Carriages bottled up King Street as coachmen tried to force their way in for their mistresses and masters. She craned her head to look for Lord Featherstone, but she did not see him. She could not see her own carriage either, nor, more disquieting, Maggie and Mr. O’Malley.
Mr. Henderson walked her a little way from the crowd and stopped in a place where Alexandra was less likely to be bumped or crushed. He kept her on his arm, and tugged a white handkerchief from his pocket.
“I would be honored, Mrs. Alastair,” he was saying, “if you would allow me to speak to you again. To see you again. Perhaps for a drive in Hyde Park, or perhaps we could walk in Vauxhall gardens. With your friends, of course,” he added hastily.
This was getting awkward. “Mr. Henderson, you didnot begin your acquaintance with me with any measure of trust.”
“I know.” A large black carriage lumbered toward them, and Alexandra took a little step back to protect her skirts from stray splashes of mud. Mr. Henderson went on, “I wish it for friendship’s sake only and to make you know how sorry I am.”
“I understand that, sir.” Alexandra said, struggling to remember all the politenesses Mrs. Fairchild had lectured into her. She supposed Mrs. Fairchild had not anticipated she would have to soothe the feelings of a gentleman who had forced himself upon her in the street. “Rest assured that should I see you by chance at Vauxhall, I shall not refuse to speak to you.”
“I sincerely and truly am sorry. You have no idea.” He lifted his handkerchief and sighed deeply. “And I am also very sorry about this .”
The black carriage stopped next to them. Mr. Henderson brought his hand up and around. Alexandra found her face enveloped in wads of white linen. She tried to take a step back, but suddenly her limbs were weak and would not support her. She had a falling sensation, one that did not stop, and darkness rushed toward her. Dimly she felt an arm around her waist and Mr. Henderson’s voice somewhere above her. “No, do not weep, sister. Everything will be all right. Here is our carriage—”
She woke to a slight rocking motion and warm stuffiness. Her eyes felt sandy, and the pinpoint of light from the single lantern seared straight into her brain.
She wanted nothing more than to drift back into silent, dark sleep, but something nagged at her. She needed to remember something, but she could not for the life of her remember what.
She mumbled, “Maggie.” She tried to stir, tried to search for the girl.
“She is safe,” said a voice. “She is with Ian O’Malley.”
At first she thought the voice was Grayson’s, and her heart melted with relief. But the timbre was wrong, and the face she saw through half-closed eyes wore spectacles.
“Liar,” she said, her tongue feeling thick. “You lied to me.”
“I swear to you. She is with Ian, on her way home. Captain Ardmore wanted her, too, but Ian refused. He will help her.”
The sentences blurred in her head. “You have no honor,” she croaked, her voice failing.
“I know.” Mr. Henderson huddled miserably in the seat. “I am a cad and a coward.”
She opened her eyes all the way, her whirling, foggy thoughts clarifying. Mr. Henderson sat on the opposite seat of the rather sumptuous coach, twining his fingers and regarding her in sorrow.
“I was just convincing myself to trust you,” she said.
He nodded. “I work for a madman. One does not refuse him.”
Alexandra made herself sit upright, ready to tell Mr. Henderson what she thought of him and his madman captain. But a blackness rushed at her and she found herself facedown on the seat. She could only lay in a half-stupor, listening to the coach wheels beneath her and Mr. Henderson’s fretful voice as he continued to apologize.
Chapter Ten
She smelled water. She came awake when the carriage door opened, and black wind poured over her. “Wh’re we?” she mumbled.
“Where we need to go,” Mr.
Mr. Henderson walked her a little way from the crowd and stopped in a place where Alexandra was less likely to be bumped or crushed. He kept her on his arm, and tugged a white handkerchief from his pocket.
“I would be honored, Mrs. Alastair,” he was saying, “if you would allow me to speak to you again. To see you again. Perhaps for a drive in Hyde Park, or perhaps we could walk in Vauxhall gardens. With your friends, of course,” he added hastily.
This was getting awkward. “Mr. Henderson, you didnot begin your acquaintance with me with any measure of trust.”
“I know.” A large black carriage lumbered toward them, and Alexandra took a little step back to protect her skirts from stray splashes of mud. Mr. Henderson went on, “I wish it for friendship’s sake only and to make you know how sorry I am.”
“I understand that, sir.” Alexandra said, struggling to remember all the politenesses Mrs. Fairchild had lectured into her. She supposed Mrs. Fairchild had not anticipated she would have to soothe the feelings of a gentleman who had forced himself upon her in the street. “Rest assured that should I see you by chance at Vauxhall, I shall not refuse to speak to you.”
“I sincerely and truly am sorry. You have no idea.” He lifted his handkerchief and sighed deeply. “And I am also very sorry about this .”
The black carriage stopped next to them. Mr. Henderson brought his hand up and around. Alexandra found her face enveloped in wads of white linen. She tried to take a step back, but suddenly her limbs were weak and would not support her. She had a falling sensation, one that did not stop, and darkness rushed toward her. Dimly she felt an arm around her waist and Mr. Henderson’s voice somewhere above her. “No, do not weep, sister. Everything will be all right. Here is our carriage—”
She woke to a slight rocking motion and warm stuffiness. Her eyes felt sandy, and the pinpoint of light from the single lantern seared straight into her brain.
She wanted nothing more than to drift back into silent, dark sleep, but something nagged at her. She needed to remember something, but she could not for the life of her remember what.
She mumbled, “Maggie.” She tried to stir, tried to search for the girl.
“She is safe,” said a voice. “She is with Ian O’Malley.”
At first she thought the voice was Grayson’s, and her heart melted with relief. But the timbre was wrong, and the face she saw through half-closed eyes wore spectacles.
“Liar,” she said, her tongue feeling thick. “You lied to me.”
“I swear to you. She is with Ian, on her way home. Captain Ardmore wanted her, too, but Ian refused. He will help her.”
The sentences blurred in her head. “You have no honor,” she croaked, her voice failing.
“I know.” Mr. Henderson huddled miserably in the seat. “I am a cad and a coward.”
She opened her eyes all the way, her whirling, foggy thoughts clarifying. Mr. Henderson sat on the opposite seat of the rather sumptuous coach, twining his fingers and regarding her in sorrow.
“I was just convincing myself to trust you,” she said.
He nodded. “I work for a madman. One does not refuse him.”
Alexandra made herself sit upright, ready to tell Mr. Henderson what she thought of him and his madman captain. But a blackness rushed at her and she found herself facedown on the seat. She could only lay in a half-stupor, listening to the coach wheels beneath her and Mr. Henderson’s fretful voice as he continued to apologize.
Chapter Ten
She smelled water. She came awake when the carriage door opened, and black wind poured over her. “Wh’re we?” she mumbled.
“Where we need to go,” Mr.
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