Chapter Nine
Gabriel sat at his desk in his study, a chamber he had only recently begun using on a regular basis. Just taking his seat here symbolized changes in his life that he was not sure he liked much. All the same, he read the correspondence regarding the penal reform bill, jotting notes for his responses. He would have to devote a whole day to writing them, from the look of things. He would arrange to do it all in one long session with his secretary, Thadius. Or was it Tacitus? Damned if he could remember Mr. Crawley’s first name.
He had thrown himself into these duties the last few days. It helped keep his mind off his mystery woman. It also distracted him from his wounded pride. Both would invade his thoughts unexpectedly, merging into a combination of vivid memories, latent arousal, and petulant resentment.
They did so now, interfering with his concentration. Who would think that he, of all men, would be subjected to such treatment from a woman? That she had managed to remain anonymous all this time made him feel more of an idiot.
After summoning every ounce of honor on her behalf, to be thrown over like that—no, not thrown over, he reminded himself. You cannot be thrown over if there was no real liaison. Except, in a manner of speaking, he had been anyway, or at least felt like he had been. Before they fell asleep, there had been an understanding, as he saw it. An agreement that dawn would find her still beside him at least.
He swallowed the annoyance that the thoughts revived. He forced himself to read the damned letters.
Halfway through the chore, while he cursed himself that he had involved himself at all in any bill since it required so much boring work, his study door opened and his brother entered. Glad for the excuse to stop, he set his pen in its holder and sat back.
“Your return is welcome but surprising, Harry. The Season is not yet over, but a few families are already peeling off, going down to the country that you have inexplicably abandoned.”
“I had to return. As to why, I am here to see you because of the reason.”
“Are you being deliberately intriguing? That is not like you.”
Harry turned the chair the secretary normally used and sat in it. “I received word that I should come back and check my house. There was a theft nearby. Word has spread, and all the households in the area are taking inventory.”
“Have you completed yours? I should say that I visited there myself a few times so if a few items are out of place, it could have been my doing. However, I saw nothing amiss.”
“Nothing is gone from my house, although I appreciate your telling me you were there since a few things were moved. The theft took place next door, at Sir Malcolm’s home.”
“I can only imagine the interior of that house, stuffed as it must be from generations of accumulation. How would anyone even know something was taken?”
“I am not sure. The evidence was clear enough, though. In any event, for the next month or so, I need to be more vigilant.”
“Harry, I do not want to criticize your home, but there are not many thieves interested in old historical tomes or artifacts from barbaric cultures. I think you are quite safe.”
“I trust I am. Still—I have come to ask to borrow some of your footmen. Only during the night. I suspect old Gerard falls asleep, and would not hear thieves even if they walked right past him.”
“You are welcome to however many footmen you think you need.”
Harry seemed contented with that. He did not leave, however. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. He endeavored to appear like a brother having a friendly chat and nothing more. “Have you seen Emilia while I was gone?”
“A few times. I can’t remember how many.” He remembered perfectly. Three times at parties and balls, and twice in her sister’s home. Besides the day of the child’s birth, there had been a very small gathering two days ago when the duchess made her first appearance out of her chambers since her lying in.
“Did she speak of me?” he asked ever so casually, as if it did not matter. Which meant it still did.
“Briefly. She asked after you. Do not make much of it. She could hardly pretend I was not your brother.” Gabriel rose and got some brandy from a closed section of the study’s bookcases. He poured two glasses and handed Harry one. “It is a big mistake to think of any women as other than passing diversions that come and go. You must train your mind to accept that.”
“Someday you will have to marry. Is that what your duchess will be? A passing diversion?”
“Regrettably she will not go after she comes, but the diversion probably will pass too soon anyway.”
“You are very cynical.”
“I am the voice of experience that for some reason you choose to ignore. Now, enough about old flirtations. How is the book going?”
Harry set down his glass. He began describing his progress on his book in enthusiastic words and tone.
Gabriel glanced down at the letters.
Harry halted midsentence. “You are busy. Worse, I am boring you.”
“Nothing bores me as much as politics so whatever you have to say is a respite. Pray, continue.”
Amanda collected the letters she had penned. They had taken longer than normal. All day while she worked, she had also rehearsed her immediate future in her head. Even singing to herself, which normally aided her concentration, proved futile.
Her plan was simple. She would take her leave of this situation. She would move from her cellar. She would pack up that buckle and deliver it to Morris’s Grocery. Then she would wait on the street to see who came out with the package in his hands and follow him.
Once she knew where he lived, she would arrange to watch to see who visited. If no one did and he left again with the package, she would follow him again. If he left town, and she hoped he did, perhaps he would lead her to her mother. In the least, she hoped to discover who held her mother captive.
The first step would be taken today when she informed Lady Farnsworth that she could no longer serve as her secretary. She did not look forward to this part. The lady might ask questions that would force her to lie.
She carried the letters to Lady Farnsworth’s study. Today, Lady Farnsworth labored over her article for the next issue of Parnassus. She did not look up when Amanda entered, but gestured to a table. “Just leave them there. I will give them my attention in due course.”
Amanda placed the letters on the table. “If I might speak to you for a moment.”
“Tomorrow, please. The words are pouring forth, and I dare not interfere with their path.”
“I apologize, but this is very important.”
With a dramatic sigh, Lady Farnsworth turned to look at her. “Then what is it, Miss Waverly? I assume it is very important indeed.” Her tone implied nothing could be important enough.
Amanda swallowed hard. She so appreciated her situation here. She admired Lady Farnsworth. She liked the Amanda who had procured this employment and eventually helped Parnassus and was welcomed at that club.
“I need to inform you that I will be leaving my position here. I have been called out of town on family matters, and there is no telling how long I will need to be gone.”
That garnered Lady Farnsworth’s full attention. She set down her pen and turned in her chair. She pointed to a damask-covered bench against the nearby wall. “Please sit and explain yourself further. Your departure will be most inconvenient. What family matter is it that calls you away?”
“My mother needs me. She requires my attendance in her present condition. I can hardly refuse her.”
Lady Farnsworth’s expression softened. “You have rarely spoken of your family. I assumed they were all—that is to say I just thought . . .”
“My father is gone, but my mother is not.”
“I see. Yes, yes, if she needs you, what else can you do but go to her. But Miss Waverly, are you very sure you cannot return in good time? Is it so serious as that?”
“I do not know yet. However, I think it would be best if you sought a replacement for me. It would not be fair to you to leave with no idea of when I might return. I will explain the same thing to Mrs. Galbreath at the journal. I have her accounts reconciled for the last six months so anyone else will have a clean page.”
“Oh, tosh on the accounts. My concern is for you, not our accounts. Do you have what you need to travel to your mother? Can I help you in any way?”
The lady’s thoughtfulness moved Amanda. “I have what I need, thank you.”
“Well, there it is. I would not try to convince you to stay under the circumstances. When must you leave?”
“Three days hence. Thursday must be my last day here with you.”
“Then tomorrow night we will go to the theater. You will be my guest. We will dine here, then make use of my box.”
“You are too kind but I—”
“Not one word of objection, Miss Waverly. I insist on seeing you off with some style, to express your great value to me.” She turned back to her pages. “I will of course write a letter of reference that makes both your skills and your character explicit. You can take it with you when you leave Thursday.”
Amanda excused herself. She doubted Lady Farnsworth even heard her go. Already that pen moved across the paper as if hell chased it.
* * *
Late June lent the festivities of the Season a bittersweet quality. The end of one set of activities drew to an end, and very different ones would soon take their place. Some people looked forward to the change, having had their fill of summer’s business.
Gabriel sensed the pending nostalgia and relief while he strolled through the theater’s salon beside Brentworth. People mingled less, having mingled so much in recent weeks. A subdued mood pervaded the large chamber.
“I thought you said Stratton would join us,” he said to Brentworth. “The play is half over and he is yet to be seen.”
“He wrote me a note saying he would be late. The duchess decided to join him.”
“So soon?”
“It is early, but Clara has never been one to bow to society’s expectations. If the ladies gossip about it, she will no more care about that than any of the other gossip about her.”
That was Brentworth’s discreet way of saying that Stratton’s wife had never in her life been anything but independent minded. If she wanted to attend the theater tonight, she would do so, with or without Stratton’s approval.
Even as they aimed for the boxes, she arrived on her husband’s arm. Conversation in the salon noticeably paused when she entered. She appeared lovely, fresh, and very healthy while she greeted a few women who descended on her to congratulate her on her son.
“It appears there will be little gossip,” Gabriel said. “That she has produced an heir will garner her much approval by the harpies.”
“As well it should.”
“Do you envy him that heir, Brentworth?”
“The heir, yes. The rest, not so much.” He sighed. “It is time, however. For both of us.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“You know I am right. We have both shunned matrimony too long. You should not mind succumbing to the call of duty. It will fit right in with your other reformations of behavior.”
“At least with me the woman will know what she is getting. With you, some poor girl is in for quite a shock.”
They reached Stratton and the duchess. Since both had seen her since the birth of the heir, neither one of them commented on that. Instead, they chatted about less significant things.
“I want to visit some boxes,” the duchess said. “Please join me if you would like.”
Gabriel had nothing better to do, and it gave him a chance to talk to Stratton. Brentworth tagged along as well.
They visited three boxes, where women fussed over the duchess and asked after the child. Gabriel wondered if Stratton and Clara ever grew bored of answering the same questions. The duchess may have attended tonight to get some of the repetition out of the way.
“Ah, I see Lady Farnsworth is here tonight,” the duchess said while standing at the front of one box. I must speak to her.”
“Indeed you must,” Gabriel said. “That is one woman you do not want slighted by any show of indifference. She may skewer you with her pen.”
“Still smarting about that article, Langford?” Stratton asked. The duchess looked at him with bright eyes, curious too.
“Not at all. If some obscure journal wants to waste its paper and ink on such ramblings by an eccentric, overbearing woman, that is not my concern.”
“Not so obscure anymore,” the duchess said teasingly. “I am told by friends that it flourishes, and many in society have become subscribers.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“Can you not?” She led the way out of the box, making room for others entering.
They walked through the salon until they reached Lady Farnsworth’s box. She was not alone. Lady Grace was visiting, and another woman sat in a chair beside the box’s owner.
“Ah, Miss Waverly is here. How nice,” the duchess murmured. She turned to Gabriel and Brentworth. “She is Lady Farnsworth’s secretary. Quite a novelty.”
Gabriel followed her inside. “Like I said, eccentric,” he muttered to Brentworth.
Stratton overheard. “A female secretary is unusual, but there is no reason why employing one is eccentric. I expect a woman can do the duty as well as a man.”
“Perhaps better,” Brentworth said. “I would consider one except that tongues would wag.”
“Tongues wagging about the most ducal duke? Shocking.”
“You, on the other hand, do not care about that, Langford,” Stratton said. “You could employ one.”
“I expect it would make the political correspondence less of a chore if a pretty woman sat in that other chair, and not—whatever his name is.”
“You might even remember her name,” Brentworth said. “Unless you have developed a taste for women whose names you never know.”
Gabriel would have jabbed Brentworth hard with his elbow, except just then the party in the box arrested his attention.
Or rather, one member of the party did.
Lady Farnsworth’s guest, Miss Waverly, had risen to greet the duchess. Which meant she now faced Gabriel. As soon as he saw her face, a chord of recognition plucked his awareness.
Surely not. And yet—he moved to the side of the box, where he might see her better.
She wore a rather boring, sedate dress of expensive fabric that glistened just enough to make the simple style appear out of tune with it. Her dark hair, dressed simply, contrasted with very pale skin. Her eyes looked like dark pools in which water sparkled. Her lips looked dark against her pale skin.
The light was dim, but not in the same way as in Harry’s apartment. Still, this secretary appeared damned similar to Alice.
He peered hard while she spoke with the duchess. Lady Farnsworth, swathed in her bizarrely unfashionable dress and wrapped like a Roman senator in a garish shawl, beamed like a proud mother.
“I trust it is the secretary and not Lady Farnsworth whom you examine with those wolf eyes,” Brentworth said after sidling over.
“I think I may know her.”
“The secretary? Unlikely, don’t you think? She is hardly attending parties and balls—” He caught himself. “Oh. You mean the shepherdess.” He sharpened his own gaze on her. “Damn, so little of her was visible. At least of her face. I suppose it would be rude to ask her to bare her bosom so we might see if that part is recognizable.”
“I may not be sure about her, but she should be sure about me. I think that I will attend on Lady Farnsworth for a few minutes.”
“Brave man,” Brentworth said as Gabriel walked away.
He advanced on Lady Farnsworth and waited to be acknowledged. All the time, he kept his gaze on Miss Waverly. He wanted to see her reaction when she saw him.
The duchess moved. Lady Farnsworth settled her attention on him. She smiled conspiratorially, as if they shared a secret. “Langford. As handsome as ever, I see. It has been too long since we talked.”
He made his bow, never taking his gaze off the secretary, whose attention had been momentarily distracted by Lady Grace leaning in to say something.
“I hear you gave a fine speech in the House of Lords,” Lady Farnsworth said.
“It was a small thing. A passing whimsy.”
“That whimsy moved you to great eloquence, I am told. I am so pleased to see you taking up your rightful place in the national discussions. I trust we will hear more from you.”
“I expect that a decade hence I may be so moved again.”
Lady Grace departed and it was just the three of them in the box. Miss Waverly made a half turn in his direction. Their gazes met.
He saw the shock of recognition. It only lasted a second before she recovered, but it was unmistakable. Close like this, he could more clearly see the face he had come to know in the moonlight.
He had finally found his mystery woman.
* * *
Amanda kept her exterior calm, but shock almost immobilized her. Terror of discovery mixed with elation at seeing him again.
How fine he appeared in his dark coats and snowy-white cravat. The duke looked as handsome as the devil might if he materialized in human form.
His manner with Lady Farnsworth bore formality mixed with a touch of familiarity. He held himself a bit aloof, with his demeanor only softened by a vague, naughty smile.
He recognized her. She was sure of it. His blue eyes narrowed on her even while he bantered with Lady Farnsworth.
“Oh, my,” Lady Farnsworth said. “Introductions are in order.” She introduced Amanda to the duke. “She is my secretary. The finest penmanship you will ever see, and clever with accounts. She is my right hand.” She placed an indulgent arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Since she joined me, I have found I have twice the time to devote to my writing and interests.”
“You are fortunate indeed to have discovered such an accomplished woman to aide you,” Langford said. “Where would England be without your having sufficient time to critique the world and its inhabitants?”
“Would that the world paid more attention. I am gratified whenever some small part of it does.” Lady Farnsworth favored the duke with a meaningful smile.
“Let us hope you experience more such gratitude soon.” He turned slightly. “Miss Waverly, are you enjoying the play?”
“Very much, thank you. It is quite a treat for me.”
“Then I will leave both of you to enjoy its conclusion.”
With that, he took his leave and followed the others out of the box.
* * *
A rustling indicated that the audience returned to their boxes to prepare for the resumption of the play.
“Miss Waverly, I must leave you for a spell. I have something important to tell the duchess about the journal,” Lady Farnsworth said. “I could hardly share it while she was here. I do not think Brentworth knows about her sponsorship of Parnassus yet. I am certain Langford does not.” She stood. “I will return shortly. If I should be delayed, wait here when the play ends and I will come for you.”
Her departure left Amanda alone in the box. She finally exhaled. How unfortunate that the duke had visited. Lady Farnsworth had never indicated she shared a friendship with him. Nor had their conversation implied she did. Rather the opposite.
That might have explained his severe expression. Or that hardness could have been all for herself. Whatever he may have thought of her, she doubted he had surmised she was in service.
Would he conclude that was why she had been so vague, and so unwilling to allow a liaison to form? She hoped so. That reason was far better than the real one.
Doors to the salon closed. She gave her attention to the stage. She hoped the actors’ return would distract her from thinking about how her heart jumped upon seeing Langford standing right in front of her with the light of recognition in his deep blue eyes. For an instant, she was on her back on that library floor, looking up at him.
The play did distract her. She calmed and lost herself in the story. Then, suddenly, a firm grasp on her arm made her jump with surprise.
That hand lifted her physically out of her seat and sped her toward the back of the box. She only collected her sense when it released her. She felt the wall of the box along her back. In front of her loomed the Duke of Langford.
He was all darkness now, much as he had been the first meeting at Lord Harold’s house. Only he stood very close, making her invisible in the corner to whoever might look in from another box.
One hand pressed the wall beside her head as his face dipped closer still. “So it is Miss Waverly. Not Alice Waverly, I am sure.”
“A . . . Amanda.”
“I was damned close. It all makes sense now. That shawl you lost is such that your lady might have worn it. And the shepherdess dress. Even that might have come from her. Does she know that you slip out at night to flirt with men at masked balls?”
“She knows nothing about my life other than what she sees while I pen her letters and articles.”
“I’m sure she does not. Hence your fear of discovery.”
She did not disagree. Let him think that.
“You slipped away from me once too often, Miss Waverly. I count the last time as an insult. Or another challenge.”
“I did not seek to intrigue you further by leaving. Surely you cannot believe such a thing. Look at my situation. If it were known that I . . . that we . . . I would be ruined, and I have no family to take me back like your sort of ruined women do. If I am seen as disreputable, I will end up destitute.”
“I would never allow that to happen.”
“You have no power to stop it.”
“I will find a way. I will make arrangements.”
“I do not want arrangements. I want you to leave me alone.”
“Do not reject what you have not heard.” He kissed her lips. Heaven help her, she rose into it, stupid woman that she was. “See? You do not really want me to leave you alone. You are glad I found you. I will treat your reputation with great care, Amanda. You will see. You are not to worry any longer. You will be free again in my arms very soon.”
He kissed her again, hard and long, calling forth her own passion with savage demand. Then he melted into the shadows, leaving her trembling against the wall.