by Sophia James
* * *
‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Ashfield.’ Mr George Friar’s words were laced with a slight American accent as he drew Adelaide to one side of the room. ‘Are you enjoying your time here in London?’
‘Indeed, sir.’ This was a complete lie, but she knew if she had said otherwise she would have a complicated explanation in front of her.
‘I saw you speaking with Lord Wesley the other night at the Bradfords’ ball. Is he a particular friend of yours?’
Unexpectedly the blood rushed to her face and Adelaide cursed her reaction, especially when she saw the man’s obvious curiosity.
‘I am newly come to London, Mr Friar. I barely know the earl.’
‘But you have heard the stories, no doubt? He is not to be trusted and it would be wise for any woman to keep her distance.’
Such a confidence made Adelaide shiver.
‘A strong opinion, sir. Is he an acquaintance of yours?’
The man shook his head. ‘No, but he led the wife of my cousin astray and it cost her her life, an ending she did not in any way deserve.’
‘You are implying then some sense of blame on the part of Lord Wesley, sir?’ She had made a point of asking Lucy and her other acquaintances here about the chequered past of Gabriel Hughes since meeting him, partly out of interest, but mostly out of the feeling he was somehow being wrongly dealt to. She could not explain her connection with a man who appeared to be everything she had always abhorred and yet... ‘From the stories I have heard it was your cousin’s wife who had absconded with her lover in the first place?’
This time Friar laughed out loud. ‘A woman who is not afraid to voice all that she thinks is a rare jewel in the London court. Why are you not married ten times over already, Miss Ashfield? Can these English lords not recognise a veritable treasure when they see one?’
She brushed off his nonsense though a part of her was pleased at such praise. ‘A woman’s need for a husband is overrated in my opinion, though my uncle is not to be persuaded otherwise.’
For a moment his visage was one of shock before he managed to drag his expression back.
‘Well, Miss Ashfield, I have always applauded honesty in a woman. Would you take a walk with me, perchance, so that I might tell you a story?’
Adelaide looked around. She could see Lord Berrick making his way towards her and wanted to avoid him.
‘Perhaps a turn on the terrace for privacy might be in order.’ Friar said this as he saw where she looked.
She did not wish to be alone with Mr Friar, she thought, remembering Lord Wesley’s warning, but glancing through the glass she observed others lingering there and enjoying the unusual balminess of the evening.
It could not hurt for five minutes to listen to what he had to say, surely, and with the growing warmth in the room she would appreciate a little fresh air.
Once outside Adelaide could tell Mr Friar was trying to think up what words to give her next as he looked over the small balustrade leading into the garden. Finally he spoke.
‘There are some who would say that the Earl of Wesley is not the fop he pretends to be. My cousin, for example, was completely crushed by the loss of his precious wife. He does not believe her demise was an accident at all.’
‘What does he believe, then?’
‘If I could speak plainly, I would say he thinks Wesley killed her for he had become tired of her neediness as his lover and wanted her gone.’
Shock ran through Adelaide at the bitterness in his words and also that such an accusation should be levelled at Gabriel Hughes. ‘Presumably the courts thought otherwise, Mr Friar, as I heard there was a case of law to be answered for it.’ The thought did cross her mind as to why she should be such a stalwart in her defence of a man whose reputation was hardly pristine, given everything she knew of Lord Wesley had come through gossip.
‘Indeed they did, Miss Ashfield, but justice and money walk hand in hand and the Wesley title holds its own sway in such decisions.’
‘Such are the words of those who perceive their case lost by some unfair disadvantage that they can never prove. Better to move on and make your life over than look back and wreak havoc with all that is left.’
‘You are not the more normal sort of débutante, Miss Ashfield, with your strong opinions.’
‘I will take that as a compliment, Mr Friar, for I am older and a lot wiser. Wise enough to know that people can say anything of anyone and yet the saying of it does not make it true.’
He laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. ‘Have you ever been to the Americas?’
When she shook her head he continued.
‘I own a large property in Baltimore, in Coles Harbor on the west side of the Jones Falls River. I have come to England to find a partner who might enjoy the place with me, neither a timid bride, Miss Ashfield, nor a young one. I need a woman who would cope with the rigours of the New World and one with enough of a fortune to help me build my own legacy.’
‘I see.’ And Adelaide suddenly did. She had left the relative safety of the frying pan that was Lord Berrick and jumped into a fire.
It was how the business of marriage worked in London, after all, brides were only a commodity and an article of trade. Men put their collateral on the table and a prudent woman weighed up her options and accepted the most favourable. For life. For ever. It was exactly as Aunt Eloise had said it would be, was it not? Women sold their souls for marriage and regretted it until the end of time.
The thought of it all held her mute, but George Friar seemed to have taken her silence as acquiescence, for he leaned forward and took her fingers in his own before his lips came down hard upon the back of them.
Cold, wet and grasping. She could not believe he would dare to touch her like this out here amongst others, but as she broke away and looked around she realised everybody on this end of the terrace had left to go inside.
Mr Friar hadn’t released her, either, his fingers still entwined in hers and allowing no means of escape, the expression on his face ardent as he breathed out rapidly.
‘Oh, come now, Miss Ashfield, I am certain we could do better than that. You look like a woman with a great deal of sensuality about you and, if I say so myself, I am considered something of a catch by the unmarried women of Baltimore. A new life, an adventure and the opportunity to use your considerable fortune in a way that could double it again. Take the chance of it whilst you can. Caution can be most stultifying.’
Adelaide thought quickly. She needed to diffuse this situation and get back inside without causing even more of a scene. ‘I am sure you are as you say, sir, a veritable catch, but believe me when I tell you that I have no want for a husband despite my presence here.’ This explanation solved nothing, however, for his grip tightened as he pulled her towards him. ‘I will ask you one more time to please let me go, sir.’ She hated the slight shiver in her words as he met her glance directly and lifted his brows. A game? He thought it such?
‘One kiss, then, to convince you. Surely that would not be amiss?’
The sharp slap of fingers on his cheek and his legs caught on the edge of a pot plant tipping him off balance. Even as she reached forward to stop him tumbling he was gone, falling over the balustrade in an ungainly surprise and lying prone and motionless on the path below.
My God, had she killed him? Forgetting about convention and her own safety, she scrambled down after him and saw in relief that he still breathed.
She could hardly just leave him here, but to do otherwise would involve her in discussions she would rather not be a part of. A movement from above surprised her, but she knew who it was immediately.
Chapter Four
‘We meet again, Miss Ashfield.’
‘In circumstances even more trying than the last time, I am afraid, Lord Wesley. Mr Friar is newly co
me from the Americas and seems to have a poor understanding of the word “no”. His ability to pretend to be something he is not must be the only thing allowing him entrance here for he has few other redeeming features.’ She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop. Surprise and relief at the earl’s presence obliterated her more normal reason and fright had made her shake.
As he joined her, Gabriel Hughes placed two fingers across the pulse on George Friar’s neck. ‘A trifle fast, but given the circumstances...’
Today he looked tired, the darkened skin beneath both eyes alluding to a lack of sleep. His glance had also taken in the telltale mark on the unconscious man’s cheek.
‘His dress sense is appalling, would you not say?’
At that she smiled. There was a certain sangfroid apparent in the comment. Indeed, he did not look even the least perturbed about what had happened.
‘I didn’t push him. He fell across that potted plant and down into the garden.’
‘After you slapped him?’
She felt her own blood rise. ‘I had asked him to remove his hand from my person, Lord Wesley, and he did not.’
He looked up quickly. ‘He didn’t hurt you?’ His gold eyes were darker tonight, though when she shook her head the anger in them softened.
‘Perhaps then it would be better if you were gone when he awakes?’
Taking that as a hint, she turned.
‘Miss Ashfield?’
She turned back. ‘Yes?’
‘If you say nothing of this to anyone, I will make certain that he never does, either.’
‘How?’ The question tumbled out in horror.
‘A firm threat is what I was thinking, but if you want him dead...?’
Could he possibly mean what she thought he did? Friar’s explanation of how Wesley had killed Henrietta tumbled in her mind to be dismissed as the upturn of his lips held her spellbound. He was teasing, but already she could hear the voices of others coming closer and knew she needed to be gone. Still she could not quite leave it at that.
‘Sometimes I am not certain about just exactly who you are, my lord. Amongst the pomp and splendour of your clothes and the artful tie of your cravat I detect a man who is not quite the one that he appears.’
But Gabriel Hughes shook his head. ‘It would be much safer for you to view me exactly as the rest of the world does, Miss Ashfield; a dissolute and licentious earl without a care for anything save the folds in his most complicated cravat.’
No humour lingered now, the hard planes of his face intractable, and as George Friar groaned Adelaide fled. She could not fathom the Earl of Wesley at all and that was the trouble. He was nothing like any man she had met before. Even when he laughed the danger in him was observable and clear. But the colour of his eyes in this light was that of the gilded hawks she’d seen as a young girl in a travelling menagerie that had visited Sherborne, the quiet strength in them hidden under humour.
Lady Harcourt looked up as she came to her side. ‘You are always disappearing, my dear. I am certain that is not a trait to be greatly encouraged. If your uncle were here and he asked me of your whereabouts, I would not know, you see, and so it would be far better if...’
Her words petered off as a shout at one end of the salon had them turning and Adelaide saw Mr Friar burst into the room using a large white handkerchief to wipe off his bleeding nose. She was glad he was heading straight for the exit even as she stepped back into the shadow of her chaperon.
Gabriel Hughes came into view behind him, accompanied by Lord Montcliffe, and the Earl of Wesley’s left hand was buried deep in his pocket. Walking together, the two men were of a similar height and build and every feminine eye of the ton was trained towards them as well as a good many of the masculine ones.
‘Goodness me. What is society coming to these days?’ Lady Harcourt lifted her lorgnette to her face to get a better view. ‘A fist fight in the middle of a crowded ball? Who is that short man, Bertram, with Lord Wesley and Lord Montcliffe?’
Adelaide’s heart began to beat fast and then faster. Would there be a scene? Would she be revealed as the perpetrator of the American’s questionable condition?
‘Mr George Friar is an arrogant cheat,’ her cousin drawled. ‘Perhaps the Earl of Wesley has finally done what many of the others here have not been able to.’
‘What?’ Imelda’s voice was censorious. ‘Broken his nose?’
‘Nay, Aunt. Shut him up.’
The Earl of Berrick, standing beside them, frowned. ‘I have my doubts that Lord Wesley would put himself out for such a one unless it suited his purpose.’
Bertie nodded in agreement. ‘He’d be far more likely to be in the card room or cavorting with the numerous women of the ton who are unhappy in their marriages.’
Lady Harcourt gave her grand-nephew a stern look. ‘You are in the company of a young girl in her first Season, Bertram. Please mind your tongue.’
‘Pardon me, Aunt, and I am sorry, Addie.’
Her cousin gave her one of the smiles that Adelaide could never ever resist.
‘Make it up to me, then.’
‘How.’
‘Come with me as my chaperon to the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. There is a physic garden there that I have always wanted to see.’
* * *
‘You look like hell, Gabe.’ Daniel Wylde did not mince his words as they left the Harveys’ ball. ‘You need some beauty sleep.’
Gabriel heard the concern behind the words. ‘I’ll live.’
‘Who was he, to you? Mr Friar back there?’
‘No one. He’d tripped over the balustrade and had fallen. I was the first to find him.’
‘I doubt that.’ Montcliffe’s words were low. ‘Unless you have taken to slapping strange men I would say there was a woman involved. Besides, you would hardly take a hard swipe at an injured man unless you had some gripe with him?’
Gabriel swore, but didn’t answer.
‘Your sister, Charlotte, was unkind, Gabriel, but you were always nicer.’
‘It’s been a while. People change. I’d be the first to admit that I have.’
‘Why?’
One word biting at his guts, so easy just to spill the worries and feel better. Even easier to not. Still it might not hurt to sound Montcliffe out on a little of it.
‘What do you know of Randolph Clements?’
‘His wife, Henrietta, died in the fire at Ravenshill Chapel. It was rumoured you had something to do with that, but it was never proven.’
‘I think Clements killed his wife.’
‘And walked away?’
‘Unconvicted. Mr Friar here is one of his American cousins.’
‘You think he was involved, too?’
‘Odds are that he is here in London for a reason.’
‘He is single and wealthy. He wants a wife. Many might say that is enough of a reason. Who slapped him before you turned up?’
‘Miss Adelaide Ashfield.’
‘And she is...?’
Gabriel swallowed hard. ‘Penbury’s niece and one of this Season’s débutantes.’
‘The woman in gold?’ Montcliffe began to smile. ‘God, you have an interest in this lady.’
‘No.’ He made the word sound as definite as he could.
‘Yet you just avenged her for an insult, I am presuming? Such an action indicates more than mere indifference.’
Gabriel had forgotten about Daniel Wylde’s quick mind. He could also see the wheels of curiosity turning in sharp eyes.
‘You never told me about happened in the bloody chapel? Some say it was you who lit the fire.’
‘No, I can’t even remember how it started. I know I did try to save her, but then...’ He stopped, searching for a glimpse into recall
and failing.
‘You couldn’t?’
‘I didn’t love Henrietta Clements in the way she wanted me to.’
There was silence, the guilt of it all howling around the edges of Gabriel’s sanity like a cold wind blowing relentlessly from the north. He had had liaisons with women all of his adult life, unrequited political connections, and this was the result. His penance. His atonement. The resulting impotence was only deserved and proper. A God-given punishment so very close to the cause of all his destruction—he could not deny it.
If he had been alone he might have hit something, but he wasn’t. As it was he held his hands into the side of his thighs in tight fists. The nail on his right forefinger broke into the skin of his thumb.
‘Perhaps I hurt your sister in the same way?’ Daniel offered the explanation.
‘Pardon?’ With all his other thoughts Gabriel could not quite work out exactly what was meant.
‘Charlotte. I didn’t love her enough, either, and we ruined each other. Same thing you are talking of, isn’t it?’
The minutes of quiet multiplied.
‘But then Amethyst taught me about the honesty of love.’
God, Gabriel thought, and what I would not give for a wife like that. Empty loneliness curled into the corners of hope. He had never felt close to anyone and now it would never again be possible.
For a second he almost hated the other’s joy. It was what happened when you were down on your luck. You became surrounded by those who were not. Even his sister, for all her poor choices in life, had written to say that she had met a wealthy and cultured man in Edinburgh with whom she could see a future.
‘Come to Montcliffe, Gabe. Some country air might be just what you need. Amethyst is almost eight months along in her pregnancy so she does not come to London any more, preferring the quiet of Montcliffe.’ Daniel Wylde was watching him closely. ‘She would be pleased to have you there and so would I.’
Thanking him for the offer, Gabriel replied that he would certainly think about it and then he left.
* * *
He actually spent the night thinking of Adelaide Ashfield. Her smile. Her blue eyes. The quiet lisp in her words. Friar was a threat to her in some way he could not as yet fathom. Gabriel knew that he was. He returned his attention to the notes spread across the table in front of him—maps, drawings and timings—as he searched for a pattern.
