Her mother took a deep breath then reached over and pressed her hand to Amelia’s. Amelia stared at her, hoping she would say something. The press of her hand was a good sign, but Amelia needed absolution. Instead, her mother rose and walked with her back straight and stiff to the door. “I think I shall lie down for a little while. I’m not feeling well.”
Amelia stood. “I understand. Can I bring you anything?”
Mrs. Blackstock opened the door. “No, not just now.”
“Mama,” Amelia called. Her mother paused but did not look back. “Will you attend the dinner this evening?”
Without an answer, her mother walked away.
OBTAINING THE SPECIAL license had been a simple matter. It had taken no more than a half hour and then Nicholas and his brother were standing outside in the gloom that passed for sunshine in London. Somehow the summer heat seemed more oppressive in Town.
“That was quick,” Henry said. “While we are here, I should look in at Averstow House and pay my solicitor a call.”
Nicholas was in no hurry to fold himself back into the coach and relished some time to stretch his legs. And now that he was here, he supposed he should look in at the Draven Club and see his friends. He didn’t generally like to do anything that would churn up memories of his time in the war, but how could he not go when he was so close? “I’ll be at the Draven Club,” he told his brother.
The marquess raised his brows with interest. “Very good. “I’ll collect you there in say”—he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time—“three hours?”
Nicholas nodded.
“You take the carriage,” the marquess offered. “I feel like a walk today.”
Nicholas doubted it, but he couldn’t walk all the way to St. James’s Square. If he didn’t take the coach, he would have to hail a cab. The brothers parted and Nicholas climbed gingerly into the coach and gave the coachman the direction. The streets of London hadn’t changed much from the last time he’d been here, and the snarl of horses and carts and coaches made the journey take far longer than it ought. But he finally arrived and made his way awkwardly up the steps to the club.
Porter, the Master of the House, opened the door immediately. “Lord Nicholas,” he said as though his appearance there was commonplace. “How good to see you. Come in.”
Nicholas couldn’t help but look down at the wooden peg Porter used in place of the leg he’d had amputated. Colonel Draven had told them Porter lost his leg in war, but Nicholas had never asked for more details. Now he wondered.
Porter took his hat and gloves, while Nicholas attempted not to look at the large shield opposite the door. The shield was cut in half by a medieval sword and around the shield were eighteen fleur-de-lis that symbolized the men who had not come home from the war.
“Is anyone else here?” Nicholas asked.
Porter opened his mouth and then closed it again, seeming to consider. “Mr. Payne is here.”
“Rowden?” Nicholas hadn’t seen the former pugilist since he’d come to Hungerford for a boxing match and ended up married.
“He is in the dining room.”
“Alone?”
Porter paused again. Odd that. Porter seemed almost flustered. Nicholas might not be a regular at the club, but he knew Porter enough to recognize that something was the matter.
“I cannot say, my lord.”
“You cannot say whether or not he is alone?”
“Correct.”
“Shall I go up and see for myself?”
Porter gave a sigh of relief. “That might be best, my lord.”
“Very well.” Nicholas eyed the winding staircase carpeted in royal blue. Stairs were the bane of his existence. It hurt like the devil to walk up them as most men did, but he’d have to suffer the pain unless he wanted Porter to witness the usual humiliating way he managed stairs.
Porter went ahead of him, seeming to manage them with ease. Nicholas gritted his teeth and started up, leaning heavily on the banister and trying not to bend his left knee. That meant the bulk of his weight was supported by his right leg, which was the stronger leg but still pained him when strained. He had reached halfway when he glanced up and saw Porter waiting for him, eyes fixed on a spot just above Nicholas’s head. Like any well-trained servant, Porter would never allow Nicholas to know he was being observed.
Nicholas didn’t know why he spoke then. Possibly because he was out of breath and wanted a reason to pause for a few moments longer. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions for making this climb easier.”
Porter’s gaze did not move from the distance. “I do, my lord. If you take the walking stick you have crooked on your elbow and place it on the stair ahead of your left leg then it will take some of the weight off your right leg and provide balance.”
Nicholas looked down at his ebony stick and unhooked it. He did as Porter said and though the effect was not substantial, he did see the benefit. At this point, he could use any small improvement. “Thank you, Porter,” he said when he finally reached the top.
“No thanks is necessary, my lord, I assure you.” He started toward the dining room. “This way, my lord.” His voice was unusually loud, almost as though he was warning Rowden someone was coming. He paused at the dining room doors a bit longer than was customary and then opened them wide, showing Rowden sitting alone at a round table covered with a white linen cloth. He had his hands folded in front of him as though he had been sitting alone and twiddling his thumbs.
“Lord Nicholas,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in Town.”
Nicholas looked about the room. It appeared empty other than Rowden. “May I join you?” he asked.
“Ah...of course.”
Nicholas crossed to the table and took a seat.
“Do you still prefer port, my lord?” Porter asked.
Nicholas did, but he’d noted that there was already a bottle of wine on the table and two glasses. “I’ll have a glass of wine. It appears there is already one here for me.”
Porter looked at Rowden then back to Nicholas. “I will fetch you a clean one, my lord.”
When that was done, he hurried out of the room, and Nicholas gave Rowden a long look. “Am I interrupting something? Some sort of clandestine meeting? Should I go?”
“No, you might as well stay,” came a voice from under the table.
Nicholas looked down then back at Rowden, who covered his mouth to hide what was an obvious smile. Slowly, Nicholas lifted the material from the tablecloth and peered under the table. Rafe Beaumont sat cross-legged, smiling up at him.
“What the devil are you doing under there?” Nicholas asked.
“I panicked,” Rafe said. “I needed somewhere to hide.”
“I think he means why are you under a table at the Draven Club when you are supposed to be in the Americas?” Rowden said.
“Oh, that.” Rafe waved a hand. “I came back for a visit.”
“A visit? Aren’t you wanted for treason?” Nicholas asked
“I suppose. Can you hand me that glass of wine?” Rafe pointed to the table above him where a glass sat.
“Come sit in a chair, Beaumont,” Rowden said. “No one is coming here to look for you. Porter wouldn’t allow them entrance.”