The Orphan Pearl Read online

“You could have talked to me,” he said.

  “No,” Lily said sharply. “I don’t think I could have.”

  He stiffened but didn’t object. That deflated her faster than a denial could have, and she softened her tone. “It’s not your fault. Not your burden to bear.”

  “You didn’t trust me. That is my fault.”

  Lily shrugged and smiled helplessly. “Did you trust me?”

  “Yes.” He spoke with such dreadful intensity she almost recoiled from it. Would have, if she’d known him less well. “Of course I did.”

  Then she had possessed a treasure, and she’d squandered it before she understood its value. If she had known, she probably would not have acted any differently: it had given her such pleasure to throw her life away.

  “So I have more to be sorry for than I knew,” said Lily.

  “No. I mean that you never let me down. Not until…”

  Lily laughed. “Not until you got home from Egypt?”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Who says I was thinking?” Lily grinned. “But if we’re going to ask one another difficult questions, I’m going to insist on going first: Papa tells me that you aren’t on speaking terms. That I had to come visit you because you won’t set foot in Hastings House.”

  Adam nodded. “I try to avoid it.”

  “Really?” Lily raised her eyebrows. “Papa’s good little boy?”

  “Not anymore,” said Adam grimly. “From the gossip, it sounds like you’re taking my place.”

  “Just for a little while,” Lily said. “It can’t be helped.”

  “If you find that you can’t bear him anymore, come to us. I promise you, Lily. You’re not alone.”

  “I will, Adam.” Lily gave him a quick, hard hug. “Thank you.”

  The front door clicked open and slammed shut as a man’s silky smooth voice called out, “Adam!”

  “No,” Lily whispered.

  “Adam,” continued the new arrival, still shouting down the corridor. “I’ve just heard a wild rumor—came straight here and—”

  A man rounded the corner. Tall, lean, and so long-limbed as to be almost gangly, despite the sinuous grace of his movements. Perfectly tailored in black and white, with a checked cravat and some sort of yellow gem winking from his silver cufflinks.

  The Earl of Kingston.

  Alfie.

  Though she could only see traces of the young man she’d known in the one who stood before her. He’d always been handsome. But time had stripped away the awkwardness of his growing years and left him devastating. His eyes were carnal, knowing, and cold—the color of ice. Inky hair tumbled over his pale forehead in loose waves. Chiseled cheekbones, thin nose, lips as soft and pink as a rose.

  “Lily,” he breathed, and in all her life she had never heard two syllables so thoroughly drenched in longing. It was impossible not to respond, at least a little. A shiver that started at the base of her spine. A catch in her breathing.

  Her reaction shamed her. At her weakest, when she’d succumbed to self-pity and homesickness, this was the image she had tortured herself with: herself as a simple-minded dupe, squandering her love on a heartless rake.

  Lily smiled reflexively. “He comes right in?”

  “Be calm,” said Adam. “Please.”

  Calm.

  Her brother gave the man who’d seduced his sister freedom of the house, and he wanted her to be calm?

  “He goes or I go,” she said evenly.

  “Lily, please,” said Alfie, silky and warm. A bedroom voice, and he didn’t have shame enough to keep it where it belonged. “Let me explain.”

  Her upper lip curled.

  “I know what you think—” he began.

  “Then you know I don’t want to see you.” Lily interrupted. “You know I don’t want to hear your voice.”

  “I never meant to abandon you—”

  “But that’s exactly what you did,” she said.

  “You’ve been gone for a long time, Lily,” Adam cut in. “A great deal has happened. If you’ll only listen—”

  Lily rounded on her brother. “How can you defend him?”

  “Have pity,” Adam said quietly. “His mother is dead. His sister is dead.”

  “Pity.” Lily flexed her fingers. She was dangerously angry, now. Liable to do—or say—something truly unforgivable. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

  Alfie went white. Anguish aged him, pulled his fine sharp features tight enough to reveal the skull beneath—and it wasn’t enough. Oh, but she wanted to hurt him. Claw his eyes out. Grind her heel into his throat.

  “I can’t be in the same room with him,” she said finally. “I’m leaving.”

  “Lily!” Adam reached for her, but she dodged and bolted for the door.

  She could not get out, however, without passing by Alfie. He had not moved since he entered, and she could not leave without stepping within arm’s reach. Of course he took advantage—she knew what kind of man he was, didn’t she?—in his insidious, cowardly way. He curved close, dipped his chin toward the hollow of her neck, fingers brushing butterfly-light along her waist.

  “Mercy, lady,” he purred.

  She barreled through. Ran headlong down the charming corridor to gain the door and threw herself down the stairs. By the time she gained the street, she was gulping air so desperately that her corset bit into her ribs.

  She didn’t pause for breath. She hurried along the crowded thoroughfare, bouncing off of passersby like a billiard ball. They shouted and cursed at her, angry voices following her like a wake.

  A hand at her elbow swung her around, and she snapped out of her daze to find John Tacitus Ware standing right in front of her, a little furrow between his crooked brows. Thin crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of his black eyes, soft with worry.

  “Lady Lily,” he said, his voice so steady she could balance herself by it. “I worried you might not recognize me.”

  She mastered herself. Laughed lightly. “Not recognize you? Impossible. Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. Ware?”

  “I wouldn’t turn one down.” He split the flow of traffic around them with his broad back, standing close enough that she could pick apart the spices in his cologne. White pepper, the green tang of cedar, and underneath it all something dark and mossy that went straight to her head like a mouthful of snow. “You arrived home safely last night?”

  “And even managed to spare the poor driver a reprimand,” she confirmed.

  “Good. That’s good. Are you alone? Do you need an escort?”

  “Why—yes, that would be very kind of you.”

  “My pleasure.” He fit her hand around his elbow. Rested the heel of his palm against the tips of her fingers and pressed, so she felt the warmth of his skin through their gloves. It made her feel stronger, less rattled. “Am I taking you home?”

  Lily let her gaze slide up the solid muscle of his arm to the stubbled column of his throat, the sharp jut of his chin and, above that, the banked smolder in his dark eyes. She shivered. “That would be best.”

  Arm in arm, they progressed along the avenue. Lily tipped her face up, trusting Ware to guide her. She took a slow, deep breath, and then another. The sun shone pale in a muddled white sky. Clouds gathered to the south, tinged with gray, but it wouldn’t rain for hours, maybe days. This sort of weather could never make up its mind.

  In Acara, where Rustem made his home, the sun struck down like a hammer all summer long and she’d lie in the shade during the heat of the day, too hot to move or sleep or think. When the clouds came, they massed up in angry knots and chased one another across the blazing blue sky, trailing black shadows along the ground.

  It had taken her six months to travel from the ruins of her home in Acara to London.

  Six months.

  All along the way, she’d dreamed of these mild fair days, so gentle and welcoming. Of Hastings House, safe and familiar. A hug from her brother, who forgave her. She’d thought her wishes far-fetch
ed, and yet they’d been granted.

  But her father still preyed upon weakness; Alfie still preyed upon desire. She had fought these battles before, and she hadn’t won. She had grown wiser, certainly. But had she grown any stronger? Evidence seemed to suggest… not.

  Ware stepped aside, pulling her against him, to avoid a trio of women walking in the opposite direction. Her shoulder fit into the crook of his. Their hips bumped, perfectly aligned.

  They separated. Fell back into step.

  “Will you tell me what happened to upset you?” Ware asked.

  “I’d rather not,” Lily answered, without any heat. “I’ve had a shock—best to keep the conversation rather dull. Fine weather today, don’t you think?”

  “Very fine,” he agreed. “Have you heard about the revolt in Syria?”

  “Not dull enough,” she chided.

  Ware groaned, but his mobile mouth retained its good-humored curve. “Won’t you settle for a distraction?”

  “Oh, very well.” Lily sighed. “Yes. I’ve heard.”

  “And does the news have any bearing on your support for Mehmet Ali?”

  “England hasn’t gathered her armies in defense of the Syrian people.”

  “Why quibble about motive? Forget about ‘why’—it’s what we do that counts. Judge the results.”

  This echoed what she had said to Alfie so closely that Lily stumbled to a halt. She had refused to hear his reasons, insisted that they were irrelevant. If she were consistent, she would have to agree with Ware. But she could not.

  Ware stepped close again, sheltering her. “Have I upset you?”

  “Our intentions matter,” said Lily slowly. “Even if they are not… decisive.”

  “Are we talking about the same thing?”

  “No.”

  “Lady Lily.” Ware cleared his throat. “If someone has caused you offense—even if by accident—”

  “What will you do?”

  “Offer my assistance,” he answered. “You have only to ask.”

  Lily rubbed the corner of her eye and laughed ruefully. “And now I must question your intentions.”

  “In this case…”

  She flicked her gaze up, but the only thing she could read in his expression was surprise. He was either the best spy ever to serve Her Majesty’s government, or the worst. The most bumbling or the most insidiously clever.

  “Go on,” she urged. “In this case…?”

  “You’re right to question,” he admitted. So reluctant and sincere that she heard the words, understood them, yet felt they must mean the exact opposite.

  Oh, she was in more trouble than she’d known.

  “Why, Mr. Ware.” She tapped his forearm and ducked her head, simpering. “Honesty is the last thing I expected from you.”

  But instead of picking up her light tone, he grew more somber. “It is dawning upon me, Lady Lily, that you are not so easy to fool.”

  “And flattery, too. You’re a dangerous man today.”

  “You’re funning me.” He sighed and resettled her hand on his elbow, repositioning himself a few inches farther away. “Shall we continue? I promised to escort you, not to delay you.”

  The noises of the street flooded back, the rumble and creak of wheels, conversations flowing past, pigeons cooing on a windowsill overhead. But, no. The city had never been silent. It had only seemed that way.

  A few minutes later, they turned the corner onto Grosvenor Square. The fence curved before them, enclosing a tree-studded oval of grassy parkland. Hastings House stood just down the way, the tallest and the grandest on its block. Impossible to miss.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ware. “I meant to soothe you, and I’ve upset you instead.”

  “Troubles ahead of me, troubles behind me.” Lily shrugged. “What I wouldn’t give for a bit of quiet.”

  One side of Ware’s mouth hitched up and his eyes crinkled. “Quiet?”

  Lily nodded.

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  Lily shot a bright, easy smile his way. “You are an unusually skeptical sort of man.”

  “True.” Ware leaned in a bit. “But if you’re looking for quiet, I know just the place.”

  “Oh?”

  “Would it be possible to leave your house undetected? At night, I mean.”

  “Careful, Mr. Ware. I may have to take offense.”

  A deep crease appeared in one of his cheeks, bracing his lopsided smile. “My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

  Lily waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. When the silence began to grow uncomfortable, she crossed her arms and huffed. “What’s your proposition?”

  “I’d hate to cause you distress.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Speak, or bid me farewell.”

  “There’s something I’d like to show you—a place. A little more than an hour’s drive outside the city.”

  “At night?”

  “The time of day won’t diminish its appeal,” he assured her. “And… this place… will be quietest at night.”

  “What is ‘this place’? Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because I have guessed, Lady Lily, that you are the sort of person who likes surprises.”

  Lily hesitated. “You won’t take any liberties?”

  “You have my word.”

  “What time?”

  “Eleven. Meet me at this corner.” He bowed. “Wear sturdy, practical clothes if you have them.”

  Sturdy, practical clothes? Rats. Now she was curious.

  Lily watched him stride away. He swaggered, limbs loose and shoulders swaying. Confident, but not at ease. His black hat and suit were no different than any other man’s, but he couldn’t blend in.

  He didn’t belong.

  Lily continued inside, preoccupied by that final view of Ware. She had expected that they would be more alike. She had modeled herself on him—or on her vision of him, the outline she’d pieced together from his books and filled in with her imagination. The Ware of her imagination had been brash and irreverent, with a big laugh and an easy manner. He made friends easily but formed few attachments, took foolish risks and laughed at himself afterward—loudly, from his belly—and never ran out of clever quips.

  It disconcerted her that the real John Tacitus Ware was so different from the one she had imagined. He was more solitary, more considerate, more private. Sadder, too.

  Over dinner that evening, her father asked about her visit to the theater. “What did you make of Adam? You must find him changed.”

  “For the better,” she answered honestly.

  He paused with a fork halfway to his mouth, held it a beat, and then finished his bite, setting the silver down in perfect silence. “His household is a disgrace.”

  “Have you seen it?” Lily asked. “I have the impression that he wouldn’t let you in even if you deigned to pay him a visit.”

  His lips thinned. “He’s made a spectacle of himself.”

  “The Adam I knew wouldn’t have dared. I wonder what you did to drive him away?”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Lily.”

  “Was it very nasty?”

  “I encouraged him to put the family first—as I have always done myself.” He tried a sharp look on her, both disapproving and expectant. His most parental expression. “And always will.”

  “Well, that explains everything. It was always so difficult to make Adam behave responsibly.”

  Her father sighed and picked up his fork. Dismissing her, ending the conversation.

  “If you ask me, he’s never looked better,” she continued. “Perhaps you ought to reconsider your priorities.”

  “Adam is blind to reality. He shuns me, but he lives under the shelter of my protection. At my sufferance. You, I think, are more clear-sighted.”

  “I survived without you. I could do it again, if I had to.” Lily kicked her chair back and stood. When you lose your temper, you lose the fight. That’s what he’d always told her, and she could see tha
t his opinion hadn’t changed. That didn’t stop her. “What would you be without your children?”

  A tweed-clad redhead entered the room just then. He hovered by the threshold, pale and freckled, something pinched around his mouth.

  “What is it, Jones?” asked her father.

  Lily left. Nothing good would come of continuing the conversation. Back in her room, she readied herself for bed, then paced her bedroom for hours, waiting for the hour hand on the clock to wind its way around the dial.

  Finally, she discarded her night clothes and donned a new set. The most practical she could find in the limited wardrobe she’d acquired since her arrival. A sturdy gown of twilled cotton, mourning black as all her clothes were. A veil, to hide her features, beneath a soft felt cap. A pair of sturdy half boots and, because she didn’t have anything else, silk stockings tied up with red ribbon garters.

  There. That would do.

  At ten-thirty, she quietly climbed through a ground-floor window. She left it open a crack for her return and walked boldly out to the square. After a minute standing at the corner, shivering in the evening chill, an ancient coach-and-four rumbled to a halt in front of her.

  John Tacitus Ware opened the door and offered her his hand.

  Chapter Six

  Despite the mild weather, Ware wore thick leather gloves and a heavy coat. He’d laid his hat aside and greeted her bareheaded, his dark hair unfashionably short and mussed, bristling in every direction.

  “You came,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Really?” Lily grinned. “I never doubted that you’d show up right on time.”

  He tapped the roof of the coach to signal the driver. The carriage bounced into motion as she settled into the cushions. They were very deep, very soft, a little lumpy. Showing their age.

  It was not a new vehicle, but neither was it shabby. The interior boasted luxuries her father, who never hesitated to display his wealth, would have scorned. Door handles made of cut crystal. A ceiling so densely painted with gold leaf that she could hardly see the rich wood beneath. Cushions of cream silk with brocade trim and tasseled valences that swooped over the high seat backs.

  “What an… astonishing vehicle,” she said.

  Ware grunted.