Edith Layton (20 page)

She smiled to herself as well.
It might be, it just might be possible for him to reclaim his good name
, she thought.
And if he was really capable of such change, then who knew what might be possible for her one day
? Before she could suppress it, she felt a glimmer of a wild, forlorn hope.

“Mrs. Stone!” a voice trilled.

She looked up to see a dazzling woman bearing down on her. She had auburn hair pulled up and away from a classically lovely face. Dressed in a cream colored gown that showed her willowy form to perfection, she wore diamonds on her creamy breast and camellias in her hair. A pair of inquisitive hazel eyes searched Lucy’s own.

“We were introduced an hour past,” the lovely woman said in a low and musical voice. “Or perhaps not. It may have been that you were introduced close by, and that’s the same to me, impulsive creature that I am. And forgetful! I am Lady Turner. A close, very close friend of Lord Wycoff’s,” she added in a perfumed whisper, “but aren’t wicked gentlemen the best ones to know?”

Lucy couldn’t even nod agreement. It would be telling too much. She just smiled, expectantly.

“Pretty,” Lady Turner said, inspecting Lucy. “Different, but charming. Mature. Ripe, in fact. But playing the ingenue. I like the freckles. Perhaps I’ll paint some on? Different is always the way to an experienced gentleman’s heart—or similar warm, pulsing organ.”

Lucy’s eyes widened.

Lady Turner giggled. “Oh bother! Don’t look so shocked. The other cats here can pretend they don’t know what I’m saying, but I took you for a more experienced woman. You certainly have been around longer than most of them.”

Before Lucy could know whether she should be insulted, Lady Turner went on, in that same charm
ing voice, “Yes, so I thought, you know all the rigs. But just look at Lady Morgan, staring down that long nose of hers at us! As though we were a pair of trollops on the strut, when all the world knows what she does for old Hightower, and lord knows no one else would, with all his money. And why her terrible disdain for us, you may ask? When she herself has the morals of a jade? All because Wycoff wouldn’t so much as hold her hand. Well, that shows his good taste. Who knows what else she’d just been holding? I do, and I don’t mind saying so, and thus that gaze she’s bending on me now—like a constipated camel.” She giggled again.

“So,” she said, with another look at Lucy, “you’re the latest, are you?”

But now Lucy’s hackles were up. Charming the voice might be, but what fell from those lovely lips was pure filth. “The latest what?” she asked, her eyes blazing, but her voice level. “Arrival in London? Visitor from America?”

“Wycoff’s latest flirt, of course,” Lady Turner said innocently, though there was nothing innocent in her eyes.

“Wycoff’s flirt?” Lucy answered with a stab at shocked surprise, though she was sure her rapid heartbeat was as audible as her words. She couldn’t let this woman spread gossip Wycoff was working so hard to dispel, for his sake, and her own. “
Lord Wycoff? The Viscount
? He’s an interesting gentleman, but I never guessed that was his intent!”

“Pull the other one,” Lady Turner laughed.

“But he hasn’t paid any special attention to me. Do you think he’s interested, really?” Lucy asked with a hopeful expression, trying to throw Lady Turner off the scent by desperately pretending she was flattered and amazed.

“Cut line,” Lady Turner said. “I saw him standing next to you. He’s never that disinterested unless he’s involved. And he’s always involved with someone. It’s none of the others here tonight. He and Caroline Caruthers were done with ages ago. She how she’s staring at him still? Much luck to her. That dashing dog never returns to his own dirt. Now, who else was there?”

She ticked the names off on her fingers. “Let me see—in recent memory? He was with that opera singer for a full six months the other year, magnificent creature, she’d have stayed with him longer, even without pay. But she’s in Italy now. Millicent Briggs bored him in a month, of course. Well, the man has taste. Mrs. Cathcart lasted two. He was taken with that flighty Ragland chit, but left her after a night, and the country soon after. She went into seclusion with her husband, of all people, directly after that, and hasn’t been seen since. So who could it be? There hasn’t been a female in his life since, and none since he’s been back from America. And who’s here at the ball tonight but a female from America? I can add two and two, you know.”

Lucy stood frozen, appalled. So many women? And so many here tonight? She knew his reputation, though he made her forget it. To hear them listed as
though it was commonplace and amusing! But she supposed it was. Her chest felt tight.

“Oh, don’t pull such a face,” Lady Turner laughed. “I
quite
understand. He probably told you not to breathe a word. They say he’s acting unlike himself these days. Probably trying to restore some dignity now that he’s actually free at last. I don’t blame you for keeping still and trying to keep your word to him. I mean, the fellow’s actually marriageable now! But you’d be a fool to get your hopes up, even if you
were
younger or more eligible. As if he’d ever tie himself down again after sweet Harriet!”

Lucy felt her face growing hot, but couldn’t move or speak.

“You’re perishing to brag, I’d bet,” Lady Turner said gaily. “He
is
something, isn’t he? Not many men can deliver what they promise. But Wycoff has the facility, the equipment, the skill—and energy, hasn’t he? So rare, these days, at least in men who are so highly bred. That sort of stamina is usually only found in gardeners or footmen, or stable lads fresh from the country. But they’re never so considerate, or have such finesse. Or are so immaculate in their personal hygiene, alas. But Wycoff has all that, and more. Who’d guess such an elegant fellow had such muscles—everywhere?

“Thinking of that reminds me of so much…” Lady Turner sighed. “That flat abdomen…and that deliciously shaped birthmark on it, like a signal post to his other astonishing gift. Try tracing it with your finger—or…what have you.” She smiled.
“Lord, how I remember! It won’t last, of course. Well, cheer up. It’s early days. I’d guess you haven’t been a favorite for more than a sennight. They usually wear that dazed look at first.”

Lucy’s tormentor looked across the room, and then away. “Enjoy it while you can,” she whispered quickly. “But I’m sure you will. No one could know better than you how quickly time passes, after all,” she said, and as quickly stepped away.

Lucy looked up and into the ballroom to see Wycoff standing stock still, gazing back at her. He was far away, and the room was crowded, but she saw him clear. She knew she must be wearing the same anguished look that he was. And knew that they were matched, in their despair, at least.

B
ut a man
can
change,” Gilly insisted again, striking her small fist on the arm of her chair for emphasis, “I keep telling you that. I don’t know why a clever person like you refuses to see it!”

Lucy stared out the window of her hotel room. Her visitor noted how pale and drawn she looked. She knew it wasn’t just from the late hours she’d kept the night before. “I came here this morning to tell you a thing or two,” Gilly went on. “I’m glad Jamie left the room so I could! It isn’t for a boy’s ears.”

“Go ahead,” Lucy said wearily, “tell me a thing or three, if you want. You’re angry because I can’t accept Wycoff’s past behavior? I suppose I deserve it. I shouldn’t have waded in such deep waters. You and Wycoff know fashionable London and its ways.
You all probably think I’m priggish and provincial and bourgeois and who knows what all besides. I am. I can’t help it, nor do I want to. I have to live with myself long after I leave London, you know.”

“Well, thank you very much for what you think of me!” her fair visitor said in annoyance. “If you think I’m that fashionable and immoral—well, I’m sorry, is all I can say, because I thought you liked me.”

“But I do!” Lucy cried, swinging her head around. Gilly saw the tears in her eyes. “That’s what makes it even worse.”

Gilly took her hand. “Don’t weep,” she said uncomfortably. “I can’t bear to see a woman cry.”

Lucy gave her a watery smile. “You say the oddest things. That’s why I thought you were different from others in your set. But here you are acting as if I’m the one who’s wrong, when all I said was I don’t know how I can deal with a man who was so—profligate—and maybe still is.”

“I like you, too, Lucy Stone, that’s why I have to say my piece,” Gilly said. “It’s not blaming you, just explaining. Now.” She took a breath. “Lucy, people do change. I have something else to tell you on that score. If it makes you decide not to be my friend, so be it.”

Lucy’s eyes widened.

“I hope you won’t tell anyone else, either,” Gilly added.

“Of course I won’t,” Lucy said immediately, “Except…I have to ask before I give my word—does Wycoff know?”

“As if I’d tell you a thing you couldn’t tell him! You have enough keeping you apart as it is. Of course he does. He’s as sly as he can hold together. He guessed the minute he met me, years ago. So you can discuss it with him. But no one else, please.”

“My word on it,” Lucy said.

“Few people know,” Gilly said, “but the truth is I’m not a lady at all, not even well born, by anyone’s standards. It’s not that my family was in trade—how I wish they’d been! My father died young and poor, my mother soon after, and they didn’t leave me anything but my sister. Now, you’re a squire’s daughter, and if this means we can’t be friends anymore so be it. But I was a slum child—no, more than that—a slum rat. I’ll tell you all of it some day, if you still want to hear it. If you still want to talk with me,” she added.

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” Lucy asked, appalled.

“Well, maybe you’d have cause to be,” Gilly said gruffly, her accents suddenly at odds with her elegant clothes. “It’s not just that I’m from the streets—I lived in them. Aye, literally. I gleaned from the gutters, picked pockets and worse, until I was lucky enough to meet a lady and her noble gentleman. They took me and my sister in, and trained us to act like ladies born. They live close by Damon and me, in the countryside; I hope you can meet them someday. But the long and the short of it is that I met Damon by accident and never thought I deserved him, and still don’t. But if I can change so
completely—and I have, though sometimes my past peeks through—I tell you anyone with heart, courage, and a willing soul can do it. Wycoff has all of that.”

Lucy grimaced. Gilly blinked. “It’s nothing you said about yourself,” Lucy quickly reassured her. “Your history astonishes me. It doesn’t change my opinion of you, except for the better. I think it’s wonderful you came so far, but I’d expect nothing less from you. You see, when you said ‘Wycoff has all of that,’ it reminded me of what that Turner woman said. She listed all his attributes, too. But,” Lucy added with a bitter smile, “she mentioned very different ones.”

“Huh. I can guess. She still wants him and don’t want you near him. She’s just a whore,” Gilly said with scorn. “It’s an occupation for the rich and well born as well as the poor. Only the poor do it so as not to starve. Hard for us to understand those that do it for pleasure. I never sold myself, no matter how hungry I got.” Her expression grew intent. “That’s not to the point. I know what Wycoff did—and why. I’m not saying he was right. But I am saying he knows he was wrong. He suffers for it still. I’d bet he’d never betray you.”

“How I wish I dared bet on that, too!” Lucy said, “But it’s not just me I’d have to wager, there’s Jamie too, and his future. It’s not just morals, it’s a matter of my whole life. How can I make you see?”

Seeing her guest’s expression, Lucy groaned in frustration. Gilly Ryder was charming, poised, and
confident beyond her years. But Lucy realized she didn’t have many of them. She was really a very young woman. Lucy guessed she must be almost a decade older than Gilly. She suddenly felt every hour of it.

“Damon’s a wonderful man,” Lucy said carefully, “and anyone can see how much you love him. But what if he took a notion to pack up and sail off with you now, to India? Or China? And left you there to raise your baby, alone, while he went on seeking his fortune? He could. There’d be nothing you could do about it if you loved him. There’d be nothing you could do even if you didn’t,” she added sadly. “My husband did something similar, and died before he could undo it, leaving me alone with the consequences. With all you say you were, you still have a trusting soul. With good reason. But I don’t. With better reason. Do you see? What a man says and what he does are two different things, everyone knows that. But only someone like me knows what a husband does can change his wife’s life forever, no matter what he says. I can’t leave my life to trust anymore.”

“Then how can you live it?” Gilly asked.

It was a very good question, and one that plagued Lucy long after they’d changed the subject.

A visitor came to the door just as Gilly and her maid were leaving. He and Gilly were obviously old friends: They nodded as they passed each other in the hall. Lucy watched from the doorway, a cynical smile growing on her lips.

“Good day, Perkins,” Lucy said with a weary sigh. “Your timing is of course, impeccable. Your master must be very proud of you.”

“Indeed,” Perkins said calmly, “one hopes so. But isn’t Master James ready? I believe it is the stated time?”

“Oh!” Lucy said, easy color rushing to her cheeks. “Forgive me! I’d presumed—but I forgot. Jamie was supposed to go on an outing with Lord Wycoff today, wasn’t he?”

“I was, Mama,” Jamie said from behind her, as he came from his bedchamber, hair freshly combed, and dressed for the outdoors. “I’m ready. It’s the Tower today. It’s good that it’s not raining because otherwise—the stench is stultifying.”

Lucy stared at him. Those weren’t words he usually used when talking about bad odors.

“That’s what Lord Wycoff said, isn’t it, Perkins?” Jamie asked.

“Indeed, it is, Master James,” Perkins said. “He also asked if you might care to join us there, Mrs. Stone. There’s something he wishes to show you. I fear I can’t divulge it because it’s in the nature of a surprise. I’ll be there, as will your maid,” he added more softly, “so anyone happening along might think it just an accident you met, and no talk would ensue. He told me to assure you of that.”

It was terrible for Lucy to imagine a proud man like Wycoff feeling such an outcast he thought she’d only meet him as if by accident. “Of course, I can,” she said immediately.

“May we expect to see you there then? Say, at three?”

“At three,” Lucy declared, and got an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as Perkins and Jamie left. Did she never learn to think before she spoke? Because what could any surprise of his hold for her but more problems? But even after reasoning about it, she couldn’t think of anything that could keep her from going, short of murder.

The parade of guests that kept arriving at her hotel room almost did, though.

No sooner did Perkins leave with Jamie than the fiery-haired Lord Dalton arrived to pay a morning call. He’d just seated himself when Sukey announced Lord Drummond. Lucy was glad she had worn a new morning gown, though she was sure it wasn’t her charms they’d come to see. She was surer a few minutes later.

“And so can we hope to see you at the ball this Saturday?” Lord Drummond drawled after telling an amusing story. “The Swansons give them as regularly as clockwork. Well, with all those daughters, the poor fellow has no choice.”

Lucy smiled. Gilly had told her about the Swansons’ unfortunate-looking daughters.

“Everyone goes to their balls,” Lord Drummond said. “It’s not that they’re amusing so much as no one wants to miss seeing how dreadful they can be.”

“Everyone?” Lucy asked innocently. “Even Lord Wycoff?”

Her redheaded visitor shot a guilty look at the elegant gentleman sitting opposite him.

“Oh well done, Rafe,” Lord Drummond sighed. “Why don’t you just shout ‘Did you hear that, Drum?’ If you’d acted that way when we worked against the French, you’d have lost your head quicker than I’ll be able to fill your ears with abuse when we leave here.”

“Can’t help it,” Rafe shrugged. “Didn’t feel a particle of guilt about deceiving them. But a nice young woman like Mrs. Stone? Another thing, entirely.”

“And how are we deceiving her, pray tell?” Lord Drummond said, looking down his long nose at his friend. “By telling her about a soiree he can attend? What’s wrong with that? Wycoff’s a changed man, there hasn’t been a word about any of his affairs since he came back from abroad.”

“Because he hasn’t had any affairs, Drum, all know that,” Rafe commented.

“Precisely,” Drum said. “Because he has no use for them. His attention is fixed, or so he vows. And whatever his past, he’s a man of his word. A changed man of his word, at that. Saw him yesterday with the Dowager Duchess of Franklin.”

“Brrr,” Rafe said, with a theatrical shudder. “Fellow could get frostbitten in such company.”

“The most proper female in the
ton
, but agreed. And what about his companion at the opera the night before?”

“Shouldn’t say such things near a gently born
female,” Rafe cautioned. He cast a warning glance toward Lucy, who was watching them both, fascinated.

“And why not,” Drum asked loftily, “when it was no less than Lady Roth, and her niece Miss Peabody, that he sat with?”

“Gads,” Rafe said, “Those two? Top of the trees, and look like they should be living in them, with those faces, wicked little yellow teeth, constant nattering, and all. But for all that, proper as the Queen at tea. The man’s not only atoning, he’s wearing a hair shirt!”

Lucy couldn’t hold back her mirth any longer. A stifled giggle turned into choked laughter. Then she laughed full out, holding her hands over her mouth to try to stop it from becoming a shout.

“Oh my!” she said, when she could, to the earl’s affronted stare and Rafe’s guilty grin. “You two! I swear you should go on the stage. So he’s keeping good company, and not tomcatting—Your pardon. I meant, so he’s acting with all propriety, and vows to continue, and you want me to know he’s going to be at the Swansons’ ball this week? But I heard all that from Mrs. Ryder. Twice. Has he been proposed for sainthood yet? Now, that I hadn’t heard.”

Drum gave her a rueful smile.

Rafe laughed. “Ought to have guessed she’d be sharp as she’s pretty, Drum.”

“Pretty and clever, and a reasonable female, to boot. So certainly she’ll see we do this for an old friend as well as for someone we hope will become
one. My dear Mrs. Stone,” Drum said with a singularly sweet smile, “Wycoff’s more sinned against than sinning now. Surely, you do see that?”

She sobered. “I do, my lord. But surely you can see that ‘now’ can become ‘then’ quicker than you can blink. And that my ‘then’ is a thing I must be very careful of?”

“Yes,” he said. “But still, for now, it’s a thing we’d like you to see for yourself. You do understand?”

“Yes,” she said as solemnly. But she soon was smiling again. Because Sukey went to the door to announce Damon Ryder.

“So I missed Gilly!” he said in chagrin. “I thought she’d still be here. How are you keeping, Mrs. Stone, my lords? I don’t have time to visit with you now. But wait—we can remedy that. Are you going to the Swansons’ soiree this week? I hear everyone will be there.”

It was a while before any of them could tell him why they groaned and then started laughing.

The sun was out, the breeze from the north. After Lucy got down from her hackney carriage she followed her nose south to the menagerie at the Tower. Flat daisies speckled the gently sloping green lawns the many visitors strolled along. It was a popular place. History, riches, and exotic animals all to be seen within steps of each other, along the bustling riverbank. She saw Jamie first. His new suit of clothes was still in some sort of order, at least his
shirt was mostly tucked in and his stockings almost pulled up. The breeze had played with his hair and put bright color in his cheeks. He was standing by an animal enclosure, but had eyes only for the tall young man he was talking so excitedly with.

“There’s mama! You’ll see now, she’s a great gun!” Jamie told the young man as Lucy drew near. “Mama, we’ve had such fun, Crispin and me!”

“Crispin and I,” the young man murmured, casually rumpling Jamie’s hair. He bowed to Lucy, and noticed her shock as she stared at him. “Yes, it does take some people that way,” he told her with a familiar smile.

But it was Wycoff grinning back at her from those distinctive down-turned eyes, she thought as she gazed, dumbstruck, at the young man. The eyes were brown, not hazel, the hair brushed back from that same high forehead was gold, not light brown. The face was smooth, the lips fuller, the nose a jot straighter. And the smile was warmer, wider, and far more boyish than Wycoff’s. He was, after all, less than a decade older than Jamie, though he was already as tall as his father. He moved with coltish energy and none of his father’s languid grace. But he was Wycoff’s stamp.