Vision in Blue

by Nicole Byrd

  When at last she was sure that the two women had passed safely by, she released a nervous hiccup. “Perhaps we should go home, now?” she suggested. “The wind is getting colder, I believe.”

  Gemma nodded, and they walked sedately and without hurry to Louisa’s carriage. Only when they had been handed in and the door shut upon them, and the coachman had flicked the reins and the vehicle rolled forward, did Louisa give in to her pent-up feelings.

  She collapsed against the seat and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Gemma laughed as well, and they hugged each other like small children who have pulled a prank upon their governess.

  When Louisa finally wiped her eyes and sat up straighter, she said, “That was too bad of us, I suppose.”

  “They may not even have noticed. And if they did, I doubt their feelings were sorely tried,” Gemma predicted. “But at least, neither were yours.”

  “You are very wise, Gemma,” Louisa told her friend. “I am in your debt.” She realized that much of her trepidation had disappeared, and already she was wondering why she had allowed the two women to upset her so much. Perhaps, she thought, because in her mind they represented all of the Ton, and she feared the same response from the rest of London’s elite. She tried to explain as much to Gemma.

  “But if they judge you only by how your father earned his money, are you losing so much?” Gemma argued. “Your friends will value you for who you are, for your character and your kindness, and if they slight you for other reasons, they are not really friends.”

  “I know,” Louisa said, but she heard in her voice the trace of wistfulness that still lingered. “But Almack’s—I did so want to be invited.”

  “But there are other events, other parties. And you are already engaged, so you do not even need to meet eligible gentlemen,” Gemma pointed out.

  “True. Thank goodness for Lucas,” Louisa agreed. “He may not be very romantic, but he does not mind about my father’s connection to trade. He knew my father and valued him for his integrity, his good sense, and his kindness.” She sighed. “And I have you, Gemma. I am so thankful to have met you, even if it was due to a providential encounter. Your friendship means so much to me.”

  She made out a glint of moisture in her friend’s eyes. “As yours does to me,” Gemma told her, her voice husky. “Without your support, I do not know how I could have endured the intelligence about my mother.”

  They hugged impulsively, and then Louisa sat up and straightened her bonnet. “I think we should go and have an ice at Gunter’s before we return home,” she announced. The shop and its exclusive clientele would no longer frighten her. “In celebration of friendship!”

  Despite her swollen eyelids and still pale face, Gemma smiled. “An excellent notion,” she agreed.

  Louisa tapped on the front of the carriage to alert her driver, and soon the carriage was making its way to Berkeley Square. After they had enjoyed dishes of flavored ices at Gunter’s—this time with no distractions—they climbed back into Louisa’s carriage and made their way home.

  Gemma was happy to see her friend looking more deter- mined. Louisa must not allow the high-sticklers of the Ton to cow her into meek submission, and Gemma would do all she could to help Louisa remain resolute. And in her resolve to aid her friend, some of Gemma’s own pain and sorrow seemed to ease. When they entered the house, they paused in the hallway to take off their hats and wraps, and as Louisa spoke to the footman, a rap sounded at the door.

  Now what? Had Sir Lucas come to call?

  Gemma, aware of how much courage their outing had cost her friend, hoped for Louisa’s sake that her fiancé had returned and would lift her spirits.

  She thought about going upstairs to give them privacy, but Louisa gestured toward the drawing room. “See who it is, Smelters,” she told the footman. Gemma followed her friend into the reception room where they sat down demurely and prepared to receive company.

  They waited until the footman appeared in the doorway. His countenance totally impassive, Smelters stood very straight. Gemma had learned by now that this indicated that he was hiding intense emotion.

  “A visitor to see you, Miss Crookshank,” the footman announced in clear tones. “Lady Gabriel Sinclair.”

  Everyone froze, and the silence felt charged. Gemma felt as if she could not breathe. Then she saw that Louisa had gathered her wits and risen, and she struggled to her feet, too.

  Lady Gabriel entered with a smooth, graceful gait and an elegant posture. Goodness, she was beautiful, Gemma thought. Lord Gabriel’s wife had fair hair pulled up to the back of her head, icy blue eyes, and a face quite without flaws. Her outfit was stunning, and her expression suggested intelligence and a natural air of authority.

  Feeling a bit awed, Gemma, like Louisa, sank into a deep curtsy. Lady Gabriel returned their greeting.

  “Please sit down, Lady Gabriel,” Louisa said. Her voice was a little breathless, but even so, Gemma admired her friend’s self-possession. “It is so kind of you to call. I am most pleased to see you again. Smelters, please bring us a tea tray.”

  She nodded to the servant as Lady Gabriel sank gracefully into a chair. The newcomer glanced at Gemma for a moment.

  Gemma hoped that her face was not as flushed as she feared it might be, and that the ride and the fresh air had obscured the lingering signs of her recent bouts of weeping.

  When Louisa sat down, she seemed to realize she had not effected introductions. “Forgive me, Lady Gabriel, this is my friend, Miss Gemma . . . Smith.” The pause after her given name was brief, and Gemma hoped, not too noticeable. “Gemma, this is Lady Gabriel Sinclair.”

  Her thoughts still awhirl, Gemma murmured a polite response.

  Lady Gabriel smiled at Gemma, then turned back to Louisa. “I feared that my note might have sounded a bit curt, so I decided you would not mind if I came to see you so that I could explain my answer.”

  “Of course not,” Louisa said. “That is, you have no reason to—I should not have expected—if I sounded presumptuous . . .” She paused, too tangled in her own words to find an end to her statement.

  “Not in the least.” Lady Gabriel, whose poise was impressive, smiled again, apparently to put Louisa more at ease. Gemma saw her friend take a deep breath.

  Feeling a little wistful, Gemma drew her attention back to their visitor. Although only slightly older than she and Louisa, Lady Gabriel was still an example of the type of gentlewoman Gemma would have hoped to someday become, if she had any right to be deemed a lady at all. She suspected Louisa felt the same admiration. Was this what Gemma’s mother had been like when she was young—gracious, kind, with intelligent eyes and a perfect bearing? But now Gemma would never know her mother at any age. The pain stabbed her again, and Gemma pushed it back.

  “I confess I have been out of spirits,” Lady Gabriel was saying. “Last year, I was very pleased to find myself expecting a child. It would have been my—our—first. However, it was not to be. This sad loss has been heavy on my heart, especially . . .” She paused, for the first time looking less than serene, her blue eyes troubled.

  Had she not been able to become pregnant again? This was indeed a great blow, Gemma thought.

  Louisa had flushed. “Oh, I knew that. I mean, I was there when you, well, you may not remember, as ill as you were. But I should have realized that such a disappointment could still haunt you. I am so sorry, Lady Gabriel, for bothering you with my frivolous request.”

  She sounded completely sincere, and her expression of concern was not contrived, Gemma decided. She was pleased to see that Louisa seemed to have put aside her own desires in her sympathy for the other woman. It showed her friend at her best, and Gemma privately applauded her for it.

  They all paused for a moment as the footman came in with a tray with tea and dainty cakes and biscuits. As he made his exit, Louisa poured a cup of tea and handed it to their guest.

  “Thank you, Miss Crookshank,” Lady Gabriel said. “May
I call you Louisa? No, indeed, I am glad you have applied to me for help. It made me pause and take stock, and I have decided I have been indulging myself too much. Aided by my dear husband, I must add, who cossets me in every way that he can think of. I am sure it would be better for me to resume a normal schedule and stop dwelling on sad reflections.”

  Louisa’s expression changed, and Gemma saw dawning hope in her friend’s eyes.

  “Oh, please do call me Louisa—I should like that enormously. But, do you really wish, do you feel up to, that is . . .”

  “Embarking upon one’s first Season is also important, in its own way.” Lady Gabriel smiled at Louisa, and Louisa colored with what Gemma was sure was pure happiness. But then Louisa hesitated.

  “My lady, I think I should tell you, I would not wish to deceive you in any way.” Her voice faltered, then Louisa took a deep breath and went on. “My family is completely respectable, I promise you. But it is a fact that my father—my father owned woolen mills in the north, and even several shops. If you find that distasteful, I would not wish to presume upon your kindness.”

  Their visitor gave her a thoughtful look. “I appreciate your candor, Louisa. But you need not fear. My own dear father, although from an old and much respected family, loved machines and was an inventor of some note. His wealth, and my inheritance and my sister’s, was derived mainly from his patents and inventions; he may have made some refinements used by the new power looms in your late father’s mills. I have no disdain for those who earn their money by honest toil and native ingenuity.”

  Louisa opened her eyes wide. “And you are not—and no one has slighted you because—oh, I beg your pardon.”

  “If they did, I should take no notice of such foolishness,” Lady Gabriel declared. “I know well enough how particular some of the Ton can be, but one should not give any heed to such small-minded fancies. Though, mind you, I admit I cannot imagine anyone daring to slight a Hill or a Sinclair.”

  Waving the notion away, she continued, “One of my close friends, Mrs. Andrew Forsythe, is giving a ball next week. It’s not a prodigious affair, but Sally is a wonderful hostess, and a good selection of the Ton will attend. She has begged me to come, but I was not sure. I have decided that I will go, and I will see that she invites you and your fiancé—and your friend as well.”

  Gemma drew a deep breath. She was to be invited, too?

  As Louisa stammered her thanks, Lady Gabriel turned to Gemma, who sat motionless with surprise. “And now, my dear, I hope you will forgive me for asking, but I promise you it is not merely idle curiosity. I believe you called on my husband this morning with a rather incredible narrative? The footman heard you give the hackney driver your address when you departed, and I could not help but notice that it was the same as the one Miss Crookshank had inscribed on her letter to me.”

  Gemma lifted her chin and met the other woman’s gaze squarely. “I know it is a fantastic tale—” she began.

  “Which does not automatically mean it is not true,” Lady Gabriel said gently.

  Prepared for skepticism, not a receptive listener, Gemma paused in confusion.

  “Gabriel says that you have in your possession a letter that you believe was written by the woman who was your mother, and perhaps also my husband’s mother? Would you allow me to see it?”

  Gemma swallowed. “Of course,” she said, knowing that Louisa watched her anxiously. Neither of them wished to offend Lady Gabriel, and if she were disposed to be more open to Gemma’s quest . . . Telling herself not to allow new hopes, which might once again be quickly crushed, Gemma withdrew the note from her reticule and unfolded it with anxious care.

  As if she understood how precious this creased sheet of paper was to Gemma, Lady Gabriel put down her tea cup and moved across to sit on the settee next to her so that she could consider the few lines on the paper.

  Everyone was silent. Then Lady Gabriel looked up. “I cannot say for sure, you understand—my husband has sent a message to our country estate to have sent to us the housekeeping book, which has some of his mother’s handwriting in it—but it seems similar. We will need to compare the two more closely.”

  Gemma found that she had been holding her breath. She let out a long sigh. “Thank you,” she said. “I do not blame your husband for doubting my story. But I wish so much to find out more about my mother, and—”

  “And why she would send away a daughter?” Lady Gabriel sounded sad, just considering such a thing. “And without telling her sons?”

  Gemma looked up and saw that the other lady had paused. “I know the most obvious answer,” she said slowly. “It would be that I was, was—”

  “That you were, perhaps, not her husband’s child?” Lady Gabriel’s tone was mild and her glance at Gemma without judgment. “It does happen, you know, but seldom are such infants sent away from the family. Sometimes it is common knowledge. The gossip among the Ton—well, that is beside the point. What is to the point is, I must tell you, having endured one brief visit with my husband’s father before his death, that I cannot judge the theory impossible. He was a most intolerant man. If he was so unfeeling as to drive my husband away for a suspected transgression, the late marquess could conceivably have had the same vicious reaction to an infant he felt might not be his.”

  Hungry for any scrap of information, Gemma nodded eagerly.

  “Whatever proves to be true, it is no reflection upon you, you know,” Lady Gabriel added. She leaned over to pat Gemma’s hand. Only then did Gemma discover she had twisted her hands together in her lap so tightly that her fingers ached. She drew another deep breath and tried to loosen them.

  “It will affect my social standing, however,” Gemma argued, trying not to sound bitter. “And make a respectable man hesitate to choose me as his wife.”

  “Do not think of it!” the other woman retorted, her eyes suddenly bright. “If he truly loves you, this will be a small thing.”

  Gemma wished she could be so sure. Arnold did not think it a small thing. But she would not contradict their visitor. “You are very generous. Thank you for allowing me to hope that I may yet find some answers.”

  Lady Gabriel lifted her brows. “I would not wish to be unkind to someone who may be related to my beloved husband! And there is, you know, the matter of your eyes.”

  Perplexed, Gemma repeated, “My eyes?”

  The other woman nodded. “Many English have blue eyes; it is not an unusual attribute among our countrymen. In fact, all three of us here are blue-eyed.” She gestured to Louisa, and then back to Gemma. “But even so, there are many shades of blue.”

  Gemma glanced from one to the other. It was true. Lady Gabriel had eyes of an icy clear blue. Louisa’s shade was softer. And as for herself—she could not keep from glancing into the looking glass above the corner table—the familiar deep-hued eyes that she had known all her life gazed back at her.

  “Yours are just the color, and even the shape, of my husband’s,” Lady Gabriel explained, adding, “My younger sister is a most talented artist. Perhaps her keener observations of the human form have rubbed off a bit on me.”

  Gemma was only surprised she had not remarked upon the similarities when she had been sitting in front of Lord Gabriel. But she had been most perturbed at the time, and besides, she had gone there expecting him to be her brother. She did not need proof.

  “Would you feel it impertinent if I invited you to tell me about your life?” Lady Gabriel asked.

  Her tone was warm. Gemma found that she could talk much more freely than she had done when confronted with Lord Gabriel’s obvious skepticism. She told the story all over again, explaining about the woman who had fostered her, the foundling home, then the school in Yorkshire. Gemma also told how she had visited the foundling home in search of information and met Matthew Fallon there on a similar errand, though she did not tell her possible sister-in-law about stealing the ledgers. Anyhow, the audacious theft had gained them nothing.

  “There is n
o reason that the matron should be so unhelpful,” Lady Gabriel declared, looking over their heads for a moment. She stirred her cooling tea but seemed to have forgotten to drink it. “I think we should pay another visit to this place, Miss Smith. Or may I call you Gemma?”

  Her hope stirring again for the first time since it had been dashed so low this morning, Gemma sat up straight. “Please do! Do you mean you yourself wish to see the home?”

  “I do, indeed. And perhaps I can persuade this formidable matron to be more forthcoming,” Lady Gabriel declared.

  Anyone who withstood this lady’s cool gaze and air of authority would be doughty, in truth, Gemma thought. Perhaps even the formidable Miss Craigmore would unbend before Lady Gabriel. Gemma found herself almost speechless with anticipation.

  Louisa was less restrained. “Lady Gabriel, you are an angel!”

  The beautiful matron laughed. “Call me Psyche, please. I am sure we are going to be wonderful friends.”

  Matthew set out for the inns of Court immediately after breakfast. He was staying in a modest hotel on the other side of the city, so he hailed a cab and rode to his destination. After he stepped down, he first tried the office of the solicitor whose job it had been to look out for his mother and sister, the duplicitous Mr. Temming. Once again, the door was locked, and again, no one came in answer to his pounding.

  He had pried open the door upon his first visit to the office and searched the place, but someone had repaired the lock. Interesting. Perhaps Temming had not gone too far, then. Although it could also be someone hired to look after the place in its proprietor’s absence.

  Matthew considered knocking the damned door down; he doubted there was any new information inside, but it would relieve some of his pent-up frustration—but someone might come and report him to the magistrates. He had already disclosed news of the man’s disappearance and likely malfeasance to local authorities, but to little avail. Even sending out a Bow Street runner would do little good if the runner did not know where to start.