Chapter 15
“Your lordship, a message.”
Aaron paused on the steps of White’s, recognizing the ragged boy who sometimes ran errands for Howlett. The child couldn’t be more than ten, thin as a wraith despite the coins the Runner surely paid him.
“From Mr. Howlett?” Aaron accepted the folded paper, already knowing what it would say.
“Yes, Your Grace. Said it was urgent you got it.”
Aaron pressed a sovereign into the boy’s grimy palm, watching his eyes widen at the unexpected fortune. “Get yourself a proper meal. And a coat. Winter’s not finished with us yet.”
The boy clutched the coin and vanished into the crowd before Aaron could change his mind. He unfolded the message, reading Howlett’s handwriting:
No trace of Lord S. Searched usual haunts for Wigram and his men. Will continue.
Aaron crumpled the paper and let it fall into the gutter. Three days until the ball, and George remained as elusive as smoke. The fool was either very clever or very lucky. Given what Aaron knew of Louise’s brother, he suspected the latter wouldn’t hold much longer.
Aaron entered Calborough House through the front door, handing his coat to a footman, when he heard something extraordinary.
Laughter. Not just any laughter, but the sound of pure joy echoing from the drawing room. He followed the sound and stopped dead in the doorway.
Someone had pushed the furniture against the walls, creating a makeshift stage in the center of the room.
Emily stood on an ottoman, draped in what appeared to be one of Cecilia’s old cloaks, her arms spread dramatically.
Beside her, Buttercup sat wearing what could only be described as a doublet, fashioned from burgundy curtain fabric, a paper ruff around his massive neck.
“But soft!” Emily proclaimed with theatrical fervor while gesturing dramatically at the window, standing beside Buttercup.
“What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!” She placed her small hand on Buttercup’s massive head and spoke in what she clearly thought was a man’s voice.
“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”
Buttercup chose that moment to begin chewing the edge of his costume.
“Romeo, you’re supposed to be pining, not dining,” Cecilia said from her position as apparent director.
She wore an elaborate turban that had been fashionable thirty years ago, wielding a walking stick like a conductor’s baton.
“What on earth is happening here?”
Three heads turned toward him. Four, if he counted Buttercup, who wagged his tail so enthusiastically his ruff slipped sideways.
“We’re performing Shakespeare,” Emily announced proudly. “I’m Juliet, and Buttercup is Romeo because he’s the only gentleman available.”
“Buttercup has the sensitive soul required for Romeo,” Cecilia added with perfect seriousness. “See how he yearns?”
Aaron looked at the dog, who had progressed from chewing his costume to trying to scratch behind his ear despite the restrictive doublet.
“Yearning. Yes, I see it.”
A sound drew his attention to where Louise sat curled in a chair by the window. She had her hand pressed to her mouth, clearly trying to stifle laughter. When their eyes met, her mirth escaped in a small snort that she immediately tried to cover with a cough.
Something shifted in Aaron’s chest, warm and dangerous.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Cecilia commanded. “Sit down. We’re just getting to the good part.”
Aaron moved to the only other available chair, which was next to Louise. He settled carefully, maintaining a proper distance, though he could smell her lavender scent, could see the way afternoon light caught the copper in her hair.
“Continue, Romeo,” Cecilia instructed.
Buttercup had given up on his costume and lay down with a heavy sigh.
“He’s overwhelmed with emotion,” Emily explained seriously. “Miss Whitfield says Shakespeare can do that to sensitive souls.”
“Indeed,” Aaron managed, fighting his own urge to laugh.
Emily launched back into her soliloquy, mangling half the words but delivering them with such passion that accuracy seemed irrelevant. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”
Buttercup rolled onto his back, legs in the air, the doublet bunching around his neck.
“He’s dying of love,” Emily interpreted.
This time, Louise’s laughter couldn’t be contained. It bubbled out of her, bright and unexpected as spring water. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking, and Aaron found himself transfixed.
A true, heartfelt laugh. Not the polite chuckles of dinner conversation, but real, helpless mirth.
“I’m sorry,” Louise gasped between giggles. “It’s just … his expression … he looks so tragic …”
Aaron looked at Buttercup, whose tongue now lolled out the side of his mouth while his legs remained skyward, and felt his own control crack. A chuckle escaped him, rusty from disuse.
“Even Shakespeare himself couldn’t have imagined such pathos,” he said, then pressed his lips together.
Emily beamed at what she took as praise. “Should I do the death scene? Buttercup is very good at playing dead.”
“Perhaps we should spare Romeo further tragedy,” Cecilia suggested, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “He seems to have suffered enough for art.”
As if in agreement, Buttercup wriggled out of his doublet entirely and padded over to Aaron, resting his massive head on his knee with a look that pleaded for attention.
“Et tu, Buttercup?” Aaron scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Though I suppose I’m mixing the plays now.”
“He knows quality when he sees it,” Cecilia observed. “Dogs have excellent judgment about character.”
Louise rose to help Emily down from her makeshift stage. “You were wonderful, darling. You could perform at Drury Lane Theater.”
“What’s that?”
“The grandest theater in all of London,” Louise explained, unpinning the cloak from Emily’s shoulders. “Where all the finest actors perform for the king.”
“Did they have dogs in their plays?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Then our theater is better,” Emily declared with six-year-old logic.
Aaron watched Louise smile at her sister, smoothing her hair with gentle fingers. The softness of the moment, along with his aunt’s smile, made his chest tighten.
He wanted. He wanted things he had no right to want.
“We should clean up,” Louise said, looking at the disordered room. “Mrs. Hammond will have fits if she sees what we’ve done to her drawing room.”
“Mrs. Hammond has no soul for the theater,” Cecilia declared. “But you’re right. Emily, help me gather Buttercup’s costume pieces. Or what remains of them.”
As they worked to restore order, Aaron helped by moving furniture back to its proper place. His fingers brushed Louise’s as they both reached for the same chair, and she jerked back as if burned.
“I should check on the accounts,” she said quickly, not meeting his eyes.
“Louise,” Emily called before she could escape. “Are you happy now?”
Louise froze in the doorway. “What do you mean, darling?”
“You laughed. Really laughed. You haven’t done that in forever.”
“We had so much fun today,” Emily continued before Louise could respond. “First, the dancing lesson with Lady Merrow, where Buttercup learned to waltz, and then our play! Lady Merrow said we should do more performances. Maybe next time you could be Juliet, Louise!”
Aaron saw Louise’s throat work as she swallowed. “Perhaps, darling. We’ll see.”
“It started with the most wonderful dance lesson this morning,” Lady Merrow explained to Aaron. “Emily was worried she couldn’t dance, so we taught her. Even Buttercup joined in.”
“Buttercup waltzed!” Emily added proudly. “He kept perfect time with his tail!”
“And that gave us the idea for the play,” Lady Merrow continued. “If a dog could waltz, surely he could play Romeo.”
“Louise was brilliant at the piano,” Emily turned to her sister, bouncing with remembered excitement. “She played for ages and ages without stopping, and she was smiling the whole time. Weren’t you, Louise?”
Louise rose abruptly, color flooding her cheeks. “I should check on the accounts. The household ledgers need reconciling before the month’s end.”
“The accounts?” Emily’s face fell. “But we were having such fun talking about our day.”
“I know, darling, but duty calls.” Louise kissed Emily’s forehead quickly, avoiding Aaron’s gaze entirely. “Lady Merrow will tell you all about her plans for tomorrow’s adventures.”
She fled before anyone could respond. Aaron stood holding a cushion, feeling oddly bereft. The warmth her laughter had kindled in his chest remained, but now it ached with everything unsaid between them.
“She worries too much,” Cecilia observed, watching him with those too-knowing eyes. “About her brother, about Emily, about the future. Sometimes I think she’s forgotten she’s allowed to simply be happy.”
Aaron said nothing, but his aunt continued as if he had.
“Of course, she’s not the only one in this house who’s forgotten that.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Aaron said stiffly, “I have work to do.”
“Of course you do.” Cecilia’s tone suggested she knew exactly what he was running from. “Heaven forbid you simply enjoy yourself for a moment.”
Aaron retreated to his study, closing the door firmly behind him.
No matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t escape the echo of Louise’s laughter. Couldn’t forget how natural it had felt to sit beside her, watching Emily’s performance, sharing a moment of simple joy.
He thought of Howlett’s message, of George still missing, of Wigram and his smuggling operation.
He should tell Louise, prepare her for the possibility that her brother might never be found. Or worse, he might be found too late.
But she had been happy. Truly happy, if only for a moment. How could he be the one to destroy that?
He could protect Louise from the truth a little longer. Could give her these last days before the ball without the shadow of her brother’s danger darkening them.
The image of her laughing rose unbidden in his mind. The way her entire face had transformed, years of worry falling away to reveal the woman beneath.
Beautiful. Vivacious. Alive.
Aaron set down his pen, running a hand through his hair.
Who was he fooling? His control had shattered the moment she laughed. His distance had crumbled when she smiled. His walls had fallen so gradually he hadn’t noticed until he stood in their ruins, wanting nothing more than to be the reason for her joy.
A knock interrupted his brooding. Emily peered around the door.
“Your Grace? I forgot to thank you for watching our play.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She entered fully, approaching his desk with unusual hesitancy. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think Louise could be happy here? Really happy, not just pretending?”
The question pierced him with its innocent directness. “I hope so.”
“Me too.” Emily twisted the edge of the cloak. “She smiles more when you’re around. Even when you’re being stiff.”
Aaron found himself without words.
“Anyway,” Emily continued, “Lady Merrow says dinner is in an hour, and you’re not allowed to claim urgent business and skip it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Emily grinned and scampered off, leaving Aaron alone with the uncomfortable truth a six-year-old had so easily identified: Louise smiled more when he was around.
Despite his coldness, his distance, his careful control, she still smiled for him.