Page 15 of West End Earl
“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.”
