‘I told you he looked differ…’ Sophie stood off to the side and Crispin caught her sisterly smirk as she noted his shortened hair and stylish attire. ‘It’s nice to see you’ve taken my advice.’
The mood brightened and, after several more hugs and handshakes, they settled in the front salon where questions peppered him with fast-paced curiosity. He did his best to answer, assuring his parents he was no longer in debt, their security remained intact, and that he’d made his apologies wherever required. ‘I’m sincerely sorry for the concern I’ve caused you. It was selfish on my part and unforgivable, though I hope you can see past it in good time.’
‘Of course, it’s over now and you’re returned safely. We trusted you would bring everything to right.’ His mother’s effervescent tone carried across the room. ‘But there’s only one way we can be confident your reputation remains in good standing. We should plan a social, invite our friends and ensure everyone knows you’re home in your proper place.’
The final words of his mother’s delighted proclamation struck him most of all. He didn’t feel like the man who left London and he didn’t wish to be perceived as such, but perhaps it was better planned for society to expect him as he used to be.
‘I’d rather not make a show of it.’ He’d barely finished his statement when Sophie jumped into the conversation.
‘The Frankley soiree is promised to be the event of the season. Why not let opinions unfold naturally when he and I attend? By then, Crispin will have seen his closest friends, visited White’s, and hushed the immediate interest in his return.’
He wondered a moment over his sister’s personal agenda and offered her his attention. At least her plan rescued him from the fusty formal announcement his mother suggested.
‘That’s an excellent idea.’ Their father nodded thoughtfully and Sophie beamed with his approval.
With their parents settled in chairs on one side of the room, Crispin scuttled his sister to the windows in a pretence of checking for inclement weather. All the while his mind urged him to decipher her sudden interest in his social schedule.
‘What was that all about?’ He kept his voice low though there was no mistaking his determined curiosity.
‘What could you possibly mean?’ Sophie flared her eyes enormously with the exaggeration. ‘You’d fault me for arranging an opportunity for us to share company? After you’ve been gone for so long?’
Each question ended on a high note that he interpreted as pure manipulation. ‘I just wonder if there isn’t another reason for your ready suggestion.’
‘Not a one. Maybe one.’ All pretence fell away and her expression became concerned. ‘We haven’t had time to talk about finer emotion. Returning home is already difficult. I hope attending social events and seeing Vivienne again—’
‘Is that what you’re thinking?’ He couldn’t stop a brief chuckle. ‘She’s your closest friend and the three of us have kept company for years, during most of which I did little to disguise my feelings, but being separated from London proved the perfect remedy to my confusion.’
‘What are you saying?’ Sophie watched him in wait of his answer.
‘Nothing different from what I’ve said before. It was habit or misplaced emotion due to our constant companionship, but it certainly wasn’t love.’ He smiled, the truth in that statement a fortifying strength.
‘So, I worried for nothing.’
‘Yes.’ He glanced out of the window and an image of Amanda formed in his mind. Half a smile snuck out and then the other half completed it. His reflection in the glass was unsettling, though he wouldn’t reveal a word to Sophie.
‘With a grin like that, I suppose I’m forced to believe you.’ Sophie matched his smile.
‘Good.’ He turned and clasped her elbow to lead her back to their parents’ conversation.
The evening continued in an agreeable mood. Crispin avoided excessive discussion of his time in Italy, not ideal conversation, and left at half past ten. He considered White’s, but then steered his phaeton towards Wigmore Street, rationalizing his sudden interest in Amanda’s address was nothing more than idle curiosity. What he didn’t expect was to see her silhouette in the upstairs window. It fuelled a constant hum of desire he kept on a tight leash. Was she readying for bed? What did she wear to sleep? He preferred only his smalls, but he knew women had all sorts of garments. He’d never considered them other than to remove and toss aside.
One of his greys nickered and Crispin wondered if she would come to the window and look outside to where his phaeton waited on the cobbles. Was that wishful thinking on his part? What was this misplaced obsession he had with Amanda Beasley? He smiled, amused with the unexpected cross-purpose of his return to England. On one hand, he wished to overtake the Underworld and leave a different impression. One which would shunt the gossip of his misstep last year.
On the other, he wished to explore Amanda Beasley, become better acquainted and satisfy his ill-begotten fascination. Both goals were powerful forces within him.
Sitting outside her townhouse could lead to no good.
He flicked the reins and set the phaeton into motion. Time for him to do the same with his plans.
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, Amanda and Raelyn waited in the hall for Aunt Matilda to arrive. Dressed in one of her new ensembles, a silk evening gown in rich aubergine, a flutter of excitement lived in Amanda’s chest. Aunt Matilda’s invitation was a welcomed evening out. Raelyn needed the distraction as much as she and together they anticipated an eventful night. They bid their father goodbye and settled into the carriage, the lengthy ride to Drury providing ample time for conversation.
‘Both of you look lovely this evening. Raelyn, that colour compliments your complexion nicely, and Amanda, we certainly did a fine job choosing that fabric at Madame Monique’s.’ Matilda leaned a little closer. ‘Are those your mother’s diamonds?’
‘Yes. Raelyn is wearing the bracelet and I’ve the necklace.’ She touched her fingertips to her collarbone.
‘I suppose you couldn’t share the earbobs now, could you?’ Matilda appeared thoughtful. ‘We’ll need to remedy that. I can’t have either one of my nieces out in society as anything less than a diamond of the first water. No pun intended.’
Conversation turned to social news, weddings and children, and Amanda gave the semblance of listening while her mind meandered a different path. Did Lord Hastings attend the theatre? Doubtful. She’d heard nothing but unappealing commentary from her father concerning Crispin’s exploits. Then again, if he were to escort a lady out for the evening he’d need to bring her somewhere.
That thought didn’t sit well. Her stomach tumbled over as if she were on the ship again. And that comparison put her right back there, sharing a cramped, dim room with a stranger who helped her despite she might vomit on his clothing. She knew a different side of Crispin. It didn’t matter what her father believed.
‘Where have you gone to?’ Raelyn poked her in the side and giggled, amused by the conversation Amanda had missed. ‘You could be a shepherdess for all the woolgathering you do of late.’
‘I suppose I’ve grown introspective since being at sea for three weeks without my loving sister to irritate me.’ Said in a sugary tone, the words brought with them another bout of laughter.
‘We should arrive soon and I’m sure it will be a crush. Lady Pembler has seen the production twice already.’ Aunt Matilda rolled her eyes. ‘She works so hard at being one better than everyone else.’
‘You shouldn’t allow her antics to bother you. It seems like as far back as I can remember, she’s made a spectacle of herself in an attempt to upstage you.’ Amanda reached over and clasped her aunt’s gloved hand. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Lady Pembler couldn’t best you, no matter how hard she tried.’
‘At last, a little amusement.’ Ferris leaned forward on the bench as if by leverage he could force the carriage faster. ‘Why is t
here so much congestion? All these carriages and horses clog up the street.’ He whipped the curtain closed and resettled on the leather seat.
‘Something must be afoot to oust every nob and peer out this evening.’ Crispin chuckled in an attempt to keep the mood light, but they’d hardly moved a mile in the last hour and his patience wore thin. Despite several knocks on the roof and discussions with Bootler, they were stuck in a hellish span of traffic with no choice but to endure, the ability to turn or reverse taken from them by the ungodly amount of conveyances.
The carriage jerked forward, bore right and rolled fifty yards before they came to an abrupt stop again. Bootler’s curses barked atop the boot, his driver as annoyed by the inconvenience as he. With nothing left to do but wait, Crispin chucked the curtain to the side and surveyed the view. They’d stalled near Bridges Street and the onset of theatregoers for Drury Lane. Understanding dawned. He cursed silently for not checking the hour before he and Ferris left Bedford Square. Had they waited another thirty minutes, the play would have been underway and the unresolved cross-traffic which prevented their passage would have become a non-issue.
Ladies and lords, dressed in their evening finery, filled the walkways from pavement to iron-railed gate. Newly equipped with gas lighting and able to accommodate over three thousand people, Drury Lane drew crowds from all over England, never mind London. Still, he wasn’t one for the theatre and imaginary scenarios. He preferred action in real life.
Reaching for the curtain to replace it across the glass and block out the bane of their troubles, he stalled as a trio of ladies emerged on the path a stone’s throw from where he sat concealed in the dim interior. He recognized two of the ladies immediately and made the mental leap the third could only be Amanda’s sister. Aunt Matilda had looped arms on either side with her nieces as they manoeuvred through the crowd. Like his carriage, the ladies made stilted progress, though they seemed unbothered, smiles and conversation lively.
He settled his eyes on Amanda and his heart seized, clumsily regaining momentum with an uneven beat. He’d often wondered what she’d look like in jewels and tonight she was exquisite, the design of her evening gown meant to accentuate the graceful curves of her figure. The moon was out, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She sparkled. A glittering necklace skimmed the dip of her décolletage and some bit of lace and crystal was woven into her hair. He swallowed hard. He wanted her. He’d tried to ignore it. Tried to squash down the feeling and push it away, but it existed in him, a steady thrum, as alive as his pulse. He wanted her.
A gentleman dressed in dashing formalwear approached the trio of ladies and kissed each one’s gloved hand in turn. He spoke with them in animated conversation and something the dapper mentioned caused Amanda to laugh, her eyes merry, shoulders angled in a flirtatious tilt as she attempted to hear whatever was said next. Crispin didn’t miss how the gentleman’s attention lingered on Amanda’s bare neck. A spike of jealousy, jagged and sharp, sliced through him.
‘I should take in the show.’ The words were out of his mouth before he thought better of them.
‘What?’
He’d almost forgotten Ferris was in the carriage. ‘We should take in the show.’
‘We don’t have tickets.’
‘My family has a private box.’ Crispin rapped on the roof. ‘There’s no way through this congestion. Why not see the show and venture to Vauxhall afterwards? Two opportunities for amusement in one night. Even you can’t argue with that logic.’
But it wouldn’t have mattered if Ferris objected. Bootler appeared and Crispin explained their change of plans, the two men out and moving towards the theatre among the throng of pleasure seekers.
Amanda settled in the cushioned chair beside her sister and aunt. Her father’s private seats were on the uppermost level of galleries, the boxes arranged by rank. A shiver of anticipation danced within her whenever she attended the theatre. Tonight there was quite a crowd and she looked out over the railing, their placement an advantage to the stage and most every other private box beyond. A nudge from her sister brought her attention around again.
‘Here’s your viewing glass.’ Raelyn handed her the monocular lens, sleek and smooth in her hand with its elegant ivory finish.
‘Thank you.’ She leaned forward to smile at Matilda, but her aunt was engrossed in assessing the crowd. Her viewing glass flicked left and right as if a signal from a sinking ship. The image caused Amanda to giggle.
Dropping her lens to her skirt and removing her gloves, she leaned back and conversed with her sister. ‘How kind of Lord Shernan to engage us in lively conversation while we waited for that ghastly line to converge.’
‘He’s a handsome man, no doubt.’ Raelyn smiled shyly. ‘I know it hasn’t been very long, but I’ve found my feelings have changed quite suddenly. I’d rather look towards the future than worry about my past.’
‘Oh, I agree with your decision.’ If only she could find herself of like mind.
‘You haven’t mentioned very much about your voyage. You must have been lonely. I can’t imagine surviving all alone and lasting through the voyage the way you did. You should be proud of yourself for your accomplishment.’ Raelyn placed her hand on Amanda’s arm.
‘My boarding the wrong ship?’ Amanda waited. Her sister never created the complicated circumstances Amanda found with ease, nor did Raelyn belabour how often Amanda found troublesome blunders.
‘No. Anyone might make that mistake. I meant lasting three weeks on a ship without family or friends.’
A hush fell over the audience as a bell trilled to indicate the start of the performance.
Amanda smiled and patted her sister’s hand where it remained on her arm. If only Raelyn knew the extent of her travels and how in some ways she was lonelier now than aboard that blasted galleon.
‘Shakespeare? You brought me to hear Shakespeare?’ Ferris leaned back in a chair that appeared disproportionate to his hulking torso. ‘I still want to go to Vauxhall.’
‘And we will.’ Crispin scanned the crowd for the umpteenth time, unable to make out anyone clearly now that all but a few lights had been extinguished. Amanda’s father, the Earl of Huntingdon, would have one of the finest boxes in the gallery. The only acceptable reason Crispin could fathom for not finding Amanda was she occupied a box in the tier above him. Damn if he’d go crazy wondering where she was and if that too-handsome-for-his-own-good gentleman had accompanied them into the box for the show. He’d never last two hours imagining Lord Charming whispering into Amanda’s ear or causing her to smile.
Of course, these irrational thoughts weren’t because he desired to do such things. He just didn’t want anyone else doing them.
When the first half of the performance finished, he glanced to Ferris, asleep and reclined with his head against the back wall. Crispin slipped out into the circular hall, intent on discovering where and who sat with Amanda so he might enjoy the second part of the performance without the uncomfortable tightening of his chest he now experienced. Bearing left up the inclined ramp which led to the high gallery, he made his way towards what could only be the Earl of Huntingdon’s private box.
‘Retiring room and refreshments?’ Aunt Matilda set down her viewing glass and stood up in a flurry of skirts. ‘I enjoyed the first act.’
Raelyn followed suit. ‘I’ll walk with you. I hope there’s syllabub tonight. I find I’m inordinately parched.’
Amanda declined. ‘I’d rather not. The crowd promises to be wicked and I have no need.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.’ Matilda exited the box and turned right, Raelyn on her heels.
With no one to talk to, Amanda raised her monocular lens and viewed the adjoined boxes on the gallery below. One never knew who one would see through the narrow glass lens and that was likely why Aunt Matilda watched the crowd more than the actors on stage.
Amanda continued her survey, skimming past one of the lo
wer boxes and then she drew back in surprise at the sight of a familiar face. Even asleep she recognized the Count of Este in the luxury box almost directly below. He wouldn’t have come to the performance alone. He was a guest of Crispin. Was Crispin here with another woman? Did he right this minute escort a beautiful lady to the refreshment table?
She told herself to ignore the persistent niggling in her brain. She argued half a dozen times with her better sense, but before she could reprimand herself again, she was up and out of the box, walking through the hall with no idea where she was headed. The reverberating bell tone which called everyone to their seats sounded but she paid it no heed, moving through the corridor with emotion blinding logic.
‘Amanda…’ Aunt Matilda approached with Raelyn beside her. ‘The retiring room is a crush. You’re sure to miss part of the play if you go there now.’
‘I’ve no choice, I suppose,’ Amanda answered in way of excuse.
‘We’ll be back in the box. I wish you’d come with us earlier,’ Raelyn added.
Amanda nodded, a slight smile of reassurance on her lips. Wasn’t this how she often found trouble? Impetuous action without careful consideration. She stalled, her slippers pressed together at the heels as if to force herself to halt no matter her head and heart disagreed on the decision and demanded she hurry.
The lights had once again lowered in kind to her spirits and, as she moved further from her father’s luxury box, she wondered when the irrevocable ache of missing Crispin and his devastating smile would dull to more amenable degree. She glanced down to her best slippers, the toes peeping from her hems before she continued down the corridor. She needed to think clearly otherwise she would for ever be plagued by thoughtless mishaps.
Without warning, an arm shot out from a dark alcove and tugged her into hiding. She yelped, the sound muffled as a hand pressed across her mouth, the stranger quick to draw the heavy velvet curtains closed to seal them off from any passerby. Panic urged her to fight, but when she rallied her scream she smelled bergamot and linen starch, the intense scent of Crispin’s shaving soap enough to melt away fear. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in as much as possible.
Return to the House of Sin Page 14
