Wonderful (29 page)

Aaron was eager for something else, something better.

“You know what, Father? The greatest idea just occurred to me.”

“What is it?”

“You claim Priscilla will be a terrific bride.”

“She will. There’s no finer girl for this family.”

“If that’s your opinion, why don’t
you
marry her? You’re a bachelor, and you’re an earl already. She wouldn’t have to wait to become a countess. I bet she’d jump at the chance.”

“Me? Marry Priscilla?”

“Why not? You wouldn’t have to fret about the dowry. You’d be free of your financial obligation to Claudia, and I’ll be free of Priscilla—and you. Goodbye.”

He walked out, and though his father screamed and yelled, Aaron kept on.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Thank you for allowing me to perform for you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Evangeline smiled at the man seated in front of her. His name was Mr. Rafferty. She was up on a small stage, having just finished her audition. She’d done her best, but she didn’t know what he thought. He simply studied her with a very critical eye, as if assessing her for many purposes besides singing.

As Florella had pointed out, it was a gentleman’s club, and Evangeline didn’t suppose it was a place she ought to seek employment. Florella had lived in London a long time, and she was used to a relaxed world where moral rules didn’t apply.

The club was quite large, and there were dozens of tables for card playing, imbibing, and socializing. In the back, there were other smaller rooms, where high-stakes wagering was allowed. On a busy night, she imagined it would be loud and raucous. There were shelves filled with liquor decanters, so customers would likely become very inebriated. Could she tolerate it?

No.

The artwork on the walls unnerved her the most. There were paintings of nude women such as one might see in a bordello. The canvases were brightly colored, and the females posed in them seemed to glare at Evangeline and ask,
Why are you here? You don’t belong
.

She couldn’t agree more. Miss Peabody had to be rolling in her grave.

Mr. Rafferty came over and offered his hand to Evangeline to help her climb down.

“Could you start this weekend?” he inquired.

“So soon?”

“Florella was correct about you. You’re amazing. You have a grand future in London.”

“You’re very kind.” Evangeline’s mind was reeling. How did she politely refuse without offending him? “I should speak to Florella. I’m not sure as to the salary I should request or the logistics of your shows.”

“Yes, by all means, speak with Florella, but she’s a mercenary. Don’t think you can demand a fortune. She knows what I pay, and I won’t raise the amount. Not even for someone of your caliber.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Evangeline hastily concurred. “I wouldn’t expect any special treatment.”

His lewd gaze meandered down her torso. “I’d have to purchase some clothes for you.”

Evangeline laughed, but with chagrin. “I apologize. My wardrobe is a bit drab.”

“Yes, and my customers will expect gowns that are a tad more revealing. It will be an extra expense. I’ll advance you the funds, but we’ll have to take the cost out of your earnings. Florella can explain how it works.” He paused and studied her even more intently. “Florella said you were new to London.” “Yes, it’s my first visit to the city.”

“So…you don’t have any kin or acquaintances. You’re all alone? There’s no one to worry if you come home late?”

“No, no one at all. I’m staying with Florella—until I settle in. Then I’ll be on my own.”

“Florella is a gem, isn’t she?” His meticulous scrutiny had her squirming, and he chuckled. “We’ll have many roles for you to fill.”

“I hope so.”

“We’ll discuss them all after you’ve talked to Florella. We’ll decide where you’ll fit in the best.”

“I’ll stop by again tomorrow. How about the same time?” she said, when in reality, she never planned to return.

“Yes, that fine.”

Evangeline stepped away. He was hovering a little too close, and his nearness bothered her. Actually, everything about the establishment bothered her. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were several male customers scattered at the tables. They were drinking heavily and had listened to her performance. They were watching her in a fashion she couldn’t abide—just as Mr. Rafferty kept watching her.

He seemed to be evaluating her for illicit purposes, but as Evangeline considered the possibility, she shoved it away. Florella was a friend, and she wouldn’t have arranged a disreputable position for Evangeline. Would she?

“Is Florella back yet?” she asked him.

“No, but I expect her shortly.”

After introducing Evangeline, Florella had scooted out, claiming she hadn’t wanted her presence to distract from Evangeline’s singing. The theater where she worked was down the street, and she’d walked there, promising to be back in an hour.

“I’ll wait for her in the foyer,” Evangeline said. “If that’s all right?”

He nodded and gave a slight bow, his disturbing eyes never leaving her as a maid escorted Evangeline out. She was holding Evangeline’s cloak and bonnet.

Evangeline was anxious over the entire situation and wouldn’t tarry inside. She’d stand out on the sidewalk, which wasn’t the wisest idea either, but then it was three o’clock in the afternoon. What could happen?

But when they arrived in the foyer, the maid opened the door a crack so Evangeline could peek out. It was pouring rain, the street awash with a deluge. Would Florella be delayed? How long would Evangeline be trapped?

Her consternation must have shown because the maid said, “If you’d rather not dawdle here in the entrance, we have a nice parlor you could use.”

Evangeline dithered, peeked out again. “I guess I should.”

The maid led her down a dark hall and ushered her into a cozy salon. There was wine and cheese on a tray, a fire burning in the grate, a sofa in front of it.

The maid gestured for her to sit, and Evangeline smiled.

“This is lovely,” Evangeline told her.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll come for you the moment Miss Bernard returns.”

“You’re very kind.”

The maid laid Evangeline’s cloak and bonnet on a chair in the corner, then she left. Evangeline went to the table to grab a bite of cheese when—to her astonishment—it sounded as if the maid locked the door.

Evangeline frowned, positive she was mistaken. Tentatively, she tiptoed over and spun the knob, being greatly shocked when her worst fear was realized. She rattled the knob, pulled on it to be sure, but it was definitely locked. How bizarre.

She knocked and said, “Hello?”

She pressed her ear to the wood and listened for motion or footsteps, but there were none.

“What the devil?” she grumbled. She knocked again and called more loudly, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? I’ve been locked in.”

Yet there was no answer, and no one hurried over to let her out.

*    *    *    *

Florella leapt out of her carriage, dashed through the rain, and banged on the door at Lord Sidwell’s town house.

She probably shouldn’t have stopped, and if Lord Sidwell strolled by and saw her, there’d be hell to pay. But she’d heard Aaron was in London. Bryce had traveled with him, but she hadn’t crossed paths with either man, and she had to speak to one of them immediately.

She didn’t know what else to do.

She’d delivered Evangeline to her audition, then had popped up the street to the theater where she was currently performing. She’d informed them her holiday had ended early, and she could get back to work.

When she’d returned to the club, Evangeline was gone. Rafferty claimed she’d dazzled him and had been offered a position—which she’d accepted. Then she’d departed, telling him she’d watch for Florella out on the sidewalk.

But Evangeline hadn’t been there, and it had been pouring, so Florella couldn’t imagine she would have stood out in the rain. As to Rafferty’s story, Florella couldn’t decide what she believed. She’d questioned him, but he’d been so bloody evasive.

Florella had been acquainted with Rafferty for years and considered him a friend, but no person in her world was truly a friend. Occasionally, there were rumors about him and how he treated the women he employed, but then there were rumors about everyone.

With Evangeline being at the club only a short time, Florella hadn’t supposed she’d needed to warn Evangeline to be careful around Rafferty, but should she have? When Florella had scolded Rafferty for losing Evangeline, she’d been promptly escorted to the door.

Florella was growing desperate, and she banged the knocker again. The butler opened wide and waved her in. She practically fell inside, grateful to be out of the torrent. Rain dripped from her cloak and pooled at her feet.

“I am Miss Florella Bernard,” she advised.

“I know you, Miss Bernard. I’ve seen you on the stage.”

“Lovely.” She flashed a wide smile. “I apologize for barging in, but it’s vitally important that I talk to Lord Run. Is he available?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bernard, but he’s out.”

“When do you expect him to return?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Drat it,” she mumbled. “My mission is extremely urgent. Might I…leave him a note?”

“Certainly.”

The man ushered her into a nearby parlor and led her to a writing desk. She sat and penned an explanation of her visit to Rafferty, of Evangeline’s disappearance. She begged Aaron to investigate for himself—starting with Rafferty—and to take Bryce with him. No doubt the two men would have more luck intimidating Rafferty than Florella had had.

She sealed the note, then handed it to the butler.

“Give it to him at once,” she said.

“I will, Miss Bernard. The moment he’s back.”

“Thank you for your assistance.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

He beamed at her as if she was a grand celebrity, and he escorted her out, actually opening an umbrella and following her to her carriage.

He helped her in, getting himself soaked in the process, and as her driver clicked the reins and the horse pulled away, he stood in place, transfixed, watching her go. She leaned out the window and blew him a kiss, and he grinned and was merrily waving as she rounded the corner and lost sight of him.

Her next move would be to stop by all the clubs and taverns where Bryce and Aaron might spend a cold, stormy afternoon. She’d leave messages everywhere. Hopefully, they’d receive one of them.

*    *    *    *

“Was that Florella Bernard?”

“Ah…yes.”

Priscilla entered the foyer. She’d heard Aaron was back—her mother paid a Sidwell housemaid to tattle—so Priscilla had come to speak with him, but he’d been out. She’d asked to wait, and the butler hadn’t known if it was all right, but he hadn’t felt he could deny her request.

She’d been dawdling in a drawing room when she’d glanced out and had observed the notorious actress slinking in.

“She seems an odd visitor,” Priscilla said. “Is she a friend of Lord Sidwell?”

“No…ah…Lord Run. She was looking for Lord Run.”

“Too bad she missed him,” Priscilla casually mused. “I’m sure she was disappointed.”

“She was.”

The butler was a bit dazed, perhaps from the rain on his clothes, or perhaps from his encounter with Miss Bernard. A lower sort of person—a servant for instance—might deem her to be splendid.

But as to Priscilla, it was the second time in a matter of days that she’d been standing under the same roof as the actress. It was such an outrage that she wanted to reach over, shake him, and complain,
How could you let her in the door when I am in residence?

“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Cummings?” he said.

“Oh, yes, of course. You must find a towel and dry yourself. I’d hate to have you catch a cold.”

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No, no, I’m fine. You go on.”

He tottered off as she peeked over at the table in the corner and saw a letter laying there. Since Priscilla had arrived, Miss Bernard was the only one to pass through. Had she written it to Aaron?

What gall! What nerve!

Priscilla scooped it up and took it into the parlor where a warm fire burned. She sat on the sofa and broke the seal. She probably should have felt guilty, but she didn’t. If Aaron ever learned about the letter and that it hadn’t been given to him, she’d be more than happy to implicate the butler.

Servants were scandalously unreliable, and he was getting older. It wouldn’t be surprising if he’d forgotten to hand over an important piece of correspondence.

The words were penned in a tidy, feminine script, and as she read them, her temper soared to such an astonishing height she was amazed she didn’t swoon.

Miss Etherton was in London? She’d vanished? Miss Bernard wanted Aaron to search for the blasted woman?

Priscilla absolutely would not permit him to shame her by chasing around the city, hunting for his missing concubine. Aaron would generate tons of gossip, and Priscilla would be a laughingstock.

“Sorry, Miss Etherton,” she muttered, “but if you’re having difficulty, no one will ride to your rescue—especially not my fiancé.” She rose and went over to the fire. “Goodbye,” she nastily said, “and wherever you are, good luck.”

She tossed the letter into the flames, just as a male voice asked, “What are you doing?”

She jumped and whirled to see Aaron. She suffered a moment of terrifying panic, then she regrouped and forced a wide smile.

“Aaron, I didn’t realize you were back.”

“I repeat, Priscilla, what are you doing?”

He glowered at her, and she shrugged. “Waiting for you. I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”

As he stomped over to her, she was aggravated to discover that the letter had hit the grate, that only a small portion of it had landed in the flames. Aaron stooped down and retrieved it, blowing on the spot where it had begun to burn.

“What were you saying about Miss Etherton?” he demanded, the damning evidence dangling from his fingers.

“Ah…nothing?”

“I was directly behind you, Priscilla. You mentioned her very clearly.”