomorrow as it is. I’ll have Williams wake you at ten, we’ll have to leave by half past eleven.”
“Pemberly – what the hell is this meeting?”
“Get some sleep,” Pemberly said, and then went upstairs to bed.
48
Evan followed Pemberly through Brooks, the gentlemen’s club in St. James Street founded by members of the Whig party. During this early afternoon hour, the rooms for gambling, socializing, and relaxing were only half-filled. By dinner they would be packed with powerful men looking to escape the pressures of their everyday lives.
As the son of a Marquess, Pemberly could have taken a seat in the House of Lords. However, he had declined it the grounds that he had no patience for politics. A more plausible explanation was that his tenure would have been marred weekly by some new outrage involving public drunkenness or ladies of the night.
Pemberly did, however, possess the flair of a natural politician. He had managed to obtain not only a membership at Brooks, but also one at White’s, the club belonging to the Whigs’ political adversaries, the Tories. Few men in London held that distinction – but Pemberly, if not exactly a welcome face at formal functions, was a popular guest of honor when the wee hours came and festivities turned towards the scandalous.
Evan winced as they walked up a flight of stairs to the second story of the club. “Why are we here?”
“I told you to stop drinking last night,” Pemberly chided as he led the way into a small library.
“I did – after I finished the bottle. Again, why are we here?”
“To meet with this gentleman,” Pemberly said as he closed the door behind them.
In front of the unlit hearth stood a man. He was slightly paunchy, with a long, sharp nose beneath his powdered wig.
Evan drew in his breath sharply.
The man was Edmund Burke, one of the most influential members of the Whig party, and thus one of the most powerful men in all of England.
“Mr. Burke, may I introduce to you Mr. Evan Blake. Blake, Mr. Burke.”
“Sir, how do you do,” Evan said, bowing deeply.
Burke bowed less deeply. When he spoke, it was with the trace of an Irish brogue. “Pemberly, I realize it is a indelicate question, but – ”
“You can trust Blake, sir. In fact, I have him in mind for the very business at hand.”
Burke grunted and studied Evan’s face.
Evan looked at Pemberly with a questioning gaze.
“Shall we sit?” Pemberly said, gesturing to the leather-upholstered chairs in the center of the room.
The three men took their seats.
“How easily can you get the papers into Paris?” Burke asked.
&nb
sp; “It’s becoming a bit of a problem,” Pemberly answered. “I don’t want to compromise Dardanelle in any way, but I can no longer find a messenger in France that I trust. Hence Mr. Blake.”
Evan frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit behind here…”
“You haven’t told him?” Burke asked in alarm.
“I think – actually, I am sure – Blake will comply when he finds out what is at stake. But I thought that hearing it from you might impress upon him the gravity of the situation.”
“Pemberly…” Evan whispered, not at all comfortable.
Burke fixed his hawk-like gaze on Evan. “You know that I am very much against the Revolution in France, do you not?”
Evan nodded. Burke was one of England’s most passionate voices against the political upheaval in France – to the point where he wanted England to declare war in order to protect the French monarchy. Less than a year ago, he had written a pamphlet titled Reflections on the Revolution in France that had caused something of a firestorm across Europe.
“You also know that I am overwhelmed by dissenting voices in Parliament?”
“Yes.”
Burke was opposed by many, both in his party and outside of it. The Prime Minister, Mr. Pitt, opposed the Revolution, but refused to support a war against France.
Burke glanced at Pemberly, who nodded reassuringly.
“Despite this, I have attempted to make what one might call unofficial attempts at private diplomacy. My own son has carried papers to the émigré army, French gentlemen who were forced to flee France and who are now fighting to restore the nobility’s proper place. And Lord Pemberly here has been good enough to transport secret papers into Paris on a half-dozen occasions.”
Evan stared at Pemberly. He did not know what was more shocking: that Burke, one of the most powerful men in England, was embroiled in what would become a national scandal if it became known… or that Pemberly was playing a part in it.
Libertine, immoral, apolitical Pemberly.
“My publisher friend, Laurent Dardanelle, is a Royalist,” Pemberly explained. “Since we… ah… share a certain well-known writer…”
Marian. He means Marian, Evan realized, and his heart skipped a beat.
“…our correspondence is expected, necessary, and regular as clockwork. So, I’ve been slipping in missives from Mr. Burke here, which Dardanelle passes on to his friends.”
