Page 7 of One Night in Vauxhall Gardens (Singular Sensation #11)

At the staircase, as Harry escorted Theresa out of the drawing room, he encountered St. Vincent who was coming up.

“Hedgecomb, hold.” The look on the earl’s face gave him pause.

“Please don’t think to lecture me again, St. Vincent. Your sister and I have talked. I asked for her hand. She accepted.” He paused with a hand at the small of Theresa’s back. “We have made plans, or have put forth ideas. Now we are going for a drive and a stroll in Hyde Park.” If he sounded slightly annoyed or tired, that was the truth of the matter.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” In fact, the man was slightly winded, as if he’d run up the stairs from his study. He bounced his gaze between them. “I just had a messenger deliver a missive. Edenthorpe is awake and talking!”

“What?” It was such an unexpected shock that Harry stumbled backward a few steps with a hand to his chest. “Truly?”

“Yes.” St. Vincent nodded as he came fully up the stairs with a piece of paper in his hand. “See for yourself.”

Not daring to believe it, Harry took the offered note and read it aloud for Theresa’s benefit. “’Edenthorpe regained consciousness not an hour past, and his fever has broken. He is decidedly grouchy, demanding tea and something more substantial than toast, and he apparently retains his memories except those directly following being shot. Though he’s tired, weak, and in considerable pain, he wants to see his club members at the earliest opportunity… of which I will decide, for he needs to rest. With respect, Lady Edenthorpe.’”

“It’s incredible,” St. Vincent said in a low, reverent tone. “I’ve not been myself since news of his shooting, hadn’t wanted to think the worst…”

“I will agree,” Harry uttered as he handed back the note. “I’d spent the past few nights gutted that we might lose him.”

“Oh, Leo, that must be such a wonderful feeling to know your friend is out of danger.” Theresa rushed over to her brother and gave him a hug. “I’m glad for you and all the rogues.”

“As am I.” He bussed her cheek then set her aside. “I’ll wait a day out of respect to the duchess, but I intend to call on him after that. However, we need an emergency meeting of the rogues, at your house. We need to keep this news just among the core group of us. Let the spy think the duke is still facing death. It will be easier to discover the betrayal that way.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea.”

“And Theresa, swear you won’t tell any of your friends this news. It must remain secret to keep him safe.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Then he gently moved his sister aside and strode over to where Harry stood. “I apologize for the harsh things I said to you last night as well as today in my study.”

“There is no need for all of that.” But it was lovely to know the other man realized he’d acted overbearing. “We have both labored under a heavy amount of concern and anxiety. I don’t hold anything against you.”

“Good, but that doesn’t mean I release you from your obligation to my sister.”

Harry snorted. “I didn’t think you would.”

St. Vincent offered his free hand. “Friends?”

“Of course, but more than that, we are brothers.” With gratitude filling his chest, Harry shook the earl’s hand. “Thank you.” When they released, he stepped back. “If you don’t mind, I’m taking your sister out driving.”

Surprise flitted over St. Vincent’s face. “You didn’t have to bully her into going out?”

“I did not.” In some confusion, he glanced at Theresa, who stood off to one side with a faint blush on her cheeks that was surprisingly becoming. “Is that what you have to do?”

“Most of the time, yes.” When his gaze fell to the ruby and diamond ring on her left hand, one of his eyebrows rose but he said nothing. “My sister has shied away from societal duties and attention for years now, much to my mother’s chagrin, so hearing that you are taking her out into that very society without complaint is cause for notation.”

“Do hush, Leo.” Theresa shook her head. “It is something to do, and I refuse to linger about home and listen to Mama’s moaning that I am a disappointment.”

“Ah. Perhaps you’re right. Mama can be… intense.” The earl bounced his gaze between them before nodding. “Very well. Enjoy the afternoon out. For once, it isn’t raining, and London in the spring is lovely.”

“Thank you.” When she preceded Harry down the stairs, St. Vincent held him back.

Concern filled the earl’s eyes. “She is my sister, Hedgecomb. Please do everything in your power to see her protected since we were unable to find the shooter last night.”

Heat rose up the back of Harry’s neck, but he nodded. “You know that I will. Now that she is my fiancée, my vigilance has been engaged even further.” It was odd, saying the word fiancée , but it sounded strangely comforting. “I don’t take the responsibility lightly, my friend.” Though he might not have wanted a woman in his life in such a permanent capacity, now that Theresa was here, he was… curious about the relationship as well as her.

“I appreciate that.” St. Vincent dropped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I can feel in my bones that things are moving swiftly to a head regarding Lady Stover and her gang of criminals. Once we eliminate them, we can all breathe easy and perhaps begin to put this reign of terror behind us.”

“To heal,” Harry added in a soft voice.

“Yes.” The earl nodded. “Many of us need that so badly.”

If he wasn’t careful, he would linger there and grow emotional, and if he allowed the dam holding all of that back to break, the deluge would bury him. He wasn’t ready for that just now. “Well, I should join Theresa and not give her a reason to find an excuse to beg off.”

“Right.” St. Vincent nodded. “Enjoy the afternoon, and thank you for not acting the arse about all of this. I truly am trying to do right by my sister.”

“As am I.” Along with the settlement and pin money he’d pledged to her in the engagement contracts, Harry intended to put the dowry St. Vincent had given him into an account in her name for her sole use. If she decided they didn’t suit, she would have that as well as the parure to set up housekeeping wherever she wished, and she would be taken care of for the rest of her life. “Now, I truly must run.”

By the time he joined her in the entry hall, she’d donned an ivory and gold brocade spencer with a high neck that covered the light bruising marks he’d left on her skin. A bonnet with sky-blue ribbons that matched her dress sat over her brown hair caught back in a low bun.

He offered a small grin. “You are the personification of spring, I think.”

“Such gammon, Your Lordship.” But she smiled. Briefly. And he wanted to cajole more of that from her. “Thank you. I usually don’t like to wear bright colors which will bring too much attention to me.”

“You should definitely do it more often.” After receiving his gloves and top hat from the footman, he donned the articles of clothing. “Ready?”

Was he?

“I hope so.” Her answer was just as soft, but the shadows had returned to her deep brown eyes, and he could only wonder what she battled with that prevented her from truly enjoying life.

Hyde Park

There was something foreign about feeling a woman’s hand resting in the crook of his elbow as they strolled the paths in the park. In the past when he’d let a woman into his life, it was for one reason only—having a bedmate, and at one point, a mistress, mostly to relieve a physical need. There had been a time when he thought he could have had a relationship with the mistress, but nearly killing her one night during a nightmare had put an end to that.

So he had steered clear of women for anything personal. It was easier, safer, that way.

Until Theresa came along, and now he had to update his thinking. How very… odd.

“Are you always a man of few words?” The dulcet sound of Theresa’s voice wrenched him from his thoughts. “Not that I mind, for I have no use for men who incessantly brag and bluster merely to hear themselves talk. However, I can’t help but feel you’re brooding. If that is the case, it might prove cause for concern later.”

At least she was honest. Perhaps painfully so. In many ways, he appreciated that. Far too often, when someone was presented with a former member of the military who struggled mentally, there were always lies and false pleasantries offered.

“Over the years, I’ve found that there aren’t many people who genuinely wish to know what I have to say. Especially when those words veer into the less-than-pleasant details of how military men returning from war are treated in this country.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I would imagine that, coupled with what you struggle with personally, doesn’t make for being comfortable in your own skin.”

“It does not.” What sort of man was she hoping for in a husband, and would he be able to attain that? “I suppose I have spent far too many years alone and fear I’ve become set in my ways.” When he turned his head and met her gaze, he offered a wry grin. “But I am willing to try and change.”

“You shouldn’t change to make it easier for the people around you. If they are uncomfortable because of who you are, that is their issue, not yours.” She squeezed her fingers on his arm. “However, if you know in your heart that your behavior or what you are struggling with is disrupting the lives of people around you or you aren’t happy with yourself, then yes, effect change.”

“What if being broken is too insurmountable for grasp at change?”

She frowned, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. How awkward was it to crave a kiss from her in this moment? But he needed to know if the fleeting calm she’d imparted to him last night had been a fluke or a figment of his imagination. “There is nothing wrong or shameful about considering yourself broken, but as a general rule, you aren’t. You merely feel things differently than other men, and unless I miss my guess, you have been rather lost since the war ended. Correct?”

Shock moved through his chest. “Yes, but how could you possibly know that?”

“My brother struggled for a long time. I’m not certain in what ways, but I do know that it was bad at times.”

“How did he manage to rise above it?” I need all the help I can find.

“I don’t truly know that he did, but he was better able to manage it once Rachel came along.” She paused for the space of a few heartbeats before speaking again. “He used to say that he could live with anything as long as he wasn’t alone in it.”

That made sense. “Did she come willingly to him?” Though he’d heard enough stories from his fellow brothers-in-arms at the club to realize that many of their relationships were either forced or protested, he also knew that there wasn’t an unhappy marriage within those ranks.

At least no one had admitted to that fact.

Theresa snorted. “God, no. Rachel was the one who got away. They moved apart for many years. Then by chance at a society function where she was invited and he was only there to steal a piece of jewelry, they met and got up to quite a bit of scandal. Something about her being tied to a bed, waiting for the man who was courting her at the time.” She shrugged. “After that, Leo entered into a campaign to win her hand. He didn’t trust the man she wanted to be engaged to, and for good reason. It was a difficult road, but eventually they had to trust each other, forgive themselves for their decisions in the past.”

“And the rest is history, as they say,” Harry said in a low voice.

“Yes.” With a nod and slight pressure on his arm, she led him off the path toward the deep part of the Serpentine. “Since Mama and I live in a different townhouse from him now, I couldn’t tell you if he still suffers from nightmares or day terrors or whatever is unique issue of the mind was, but I can say that he seems to be very much a changed man, even if that change came to him gradually.”

For long moments, he rested his gaze on the tiny ripples in the water as ducks and geese paddled their way along the surface. “Since you and I have been forced into an engagement, please know that I don’t wish to put that sort of responsibility on you. I don’t want you to fix me.”

“Set your mind at ease, Your Lordship. I don’t believe you can be fixed; none of us can. We are who we are. We have specific mountains ahead of us to climb and conquer, and no one can do that for us.”

“Harry, or Harold, or Hedgecomb if you’d rather.”

“What?” Again, she frowned as she turned to him.

“Leave off with the formalities. I have never been that man to demand them.” He took her hands in his. “I am only Harry, or if you talk to my club members, some of them refer to me as Scarecrow.”

“Such a horrid nickname, but I must ask. Why?” Amusement surfaced briefly in her eyes, and he focused on that.

“When I was in the war, I was far too slim, I suppose, and my hair stuck up in places more often than not. By the time I was promoted into the spy life, I assumed many disguises, so the nickname was better than revealing my real name or title. It stuck.”

“How long have you been out of the spy game?”

“Four years. After I retired from that life, I relocated to Rome for a couple of years in the hopes that an entirely different country would help to heal the broken parts of me.”

She frowned. “I assume it didn’t?”

“Not in the ways I’d hoped. Rome is beautiful and sunny and such a different way of living than here in England that I’d almost stayed there for the remainder of my life.”

“It sounds like a lovely place; I would adore visiting there, perhaps going through the Tuscany region or even going further south to Vesuvius.”

Harry nodded. “It holds a special place in my heart, for I don’t know if I could ever visit France or Portugal again without remembering countless battlefields.”

“It must be a great weight on your shoulders to know there are places in the world that have been tainted.”

“A bit.” He was silent for a long time. “There are many other places that haven’t anything to do with the war, though. I could easily take you there for a wedding trip.”

“Oh?” A light of interest went into her eyes. “Such as?”

“Well, Egypt, for one. There are many sites there of historical significance I’ve always thought might be interesting. Perhaps I could even donate funds to sponsor a dig next winter.” The idea held merit. “Or India. Beautiful country, and there are tea estates we could explore. Or if you fancy trailing through the Caribbean islands on a schooner, I could plan that for you.”

It didn’t matter as long as he could provoke a genuine smile or a cry of delight from her.

“I will consider the options.” For one shining moment, her eyes held excitement, before the emotion was buried beneath that odd mask of disinterest. “Perhaps we should stop by a lending library so I can look for travel journals and other reading material.”

“Whatever it takes for you to find yourself.” Again, he followed the waterfowl with his gaze. “Eventually, I grew restless, and I missed London. During the war, Edenthorpe invited me to be a part of his club; I wished to investigate that in the event there were like-minded men who might understand…”

“In many ways, I envy you that support.” When he transferred his attention back to her, the shadows and sadness had infiltrated her eyes again. “There are some things in life—in a woman’s life—that ensure we will always be alone, or worse, ostracized if our demons ever escape our heads.”

More than ever, he wanted to hear her story, offer her what support or advice he could. Squeezing her fingers, he held her gaze. “You are not broken either, Theresa, and anyone who makes you think that deserves a facer.”

“You don’t know me, don’t know what I’ve done… had to endure.” Her chin trembled, and that tiny tell wormed beneath his skin to burrow deep into his chest.

“No, I don’t, but I want towhen you decide to extend me trust, but I won’t rush that process.” The seconds were marked by the occasional quack and honk from the waterfowl. “Life happens. Sometimes it isn’t pleasant. We can’t help that, but that doesn’t mean we should spend the rest of our existence carrying the weight of the past.”

If only he could follow that advice.

“Yet how does one go forward and manage to forget the one moment in time that changed everything? That made one into a different person? That stole all shreds of joy?” Tears were evident in her eyes and voice.

“I don’t know, but perhaps we can discover that together?”

Before she could answer, the unmistakable report of a pistol rent the air.

Bang!

Panic and fear instantly filled his chest, and he glanced all around the immediate area, but didn’t see any obvious signs of a shooter. “Get to cover!” Without a thought, he took Theresa’s arm and shuttled her behind a grouping of young trees and shrubberies, squatting down so as not to provide an easy target.

“Harry, are you going to have an episode?” Fear trembled through her inquiry as she kneeled at his side.

“No.” The word was pulled from a tight throat, for he teetered on the edge. Then he glanced at her, truly looked at her, and cursed when he saw a faint line of blood on the high point of her left cheek. Immediately, that distracted him from remembering the war. “You were hit.” It wasn’t a question. He cupped her cheek, wiped at the thin ribbon with his gloved thumb. “God, St. Vincent is going to have my head.”

“Not unless you find the shooter.” She shoved at his chest. “Go. I’ll be safe enough here.”

“Are you certain?” His pulse pounded so hard in his ears, he could barely hear anything else.

“Yes, but I can’t guarantee to be so if it happens again.” Once more, she gave him a shove. “Go do what you do.”

Then he was away, leaving the relative safety of the shrubbery and her. Quickly calculating their former location as well as the distance a ball fired from a pistol could travel, it was easy enough to discern the spot where the man might have been standing. Searching through the stand of evergreens, he didn’t find a shooter or human life, though he did startle a few birds. On the ground amidst a covering of dead, fallen needles from the past winter, he plucked a Mother-of-Pearl button from the detritus and held it in his palm.

So their traitor enjoyed ostentatious adornments or rather the chance to flaunt his status, but he couldn’t place a man at the club who wore a jacket with buttons like this. He would need to ask other members.

Depositing the button in the pocket of his waistcoat, Harry then made his way back to where he’d left Theresa. She’d moved to a wrought iron bench nearer to the edge of the Serpentine, but she didn’t seem any worse for wear, except for the grazed skin on her cheek. When he sat next to her, he remained quiet for a long time.

“Did you find him?” she asked as she kept her focus on the water.

“No, but I found a clue that I will inquire about at the first opportunity.”

“Good.” She laid a hand on his on the bench between them. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m finally realizing the danger all of you are in, because I’m in it too.” Fear threaded through her voice and reflected in her eyes. “And I’m frightened. If he’d aimed just a tad bit higher…”

“But he didn’t, and I’ll be damned if he has another chance.” Despite being in a public place, he slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close to his side. When she didn’t protest and instead more or less melted into him, a sigh shuddered from him. “While I am here, nothing bad will happen to you again. You have my word.”

For he would find the shooter, and there would be hell to pay. This went beyond Edenthorpe being attacked. Lady Stover had now come after Theresa, and since she was his fiancée, she was an extension of him, and because she was even here in the first place, he’d accidentally uncovered a tiny seed of forgotten hope. If he had the chance, he wanted to nurture that seed in his chest and see what might happen.

If only for a glimmer of long wished-for peace.