Sharon Sobel (15 page)

Lark scowled at Janet’s enthusiasm, which so thoroughly got the better of her that she should commit two offenses: first, that she should admit to admiring a man’s private home, and second, that she should refer to her friend by a private name.

“I am flattered to hear it, Miss Tavish,” Mr. Queensman said smoothly. “I regret it is not my home, for Seagate is not anywhere as original, as I expect you will see someday soon. But it is my consolation to spend even more hours herein than in my own library, for this is the hospital I have built. I hope it will be of interest to you and to Lady Lark.”

If the man proved willing to cover Janet’s embarrassment, he would only exacerbate Lark’s own. Lady Lark, indeed! She recalled him giving her leave to call him Ben, but she did not grant reciprocal privilege.

“I do not see any great pleasure in visiting another hospital,” Lark began, prepared to be thoroughly disagreeable. To be so went against her character, but she was becoming quite practiced at it. Indeed, a dislike of the kind she sustained for Mr. Queensman fostered it readily. “After all, do we
not have enough of illness and infirmity and overwarm chambers at Knighton’s? I doubt we will find anything to interest us here, Mr. Queensman.”

“Who is that man?” Janet asked, cutting off Lark’s retort.

“It is Matthew Warren, my colleague and friend who is already known to Miss Hathawae. He has heard much about the two elegant ladies I visit at Knighton’s and is very anxious to greet you,” Mr. Queensman said cheerfully. “Mr. Warren shares my plans not only for the future, but also for this afternoon.”

“What plans?” Lark said tightly.

Benedict Queensman looked down on her and smiled. She would not be so easily seduced as Janet and tried to ignore him. But he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed it against them.

“My lady, a tour of Brighton could not be complete until you see, firsthand, the Queensman Hospital, established by an earnest young physician with a significant part of his inheritance and dedicated to the welfare of the poor and hopeless. Its residents are nothing to Knighton’s, of course, but illness does not recognize class boundaries.”

“You told me I would not be welcome at the Pavilion until I could manage to walk in myself, sir. Do I take it that similar restrictions keep me from your hospital?”

“My hospital turns no one away, whatever their limitations. As you suffer as sorely as any within, you will be allowed to enter.”

“A pity we left my chaise on Knighton’s veranda. I believe I must remain here, after all, for I have no access,” Lark said and turned up her chin defiantly.

Unexpectedly and fleetingly, she saw in his face the reflection of her most urgent fears and unbidden imaginings. A great longing seemed etched upon his noble features, frightening her in its intensity. She knew then that she did indeed have access of the most intimate sort, bidding her to enter a private place with no barriers, from which there could be no easy leaving.

“You have access if you wish it, my lady,” he said simply, though it had the effect of heating her soul. She tried to pull her hand away, but he only held it tighter.

“Welcome, ladies!” Matthew Warren called out, a trifle too cheerfully. “You have chosen an excellent afternoon to come for a visit.”

“By which my good friend means you are not apt to see anything of a distressing nature,” Mr. Queensman said casually as he released Lark’s hand. He pulled the cabriolet up to the end of the drive and threw the reins to Mr. Warren. Two matrons immediately appeared in the open doorway, wiping their hands on their white aprons and looking more curious than expectant.

Mr. Queensman leapt from his perch with a grace unusual in one so large and hugged Mr. Warren cheerfully, as if they had not seen each other for days rather than hours. But Lark did not miss the quick exchange of words between them and thought perhaps all was not as harmonious as they would have her and Janet believe. Mr. Queensman shook his head briefly and glanced out towards the sea.

But the respite proved brief, for he returned almost immediately with introductions.

“Can this be Miss Tavish, then, about whom I have heard so much?” Matthew Warren asked. In the corners of his eyes, tiny creases marked his tanned skin, as if he were in the habit of taking too much sun. His straw-colored hair looked bleached, and the skin peeled off the very tip of his nose.

No longer separated from Janet by Ben Queensman, Lark felt her friend stiffen next to her on the seat.

“What have you heard, sir? You might very well be mistaken, as I am only a companion to my good friend, Lady Larkspur, and have only a modest history myself.”

“You need not remain modest, Miss Tavish.” Mr. Warren beamed at her and offered his hand. “A lady who is prepared to nurse a dear friend and sacrifice her own amusement for that of another must be hailed as the best of all women. Mr. Queensman often talks of your patience, and forbearance, and undying loyalty.”

“Does he indeed?” Janet spared a glance for her unlikely admirer and then accepted Mr. Warren’s hand with aplomb equal to that of accepting the apple from Paris. And why not? Lark reflected, feeling absurdly pleased. Mr. Warren looked
nearly as handsome as Mr. Queensman. He was the sort of man one contrived to meet in London circles, only to find him married with four children.

“I am sure it is merited, Miss Tavish,” Mr. Warren said and led her to the open door, now framed by the two maids. Patient, loyal Janet did not spare a glance backwards for her dear friend. Perhaps it was just as well, for she may have been disconcerted by what she saw.

Mr. Queensman said nothing, but turned to Lark as she necessarily remained in the carriage. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the woolen shawl from around her elbows and from her lap, exposing her to the sea breezes. But the breezes were not nearly so titillating as his own appreciative gaze, as his eyes went from the tip of her bonnet to the soles of her untrodden slippers.

“Are you sure you can manage it?” Lark said slowly.

“Have I not already proven I can?” he asked, and swept her up as if she weighed nothing. Her arm, caught between their bodies, slipped out and came around his waist, visibly startling him. But his only response was to shift her position slightly higher, so she now caressed the small of his back. It was wanton behavior, to be sure, but she would not remain passive while he dared to take such liberties with her.

“Lady Larkspur, your health seems much improved,” he choked out.

“Indeed, sir, it is not. I believe I may be suffering from a slight derangement. I … may do things I do not intend.”

“On the contrary, my lady. I have the strongest hunch you know precisely what you do and the effect you have on others.”

As he stepped through the doorway, they fell into shadow, and his pupils opened so wide one could scarce discern the blueness of his eyes.

“Will you send me back to Raeborn, then?” she asked recklessly.

He sucked in his breath. “I fear if I do you may kill him with such behavior. I believe you need a younger man, someone closer to your own age.”

“Mr. Siddons, perhaps? I know he certainly admires me, for he flatters me at every meeting.”

“A fool he is, then. Someone ought to tell him you have had too many such admirers, and flattery proves nothing. You
deserve a man who understands you and appreciates your talents.”

“Might not Raeborn be such a man?” Lark demanded to know.

Ben Queensman’s chin tightened as he ducked under a low beam. His hand seemed to burn her through the fabric of her gown.

“No, he is not,” he said finally, just as he dropped her into a large chair. Disappointed, Lark realized their strange confrontation was at an end, for they were now in a large room with a dozen curious faces around them.

“My good man”—Matthew Warren spoke up—“you look exhausted by your exercise, as if you had a hard time of it. I shall have to get you out more often.”

“I am probably out too often as it is. And look what effect this day has had on me.”

Lark did not dare meet his eyes, but looked around at her new surroundings instead.

She sat in an unusually curved room that seemed to emulate the prow of a ship as it fronted the sea. A dozen beds were lined up along the far wall, so every occupant looked out upon the water but was not bothered by the sun’s bright reflection within it. Two of the windows stood open, admitting the stiff, fresh breeze that pervaded all of Brighton but was forbidden in the private chambers at Knighton’s. Here, it did much to temper the odors of body and waste that were inevitable companions to disease.

“This is the children’s room, my lady,” Benedict Queensman said at her shoulder.

Startled, Lark returned her gaze to the beds and realized the tiny proportions of those who lay beneath the covers.

“Why are they not in their homes, sir? Surely children are happiest surrounded by those they love, who can best give them comfort.”

“A very wise sentiment, my lady. But you are naive if you think every child has a home, or that he or she is loved by those who dwell within. Indeed, I am sad to tell you some of these children are here precisely because they are so unloved at home.”

“Whatever can you mean?”

“Exactly what I say. You cannot be so sheltered as to believe children are not abused by whoever has the care of them, that
many are not murdered every day only a few miles from your fancy balls and theater engagements.”

Lark blinked, feeling a little stupid. Indeed, she must have been so sheltered. She knew nothing of the lives of the urchins in the streets—how could she?—and paid little attention to any but those few in the families she and her sisters took under their charitable wing. As for the others, she knew not where they slept nor how they lived.

“It is not possible,” she whispered, and accepted Janet’s linen handkerchief. She blew her nose.

Mr. Queensman dropped to one knee, so his face came very close to her own.

“I did not bring you here to distress you, but to show there is reason for hope. Children may be brought to us and allowed to recover their health.”

“But why?” Lark asked bitterly. “So they may be returned to the harshness of their lives and similar abuse?”

“Your lady is a quick learner, Miss Tavish,” Lark heard Mr. Warren say.

Mr. Queensman nodded his apparent agreement. “We endeavor to settle them safely elsewhere. Unless, of course, they wish to return to their homes.”

“Why would they wish to do that?”

Mr. Queensman frowned before he answered. “Who can explain the vagaries of what passes for love?”

Lark had no answer to that, nor did she a half hour later when she had met all the children in the ward and knew she had somehow developed a profound affection for them. She found herself promising gifts and favors, and guaranteed she would return to visit them all.

“You would make an excellent politician, my dear,” Mr. Queensman said wryly as he lifted her from her seat to bring her into another room. “You have managed to make everyone extremely happy.”

Though possibly not as happy as he made her by his use of a simple endearment.

“Where do we go now?” Janet asked, just at her shoulder. But when they reached the doorway, she fell back in step with Mr. Warren.

“There are others I should like you to meet. I must warn you, however, they will take you very literally at your word and will not be appreciative of promises you will not keep.”

Lark was stunned that Mr. Queensman should be so cynical of her, but a moment’s reflection was sufficient to remind her why he would not trust a lady capable of such a massive deception as hers. Even as they moved down a cool corridor, she realized how very much she would like to walk beside him and enter the next room on her own account—not like some helpless invalid in his arms. But despite his cryptic words, she did not doubt he would promptly return her to Raeborn if her recovery proved suddenly complete.

“I have not broken a promise to anyone in my life, sir,” she said.

“I would like you to say as much in my cousin’s presence,” he answered curtly.

“He can have no quarrel with me on that account, as he extracted no promise from me. My father negotiated an arrangement without my consent.”

Ben Queensman’s steady step faltered.

“That is not what he told me,” he said gruffly.

“I am not surprised,” Lark retorted bitterly. “I seem surrounded by a conspiracy of men who consult nothing but their own vanities. First I am jilted by a fickle suitor, and then I am bullied into submission by my father. Your cousin presents himself at my father’s door, on the strength of a few minutes’ meeting, and then commissions you to spy on me. Well, I have had quite enough of this. Put me down, sir.”

Ben Queensman continued walking, tightening his hold.

“I said, put me down.” Lark knew the danger of getting precisely what she wished, but anger made her reckless.

“I will not. You have not the strength to support yourself.” Mr. Queensman perpetuated the charade even as she challenged him to abandon it.

“I do indeed, as well you know. I order you—”

“And I willfully disobey your order. You shall stay as you are.”

She started to wiggle out of his arms, trying to escape.

“Lark!” The name slipped out in a sort of desperation, and had the effect of stopping her completely.

“Sir?”

He knew he had erred severely with the implied intimacy; she could see the regret on his face. It enhanced her
growing sense of the power she held over him and strengthened her determination to provoke him while on her own two feet.

But her timing proved ill, as he brought her into another room and closed the door behind him.

“Will Mr. Warren not be joining us?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“I believe he is showing Miss Tavish the drawing room.”

“But Miss Tavish is my chaperone. It will not do to be without her.”

“You need not fear for your virtue, my lady. We have chaperones enough here.”

Mr. Queensman set her down gently at a table at which a man and a woman sat with a deck of cards between them and a tray of sweetmeats in each of their corners. They boasted neither the elegant dress of the residents at Knighton’s nor the general look of refinement, but were neatly dressed and impeccably clean. The man rose shakily to his feet.