Kitabı oku: «Regency Society», sayfa 33

He shook his head. ‘She did not give that much thought to me, I’m afraid. I doubt she said three words to me in the time we knew each other. She married young and well.’ He looked up at her. ‘She is as high above me as you are. And as beautiful. But I doubt she would know me if we passed in the street. She has forgotten all about me. There can never be anything between us, of course. How can there be, if but one of us loves?’

She took a step towards him. ‘But that is so sad. And you have kept yourself for her, all these years?’

‘Not as such. I have known the company of women, of course. But my heart is elsewhere. I do not wish to marry, if I cannot have her.’

‘But if you do not marry, you will not have children.’ The next question mocked her, but she forced herself to ask it. ‘Do you not wish for a son?’

He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I had not honestly given it much thought.’

‘You did not think on it?’ It was her turn to look puzzled. So many hours of her life and her husband’s had been consumed with the subject of children. And here was a man who did not think about it at all. ‘But you will have no heir.’

‘Of course I will have an heir. I am quite well stocked with nephews. I have two of them, and a niece as well. I have been “dear Uncle Tony” for so long I can hardly remember a time when I wasn’t. And I have done my share to raise them up. I always assumed that what was mine now would some day be theirs.’ He smiled fondly, as he thought of children that had been fathered by others.

‘But they are not yours,’ she insisted.

‘As much mine as anyone’s. Their fathers are long dead. They have stepfathers now, at last. So the burden is no longer solely mine.’

‘You do not care for children,’ she surmised.

He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. The raising of them was not so much of a burden, even at its worst. I like children. And I would welcome my own, should any appear through design or carelessness. But it has always seemed to me to be a frivolous thing to insist on raising the fruit of one’s loins when one is surrounded by windfalls.’

He would not care, even if he has already guessed the truth. Her legs almost collapsed under her, her knees trembled so. ‘Then, if your wife could not give you children?’

‘If the wife of my choosing could not give me children?’ He sighed. ‘If I could but get her to give herself to me, it would be more than I ever expected. What kind of fool would I be to win my heart’s desire and then find fault with her for a thing that was not under our control?’

What kind of fool would he be? A fool like her husband and all the other men of her acquaintance. Children did not matter to Tony. If he wanted her, he would have her, and not think twice about her infertility. There would be no snide offer of fun and games, followed by a pitying smile when the talk came to marriage.

‘It would not matter to me in the slightest. There is but one woman for me, Constance. And I will not love another, as long as there is life left in us, and even the smallest chance.’ He looked into her eyes and it was as if he were looking into her very soul and making the vow to her.

He shook his head again and looked down, unable to meet her gaze. ‘I do not expect you to understand. It really sounds quite mad, when I explain it thus.’

‘Oh, no. I understand perfectly.’ And, suddenly, she did. It was possible to fall hopelessly in love with someone who was totally wrong for you, and even worse, could never love you back, because of a foolish fantasy of perfection that he’d been carrying with him for his entire life. How could one compete with that?

He was smiling at her again. ‘That is most kind of you to say so. Because…’ He appeared to be about to speak. But he said nothing. There was a pause that seemed ready to become long and awkward.

So there was nothing wrong with her. He did not wish to raise false hopes by a casual seduction that would lead nowhere. He respected her. She should feel more relief than frustration. She broke the silence. ‘Do not feel you need to explain yourself further. I think it is very noble of you. I have often wondered what it might be like to be as brave as you and to not care for reputation or stability, hazarding all for the sake of love. But I fear I am disappointingly practical, far too concerned with my own security in the distant future to risk following my heart on the moment. Still, I very much enjoy seeing others do so, and will pray fervently for your good fortune. I fear some of us are not destined to feel that kind of grand passion.’

If possible, he looked even more mortified than he had the night she came to him to ask for the deed. He coloured again, and his eyes fell. And when he looked up, his expression was earnest, as it had been when she had seen him in the library. ‘Do not say that. Do not ever say that. You deserve all that love can give, and you should settle for nothing else.’ And when he pulled her to him, it was shockingly sudden and she had just enough time to lift her face to his kiss.

It wasn’t the same kiss that he had taken from her on the night they met. This one was hard and demanding. A soul-deep kiss, full of desire. And she kissed him back, hoping that the night might last just a little longer, that he might forget himself and stay.

He devoured her mouth and she took his tongue, thrusting into his mouth in return. And she felt his hand opening the buttons on her nightdress, cupping a breast and pinching the nipple between his fingers until she moaned.

She pushed her leg between his, and rocked her body against him. There was no question that he wanted her as she wanted him and she reached to pull him even closer so that he might know how well their bodies would fit together.

He pulled away from her, then, shaking his head. And he said, ‘I must go.’ He laughed, and it was unsteady. ‘Although you do make it most difficult to leave. Especially since I need my body to obey me as I climb down from your window, and it is making it almost painfully clear to me that it would much rather stay here with you.’

But his eyes were bright with excitement as he said, ‘I promise you, soon. But alas, I must not stay tonight. I have other work I must do before the sun rises. I cannot spend it in play with you. Besides, I have no desire to rush what I will do with you, the next time we are alone.’ He traced the line of her throat downwards with his finger to massage her breast again. ‘Are we in agreement?’

She nodded, dazed at the idea.

‘Very good, then.’ She looked into his eyes, and her body trembled at the suggestions in them. ‘And remember, if you need anything at all before I come to you again, you know my direction. Feel free to call on me, or send a message and I will come to you. But do not think that you ever need walk through life alone, or that you must be practical instead of happy.’

And he was gone again, taking her heart with him.

‘What do you mean, you did not tell her?’

Tony stared down into the glass in his hand, and willed himself not to throw it. But with Patrick standing between him and the fire, the temptation presented itself.

‘I mean,’ he responded to his valet, ‘that it is a damned tricky thing, when you have been speaking to a woman as one person, to suddenly come out and admit that you are not who you seem to be. I thought, once Barton was gotten out of the way, and there was nothing standing between us, it would be easier.

‘And in a way it was. She was not the false jade she played in my sitting room last night. She was much more herself, grateful, but not brazen. She cared enough to make conversation. She asked about me. She made it plain that she wanted to know me better.’

He remembered the feel of her body against his and her breast in his hand. ‘She was willing to know me even better, by the end, I dare say. And I did declare my continued and unwavering devotion.’ He shrugged. ‘Not technically to her, but I believe she was responding well, even though I did not specifically say I was speaking of her.

‘But then she declared me too noble and showed signs of giving me up entirely, for my own good, so that I could continue to worship her from afar. And so I kissed her again, and then everything got fuzzy and I quite forgot how it was I meant to go on. But I had to get back to Stanton’s damn ball since he wanted to speak to me in private, after. I could not very well drop anchor for the night.’ He grinned. ‘Although I got the distinct impression, there at the last, that I would have been a welcome guest, had I decided to do so.’

Patrick smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘But now she has the deed, and you have no reason to see her again.’

‘On the contrary, I have every reason. She might pretend uninterest during the day, but she has kissed me again. That is the third time and it is not often enough.

‘Now that she has noticed me, I plan to be very much under foot. She cannot ignore me for ever. Perhaps next time we meet, I will not need to climb through her bedroom window. If I am not conversing with her in her bedroom, it will be much easier to keep my head.’

And perhaps, in good light, she will recognise me. He did not want to think it. He did not want it to matter. And yet, it mattered so very much.

Patrick replied with confidence, ‘Once you tell her the truth, there will be no problem at all.’

Other than accepting that, if I am not attempting to rob her, I am utterly forgettable. ‘It is rather embarrassing, not to have told her from the first.’ He tried to toss the comment out in a way that made it unimportant.

‘It will only grow more embarrassing as time passes.’ Damn Patrick and his reasonable advice.

‘I gathered that. But it is vexing to have my true nature go unrecognised by one who has known me my whole life.’ There. The truth would out, somewhere, if not where he needed it.

‘Your true nature?’ Patrick snorted. ‘And by true nature, you mean the nice young cleric who pulled me out of Newgate, pretending charity, but really wanting me to help him dispose of his ill-gotten gains?’

Tony bristled. ‘That is most unfair.’

‘But it is the truth. You were only too happy to learn all I could teach you, and assume all the risks, while sensible men such as myself preferred to retire from crime and devote themselves to pressing milord’s coat and perfecting the knot for a Mathematical cravat.’

Patrick was staring at him in disbelief. ‘You insist on seeing yourself as no different than you were when you were children. But you are both changed by the past thirteen years. Your true nature, as you put it, was not in evidence when she saw you last. She paid you no heed then because there was no reason to. You were shy, bookish and painfully honest. It was easy enough to cure you of the honesty, and now that you are putting your education to use, you are not so quiet as you once were. Once you rid yourself of the shyness, there will be nothing left at all of the old you, not even the name. And you have her complete attention, do you not? She does not love another?’

‘There is Endsted,’ Tony admitted.

Patrick snorted. ‘Then you have nothing to fear. The results are guaranteed, once you declare yourself to her.’

Perhaps Patrick was right. ‘Very well, then. I shall call on her tomorrow. At her home this time, so she has no reason to be distracted by a rival. I have no doubt she will welcome me, since she said as much last night. In daylight with the servants about and a respectable distance between us, it will be much easier to part with the truth. And then we shall see how things go.’ And he knew the path was right because of the sudden flare of hope that sprang beside the banked fires of desire in his heart.

Chapter Ten

The next morning, Constance paced her rooms, uneasily, looking at the deed on the night table. And the note beside it: We must talk. Barton.

The note had arrived with the morning’s post, even before she could get the deed to the bank. And now she was afraid to leave the house with it, lest he be waiting outside to take it from her again. He knew. That had to be the truth of it. If he thought he was still in possession of the deed, he would have marched boldly into the house this morning, as he had threatened to do. Instead, he had missed the thing, and guessed her involvement in the theft. He meant to harass her about it. Perhaps he would go to the Runners.

But what could he do? He could not very well claim the deed was his and she had taken it, since it clearly stated that she was the owner of the house. Tony was right. She had but to avoid him, until he lost interest, and her life would return to normal and the already-long string of problems that she must deal with. But the sale of the house, along with the last of Mr Smythe’s purse, would lend some time in which she could think.

And what was she to do about Anthony Smythe? It was all so much more complicated in daylight than in moonlight. She wanted to see him again. As soon as possible. The pull on her heart was undeniable.

And he could help her against Barton. She pushed the note to the side, hiding it under her copy of The Times. Tony had helped her before, and proven a powerful ally. She needed help again. He was attracted to her, and knew she was attracted to him, but he showed no intention of forcing her to take action.

She knew what action she wished to take. But in the morning, she could remember why it was wrong of her to want him as she did.

She listed the reasons against it. She knew nothing of his family or his life. He was a criminal, albeit a charming one. And he loved elsewhere.

And on her side, if she took one lover, it would be easier to take a second, once the first lost interest. And then a third. And some day, she would awake to find she had no lover, no husband and no reputation. If she wished for marriage, she must not begin by settling for less.

Yet it was hard to think beyond the moment. She could have his help and his affection, should she but ask. He might leave some day. But she remembered the feel of his hands upon her, and the rushing in her that was unlike anything she had ever felt for Robert. He might leave and she might find another. But who was to say that her next husband could arouse such passion in her? If she did not give in to him now, she might never know that feeling again.

Her teacup trembled in her hand. Very well, then. She would ask him to be careful of her reputation, but she would yield to him as soon as he asked. And no one need ever know of it, but the two of them.

And then she stared down at the front page of her paper. A hanging. She stared down at the article, reading with horrible fascination. The man had been a burglar, stealing purses from a rooming house. The gallows mechanism had failed, and his body had dropped scant inches, leaving him to dance out the last of his life for nearly an hour. And the whole time his wife and children had stood, at the foot of the gibbet, pleading for leniency, or at least a quick death. The crowd had not wanted their fun spoiled and had mocked them, laughing and pelting them with offal until they had run from the scene. And the woman had lacked even the money necessary to retrieve the body for burial.

She imagined the man, spasming out the last of his life in front of a cheering throng while his family stood by, helpless. And then she imagined Tony, dancing for the hangman, and standing below him, crying her heart out and unable to help.

But if she kept to her current plan, it would be even worse. Then, she would hide in her house, afraid for her precious reputation, leaving him to die alone and friendless. And she could read in The Times, the next day, how he had suffered for the amusement of the crowd. She would hate herself, to her last breath, knowing that the man she loved had suffered, and she had done nothing to help.

Her hand jerked as a shudder racked her, and the tea spilled on to the paper, blurring the words.

‘Your Grace, there is a gentleman come to call.’ Her maid was holding a salver.

‘I am not at home to Lord Barton.’

‘Not Barton, your Grace. Mr Smythe.’ Susan had guessed the identity of her visitor, and was grinning in anticipation.

Constance stared in fascination at the card upon the tray. She wanted to go to the parlour, grab the man by the hand and pull him upstairs with her. If she asked him, he could help her forget Barton, Freddy and the horrible thing she had just read. For a few hours. And then she would have to come downstairs and face reality again. A tryst with Mr Smythe would be lovely while it lasted. But what future could there be in it?

Only the one she had just seen.

‘I am not at home. Not to anyone. If you need me, I shall be in the garden, but whoever else may call, I am not at home.’

She tried not to rush as she took the back stairs, far away from where anyone at the front of the house might see or hear her. Stopping in the tiny still room by the kitchen, she found a bonnet and basket, and her pruning scissors. It would all be easier in the garden, surrounded by her flowers and herbs. The sights, the smells, the taste. Everything made more sense there.

She stepped out into the sunlight, feeling the protection of the high brick walls on all sides that muffled the sound of the city. Here, there was only birdsong, the faint trickle of a fountain, and the fragrances of the plants. She ran down the path that led to the wrought-iron gate and the street, to the small bench hidden in the shade of a tree.

She sank down upon it, and let the tears slide down her cheeks again, now that she was safe where no one could see her. Her shoulders shook with the effort of containing the sobs. She did not want to be alone any more, and there was a man willing and full of life who could take the loneliness away. It was so unfair, that the one thing she wanted could lead to a pain and loneliness greater than anything she had felt before.

It had been hard to watch Robert die, but he had been older, and they had known the time would come. But Tony was likely to die a young man, suddenly and violently. And despite it all, she wanted him beyond all reason, aching with it.

And she heard a sigh and a faint rattle of the gate. She looked up to see Smythe, hands wrapped around the bars of the gate, observing her.

She wiped her face dry on the back of her sleeve. ‘Mr Smythe! What are you doing here?’

He was nonplussed to be discovered. ‘I beg your pardon, your Grace. I…I…I did not mean to spy on you.’

The stutter surprised her. When he came to her at night, there was no hesitation, only resolute action. But now, he seemed almost shy when talking to her. He was a different person in daylight. But then, so was she, or she would have opened the door for him when he had come calling.

She tried a false smile, hoping it did not look too wet around the edges. ‘You did not mean to spy, or you did not mean to be caught spying?’

He released the gate and held out open hands, and there was a flash of the smile she recognised. ‘I did not expect to find you here. I was told that you were not at home.’ There was the barest hint of censure there.

‘And yet you came to the back of my house. Were you looking for something?’

He leaned his forehead against the iron of the gate. ‘I often walk by on this street. And you must admit, the view of the garden is most restful. I greatly admire it.’ He stared wistfully in at her.

She gave up. At least, if he were near, she could touch him and reassure herself that the fancy she’d been spinning was not yet reality. She rose. ‘You might as well come in, then, and have a better look.’

Without further invitation, he took a few steps back, and ran at the gate, catching a bar easily and swinging his body over the spikes at the top with inches to spare, landing on his feet on the other side.

There was an awkward pause.

‘I meant to open that for you, you know.’ She hoped the reproof in her voice hid the thrill of excitement that she felt in watching him move. He was still very much alive, and it did her heart good to see it. She sat back down, arranging her skirts to hide her confusion.

‘I am sorry. It was most foolish of me. I am sometimes moved to rash actions. Rather like spying on you in your garden a moment ago, and then lying about my fondness of flowers to gain entrance.’

There was another awkward pause.

‘Not that I am not fond of flowers,’ he amended. ‘And yours are most charmingly arranged.’

‘Thank you.’ She patted the seat on the bench beside her, and he came towards her. His stride had the same easy grace she saw in the ballroom and in the bedroom, and she tried not to appear too observant of it. ‘Do you know much of flowers?’

He smiled. ‘Not a thing. I can recognise a rose, of course. I’m not a total idiot. But I tend to take most notice of the plants that provide cover when I am gaining entrance to a house.’ He touched the bush he was standing beside.

‘Rosemary,’ she prompted.

‘Eh?’

‘The shrub you are touching is rosemary.’

He plucked a sprig and crushed it between his fingers, and the air around them was full of the scent. ‘For remembrance.’ He held it out to her.

‘You know your Shakespeare.’

‘If you knew me, you would find me surprisingly well read.’

‘Is that important? In your line of work, I mean.’

He dropped the rosemary and looked away. ‘I am more than my work, you know.’

‘I didn’t mean to imply…’

His eyes were sad when he looked back to her. ‘There was a time when I intended something other than the life I chose. I was the third son, and there was not very much money. I knew that there would be even less, once I was of age and my brothers had families to support. I would need to fend for myself.’

She felt a rush of sympathy. He had been lonely, even in a large family.

He continued. ‘What I wanted did not matter, in any case. My oldest brother was killed duelling, and the second took a bullet to the brain at Talavera. And suddenly, there was only me, two widows, two nephews and a niece. My brothers were older, but not necessarily wiser. Their estates were in shambles and they had made no provisions for their deaths. The whole family was bound for the poorhouse, unless I took drastic action.’ He shrugged. ‘There are many who have more than they need.’

‘But surely, an honest profession. You could have read for divinity.’ She looked at his politely incredulous expression and tried to imagine him a vicar. ‘Perhaps not.’

He sat down at her side. ‘It was my plan, once. And I went to interview for a living, hoping that I would be able to send some small monies home. But the lord met me at a public house to tell me that it had gone to another.

‘And when he got up to leave, he forgot his purse. I was halfway out the door to return it, when it occurred to me that he had money enough to fill many such purses, and my family had no food on the table and no prospects for the future. I put the purse in my pocket, and brought the money home to my family. And that was the end of that.’ He smiled, obviously happier thinking of theft than he had been thinking of life as a clergyman. ‘And what of you? Did you always plan on the life you got?’

She frowned. ‘Yes. I suppose I did. My mother raised me so that I might be an asset to any man that might offer for me. And she encouraged me, when offers were made, to choose carefully in return so that I might never want. Until Robert died, things had gone very much as I would have hoped. I would have liked children, of course.’

‘It is not too late,’ Smythe responded.

She resisted the urge to explain matters to him plainly. ‘I fear it is not on the cards for me. But beside that one small thing, my life was everything I might have hoped for. I made a most advantageous marriage.’

‘You were happy, then?’

She answered as if by rote, ‘I had money, social position and a husband who treated me well. I had no right to complain.’

‘That did not answer the question.’

‘Of course I was happy,’ she said in frustration.

‘And yet, when you say it thus, I wonder if you were.’

She sighed. ‘It is different for men than for women. If you have a talent for something, you can proceed in a way that will develop it and find a career that will make the best use of your abilities. There are options open. You might study law, or go into the military, or become a vicar.’

‘Or a thief,’ he reminded her.

She nodded. ‘But because I was born female, it was my fate to marry. It is not as if I could expect another future. Fortunately, I had no talent to speak of, or any other natural ability than to be beautiful, or I might have felt some disappointment about that fact.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘No natural talent? I’ll grant you, you are a beauty, a nonpareil. But you are wrong to think you have no other virtues. You are intelligent, well read, and you have a sharp and agile wit.’

She laughed. ‘You base these fine compliments on an acquaintance of several days. My dear Mr Smythe, I would be a fool to be flattered by one with such a shallow understanding of me. There was nothing about my character, my wealth or my family that would have led Robert to want me, had I not been a beauty. I assure you, it was a great weight off my parents to know, before they died, that I was to be well taken care of.’

Tony shook his head. ‘That sounds as if you were a burden to your family. But your parents spoke often of your fine character, although your mother was most proud of her only child being so well placed.’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘You speak as if you knew her.’

‘We were acquainted,’ he replied. ‘I knew your father, as well. I sympathise with your loss of them.’

‘You knew them both?’ She started. ‘They never mentioned you.’

‘It was a long time ago. You had been gone from the house for several years when last I met them. And they never knew of this.’ He made a vague gesture, meant to encompass his life. ‘Believe me, I never visited them in my professional capacity.’

‘I never suspected that you would.’ And it was strange, but she trusted his word on the matter.

‘You are being unfair to yourself, if you think you are without talent, or suspect that you might have no value to a husband other than to beautify his home.’

But the one thing that Robert had most wanted from her, she had been unable to give him, and she held her tongue.

‘I know for a fact that you are much more intelligent than you appear, even if you pretend it is not so in the presence of the Endsteds of the world. I saw the books he was carrying for you, and the ones you keep in your room. Philosophy, Latin, French. Not the reading of a simple mind.’

‘It is a pity, then, that I could not have put all that learning to use, and saved myself from the financial predicament I find myself in.’

He gazed at her with surprising intensity. ‘You have managed most cleverly with little money or help, where a foolish woman could not have gone on at all. It is not your fault that you put your trust in people who should have protected you, only to have them fail you.’

She found his comments both flattering and embarrassing, and sought to turn the conversation back to familiar ground. She summoned her most flirtatious look, fixed him with it and said, ‘How strange you are to say so. Most men content themselves, when I am alone with them, to comment on the fineness of my skin or the softness of my hand.’

He was having none of it, and responded matter of factly, ‘You know as well as I do the quality of your complexion. But I will comment on it, if you insist. Your skin is almost luminous in its clarity. Chinese porcelain cannot compare. But I also know that the skin is nothing to the brightness of the spirit it contains. I know you, your Grace, although you do not believe it. I do.’

She smiled, overwhelmed by his obvious sincerity. ‘And I do not really know you at all.’

‘You know my greatest secret: that I am a thief. It was embarrassing to be caught. But I was glad, when it happened, to find myself in the hands of such a charming captor.’

She blushed at the notion that she had taken him prisoner, and not the other way around. ‘You really shouldn’t steal, you know. It is wrong.’

‘I am familiar with the commandments,’ he said with asperity. ‘And follow nine out of ten to the best of my ability. It is a better average, I think, than the people I steal from, who have no thought to any but themselves. They are greedy, indolent and licentious.’

‘Is that why you came to my rooms? To punish me for my sins? Because I am guilty.’ She hung her head. ‘Of pride, and of lust.’

‘Serious, of course, but the seven deadly sins are not in the Bible, per se,’ he remarked. ‘But what makes you think you are guilty of them?’

‘Barton has been able to manipulate me easily, because he knows how carefully I guard my reputation. If I were willing to admit that I am poor, and that he has gulled me…’

‘Then you might ruin any chance to marry well. You are not guilty of anything, other than being forced to place your trust in one who proved unworthy. Why should you suffer, while the Bartons of the world live in comfort? You could don a cap and remain a poor widow, I suppose. Take in sewing. Do good works. Live off the charity of the church, since your wastrel nephew cannot be bothered to live up to his obligations to you.’ He made a face. ‘It does not sound very pleasant. And it would be a waste of one as young and lovely as yourself, if there is any other alternative.’

He paused, and then added as an afterthought, ‘You could marry below your station. No one would think you proud, then.’