Page 44 of The Proposition
“No one is as deaf as he who refuses to listen?” Miss Fry translated.
He nodded, pleased. “Indeed. Before you show this letter to anyone or make any harsh judgments on Mr. Connors or anyone of his persuasion, will you agree to listen?”
Clemency’s lips quirked to the side. “What are you proposing, sir?”
That was enough for him. Audric pushed away from hisdesk, striding past Clemency to collect his dark blue coat from beside the door. Without further instruction, he left his office, hearing her soft little slippers padding behind him as he turned right out the door, followed the dark hall, and took the stairs down toward the foyer. Ralston waited there by the mirror to the left of the front door in hushed conversation with Audric’s sister, Delphine.
“I heard we had a visitor,” Delphine said mildly, a veiled smile presented to each of them. “Good day, Miss Fry.”
“Hello, Miss Ferrand.” Clemency waited at the bottom of the stairs, somewhat hidden, or perhaps protected, behind Audric’s shoulder. The last meeting between Delphine and Clemency had been fraught, and he knew better than to say another word before the two women established how this meeting would go. He looked to Delphine, who had recently expressed her admiration for Clemency, or at least her interest in her working with Audric.
“There is a look of mischief upon you, brother,” Delphine noted. “Do I dare ask?”
“Mischief indeed,” he said, chuckling, then glanced to his right at Miss Fry, who worried the edge of her poor bonnet diligently. “I thought Ralston might drive us to Vere Street, to the Singing Hound.”
His sister clapped her hands together and grinned. “Ralston says it is just like the old operas on Lavender Row on the rue Lamarck!”
“I only brought you there once,” Audric said with a sigh. “And I regret it to this day.”
Delphine craned her neck around him to see Miss Fry more clearly, her grin deepening to one of sisterlybemusement as she stage-whispered, “Dear brother no longer allows me any fun, lest I ruin my reputation further.”
“Delphine.”
“What?” She batted her lashes and brushed by him to take Miss Fry’s arm. A bold statement of allegiances, in his opinion. “It is all out in the open now, is it not? Miss Fry knows of my past; we may live in England now but I will not adopt this English habit of never speaking freely, of being polite instead of true. I am tired of being ashamed and quiet; it has not made me healthy or strong again. What do you think, Miss Fry?”
Audric could feel a hot flush roaring up the back of his neck. He spun to face them both, using his size to hover like a gargoyle. Behind him, he heard Ralston’s shoes squeak as he shifted in them with unease. “Miss Fry does not carry the expert opinion on your condition, Delphine.”
“Nor do you,” his sister replied coolly. “Only I am the authority on me.”
Audric did not know quite what had gotten into his young sister, but she stared boldly up at him with her big, consuming eyes and planted herself firmly beside Miss Fry. And in that woman she was likely to find a stalwart ally, he mused silently, for there was nothing Clemency seemed to enjoy quite so much as thwarting and infuriating him. Perhaps, by speaking aloud the horrors she had experienced at Boyle’s hands, Delphine had dispelled some curse laying heavily upon herself. That said, her newfound taste for rebellion did not change what her doctors had said—that she should avoid too much rich food, exertion, and overexcitement.
“You will need my help,” added Delphine. “Miss Frycannot go without a veil and some concealment, and for that you will need my wardrobe. I offer it on the condition that I come along too.”
“Devils, woman, you win. But Ralston will accompany us too and drive you home whenever I decide so.” He shook his head at the reckless stupidity of it all, but this had been his idea. Typical, that these two women should wrestle it away from him. “We will avoid the Singing Hound, then, too rowdy for company such as this,” Audric replied, watching his sister’s grimace of determination fade into a thin if surprised smile. Yes, even he could be lenient, sometimes, and he was hopeless when it came to her demands. “Matton Hall will be better, I think.”
“I will ready the carriage.” Ralston snapped to the door with what Audric interpreted as giddiness. Were they that long overdue for diversion in this house?
“And I will find garments fitting for the occasion,” Delphine piped up, taking Miss Fry more resolutely by the arm and leading her back up the stairs. “We shall not be long, brother. See that the carriage is prepared and brought round, and do not think for one moment that I will change my mind or be persuaded to stay indoors.”
Watching the two ladies disappear up the steps, Audric could only vent a tired laugh. “Indeed, Delphine, indeed. No man is a match for the two of you in joined fortitude.”
15
Matton Hall was not at all what Clemency envisioned when told she was being all but taken hostage and hied to a “molly house.” In fact, it had all happened with such stupendous speed that she hardly had time to gather expectations. If she had, whatever those expectations were would have been utterly shattered by what she saw when walking through the tall, guarded, and inconspicuous doors of the assembly hall on Vere Street.
It was not at all a raucous place, and though her stomach seethed in a nervous tangle, she found herself exhaling a relieved breath as Delphine, arm tucked in hers, guided her across the clean tiled entrance toward a polished archway leading into a sort of modest ballroom filled with small tables meant for tea. The larger space was decorated with ivory bunting, wildflowers in delicate glass vases placed on each table. To the right of the archway, a number of trestle tables with refreshments were arranged, and attendants chatted amiably with those who came to peruse the sandwiches, cakes, and rolls. To the left, a well-maintained stage with a brass chandelier featured a lone fiddler, a young man in a lady’s dress with no cosmetics, his short mop of honey brown hair free as he played with obvious talent and gusto.A number of framed paintings hung on the brocade-covered walls. As they passed one, Clemency looked closer, finding that it was a bathing scene of two women in a wooded glade.
A space had been made for dancing before the stage, and two gray-haired, older ladies improvised their own steps, heedless of the rhythm or anyone watching. Most of the tables were taken, and a few curious glances were thrown their way. Clemency felt herself flinching each time, licking her lips, aware that her mother would squeeze her neck clean off her shoulders if she knew her daughter’s whereabouts.
Yet none of it seemed tawdry or, as she knew, illegal. In the carriage ride over they had rattled by a number of pillories outside the establishments on that street. Was it a warning, she wondered. If so, it seemed so cold to frequent a place like Matton Hall for tea and conversation while under threat of violence.
A willowy young woman in a petal pink frock swept over to them, beaming up at Mr. Ferrand. Clemency stowed her jealous thoughts, reminding herself that she had been brought there to observe and learn, not indulge in her own meaner tendencies.
“Mr. Ferrand, what a pleasure to see you again,” the woman said, then took stock of his company. Ralston had come inside with them and seemed constantly to hover protectively near Delphine’s side. “And you’ve brought company! How fortunate.”
“These ladies would prefer discretion, Miss Paisley,” Audric replied, giving her a respectful bow. “But for the afternoon, they are Miss Violet,” he said, gesturing to Delphine. “And Miss Rose.”
For my hair,Clemency thought, and smiled behind her veil. Delphine had been kind enough to outfit her in a sumptuous jewel-blue wrap dress, just big enough for Clemency’s larger frame, and a pair of sapphire hairpins to fasten a lacy black veil to her bun.
