Page 29 of What Happens in Hedone

Effie took his elbow as he held it out to assist her down the outside steps, and he stiffened as she touched him. A flare of longing rolled through her like a wave. She would think about her cousin and the consequences of her actions tomorrow. Tonight, she had a chance to be with Jay in the open, as herself, not hidden behind a mask or disguise. She wanted one more night with him. She would pay whatever price was demanded for it.

Jay led them up Bedford Square Road to the wide thoroughfare of Western Road, paved and lined here and there with gas lamps which sprang to life as the lighter reached them. The glow picked out the architectural details of the rather impressive buildings, part of the scheme of the trio of architects who, it was said, had transformed the muddy fishing village of Brighthelmstone into a royal retreat.

The Gothic House stabbed the pinnacles of its tower into the night sky, its medieval touches a stark contrast to the Neoclassical symmetry of Sillwood House and the row houses of the Western Terrace. Across the street, incongruent, stood the Western Pavilion, built in imitation of the Royal Pavilion, complete with minarets, an onion-shaped dome, and Oriental motifs. Was it any wonder, Effie thought, that Brighton had become home to Heddy’s fantasies, and then her own? They’d merely been following in the footsteps of a king.

“No bricks in this dressing as far as I can tell,” Effie remarked when they reached Wykeham Terrace, only a ten-minute walk. She wanted to crack Jay’s rigid façade and thought perhaps his work might be the way in.

“Cement and stucco,” he said shortly. “My friend has his lodgings here.”

“So does my cousin,” Effie said, surprised, as Jay paused and rapped on a door.

She gaped at the man who opened it. He was dressed just as splendidly as Jay in a dark blue cutaway coat, checked waistcoat, and striped trousers looped beneath his evening shoe. His hair, as usual, declined to be smoothed by pomade.

Jay ushered them inside and began the introductions. “Effie, this is my friend, Lord⁠—”

“Farren?” Effie said in disbelief.

He blinked at her. “Effie? What are you doing here?”

Effie turned on Jay and spoke at the same time Farren did. “This is my⁠—”

“Burnham, what are you doing with my cousin?”

Jay looked back and forth between them, his brows rushing together in that scowl she found so irresistible. “Effie is your cousin? The girl you’re going to marry?” He closed his eyes. “Good God.”

Heddy stepped inside and shut the door behind them, which Farren’s manservant, gaping at the group, had forgotten to do. “Well, this is all quite interesting.”

Farren threw back his shoulders. “Lady Hedone! What the blazes?” He, too, turned a scowl on Effie. “Iphigenia, you must not associate⁠—”

“Oh, good heavens, Kent, this is my friend from school. I’ve been visiting her club for weeks now, ever since I arrived in Brighton. You came and looked straight past me once.”

“You have? I did?” Kent Farren, 4th Lord Farren and the 6th Baronet Sawtry of Greystones, whirled on his friend. “Burnham, if you saw my cousin at the club and didn’t tell me⁠—”

“How could I have?” Jay threw up his hands, casting Effie an accusing look. “I didn’t know until today that they’re the same girl.”

“Hold a moment. The girl you were going to see? Is my cousin? Effie?” Farren’s voice climbed an octave.

“We are all going to sit down to dinner,” Heddy said firmly, “and we will have a very civilized and, I hope, delicious meal.” She took Farren’s arm and dragged him down the small hallway toward the first open door.

Effie took the arm Jay held for her out of instinct and the need for support. Her head was a whirlpool, and he looked equally knocked off his feet. “How do you know my cousin?”

“We are mates from school,” Farren answered her. “King’s Ely. We go way back. Now I want answers from you, Iphigenia. What the devil were you doing at a brothel?”

“My club is not a brothel.” Heddy took her seat, head held high, every inch of her showing the elegance she’d attained by careful instruction, since she couldn’t lay claim to breeding.

Effie collapsed in her seat, elegance abandoned. Her corset was laced too tightly, pushing her heart up into her throat.

“What did you come to Hedone for?” she asked Farren.

“Er.” He made a show of flipping back the tails of his coat and taking a seat at the head of the small mahogany table, beautifully laid with a silver and china service. Rented, Effie supposed. All the heirlooms were in the London townhouse, where her Aunt Valencia stayed, or at the family seat in Sawtry, where no one had properly lived after Valencia’s husband, the previous baron, died.

Greystones was due to become Effie’s home. This man across from her was supposed to become her husband. And she knew so little about him.

But even less about the man who sank into the seat at her left, staring at the table setting as if he had forgotten how to use utensils. And yet she knew Jay in a way she’d never known anybody.

Or perhaps it was simply that he called to her in a way no one ever had. Even now, when everything in her own head was a muddle, she wanted to cradle his face in her palms and kiss the wrinkles away from his brow and promise him she would make it all right.

“Farren has been to the club several times,” Heddy explained to Effie. Her friend was the only calm one among them. “White soup to begin? How delicious. I would expect no less from you, Farren.”