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Chapter Fourteen

Lark stood at the window of his small parlor. Rain descended on London in drifting gray veils, a rattling sort of rain that shook the windows and ran noisily in the gutters.

A true gentleman, when he woke at noon, would sit by his fire and let his servants bring him coffee and the morning papers. Wretches that picked pockets or cleaned street crossings or begged for a living would huddle in their hidey holes on such a day and wait for the sun to shine. Lark remembered that, remembered that in the old days Dav knew places to wait out a storm where the eaves of one roof overhung another, or where to find a bit of canvas to make a shelter of a corner where a pair of rooftops joined each other. And Dav knew how to wait.

Lark’s rooms were perfectly comfortable. He should resign himself to a day without Viv. It was the smart thing to do, to keep up the pretense that he had an employer and work. She already suspected him of some deception about his connection to the duke.

The problem was that he wanted to kiss her again, to kiss her more thoroughly, and now he knew the thing could be done. The little room in the basement of Lady Melforth’s house was a temptation, but there were other places they could go. He could write his own guidebook, a gentleman’s guide to kissing girls in London.

He didn’t want the false engagement to end. He sensed the ending was near, but he wanted to stay in the moment, in the world apart from his old life. Since he’d met her, he’d been drifting like a passenger in one of Green’s balloons. For eight shillings a man could ascend with Green from Vauxhall into the ether, suspended in a basket beneath a great red-and-white striped silk balloon. For Lark the price of a ride was the wound in his side. For a fortnight he had been untethered from his ordinary life. To see London through Viv’s curious eyes, to show her the things he’d discovered, was to see it as he’d not seen it before. He didn’t want the ride to end. But it must, and his aim must be to end it gently, not in a wreck. He should put his mind to that, how to land the balloon and walk away whole. Not how to kiss her again.

It was unthinkable that their false engagement could become real, that he could step so far into the role he’d created as Edward Larkin that he could marry Viv. The thought of it was crazy, even scary. A real engagement meant he would have to tell her the truth about who he was.

He wasn’t ready. The stumbling block was his parentage. He wanted to believe his mother had been a gentlewoman and that she had not abandoned him, but he had no proof, only elusive memories of her gentleness, of the ring on her finger, and of falling asleep in a warm, well-appointed carriage somewhere in London. And there was Rook, a real tangible obstacle to any claim of Lark’s to being a gentleman.

He had thought that wandering with Viv he might come across the place he’d been searching for. Instead, he’d abandoned his search for the spot. In the months since the fire, he had searched dozens of streets, but he had yet to take his search as far as the great West End parks and beyond.

Today would be a good day to return to the search. Riding with Viv in Lady Melforth’s carriage, being in the house on Henrietta Street had sharpened his memories. He believed his mother had left him in a carriage to enter a building, not a private house, but an edifice that dominated a square. If he could find the place where that parting had taken place, he could unravel the mystery of his birth.

He would call to see that Viv had come to no harm from the Strydes’ visit. He wouldn’t try to see her. He didn’t know how she felt about that kiss. She had participated in a surprised sort of way, but he knew her. She had now had hours to think about it, to feel awkward or uneasy in his presence.

*

On the morning of a third day of rain, Lady Melforth crumpled to the floor in her bedroom. Viv was at her desk working on the guide when Sarah, her ladyship’s maid called for help. Her ladyship revived almost at once and insisted that she had taken no harm, that it was only her pesky foot giving way underneath her, but she allowed them to help her back to bed, and Viv sent for Dr. Newberry.

The doctor spent nearly an hour with his patient before joining Viv in the upstairs drawing room. He looked grave as he entered, but his expression brightened when he saw Viv at the tea table with a teapot and plate of biscuits.

“Thank you for coming like this,” she said. “How is she?”

The doctor took a seat and accepted a cup of tea from Viv. “Rebellious, I’d say. She’s planning a dinner party.”

“A dinner party?” Viv had forgotten, but apparently Lady Melforth had not.

“To celebrate your betrothal and the completion of your guide.”

“Oh dear, is she up to it?” Viv made some rapid calculations. She would have to reach Lark. She would have to see him again. She had been trying so hard to put him out of mind. To forget the kiss. To invent the speech she meant to give to end their false betrothal.

“I don’t think anyone can stop her, but I do think a day in bed won’t hurt her.”

Viv dragged her runaway thoughts back to Lady Melforth’s situation. “Is it usual for a broken bone to take so long to heal? The lack of progress seems to lower her spirits. She no longer writes, you know.”

“She doesn’t?” The doctor put down his cup and took up a biscuit, turning it round in his fingers as if deciding whether to take a bite. “When did she stop?”

“Not long after we came to London. I can consult my notes, but I took over her correspondence in February. Is it significant?” she asked. Newberry looked grave and he wasn’t meeting Viv’s gaze.

“I’m sorry to hear it. It gives us a measure of her spirits. I hadn’t realized she was feeling quite so low.”

“You always cheer her. I think she puts on an act for you.”

He took a bite of the biscuit. “Does she?”

“I must ask about visitors. May she have them?”

He gave her a quick sharp glance, amusement glinting in his eyes. And it occurred to her that though he could be called handsome, her pulse never quickened in his presence. “You don’t want a dinner party? Or you want an excuse to turn away the Strydes.”

“Am I so obvious?”

“Perfectly, but you need not worry. The Strydes may not call for some time.”