A Lady of Notoriety (The Masquerade Club) (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

T
he next day was overcast with grey clouds that threatened showers, but Hugh was determined to leave. Even Wynne’s warning to rest his eyes would not stop him. He unpacked his greatcoat and arranged to have his trunk shipped to his mother’s house in London. He purchased the horse he’d been riding for nearly two weeks and settled generous vails on the cottage servants. Daphne, if that was her name, was not the only one who could be generous.

With one last look at the place he’d been unable to see, he bid the servants goodbye and mounted the horse. Let it rain, let the heavens pour down on him, he did not care. He wanted to be away from this place. He needed the open road. He needed the air. He needed freedom. A carriage would close him in like a coffin and trap him with his own thoughts.

London was less than a day’s ride away, but he took it slowly, not changing horses, instead sticking with his old equine friend, who had offered him such essential diversion when he’d needed it.
She
had arranged that diversion. How was he to make sense of that?

Hugh wanted the miles to strip away memories of the cottage in Thurnfield, but that was futile. The memories would never fade. The memories flooded his mind, repeating over and over, and if he stopped them, the questions rushed in. Why had she deceived him? What sort of woman would do such a thing? Had she merely been toying with him? Seduce the blind man. Make him think it is his idea and convince him he is a great lover. Then what? And why? Why do that? Why make herself a part of him, then strip herself away? Would it have made a difference if he’d not regained his sight? Had Toller been given two letters, one for each situation?

No. She’d known the whole time she would leave.

Curse the woman.

She might as well have sliced him with a sabre. The ache inside him began to burn white-hot. It was good that he could not go in search of her. His anger seethed so strongly, who knew what he would do?

Anger was preferable to the sheer despair of losing her.

* * *

His mind and his emotions had spun in circles as the horse plodded steadily forwards. By the time he neared the shores of the Thames and spied the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral, he’d made some decisions. First, he would not say anything to his family about the fire or Daphne or his recuperation. There was no reason they should know any of it. He’d say he came directly from Brussels. If they noticed any burn marks on his face, he’d tell them he came too close to some flames, which was true. Second, he’d cut himself loose from the family and book passage to...somewhere. He’d continue on his original plan to travel the world and do anything he damned well pleased.

Hugh crossed the Thames and made his way to Mayfair. Riding past the familiar buildings on familiar streets gave him more comfort than he would have guessed. He rode on Piccadilly, passing near the Masquerade Club. He was half tempted to drop in to see how it was going, but his eyes were aching from the strain of riding all day. He continued on to the family stable at Brooks Mews and gave charge of the horse to the Westleigh stablemen, trying not to remember Daphne’s stablemen, workers she’d had no need to hire.

He walked the short distance to Davies Street and, finding the door locked, sounded the knocker.

Mason, the butler, opened the door. ‘Why, Mr Hugh! Did we know you were to arrive today?’

Hugh suspected there would be a scramble to make certain his room was ready. ‘I didn’t send word, I’m afraid. But do not fuss for me.’

‘Oh, your mother would want your room properly prepared.’ Mason peeked out the door. ‘No luggage?’

Hugh lifted the satchel he’d carried with a change of clothing. ‘My trunk is being shipped.’ He stepped into the hall. ‘Is my mother at home?’

Mason took the satchel from Hugh’s hand. ‘I believe she and General Hensen are in the drawing room.’

The ever-present General Hensen, his mother’s lover. ‘I’ll go in and let her know I’m home.’

He glanced around the hall, at the portraits that hung on the walls and thought of a smaller, wainscoted hall he’d known only by feel until yesterday. He walked to his mother’s drawing room, gave a quick knock and entered the room.

His mother and the general were seated together on a sofa, looking into a kaleidoscope. Both looked up.

‘Hugh!’ His mother’s face lit up in a smile and, to his surprise, Hugh felt uncommonly glad to see her. She might act the tyrant at times, but, to be fair to her, it was always on behalf of her children.

General Hensen helped her to her feet. ‘How nice this is, eh, Honoria?’

His mother hurried over to him and waited for his kiss on the cheek. ‘Mother. General. Yes, here I am, back from Brussels.’

The general shook his hand. ‘It is good you are back, safe and sound.’

‘I am so glad to see you, but you look a fright.’ His mother touched his face. ‘What happened here?’ Of course she would notice the burn marks.

He shrugged away from her touch. ‘Nothing of consequence. Some cinders blew in my face.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You ought to be more careful, Hugh. Fire is nothing to trifle with.’

As well he knew. He’d run into an inferno after all.

The general chuckled. ‘Now, Honoria. He is not two years old. Hugh is a man who has fought in war.’

Hugh wanted to dislike a man who took his mother to bed, but Hensen was a decent sort and good to her. Hugh laughed at himself. He was not unlike Hensen. He’d been bedding a widow, too.

If she’d really been a widow. She might have lied about that, too.

He stepped away from his mother and looked down at himself. His clothes were damp and mud splattered. ‘You are quite right, Mama. I am not fit for company at the present moment. I merely wanted to inform you of my arrival.’
And to see you,
he thought,
because I feared I might never see you again.
‘I must change out of these clothes.’

‘Yes, do,’ His mother settled back in her chair.

He bowed and turned to the door.

His mother’s voice followed him. ‘So fortunate you have come today. We have a family dinner tonight.’

A family dinner? He’d hoped to have a day or two in relative peace, if peace and his mother could coexist in the same house.

He turned back to her. ‘Who is coming?’

She beamed. ‘All of them!’

* * *

Hugh washed off the dirt of the road and unpacked clean clothes to wear, but his eyes ached so much all he wanted to do was close them. Clad only in his drawers, he lay on the bed. Best he rest his eyes for a few moments. Wynne had told him not to exert himself.

Next thing he knew, Higgley, his mother’s footman, knocked on the door. ‘Almost dinnertime,’ Higgley said. ‘Your mother sent me up here to assist you.’

Hugh groaned as he sat up. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’ Not that it had helped his eyes. They still ached.

Higgley went straight to the clothing he’d laid out. He handed Hugh a shirt.

‘Tell me what is happening in the family, Higgley.’ Hugh pulled his arms through the sleeves. ‘Anything I should know?’

Hugh had grown up with Higgley. They were nearly the same age and had played together as boys. Since Higgley had come to work for the Westleighs, he and Hugh had a bargain. Higgley would tell Hugh whatever family secrets he discovered and Hugh would never betray him for it. Plus he always found a way to slip Higgley a few extra coins or see he received a special privilege or two.

The footman brushed off Hugh’s waistcoat. ‘Nothing of consequence, to my knowledge. General Hensen is here much of the time, but I am certain that is no surprise to you.’

It was certainly no surprise.

‘What about my brother and his wife? What news of them?’ Hugh buttoned his breeches.

‘The earl is very busy, of course, it being his first year in the Lords. The countess is finally increasing, which is a good thing, because your mother was becoming impatient. I take it the countess was none too happy that your sister and Mrs Rhysdale bore children and she hadn’t.’ Higgley enjoyed talking about the family.

He was like Toller in that way. Hugh thought he might miss Toller. He’d missed Higgley, he realised. He’d missed the comfort of home.

‘How are your parents?’ Hugh asked. Higgley’s parents had also worked for the family. They’d been pensioned off some years ago and lived in a small house near the village. They would have been among the many people connected to the Westleigh estate who would have suffered if Hugh and Ned had not found a way to restore the family fortune.

‘Doing very well,’ Higgley answered. ‘My mother thinks her flower bed the equal of any around Westleigh House and my father claims to have the best kitchen garden in the county.’

Hugh asked about other members of Higgley’s family while Hugh buttoned his waistcoat and was helped into his coat. The familiarity of it soothed him. He allowed Higgley to tie his neckcloth, although it was something he usually did for himself. After he finished dressing, Hugh ran a brush through his hair and put on his shoes.

He left his bedchamber and descended the stairs. A memory flashed of the fiery staircase at the inn, of carrying Daphne to safety. He closed his eyes and compared walking down these steps to descending the stairs at the cottage in Thurnfield.

He opened his eyes. Forget this!

The sound of laughter came from the drawing room. The family had gathered, obviously. Hugh forgot his desire to be alone and his wish to rest. He hurried to enter the room.

‘Hugh!’ His brother Ned saw him first and immediately strode over to shake his hand. Ned’s brow was etched with lines and he looked weary, as if assuming the family title had automatically aged him.

Before Hugh could get out even a word of greeting to Ned, his sister, Phillipa, rushed over with a huge smile and sparkling eyes. Her scar still marked her face, but it had not been the first thing he’d noticed about her. The first thing he’d noticed had been her happiness.

‘Phillipa, you look beautiful,’ he exclaimed. It must be the first time he’d ever said those words to her. He kissed her cheek, the cheek with the scar, and then simply gave her a hug. ‘Beautiful.’

She laughed.

Her husband, Xavier, a longtime family friend, stood behind her. ‘Motherhood agrees with her, does it not?’

Yes. She was all softness and womanliness, no longer the little girl he used to ignore.

He released her and shook her husband’s hand. ‘Xavier. Good to see you.’

‘You must call on us soon,’ Xavier said. ‘And meet our little girl. She is the image of your sister.’ The man was nearly bursting with pride.

‘I will. I will.’ He could spare enough time to visit his sister before travelling.

Hugh spied his half-brother, Rhys, and his wife, Celia, holding back. The next person he must greet was Ned’s wife, Adele, who happened to also be Celia’s stepdaughter. Protocol demanded he greet a countess before his bastard brother. ‘Adele, you look lovely, as well.’

She giggled at the compliment, her blonde curls bobbing.

To his surprise, a wave of fondness for her washed over him. He could forgive her for being a silly chit. She was young, perhaps not yet twenty. Besides, she adored his brother. Even now she gazed at Ned as if he were Zeus.

Had his week with Daphne turned him sentimental? Or had it been her abandonment that made it so comforting to be in the company of people who cared about him?

Hugh took both Adele’s hands in his and stepped back to give her an approving look. ‘You look different somehow. A lovely difference.’ He knew the reason, thanks to Higgley.

She blushed and leaned forwards conspiratorially. ‘That is because I am increasing. We are going to have a baby!’

‘Is that not delightful news?’ His mother’s voice reached from several feet away. Stood to reason she’d heard everything. Nothing got past her.

Even that filled him with tenderness. ‘Delightful, indeed.’ He squeezed both Adele’s hands and smiled. ‘Very wonderful news. I am as happy as I can be for you.’

He meant it. Having a child would mean a great deal to Adele.

Once he’d imagined that Daphne had to give up a child—but then, he’d been mistaken in everything about her, why not that, as well?

He mentally shook himself again and kissed Adele on the cheek before releasing her to her husband. Ned put his arm around her. Their mother called the two over to where she was conversing with the general, and dutiful son Ned immediately went over to see what their mother wanted.

Hugh crossed the room to greet Rhys and Celia. ‘Rhys.’ He extended his hand.

Rhys shook it. ‘Hugh.’

Theirs was an uneasy relationship, entirely Hugh’s fault. As a boy Hugh had hated to think of his father siring a bastard son, betraying his mother like that. Hugh had taken it out on Rhys. He’d been monstrous, picking fights with Rhys every time he saw him. Now his admiration for his base-born brother was vast. As he’d told Daphne.

Blast! Why did everything remind him of her?

He turned to Rhys’s wife, Celia, who had once been a baron’s widow. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘How is my third sister faring?’

She returned a mocking look. ‘I am waiting for my compliment.’

He tilted his head, not certain he’d heard her correctly.

She laughed. ‘Well, Phillipa is beautiful. Adele is lovely—both of which are true, but where is my compliment?’

He pretended to eye her from head to toe. She was not the fashion in beauty. Too tall. Too thin. But her features shone with intelligence. She was the sort of woman who became more beautiful the longer you spent with her. In fact, she’d once been the sort of woman of whom one took little notice, but no longer. Love had transformed her.

‘You are peerless,’ he said.

She laughed again and threaded her arm through her husband’s. ‘That will do nicely.’

Hugh smiled back and turned to survey all his family. His eyes pained him, his muscles felt fatigued from riding half the day and the ache inside him persisted as his emotions continued to wage war. His anger was as raw as seared flesh, such a contrast to the loving joy surrounding him, the joy he’d briefly thought within his grasp, the joy that had evaporated like a mist.