“Sophie, sweetheart, run along upstairs and bring down your doll,” he said, smiling. “Did you get the little dress for her that matches your new one?”
“I did, Papa. It’s so pretty, but she’s not dressed in it right now.”
“Then you had better dress her too. A little lady can’t come downstairs unless properly dressed, you know,” he said, nodding seriously.
“Silly! She’s just a doll; she doesn’t have to dress the right way like real ladies.” She hopped down from the sofa and twirled around. “But my dress is pretty, so I’ll put her in her dress too and then we’ll both be pretty.”
“Excellent idea,” he seconded. “Run on.”
“All right. Don’t leave before I come back, Papa.” She reached the door, struggled with it until the housekeeper took charge, then disappeared.
The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he sank back into the sofa. “I must say, Lil, she is my angel, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being called Papa.”
“I know,” she said, her smile somewhat sad. “But you know that I will never be able to thank you enough for allowing it.”
“Lil…” He sighed, shaking his head.
“I know, I know.” She forced a watery smile. “You believe you are the one who owes me the thanks.”
It was true. He did owe her thanks, almost every day of his life. Were it not for her, her kind nature, her loyalty, and her willingness to play a role for which she was entirely unsuited, there was no telling where he would be today. Perhaps dead. Perhaps all the fear and self-depravation would have led him to put a pistol in his mouth years ago.
Relax, old boy.
“So you did go to the flower market this morning?” he ventured.
“Oh. Yes.” She was nervous again.
“Did something happen?” He leaned forward. “You know I told you if any man dares to insult you or approach you because of our relationship, that you were to tell me immediately.”
“Oh, no. No, nothing like that.” She shook her head, working a few blonde strands loose from the simple knot at the back. “I saw my sister today.”
John frowned. He knew what was coming.
Lily’s chin startled to wobble. “I know she saw me. She looked right at me, but…” She couldn’t say any more and twisted in her chair to retrieve a handkerchief from the side table.
“Lil,” he said gently, reaching for her hand, “she cut you?”
“Yes.” She sobbed. “Looked right at me and then just brushed past. She m-moved her skirts like she didn’t want to touch me for being so filthy.”
He rose from his seat and knelt before her, holding her trembling hand between his own. This was not the first time she had been given the cut direct from a member of her family on the rare occasion when they were seen in London. He was glad he had not been there, for despite his ingrained upbringing to be ever courteous to the gentler sex, he would have struggled not to give that bitch a piece of his mind right there on the street.
“I know I have said this before, but be thankful they cast you off. Such heartless people don’t deserve someone like you in their family.”
It was true. The day his traveling coach had pulled in to the Horse & Hoof outside Bath had been the same day Lily had seen how heartless and base her own family truly was. He had spotted her standing next to a post in the inn yard, two satchels at her feet and two lines of tears cutting the dust on her face. He had learned later that the reason she had been standing in the yard waiting for the scheduled arrival of the mail coach was because the entire village knew she had become a fallen woman and would not allow her to so much as sit in the inn’s taproom. Her disgrace was due to the lies and flatteries of some visiting gentry pup promising love and marriage. It was an old tale, as sad as it was typical.
“I know. Yes.” She lifted her face as if to stop her tears. “I was just not expecting it. That’s all. It’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them. Thank God Sophie was not with me.”
He nodded his understanding. Her family had tossed a few shillings at her and ordered her from their home, a gently bred woman with no earthly understanding of how to make her way in the world. John shuddered to think what could have become of her had he not found her that day, a depressing sight that had turned out to be the solution to so many of his problems.
“Would you like to visit the cottage in Brighton? Get out of town for a few days?” he suggested.
Her eyes glittered hopefully. “Yes, that would be wonderful. But it won’t be an inconvenience for you, will it? I went to the country only two months ago. We can’t have people thinking that I’m neglecting you or that we’re, um, cooling to each other.” As always, her cheeks flushed at the mention of their arrangement.
“No need to worry. Brighton is dead this time of year. I doubt anyone will even notice you’ve gone.” He put on a broad smile to cheer her. “Besides, Michael invited me to a mill Thursday night, so that is a perfect excuse for not being here.”
She nodded a few times, then wrinkled her nose with a little teasing distaste. “Mills. Fighting. I will never understand gentlemen.”
He laughed. He could hardly say he understood them any better. There were days when he was sure he did not understand anyone. Before either of them could say more, the door burst open and Sophie appeared, her doll hanging by one porcelain arm.
“My, my. Two pretty little ladies in such fine dresses,” he drawled, raising his quizzing glass to his eye in a good impression of some haughty lord.
Sophie giggled, well used to this game. “I dressed her hair too.”
“Huh.” John sniffed, unimpressed. “Seems a bit out of fashion to me. How provincial.”
Lily chuckled and rolled her eyes. Sophie lifted her little chin and declared, “You’re a gentleman, Papa. Gentlemen don’t know anything about hair because their hair is short. Ha!”
“Ah, you have me there, lovely. We gentlemen must remember our place and not comment on things beyond our knowledge.” He winked at Lily. Sophie took the seat next to him and began to regale him with a very serious story about the nearby shopkeeper’s dog having puppies, and wouldn’t it be such a fine idea if they had a puppy? It could protect the house and watch things
real
close, like dogs do.
Eventually the tea tray was brought in and conversation moved to mundane things in the paper and further consideration of the various schools Sophie might attend when she was older. Through it all, John was forced to admit that half his attention was elsewhere. He thought about the mill tomorrow and the fuss his valet would put up once he saw his ruined waistcoat, some solicitor’s letters he needed to pen replies to and…and about a pair of green eyes looking at him anxiously. Yes, that too.
Damned if he had ever seen such a pair of emerald-green eyes.
Chapter Two
Hiding
John left his two ladies with a firm promise of future puppy ownership and arrived home a comfortable distance from the dinner hour. He tried to be productive by getting through some of his correspondence, but it was no use. He was feeling it again, his mind and body at war. And as the sun set and darkness fell over London, his distraction only got worse.
It was too soon. It had only been three months since he had last indulged, and before that, he had gone more than eight months before admitting defeat. The rush of blood to the surface of his skin made him long to be touched, and the blood rushing to other places made him long to bury himself deep inside—
He let out a frustrated groan and tried to force the thoughts from his mind, preferably before they showed themselves against the fall of his trousers. But there was no hope of relief tonight, anyway.
As soon as he had made up his mind that three months had been long enough, his valet had reminded him of his previous engagements. It had been like a fist to his gut. He had already been soothing himself with images of the whore he would hire that night when his valet had innocently asked which waistcoat he preferred to wear to the concert.
What bloody concert? Damn the man’s memory!
Thus, there he was, waiting with the other guests for a respectable concert being put on by a band of thoroughly respectable ladies in his grandmother’s respectable parlor. He felt like his skin was going to crawl off his bones.
“Darnish. Waiting with bated breath for the concert?” Lord Richard Avery said as he stopped before their group. John stood with his aunt and one of his younger female cousins, both of whom had beseeched him to attend the event weeks ago.
“How could I not?” he said, rolling his eyes a little. The ladies pursed their lips disapprovingly, especially his aunt.
“Remember your manners, John. And you too, Lord Richard. I know gentlemen don’t prefer such simple entertainments, but it might do both of you some good to just sit still for a while.” The older woman finished with a haughty, raised chin, as if to say there was no questioning her.
John gave Richard a commiserating look, which he returned with an understanding shrug.
“No need to worry, Aunt. I’m sure we will be asleep after too long, and then we will be quite still,” John said with a smile. Seeing that she was about to launch into another lecture, he took his little cousin’s hand and said quickly, “Where are my manners, Rich? Allow me to introduce you to my cousin Jane. This is her first foray to London. Jane, Lord Richard Avery.”
“Good evening, my lord,” the poor girl managed to squeak out as Richard leveled a devastating smile at her. He took her hand and raised it halfway to his lips, as every gentleman was trained to do. A quick glance at Jane’s flushed cheeks told John that she was already overwhelmed.
And why not? Richard cut quite an impressive figure, especially when he was decked out in all his evening finery. And John had seen the man stripped to the waist at Jackson’s boxing saloon more times than he could count. John raised his champagne glass to his lips, using it to cover his sigh.
“Water, water, every where, nor any drop to drink.”
John was about to ask, discreetly, how long the concert was expected to last, when Lord Brenleigh appeared at Richard’s side, and John conducted another round of introductions. Jane, the poor little innocent, appeared just as breathless over the sight of Brenleigh as she had over Richard. It set curious thoughts running through John’s mind. Only a few months ago, when Richard and Henry had suddenly become thick as thieves after the scandal with Richard’s sister, John had thought that maybe the two of them were closer than friends.
Don’t be foolish.
Perhaps after too long, starving men such as himself began to imagine they saw food everywhere.
“Ah, there she is,” Aunt Eloise exclaimed, rising on her slippered toes to look over the crowd. She waved her fan, and John looked to see who she was summoning.
He could not recall the middle-aged lady’s name, but he immediately recognized the man escorting her. It was Sir Samuel Shaw. He wore buff knee breeches and a tailed black evening coat over a rather plain, conservatively tied cravat. The image would have been decidedly dull but for the vibrant green silk waistcoat, embroidered around the buttons and edges with glistening gold thread. The ensemble was a little dated and outside the current fashion, yet oddly appealing.
Is that waistcoat the same color as his eyes?
“Eloise, hello,” the woman said as she joined them, all but pulling Shaw with her. It wasn’t until they were almost upon John and his group that he noticed the third person with Shaw, a young lady, likely just out of the schoolroom, who appeared to find the tops of her shoes fascinating.
“Kat.” Aunt Eloise nodded to her old friend. “And Sir Samuel. John, of course you know Lady Katherine Crowl and her brother Sir Samuel. Good evening, sir. Ah, and this must be Miss Shaw. You did tell me that you were bringing your sister out this season, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course. My sister Florence, this is her first season.”
“Ma’am,” Shaw said, nodding to Eloise. She made the introductions, and this time John could not help but notice that his cousin Jane didn’t appear half as flustered when Shaw bowed over her hand, a fact that left John curiously annoyed.
“How are you finding London, my dear?” Aunt Eloise said to Florence.
The girl finally looked up, and when she did, John could swear he was looking at Shaw’s twin in female form. She was shorter than the other young ladies, with a solid, stocky figure that John’s aunt would have politely called unfortunate. Her raven-black hair was done up in a ridiculous chaos of sausage curls, and her deep green eyes squinted in the candlelight as if she required spectacles but was not currently wearing them.
“I find it more frustrating than anything else,” Florence replied with a very unladylike shrug.
Aunt Eloise huffed through her nose while Jane giggled behind her fan.
Shaw did not react at all.
“Sam,” Brenleigh cut in with a welcoming smile. “How is your hand faring?”
It was the briefest thing, little more than half a second, yet John saw it. Shaw’s jaw clenched and his whole body stiffened. His smooth face contorted into a flash of hostility.
“Perfectly fine. Nothing worth concern,” Shaw muttered.
John glanced at Brenleigh, wondering if he too had noticed Shaw’s visceral reaction. It was impossible to know, but Brenleigh did appear quite…disappointed? John was not typically one for gossip, but he found himself suddenly, irrationally interested.
The tinkling of bells announced that the musical entertainment was soon to begin. Shaw released an audible breath and turned away, taking his sisters’ arms as he fled. The man looked positively relieved to escape the group. Lady Crowl made a rushed farewell over her shoulder as her brother all but dragged her away. The remaining ladies exchanged inquiring looks, but John turned his attention back to Brenleigh. He whispered something intently to Richard while Richard scowled.
John raised his brow and reminded himself that if curiosity killed the cat, the cat probably went to his death satisfied. Something was amiss between Brenleigh and Shaw, perhaps including Richard too. As John took his aunt and cousin on either arm and led them to their seats, he shrugged much of his interest away. It was probably just about some business venture. Hadn’t Michael said that Shaw was vicious in business circles, a veritable hawk? John would make subtle inquiries later. He was not above dabbling in gossip when his interest was piqued.