“I didn’t
know
,” Nell said. “How could I know?”
“But you must have felt it!” The girl’s voice turned pleading. “Didn’t you—miss me? Didn’t you long for your sister? Not a night passed that I didn’t wish for you, pray for you to come back—”
Nell shook her head, mute, miserable. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just didn’t …”
Know
.
How hadn’t she known? Seeing this girl before her, she found her own ignorance astonishing. Hideous. Shouldn’t she have known she was missing the other half of her?
“But
where
were you?” Katherine took a sobbing breath. “Father looked and looked—did she take you from the country?”
“No. I was right here in London. So close. Only in Bethnal Green.”
“Bethnal Green …” Katherine frowned. “But that’s … the East End? Dear Lord,” she gasped. “And you … you lived in such filth? How did you—” She looked Nell up and down, as if searching for proof of the tale on Nell’s body. “How did you survive it?”
“I worked,” Nell said—and realized too late that the question had been rhetorical: the shock, the
horror
on her sister’s face, gave that away. “Respectably,” she stammered. “Proper jobs, at factories.” It didn’t seem to penetrate; Katherine’s mouth had fallen agape. “Not anything—low,” she said. “First I made boxes and then I rolled cigars.”
“Cigars!” The girl laughed: a high, hysterical sound. Trembling fingers covered her mouth. “Oh, my God.” She turned toward Grimston. “A
factory girl
?”
“Ludicrous,” he said flatly.
“Can you imagine—” Katherine wheeled back to her. “What people will say—”
“Calm yourself,” said Grimston. “Nothing has been proved yet.”
“You look so like me,” Katherine said slowly. “But …” Her eyes narrowed. “You say you didn’t remember me? I remembered you—I remembered my sister every day of my life!”
Nell swallowed. “I can’t explain it. But—”
“How could you forget?”
“I don’t—”
“You were in the same city, so close, but you never once tried to come home?” Katherine retreated another step. “You can’t be her,” she said hoarsely. “Cornelia would have tried—” She shook her head. “You’re not Cornelia,” she hissed. “I never forgot.
Never
. My sister
never
would have forgotten me!”
Nell sucked in a breath. The words scraped over her like razors. Caused her ears to burn. To be turned on so quickly—did this girl not have eyes? Did she not
see
?
Oh, yes. Katherine saw, all right. She was looking at Nell now like a bug that had just crawled out from under the carpet.
Anger felt good. Like a cure. What right had
this
girl to judge her? Of course Lady Katherine had remembered: she’d had the whole world reminding her of what she’d lost. Probably had been pitied and coddled every time she’d wept. She’d never had to lift a finger her whole bloody life. How
dare
she judge?
Nell spoke hard and sharp, with scorn—aimed at this girl and at herself for letting such a creature wound her. “Sure and I’m not your sister,” she said. “Funny how quickly your mind changed once you found out that I’d done a bit of honest labor. I suppose you’d be happier if I’d been locked in a box all these years.”
“How
dare
you.” The girl turned to Grimston, lifting her chin, announcing it: “This is not my sister.” Her voice suddenly trembled. “My sister is dead.”
“Curious,” Simon said. He was suddenly beside Nell, his hand a warm, steady pressure on her back. “You felt so strongly to the contrary in the courtroom last autumn.”
“Enough,” Grimston harrumphed. “This was wicked of you, St. Maur—”
“Rushden,” Simon said mildly.
“—bringing her here, imposing her on these unsuspecting people! And you—” Grimston faced Nell, his face purpling. “You, young lady, are either a very clever confidence artist—”
“Aye,” Nell said sarcastically, “it took an awful lot of work to end up with this face I’m sporting. I do confess, I wonder why I didn’t choose a prettier one.” She sent a pointed look toward Katherine, who bridled.
“A natural daughter of the late earl,” Grimston said curtly. “Of that, I’ve no doubt. But whether you are a deliberate fraud or the innocent, ignorant victim of Lord Rushden’s evil games, I cannot say. Nevertheless,
you should know that you are testing dangerous waters with this stunt. We will prosecute you for fraud and extortion—”
“And isn’t that the Aubyn way,” Simon said. “So warm, so familial.”
“You mustn’t think you can simply swan into a room of your betters and find welcome. The insult!” The man glowered. “The
effrontery
! Your claim will be easily disproved. There are distinguishing marks, evidence of which you”—Grimston directed a venomous look at Simon—”have never been made aware of.”
“Nor Lady Katherine, apparently,” Simon said.
The girl in question wiped the puzzlement from her face. “You know nothing of me,” she snapped at him. “You’re a boor and a blackguard and a—the
worst
sort of gentleman—not a gentleman at all, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing! You drove my poor father into an early grave—”
“Save it for the stage,” Nell cut in.
“We’ve endured enough of this.” Grimston straightened and turned to Katherine’s chaperone, snapping his fingers at her as though to call a dog. “We will speak through our lawyers. Rushden, you may depend on hearing from me.”
“Oh, I do,” said Simon. “You owe my wife a considerable sum of money, I believe. Something near to … nine hundred thousand pounds?”
A strangled noise burst from Katherine. “Beyond vulgar! To see my father’s station reduced to this—to
you
—who would play such a cruel and tasteless joke—when I have
longed
to see—oh, I cannot bear it!” She spun on her heel and fled from the room—Grimston and the older woman following.
As the door slammed behind them, Nell stood stock-still, gripped by astonishment, dumb with it.
A gentle hand closed on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” Simon said quietly. “I thought—” His laugh was brief, humorless. “I didn’t think,” he corrected. “I didn’t expect to see them here tonight, but no matter—it was terribly sloppy not to plan for it.”
She shook her head. What difference did it make how she’d run into them? “No wonder Mum took me,” she said. “My … other mum, I mean.”
“Yes,” Simon said after a moment. “Or what a pity that she did.” His fingers traced her cheek, and to her shock, she realized she was weeping. “What a terrible crime,” he said. “You deserve so much better.”
“Do I?” she whispered.
Not a night passed that I didn’t wish for you
, Katherine had said.
But then she had taken it back: those words were not, after all, for Nell.
These tears seemed to ooze like pus from a wound. She felt infected, dirty, contaminated by this knowledge she hadn’t wanted or asked for.
I
am
that lost girl
, she thought,
and there is nobody left who wants me back
.
The landau was spacious. On the drive to Lady Allenton’s, Simon had taken the opposite bench to avoid crushing her train. Now he settled down beside her, causing her silk skirts and underskirts to crunch and shush in protest.
“I should have gone about this differently,” he said as the coach started forward. “Should have insisted …” He sighed. “Had she been prepared, it might have gone differently.”
Nell shrugged. Her tongue felt dead in her mouth.
Now that her tears had dried, she felt embarrassed by them. The weeping seemed like a betrayal of herself. She’d spun such foolish dreams about what would happen when she met her sister. So much for them. Why should she care whether or not the bint acknowledged her?
Because that
bint
was her sister. Nell had looked into her face tonight and felt … an unspeakable wonder.
You could know me. You’re one of mine
.
Only it wasn’t true. Katherine Aubyn wanted nothing to do with her.
“Of course, it makes no difference either way,” Simon said. “Her support would have been helpful, but sixty of London’s most prominent persons acknowledged you tonight. That’s a triumph by any angle. And tomorrow, every newspaper in town will be declaring your return.”
There was a persuasive flavor to his voice. He was trying to hearten her, to charm her into sharing his view of things, just as he’d done with all those guests tonight.
His effort made her throat tighten. She reached blindly for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, not looking at him. This sadness rising in her seemed too large, too sharp, to manage with reason or words. Her skin would split with the effort to contain it.
Mum, what did you do?
Jane Whitby had robbed her of the chance to know the people who’d rightfully belonged to her. Her mother, her father, a sister who would have loved her.
Simon’s hand turned in hers, his grip firming. “There’s no cause for concern,” he said.
“Right.”
“Do you believe me?”
She nodded and leaned into his body. She supposed he knew more about her chances in a court of law than she did.
“You did brilliantly, you know.” His knuckle skated down her cheek. “We could not have hoped for a better performance.”
The words pierced her. Aye, it had all been naught but a performance. She’d enjoyed herself grandly, with the glee of a girl who felt she was getting away with something. But Katherine had seen right through her.
A factory girl
, she’d said with scorn.
Maybe the viscountess hadn’t been fooled, either. Perhaps that hadn’t just been jealousy jaundicing her manner. “Did you sleep with Lady Swanby?” she asked.
He tensed beneath her. After a long pause, he said, “Before I met you. Yes.”
“And now?”
His hand caught her chin, lifting it so their eyes met. The shadows suited him, emphasizing the stark beauty of the bones of his face. “Now I’m married,” he said.
A moment passed. His gaze remained intent, unwavering.
“All right,” she said softly.
The landau lurched to a stop at an intersection. She pulled away from him on the pretext of looking out the window. Under the bright lights of the shops, dozens of pedestrians paraded in Saturday evening finery, the gents’ canes flashing with fake gold plate, aigrette feathers bobbing in the ladies’ long hats.
“I’ll never know half of what she does,” she said to the street scene.
“Katherine?”
“Her, too.”
Slowly he said, “I think you misunderstand the matter of the viscountess. It wasn’t … significant, in any regard.”
She willed herself not to say anything more. But her fears wanted out. “It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t know anything about music, Simon. About how softly a man should touch the keys.” A gulping little laugh spilled out of her. “If he touches the right ones, that’s enough for me.”
“And there are countless things you know that I don’t,” he said readily. “But we can learn from each other, Nell.”
She shook her head. He knew all the right things to say. That was the gift of his charm. This voice in her gut told her that his charm wasn’t empty: he meant what he said.
He meant it right now. But would he always?
She turned back toward him, putting her face into his shirtfront, inhaling the scent of starch, the citrus of his cologne, the smell of his skin. She wanted so much to believe in him. It was an ache in her, this need to believe.
His arms came around her and the feeling of them was beyond a miracle. Here was why God had made arms in the first place. Now she knew.
It came to her that guarding her heart was a fool’s errand. She’d already lost it.
A tapping noise intruded into the silence. She felt his chin brush the top of her head as he looked toward the noise.
She bit her lip. She knew the cause of that tapping. Somebody was hungry outside in the night. “Give him a coin,” she whispered.
His chest vibrated beneath her ear as he spoke. “I’m not carrying any.”
Her eyes came open. The anger leapt up in her so quickly that she knew it had only been waiting for an opportunity. It was easier to be angry than to hope.
She withdrew from him in one jerky movement, grabbing the reticule that she’d discarded on the opposite bench. A lady was meant to carry nothing but a handkerchief, smelling salts, and perhaps a vial of scent. She jammed her hand inside, feeling for the coins Simon had handed over, laughing, when she’d collected on their billiards-game wager. She didn’t meet his eyes as she yanked down the window and thrust out her hand.
The beggar woman had gray hair, a face carved by time and too many cares, a threadbare shawl around her bony shoulders. She reached up with gnarled, shaking fingers that fumbled the coin. As the coach rocked forward, her head dropped out of sight. She had gone onto her knees to recover the best luck the night would bring her.
Nell sank onto the bench where her reticule had rested, putting her opposite Simon, who was staring at her as though startled into some dark revelation.
What he said was: “You carry coin in your purse?”
Aye, and I’ve gone on my knees, too
, she thought.
I’ve scrambled for a coin tossed by some pretty woman’s hand
. Right before she’d taken to thieving, she’d done it.
I’ve crawled in the mud and I’ll be damned now if I travel without a coin when I have one
.
There were so many things he didn’t know that she’d never tell him. A hundred or more crowded into her mind, suddenly—among them that she had nothing to teach that he’d care to learn. What she
knew was how to make a shilling or a pot of soup stretch further. How to use a candle flame to mend a crack in gutta-percha. The best time of day to find a likely bargain at the butcher’s. The safest road home in the dark.
What came out of her mouth was: “I’m not ashamed.”
He leaned forward. “You don’t need to be ashamed,” he said fiercely. “By God, Nell—what cause have you for shame? Katherine Aubyn is a silly, spoiled child. The viscountess is a vapid piece of fluff. Their opinions count for
nothing
.”
She tried to smile. “I know,” she said. She had the easier part in this marriage: she’d seen both sides of it, now, whereas he’d only ever know his own world. She couldn’t teach him the feel of the mud between her fingers as she’d scrabbled, or the hard strike of the ground against her knees as she’d knelt. He had no way of guessing that even now, after glorious meals in which she filled her belly, the memory of hunger still buzzed deep in her bones.