Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (32 page)

“Perhaps my return from death will be too great a shock.”

“I will prepare him. I will send for you in a few moments. I wish you to know before I leave, that I have regrets about my actions. I always have. I do not ask your forgiveness, I only ask that you understand, Averill.”

The woman’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears and Averill knew hers mirrored the emotion
. How could she possibly feel empathy, when it was by this woman’s actions that Averill lost her identity, her past...and Tenny?

What the woman said about Avery must be true
. It was impossible to inflict hurt. Averill nodded her head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“You say Avery
Ben-Masiz sent you? You dare interrupt my dinner soiree with such a note? Well? Speak up. I have guests this evening.”

The words carried a threatening tone
. Averill shook herself mentally before turning from contemplation of the portrait. She’d been so caught up in her reverie, it took a moment to realize that she wasn’t in the heat and sun of her father’s mansion. She was in the fog and cold of London. At the Limley townhouse. Unwelcome. Uninvited. And unwanted. She slanted her eyes at the beautiful woman who stood just inside the door, her hands on her hips and her head flung back.

“Hello, Mother,”
Averill said.

She watched Hortense
’s eyes go wide, her mouth followed, and then she sank slowly to the floor, her expensive gown spread around her.

“You
! Oh no! No! Avery was never supposed to allow this to happen!”

Averill glanced
toward the door. The manservant had closed it behind Hortense. That demonstrated at least one thing. Hortense had been worried over what the note contained enough to prevent eavesdropping. Averill walked to a chair and sat. It had been a long voyage, a longer day, and the extra weight of her baby made her back ache.

“Was he supposed to leave me in an orphanage in Cairo, unwanted and unloved, too?”

“An orphanage? You don’t know what you’re saying. Of course not. He and his Islamic wife raised you. I paid them to do that and to keep silent about it!”

Hortense
struggled to her feet, smoothed the satin of her skirts down before moving to a mirror to tidy her immense coiffure. All of it used to gain time. The woman’s hair was still perfectly in place. And then Hortense turned back to her.

“You can’t stay
here.”

Averill looked at the blue eyes, so close in shape and color to her own, and saw no love, maternal affection, or
even interest. All they held was fear.

Averill
sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mother.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Averill stifled any reaction. It shouldn’t matter. Her mother had already proved the inability to love her child. Still, it hurt.

“Avery’s Islamic wife placed me in an orphanage in Cairo
. She told my father I’d died. I was sent to the Catholic mission. Until last month, I didn’t even know you existed
, Mother
, but I won’t leave. I have nowhere else to go.” 

“Go back to the father of your child
…if he’ll have you.” 

The sneer on
Hortense’s lips ruined her beauty. Averill almost recoiled.

“You probably don’t even know who the father is, do you
? It’s no matter, you’ll learn soon enough about life. We all do. Avery was a mistake, just as you are. Now go, before my husband asks about your visit.”

A mistake?

Averill narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps I should’ve asked to see him first, then. He might be interested in the documents I have.”

“Documents?”  Fear had returned to Hortense’s blue eyes.

“Marriages and births leave records…
Mother
.” 

Averill smiled, but
it probably looked as sad as she felt. She folded her arms across her child’s bulk as she stressed the title.

“What...do you want?” 

Hortense choked on the words. Averill met her gaze squarely. Knowing she was legitimate and a member of two socially acceptable and influential families did astonishing things. No one would recognize her as the cowed child she’d once been.

She tried to phrase her request carefully
. She thought of it often enough as she sailed here from Egypt. She’d had plenty of time, especially once they cleared the Straits of Gibraltar and entered the Atlantic. The journey had seemed intolerably long and impossibly rough.

What did she want
? She wanted to be accepted for who she was. She wanted her child raised with full recognition, too. And she wanted to reach Tenny…find him and love him and be with him.

She didn’t speak those words as she and Hortense eyed each other
. She didn’t know how, but she sensed the woman was plotting ways to be rid of her. A chill touched the back of Averill’s neck as she continued looking into her mother’s eyes.

“Do you
…have the documents with you?” 

Averill looked away
at the question. She wasn’t stupid enough to say. It was shocking to sense Hortense calculating against her, and to know that’s what her mother was doing. Averill knew what Tenny meant now when he’d told her how expressive her eyes were. Tears pricked them now before she could prevent it. And she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry!

“
Well? Do you?”

“I’m your daughter, Hortense
. Credit me with that much sense, at least.”  She hardened her resolve and turned back to her mother.

“Damn you!” 

Hortense cursed and stamped a foot, then both of them. She was wearing slippers and didn’t make much sound. Then woman grabbed a vase next and threw it at a wall. And then she stifled a scream and jerked taut, glaring at Averill as she did so. Averill regarded her tantrum for a moment before her lips curled. Her expression probably mirrored her disdain.

“
Oh! You’re just like him!”  Hortense’s voice shook. “Do you know that? You act like the world should be at your feet. Ready to be trod upon. Avery could say more with one glance than most people who talk all day.”

Averill didn’t answer
. She just waited, and a moment later, Hortense sighed heavily.

“
Oh, very well. Out with it. What do you want? Speak up. I have other places to go tonight. And you’re making me late.”

Averill
’s back stiffened at the change wrought so swiftly. She felt the baby roll with her motion. She’d prepared herself for Hortense, but it was still a surprise. Despite what Avery and his Egyptian wife had told her. Hortense was like a child, happy one moment, in the dregs of depression the next. Temperamental. Mercurial.

“It saddens me that my father painted you as a lovely person
. I heard he was better than that.”

Hortense gasped
. Averill rose to her feet. The move probably looked as ungainly as she felt.  

“Instruct your staff to assign me a room, Mother
. I’m not sure how much the servants overheard. Your husband may already know of our conversation.”

“He’s in the country at the moment
. Thank God.”

“
Well. Sounds like you have a bit of a reprieve. Perhaps you can persuade me to tell him that Avery Ben-Masiz has been dead all these years. Perhaps not. It doesn’t matter to me. I already know what life tastes like at the fringes of society.”

Her
mother finally looked worried. She even looked a bit paler, although whatever cosmetics she wore on her face almost disguised it.

“I
t’s not going to stay a secret forever. I am your daughter. I am legitimate. And you are a bigamist. I have the documents to prove it. I wonder what this husband of yours would say to all of that?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking!”  Hortense may be whispering, but the
words sounded filled with something akin to horror.

Averill lifted her eyebrows
. “I know exactly what I ask. It’s little enough, as you’ll see. I’m looking forward to speaking with you tomorrow, Mother. Now go. Attend your party. See that I’m attended to first. Go.”

Averill sounded imperious, just like Avery’s Islamic wife, but she didn’t feel
that way. She was so tired, she almost didn’t care.

~ ~ ~

“I want to apologize for my actions last night, Averill. May I come in?” 

Hortense asked
it from the door of a second floor bedroom located at the back of the house. The room Averill had been given overlooked the mews. It wasn’t one reserved for prestigious guests, but it wasn’t a servant’s room, either. And it wasn’t a cabin aboard a ship, it didn’t rock, and Averill had fallen asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

“Good morning,” Averill replied.

It wasn’t morning. It wasn’t even pre-dawn yet. Averill was amazed that Lady Hortense would rise so early. Perhaps she hadn’t managed to sleep. Averill maneuvered some pillows behind her back in order to sit. Lady Hortense set the lamp she’d brought atop a bureau, the only other piece of furniture in the room. The light was golden, yet eerie, projecting a giant-sized shadow of Hortense onto the wall behind her.

“It was just
— you gave me such a shock.”

Averill
watched Hortense dab at her eyes. If only the lines in her body hadn’t been demonstrating anger, the act would’ve been convincing. Averill recognized the pretense for what it was. That seemed to come with her artistic gifts. Hortense wouldn’t enjoy the portrait she would paint.

“Don’t pretend with me, Mother
. It’s not necessary.”

Hortense looked up from her handkerchief, her
eyes narrowed and her lips tight. Averill laughed, and the child responded within her, making her gasp with the kick. Hortense’s expression went completely blank as she regarded her.

“That’s better
. Truly. I prefer honesty.” 

“I can’t believe how like him you are
. It’s uncanny.”  Hortense walked toward the bed, her shadow slid along the wall with her movements, and then she sat down on the side of Averill’s bed. “I suppose you dabble in painting, too?”

Averill
lifted her eyebrows. “You could call it that. And that’s what I’d like to do, if you’ll listen to me.”

Hortense’s left eye started twitching
. The fingers holding her handkerchief tightened, making a fist about the wad of material. Averill watched, guessing the reason behind both reactions. Hortense was wondering how much it would cost her to get Averill out of her life. Her next words made it a certainty.

“All right
. Tell me what you want. And how much it will cost.”

The light was unkind to Hortense’s face
. She looked older somehow. A bit more haggard. A slight impression of small lines ran about her cheeks and around her eyes. She had been an outstandingly beautiful woman once. Now she looked like she was trying to hang onto that beauty. Averill was surprised to find herself pitying her own mother. She had to look away for a moment.

“I need a home for my child
. It’ll be born soon, and then I’ll want an introduction—”

“No!”  Hortense jumped to her feet
. The shadow followed suit. Her handkerchief floated to the floor. “I refuse! Do you hear me? I’ll never introduce you to society! I am known as a beauty! My age is listed as barely twenty-nine. How could I have a daughter your age?”

Averill
didn’t answer. She watched as Hortense started pacing. The shadow accompanied all of it.

“You ask too much
! I don’t care if you have documentation! I’ll deny it. I’ll go to court to prove them fraudulent. I’ll spend every last shilling I have proving it.”

“I didn’t finish,” Averill said quietly.

“Good God! There’s more?” 

Hortense’s eyebrows rose in disbelief
. Averill longed to paint the expression, surprising herself.

“I don’t want to be introduced to society, Mother.”

“But, you just said—”

“
What I need from you is an introduction, yes. But as an artist. I need a studio and for you to sponsor me. I paint portraits. I can support myself…and my child.”

A joyful
expression came over Hortense’s face. And then she clapped her hands, and danced about the room, the shadow acting as a silent partner. The episode made Averill’s belly twist oddly. Her throat went tight. Her pulse hammered loudly. But her eyes remained dry.

“That’s all?” 
Hortense sounded supremely happy.

“No
. I also need a sitting set up for the Earl of Tennison.”

“
Tennison. Tennison? That stuffy, old fool? Why him?”

Averill shrugged
and watched as Hortense pondered it. She didn’t waste much time over it before she was at the door. She left the lantern where it was. The light was fully on her face, showing now that she was all smiles. Avery’s wife had been right about Hortense’s personality. Her mother was mercurial. And self-centered. And vain. And she was talking. Averill forced herself to pay attention.

“
…move in the same circles. Maybe if my mother hadn’t died in that god-forsaken country before you were born. Well. She used to move in lofty circles like the earl. He’s much too important for me. Wait! Tennison belongs to White’s club. I can get my husband to speak to him. I think I can do this!”

The door shut with a flourish
. Her mother was humming to herself. Averill listened until she couldn’t hear it anymore before turning her face to the wall. They’d papered these walls with a small rose pattern. She couldn’t tell the exact color, due to the lighting. It didn’t matter. None of this did.