A Lady Most Lovely (5 page)

His hands fisted at his side, a too-familiar reaction for him. He made a conscious effort to relax them. His discomfort did not get past Lizzie, however. She gave him a sympathetic glance before saying, “James, you are skirting the real issue here.”

James pretended to look surprised. “Am I? And what would that be?”

Lizzie set her expression into her best
lady-wants-gossip
look and said, “Who did
you
dance with? Did anyone catch
your
eye?”

“Oh, I see,” said James with a smirk. “I’ve been skirting the issue of the skirts.”

Lizzie playfully hit him with one of the pillows. “How scandalous, James. I hope you do not talk like that around the ladies.”

“You know perfectly well that’s
exactly
how I talk around the ladies,” he said, snatching the pillow from her hand and holding it close to his heart. “That is why they love me so. Except for Miss Vaughn—”

“James.” Lizzie’s voice held a warning tone.

“Oh, all right,” James relented. “Let me see…” He tapped a finger to his chin as if thinking very hard. “I danced with Miss Hardwicke, Miss Shaw, Miss Cardington—”

“Which Miss Cardington?” Lizzie asked. The persistence in her tone was finally becoming clear to Tom, even through the fog of his thoughts—which were still centered around Miss Vaughn.

James stood up and helped himself to a tea cake from the tray that a maid was just bringing in the room. “I’m speaking of Miss Emily, of course. Lucinda has two left feet. It’s no wonder she isn’t married.”

“Surely the ability to dance is not the primary requirement for making a match,” Geoffrey said.

“Perhaps not. In any case, I am glad she isn’t married.”

“And why would that be?” Lizzie asked.

“Since Lucinda is the eldest, Emily cannot get married until Lucinda does. Their father is absolutely immovable on that point. It’s positively draconian.” He popped the little tea cake into his mouth with a satisfied air.

“How convenient,” Lizzie observed. “You may flirt with Emily all you like and nothing more is expected from you.”

“It is a state of affairs in which I thrive,” he agreed. “But it is good for Miss Emily, too. It affords her the opportunity to enjoy a season or two as the toast of the town before she must marry and turn her mind to the nasty business of becoming a
matron.
”

He shuddered so dramatically that Lizzie laughed. Even Tom found it difficult to suppress a smile.

“A society matron? Like me, you mean?” Lizzie asked with a grin. She patted her large stomach.

“No,” James protested. He returned to her chair and fell down on one knee, taking hold of her hand. “You will never be like those women. You are a paragon of kindness.”

“Now see here, James,” Geoffrey said, pulling him to his feet and pretending to look affronted. “Shouldn’t
I
be the one to spout such lovely sentiments to my wife?”

“Geoffrey, you haven’t a jealous bone in your body,” James declared. He threw a sidelong glance at Tom. “Now Denault, on the other hand—”

“Good Lord,” Tom said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “We’re back to that.”

“Denault was determined to win Miss Vaughn from the moment she set aside her mourning clothes and attended her first London ball,” James continued, blithely sidestepping Tom, who wanted to reach out and strangle him. “He would positively circle around her, like a guard dog.” He demonstrated by making creeping motions around Lizzie’s chair and letting out a few small growls. “No one else stood a chance.”

Lizzie laughed at James’s comical motions, but then let out a small sigh. “I wish I could have been with you at the party,” she said to Tom. She rested a hand abstractedly on her stomach.

“That’s all right, cousin,” James assured her, giving her shoulder a gentle pat. “He’s got me. And let me see now…” He considered for a moment. “The next really good soiree will be three nights from now.” He gave Tom an appraising look. “You did fine this evening, but you’ve still got a few things to learn. Next time, I’m sure we’ll get you a dance with Miss Vaughn.”

“Isn’t she about to get married?” Tom said, trying to ignore the sudden thrill that ran through him at the thought of Miss Vaughn in his arms. “Don’t newlyweds generally go off to the Continent or some such place?”

“Oh, that’s not for several more weeks. Now that I think about it, there’s no need to wait until the soiree to see her. You’re liable to run across her tomorrow, anyway.”

Tom advanced toward him. “I told you, the meeting is between me and Denault—”

James retreated behind Lizzie’s chair and put up a hand. “I meant that you may see her in that charming square outside. I believe she goes for a walk there in the mornings.”

“She does? Why would she go there?” Tom didn’t think there was anything remarkable in the little patch of grass and oak-lined paths around which the town houses were clustered. Surely Hyde Park would be a more interesting destination.

“She lives right across the square at number fifteen.”

Tom looked at him dumbfounded. “She does?”

“Yes,” James said, the glint returning to his eye. “Isn’t that convenient?”

*

Tom stood at the window of his darkened bedchamber, staring into the night. The fog lay heavy on the city, although a soft breeze broke it into patches here and there and gently rustled the leaves in the trees. A half-moon shone brightly overhead, slicing through the fog and adding its light to the street lamps below, sending the park into an intriguing play of light and shadow.

Tom had been bred in this city, but his years in Australia had made him appreciative of the special kind of peace found only in the countryside. In a few weeks the “season” here would be over, and he and Geoffrey would ride out to inspect the harvest at the Somerville estate in Kent. It would be a welcome break from the smoke and noise of the streets—not to mention the stuffy confines of overly elaborate drawing rooms.

Lizzie would go, too, if she was able. They were taking every precaution. No one said it aloud, but everyone was thinking of the terrible things her half sister Ria had endured during childbirth. In the end, both Ria and her baby had died. The possibility that Lizzie might have inherited the same physical weakness was weighing heavily on her mind. She had tried not to show this, but Tom knew. He’d done all he could to reassure Lizzie, to remind her that Ria had a different mother, and that Lizzie and Tom’s mother had been quite hearty in childbearing. And yet, in his innermost heart Tom could not deny that he was worried, too. Lizzie was the dearest thing in the world to him. She was all he had now.

Clouds moved across the moon, darkening the city below. Tom thought of Margaret, on the other side of this very square. He knew which house it was from the way James had described it. It was not the most elegant town house on the square, but it was well kept. It probably was no match for the more fashionable homes in Belgravia, the neighborhood to the southwest where, as James had explained to him, the most elite were moving to, leaving Mayfair with an air of being just a bit “last season.” He smiled at the thought. How well versed he was becoming in society’s outlook. And yet how far he still had to go.

He could not see number 15 from here, due to the angle of the homes around the small oval park and the oak trees that stood between them. But he could imagine Margaret as clearly as if he were looking at her. He envisioned her standing at the window of her bedchamber, gazing out at the same bit of fog-laced green that Tom was looking at. He pictured her in a thin white nightdress, which covered but did not hide the shape of her curves.
Or perhaps she had pulled on a satin dressing gown to protect her from the chill of the foggy night air. Her hair would be loose, curling down around her shoulders, long and full, the rich brown strands glistening in the moonlight. Perhaps he and Margaret were looking at each other right now and didn’t realize it. Everything in him ached with desire at that thought.

He laughed at himself and shook his head. “Tom, you’re a crazy bas—” He cut himself off. Swearing was one thing he had been trying very hard to curb. It was not the mark of a gentleman or, more important, of a Christian. Sometimes Tom doubted he would ever be successful at being either of those things. He wanted his words to always be seasoned with salt, as the Bible said, and speak only things that would edify. It was a tall order.

He returned to his bed, stretching out and savoring the excellent feather mattress. It was, he thought wryly, one of the few comforts he found in London.

No matter what he did, he could not manage to quell his uneasiness at being back in England. The things he had done before he’d left here—his duel with Freddie Hightower among them—still seemed to haunt him. It was foolish, of course. Freddie was dead, and there was no one outside the family who knew of this part of his past. And yet, being back in the city brought so many bad memories to the forefront of his mind.

He missed Edward and Ria, and the life he and Lizzie had built with them at McCrae’s sheep station. At times his heart ached for those simpler days, for although they worked hard, day in and day out, they had so many simple pleasures. Ria and Edward were blissfully happy, and Tom and Lizzie were content. It had all been destroyed
the day bushrangers had killed Edward. But he had to remember that those terrible days had been the catalyst for bringing Lizzie to London, and for her ultimately finding such deep happiness with Geoffrey.

He was living between two worlds, really. He had not made up his mind to stay in England permanently—he’d wanted only to see Lizzie again—to be sure that she was happily settled. Beyond that, his plans were uncertain.

And yet, what need had he to return to Australia? The business he and Sullivan had started was prospering, and Sullivan was an able manager. They had already quadrupled the earnings from the gold they had dug out by their own hard labor. He had no wish to go back to mining. He was through with that rough, unforgiving life. But neither did he wish to live the indolent life of a “gentleman.”

“Lord, what am I to do?” He spoke softly, sending up the words as a prayer, even as he lay flat on his back in the bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’d never felt the need to go down on his knees when he prayed—he figured the Lord could hear him in any posture he happened to be in.

He wanted a life that gave him purpose. Many assumed he was content, given his newfound wealth. But something was missing. Something was still just out of reach. And for some unaccountable reason, the woman he’d been picturing across the fog-shrouded square made him more aware of it than ever.

D
enault rose from his seat at a large table, upon which several large rolls of paper were spread about. He shook Tom’s hand warmly. “Thank you for coming.” He motioned to the other chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Tom remained standing. “Perhaps you might first tell me exactly what this meeting is about.”

His curt words did not seem to put off Denault in the least. “I see you are not one to waste time,” he said approvingly. “Trust me. I’m just as eager as you are to get to the heart of the matter. Very well then, I’ll give it to you in one word: railways.”

Railways?
“You’re not serious,” Tom said.

“Deadly serious.” Denault’s earnest expression matched his words.

“I’ve been out of the country and missed most of what they called the ‘railway mania,’ ” Tom said. “But I read the papers. I know more people went broke than actually made money. And in any case, the prime years for investing in the railroads are past.”

“In England, maybe,” Denault conceded. “There are already six thousand miles of track crisscrossing this small island. It is just about played out. But in other countries the building boom is just beginning.”

“You are thinking of Australia, perhaps?” Tom knew that there weren’t yet any railways in Australia, save for a few precarious tracks in Van Diemen’s Land where the carriages were actually drawn by convict labor. Tom had never even seen a train up close, much less ridden on one.

“There is great need, no doubt,” Denault said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Perhaps that might be a focus of a future project. However, for the moment I am speaking about America.”

“America?” Tom repeated. “I thought you just completed a rail line there.”

“America is a vast place, my friend,” Denault said, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture. “It is infinitely larger than Britain, and much further behind on railways. They’ve only just managed to reach the Mississippi River, the center of their big country. The next big push will be from Saint Louis to California. I’m telling you, the place is ripe for expansion.”

Tom’s knowledge of American geography was sketchy, at best. “Granted, the tracks have not been built. But why build them? And why now?”

“Good heavens, man! Haven’t you heard? There is gold in California, and rumors of silver in Nevada.”