Chapter 41
Knowing she had only to please herself the next day, Gervaise let Caroline sleep in.
He crept downstairs to let the cats out and partake in his first cigarette of the day.
Annoyingly, it was already busy in the scullery when he let himself back in.
Three women were sat in front of the fire with toasting forks, and another was washing up and chirping away cheerfully to Reg, who was tugging at his neckcloth and looking bashful.
When Gervaise entered the room, they turned to look at him. “Good morning, all,” he said by way of polite greeting. Someone gave a low whistle and Romulus bristled as Remus fled through the room, disappearing into the hall.
“Morning, your lordship,” Jeb said pointedly. He glowered at the huddled women.
“Domesticated, ain’t he?” Gervaise thought he heard one whisper as he reached for the tea tin.
“You don’t need to be doin’ that, milord,” one said, leaping up. “I can fix your tea for you.”
“Thank you, but no. That won’t be necessary.” She shrugged and sat back down. Gervaise set about brewing Caroline’s tea and Reg sidled up to him.
“There’s been another delivery for Miss Caroline out front,” he said. “Looks like more clothes.”
“Lucky girl!” someone with good hearing piped up from by the fireplace to accompanied giggling and nudging.
“Shall I bring it up?”
“If you would.” Gervaise was glad to escape upstairs once he had washing water and tea in hand. The cats bounded up beside him, heedless of his slippered feet.
Caroline opened an eye as he reentered the bedroom. “What time is it?” she asked, smothering a yawn.
“It’s almost half past nine.”
“Goodness.” She sat up, dislodging Romulus, who had jumped up and tried to settle on her stomach. He took instant umbrage and jumped down from the bed. “Where is Remus?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“He’s in the sitting room.” He passed her the teacup. “Reg is lighting the fire for you in there.”
“Is he?”
“Yes, I thought you might want to sit in there and finish your sewing today.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured, her tone noncommittal.
“It’s quite…hectic downstairs,” he said, making his way to the washstand and pouring half the jug of hot water into the basin for his wash. When he tilted his new shaving mirror to watch her, she was sipping her tea, her expression serene.
He took a deep breath. “You may have to prepare yourself for some ribaldry this morning,” he said. “It’s possible we were overheard last night. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I was rather…loud.”
Only there was no rather about it. Caroline cleared her throat, some color climbing into her cheeks, but she made no reply, just took a large gulp of tea. Romulus chose this moment to jump back on the bed, chirruping in her face and giving her a convenient out.
“How are you this morning, Romulus?” she murmured, stroking his back and letting him rub his face against her. Gervaise could hear the little cat’s purr from where he stood. Lucky Romulus.
“Also, you have had some more clothes delivered from Durand’s,” he continued. “Reg has stacked the boxes in the dressing room.”
“Oh, really?” She brightened at that.
“It might be your new plaid gown,” he admitted, dragging a razor down his face. “I told Madame you were anticipating that one’s arrival.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Gervaise.”
“Shall we meet at lunchtime?” he suggested. “I have to go out with Ralph this morning and drum up more custom, but I could collect you for luncheon.”
She drew her knees up under the covers. “I would love that!” She hesitated. “But what if it is not my new plaid gown?”
He shrugged. “Then you can wear your burgundy with the cunning sleeves,” he answered.
It was the plaid gown. When he jumped out of the cab at noon, she was waiting for him just inside The Citadel. She pulled the door open at the sight of him and joined him on the pavement. Gervaise nodded to Reg, who was hovering in the background, and the other man faded back into the gin palace.
Taking her hand, Gervaise brushed a kiss against her gloved fingers and handed her up into the hansom. “Very nice,” he commented, settling beside her.
She turned to him eagerly, parting her cloak to show her new dress off. “Do you like it? Effie said I am bang up to style and Vi said I look smart as new paint,” she said proudly.
“It looks very fetching,” he said, looking the cream and blue gown up and down, “but we need to get you some new bonnets and boots to match.”
“I thought this navy bonnet matched rather well,” she answered, touching the brim.
“It merely suffices. We need to visit a milliner.”
She sighed. “Do you remember when you said I could indulge in my cousinly fantasy with you?” she asked cheerfully.
Gervaise blinked and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know,” she said. “How I always wanted a cousin to tell all my confidences to, and write letters to and share girlish confidences—”
“Oh, that,” he interrupted. “Yes.”
“Well, it occurred to me that you have made good on that promise too,” she said, squeezing his arm.
“You have not written me a single letter,” he could not refrain from pointing out. Now that he came to think of it, he felt rather put out about that. He would not mind a letter or two from her to carry about in his pocketbook.
“What? Oh, no, but we live together so the need has never arisen. But I do tell you my thoughts and how I spend my day, and—”
He made a skeptical noise in his throat. “Sometimes you leave things out,” he said critically.
“Well, I could not possibly tell you everything,” she pointed out reasonably. “You would be unspeakably bored.”
“Doubtful,” he responded at once. “Nothing you do or say bores me.”
“Really?” She caught her breath.
“Yes, really.”
“Oh. Shall I write you a letter, then?” she asked.
“Yes, do. And sign it with your full name, if you please. I’ll have no half measures if we are to play out this fantasy.”
She gave a chuckle. “Shall I embroider you a handkerchief too? Like the one I made for Cynthia one Christmas. Or perhaps I could make you a pen wiper, like I did for Diana.”
“I will accept one of each,” he answered generously. “It is the least you can do. For neither will take up as much of your time as that miniature gown you are sewing for my godson’s doll.”
“That is true,” she conceded. “I have never made anything so elaborate before in my life.”
“Did you finish it this morning?”
“Not quite.” She reached for his hand. “This is nice. Going out to lunch, I mean.”
Their fingers entwined. “Yes, it is,” he agreed, rubbing his thumb over her gloved knuckles.
“Where are we going?”
“Wards. It’s a hotel in Mayfair.”
She gave a happy sigh. “Mayfair! If they could all see me now.”
“Do you think your family will have puzzled it out yet?” he asked casually. “That you ran away to London. With me,” he said in answer to her quizzical look.
“I was not speaking of—of Penarth. I have been trying not to, if I am honest with you. Thoughts of home are not…” Her throat closed on the words, and Gervaise was sorry he had raised the matter.
“You will like Wards,” he said. “It is very grand and impressive. Even more so than The Citadel.”
“I don’t believe that for an instant!” she said, rallying at once. However, when they drew up outside the hotel’s opulent frontage, she was forced to take this back.
“I am glad I did not have to wear my old burgundy gown,” she murmured as he helped her down. “I doubt the doorman would even have admitted me!”
“Certainly, he would have,” Gervaise replied coolly, “or incurred my considerable displeasure.”
She laughed and they mounted the steps together.
An older woman in a very large mauve hat paused as she passed them by, giving them a hard stare.
She looked somewhat familiar, Gervaise thought as they passed through the doors, but it was not until they had removed their coats and been seated at a little marble table beneath a domed glass ceiling that he remembered who she was.
“Lady Sharpe,” he said aloud.
Caroline froze. “Where?” she gasped, dropping her napkin.
“I’m pretty sure that was her name. Isn’t that some neighbor of yours in Cornwall?”
Caroline leaned across the table, her face pale. “We have to leave!” she whispered, aghast. “At once!”
“She’s not in here,” he said soothingly. “I spotted her outside.”
Caroline’s color returned with a vengeance. Now she looked flustered and heated. “On the street, you mean? Do you think she saw me?” she asked anxiously.
“No,” he lied.
“Well, thank goodness for that!” She rested a hand against her plaid covered chest. “What a horrid scare!”
“Two champagne cocktails,” Gervaise told the waiter who had appeared at his elbow.
He melted away at once with an impeccable bow.
“Would that be so very terrible?” he asked casually, as though it would not have been inconvenient to himself if the old woman had hailed them.
At least Caroline had been wearing gloves, so she would not have spotted the lack of a ring.
“Of course it would!” she answered at once. “She knows my mother! She could write to her, and all would be discovered!” She swallowed and took a calming breath. “When did you ever meet old Lady Sharpe?” she asked, retrieving her napkin and fanning her hot face.
“At that Christmas party at Vance Park,” he replied calmly. “Emmeline introduced me.” Another waiter approached with a menu and Caroline practically flinched away from him, her nervous eyes scanning the room.
“Are you alright?” Gervaise asked in a low voice as the apologetic waiter retreated.
For some reason, her obvious horror satisfied a dark corner of his soul.
So, she was not quite so brazen about her situation after all!
He could work with that and turn it to his advantage, if only he could steel himself against his impulse to soothe her ruffled feathers.
It was strange. He was not so usually squeamish about his methods when it came to achieving his own ends.