Page 56 of An Honorable Deception
“The sort we can’t talk about.”
She could hardly blame him for the huff of breath. She knew only too well how frustrating it could be claiming as one’s best friend someone who had so many secrets. Being always kept in the dark. Wondering what they were doing when they vanished and reappeared with no explanation.
In a different world, they could have bonded over that, she and X. In this one, he seemed to have forgotten she still stood there. As had Yates. And Merritt.
She waited another minute, listening to the tennis match of demands and rebuttals before she reached for the door. Her opening it didn’t break through the haze of Alethia-induced ardor, nor did her slipping outside. As she closed it behind her, she could still hear Xavier shouting, “Why not let her be the judge?”
She didn’t want to go home. If she showed up at Hemming House at night without an escort, Papa would be furious. But she also had no desire to stand there while Yates defended hisright to woo Alethia without interference from the known charmer who was Xavier.
So she walked down the steps, onto the pavement, and then looked at the sprawling, magnificent square that claimed the crème de la crème of society as its residents. Golden lights glowed from only about half the windows. No doubt the rest of the families were either out at some event or they’d fled the heat for country estates.
She knew which house was the Barremores’. She’d strolled by it plenty of times, a few of which she’d even seen Alethia and her mother going out, and they’d exchanged distant nods and empty smiles.
Her feet pulled her that way now because lights were glowing from the ground-floor rooms of the Barremore residence, and she heard the front door closing. No one moved outside, though, which must mean someone had gone in—logical. An auto puttered away from the curb, no doubt heading toward the carriage house. She paused, debated a moment. Passing by the house, then, was required to get to her own.
And there was no one paying her a bit of attention. Other than that automobile turning the corner, the street was quiet. She passed by the main walkway to the front door ... but she turned into the one that would wrap around to the side and back entrances. With a bit of luck . . . yes. The windows were open, inviting in any breeze they could find. Light spilled out. And voices.
After a sweep of her gaze to be sure no servants were lurking about, she tiptoed to the side of the house and crouched in the shadows under the window, shrouded by bushes. She didn’t honestly expect to hear anything useful—she just wanted to hear their voices. The people who should have protected Alethia.
“Nothing,”she had said.“They did absolutely nothing.”
A woman’s voice was the one talking, saying something about how she thought she’d go shopping tomorrow, pick up a few things before they left London for the Season. The response was also feminine, though not so cultured. A paid companion, she would think. But then footsteps sounded, and a throat cleared.
“Your brother, my lady.”
More steps, and the rustling of fabric too. “Good evening, Reuben. Oh, but Barremore is out, if you’re hoping to speak with him.”
“I’ve run into him already this evening, and he invited me back here for drinks. He’ll be but a moment behind me.”
“Ah. Are you waiting for him, or shall I pour you one now?”
“Sit. I’ll help myself.”
Lavinia tried to remember what Alethia’s family looked like, but she couldn’t recall. Well, her mother she’d have recognized, but her father and uncle? No doubt they’d been at the same gatherings, but no one had ever pointed them out to her, and no introductions had been made. The lady returned to her conversation with her companion about fabrics and feathers. Another auto rumbled up at the front.
Lavinia made herself comfortable on the ground behind the manicured shrubbery, knowing that no one would think to look for eavesdroppers under their windows in Grosvenor Square. And as long as she remained still, she’d draw no attention.
A few minutes later, more footsteps sounded, and another male voice offered a bored greeting. “Reuben. Jane.”
“Good evening, dear. How was the club?” The lady didn’t sound as though she actually cared.
And her husband didn’t actually answer. “Have you seen the new show at the Savoy yet, Reu?”
“Oh, was it any good?” Lady Barremore. “Alethia wants to go.”
Ice clinked against glass. “It wasn’t bad, though I’m not certain Alethia would find it to her tastes.” A moment’s pause. “Has she retired already?”
“She’s not here.” Lord Barremore. “We came home to an empty house.”
“What’s this? Is everything all right?”
The lady laughed. “Oh, perfectly fine. She ran into a friend from finishing school and accepted an invitation to travel with her for a while.”
Lavinia frowned. Did Lady Barremore honestly think Marigold was a friend from school ... or was she lying?
“Interesting,” Reuben said in a tone that implied it was anything but. “Where did they go? Someplace cooler than London, I hope.”
“Where did I say they went, dearest? Somewhere that started with aB, I think—and you know Alethia. The warmer it is, the happier she is.”
