by Mary Balogh
“No, Mr. Bouchard,” she said, and her smile as she left the room was almost sunny again.
The following morning Christopher renewed his membership of White’s Club and a short while later was in possession both of the knowledge that Nigel Rhodes was in town and of his address.
Mr. Rhodes was from home, Christopher was informed by a manservant after he had sent his card upstairs in the rooming house to which he had been directed.
“Then I shall wait until he returns,” Christopher said, turning toward the stairs and beginning to climb them. He continued to climb even when the servant came after him, protesting that his master was expected to be gone all day and perhaps all night too.
Christopher opened the door into what appeared to be a sitting room, the protesting servant still behind him. Rhodes, his back to the door, was bending over a desk.
“Did you get rid of him?” he asked.
“No, he did not,” Christopher said. “I am planning to wait until you return home, Rhodes.”
The man spun around, color mounting his cheeks. “Trevelyan,” he said. “I have a pressing appointment. It seemed easier to send down the message that I had left already. You will excuse me?”
“For lying?” Christopher said, looking about the room and seating himself on a sofa. “We all do it from time to time.”
“I really am in a hurry,” Rhodes said as his servant withdrew from the room and closed the door. “What can I do for you, Trevelyan?”
“Was I the evening’s winner in the green room?” Christopher asked. “Is that where I took her from?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Rhodes said, frowning.
“Or did I sneak her out of the theater after a private liaison?” Christopher asked.
“I have to be going,” Rhodes said. “I would advise you not to start drinking so early in the day, Trevelyan.”
“If I took her from the green room,” Christopher said, “there would have been several other witnesses, apart from you. You will doubtless be able to refresh my memory. I cannot for the life of me remember who any of them were. I cannot even remember your being there. Or my being there, for that matter. If we slipped out together privately, I will need to have you explain how you came to see us. Were you sneaking out with someone else? Through the same door? It must have been rather crowded. But you will enlighten me, I am sure.”
“I can see that you are referring to that unfortunate incident that happened years ago,” Rhodes said, licking his lips. “I had forgotten about it, Trevelyan. I’m afraid I cannot remember any of the details.”
“You must live either a violent or a depraved life,” Christopher said, “if you have forgotten your small involvement in what seems to have been a rather brutal murder. I would have expected the fact that you saw me with the girl, the last person to be seen with her, to be etched on your memory.”
“There are some things best forgotten,” Rhodes said.
“Yes,” Christopher said. “I can believe that. Your reason for fabricating such a story, perhaps.”
“It was no fabrication,” Rhodes said, his manner becoming more blustering. “I saw you, Trevelyan. I am not saying you did it. The girl was a whore. She might have had one or more customers after you before one of them or someone else killed her or caused her death. But I did see you with her.”
“Where?” Christopher asked.
“At the theater.”
“Where at the theater?” he persisted. “In the green room?”
“Leaving from one of the side doors,” Rhodes said.
“Immediately after the performance?” Christopher asked. “Or a little later?”
“A little later, I suppose,” Rhodes said. “It was all a long time ago. How am I supposed to remember things like that?”
“From a side entrance some time after the performance,” Christopher said. “Presumably after the crush of carriages had taken away the members of the audience. Correct?”
Rhodes shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“But I cannot understand,” Christopher said, “what you were doing still there and in sight of a side door. The street whores would not have been in such a quiet place if you had stayed to engage one. They would not do a brisk business in such a place, would they? What were you doing?”
“I have to go,” Rhodes said. “I am late for my appointment.”
“I had better not keep you, then,” Christopher said. “Let’s end this cat-and-mouse game and get on to straight questions and answers. Who paid you?”
“Paid me?” Color mounted Nigel Rhodes’s neck and cheeks again.
“To say that you had seen me with the girl,” Christopher said. “Who paid you?”
“This is outrageous,” Rhodes said. “I must ask you to leave, Trevelyan.”
“Gladly,” Christopher said, “when I have had my answer. And you may be assured that I will never call again. I do not believe I have any quarrel with you, Rhodes. As you have just said, you did not accuse me of killing the girl, merely of having left the theater with her. And people can be mistaken about identities, especially late at night. Who was it who suggested that perhaps you had seen me?”
Rhodes said nothing for a while. “Perhaps you had better discuss the matter with your former brother-in-law, Trevelyan,” he said at last. “Maybe he will know what you are talking about.”
“Aston?” Christopher frowned.
Rhodes laughed. “Honywood,” he said. “The weasel. Perhaps it was not you I saw, Trevelyan. As you just said, it was dark. I merely reported what I thought might have been so.”
“For a small price,” Christopher said, getting to his feet. “Or more probably a large one. Good day to you, Rhodes. Don’t waste time summoning your servant to see me out. I shall find my own way.”
Good God, he thought as he strode down the street a minute later, Martin!
Martin? But Martin had always been excessively fond of Elizabeth and had always gone out of his way to shield her from any unpleasantness. And Martin had always been his friend. Martin had stuck by him even when everyone else was turning away. Even after Elizabeth had left, Martin had still called on him and suggested all possible and impossible ways of winning her back. He had had tears in his eyes when he knew that Christopher was going away to stay.
Martin. There had to be some explanation, surely. But what?
Christopher hurried back toward the Pulteney. He needed to talk with Nancy. But when he arrived there and entered their sitting room, it was to find that his sister was not alone. Elizabeth was with her.
Chapter 19
ELIZABETH attended a private concert with Lord Poole the evening after she had taken her daughter to meet Christopher in the park. He told her of his plans for the coming weeks, and she tried to feel interest. It was important to him, she realized, this coming state visit and the sort of impression he would make as a politician in the awkward position of being a Whig.
They were to attend the opera when the Regent and his foreign guests were also to be there, and on the evening following that they were to be at Carlton House for a grand reception in honor of the dignitaries and for a formal presentation to the queen.
It was only when he remembered what she had been doing that afternoon that his good mood faltered. Understandably he resented the fact that she had made a second appointment to drive with Christopher in the park even though she assured him that she had done so entirely for Christina’s sake.
Elizabeth felt confused and guilty by the time she arrived home. And very tired. But she was not to be allowed to go straight to bed. A footman informed her that her father wished to speak with her in the library as soon as she returned home. She sighed. She did not feel quite able to cope with an interview at almost midnight, especially after such a busy and emotional day. And being summoned to the library always meant an interview rather than a social visit. The library was where Papa always summoned servants to be dismissed or family members to be scolded.
Had he heard? she wondered. She had not expected her meeting with Christopher to remain secret for long. But she could have wished that it had kept at least until the morning.
She had guessed right. She knew that as soon as she entered the library and found her father regarding her from beneath brows of thunder. And he was seated formally behind the desk.
“What is this I have been hearing, Elizabeth?” he asked. “No one saw fit to inform me until this evening that the Earl of Trevelyan was even back in England. And yet it seems that you danced with him last evening at Lady Drummond’s and even absented yourself with him from the ballroom for half an hour?”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, looking steadily back at him.
“Are you quite mad, girl?” he asked. “And you took Christina to meet him this afternoon? Tell me that that information at least was false.”
“He is Christina’s father, Papa,” she said.
He brought a fist crashing down on the desk. “He is not fit to bear the name,” he said. “I went to considerable pains, Elizabeth, to sever your relations with that scoundrel. Considerable pains. And yet now you dance with him? And walk with him in the park? And allow him to claim fathership of my granddaughter?”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “He is coming again tomorrow, Papa,” she said. “Here, to the house. He is to take Christina and me driving.”
“If I am dead and in my grave,” the Duke of Chicheley said. “Your maid is packing your trunks, Elizabeth, and Christina’s nurse is packing hers. Martin will take the two of you to Kingston early tomorrow morning. You will remain there until I have made it clear to the Earl of Trevelyan that London is not a large enough city for both him and me.”
Elizabeth raised her eyes again. “Christina and I will be staying in London, Papa,” she said. “I will not run from Christopher. Besides, Manley needs me here. The next few weeks will be important for him. He must be seen among all the important dignitaries who will be here, and I should be seen at his side.”
“Perhaps you should have remembered that during the past two days,” he said angrily, “and not have brought shame and embarrassment on him instead, Elizabeth. You are defying me, then?”
“I am twenty-five years old, Papa,” she said, “and determined to lead my own life as far as it is possible to do so. Of course I owe you obedience now as I will to Manley once we are married. But not mindless obedience, Papa. Sometimes I must be allowed to decide things for myself.”
He seemed to be making a conscious effort to control his temper. “Where is he living?” he asked.
“Christopher?” she said. “He is at the Pulteney with Nancy.”
“I shall send,” he said, “and inform him that he is not welcome at this house or anywhere else in company with either you or Christina. You must totally ignore him if you should happen to see him anywhere.”
She drew a deep breath. “Christina and I will drive with him tomorrow afternoon, Papa,” she said. “And that will be the end of it.”
“You are a fool, Elizabeth,” he said. “What does Poole have to say about all this?”
“He knows,” she said. “I have told him what I have just told you.”
“You are a fool,” he said again, slapping his open palm on the desk.
He did not say good night. She turned and left the room as he was lifting the brandy decanter to pour himself a drink. She was shaking a little. She had never openly defied her father before. And so when she went into her dressing room and found Martin sitting there, close to two packed trunks, she thankfully went into his arms as he got to his feet.
“Poor Lizzie," he said, patting her back soothingly. “Did he read you a dreadful scold? But he is right, you know. It is impossible for you to stay here under the circumstances.”
She drew away from him. “Were you the one to tell him?” she asked.
He looked contrite. “He would have heard soon enough,” he said. “Better from one of us than from a stranger, Lizzie. And I have not known what to do to make you see sense. John feels as he always did that you have to be given the chance to work things out on your own. But I can’t accept that. I can’t bear to see you hurt. And you are going to be hurt if you stay here.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But the pain of running can be just as fierce as the pain of standing and fighting, Martin. I proved that once before.”
“You wish you had stayed, then?” he said. “You wish you had forgiven Trevelyan and carried on as if nothing had happened?”
“I could not have done that,” she said. “And at that time I don’t think I had the strength of character to do any fighting. But now things are different.”
“Well,” he said, smiling gently at her, “men sometimes see these things more clearly than women, Lizzie. I suppose that is why fathers have command of their daughters and husbands of their wives. Papa in his wisdom has decided that you must return to Kingston. For your own protection and happiness. And I’ll be there with you. It will not be so bad, will it? We were happy there before, weren’t we?”
She frowned at him. “Sometimes,” she said, “I wonder if you have realized that I am no longer a girl. You are more protective even than Papa. Don’t you see that you can no longer protect me from life? We are twenty-five, Martin. You are going to ruin your own life if you keep feeling obligated to me. And you will ruin my life too. I am not going to Kingston. I have told Papa that already. I am going to see Christopher tomorrow. And I am going to spend the next few weeks being seen in all the right places and with all the right people at Manley’s side. He is to be my husband later this year.”
Martin had turned pale, but he said nothing.
“I didn’t mean to speak harshly,” she said tenderly. She laughed. “I think that is the closest I have ever come to quarreling with you, Martin. But you must see that I have passed girlhood and I have passed that dreadful stage of my life when I leaned on you more heavily than anyone has a right to lean on a brother. I need to live my own life now. And you are free to live yours. At last.”
She was touched to see misery in his eyes. “You are headed toward disaster, Lizzie,” he said. “I can’t bear the thought of that. It was such a relief when Papa made his decision earlier. I thought we would both be saved from unhappiness.”
She smiled and took a step forward to set her arms around him and hug him. “Don’t worry about me, Martin,” she said. “I don’t intend to get hurt, but if I do, well, then, I will pick myself up and keep on going. Life cannot be without pain.”
He sighed and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “Well, we tried,” he said. “Papa and I both. We tried.”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “Thank you for caring. But don’t wrap me about with care, Martin. I need to be free. As far as a woman can be that is.”
“Good night,” he said, and he kissed her cheek and left her to stare ruefully at her packed trunks.
Martin was right about one thing, she thought. She had got herself into an impossible situation. She was Manley’s betrothed and it was important that for at least the next few weeks she be everything that a politician’s betrothed should be. Her behavior must be exemplary. She could not keep on seeing Christopher even if she did sympathize with his need to be acquainted with their daughter.
She was so weary, she thought suddenly, sinking into the chair Martin had been sitting on when she entered her dressing room. So very weary. Almost too tired to drag herself to bed and sleep. She had been weary all day and for days before that.
She was going to call on Christopher in the morning, she decided suddenly as she climbed into bed a few minutes later. She was not going to wait until the afternoon when Christina would be with them. They needed to straighten out a few things, not the least of which was the fact that that drive was to be their last encounter.
The bed was cold and the pillow uncomfortable. It was strange she thought, turning over onto her side and reaching up a hand to touch the smooth and empty pillow beside her, that a hard-mus
cled arm could provide a far cozier headrest than a feather pillow.
Then, just when sleep might have been expected to come, she remembered the stab of envy and sadness she had felt in the park at sight of that family laughing at the swans on the Serpentine, the father with his little child up on his shoulder, the mother with her arm linked through his. And then suddenly—perhaps Christopher had noticed too—they became that family, or one just like it. He had taken Christina up on his shoulder and offered his arm to her, Elizabeth.
For a few minutes, a few minutes out of their lives, they had been a family.
She remembered watching him a little later looking down at Christina, who had been humming and skipping along between then, a smile of such tenderness on his face that she had felt a deep pain.
She remembered—oh, she could not stop remembering.
It was embarrassing to find only Nancy in the suite that Christopher had taken at the Pulteney. He had gone out on some private errands, it seemed. The temptation was to leave rather than have to sit with Nancy and make conversation. But Elizabeth wanted to talk with him before the afternoon. She sat down on the chair indicated by Nancy, and they proceeded to talk about the weather and the success of Lady Drummond’s ball and the excitement of having the Grand Duchess Catherine in residence at the Pulteney. Not a mention was made of Penhallow or the weeks they had spent there together.
It was a relief when the door opened abruptly and Christopher came striding inside, still dressed for the outdoors. A relief and a new ordeal.
He stopped short when he saw her. Both she and Nancy had risen to their feet.
“Elizabeth is here,” Nancy said unnecessarily. “I shall leave you to talk with her privately, Christopher.”
She left the room. At least Elizabeth assumed she had left. She did not take her own eyes from Christopher. He set his hat and gloves and cane down on a chair close to the door and turned to look at her.
