Page 10 of One Waltz with the Viscount

The trek across London was further than he had anticipated, but after ten minutes Henry was beginning to enjoy himself, and after twenty he had all but forgotten it was after half past two in the morning.

The streets were quiet, but not deserted. As they walked and talked he kept alert, knowing a well-dressed man and woman would be likely targets for any thieves roaming the streets at this time.

‘Why don’t you tell me about the other avenues you’ve explored to find your sister,’ Henry suggested once they had settled into a comfortable pace.

Miss Shepherd sighed and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. ‘I am thankful for your assistance tonight, Lord Routledge, but forgive me, I am struggling to understand your interest in my plight. Surely a man of your station in life has many more interesting and important things to occupy his time than helping a stranger look for her foolish sibling.’

‘What do you think occupies my time?’ he asked, aware he was dodging the implied question by asking his own. It was a mechanism of defence he had developed over the last few years. People were naturally curious when they heard of his tragic situation. He had insisted on a marriage that had shocked and scandalised society, and then had to endure the endless interest of acquaintances as the marriage had spiralled into a disaster, which had ended only with his late wife’s death. Even now, two years on, people were morbidly curious about how he was coping, and what he might do next that they could gossip about whilst at the breakfast table.

It was one of the reasons he normally ensured his life stood up to any scrutiny. If he didn’t dally with unsuitable young ladies, didn’t frequent the wrong sort of clubs, didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, one day surely people would stop talking about him.

By helping Miss Shepherd he was breaking his own set of rules, but there was something enchanting about her stubborn insistence on doing whatever was necessary to find her sister. It had made him forget his resolution for a few minutes. He’d felt that spark of excitement that had been missing from his life for so long. Also, he knew it was a way of putting off the inevitable task of searching for a new wife.

She looked at him, head cocked to the side and raised an eyebrow. ‘You are good at deflecting questions about yourself, my lord.’ She smiled gently before letting him off the hook. ‘I can only assume a lord spends some of his time in Parliament, but as you said earlier we are in the middle of the summer recess. I always assumed lords had land to manage, tenants to oversee, property to invest in.’

‘Ah,’ he said with a smile, feeling grateful that she had allowed the distraction, ‘you are thinking of titled gentlemen who have property and money.’

‘You are not one of these?’

‘No.’

‘A pauper lord, just my luck,’ she murmured. He was beginning to enjoy her quiet, dry sense of humour. ‘Although I am not sure how poor you can be, if you wear clothes like this and have your own carriage to spirit you around.’

‘You are of course correct, everything is relative. I do not pretend I am forced to beg on the streets for enough money to buy a morsel of food, but you would be surprised at what lifestyle one can maintain with quite meagre funds and the promise of a fortune to come one distant day in the future.’ He lowered his voice as if about to confide something important. ‘The secret is to make everyone think that distant day is fast approaching, even when it isn’t.’

‘This is when your father dies and you inherit?’

‘Yes. The old man is sixty and in such good health I expect he will be around to torment everyone for another twenty years at least. I have to make my creditors think differently.’

‘Is that possible?’

Henry shrugged. ‘Every so often I throw a comment into our conversation about how the doctor’s bill for my father get higher every week or some such nonsense, although after years of saying such things I think people become impatient.’

‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to get a job, Lord Routledge?’

He laughed, although it was a forced sound. ‘You would be surprised at how difficult that is for a Viscount who will one day be an Earl. It is assumed a man, even one with such a strained relationship with his father such as mine, is given a small yearly income.’

He made light of the situation, but it was something that hurt more than he could say. In the years before he had married Anne, his relationship with his father had already been difficult, and he had become tired of relying on the old man to fund his lifestyle. Much to his father’s disgust he had become a working man, using what little funds he could scrape together to buy a small property in a cheap part of London, turning it into a lodging house. The property had been in a terrible condition and in dire need of repair, and every day he would go and supervise the tradesmen as well as rolling up his sleeves to do some of the manual labour himself. It had been satisfying to see the property transform from a tumbledown dwelling into a smart lodging house, even more so because it was the first time he had felt as though he had properly earned something for himself.

His father had never been loving, always distant and cold, but when he was a child Henry had received what he had needed to thrive. Lord Burwell was cruel in how he withheld affection from his son, but he wanted to mould a man worth taking over the title and all the responsibilities associated with it. It had meant the finest tutors, attending the best school and being ushered along to Cambridge University when the time came. Only when Henry had started to think and speak for himself had the withdrawal of money and support started in earnest.

‘I am hardly qualified for anything.’

‘No,’ Miss Shepherd said, her face suddenly serious, ‘I suppose it is difficult for anyone to step outside of what is expected for them. The opportunities are not there, unless you conform to society’s expectations. I had the choice of becoming a governess or music teacher, or trying to find a position as paid companion or housekeeper. There are no other choices available for a woman with my background. We are expected to eschew more manual jobs, even something like becoming a seamstress or milliner. We are told to stick to our path, to not deviate.’

‘And the consequences if you do can be dire,’ Henry said, more to himself than to her. He was thinking of his late wife, of the chance they had taken to be together, of the blind hope he had based their relationship on. He had stepped off his prescribed path when he had married Anne and now, years later, he was still reeling.

They walked on a little further in silence, both a little melancholy as they considered their situations.

‘At least no one will bother to rob us whilst we walk home,’ Miss Shepherd said after a while.

He looked at her quizzically.

‘They would be able to sense the self-pity we emanate half a mile away, and no doubt would not want to become embroiled in our sorrows.’

Henry laughed, enjoying the little smile that bloomed on Miss Shepherd’s lips at his response. He wondered if her wit was normally so well received, or if she had to keep it hidden for fear of people’s reactions.

They were only a few minutes away from Fleet Street now. But, as they walked, Henry began to have the sense of being watched. The few times he had nonchalantly turned, to see if he could spot anyone behind them, he had detected a flicker of movement in the shadows, but no more.