“We couldn’t sleep,” Abigail announced with the firm set of her chin. “We spoke to John. He had mentioned something about a certain gentleman you met in Russia.”
Cecilia froze. Oh, no. No, no, no.
“He said this gentleman lives next door beyond the gates and the hedges,” Giselle continued for Abigail. “Is that true?”
Cecilia groaned.
Abigail squinted. “Why did you not tell us about this Mr. Levin and how he rescued you?”
She wasn’t ready to face this. Not yet. “Can we discuss this in the morning?”
“No. John wouldn’t answer any of our questions. What happened in Russia between you and this man? Are you and he friends? Or more than friends? We are old enough to know.”
Cecilia wanted to crawl under her bed. But she had never been one to hide her life from theirs. She loved them too much for that. “He and I are more than friends. And I was actually thinking of…calling on him.”
All three perked.
Oh, dear. She had just unleashed the romance hounds. “Please. No advice on what I should do.”
Giselle waved her free hand toward the closed door behind them, causing the flame on her candle to dance. “The lamps in the house beyond the hedge at 32 are still lit and we can hear the piano being played through our open windows. You should get dressed and see him.”
Cecilia almost bit her own hand. She wasn’t ready to see him. “I just returned to London seven hours ago. I need to sleep.” Which was really a pathetic excuse. She would have already gone over and knocked on that door, but she was scared witless. What if it wasn’t the same? What if Konstantin turned her away? What if he had already moved on? She had a million other concerns she couldn’t even voice aloud.
They were too young to hear any of it.
Giselle waved about the candleholder in agitation. “There is no need for pretenses, Mama. How can you even sleep knowing he lives right next door? You always complain about being alone and yet here you are ensuring it.”
Cecilia cringed. And she thought she was blunt.
Abigail’s brown eyes met hers in earnest. “How much do you like this Mr. Levin? A little? Or a lot? Because there is a difference.”
It was as if the five months Cecilia had been away, all of her daughters had bloomed into thirty-year-old, well-situated women with advice. “A lot.”
Juliet pertly tore off a small piece of the crumpet she held and shoved it into her mouth, her full cheeks rounding. “I suggest you ring for your lady’s maid.” She chewed majestically several times before adding, “Might I suggest your primrose evening gown and the emeralds you bought last year at auction?”
Cecilia shifted toward them in exasperation. “Have you lost what little you have of your respectable minds? I am not calling on him at this time of night. This isn’t Russia.”
Giselle lowered her chin, her gaze sharpening. “Calling on him during respectable calling hours is nothing short of mundane, Mama. That is what old ladies of the ton adhere to. Calling on a man at this hour is exciting and proof of your devotion. As long as you keep it to fifteen minutes it might as well be Russia.”
Juliet nodded. “I agree. No one of any consequence is even in the neighborhood to take notice of such a visit. Ask the governess. As she always likes to say, the Season is over and the gossips have all gone to the country.”
“Amen for that,” all three girls said in rehearsed unison as if it were some sort of jest.
How was it she had raised not one, not two, but three overly romantic, starry-eyed girls? Where did they learn these things? She certainly never discussed the notion of romance with any of them. It was those poetry books the governess insisted on.
“I cannot go to him,” Cecilia whined, feeling sixteen and newly dismayed by the reality of a relationship.
“Why not?” Abigail inquired.
“He could have already moved on.” With that, she settled back down against the pillow, turned away and closed her eyes, chanting to herself to stay calm.
She felt them lingering. And breathing. And lingering. And breathing.
Satin slippers shifted against the wooden floor in silent defiance, one by one.
She rolled back toward them, opening her eyes.
They stared.
Something told her they weren’t going to let her get any sleep.
Giselle eventually said, “If it isn’t already obvious, we are rather anxious to meet him. We never thought you would take a liking to a man.”
“It would be marvelous to have a new Papa,” Juliet added.
Her throat tightened at hearing her daughters wanted a father. It was the first time in seven years they had ever admitted it. A soft breath escaped Cecilia as she slowly sat up. To be young again and not see any of the consequences of what a man and woman faced was precious. But not in the least bit realistic. “Mr. Levin would be treated differently by those in our circle if he and I become involved. We would all be treated differently if I accepted him into our lives. People, who may have once invited us to gatherings will turn us away and never speak to us again. And what complicates this entire situation all the more is that Giselle has her coming out in two years.”
All three faces flickered as they glanced toward each other with unspoken words.
Giselle sighed. “Do you know why John thought he should marry a Russian actress as opposed to a titled lady? Did he ever tell you?”
Cecilia searched their faces in astonishment. “No. John never—”
“He said after watching you and Father, he wanted more out of life. And when we debut, we will want more, too. We know you gave up a lot for us, and that you did it because you love us, but it’s time, Mama. If you like this Mr. Levin a lot, it’s time. Whilst our friends are dear to us, you are all the more dearer. You deserve to be happy.”
Cecilia blinked rapidly to keep herself from crying. Her son and her girls had convened and were announcing their support. Even knowing Konstantin wasn’t going to be accepted by others.
How she genuinely loved her children for always thinking of her. “Life would be unbearable for all of you if I involve myself with a man outside of our circle,” she softly said. “You do know that, yes?”
“If life truly becomes that unbearable,” Giselle added with the mischievous quirk of her mouth, “we can always move to Russia. None of us would mind. In fact, I hear the Russian men are incredibly dashing. It might prove entertaining to debut in Saint Petersburg at the Russian Court.”
“Or America,” piped one of the other girls.
Cecilia lowered her chin, trying to decipher if they were serious.
“Yes, Mama,” Giselle offered, “we are being very serious. Now call on Mr. Levin. If you keep your visit to a respectable fifteen minutes, just as a means of announcing yourself, I can assure you, no harm will come of it.”
The girl had a point. “So you think I should I call on him? Despite the hour?”
Juliet sighed. “Are we going to have to pull you out by the legs?”
She didn’t need more encouragement than that. Cecilia frantically shoved aside the linens, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing Konstantin again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Will someone please pull the bell and have Samantha come up at once?”
They grinned in unison.
Abigail bounced her way over to the calling bell and yanked on the braided cord twice. “Done.”
Despite those glorious little grins, Cecilia pointed at each and every one of them. “Whilst I am vastly, vastly appreciative of all the support, I am asking that you all find your nightgowns and nightcaps and get some sleep. We will reconvene over breakfast in the morning with any news I may or may not have.”
Those grins faded.
Juliet huffed out a breath and stomped a single foot. “You cannot make us suffer like this! We won’t get any sleep! Can we not meet him? Tonight?”
Cecilia tried to retain her motherly façade of being serious even though she was astounde
d at seeing Juliet stomp her foot. She hadn’t seen that sort of behavior since the girl was six. “You will all meet him only if he chooses to accept the challenge of being part of our lives. Which he hasn’t yet. We did not part on the best of terms, therefore a courtship or marriage may never come of this. I wish to repeat that. I do not want any of you stitching your hopes to this.”
Giselle set the candlestick onto the side table beside the bed. Clasping her hands, she announced in a womanly tone, “I would have to agree with Juliet. Your primrose gown and emeralds will ensure Mr. Levin takes you seriously.”
Panic of the unknown scrambled Cecilia’s innards.
11:39 p.m.
She had spent so much time preening over her appearance, she was quite sure she had lost what little remained of her rational mind. The amount of emeralds on her ears and her throat and gloved hands were enough to make any former criminal smile in warm welcome. Her only complaint was that Juliet had dabbed her with a bit too much perfume. Especially given the mugginess of the warm summer night. She had no doubt the man would be able to smell her at the door.
Fortunately, every last neighbor in Belgrave Square had long closed their shutters seeing it was late summer and had all travelled to the country, leaving no prying eyes to question what she was about to do. Though she was more than certain everyone would know about it by the end of the week.
Drawing in a long shaky breath, she let it out and twisted the iron knob for the bell beside the massive double oak doors that were barely lit by the lanterns hanging above the entrance.
She had never called on a man at such an hour before. Not even for fifteen minutes. It was like being back in Russia.
She glanced toward the lit window on the far right of the house and, as all of her daughters had assessed, there was a beautiful, yearning melody floating from the keys of a pianoforte. It paused, and silence now clung to the night air.
She wondered if it had paused because of her.
The doors eventually fanned open and a footman peered out at her from down his bulbous nose. “Might I be of assistance?”
She hurriedly held out the single calling card she had brought with her. “I apologize for the dreadful hour, sir, but I am in desperate need of seeing Mr. Levin. It is of utmost importance. Utmost.” She made sure to emphasize that. “Is he at home?”
The aging butler slipped the card from her fingers with a gloved hand and with a furrowed brow glanced at the card. “Please wait inside so I might inquire for you, Lady Stone.” He gestured toward the marble entryway behind him.
“Thank you.” She hurried in.
The butler placed her card onto a small silver tray that rested on a side table and swept it up with a gloved hand, taking it into one of the candlelit rooms down the corridor.
There was a murmuring exchange of two male voices.
The butler eventually returned and announced, “Please follow, Lady Stone.”
Her heart pounded as she followed him down the corridor. She was ushered into a beautifully decorated receiving room of golden and dark silk hues. The doors closed behind her.
No one was in the grand room.
She swept toward the lamp-lit room that displayed incredibly lavish furnishings of Oriental origins, countless vases and a pianoforte that had five decanters of brandy, two of them already empty as it sat beside a half-empty glass.
She froze, realizing she wasn’t alone in the room after all.
A broad shouldered man wearing a black velvet mask, with a blood-red satin ribbon tied around his head of silvery-steel colored hair slowly rose to his full height from the bench at the keys. He stood motionless, only piercing blue eyes and the lower portion of his mouth and shaven jaw peering through. The visible marring of puckered skin on the side of his aging jaw below the tied mask hinted there was considerable damage to his face.
Her lips parted, not at all expecting what she was looking at.
He leaned toward the glass of brandy set on the pianoforte, taking a leisurely swallow and then set it aside. He made his way toward her. “After glimpsing your calling card, I realized we are neighbors. How is it we have never met, Lady Stone?” His voice was regal and smooth, hinting at a bit of French origin, but his words and his stance appeared to be a touch heavy from the brandy.
She inclined her head, wondering who this man was to Konstantin. “I was away travelling, sir.”
“Sir?” He rumbled out a laugh. “Oh, I like that. Sir.” He paused before her, searching her face with a smirk. “I should have left my card for you when I first arrived to Belgrave Square. ’Twas quite…rude of me. The name is Duc de Andelot. Not sir.” He reached out a large scarred hand and sloppily took up her gloved hand. “I understand you are here to call on Mr. Levin.” He side-kissed the satin of her glove across her knuckles.
A French duc? Was this who Konstantin had rescued? It had to be.
Cecilia watched the man lift her hand to his lips just below that mask and tried not to acknowledge that she could smell the brandy. “Yes, Your Grace. I am here to call on Mr. Levin. I ask that you forgive me for having called you sir. I didn’t realize—”
“Think nothing of it. It amused me.”
“Is Mr. Levin at home?”
“Yes.”
Her breath caught. He was here. Her Konstantin was actually here. She couldn’t believe it. Breathe. She tried to breathe. “Might I see him?”
The duc released her hand and strode back to the pianoforte, his staggered steps clearly affected. Pushing back the tails of his black evening coat with one scarred hand, he seated himself on the bench. “I am afraid he retired for the night,” he finally said. “He asked not to be disturbed.”
“But I have to see him. This cannot wait until morning.” She’d go mad.
The duc leaned forward and taking up one of the crystal decanters from the polished surface of the pianoforte before him, filled his empty glass again. He set aside the decanter. “And how is it that you know Levin, Lady Stone? Are you and he…?”
She tried to keep it simple. And respectable. “He nobly assisted me in Russia. I came to thank him for everything he has done for me.”
“At this hour?” he pressed, arranging himself more comfortably before the pianoforte.
She inwardly cringed. Why did she feel as if she were suddenly rationalizing her behavior to her father? “Well, I…I just returned from Russia several hours ago and simply could not wait until morning to see him. I am afraid he and I did not part on the best of terms.”
He paused. “I think Levin might have mentioned you a few times. But he never gave me a name. Were you the one robbed?”
She blinked. Konstantin had clearly been discussing details about her. “I…yes.”
The duc nodded and started to play a haunting melody, his long fingers moving effortlessly across the keys as if brandy had never even touched his veins. He glanced toward her, still playing and said in a low, provocative tone above the music, “You may go to him.” Still playing, he flicked his attention to her low cleavage. “He is up the main stairs to the left behind the…fifth door on your right. Fifth door. On the right.” He leaned in and away from the piano, giving over to the yearning melody and watched her.
She blinked rapidly. For all she knew, this is how masked French men cornered stupid British women in the middle of the night. “I would rather not wander about a house I do not know. Can he be summoned?”
He still watched her and played. “I am asking you to surprise him. He has been unusually quiet and keeps staring at the inscription of his watch. I imagine it has something to do with you.”
Her very soul squeezed. “How is he?”
The haunting melody suddenly turned into a harried, playful tune. “Better than I.”
This one thought he had a sense of humor. “So he is upstairs?”
That harried tune effortlessly slowed back to the earlier haunting melody. “Yes. Fifth door on the right.”
So much for her respectable fifteen min
utes. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She glanced toward the open doorway and lifting her skirts above her satin slippered shoes, darted toward the stairs, half expecting the music to stop.
It didn’t. The duc played.
Skidding out of the room, she turned and seeing the massive staircase, hurried toward it and up the mahogany stairs.
The piano still played.
She darted right and counted out each door of one, two, three, four and…five.
The piano still played.
She drew in a breath and knocked.
The piano stilled right along with her heart. In the distance, she heard a hall clock chime twelve times.
It was destiny calling.
A muffled knock resounded in the room.
Konstantin tossed the book he’d been reading onto the bed where he lounged, rolled over and grabbed his pocket watch from the nightstand. He flicked the lid open and paused, realizing it was exactly midnight. Jesus. He set his pocket watch back onto the night stand and glanced toward the bedchamber door. Between all the servants and the duc, he could never get any time alone to even think. Not even at midnight.
Not that he was complaining.
“You may enter,” he grudgingly called out in English, sitting up. “I am still awake.”
The door slowly edged open and a tall, womanly figure in a bountiful evening gown lingered in the shadows, the hallway beyond much too dark to unveil a face.
He scrambled off the bed, re-tying his robe around his nudity realizing there was a woman standing in the doorway.
Konstantin blinked in disbelief as the shadow stepped forth with determined grace and poise into his room. The golden glow of candlelight revealed the pale face of a woman he’d dreamed about since leaving Russia.
His heart skidded and he almost choked.
It was Cecilia.
Only…a more provocative and dazzling version of her.
By God. She had come to him. At midnight.
Her thick, dark hair had been perfectly swept up into an elegant top knot which had silk ribbons intricately woven through its lush strands. Her pale throat, ears and wrists were showcased by large emeralds that gleamed against the candlelight of the room. And the gown she wore was a stunning golden gown that made that curvaceous body look as if the silk had been painted on in strokes across her shoulders and her waist.
Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) Page 13
