No Place for a Dame (38 page)

He then informed her—right in front of Travers, damn him—that in order to do all the aforementioned things, they could not spend any time alone together.

And they hadn’t. For the most part he was gone, seeming to avoid her. When he was in the house, there always seemed to be servants about, interested eyes watching.

Early this morning Giles had called a meeting of their fellow conspirators and announced that Mr. Quinn had lingered long enough and would die that evening. The following morning, at
Ava’s
supposed behest, Burke and Travers would ready the body in a wooden casket for its final journey to the far-distant Quinn family tomb. It would take a seafaring passage, the length of the coach trip precluding a land one.

They would then convey an empty box to the shipyards where, out of sight, they would dismantle it. The next morning Ava would take a coach north, supposedly headed home. They’d taken into account the fact that it might seem odd that the marquess did not offer the bereaved sister his own barouche, but decided that rather than have his distinctive carriage remarked everywhere it stopped, and since the whole reason for the trip was to obfuscate Miss Quinn’s background, she would demur this gracious offer as being too much to ask.

Which was all very fine and good as plans went, but what then? Giles hadn’t said. He hadn’t projected one day further than that.

It was driving Avery mad.

The only time she’d caught him alone had been in the hallway on their way to dinner last night. He’d moved aside for her to enter but caught her hand first, holding her back just long enough to whisper, “It will all be over soon and we can begin again.”

And just what was that supposed to mean?

She’d tried to muster a bit of indignation but when she had looked up into his warm, gray eyes, she had known that if he’d reached for her then, she would have melted straight into his arms. Which did not speak highly for her self-restraint, she supposed. But, oh, she loved him!

Each night, she was haunted by the memory of their lovemaking. She replayed every word he had said, heard again each whisper, each sigh, as she searched for a hint as to his intentions.

Mr. Travers’s story about the marquess and Giles had been revelatory. Giles had convinced Society that he was the wastrel his father had
considered him. But he paid in private currency for the cost of that public persona. The only wonder was that he hadn’t lost himself completely in the role.

But he hadn’t.

He was an honorable man. Too honorable. She frowned. Honorable enough? What had he meant by “we can begin again”? Begin to make love again? Begin new lives apart? Together? Argh!

“Miss Quinn? Miss Quinn?”

She looked up. A housemaid hovered anxiously in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, miss,” she said. “I knocked but you didn’t answer and, well, I was that afraid maybe you’d gone the way of…” Her stricken gaze darted to the closed door between her bedroom and the one where her brother was supposedly drawing his last breaths.

“Oh, no, my dear. Please, do not worry about that. Avery has always had a weak constitution. You can tell just by looking at him that something was not right.”

The maid nodded her agreement.

“While the women in my family are marked by long, long lives, the men…” Avery sighed and shook her head sadly. “Now, what is it you wanted?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry, miss. Lord Neville Demsforth is in the drawing room. I wouldn’t have answered the door but there was no one else to do so, Burke and Travers being gone on some errand.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants to see Mr. Quinn.”

Avery’s eyes grew wide. “What? But… that… that’s not possible.”

“That’s what I told him, miss. But he refuses to go until he at least speaks with you. Oh, miss, I know it ain’t my place to say, but he’s terrible miserable, he is. His eyes is all red-rimmed and wretched. I didn’t know what to do, Lord Strand being gone, too, but seeing as how Mr. Quinn is your brother, I thought you might see the poor man.”

Oh dear. She had feared something like this. It was the reason she had insisted the phantom doctor would blame Mr. Quinn’s death on a preexisting condition and not the result of anything that had happened at the flash house. Yet still, poor Neville apparently felt responsible for Quinn’s condition. She could not let him him suffer like this. Somehow she had to convince him it was in no way his fault.

“Of course,” she said and followed the maid out of her room and down to the drawing room.

Neville sat on the edge of the divan, staring miserably at the floor. Upon hearing her enter, he bolted to his feet and bowed. “Miss Quinn, it is so kind of you to see me.” He looked up and stared at her a second, tears starting in his gentle blue eyes.

“You look a bit like him,” he said softly. “Well, not really. But the coloring, you know. He has reddish hair, too.”

“You must be Lord Neville,” she said, coming in and taking his hand. “How do you do? Avery speaks most warmly of you.”

“He does?” Neville asked, obviously pleased.

“Oh, yes. Very warmly. Please, won’t you sit down?” She lowered herself onto the settee and indicated he might sit beside her.

Blushing, the huge young man complied. She smiled gently. “Avery has told me how you befriended him. He is very grateful for that. As you can imagine, he is not the sort of young man who acquires friends easily.”

God bless him, Neville’s brow lowered at the implication that there was something not to like about his friend. “I find him quite good company.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I know.”

The stiffness dissolved from Neville’s expression and his blunt features twisted in anguish. “I feel responsible for all this. He didn’t want to go, you know. And once we were there, he didn’t want to stay. But I insisted.” Tears fell from his eyes and he swiped them away, too unhappy to be embarrassed.

“And when that girl asked me to help her up the stairs to her room, I should have refused. Avery said we oughtn’t to trust her. But I did. And if I hadn’t, he would be sitting here with me and you right now.” He hung his head.

She reached over and covered his hands with her own. “No, Lord Neville, he would not. He has known…
we
have known for a long time that his was bound to be a short life. He had the Quinn somatotype.”

He blinked at her in confusion.

“It’s a type of physique,” she explained. “None of the males in my family who have such a physique lived to see twenty.”

“Really?”

She nodded gravely.

For a moment she thought he would accept this as a sad but immutable fact and be unburdened. But he shook his head, squeezing her hand so tightly she had to keep from wincing. “But I am sure my actions precipitated this crisis. He might have lived another few weeks, at least.”

She pulled a hand free and laid it against his cheek. “My dear Lord Neville, don’t you see?” He gazed deeply into her eyes and she willed him to believe her. “Avery is already twenty-one. He was already living on borrowed time. He has been for months now. Each moment is an unexpected bonus and that is
exactly
how he sees it.”

“Really?” He covered her hand with his great paw and pressed it gently into his cheek.

“Really.”

“You are so kind and gentle,” he said. “You have eased my conscience greatly.”

She sighed happily. She’d done it! “It never had any reason to be troubled to begin with.” She pulled her hand from his face.

“I have one last request of you, my dear Miss Quinn,” he said.

She tipped her head inquiringly.

“Please, allow me just a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” she repeated.

“With your brother.”

“Oh. Oh. I do not think—”

“Please,” he implored her, securing her hand again and going down on one massive knee at her feet. “I beg you. Your words have been so kind and I want to believe them more than anything. If I could only hear him absolve me with his own voice, it would mean everything to me, Miss Quinn.” He stared earnestly into her eyes. He was so large that even on his knees they were eye level.

Drat. Drat.
Drat
. How could she deny him? She couldn’t. She would simply have to don her costume for one final performance as Mr. Avery Quinn. “I will not be able to go in with you,” she warned him. “Too much excitement might not be good for him.”

Luckily Neville didn’t see anything amiss in this rather questionable statement. “Of course,” he said eagerly, leaping to his feet.

“I shall go and prepare him. When he’s ready I shall send the maid to bring you to his room,” she said. “You must promise to stay no more than five minutes.”

“I promise! And,” he said, “will I, perchance, see you afterward?”

She shook her head. “I must attend to him as soon as you leave.”

“Then let me say what a privilege it has been to meet you, Miss Quinn. I would say ‘pleasure,’ but alas, our situation forbids that happy sentiment, though in different circumstances it would be a pleasure, indeed.”

She regarded him in some confusion. “Ah, thank you. I’ll send the maid directly after I have seen Avery.”

She hurried from the room, motioning the maid to follow. “I have agreed to let Lord Neville see my brother but first I must ready Avery for the visit. As soon as he feels up to it, he shall ring his bell and you fetch Lord Neville and show him into the room. Wait outside until they are done then show his lordship out.”

“Yes, miss. But… where will you be, miss?”

Avery rolled her eyes. “I’m going to lie down.”

The room was murky and unexpectedly cool, surprising Neville. Every sick room he had ever been in had been damned hot. Not that he’d been in many. He was disgustingly robust.

He tiptoed towards the bed where he could see the swell of Avery’s stomach under the blankets. Someone, probably his sister, had propped him up on a great pile of pillows. He turned his head at Neville’s approach. Shadows obscured his expression, but Neville could make out the thick, single ridge of his brow and a faint smile.

“Ava tells me you blame yourself for my condition,” Avery whispered. “Is that what you’ve come to tell me? Because that’s nonsense. Utter rubbish. In your company I have experienced some of the finest moments of my life and your friendship saved me from loneliness in this great, cold city. I do not want you to spend one moment castigating yourself for what has always been a foregone conclusion. I do
not
blame you.”

It was a most handsome speech. But it was also not necessary. “I know,” Neville said.

“You do?” Avery said.

“Yes. Miss Quinn told me so. That’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” He stepped to the side of the bed and secured one of Avery’s hands. It was a small thing and gave credence to Miss Quinn’s assurance that Avery had been born with some sort of weakness.

“I’m here to set your mind at ease, old fellow,” he said, smiling down at his friend. “You don’t have to worry a mite about your sister.”

“I don’t?”

“No. Because I’m going to marry her.”

Chapter Thirty- Nine

W
hat’s going on?” Giles demanded, striding into her room unannounced. “The maid said Demsforth had been to see
Mr.
Quinn.”

“A moment, please.” Avery was standing at the ewer with her back to him, scrubbing the last bit of glue from between her eyebrows.

He stalked in, prepared to lecture her on how important it was not to give anyone the slightest reason to doubt their story. He shouldn’t be in her room alone with her now, not only because it was improper but because he would not tell her his heart in snatches and hushed whispers. But he had to press upon her the need for discretion. Mr. Quinn must remain completely out of the public eye. No one must make comparisons between the phantom siblings when the memory of one visage was fresh in his mind’s eye when he saw the other.

Not that Neville Demsforth was likely to make the connection, the great heedless oaf. Giles had still not forgiven him for putting Avery in danger. He rather doubted he ever would. But Avery seemed fond of the lad, and so for her sake he would aspire to tolerance.