“Perhaps not in your opinion, but it certainly is in mine. I had so hoped to see Emeline safely established in a home of her own with a husband who cared for her, one who could support her in a suitable fashion. No gentleman of the ton will even consider marrying a lady who works at this investigation business.”
Tobias watched her with enigmatic eyes. “Do you dream of such a fine marriage for yourself also, madam?”
She was utterly floored by that wholly unexpected question. For a second or two, she could not think of what to say.
“Of course not,” she finally got out quite brusquely. “I have no interest whatsoever in marrying again.”
“Is it because you loved your first husband so deeply that you cannot bring yourself to even consider a second marriage?”
An odd panic assailed her. This was a truly dangerous topic of discussion. She did not want to even start down this road, she thought, because it would inevitably lead to painful speculation on the depth of Tobias’s love for the wife he had lost in childbirth. She doubted very much that she would ever be able to compete with Ann’s beautiful, gentle ghost. Anthony had described his sister as an angel.
Whatever else I am, Lavinia thought, including a so-called paragon of the sort of female who can live by her wits, I am no angel.
“Really, sir,” she said briskly, “it is not my opinions of marriage that we are discussing. This is about Emeline’s future.”
“And Anthony’s as well.”
She sighed. “I know. They have developed a tendre for each other, haven’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Emeline is so young.”
“So is Anthony.”
“I fear neither of them can possibly know their own heart at such a tender age.”
“You could not have been any older than Emeline when you married. Did you know your own heart?”
She straightened in her chair. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have married John if I had been the least uncertain of my feelings on the matter.”
She had, indeed, been sure of herself, but looking back she knew that her feelings for John had been the sweet, pale sentiments of an innocent and very romantic young woman. If John had lived, no doubt their love would have matured into something stronger and deeper and more substantial. But as it was, her memories of her gentle husband were wispy, thin mementos that she kept tucked away in a pink-and-white keepsake box somewhere near her heart.
Tobias’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “You are nothing if not strong-minded and extremely certain of all your opinions, regardless of the subject, are you not?”
“Mine is a decisive and forceful personality, sir. Perhaps that is due to my early training as a mesmerist.”
“More likely you were born with a strong will, madam.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I suspect the same could be said of you, sir.”
“Isn’t it interesting to discover how much we have in common?” he asked pleasantly.
Chapter Six
The following afternoon, Tobias emerged from his club and pulled his watch out of his pocket to check the time. It was only just going on two. He was in no hurry and it was a fine day to walk.
He ignored a passing hackney, and with the ease of long familiarity, he made his way through a maze of lanes and streets. His goal was the bookshop where he had made arrangements to meet Lavinia. He planned to treat her to a dish of ice cream and then, if luck was with him, to persuade her to retreat to the crumbling ruin in the park for some extended lovemaking in the spring sunshine.
With that last thought in mind, he cast a wary eye on the heavens. The sun was indeed shining, but there was a nip in the air and he sensed clouds gathering in the distance. He could only hope that the rain would hold off until he could complete the interlude with Lavinia in the park. A fortnight ago they had been interrupted at the crucial moment by a cold shower from the heavens that had done nothing to enhance the romantic ambience.
The business of having to search out suitable locations for their trysts was fast becoming a nuisance, he reflected. A man of his years was not supposed to have to steal away to remote sections of the park or fumble in a closed carriage in order to enjoy his lady’s affections. He ought to be able to enjoy said affections in a proper bed.
But beds were extremely hard to come by when one was engaged in an affair.
He was a block away from the bookshop, toying with the notion of taking Lavinia off to a country inn for a day or two, when a vision in spring pink stepped out of a milliner’s shop and nearly collided with him.
“Mr. March.” Celeste Hudson smiled brilliantly at him from beneath the brim of a charming confection fashioned of palest pink straw and intricately laced ribbons. “How delightful to see you again so soon.”
“Mrs. Hudson.” He grasped her elbow to steady her. “A pleasure. Is your husband about?”
“Heavens, no. Howard has no patience with a lady’s shopping.”
Her laughter was light, almost bubbling. Damned near a rippling brook, he thought. But it had a brittle, false quality that made him think of brightly colored artificial flowers and the pleasure-garden mirrors that reflected distorted images. He was profoundly grateful that Lavinia never laughed like that.
“I cannot say that shopping is one of my favorite sports,” he said.
Celeste opened her little fan and looked at him over the edge in a flirtatious manner that he knew she must have practiced.
The leaf of the fan, Tobias noticed, was exquisitely painted in an unusual and quite dazzling pattern.
There were a number of bright, shiny beads attached to it. The sparkling bits and bobs were arranged in an intriguing pattern that caught the light and attracted his eye. The thing appeared more suited to the ballroom than the street, he thought. But, then, he was hardly an expert on matters of female style.
“Where is Mrs. Lake?” Celeste asked in throaty tones. “Or are you alone this afternoon?”
“I’m on my way to meet Lavinia, as it happens.” The manner in which Celeste manipulated the fan annoyed him. He looked away from it. “She is picking up a new volume of poetry at a bookshop not far from here.”
“Poetry. How nice. I am rather fond of that sort of literature myself.” Celeste twirled the fan in a clever movement that made the sunlight bounce on the glittering ornaments. “I have been meaning to pay a visit to a bookshop. Do you mind if I walk with you, Mr. March?”
“Of course not.”
She slipped her gloved fingers under his arm with a graceful expertise that he could only admire, and continued to make the light dance on her fan.
“A lovely day, is it not?” she murmured.
“The good weather won’t last long.”
“Come now, don’t be so pessimistic, Mr. March.”
“It’s not pessimism.” It was difficult to avoid the damned fan, he discovered. Celeste managed to angle the thing in such a way that it kept snagging his gaze. He had a sudden urge to snatch the thing out of her hand and toss it into the gutter. “It’s a statement of fact.”
She tilted her head so that the pink straw bonnet framed her pretty features to excellent advantage. “I collect that you are a man who prefers to deal with the hard realities of life. Not one who allows himself to enjoy fantasies and dreams.”
“Fantasies and dreams are for those who wish to delude themselves.”
“I disagree, sir.” She looked at him over the top of her fan again, her eyes as bright and intriguing as the shiny beads. “Some fantasies and dreams can come true. But only for those who are willing to pay the price.”
“I think it far more likely that after handing over the required fee, one would find oneself left holding only a handful of sparkling bubbles that would soon burst and disappear.”