Page 83 of Impeccable
Gregory knew Arbuthnot fairly well. The man could be a bit arrogant, but was mostly harmless. “Did you and he…?”
“No, and don’t ask me that ever again. You can’t have unhindered access to my past. I locked it all away for a reason. I don’t wish to summon it again. Ever.” She spoke with a shocking vehemence. Was she ashamed despite being proud of what she’d been able to accomplish on her own?
“That’s fair. My apologies.”
What a bloody mess. He didn’t know what to say to her. She was upset and hurting and rightfully so.
“You should go,” she said. “I don’t know if anyone saw you come in here, but I’m fairly certain everyone in the club knows I came in here with Lucien.”
She didn’t continue, but he knew she was concerned people might deduce they were in here together. And since their affair was soon to become public knowledge, it was probably best if they didn’t feed the gossip. Perhaps there was something he could do to prevent that happening. He would at least try.
Gregory went to the door and paused. “I’d like to help, if I can.”
“There is nothing you can do. The truth will come out, I suppose. I always knew it was possible. I was a fool to think it could remain buried.” She squared her shoulders. “I did try, and I’ll find my way.Alone.”
He didn’t doubt that she would. “Like a phoenix,” he said, smiling faintly. He realized this was the end, that she wouldn’t invite him to meet her here tomorrow or any other day. “I’ll be cheering you on.”
Opening the door, he left the office and made his way from the club. He didn’t look back.
Chapter17
Evie wasn’t sure how long she stood in Lucien’s office. A numbness had settled over her, and she didn’t particularly want to move, not even to sit down. But she must. And she wasn’t going to walk out the door.
Going to the bookcase in the corner, she reached up and pulled a book that worked as a lever for the secret door. The bookcase swung open, and Evie went to light a candle before she stepped into the dark passageway.
It was a short walk to the other end, but she couldn’t do it without illumination. Candle in hand, she closed the bookcase and moved forward along the passage, which included a brief flight of stairs down, until she met the other door, which opened into the mezzanine. From there, she made her way to the ladies’ side.
A narrow door tucked into a corner led to another flight of stairs up to a doorway just outside her office. Lucien had installed this passageway so they could easily access each other’s offices, particularly on busy club nights.
A wave of nostalgia and sadness washed over her. She and Lucien had worked so closely on the success of the club. It was mostly him, but she’d been an intrinsic part. She was going to miss it more than she could say.
She particularly loved her office, from the flower-shaped pulls on her desk drawers to the daffodil-colored chairs to the small landscape painting hanging behind her desk between the windows that looked down to the garden. The painting had belonged to her mother and was one of the few things that had survived their journey from France.
Evie went to the painting and gently touched the frame, which she’d had redone before hanging it here. When she was younger and they lived in their two-room lodging in Soho, the frame had been broken. Evie didn’t remember much about her mother, but she recalled her staring at that painting and crying. Later, Nadine had explained that her mother-in-law—Evie’s grandmother—had painted the landscape, and it depicted the estate her father’s family had owned. This and a simple cross necklace made of coral were the only items they had of any importance. Heloise had the necklace, and Evie had kept the painting. To think that their once-grand family had been reduced to those things and just the two of them made her sad. Which was probably why Evie rarely contemplated it.
She supposed they might have family, particularly in France if they’d survived the Terror. Or perhaps they’d escaped—either to England or America. Evie wouldn’t know how or where to begin searching for people whose names she didn’t even know. Her past was of no use or worth, so she typically left it where it belonged: behind her.
Turning from the painting, Evie looked around at what she might take with her from the office. Most of these things belonged to the Phoenix Club, not to her. There were books she would take, and she decided the small statue of Venus near the fireplace belonged to her. Lucien had gifted it to her when the club had opened. Again, a part of her life was being reduced to things.
Knowing Lucien, he wouldn’t mind if she took every last item in the room. Indeed, he might even insist on it. But, he would say, she wouldn’t have to because he was going to make sure she was able to stay. Evie didn’t believe for a single moment that he would be able to stop what was happening, not without giving Millie what she demanded.
Evie pounded her fist on the desktop. She braced her hands on the wood and hung her head in defeat. She’d vastly underestimated Millie. A woman with her measure of entitlement was never going to simply allow Evie or the Phoenix Club to deny her what she thought she deserved.
And Evie had been a fool for thinking she deserved any of this. She pushed up from the desk and fell into her chair, which was positioned so that she could easily look out the window at the garden, lit with dozens of torches, below. She stared at the reflecting pool for some time.
She thought of Nadine, who’d been the only parent she’d really known. As she lay sick and dying, she’d apologized repeatedly for how things had turned out after they’d come to England. Their father had wanted them to find someone who would help them, but that hadn’t happened, perhaps because their mother had been too despondent and couldn’t recall everything he’d told her. She’d been absolutely brokenhearted after leaving her husband in France. Then, about two years later, when she’d seen his name on a list of people who’d died, she’d become a shell of a person until she’d followed him into death.
Nadine had done her best to raise them, working hard as a seamstress to provide for them. Still, they’d lived in poverty, so far beneath where they belonged, or so Nadine had always said. When you heard that all the time, Evie realized, you began to believe it. She and Heloise had hoped and dreamed of a better life. Going to work in a fancy brothel had given them that opportunity. They’d been young, pretty, and they both spoke French. That had made them desirable, and, as a result, successful. It had seemed theydiddeserve a better life.
But who really deserved anything? There were plenty of girls in their neighborhood who were just as deserving, but who hadn’t escaped poverty or hard work. Why was Evie any better than them? She wasn’t.
She didn’tdeserveany of this, and she’d be fine without it. There would be plenty to miss, primarily her friends who had become her family. But she couldn’t stay here in London, even though leaving would break her heart. It was the only home she’d ever known.
What if she left, and perhaps went to Cornwall again, then returned to Soho to open her own business? She’d saved enough as a courtesan and over the past two years working at the club that she could reinvent herself again and start anew. She thought of the Siren’s Call, a gaming hell run by a brilliant woman, Jewel Harker, who’d opened its doors some fifteen or twenty years ago. It employed only women, and they lured men to come drink and gamble. They did not, however, offer sex, and any man overstepping with any of the women there was quickly and soundly thrown out on his arse—by women.
Evie didn’t want to duplicate the Siren’s Call, but she could speak with Jewel and ask her advice on what to do. Yes, she’d do that soon.
A soft knock on the door drew Evie to turn her head. She didn’t really want to see anyone.
