Chapter 8
April 1, 1814
In the morning, Grey overslept, and Natalya had to tap on his door at the Ship Inn to rouse him. It was nearly ten o’clock when he finally emerged into the inn’s taproom, looking appealingly sleepy, and rakish in a white shirt and cravat, black breeches, and top boots. Accepting a wedge of cold pigeon pie from the innkeeper’s wife, he paid their bill, gestured to the waiting Natalya, and led the way into the yard.
Natalya had certain qualms about the mode of conveyance Grey would arrange for them on this leg of their journey, but when she saw the elegant green-and-black Daumont-style landau he had hired for their passage from Dover to London, all her fears vanished. A pair of prancing chestnuts and a wiry little driver completed the stylish picture. Spring was on her best behavior; the sky was an azure canopy above budding trees, purple crocuses and blue scillia, singing birds, and sunny breezes. As London was only a few hours away, the low-slung, open vehicle seemed not only appropriate, but inspired.
Joy and anticipation lit Natalya’s face from within. “What an unsurpassably excellent morning this is. And in all fairness, sir, I must give you the credit!”
Grey smiled in spite of himself. “I’m relieved beyond words that you approve of my choice, Miss Beauvisage. May I assist you?”
Natalya smiled prettily and clasped his outstretched fingers, lifting her skirt with her free hand. Today she had packed away the breeches, choosing instead to wear one of the chemise dresses she’d managed to squeeze into the small bag she’d been allowed to bring from France. Although a trifle crumpled, the charming frock of blue-sprigged white muslin, with its tiny puffed sleeves and silk sash, lent her the air of a young girl in her first Season as she arranged herself beside Grey on the landau’s leather seat. Her honey curls, freshly washed at the Ship Inn, were caught back in a ribbon to stave off the wind’s ill effects, emphasizing the exquisite beauty of her face. And her enthusiasm was contagious.
“I’m surprised you’re not driving yourself,” she said as a boy Grey had hired sprang up to his perch. “I thought it was a point of pride with men of your ilk.”
Grey crossed his booted legs on the seat opposite and chuckled. “Dear God, deliver me from being in anyone’s ilk!” When Natalya continued to look at him expectantly, he sighed and went on in a tone of capitulation, “I enjoy tooling a curricle or phaeton as much as the next fellow, but today I have other matters on my mind.”
“Oh, I see.” Natalya didn’t know what else to say, since it was evident that Grey’s thoughts were far from their conversation. So, she left him to them and turned her own attention to the scenery as the landau rolled away from the Ship Inn and began to speed up the Dover Road.
England’s appearance of dazzling rural prosperity was all the more impressive in light of the ruin Natalya had witnessed during her recent journey through France. As their landau bowled along the fine highway, she stared at the fat meadows and downs with their well-fed flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. The villages looked idyllic. Laughing children and fat geese frolicked on the greens, and whitewashed cottages clustered around the church and manor house in a cozy fashion. Even the people looked more prosperous than their French counterparts. On the coast, fishermen wore striped jerseys, grey aprons, leather leggings, and fur-lined caps. In villages, Natalya noticed that the country squires sported snowy shirt frills under their wide overcoats. Some farmers wore long-tailed coats, and even the gamekeepers strutted out of shops in green coats and gold-laced hats.
“Has the war had no effect at all on these people?” she asked at last, turning to Grey. “Are there no poor here? Most of the farm animals I’ve seen this morning appear to be fatter than the majority of people we encountered on our way to St. Malo!”
Her traveling companion appeared to be deep in thought but he managed a grudging smile. “You do have a singular way of expressing your opinions.” He looked around then, as if truly focusing on the countryside for the first time. “I’m sure I don’t know how to answer you, Natalya. I’ve been inhabiting a worse world than you these past years. No doubt it’s been easier here at home because all the fighting’s been going on elsewhere. Not that that is much consolation for all the men risking their lives in Europe and America.” Grey paused, sighing as he inhaled the fragrant air of early spring. “I pray that all of England has been prosperous—that nothing changed while I was away, except for the better.”
With that, he forgot her again, returning to his own private world of memories and expectations. Natalya swallowed her disappointment at his indifference. She had no idea what she felt about Grey anymore, or what she hoped for. She only knew that the sight of his hand resting on his hard thigh, long-fingered and taut, made her heart ache, and she had the same wild stab of pain when she stole a glimpse at his chiseled profile. She had never felt so exhilarated and terrified all at the same time.
At length, she decided that life itself was undoubtedly the cause of her euphoria. Every single second that had yet to occur was unpredictable and part of an entirely new experience. She was overjoyed to be alive!
Relieved to have the matter settled in her own mind, Natalya relaxed and stole another glance at Grey. His arms were folded across his wide chest, his eyes were closed, and he was napping in the sunshine, apparently peacefully.
* * *
When at last the green-and-black landau gained the top of Shooter’s Hill, Grey sat up, fully alert. It was a delightful afternoon. New daffodils were opening ruffled, lemon-bright petals as the travelers sped across Blackheath and spied, through the woods and windmills and hedgerows, the stately hospital of Greenwich and the masts lining the Thames. Then, under the hills of Highgate and Hampstead, appeared London herself. Natalya’s first impression was of a maze of brick, steeples, and chimneys spewing smoke high above twisting streets.
“It’s beginning to dawn on me how isolating the war has been,” she said with a measure of awe.
“Even the smell of the smoke is familiar,” Grey remarked, as if to himself.
Natalya gathered her courage and turned to look him full in the face. “I hope you’ll pardon me if I’m being overfamiliar, sir, but I feel that we have become friends of a sort, and I can’t help forming the opinion that something or someone is haunting you. You have an almost... tormented look.” Her voice rose dramatically in spite of the way his brows suddenly flew up. “Would it help you to talk about it? Is it Auteuil? I cannot help wondering what passed between the two of you to cause him to hold such a need for vengeance in his heart.” Natalya’s huge aqua eyes fell for an instant on Grey’s scarred hand before she looked away.
“Are you puzzling out a plot device for another novel?” he responded in a tone of amused patience. “A brooding man with a mysterious secret? If so, I fear you’ve come to the wrong person for inspiration.” He ran lean fingers through his hair and laughed. “I have no score to settle with Auteuil, and I must assume that my association with him ended in France.”
“You dream about him,” she countered.
Grey gave a harsh sigh. “Leave it alone, Miss Beauvisage. If I’m preoccupied, it’s due to my return to London and no other reason.” He looked away from her, out over the city. “God knows there’s enough waiting in London to keep me perpetually preoccupied....”
She sniffed. It was certainly his right to keep the truth to himself. If he wanted to pretend that a lot of nonsense from his life among the London beau monde was responsible for his distant, worried demeanor, fine! She, however, preferred to think that Auteuil and his unspeakable crimes of torture were behind it all.
* * *
“What shall we do now that we’re here?” Natalya asked as they drove along Piccadilly. Her face shone with excitement and her beribboned hair gleamed in the sunlight as she looked right and left, taking in the sights. Through the crush of phaetons, tilburies, landaus, curricles, and tim-whiskies all drawn by stunning thoroughbred horses, she could make out the elegant shops and hotels of Piccadilly. She’d nearly forgotten the extent of London’s singular, lively style. Seeing the dandies who strolled about, impeccably turned out in their close-fitting buff trousers, outrageously high starched collars, and windswept hairstyles, she wondered briefly if Grey could have ever been one of them. Realizing that he had not answered her question, she turned and spoke again. “Where shall we go first?”
He seemed to remember her presence with an effort. “I... uh... I think that it would be best if we take you to a hotel so that you can settle in...freshen up—” He cleared his throat and finished lamely, “That sort of thing.”
“Surely you cannot mean just to deposit me all alone in a hotel with strangers!” Natalya protested in tones of outrage. “I distinctly recall that you assured Uncle Nicky you would take me to your father’s house!”
Grey’s own face grew stormy. “And I distinctly recall that you accused us both of treating you like a child. I would have thought that, at your age, you would prefer the more sophisticated situation of a hotel, located near the finest shops. I would have expected you to insist on being able to come and go freely, without having to account for your whereabouts!” He took a breath and added, “I’m not trying to push you off in some dingy inn, my dear lady. On the contrary, I thought I’d book rooms for you at the Clarendon, which is probably a good deal more comfortable than my family’s town house. And, of course, it goes without saying that I shall send over a ladies’ maid at once.”
Natalya cut quickly through his arguments. “You are trying to get rid of me!” she cried, then gasped at her own reaction. If she hadn’t grown so attached to the man, for whatever mysterious reasons, his plan would have met with her enthusiastic approval. And, knowing her as he did, he was obviously aware of this. Feeling his silver-eyed scrutiny, she strove for an attitude of nonchalance. “Never mind. You are one person whose rejection cannot hurt my feelings.” She feigned a mischievous laugh. “I shall be overjoyed to escape from our enforced proximity. Considering the difficulty I had even being civil to you when we first met, I think I’ve done remarkably well during this trying journey, but it would be wise not to test my nerves too severely. How far are we from the Clarendon Hotel? Perhaps it is situated near the offices of my publisher, John Murray, in Albermarle Street. As soon as he learns of my presence in London, I probably shan’t have a moment’s peace. He’s written me the most flattering letters.” Natalya tilted her chin up and to one side, hoping her manner would convince Grey that she had already forgotten his very existence.
He gave her a long, bemused look. To be honest, he really did have doubts about leaving Natalya at a hotel, but he simply couldn’t have her around, asking questions and demanding his attention, during his first days back in London. Before he could inform her of the location of the Clarendon, she startled him by rising abruptly out of her seat and pointing agitatedly toward Hatchard’s Bookshop.
“Good heavens!” she cried. “We must stop! It’s Adrienne!”
Fearing that she might tumble out of the landau and be trampled in the traffic, Grey grasped Natalya by her shapely hips and pulled her back down beside him. “What the devil are you ranting about now? Quite frankly, I am beginning to wonder if you—”
Fortunately Natalya’s excitement prevented her from hearing the rest of her companion’s observation. “Grey, do please ask the driver to stop as near to Hatchard’s as he’s able. Can you see those three females who’ve just come out? One of them is Adrienne Beauvisage, my cousin!”
Grey did as he was asked—no easy feat considering they were hemmed in by the crush of vehicles filled with London’s ton, most of whom were more concerned with seeing and being seen than attending to any specific errand.
Natalya was oblivious to it all, however. No sooner had their landau drawn up beside the pavement, which was elevated for the use of pedestrians, than she was out, never thinking to wait for male assistance with the carriage door. Grey considered interfering, then surrendered and sat back against the leather upholstery to watch the marvel of Natalya. In the sunlight, her hair was like a long, luxurious stream of molten honey, accented by the vivid blue ribbon at her neck. Charmingly she was the only woman in sight who was not wearing some sort of headdress. Her delicate features were lively, particularly her turquoise eyes, and excitement and pleasure infused the movements of her body with a new dimension of beauty. Grey smiled slightly to himself as he observed her, pleased with his own air of detachment.
“Adrienne!” Natalya exclaimed, running up behind three fashionably dressed females. Two of them appeared to be quite young, seventeen years old at most. The third woman was at least twice that age, with a commanding presence and heavy russet-colored hair, which she wore piled atop her head and crowned with a green crepe toque.
Natalya was exchanging a series of enthusiastic embraces with the more beautiful of the two young ladies, whom Grey assumed must be her cousin. Although willowy like Lisette, and blessed with her mother’s engaging smile and dimples, Adrienne Beauvisage had inherited her father’s coloring. Chestnut curls, shot through with red-and-gold highlights, framed her lovely face with its merry emerald green eyes. Grey didn’t know if Adrienne was old enough for her first Season yet, but it was obvious that she would be a heartbreaker. He guessed that if Nicholai had any inkling that his daughter was in possession of such a bounty of feminine charm—and was displaying it freely before all of London—he’d have her back at home, locked up safely at Chateau du Soleil.
“How simply wonderful it is to see you, Talya!” Adrienne was exclaiming. “And how exciting that you’re going home to Philadelphia! However, once you get a taste of London society, you won’t want to leave. Here, I’m forgetting my manners. You must meet my dearest friend, Venetia Hedgecoe. We’re at school together.” She paused as Natalya and Venetia exchanged greetings, then drew the older lady forward into their circle. “And this is dear Mrs. Sykes. Mrs. Sykes is an old friend of Venetia’s parents, and she’s been kind enough to let us come and live with her this year. Staying at school had become unspeakably dreary, Talya, and there is so much to see and do here in London! Thanks to Mrs. Sykes, I am now able to truly live, rather than simply exist, locked up at school with a lot of dusty old books and priggish girls.”
Natalya was taken aback. “I understand your point, dear cousin, but do Uncle Nicky and Aunt Lisette know of the change in your circumstances?”
“’Tis difficult to post letters to France,” Mrs. Sykes put in. “But, we’ll try. I’ve been penning a missive to Adrienne’s parents myself.” When she smiled at Natalya, her strong chin seemed to grow even longer. Although tall as a man, with broad shoulders and big hands, she was possessed of a certain regality. “I don’t mind having the girls with me in the least. They came for tea a few times, and I found that my heart went out to them, shut up in that school during what ought to be one of the most exciting times of their lives. Books are all well and good, mind you, but I believe that there is more to life, particularly when you’re young and pretty.”
Events progressed rapidly from that point. Upon discovering that Natalya was going to stay at a hotel, Adrienne declared that she must come and stay with them at Mrs. Sykes’s lodgings in Bennett Street. Natalya agreed, if only to see for herself in exactly what sort of environment her cousin was living. Then, suddenly remembering Grey, she whirled around to discover him leaning against the landau and watching them.
Despite his pallor and gaunt appearance, he made an astonishingly attractive sight with his keen gray eyes and chiseled features. His black hair, with its strands of silver, was windswept and gleaming in the sunlight. People stared at him as they passed, particularly the women, and some offered hesitant greetings. Grey acknowledged only those who dared address him, giving them a sudden flashing smile in exchange for their uncertain words. An animal magnetism underlaid his smooth, mannered exterior, reminding Natalya of a stallion waiting for the hunt to begin. She realized with a qualm that this was not the way Grey had planned to spend his first hour back in London.
Natalya’s cheeks were pink as she drew him forward and made introductions. Feeling Adrienne’s astonished, curious gaze, she hastened to explain, “Uncle Nicky is well aware of this arrangement, so you needn’t look at me that way, cousin! You would also do well to bear in mind that I am a decade older than you, which alters my situation considerably.”
“Do you mean that you needn’t concern yourself with propriety any longer, Tayla?” the girl inquired, with studied innocence.
“I haven’t a particularly strong desire to continue this discussion,” Natalya replied primly. “I will add, however, that because of the war, we were forced to bend the usual rules a bit. I wanted, above all, to return to America, and this was the only way I could accomplish that goal. Now then...” Briskly, she turned her attention to Grey, whose eyes revealed far more to her than words. “I know that you may be dubious about my new plans, Mr. St. James, but there’s no need to concern yourself. I am quite capable of seeing to my own needs during my time in London, and it will be much more pleasant for me to stay with Adrienne than be all alone in a dreary hotel.” She gave him a bright smile intended to put an end to the subject.
Grey opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Although it was clear to him that her proposal was far from sound, or even sensible, he kept his opinions to himself. He would take her at her word and let her control her own affairs.
“If you say so, my dear Miss Beauvisage,” Grey replied in his mildest tones, adding a polite, if insincere, smile. “I shall leave you, then, in the company of Mrs...?”
“Sykes,” the older woman supplied firmly. “Perhaps your lordship’s forgotten, but you and I have met before. I’m an old friend of your father’s.”
Grey’s eyes opened wide as awareness dawned. This was one of the women whose company the Earl of Hartford had come to depend on soon after the death of his wife, Grey’s mother. At her own husband’s death, Grey recalled, Mrs. Sykes had been left with a fine house in Bennett Street, a staff, and creditors. Past her prime, she had used her compelling personality to attract men of substance and thereby maintain her life-style. Nothing out of the ordinary in London, certainly, but why was she taking in innocent young girls to live in her house?
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Sykes,” he said, with a cool smile. “Of course, I remember you. You’re looking very well. Have you news of my father? I’m just back from France, as Miss Beauvisage has doubtless informed you. Haven’t been home yet.”
“The earl is in good health, I believe,” she said. “I haven’t spoken with him for some weeks, but I will tell you that there’s a rumor about that you were lost in the war. It may be quite a shock for him to see you.”
A shadow of cynicism crossed Grey’s countenance as he replied, “Somehow I doubt that, Mrs. Sykes.” He might have added that he had never known his father to display any emotion as strong as shock.
Natalya was watching him curiously, while Mrs. Sykes studied him with a critical eye. “I hope you’ll pardon me for speaking my mind, your lordship, but you look terrible. You need someone to look after you. How horrid that your—” She broke off suddenly, as if realizing that she was about to say too much. “But I’m taking up your time, when you doubtless have more pressing business.”
Francesca’s name hung unspoken between them; Grey’s jaw was clenched as he glanced away. “Very true, madame. I really must be going.” He turned to Natalya. “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I have settled the plans for your passage to America. If you need me, I’m certain Mrs. Sykes will assist you in reaching me.”
Natalya’s heart began to ache as she realized that they were parting, and that she was more nervous about her new situation than she would ever admit. She longed to touch his hand, but Grey had never seemed more distant. “Thank you for bringing me this far,” she murmured, mustering a brave smile.
“It is I who am indebted to you,” he replied gracefully. “I shall see you soon. Have you sufficient funds?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Natalya flushed. “I brought with me the very handsome advance that Mr. Murray paid for My Lady’s Heart.” She didn’t mention the fact that Nicholai had given her a far larger sum of money than the rather meager payment her publisher had made.
“Ah, yes, a woman of independent means,” Grey murmured. “I beg your pardon for forgetting with such annoying frequency.” He smiled into her eyes, adding, “I hope that you enjoy London, Natalya.”
With that, he sketched a bow to the other females, made his farewells, and returned to the landau. The driver brought Natalya her small bag, then hopped back to his perch and guided the beautiful landau into the sea of vehicles. Natalya stared after him, trying to keep Grey’s dark head in sight.
“Cousin!” Adrienne exclaimed next to her. “What tales you must have to tell of your flight from France with that exceedingly thrilling man! Are you desperately in love?”
“He’s a viscount, you know,” Mrs. Sykes put in bluntly. “Not so long ago, every well-born female’s mama had her sights set on Lord Altburne. He was a rake, but so irresistibly charming that no one could hold his faults against him. The war’s aged and hardened him, but I’ll wager that will only increase his appeal to women.”
Natalya felt herself redden. “Grey doesn’t use his title anymore,” she mumbled. “And you mustn’t be so silly, Adrienne. There’s nothing to tell. The arrangement between Mr. St. James and myself was purely one of convenience. Once he arranges my passage to Philadelphia, our business will be ended.”
“How dull and depressing,” pronounced the younger girl. “I don’t know that I believe you, Talya.”
Mrs. Sykes turned to lead them toward her carriage. “I wouldn’t depend on hearing from Viscount Altburne any time in the near future,” she said in the tone of one who knew much more than she would divulge. “He will soon discover that he has a rather messy plate of his own business to attend to.” Reaching back, she took Natalya’s arm in a firm grip. “Come along, my dear. I’ll see to it that you are not bored while you await his lordship’s attention. To begin, we must acquire a proper bonnet for you!”