Regency Society. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
irritable voice, ‘Are you quite finished? Or do you have other opinions that you wish to share with me?’
‘That is enough for the morning, I think.’ She let out her held breath slowly, hoping that he did not notice, but was sure that he had, for he could read her like a book.
‘I quite agree. I think it is time for me to escort you back to the carriage, if you will tell me where it is.’
She was in no mood to help him, fairly sure that he knew perfectly well where to go and was only feigning a need for instruction. ‘The carriage has not moved since we left it. Take us back the way we came.’
There was a miniscule pause as he retraced his steps in his mind. Then he turned and led her back down the path that they had walked, feeling along the grassy edge of it with his stick to help him find the way.
They went along without incident, not speaking. She forced herself to stay relaxed at his side, praying that there would be no familiar faces amongst the few strollers there. She had half hoped, when they stood happily by the roses, that they would see some members of their set and engage them in a brief conversation, to gently reveal her true identity to her husband. But after the fresh start they had made this morning, she had overstepped herself. The distance born between them last night was growing. And if she could not find a way to stop it, she would lose him. She doubted it would be a pleasant experience for anyone should he be hailed by a friend and forced, without warning, to explain his condition.
They were within steps of the carriage, now, and she knew by the relaxing of the muscles in his arm that he knew it as well. While they walked, she had felt him tensing as he listened for clues, alert to any change, but now he had heard the jingle of the harnesses, and the chatter of the driver and grooms, silencing to attention as they drew near. He’d released her arm, putting a protective hand upon her back as she moved to step up and into it, when a call came from behind him.
‘Alms!’
Adrian froze for a moment, as though the single word had the power to control him. Then he turned back, his head tracking to find the source.
‘Alms for a blind beggar! Alms!’ There was a woman beside the entrance to the park, probably hoping to catch some member of the ton on their way in or out. She stared towards them with eyes clouded milk-white, with no idea who she accosted, other than that they had sufficient funds to afford a carriage and should be able to spare a few pennies for her. When she shook the cup in her hand, it gave off the pathetic rattle of an unsuccessful morning.
Emily could feel the fingers on her back sliding away, as her husband turned, forgetting why he touched her. And she turned with him, taking her foot off the step and waving the groom away. She caught at Adrian, her fingers tightening on his arm, and he reached up with his other hand to grip them. It was not the gentle and reassuring touch she had grown accustomed to, but a rigid, claw-like reflex.
She tugged at his arm, trying to get him to move. ‘Come, Adrian. We can go back to the carriage, if you like.’
Then his grip began to relax again, and he led her towards the woman, and not away. ‘Tell me what you see. Spare no detail.’
‘She is an old woman,’ Emily said. ‘Her clothes are clean and in good repair, but they are simple. There are worn patches at the elbows, and the lace at the throat will not see many more washings. Her eyes were blue, but are obscured by pearls. Cataracts, I think they are sometimes called. I doubt she has been blind her whole life.’
As she spoke, the woman before them stood mute, accepting the scrutiny as though she had given up being anything more than an object of pity. And then her hand tightened on her cup and she gave it another little shake.
‘Is this an accurate description?’ he said. When he got no response, he fumbled to touch the beggar on the arm.
The woman started and shook his hand away, unsure of the reason for contact and frightened by it.
‘I need to ask, because I am blind as well,’ he said, in a soft and reassuring voice.
‘Yes, sir.’ The old woman gave a relieved smile.
‘My lord,’ Adrian corrected absently, reaching in his pocket for his purse. ‘I am the Earl of Folbroke.’
The woman dropped into a curtsy.
And feeling the movement in her arm, he dipped his head in response to the gesture of respect. ‘What brings you to this, old mother? Do you have no one to care for you?’
‘My husband is dead,’ she said. Her accent was not refined, but neither was it coarse. ‘And my son is gone off to war. For a time, he sent money. But it has been long since I’ve heard anything. And I fear …’ She stopped, as though she did not wish to think of what news was likely to come.
‘It might mean nothing,’ he assured her. ‘I served as well. It is not always easy to get word home. But perhaps I can discover something. Today, I am busy. But tomorrow, you will come to my rooms in Jermyn Street. I will tell the servants to look out for you. And I will take your information and see if anything can be done with it.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ The woman was near to breathless with shock, already. But when she heard him drop a coin into the cup, it was clear that she could tell the difference between gold and copper by the sound. Her surprised mouth closed, and widened in a smile. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said with more emphasis.
‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, and turned away from her, signalling the coachman for assistance with a whistle and a tap of his cane.
They rode in silence toward his rooms, until she could stand it no longer. ‘That was a wonderful thing you did for her.’
‘Soldiers have enough to worry about on the battlefield, without coming home to find that their mothers are begging in the streets,’ he said, as though that was the only thing that concerned him. And then, as an afterthought, added, ‘What I did was not enough. If there is a way to find honest employment for her, it will be done.’
There was a lump rising in her throat as they pulled to a stop before the building that housed his rooms. And as he rose to exit, she touched his arm to make him pause.
He turned his head, waiting for some word from her.
‘I know you do not want to hear it. But I cannot help but speak,’ she said. ‘I love you, Adrian Longesley.’
He swallowed. Then he said, ‘Thank you.’ And then he left her, tapping his way to the steps of his door.
Thank you.
What an idiotic thing to say to a woman who had just bared her soul to him. But what else could he say to her? The response she wanted was not the one he wished to give her. And anything else seemed inadequate.
‘Hendricks!’ Adrian handed his hat and gloves to the footman and went directly to his room, hearing the secretary fall into step behind him.
‘My lord?’ Hendricks said, the words muffled by what was probably a mouthful of his breakfast.
‘What time is it?’
‘Half past eight. Very early for you, my lord.’ This seemed to be not a reproof, but as an apology for his own lack of preparation.
‘Very early for any coherence, you mean. Well, prepare to be surprised. Not only am I sober, but I have slept, breakfasted and gone for a walk.’
There was a little cough from behind him, as Hendricks inhaled a toast crumb from the shock.
Adrian smiled to himself. ‘I am getting ahead of you today, it seems. Go, finish your breakfast. Or, if you wish, bring it to my room, along with the paper. You are welcome to use the table by the window, if you wish. The breeze this morning is particularly nice. And the view, from what I can gather, is quite