Part 22 (2/2)
”Good evening, cousin.” Edward bowed stiffly, his eyes roving about as if looking for someone. ”I do not see Kesseley.”
”He is not here.”
Edward let out a relieved breath. ”How are you this evening?”
”Very well, thank you,” she lied. ”And yourself?”
”Well, I suppose.” But he wasn't, and his cheerful facade melted away, pain filling his large green eyes. He swallowed and looked at his hands. ”I've been roaming about the town, writing poetry-dark stuff. I don't even know why I do it. Did you not see the reviews of my book? It seems I'm the worst poet ever. I just didn't know what else to do.”
Lady Winslow overheard. ”Might I comment upon your poetry, Mr. Watson?” she said before Henrietta could introduce her.
”Please don't.”
Lady Winslow barreled on. ”I do not like your poems.”
”You are not unique in your opinion, ma'am,” he said tersely, turning to Henrietta, thereby giving Lady Winslow his back.
Lady Winslow continued unfazed. ”But I think you possess great talent, Mr. Watson, a talent perhaps picked before it had time to bloom. I daresay the poems that you have written this day in your despair may show your true depths. Many artists only discover themselves in their darkest time.”
Edward swung around, searching Lady Winslow with his earnest green eyes. ”Yes,” he whispered.
Lady Winslow performed a graceful curtsey, slowly lifting her copper eyes to meet Edward's, and a silent communication pa.s.sed between them.
”Lady Winslow, may I introduce Mr. Edward Watson. He is my-”
”I would be honored if you would join us this evening, Mr. Watson, in my box if you are not otherwise engaged,” Lady Winslow said.
”I'm not.” He shook his head, looking almost dazed. ”I-I just came here, because- because I didn't know where to go.”
”Well, we have found you.” Lady Winslow smiled enigmatically.
The ladies recognized several other lost gentlemen in the salon, taking them along to the box that Lady Winslow engaged beside the stage. She insisted that Edward sit next to her. Lady Kesseley and two other gentlemen sat behind her in the coveted back seats, concealed in the shadows, leaving Henrietta the front seat which was so close to the stage she should have been in the playbill.
The curtain opened to a painted vista of Florence. This was a quite serious production about the Medici family. The actresses wore period costumes, long frumpy Renaissance gowns, causing great distress to the gentlemen in the front row, who couldn't see even the tiniest glimpse of ankles. Halfway through the opening scene, a few frustrated male audience members threw pieces of their dismantled benches onto the stage, causing one actor to lose his performance face and throw some of the Italian set back. A fight ensued, and several men had to be carried away.
As much as Henrietta tried to pay attention to the play, thoughts of Kesseley crept into her mind. Each instance she'd disappointed him or pushed him away returned to haunt her. She didn't remember a time Kesseley wasn't there, lingering in the periphery of each moment of her life. So patient, so loyal. Her best friend. She was so horrid and stupid. She didn't deserve him, she never had.
Across the stage, several loud drunken bucks and their garish lady friends stumbled into a vacant box. Behind the rowdy young men, a taller gentleman waited in the shadows with ladies on either side of him.
Henrietta heard her own sharp intake of breath as Kesseley moved to the front seat.
He wore a crisp white s.h.i.+rt, the tips brus.h.i.+ng his hard jaw, his coat and breeches molded to his physique. For a moment all the audience, including the actors on the stage, stopped and admired the Adonis amongst them. He appeared bored, disdainful of the attention. He sat back in his seat, spreading his knees wide, resting his chin on his knuckles. His two beautiful companions, a redhead and a blonde, draped themselves beside him, leaning their generous bosoms on his arms. His lips curled into a slow, appreciative smile.
She felt a hard fist of jealousy clenching in her heart. She couldn't help but wonder if he smiled the same way when those ladies were naked in his arms. His mouth on their skin. Wasting his love-that she so desperately desired-on some- ”Wh.o.r.es!”
Dear G.o.d! Did I say that? For one horrible moment she thought she had. For one horrible moment she thought she had.
”Wh.o.r.es!” Lady Kesseley cried again, her pale eyes locked on Kesseley. The gentlemen sitting beside her quickly pulled her into the shadows, and the princess and Lady Winslow fell back to s.h.i.+eld her. Henrietta rose and saw the audience's eyes on her, as if she played the part of ”wh.o.r.e” in the play. She looked at Kesseley, who stared back at her, his eyes narrowed under his brows.
Henrietta turned and fled into the corridor where Lady Kesseley leaned against the wall, supported by her friends. ”I've lost my son,” Lady Kesseley whispered.
Henrietta held Lady Kesseley's arm outside the theatre. A cold breeze whipped through the narrow street, blowing back Henrietta's pelisse and biting her cheeks and ears. It took ages for the carriage to come. They could have walked home. Lady Winslow, Princess Wilhelmina and Edward were silent. No one knew what to say. All the time, Henrietta kept close to the door, hoping it would swing open and Kesseley would come outside, explain that it was all a terrible joke.
But he never came.
When the carriage rolled to a stop on Curzon Street, Lady Kesseley adamantly refused any company, insisting she wanted to be alone. As Lady Kesseley descended the carriage, Lady Winslow grabbed Henrietta's arm.
”We shall come by in the morning,” she said. ”Send a footman at any time during the night if you require help.”
Henrietta escorted Lady Kesseley to her chamber door, her arm weak on Henrietta's elbow. She gave Henrietta a small kiss on her cheek. Her lips were cold and dry. ”I used to resent you because you never loved my son. But now, you are like my own true daughter. Did you know I had two daughters? They died, didn't live more than a week,” she said, her voice coming in strange waves as if spoken from a far distance.
Henrietta hadn't slept in two days and even as her mind pressed on, her body shut down. She fell into bed as soon as the maid removed her stays. She didn't even braid her hair. She would brush out the tangles in the morning, like she would all the other tangles in her life.
In her dreams, she sat on a rock with her mother before the Ouse. Heavy deep gray clouds blew over their heads, and she could see the lightning strike the flat horizon. So when the screams first pierced her dreams, she thought it was thunder. A few seconds later, however, she shot up in bed in the darkness with one thought.
Fire.
Not even bothering to reach for her banyan, she ran out into the corridor, instinctively heading for Kesseley's chamber. It was empty. The screams continued. Henrietta rushed down the stairwell, coming to the landing where Lady Kesseley stood, still in her evening clothes, a gla.s.s figurine poised in her raised hand.
Kesseley stood below in the shadows, holding the rail, the fire from the wall sconce flickering in his dark glossy eyes. Henrietta couldn't tell if he was drunk, but he reeked of alcohol, smoke and perfume.
”Do you think you are going to stay out all night with wh.o.r.es, then sleep in my house? Get out!” Lady Kesseley cried and threw the figurine. It cracked on his collarbone but he didn't flinch.
”Oh G.o.d! Kesseley!” Henrietta ran down the stairs, cutting her foot on a shard of gla.s.s.
”Don't hurt him! He is your son!” she cried, s.h.i.+elding his body with hers. He brushed her aside and continued up the stairs.
”It's my house, Mother. You get out.” He spoke low, slowly, as if he were moving mountains with his voice. ”Why don't you batten yourself on a lover. Maybe one of them has a nice pied a terre. pied a terre. The perfect place for a mistress.” The perfect place for a mistress.”
”No, Kesseley!” Henrietta pleaded, still pulling his arm.
”Stay out of this, Henrietta!” he shouted.
His mother started sobbing. Her cries echoed on the stairwell, and she sank onto the floor, clinging to the rail.
”All those years I told myself everything I gave up was worth it because I had you. And this is how you treat me?”
”No, you don't mean it,” Henrietta pleaded. ”You're just angry. Please...”
Kesseley ignored her. His mother slowly rose, her shoulders sloped.
”You've become him,” she said. ”I wish I had never married your father.” She walked away, into the shadows.
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