“I meant no offense, my lady. I simply thought that Sir Simon should have the comfort of his family at so critical a time.”
I checked the clasp of my reticule and smoothed my jacket.
“You have just said that you gave him laudanum. He will be sleeping. He will not know if I am out or not,” I pointed out reasonably.
“But if he should wake, he would doubtless welcome the sight of your face,” he put in. There was something sly in his manner, something I did not like. “Besides, I am sure it is not my place to say, but there is beginning to be some talk…”
He let his voice trail off suggestively, intimating God only knew what. But I had some idea. I had relaxed my vigilance in my calls to Brisbane’s rooms. I had not bothered with incognita when I called at Madame de Bellefleur’s. Anyone might have seen me and put the worst construction upon it. And Griggs was a popular enough figure in society thanks to his penchant for the latest gossip. It would not have been long before some patient poured the story into his eager ears.
I fixed him with the sweetest smile I could, taking care that it did not reach my eyes.
“I have no doubt of that, Doctor. There are always those unfortunates who have nothing better to do than gossip about their betters.”
A dull red flush crept up his cheeks. I doubt anyone had ever had the temerity to speak to him so. I picked up my umbrella and gave it a little twirl.
“You see, Doctor, aristocrats are rather like tightrope walkers. We simply do not notice what is beneath us.”
I swept out, leaving him speechless in my wake. It was one of the most childish things I had ever done. But one of the most satisfying, I thought as I settled myself in the carriage. Most satisfying, indeed.
THE THIRTY-FIRST CHAPTER
I have unclasp’d
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
—William Shakespeare
Twelfth Night
Iwas regretting the jam I had eaten at breakfast by the time Mrs. Lawson waved me up to Brisbane’s rooms. It sat bitter on my tongue, and as I rapped and waited for the door to open I sucked a cachou to sweeten my mouth.
Monk admitted me at once. “Good morning, my lady,” he said, civilly enough.
I gave him my warmest smile. “Good morning, Monk. How are you today?”
His expression was correct, but his gaze dropped instantly to my bruised lip.
“Better than most, my lady.”
It was an effort, but I held my bright smile fixed in place.
“Mr. Brisbane is not expecting me, but I wonder if he could spare me a few minutes of his time?”
Monk stepped backward and gestured for me to enter.
“I shall see if Mr. Brisbane is available to callers, my lady.”
He gestured for me to take a chair and I sat, willing my knees to stop trembling. I was frankly nervous at seeing Brisbane, and I wished fervently that I had worn something more flattering, something to give me a bit of dash and a bit of confidence. Yes, I should definitely have worn the scarlet walking suit. Either that or taken a very stiff whiskey before I had come out.
Monk offered me tea or coffee and withdrew when I refused both. I did not look atPunchor peruse the bookshelves. I sat instead, staring at the little calico knot in the bowl on his side table. A knot very similar to the one Magda had given me, doubtless fashioned from the graveclothes of a dead Rom. One of Brisbane’s Gypsy relations? Did he keep it for protection, as a talisman? Or simply as a reminder of someone he had loved and lost? Or was it a bit of detritus, flotsam he had collected on his travels and neglected to discard?
So deep was I in my musings, I did not hear Brisbane come in—it was only a moment later and he was treading like a cat. Or a Gypsy. I remembered from childhood how soft-footed they were. From years of eluding trouble, I imagined, but I suppose it served Brisbane well in his chosen occupation. He took the chair opposite mine and simply regarded me, saying nothing. There were a few bruises from the fight darkening his jaw, and a little cut on his lower lip that I was very much afraid had not come from the fight at all. I felt a wave of heat break over my face, doubtless leaving me unattractively ruddy under his scrutiny.
“It was good of you to let me in today,” I began, my voice a good deal steadier than it had a right to be. The tips of his nostrils were flaring white—not a good sign. I had always been undone in the presence of angry men.
“I did not,” he pointed out coolly. “Monk did.”
“Ah, yes. Well, I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to make this easy for me. Why did you agree to see me, since you so obviously do not wish to?”
