There was another reason for wanting to be in London. An illogical reason, perhaps merely the exchange of one form of self-punishment for another. Lady Verney, his closest neighbor, had called on him with a couple of other neighbors. She was a lady of late middle age. She talked of her son and daughter, both of whom were in London for the Season. She referred to them several times as Henry and Barbara. He had dreaded meeting Sir Henry Verney—Alice’s lover, the man she had loved almost fanatically. Verney, Ashley believed, had blighted her life. If she had not loved him, if he had not for some reason abandoned her, perhaps she would not have been so driven by self-hatred. For that was what had motivated Alice. He was convinced of it. Though he had often hated her, he had pitied her too.
He did not want to meet Verney, he had thought. And yet now, finding the man absent, he discovered that part of his reason for coming here must have been to see Verney, to try to piece together exactly what had happened here five years or so ago, to try to wrest some meaning out of the turbulent events of the past three years. He was still seeking that peace he had blindly sought on his return, he realized, though with his rational mind he knew that he would never find it. He was too wrapped about with his own sin and guilt.
His steward was doing a quite capable job on the estate, even though Ashley had his own ideas for change and improvement. And the housekeeper and butler were managing the house perfectly well. His neighbors would understand his reason for canceling or postponing his promised visits. There was no reason not to go to Theo’s wedding.
And if he went, he would escape the house for a while. He would be able to call upon the Verneys. And he would see Emmy.
He would see Emmy. He rested his hand flat on his uncle’s letter and closed his eyes. He could picture her sitting cross-legged on the soaked grass at Bowden, the front of her dress dark with wetness and clinging to her, her bare feet covered with grass, her hair loose and untidy and damp and brushing the ground behind her. She was frowning in concentration and touching her fingertips to his throat. He could hear her strange, low, curiously attractive voice sayingyass.
Emmy. He would see her if he went to London—whenhe went. There was really nothing to decide. He could not possibly absent himself from the wedding. And he had no wish to do so.
He would see her again.
•••
Itwas a warm night, fortunately. She had hoped for it for all of the week past, a week during which the weather had been cloudy and somewhat chilly. But tonight was perfect. There were moonlight and starlight to sparkle off the surface of the River Thames as they crossed it by boat. She raised her face to the light for a few moments and was aware of the vast mystery of the universe.
And then they stepped out of the boat—Viscount Burdett took her hand and held it firmly and smiled at her while Lord Quinn helped Aunt Marjorie and the Earl of Weims helped Doris. A few moments later they were standing inside the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, and she was looking around at the place she had been told about and had dreamed of seeing. The famous pleasure gardens, the great rival of Ranelagh Gardens, which she also longed to see. Both were said to be magical by night.
To their right, extending away into the distance, was a long colonnade with an arched, Gothic roof, hung with golden and red lamps. Ahead were the trees she had heard about, the grove, and the numerous shady walks. The trees were hung with festoons of lamps. Along the wide central path, farther in among the trees, she could see a brighter blaze of light. That would be the rotunda, the place where orchestras played and famous singers performed and people danced, the place where the more wealthy patrons sat in boxes and ate and drank while they enjoyed the spectacles around them. Viscount Burdett had hired a box there tonight.
“Lady Emily.” Her arm was resting on his satin sleeve. He touched his fingers briefly to hers. “Do you find it pleasing?”
It was magical, spectacular. It was hard to believe that this was a park, with trees and grass, with sky above. She wondered briefly what it must be like in the daytime, when there would be no lamplight to mask reality, or what it would be like with the lamps unlit and all the crowding masses gone. But she pushed the thought aside. She did not want to know.
She smiled dazzlingly at the man who had conversed with her at several balls during the past weeks and had called upon her at Aunt Marjorie’s and walked with her in the Mall of St. James’s Park. He was the most constant among a startlingly large number of gentlemen who paid her attention wherever she went. She did not know what the attraction was, unless perhaps there was novelty in paying court to a woman who could only smile and nod no matter how outrageous their compliments or how tedious their conversation. Almost always there was a group of them, who spoke with one another and did not therefore find her silence tedious. The crowds also released her from the necessity of concentrating every moment of every evening on other people’s lips.
Lord Quinn said the attraction was that she was the loveliest young lady in London—or in England, for that matter. Emily laughed at him. Aunt Marjorie said it was that she sparkled and doubled her beauty with each smile. Emily laughed at her.
The almost reckless sense of freedom and gaiety that had taken her in its grip as soon as Aunt Marjorie had made her unexpected proposition in the garden at Bowden had not released her in the weeks since. She had not lived until now, she told herself. She was happy. And she knew now that she would never have to relinquish that freedom and that happiness. She had been a little afraid for herself when she learned that Aunt Marjorie was to marry Lord Quinn. But both had assured her that they had every intention of staying in London until the end of the Season and that then they would probably travel and wanted her to go with them. A lady needed more company than a man could provide, Lord Quinn had said. Gentlemen needed sometimes to be alone, Aunt Marjorie had said, as did ladies. But ladies did not have the freedom that men did to be quite alone. They needed companions. She would need Emily.
They were sitting in their box at the rotunda a few minutes after their arrival. They were just in time to watch the ballet, the viscount explained. He had deliberately chosen a night when there would be visual entertainment for Lady Emily as well as just music. She smiled at him. But before the ballet began, some gentlemen called at their box to pay their respects to her and to try to guess what message she was sending tonight by the design and positioning of the black patch she wore on one cheek. There had been much hilarity last night over the small heart she had worn close to the corner of her mouth. Tonight she wore a star high on her cheekbone, near the outer corner of her eye. There was no message, of course, but it amused her to see how inventive the gentlemen could be and how much they enjoyed themselves at her expense. She always laughed with them. Sometimes she even stopped listening and looked about her instead. They did not seem to notice her inattention. None of them, she realized, though she never dwelled on the thought, were really interested inher.None of them knew her or realized they did not. She did not care.
She was laughing and tapping Mr. Maddox on one arm after he suggested that she was Venus and was rivaling the stars in brightness when someone else joined the group. Someone who made her insides jump even before she looked at him. She had known he was coming to London, of course, but she had not known that he had arrived. Still, she told herself, she should have been prepared.
Fortunately she was locked safely inside the mask she had chosen to wear since her arrival in London. She turned her dazzling smile on him.
Unlike every other man present, he wore no wig. Neither was his hair powdered, as hers was. His hair, correctly rolled at the sides, neatly tied back, and bagged in black silk behind, looked startlingly dark. His face was still thinner than it should have been, angular, ascetic, handsome. He was dressed in dark blue velvet, a contrast to the pastel-shaded silks and satins of the other gentlemen.
It had been less than a month. It seemed an eternity. It was difficult to believe that those events at Bowden had really happened. She had come to feel that they had happened to a different person, someone who was no longer herself.
“Hello, Emmy,” he said. His eyes were soft on her, though he did not really smile.
She raised her fan to her nose and kept her eyes sparkling. He turned to greet his sister and the other occupants of the box, then accepted an invitation to step inside and seated himself between Aunt Marjorie and Lord Quinn.
“Egad,” one of her followers said just as she turned her eyes on him, “someone who has been granted the privilege of addressing you familiarly. Shall I call him out, Lady Emily? Or shall I put a bullet through my brain?”
Emily tapped him sharply on the arm.
“Do you not know Lord Ashley Kendrick, Max?” Viscount Burdett said. “Harndon’s brother?”
“Ah,” the other young man said. “Merely family. I will live on to hope, then.” He held one hand theatrically over his heart.
But there were too many participating in the conversation. It was too dizzying to try to watch the right one. And they had nothing important to say. Emily smiled brightly and looked around her—everywhere except athim.
“If you will pardon us,” Viscount Burdett said, taking Emily’s hand and setting it on his sleeve again, “the ballet is about to begin. I would appreciate it if my invited guests could watch the dancing unobstructed.”
The other gentlemen all grumbled good-naturedly and moved off. Emily looked at Lord Burdett, who pointed at the orchestra. They were tuning their instruments. She had never seen ballet, and had been looking forward to it. She directed her eyes at the stage and resisted the urge to remove her hand from the viscount’s arm.
