Victorian Dream (21 page)

“I take it a good time was had by all,” Walker said.

Hargis, still as bright eyed and energetic as a young colt, nodded and ordered more ale.

“Does nothing wear out that hulking body of yours?”

“It would take more than two small English girls to tire Hargis out. I learned about love from big hearty Scandinavian women.”

For Walker,
one
small soft English girl would be more than enough to fill his desires.

Chapter Seventeen

Trelayne lay across her bed, starring up at the ceiling, absentmindedly toying with a lock of her hair. It was three days since the incident on the
Romney Maiden
, and the weather had turned damp and chilly. Tonight, angry clouds again filled the sky, the smell of snow was in the air, and her mood was equally as dismal.

Having acted in haste, she now regretted her decision at leisure. Tonight was The Bond Street Consortium Gala. She never should have agreed to go. She should have arranged to meet Lucien on more neutral ground for their heart-to-heart talk. But everything was arranged, it was too late now, and truly she wished to put their discussion behind her.

Lucien’s presence had become almost smothering. He seemed to know her every move, showing up at the most unlikely places.

The other day, he’d appeared at her dressmaker’s. Not the usual venue for a man to seek. Another time, they crossed paths near Father Woolsey’s priory. Lucien had insisted he was simply passing by. But passing by to what? The Vicarage was rurally located and not really on the way to anything of interest. Maybe, she should chance his ire, and simply refuse to go. He would be furious, of course, but would eventually recover from his disappointment. Besides, as she intended to break off their fabricated-relationship, what difference would it make in the long run?

Of course, since she
was
soon to break his heart, this was the last consideration she could show him. She guessed it was either lie to Lucien about being sick, or lie to Aunt Abigail as to where she was going tonight. When she had casually mentioned The Bond, her guardian had launched into a surprisingly puritanical lecture regarding the disreputable aspects of the establishment. An exposé on those who frequented such places had scathingly followed, but it piqued her interest rather than deterring her.

Ever since Walker’s absence, her aunt had become as overprotective as Mother and Father. It was tiresome being told what to do and when to do it. She felt ready to burst with an unknown energy, and even her nightmare, obviously a warning of some sort, didn’t cow her spirits.

Penelope understood. She knew how it felt to be intoxicated with curiosity about life—about men. How it felt to be filled with unstoppable passion, your soul seeking answers to questions of the heart. Penelope knew what it was like to yearn irrepressibly for someone.

Melancholy consumed her, and it was the elusive Captain Garrison’s fault. He’d ruined her for any other man. She had dared to gaze into his eyes, losing her sense of direction while wrapped in his embrace. Wanting someone so very much, and not being with him, was self-inflicted torture. Where in heaven’s name could he be? Unless he had done so by choice, it hardly seemed likely he could disappear so completely. Even the runners Merrick sent to Brighton couldn’t find him.

She reached for the gloves she now kept close at hand, grazing the leather along her temple, her cheek, her throat, all the while imagining it was Walker’s touch. But pretending wasn’t enough, she wanted the real thing.

Setting his gift aside, she gained her feet and paced the room, wringing her hands, her back stiff with concern and indecision. Then she made up her mind as to what to do, and it felt as if she’d been holding her breath and could once more breathe deeply. If by tomorrow, there was no news regarding Walker, she would insist Merrick take her to Brighton. And tonight, as planned, she would set the record straight with Lucien, severing all ties. She wished not to go at all, but knew he would keep hounding her until they settled the matter. Surely she could put on a good face for just one evening. Although in truth, knowing she must wait until tomorrow to search for Walker left her straining at the leash, her nerves on edge, and her mood anything but gay.

A tapping noise sent her racing across the room. She jerked open the door.

“Mercy me,” Penelope gasped. “You’re in a dither. I’ve obviously arrived just in time.”

Trelayne grabbed her friend’s arm, hustled her into the room, and closed the door.

“I’m going to do it,” she declared.

“Do
it
?”

“Oh, heaven’s no. Not that
it
. What I mean is I’ve definitely decided to accompany Lucien to The Bond.”

Penelope heaved a sigh of relief. “You had me terrified for a moment. Of late you’re too bold and daring for your own good. I can’t imagine what you will do next. Besides, if you do
it
, it must be with Captain Garrison.”

“As he’s still missing, I hardly think the occasion will arise any time soon. I’m worried about him. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. After all, we’ve not declared are feelings for one another, maybe it’s not my concern where he goes, or how long he stays away.”

“Oh, bunkum and balderdash.” Penelope blurted. “You’re in love with him.”

She stared at her friend, thinking to deny her statement, but she could no more deceive Pen than herself.

“Yes, oh yes, I am in love with him…desperately. But it’s unrequited and it’s breaking my heart. I thought to be giddy with happiness, aglow with joy, instead I’m miserable and lackluster at best.

“But unrequited love is supposed to be romantic.”

“Well, it isn’t, I assure you. It’s not at all like in the stories we read. It’s tearing me apart, I’m in emotional shreds.”

“Still you can’t be sure of his intentions. You’ve not spoken to him about such things, or given him a chance to profess his feelings.”

“You’re right, of course. And on the morrow I intend to remedy that situation by going in search of him, although I don’t know how I’m going to wait that long. Already this seems the longest night of my life. I was going to cancel, but if I don’t keep busy I shall be reduced to a sweet madness, never to recover. And I must resolve my issues with Lucien.”

“Well, then,” Penelope said, leading her to the wardrobe, “if you are to soldier on this evening, you shall do so in style.”

The first dress Trelayne held up received a negative shake of the head from her friend. Dropping it on the floor, she grabbed another. “Are you clear on what to say when Aunt Abigail asks where we are going?” she asked.

“I have it rehearsed to perfection. No, that one won’t do either,” Penelope clucked. “Here try the lavender one. You had better be on your guard tonight,” her friend added. “If anything goes awry, your very reputation will be at stake, tarnished and talked about from here to Cornwall.”

“What is the worst that could happen, Pen? Lucien will protect me from true harm. He’s in love with me, why would he allow anything to ruin my name or character. Besides, if we are to emulate the women we read about, we must occasionally throw caution to the wind.”

“I’m just worried you’re turning caution loose in a maelstrom,” Penelope said. “And remember, many of those books we read end in tragedy.”

“A valid point,” she agreed. “I promise to make it an early evening, just staying long enough to appease Lucien, and to speak to him honestly about my decision regarding our relationship.”

“Good. No more lectures.” Her friend couldn’t suppress a giggle. “It does sound wickedly exciting. Truth be told, I’m jealous as can be. You must tell me everything. What the women wore, what flirtatious games they played, and to what pagan tunes they dared to dance.”

Trelayne hugged Penelope. “I’ll not leave out one glorious detail.”

****

As the coach sped away into the night, Trelayne settled back against the seat and pulled together an expression of cheerfulness. Her emotions were ratcheted to a fevered pitch, but not because she was looking forward to their outing. All she could think about was Walker. Was he safe? Did he miss her as much as she missed him?

Lucien near inhaled the sight of her, not even remembering to make polite conversation for her entertainment. Apparently the lavender gown was a good choice, the white silk rose pinned at the bodice the perfect touch to mask the worry and distraction overwhelming all her senses.

“Do tell me about tonight’s festivities, Lucien,” she said, seeking a diversion from the thoughts racing through her mind in the deafening silence.

“What? Yes, of course.” He shook his head as if coming out of a trance. “The Bond is a world unto itself,” he began, “where magnificent chandeliers twinkle overhead, and towering palms and exotic plants create an atmosphere of mystery.”

He paused, as if to allow her to paint the image in her mind, but all she could see was Walker’s face.

“The cuisine is unparalleled, the wine cellar extensive” he added. “And one of the finest small orchestras in London presides over the ballroom. But the gaming parlor is the main attraction, overflowing with merriment and high stakes betting.”

“It sounds fascinating,” she said, trying to be attentive, “and not nearly as sinful as I was led to believe. Why, I’m almost disappointed.”

“Neither of us shall be disappointed tonight, my love,” Lucien promised. “When you experience the excitement and ambiance to be had, you will be carried away to another time and place.”

Handing her down from the coach, Lucien paid the driver, then sporting an elegant walking stick, grandly escorted her into the club.

The interior was resplendent, the room emotionally charged. Men laughed, their women clinging overtly to them. Cigar smoke swirled through the air, transformed into a dreamy haze by the twinkling light from the chandeliers, and ethereal music completed the ambiance, seducing her senses, leaving her dizzy. For Penelope’s sake, she tried to focus and make note of specifics.

The women’s gowns showed a daring amount of décolletage. They could not possibly be employing corsets or proper undergarments.

“Oh, Lucien, I’m dressed completely wrong for such an event. Maybe we should leave,” she added, grabbing at the excuse to make a quick exit.

“Nonsense, Trelayne. You are an enchanting breath of fresh air, an innocent amongst the garish and used women normally available here. Does not every man turn his head as we walk by? All of their eyes are upon you with desire, and upon me with envy. I would not trade places with any one of them.”

So much for that idea. They meandered across the lobby toward an area constructed for serving refreshments.

“Sit here, darling,” he suggested, holding a chair for her. “We must have champagne for so memorable evening. Promise not to look too fetching in my absence,” he added, leaning his walking stick against the table, “lest upon my return, I must fight my way through a league of men surrounding you.”

Obviously well known, Lucien signed for the drinks as several people recognized him and vied for attention. He cut a dashing figure tonight, but it was not the sight of him, nor the near palpable energy vibrating in the air that made her heart race. It was the thought of seeing Walker tomorrow. If he were her companion, she would be content to sit by the fire, reading, or embroidering. He would be all the excitement she needed.

With nothing better to do, she people-watched, and was not impressed with what she saw. The men openly leered at her. One depraved fellow blew her a kiss as he fondled the bosom of the woman at his side. Beneath their painted smiles, the women appeared sad, their doleful eyes lamenting
I was young once, too.

Alarmed by such a display, she twisted in her chair searching for Lucien. Where was he? She did not wish to be left alone any longer. It seemed beneath the glitter of gold and the sound of laughter, there lurked cold hard iron and bitter memories. About to panic, she exhaled a sigh of relief as he returned.

“Forgive me for leaving you unattended so long.” He took to the chair at her side and handed her a glass. “A toast to your beauty and my gratitude for your company.”

In an attempt to recapture her original bravado, she heartily complied.

“Have another sip,” he insisted, although he didn’t touch the contents of his own glass.

She followed his suggestion, enjoying the warm serenity spreading through her body.

After a few moments, he rose and held out his hand. “Shall we try our luck at the tables? You’re sure to charm the dice as readily as you have all the men in the room.”

“Lucien,” she said, trying to make herself heard above the merriment. “We really must talk.”

He extended his hand closer, the other holding a full glass of champagne. “I can’t hear you, darling. Come along, the night is young, and so are we, let’s enjoy the fun,”

Seeing little option, she gained her feet then reached for Lucien to steady herself. Good heavens. She’d often sampled wines and champagne at parties and formal dinners, but nothing ever affected her so quickly or so drastically.

Relying upon his arm for support, they ambled about the room. His casual conversation suddenly seemed profound, his humorous stories amazingly witty. At the gaming tables, she was persuaded to try her hand with the dice. All went well until Lucien plied her with more drink. Then her concentration became scattered, the numbers and score completely eluding her.

“Lucien, I feel so light headed. Do be a pet and let us sit down for a moment.”

“Of course,” he obliged, his voice filled with concern. “You look pale. Have you eaten today?”

“Very little,” she confessed, as he directed her to a more quiet setting.

Properly seated, the wooziness eased, leaving her oddly contented. She glanced around. They were in a small room, a very compromising, very private room. The dimly lit compartment sported oversized cushions and soft fur throws. One part of her brain sent out signals of alarm, another part found the quiet atmosphere a panacea of welcoming comfort, so appealing to her swirling thoughts.