Page 19

O ne of the scales from Millie’s dress had come loose on the floor of the little study. Abe had retrieved it and put it in his pocket, initially intending to return it to the fair lady at the first opportunity.

But his fingers kept finding their way into that pocket, and it wasn’t long before he’d become attached to the thing as a memento of a truly remarkable evening. Mother-of-pearl , he’d thought as he exited the office. That was what it was called.

The little chip of stone contained as many hues and shapes as Millie herself. He thought it a good setting for his little wildflower, offsetting the brilliance of her own colors.

He descended the stairs as though nothing at all were amiss, finding that the throng of partygoers had ballooned out into a perfect circle to observe a single dancing couple, engaged in what could only be described as a scandalous cousin to the waltz.

As he drew nearer, he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that the woman in the coupling was none other than Lady Bentley. She was pink with exertion, circling her partner like a lioness on the hunt, and the gentleman she was dancing with carried the same intensity.

They were of an age, Abe reckoned, though the man’s salt-and-pepper hair and swarthy complexion were a stark contrast to Lady Bentley’s milk-and-honey visage. She whipped the fabric of her skirt to the side, drawing a gasp from the onlookers.

“What in the devil?” he muttered to himself, drawing as close as he could through the all-too-attentive crowd.

“Portuguese,” an older gentleman on the right was whispering to his wife as he gestured to the pair, “Dom something or another. Cain’s client.”

“Mama,” came the voice of a pale little debutante to his left, “may I learn the Fandango?”

“You most certainly may not ,” her mama replied, though mama’s eyes were locked on the couple with undeniable admiration. “Goodness, Gretchen.”

Well , Abe thought, blowing a gust of breath out of the side of his mouth, Freddy is not going to like this.

The music was speeding up, and the dance steps seemed to reflect that. If Abe weren’t already feeling a bit hot under the collar, watching this display might have just gotten his blood up.

Lady Bentley’s little feet landed with sharp precision, her skirt flaring around her legs as she spun and circled her partner.

Wisps of her pale blonde hair had come out of her chignon and clung to her face, which was dewy with exertion, and she wasn’t hiding her enjoyment.

She smiled widely, her teeth flashing in the candlelight.

“A countess indeed,” said the elderly man’s wife with her nose in the air, though the speed of her fan was increasing to match the tempo of the music.

“She wasn’t when they courted,” her husband reminded her, his theatrical whisper perfectly audible. “Don’t you remember?”

Abe used every fiber of his constraint to not openly sigh.

It had been a fine thing, so far, taking Freddy’s money while his mother harmlessly flitted about London. But now, he supposed, he’d have to report something of substance.

The couple began to spin and leap, the music feverishly spiking. They maintained eye contact, Lady Bentley’s face a bright pink beacon of joy and the Portuguese fellow’s a look of strained intensity.

The debutante attempted to draw nearer to the action only to be tugged back into place by her frowning mama.

“And at her age too,” the older woman was tutting, jealousy dripping from every word. “Imagine!”

When the final percussive beat struck, they froze in time, perfect as statues in a palace garden.

The people around Abe erupted into applause.

He watched as the two finally relaxed, gazing into each other’s faces with such naked affection that the flurry of gossip began to erupt around the room almost immediately.

Abe rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

It seemed that passion was in the air tonight.

By the time the evening had concluded, Abe found himself more than ready to fall into bed.

He wasn’t certain whether he would sleep fitfully or not, considering the contrasting tug and give of the evening, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that a single evening had brought so much change to a man’s day-to-day life.

He hadn’t managed to catch Millie alone again, though she did seek him out to say her farewells before departing with Lady Bentley for their townhouse. He wondered if she remembered that they had met for the first time in the very same room, on the occasion of the Cains’ wedding day.

She likely did, he thought with a smile to himself. She was a sharp-witted woman, clever as they came.

His mother would approve.

He approached his front door with the full intention of drifting off to sleep with the memory of their long-awaited kiss at the forefront of his mind. It had been more than he could have imagined, and had left him desperate to experience it again.

However, upon entering his home, he knew immediately that something was amiss.

A trail of candlelight led down the hall of the ground floor, toward Abe’s study and the kitchen, and on the ground were several balled-up sheets of paper, their yellowed edges looking sharp and flammable in the low evening light.

“Freddy?” he called, kneeling to retrieve one of the balls of paper before stepping into the hall. “Bentley, are you here?”

There was no answer.

Abe frowned, pulling apart the crumpled document in his hands as he walked. He was reasonably certain they hadn’t been burgled. The furniture was all upright, and the doors that were supposed to be closed were still firmly shut, but unease was thick in the air.

He found Freddy in the kitchen, his back to the stove and a bottle of some unknown amber liquor wedged between his knees. He looked terrible.

“Abe!” he said, tilting his head back to meet the other man’s gaze. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he had the unmistakable tinge of a new bruise growing on the line of his jaw. “You return!”

Abe’s grip on the mystery document in his hand relaxed. He knew with sudden and immediate certainty that it must be some manner of gambling slip. He pressed his lips together, discarding the sheet of paper on the kitchen counter, and knelt next to the other man.

“I think perhaps it’s time for you to be abed, Bentley,” he said as gently as he could. “Come, let’s get you up.”

“No!” Freddy snapped, jerking his arm from Abe’s touch. “No. I’ve still … I’ve still a half a bottle here! They wouldn’t let me to the tables after the first round, but they can’t stop me from having a drink, can they? Drink with me, Murphy.”

Abe took a sharp breath, staring down at the other man.

Freddy made a face and tipped the bottle into his mouth.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a new room on the morrow!

” he announced. There was a ragged joviality to his drunken speech.

His eyes were wild and glassy. “No cards or dice if I’m to live with the upstanding Abraham Murphy. I agreed! I meant it!”

“You did,” Abe replied softly.

“Well,” Freddy answered with a sneer, dropping the bottle onto the tiled floor next to him so hard that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “We both knew I’d fail from the start, didn’t we? I can’t help myself! I’ve never been able to help myself!”

Abe delicately took the bottle, moving it from Freddy’s reach. “What exactly happened tonight, Freddy?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice soft and soothing.

Freddy scoffed, dropping his head onto his knees. “Oh, the usual things,” he muttered, muffled against his trousers. “The usual things. Don’t pretend you are surprised. No one is surprised. Everyone knows what I am.”

Freddy’s hand slapped the empty tile where the bottle had been. He only groaned at its absence, his upper body going limp with resignation.

“Come on,” Abe said, kneeling again to get his grip under Freddy’s arms. “Stand up. Let’s get you up the stairs.”

“Why?” Freddy protested, though he allowed himself to be lifted to his feet, his weight slung against Abe’s in an awkward dance of instability. “Why bother? I will sleep outside! In the dirt!”

“Shut up, Bentley,” Abe grunted, attempting to maneuver the other man back down the hall.

It was clear that going up the stairs was going to be a dangerous endeavor, if not an outright impossibility. Instead of going that route, Abe pushed Freddy toward the little receiving room near their front door and toppled him onto a chaise by the fireplace.

“Do not move,” he ordered, and took the stairs two at a time to retrieve necessities from the bedrooms upstairs for the other man.

When he returned, Freddy was already dozing, his head tipped back on the arm of the chaise with his mouth wide open.

“No you don’t,” Abe muttered, gripping Freddy’s shoulder and shaking it. “Wake up. You’re going to choke to death like that.”

“Yes, death,” Freddy mumbled, though he obediently lifted his head for the pillow and allowed Abe to remove his jacket, waistcoat, and shoes. He even accepted the proffered carafe of water and took a delicate sip of it, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Drink it all,” Abe ordered, pushing the water back toward Freddy’s mouth. “Every drop.”

“Every drop,” Freddy mirrored with the tone of a bratty child, but he did so as well as he could. A great deal of the water ended up down his front rather than in his belly.

Abe kept an eye on him, grabbing the crumpled gambling slips off the floor and dousing the candles Freddy had left haphazardly lit about the place.

He didn’t trust the other man not to suffocate himself in a pillow or fall into the fireplace or even wander back outside in search of a gambling table in this state, so he’d have to sleep down here too.

Freddy watched him, a mix of disdain and confusion on his drunken face, but he did not argue or comment. He didn’t do much of anything other than hold the empty water carafe in his arms like a buoy on the open sea.

He seemed to be slipping into sleep before Abe had even finished managing the chaos, and had to be tilted backwards and covered with a quilt. He was murmuring nonsense questions about Silas’s party, about the guests and the grandeur and so on.

“Was my wife there?” he asked, absurdly, tears creeping down his cheeks. “Was Claire there? Will you tell her I’m sorry?”

It was a relief, Abe decided, once he began to snore. Unconscious Freddy was far superior to drunk, self-loathing Freddy.

Still, he found himself sitting next to the sleeping man for some time before he was ready to settle down himself. He leaned back in a chair as far as he could comfortably get and forced himself to close his eyes.

Surprisingly, after a time, he did manage to find his way to sleep.

He dreamed of glossy brown curls on a pale shoulder. He dreamed of a tiny study and lively Iberian music thrumming through the walls. In his sleep, he smiled.