Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The city air thickened before they even reached it. Adeline felt it, the shift from open country to the slow, churning pulse of London long before the first roofs rose from the haze. Cordelia’s gloved hand rested lightly on her reticule.
“You’re very quiet,” she said.
Adeline smiled faintly. “Carriage roads never lend themselves to conversation.”
“Nonsense. You’ve endured worse journeys in far better spirits. What’s troubling you? You’ve been pale since we crossed Hounslow.”
The wheels struck a rut, jostling them both. Outside, the coachman called to the horses. The sound of wheels on stone replaced the softer rhythm of earth. They had entered the outskirts where nature was cloaked in stone.
“It’s nothing,” Adeline said. “I suppose I’ve grown used to the silence of Greystone. London feels like an approaching storm.”
“A pleasant storm,” Cordelia said, “and one you’ll weather perfectly. You particularly, little storm-bird. Music. Dances. There’s no better cure for nerves than company.”
Adeline turned her gaze to the window. A line of shops rolled past, milliners, apothecaries, booksellers, and, beyond them, the sweep of brick terraces. She caught her reflection in the glass, composed, unremarkable. Safe.
Cordelia’s voice softened. “If you’re worrying about meeting him, you needn’t. London is vast. It swallows people whole. It’s quite unlikely you’ll encounter your former fiancé.”
Adeline’s head snapped toward her. “My…?”
Cordelia blinked, surprised by her reaction. “Well, yes. You did tell me you’d been jilted. Surely you remember confiding that when you turned up at my door, bedraggled and half drowned, two years ago?”
Adeline forced a laugh. “Of course. It has been so long since I thought of him…” Her pulse stuttered, as she tried to remember if she had given her fictitious jilter a name.
I do not think that Cordelia has ever asked. I am sure that I never volunteered a name. Or did I?
She was not a natural liar. Such things had been punished severely when discovered by her father. It had left her with a terror of untruths. She steadied herself with effort.
“I only… I didn’t expect you to recall the particulars. It was long ago.”
Cordelia tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Long ago? Two years is hardly a lifetime. Perhaps for the young such streams of time seem like rivers.”
“I suppose they do.” Adeline adjusted the folds of her shawl, buying time. “Memory makes such things larger. Truly, it was nothing worth revisiting.”
Cordelia studied her another moment but said no more. Adeline looked out again, heat prickling her neck. That one small lie, to explain her being out of doors on a stormy night. To disguise her origin so that word would not reach her father.
Not that he is sober enough to take it in. Or so I thought. If that gentleman from Bow Street is to be believed, he has found his faculties now.
But if Cordelia ever learned the truth, she would not know what to believe. It would undermine everything that Adeline had built.
I must let her believe I fear my fiancé because the truth is that I am in terror of my father. And of what I know him to be capable.
The carriage slowed as they reached Piccadilly.
Adeline caught the scent of smoke and horses, the city’s strange blend of vitality and decay.
Everywhere she looked, faces passed too quickly to read, men in dark coats, women with parasols tilted just so.
Each stranger seemed a possible ghost. Her father might be among them.
She pressed a hand to her chest, though her stays allowed little comfort. In her mind, she saw him as he had been before the drink consumed him. Immaculate, calculating, eyes like cold metal. If he discovered her here, if he learned she lived under another name in a Duke’s household…
He cannot force me to go back. But if he is marshalling the force of the law, it would mean scandal for the Burgess family. Louisa’s heart would be broken. Winston would…
She forced her mind away from what Winston would do. How he would feel. Away from the certainty that if Winston defended her, her father would try to ruin him. Or worse.
He has killed once, after all.
“You’re trembling,” Cordelia said gently.
“Am I? The air is close.”
Cordelia leaned forward, peering through the window.
“We’re nearly there. Winston’s townhouse isn’t far. Once we arrive, you can rest, and I’ll see to the unpacking.”
Adeline managed a nod. She would rest but not outside her rooms. She would keep within the walls, hidden from the eyes of London.
The carriage turned onto St. James’s Place, the horses’ hooves ringing cleanly against the stone.
Winston’s townhouse stood three stories high, its facade pale against the soot-streaked brick of its neighbors.
A butler waited on the steps, arms clasped behind his back, feet planted, as though the Duke’s arrival were a parade.
A carriage ahead of them had stopped and Winston appeared, tall and self-contained in his dark coat. Louisa darted from behind him like a bird loosed from a cage.
“Adeline!” she cried. “You must come see the park! Papa says the carriages go round and round like ribbons!”
“In time,” Adeline said, climbing down with care. “We’ve only just arrived.”
Louisa’s eyes shone. “But everyone’s out now; this is when they drive! Papa promised.”
Winston smiled faintly. Cordelia alighted from the carriage, taking Adeline’s offered hand.
“There’s no refusing the child when she’s set on something. Don’t worry, Louisa. We will come. It has been too long since I walked in Hyde Park.”
Adeline hesitated. The sunlight felt too bright, the noise of London too loud.
“I ought to settle first. And rest.”
“You’ll settle better after fresh air,” Cordelia said. “You can change if you wish, but don’t take too long. I think we will walk to the Park, don’t you , Winston?”
Adeline could hardly refuse her employer without raising questions. She contemplated feigning illness; she knew she already looked pale.
“Very well. A short walk is probably just what the doctor ordered,” she said, forcing cheeriness, which was exactly what Louisa wanted to hear, and in the right tone too.
The girl grinned, hopping on her toes. She went inside, escorted by Winston.
When Adeline followed soon after, she found the house both elegant and oppressive.
The ceilings were lower than at Greystone, the corridors narrower, yet everything gleamed, the work of servants anticipating their master’s return.
In her chamber, she adjusted her gown with unsteady fingers.
The mirror showed her a composed face again, but her stomach felt hollow.
She drew her shawl closer, as if fabric alone might keep danger at bay.
The walk to Hyde Park took little time. Louisa pointed out every landmark, the clubs along St. James’s, the crowded shops, the glint of the Serpentine ahead. Cordelia added her own commentary, walking arm-in-arm with her granddaughter while Winston escorted Adeline.
“Do I take it you are a confirmed country dweller?” he asked.
“You can assume so,” Adeline replied, truthfully. “Why does it occur to you?”
“Because you are walking as though you expect to be assaulted at any moment. It is a common opinion of London’s streets, I believe. That they are all utterly lawless. You are quite safe so close to Westminster and the King’s Palace.”
“And I have you to protect me,” Adeline said.
“You do,” Winston replied.
Two words but heavy with meaning. Adeline looked at him, but he was staring ahead at his chattering daughter and brightly clad empress of a mother.
She took the opportunity to study his face, to watch the contours of his noble profile.
As she did, the anxiety eased. She felt she could breathe a little deeper.
There was that strength in his face, reinforced by the tone of his voice.
But you cannot protect what you do not know. Adeline Wilkinson could be protected by you because she is innocent. Adeline Warren is not.
The park was alive with movement, carriages circling, riders trotting along the Row, ladies strolling arm in arm under parasols that flashed like white sails.
“There are so many people!” Louisa said as they entered Hyde Park. “Look, Adeline. That lady’s hat is bigger than mine.”
Adeline followed her gaze but saw only a blur of faces.
Each turn of the wheel brought another man in a dark coat, another profile that caught her breath.
For an instant, she was sure she saw her father, standing near the railing, his cane lifted, eyes sharp and searching.
Her hands tightened on her reticule. When she looked again, the man was gone.
The man had vanished, but Winston was staring at her suddenly. He leaned close.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “The crowd makes me dizzy.”
“We’ll go slowly.”
The concern in his voice made her heart break.
The lie was leading him to protect her when she did not deserve it.
Because, though the accusations her father levelled at her were untrue, what was undeniable was that she had allowed a lie to be perpetuated for two years.
Adeline tried to breathe evenly. Every passerby seemed threatening.
The creak of carriage wheels became the pulse of her own fear.
She glanced toward the lake and saw another figure in a brown coat that could have been her father’s.
The tilt of the head, the familiar stance…
She looked away sharply. Her throat felt tight.
“Adeline?” Winston’s voice again, low. “You are sure you’re well?”
“Yes,” her reply came too quickly. “I only need air.”
“We are out in the open,” he pointed out.
“I mean, free of the crowds.” Adeline pivoted, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“I think perhaps we should return to the house,” Winston said.
“No!” Adeline heard herself exclaim, then in a calmer tone, “I would not deprive Louisa of her first glimpse of Hyde Park. I remember my own. It is a magical experience for the young.”
“You came here with your parents?” Winston asked.
“My mother, yes,” Adeline replied without thinking.
“Not your father?”
Adeline shuddered, clutched the shawl tighter, hoping he would take it for a chill. But the day was warm and the facade flimsy.
“I quite understand,” Winston said with calm authority.
It was enough to make Adeline stop.
How can he understand? What does he think he knows?
“What do you understand?” she asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.
It was the strain of the situation. It was fraying her concentration, dulling her wits. She should have smiled and thanked him for his consideration but instead she challenged his assertion, angry at the arrogance he showed that he could understand anything about her.
“I had a fractious relationship with my father,” he said, calmly.
“Indeed?”
“He was something of a martinet. A man who liked to control every aspect of his family’s life,” Winston said.
“It is a common trait among fathers, I believe,” Adeline said.
Winston’s eyebrow raised. “You think to equate me with my father. Or yours?”
“I would not dream of it. It was merely an observation,” Adeline said.
“I am nothing like him.” Winston’s response was a door slammed shut.
She avoided his gaze, focusing on Louisa’s chatter. But she could feel his eyes on her, assessing, questioning. They completed a circuit of the park and turned back toward the city, promising Louisa that the Park would not be going anywhere.
“We’ll go home,” Winston said. “Dinner will be early. Mother means to show you the theater listings.”
“The theater?” Adeline echoed faintly.
Louisa brightened again. “Yes! We’re to go tomorrow! Papa promised.”
Adeline smiled for her sake. “Then we must find a dress fit for an evening.”
Inside, her heart sank. A theater meant crowds, lights, strangers' eyes. Each new outing opened another door through which her past might step. When they returned to St. James’s Place, she waited until Winston and Louisa had gone inside before pausing on the step.
The street was quiet except for the distant rattle of a hackney.
She looked up and down once more, certain she felt a gaze upon her.
There was no one. She entered quickly, the door closing like a seal behind her.
Later, as she stood at the window of her chamber looking out over the moon-bleached street, Adeline told herself she would grow used to the city again.
Fear, if ignored long enough, became background noise.
Yet each sound outside, the shout of a driver, the clatter of hooves, a laugh too near the window, made her turn.
And every turn brought the same question.
How long before her father found her in this crowded city where, as Cordelia had said, one might vanish, or be discovered, entirely by chance.
She drew the curtains against the night.