The Perfect Waltz (12 page)

Hurt, and angry with himself for overstepping the bounds the girls had early established, he ran a rueful hand over his unshaven chin. “Sorry. I forgot how wet and filthy I was. A right bear I must look.”

They said nothing.

Stripping off his wet coat, hat, and gloves, he wiped his hands on a towel provided by his butler and held his hand out to Morton Black. “Thank you once again for coming to our rescue, Black. I am extremely grateful. Now, shall we all go into the drawing room? I would like to get to the bottom of this. And Treece,” he turned to the butler. “I am famished, and I am certain Mr. Black and the girls will not be averse to some refreshments also.”

He ushered the two girls before him into the drawing room and sat down on a hard, wooden chair. “So, Black, did you have to travel far to find them?”

Morton Black shook his head. “Not far at all, sir. Just as far as your own attics.”

Sebastian frowned. “My
attics
?”

Black nodded. “I was all set to start scouring the streets, but when I discovered that they hadn’t taken their coats and sturdy boots with them, it gave me pause. Not sensible, you see, and these girls are not . . . stupid. Foolish, perhaps, but not stupid.” He gave them a mildly censorious look. Cassie jutted her chin at him in silent defiance. Dorie sat mute and still.

Black continued, “Then I overheard the cook accusing the scullery maid of pinching food from the kitchen, and I put two and two together. I ordered the house searched from top to bottom.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Found ’em in the attics. Miss Dorie sound asleep in an old armchair and Miss Cassie sittin’ on the roof, surveying her surrounds. Should have known.”

Sebastian felt relief swamp him. They must have had no intention of running away from him.

But that didn’t explain why the girls had hidden in the first place. They weren’t the kind for idle mischief or practical jokes. In fact, he’d feel a lot happier about them if they did show such normal childish traits. He went straight to the heart of the problem. “Yes, but why hide in the first place? They are perfectly safe, now.”

Black shrugged. “That I can’t tell you, sir. The girls have said nothing to me.”

“Cassie?” Sebastian turned to her. “Why did you and Dorie hide?”

There was a long silence.

“Was it a prank? Something you thought might be fun, to trick everyone?”

Cassie flung him a scornful look in response. Of course she wouldn’t do such a thing for fun, the look said.

“Then why, Cassie?”

She shrugged, her face sullen and uncommunicative.

He clenched his fist in frustration but said in an even tone, “I will have an answer, Cassie. If you had good reason for what you did, no one shall punish you. If not, you will be punished.”

Dorie’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s fist, then to her sister. Her little face was white and pinched, and instead of her habitual blankness, she looked anxious.

It was like a hand squeezed around Sebastian’s heart. His voice softened. “It’s all right, Dorie, nobody will hurt either of you. Cassie, was it something to do with Dorie?”

Cassie glanced at her sister, then shrugged, as if indifferent. “And if it was?”

Sebastian sighed wearily. “Just tell me, Cassie. I am tired and angry and relieved all at once. I’ve been traveling nonstop day and night, worried sick that something terrible had happened to you.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed skeptically, as if she didn’t believe him.

Sebastian continued, “Yes, worried sick!” He shook his head, puzzled at her attitude. “Of course I was! You’re my sisters! Why else do you think I dropped everything in London and came home to look for you?”

Cassie frowned.

He said, “I wasn’t the only one. Treece and Mrs. Elliot and Mr. Black and Cook and everyone else in the house have been worried sick, too, searching for you high and low. I suspect none of us have slept properly for days.”

She glanced at Black, who nodded confirmation.

Treece had just come in carrying a pot of tea, a bottle of brandy, and a plate of sandwiches. Cassie glanced at him, and he nodded, “He’s right, Miss Cassie. We’ve all been that worried about you and the little one. Mrs. Treece hasn’t slept a wink for fretting, neither.”

Sebastian, seeing that Cassie was genuinely taken aback by their concern, explained, “We all imagined you dead in a ditch, or worse! So the least you can do is explain why you put us all through that.”

After a moment’s silent reflection, Cassie said slowly, “It wasn’t a trick. I’m sorry we upset you all.” She glanced at her little sister, and some silent communication passed between them. “Dorie was frightened. She thought she saw . . . someone.”

“Who?”

“Cassie shook her head.

“Did she tell you? Can she speak?”

Cassie said impatiently. “You know Dorie doesn’t speak.”

“Then how did you—” He broke off. “Very well, I accept that Dorie was frightened and that I was not here to protect you from whatever she thought it was. But why did you not tell Treece or Mrs. Elliot? Why hide instead?”

She gave him a flat look, and he realized it hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t expect to be protected. It was why she carried that knife strapped to her thigh.

He said gently, “While I am away, there are more than twenty people in this house, Cassie, and their only task is to see to your and Dorie’s welfare. Their
only
task.”

Cassie shrugged uncomfortably, unsettled but determined to feign indifference.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about who or what frightened Dorie?”

She got that stubborn look in her eyes again, and Sebastian realized he’d got all he was going to get out of her. “Very well, it’s late. Mrs. Elliot can take you up to bed now. I shall consider what is to be done in the morning, when I’ve had some sleep and can think more clearly. Good night, Cassie. Good night, Dorie.”

“G’night, sir,” Cassie mumbled and took Dorie’s hand. It was another cut. Cassie refused utterly to address him as Sebastian, as he had asked her. She addressed him as the servants did—
sir
—making it clear that he was nothing personal to her.

Sebastian watched them leave. As they reached the door, he said in a low voice, “Girls, I know I sound angry, but you have no idea how thankful I am that you are both safe and well.”

The girls paused on the threshold, then glanced at each other. Slowly, reluctantly, Cassie turned. “Sorry we worried you,” she muttered, addressing the room in general, not Sebastian in particular. It was a victory, but a hollow one.

“Sleep well, little ones,” he said, feeling unutterably weary. They would punish him forever for losing them in the first place.

 
“So I’ve brought them to London with me,” Sebastian told Giles ten days later. He jerked his chin at the ceiling. “They’re asleep now. The journey has worn them out, poor little things.” He’d arrived in London in the late afternoon and sent a note around to Giles, informing him.

Giles raised a brow. “Having two young girls on hand is going to complicate your social life, you realize.”

“I know, but what else can I do? It’s obvious I can’t leave them alone. More than ever, I need to take a wife, and the longer I delay it, the more the difficulties multiply.”

“What difficulties? Are the girls getting harder to handle?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No, not really, though I must admit this last escapade threw me. But it is the mill, also. There are things needing my attention, and lately, there’s been a lot of unrest in the area. I’ve managed to keep it from affecting my mills—my workers are better off than most and know it—but still, a few hotheads can . . .” He noticed the glazed look around Giles’s eyes and said, “I see I’m boring you. Suffice it to say, I need to expedite this courtship in as short a period as possible and get back to normal. I sent a note around to Lady Elinore an hour ago.”

“So you haven’t changed your mind about courting Lady Elinore?”

“No. Why should I?” Sebastian firmly drove images of golden-haired Miss Merridew from of his mind. “This episode with the girls has confirmed more than ever that I need a wife who can understand their special circumstances.”

“So it is fixed in your mind that your own desires do not matt—”

“We shall keep my desires—whatever you imagine them to be—out of this, Giles, thank you.”

Giles smiled skeptically. “Very well. Your own desires do not matter, and only Lady Elinore could understand your sisters’ situation, not . . . anyone else. Miss Merridew, for instance.”

Sebastian frowned. His friend was like a cat, seemingly uninterested until he unsheathed a lazy claw. He explained forcefully, “Miss Merridew is a lovely girl, but she’s led a sheltered and privileged life. Lady Elinore might come from the same privileged class, but she’s spent most of her adult life working with poor and troubled orphan girls.” From the look in his eye, Giles would not give up, so he turned the subject. “Thank you for smoothing things with her, by the way. Did she mind very much that I didn’t turn up for our drive?”

“No, not much.”

“Good. You explained, then.”

“Yes, I explained.”

“Good. In my note, I invited Lady Elinore to come out with the girls and me for a drive in the park tomorrow morning.”

Giles arched an eyebrow. “I see. And has she accepted the invitation?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not yet. I only sent the note around an hour ago. But she will, I’m certain.”

Giles sipped his port meditatively and said nothing.

 
“This is Hyde Park,” Sebastian explained, as the open carriage swept between the railed gates. “Everyone who is anyone promenades here in the afternoons—all the smart people. Glamorous ladies and important gentlemen.”

“They don’t look glamorous, they look stupid.” Carrie sat hunched in the corner of the carriage, kicking her feet against the leather seats, scowling at the promenaders.

“This is not the hour for promenade. There are only a few people at the moment. In the afternoon, this place will be crowded with the most fashionable people in the world.”

“I hate crowds.” Cassie was determined not to be pleased by anything. She had not wanted to come to London. She did not want to come out in a carriage this morning. She had seen enough of London.

It was behavior Sebastian would not normally tolerate from anyone, but for the moment, he’d decided to ignore her rudeness. He was learning to understand her ways better. It was token rudeness. He suspected that under her hostility she was relieved to have him take control of them, relieved to share the burden of Dorie’s silence and her nameless fears. It was nothing he could put a finger on, just a feeling.

However, Cassie still needed to assert some independence. A prideful little creature, she never missed the opportunity to remind him that she had managed all her life without him. The knife still strapped to the leg that kicked at the upholstery was a invisible symbol of it.

A high-perch phaeton swept past them at a smart trot, pulled by a pair of matched grays. Giles owned a very similar rig. Sebastian craned his neck, but from this angle he could not see who was driving, just a man in high-crowned beaver and a lady in a gray bonnet.

He shook his head. What was he thinking? Giles never rose before noon.

“Stop kicking the seats, Cassie,” said Sebastian firmly.

She tossed her head defiantly, but the kicking stopped. Her hostility was paper thin. Yesterday, as they’d entered the metropolis, Cassie had grumbled that she didn’t want to live in London, even for a month, but she hadn’t been able to help craning her neck to take in some of the sights, and her eyes were bright with excitement. And now in the park, she was taking in every detail of the costumes of the ladies she’d called stupid-looking.

She was a spirited little handful, and Sebastian was thankful for it. He didn’t mind the difficulties. Cassie was like him—a survivor. She hadn’t been crushed by her experiences.

It was Dorie who worried him most. He hadn’t a clue how to handle her. She seemed so fragile.

She sat on the seat of the carriage like a thin, neat little doll. Her skin was porcelain-pale and fine, her eyes wide and dark, too large for her pinched, too-small face. For someone who stole food constantly, her body showed no signs of it. He wished he could communicate with her in some way.

That governess was wrong. Dorie wasn’t mentally deficient. She just didn’t speak. She understood everything anyone said, and Sebastian believed she could read—at least she seemed to derive pleasure from the books he had provided. She utterly refused to write, however, except to copy a text. Apart from these instances, she was at all other times perfectly docile and obedient. Unnaturally so for a child just turned twelve.

Sebastian worried about her constantly. He’d tried to have her examined by a doctor once, to see if her silence was caused by some damage to her throat, but she’d resisted it strenuously, and the sight of the white-faced child silently fighting off the doctor with frantic little fists had cut straight to his heart. He’d sent the doctor away.

Her big, gray eyes had reproached him for weeks afterward.

She sat neatly on her seat now, obediently observing the sights of Hyde Park. He had no idea what was going on in her head. But he had to keep trying.

For the dozenth time he wished Lady Elinore was with them. She would know what to do, how to talk to them. But she’d sent her apologies, claiming to have another morning engagement already. Sebastian knew an excuse when he saw it. Lady Elinore must be offended by the way he’d rushed off to Manchester, leaving his friend to pass on his apologies. He should have taken a moment to pen her a note, at least. And made arrangements for his butler to send her flowers.

“We’re coming up to the pond, now,” he said. “Dorie, would you like to feed the ducks?”