CHAPTER EIGHT
Her eyes fixed on the gleaming brass knocker on the black-painted door, Laura sat in the Albright carriage waiting for Aubrey to return.
She was a little surprised that he had been bidden to enter Lord Exton’s house upon discharging his errand of inquiring for Henry and leaving their card.
Perhaps the servant who had answered the knock had been unaware of the waiting carriage.
She angled her neck for a glance upward and sighed.
The blue skies of the morning had given way to increasing clouds over the past hour, dimming any hopes of another outing with Aubrey today.
After dawdling through shops and the lending library all morning she was longing to stretch her legs and widen her knowledge of the neighbourhood.
Even as she formulated the wish a few drops of rain spattered the pavement.
At that moment the door opened, disgorging Aubrey, accompanied by a tall man whose fashionable dress set him apart from the serving class.
While she let down the window she had time to assess the man’s age at some few years younger than her uncle, despite the sprinkling of grey hairs at his temples.
“How do you do, Miss Marsh? I am Exton, Henry’s father.”
A bit startled but unalarmed by the intentness of Lord Exton’s regard from a pair of hazel eyes that brought his son instantly to mind, Laura put her gloved fingers into his extended hand and ventured a shy smile. “How do you do, sir, and how does Henry’s knee do?”
“Better than he deserves, thanks to you and young Aubrey.”
As she murmured an automatic denial of any heroic action, Laura privately marvelled that a smile could so completely transform what in repose seemed to be unremarkable features.
Lord Exton, expressing his obligation to the cousins in heartfelt terms, was the most attractive person she had met since arriving in London.
The force of this conviction surprised her, but his next speech nearly disordered her senses and unloosed a torrent of sensations in her breast.
There was a curious flash or pre-sentiment of significance as he hesitated briefly, and then she was plunged into wonder and conjecture when he confessed, “I caught a glimpse of you the other day as you and young Aubrey left my house and was confounded, nay transported back to the past — over twenty years erased in an instant —” He blinked suddenly, releasing her from the grip of searching eyes, and stopped, seeming to compose himself before going on in a calmer fashion.
“I thought I could not be mistaken, even after so many years, even before Henry told me his rescuers’ names.
Aubrey has just confirmed that your mother was Annabelle Albright before her marriage to your father. ”
“Why … yes,” Laura admitted as his eyes again commanded hers. She could not have looked away had the sky been falling about her.
“She would not know me as Lord Exton. I had no expectation of inheriting the title in those days. I was simply Mr. Stephen Wright.”
Laura did not make a sound, but her expression must have told him that the name was not unfamiliar to her, because his rigid jaw relaxed and he swallowed, easing his throat beneath the artistically tied cravat.
“Aubrey has also told me that your father is deceased and that you and your mother are making an extended visit with your uncle’s family, in order that she may oversee his sister’s and your own introduction to society. ”
Still incapable of speech, Laura made the tiniest inclination of her head.
“I should like to call on your mother, but I would not distress her for the world,” he said simply. “Can you let me know if she does not object to renewing our acquaintance?”
Laura’s heart was pounding in her throat and her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth, but she finally managed one syllable. “How?”
The hazel eyes held a hint of a smile as Lord Exton said, “Well, if Aubrey were permitted to spend an hour or so with Henry in the near future, I would have to assume there were no strong objections to renewing the acquaintance, would not you?”
Laura nodded mechanically and then her dazed expression changed to concern as she saw that raindrops glittered in his wavy brown hair and that Aubrey’s shoulders were damp.
“Oh, good heavens,” she cried, her practical self on the ascendant once more.
“You are both drenched. Get in, Aubrey, at once! I beg your pardon, sir.”
Lord Exton laughed and opened the carriage door for the boy. “We are neither of us made of sugar to melt in a little water, eh, Aubrey?”
Aubrey grinned and agreed, making Lord Exton a proper bow before climbing in with his cousin.
Before Laura could raise the window, Lord Exton leaned closer to say in low, earnest tones, “You are very like what your mother was at your age, my dear Miss Marsh. It has been a very long time since my eyes have dwelt on anything half so lovely.”
A strange mist fogged Laura’s vision, and her voice was not quite steady as she replied, “I thank you for the compliment, sir, but it is generally acknowledged by everyone save my proud mama that I am but a pale copy of the original.”
“Not pale and not a copy,” Lord Exton rebutted, shaking his head as he bade her not farewell but a gallant au revoir before stepping back and signalling to the patient coachman to let the horses go.
Laura’s wits were whirling, and it proved a herculean effort to set her thoughts in order before the short distance back to Mount Street was covered.
That Henry’s father should turn out to be the man her mother had loved and lost in her youth struck her as well beyond coincidence, toward the realm of the miraculous.
If it had been the mere fact, the establishing of identity, it would be amazing enough to startle one into a deeper appreciation and apprehension of the unpredictable elements that can determine the course of lives in extreme cases, and jog anyone temporarily off his selected path at any time.
At the very least, such a coincidence would be introduced into conversations for the purpose of marvelling and shaking of heads.
But Laura knew, without knowing how she knew, that this phenomenon was of an order not to be encompassed by murmurs of wonder or the expression of comfortable platitudes.
Lord Exton’s conventional words of polite inquiry as to the possibility of renewing his acquaintance with her mother had been belied by the care with which he held his features expressionless, and the green in his eyes had been eclipsed by a dark grey-brown as he had studied her countenance compulsively.
He’d paid her a compliment in the tones of one goaded beyond his resistance, and she’d had no doubt that it was a tribute to the memory of her mother that had prompted it when he’d looked at Laura.
She had understood, at that moment, that he had not relinquished his feelings for Annabelle after living nearly half a lifetime without her, and the weight of the knowledge had sunk her deeper into the confusion this meeting had wrought.
She’d babbled some disclaimer to lighten the moment and conceal her intrusive awareness of this most intimate secret.
His reply, however, had been meant for the daughter, not the mother, and had revealed another aspect of his character to her: an intrinsic kindness that elevated him in her esteem. She could not but feel that meeting young Henry had been a double boon.
“It’s raining harder every minute,” said a disgruntled Aubrey. “Another afternoon stuck inside!”
Laura started at the sound of the boy’s voice, so complete had been her absorption in the scene that had just taken place. She smiled at her young relative. “If you have nothing better to do, we might play a game of chess or backgammon, perhaps.”
The suggestion, made as the carriage came to a halt, was well received by Aubrey, whose countenance brightened.
“Henry’s father said I can come and visit any time, if it is all right with Aunt Annabelle,” he confided as they entered the house together.
“I told him she had already asked my father for permission for me and Henry to be friends, but he said I must check with her again before I may go there.” He shook his head at the vagaries of adults.
“I am almost positive it will be fine, Aubrey,” Laura said as the pair reached the first landing. “I’ll go check with Mama now. You go on up to the schoolroom and get things ready for our game. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Aubrey’s cheerful but tuneless whistling drifted down to her as Laura knocked at her mother’s door a moment later. Her excitement continued to grow while she waited for permission to enter, and she could scarcely contain herself, charging into the room and flinging the door shut behind her.
“Mama, the most extraordinary thing has happened,” she burst out, rushing toward the chair where Mrs. Marsh sat reading.
“It turns out that Henry’s father, Lord Exton, is none other than Stephen Wright!
The man you wished to marry when you were a girl,” she added when her mother simply stared uncomprehendingly at her.
She pulled up short and moderated her voice.
“Did you understand what I said, Mama? Mr. Stephen Wright has become Lord Exton.”
Mrs. Marsh had lowered her book to her lap on her daughter’s entrance, but she had not moved a muscle since Laura’s first words.
Her lovely face, turned to her daughter, was devoid of emotion, and Laura had an odd notion that she was invisible to her parent at the moment.
Then Mrs. Marsh blinked and awareness returned.
“Yes, I understand, but how did you learn of this? Aubrey was just to leave a card.”