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Chapter Six

J ohn had not quite recovered from his initial surprise at seeing Lady Eugenia at a ball in Southwark—not entirely. As much as his visit with Lord Blackstone had occupied his attention in the hours that followed it, his thoughts had never been far from the sight of her holding Benjamin. Here was a poor orphan, with nothing redeeming or attractive about him, and she should have wanted nothing to do with him, but her actions had shown that her interest was genuine. His vast experience with the female population had taught him that such a woman simply did not exist, his brother’s wife excepted. And yet, Lady Eugenia had looked upon the foundling with an affection bordering on love. She had not even grown disgusted when the baby had soiled her gown.

In that moment, something had shifted inside of him, like a novel view through a prism. It was as though ordinary objects were painted in vibrant hues and sunlight—colored with beauty. It had been some years since he had had any contact with these finer emotions, and they remained strong even when he was away from her.

“Are you tired?” he asked as he handed her a glass of cold ratafia. He stood at a respectful distance, although he wished to put his arm around her and shield her from the crowds that seemed to edge too close. “We can sit this next dance out if you’d like.”

She sipped before answering. “I am tired, although I should be too young to admit to such a thing.” She smiled up at him, and although he could not put his arm around her, he could offer it to her.

“Then let us sit,” he said. “If you are active in both society events at night and in your care for the orphans in the mornings, it is only natural you should be fatigued.”

The ballroom was agreeably situated with plenty of room for both dancing and conversation; it was a simple thing to lead her over to the chairs in one of the alcoves. The space was almost a small room in and of itself, except for the fact that the open front made it easily visible from the floor. Surprisingly, there was no one else occupying the other chairs in their alcove, so they would be able to speak with a degree of intimacy. Other members of the ton would consider the ball too far beneath them. And yet, it was proving to be the nicest ball he had attended in his life as a gentleman, a fact more likely to do with Lady Eugenia.

John turned in his chair so he might have a better view of her, aware of his fortune to be given such perfect liberty to approach her. To converse with one of Lady Eugenia’s status. It was as though he had never fallen out of favor at all. This would change in the blink of an eye if ever she were to learn who he was. He was suddenly determined that she would not learn it, for he liked her far too well to see a change in her opinion of him.

“Does your father approve of your attending parties like this?” he asked, the unwelcome reminder intruding on his thoughts.

She gave the tiniest lift of a shoulder. “He is not in London. I hardly think he would be pleased with my decision, but he does seem to trust Mrs. Buxton, so I have allowed that to assuage my conscience.”

John had a view of Mrs. Buxton on his left. At least, he assumed it was her because Miss Buxton was standing at her side looking slightly bored, and she shared similar features with the older woman.

“Why does he?” He caught himself. “I mean to say, it is none of my affair, of course, but the Buxtons do not seem to be the sort of family an earl would allow his daughter to associate with.”

“They are not, I suppose. But my mother liked Mrs. Buxton, and my father respected my mother. The friendship between the women of the two families had been long established by the time my mother died. I suppose my father did not want to take anyone else away from me, so he allowed it to continue.”

“That was considerate of him,” John replied in a carefully neutral voice. He would have to take care not to reveal any of his true thoughts concerning the earl.

“My father is a considerate man.”

Two matrons passed by where they were sitting and stopped to greet another small group, closing off the Buxtons from his sight. As they congregated in front of him, with the heaviest matron standing in the center, the group effectively cut off their view of not only the dancing, but nearly all of the room. John thought about Lady Eugenia’s words concerning her father. Did he truly show consideration to his own flesh and blood—or was she dissembling?

The women continued to gossip in front of them, facing the ballroom, and likely never having noticed they were there. He swiveled in his chair to face Lady Eugenia, wondering if she had noticed that they had been granted a momentary private haven.

Despite her perfect posture, she appeared relaxed. Their conversation was of such an easy nature he suspected she was as comfortable with him as he was with her, despite the attraction that seemed to buzz between them. He had long been in the habit of keeping company with ladies of quality, but he had never met one so elevated and natural all at once. She flashed him a smile then, one that went right through him and unraveled his train of thought.

“I do not know what I would do without Margery’s friendship.” When he looked confused, she leaned in to explain, “By Margery, I mean Miss Buxton.”

John froze at her proximity, noticing the perfection of her pale skin, her pert upturned nose, and lips that begged to be kissed. He could scarcely keep track of the conversation, so he uttered a mundane reply, forcing his eyes away.

“She seems like a pleasant companion.”

Against his will, his mind went back to his rakish ways when he thought nothing of stealing a kiss from any set of desirable lips that was near enough to make such a thing possible. He glanced at her again, but this time with the stark reminder that she was a gently bred lady, besides being daughter to a peer. It was easy to forget the fact when she was so approachable, and even friendly.

“Yes. She makes me laugh, and I don’t always have much of that.” Lady Eugenia had not moved from him, and it occurred to him that perhaps she longed for the closeness as much as he did. This time the temptation proved great, and he allowed his eyes to rest on her face.

“Do you like to laugh, then?” His lips quirked upward as soon as he asked it. There was much he wished to know about her, but suddenly this was the thing he wanted to know the most.

“I love it,” she said, smiling, and suddenly he saw it. He saw the warmth and humor bubbling up like a spring out of the earth. She was not a cold person. Certainly, her posture was stiff, and her beauty of the glacial kind. When she was unsure or when meeting someone new, as in their first encounter, she appeared to be distant. But now he noticed that her smile caused her eyes to sparkle. He could not stop staring into those eyes now.

“If I were in your life, I would attempt to induce such smiles all the time,” he said. “They are very pretty.”

Her blush deepened. The sounds in the room became indistinguishable, and the candlelit atmosphere impossibly romantic. Never had he been so powerless, so prey to the influence of a temptation that he was ready to surrender to it as though his own will was as weak as straw. He could not help himself as he leaned in, almost closing the distance between them so that his lips were a hand’s breadth from hers. Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect “O.”

Two of the women in front of them broke away, and with the influx of sudden light, the room came back into focus. Along with that was the sight of the people who might have witnessed their indiscretion had his intention to kiss her not been interrupted. He had been hopelessly lost to their surroundings, and the fact disconcerted him. When had that ever happened to him before? Such a thing could not be permitted now, not when he had much to lose.

He dared to glance at her, and her eyes were trained straight ahead. The pink tinge had not left her cheeks, yet he could not guess at her thoughts.

“Why are you working at an asylum?” she asked without looking at him. At first, he was too flustered to understand her question, but when its meaning reached him, he grew wary. He had forgotten himself and let down his reserve.

She dropped her gaze to her lap before looking ahead at some distant point. “I know you said you have your personal reasons, and I do not wish to pry. It is only…”

When she did not go on, he could not help but to prompt her. “It is only? ”

She turned her eyes to him then, answering softly, “It is only that you seem so very much a gentleman.”

The words pierced him with guilt and confusion and brought him fully back to his real situation. It was not a good beginning, not if he wished to redeem his reputation. And he had to redeem his standing in society. It was all he had.

He hesitated—wrestling within himself—before turning back to her. “I assure you, I am no gentleman. I am sorry if that is unpleasant news to you.”

She sighed softly, placing her hands between her knees, rocking them back and forth in a way that seemed out of place for a ball, and for an earl’s daughter. It seemed like something a young girl might do, and it only endeared her more to him.

“It is not unpleasant, no. I do not care so much, as long as you faithfully manage the orphanage and find a way to use the donations to help more children.”

He had the overwhelming urge to ask her if she found it unpleasant on a personal level because she could not entertain any thoughts of courtship if he were no gentleman. She could not—could she? Surely he would never have a chance with her as plain Mr. Rowles, working as steward at the asylum?

He could not ask her that, though. His misfortune had changed him. Perhaps the man he once was would have done so, for he had always liked nothing more than attempting the outrageous. Besides that, he liked and respected Lady Eugenia too much to engage in anything like idle flirtation. If only he could know something of what she was thinking.

“Do you find it unpleasant that you must keep company with a man of my caliber?” he asked, instead.

She glanced at him, a crease between her brows. “No. That means nothing to me. A person is defined by their character, not by the title or situation they were born into.”

“And do you find my character…acceptable?” He smiled, but it was only the barest tug at his lips. It was a nervous smile as he waited, breathless, for the answer.

This was a dangerous conversation, for it danced into the space of intimacy which was something he could not, at present, afford. Despite knowing this, he could not stop. Somehow, the dawning possibility of friendship, forbidden though it was, made him want to hope. She would not have given anything of herself if she didn’t like him, at least a little. He had gathered that right from their first meeting.

She turned in his direction and met his look with a perceptive one of her own. “You know very well I find your character acceptable—what I know of it at any rate. I would not be sitting here talking to you if I did not, for there are many other people I had hoped to talk to tonight.”

Her admission sobered him, even as it made his heart race with the implication. He could no longer stay silent.

“I should not say this, for it is most ridiculous coming from one who is beneath your notice, but…” He covered the tips of her fingers with his, and she looked up in surprise. “I find your character beautiful—and without equal.”

Lady Eugenia was fair and nothing could keep her blush from burning bright when something incited it. He found even that touching, and beautiful. He had never come close to experiencing anything like what he felt for this woman in so short a time. And he was not without experience in consorting with the fairer sex.

“That is a very kind thing to say.”

The music ended, and John had no choice but to help her to her feet. They stood unmoving for a moment before he came to his senses. “May I bring you to Miss Buxton?”

She nodded.

He was reluctant for their moment to end, but he had no choice in the matter. Even if he had still been society’s darling, he would have to limit his dances to two. However, instead of attending her in her drawing room the next day—something he had never felt compelled to do when he lived as a gentleman, although he had accompanied friends who did—he would meet her at the asylum.

They reached the Buxtons, who both broke off from their conversation to smile at him and Lady Eugenia. He bowed a greeting to them, and then turned and bowed to her.

“Good evening, my lady.”

She nodded in reply, her smile warm and speaking, as though their relationship had grown in her eyes the same way it had in his. He turned and let out a silent exhale. He was in danger of losing his head over this woman, and he could not have settled on a more complicated choice if he tried.

The next morning, John was disappointed when Lady Eugenia did not come but thought that perhaps the fatigue of the night before had kept her home. When she still did not come in the afternoon, he began to doubt what he had been coming to view as the beginning of a mutual attachment. Such a connection was hopeless, of course. She was his social superior, and he was posing as a common man, not even a gentleman. Not only that—unbeknownst to her, he was trying to expose her father. Those facts alone should have doused any ardor or hopes he had in her direction, but they hadn’t. It was the first time he actually liked a woman enough to pursue her. Everything in him dictated that he put on blinders and not consider what complications the future might hold.

There was another cause for dissatisfaction. At the dinner party the night before, the hostess had introduced him to two men who had donated to the orphanage in its early days and had not done so since. He had been given a chance to ask them in quite a natural way whether they had enjoyed seeing the fruits of their investment. Both had seemed content with the way their donations had been handled and were proud to have contributed to the future of such a fine institution. Meanwhile, after a week of looking through old ledgers, he was getting nowhere with his attempt to expose fraud.

If there was any desire to give up, it was thwarted by the knowledge that this was his only chance to regain his standing in the ton . That, and the fact that if he left now, he was not going to see Lady Eugenia again, for he would never cross her path at any society event. He would not be invited to the places she went to, and she was unlikely to attend a ball such as the one they had met at last night.

Lord Blackstone had given him an open invitation to return to the club if and when he wished to meet its members. He was just curious enough to see what sorts of members there were, and besides, he might be given a chance to dig a little more into Lord Blackstone’s identity. The viscount was eccentric, but he seemed to be extraordinarily well connected. Perhaps he would assist John in other ways than by simply procuring for him an invitation to a ball. Perhaps Blackstone would give him concrete information about Lord Goodwin. At the very least, he could see if such an opportunity arose.

This was how he found himself in front of the club at the close of day, when the lights were already lit inside. The bowl in the window had been replaced by a statue, which resembled an elk’s antlers. He looked at the other window, but this one had been curtained and there was no view inside. Grasping the crow’s head, he rapped at the door.

This time it was Sacks who answered the door, and he stared a minute before recognition dawned. Then, he smiled broadly. “Come in, Mr. Aubin. Come in. I am watching the door while Plockton is away. Lord Blackstone will be glad to see that you have returned.”

John handed Sacks his hat and coat with an irrational misgiving that the man was going to place it on the boar’s head mounted on the wall to his left. He did not. He opened a door that appeared to have a rack for such things, then led the way to Lord Blackstone’s office. When John did not follow him, he turned back.

“Are you coming? Did you want to see Lord Blackstone?”

“Yes,” John said, faltering. “I assumed you wanted to inform him of my visit first.”

“No need for that. He is in the drawing room with the other gentlemen. When he’s there, no need to announce you. You may go straight in.”

“I see.”

John trailed behind the servant, on edge to learn who the members of the club were. Sacks opened the door to the drawing room, and the men immediately in view stopped their conversation briefly to look at John. Then they turned back without a word. He should have felt uncomfortable, but it was rather nice not to be given particular notice, especially when this had not been positive in recent months.

“Mr. John Aubin,” Sacks announced to the room at large before retiring. There were a few murmured replies of welcome.

Armchairs and sofas were set out in various places throughout the room with small tables at each side for those who wished to read alone or sit together and talk. Lord Blackstone was in one of those chairs, deep in conversation.

John looked around but did not recognize any of the other gentlemen. He chose a seat that was near enough to two of them that he could be included in their conversation if they invited him, but not so close as to be intrusive. One was a young man who had only one leg—the other was a nicely carved wooden stump. A pair of crutches sat at his side. The other was an older, distinguished gentleman who seemed to be someone John might have met at White’s .

“Afternoon, Aubin,” the younger one said. “My name is Harold Smart. I should probably commiserate if you are in this club, except that we have too glorious a time to regret having joined it.”

“Aye, that’s the truth,” the older gentleman said in the nearby chair. “I am Sir Humphrey Baskerton. I’m one of the original members from when Blackstone first had the idea to start the club.”

He followed John’s gaze to the wall where a thick python was nailed to it, a brass candleholder perched in its mouth. “Ah, you’ll get used to it. It’s Blackstone’s doing. He has a penchant for not letting any deceased being wither away into nothingness. He’s a natural-born collector—even of misfits.” Sir Humphrey laughed, and Mr. Smart joined him.

“Most of us know of each other’s reasons for being blackballed, although there are some who will not tell. Me, for instance, I was accused and cleared of mutiny, but society did not appreciate the lingering stain.” Mr. Smart smiled at John in such a natural way, it set him at his ease. “Feel free to unburden yourself if you wish. And call me Harry—everyone does.”

John hesitated. He did wish to unburden himself. He had not even done so with his brother—not fully—although he would have to do that at some point. He just didn’t want Gregory to talk him out of his plans for revenge. As a result, he had no one he could talk to about his expulsion from society. At least the men here would be able to relate to him. In that moment he decided.

“I overheard Lord Goodwin attempting to rid himself of some worthless shares in a private equity deal after he had learned of inside information. It would not have concerned me were it not for the fact that he had been encouraging other members of the ton to invest, and he had no intention of making them aware of their upcoming loss. ”

“Goodwin.” Sir Humphrey gave a sound of derision between a bark and a huff. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Does it not?” John asked. “Everyone else thinks him the portrait of benevolence.”

“Is that what happened?” Harry asked. “You made his perfidy public and it did not go well?”

“Exactly so,” John replied, his tone dry. “I only spoke to Lord Perkins, who I knew was one of the investors. But he did not believe me.”

“And let everyone else know you were the voice of doubt impugning the character of a peer,” Harry surmised. “Except Goodwin did not call you out because he is known to be a poor shot.”

“Was that the reason?” John asked. “I was told it was because he would not meet someone whose character as a gentleman was in doubt.” Remembering those words still stung.

“The steam duty tax was not levied by Parliament, and open trading has brought more orders in, making the venture lucrative. Therefore, Goodwin’s reputation is still pristine,” Sir Humphrey announced.

John turned to stare at him. “You seem to know quite a bit about the situation.”

“I keep my eye on Goodwin’s comings and goings and report them to Blackstone. I have my own reason for doing so. He and I do not have an amicable past.” He met John’s gaze. “No, he was not the one who had me blackballed, but he would surely have found a reason to do so if someone else had not done it first. We are not friends.”

“What happened between you and Goodwin?” John asked. Perhaps in Sir Humphrey he might have an ally.

Sir Humphrey’s expression grew dark. “He ruined a young woman on my estate and left her to fend for herself.”

John paused in surprise. He found that Lord Goodwin could indeed sink lower in his esteem .

“I see. And so you confronted him on the matter.”

“I made him aware of my discontent, yes. And he did not appreciate having his sins exposed.”

“So what got you blackballed then, Sir Humphrey?” Harry asked him. “You’re such a fixture here, I’ve never thought to ask.”

Sir Humphrey shrugged. “Oh, that was years before. I challenged Lord Aberdeen to a duel because he attempted to elope with my betrothed, who was the daughter of a duke. Word got out, and I was accused of dragging the lady’s name through the mud. Needless to say, we never married, she and I.”

John stared at him, waiting for more. “And Lord Aberdeen for convincing a duke’s daughter to elope? Was he blackballed, too?”

“Why, no.” Sir Humphrey sent him a droll look. “Society liked him better than they did me, and society is a fickle beast.”

“Too bad Blackstone can’t stuff it and mount it on the wall,” Harry said with a snort.