Page 27 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

25

The train departing Sawbridgeworth Station whistled a shrill final warning.

“All aboard!” the conductor shouted.

Gabriel set a gloved hand on the small of Effie’s back, wordlessly steering her toward the first-class railway carriage. She offered no objection, allowing him to guide her steps, just as she’d allowed him to purchase the two first-class tickets for their return journey to London.

The cost had been exorbitant, but any price was preferable to being cramped in an open railway carriage, with no ability to engage in unguarded conversation.

He and Effie hadn’t spoken since leaving the cottage in Trowley Green. Seated beside him in the hired carriage, she had remained mute behind her veil, her hands clasped hard in her lap and her body rigid. Gabriel hadn’t attempted to engage her. He’d been too stunned himself. Rendered all but speechless by the implications of the dreadful tale he’d pieced together.

It had taken him the full five miles to the station to get his chaotic thoughts in order. Only then had he resolved on something like a plan.

A railway porter in a green straight-buttoned coat stood at the door of the first-class carriage. He directed them to their compartment. Situated near the front, it was paneled in gleaming polished mahogany with four blue cloth–upholstered seats disposed in facing pairs.

Effie sat down in a seat near the oval window.

Gabriel shut the compartment door before taking the seat across from her.

Within seconds, a back-and-forth jolt and the grinding sound of metal announced the train’s departure from the station. The conductor shouted unintelligibly as it lurched into motion. Outside the window, the now empty platform slipped by with a gradual increase of speed.

Gabriel lowered the window shade. He removed his hat, placing it on the empty seat beside him. “You no longer need your veil.”

Effie slowly pushed the black net back over her bonnet, revealing her beautiful face by degrees. She was unusually pale. The shadows under her dark blue eyes appeared deeper in comparison. He’d noticed them earlier at the cottage. She looked as though she hadn’t slept since they’d parted in Cremorne Gardens.

His chest tightened with guilt.

It had been a calculated choice not to seek her out before today. One he’d made the night of Galezzo’s fall. Then, Gabriel had believed he was giving Effie an opportunity to recover from the upset she’d suffered. That, in his absence, her temper would cool and, when next they met, she’d be able to face him with something like an open mind.

When she’d flung her arms around him on the platform at Sawbridgeworth Station, he’d dared to hope he had been right.

But he understood now that one impulsive embrace wasn’t enough to offset the hurt he’d caused her. A hurt that paled in comparison to the devastation she had suffered at that cottage today.

He gazed at her solemnly as the train rattled down the track. “Effie—”

“She was my mother,” she said.

“I gathered that much.”

He’d understood it from the instant Mrs.Young had described Mrs.Grace putting her child on the roof. He had looked at Effie then, had seen the dull horror in her face, and he had known. This was why she was terrified of heights. Why the mere possibility of falling left her incapable of moving or adequately drawing breath.

“I didn’t know,” she said. “I couldn’t remember.”

“How old were you when you left the Rookery?” he asked.

“Five, I believe.”

“Was it your father who took you away?”

“No.” She numbly shook her head. “I never knew anything about him. Not that he was a lascar or…or anything.”

Gabriel hadn’t been entirely surprised by that bit of information. Indeed, it explained much about Effie’s singular beauty.

As for the less savory aspects—the idea that she was somehow tarnished by being mixed race, Gabriel had never subscribed to those beliefs. Purity of pedigree was a rich man’s game. An obsession clung to by those who couldn’t distinguish themselves in a more substantive manner. But poverty didn’t discriminate. The Rookery was rife with people of every color and caste. Gabriel had learned early on that it was character that was important, not the vagaries of one’s birth.

“It was a woman who took me,” Effie said. “I stole her reticule.”

Gabriel received this news without batting an eye. So, Euphemia Flite had been a child pickpocket. Another revelation—and one that strangely didn’t surprise him, either. Rather the reverse. The scandalous fact of Effie’s unsavory origins settled in his heart, warm and deep, an affirmation of everything he’d been feeling since the first night they’d met.

Like recognized like.

He had sensed it then, without doubt. Had seen something in her that told him they were the same. At the time, the feeling had defied common sense. She was a well-bred young lady taking part in the London season. A lady residing in Mayfair, garbed in fine clothes, and possessed of impeccable manners.

But all that was merely window dressing, wasn’t it?

Underneath, she was the same as he was. A child of the slum who had, by some method, managed to infiltrate the razor-thin layer of the upper crust, turning her talents to her advantage.

“She took me when I was small,” Effie said. “I was raised in an orphanage.”

“The Crinoline Academy,” Gabriel murmured.

She gave him a sharp glance.

His mouth quirked wryly. “That’s what the barman in the village told Ollie the orphanage was called. I presume that isn’t its name?”

“Some people call it that. But no. It’s Miss Corvus’s Benevolent Academy for the Betterment of Young Ladies.” She paused before adding, “It isn’t your typical charitable institution.”

“I should say not.” Not if they were raising up their inmates to masquerade as elegant ladies rather than women who kept to the humble station to which they’d been born.

Effie stared down at her folded hands in her lap. A deep line of anguish etched her brow. “I wasn’t supposed to return to the Rookery. Miss Corvus forbade it. But I have always imagined that, one day, I might find my mother. It’s been the secret dream of my life.” Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. “I might have known it would prove to be a nightmare.”

Gabriel was up from his seat in an instant. He took the empty seat beside her and, without preamble, hauled her onto his lap. He held her there until her arms circled his neck and her body relaxed with a trembling breath. He removed her bonnet and tossed it aside. His hand cradled her head against his shoulder.

He was fully aware of the impropriety of his actions. Not even husbands and wives engaged in this degree of intimacy in public. It was vulgar. Unseemly. But Gabriel cared nothing for social rules at the best of times. And now…Well.

He cared only for her.

“Parents,” he said. “They’re always a disappointment.”

She struggled to contain her tears. “What does her behavior say about me?”

“Not a blasted thing. You’re no different now than when we walked into that cottage. All that’s changed is that you’ve discovered your mother was a heartless tart. There’s no point crying over it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not. I’m done with weeping.”

“Good,” he said. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

“How could she—?”

“Because people are mad. Most can’t be trusted with a dog, let alone a child. Yet still they produce them, year after year. Legions of starving, miserable wretches left to roam the streets with no guidance.” His hand moved over her silk-encased back in a reassuring caress. Her bodice was fashionably tight, the hard seams of her corset rigid beneath his palm. “I speak from experience, sweetheart.”

Her breath gradually grew quiet and regular under his ministrations. “You remember your childhood.”

“Regrettably.”

“What do you recall?”

“Hunger,” he said without hesitation.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And not only for food.”

He turned his face against her silken, sweet-smelling hair. Honey and black currants. The fragrance filled his lungs, stirring untold longings within his jaded soul.

“You have no other recollections?” he asked.

“Only impressions. I’d hoped…But I couldn’t remember.” Her voice grew husky with emotion. “I had imagined the feeling of despair came later, but it’s been there all long, hasn’t it?”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to think of her hungry and despairing. She wasn’t made to suffer. She was made to be adored.

“I don’t know about despair,” he said. “But I know about want. When you start life without, you never lose the emptiness of it. If you’re lucky, you can use it. It keeps you sharp. Helps you survive.”

“Survival isn’t the same as living.”

“No?” He huffed a cynical laugh. “I never had the luxury of the distinction.”

Her arms remained around his neck, her body pliant and trusting against him if only for this fleeting, precious moment. The full skirts of her black silk dress spilled about his legs in a profusion of starched petticoats and wire crinoline.

Mine. The word reverberated through Gabriel’s veins, even as he counseled himself not to hold her too tightly, not to be too precipitous. It was dangerous to reveal the innermost desires of one’s heart. A surefire way to guarantee those desires were left unfulfilled. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to frighten her away.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “After all these years, I thought I’d finally find the place I belonged.”

“You have,” he assured her. “It’s here. Right here, with me.”

So much for not being precipitous.

Her arms loosed from his neck. She slowly pulled back to look at him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Her troubled eyes were glistening, but true to her resolve, no tears spilled. “Gabriel—”

“I mean it,” he said. “Nothing else matters.”

Her brows knit. “How can you say that? Aren’t you at all dismayed to discover I’m not who I’ve pretended to be?”

“I know who you are.”

Her lips trembled. She shook her head. “You don’t.”

“I’ve known since the beginning.”

A startled look crossed her face. “But how—?”

“We’re the same,” he said. “I told you so the night we met.”

Understanding registered in her dark blue gaze. Her expression softened. “We may well be so. It doesn’t change the facts. I came to London for a purpose.”

Gabriel didn’t have to ask what that purpose was. She’d admitted it to him that afternoon in Hyde Park. It was Compton who had drawn her here, not the glamour of the season or the hope of finding a wealthy husband. What Gabriel didn’t understand was why.

“All this effort,” he said. “The fine clothes. The Mayfair address. The tales about your French finishing school and your wealthy former guardian. Have any of them been true?”

“A version of the truth.”

His brow creased. “And for what? Merely to stop Compton from standing in the way of some bill in Parliament?” He scanned her face. “Who’s subsidizing it all? Lady Belwood?”

“No,” Effie said. “Not Lady Belwood. Someone else.”

“Who?”

For a moment it appeared she wouldn’t answer. And then: “A lady who champions the causes of women.”

“What lady?”

“It doesn’t matter who she is now. It’s who she was before. A vulnerable lady like so many others—exploited by a powerful man, unprotected by a loathsome half brother. Her fortune taken from her, and her reputation destroyed.”

Gabriel stared at Effie in dawning understanding. “Good God,” he uttered. “Not Wingard’s sister?”