“Presume? You may presume all you want with me, Lady Frances. We’re good enough friends for that.” The gift of strawberries deserved a little sweetness. “Yes, it is a gift for the boy. And no”—he smiled—“the boy is not mine. I haven’t been so much out of town as to have escaped hearingthatrumour.”
“He is said to look like you.”
“I have loose-lipped servants, do I? Or was that my uncle again? Yes, we both have dark hair. And two arms, and two legs. By that reckoning, three-quarters of the London youth are mine. I certainly have been busy.”
There weren’t many young, unmarried women he would’ve spoken to in such a way, but this style of conversation was normal in Lady Frances’s lively, fashionable circle. Strict propriety, their manner said, was for dowdy creatures lackingthe style to weather a little scandal. They themselves were untouchable—they believed it and thereby made it true.
But still…he eyed the delighted spark in her eyes…she would never have risked her name to come visit him late at night, purely to see how he did, as Mrs Ardingly had done. That was a performance with no audience and therefore not one worth making.
“What are you planning to do with the boy?”
A good question. He answered to Tom, was clean and no longer gaunt, though still all wire and sinew. He hadn’t yet stolen anything that Sebastian was aware of, but last night he’d won a guinea from his father and then taken apart the longcase clock in the back hall.
“In all honesty, I haven’t the slightest idea. Apprentice him somewhere, probably.”
“You’re going to a great deal of effort on his behalf.”
She was confused by it, he knew, and this annoyed her. How could she control him if she didn’t understand him?
Smiling his thanks to the shop clerk who returned his now-wrapped book, he tucked it back under his arm and drew nearer the bay window by the door. It was a natural place to wait—outside it was drizzling, the windowpanes misted with fine drops. “I once knew a lady who seemed to doubt my… Is there any way of putting this subtly? I think not. She seemed to doubt whether I had a heart. It apparently gave her grave reservations when it came to the matter of handing over her own into my safekeeping.”
Lady Frances coloured. Yes, he could talk of bastards and conquests, but matrimony was beyond the pale.
“Put like that, you can hardly blame the woman.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. And if that had been the real issue, I would’ve honoured her for it.”
Her smile was like one of those images painted on glass, very bright, and very thin. “You think she had another?”
“Another reason? Not quite. Let us call it an instinct, as a cat chooses to play with a mouse, or a child picks at a scab. A futile but seemingly irresistible impulse.”
Her smile brightened several more notches, gas-flame behind the glass. It almost hid the splash of colour on her cheeks. “You must forgive us ladies our games. We have so little real power, you see.”
He studied her for a moment, not angry, but with the curiosity one gives a card player of near equal skill, wondering at their technique. For all her small conceits and occasional immaturity, she possessed a core of smooth, determined intelligence. She wouldn’t be half as popular if she was nothing more than a pretty face and a handsome portion. She was shrewd; she knew how to play society’s great game. She was—still—the perfect wife.
The bell jangled, and a gentleman stepped in, shoulders and beaver hat sparkling with tiny raindrops. The wet scent of the street came with him—dirt and stone and wood polish from the door. From down the street came the sweet smell of the bakery’s spiced buns before the door shut and sealed them once more into the scent of books.
“Isthatwhy you keep the boy?” She gave him a twinkling smile, adding a dimple to the strawberries and cream of her cheek, not giving up just yet. “Isn’t there some fable about an ogre or a giant who keeps his heart outside his body—perhaps this boy is the embodiment of yours. I’m sure this doubting lady you mention…I’m sure by now she is convinced.”
He watched the raindrops on the window brighten from grey to sparkling diamond as the sun shrugged off the clouds. “So far in this conversation I’ve taken the role of an ogre, a mouse, and a liberal. I hardly know which is worse.”
It was no answer to what she was really saying.If you came to me now,privately at home, I would accept you. I’ve learnt my lesson and proved my point. I will be your wife, but I will remain my own person—just as I know you plan to.
Ah, of such clever manoeuvring were society marriages made. There were estates to combine, settlements to be drawn up. There was rank and power and prestige to negotiate, two powerful horses jockeying for position at the start of a race. If he’d wanted a meek little innocent wife to bully, he could’ve had one. But what he wanted was a partner, and he’d chosen Lady Frances with great care.
What reason did he have to change his mind? By any rational reckoning, she was perfect.
On the window, two neighbouring raindrops sank together and merged, running down the glass. He reached out a fingertip, but they were on the other side. It was dry in here. His glove remained unmarred.
“You’ll be at the ball?” He didn’t need to say which.
Her smile was soft, her eyes triumphant. “All of London will be at your ball.”
“Myball? Hardly.”
“But it is your victory.”
The gleam in her eyes said she was pleased to share in that. If he’d been about to lose this wager, she wouldn’t have been here offering herself on that gilt plate.
