‘I doubt he will be pleased to learn Winton pursues his sister. Especially if the lady objects.’ Cole obliged the conversation, though he’d already heard too much. An impatient edge spoiled the declaration.
‘For all we know the two may have an understanding.’ Max moved to leave. ‘I know Winton never acts without purpose. He might have his eye on Kent more than Gemma, but His Grace is an intelligent man and any deception will be uncovered.’
Gemma’s carriage slowed in front of Daventry House and Sophie scurried out through the door and into the conveyance as planned. They aimed to visit Vivienne Sinclair in Manchester Square, from where they would proceed to Hyde Park and take in the newly bloomed florals along the Serpentine River. Discussions like the one planned were better aired in the open where servants or parents, most especially an imperious brother, might not overhear.
‘Do you think Vivienne will be able to help you now that she’s returned from her wedding trip?’ Gemma hadn’t an introduction to Vivienne Sinclair and knew only of her husband through scant knowledge of the Underworld.
‘It would be a great relief.’ Sophie arranged her skirts on the plush upholstered bench. ‘I sent her another message hinting at our need to speak. It has been several days, but I was thrilled when she responded. We are quite close and it’s only her recent marriage that has interrupted our tight friendship.’
‘Then I do hope she has answers, or at the least, can assist with your efforts.’ Gemma hesitated, not sure how her questions would be received, but then, with the same adventurous spirit her brother called a flaw of personality, she forged ahead. ‘Mr Sinclair is a commoner and yet Vivienne is the daughter of an earl?’ She watched Sophie closely, expecting her friend to chatter away as usual, and she did.
‘Their story is an amazing tale actually. Vivienne’s mother remarried the Earl of Huntley and then soon after became ill. She perished only months later. Vivienne’s father was lost to her while she was still an infant, so she found herself with no blood ties and only the aged earl, who became her stepfather through her mother’s marriage. He wasn’t a good man. I dare not elaborate, but you have it by me he possessed deviant beliefs.’ Sophie grimaced with the distasteful admittance, seemingly anxious to relay the better portion of the story. ‘Vivienne is active with a number of charities and met Maxwell while on an excursion to help the less fortunate. Their romance grew incredibly more complicated afterwards but they prevailed, which leads me to believe their love fated, guided by the strength of destiny, no less.’
‘Fated?’ Gemma half-laughed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Fated. Meant to be together. Over years, my brother developed tender feelings for Vivienne but she felt only brotherly affection despite Crispin’s best efforts. Then along came Max and one look altered her life. I suspect he experienced the same. Nothing will change their love. You can see it when they look at each other. They are of one mind, one soul, one heart. That’s true Fate.’ Her words expressed solemnity and reverence and Gemma’s heart kicked up a beat.
‘What happened?’ Enthralled, she leaned closer as if the action would hurry Sophie’s retelling.
‘They went through a terrible ordeal but it was all worth it in the end. They’re married and living in a beautiful home. No one should ever point a finger and whisper that she married below her station because Maxwell is a fine man with a good heart, yet gossipmongers and tongue-wags do anyway. Vivienne doesn’t care. She’s too in love to allow other people’s words to cause harm.’ Sophie sat back with a satisfied expression.
‘Didn’t anyone in her family object?’ Gemma’s mind ran to her brother’s frequent reminder of her social standing and need for impeccable deportment.
‘There was no one to oppose her choice. While that sounds rather sad, it allowed her to be with a man of her own choosing. Nature has a way of providing for loss. And here we are.’ Sophie slid the velvet curtain to the side and indicated the imposing three-storey townhouse across the street. The carriage circled the block and turned so they could disembark in front of the looming building, faced in brick the colour of cinnamon, the glossy black door and shutters a striking contrast. The home stood in the middle of a fine area of London, yet one would be unconscious not to note its storybook appeal. Perhaps Sophie spoke truthfully about true love and happily ever after.
‘How lovely.’ Gemma followed Sophie up the stairs to the polished brass knocker. The door opened promptly and the butler led them into a comfortable drawing room decorated in hues of goldenrod and pewter. Vivienne entered moments later.
‘Sophie.’ She rushed forward and captured her friend in a tight hug of welcome. ‘You are the first person I wished to see upon returning and instead obligations have kept me from this visit. At last we will have time together. Has there been word from Crispin?’
Sophie shook her head without elaborating. ‘You look well. My goodness, you’re beaming.’
‘Marriage agrees with me. More importantly, though, did you receive my note? If only we could get word to your brother, we could assure him his debt has been resolved.’
‘Yes. Thank you, but I am still at a total loss to his whereabouts.’ A beat of weighty silence followed until Sophie turned in Gemma’s direction. ‘Allow me to introduce Lady Gemma Amberson. She is a friend and confidante. I hope we’ll all become better acquainted as we walk through Hyde Park today.’
Brief introductions and niceties were exchanged and then they entered Vivienne’s coach, a large polished barouche glossed in shiny black paint with golden detail, the brass fixtures and lanterns as reflective as the sun. Gemma was thoroughly impressed. Her brother’s carriage was equally as fine and he was a duke. There was something to be learned by this subtle lesson. She smiled a secret smile and eased back on the plush velvet banquette.
Traffic was light and they arrived at the entrance to Hyde Park in fairly good time. Once they had meandered through the dandies and busybodies congregated near the start of the walking path, they relaxed and slowed to a conversational pace.
‘What brings the two of you together as fast friends?’ Vivienne looked at Sophie with a teasing grin. ‘I leave town for my wedding trip and return to find I have been replaced.’
Sophie and Vivienne laughed, enjoying the lighthearted jest, though Sophie was quick to defend her loyalty. ‘You know you will always be the sister of my heart.’ She laid her hand across her breast. ‘I came to know Gemma as we have a common interest.’ She paused for a breath. ‘We’re attempting to find answers in a city with far too many people.’
‘Have you lost someone too?’ Vivienne’s frown showed sympathetic concern.
‘My father passed away a little over two years ago and my brother has since assumed his title. For a long while I accepted what happened without question, but as time passed I could not shed the niggling doubt something seemed wrong with my brother’s accounting of that evening. Since my sister and I have come out of mourning, I’ve re-entered society with the intent to discover any information to help me understand the secrecy surrounding my father’s death.’
‘Oh dear.’
A collective silence followed as Vivienne, and perhaps Sophie too, absorbed the importance of Gemma’s story.
‘You should have invited your sister along for our outing. I would enjoy meeting her too.’ Vivienne glanced in her direction with kindness in her eyes.
‘Oh, thank you. Perhaps someday we shall all meet.’ Despite she already trusted Vivienne by way of her relationship with Sophie, sharing Rosalind’s current silence did not seem the wise choice. Luckily, Vivienne asked no further questions.
‘With Crispin missing, I understand your similar situation. I will help any way possible. I do not know many people, but Maxwell surely does.’ A wide smile turned Vivienne’s mouth, as if by mentioning her husband she overflowed with joy.
‘Thank you. It is one of several troubles I wish to solve.’
The ladies continued along
the path, discussing flowers and current social happenings until they stalled under the shade of a weeping willow along the banks of the Serpentine. In the distance riders pounded Rotten Row, yelping with victory whenever a horse dusted another rider or won a friendly wager.
‘Let’s rest a minute.’ Vivienne put her gloved hand to her forehead, the other perched against the trunk of the tree.
‘Are you all right?’ Sophie went to her side without pause.
‘I feel a little lightheaded, that’s all. Lately, I’ve had these sudden spells. One minute I’m fine and then the next I need to sit until the dizziness passes.’ Vivienne blew out a slow exhale.
‘Have you eaten? Mother is quick to remind me ladies must not take from the tea tray, but honestly Vivienne, you look too thin.’
‘Oh, my stomach hasn’t been well. I thought it could be the food we ate during our travels or the change of climate, but I’m home now and it hasn’t abated. Some days the mornings are unbearable. I haven’t told Maxwell. I don’t want him to worry. He’s very protective of me as it is.’
‘I know that feeling. My brother, while I believe his efforts well intended, has taken to accounting for my daily schedule and every minute in between.’ Gemma could hear the displeasure in her voice and hoped her friends would not interpret her remarks as ungrateful.
‘Yes, men do have a way of believing they know best when most every instance is better left to the logic of a woman.’ Vivienne straightened, her colour returned. ‘I’m better now, ladies. Let’s continue our walk.’
‘Perhaps we should wait a few minutes longer just to be sure,’ Sophie suggested with a gleam in her eyes. ‘And besides, this is the perfect place for us to discuss our next course of action.’
Cole slapped the reins and set Charlatan into a fast-paced gallop he’d challenge any young blade to better. Rotten Row was fairly crowded but the oncoming pounding of his stallion’s hooves demanded a path down the centre and the other riders deferred. Sleep wouldn’t come. Too many thoughts crowded his brain. He shoved them away like he’d managed for years, but images of Gemma persisted. Her charming tease at the bookseller’s shop, her grateful relief when he’d intervened and rid her of Winton, and the undeniable passion in her kiss. Why did the first woman to awaken his heart have to be untouchable?
He scoffed and leaned over his stallion’s outstretched neck, squeezing his thighs against Charlatan’s belly, satisfied by the jolting sprint, in mind to whip his memory clear, knowing it was a fool’s wish.
Her luminous green eyes, long-lashed and slightly tilted, looked beyond his outward appearance. When she gave him her attention, it was as though she looked inside his soul. Luke was right. He’d gone soft. Yet her scent, as light as honeysuckle, the silk of her hair, the way her smile rose higher on one side than the other… every quality made him ache with insatiable desire. Trapped in unattainable desire, he needed some kind of relief.
Slowing Charlatan to a canter, he peered out across the lawns seeking answers where none could be found. London was a place of station and reputation, title and privilege. He possessed wealth and virtuous intent, but he would never be blueblooded. And it had never hurt as it did now, no matter he knew his place; always had since he was shoved from the carriage steps so many years ago.
Charlatan neighed in agreeable companionship and, as he leaned over the horse’s neck for a pat, Cole spied a trio of ladies clustered under a willow tree adjacent to the west side riding path.
His heart stopped, breathing stuttered. Had he been blindfolded he would still be aware. Gemma stood with two other ladies, their heads bent as if in secret conversation and the image evoked a smile. How a master artist would treasure the scene.
He told himself it was improper to engage them in conversation, nor was it smart to edge closer to their side of the path as Charlatan passed, but he didn’t listen to himself, the drum of anticipation in his blood too loud, brain too foolish. Reason seemed a poor choice when his heart beat hard and blood fired in his veins.
‘Good day, ladies.’ It wasn’t done. He didn’t care. He had no rules to break.
‘Mr Hewitt.’ Remarkable pleasure lit Gemma’s face, her smile broad, one side pitched higher than the other. He’d like to kiss that side. All sides. Several times.
The ladies stepped closer and in kind he left the path and led Charlatan nearer.
‘Cole, is that you?’ Vivienne Sinclair, Max’s wife, turned from where she’d remained obscured by the sagging branches of the willow.
Aah, a misstep he had not anticipated; too blinded by the surprise opportunity of seeing Gemma, he’d made a complicated mistake, but the lady of his attention spoke again before he had a chance to answer.
‘I’m happy to see you again.’
His heart tightened with Gemma’s admittance.
‘How do you know Mr Hewitt?’ Vivienne turned, her expression perplexed, eyes first on Gemma, then him.
‘We met one afternoon in the bookstore. I needed assistance and Mr Hewitt was kind enough to take time and help me.’
‘I see.’ Vivienne appeared to accept the explanation though he couldn’t be certain.
‘Mr Hewitt is one of the proprietors of the Underworld.’ At Gemma’s blank stare, bravo, Vivienne elaborated. ‘The gaming hell he owns along with my husband and Mr Reese. The three men fancy a race here now and again.’
‘I ride most every day, though your husband has kept home of late.’ He punctuated the observation with a grin.
Sophie, who had only listened to this point, stepped forward. ‘I am Lady Daventry.’ She tilted her head and shielded her eyes from the sun.
‘How poorly done of me.’ Cole slid from the saddle and held tight to Charlatan’s reins, better equipped for conversation by standing on firm ground. ‘Daventry, yes. I know the name. Very nice to meet you.’ Now that was a prickly subject. Crispin Daventry had squandered a fortune at the hell and promptly fled London straight after. His debt was recorded within Cole’s ledger in wait with the notation Max was to be consulted, all liability absolved.
An internal voice, the one that reminded this was all a poor idea, was having a jolly laugh now.
‘The weather is fine.’ Sophie seemed upset by the comment. ‘If it does not rain I will be forced to attend Lady Chutterly’s annual outdoor musicale.’
A distressing note of alarm accompanied this pronouncement, though Cole was tempted to laugh. Attending an outdoor musicale did not sound tragic.
‘I had hoped for a downpour, but with a sky this fine I fear I will be forced to sit through hours of poorly rehearsed recital pieces. Lady Chutterly has seven children who all play different instruments, though not a one has a notable gift for tone or pitch. I propose you both accompany me. If I am forced to listen to a painful rendition on the pianoforte, at least I will have your commiseration.’
‘You would have us tortured by way of trumpet to ease your discomfort?’ Gemma could not help but giggle at the foolish conversation.
‘It sounds harsh when you word it in that manner.’
Cole lost his place in the rapid fire of conversation which ensued between Vivienne and Sophie. Gemma stepped a pace away, her shimmering blonde hair and vivid green eyes animated as she admired her friends. She at last looked in his direction and his breathing stopped. He would never become immune to her beauty.
‘My brother would verbally lash me were he to know I watched horsemen today.’ It was an innocent enough statement, typical in its implication of brotherly responsibility, though it seemed to share a world of meaning in what wasn’t said.
‘He acts in your protection because he cares.’ It seemed the correct assumption.
‘Then I wish he cared less.’ Her mouth hitched in that impish manner that solely belonged to her.
‘You can’t mean that.’ Honest affection was something Cole had never experienced.
‘Perhaps not, though I would have missed this opportunity had I obeyed his st
rictures.’ She put a hand to her brow in an effort to shade the sunlight. He was smitten by half. ‘You know how it is when people care too much. They hover and crowd, and worse, overprotect.’
His forlorn expression before he disguised it may have made her regret the blithe statement. ‘Treasure your family relationships.’ He paused, not half a breath. ‘I didn’t know my parents. With no brothers or sisters other than the people I’ve adopted into my life, I can’t believe it a disappointing predicament.’
She eyed him curiously. ‘My brother has become a different person since my father’s passing, or mayhap he only pretends to be, I cannot tell. Either way I despise the alteration in his personality. It’s as if a mask falls into place and the man I once knew is gone. I miss him. Yet I am smart enough to know life is made of change and we cannot stop it.’
Somehow their conversation had turned intensely serious. He waited a beat to see if she would continue, but when she remained silent he sought to fill the void with innocuity. ‘I enjoy time spent in these clearings, whether to walk or ride. It’s so unlike the crowded bustle of the inner city. Nothing replaces nature’s greenery.’ And, too, he became panicked in small places. Having once become stuck in a chimney flue for hours, he couldn’t abide confinement. At the time, hiding had served his primary concern, though ever since he disliked any notion of becoming trapped. He never rode within a carriage unless forced.
‘I am of like mind. We have much in common.’ Gemma gifted him with another precious smile.
He wanted to accept her words and keep them locked away to treasure, but inconvenient truth had a louder voice inside his head. What could she know of his mind or person? Did she ever go hungry? Not the inconvenience of a few hours, but the hardship of a few days. Did she ever want for shoes? A roof to shelter from frigid weather? Did she ever sleep in an alley warding off vicious rats? How could she come to know his heart when she could never know the core of his being?
Into the Hall of Vice Page 11
