Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella)

by Delilah Marvelle

  The man put away the quill. “From my understanding, Lady Stone is not due to arrive for another week.” He didn’t sound in the least bit interested in helping.

  Konstantin leaned toward him, resting an elbow on the edge of the counter and tried to keep his voice civil. “You may want to inform Lord Stone that his mother has arrived ahead of schedule thanks to me.”

  The man lifted his round chin. “And who are you, sir?”

  Konstantin sighed. He probably shouldn’t attach ‘lover’ to any of this. “I am an acquaintance. And I am asking that you cooperate. Or when I do find Lord Stone, I will send him straight to you so you might explain to the man why his mother was never given any assistance.”

  The balding man leaned forward and looked past him. “There is no need for that, sir. I was simply asked not to disturb Lord Stone tonight. He is incredibly busy tending to theatre matters. But seeing this concerns his mother, I will direct you to where he is.” He hesitated and added, “I will do so right now.”

  Konstantin patted the counter. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I am always at the service of Lord Stone’s family. Please wait where you are. I will be out shortly.” The man slid the glass window shut and latched it. Organizing a few more papers, he left the small room through a back door and eventually re-appeared around a far corner. The balding man wagged a hand, signaling Konstantin to follow.

  Konstantin followed the balding man down a narrow side corridor that led into a hidden small foyer with black and white marble tiles. Elegant, round alcoves displayed a series of bronze and white statuettes propped on Roman-like columns.

  He paused in the middle of the foyer.

  Female voices echoed in the distance as his gaze followed the decorative black iron railing and stairs that trailed alongside one wall, squared up toward another and disappeared altogether upstairs.

  The man went up. “This way, sir.”

  Konstantin mounted the stairs. Once on the second floor, various female voices lilted from down the hall. Laughter and the clanging of cymbals in another part of the theatre filled the air.

  “Lord Stone is inside.” The man gestured toward the direction of an open door. “I will be downstairs should you need anything else.”

  “Thank you.” Konstantin quickly strode through the tall doorway and into a small, dignified drawing room with arched ceilings that displayed lace and ribbon plasterwork, gilded accents, and powder blue walls. Though the room wasn’t well-lit, everything was still visible enough to hold a sense of coziness that was reflected in the burning hearth and the glow of gilded sconces lining the powder blue walls.

  He paused at finding a group of eight scantily clad women in silk robes gathered around a good-looking dark-haired gentleman in black formal evening attire. The young gentleman lounged on a red velvet chaise with a lit Havana cigar between straight white teeth and held a glass of port in one hand, whilst his other hand rested comfortably on the derriere of a busty brunette who was clearly not Miss Katerinochkin.

  So much for the boy being shy.

  The eight women gathered around him seemed intimately comfortable with Lord Stone as they blithely chatted to him in broken English and leaned in closer, some of them allowing their bare white shoulders to purposefully peer through their barely affixed robes. One of the women was sliding a slow hand up Lord Stone’s thigh, while another played with the flap of his trousers.

  If that had been his son, lounging like some sheik in a harem, treating women as if they were all pieces of candied ginger to be chewed and spit out, he’d be caning the boy’s ass until there was nothing left to cane. As his father used to always say, one woman at a time.

  Konstantin stalked toward them and sat in an empty plush chair across from them. He yanked his wool cap back onto his head to free his hands and cleared his throat to ensure they knew he was in the room.

  Lord Stone and his gaggle of females paused and turned their attention, one by one, in Konstantin’s direction. Lord Stone handed off his port to one of the women and scrambled up, re-buttoning his trousers. “You had better have a good reason for being here,” he tossed out in Russian. “Who let you in?”

  Konstantin lifted a curt hand in return greeting and dryly said in schoolroom English, “I hate to interrupt what appears to be very serious theatre business, Lord Stone, but I am asking that you evacuate all of these women before your mother sees the sort of son she raised.”

  Lord Stone jumped up onto polished booted feet, removing the lit cigar from his lips. His dark eyes, that matched Cecilia’s right down to the color, darted toward the open doorway. “My mother is here? At the theatre?”

  Konstantin rose and straightened to his full height that, to his surprise, matched the boy’s own. “Yes. Shall I call her in?”

  Lord Stone winced and dashed out the smoldering cigar into a nearby crystal ash pan, his dark tonic hair falling from its swept back hold and into his eyes. “No, no. Don’t. She would cane me if she saw any of this. I will go to her.” He waved off all eight women and said in harried Russian, “Put some clothes on! My mother is here!”

  The women giggled and one by one, disappeared with the flap of silk robes out into the corridor and from sight.

  Lord Stone smoothed his silk cravat with a bare hand, a ruby and gold ring glinting from his finger and paused. Slowly rounding Konstantin, he scanned Konstantin’s appearance from boot to wool cap. “Are you the driver? How much do I owe you?”

  Konstantin almost punched the youth out. “No. I am not the driver. I am merely an acquaintance of hers.” Konstantin widened his stance. “Your mother is exhausted and is currently asleep in the stagecoach outside. I thought you should know that she was drugged by her travelling companion and then robbed of her money and trunks and left witless on a random coach without any travelling papers.”

  Lord Stone’s face paled. “Jesus Christ. Is she all right?” he demanded.

  “No harm came to her.”

  A shaky breath escaped the youth. “Where is she?”

  Konstantin shifted his jaw. “Before I tell you where she is, might I ask how things are progressing between you and Miss Katerinochkin? Does she know anything about these women whose derrieres you openly pat? Or do you plan on telling her after the wedding?”

  Lord Stone’s features tightened. “There is no wedding. I called it off.”

  “I am very sorry to hear it. It appears your mother left behind all of your sisters and travelled a long way for nothing.”

  Lord Stone’s dark brows flickered. “Who are you?”

  Konstantin inclined his head. “Mister Levin.”

  “No. Who are you to my mother?”

  Maybe he should have pretended to be the driver. “A friend,” he managed.

  “That sounds incredibly ambiguous, Mr. Levin.” Lord Stone veered in close. “How did you know about my engagement? Or that I have sisters? Knowing such private details about my family insinuates there is an intimacy between you and my mother. Am I wrong in assuming that?”

  Konstantin said nothing. This was Cecilia’s son. What was he supposed to say? That he seduced his mother?

  Lord Stone flexed his hands. “London isn’t Russia, Mr. Levin. In London, women are ostracized for life for associating with the wrong men. And whilst I do not mean to judge you based on what I see, if any disreputable rumors surfaced regarding my mother, every single one of my sisters, who have yet to debut, would be turned away from every respectable match and every respectable home in London. You would be destroying their lives. Are you aware of that?”

  Konstantin’s throat worked mutely. He hadn’t really thought about Cecilia’s daughters or how this would affect them. Of course Cecilia would choose her daughters over him. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. And the pompous ass that he was, he had wanted her to fight for him. Jesus.

  It was time to bury this. He owed Cecilia that much. “You mistake our association, sir. I helped your mother get into Saint Petersburg
. Nothing more. She was stranded, after being robbed and had no money or a way of finding you because the letter with your address was taken along with everything else. I helped her find you.”

  Lord Stone’s features stilled. “Is she safe? That is all I want to know.”

  “Yes,” Konstantin said in strained tone. “Your mother is safe.”

  “She had better be, Mr. Levin. For your sake, she had better be.”

  He liked that the boy was protective of his mother. It reminded him a lot of himself. When he still had his mother. Konstantin swallowed. He missed his hard-eyed mama. He missed being able to sit down at her linen-covered table in that sunlit room of hers decorated with dried flowers where every known criminal always gathered for her food. He missed how she would slap his hands to keep him from eating her almond cake before it could be properly served and then give him the biggest slice out of all the guests to make up for the slaps. He missed watching her arrange every tea cup on every plate, as if needing them to be perfectly aligned before he or any man could raise it to their lips. That was shortly before she suffered from an illness no doctor could cure. Tough as she was, she had smiled up at him through her pain and sweat to the end.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what she would say about him falling for an older aristocratic woman with four children. She always said things the way they needed to be said. She would have probably shaken her greying head and fussed the way she always did, ‘You are too much like your father. Midnight is an illusion. It isn’t real.’

  Lord Stone turned and strode over to a small writing desk. Pulling out a leather pocketbook, he strode back and unfolded it. He tugged out all of the crisp bank notes and held them out. “A thousand rubles, sir. For assisting my mother. She means the world to me.”

  Konstantin pushed away that hand with the bank notes. “Put that away. I have no need for it.”

  Lord Stone held it back toward him. “Take it. I have no doubt my mother would wish to show you her appreciation.”

  Konstantin shook his head, trying to remain calm at the mention of Cecilia. “No. I have to go.”

  Lord Stone lowered his hand, searching his face. “Do you need a place to stay?”

  He was not spending another night or another breath anywhere near Cecilia. Or he’d never get out. “No. Thank you. I have a place to stay. I used to live in Saint Petersburg and know countless people.” None of them worked legally but they were good men. He only ever associated with the good ones.

  “Are you certain?”

  God. The boy looked so much like Cecilia and had her dark, soulful eyes. “Quite.”

  Lord Stone shoved his money back into the pocketbook.

  Konstantin hooked his thumbs on his coat pockets. “I should go. I am off to London.” He nodded, strode toward the door and then called out over his shoulder, “Are you coming? Your mother is in the coach outside.”

  Lord Stone jogged after him and in between their quick strides down the corridor kept glancing toward him. “So you live in London?”

  “No. I am moving there for a small while until I decide what to do next.”

  “And where will you be living whilst there?”

  What the hell was this? “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I may have to hunt you down if I discover you’re lying to me about anything.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “I want an address, Mr. Levin. I don’t trust you. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Thirty-two Belgrave Square. Visit anytime.”

  Lord Stone jerked to a halt.

  Konstantin didn’t even bother to look back. He kept walking.

  Lord Stone jogged up and fell into stride again beside him. He said nothing.

  Konstantin was grateful.

  They rounded out of the corridor, down the stairs and back toward the lobby of the theatre where people were now making their way into the auditorium behind them. He walked through the entrance doors and into the foggy night air.

  Pulling thirty rubles from his pocket, and unfolding the bank notes, Konstantin gestured toward the stagecoach that was now in sight beyond the crowds they began weaving through. “Let me pay the driver and grab my satchel.” Konstantin veered to a halt before the coach’s window, realizing Cecilia’s dark head was still peacefully tucked against the seat inside in exhausted slumber.

  He swallowed. He honestly didn’t have it in him to say farewell knowing he wouldn’t see her again. What more was there to say? He wanted more for her and her girls and he wanted more for himself. Cecilia made him realize something he’d never fully acknowledged until now. That by settling for less, he became less. Like his father. He had to start wanting more in life. Even if it meant giving up more.

  He turned and held out a quick hand, keeping Lord Stone from approaching the coach. “Can you not wake your mother until after I am gone? I am not very good at farewells.” Trying to remain calm, knowing he would never see his Cecilia again, Konstantin said, “After I leave, could you please convey one last message to her?”

  “Of course. What should I tell her?”

  “Tell her it was an honor.” With that, he held up the thirty rubles he owed the driver and yanked his sack off the back of the coach. Putting up a quick hand in farewell to Cecilia’s son, Konstantin strode toward the direction of the street and into the foggy night.

  Every step hurt. But he was proud of himself. He was proud knowing he wasn’t leaving her in the name of bitterness or anger or defiance. He was leaving in honor of what they had shared. He was leaving in honor of her girls, like a respectable, good man would. Above all, he was leaving in honor of a beautiful, beautiful woman, whom he would yearn for and think about, for many, many years to come.

  The slamming open of the carriage door, the sound of endless voices and the sway of the coach as if someone were getting on startled Cecilia out of the deep sleep she had succumbed to. She sat up, a breath escaping her and glanced toward the seat where Konstantin had sat throughout their journey.

  She paused.

  Her son, John, sat across from her. He scanned her well-mussed appearance, his features twisting. “I heard you were robbed. Are you all right?” Emotion overtook his face.

  Tears pricked her eyes at seeing that manly face. He looked so much older. It had been two years since he had taken off to Russia. “John.” She scrambled toward him and falling into the seat beside him, grabbed his tonic-brushed, dark head and pressed him against herself. She kissed the warmth of his cheek several times and then his head several times, realizing he smelled of cigars. She paused. Gone was the boy who smelled of the fields he used to run in. “Tell me you didn’t commence smoking cigars like your father.”

  “I can assure you, I have far better taste in cigars than he did.”

  She sighed. “Drat you.” She sighed again and held him tighter. “Your sisters are beyond miserable without you.”

  He smirked. “Good. I miss them too.”

  “I had several letters from all of them to give to you, but everything was taken.” She groaned. “All of my money, my trunks. Everything.”

  His features sobered. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to—” John tightened his hold and rocked her. After a long quiet moment he said miserably, “I’m not getting married, Mama. So you needn’t worry. I know you didn’t approve. And I don’t blame you.”

  Cecilia pulled away from him, grabbing at his hands. She searched his face, noting that he wasn’t looking at her. All she knew was he was miserable. “What happened?”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “Tatiana got involved with some Spanish count. It had been going on for months. She was merely using me to pay off debts.”

  Cecilia’s stomach dropped. “Oh, John. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Not quite as sorry as I am knowing you came all this way for nothing. Well over a month of travel by boat and coach only for you to be robbed.” He sighed. “Even worse, I bought the theatre Tatiana performs in. It cost me te
n thousand.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  His hand hit the seat beside him twice. “I know, I know. It was stupid. I was trying to invest in her career. Know, however, that the theatre is set to be sold next week at a good price and I’m going home with you. I’m done here.”

  Her eyes widened and she felt as if her chest were about to burst knowing he was coming back home. Home. Where he belonged. She grabbed his face again and kissed his cheek hard. Twice. “I never sold your townhome or your membership at the club. A part of me knew you would come back.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t sell either.” A breath escaped him. “It’s time I grow up. I have to…” He skimmed her appearance and groaned. “Jesus. Mother. Even the pins in your hair are gone. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  Cecilia pinched her lips and smoothed her loose hair back and away from her face with quaking hands. She couldn’t find any of the pins after she and Konstantin had rushed out of the inn practically half-dressed in an attempt to catch their coach.

  She paused, realizing Konstantin wasn’t in the carriage. She turned against the seat and shifted toward the open door of the carriage where people passed by outside in harried steps. Her heart pounded. “Where is Mr. Levin?”

  John shifted toward her. “He left. I offered him money and a place to stay given what he did for you, but he refused.”

  Cecilia’s breaths unevenly escaped her in disbelief. No. No, no, no. She hadn’t even had a chance to— Oh God. This was not what she wanted. “You let him leave? Without waking me up?!”

  He angled toward her, searching her face. “He lied to me. You and he are involved. Aren’t you?”

  Her cheeks felt like fire. “I didn’t mean for us to get involved.”

  He glared. “But you did.”

  “Cease glaring at me as if I were two.”

  “Dearest God. Did you and he…?” He whistled between his teeth and rolled his hand so as not to say the actual word.

  “Enough, John. That is not for you to know.”

  John dropped his hand into his lap with a smack. He leaned in close. “I am not about to lecture a forty-year-old woman, who also happens to be my mother, but you had best leave what happened between you and him buried here in Russia. Do you understand? Russia is one thing. The people abide by their own passions and no one blinks. But London? They don’t know anything about passions. They punish you for them. You know that. In my opinion, he did the right thing by leaving. You have to let him go. You have to.”