Chapter 13
Lady Hester Briarwood’s tea shop was packed to the brim with elegant people dressed in every hue, eagerly partaking in pastries of many varieties.
Deimos knew Alice so well that he had arranged for a tiered tray of sweets. There were cakes, scones, and the most delicate of bonbons placed beautifully upon the painted plates.
The conversation was frequently punctured by sighs of sheer bliss as people took their first bites.
Alice had thought she’d understood bliss before. She’d been mistaken. Now that she had known what there was between a man and a woman, she knew that cake was a distant second in the pursuit of ecstasy. Still, she did adore cake.
Deimos chose a particularly decadent slice and passed it to her. “For you, my darling,” he said, his eyes dancing.
The one thing she had truly come to understand was that Deimos had every desire to please her. In all things. And she wanted the same for him.
Sometimes, she worried that in his pursuit of helping her he was not helping himself enough.
But last night he had said she’d taught him. Somehow, that had made this whole thing even better.
He was a marvelous man, who had so much to offer, but he had not yet shown the world his true capabilities. Or at least, that was what she saw.
If he could help the world the way he helped her?
Dear God in heaven, nothing would stand in his way, and she so longed to help him see that.
But as far as she could see, there was a sort of cynicism in the way Deimos lived, which was very different than the rest of his family, as if he could no longer choose to believe that people could be good.
She supposed she understood. But surely it was still worth the pursuit.
So, as she chose a scone, placed it on a plate, and passed it to him with a merry grin, she decided that somehow she would find a way to help him now.
He stared at the scone. “For me?” he asked softly.
“Of course,” she said brightly. “I’ve noticed you preferred scones, no cream. Just butter. And since you always look out for me with my cake, how can I not look out for you?”
He stilled, taking some meaning from her choosing a scone for him.
He looked up then and met her eyes. And his face was soft, hopeful. “You’re falling in love with me,” he said.
She sputtered on her tea. “You deduce this from a scone?”
He smiled slowly. “Yes. What you just did is the sort of thing people do for those they love.”
She plunked her cup down in her saucer, her heart racing, thinking of all those times he’d selected sweets for her. “Does that mean you’ve been falling in love with me?”
He tilted his head to the side, staring at her as if he was deeply grateful that she was catching on.
And he reached across the table and took her hand in his for a brief moment.
“There’s somewhere I want you to take me,” she said softly, as she slipped her hand back before anyone could notice their intimacy and took a sip from her cup of tea.
He took a bite of scone, closed his eyes as though it were heaven, then asked, “Where? I’m thrilled to take you anywhere you command.”
“You are so eager to be my servant,” she teased.
“Oh, I am eager to kneel and kiss your feet, my lady fair,” he intoned, his gaze smoldering with promise.
“I don’t think you could ever be on your knees, Deimos. For anyone. I think you will always be a man of great character who leads rather than follows.”
“I could follow you,” he offered.
“Let’s go side-by-side instead,” she said, realizing that for some reason, he was trying to ignore his own capability in his need to support her. “Don’t you think that would be better?”
He smiled at her. “Perhaps. Tell me where you wish to go. A lecture? A gallery? Lady Upperton’s to educate more irritating souls?”
She cleared her throat. “I want you to take me to Parliament.”
He coughed, just before he took another bite. “I beg your pardon.”
“I’ve heard there’s a room ladies can watch from.”
He sucked in a breath. “There is for the House of Commons. You can’t see what happens in the Lords. The room is horrible, and you won’t really be able to see or hear.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Oh.”
“Why do you want to go?” he asked.
She frowned, feeling at a loss. It was so terrible that ladies were not allowed to witness their own government.
“My brother, Cassius, is very interested in the way the world works, and he helps your uncle, the duke.” She sat a little straighter.
“And I want to know how it really works too. After Lady Upperton’s salon, I find myself quite eager to see how gentlemen speak about politics. ”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you. Gentlemen speak in hollowed tones, rabbiting on about ideas, and then never do anything about those ideas.”
“You sound most jaded,” she said.
“I am,” he replied honestly, leaning back. “Unlike most of my family, I see the world for how it is.”
“And how is the world?” she asked.
“Rotten to the core. There are a few of my cousins who have seen that too, but I feel as if marriage and love make them pretend it’s not that way.
I don’t think I can do that. I’ve seen the core of how people are, and most of them are not like Briarwoods.
Or your family. Most of them are scared.
Most of them only care about money and power, and they don’t even care about their own grandchildren, not really.
They’re willing to leave the world in a worse state than they found it just for a bit of power.
” He hesitated and then ventured his very first ever skepticism about what she wished to do.
“Alice, I don’t know if you should involve yourself in that. ”
“I want to go,” she said firmly. “Will you not take me?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I will take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Oh, really?” she said. “What if I asked to go to an East End tavern?” she teased.
He groaned. “I’d probably even take you there, but we’d have to go in disguise,” he said.
She quickly shook her head. “No, I have no desire to entertain myself off the poverty of others.”
He braced his forearm along the linen tablecloth. “What do you mean?”
She frowned. “I’ve never understood why lords go slumming into the poor sections of town. I know that gentlemen do it for entertainment, but I can’t understand why.”
“It’s because they want to feel alive,” he said.
“What?” she said with a gasp.
He drew in a long breath. “You see, most people don’t feel alive at all, Alice. Most people are just getting through day by day.”
“But they have so much,” she protested.
“I sometimes think that having so much is what makes them hollow. They don’t value anything.
The only people who really value things, Alice, are those who understand that it can all be taken away.
One cares much more for a loaf of bread if one can’t get it.
A person doesn’t care at all about a loaf of bread,” he said, “if they own a great palace, filled with every food one can imagine, like my family has. And the only reason my family cares is because of my grandmother and the way she was raised. I fear that will one day fade away when she’s no longer with us. ”
She gave him a stern look. “Don’t ever talk about your grandmother like that. She will live forever.”
“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “None of us wish to ever think of her slipping away from us. She is the backbone of this family, but the further we get away from her, the less we understand how the lives of poor people really are. Or we don’t understand that we came from that.
You see, most people, I think, don’t even see poor people as people at all in our set. ”
She winced. “I don’t think you’re wrong. When I look at all the foundling hospitals, the way people talk about the children as if the children should be grateful for a crust of bread and a harsh word and a stick upon their back. I don’t understand it.”
“That’s because you’ve been raised with love, just like most of the Briarwoods,” he said. “And I’m grateful that you have been.”
She dared to reach back across the table, not caring who saw. She realized she was such a different young woman than who she was when this Season started. She twined their fingers together.
“Don’t you think we should fight to change it then?”
“Of course,” he said, looking at their hands as if it was the only thing giving him hope at present. “But my family has been fighting to change things for as long as I’ve been alive, and I don’t think that much has really been done.”
“What about the ending of—?”
“Look,” he cut in, as if he could not bear to really think about it, “yes, there will be small triumphs. But people are how people are. Shakespeare teaches us that.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He ground his teeth, then bit out, “The reason why people love Shakespeare so much, Alice, and especially my family, is because he says eternal truths. He understands the human condition. People have not changed since Shakespeare’s time, Alice. They’re not going to change in the future.”
“Really?” she asked softly as he pulled his hand back before people could stare. “No one?”
“I suppose they can, but it’s very hard.”
She hesitated. “So you think I can’t change?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Isn’t it?” she countered.
He looked away. “Alice, you’re different. You’re rare. If you woke up tomorrow and told me you wanted to be a courtesan, though that might be hard for me to believe, I wouldn’t put anything past you.”
At that, she grinned. “Maybe I’d rather be your courtesan than your wife. They seem to have a great deal of fun and freedom.”
“They do until they reach a certain age,” he pointed out, “and then it can be quite tricky for them. Have you ever read any of the memoirs of the courtesans?”
“No, but perhaps I shall put that on my list.”
He groaned. “I never should have put the idea into your head. Your mother will murder me.”
“My mother would never be upset with you for suggesting a book to read.”