by Tracy Grant
"I will," Granby promised. Then he said, "If Edward still feels any animosity over the past it was never directed at you, Caroline."
Caroline wasn't entirely sure this was true, but she left Granby House in a far more cheerful frame of mind than she had entered it. Granby insisted on sending her home in one of the family carriages and she had to admit the well-sprung vehicle was a welcome luxury. She was halfway to Red Lion Square before she reminded herself that however sympathetic Granby had been, Talbot was still a threat and Adam was still accused of treason. Even if the charges were never proved, unless they could be disproved his career and reputation would be ruined.
When she reached Red Lion Square, John informed her that she had a visitor. A gentleman. He was in the parlor with Mrs. Wellstone. Puzzled, Caroline hurried down the hall. She had the unpleasant thought that perhaps Talbot had already arrived in England. But that was nonsense. Granby would have said something. Besides, Talbot could do nothing to her here, in Red Lion Square.
As she stepped into the parlor, Caroline was greeted by an exclamation of delight. The fair-haired man talking to Margaret got to his feet and came quickly toward her, a ready smile on his face. "Three days and you only seem to have got lovelier," said George Sheriton.
Chapter Seventeen
Caroline had not given a thought to Sherry since she parted from him in Portsmouth. Now she remembered that he had promised to call. She had thought it a meaningless, polite gesture, yet here he was, in the parlor of the Wellstone house in Red Lion Square, two days after her arrival in London. She had forgot how handsome he was and how very tall and broad. He was grinning at her now like his schoolboy brother.
"I'm jolly glad I caught you," he said, taking the hand she extended in greeting. "I only got up to London last night and I didn't dare disturb you then. Are you all right? Are you settled?"
He was still holding her hand. "I'm very well," she said, pulling it away, "and I'm quite comfortable here."
"And your little girl? How is she liking England?"
Caroline was tempted to laugh at his eagerness, but she was also pleased by his interest. "Emily takes everything in stride. She'll do very well here. Won't you sit down?"
Sherry shifted the hat that he held under his arm. "No, no, I've just explained to Mrs. Wellstone." He smiled at Margaret who was standing to one side. "I promised my mother I'd call on my uncle today. Beastly bore, but duty above all. I only came by to ask if you would drive with me this afternoon. It's been years since you've been in London, and I've been away devilish long myself. Four o'clock? Do say you'll come. The air will do you good."
Caroline could not resist his smile, nor his earnest pleading. She glanced at Margaret and the older woman nodded. "I'd be happy to come." Caroline felt suddenly lighthearted. It had been years since anyone had taken her driving.
"Do you mind?" she said to Margaret when Sherry had left the room. "I've left you with Emily all the morning—"
"Nonsense. The child is a joy to have about. Come downstairs. She's helping Mrs. Ainsley with the baking and she'll want to show you what she's made."
Caroline followed Margaret down the narrow stairs that led to the kitchen. An enormous scrubbed table stood in the middle of the room. Emily was perched on a stool at one end, her sleeves rolled up and her face and arms covered with sticky bread dough. She looked up at Caroline with a radiant smile and lifted up a shapeless blob. "See, Mama, I made a loaf."
"And a fine loaf it will be, but be careful how you treat it, it's just risen nicely." Mrs. Ainsley, the Wellstone cook, was squatting by the oven door, her face red with heat and wisps of gray hair escaping from the cloth covering her head. "We've had a fine morning, ma'am," she said to Caroline as she placed Emily's loaf in the oven beside her own. She closed the oven door and got heavily to her feet. "The child knows a lot about baking bread."
"Mama and I used to make bread in Acquera." Emily ran over to Caroline. "I like it, Mama. I like to make bread."
Caroline hugged her daughter. Emily was at home wherever she was.
They ate in the kitchen with Margaret and Mrs. Ainsley, savoring the yeasty smells from the oven and the shafts of light coming in through the high, ground-level widows that looked out on the tiny garden at the back of the house. When the meal was done, Caroline went up to her room, leaving Emily to wait for the bread to come out magically warm and brown from the oven.
Sherry's invitation had reminded Caroline that the plain green muslin she had worn to visit Lord Granby that morning would hardly do for a drive in an open carriage in Hyde Park. She had to review her wardrobe. At least she had had the foresight to bring up her trunk when she collected Jared's papers from Jane. She knelt before it, lifted the heavy lid, and was assailed by the smell of camphor and a host of memories. Before Jared's disgrace she had lived the life of a woman of fashion. She shuddered now at what she had spent on the pile of insubstantial fabrics and the frivolous hats that filled the trunk before her.
Caroline lifted the gowns carefully and spread them out on the bed. How she had loved clothes. They must be woefully out of fashion. Fashion had been important to her once. She had a sudden memory of Adela, her dark hair pulled neatly back from the perfect oval of her face, her dress faded and patched, with nothing but a shawl to keep out the cold, and felt a moment of shame for the heedless, selfish, shallow young woman she had been.
Caroline picked up a gossamer light gown of turquoise-colored silk. She had worn it at a ball given by Lady Pettit whose good opinion had once been important to her. Caroline closed her eyes, remembering the color and scent and movement of the ballroom. Whom had she danced with that night? Not Jared. They had ignored each other on such occasions. There must have been a great many young men. She was much admired in those days and she never lacked for partners. Sherry could have been one of them. Yes, she was sure she had danced with Sherry.
Caroline put the turquoise gown back on the bed. Two worlds. She had lived in them both, and now she lived in nether. There was a third world she would have to find for herself and Emily, something closer to the quiet life lived by the Wellstones and by Jane and Will.
But even that might elude her. Money was the problem. As a child she had always been aware that her family did not have as much of it as the Rawleys and that it was partly lack of money that kept them from quite moving in the Rawley circle. Her family had pushed her to marry Jared because he had money. But after their marriage, she and Jared had lived as if they did not have to think about money at all. Caroline was no longer such an innocent, but she knew nothing of the circumstances in which she had been left. In that, at least, Lord Granby had been of some help.
In the meantime it was past three, less than an hour before Sherry would arrive. She went hastily through the gowns strewn about the bed and then remembered that she should be in mourning. She had nothing in black and could hardly afford to buy new clothes. It was a ridiculous convention anyway, particularly since her mourning for Jared had long since ended. Sherry would not care, and no one she might meet would know when her husband had died. Humming to herself, she set about the pleasant task of selecting a gown.
Adam spent a frustrating morning at the Ordnance Office trying to learn what had happened to Captain Leighton without raising questions about the reason for his interest. Few people admitted to remembering him at all, and those few did not want to talk about him. At length Adam found a talkative clerk who let slip that Leighton had left London and gone to live in Hammersmith.
Adam borrowed Charles Wellstone's curricle, collected Hawkins, and set out for the Thames-side community. It took more than an hour to track him down. They left the curricle at an inn and pursued their inquiries on foot. Leighton lived not quite on the river, in a small but respectable and well-maintained house with flowers in boxes on the windowsills and a shiny brass knocker on the door.
"Doing well for himself," Hawkins said, looking at the similar houses in the neighborhood.
Adam studied the house
front as though it might give him some clue as to what to expect of the man within. "Perhaps he married money."
Hawkins shrugged. "Could be. Think I'll ask about." He turned and walked down the road, leaving Adam to rap at the door with the polished knocker. It was opened by a young manservant who seemed affronted that Adam did not offer him a card. A card. Adam choked back his laughter. Calling cards were a frivolity he had forgotten years ago. "The name is Durward," Adam said. "Captain Leighton will remember me."
The servant hesitated, then ushered him into a long narrow entrance hall, furnished only by a stiff-backed wooden bench, a hall table, and a still life of dubious merit on the wall. Adam preferred to stand. Would Leighton remember? He should. They had had several very unpleasant interviews in the days before Leighton was forced to resign his commission in the Royal Artillery.
A few minutes later the servant appeared again from a door down the hall and motioned Adam to enter. "Mr. Durward," he announced, then vanished out of the room.
It proved to be a study with a desk in one corner, several shelves of books, and a large comfortable armchair drawn up before the small fire now burning in the grate. The chair was occupied by Captain Leighton, who did not seem to have changed much over the years. He was a handsome man with a florid face and dark eyes that were slightly crossed and gave him a furtive air. He laid down the newspaper he had been reading and regarded Adam with something between insolence and fear. "Damnation, will you never have done with me?"
Adam gestured to a chair and Leighton gave a grudging nod. Adam seated himself, crossed his legs, and watched the fear build in Leighton's eyes. "A question or two, if you don't mind."
"I do mind, damn’ if I don't. Why should I answer your questions? The matter's finished and done with."
"I thought so too. I was wrong." Adam leaned forward in his chair. "Tell me, Leighton, what you know of Talbot Rawley."
The door was flung open and a light pretty voice gave a squeak of alarm. "Frederick, I didn't know you had company." The door closed quickly, giving Adam only a glimpse of a crop of dark curls, a ravishingly pretty face, and a garment with a good deal of lace.
"My wife," Leighton muttered, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"Talbot Rawley," Adam reminded him.
"I thought his name was Jared."
"Not Jared, his cousin Talbot. An Artillery officer, assigned to Ordnance in those days. He's Colonel Rawley now, on duty in the Peninsula."
Leighton made a great show of folding his paper and placing it on a table beside his chair. "Rawley...Rawley...Yes, there was a Captain Rawley about. Looked a bit like his cousin, now that I think of it."
Adam was not fooled by this pretense. Leighton remembered Talbot Rawley very well. "We have some evidence that he had an interest in the foundry."
"Not to my knowledge," Leighton said, a shade too quickly.
"We also have some evidence that he knew about the bribe, that in fact he knew about the whole scheme."
Leighton sat up abruptly and struck his hand on his knee. "Absolutely not. I was barely acquainted with Captain Rawley. He had nothing to do with the foundry, with their cannon, or with Jared Rawley's bribe. Jared Rawley was the man I dealt with. No one else."
The denial was too strong, but Adam could not shake Leighton's insistence that Talbot had nothing to do with Jared's venture into bribery and fraud. Nor would Leighton talk about his present life and circumstances. Considering the weaknesses of Adam's position—he had no proof of any sort that would stand the test of disinterested inquiry—he had expected no less. But as he emerged from the house and looked about for Hawkins, he was convinced that Leighton had something to hide.
At eight minutes past four, much prompter than she had been in the old days, Caroline descended the stairs. She was wearing a lilac-colored gown, long-sleeved and high-necked, with a gored bodice that shaped her breasts, and a bonnet of Leghorn straw with ribbons in a shade deeper than that of her dress. It might pass for half-mourning. In any case, she was pleased with her appearance.
As was Sherry, who met her in the drawing room and promptly led her out of the house to his waiting curricle. The air was clear, the day still sunny, and the man beside her pleasing to look at and an excellent whip. As Sherry urged the horses into a smart trot, Caroline felt a shiver of excitement. Whatever the future, she intended to enjoy this afternoon.
Caroline had forgotten how crowded the park was at this hour. She felt a moment of shyness as they entered the Grosvenor Gate, then gave herself up to the pleasures of the moment. The drive was crowded with horsemen and open carriages, and progress was slow, for this was a social occasion, a chance to visit with friends, acknowledge acquaintances, and cut people who had no claim to be either. Caroline amused herself by studying the people around her. They all seemed extremely prosperous. At least they were well-dressed, which she knew was not necessarily the same thing. Her eye was drawn to the women's clothes. Waists were lower, she saw, and sleeves fuller. As for hats, they now rose to ridiculous heights.
"It must seem odd, this," Sherry said as he maneuvered the curricle past a large open landau. "I confess I feel out of place myself."
Caroline turned to him. "How stupid I am. I've been thinking only that I've been away from this life for five years, but you've been away for nearly two."
"Not quite that, but long enough. And I can't say my experiences compare to yours, though I found them strange enough. Have you missed it? Life in London, I mean."
"I've scarcely thought of it at all."
"No. No, I suppose not." Sherry was suddenly serious. Then his face brightened. "But you'll soon get the hang of it. It's your world, Caroline. It's where you belong."
Sherry pulled up the curricle abruptly in response to a hail from a carriage passing in the opposite direction. "Sherry, my love, when did you get back? We've missed you dreadfully. You must come and dine with us next week. I'm at home tomorrow. I'll expect you without fail." Without waiting for an answer, the plump little auburn-haired woman in the other carriage signaled her coachman to drive on.
Sherry grinned. "Mrs. Ellsworth. Do you remember her?"
"Not really." Most of the people in the park looked familiar, but Caroline could not have put a name to any one of them.
"I would have introduced you if she'd given me time. You look charming, you know."
"I look dreadfully out-of-date and you know it."
"That's not why Mrs. Ellsworth was so abrupt. She never sees beyond her nose and she never waits for an answer."
Caroline laughed. It was very like Sherry to try to put her at her ease.
In the course of the afternoon there were many such encounters. Sherry had a wide circle of friends and they were all delighted to see him in London once again. Unlike Mrs. Ellsworth, they stayed long enough for introductions, and Caroline found herself the recipient of curious looks from the women and admiring ones from the men. She felt herself opening like a flower to the warmth of their regard. Perhaps she did belong in this world after all.
Then two young men on horseback pulled up beside them and Caroline was recalled abruptly to her circumstances. "Mrs. Rawley, what a treat to see you. You look smashing." Jack Sheriton doffed his hat and grinned.
Andy Blair's pleasure in seeing her was quieter, but no less obvious. "How is Emily?" he said. "And Mrs. Plumb? We'd like so much to see them. That is, if it's all right to call."
Caroline had grown very fond of the young men during their voyage on the Sea Horse. "Of course it's all right. They'd like to see you too. But I warn you, Emily is learning to bake bread the English way and she may offer you some, Mrs. Plumb"—Caroline nearly stumbled on the name and reminded herself that she would have to warn Aunt Margaret and the staff that Elena was not known to everyone as Mrs. Muros—"Mrs. Plumb finds English ways quaint and endearing, and she speaks often of you both. We're in Red Lion Square, number eleven. Come any time. We're almost always at home."
"I didn't expect them so soon
in London," Caroline said after the two young men rode off. "I thought you took them to Hampshire to see your mother."
"We saw her," Sherry said shortly. "Spent two nights and a very long day. The thing is, a little of Mother is about all Jack can take, and I feel much the same myself. Fortunately Andy bore the burden of the conversation. That's a clever and considerate young man,"
"Families can be the very devil, can't they?" Caroline's voice was sympathetic. "I always learned not to listen."
"Harder than you'd think with Mother. It wasn't so bad when my father was alive, but once I got the title, she decided I had to marry. She dangled all manner of young ladies before me till in sheer self-preservation I had to flee the country."
"That's why Jack got his Grand Tour?"
"It is." Sherry looked at her solemnly and they both burst into laughter.
Caroline found she was suddenly impatient of the endless rows of passing carriages, and she asked Sherry to take her home. Andy and Jack's arrival had reminded her of the voyage from Lisbon and of the problems she still faced. She could not tell Sherry what had happened to Adam at the Foreign Office. Sherry was part of the knot they had to unravel, and absurd though it was to suspect him, she would not give him her entire trust. Sherry was open-hearted and impulsive and he was Talbot's friend. He might say something to Talbot.
But there were some things he could tell her. "Sherry," she said as he pulled the curricle into the different and equally noisy bustle of Oxford Street, "you knew Talbot well, didn't you."
"Half my life, I daresay. Though I haven't seen much of him since he went soldiering."
"I've always wondered about the foundry. When Jared got involved in it, I mean. Why wasn't Talbot a part of it?"
Sherry threaded his way between a cart and an elegant old barouche. "No problem about that. Talbot didn't have the blunt. Edward did, of course. He was the main investor. Jared had money from his grandmother and I could put my hands on a bit of the ready. But Talbot? He was careful enough, but it always seemed to slip through his fingers. Truth is, he wasn't near as good as he claimed at the cards."
