West End Earl by Bethany Bennett
Chapter Five
The evening was warm with a breeze that made her cravat flutter against her chin. Normally, she’d never venture into this part of Town in her evening wear, but Phee was due at Vauxhall in an hour. Behind her, a lantern hanging beside the door to the tavern offered enough light to see the hands on her watch. She snapped the case closed and tucked it away.
Laughter and shouted conversations made their way through the window to the street where Phee stood. She could make out Peggy’s sharp cackle as the barmaid went about her rounds, refilling drinks and greeting customers by name. Not only did Peggy keep company with one of the sailors on the Wilhelmina, but she could read and write. A steadfast devotion to her sailor beau meant a letter waited for him in every port, and he sent a reply before returning to sea. During their interview, Peggy hadn’t voiced concerns about whether her lover was alive or dead, which spoke well to the fate of the Wilhelmina and her crew.
Frankie, one of the street children Phee often worked with, would be back from the docks any minute. That grubby little girl saw and heard everything and could make herself invisible at the drop of a hat. As long as Frankie’s report didn’t conflict with Peggy’s, Phee would consider the information she’d gathered tonight reliable.
“Coin first, as usual.” Frankie appeared around the corner with palm outstretched.
“Of course.” A flash of money from pocket to tiny hand, then Phee stepped with the child beyond the circle of the lantern light.
“Ship hit weather at the Cape and took on damages. They’ve gone to port in Africa to make repairs,” Frankie said.
“Peggy told me something similar. Any word on the cargo?” On that topic, Peggy hadn’t been helpful. Her focus had been understandably on her man, not the contents of the hold.
“No. I left messages asking around. It might take a bit to find someone who knows, but I’ll send word when I hear anything.”
Phee slipped the child another coin. “Well done, Frankie. Send word when you get it.”
Without another sound, the urchin melted into the darkness, and Phee turned toward the nearest cross street. Keeping alert for unsavory characters, she ducked around the building and jogged between the traffic toward a hack parked across the road.
“Vauxhall, please,” she called up to the driver, then settled on the seat. Opening her pocket watch, Phee checked the time again and smiled. She might not be late after all.
A short while later, the smells and sounds of the docks were another world away as Phee met Cal’s carriage outside the gates, then paid her admission.
“I spoke with Frankie,” she said in a low voice, for Cal’s ears only, as they made their way toward the dining area.
“The Wilhelmina?” he asked.
“She hit weather and took on damages. Stopped for repairs after rounding the Cape. No word on the cargo, but Frankie is on it.”
A groove appeared between Cal’s brows. “Keep me apprised of the situation, as usual.”
“I always do.”
“Carlyle!” someone cried, and the worry disappeared from Cal’s face before he returned the greeting with a cheerful one of his own.
“What would I do without you?” Cal clapped a hand on her back.
“Lose money and be taken in by cheats and liars.”
He laughed. “You’re not wrong, my friend. I made do before you came along, but you make my life easier.”
The spot on her shoulder blade where his hand had rested tingled. Phee tilted her hat at a jaunty angle with one finger and shot him a smile.
Viscount and Lady Amesbury were already cozy at a table, sitting a few inches closer together than entirely proper. The viscountess was rosy-cheeked and laughing, resting her considerable bosom on her husband’s arm, when Phee approached with Cal and Emma. Amesbury didn’t appear to mind, as he not so subtly appreciated his wife’s cleavage.
Phee had fought against a similar expression a few minutes ago when Cal had exited his coach and wrecked her equilibrium. The forest-green evening jacket he wore highlighted the angle of his shoulders and the lean lines of his body.
He offered a seat to Emma, then took a place across from Ethan, gesturing with a nod to a spot for Phee.
Emma craned her head about, trying to see everything all at once, but kept glancing toward the darker paths, as if expecting someone to appear. She might think herself subtle, but the furtive looks put Phee on alert. Thank God Emma wasn’t entirely her responsibility—although, in good conscience, she couldn’t let the girl wander off alone.
At Vauxhall there were myriad spectacles to enjoy, and this was Emma’s first visit. Fresh-faced, eyes sparkling with excitement, Emma looked lovely tonight, as if she floated through the crowd with an enchanted glow about her.
Phee couldn’t remember ever being that wide-eyed toward the world. Not with innocence, anyway. Trepidation, sure. But by all appearances, Emma lacked that emotion altogether.
Cal was a watchdog of a big brother. Considering how happy-go-lucky he was in so many other areas of his life, these protective instincts and this desire for rules with Emma tickled Phee to no end. Judging by the grin on Lord Amesbury’s face, Phee wasn’t alone in her amusement. Calvin wearing his big-brother hat in the face of Emma’s enthusiasm was comedy at its best but also incredibly sweet. It made her heart go soft, so she tried to avoid looking at him.
Across the table, Lady Amesbury laughed at something her husband whispered in her ear, then murmured a reply that made Lord Amesbury grin wickedly.
“Sorry we’re late,” Cal said, nodding to a footman who offered a glass of wine. “I hope you two haven’t been waiting long. How much champagne has Lottie imbibed?”
Lottie hiccuped. “Just enough to think you’re pretty.” She shot her husband an amused look. “Not as pretty as you, love. But nice all the same. All that shiny hair is like a halo. False advertising but quite attractive.”
Everyone laughed until Cal’s amusement cut off abruptly.
Two men approached their table. Rising with slow movements that spoke of his reluctance, Cal made a bow to the Marquess of Eastly. “Good evening, Father. I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Calvin! We were just talking about you. Well met, Son.”
Phee and Amesbury stood as well when a younger woman trailing behind Eastly and his companion joined the group.
“I’d like to introduce Miss Violet Cuthbert and her father, Baron Rosehurst. Close friends of mine I mentioned earlier today. A fine young lady, as you can see.”
The polite expression Cal wore seemed wooden to Phee, but others might be convinced. Years of training likely overrode his fairly obvious urge to flee, as he bowed over the lady’s hand as expected.
Eastly had talked to Cal earlier today? Strange that their meeting hadn’t come up in conversation before now. But then, she and Cal hadn’t exactly been glued to each other’s side today. In fact, they’d met only briefly before she left for home to dress.
Phee flexed her hands and enjoyed the supple slide of the beautiful new gloves he’d presented her with. She shrugged off the question. If the interview with Eastly had been important, she was sure Cal would have mentioned it.
Besides, this wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed Eastly throw his son into an awkward situation with bull-in-a-china-shop exuberance. It pained her to see Emma’s expression change from unrestrained enjoyment to a polite mask as she waited for her father to acknowledge his daughter’s presence at the table.
Cal’s “Pleased to meet you” and “It’s an honor” sounded perfectly sincere, but anyone who knew him could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His interest—as far as she knew—remained unstirred, despite Eastly’s numerous matchmaking attempts. In two years of friendship, Phee hadn’t seen him do more than look at a woman, and they’d never spent their evenings at brothels or chasing actresses at the theater. A lucky thing, since that could have turned very awkward very quickly.
Out of the corner of her eye she spied Emma rising from her seat and murmuring something about the ladies’ retiring room. Lucky girl to escape so neatly. Their footmen standing at attention beyond their box would help her find the way safely, so Phee returned her attention to the three men who still stood.
The baron held Cal’s hand captive between the two of his, seesawing his arm up and down like the handle of a water pump. In a graceful move, Cal managed to free his hand before clapping the baron on the arm. Smoothly done—he’d extricated himself from an overly enthusiastic greeting and still looked friendly.
“We have enough room at the table if you’d like to join us. Although some notice next time would be appreciated, Father,” Cal said, and Phee heard the reproach, even if Eastly didn’t outwardly acknowledge it.
No one seemed inclined to address the niceties, so Phee helped Miss Cuthbert to a seat and gestured to their footman to fill her glass of champagne. Miss Cuthbert murmured her thanks before Phee took her seat as the other men finally found places at the table.
A shout from the jugglers and acrobats in the crowd caught everyone’s attention as a fire-eater blew a gust of flame toward a shrieking woman.
Depending on where they fell in their political leanings, the revelers were primed for either a fight or a celebration now that Queen Caroline had ended her exile in Italy. The performers played to the heightened emotions of everyone, mingling with the vibrant mix of low and high class. In another hour, the fireworks would begin, which was always Phee’s favorite part of the night. But until then, their entertainment would be provided by watching men belch fire and Cal fend off the baron and his mortified daughter.
Pity stirred within Phee for the daughter, though. With her downcast gaze studying the hem of the serviette in her lap, Miss Cuthbert, at least, seemed to recognize her father and Eastly’s boorish behavior.
Lord Amesbury brought his mouth to Lottie’s ear, and whatever he said sparked a wicked gleam in her eye. Without further ado, Lord Amesbury rose, offered his hand to his wife, and led her out of the box.
The viscount and his lady wove through the throng of revelers toward the dark paths beyond the seating pavilion. Lady Amesbury pulled her husband’s head down to say something, oblivious to the man walking a tightrope above them.
In another life, Phee might have been as determined to escape toward the area of Vauxhall that made it so appealing to revelers with carnal intentions. If she had a lover, she would gravitate toward the darkness too, with no worries beyond stealing another kiss. Helpless to resist the fantasy, she let herself drink in the picture Cal made under the swaying lanterns, with his perfectly packaged good looks that her fingers itched to muss and unwrap like a present. The too-long hair he restrained in an orderly queue that would fall free if she tugged that black ribbon loose. She wanted to unwind the pristinely folded cravat to expose the bristles of beard that would peek out in a few hours. It was the fantasy of a moment—until the men’s conversation interrupted her daydream and ruined everything.
The baron and Eastly were singing Miss Cuthbert’s praises in the most general terms. Excellent stock, fine needlepoint skills, biddable—that word alone made Phee clench her jaw. Miss Cuthbert didn’t preen under the attention—she remained mute, worrying the edge of her serviette in her lap. Surely, it would irritate anyone with a modicum of self-respect to hear herself discussed like a horse at the races.
Lordy, when would the baron and marquess stop talking? Although his face remained impassive, Cal’s hands clenched tellingly around the fork beside his wineglass, which an obliging servant kept filled. Cal tried to draw Phee and Miss Cuthbert into the conversation several times, but the other men seemed determined to dominate the discourse.
As the minutes dragged on, the older men talked, and Miss Cuthbert inched away from the fathers until she’d nearly crept into Emma’s vacant seat.
Wait. Emma. She had been gone for some time and hadn’t taken a chaperone. No doubt a footman accompanied her. Unless the girl had talked her way out of a watchful eye, which would certainly be in character.
How far away was the retiring room? Phee didn’t know, having never been in one at Vauxhall. Most men stepped off a path and used a handy bush or tree. Thanks to the carved, hollowed-out piece of wood resembling a phallus she kept in a panel inside her breeches, she’d devised a way to pee standing up years ago. Most gentlemen considered it bad form to check another’s wares—so to speak—while relieving oneself. The pocket pizzle might not be the cleanest option, but it had saved her more than once and had been vital to avoiding discovery at boarding school.
The orchestra began a piece that may have been lively and joyful but to Phee’s ears only added to the noisy environment.
The footman Phee had expected Emma to take stepped into view, opening a fresh bottle of champagne for the table. So Emma didn’t have a servant with her after all. That settled it. Phee murmured her excuses toward the others at the table, who ignored her, then she set off to look for Cal’s sister.
After a few subtle inquiries Phee found the ladies’ retiring room, which did her no good, because Adam Hardwick couldn’t march in and look for her. After waiting outside the door for five minutes, Phee flagged down a passing matron.
“Pardon me. I realize this might be an odd request, but could you please ask in the ladies’ room if there’s a Lady Emma within?” A moment later, the matron came out shaking her head. Phee tipped her hat at the matron with a murmured thanks.
Surely, they would have crossed paths if Emma had returned directly to their dinner box. Perhaps she’d seen a friend and stopped to talk? Didn’t she realize how risky this place could be to an unescorted miss? Anything might happen in these corridors.
Thousands of lanterns filtered light through the trees, creating pockets of well-lit space and acres of shadowy temptation. So many labyrinthine paths available to a headstrong lady like Emma. For a moment Phee considered sending an attendant to their table to raise the alarm. But with her luck, they’d find Emma quaffing champagne and chatting with friends. They’d all look like fools, with Phee as the king of them all.
Nearby a bell rang, spurring an uptick in the excited hum of conversation around her. The mass of humanity swarmed, then surged in one direction. Ah yes, the bell signaling the imminent start of the cascade show. The man-powered artificial waterfall ran for only about a quarter hour each night. Maybe Emma would be there. The spectacle was famous, and this was Emma’s first visit, after all. The flowing-river illusion crafted from tin, with accompanying thunder and rain sound effects, was a highlight of Vauxhall. The first time Phee paid her handful of shillings to enter the gardens, she’d stood spellbound for the entire fifteen minutes.
Moving like a fish downstream with the others, Phee followed the crowd to the waterfall. A painted curtain pulled back, letting the lanterns shine on the bucolic scene. Hidden from view, men operated cranks and wheels, making the tin flats shudder. The storm sounds crashed all around as Phee stood on her tiptoes, searching for golden curls with pink and white plumes attached with a jeweled pin.
Wherever Emma was, it didn’t appear to be here.
One path led to another, which led to another, which led to yet another. No Emma. Handfuls of moments passed, pulling bile higher in her throat. The risk of raising a false alarm sounded more appealing by the minute. Perhaps she should return to the table and demand Cal hunt for his own damn sister. It might be the perfect escape from Eastly and the baron.
Turning on one heel, Phee paused. A sound, and then a slightly louder noise, followed by a male chuckle and the admonishment to be quiet.
Oh dear. By the sounds of it, she’d stumbled upon a pair who were well beyond the kissing and shy hand-holding she’d seen other couples doing this evening. They must be on the other side of the hedge, ensconced in an alcove of assumed privacy.
Rolling her eyes at the ludicrous notion that anyone would consider privacy an option in a public place like this, Phee took another step toward the lights of the crowded dining area. One of the pair let loose a breathy moan, her voice catching at the end as if words escaped her entirely. Clearly, they were enjoying whatever was happening on the other side of this leafy barrier.
As she walked away, the woman’s cries built in a crescendo that chased her through the dark.
“That’s it, Emma. Just like that. You’re always so eager, love.”
Phee stopped in her tracks. No. Please, God, no.
Icy cold dread settled at the base of Phee’s spine, replacing her earlier worries with an even worse reality. “Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.”
She ignored the poking branches as she shoved through the shrubbery and fell through to the other side with all the grace of an aggressive jack-in-the-box. The scene before her didn’t fully register before her mouth moved. “That’s quite enough. You’re done.”
Roxbury had the audacity to laugh, as if shagging a debutante in a hedgerow was just another average Tuesday for him. Emma shrieked, covering her face and leaving her bodice around her waist.
Phee rubbed at the dull ache behind her eyes. This was bad. Very bad. “Lady Emma, please cover a different body part. Your face is the least of your worries right now.”
With frantic movements, Emma tugged her dress into place, refusing to meet Phee’s gaze.
Roxbury casually buttoned the placket on the front of his trousers and smoothed his waistcoat. “We were done anyway, weren’t we, Emma? Just saying our goodbyes.”
The blighter.
“Don’t tell my brother,” Emma hissed when Phee led her away with a firm grip on her elbow.
Cal would absolutely lose his mind, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? You can’t ask me to lie. In fact, you should tell him yourself.”
Emma dug in her heels, drawing them to a halt in the middle of the gravel path. “You needn’t lie. Not really. Just don’t tell him the truth.”
“What am I supposed to say? That I found you watching the cascade?” Phee rolled her eyes. She’d never been so young and convinced of her ability to control the world.
Emma bounced onto her tiptoes with a happy noise. “That would be grand. Thank you so much, Mr. Hardwick!”
“I didn’t—” Phee turned her head, right as Emma kissed her cheek in flirtatious thanks. In a slow-motion slide, Emma’s lips brushed Phee’s cheek, then landed directly on her lips. They both froze. Before stepping away, Phee noted softness, warmth, and a dozen other sensations—all of them foreign. None of them particularly welcome.
Without a word, they turned and headed toward the dinner boxes. It was an accidental kiss from a girl who’d thought she’d gotten her way. No more.
The orchestra grew louder when they left the treed paths. A few yards from their table, Emma grabbed Phee’s hand. “If you tell my brother what you saw, I’ll tell him you kissed me. Don’t think I won’t.”
“What? That’s not even close to what happened—” But Emma charged ahead, chattering in her bubbly way to their dining companions about the marvelous cascade. “Son of a bitch.”