Passion (13 page)

“Everyone can be fooled. There is wisdom
among actresses, women who find themselves famous young, admirers
will not always be there. Youth does not last forever, and their
income will run out. Most find a protector.”

“Very well. I understand why father—well, as
you say, she appears to have ended it with him. But why would he
not take care of the girl?” To her surprise, Caroline found her
eyes burning with tears. She loved her father. She could not stand
to think he would be so careless of a child he had fathered. She
understood—thanks to Harry, about men and their mistresses, many of
them actresses or dancers. Nevertheless, this was her father…and he
was a kind and loving man. He had been her mainstay, because her
mother, other than letters, was never in her life.

Cutting through her thoughts, Harriet
offered, “Perhaps after it ended, or she ended it, and he lost
track of them just as everyone else seems to.”

“If she stayed in London, there must be some
trace of her. If not the both of them. If they died, would it not
be noted…somewhere?”

“Yes. Possibly. However, I do not like the
feeling, the sense I get, when I ask about the man she took up
with. There is something very wrong there. She had friends and
loved the theater. It just doesn’t seem typical for a woman as
vivacious and loved by friends as she was, to never contact
them.”

Caroline paced the room a bit, endeavoring to
think, but knowing less than Harry, about these things.
“Harry?”

“Hum?”

“You don’t think the child ended up in one of
those awful places you mentioned…those flesh dens...” She could not
even picture her blood having suffered such.

“Anything is possible if this person she
trusted meant her ill. People can vanish. This city is exploding
with more immigrants. Whole streets are populated by brothels and
gin shops. Ships leave every day. However, we have to consider who
her admirers were, and they were of a certain income and status.
Which means he alone knows where she, or the girl… young woman now,
is.”

“I could have passed her on the street and
not known it, Harry.”

“Yes.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know.” Harriet pushed away and
strolled over to pick up her tea and sip. “I can keep digging.”

“If ‘tis dangerous—”

“Whatever we do, you really must think beyond
your impulse, Caroline. You move in a world few privileged people
do, and you are connected to powerful people. What you have done
thus far is scandalous, and these facts getting out would bring
scandal on the Duke, and tarnish your chances for the sort of
marriage you are expected to make. In addition, if you do not
consider your part, think of this, even if you find one or both,
they cannot be brought into your world, Caroline. I’m telling you
nothing you do not know.”

Harry was silent a moment, then went on,
“Ladies like myself are somewhat excused from high expectations,
because of how I was brought up, and my father’s unconventional
life. In truth, my wealth aside, they would not welcome me in their
families, wed to their brothers and sons, because you—are the
ideal. Your bloodlines and fortune are only icing on the cake.
You’ve been the ideal young woman, biddable, and perfectly
mannered…”

Caroline grimaced. “Ignorant.”

“One of your reputation is seen as better off
for being naive and unaware of the world, beyond what high society
creates in their exclusive kingdom.”

“I know.” Caroline shook her head. “Since I
met you, Harry, I can see why some things are drummed in our heads,
why we are so protected and kept ignorant. What really astounds me,
is that men…men live completely unfettered lives, gaming, having
their mistresses, doing whatever they desire, and then show another
image entirely, an act, when they are doing the pretty at tea. The
fact that they want us ignorant is…bloody insulting!”

“It would not have been a year ago,” Harry,
uttered dryly.

“No.” Caroline had to laugh.

After looking at the clock, Caroline said, “I
must go soon. We’ve the Enderson’s soirée tonight.” She went to put
her cloak on whilst Harry went out, supposedly to hire a hack.

It was indeed waiting at the curb when
Caroline exited and her friend saw her off with, “We’ll talk again
at the park in the morning.”

“Yes. Harry—do nothing more if you think ‘tis
dangerous. I should not involve you…”

“Nonsense. I am far too curious to stop now.”
Harry winked and stepped away with a wave.

~

Caroline had been home several hours. She
went downstairs before getting formally dressed, aiming to speak to
her father—out of guilt mostly, because she had never had to keep
secrets from him. She had never been any other sort of daughter
than obedient.

The library doors were slightly cracked and
she spied him before her hand could knock. He stood looking out the
windows at the rainy night.

Carefully easing the door open, she stepped
in, still studying his posture, suddenly really seeing him. He
seemed a lonely figure standing there.

She’d been so involved in her training and
schedule-filled social life, she’d never actually considered what
it must have been like for him—having her mother live somewhere
else, besides under his roof.

Caroline recalled that when she had first
learned about Natasha and the girl, she had been angry, petulant
and jealous… However, it had not lasted. She knew her father
somewhat, at least the heart of him and it was good, solid. In
addition, twenty years was a long time to hold in a secret.

He must have sensed her presence for he
turned, his face half lit by the lamp on his desk. “Caroline,
m’dear, have I kept you waiting?” He glanced at the clock. “Good
heavens look at the time.”

She said quickly, “No. Actually, Father, I
thought we could cry off tonight. It has been a hectic week, and
I’ve a few letters to write, the streets are terribly damp.”
Distantly appalled at how well she could lie, Caroline also noticed
his distracted air. She knew she’d come upon him whilst he was in a
muse.

“Yes. Yes of course.” He came toward her, and
took her shoulders in his hands, looking her over. “You are well,
though. No fevers?”

“Perfectly well.” She laughed. Realizing, she
had never cried off a social event. No matter how sick she had
been.

Taking his hands, she kissed them and held
them whilst looking over his face. “Don’t worry about me, father.
Perhaps the both of us could use an early night? The pace is hectic
this season.”

“Yes.”

Loving him, her mind on those secrets,
Caroline felt her heart swell, and smiled gently when she said,
“You are a good man, Father. I am very lucky to be your
daughter.”

He loosed her hold and hugged her a moment,
gruffly saying, “It’s very easy to father you, Caroline. You’ve
been an angel.”

Mentally wincing, she took comfort in his
embrace and then he released her. They spoke a bit more before she
took her leave. Looking back over her shoulder, Caroline noticed he
sat at the desk now, hands on the chair arms and eyes brooding on
the rain-streaked window.

“Father?”

“Hmm?” He turned his head slowly toward
her.

Hand on the door facing, she murmured, “None
of us can live up to perfection. Not really. But we’re strong
enough inside to handle our flaws and shortcomings, and have love
enough to accept each other’s, too.” She looked forward again and
went on her way, up the stairs and to her rooms.

As she dressed to slip out to the
coffeehouse, Caroline thought of her father sitting down there in
his thoughts, perhaps wondering if his life would have been
different had the gypsy loved him?

It was the first time since her mind had been
liberated by Harry that she realized he lived in a prison of rules
and strict adherence too. It may have been different had it made
him happy, but Caroline knew he was not. Of late, she noticed very
few people were happy in their world. Everyone pretended.

Thinking of her own future, of the
expectations written there, she saw no way out of it for herself
either. Her father would do his duty, that duty would mean
approving a husband for her, and that husband would have to be from
the “eligible” in their realm.

Oh, bloody hell. What a depressing thought.
To know one would live their life doing the same as the generation
before, no freedom, no love, and no passion.

“Non. You must not go, mademoiselle,” the
petite French maid whispered while she collected the discarded
toweling from Caroline’s bathing. “It is terrible out. And
this….man, he is not one your father would approve of.”

“You don’t know that, Jeanne.”

“Oui. I do. If he approve, you would be going
to the ball, not some….tryst.”

Caroline pulled the sleeves up on her
shoulders. The wide V-cut of the long sleeved black dress made the
material barely cover them. She had added a cape.

“I will be perfectly fine. And, you will keep
this to yourself. Don’t you have a young gentleman you would like
to see tonight? Or a book to read.”

Jennie frowned, pouted those pink lips at
her, and then smiled and shrugged. “Oui. I should like to see
someone.”

“Famous. I shall let you out wherever you
wish, and collect you on the way home.”

“We must be very quiet leaving.”

“Oui.” Caroline laughed and watched her dash
away to get her cloak. They could leave by the back way and none
the wiser.

* * * *

Blaise ignored his cousin’s curious presence
in his chambers whilst he was dressing himself, in his black
pantaloons, boots, and a lawn shirt. He added a thigh length jacket
in black and forewent a neck cloth.

As he was conversing with the valet, checking
to make sure his boots had a good polish, then filling his coat
pocket with coin, penknife, the usual, he knew his cousin was
leaning against the door facing—likely grinning.

Finished dressing, he used his hand to follow
the brush and make sure his hair was neat, and then he cleaned the
glasses and put them on. A cape finished everything off. Though he
picked up gloves, he did not put them on.

“Going out later?” He asked his cousin
casually whilst Ry walked down the stairs with him.

“Yes, I had planned to join a game of cards.
However, if you prefer I stay out…” He did not have to see that
grin to hear it.

“Not at all,” Blaise said casually. “Enjoy
yourself.”

Since he planned to walk the short space to
the coffeehouse, they were standing just in the entry when he said,
“See what information you can pick up—“

“—
On Raith? I have been.
He’s all but a ghost if he is living in his London house, because
none seem to know him.”

“He wasn’t all that social that I recall.”
Blaise nodded and opened the door, hearing the rain.

Ry handed him an umbrella out of the stand.
“You’ll ruin that shine on your boots.”

“It’s a short walk.”

“About Raith. I’ll keep asking.”

“Thanks. I suppose if he is up to
something—dangerous, it pays to be anonymous.”

“Yes.”

Out on the street, umbrella up, Blaise was
preoccupied counting his steps. He reached the coffeehouse with
minimal mishaps, having heard a few shouts of warning he’d heeded
crossing the street, but overall he was fine. Letting the umbrella
down, he thanked a patron who held the door for him.

Blaise had a discreet word with the owner.
Military men and their wives, families, frequented the place but
there were tables further back, behind plants and screens, where a
lonely soldier or sailor could have coffee and meal with a lady
companion.

The proprietor led him that way, giving him a
corner table. He could hear the rain, carriage, and coaches
passing, through the window, but he sensed the intimacy and privacy
of the table, which pleased him.

For a while, he sat sipping coffee, part of
him mocking himself, because his sense was that the lady M, as he
dubbed her, was some bold chit having her fun at his expense. The
other half though, could not call her that young, because he liked
her voice, what she had said, and God knew, the scent she wore had
stirred him embarrassingly.

Blaise told himself he was a grown man and
that he could take being a fool once, if she did not show up.
However, he also admitted he had never spent time with a woman—been
interested in her—beyond the necessary. When he had sight, he could
appreciate a beautiful woman. He could lust for one. But,
emotionally, intellectually, no. He categorized them.

If the woman he had met today fulfilled his
worst expectations—he already labeled that type beforehand,
spoiled, petulant, immature, which is why he did not move in the
circles that Jules chose to. He did not know how his brother stood
that life. He supposed that was why they were night and day.

Jules seemed born to the role of Earl and
Heir.

Blaise could recall passing by Jules rooms,
seeing his brother sitting by the window with a book, or busy
writing at his desk. Blaise liked to read, but he took his reading
outdoors. He had to be physical. To be fair, he remembered the
Duchess letting many tutors go, if they did not teach Jules the way
she thought they should. Moreover, he did recall how strict they
were. Jules’s growing up did not allow the time to get into the
mischief he had.

Jules was a pretty boy too, and it was not
overlooked by servants who fawned, or males who secretly laughed at
him, called him effeminate, out of jealousy.

Blaise was comfortable with his own looks, at
one time called handsomeness, but far from preoccupied with it,
seeing the benefit in stamina and strength too, in the
military—because his body had to be a machine. It had to have the
strength and endurance to perform. However, Jules could ride, shoot
and fence, and had the same masters in that he did. However, he
doubted anyone noticed that. He knew there was not an hour
unsupervised in his brother’s life.