Chapter 16
The Howl and Whistle
London’s West End
“I need your help.”
“Of course you do,” August replied, tipping his chair back as he surveyed his cards.
The other men at the table were the typical ruffian set one would expect to find in such a dark and grimy pub.
Edward personally would not have turned his back on any of them, but through a series of fistfights and subsequent rounds of drinks purchased, August had somehow managed to become a dear friend to the unruly lot. “What for?”
A woman dressed in nothing but a corset and an underskirt eyed Edward from across the room. He smiled politely out of habit and instantly regretted it. The prostitutes on this side of London were just as likely to rob a man at knifepoint as to seduce him.
Edward cleared his throat. “I’d prefer to discuss this particular matter in private.”
“One moment.” August crossed his ankles on top of the table, then pulled out two cards and flung them at the dealer. “Two, my lord,” he said to an unshaven man wearing torn pants and a cotton shirt stained yellow at the armpits. “Preferably the king and ace of spades, if you’ve got them.”
The dealer grumbled and slid two new cards across the table. Holbrook tipped his chair forward to grab them, then showed his hand to Edward. Three and nine of hearts. Jack of diamonds. Six of clubs. Two of spades. A complete bust, and yet August winked at him. “What d’ya know?”
The others cursed and promptly folded. August let his chair smack against the floor, scraping the pot into his hands.
“Apologies, gentlemen, but I must leave the game early tonight. My friend here has something he wishes to discuss, and I’ve got a special lady meeting me in a private theater box in half an hour. ”
A man wearing a patched top hat and plaid coat narrowed his eyes. “Leaving without giving us the chance to earn our money back isn’t a very noble thing to do, me lord.”
August eyed his coins. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Dingham. Here.” He flipped a sovereign at each man. “Buy yourselves something pretty. Oh, and put your drinks on my tab.”
The men laughed and shouted for more ale.
“I don’t know why you insist on spending your time here,” Edward muttered once they’d taken their leave, spilling into an alley dotted with fresh puddles of urine and festering garbage. “There are far richer men in Mayfair willing to part with greater sums of money.”
“It’s not about the money,” August replied without further explanation. “Shall we hop a ride on a passing carriage?”
“My car is waiting just ahead,” Edward supplied.
“Splendid. Could you drop me off at the Royal?”
“Where’s your chauffeur?”
August wobbled as he dodged a trash heap at the end of the alley. “His wife’s sick. I told him to take the night off.”
Edward grabbed his arm, steadying him. “Don’t you think you should lay off the white satin for a while? You can’t continue drinking as you did at Cambridge. You’ll kill yourself.”
“You sound like my dearly departed father. What he failed to realize, and what you continue to overlook, is that I know my limit.”
Edward arched a brow. “Are you sure of that?”
August pulled his arm from Edward’s grasp. “You said you needed my help, Hayward. Don’t test me.”
Edward stared at his friend for a long moment before nodding.
This was a battle they’d been waging since their Eton days; he was an idiot to think this would be the night he would convince his friend to stop imbibing so heavily.
The problem was that the Marquess of Holbrook was bleeding internally, somewhere no one could see, and he’d tried to patch up the wound with alcohol and women.
That sort of habit was not one Edward would break here, in an alley that smelled of rotting food and human waste.
He helped August into the car, then slid into the seat next to him and instructed his chauffeur to take them around to Covent Garden.
“Sssso,” August slurred, his head lolling slightly, “wha’s the problem?”
“It is somewhat embarrassing to discuss, as it is a matter of high sensitivity to the lady in question. I must be assured this conversation will not leave this car.”
“Well, now I am intrigued,” his friend replied, a hiccup escaping between his sludge-slow words. “Does this have anything to do with the young, beautiful, and fabulously wealthy Miss Callopane Harp?”
“Calliope Hart,” Edward corrected. “And it would mortify her if she or anyone else found out we even had this conversation, so if you don’t think you can keep your mouth shut—”
August held up his hands, a moment of sobriety breaking through. “I have always kept your secrets, Hayward.”
That was why Edward had come to August in the first place.
Still, it was difficult to explain to his friend that he’d somehow developed a rather .
. . fondness . . . for Miss Hart in just a few short days.
Not because he didn’t think August would approve—which he did, mightily—but because Edward felt like a cad saying it aloud.
The truth was, the more time he spent with Calliope, the less he cared about propriety and doing the right thing, and the less clear it became as to why he was so against ruining her reputation and trapping her into a highly convenient marriage.
And he needed to remember, badly, lest he do something he would regret.
August’s grin widened as Edward explained himself. “I’m failing to see the problem.”
Edward leaned back in his seat, pressing his fingers into his temples.
“I don’t want to trap her into marrying me.
That is a recipe for a miserable life. But it’s rather hard to remind myself of that when I’m around her.
It’s as if this fog enters my brain and jumbles all my thoughts.
I almost kissed her, Holbrook. In public. ”
“Times are different than they were in our grandparents’ day,” August said. “A kiss in a hallway does not have to mean marriage.”
“It may not have to, but it’s still a difficult scandal for a lady to overcome.”
“Not for a lady like that.”
Edward glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As long as Miss Hart has a dowry the size of England, she’ll find a husband who won’t care what sort of reputation she has.”
Edward’s frame tightened at the thought. “She deserves better than someone who only wants her for her money.”
“Isn’t that what you want her for?”
“Yes, but it’s different.”
“How so?”
“I’m giving her a choice.”
August sighed. “Very well, then. If the conundrum you face is that you don’t want to ruin Miss Hart’s impeccable reputation and yet you can’t seem to keep your hands off her, don’t take her out in public.”
“I don’t have her out in the country yet, Holbrook. London is nothing but public. I also promised to act as her guide around the city as part of our deal.”
The marquess shrugged. “Then you must remain detached in your meetings. Keep your thoughts on anything but her. Don’t speak to her or look at her unless absolutely necessary. And for goodness’ sake, don’t touch her, even to let her grab your arm.”
“Won’t she think me unforgivably rude?”
“Probably,” Holbrook allowed. “But once you get her to Whitefawn, you can dispel her of that notion.”
Edward contemplated that. He wanted Calliope to like him—it was crucial to his plan.
But Holbrook’s advice made sense. Edward did not have to be so rude as to completely ignore her, but he could not deny he’d found himself utterly captivated by Miss Hart ever since he’d first laid eyes on her, and the feeling had only grown in the time they’d spent together.
Her sensitivity to the history of the Tower and the way it spoke to his own empathetic heart had caught him off guard, making him forget himself, as did the way she’d taken his hand in the middle of the House of Lords when grief had threatened to swallow him whole.
She hadn’t cared that it wasn’t proper or that he’d done nothing in their time together to deserve her kindness.
She’d simply seen a wounded soul and had comforted him out of instinct.
He couldn’t help feeling that such a woman would make an excellent wife and found himself wanting her all the more for it.
The upside was—now that he knew she was not like the other debutantes he’d encountered, without a thought in her head other than marriage and which fork to use with which dinner course—it would not come as such a shock the next time she did something unexpected.
Therefore, he could arm himself against the desire to draw her close, to run his hands through her hair, to learn what winter tasted like on rose-petal lips.
No, he would absolutely not lose his head again.
As Holbrook suggested, he would be polite but distant.
Just until he got her out into the country, where he could show her why Whitefawn was so important to him, and where, if he did forget himself again and tried to kiss her, and if she accepted such a kiss, he would not be in as much danger of ruining her reputation.
“Unless, of course, you can find a truly private location whilst about town,” Holbrook said, interrupting Edward’s thoughts. “Then you could kiss her all you like.”
“Many mothers of marriageable young daughters are in mourning after a certain young earl was caught escorting a blond American heiress through the Tower of London. An eyewitness, who shall remain nameless, caught them in a questionable condition in an empty hallway, the earl leaning forward as if he’d meant to kiss the young lady in question.
It is believed this heiress is the same one who cast up her accounts at the earl’s ball over a week ago, making the news all the more perplexing.
Truth be told, a Tower scandal has not raised such a fuss since Colonel Blood attempted to steal the crown jewels from that mighty edifice over two hundred years ago. ”
—The London Ladies’ Journal (June 18, 1908)