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Chapter Seventeen
Nicholas conveyed a silent farewell to Hermes as he walked through the marble statue’s shadow in the oil lamp-lit foyer of the Sportsman Club. After exiting the building, he recognized his uniformed footman leaning against a column under the portico. A light but constant drizzle had been falling all day, and he was grateful the club doorman hadn’t chased his servant into the spring rain. He slipped the doorman extra coin along with his thanks.
As soon as his footman, Timothy, caught sight of Nicholas, he straightened and reached under the folds of his coat. “A letter from Mrs. Gray, sir.”
From Helen, he corrected in his mind.
He accepted the missive, and after passing his satchel to Timothy, he moved to stand under the nearby torch. Between the early evening darkness and the wind causing the flame to flicker, he had to angle the parchment just so in order to make out Helen’s beautiful script.
His spirits soared at the sight of his name written by her hand. Her lettering was more ornate than his own, but more utilitarian than his sister’s. Pen’s script included so many decorative curls and lines that she ran through twice the ink of a less-inspired individual such as himself.
What did Helen feel while penning my name?
Shaking his head at the irrational musing, he unsealed the folded parchment. Brief and to the point, he finished reading the two-sentence correspondence in a trice. A sudden gust of wind splashed rain against the hem of his coat, and he longed to catch that wind and ride it straight to Connaught Square, where Helen awaited him in a four-story Georgian townhouse only two streets from his own.
He lifted the letter. “When was this delivered?”
“Two hours ago, sir. I thought to find you at the tennis club, so I went there first. My apologies for the delay.”
He reassured Timothy that he’d done well, and they set off from Pall Mall.
Ordinarily, a carriage ride was a solitary time for him to reflect. While the rest of noisy London bustled outside his carriage, he would retreat into his own world, examining the pressing issues of the day from every angle. Tonight, however, he wasn’t pondering the details of the engineering report on the waterwheel project that he and David Chadbourne had discussed as they supped in the club, nor the potential railway investment they’d debated.
No, this two-mile journey tested his patience. He stared out the window restlessly, noting each street corner and landmark bringing him that much closer to discovering what Helen needed.
His heart leapt when the carriage turned to travel up the eastern edge of the immense park.Hyde Park.Halfway to Helen.
Despite his eagerness to reach her, Nicholas shook his head in amusement as he gazed out at the grounds shrouded in a cloud of mist illuminated by the gas street lamps. If his father and Prince Albert were successful in bending others to their will, the Great Exhibition’s venue would be built within that very park. Intense objections were gathering force in both Houses of Parliament. Were Nicholas the sort to wager, however, he would bet on the tenacity of Vassilis Sideris and His Royal Highness.
By the time the horse and carriage slid to a stop in front of Helen’s dark-brown brick house, the rain had stopped. Nicholas stood on the step of his carriage for a moment, eyeing the path to the front door.
“No need to wait for me. I’ll return home on foot,” he informed Timothy, who stood, most unenviably, ankle-deep in city sludge.
Somewhere out in the countryside, these spring rains renewed the lush greenery and restored fecundity to the earth. In London, the skies opened and rendered the city into a single interconnected and overflowing sewer.
Nicholas patted Timothy’s drenched shoulder with gratitude, then gripped it. At the man’s nod, he vaulted some distance from the carriage to the safety of the paved footpath. After the footman rejoined the driver at the front of the carriage—their positions exposed to the elements—Nicholas called out to them.
“Be sure to ask for an extra ration of brandy! Sip it while you dry off before the kitchen hearth!”
He smiled at their jaunty replies and waited for them to leave, staring up at the black sky, where a sliver of moon glowed between two clouds. Owing to the rain, few pedestrians were out, and once the horse’s hooves and carriage’s wheels could no longer be heard, he stood in relative quiet, the only person in sight on the small residential street.
Tonight. Everything could change tonight.
Energy moved down his spine, but he relished the anticipation for another moment before it spurred him up onto the tiled porch. After he twisted the door pull, the faint glow grew brighter behind the semicircular fanlight above the black-enameled door.
The butler bid him entry into the warm house, but it was Helen’s arrival in the foyer that heated him all the way to his soul.
“Nicholas! Why, good evening!”
She sounded breathless, and though her tone conveyed surprise, equally evident was her delight. As ever, she tried and failed to quell her reaction to him. A thrill spread through him when she couldn’t quite force the corners of her mouth down.
My God, she’s ravishing!
A thick plait of burnished red-and-gold hair snaked alluringly over one shoulder, flowing over her well-worn shawl. Her forest-green skirts were likewise faded and soft-looking, and he knew he had the privilege of seeing her dressed for a quiet evening at home. Her fiery tresses were but half tamed, with a profusion of downy tendrils that had sprung charmingly along her hairline.
Until now, every time he’d seen her she’d been garbed, to impressive effect, in feminine armor. Her style was refreshingly void of frippery, but she took care in her dress.
Yet the intimacy of seeing her wholesome home attire nearly felled him. The air was heavy with humidity after the steady downpour last night and today, making her skin gleam and her hair curl. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that it was an afternoon in his arms that left her as soft and glowing as a goddess.
