An Unnatural Daughter: A Dark Regency Mystery (21 page)

CHAPTER 28

Taking Liberties

Tristan was a success. As was I, though one newspaper had described me as “perhaps more aptly the errant Daughter Nature, with far too much darkness in her eyes to mother the world”. Yet that hadn’t deterred the leery and over-familiar men from the previous day from leaving flowers and calling cards all morning. I worried briefly that the reporter had seen me somehow for what I truly was, but only very briefly. If they knew, they would know that I wasn’t natural at all, and that would be the far bigger story. Time had made me worry less that people could read my face and see my secrets, yet I knew I would carry the fear with me forever. You are never safe, when you have killed. I would glance over my shoulder until I died, and then the world could do what it liked with my body and my memory.

I wondered, as I flicked through the calling cards, scowling at names I didn’t recognise – which were all of them - whether Damien would call. I hoped he would, I think. I wasn’t sure. I had grown used to life without him. To have him return felt a little like going back to the days after Gabriel’s death. I had grown. I didn’t want to feel so unsure again.

‘Darling, I’m just going to nip out to Tristan’s.’

Edwina popped her head round the door, resplendent in a wide-brimmed bonnet trimmed with lilac blossoms and a wide, wine-coloured ribbon.

‘I thought he was coming here,’ I said, wrinkling my nose as I squinted at a particularly perplexing double barrelled scrawl. ‘Who on earth is Mr Smi-, Mr Smithery- Mr- Oh, never mind.’

‘He was, but he’s tied up with commission meetings. I said I’d bring him some lunch.’

‘One would almost think he didn’t have any staff,’ I said wryly, throwing the card away from me in disgust.

‘Oh, hush.’ Edwina twinkled at me as she lolled against the door, swinging a basket from her arm like Red Riding Hood. ‘You can come too. You know he’d like you to.’

‘I’ve too much work to do, sorry.’

Edwina pursed her lips.

‘Now Fleur, you know I let you do whatever you like, and it is your house so I don’t like to tell you what to do, don’t you?’

‘Go on.’ I gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Govern me. In my own home.’

‘Don’t be silly, dear. Just – as a special favour to me, don’t receive any of those strange men who’ve left you cards while you’re on your own. It wouldn’t be the thing, you know, and I think people get some strange ideas about artist’s models and might be prone to, ahem, take liberties, if you know what I mean.’

‘I solemnly swear that nobody will take any liberties. They wouldn’t dare, with you to return at any second. But no, I don’t plan on receiving today.’

‘You’re a good girl.’ Edwina smiled at me with the motherly fondness that never failed to make me feel warm inside. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so.’

She skipped away and I rose and made my way over to the window to watch her leave. I saw Edwina bound down the steps, like a debutante with the spring in her step and that gay bonnet. She paused as she walked down the road, and I saw her talking to a man who doffed his beaver and didn’t seem at all put out when she embraced him. He had come to call, then. I supposed I was glad. I mean, I was glad, but I didn’t think I wanted to be. It made me feel indebted to him in some way, and at a disadvantage in his company. And terribly, terribly foolish.

Damien and Edwina spoke for a little longer as I rocked back and forward on my heels, biting my lip and furrowing my brow. I saw him glance up towards the house and automatically stepped back, although I think I was too far away for him to see me. Edwina pointed towards the door, and I started forward again, concerned that she was telling him I wouldn’t receive callers today. To my relief, and not little embarrassment, she waved him past her, and he climbed my stone steps and knocked.

I hurried back to my seat and buried my arms elbow deep in the papers at my desk, shuffling them this way and that so I looked busy when Peregrine tapped at the door politely.

‘It’s Mr Hudson, Miss.’

‘Hmm, yes. I saw him coming.’

‘You did say you weren’t taking calls, but I thought – what with him being – well, one of us…’

I smiled, and Peregrine grinned back conspiratorially.

‘You thought right,’ I said. ‘Is he downstairs?’

‘I sat him in the hall. Shall I bring him up?’

I pondered for a moment, hiding my face as I shuffled my papers this way and that for a moment.

‘No. I’ll go down. Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes, and bring us up a tea service in ten, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Peregrine left me, and I heard the murmur of voices as he passed my message on to Damien. They must have talked for a minute or two before I heard Peregrine’s footsteps. Then I stood, smoothed my gown, and went to greet him. It was my house, I reminded myself, and I was in complete control. All would be well. It was only Damien, after all. Grubby Damien, who lived in walls.

My soft-soled slippers didn’t make a sound as I padded along the carpet and out onto the landing that overhung the hall. He sat on the spindly-legged loveseat, drumming his fingers on the top of his beaver. He hadn’t seen me.

After the surprise of seeing him, face-to-face and almost larger than life in the brightly lit salon the previous day, it was a pleasure to observe him for a little while in the gently filtered light of my hallway. The sun came through the tall, high windows, highlighting the dust in the air. I felt more comfortable instantly. This was Damien as he was supposed to appear.

I allowed my gaze to rest on him, taking in all the details of his appearance, voyeuristically taking my fill. Other men, or at least, society men, didn’t look like Damien did. But they’d probably never slept in fields. He had, across England and back again, and while he didn’t precisely look like it, I felt as though I could tell. His coat, although well-cut, was rumpled, his cravat, a deep, claret red, was a few fingers too loose at his throat, and there were scuffs around the toes of his brown leather boots.

Damien tapped his hat again impatiently, then ran a hand through his cropped hair. Months in the sun had lightened it to a more sandy brown, and it caught the light in the hall. He sighed, and chewed on his lip. I realised he was nervous, and couldn’t stifle a smile. It was my house, and I was in control.

‘Good morning.’

I stepped forward and he jumped, dropping his gloves as he did so.

‘Fleur! You startled me. How long have you been standing there?’

I leaned over the balustrade and smiled coyly.

‘Why would that matter? Would you like to come up? Peregrine’s bringing tea.’

Damien frowned at me and scooped his gloves from the floor before bounding up the stairs like a big collie. He was beside me before I knew it, broad as ever, at least twice as wide as I.

‘Good Lord, you must have grown.’

He grinned and bowed over my hand.

‘It’s all the space.’

‘Shall we?’

I led the way into the sitting room, perching myself on the prettiest floral couch with elegance and grace. When I had bought the house, it was the first time I had ever had free reign to decorate anything. I had gone perhaps a little overboard with prettiness, and the resulting room was a mis-matched paradise of bright floral prints and ornately carved, delicate furniture. Damien frowned at the chairs and took the largest of the couches opposite me.

‘So, Peregrine, eh? He no longer valets then, I take it?’

‘He buttles,’ I said. ‘And he does it remarkably well. Although in all fairness, he’s more of a general manager than a butler. He looks after my charities, this house and sorts out a lovely couple who look after the Lincoln property when we’re not there. Which is most of the time, really.’

‘I’m a little surprised you kept him around. Doesn’t he remind you of bad times?’

I looked down at my hands.

‘I still don’t know if I deserve to forget. But it’s like anything horrible. You get used to it if you think of it every day. That is – I don’t really know what I mean. All I know is that Peregrine deserved better than he had, and not only for his loyalty to me during my marriage and after. So I did what I could. I had the money after all.’

‘You’re still being too hard on yourself.’

I didn’t know what to say that, but was saved from answering by the entrance of Peregrine, carrying a tea service.

‘Isn’t it ridiculous,’ I said after he had left us. ‘I don’t know how you take your tea. Of all the things we know about one another, I don’t know that.’

Damien leaned back, and the couch creaked.

‘Not a lot of milk and a great deal of sugar.’

I raised my brows and set to pouring.

‘Edwina says you can tell a lot about a man by how he takes his tea.’

‘So Tristan is milky and sweet? And I’m strong and sweet. I always liked Edwina.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Sandwich?’

‘Thank you. So, are you going to tell me if you’re marrying Tristan yet?’

I slowly chewed a ham sandwich to buy myself some time, all the while trying to stop myself from reaching up to check my lips for errant crumbs.

‘You could find that out from anyone – if you don’t already know. Why didn’t you ask your mother?’

‘I know what everyone else thinks. And it doesn’t matter a jot what anyone else thinks because only you know if it’s true. Tristan thinks he’s going to marry you, but I’d rather know what you think.’

‘I’d say that was my business, wouldn’t you?’

Damien shrugged and attacked his food with gusto.

‘I don’t want to talk about me.’ Despite it all, I felt that I owed him something at least. ‘I hate talking about me. I’m still scared, you know, that people will find out.’

‘What you did?’ he asked.

‘And what I am. That’s one of the reasons I tracked Peregrine down in the first place.’

Damien nodded, his sandy brows furrowed.

‘Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?’

‘Something like that. And that I felt like I owed him something. Of course, he’s so helpful and kind, it didn’t take long before I’d grown genuinely fond of him.’

‘Do you hate me for leaving you?’

I shook my head.

‘No. I felt-’ I waved my hand as I searched for the right word. ‘Abandoned, I suppose. But I got over it. And I couldn’t blame you for getting away. I would have, I think, if I’d have known how. I didn’t know how to do anything after- after Gabriel died. It’s been over a year, but I think about it all the time. Well, not all the time, but it’s always there, like a shadow over my life. It’ll be there until I die.’

‘Perhaps.’ Damien leaned forward and reached over the little table between us, covering my small, pale hand with his big brown one. I stared at it for a moment, and decided he could stay there, for the moment at least.

‘I still hate myself a little for taking his money,’ I continued, finding great relief in simply telling somebody. It was Damien, he was the walls. ‘Which is why I’ve tried to sort out the charities. But every now and then I’ll do something almost entirely selfish with it and despise myself.’

‘Such as?’

His hand covered mine still, not moving.

‘Buying frocks and houses. All this decorating and furniture. I don’t know. I escaped. He died. That’s more than enough for me. Why should I have profited in any other way? Yet other times, I remember…’

I trailed off and shivered. I still had nightmares sometimes. Every few weeks, perhaps. Something like that. I’d stopped telling Edwina about them long ago.

Damien said nothing, just watched me with those kind eyes.

‘I wanted to thank you, actually,’ I said, all in a rush. He raised his brows, but stayed silent. ‘For being there. In the walls. I can’t tell you how comforting it was to me, during that time. I think it was like how people talk about guardian angels. Watching over me.’

‘I didn’t shoot him, though. And you wouldn’t feel this way if I had, would you?’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t do it.’

‘No,’ I said again. ‘Really. You were right. I should have killed him. He should have died for what he did, and I think it was a kind of natural justice that his own daughter did it. And his wife. It was like in that moment I was his own perversions, uniting against him. Isn’t that ridiculous?’

‘A little.’ He smiled. ‘But poetic.’

‘That’s it. Poetic justice. When I put it like that, it makes it easier to sleep at night.’

Damien squeezed my hand, and I smiled.

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone,’ he said. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and I felt my lips twitch.

‘I did miss you,’ I breathed.

Damien was the world, in that moment. He was air and breathing. He was me, too. He knew me like nobody else, for all that he’d been away for over a year, for all that we hadn’t even got to know one another all that well before I killed Gabriel. He had killed too, and it was different but fundamentally the same, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at that moment, and it was wonderful.