Stroke of Midnight (12 page)

Thankfully, they were the only other two people present in this small establishment off Bond Street. Had it been a larger, more crowded place, Laura might have drawn the attention of watching eyes and listening ears.

As Violet ventured closer, she said in wonderment, “It
is
you, isn’t it? Oh, Laura, don’t you recognize me?”

That pleading tone melted Laura’s heart. It had been ten years since she’d allowed herself any close friendships. A yearning for companionship overshadowed the risks involved in abandoning the masquerade.

She closed the distance between them and caught hold of Violet’s hands. Keeping her voice low, she said, “Of
course
I remember you, Violet. How could I ever forget such a dear friend as you?”

Violet’s face lit up with delight. She threw her arms around Laura’s neck. “I
knew
it was you when I walked past with Frederick just now. Even with those spectacles, I knew. Oh, where have you been? I’ve missed you so much! I was terribly worried when you disappeared.”

As Laura returned the hug, joy uplifted her spirits. It was like greeting a long-lost sister. Not until this moment had she felt a true sense of homecoming. Seeing Alex again had awakened only distressful memories and tangled emotions, whereas Violet transported her back to the happiest of times.

Then Laura felt a distinct kick against her midsection. Startled, she drew back and glanced down at Violet’s thickened abdomen. “It seems you have quite a lot to tell me, too.”

“This is my third,” Violet said, proudly caressing her belly. “I’ve two sons already and I’m hoping for a daughter this time. So is Frederick—did I tell you I’m Mrs. Blankenship now?”

“You married Frederick Blankenship?” The slightly horrified question popped out of Laura before she could stop it.

Violet laughed merrily. “I know we always poked fun at his stodgy manners and dull conversation,” she said. “How silly we were back then. I can assure you, he is the very best of husbands. And he does love me dearly, as much as I love him.”

Even as Laura smiled with pleasure at her friend’s marital bliss, her gaze strayed toward the bay window with its display of feathered and beribboned bonnets. She had an uneasy sense of being exposed in this spot. “Is he waiting outside, then?”

“No, he went into the tailor’s next door. That should keep him busy for a while.”

“Did you tell him you saw me just now?” Laura murmured. “Did you mention me by name?”

Frowning in puzzlement, Violet shook her head. “I wasn’t sure it was really you and besides, he was prattling on about the new cravats he intended to order…” She slid her arm through Laura’s and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s the matter? Are you in hiding? Because of what happened?”

Laura nodded. “And I must beg you to be silent on the matter, if you will.”

“Oh, most certainly! Goodness, you look so different with those spectacles. I very nearly didn’t recognize you. Is it part of your disguise?”

“Yes. Come, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Laura pulled her friend over to a display of hat trimmings in the back corner of the shop. “We must pretend to be browsing lest we draw undue attention.”

“A wise notion,” Violet said, seizing upon a cluster of
papier-mâché
cherries and lifting them up to the natural light of the window. Her gaze cut over to Laura. “Now, I am dying to know everything. Pray tell me where you’ve been all this time.”

Twirling a peacock feather between her fingers, Laura related an abbreviated version of how she and Papa had been living in Portugal, and that she’d moved back to London upon his death. She decided to keep mum about her quest to find out if he’d been murdered. No one must be privy to that secret but herself. “Since my reputation is in tatters, I’m going by the name of Laura Brown. I recently took employment as a companion.”

She nodded toward Lady Josephine, who was still absorbed in choosing among an array of hats being presented by the fawning proprietress.

Violet’s eyes widened. “But … that’s Lady Josephine!” she hissed. “Lord Copley’s
aunt
.”

“Unfortunately so, though I didn’t realize it when I accepted the position,” Laura murmured. “You’ll be relieved to hear that I’ve already encountered his lordship and he’s agreeable to letting me stay on … at least for a time.”

Would he change his mind when she refused to become his mistress? Remembering their close encounter in the carriage the previous evening, Laura felt a shiver deep inside herself. She was playing a dangerous game. He would be furious to learn that she was at his aunt’s house under false pretenses.

A smile spread across Violet’s face. “I
knew
he still carried a torch for you. I knew it!”

“Carried a torch? Nothing could be farther from the truth. Why would you even entertain such a mad notion?”

“When you fled England,” Violet confided in a whisper, “the earl stopped attending most balls and parties. People said it was due to his scarred face, but
I
always believed that his heart had been broken.”

Laura was speechless. She hadn’t known that his scorn for society events had begun with her departure. But it was a far leap to assume that he’d been pining for her. More likely, he’d turned to gaming at his club or cavorting with a string of mistresses.

“He doesn’t
have
a heart,” she stated. “Have you so quickly forgotten that he’s the one who forced Papa and I to flee? He tried to tie Papa’s hands behind his back. He was intending to take Papa to jail.”

“Oh, Laura, that was
such
a tragedy. I could scarcely believe it when I heard the news.” Violet dropped the bunch of fake cherries to give Laura’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t mean to defend the earl at your expense, truly I don’t, but … what else was he to do when he came upon the stolen earrings? He could hardly have ignored what your father had done.”

Laura withdrew her hand. It was difficult enough to know that Papa’s name had been slandered by all of society; even more painful to hear it from a friend. Did no one but her believe in his integrity?

She looked Violet square in the eye. “Papa was a fine, upstanding gentleman, not a criminal. How the duchess’s property came to be in his desk, I can’t imagine. But he had no reason to turn to thievery—no reason at all.”

“What about his many debts? He must have been worried about paying them off … oh! Did you not know?”

Shocked, Laura slowly shook her head. “I never heard of any debts. He had an inheritance, and income from his investments … he wasn’t a gambler, nor was he extravagant. We lived quite frugally.”

Except for her debut. He’d had to bear the expense of purchasing an entire new wardrobe for her, along with hosting a lavish party to launch her into society. He also would have wanted to provide her with a generous marriage portion in the event of her betrothal.

But even if he’d accrued liabilities, that did
not
mean he’d stolen the Blue Moon diamond. His character had been exemplary, and she would never believe otherwise.

“I don’t know all the particulars, so perhaps I’m mistaken,” Violet hastened to say. “I
am
certain, however, that about a year after you and your father disappeared, all of his possessions were sold at auction to settle the debts. I wanted to go, to see if I might acquire some memento for you in case you returned someday, but Frederick wouldn’t allow it. He said that auctions are no place for a lady, especially since I was expecting our first child and … oh, Laura, I should have insisted. Then you wouldn’t have lost
everything
.”

She looked so woebegone that Laura summoned a bracing smile. “Never mind, they were only things. It’s all in the past now. And since Papa is no longer here, I may never know the whole truth.”

Violet picked up a length of lace and combed it through her fingers. “If I could, I’d wave a magic wand and restore your reputation. It isn’t right that you should be forced into employment.”

“I’m no different from any other lady who must earn a living. It’s a blessing to have found a position with a kind mistress.” Hoping to gain some information, Laura decided to steer the conversation in a more useful direction. “Besides, I’ve the opportunity to go about town a bit with Lady Josephine. Last evening, we attended Lord Scarborough’s ball. Were you there?”

“No, it would be most indelicate in my present condition…” A light entered Violet’s eyes, and she tossed aside the lace. “So
that’s
why Lord Copley went to the ball. The news was in
The Tattler
this morning along with speculation that he’s in the market for a bride. But I’ll venture he was there because he knew that
you
would be present.”

Laura gave a firm shake of her head. Violet must still be a starry-eyed romantic, the same as she herself had been at one time. “I assure you, the earl utterly ignored me. He spent an inordinate amount of time with Lady Evelyn, though. They made quite the cozy couple.”

“She’s the dowager Duchess of Cliffington—did you know? And as rich as Croesus, too. Now that she bears the title of Her Grace, she believes she’s too high and mighty for the rest of us!”

It didn’t surprise Laura to learn that Evelyn had married well. Or that having been widowed, she’d set her sights back on Alex. “Her father, Lord Haversham, was at the ball, too. I spied him with the Duchess of Knowles.”

Violet gasped, catching hold of Laura’s arm. “Oh, my gracious. Did she see you?”

“No, but I did wonder at the nature of Haversham’s friendship with the duchess. They were standing close together, and I thought you might have heard gossip that they’re … more than mere acquaintances.”

But Violet wasn’t listening. She had glanced at the bow window, where a youngish man in a top hat and brown coat was trudging past. “Oh, no! There’s Frederick now. I must go quickly, else he’ll see you and ask awkward questions. Perhaps I can find an excuse to visit soon so that we might talk further. In the meanwhile, pray do give Lord Copley a chance to redeem himself. I always envied you for the way he looked at you. Good-bye!”

Violet offered a quick hug of farewell and scurried out the door. The overhead bell tinkled, and then she was gone.

Walking slowly across the shop to rejoin Lady Josephine, Laura brooded over her friend’s parting words. Give Alex a chance to redeem himself? Because of the way he’d once looked at her?

Never.

Yet she acknowledged the seductive pull of memory. Deep down, she
did
crave the pleasure of his touch. The interlude in the barouchet the previous evening had awakened her to that undeniable truth. Nonetheless, it would be wildly imprudent to succumb to the man who had been instrumental in the downfall of both her and her father.

Better she should use Alex for her own purposes.

*   *   *

“Well, now, this is a rare event,” Roger Burrell said. A toothy grin on his florid face, he started to rise as Alex stepped into the parlor.

“Pray don’t leave your chair,” Alex said with a languid wave of his hand. “Far be it from me to disturb a man at his leisure.”

“Come and join me, then.” Roger plopped back down and propped his booted feet on a side table, ignoring the ottoman only inches away. The action was indicative of the man himself, an untidy bachelor tending toward corpulence, the buttons of his waistcoat straining at his mid-section. A pall of smoke hung in the air from the cigar that dangled from his fingers. It brought to mind the many times he and Alex had puffed on stolen cheroots behind the dormitory at Eton. “Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays,” Roger went on. “Care for a smoke?”

He pushed a wooden humidor toward Alex, who selected a cigar and brought it to his nose to inhale the fragrance of fine tobacco.

“I daresay it hasn’t been as long as that,” he said, bending down to light the tip at the flame of a candle. “We met at Newmarket only a fortnight ago.”

Roger loosed a bark of laughter that startled the spaniel lying on a cushion by the fireplace. Her soulful eyes flicked back and forth between her master and the four half-grown pups gamboling on the hearth rug. “So we did, by gad. How could I forget? I lost a bundle on the favorite in that last race—while you raked in a fortune.”

“It’s your own fault for not realizing that Tempest was slightly off the pace.”

“Off the pace, bah, ’twas your blasted Copley luck, that’s what. Though I still can’t believe you’d risk such a vast wager on a horse named Long Shot.”

Alex avoided the maze of puppies as he proceeded to a wing chair and sat down. “Not luck at all,” he said coolly, taking a draw and blowing out a smoke ring. “I merely make a habit of observing the horses in the parade ring.”

“Don’t we all, by Jove? Yet no one else but you thought the damn bay could place, let alone win. You’ve the Midas touch, that’s what.”

Alex gave a self-deprecating chuckle as his thoughts flitted to Laura. If only a touch could erase her enmity toward him. Thus far, except for a brief moment in the carriage the other night, he’d been soundly rebuffed. It would take patience to convince her that he was not the evil brute she believed him to be. Patience—and a plan, which was why he’d come here.

“I’ve made my share of blunders,” he said. “A man can only calculate the odds, act accordingly, and hope for the best.”

For a few minutes they discussed the merits of various racehorses, then Roger said in jest, “Speaking of thoroughbreds, Lord Copulate, are you still bedding that French opera singer? What was her name?”

“Bianca, and she was Italian. No, we parted ways some months ago.”

“You cast her off? With that hourglass shape! That bosom!”

“That temper,” Alex countered, reaching down to scoop up a puppy that was trying to latch its teeth onto the tassel of his boot. He scratched the floppy ears, but instead of growing calmer, the bundle of fur batted at his gold watch fob. “Bianca took umbrage at my refusal to shower her with carriages and jewels. Having perfume jars and dirty crockery lobbed at oneself from upper windows can grow tiresome.”

Roger burst out laughing. “The price of pleasure, I suppose.”