Chapter 10
April 1-2, 1814
“Pleased to be home?” Grey repeated as his mind whirled crazily, attempting to make sense of the present situation. Once again, Speed had tried to warn him, and he had interrupted with another barrage of self-absorbed prattle. “Pleased to be alive, my lady, but rather more confused to be home. Nothing is quite as I expected.”
“Life rarely is, so I’m told.” In spite of herself, Alycia felt her heart go out to him. “You must call me Alycia, you know. We’re old friends.”
Speed made unobtrusive good-byes and disappeared, leaving them alone in the vast hallway lined with flickering oil lamps.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Grey said harshly, “but I am. I’d hoped—”
“That I would still be waiting for you, as I did during the first two years you were away? Waiting even after you turned away from the love I offered and took another as your wife?” She paused to calm the bittersweet throb in her voice, then continued more softly, “If I believed that you had truly loved me and simply made a mistake when you wed Mrs. Burke, I might have waited. However, I forced myself to be honest for the first time. You are a hard man, Grey, and have grown harder as you’ve aged, I think. That does not diminish your many excellent qualities, but I finally had to face the fact that you were never going to offer me the tender romance I longed for.” They were walking slowly toward the front door as Alycia spoke. “I used to fool myself, thinking that our next meeting would be the occasion on which you would reveal your tender, loving side. Sad to say, that day never did come.”
Memories flooded back to him of their romps in bed, the sound of Alycia’s laughter, her knack for having everything just as he liked it, from the soap in his bath to the way his meat was cooked. And he remembered feeling her gaze and turning to look into her great, sad eyes so filled with longing. Sometimes Grey had wished that she’d forgotten the soap or botched his dinner, and toward the end, the sight of her hungry gaze had made him want to bolt. There was no use denying the truth now that he wished it were different. Looking at her now, contented and big with Faircastle’s child, Grey realized that there was no more point in defending himself to Alycia than there had been in trying to lure Speed back to his side.
“I suppose I was a fool, and may be yet,” he said ruefully.
Tears sparkled in her eyes. “You never understood that I needed more from you than even the house and security you were afraid to give me. After your marriage, I resolved to change my life. I did not want to end like the many aging ‘fashionable impures’—entertaining old titled gentlemen who continue to keep them in style. Edward offered me not only security, but love.” A smile faltered on her pretty mouth. “You see, I really had no choice.”
“That’s quite plain.” He put his hand on the door handle. “I wish you happy, Alycia.”
“Thank you. I hope, with all my heart, that you will find peace now, Grey. So much has changed for you—and how sorry I am about David’s death! Such a shock to us all. But, knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that you will cope brilliantly with the challenges ahead. I shall keep you in my prayers.” It was all Alycia could do to refrain from inquiring about the scar on his hand and reaching out to touch the silver hairs that had not been there when last they’d met. She longed to urge him to take care of his health but knew she must not. It was no longer her place. Perhaps it never had been.
Grey bent to kiss Alycia’s hand so that she wouldn’t see his face. Then, stepping into the starry London night, he added, “I’ll be grateful for your prayers, my lady. I’ve a notion that you’re a good deal nearer the ear of God than I.”
* * *
“Was your dinner with Mr. Murray very grand?” Adrienne Beauvisage demanded as she perched on the edge of her cousin’s bed. “You must tell me everything!”
“I’m afraid there really isn’t very much to tell that would interest you,” Natalya replied a trifle apologetically. “Mr. Murray and one of his associates named Laurence Poole took me to dine at the Clarendon Hotel in Bond Street, which I was curious to see since that is where Grey—that is, Mr. St. James—would have had me stay had I not encountered you in Piccadilly. The chef’s name is Jacquiers, and Mr. Murray told me that he was a refugee from the revolution in France. We had an excellent meal, cooked in the French style, and Mr. Murray and Mr. Poole flattered me excessively. They made a gift to me of a presentation copy of my book.”
Adrienne rushed to retrieve it from the side table near the door, her long, lustrous hair flying out behind her. Watching her, Natalya was poignantly reminded of the girl-child she had known at Chateau du Soleil, the innocent her parents held still in their memories. Wonderingly Adrienne ran her fingers over the handsome volume of My Lady’s Heart, bound in morocco and stamped in gold.
“How very peculiar it is to think that my own cousin is an author,” she mused. “Will you be celebrated like Lord Byron—or Miss Jane Austen? How I adored Pride and Prejudice! I have heard that she is not very pretty, though, and cares nothing for society. She lives very quietly in Hampshire and comes to London to visit her brother very infrequently. Only think, cousin, how easily you might eclipse her!”
“I assure you that I have no such ambitions, Adrienne,” Natalya protested, with perhaps more vehemence than was called for. In truth, she was discovering that the prospect of becoming the toast of London, if only for a few days, was not altogether distasteful to her, and she wondered at such vain impulses.
“Will you be very rich?” asked Adrienne.
“Haven’t you been taught that such questions are entirely inappropriate?” Natalya smiled to soften the gentle rebuke.
Adrienne grimaced. “I beg your pardon, Talya, but I couldn’t help myself. I hoped that one was allowed to breach etiquette with one’s relatives.”
She laughed. “So one should. No, I doubt that I’ll be very rich, but I do believe that I may have independent means. Mr. Murray says that my book has earned nearly a hundred pounds for me in the month since its publication. I’ll admit I am very excited. And, he has presented me with a handsome payment in advance for the novel I am currently writing.”
After absorbing this with wide eyes, Adrienne remarked, “Mrs. Sykes says that Mr. Murray offered Byron a thousand pounds for Giaour and The Bride of Abydos last year.”
“Truly?” she laughed. “Tactless child! But then, Byron is at the pinnacle, isn’t he? I hardly think I ought to aspire to such heights.” She paused, then added wryly, “At any rate, not just yet, hmm?”
“I didn’t care for either Giaour or The Bride of Abydos,” Adrienne confided, “though I didn’t say so in company for fear of being shunned. I found them both to be quite nonsensical and barbarous. I daresay I shall like your book a thousand times better, no matter how little Mr. Murray paid for it.”
“Your loyalty is touching, dear cousin,” Natalya replied, trying not to betray her amusement. “Now, I wish that you would tell me about Miss Harrington’s Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen. How are you progressing with your studies? And how does Miss Harrington feel about your not living at school any longer? I must say, I find it queer that she would condone such an arrangement without first receiving Uncle Nicky’s approval.”
Adrienne squirmed on the bed. “There simply wasn’t time to write Papa and Maman and wait for a reply that might never arrive. You must be able to see that my life here with Mrs. Sykes is far superior to my dreary existence at Miss Harrington’s Seminary.” Her expression at the mention of her school conveyed her distaste.
“I still do not understand why Miss Harrington allowed you to leave. Do you continue to attend school in the daytime?”
“When it is convenient,” Adrienne replied vaguely. “Oh, all right, I shall tell you the truth, but you must promise not to scold me.”
“No such thing,” exclaimed Natalya. “Now, kindly enlighten me.”
Her young cousin began to twist a long strand of hair round and round her finger as she said reluctantly, “When Papa sent me the latest payment to give Miss Harrington, I kept it. I told Miss Harrington that the war had drastically reduced my father’s circumstances and he could no longer afford to keep me at her seminary. Mrs. Sykes spoke to Miss Harrington personally and assured her that I would have the best of care here, as would Venetia, and the deed was done.”
Barely concealing her horror, Natalya inquired, “And Uncle Nicky’s money? What has become of it?”
“Why, I gave it to Mrs. Sykes, of course. It was very little to offer in return for her tremendously unselfish generosity. How much she has taught me! And the routs and assemblies, even at this time of year, have been too thrilling for words! Can you imagine how it will be when the Season begins in earnest? When Papa sends more money, Mrs. Sykes promises that I shall have gowns worthy of a princess.” Adrienne’s lovely, innocent face was flushed with excitement. “Already I have gained the notice of a handsome baron, one of the Carlton House set. Mrs. Sykes assures me that I’ll have a dozen proposals of marriage to choose among before the spring is out.” She put a hand out toward her cousin. “Is it not wonderful? You really ought to stay on, Talya. I know that you’re rather past the age most men consider marriageable, but you haven’t lost your looks yet, and if you become celebrated for your book, your age might be overlooked. Mrs. Sykes would be a great help. She’s quite knowledgeable about such matters.”
Natalya took her cousin’s outstretched hand, smiling in spite of herself. “That’s very charitable of you, cousin, but I’m not in search of a husband, and if I were, I would not enlist the aid of Mrs. Sykes.”
“Is your heart set on that dashing viscount who brought you here?”
“No!” she cried, then took a breath to recover. “Let us return to the subject of you and your present situation. I can see that you are quite carried away by all that has happened, and I appreciate your feelings. However, I cannot help being concerned, particularly about the fact that Uncle Nicky and Lisette are completely uninformed about all this.”
“Don’t say you mean to tell them?” wailed Adrienne, squeezing Natalya’s hand to the point of pain. “Papa is so old-fashioned, he would spoil everything! Oh, Talya, if you see to it that I’m sent back to that horrid seminary for young ladies, I shall simply wither away and die!”
“I highly doubt that,” her cousin replied. “Now there’s no need to predict doom, Adrienne. No one shall lock you in a dungeon. I simply want to remind you that you are only seventeen and still under the protection of your parents, and you have deceived them. Uncle Nicky would throttle me if he learned I had been a party to this. I realize that at your age you believe you are a woman, but I can assure you that you are not. You’re a Beauvisage through and through, impetuous and eager for adventure, but—”
Adrienne pulled her hand away and mimicked, “But, but, but! I vow, cousin, you are sounding like a proper spinster! You may be younger than Mrs. Sykes, but her attitudes are far more enlightened. If I’d known that you meant to spoil everything, I never would have begged you to stay with us, or confided in you. I thought that you cared for me!”
“I do care, dearest, more than you know,” Natalya replied, sighing. Obviously there was no way to resolve this situation in one evening, and it would do no good to upset Adrienne further. “Pray don’t be angry with me. I only worry because I love you. Perhaps I am being overanxious. Let us enjoy our time together and not speak of this again for a day or two.”
“Mrs. Sykes was going to invite you to accompany us to a rout tomorrow evening,” Adrienne muttered, “but perhaps you are above such amusements.”
“On the contrary, I would like it immensely.” Natalya gave her a winning smile and opened her arms. “Do give me a hug, puss, and let us cry peace.” The cousins embraced, and Adrienne retired for the night, faintly reassured.
Alone in her ornate crimson-and-gold bedchamber, Natalya stood and stared about her in distaste. There was a quality to the furnishings in her room that she feared was rather vulgar, and unfortunately the rest of Mrs. Sykes’s house was decorated in much the same manner. The style was a bit too grand to be in good taste and only added to Natalya’s vague sense of unease regarding Adrienne’s situation. Pacing restlessly to the window, she drew back the velvet drapery and looked down on the cobbled street. Hacks and carriages clattered by under the streetlamps and starlight, and she wondered who the passengers were and where they were bound. Suddenly Grey St. James pushed past her concerns about Adrienne and Mrs. Sykes to fill her thoughts. Where was he tonight? Natalya wondered. Dancing at a fashionable rout? Gaming with old friends? More likely he was in the arms of a lover, she thought, and her heart tightened. Certainly he must be far too occupied to spare a thought for her....
* * *
The ethereal, fair-haired figure looking down from the window above bore an uncanny resemblance to Natalya, Grey thought as his chaise jolted over the cobbles en route to White’s Club for men. Odd that his mind would play such a trick; odder still that he would think of her at all in the midst of the chaos this day had brought to his life.
By God, he was thirsty! Upon reaching White’s, he meant to drink himself into oblivion. With luck, he’d encounter an old crony or two with whom he could exchange any number of impersonal stories about the war. He’d be happy to ramble on about Boney or Wellington or the regent. Even listening to the latest round of rumors about the hapless Princess Caroline would be preferable to talking about himself. Men were famous for superficial conversation, and White’s was just the place for it.
There was little activity in the old club’s celebrated bow window tonight. Brummell was not there, and Grey noticed as he entered the club that the dandies who were languishing in that place of honor were not only unknown to him, but shockingly young. When Raggett, the proprietor, came forward to welcome him home, Grey immediately accepted his offer of champagne. He then retired to the card room and blended into the crowd, idly watching the men who stooped over the green baize tables, intent on their games of whist, faro, and hazard. Many of them would drink far too much, become increasingly fuddled, and remain until dawn, usually parting with sums of money they could ill afford to lose. But gentlemen remained stoic in the face of disaster just as they hid their glee on the rare occasions when fortune smiled upon them.
Grey had switched to brandy and was beginning to feel pleasantly numb when a hand suddenly clapped him soundly on the back. Fearing that he was about to behold one of his father’s boisterous old cronies, Grey looked over as coolly as he was able.
“I say, old chap! What a shock! When did you get back, and why haven’t you sent word round to me?” The speaker was a tall, emaciated-looking fellow with dark curly hair, sharp cheekbones, twinkling blue eyes topped by peaked brows, and a toothy, genuine smile.
He was flooded with relief and surprisingly strong emotion. “Gib! What the devil are you doing in London? Thought you were still with the Fifty-second Regiment in the Pyrenees!” Grey was grinning like a schoolboy. “I only just got back today. How good it is to see you, old fellow. You are so welcome a sight that I almost believe you must be an illusion!”
The Honorable Osgood Gibson smiled broadly. “I’ve been home since January. Wounded in the battle for Bayonne. It was a bayonet wound in my left thigh, and has nearly healed now, but ’twas enough to render me quite useless for several weeks. Now, of course, it appears that I may not have to return to my regiment.” He shook his head in wonder. “I daresay you’re the last person I expected to bump into here tonight!”
“God knows I was overdue for a pleasant surprise,” Grey rejoined with a trace of irony. “You know, I’ve been in prison at Mont St. Michel this past year. Aged me ten years, I’ll wager, but I thought it was better than being dead—until I arrived home today and discovered that most of my old life here had changed beyond salvaging.” He smiled caustically, then the two men exchanged a brief, abbreviated embrace of the sort that was acceptable between brothers and the closest of friends.
“Steady on,” Gib admonished himself. “Nearly spilled my champagne!” He didn’t know how to reply to Grey’s speech. “Looks as if you’ve adopted my cure for disappointment. I see you’re into the brandy and doubtless half-sprung in the bargain.”
“Not quite yet; I’ve only just arrived. But I intend to be more than half-sprung before this night’s out,” Grey replied grimly.
“Can’t say as I blame you, old boy. You’ve come home to a devil of a coil. Must admit that I was dead shocked when I heard from Alvaney that your bride had run off. I thought that Francesca was a jolly enough girl at the wedding—certainly a beauty. Who’d’ve thought she’d turn out to be such a—a—”
“High-flying shrew?” Grey supplied.
Gib glanced at him in surprise. “Not quite the term I’d’ve chosen, but it’ll do. Come on, then, let’s go and find a corner. We’ve a good deal to discuss.”
They appropriated a decanter of brandy and settled onto two blue brocade wing chairs in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the club. Deducing that his friend wanted to forget himself for a time, Gib regaled him with tales of the war on land, and they exchanged theories about Napoleon’s current situation and rumors of his deteriorating mental state. Then they turned to news of their old school friends and the latest romantic entanglements in London Society. These topics took up the better part of an hour, by which time the brandy was having the desired effect on Grey. Finally he brought himself to talk a bit about his year in prison, his escape, and the visit he had paid to Chateau du Soleil. Gib listened spellbound to the story of Grey and Natalya posing as husband and wife to flee across France from Autueil.
“Traveling with a girl must have been quite diverting, particularly given your year of enforced celibacy,” Gib remarked. “Was she pretty?”
“Yes, quite extraordinary, actually. You’ll be shocked to hear it, I know, but romance was the farthest thing from my mind this past week.” Amusement flickered briefly in his eyes. “Well, almost the farthest. Miss Beauvisage is not the sort of woman one trifles with, however. She’s six-and-twenty, and an author of some sort. Murray’s published a book she wrote.”
“Really! Murray’s all the rage, you know. Publishes Byron and Scott, and since the success of Pride and Prejudice, it looks as if Miss Austen will take her manuscripts to him as well.” Gib struggled to loosen his uncomfortably high cravat, which was beginning to feel like a noose around his neck. “It speaks well for your Miss Beauvisage if John Murray liked her book well enough to publish it. Six-and-twenty, you say? Too bad. If she were rather newer goods, she’d probably be quite the star of the Season. Have you put her up at Hartford House?”
“No, Miss Beauvisage is staying with... friends.” Grey found that he hadn’t the energy to launch into that story, much as he would have liked to hear Gib’s opinion of Mrs. Sykes. “And, she won’t be around for the Season. She wants above all things to sail to America, and I’ve promised to help her find a way.”
“You sound as if you aren’t particularly keen on that task.” Grey looked up to see the honest concern in his friend’s eyes and felt a barrier give way inside himself. “I fear that I’m deep in a trough of self-pity, old man. Time stood still for me while I was away, and I was foolish enough to suppose that the clock had stopped in London as well. I can’t say that I’m brokenhearted over the loss of Francesca, but it was a bit of a shock, and I’m angry, too. You see, she took Mother’s jewels when she ran... family pieces that were generations old. I mean to retrieve them somehow.” He paused, and Gib nodded soberly. “Then I discovered that Speed had left Hartford House. You are perhaps the only person who might understand what a blow that was. I made up my mind to persuade him to come back, and then I was going to see Alycia. I’d missed her, and regretted the way I handled the... situation between us. So”—Grey took a long drink of brandy—“I went first to Faircastle House to find Speed. I discovered that he did not want to be persuaded... and then, as I was leaving, I encountered Alycia.”
“Good God,” murmured Gib, “you have had a hellish day. So sorry! If I’d seen you first, I could have told you. Didn’t your father prepare you?”
Grey laughed harshly. “A foolish question, and well you know it! I had to pry the news about Francesca out of him. You know how he despises conversations about people.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Gib looked away and cleared his throat.
“But now I’ve seen you and am reassured that at least one old friend is still by my side. I’m of a mind to immerse myself in a life of dissipation for a bit.” Arching an eyebrow, he grinned rakishly. “What do you say, Gib? Let’s drink and game and wench until the past years are merely a blur in our minds, hmm? We’ll have first pick of the lovely and talented cyprians before the war ends and London is flooded with our comrades-in-arms.”
Gib squirmed a bit as he recognized the wicked gleam in Grey’s eyes. “Well, that certainly sounds tempting, and I hate to dash cold water on your enthusiasm, but I don’t quite know if I’ll be able to participate fully in your plans for debauchery. That is to say—and I hope you’ll be pleased for me old man...” He paused, drawing on his cheroot. “I’m thinking of getting married.”
“Are you roasting me?” Grey demanded. “Has everyone gone mad? What’s brought on all this sobriety and commitment?”
“Well, we ain’t as young as we once were, are we? Matter of fact, I happened to speak to Lady Faircastle on this very subject at one of the Lady Jersey’s assemblies last week... and asked her advice. She said just what I have. I’m not putting it well; the brandy’s muddled my brain. But what I mean is that we agreed that life’s going by. I don’t see myself dallying with ladybirds when I’m bald and fat like Prinny. I’d like a wife now, and babies.”
“Good God,” Grey said in a leaden voice, and sank back in his chair, looking more dismal than ever.
“I suppose you might say I’ve begun courting Lady Mary Stewart—but nothing’s been said.” Gib hastened to reassure him. “I mean, I’m still quite free, old fellow! No reason why you and I shouldn’t enjoy a night out for old times’ sake. After all, we have a great deal to celebrate, and you need cheering up. I propose that tomorrow night we go together to a rout I’ve been invited to. I gather that it should be a most interesting mix, with not a few cyprians among the females. The champagne will flow like water, and all our old cronies should be present.” Gib was heartened to see Grey straighten slightly. “What do you say then, old chap? Shall we venture forth?”
Grey couldn’t help smiling. “I should be delighted.”