by Darcy Burke
Family.
He threw that thought right out of his brain before he had to resort to the gin bottle.
Quickening his pace, he turned his mind to other, more pleasant things such as the balloon ride next week. By the time he reached his house, he felt much more relaxed and could almost forget about what had happened in the coach.
Almost.
His valet greeted him in his bedchamber. “Good evening, sir. You’re in early tonight.”
“A bit, yes.” Thanks to the fracas at the hell. He supposed he could’ve got up with Beaumont and the others, but after the incident in the coach, he preferred his own company.
Tindall took Andrew’s coat and followed him into the dressing room that adjoined his bedchamber. Not for the first time, Andrew considered elaborating on their conversation, but it was important to him to keep relationships with his retainers aloof and disconnected. They were employees who came and went, not an extension of his family as they’d once been. Again, his mind threatened to hurtle down that dark path, but he refused to allow it.
“Tindall, you’ve been with me over two years now.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you’re aware that I don’t keep valets longer than two years?” Andrew had told him that when he’d hired him. He made a point of hiring young men who sought a valet position but had little or no experience. Andrew gave them the experience they needed as well as an excellent reference. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
“I am, my lord. I did wonder why you’d kept me on this long.”
Andrew wondered why too. He’d told himself it was too close to the Season to turn him loose, but it would’ve been a good time for Tindall to make a transition. Now he felt like a clod.
Andrew pulled off his cravat and handed it to the young man. Well, a few years younger than Andrew’s twenty-nine years, anyway. “It’s probably time for you to move on. Of course I’ll provide an outstanding reference.”
Tindall bent his head as he folded the cravat in half. “I do appreciate that, my lord.” When he looked up, his dark eyes were bold, and his chin jutted. “I wonder if you might allow me to stay on a month or so. My mother is ill, and I’m afraid all my spare time is being spent caring for her and overseeing her care. I pay a woman to attend her while I am at work.”
Andrew’s fingers froze in unbuttoning his waistcoat. A wave of ice slammed into him, and a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. “Your mother is ill? Why didn’t you say something?”
Tindall blinked. The courage was gone from his gaze, replaced with confusion and uncertainty. “I didn’t wish to trouble your lordship.”
“It’s no trouble. I…I want to know these things.” No, he didn’t really. Just the thought of this man’s mother dying… “Is she terribly ill?” Andrew wanted to bite the question back. He didn’t really want to know.
“It’s serious, yes.” Tindall spoke slowly, cautiously.
Andrew should let the subject drop, but he found he couldn’t. “Never mind what I said before. Stay on as long as you need to. And I insist on sending a physician to see her. I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow.”
Tindall bowed his head again, smoothing his hand over the silk of the cravat. “I am overcome by your generosity, my lord.”
Generosity, ha. It was a simple thing. A necessary thing. A basic human right. Ailing people needed the care of a capable physician. People like his parents and his sisters. And his brother.
The cold sweat spread, and his skin felt as if it were coated in frost. His discomfort must have shown—he’d likely gone pale if this was like similar occasions in his past—for Tindall’s eyes widened. “My lord, are you all right?”
Damn it. This hadn’t happened to Andrew in some time. Years maybe? When he’d been younger, the bouts had been more frequent, daily and weekly at first, then lessening over time. He’d thought them long gone.
He’d hoped.
But he’d thought of his family more this evening, had let them creep back into the places he kept dark and quiet—ignored. Now he was overwhelmed with emotion. He wanted none of it.
“I’m fine,” he said tightly. “Nothing a bit of gin won’t cure. Fetch me a bottle?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Tindall set the cravat on a chest and left with alacrity.
Andrew removed his waistcoat and tugged off his boots and stockings amid a barrage of memories he didn’t want to see. His mother coughing until she couldn’t breathe. His sisters praying together as their fevers raged. His father trying to find a physician and only hastening his death as he spent hours out in the snow. His brother’s cold, still body.
Yet Andrew had been spared. For so long, he’d just wanted to die with them. And sometimes he still wished he had. Barefoot, he went into his chamber and stared at the low fire burning in the grate.
When Tindall returned, Andrew took the glass and bottle from him. “Thank you, I don’t require anything further.” He turned from his valet lest he see the way his hands shook.
Tindall didn’t immediately leave. Andrew fought the urge to snap at him to go already but was glad he didn’t when Tindall said, “Thank you again, my lord. I appreciate your kindness more than I can ever say.”
Andrew couldn’t speak, so he only nodded. At last he heard Tindall walking across the room and the click of the door as he left.
Still shaking, Andrew sank into the chair situated by the fireplace and set the glass on the table beside it. He opened the bottle and poured the gin, careful not to splash any of the liquid outside of the tumbler. He set the bottle down with a clack and picked up the glass. He didn’t sip but took a long gulp and closed his eyes as it burned down his throat.
The images still played and the familiar emotions—guilt, loss, anger, sadness—consumed him. He finished off what he’d poured and filled another. That went down faster than the first. Another.
Finally, his shaking began to lessen and the sense of panic dissipated. He was here. Whole. Alive. But so empty inside.
He stood up and paced. He wanted it that way. He needed it that way. He never wanted to feel that helplessness and devastation ever again.
He strode back to the bottle and poured another glass. As he finished that one too, numbness stole over him. When he collapsed into bed a short while later, relief sagged through his frame. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind he’d cultivated for nearly two decades. The kind that kept the demons at bay.
Two days later, Lucy greeted her friends, whom she’d invited for tea. Ivy arrived just before Aquilla and said she had the entire afternoon free. Her employer, Lady Dunn, was very generous with the amount of free time she gave Ivy, which allowed Ivy ample opportunity to conduct her charitable activities.
Aquilla arrived in a flurry of pale yellow muslin, unruly dark curls, and cheerful chatter. She never failed to brighten a room or Lucy’s mood. She found it nearly impossible to be sullen around her, not that Lucy was feeling sullen. No, she was feeling quite determined.
As soon as Aquilla came into the drawing room, she noticed the flowers on the table near the window. She glided over to them and sniffed before darting a playfully accusing stare at Lucy. “You didn’t tell us you received flowers! Who are they from?”
Lucy rolled her eyes as she sat down. “How do you know they’re mine? Maybe they’re for my grandmother.”
Aquilla pulled off her gloves. “That’s absurd. Of course they’re for you. What I don’t know is which of your dance partners sent them. Was it Dartford?” She glanced at Ivy and smiled. “I do hope it’s Dartford.”
“It wasn’t.” Lucy bristled, which was surprising since she didn’t care who they were from. “They’re from Lord Edgecombe.”
Aquilla perched on the settee and set her gloves on the arm. “How splendid. Did he pay a call?”
“No, he just sent the flowers with a note that he hoped to see me soon for another dance.” Lucy, of course, hoped no such thing.
“Edgecombe i
s a charming fellow, if a bit reserved,” Aquilla said. “I daresay I frighten him, but then I either scare the sense out of a gentleman or bore him to tears.” Her tone was free of dismay, her features light and open. Still, Lucy hated for her friend to think of herself that way.
“That isn’t entirely true,” Ivy, who’d sat down beside her, said quietly. “You just haven’t met the right one yet.”
Aquilla smiled brightly. “Just so.”
They caught up on Society nonsense while they drank tea and ate cakes. Lucy dismissed the elderly butler and went to close the door after he left.
Aquilla leaned forward on the settee. “Are we to be secretive today?”
Lucy sat back down on the chair angled toward the settee that held Aquilla and Ivy. “I have a matter of importance, and yes, secrecy, I need to discuss with you.” She didn’t want any of the small staff to overhear, with the exception of her maid, who was, of course, a key player in Lucy’s deception. She was upstairs keeping Lucy’s grandmother busy in her sitting room answering correspondence from a friend in Bath.
Aquilla’s bright blue eyes sparkled. “How intriguing.”
Lucy smoothed her palm over her skirt and straightened her spine. “You both asked what I was doing about our financial woes, and I’m now prepared to share all of it with you.” She took a deep breath, uncertain of how they would react. She knew they would support her, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be shocked or scandalized. “I’ve been dressing up as a man and visiting gaming hells in order to increase our coffers.”
Aquilla’s jaw dropped. Ivy’s eyes widened. Lucy worried the fabric of her dress between her thumb and forefinger.
Aquilla finally spoke. She shook her head, the curls framing her face bobbing with her movement. “I can’t imagine it. A man?”
“Yes.”
“No one has seen through your disguise?” Ivy asked.
Lucy allowed a small smile. “I’m quite convincing actually. I wear padding beneath the costume to hide what few curves I have.” She was not as tall and womanly as Ivy or as attractively formed as Aquilla. “However, there is one person who paid close enough attention to puzzle it out.”
Aquilla gasped. “What happened? This sounds terribly dangerous.”
“It isn’t.” Or it wasn’t until two nights ago. But that had been a riskier hell, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Besides, I have a…guide who looks after me. The person who suspected I was a woman.”
Ivy frowned. “You seem to be dancing around this person’s identity. It has to be a gentleman, but who?”
Aquilla, who was closer to Lucy than Ivy, scooted to the edge of the settee. “Yes, who?”
She’d known she had to tell them. “Dartford.”
“Oh, this is better than flowers,” Aquilla said in a low, appreciative tone that was the aural equivalent of rubbing one’s hands together. Or so it sounded to Lucy.
Ivy pressed her lips together. “I should have known. That is why he danced with you at the ball.”
Lucy could take that assumption as an insult—as though Lucy couldn’t expect a man like Dartford to want to dance with her—but she didn’t. She and Ivy were as pragmatic and honest as the Season was monotonous. “Yes.”
Aquilla sat back now, her gaze turning speculative. “How extraordinary. And you say he knew you were a woman right away?”
“Not right away.” Though it had been fairly quick.
Aquilla gave her a sly look, her mouth curving up. “He took an interest in you.”
Ivy smiled at her with pride. “Well, I think this is just wonderful. Have you been doing well?”
“Yes, until my most recent outing. We visited a more raucous hell and had to leave before I could collect my winnings.” That still stung.
Aquilla’s brow creased, and her demeanor changed. “Even with Dartford along, I’m not convinced this isn’t dangerous.”
Neither was Lucy, but not for the reasons they did. She’d thought far too much of Dartford’s kisses and, worse, considered kissing him again. “As it happens, we will be doing less of that. Dartford came up with the brilliant idea of me attending some gentlemanly pursuits with him and wagering on them as his set does. It’s a far easier and safer way to generate the money I need.”
“You say Dartford came up with this?” Ivy asked. She sounded skeptical, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d been helpful. But then Ivy’s opinion of men was fairly low.
“Yes, after we had an impromptu shooting exhibition at Manton’s one night.”
Aquilla lurched forward again, laughing. “You did what?”
Even Ivy grew animated, her green eyes shining. “Yes, do tell.”
Lucy related the entire story, relishing their rapt attention and joyful engagement.
“I wish I could’ve seen it,” Ivy said. “I think I need to start dressing up as a man.”
Lucy laughed. “The trousers are quite liberating.”
Aquilla swung her head toward Ivy, grinning. “Can you imagine what Lady Dunn would say?”
Ivy laughed. “She couldn’t know!” She looked at Lucy. “Just as your grandmother doesn’t know?”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, which is why secrecy is important.”
Ivy picked up a cake from her plate. “But how will you explain the fact that you have enough to retire with her?”
“I’ve given this plenty of thought, and I plan to tell her that I made an investment last year and that it paid well. She won’t ask for specifics.”
Ivy swallowed her bite. “That could work.”
Time to broach the reason she’d invited them today. “I find I am in need of assistance with another aspect. It’s easy for me to sneak out after Grandmama has retired for the night. However, tomorrow I am going to attend phaeton races in the park at nine o’clock. Grandmama will still be abed, but I don’t want to be seen leaving the house as a man. Furthermore, I need to have a reason for not being here should she realize my absence.”
“That last part is simple,” Aquilla said. “You’re spending the day with me. Shopping, visiting the museum, whatever you decide.”
Lucy had hoped she would offer just that. “Thank you.”
Ivy cocked her head to the side. “How elaborate is your disguise?”
“There’s the padding underneath the clothes, and my maid helps me stick sideburns along my upper jaw, here.” She indicated where the hair was affixed. Her skin was still a bit tender from wearing it two nights ago, and for that reason alone, she looked forward to not having to do it anymore.
“Ingenious,” Ivy breathed. “Could you dress inside a coach?”
Lucy pondered this idea. “It would be difficult. And what would the coachman say if I entered as a woman and left as a man?”
“If you had others with you, he may not notice, but that would require you to take an entourage.”
“I volunteer!” Aquilla offered cheerily.
Lucy contemplated donning the necessary padding and trying to pull on the breeches in the confines of a coach and decided it would be more trouble than she wanted to bear, if possible. This gave her another idea—she’d be donning a new costume for a daytime excursion and perhaps Judith could stitch the padding into the coat. She’d discuss it with her. “I think it would be far easier if I went somewhere and dressed, then left from there.”
“Actually, I believe you’re overthinking this,” Ivy said. “You aren’t going to be doing this regularly. You simply need to leave the house when there is no one on the street—have your maid look out for you.”
Aquilla nodded. “I agree. Just walk to the corner where I’ll have Lady Satterfield’s coach waiting for you. Your maid can let the rest of the staff know that you are out—with me.”
Lucy was hesitant. She looked from Aquilla to Ivy and back to Aquilla again. “You think it will work?”
“It should,” Aquilla said.
Ivy shrugged. “The key is to keep an eye out before you leave, and not to do this overl
y much. How long do you plan to keep up this charade?”
“A couple more weeks should do it. Maybe less. On Saturday, I need to find my way to Kent, where I could potentially win enough money to put an end to this.”
Aquilla’s eyes grew wide. “Kent? What’s going on there?”
“Dartford is ascending in a balloon from Burlington House and plans to descend at his house in Kent. His friends are going to surprise him there—you must keep this part secret.”
Ivy interrupted her with a wry look. “Every bit of this must be kept secret.”
Lucy grinned. “Well, yes. Anyway, they’re going to surprise him and there will be extensive wagering on where he lands. Whoever comes closest to the actual location will win the pot.”
“That sounds like such fun.” Aquilla mock-pouted. “Are you sure you can’t just persuade them to invite women?”
Lucy laughed. “Even if I could, you wouldn’t be among them. That would be rather unseemly, wouldn’t it?”
Ivy picked a crumb from her skirt. “That settles things. I am dressing up as a man.”
They all laughed for a moment. Smiling, Lucy drew them back to the issue at hand. “Any suggestions on how I shall travel to and from Kent?” She looked mostly at Aquilla, who had more access to vehicles than Ivy.
Aquilla tapped her finger against her cheek. “It’s one thing to borrow Lady Satterfield’s coach at nine o’clock in the morning. How shall I explain the need for a coach for most of the day?” She dropped her hand to her lap. “Do you know who has more vehicles than she knows what to do with?”
Lucy shook her head. “Who?”
“Nora.”
Lucy wasn’t sure she wanted to involve a duchess in her scheme. “I’m not sure it would be wise to ask her.” She glanced at Ivy to gauge her reaction.
Aquilla looked between Lucy and Ivy. “Nora will be delighted to help. She’s rather championed us, if you haven’t noticed.”
