Part 4 (2/2)

”Care for a small tour of London?” he asked.

”Oh yes!” Henrietta slid to the edge of her seat and squeezed his hands. ”Please.”

The carriage lurched forward into the ma.s.s of other vehicles bearing down upon one another, jostling for position in the dark, narrow streets. Buildings towered on either side, thin stately things, no more than the width of their carriage and painted in soot.

The inhabitants of London concealed themselves in dark coats and capes. Their hard, pale faces seemed closed, like boarded-up windows, and their eyes distant. They moved in great waves through streets, stepping in front of carriages and horses, unconcerned for their own welfare. Henrietta's nose stung with the sour scent of their perspiration mixed with the stench of animal dung.

She looked at Kesseley questioningly. This wasn't the London she had read about. He just sat back, expressionless. ”It gets better,” he said.

The carriage jerked to a stop. Their groomsman shouted in some menacing, unintelligible language. A heated discussion ensued. Samuel stuck his nose in the air as if he could smell the altercation, and starting emitting deep howls. The carriage turned sharply, and the driver of a wagon of cabbages waved his hands in threatening gestures, letting out a loud stream of foreign profanity.

”Did he speak cant? Real cant?” Henrietta asked.

Kesseley chuckled at her.

”What do you think he said?”

”Something about your mother isn't married to your father.”

”Stop encouraging her, Tommie,” his mother said.

”I didn't know you could speak cant, Kesseley?” Suddenly this seemed more romantic than French or Italian or any of those Romance languages.

”Well, I did go to Cambridge.”

The lane twisted through intersecting streets, carriage wheels sc.r.a.ping together, horses biting each other, everyone fighting it out to advance.

Henrietta was watching one exchange between a lady in a loose garish gown and a thick bearded man carrying a barrel on his shoulder, when Kesseley touched her knee. A spark of warmth traveled up her body.

”Look,” he said, nodding out the window.

On the opposite side of the street was a boxlike white building, dominated by four rising columns that jutted out onto the sidewalk.

”Haymarket! Kesseley! There's Haymarket Theatre!”

”Oh, dear G.o.d,” Lady Kesseley muttered.

Henrietta refrained from shamelessly pasting her face to the window like Samuel. There was more shouting, and the carriage made a sudden turn, sliding Henrietta into Lady Kesseley. Henrietta shot back over to her side.

They had left the busy street and entered an open, stately square with a water fountain protected by a black iron gate. Here the houses gleamed a luminous white, seemingly immune to the filth covering the rest of the city. Imposing Greek columns rose up five or six stories to the roofs, so high they were almost lost in the dense clouds. Through the tall windows, Henrietta could see the swag of rich brocade curtains and the gleam of the polished mahogany. Carriages pulled up at the doors and let off ladies who could have stepped from the pages of La Belle a.s.semblee. La Belle a.s.semblee.

They drove around the fountain and then turned into a dark, narrow lane. Kesseley pointed to a flat, unremarkable building. ”You should know this place.”

Henrietta shook her head.

”It's Almack's.” He laughed. ”I thought all ladies knew Almack's.”

This squat building was heaven? She had expected angels, pearly gates and St. Peter standing at the door with a guest list. It looked rather pedestrian.

The narrow street led to a larger thoroughfare bordered with tall stone buildings of understated elegance. On the sidewalks, the most fas.h.i.+onable men that Henrietta had ever seen clicked their canes on the pavers, sporting cravats so elaborate they made Henrietta think of fancy rooster tails.

”St. James Palace,” her tour guide said, but Henrietta only vaguely heard. For coming out of a wine merchant's door was a young man with flowing mahogany locks and a pale blue coat.

Edward!

Henrietta's hand touched the window gla.s.s. She wanted to scream his name. The man looked up as if he heard her silent call. A long, narrow nose ran like a line down his face, ending at a small b.u.mp of a chin. It wasn't Edward at all. Henrietta slumped back in her seat, her heart still racing.

The carriage weaved through two enormous squares of connected white-columned homes, one looking just like the next, and then a large expanse of green opened before them, as if London came to an abrupt end.

”Hyde Park,” Kesseley said.

The Hyde Park! Where the most fas.h.i.+onable people in the world paraded! Henrietta strained in her seat, looking between the trees to see the riders along the famed Rotten Row. Could one of them be Edward? Hyde Park! Where the most fas.h.i.+onable people in the world paraded! Henrietta strained in her seat, looking between the trees to see the riders along the famed Rotten Row. Could one of them be Edward?

The carriage rode along the edge of the park, the boughs of oak trees arching over them. On their left she saw grand white houses that resembled decorated Queen cakes with curving bay windows and terraces.

Oh Lud, was one of these Kesseley's?

But the carriage took a swift turn away from the park and into a grid of row houses, coming to a stop before a plain brown brick dwelling with a wrought-iron gate.

Henrietta sat still as Kesseley and his mother gathered their persons. Surely this couldn't be their London home?

”We're here,” he said.

Think of something nice! ”It looks so-comfortable.” ”It looks so-comfortable.”

”A sensible house,” he said after they had exited the carriage and stood on the pavement, gazing up at the drab building.

”Those were your father's words the day he bought it,” Lady Kesseley said quietly. ”Of course, he had to fleece a man at some gaming h.e.l.l in Soho to get the funds.”

The door opened and out stepped a robust man in neat gray livery and a powdered wig curled in tidy tight rows. He had a fleshy sagging face, serious eyes and tight lips.

”Boxly, thank heavens you were free. The agency said you might not be available this year,” Lady Kesseley said.

He bowed. ”When the master comes to town, I am never busy.”

Master. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man's deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind's eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his s.h.i.+rts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets. Henrietta never thought of Kesseley that way. Of course she heard him called it numerous times by the servants at Wrenthorpe, but that was in the country. The way the word resounded from this man's deep, respectful voice sounded so reverent as if Kesseley were, well, an earl. Yet in her mind's eye he remained the straggly boy always running about the village, his s.h.i.+rts stained with whatever berries he had picked along the roads, various bugs trapped in his pockets.

She followed Kesseley, his mother and Samuel inside. Beyond the entrance, the house dramatically improved. The interior exemplified that clean elegance she could never achieve at Rose House. Cool French blue walls trimmed with a white frieze of delicate plastered vines. A staircase striped with slim white bal.u.s.ters curved down from a stack of small balconies.

”I have a wretched headache,” Lady Kesseley said, pressing her fingers into her temples. ”Please take care of everything, Tommie.” She lifted her skirt and hastened up the stairs to the next floor and then disappeared down the corridor.

Henrietta released a deep, mind-clearing sigh. Lady Kesseley's presence made her so anxious. She felt as if she had been holding her breath since she left the village.

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