She felt a thrill of excitement course through her veins. Her anticipation showed in her face; she knew from the affectionate light in Gerrard’s eyes as he watched her.
Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The journey was not nearly as exciting as she’d hoped. Gerrard slept for most of the time, doubtless catching up on all the sleep he’d gone without over recent days. In truth, there was no point doing otherwise; in the carriage with Millicent, in the inns at which they stopped both at midday and at night, there was precious little opportunity for dalliance.
Still, she was going to London.
Eventually, they arrived.
Gerrard had explained, and convinced her father and Millicent, that it was perfectly acceptable for her and Millicent to stay in his house in Brook Street. He, it transpired, didn’t live there, but in lodgings nearby; he’d bought the house for the attics, which now housed his studio, and kept the house, too large for a single gentleman, for family members when they came up to town.
There were two older ladies currently in residence, Gerrard’s aunt Minnie, Lady Bellamy, and her lady companion, known to all as Timms.
By the time the heavy coach rolled into Brook Street, Jacqueline felt that her eyes had grown so round they’d never be normal again. There’d been so much to see as they’d entered the capital-the shops!-the people!-Hyde Park and the carriages of the fashionable, the nattily dressed gentlemen riding along Rotten Row. Gerrard had leaned forward and pointed out the sights to her. Millicent had sat back, smiling, taking it all in her stride.
The coach slowed, then rocked to a halt. Gerrard didn’t wait for the footman, but opened the door and stepped down to the pavement, then turned, took her hand, and helped her down.
She looked up at the town house before her. It was large, two stories above the street, one below, and attics with dormer windows high above. The stonework was in excellent repair, the woodwork neatly painted, with a bright brass knocker on the forest-green front door. A short set of steps led up to the front porch.
Barnaby had driven ahead that morning; the front door opened and he looked out. He waved and came quickly down, smiling. “There’s a reception committee waiting.”
She heard the sotto voce warning, intended for Gerrard; he didn’t look at all surprised. Indeed, he looked resignedly amused. Barnaby helped Millicent out. With a brief, bolstering smile, Gerrard set Jacqueline’s hand on his sleeve and turned her to the door.
It swung wide as they climbed the steps.
“Good afternoon, sir.” An ancient and imposing butler stood at attention, ready to bow them in.
Gerrard grinned. “Good afternoon, Masters. I gather the ladies are lying in wait?”
“Indeed, sir. As are Mrs. Patience and Mr. Vane.”
“Ah. I see.” His smile deepening, Gerrard turned to her. “This is Miss Tregonning. She’ll be staying here with my aunt and her aunt”-he included Millicent as she joined them-“also Miss Tregonning. This is Masters-he’s Minnie’s butler, and will organize anything and everything as if by magic.”
Straightening from his very correct bow, Masters accepted the tribute without a blink. “Miss, ma’am-both myself and Mrs. Welborne will be honored to assist you in any way.”
“I take it tea will be served in the drawing room?” Gerrard asked.
“Indeed, sir.” Masters directed a footman to close the front door. “Our orders were for as soon as you arrived, to refresh you after the long journey.” He turned to Millicent and Jacqueline. “Mrs. Welborne has your rooms prepared. I’ll have your boxes taken up straightaway.”
They murmured their thanks.
“I’ll take the ladies in.” Gerrard glanced at Barnaby. “Are you staying?”
Barnaby grinned. “In the interests of experience, I rather think I will.”
Gerrard raised his brows, but made no reply. He led the way to a pair of double doors, opened them, then stepped back and ushered Jacqueline and Millicent in.
Beside Millicent, Jacqueline stepped into an elegantly proportioned room, its walls hung with dusky pink paper warmed by the late afternoon sunshine pouring in through long windows left open to a flagged terrace; beyond, the green of lawns and shrubs was patterned with splashes of summer blooms.
The furniture was lovely-wooden, none of it spindly, yet equally none of it overly ornate. Much of it was rosewood, and glowed with a luster that screamed of care. It took an instant for her eyes to travel to the long chaise further down the room, set at an angle to the hearth. A smaller chaise and three armchairs completed the grouping. Two older ladies sat on the larger chaise, avidly watching them. Another lady, younger and beautifully gowned, sat in one armchair; a gentleman, handsome and severely elegant, uncrossed his long legs and rose from its mate.
Even as, a polite smile on her lips, she went forward with Millicent to meet Gerrard’s family, something-some observation-nagged at Jacqueline’s mind. Just before she reached those waiting, it came clear; there was a clock on the mantelpiece and two statues made into lamps flanking the terrace windows, but beyond that, other than an ancient tatting bag resting beside the feet of one of the older ladies, there were no ornaments, and no signs of habitation-no journal or playbill lying on a table, no softening touches. The room seemed strangely sterile.
Gerrard didn’t live there, so it lacked any evidence of him. Despite its elegance, the lovely furniture and the attractive paper, curtains and upholstery, the room felt rather cold, not neglected physically but lacking a certain energy. Lacking life.
Reaching the long chaise, Gerrard introduced Millicent, then Jacqueline, to his aunt, Lady Bellamy.
“Good afternoon, my dear-I’m so very glad to meet you.” Lady Bellamy, with curly, white hair, many chins and bright if faded blue eyes, reached for Jacqueline’s hand, clasping it between hers. “I hope you and your aunt will excuse me if I don’t rise-my old bones aren’t what they were.”
Her smile growing warmer, Jacqueline bobbed a curtsy. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Lady Bellamy beamed, but wagged a pudgy, beringed finger. “Everyone calls me Minnie, my dear, and I hope you and Millicent will do the same. No need to stand on ceremony.”
Jacqueline smiled her acquiescence; Gerrard had told her about his aunt. She was of an age where guessing her years was impossible; she was over sixty, but how far over was anyone’s guess.
“And,” Minnie said, patting her hand before releasing it, “this is Timms. No one calls her anything else, either.”
“Indeed.” Her gray hair pulled back from her plain-featured face, Timms took Jacqueline’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. Her gaze was warm, friendly and disconcertingly direct. “Very glad you needed to come to town, else no doubt we’d have developed a reason for jauntering down to Cornwall. Not that I have anything against Cornwall in summer, but such a journey at our age…well, better not.”
Jacqueline felt her smile deepen, felt all reserve slide from her. “Indeed, it’s a very long way. I’m glad we needed to visit.”
Timms grinned and released her. Taking her arm, Gerrard steered her to the other lady, who had risen and was speaking with Millicent.
Millicent glanced around as they neared, smiled and stepped back, allowing Gerrard to introduce her.
“Miss Jacqueline Tregonning-my sister, Patience Cynster, and her husband, Vane.”
Jacqueline went to curtsy, but Patience caught both her hands.
“No, no-as Minnie declared, we need no ceremony.” Patience’s hazel eyes met Jacqueline’s gaze with greater warmth than she’d expected; when, after an instant studying her, Patience again spoke, there was no doubt of the sincerity behind her words. “I’m so very pleased to meet you, my dear.”