Chapter 13 Pesky Relatives #2
But Lord Nicholas grinned wider. “Your parents visited us, said they’d met old Morington with their daughter in Manchester, and wanted to meet my Jane. She, apparently, had been to Manchester, too.”
Lady Bowen leaned forward, hands knit together. “We didn’t know for sure that the woman in Manchester and the woman Victor kissed on the doorstep were the same, but…”
“We tricked you.” Sir Nicholas winked. “Just a little. Only to figure out if we were right. And we are right!”
“What exactly did my parents say?” Did the two before her now know about the money?
The Bowens froze, terribly polite and slightly uncomfortable-looking smiles contorting their faces.
“They were lovely,” Sir Nicholas said through his teeth.
“They just wanted us to know about you, that’s all.” Lady Bowen reached a reassuring hand.
“And to know how many thousand a year you have.” Sir Nicholas lifted his brows. “As an heiress.”
The Bowens’ gazes slide down her worn gown then back up to her face. They clearly and understandably did not believe she was an heiress.
“What do you want with me?” Persephone asked.
“To meet you.” Lady Bowen’s face softened.
“To see,” Sir Nicholas said, “who has pulled that stick all the way out of old Victor’s arse.”
“Nico!” Lady Bowen swatted at him.
He dodged out of the way. “It’s true! The man’s been smiling. It’s unnerving.”
“It’s interesting,” Lady Bowen corrected. “I suppose we wanted to meet you to know if… if you are simply sleeping together or if… you are more.”
Persephone’s heart shrank. It could probably fit in her palm, and it hurt to have it feel so tiny. “The former, my lady.”
“I don’t believe it.” Sir Nicholas shook his head.
“The man’s been working hard the past fortnight, and I doubt he came up with the idea of working all on his own.
He met you right around the same time, as far as we know.
And there is the… jewelry. And he’s refusing to meet any more marriage prospects. ”
“Yes. You’re right.” Lady Bowen patted her husband’s arm. “There is that. I do think he has honorable intentions toward you, Mrs. Graves.”
“And you want to scare me off.” Persephone stood. It was time for her to leave.
“Absolutely not!” Lady Bowen’s curls bounced as she shook her head.
“You don’t have to be nice,” Persephone said. “I do not intend to chain him. I—”
“You’re going to the park with us.” Sir Nicholas bounded toward the door.
Lady Bowen stood, hooked her arm through Persephone’s, and dragged her toward the front door. “Excellent idea. It’s almost time. We should be on our way.”
“No. What park?” Persephone dug her heels into the ground, little good it did. So she simply just gave up to the force that was the Bowens and soon found herself in the street between them.
“Hyde Park, of course.” Lady Bowen frowned. “Do you not know? About Victor’s show today?”
Show? “I guess I do not.”
“Why in heaven’s name would he not tell you?” Lady Bowen’s brows knit together. “I’m convinced, as is Nico, it’s all for you. Well you must come, whether Victor wants it or not. And even if it doesn’t go as he plans, don’t let him throw you over.”
Because she didn’t seem to be able to fight them, Persephone let the Bowens drag her into Hyde Park. Her hair streamed down her back, and her gown marked her as different from all the other finely-garbed strollers. She felt their stares, ignored their wrinkled noses.
But the Bowens didn’t seem to mind. They stayed close and spoke with her like she had always been at their sides, had always been part of their family.
How different from her parents, who had seen Percy and sneered at him because his clothes were not as expensive, his manners not as refined.
Her eyes burned. Why was she such a watering pot these days?
“Look,” Lady Bowen said when they reached the far side of the park. She pointed to a small stage erected in front of the Round Pond. “It’s starting.”
A man climbed the steps to the stage, and a large crowd had begun to gather round it. The man, with his slumped shoulders, looked oddly familiar.
“What’s happening?” Persephone asked.
“You don’t know?” Sir Nicholas said. “As an old Manchester girl?”
She saw it then—the crowd, the man on the stage, the device in his hand. And she knew, too, why she recognized him. He was the alchemist they’d seen in Manchester, the one with the hot air balloon device.
She pushed closer to the crowd, breaking away from Lady Bowen and Sir Nicholas. She could not break through the back edge of it, but she was now close enough to hear the alchemist speak. The same speech from Manchester, but…
A hot air balloon appeared in the air behind him, gathering shape and form out of dazzling light. A glamour.
As the alchemist spoke, the balloon was thrown about by wind. Its passengers screamed, one fell to the ground. Dramatic. She knew the rest of the story, and she tore her eyes away from the glamour claiming the sky behind the alchemist to look for—
Yes, there.
Victor. He stood behind the stage, hands on hips, gaze on the glamours above his head. Oh, she wanted to kiss his furrowed brow, his crooked lips, his broken nose. He was doing it.
By the time the second hot air balloon landed safely on the ground beside the pond and disappeared into thin air, she could barely see Victor.
Her eyes too full of tears. She covered her mouth with both hands to keep everyone from seeing how wide she smiled, how completely she was in love with the man behind the stage.
But she heard the roar of the crowd’s appreciation and laughed through her tears.
The alchemist stepped off the stage and was immediately lost in an ocean of interested investors. Victor had done it. Why hadn’t he told her?
His eyes met hers across the teeming, rowdy crush. And the man’s cheeks flushed red. She laughed again and lowered her hands.
“I’m proud of you.” She said it so softly. He could not have heard her. But his cheeks flushed even brighter. He stepped toward her and was caught by the alchemist. He tried to shake the alchemist off, but the men gathered around wouldn’t allow it. She lost sight of him in the crowd.
“That was marvelous,” Lady Bowen breathed from nearby.
“I hate to compliment the man, but”—Sir Nicholas whistled—“I agree.”
“I must go.” Persephone backed away from the crowd. She couldn’t pretend anymore. It hurt too much. It felt like she was digging her own grave.
“No, wait.” Lady Bowen trotted after her. “He’ll want you—”
“He didn’t want me here. It’s fine. I… Thank you for bringing me. Tell Victor he is… he is wonderful.” Then she ducked her head and ran.
* * *
It had worked. The man standing in front of Mr. Peabottom, the hot air balloon alchemist, was Lord Driditch, an earl worth more than most of the other men in England combined.
And he was offering a massive sum to Peabottom for development of his aeronautical device, a sum which Peabottom was contractually obligated to share with Victor.
Fifty-fifty. It wasn’t a fair split. The alchemist had done all the work.
But they wouldn’t have the investor without Victor. He refused to feel guilty.
And he refused to stay around any longer. Not with Persephone gone. God, he’d not meant for her to be here, but he was damned glad she had been. His victory was all the sweeter for it. He’d catch up with her and take her home, and they’d celebrate tonight.
“Well done, man.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Victor looked up to see his brother-in-law. “That was impressive.”
“Beautifully done, Victor!” Jane hugged him then held him at arm’s length. “I’m terribly proud of you.”
I’m proud of you. He was pretty sure those were the words Persephone had mouthed from across the crowd.
“I have to go.” Victor patted his sister’s head and slapped Bowen’s back and pushed through them.
“That was very like your brother,” Bowen said as Victor trotted after Persephone.
“Forgive him. He’s in love.” That Jane.
“He wasn’t in love until the last fortnight or so, and he’s always like this. What’s his excuse been then?”
Victor ignored that and picked up his pace, but Persephone was nowhere to be seen.
She wasn’t in Hyde Park. She wasn’t at his Mayfair townhouse. She wasn’t even at her own dingy room. When Sarah popped her head out of the door, she let Victor know she hadn’t seen Persephone at all.
That meant there remained one place to look.
He groaned as he went back down the stairs and into the dying light. He’d had his fill of graveyards. But that didn’t matter right now.
Only finding Persephone did.