Undesirable Liaison (9 page)

‘Why in the
world must you go out as a companion? You are to all intents and
purposes orphaned, that is plain. But have you no relatives who
might succour you?’

Snatched from a
wandering reverie, Flo stared at him without comprehension. She
spoke her thought aloud.

‘Why do you ask
me?’

‘Because you
are far too quick-witted a female to be wasting herself on the life
you have chosen.’

Florence looked
away. ‘I think it is fairer to say that life has chosen me.’

‘Gammon. We
make our own lives, our own decisions, and it is futile to blame
chance or fortune.’

She turned on
him. ‘It is well for you to say, my lord, with title and lands at
your disposal.’

‘What have they
to do with it? Do you suppose it is a sinecure to be born to vast
estates and responsibility for so many lives? Do you think because
I am rich, I am any the less prone to anxiety and unhappiness?’

‘No, but—’

‘I see what it
is, Miss Petrie. You are of those who imagine wealth brings its own
reward.’ A bitter note crept into his voice. ‘You are mistaken. I
am as inescapably bound to this life as you believe you are to
yours, notwithstanding my ability to make choices based upon a
larger canvas.’ He emitted a harsh laugh. ‘I might, in other
circumstances, have abandoned my home and family as thoroughly as I
was myself abandoned. I might have sought solace in other lands,
and consolation in the arms of other beauties. Instead, because I
am Viscount Langriville, I remained to endure the slights or
sympathies of my neighbours.’

Unwillingly
pulled by compassion, Florence could not but offer what palliative
she might.

‘But you had no
choice.’

His head
flicked round and the brown eyes fastened upon hers, his wound
visible in their depths.

‘Ah, but it was
a choice. That is my point. I might have escaped into drink or
gambling. Others have done as much. A debauch is an excellent
method of inducing forgetfulness. No, Miss Petrie, I chose to
remain. Just as you chose, inexplicably, to take up a post unsuited
either to your years or your character.’

Incensed, Flo
took him up without thinking. ‘I wish you will not make these
judgements, my lord. They are wholly uninformed. You know nothing
of my character, and less of my age.’

His glance
raked her person, the eyes lightening a little. ‘You are scarcely
more than a girl, and I think you have demonstrated enough of your
character to allow me to make an educated guess at it. Though you
have integrity, you are self-willed and—’

‘Pray do not
again make a catalogue of my faults, if you please.’

‘Integrity is a
virtue.’

‘Thank you, but
I have had enough of your opinions for one day.’

‘Ah, but you
are in my carriage, and I am therefore at liberty to air all the
opinions I choose. Or do you dispute that too?’

For the second
time in their dealings, Flo was perplexed beyond endurance. It was
out before she could control her tongue.

‘If this is
your habitual style of conversation, my lord Langriville, I cannot
find it in me to blame your wife for leaving you.’

She regretted
the words before the changing expression in his face gave notice of
his reaction. She made an instant retraction.

‘I did not mean
that. Forgive me, pray. I had no notion of saying such a thing,
only you provoked me so dreadfully I uttered the first thing that
came into my head. It was wrong of me, terribly wrong.’

His silence
left her floundering. She watched his face, the gathering frown and
a look in the eyes as if he thought of a stinging response. And
then hesitation, a slight tightening at his strong jaw. He did not
look directly at her, but at some object of his mind that sat in
the air above her lap.

At last he
spoke, and the heaviness of spirit emanating from him caught at her
heartstrings.

‘Yes, but there
is a grain of truth in there. Turn it how I will, I cannot
reconcile myself to a clear conscience. Don’t think I have not
laboured over my part in it. It is not a light act, to desert one’s
husband for another man. She knew it must be ruin—for her. Worse
for her, far worse, than anything I might suffer. Society was ever
closed to her from that day, but not to me. I abjured it from
choice, but she had none. Not once she had taken that step.’

His gaze sought
Flo’s at last, and the haggard look within it made her heart pound
in her ears.

‘My father
called her flighty. My aunt used a term infinitely more pejorative.
I have used it myself, God knows. But it will not do. Had I been
all in all to her, she could not have gone. That I was not must be
as much my fault as hers.’

Florence could
utter no word. From nowhere came an incomprehensible notion that
Lord Langriville deluded himself. She thrust it aside. Had her
sympathies not been with the poor lady but a few days since?
Nonsensical to be imagining Lady Langriville had been the fool, to
walk away from such a man.

Her silence
threw Jerome into consciousness. What was he doing, confessing such
things to a stranger? He had told none of this before today. He sat
back in his seat, turning his eyes upon the groom in front who rode
the near horse.

Oddly, having
unburdened himself, he was conscious of a lifting of his spirits.
After all, did it matter what he spoke to this girl? He was
unlikely to see her again, once he had set her down in London.
Chance had thrown her in his way. Choice—there it was again—would
allow her to pass out of his life.

She had, it
must be admitted, done him a signal service. Without her
intervention, who knew how long it might have been before he heard
of Letty’s death? Should he give her the sum the ruby would
realise? Almost he had forgotten the ruby. Had indeed forgotten its
existence before Miss Petrie brought it to him. The necklace was
not an heirloom, but one he had given to Letty upon their
betrothal. It was hers absolutely. Should he keep the gem?

Before he could
make a decision, the girl’s voice interrupted him.

‘I can
understand a little of your wife’s tragedy, sir. I know what it
means to be an outcast.’

He turned to
look at her, drawn by the hint of oppression under the calm
tone.

‘Do you? How
so?’

‘My mother
suffered a similar fate, if not as clear-cut. It was to escape such
a life myself that I came away.’

He saw her draw
breath and noted her fingers quivered in her lap. They had been
before a giveaway, he remembered. The light was fading, the
interior of the carriage growing dim. When she faced him, he could
make out barely a glimmer at her eyes.

‘You make much
of choices, my lord, but I think you measure but half the matter.
Such choices as one makes are the result of consequence. One event
forces a new decision. It is harder to account for one’s
responsibility in the event itself.’

‘Riddles! Give
me facts, and let them explain your meaning.’

Her figure was
but a shadow now, sunken in gloom. But her voice, coming out of the
darkness there, had a desperate quality that echoed within him.

‘I am the
product of an elopement, sir. At fifteen, my mother ran away from
her academy, with the Italian dancing master.’

‘Did she, by
God? Were they married?’

‘Oh yes. In
Florence, I believe, where I was born. I was named for my birth
place, and I vaguely recall the city.’

Florence? An
attractive and unusual name. ‘Did the marriage last?’

‘It did not.’
She sounded brittle now. ‘Whether my father left, or they
quarrelled too bitterly I know not, but in the end Mama returned to
England. She sought refuge with relatives, but none would receive
her. At least, none but a remote cousin.’ An edge was creeping into
her tone, intriguing Jerome the more. ‘He offered us sanctuary in a
cottage adjacent to his lands. It was generous of him, for he is
not a rich man and he might have reaped benefit from a paying
tenant.’

‘
Is
not
rich?’ Jerome caught at the tense. ‘I take it he is alive?’

‘Very much so.’

The edge was
more pronounced. Was this the villain of the piece? He let it
lie.

‘And your
mother?’

‘She died a
little over a year since.’ A faint sigh came. ‘I waited out the
period of mourning, which gave me time to lay my plans. Then I
packed myself and Belinda up, and I left.’

‘Which begs the
question,’ he put in coolly, ‘why?’

For the first
time, she showed alarm. ‘Pray do not ask me. I have said as much as
I may. My reason was sufficient. Content yourself with that, if you
please, and seek to know no more.’

Jerome
hesitated. His curiosity was aroused, but his own experience made
him alive to the girl’s desire to hold her secret, whatever it
might be, close to her chest. He reminded himself they were
strangers, he had no right to pry.

Yet in these
few hours he had revealed more of himself to this female than he
had to anyone in the past seven years. How it had come about he had
no notion. But it made no matter. He must make suitable recompense
for her trouble, but Frizington could deal with that. He need never
meet her again. Better he did not, perhaps, for she already knew
too much of his inner self for comfort. And who was she, when all
was said and done? One of the great army of female unfortunates
whose claim upon gentility fell far short of the ideal, and whose
circumstances drove them into domestic slavery of one sort or
another.

No, Miss
Florence Petrie was out of his world. Once he had set her down at
her own door, he might dismiss her from his mind.

Chapter
Four

The decay of
the building where Letty had her final lodgings was not unexpected,
but it shocked Jerome. His emotions were nothing, however, to those
exhibited by the woman Pinxton when she opened the door.

‘My lord!’ She
looked aghast, as well she might. ‘What—what do you here? Lord ’a
mercy, I never thought to see you again!’

‘Nor I you,
Pinxton. Will you have the goodness to allow me to enter?’

The woman
backed into the chamber at once, moving aside to make room for him.
Jerome stepped over the threshold and paused, looking about at the
poor state of the furnishings and taking in the dank air of
dilapidation. Five tallow candles in one candelabrum shed light
over a daybed before the fireplace, in which a few coals burned
red, and rendered the atmosphere hazy with smoke.

Jerome’s
stomach lurched as he pictured Letty lying at her length upon the
daybed, in just such a pose as had never failed to seduce him in
the early years of their marriage. The click of the latch behind
him shattered the vision, and he recalled Pinxton’s presence.
Striding into the room, he turned to confront her, and abruptly
noted the unsuitable apparel. The creature was wearing Letty’s
clothes.

The
significance of the pawnbroker mentioned by Florence Petrie came
home to him. It was plain the abigail had made free with whatever
belongings were left. He wanted to choke her. She was, however, no
longer in his employ. And for all he knew, Letty may have given her
leave to do as she chose.

Pinxton was
eyeing him with a high degree of apprehension, if he was any judge,
though she had her chin well up and held herself with a distinct
lack of obsequiousness. He recalled that defiant air of hers. It
had irked him on numerous occasions, when she had sought to bar him
from Letty’s presence. She had not succeeded. A husband—such as he
then was in more than name—had indisputable rights.

He took a high
hand. ‘You will tell me exactly how and when your mistress died, if
you please.’

The abigail
glanced away and back again. ‘How did you know?’

‘Have the
goodness to answer me.’

But instead, a
sudden look of realisation came into her pinched features. ‘Never
say that female went to you? All on account of a greatcoat dress? I
knew she was a busybody from the first.’

‘Save your
breath for what is of more moment. I take it Lady Langriville died
in this place. What happened to her?’

The maid eyed
him with resentment. ‘I don’t know as you’ve a right to ask, my
lord. You let her go. And you never made no attempt to recover her,
as you might have done. Oh, she thought she’d burnt her boats, but
it needn’t have been so. You could have saved her, my lord. You
could have saved her!’

Her hands were
over her face, but the gasping sobs gave her away. Pity drove away
the anger that had been simmering within Jerome. He went to her and
took hold of one shoulder, drawing her to the daybed.

‘Sit down,
woman, and calm yourself. I am not come to rake up old scores, nor
to argue over what can’t be mended.’

‘Too late… it’s
too late now,’ quavered the abigail.

Jerome softened
his tone. ‘Pinxton, I am not a vindictive man. I see you are in
difficulties, and I will help you. But you must first tell me
everything I want to know. As for your accusations, in fact I did
attempt to keep track of my wife. But I lost the scent two years
ago. I had no idea she was back in England, nor that she was in
difficulties. Had she sent to me, I assure you I would have done
all in my power to ease her path.’

Pinxton looked
up at him, a piteous look that pierced him to the heart. ‘But you
couldn’t have taken her back.’

‘No, I could
not have done that.’

A deep sigh
escaped her, and she sagged where she sat. Jerome rested his arm on
the mantel and waited. In a moment or two, Pinxton sighed again and
brought her gaze up to his once more.

‘It was an
inflammation of the lung, or so the physician said. It took her
last ready money to pay him to hear it, but he had no physick to
cure her. He give her a potion, but it did no good. She got thinner
every day, and she coughed horribly, poor dear, so as she couldn’t
hardly breathe. One day she couldn’t catch her breath at all, and
that was it. Four weeks ago now she went.’ A frown creased her
brow. ‘Or is it five? I’ve lost count of time.’