Henry startled to the words, his head lifting. In the gloom of early evening, he saw Mother standing perhaps twenty feet away as if uncertain of her welcome. The unrelieved black of her gown seemed to meld into the encroaching darkness. “Mother,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing out here?”
“I had heard,” she said softly, in that waifish, nearly inaudible little voice which had somehow become hers this past year, “that you intended to attend Alicia’s dinner party.”
They hadn’t really spoken more than a few words to one another in the last few days. Out of the shame of it all, hesupposed, Mother tended to make herself scarce whenever he was about. After that conversation they had had, in which she had tearfully informed him of his illegitimacy and Uncle Nigel’s subtle threats, she had been quieter even than usual.
“I am,” he said. “How did you learn of it?”
“Alicia sent a note round this morning,” she said, “asking if I’d reconsidered my attendance.”
Though he suspected he knew the answer already, he asked, “Have you?”
Mother’s hands plucked nervously at the heavy fabric of her skirts. “I have not. Henry, do you think it wise to attend? Your uncle—”
“Aunt Alicia is not Uncle Nigel,” he said as he tucked the queen of hearts into the pocket of his coat. “She’s been nothing but kind to me. To you.” And she didn’t deserve to be brushed aside, or to be painted with the same brush her husband had earned. “She was good enough, even,” he said, “to extend an invitation to a guest of my suggestion as well.”
“The Seymour girl,” Mother said. “She mentioned as much in her note. She said—she said you looked very fine dancing together evening last.”
Had they? One couldn’t tell, really, how one looked while dancing. But Grace had an effortless elegance and feet as quick and sure as her fingers. Light steps which whispered across the smooth surface of a ballroom floor as if she’d been born to it.
Probably, he thought, her earlier predilection for burglary had helped her to it. For some strange reason, the thought of her parlaying her skills in thievery into her present talent for dancing amused him excessively.
“Had you attended last evening’s ball,” Henry said slowly, “you might have seen for yourself.”
Mother winced. “Henry—”
“You must know, Mother, that you can’t hide yourself awayforever.” And the longer she did, the harder it would be to emerge.
“I know,” she said quietly. That whisper-soft voice; like the last echoes left upon the strings of an instrument after the music had ceased. “Nigel will eject us, eventually.”
He most certainly would, if he managed to succeed in his aims. The townhouse that belonged to his family had been entailed to fall into possession of the oldest male heir. And as it was quite a bit grander—and owned outright by the estate—there was no doubt that Uncle Nigel would prefer to give up the lease on his own smaller townhouse when he might as well make use of this one.
“As to that,” he said. “I might have come up with a potential solution.” Perhaps. Too early to tell just yet. Tomorrow would determine it, he hoped. He gestured to the empty chair across from his own. “Will you sit, just for a few minutes? I want to test out a theory.” Henry held up the deck of cards for her inspection.
A full five seconds passed in utter silence, and Henry was certain she would refuse. But at long last, she took that first tentative step toward him. An eternity passed before she slowly took her seat, easing down onto the very edge like a wary bird perched for a swift flight.
“Vingt-et-un,” he said as he shuffled the deck. “We used to play, years ago. Do you remember?”
“I was never much good at it,” she said, her thin shoulders pinching into a defensive posture, as if she half-suspected he would lash out at her. “Shouldn’t you rather play with someone more skilled?”
“I intend to. Tomorrow evening, at Uncle Nigel’s.” He dealt a pair of cards to each of them. “We’ll keep it simple this evening. No wagers.”
“A card, please,” Mother said, and she took the card he offered to her. “Oh. I’ve gone over. And for you?”
“Twenty-one.” He scraped together the cards and set them aside, dealt a fresh hand.
Mother gestured for another card. “Miss Seymour seems...lovely,” she said delicately.
“Have you met her?”
The briefest of flinches flickered across her face. “No, but—but I can’t envision you having an interest in anyone who wasn’t.Isthere an interest?”
“I called upon her today,” he said. Mother had gone over once again. Henry discarded the last hand and dealt anew. “She’s an amiable woman,” he said. “Very pretty. Witty. Kind.” Kinder than he had had any right to expect of her. “I’ve made a bargain of sorts with her.”
Mother’s gaze lifted from her cards. “A bargain? What sort of bargain?”
Henry hesitated, his fingers curling around the deck of cards in his hand. “What I am about to tell you,” he said, “must not leave this table. You must not speak of it to anyone—not even Eliza. Do you understand?”
Mother’s eyes widened. “Has this got something to do with—with—” She pursed her lips into a grim line, and ventured at last in a muted whisper, “Our private matter?”
