Chapter Twenty
There was little time on Friday for doubts and nerves. A demanding new case had kept Constance and Solomon busy all day, and although they returned home earlier than usual, a string of questions and trivial problems to be solved took up all their attention.
They barely had a chance to eat, rushing from room to room to quell crises.
In fact, the servants had made the place shine, the extra lighting outside and in had been well placed, and apart from a few minor misunderstandings in the kitchen, all was going well.
The footmen hired for the evening seemed to be well trained and appeared to Constance to understand what was expected of them.
Only when Constance and Solomon finally bolted upstairs to change, a bare half-hour before their guests were expected, did she find space to breathe, and remember what she had intended to do.
Anne Morris was already waiting for her in the bedchamber. Solomon went into his dressing room. Constance went to the dressing table and took the small leather box from her jewelry case.
“One moment, Anne,” she said, and followed Solomon into his room.
He had already flung his coat and necktie onto the bed and was about to pull his shirt off. He paused, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She closed the door and walked up to him, taking his hand. She placed the little box on his palm and curled his fingers around it. “I thought you might like this. It seems the right occasion to give it to you.”
His eyebrows twitched in curiosity, but his distracted face had softened. He opened the box, and his breath caught at the sight of the lapis lazuli ring. He took it out reverently and slipped it onto his finger.
“How handsome,” he murmured, moving his hand to catch the light. Then he bent nearer and kissed her lips. “Thank you. I love it. But I’m afraid I never thought of a first-party gift.”
“It wasn’t really for that. I just had the urge to give you something. I didn’t really know why until after I had bought it. Forgive me, Solomon.”
He took her in his arms, his brows pulling together. “For what?”
“The fuss I made over this party. I know you’re doing it for me. In my selfish temper I forgot how much this costs you. You are not happy at such gatherings, and I was concerned only with how I would feel, and how my standing would affect yours. I forgot your feelings.”
He smiled. “I am always happy with you, Constance.”
She took his face between her hands. “And I with you. I love you, and there’s nowhere I could be prouder than by your side.”
She kissed him and his arms tightened, just as she slipped free. “Twenty minutes, Sol!”
*
Constance, wearing a new ivory silk gown with a deep-red shawl and reticule, and the garnet necklace Solomon had given her as a wedding gift, strolled among her guests, smiling and chatting, making everyone feel welcome.
It was remarkably similar to welcoming men to her establishment, and slowly, she felt that boundary she had tried to draw between notorious courtesan and wife of a respectable man begin to dissolve.
This “hostess” role was part of who she was, a talent she had improved on over the years.
And there was no time for nerves or worries, although somewhere she was still stunned by the number of people who had accepted her invitation.
She had invited too many in the end, so that the house would not look too empty, and had imagined feeding all of London’s poor with the leftovers from the mountain of food she had ordered. Instead, few had refused.
The neighbors had all come, although they might not the next time if they learned her past from other guests.
Solomon’s closest business and charitable associates were there too, from Sir Nicholas and Lady Swan, whom she had met before, to the Halliwells, whom she had not, and the men who now ran the various branches of his business for him.
Griz and Dragan had come early, and were still here.
So had Lord and Lady Trench, perhaps at Griz’s request. Zenobia Paul had arrived, alone and curious as ever.
Edith was quietly playing her violin in the background. Those nearest her often paused to listen with some appreciation. Later in the evening, she would perform a complete piece by Vivaldi.
Constance gave her an approving smile as she passed, and then, catching sight of a new arrival, went to welcome him.
“Mrs. Grey,” said Jason Madly, who had once figured as a suspect in the doorstep case but was a much older acquaintance. He bowed over her hand, his wicked eyes dancing. “You cannot imagine my joy at finally receiving an invitation from you.”
“Oh, you must thank my husband for that,” Constance said. “He likes you for some reason.”
“Poor deluded fool,” Madly said, sweeping his gaze around the room, nodding amiably as he encountered Solomon’s gaze.
“A glass of wine?” Constance said as the footman hired for the evening approached. “Perhaps I should tell you Mrs. St. John and her daughter Mrs. Cordell are here.”
“I already saw them,” Madly said.
Constance smiled. “You already knew they were coming.”
“We have made our peace, she and I.” He leaned closer. “Thank you, Constance.”
She smiled as he strolled away toward Solomon. Mrs. St. John, dressed in elegant black, watched him surreptitiously.
“Mrs. Grey, you dazzle as always.”
She turned quickly to face another late arrival. Kellar, looking handsome and distinguished in his evening clothes. “So do you! Thank you for coming.”
“How could I stay away? Is there any more news on Darrow?”
“He has pleaded guilty to both murders. Beyond that, we have heard nothing. I don’t expect to, formally, although I can introduce you to a policeman if you wish. Inspector Harris has become something of a friend and ally.”
“I would be delighted,” Kellar said politely. “Have I missed your mother?”
Constance glanced at him quickly. “She won’t come.
She never makes public appearances.” She paused, and he halted with her.
For the first time since her first guest had arrived, her stomach churned, not with social nerves but with the difficulty of saying what she had to.
“My mother lost her pride for many years. Now that she is reclaiming it…” She drew in a breath, “Don’t take it from her again. ”
Kellar regarded her thoughtfully, his face, as usual, giving little away. “You blame me for that loss of pride. With some justification, it must be said.”
“No,” Constance said. “Juliet made her own decisions. I know that. And she will continue to do so. But she needs truth and peace. Not you chasing your lost youth or whatever it is you meant by searching for her.”
Kellar took a sip of his wine. “I understand you,” he said at last. “Who is the violinist? She is very good…”
*
Juliet was not used to this kind of fear.
Like making the decision to dine with him, it had taken a great deal of courage to put on her glad rags and pin up her hair decently.
This was worse, though, because it didn’t just concern her.
It concerned Constance, and she would die before she endangered her daughter’s new life.
No wonder her knees grew increasingly wobbly as she approached Constance’s house. Many carriages lined the road, and the Greys’ house was a blaze of lights. Sweet violin music drifted out among the sounds of civilized chatter and laughter.
Juliet walked by the window, taking in the bright colors, the sparkle of gold and jewels in candlelight. She wasn’t convinced her knees would actually carry her to the front door. She wasn’t sure she wanted them to.
She knew he would be there.
People would know she was Mrs. Grey’s mother. She had toned down the vulgarity of her looks, but even so…
Courage, Juliet. You’ve faced down a hell of a lot worse.
She turned her feet up the path, through the pretty front garden. A liveried footman opened the door. He must have been hired for the evening. She presented her card, and he took her cloak.
She felt naked without it. Naked and common and disgraceful.
Well, if Connie can do it, so can I.
She followed the music toward the big drawing room, where the Venetian portrait of Constance and Solomon hung over the fireplace. She had enjoyed her times in that room, at whatever time of the day.
But the first person she saw was not Constance.
It was Sebastian Kellar, strolling past her line of vision, so distinguished and handsome that her heart as well as her knees failed her.
She was physically incapable of turning into that room, even though Constance or Solomon, or both of them, would immediately come to greet her.
She walked straight past, along to the servants’ hall and down the passage to the back door. She turned the key and went out.
And that was as far as her knees would carry her.
She sat on the little wrought-iron bench, careless of her gown, which would now never be seen by Connie’s friends. Nor by Sebastian.
Five minutes to breathe, and then she would go home to her own comfortable little flat, her pride and joy. Her security. Her initial instinct had been right. She should never have come.
But there was no harm done. Connie would see by the card she had handed over that she had dropped in. No one else would ever know. All was well.
She gazed at the setting sun in its glorious pink-and-gold sky and just breathed. She thought of how far she had fallen, but mostly, she thought of how far she had come up again. Scarcely the life she had envisaged at twenty, but it was a good life, an interesting life.
And she had an amazing daughter. Maddening and clever, lovely and loyal and determined. She had long known that if she had done nothing else right in her life, there was Constance. Even when she had worried her the most, Juliet’s pride in her had never wavered. Her love had never failed.
And that was enough.
She smiled at the sky. The bench creaked beside her.
She knew who it was, even before he spoke.