The Solitary Envoy (28 page)

“What, then?”

Erica reached for the last of the serving platters. “He looked right into my most secret heart.”

“How on earth did he do that?” asked Lavinia.

“I’m not sure.” It was a measure of the comfort Erica felt around these people that she could be seated upon the parlor carpet with her skirts tucked in tightly about her ankles, polishing silver with river sand and soap, and speaking about such private matters. “But he did.”

“What did he say?” Abbie asked eagerly.

“That … that I was to do what my mother said before I came to stay with you.”

“I do what Mama tells me,” Abbie announced.

“Most of the time,” her mother amended. “A very great deal of the time. Now up you come and go freshen yourselves for lunch.” She walked over and handed Erica a sealed note. “This was just delivered for you.”

Erica broke the seal and withdrew the note, wondering aloud about the sender. She quickly scanned the writing and announced, “Why, Gareth Powers asks that I go for a ride with him in the park this afternoon.”

“An admirer. How splendid.”

Abbie clapped her hands. “If you fall in love you won’t ever have to go away!”

“This is nothing of the sort,” Erica replied, folding the note and stowing it in the pocket of her skirt. “Mr. Powers is the gentleman who arranged for my meeting with Mr. Wilberforce.”

Abbie demanded, “Is he handsome?”

“You saw him, daughter. He shook your hand when we entered the church last Sunday.”

The child’s eyes grew round. “The man with no hair on his chin?”

Erica smiled. “No, that was Mr. Clarkson. The younger man, in the black suit, whom I spoke with after the service.”

“Oooh, he is a dashing man. Like a prince from a fairy tale! Does he live in a castle and have a big white horse?”

“He works in a printing shop and wears ink up to his elbows. And he never walks anywhere; he always runs.”

“But he had the most wonderful smile,” Lavinia offered. “Like the sun was coming out inside the church.”

“I have a hundred reasons to dislike this gentleman,” Erica reminded herself aloud. “And a thousand reasons more not to go courting with any man.”

Lavinia laughed at that. “Whenever has a woman’s heart listened to her head?”

As promised, Gareth Powers awaited her a short distance down Piccadilly, standing beside a carriage known as a landau. Its roof looked permanent but could be lowered and stowed behind, as it was now. He doffed his hat and said, “A very good afternoon to you, Miss Langston.”

“Are we to stand upon formality again?”

“Ah, no. Of course not.” Gareth was dressed in a dove-gray suit with a matching top hat, frilled shirt, and sparkling black boots. He clearly had given a great deal of thought to his dress. “Forgive me, Erica.”

“There is nothing to forgive, I assure you. I simply wished to know what decorum to follow.”

He studied her anew. “Are you always this self-possessed?”

“Hardly ever. It must be the beautiful weather affecting me so.”

Gareth smiled, opened the door of the landau, and offered her a gloved hand. “Allow me.”

She settled into the rear seat. The carriage was most elegantly upholstered in shiny brown leather. It had brass fittings and polished wood framing the seats and doors. The top was open to the splendid afternoon sky. The driver perched upon a very high seat well in front, granting them an intimate space from which to watch the world and speak uninterrupted.

Gareth settled into the seat opposite and said, “Once around the park, Jimmy.”

“Right you are, sir.” He clicked the reins once, and the pair of matched bays ambled off.

When the carriage began its gentle rocking, Erica was put in mind of a boat on wheels. One lined in luxury and wealth. “Is this carriage yours?”

“No. Well, yes. I suppose it is, in a way. My brother gave it to me on permanent loan. My older brother, the duke.” Gareth fiddled with the top of his cane. “It’s quite complicated.”

“So many things involving family are.”

“Well put. My brother was furious when I resigned my commission. He threatened to disown me. He felt I had let down the family name, and in a way I suppose I had. Ours is the third generation to hold royal title, you see. The next brother in line has always gone into the military, and the one after into the church. Only in our generation there are just the two of us.”

“Were you happy in the army?”

“For the most part. I suppose I never gave it much thought. It was not a matter of happiness; it was simply what one did. But after the war, when I saw how the Crown treated my men, those fine soldiers who had risked life and limb to preserve our nation, I wept. I truly wept. I could no longer remain true to my oaths. So I resigned.”

They trotted along in companionable silence until they arrived at the great circle where several large roads came together. A crew was erecting some large statue in the middle of the way. The crowd of carriages and pedestrians and riders on horseback was so dense that their landau was forced to slow to a crawl.

“I’m sorry,” Gareth said. “I have no idea how I came to discuss that topic.”

“You were explaining how your brother gave you this magnificent coach.”

“And the horses. They are all his. My brother the duke is a collector of horseflesh and carriages. He has so many it is unlikely he even notices this one has gone missing.” He looked at the milling throng. “My brother and I did not speak for over a year. It was Mr. Wilberforce who urged me to renew contact. I did not want to, of course. After all, my brother was the one who had claimed I dishonored the family name. But Wilberforce can be most persuasive.”

“I know,” Erica said, speaking so softly it was unlikely Gareth even heard her.

“Apparently my brother elected not to make his threat of disownment official. He is childless, you see. He has been married twice and both women have died, one of the flux and another in childbirth. He is a lonely man, wrapped up in a web of possessions and titles and court. He is infuriated by what I say in my pamphlets, so he continues to rail against me and threaten further action. But I try to hear the lonely man crying out for family and companionship, and forgive him all else.”

“What an unusual man you are.”

The words surprised them both. Erica wished she could take them back. But they were out there now, as was the look Gareth gave her in return.

“Might I ask how you are feeling about last night’s conversation with Mr. Wilberforce?” he asked.

“I was mortified when you began disclosing my secrets.”

“I feared as much.”

“And quite angry.”

Gareth nodded slowly but said nothing. The carriage turned off the circle and passed between ceremonial gates. They took another turn, this one beneath broad sheltering elms, and entered upon a wide lane fashioned from sand and sawdust. The result was a total muffling of sound, both from the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels. They had joined an endless line of riders, many of whom called greetings back and forth from one carriage to the next.

“This is known as Rotten Row,” Gareth explained. “The king and his family often came here for their afternoon jaunts. But of course you must have been here before.”

“I have had little occasion to do anything of a social nature since my arrival.”

It was a remarkably public sort of gathering, with hundreds of riders and carriages all streaming beneath the oaks and chestnuts and elms. Sunlight flickered through the branches, and the air remained so quiet Erica could hear the multitude of birds overhead. The air tasted of horses and perfumes and wild flowers.

Many people glanced her way, and Erica was glad she had taken time with her appearance. Her hair was done only partly up, with two tresses linked in a ribbon of midnight blue that matched her dress. It was the nicest of her dresses now, the one that had best survived the journey and constant use. Yet it seemed shabby compared to the parade of fashion she saw about her.

“Everyone here seems so elegant.”

“Do they?” Gareth scarcely glanced at the next carriage, where four young women in frills of pastel silk flirted openly from the safety of their coach. He turned back to Erica. “Because the king does this, the height of society feels it is a necessary part of their regimen.”

“You do not care for this society?”

“I feel very little about such matters one way or the other.” He hesitated. “Do you mind my being honest?”

“It is one of the most refreshing qualities I have found since arriving here,” she replied. “This sense that you and I are able to speak on so many topics and in such an open manner.”

For some reason, Gareth blushed at her words. “Then might I return to my earlier question and ask what you thought of Wilberforce and his comments?”

“You said earlier that I seemed self-possessed. I suppose it is because ever since hearing him last night, I have thought of little else. And the result has been a paring away of much that I have carried inside myself.”

For the first time since their journey began, Gareth stilled his fidgeting. “Indeed.”

“I was asked by my little eight-year-old friend what I thought of your Mr. Wilberforce.”

“I’m sorry, by whom?”

“The child you greeted at church. Her name is Abbie, and she is the most wonderful little lady I have ever met. I told her that the gentleman looked into the very depths of my soul and told me things I desperately needed to hear. But there was more to the night than that.”

“Yes?”

She took a breath. Her logic said she had no reason to entrust such deep secrets to this man. But logic did not hold her just now. Gareth had been right to divulge her confidences to William Wilberforce—just as she was right to speak now. “When the group began to pray last night, I found myself swamped with a rage stronger than anything I have ever felt in my entire life.”

Someone hailed Gareth from a passing carriage. Neither of them even glanced over.

“Do go on,” he said.

“My hatred was as vast as a great molten sea. I stood upon the brink. I wanted to cast myself in, to give myself over to the rage and the hurt. I knew it would consume me, just as it consumed my father toward the end. I knew it, and yet I did not care.”

She looked into Gareth’s face and saw a man capable of hearing the very worst she had to offer. A man who neither judged nor hurried her along. A man who did not wish to speak down to her but would take her seriously. A man who listened.

“Why would this anger rise up in me just as others were praying? Was it because I have been such a poor believer? Am I so horrid a person that I can bow my head and see only the darkness, hear only the tempter’s call?”

“Please don’t think that,” Gareth protested. “Not even for an instant.”

“But I did, Gareth, and with reason. But no, I do not believe that is the case. I think God’s hand was upon this.”

“I do as well.”

“God showed me what was my greatest temptation, and He did it to prepare me for the meeting that came after. I could not deny my desire for vengeance, because I had just witnessed how easy it would be to let it devour me. It left me not merely defenseless to Mr. Wilberforce’s words. It left me hollowed.”

“Ready to be filled by a greater wisdom,” Gareth agreed.

“Ready to listen with a heart and mind truly open to receive.”

They passed around a narrow lake and turned at the far end, beginning the return journey. After a long silence, Erica said, “Tell me about this friend of yours.”

“Wilberforce was introduced to me at a terrible point in my life, one where I was tempted by much the same vindictiveness as what you have just described. He helped me greatly, not merely in terms of faith, but also in seeing my life and my future as instruments that could be applied to a higher and greater purpose. Since then he has become a friend. I suppose I see him as much as anyone, for many of my pamphlets are based upon our discussions or matters that he asks me to delve into.”

“But who
is
he?”

“He is a Member of Parliament, of course, you know this. And a leader of the struggle to outlaw slavery. He believes that his need to follow God’s guidance on every issue holds him from swearing allegiance to anyone save the Master above.” Gareth took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“The Dissenters consider him their foremost spokesman on matters ranging from poorhouses to the immorality of our leaders. But he remains a very private man, too humble about his own failings to speak often about his faith. I for one consider him to be a man who possesses an undivided heart and mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Jesus criticized the Pharisees for being like beautiful jeweled cups on the outside, yet filthy within. An undivided heart and mind means there is no duplicity. To my mind, William Wilberforce acts the way he thinks. He lives a very public life with his most private thoughts and heart focused upon God and God alone. It is from this single-minded quality that he draws his strength. That is what I think. He sees you clearly because his vision is focused not on you but rather on the Father.” Gareth stopped. “Forgive me. I have not expressed this at all well.”