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In the window’s reflection, it was as if my mother was laughing at me.
Who was I to judge her vices?
I had my own.
Insteadofhailingacarriage home from St. Giles, I decided to walk through the merchant district in the direction of Mayfair. The weather was pleasant enough, I was already drunk, and I had nothing else to do, besides.
It was usually suggested that gentleman didn’t walk in these sorts of areas by themselves, but if someone chose to mug me in the broad daylight, then so be it. I’d been in plenty of drunken brawls in my day.
After all, if I were to die an untimely death, who would have missed me? Perhaps all of these bastard children the rumormongers were claiming that I had, I thought with some humor. I supposed they’d just have to grow up without a father. Probably better for them that way, anyways.
As I was entering Gracechurch Street, I passed by a small commotion that drew my attention.
A young lady, smartly dressed, was arguing with a hackney coach on the sidewalk. Her attire wasn’t expensive, but it was also too nice for someone from this neighborhood. She looked like she could’ve been a governess to someone in the ton, or perhaps a companion to a wealthy lady.
“Sir, you said it was six pence, and I have given you that. Please, return my bag!” The girl cried, clearly exasperated.
The busy people of Gracechurch Street were walking briskly around the pair, trying to avoid any trouble.
“What happens to be the problem here, sir?” I asked in a commanding voice, striding up to the coachman. He stared up at me, his expression suddenly paling.
“I simply need eight pence, m’Lord, from this here missy. And she ain’t have it.”
“Did you agree on eight pence?”
The man opened his mouth dumbly.
“Well, m’Lord, see, it took twice as long as I expected because of-”
“I’m sorry, I asked a simple question. Did you or did you not agree on eight pence as the cost of transport?”
The coachman blanched.
“No, well, as I said, it took long-”
“Then I see no issue here. Hand the lady back her bag and be gone.”
I glared down at the coachman, who reluctantly followed my orders. A small crowd had grown around the scene, watching the events transpire. I waited until the coach was gone to shoo them away with a menacing glare, and then turned towards the lady.
She was staring up at me, an expression of shock on her face. She couldn’t have been more than two and twenty, with dark blonde hair pulled up rather messily into a bun, and a light smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.
Now that I really examined her, I realized that she looked startingly familiar… but I couldn’t place it.
“Uh, thank you, my Lord.” She said meekly, her expression shifting from confused shock to sudden shyness.
I continued to stare at her, and suddenly a lightbulb went off in my head. This was the girl I had seen last night, at Lord Turley’s miserable, stuffy ball… She’d been at the fountain.
Yes, this girl had seen me naked, there was no doubt about it. And she’d seen me with a naked Juliana, too.
Beyond that, though, there was something more to her… I felt like I knew her from somewhere else. But a girl like this, taking hackneys to Gracechurch Street…
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked, staring at her.
She blushed, and the red flush crept up her cheeks, as if she was wearing a thick rouge. I focused on her eyes – dark grey with little speckles of silver - and then suddenly it hit me.
How could I have forgotten?
I knew her indeed.
