Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (19 page)

All three faces flickered as they glanced toward each other with unspoken words.

Giselle sighed. “Do you know why John thought he should marry a Russian actress as opposed to a titled lady? Did he ever tell you?”

Cecilia searched their faces in astonishment. “No. John never—”

“He said after watching you and Father, he wanted more out of life. And when we debut, we will want more, too. We know you gave up a lot for us, and that you did it because you love us, but it’s time, Mama. If you like this Mr. Levin a lot, it’s time. Whilst our friends are dear to us, you are all the more dearer. You deserve to be happy.”

Cecilia blinked rapidly to keep herself from crying. Her son and her girls had convened and were announcing their support. Even knowing Konstantin wasn’t going to be accepted by others.

How she genuinely loved her children for always thinking of her. “Life would be unbearable for all of you if I involve myself with a man outside of our circle,” she softly said. “You do know that, yes?”

“If life truly becomes
that
unbearable,” Giselle added with the mischievous quirk of her mouth, “we can always move to Russia. None of us would mind. In fact, I hear the Russian men are incredibly dashing. It might prove entertaining to debut in Saint Petersburg at the Russian Court.”

“Or America,” piped one of the other girls.

Cecilia lowered her chin, trying to decipher if they were serious.

“Yes, Mama,” Giselle offered, “we are being
very
serious. Now call on Mr. Levin. If you keep your visit to a respectable fifteen minutes, just as a means of announcing yourself, I can assure you, no harm will come of it.”

The girl had a point. “So you think I should I call on him? Despite the hour?”

Juliet sighed. “Are we going to have to pull you out by the legs?”

She didn’t need more encouragement than that. Cecilia frantically shoved aside the linens, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing Konstantin again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Will someone please pull the bell and have Samantha come up at once?”

They grinned in unison.

Abigail bounced her way over to the calling bell and yanked on the braided cord twice. “Done.”

Despite those glorious little grins, Cecilia pointed at each and every one of them. “Whilst I am vastly, vastly appreciative of all the support, I am asking that you all find your nightgowns and nightcaps and get some sleep. We will reconvene over breakfast in the morning with any news I may or may not have.”

Those grins faded.

Juliet huffed out a breath and stomped a single foot. “You cannot make us suffer like this! We won’t get any sleep! Can we not meet him?
Tonight
?”

Cecilia tried to retain her motherly façade of being serious even though she was astounded at seeing Juliet stomp her foot. She hadn’t seen that sort of behavior since the girl was six. “You will all meet him only
if
he chooses to accept the challenge of being part of our lives. Which he hasn’t yet. We did not part on the best of terms, therefore a courtship or marriage may never come of this. I wish to repeat that. I do not want any of you stitching your hopes to this.”

Giselle set the candlestick onto the side table beside the bed. Clasping her hands, she announced in a womanly tone, “I would have to agree with Juliet. Your primrose gown and emeralds will ensure Mr. Levin takes you seriously.”

Panic of the unknown scrambled Cecilia’s innards.

11:39 p.m.

She had spent so much time preening over her appearance, she was quite sure she had lost what little remained of her rational mind. The amount of emeralds on her ears and her throat and gloved hands were enough to make any former criminal smile in warm welcome. Her only complaint was that Juliet had dabbed her with a bit too much perfume. Especially given the mugginess of the warm summer night. She had no doubt the man would be able to smell her at the door.

Fortunately, every last neighbor in Belgrave Square had long closed their shutters seeing it was late summer and had all travelled to the country, leaving no prying eyes to question what she was about to do. Though she was more than certain everyone would know about it by the end of the week.

Drawing in a long shaky breath, she let it out and twisted the iron knob for the bell beside the massive double oak doors that were barely lit by the lanterns hanging above the entrance.

She had
never
called on a man at such an hour before. Not even for fifteen minutes. It was like being back in Russia.

She glanced toward the lit window on the far right of the house and, as all of her daughters had assessed, there was a beautiful, yearning melody floating from the keys of a pianoforte. It paused, and silence now clung to the night air.

She wondered if it had paused because of her.

The doors eventually fanned open and a footman peered out at her from down his bulbous nose. “Might I be of assistance?”

She hurriedly held out the single calling card she had brought with her. “I apologize for the dreadful hour, sir, but I am in desperate need of seeing Mr. Levin. It is of utmost importance. Utmost.” She made sure to emphasize that. “Is he at home?”

The aging butler slipped the card from her fingers with a gloved hand and with a furrowed brow glanced at the card. “Please wait inside so I might inquire for you, Lady Stone.” He gestured toward the marble entryway behind him.

“Thank you.” She hurried in.

The butler placed her card onto a small silver tray that rested on a side table and swept it up with a gloved hand, taking it into one of the candlelit rooms down the corridor.

There was a murmuring exchange of two male voices.

The butler eventually returned and announced, “Please follow, Lady Stone.”

Her heart pounded as she followed him down the corridor. She was ushered into a beautifully decorated receiving room of golden and dark silk hues. The doors closed behind her.

No one was in the grand room.

She swept toward the lamp-lit room that displayed incredibly lavish furnishings of Oriental origins, countless vases and a pianoforte that had five decanters of brandy, two of them already empty as it sat beside a half-empty glass.

She froze, realizing she wasn’t alone in the room after all.

A broad shouldered man wearing a black velvet mask, with a blood-red satin ribbon tied around his head of silvery-steel colored hair slowly rose to his full height from the bench at the keys. He stood motionless, only piercing blue eyes and the lower portion of his mouth and shaven jaw peering through. The visible marring of puckered skin on the side of his aging jaw below the tied mask hinted there was considerable damage to his face.

Her lips parted, not at all expecting what she was looking at.

He leaned toward the glass of brandy set on the pianoforte, taking a leisurely swallow and then set it aside. He made his way toward her. “After glimpsing your calling card, I realized we are neighbors. How is it we have never met, Lady Stone?” His voice was regal and smooth, hinting at a bit of French origin, but his words and his stance appeared to be a touch heavy from the brandy.

She inclined her head, wondering who this man was to Konstantin. “I was away travelling, sir.”

“Sir?” He rumbled out a laugh. “Oh, I like that. Sir.” He paused before her, searching her face with a smirk. “I should have left my card for you when I first arrived to Belgrave Square. ’Twas quite…rude of me. The name is Duc de Andelot. Not sir.” He reached out a large scarred hand and sloppily took up her gloved hand. “I understand you are here to call on Mr. Levin.” He side-kissed the satin of her glove across her knuckles.

A French duc? Was this who Konstantin had rescued? It had to be.

Cecilia watched the man lift her hand to his lips just below that mask and tried not to acknowledge that she could smell the brandy. “Yes, Your Grace. I am here to call on Mr. Levin. I ask that you forgive me for having called you sir. I didn’t realize—”

“Think nothing of it. It amused me.”

“Is Mr. Levin at home?”

“Yes.”

Her breath caught. He was here. Her Konstantin was actually here. She couldn’t believe it. Breathe. She tried to breathe. “Might I see him?”

The duc released her hand and strode back to the pianoforte, his staggered steps clearly affected. Pushing back the tails of his black evening coat with one scarred hand, he seated himself on the bench. “I am afraid he retired for the night,” he finally said. “He asked not to be disturbed.”

“But I have to see him. This cannot wait until morning.” She’d go mad.

The duc leaned forward and taking up one of the crystal decanters from the polished surface of the pianoforte before him, filled his empty glass again. He set aside the decanter. “And how is it that you know Levin, Lady Stone? Are you and he…?”

She tried to keep it simple. And respectable. “He nobly assisted me in Russia. I came to thank him for everything he has done for me.”

“At this hour?” he pressed, arranging himself more comfortably before the pianoforte.

She inwardly cringed. Why did she feel as if she were suddenly rationalizing her behavior to her father? “Well, I…I just returned from Russia several hours ago and simply could not wait until morning to see him. I am afraid he and I did not part on the best of terms.”

He paused. “I think Levin might have mentioned you a few times. But he never gave me a name. Were you the one robbed?”

She blinked. Konstantin had clearly been discussing details about her. “I…yes.”

The duc nodded and started to play a haunting melody, his long fingers moving effortlessly across the keys as if brandy had never even touched his veins. He glanced toward her, still playing and said in a low, provocative tone above the music, “You may go to him.” Still playing, he flicked his attention to her low cleavage. “He is up the main stairs to the left behind the…
fifth
door on your right. Fifth door. On the right.” He leaned in and away from the piano, giving over to the yearning melody and watched her.

She blinked rapidly. For all she knew, this is how masked French men cornered stupid British women in the middle of the night. “I would rather not wander about a house I do not know. Can he be summoned?”

He still watched her and played. “I am asking you to surprise him. He has been unusually quiet and keeps staring at the inscription of his watch. I imagine it has something to do with you.”

Her very soul squeezed. “How is he?”

The haunting melody suddenly turned into a harried, playful tune. “Better than I.”

This one thought he had a sense of humor. “So he is upstairs?”

That harried tune effortlessly slowed back to the earlier haunting melody. “Yes. Fifth door on the right.”

So much for her respectable fifteen minutes. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She glanced toward the open doorway and lifting her skirts above her satin slippered shoes, darted toward the stairs, half expecting the music to stop.

It didn’t. The duc played.

Skidding out of the room, she turned and seeing the massive staircase, hurried toward it and up the mahogany stairs.

The piano still played.

She darted right and counted out each door of one, two, three, four and…five.

The piano still played.

She drew in a breath and knocked.

The piano stilled right along with her heart. In the distance, she heard a hall clock chime twelve times.

It was destiny calling.