Linwood held his gaze with those calm black eyes. ‘If you are truly done with her, then all well and good. But I do not think that to be the case.’
‘You are mistaken.’
‘Am I? Is that why you punched Devlin the other night?’
‘He suggested going to the Green Room of the Covent Garden theatre.’
‘He was trying to cheer your ill humour!’
Alice’s name whispered unspoken between them.
‘I have no wish to visit the Green Room of any theatre.’ Razeby stared straight ahead, his jaw stiff and stubborn. Both of them knew the significance of the Green Room in Razeby and Alice’s relationship, but neither man made mention of it.
He had loved her. And believed she loved him. He had almost dishonoured all that he was as a man, turned his back on the one thing he had to do in his life, given it all up for her—a woman who had taken his heart and trampled it into the ground. What an actress she was. She had fooled him completely and utterly.
The bitterness of the illusion she had spun seemed to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. He did not even think of telling Linwood the truth. That she had rejected his offer of marriage—that she had ripped out his heart and ground it to a pulp before his very eyes. That he was such a fool that he had been prepared to put his honour aside. It was too raw, too intense, too private. Too damn shameful! He had not come to terms with it himself, let alone start revealing such vulnerabilities, even to Linwood.
Linwood said nothing, but Razeby could feel his friend’s discerning gaze upon him.
He glanced across and saw Miss Darrington re-enter the ballroom.
There was still time enough before his thirtieth birthday. He had to stay focused. And do what had to be done.
* * *
Alice sat in the lawyer’s office in Dublin beside the man she was paying to represent her. Over on the wall were square-shaped box shelves, each one filled with scrolls piled high, every scroll tied with a red ribbon. The light from the office window lit the faded brown leather of the seats a warm chestnut and glanced off the glass of the pictures on the wall. A grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked slow and steady, punctuating the silence. Tiny specks of dust floated in sunlight, softening the drab interior of the room. Alice, dressed in her best blue day dress and pelisse, sat across the desk from the lawyer and tried to keep calm.
‘A thousand pounds? You cannot be serious, Mr Timmons.’
‘If you wish to buy the cottage, Miss Flannigan, that is the price Mr Lamerton is asking.’
‘For a cottage in the country, with its roof in need of a new thatch?’
‘He has offered to re-thatch the roof as part of the selling price.’
‘Then you can tell him he may keep it. There are other cottages to be had in the village.’
‘Mr Lamerton owns all of the properties in the village.’
‘There are other villages nearby.’
‘There are, Miss Flannigan. But you seem not to be aware that Mr Lamerton inherited some considerable acreage in the area from his late uncle. He is a landowner of wealth and influence. Perhaps your mother might consider moving out of the parish.’
‘No.’ Alice knew that her mother had been happy in the village. She had friends there. And besides, the house represented much more than four walls and a roof over their heads. After the years of living on the street, of shifting from a shared room in one relative’s house to another, it had been the one point of stability in their lives. Her mother had always sworn she would never move again. Never go back to that life of constant shift and insecurity. ‘I would not ask that of her.’
‘The price is unreasonable, I agree, Miss Flannigan, but there is little else I can do.’
A thousand pounds. Alice’s savings. From her time with Razeby. And her earnings from the theatre.
‘Maybe I could speak to Mr Lamerton about reaching some arrangement over the payments for the rent that is outstanding.’
And Lamerton would have her mother over a barrel for the rest of her days. ‘A thousand pounds and my mother would own the cottage outright?’
The lawyer nodded. ‘That is the case, Miss Flannigan.’
‘Tell him I will give him nine hundred and arrange myself for the roof to be thatched.’
‘I will make the offer, as per your instruction, Miss Flannigan.’
* * *
In the crowded bedchamber of the little cottage Alice stole from the bed she shared with her sisters and crept through to the living room. The moon was high in the sky, its quiet silver light spilling in through the small lead-latticed window. She stood by the window and looked up at the moon, the same moon that shone down on Razeby in London. She wondered how he was and what he was doing. Every time she closed her eyes she could see his face.
The night was the cruellest time, for he came to her in her dreams, always in tenderness. He made love to her and gathered her in his arms and told her that he loved her. And always, always, it ended with those words that she had spoken, those lies and deceptions. And him staring down into her face with such anger and disgust. And always in the darkness it seemed that she could feel the press of two golden sovereigns against the palm of her hand. And every night she wept silently in the darkness.
She stood there and watched the full moon. Once upon a time she would have wished on it. But she did not do that now. A month had passed since she had come to Dublin. The cottage was paid for. A new fresh thick thatch upon the roof. Furniture and new clothes bought. The larder stocked full and ten bags of coal emptied into the coal cellar. And all save five pounds given into her mother’s hands. But the money would not last for ever. She could not shirk her duty. It was time to go back to London. Besides, there was another reason she could not stay here. But she did not want to think of that right now. Not until she was sure.
Chapter Eighteen
I
t was two weeks until Razeby’s wedding.
He sat in White’s Gentlemen’s Club with a group of his friends and pretended to laugh at some crude joke that Fallingham had just cracked. Devlin was guffawing by his side, the drink flowing freely.
‘Another three bottles of champagne,’ Razeby said.
‘Steady on, old man, someone might think you are celebrating getting yourself enmeshed in parson’s trap,’ Bullford teased.
‘Happens to the best of us, as Linwood will tell you.’ Razeby grinned as if his heart were not shattered and aching.
Linwood gave the tiniest incline of his head, but said nothing else.
‘So how do you wish to celebrate your last night of bachelorhood when it comes, Razeby?’ Devlin’s words were already slightly slurred. ‘The boys and I have been discussing it. And we were thinking a night out at a certain colourful establishment—Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures, to be precise. You could sample one of every colour. Maybe we all could. And afterwards swap notes.’
The words touched a raw nerve. None of them knew the truth, save for Linwood. The identities of Mrs Silver’s girls were a closely guarded secret. He thought of Alice working in that place as Miss Rouge and his stomach twisted tight into a small hard knot. The thought of even entering the brothel made him feel sick. Yet he showed not one sign of his discomfort.
Across the table Linwood’s gaze met his and held for the smallest moment before moving away to the rest of the group.
‘Hardly original,’ Linwood drawled. ‘Besides, he’s tasted them all already.’
He had tasted one and one alone and she had snared him and bound him to her in ways he had never imagined possible.
‘I concede there is something of the truth in that,’ agreed Razeby, although he did not say which half of Linwood’s sentence was the truth, and which the lie.
‘Linwood’s right,’ said Bullford. ‘You will have to come up with something better than that, Devlin.’
‘If you are so smart, you come up with a better idea,’ said Devlin.
‘Maybe I shall, old man. There’s time enough yet to think about it.’
Razeby lifted one of the bottles of champagne from the silver bucket of ice that the footman had just brought. He gave the bottle a shake then, laughing as if he had not a care in the world, popped the cork and necked some of the erupting froth to the cheers of his friends. He wiped a hand across his mouth as if were enjoying every dissolute moment and passed the bottle to Devlin, who did the same. ‘And in the meantime why do we not take our champagne through to the gaming room and play a few hands on the tables?’
‘Now, that is a damnably splendid idea,’ said Fallingham and, taking out his snuff box, offered it round.
Razeby’s gaze met Linwood’s across the table, and there was nothing of laughter or mock merriment in either man’s eyes. Razeby drew his friend a tiny nod of gratitude of what he had just saved him from. Linwood reciprocated in the same way. In the carousing and drunkenness of the others, no one else noticed.
* * *
It was almost dusk when Alice knocked on the front door of Venetia and Linwood’s apartments in St James’s. The hackney carriage waited out on the road, with her travelling bag still stowed inside. She pulled again at the voluminous dark hood, checking that it shrouded her identity from any of Venetia’s neighbours who might be chancing to look from their windows and see the lone woman standing there. A breeze stirred the dark shroud of the cloak around her.
The footman let her in. But when he would have taken her cloak she declined, only followed him through nervously to the drawing room.
Venetia was on her feet to greet her. ‘Alice!’ She came to her and took her hands in her own. ‘Thank the Lord! I have been so worried over you. Come in, sit down and take some tea. Your cloak...’ She gestured to the butler who hovered, ready to take it from her.
But again Alice shook her head, waiting until the manservant left before she sat spoke. ‘I know the hour is late and I’ve no wish to embarrass you amongst your neighbours.’
Venetia sat down on the sofa beside her. ‘That is foolish talk, Alice, and you know it.’
‘I didn’t come to stay, only to...’ she hesitated for the smallest of moments ‘...to ask a favour of you.’
‘Anything,’ said Venetia.
‘You own a charity house out in Whitechapel. One that provides shelter for certain women and their children...’
‘I do,’ said Venetia and Alice could see the curiosity and concern in her eyes.
‘May I stay there? It would just be for a short while, until I get myself sorted out.’
Venetia met her gaze and held it. Alice glanced away, afraid of what her friend would see in her eyes.
‘You may not,’ said Venetia quietly.
Alice stared round in shock. She had not thought Venetia would refuse her. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you, Venetia, but I’ve nowhere else to go,’ she admitted out of desperation. ‘And you needn’t worry that I’d speak anything of your connection with it. I know you hold it as a secret. I would say nothing.’
‘Alice.’ Venetia took her hand in her own. ‘I know you would say nothing. But you cannot stay there. It is in Whitechapel, for heaven’s sake. No. You will stay here with me. I insist upon it.’
‘I can’t stay here. Only think what it would do to your reputation. The
ton
would have a field day if they knew I was living under your roof.’
‘The
ton
do not need to know. We can be discreet.’
‘But what of Linwood? He won’t like my being here one little bit.’
‘My husband will understand my wish to help my best friend. Please stay, Alice.’
‘I...’ The temptation pulled at her. She knew she would be safe here with Venetia. Besides, she knew that having the celebrated Miss Sweetly in their midst would do neither herself or the refuge any good.
‘I take it that is your hackney carriage waiting outside?’
Alice gave a nod.
Venetia instructed her butler to see to Alice’s luggage and send the carriage away.
‘I’ll stay only for a few days. Then I’ll find somewhere else.’
‘Are you forgetting that you sheltered me, Alice, when my home was lost? I do not. You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish. I will be sincerely glad of your company.’
Alice smiled a smile of relief. Venetia was good to her; she always had been.
‘Have you eaten?’
Alice shook her head. ‘I’m just off the stagecoach from Southampton. I was back in Ireland visiting—’ She stopped mid-sentence. ‘Is Linwood at home?’
‘He has business round at his father’s.’
Alice felt herself relax a little, afraid that where Linwood was, Razeby might appear.
Venetia looked down into her face. ‘Was everything all right with your family, Alice?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Not really. But it is now.’
‘Then you had better tell me about it.’
* * *
Alice sat at the breakfast table the next morning in Venetia’s apartments. Venetia sat opposite her, not yet dressed, still wearing her dressing gown wrapped around her. Alice had put on her pale-green afternoon dress and pinned up her hair.
‘Won’t you eat something else?’ Venetia asked.
Alice shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
Venetia topped up both their cups of coffee and spread some honey across her fresh bread roll. ‘It is Razeby, is it not?’
Alice said nothing, just forced herself to nibble on the dry roll on the plate in front of her.
‘What happened between the two of you?’
‘Nothing happened.’ She could not meet her friend’s eyes.
‘You will have to hone your acting skills better than that before you go back on stage,’ Venetia said quietly, but she did not press her for the answer.
Alice glanced away and massaged the tight spot of tension that ached between her brows. ‘How is he?’
‘Like a different man.’
She closed her eyes at that.
‘He is engaged to be married to Miss Darrington.’
‘I am glad of it,’ she said. And she was, truly she was. It was the best she could do for him.
‘The wedding is set for two weeks’ time in Westminster Abbey.’
‘So soon?’ she whispered and swallowed.
She glanced up to see Linwood in the door frame and felt her face pale.
‘Miss Sweetly.’ He gave a small bow of his head. Unlike Venetia, he was fully dressed in a smart dark-green tailcoat and buckskin riding breeches.
‘Lord Linwood,’ she murmured as she rose and gave a small curtsy. She resumed her seat too quickly.
Linwood helped himself to a selection of breakfast items from the heated silver trays on the sideboard. As he lifted the lids the food smells wafted strongly in Alice’s direction. Bacon and eggs and kippers. Her stomach tightened.
He sat down by Venetia’s side, opposite Alice.
She bit her lip, averted her gaze from his heavily laden plate and tried not to breathe through her nose.
‘I hope your trip home to visit your family went well,’ he said.
She nodded and knew she could not keep staring in the opposite direction. ‘Very well, thank you.’ She forced herself to look at him, and those black eyes were so perceptive that she wondered what Razeby had told him of her. Her gaze dropped and she found herself looking directly at his plate of food.
He cut into the fat fillet of kipper and the smell hit her all the stronger.
Alice gagged and, clutching a hand to her mouth, fled from the room.
* * *
Venetia found her in the little bedchamber up in the attic, kneeling over the chamber pot, retching up the remains of the half bread roll she had eaten. She came into the room, shut the door behind her and opened up the window.
Alice sat on the bed, leaned back against the wall and breathed in the cool, fresh morning air as Venetia sat beside her.
‘Sorry,’ Alice said. ‘It must have been something I ate at the coaching inn yesterday.’
‘But you did not eat anything in the coaching inn yesterday, did you, Alice?’
Alice swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘No.’
‘How many months gone are you?’
Alice did not even try to deny it. Venetia would know the truth of it sooner or later, and in a way it was a relief to be able to tell someone else. ‘I’ve missed two lots of my monthly courses.’
‘Does Razeby know?’
‘No!’ She sat bolt upright and the dizziness swam in her head, so she eased herself back against the wall again. ‘And don’t you dare tell him, Venetia. Please, I beg of you!’
‘I will tell him nothing that you do not wish him to know.’
‘Thank you. I don’t want him to know anything of it.’
‘Why not? He is not an unreasonable man, Alice. You will need a means of living for you and the baby when it comes. Razeby would hate to default on his duty.’
Alice smiled at that—a bittersweet smile at the remembrance of how much Razeby had been prepared to give up for her.
‘It is his child, too, Alice. And whatever has happened between the two of you, I am sure he would take care, at least financially, of both you and the child you have made between you. You should tell him at the very least.’
‘I cannot.’
The child you have made between you.
She felt the tears prickle in her eyes and pressed her hands to her face to hide them. ‘You have no idea, Venetia. What I did to him...the terrible things I said.’ She swallowed and swallowed, but the tightness in her throat would not alleviate. The scar of that terrible day in that bedchamber in Mercer Street was still vivid and throbbing in her memory. ‘I lied to him. I made him despise me. I made him think the very worst of me.’
‘Why would you do that?’
She looked up at her friend, knowing she was going to have to tell her the truth. ‘He asked me to marry him. He wanted us to go away, to the Continent, to live. He was going to give it all up for me. His birthright, his heritage, his title, his people. Everything that is so important to him. Everything that he has been raised the whole of his life for. I couldn’t let him do that, could I? No matter how much I want to be with him.’
‘So you turned him down.’
Alice nodded. ‘In the worst way possible. There was no other way he would have believed me otherwise. He’s a very determined man, is Razeby.’ She clutched her bottom lip hard with her teeth to stop herself from crying, but it was useless, the tears spilled over her eyes just the same. ‘He thinks me the most callous and worst of whores. God only knows what he’d do if he knew I had his babe in my belly. I doubt he’d leave his child to be raised by the woman he believes me to be. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t risk that happening. Not when it’s all I’ve left of him.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Oh, Venetia, what am I going to do?’
‘We’ll find a way, Alice.’ Venetia put her arm around her. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘I can’t stay here, unmarried and with a belly that will swell to notice soon enough. I wouldn’t do that to you, Venetia.’
‘I will find rooms for you in the country. I will take care of the money and—’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t let you do that,’ she said, knowing what would happen to the fragile reputation that Venetia had worked so hard to build. Besides, there was also her family back in Ireland to think of. ‘I will find another way. I have to.’
‘Alice, the theatres are closed for the summer. And when they open again you will not be in a position to hide your condition.’
‘I know. But my mind is made up, Venetia. You’re my friend. And you’ve already done so much for me. Getting me out of Mrs Silver’s and all. But enough is enough. I won’t ruin your chances of happiness in your new life. I’ll leave this very minute otherwise.’
‘You can be a most stubborn termagant when you choose to be, do you know that, Alice Flannigan?’
Alice smiled even though the tears were still rolling down her cheeks and she could not seem to stop them. And then she thought of Razeby again. ‘You won’t tell him, will you, Venetia?’
‘I will not tell him.’
Alice gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Venetia. For that and for letting me stay. Linwood’s not too angry, is he?’
‘He is not angry at all. He, too, remembers how you took me in after my house burned down, before we were wed. He is not what you think him, Alice.’