by Jane Feather
“Well, yes, at least, my uncles and Mr. Sutton are acquainted in the matter of civic duties and such. Mr. Sutton is a merchant, with no direct connections to the manufacture of pottery, but like my uncles, he is active in the affairs of the city of Stoke-on-Trent and the neighboring towns.”
Sebastian nodded and said lightly with a teasing smile, “So I daresay you and Miss Sutton played together as children.”
Jonas blushed anew. “Well … no … that is to say, I had seen her shopping, and once at a local Assembly ball put on at Christmas for the children of prominent citizens, I attempted to dance with her, but I trod on her flounce, and she burst into tears and ran to her mother.” He laughed. “I was left on the dance floor, scarlet with embarrassment, and I don’t think I’ve danced again since that day.”
Sebastian chuckled. “That would put off the strongest man. Does she remember?”
Jonas shook his head. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. But I doubt it. I was an insignificant, gawky, clumsy boy. If I can summon the courage, one of these days, I will ask her if she remembers.”
Sebastian twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “So, when did you renew this early acquaintance?”
“On the packet from Calais.” Jonas jumped up to fetch the wine bottle. “Poor Miss Sutton was feeling very unwell and was obliged to sit up on deck. Her mama was prostrate in her cabin, and so was their maid. Only Mr. Sutton seemed unaffected by the swell, and he was playing whist in the salon. I offered Abi … Miss Sutton, that is … my boat cloak and kept her company on deck during the night.” His smile was soft. “I think she was grateful. Anyway, she gave me her direction in London, and I promised to leave my card.”
“As you were doing when you and I met,” Sebastian concluded. “Mrs. Sutton seems anxious that her daughter should make her debut in London Society.” He watched Jonas covertly over the rim of his glass.
“Yes, she does,” Jonas agreed, and Sebastian was both pleased and interested to see the young man’s expression harden and to hear a clipped note in his voice.
“A worthy ambition, don’t you think?” Sebastian said, still watching his host’s expression.
Jonas looked disgusted. “A ridiculous one, if you ask me. Abigail is a daughter of the Potteries. She’s lovely, she’s talented, she’s adorable, but London Society will eat her alive.” His voice throbbed with anger, and Sebastian noticed that he had completely lost his earlier self-effacing manner. “She’s still a child. How could she hold her own with the old cats looking down their noses at her, whispering behind their hands because her manners are somewhat countrified?”
Sebastian was amused but also impressed by Jonas’s protective attitude towards Abigail. It boded well. “You’ve come across these ladies yourself?”
Jonas shook his head. “No, thank heavens. I’ve more sense than to seek ’em out. But I can imagine ’em.”
“You probably have the right of it,” Sebastian agreed, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “If you’ve nothing better to do for the evening, Jonas, why don’t you come with me? I’m engaged to dine with a few friends at the Swan tavern, nothing special, and we’d all be delighted if you’d join us.”
Jonas looked doubtful. “You can speak for your friends?”
“Oh, devil a bit, of course I can.” Sebastian shrugged off the question and got to his feet. “Come, I promise you a congenial evening, and furthermore, if there’s any possibility of visiting a Covent Garden nunnery, I promise I will give you plenty of warning and you may take your leave of us beforehand … or not, as the case may be.”
Jonas looked as if he was unsure whether Sebastian was in jest, but when he saw the other man’s broad grin, he decided he probably was. “I should like it of all things,” he said, a touch shyly. “I hope I won’t be a bore.”
“Nonsense. Fetch your hat and cloak.”
Serena would be pleased with his evening’s work, Sebastian reflected as he accompanied Jonas Wedgwood to the Swan, introduced him around, and then watched as he quickly found his feet. He would make young Abigail an excellent husband, Sebastian concluded. The difficulty was the mother. But that was Serena’s problem, he decided. He would bring the young man up to scratch. Serena would have to take care of the rest.
Serena bathed at luxurious leisure. The general had sent no reply to her message, and she decided he had obviously seen the wisdom of leaving her alone for the time being. Bridget washed her hair, rinsing it in orange flower water, and afterwards helped her into a velvet dressing gown. Flanagan had brought up roast capon with a lemon and tarragon sauce, a dish of buttered artichokes, and a Rhenish cream. She sipped burgundy and ate slowly, savoring every mouthful, surprised that after the roast duckling that afternoon, she could still find an appetite. Lovemaking was an energetic sport, she thought with an involuntary smile, curling her bare toes against the fender as she stretched her feet to the andirons.
But fighting afterwards was the very devil. Serena was suddenly no longer relaxed or languid and sat up in a surge of bathwater. She could understand Sebastian’s frustrations, but why did he have such difficulty grasping the complexities of her situation? Surely, if he loved her as he said he did, then he would find it easy to understand her. But perhaps he didn’t love her as deeply as he thought. Why else would he have questioned her so harshly about Burford? Maybe he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of loving a member of the demimonde, one of faro’s daughters who could cheat at the tables with the best of them. Maybe he was thinking it was absurd to trust such a woman. And she could hardly blame him. Hadn’t she, just for a second, considered accepting Burford’s proposal? Just acknowledging that fact made her feel soiled, unworthy in some way.
But she wasn’t either of those things. Serena knew her own integrity. Knew who she was, what she had to accept, and what she was able to change. It had been a long and painful road to realize those facts. Was Sebastian able to acknowledge her truly for the person she was, the person circumstances had made her? Could he see beneath the public façade to the eager, passionate, young lover she had been three years ago? And still was.
To do that, he would have to enter her world, acknowledge its realities, and reconcile the Serena imprisoned in this debased existence with the young love of before. Their liaison had always been conducted in neutral chambers, in buildings far from the debauched, polluted world created by Sir George Heyward, but if Sebastian could see that the purity of their feeling, indeed, of their passion, was in no way compromised by her environment, then the muddle of his uncertainty, the untrusting uncertainty he had made so clear that afternoon, would surely resolve itself. She rang the bell for Bridget.
“Can I get you summat, m’lady?” Bridget had been in the middle of her own supper in the kitchen and was still finishing a mouthful.
“Oh, I interrupted your supper, I’m sorry.” Serena was instantly remorseful. She should have known that most evenings, Bridget would be free at this time because her mistress would be dining with Sir George.
“That’s all right, ma’am. We was almost finished.”
“Do you think that a little later, you could arrange to have a message sent for me?”
“Don’t see why not, ma’am. Where to?”
“Stratton Street.” Sebastian was about to get the surprise of his life. “’Tis not very far.”
“Oh, young Timmy could take it, ma’am. Before he does the boots.”
“Good.” Serena abandoned her Rhenish cream and went to the secretaire. She scribbled a few lines on a sheet of vellum, folded it, held the stick of wax in the candle flame, and dropped a seal on the fold. She wrote the direction on the front and took a shilling from her coin box. “Give this to Timmy, and tell him the shilling is for a chair if he’d like to take one; otherwise, it’s for whatever he wishes.”
“Yes, ma’am. Seems a lot for such a little journey,” Bridget added with clear disapproval. She didn’t believe in overindulging the youngsters who worked beneath her.
&
nbsp; “’Tis late and cold,” Serena pointed out.
Bridget shrugged. “If ’n you says so, m’lady.” She went off with the letter.
Serena sat down at the table again, but she’d lost interest in food, so after a minute, she took her wine glass to the window seat and drew back the curtains far enough to give her a view of the street below. Of course, if Sebastian was not at home or was out with the intention of not going home until dawn, her testing little adventure would not come to fruition.
The sounds from the salons drifted up to her. Voices raised in laughter and greeting, a babble of conversation on the stairs as the guests went down to the first supper, the chink of glasses, the clink of silverware. At least one of the general’s faro banks would not come out the winner tonight. He couldn’t handle both of them and would have to give the bank to one of the gamesters. She found the reflection immensely satisfying.
A footman came in to clear away her dinner dishes and left her with the decanter and a dish of candied fruits. Bridget came in a few minutes later to say that Timmy had left the note but that the boy at the house who’d taken it had said that neither of the gentlemen was at home.
Serena was a little disappointed but not surprised. Sebastian and his brother had numerous friends; there was no reason to expect them to be kicking their heels by their own fireside in the middle of the autumn season. Even if one of them had just spent the better part of a day making love. She squashed the reflection, it didn’t suit her mood, and considered her next move.
If Sebastian did not get her message until late, he would not be able to gain admittance to the house as she’d intended. There would be no one around to answer a knock on the side door. That meant she would have to unlock it herself and leave it like that. The trick would be to find the right moment. Too soon, and one of the servants might discover it before they went to bed and lock it again. Too late, and Sebastian could have been standing in the frigid cold in the side alley for goodness knows how long before she got there. And why should he trouble to wait?
So, when?
The servants in the salons would not seek their beds until the last gamester had left, but the regular household staff retired soon after the first supper dishes had been cleared. They would arise early to deal with the second supper’s debris while their fellows slept a little longer. The time between the two suppers would be the best, Serena decided. The side door was little used, and the servants taking care of the salons and the second supper would not think to check it. If Sebastian followed her instructions to the letter, he could be in her bedchamber, unseen and unheard.
Peregrine called an early close to his own evening. He’d joined a party of friends at the theatre but the play didn’t hold his interest, and, unusually, he found his companions’ conversation insipid. His mind was occupied elsewhere.
He excused himself with the hint of an important tryst and strolled home to Stratton Street. His twin, unsurprisingly, was not at home, but a message addressed to Sebastian waited on a table in the foyer. Perry picked it up, idly glancing at the writing, wondering if he could recognize it. It was instantly recognizable as a feminine hand, although he didn’t know whose it was. He could guess, though. He stood in the hall, thinking as he tapped the message on the palm of his hand. Was it important?
Still holding the message, he made his way to the kitchen, where Bart was dozing by the fire. The lad jumped up as Peregrine stuck his head around the door. “You want summat, sir?”
“No, I just wanted to know what time this message for my brother was delivered.”
Bart rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Dunno exactly, sir. An hour ago, mebbe.”
“All right, thank you. We won’t need you again tonight, if you wish to seek your bed.” Peregrine went back to the hall. He examined the message again, frowning. There had to be some urgency about sending a message so late in the evening. He made up his mind, took up his hat again, and left the house.
Sebastian had not returned to the house since he had left with Lady Serena that morning. If he was still with her, why would she be sending him messages? So it was safe to assume that he had continued with his original plans for the evening. Peregrine remembered he had said something about dinner at the Swan tavern behind St. Paul’s church. It was worth seeing if he was still there.
He took a hackney to St. Paul’s and went into the tavern, peering through the fog of tobacco smoke and billowing clouds of foul-smelling smoke from the sea-coal burning in the fireplace. The taproom was crowded, but Sebastian would have dined in one of the private rooms upstairs. Perry pushed his way to the counter, where the landlord was filling ale tankards from the keg behind him.
“Did you have a private party dining abovestairs this evening?”
The man straightened, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “Aye, they’re still there. ’Aven’t paid their reckonin’ at all events.”
Peregrine nodded his thanks and pushed his way to the narrow wooden staircase at the end of the taproom. Upstairs, he heard voices raised in laughter coming from a room to the left. He pushed open the door. Six men were sprawled around a table laden with dirty dishes and glasses. One of them was shaking a dice cup, the rest chanting encouragement, banging glasses on the table.
Sebastian looked up as the door opened. “Perry … come and join us, man. You know everyone … oh, except for Mr. Jonas Wedgwood.” He indicated a rather flushed young man, whose slightly crossed eyes indicated a well-spent evening. “Jonas, my brother, the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan.”
Jonas struggled to his feet, swayed, and sat down again with a thump. “An honor, sir … beg pardon,” he mumbled.
Peregrine regarded him with an understanding smile, before saying to his twin, “This came for you an hour or so ago. I thought it might be important.”
Sebastian took the message, and his expression changed instantly. He stepped away from the table and went to the window, standing with his back to the room as he slit the wafer. The message was short and simple: I find myself alone for the evening. The side door will be unlocked after midnight. Use the backstairs. My chamber is at the front of the house. A red ribbon on the doorknob will tell you which one. I’ll be waiting. S.
For a moment, he was bewildered. And then slowly, the sense of the message came through. Serena was inviting him to an assignation, in the lion’s den, no less. It was so unlike her normally cautious self that his first thought was that she must be in trouble. But there was nothing in the tone of the note to suggest such a thing.
He tucked the message into his inside pocket and turned back to the room, aware of the eyes of his friends on him in question and concern.
“Is everything all right, Seb?” Perry asked for the group. He looked closely at his twin. He could usually read him quite well, but now he wasn’t sure. Sebastian had been pent up with whatever complex feelings he had about Lady Serena ever since he’d first seen her again in Pickering Place, and after their joint breakfast that morning, Peregrine had no idea where they’d spent the day, although he could make a guess as to how they’d spent it. But Sebastian seemed neither euphoric, as he would have expected after a glorious day of lovemaking, nor as tense as he had been before.
Sebastian nodded. “Oh, yes … everything’s fine. But I’m afraid I must love you and leave you.” His gaze fell on young Jonas, who was leaning heavily on an elbow-propped hand and looked as if he was about to fall asleep. He couldn’t leave him to make his own way to Henrietta Place in this condition.
“Perry … I don’t wish to impose, but could you possibly …?” He gestured to the young man. “Henrietta Place, the Queen’s Head.”
Peregrine regarded the young man and shook his head. “Shame on you, Seb. Allowing him to get into this state. Clearly, he’s not used to his drink.”
“’Tis better to have his first such experience among friends,” Sebastian pointed out. Then he said with a rueful smile, “Although I own I was not watching closely enough. I should have reined him in earlier
. But could you get him to his bed?”
Peregrine shrugged, saying agreeably, “Of course. But I think we’d best start now, before he falls completely asleep.” He put his hands under Jonas’s arms and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, then. Time you were in bed, my friend.”
Jonas struggled to keep his feet, and one of the men at the table jumped up. “It’ll take two of us to get him down the stairs, Perry.” He took Jonas’s other arm. “We’ll get a hackney outside.”
Sebastian put a handful of sovereigns on the table. “My share of the reckoning, gentlemen. I beg pardon for leaving in such haste, but something urgent has occurred.”
They waved him away with good-natured farewells, and he bounded down the stairs and out into the street, where he saw Perry and his friend hoist the near-comatose Jonas into the interior of a hackney.
He set off at a brisk walk. The clock of St. Paul’s church had struck midnight almost an hour since. He must hurry. Whatever the reason for the summons, it was clearly urgent, and he didn’t want Serena giving up on him if he took overlong to make the rendezvous. A pair of chairmen were standing idly on the street corner, smoking corncob pipes, leaning against the body of their chair. He raised a hand, and they seized the poles and trotted over to him.
“Where to, guv?”
“Pickering Place. As fast as you can.” He climbed in, and the chairmen started off at a brisk trot. It wasn’t very far to his destination, but he couldn’t run through the streets himself without drawing unwelcome attention, whereas the chairmen could cover the distance at this pace without notice.
Chapter Fourteen
The chairmen set Sebastian down as instructed on the corner of Pickering Place. He didn’t wish to draw attention from anyone entering or leaving the house, which he assumed at half past one in the morning would still be in the midst of its entertainment. He kept to the shadows as he walked down the street, looking for the alley that would give access to the side door Serena had mentioned. He couldn’t remember having noticed such an alley before, but then, he wouldn’t have been looking for it. In general, arrivals at the house would see only the lighted front door.
