Chapter 15
Javenia slipped out the front door, not wanting her mother or sister to ask about her destination. It had been hard enough to avoid their questions when she’d declined going to visit the Roberts’ townhouse for at home hours yesterday.
Apparently, Phillipa had carried her point with Cindy where Javenia hadn’t been able to.
It still did not signify. Lord Roberts had made it abundantly clear with his glare the evening before that she was still not welcome.
It made her adventure this morning even more risky, but she would not be dissuaded.
She’d waited this long to speak with Algenon, and she refused to wait a moment longer.
Since they hadn’t set a time, she went early enough that she wouldn’t miss him, yet late enough so as to not be rude.
John and Susannah would not turn her away.
They’d accept her in the middle of the night if she had a notion to show up at such an hour, but she didn’t want to be a burden on their kindness.
When she hailed a hackney, the driver raised a brow at her but said nothing. It was strange to see a lady traveling by herself, she knew, but married women of her age did so all the time, and no one questioned them.
Thankfully, this driver was a regular on these streets and knew her by name. The middle-aged man with a thinning pate and scar on his bottom lip tipped his cap to her.
“Where to, Miss 'arris?”
“Newhurst House, please.”
He scrambled down and opened the door. “Off ta see Lady Newhurst again. It’s been a spell since I took ya round there.”
“Since last season, I believe.” She took his hand as he helped her into the carriage, then she smiled her thanks as he shut the door.
Growing up, her mother had always spoken of the dangers of London, as if the whole town crawled with the worst kind of people, and yet there were kind men like this hackney driver.
In the years she’d been coming to Town, he’d been nothing but pleasant even if his raised brow let her know he questioned her choices.
Always proper, he and many others like him had driven her to and from places with nary an unkind word.
In contrast, one of the worst men she’d ever met in her life had been from the countryside. Society had proclaimed him a gentleman, a man of good breeding, but he’d been nothing of the sort. The contrast of the two was proof that good and bad existed everywhere.
Thoughts of Duncan made her wrap her arms about herself. Maybe she shouldn’t have come out this morning on her own. Then again, did it really matter? The only bad interactions she’d had with a man had been at the hands of someone she knew and trusted. Someone who had insisted he cared for her.
Not enough to care about her reputation, though.
Even though she wore her thick pelisse, she shivered in the cold air. She should have taken Duncan’s childhood interactions with Algenon, Nate, and John as a lifetime sign of his bad character, but they’d been young and she’d fully believed he’d grown out of such foolishness.
The driver took the next turn a little too sharp, and she tipped to the side, knocking her cheek against the side of the carriage.
A curse came from above. “Sorry, miss. Some idiot just took the turn too wide and nearly hit into us.”
She glanced out the window. The flash of a yellow coach, its crest bright in the morning sun, caught her attention as it travelled far too quickly down the busy London street. Of course Lord Falcross’s driver would have little concern for others on the road.
She rubbed the spot where her cheek had connected with the wood. It smarted and her cream gloves came away with a few streaks of red. It wasn’t bad, just a scrape, but there would definitely be a bruise by evening, if there wasn’t one forming already.
When the driver opened the door, however, his face fell and his accent grew thicker. “Oh dear, I am so sorry, miss. I ‘adn’t realized ya got ‘urt. If I ‘ad I’d ‘ave pulled over.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t know. I’d much rather have made it here on time than to be late for such a small incident.” Not that she really had a set time, but hopefully her explanation would assuage the man’s guilt. It wasn’t his fault Lord Falcross employed negligent servants.
She reached into her reticule, but he held up a hand. “I can’t charge ya for this ride. It wouldn’t be right.”
She removed a few coins anyway. “Then we will consider this payment for my next ride. Please return for me in two hours?”
He took the coins and smiled. They both knew full well that she’d paid for over two trips, but the man didn’t argue.
“That I can, and I’ll be sure to keep ya safe this time.”
Javenia smiled, then directed her attention to John’s townhouse.
The grey stone building wedged between others of its type symbolized freedom in a way she’d never considered.
When she visited her friends, she didn’t have to worry about her parents looking over her shoulder and judging her every move. Did Algenon feel the same?
Would he even show up?
What if he’d not considered the matter of their meeting settled, and so did not come this morning? Her chest constricted.
They needed to talk. It was time to see if they could fight for a future together.
Or would this be where their paths diverged?
A bone-deep ache filled her, freezing her feet to the ground.
Every time she’d come close to bringing up the subject in the past, she’d lost her courage before getting to the heart of the matter, afraid that if they crossed the line between friendship and love, they’d never be able to go back.
But time was running out.
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and threw back her shoulders. She could do this. Let it not be said that Miss Javenia Harris was a coward.
Algenon stabbed the kipper on his plate several times. He was supposed to be at Newhurst House, not staring across the table at Miss Weston and her eel of a father. Why had Father invited them to break their fast with them?
He’d not said anything to Algenon after the card party, freeing him from any suspicion that his father had seen his forward behavior toward Javenia. However, he’d also kept him especially busy all of yesterday as he followed Phillipa through the shops in search of the perfect bonnet for riding out.
Lady Roberts seemed to be recovering from whatever had ailed her, but her spirits still flagged.
Even this morning she looked as though she’d rather be abed than seated at the breakfast table with Lord Falcross and Miss Weston.
He’d rather she was resting as well. They could all go back to bed for all he cared. Maybe then he’d be free to leave.
He glanced down the table at his father. It was hard to have charitable thoughts about a person if they always got in the way of one’s happiness, and his father’s insistence that he stay and dine with them was doing just that.
Miss Weston peered around her father, her scandalously low dress providing far more of a view of her than Algenon ever wanted to see. If he’d had any hope of choking down more of his breakfast, it was gone.
“I thought we all might visit the Tower of London today, then maybe get tea at Gunter’s since it is too cold for ices.”
Lady Roberts looked up from her food, her brow pinched as she glanced at Algenon’s father. His father chewed his food thoughtfully. After a moment, he swallowed and took a sip of tea.
“I can see no reason why such an excursion would not suit.”
Algenon set his utensils down with a clink. “It is a Parliamentary day. There will be a great deal of discussion about the ongoing wars. Don’t you think you should be there?”
He glanced at Lord Falcross. Even though most of his words had been for his father, the reminder should spear him into playing a more active role in the House of Lords as well.
His Lordship gave a tiny shake of his head as if to say, “This young pup is too eager and doesn’t know what he’s about.”
Algenon’s stomach clenched, making the little he’d eaten sit like a rock in his gut. Did neither one of these men care about their responsibilities to the people, to their country?
Lord Roberts dabbed a napkin to his lips. “We have plenty of time before today’s meeting begins. Besides”—he rubbed the side of his temple—“it is not until four. A day out might do us all a bit of good.”
Maybe for Phillipa, but not for him. Actually, not for Phillipa either.
She hadn’t been herself since the card party.
At first, he’d assumed her distraction had something to do with Lord Hamdon, but when he’d teased her about carrying a tendre for the man, she’d only smiled and glanced at their father.
It was probably the reason she was absent from the breakfast table this morning. Had Father pressured her like he’d pressured his other sisters? They had only been in town a little over a week. Surely he’d not pressured her toward one of Lady Roberts’s cousins?
Algenon pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it entered. Lady Roberts herself had apologized to Phillipa for the introduction and his father would not be imprudent when it came to a solid future for one of his daughters.
Without Phillipa as an ally, Algenon glanced at Lady Roberts for help. If anyone could persuade his father out of this excursion, she could. She, however, examined her plate with more concentration than was necessary.
If she would not help, he’d have to stand his ground. “Father, I am expected at Newhurst House this morning. Lord Newhurst and I have some pressing matters of business to discuss.”
“Nonsense. Whatever you have, you can reschedule. Johnathan will understand.”
Algenon’s fingers curled into fists on the table. Neither he nor John were children anymore, and yet his father continued to treat them both as such.
“It cannot be delayed.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each of the words.
“It will have to be. You’d not want to disappoint Miss Weston, would you?”
The way his father had brushed off his needs for that of Miss Weston galled him. Why did everyone else’s well-being come before his?
He opened his mouth to argue, but his father spoke first. “If you must see your friend, why not have him and his wife accompany us? We can afford two more members in our party.”
Algenon swallowed down his argument, an idea forming in his mind.
It would make his father angry, but frankly, he didn’t care anymore.
“Very well. I need to send round a note.” He stood and tossed his napkin on the table.
“Do excuse me.” He gave a slight bow to the whole table and left without a backward glance.
If Javenia had arrived at Newhurst House like he suspected, this note would find them all seated at breakfast. If worded correctly, he hoped John would assume Javenia was included and extend the invitation.
She would, of course, accept—unless he’d already fallen face first into her black books again.
She would understand, wouldn’t she? She had to.
With a determined stride, he marched down the hall and into the sitting room where his previous stepmother had kept a writing desk. The cylindrical top rolled back easily, revealing its precious contents.
Picking up a paper and quill, he jotted down his request, a silent prayer on his lips.
If they had other plans, or if John simply did not wish to socialize, he’d be stuck with Miss Weston for the better part of the day.
They’d already been seen together at multiple places over the last two weeks. Gossip was sure to follow.
He sanded the note, then held it up by two fingers while it dried. Task complete, he turned to leave, when another idea struck him. He turned back and placed the first letter on the smooth surface.
He stared down at the swirls in the wood’s grain, his gaze unfocused. The plan was risky. It might even make matters worse, but he needed to try.
With his hand shaking but resolve firm, he began to write.
Dearest Javenia,
Forgive me for not meeting you at the appointed place and time. Please believe me, I would have if my father hadn’t stopped me and demanded I break my fast with company this morning.
He hesitated, the quill hanging suspended over the paper, nervous to pen the words that could break everything.
If he told her what had actually happened all those years ago, she’d be mortified.
The one promise she’d extracted out of him, the promise he’d kept tighter than any other, was that he’d not tell a soul what had transpired. And he hadn’t.
But his father had been standing in the shadows. He knew everything.
Javenia, there are so many words I wish to say, so much—
The door behind him opened and shut with such force that he jumped.
“Roberts!”