A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) (17 page)

He nodded and crossed the room to the door. She could not take her eyes off him. Tears still stung, but she refused to let him see her cry. There was plenty of time for weeping in the middle of the night.

He reached the door and opened it. Her breathing quickened. This was the end.

He turned around. ‘Daphne?’

Her heart pounded. ‘Yes?’

He waved a hand, erasing whatever it was he’d been about to say. He crossed the threshold and walked out.

She watched until he disappeared in the hall. He said a word or two to Carter and the front door opened and closed. She hurried over to one of the windows and watched him step onto the pavement.

As he passed by the window, he turned and saw her there. Their gazes caught for a moment before he continued walking and was soon out of sight.

She looked down at her hand. She still clutched his handkerchief, all that she had left of him. Hurrying out of the room, she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and washed the small piece of linen. When it dried, she’d put it in a special place and keep it always.

Chapter Sixteen

A
fter one last glance at Daphne through the window, Hugh turned away and strode quickly down the pavement. The sight of her disconcerted him. It wasn’t that he’d formed a clear vision of her when his eyes were bandaged. It was seeing her as Lady Faville that sparked a whole set of disparate emotions.

The Daphne of his imagination had never been Lady Faville.

Hugh chose the bustle of Oxford Street rather than retrace his steps through Mayfair. He walked at a brisk pace, needing to put as much distance between himself and Lady Faville as possible.

No matter who she was in reality, he’d behaved appallingly towards her, coupling with her in such a lustful frenzy. Where had been his control? His gentlemanly respect? Never before had he moved with such desire for a woman.

One look at her revealed how he’d upset her. How could he have taken her with such swift need? It was just that, for a moment, that brief moment of lovemaking, he’d thought he’d found her again.

He turned onto Bond Street and pushed past the street vendors, crossing sweepers and other pedestrians. He passed a jewellery shop and almost collided with a gentleman coming out the door.

‘Hugh!’ It was his brother Ned.

Hugh, in no mood to speak to anyone, mumbled a greeting.

‘I’ve not seen you in over a fortnight. I keep meaning to stop in the club...’ Ned looked apologetic.

‘All is well there,’ Hugh assured him.

‘Where are you headed?’ Ned did not wait for Hugh to answer. ‘Have you time? Come with me to White’s. We’ll have a drink.’ His eyes pleaded for Hugh to say yes.

How could Hugh refuse?

Ned began talking right away. ‘I had no idea what work it would be to sit in the Lords, about the complexity of decisions to be made. The Poor Relief Bill. Usury laws. Timber duties. Not to mention the budget and preparing for the coronation.’ He took a breath. ‘I do not see how Father did it.’

‘I suspect he shirked his Parliamentary duties as he did all the rest,’ Hugh responded.

‘I suspect you are correct,’ Ned admitted. ‘But to me, it all seems too important to neglect.’

Ned was the best sort of man to own a title. He strove always to do his duty, to do what was good and right. He was the opposite of their father, as a matter of fact. To an annoying degree, sometimes.

Ned talked of the various bills on which he had to vote, seeking Hugh’s approval of his decisions all the way to White’s. He continued talking as they sat down and ordered glasses of claret. Hugh noticed several members in the gaming room, deep in their cards. He recognised some of the gentlemen and expected to see them at the Masquerade Club that night. Did they not take Parliamentary duties as seriously as Ned, or were they working on gaining support for their various positions? There was more than one way to achieve a result.

‘How is your wife?’ Hugh asked when Ned stopped talking long enough to take a sip of his wine.

‘Adele?’ Ned’s expression softened. ‘She fares very well, except in the morning. She cannot keep food down in the morning. It is common amongst women when they are increasing, she assures me.’

Hugh thought of Daphne, never having children. He’d been certain it had made her sad. Had it made Lady Faville sad? He could not stop thinking of them as two separate people. He could not stop thinking of her at all, not even under the deluge of Ned’s words.

He asked Ned about the rest of the family. Their mother. Phillipa. Rhys.

Ned asked about the Masquerade Club, detailed questions about its profits, the expenditures Hugh had incurred. They debated the necessities of new dice and new packs of cards, items that Hugh insisted upon. Rhys had instilled in him the importance of assuring the patrons that the games were honest. New dice, new cards were a part of that.

By the time the clock struck the hour for the second time, Ned jumped to his feet. ‘Gads. I must be off. Adele is expecting me.’

Hugh rose more slowly, but followed Ned back out to the street.

Ned shook his hand, clasping his arm at the same time. ‘So good to see you, Hugh. I promise to stop by the Masquerade Club the first chance I get. In the meantime, if you need me for anything, you have but to ask.’

Hugh had no doubt that Ned would drop everything and come if Hugh needed him, although he was self-absorbed enough to neglect enquiring about anything of Hugh’s life besides the Masquerade Club. Nothing besides the task assigned to him.

Would he have told Ned about Daphne if Ned had asked? He doubted it.

Hugh watched his brother hurry down the street and disappear in the crowd of pedestrians. With nothing better to do, he turned to walk the short distance back to the Masquerade Club.

* * *

That night Rhys and Xavier visited the Masquerade Club. After greeting the workers and the patrons who frequented the club, they sat down with Hugh in a corner of the supper room. In front of them were plates laden with food and bottles of wine. Hugh poured them each a glass.

Rhys tasted the food and nodded appreciatively. ‘I see Cook is still up to her old standards. I’d forgotten how good the food could be.’

Hugh also appreciated her and made certain she knew it. She was the widow of one of the men in Rhys and Xavier’s regiment and was intensely loyal to both men.

‘I’ve had no problems to speak of,’ Hugh told them. ‘Do you see any?’

Xavier’s gaze wandered to the pianoforte. He grinned. ‘You are missing the masked
pianiste
.’ His wife, Phillipa, the woman so wronged by Daphne, had increased the crowds at the club the few weeks she’d performed.

Hugh made himself smile back. ‘Perhaps she will return? Are her nights free?’

Xavier’s expression turned sly. ‘Her nights are very occupied, I am afraid.’

Hugh regarded the man discreetly. Xavier was indeed very handsome. The gazes of women in the supper room often turned his way. With his thick, dark, poetically unruly hair, manly features and startling blue eyes, it was no wonder Daphne had been enamoured of him. They would have made a very handsome couple.

Hugh shook that thought away.

At least Xavier was a decent man. In fact, Hugh suspected his appearance meant nothing to him. The opinion of others meant nothing to him. He’d defied society’s expectations of the son of an aristocrat and invested his money in shops. If he stank of trade, as the saying went, then the women in the room liked the smell.

Hugh asked about Phillipa and the baby and went on to ask about the shops.

‘I have ten of them now.’ Xavier straightened. ‘The furniture shop is doing the best. There’s a good market for good furniture at moderate prices. I prefer enterprises that require manufacture. We can employ more workers that way. I added a pianoforte maker recently.’

‘A former soldier knew how to make pianofortes?’ Rhys asked.

Xavier mainly hired out-of-work former soldiers.

‘No.’ Xavier sipped his wine. ‘The man who made Phillipa’s pianoforte was in danger of going out of business. He agreed to train some former soldiers in the trade.’

Xavier’s benevolence reminded Hugh of Daphne’s generous overpayment of the cottage servants.

He shook himself. He needed to change this subject. ‘Rhys, how are your interests faring?’

Rhys was heavily invested in the manufacture of steam engines. ‘We are seeking to improve designs all the time, but some of our machines have started selling to factories and mines. You know there is a steam locomotive operating between Stockton and Darlington. I am certain there will be more in the future.’

Hugh shrugged. ‘This is another form of gambling, is it not?’

Their father had disowned his bastard son, Rhys, after his mother died. He’d been a mere lad who learned to survive by gambling.

Rhys nodded. ‘It is indeed, but more exciting than the turn of a card. More useful, too.’

Xavier saw one of his brothers enter the supper room and excused himself to go and speak to him.

After he’d left the table, Hugh asked Rhys, ‘Have you found a life that suits you, then?’ Hugh might have been hateful to Rhys when they were boys, but now all he wanted was for Rhys to do well.

Rhys glanced away and back, his eyes warm and intense. ‘I have more than I could ever have dreamed of possessing.’ He took a bite of food. ‘And I do not mean money.’

Hugh met his gaze. ‘You have a wife and children.’

‘A family,’ Rhys said, his voice low.

‘We are your family as well, Rhys,’ Hugh added in the same tone. ‘We Westleighs. I know I did not always think that way, but my mind has changed.’

Rhys maintained the mood. ‘People can change. I certainly have.’

Could they? Could people truly change? Or were their characters forged at birth? Did circumstances foster certain traits to come to the fore and others to be hidden? He and Rhys had hated each other since boyhood, until Hugh saw him for the decent, strong, compassionate man he was. Had always been, Hugh suspected. Perhaps as a boy, Hugh had only seen Rhys’s facade, a tough ruffian always up for a fight.

Was Lady Faville the facade or was Daphne?

He knew he must find out.

When Xavier returned to his seat, Hugh asked him, ‘Where is this pianoforte shop of yours?’

‘Why?’ Xavier asked.

Hugh pierced a piece of cold beef with his fork. ‘I may be wishing to purchase one.’

Xavier gestured to the instrument sitting idle in the supper room. ‘You have a pianoforte right here. Or do you mean this for someone else?’

‘Yes. Someone else.’ He was not ready to say who, but they had spent many a pleasant hour seated together on the bench of the pianoforte in the cottage. Maybe the gift would at least convey his gratitude to her for tending to his care those two weeks. And his apology for ill using her this day.

Maybe it would give him an excuse to see her again.

* * *

It was no difficulty for Daphne to rise early the next morning. She had hardly slept at all. It seemed as if only in the privacy of her bedroom, late at night, could she free the grief that wreaked havoc inside her during the day. The darkness took away all reminders of who and where she was. What remained were her emotions, which she dared not release during the day.

The previous day had not been at all busy enough to distract her, although she’d done her best. Monette needed distracting, as well. The girl fretted that they would not have a reply from Toller or that he would decide to remain in Thurnfield.

For want of anything better to do, Daphne and Monette had gone through several trunks stored in the attic. She’d packed away so many clothes, so many pairs of shoes, gloves, hats, cloaks. How shameful of her to pack away items that might make others happy or be of good use to them. What Monette did not want, Daphne offered to the maids and the kitchen staff. When they were all through sorting and selecting, what remained they could sell on Petticoat Lane.

But digging through memories had not been the easiest way to endure the day. Over and over Daphne had been compelled to face the woman she’d been, the woman she feared she could never escape.

But this morning dawned a new day and she had a new resolve. Today she would show Monette London’s shops. Give the young woman some pleasure, some adventure. Oh, perhaps not adventure like Hugh had once talked about, but certainly sights Monette had never seen. Nothing could compare to the vast array of London’s shops.

She was nearly through breakfast when Carter entered the room. ‘Mr Everard calls again, my lady.’

‘Everard?’ He’d just called the day before. She feared he was forming an attachment that would simply hurt everyone. ‘I suppose you must tell him I’ll see him here.’

A moment later he appeared in the doorway. ‘Good morning, my lady.’ He bowed.

‘Good morning, sir.’ She tried not to sound too curt, but also not too inviting. ‘You are back to see me so soon. I do hope nothing is amiss.’

‘Not at all. Not at all.’ He remained in the doorway.

She sighed inwardly. ‘Do come in and have something to eat, if you’d like. I confess I do not have a great deal of time as I am going out very soon, but tell me why you have come.’

‘Some tea, perhaps,’ he said as he sat.

She poured him some tea.

He took a grateful sip. ‘I come only to inform you that I have done what you wished of me.’

What had she asked of him? She could recall nothing.

She waited and eventually he continued, ‘You asked me for recommendations for furniture shops.’

‘Oh, yes.’ But a note bearing the names of the shops would have sufficed.

‘I am not well versed in such matters, but I have arranged for someone who is quite knowledgeable to call upon you.’ He looked quite pleased with himself.

Daphne did not want callers, although she supposed she could not hide from all society for ever. Who would Everard send? ‘Who is it who will call upon me?’

‘My wife.’

His wife? The poor creature. What was Daphne to do with a visit from his wife?

She caught herself. It would be a kindness to receive his wife. She would be kind to the young woman.

She made herself smile. ‘How lovely.’

‘She purchased most of the items in our residence and has a good eye for quality at a fair price. I could think of no better person to advise you.’ He paused. ‘And you did say you wished to meet her.’

‘I did, did I not?’ She took a bite of toast. ‘I suppose she could call on me this afternoon. I will certainly be at home after two o’clock.’

He stood. ‘I shall make certain she knows this. She will not fail you, my lady.’ He bowed. ‘I fear I must take my leave. With your permission, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she said somewhat gratefully. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

* * *

Shortly after Mr Everard left, Daphne set out with Monette to show her the shops and distract her from the fact that they had not yet heard from Toller. They started on Oxford Street, it being so close, and visited linen draper after linen draper. In one, Monette found a blue muslin that was just a shade deeper than Daphne’s eyes. She begged Daphne to purchase it and allow her to make a gown for Daphne from it, in repayment for Daphne’s generosity to her.