Seraphina was lying flat on her back on a settee, staring up at the sky as she smoked a cheroot. An empty bottle of wine was beside her on the floor. Miss Magdalene was uncorking another.
Miss Ludgate was talking with Mr. Willow and an older woman Adam hadn’t met.
“Your nice man is here,” he heard one of the ladies say in a wine-loosened voice.
Sera rolled over on one arm and waved her fingers at him. “Why, Mr. Anderson. My guardian angel has returned.”
Her tone arrested him. It was wry, almost like he was a joke to her.
It prickled at him, given the tender moment they’d shared not three hours ago.
“And who is this?” Sera added, gesturing at Tegan.
“This is Mr. Tegan. He’ll keep watch till midnight, then trade with another man. They’ll stay until you wake up in the morning.”
“I’ll get a chair and some refreshments to make you comfortable, Mr. Tegan,” Tompkins said, leading Tegan away.
The unfamiliar woman rose, smiling at him in a way that reached her eyes. She had blonde hair that had begun to fade to silver, and a remarkably gentle face. “You must be Mr. Anderson. The girls were telling me what a kind friend you have been to Seraphina during her sojourn here. I’m Lady Bell. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Lady Bell? Was this not the woman Seraphina had said was locked away?
“A pleasure,” he said, trying not to seem confused.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Sera called merrily. “We broke her out of gaol.”
Her voice was loose. He wondered how much of the empty bottle she’d drunk on her own.
Miss Ludgate leaned toward him. “We must ask for your discretion in this matter, Mr. Anderson. We do not wish for it to be known that Lady Bell was here. Can we count on you not to mention it?”
“Of course. If all is well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening,” Adam said. He did not wish to interrupt them, and he had misgivings about knowing too much of the whereabouts of a missing viscountess.
“Oh, don’t go just yet. Stay and have a drink,” Miss Ludgate said, patting the empty chair beside her. Her speech, he noticed, was like that of an earl’s—exceedingly fine. Marianne had clued him in to who she was—a well-known portraitist. There had been a hefty scandal when a series of portraits of the Black Poor she’d painted in the style of generals and aristocrats had been revealed to be her work. Despite the scandal, the series had won her acclaim. In the world of the arts, she was considered a talent, if a controversial one.
He glanced at Seraphina for a clue as to whether this invitation was welcomed, and she smiled languidly. “Yes, don’t go just yet.”
He felt conflicted. Her blousy mood unsettled him. And yet when she looked at him like that, he could not imagine leaving.
“But,” she said, poking her finger in the air, “we have made a solemn vow not to discuss our troubles, for we only have one night together. So if you stay, you must promise to amuse us.”
He smiled. “A high order. But I’ll try my best.”
Mr. Willow winked, perhaps offering him a bit of sympathy at being thrust into this crowd. Adam shot him a look as if to say, Wish me luck. I’ll no doubt need it.
Lady Bell reached across the table and touched his arm. “Seraphina tells us you’re an architect, Mr. Anderson?”
“Adam builds those pretty little Greek revivals all your husband’s people like,” Sera said.
This was an accurate description of his work but he wanted to explain to these people, who were so accomplished, that it was not the sum of his ambition.
“Neoclassical additions to their houses are what people will pay me to design, and I’m happy for the work,” he said. “But I have a mind to do more than houses, someday.”
Sera raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Bridges, aqueducts. I’d prefer to work on a grand scale. Damned follies for the rich drive me mad, if I’m honest.”
She seemed to approve of this, which pleased him.
“You should show designs for such work in an artistic exhibition,” Miss Ludgate suggested. “It might help raise interest.”
“I’ve been working on a new folio,” he admitted.
She rummaged in her pocket and produced a card. “Write to me,” she said, holding it out. “I would be happy to help you have it shown.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“How is Tregereth treating you?” Seraphina asked. “He was always . . . punctilious, if I recall.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Still is,” Adam said, flattered that she had asked. “You should have seen him this morning when I told him I couldn’t get the slate he wants. You’d have thought I shot his dog.”
Sera turned and looked at Miss Ludgate with an arch expression. “Ah, slate troubles. To have the concerns of a man.”
He was no doubt being overly sensitive, but he felt rather wounded by her tone. “I’ll happily trade you the slate troubles to write books all day,” he drawled. “Sounds far easier on one’s back.”
“You aren’t qualified, I’m afraid,” she retorted. “Only supremely ill-used women earn such privileges.”
She looked offended by his quip, and he instantly regretted making it. He was being a bit sensitive, because he craved her respect and could sense he didn’t have it.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your work.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
All the more reason to be better. “Is that what your book is about?” he asked softly. “Being ill-used?”
He hoped she might confide in him. Tell him a bit about her past.
“Yes,” she said, a touch too cheerfully. “’Tis very grim. You shall weep when you read it.”
“I hope not,” he said.
“If you fail to weep,” Miss Ludgate drawled, “she has failed.”
Miss Magdalene rolled her eyes. “Ignore them, Mr. Anderson. No one tickles our dear Seraphina and Cornelia like themselves, especially once they’ve got wine in them. Tell us, how does the slate trouble you? I’ve never understood how architecture works.” She paused and gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m a whore, you see.”
Adam nearly choked.
Seraphina did, too, though with laughter. “Oh, Thaïs, you mustn’t. He is a nice man, remember? It is not kind to shock him.”
“Oh, I’m not shocked,” he said evenly, though, of course, he was. “It’s a dull tale. I ordered a special local variety a month ago, cut to my measurements, and the quarryman lost track of it.”
He looked at his nails, feeling self-conscious that these people would be bored by his work. But Seraphina sat up and looked at him with interest.
“Have you spoken to Paul Bolitho?” she asked.
The name meant nothing to Adam. “Not acquainted.”
“He’s a mason a few villages away. He may have what you need. I can take you tomorrow if you’d like.”
He was unduly touched by this offer. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
“’Tis the least I could do, after you have provided a centurion to guard us,” she said, waving his gratitude away.