Vision in Blue

by Nicole Byrd

  “If there were any question of this being true—I mean, why should she have to meet you?” he began, then shook his head at himself. He seemed in danger of being drawn into this poor girl’s fantasy world. “I cannot ask her,” he said.

  “Oh, but please! Just make an inquiry—it is essential. I beg of you!”

  He thought for one alarmed moment she would kneel before him on the expensive rug. He said quickly, “You don’t understand. I cannot ask her anything at all. My mother—my mother died some years ago.”

  And then he jumped to his feet, but not in time to get around the desk and catch her before she slipped to the floor.

  When Louisa came out of her room after indulging her- self in a brief cry, she felt little better. Now her head was aching for real, and she frowned when she found that Gemma had gone out. Louisa had hoped for someone more congenial than Miss Pomshack to talk to. Her companion, the vicar’s daughter, meant well, Louisa was sure, but the woman did have a tendency to slip into pat bromides, and Louisa was not in the mood to be told to count her blessings or expect that all would look brighter in the morning. . . .

  Still pondering, Louisa wandered into the drawing room and sat down. At least Gemma had taken the maid with her, so Louisa had no fears about her friend’s safety. And indeed, knowing where Gemma must have gone, she did not blame her for deciding to face Lord Gabriel Sinclair without a witness. If Gemma had asked her to accompany her, Louisa would have agreed, of course, but she shuddered at the thought of observing Lord Gabriel’s surprise and possible anger.

  Thinking of Gemma reminded Louisa once more of Miss Pomshack’s list of platitudes. Perhaps, after all, she should be thankful.

  Being mindful of Gemma’s predicament—her friend not knowing who she was or even into what social class she belonged—did put her own problem into a different perspective. Louisa was privately sure that her friend had to be a lady by birth as well as disposition—Gemma simply had too many fine sensibilities—but it was still a very uncomfortable position for her.

  Louisa herself enjoyed a much more fortunate situation, despite the distress caused by those malicious members of the London Ton. She had family who cared about her, the fortune left her by her father and thus no fears of want or deprivation in her future, and she even had a handsome and affable fiancé who was devoted to her. . . . Well, he was fond of her, she was sure, even if he had not been very attentive lately.

  Louisa tried to reassure herself by thinking of Lucas. She wished she could see him. She had decided to share a somewhat edited version of her humiliation at the theater and seek his solace. She sat down at the desk to write him a short note, but before it was completed, the footman appeared, announcing her fiancé.

  Pleased that he seemed to have read her thoughts, Louisa stood to welcome him. But when he entered the drawing room, she was much less pleased to find that he had brought a male companion with him.

  “Mr. Harris-Smythe,” Lucas said as introduction. “My fiancée, Miss Crookshank.”

  Lucas’s friend was short and stout, and his sandy hair was already receding from his forehead. He gave her a deep bow. “Enchanted to meet Sir Lucas’s future wife,” he said grandly. His tone was almost as flowery as his purple waistcoat.

  Louisa kept her expression pleasant and returned his salutation. “I’m delighted,” she said, but she glanced back toward Lucas, wishing she could indicate that she wished a few words in private.

  Lucas was blind to her significant look, however. “Just wanted to tell you that we—Smythy and me—are going out of town overnight with some other chums to attend a cockfight.”

  His friend looked shocked. “Lucas, you don’t say such things to your fiancée! A subject not fit for a lady’s ears, you know.”

  “Oh, she would have had it out of me, anyhow,” Lucas explained, looking unperturbed. “Louisa doesn’t mind me speaking frankly.”

  Louisa wondered if it was a disadvantage that she had known Lucas since they were both children. Sometimes of late he seemed to treat her more like a sister than his future wife. His expression remained guilt-free. “Anyhow, didn’t want you to worry that you didn’t hear from me. I’ll be back by tomorrow, unless it’s a really good event, and if so, we’ll return by the weekend, I’m sure. I’ll come and dine with you as soon as I return, if you like?”

  “Of course,” she agreed, but when the two men took their leave, she frowned at her betrothed’s departing back. She had wanted a private chat, a comforting shoulder, a little sympathy and understanding. And Lucas had his mind on dueling chickens, blast it!

  As the door shut behind him, it occurred to her that Lucas was having a fine time in London and seemed to have made friends already. He did not seem to have any problems being accepted! But then, masculine manners were so different, and men could get by with so much more than women. Feeling a little miffed, Louisa tossed her unfinished note into the fire and paced up and down the room. She had waited so long to come to London. It was ridiculous to stay caged in her own house, just because the more fastidious members of Society did not approve of her or her parents’ background. She frowned again, thinking of the implied slight to her darling father.

  When Miss Pomshack came downstairs from her usual afternoon nap, Louisa looked up in relief.

  “I wish to go out, Miss Pomshack. Are you amenable to accompanying me?”

  “Of course, Miss Crookshank. I’m sure that a turn in the fresh air would be just the thing for us both. I shall get my shawl.”

  Louisa donned her hat and gloves and ordered that her carriage be made ready. She had no intentions of again being stranded on foot. When it pulled up in front of the door, she gave directions to the coachman.

  “We shall go to Gunter’s,” she told her companion when they were seated inside. “My aunt told me last year that the establishment is famous for their ices.”

  And, she told herself, one did not need vouchers to be admitted!

  It was a short journey to their destination in Berkeley Square, where the groom helped Louisa and Miss Pomshack down, and they entered the confectionary shop.

  Several patrons were seated at small tables around the room. Louisa led the way to a free table. After they had taken their seat, a young woman soon came to ask what they would wish. She offered a number of enticing choices, and Louisa chose a cherry-flavored ice embellished with chopped almonds and whipped cream, and Miss Pomshack, looking pleased at the prospect of this treat, selected peach.

  Louisa was enjoying her dessert when she happened to look up and note Miss Hargrave seated, with two other ladies unknown to Louisa, at a table on the other side of the room. When had she come in? Suddenly, Louisa’s ice tasted less sweet. She put down her spoon.

  Her first impulse was to jump up from her chair and leave at once. But she took a deep breath and considered.

  No, she told herself, remembering Gemma’s advice. Louisa would not be driven away by that unpleasant young woman. Her jaw tight, she managed another bite, but the pleasure had gone out of her excursion. Was there nowhere in London where she could be safe from supercilious damsels?

  Miss Pomshack devoted herself to her own dish, and Louisa had ample opportunity to glance about the room at the other clients, though she carefully avoided looking toward the table which held the superior Miss Hargrave. But then she received another shock. Louisa looked quickly down at the table and was sure that she had flushed.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Crookshank?” Miss Pomshack inquired dutifully.

  “No, not at all,” Louisa lied. But inside, she was torn by conflicting emotions. She was sure that the handsome countenance across the room belonged to the outrageous Lieutenant McGregor. Did all of London assemble in the confectionary shop? And was she merely singularly unlucky today?

  She glanced his way again, and she saw him look up and meet her eyes. Remembering his kindness at the theater, she could not help but flash a smile.

  “Miss Pomshack,” Louisa said suddenly. “If you are
finished with your ice, perhaps you would go up to the counter and select a dessert for us to take home. They make some amazing confections here.”

  “That sounds delightful,” the other lady agreed. “But tell me, do you not have a preference?”

  “Oh, no, I am sure that whatever you choose will be delicious. Do take your time,” Louisa added. “I am in no hurry.”

  The older lady stood and walked across the shop. Louisa darted one more glance across the room. Yes, he was rising.

  Then she kept her gaze carefully upon the mushy remains still in her bowl as she dabbled her spoon in the sweet.

  “Miss Crookshank, I believe?”

  She looked up and widened her eyes. “Lieutenant McGregor, what a surprise!”

  “Indeed? I read a clear invitation in the look you sent me.” He arranged himself comfortably in the empty chair. He had the carriage of a military man, she thought, erect and with the hint of strength in his well-shaped torso.

  “I should do nothing so unladylike,” she told him, keeping her tone dignified. “As I recall, you told me not long ago that I should avoid your company at all costs.”

  “Ah, yes, I believe I did,” he agreed, glancing, to her annoyance, down at her neat pink slippers. “I’m happy to see that you are in better condition today. And do you always pay attention to the good advice that others give you?”

  “Perhaps,” Louisa answered, her tone demure. “And perhaps not.”

  “My kind of woman,” he said, and the glint in his eye said even more. Louisa felt a delicious tingle. The man might be a reprobate, just as he had said, but he was a most entertaining one, and capable of unexpected kindnesses, too.

  “Why are you not with Lady Jersey today?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

  He raised his brows. “I do not spend all my time with the countess.”

  “No? She must be a most amusing companion. I have heard whispers that she has been an—ah—intimate friend of the Prince Regent himself.” Louisa allowed her voice to rise in the faintest suggestion of a question.

  But the man across from her, for once, kept his expression quite bland. “I do not tell tales about ladies I have the honor to claim as friends.”

  Louisa should have been disappointed to lose the chance for some really scintillating gossip. Instead, she glanced at him with approval. “I am glad to hear it. What about the suggestion that she was the one who first introduced the quadrille, that most sophisticated Continental dance, into Almack’s?”

  “She is certainly a most accomplished dancer.” The gentleman flashed his easy smile.

  No doubt he had danced with the countess of Jersey often. Perhaps she should beg his help in ingratiating herself with Lady Jersey, Louisa thought. But as much as she wanted an invitation to Almack’s, she felt distaste at the thought of seeking favor in such a way. And if the lieutenant felt no shame in flirtations with a social elite, well, he should, she told herself, wishing once more that men were not judged so differently. Then, too, the thought of the countess—or any woman—in the lieutenant’s arms, even merely on a dance floor, provoked inside her a flicker of—what?—surely not jealousy.

  “Is she your kind of woman, too? Or does that designation apply to any woman who smiles upon you, sir?” she suggested, more tartly than she had intended.

  He grinned, looking totally unrepentant. “You begin to understand me, then.”

  “This does not bode well for the happiness of your future wife, when you find a suitably rich lady and manage to gain her affection,” Louisa retorted.

  “Oh, no,” he told her. “I may allow my eye to roam just now; why should I not? But I always play fair. When I am married, I will be true to my bride.”

  “Of course you will, when you are married—” she began, then saw he was laughing at her again.

  “There is no ‘of course’ about it, my dear naive Miss Crookshank. Many men do not give up their extra pleasures just because they have entered into the marital state. But as I said, when I do marry, I will not dishonor my vows or my wife.” He leaned forward just a little, and she saw again just how broad were his shoulders and how wicked was the gleam in his eyes. It made her feel curious inside, shaky and exhilarated all at once.

  “And your word is so dependable?” she flashed back.

  “In fact, it is,” he told her.

  Louisa paused; he sounded serious just for an instant. And he had certainly been open enough about his present activities.

  She had one hand lying on the edge of the table. He reached for it and lifted it to his lips. The kiss was only a faint brush of the lips, but she hoped he did not observe how she quivered with delight.

  If so, he made no sign. Then, to her disappointment, he released her hand and pushed back his chair.

  “You’re leaving already?”

  “I shall claim a dance the next time I see you,” he promised. “Perhaps Wednesday night at Almack’s. Lord knows, that assembly is boring enough that I shall need some pleasant diversion.”

  Louisa knew her expression had twisted. About to rise, he paused. “What is it?”

  “I have no vouchers,” she explained. “And it seems unlikely that I shall obtain any.” She tried not to allow her voice to sound strained, but he seemed to read her disappointment and even to understand.

  “You are not really missing a great deal. It’s not the most exciting spot in London, you know,” he told her.

  Louisa did not reply, but her silence was answer enough.

  “Think of all the many spots in the city you may enjoy, with or without the approval of the biddies who rule the Ton.”

  “Such as?” she demanded.

  He smiled again, this time with less devilry and more real kindness. “You might stroll into Hookham’s Circulating Library on Bond Street, and take out one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s wicked Gothic novels. Or, at number 24, visit Sir Thomas Lawrence’s studio, or nearby, Hoppner’s, and gaze upon the portraits of the best of London Society. Why, one of them could likely be persuaded to paint you, too, you know, for a suitable commission. You’re quite as lovely as any of his other subjects, more than most. You would require much less enhancing than our distinguished duke of Wellington.”

  Louisa laughed, but she felt a wave of pleasure. “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course.” And then there is Ackermann’s print shop at 101 the Strand, another favorite spot for fashionable young ladies to enjoy. And of course, there are the theaters, the opera, the exhibits of wild beasts at the amphitheater—”

  Louisa giggled again despite herself. “I am not a child.”

  “Oh no, I am quite sure of that.” And as he glanced down at the discreet bosom of her gown, she felt again the prickle of those surely scandalous feelings that he always engendered.

  But Miss Pomshack was returning, her expression disapproving despite the parcel she carried in her hands.

  “It was a pleasure, Miss Crookshank.” To her immense regret, the lieutenant stood and gave her a completely correct bow. “I’m sure we shall meet again.”

  “No doubt,” Louisa agreed, her tone demure, determined not to show how enticing she found the prospect. And if Miss Hargrave had noticed Louisa’s tête-à-tête with the dashing lieutenant, so be it!

  Gabriel supported the slim form, wondering about call- ing for the footman. He needed a maid, but again, if he shouted out the door, he feared that his wife might hear and be alarmed. To his relief, while he considered which course to take, the girl stirred and sat up.

  “What?”

  “You swooned for a moment,” he told her, helping her back into the chair. “Let me pour you a glass of wine.”

  She was silent while he turned his back and poured a glass from the decanter on the side table. When he looked around again, he found that she was weeping silently. When she felt his gaze, she wiped uselessly at her damp cheeks. Her attempt to suppress her sobs somehow moved him much more than noisy wailing would have.

  “Here,” he said,
more gently than he had spoken earlier. “Please, take a sip. It will help you calm yourself.”

  She drank a little of the port, almost choking on the potent drink. Not accustomed to strong wine, then, he deduced.

  “I am sorry this has upset you, but—” he began.

  “I feel as if I have lost her all over again,” she said, staring past him. “I never knew a mother, not a real mother. I thought I would see her face at last, hear her voice, and she would explain it all.”

  “Explain what?”

  “I apprised you of the facts about my life in my letter,” she told him, her tone reproachful.

  Gabriel wished he had read the bloody thing. But he could hardly admit he had tossed it away. “I’m sorry. If you would be kind enough to refresh my memory?”

  She looked at him as if he were the one who had gone mad—one part of his mind could not help appreciating the irony of it—but she nodded. “I was raised for five years by a kind lady who I was told was my caretaker, but who I knew was not my mother. When she died suddenly, I was sent to a foundling home, and it was, it was not the most . . .” For the first time she looked away and swallowed with obvious effort. “At any rate, after some time I was taken away and sent to a respectable girls’ school in Yorkshire. My fees were paid by a solicitor, but he would tell me nothing about my background.”

  “And your name?” Gabriel asked.

  She flushed. “I was known there as Gemma Smith,” she said simply. “But when I turned one and twenty, the solicitor sent me this letter. He told me he had been bidden by my mother—two decades ago—to give it to me when I came of age. I came at once to London to seek you out, just as the letter said. I was—I was so happy.” Her voice broke, and he looked away to give her time to compose herself.

  “But you must see how fantastical this story is,” he pointed out.

  She nodded. “Of course I do. But I thought”—her voice wavered, but she regained her control—“I thought I could simply rely on my mother to confirm it, and finally, to answer all the questions about my past which have hung over my head for years.”