Freedom came with some complications, however. “We spent so much time planning how to enter the house,” Teresa said to the earl as they drove along the lane in his curricle. “And very little thinking what to do once we succeeded.”
“It does suggest a sad lack of confidence in our own abilities,” he replied. He met her gaze. His eyes were bright with triumph. In fact, he looked like a mischievous boy who had pulled off an epic prank.
Teresa had to laugh. She was feeling euphoric herself. “We have the excuse that we did not know exactly what we would find.”
“Or how we would manage the rescue,” he agreed.
“But the girls cannot ride in that cart all the way to London.”
“Of course not. Post chaises will be best, I think.”
“And you will wave your hand and make them appear.”
“I will go to an inn and hire them.”
And he would do it with great panache, Teresa thought. He didn’t seem at all concerned over their predicament. Perhaps the awkwardness of his position hadn’t soaked in yet. “We can choose an inn where you are not known,” she began.
“Oh, I think we had better go to an establishment where I am known. I can take advantage of my, ah, privileged aristocratic position and run roughshod over the sensibilities of those who serve me.”
She had used phrases rather like that on him once upon a time. Clearly, he had not forgotten. “But how will you explain a cartload of young women hidden under piles of hay?”
“Explain?” he asked, in the drawling, imperious tone he had used on the denizens of that dreadful house.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. But you must know that tongues will wag.”
“Let them.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter a jot to him.
Teresa thought it would matter when the gossip started. He would not like being twitted by his society friends. But she saw no other way to transport her charges, and so she said nothing more.
Lord Macklin led their cavalcade to the nearest inn, where he was indeed well-known. As he was engaging a private parlor for their use, the girls began to emerge from the piles of hay in the wagon. Naturally, this caused a sensation. The landlord grew more and more stiff and expressionless with each one who appeared, particularly those who showed signs of ill usage. Finally, he could bear it no longer. “My lord!” the hefty, aproned man protested.
Teresa was amazed that the earl showed no sign of embarrassment. “We have uncovered a nest of criminals not far from here,” he said. “I require the direction of the nearest magistrate.”
“Sir Samford Jellison lives a matter of two miles away,” said the landlord. He gaped at Odile, who had a dark bruise on the left side of her elfin face.
“Ah, good, not too far.” Lord Macklin turned to Teresa. “I am sorry to leave you, but I must go and speak to him at once.” He set one booted foot on the step of his curricle. Then he paused, lowered it, and came over to Teresa. “You had best take this,” he murmured, slipping her a thick roll of banknotes. “I intend to be back quite soon, but it’s best you have the means…”
“To overawe the innkeeper?”
He smiled down at her in a way that made her heart pound. “Precisely. You will be all right?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll look after ’em,” said Tom. The state of the dancers had eroded his usual good humor. He looked grimly determined.
The earl gave them each a nod and climbed into the curricle. “Tell me how to find this Sir Samford,” he said to the innkeeper. The man did so. “I will return as soon as possible.” Lord Macklin touched the brim of his hat and drove away. Teresa felt a twinge of dismay at his departure. She suppressed it ruthlessly.
Her fingers gripping more ready money than she’d possessed in a long time, Teresa put on her most authoritative manner. “Come,” she said to the six girls. She took them up to the private parlor and ordered whatever refreshment they desired. The landlord seemed glad to have them out of his yard and made no difficulties. Yet.
“My friends have to go,” said Tom, who had followed them upstairs. “They’re due back at their work.”
Teresa nodded. “Where is Joe?”
“Hiding in the stable, looking after the cart horses. He seems to think they’re his now.”
“Why not?” It seemed fair to Teresa.
“I’ll just see Alf and the others off.” Tom went out, closing the door behind him.
Maria dissolved into hysterics. Odile collapsed onto the settee and put her face in her hands. Jill clasped hers tightly as if to stop them trembling and started to cry. Sonia cursed at length, and most colorfully, in Spanish. Jeanne sat very still, as if afraid to move. “It all comes over you, like, now that we’re well away,” said Poppy. She plopped into a chair and bit her lower lip.
“Yes, it does,” replied Teresa. She was quite familiar with aftermath. She saw them all seated, comforted Maria, and reassured the others. When the trays arrived, she distributed cups of tea with plenty of sugar along with cakes and ham sandwiches and well-buttered scones with jam. At some point during this process, Tom stuck his head around the door, approved the scene, and immediately withdrew.
The sustenance helped. The girls slowly recovered. They began picking irritating bits of hay from their gowns. From the way they moved, it was clear that the ride in the cramped cart had been a strain and that some of them were more hurt than they appeared. They would need care, and Teresa started to wonder how this could be managed. Her house was far too small. Their scattered lodgings would not do, even if they were still welcome there.
Tom reappeared and consumed all the scones that were left. “Joe’s sloped off with the cart horses and wagon,” he said. “Slipped out to a lane behind the inn and scarpered. You want me to ride after him?”
“Do you think he is a danger to us?” Teresa asked him.
“I think he means to run as far from here as he can and never look back.”
“Well, we will let him go.” She had enough people to worry about.
As if in response to this thought, Jill wailed, “What’s going to become of us?”
“Do you have family?” Teresa responded. “We could help you return to them.”
As Jill shook her head, Poppy said, “Neither of us has anybody close. Reckon that’s why that she-devil took us on. We was at a mop fair, and she asked all about our families before she offered us work.” She looked as if she wanted to spit. “Work! I wisht I had hit her when I had the chance. And I hope I burned that place right down.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Tom.
From the settee, Odile moaned. She was the worst off, and Teresa wished she knew how to help her. They needed a doctor.
The sound of carriage wheels below took her to the window. Lord Macklin had returned. The sight of him filled Teresa with a burst of joy so strong she could scarcely contain it. They’d labored side by side to save the day. He’d trusted her, and fully deserved her trust in him. Now, the handsome man pulling into the inn yard seemed everything that was admirable. She hurried down to meet him.
Stepping from his curricle and turning toward the inn door, Arthur was buoyed up by the welcome in Señora Alvarez’s dark eyes. “I have told the whole story to the magistrate,” he said. “Sir Samford was very much shocked. He is gathering a group of men to go to the house and detain anyone who remains there.”
“I suppose most of them have run away,” she replied.
“Probably. But it was most important to rescue their captives.”
“Yes.”
Arthur didn’t think that she’d ever looked at him this way before. A heady mixture of tenderness and desire surged through him. If he found the right words now would she…?
A hail from above drew his eyes to the window of the private parlor. Tom stood there with his hand raised. Arthur waved.
The señora looked up as well. “Odile is in a bad way, I think. I would like her to see a doctor.”
“I have a good physician in town. Can she make it so far?”
“I’m quite worried for her, but let us go and ask what she would like to do.”
When he saw the young opera dancer lying on the settee, ashen and weak, Arthur was once again filled with rage. She was such a small, fragile-looking girl, and clearly she had been treated shamefully. What sort of man could do that? What sort let it happen? Because the staff had known very well what was going on in that place. How did people come to care so little for others’ pain?
When consulted by the señora, Odile begged to go home to London. The thought of staying anywhere near the house where she’d been imprisoned clearly terrified her.
Arthur moved closer. “We want to care for you.”
She cowered away from him. No one had ever gazed at Arthur with such sick fear. He hated it, and hated the reason she now felt it. Those responsible should pay for this. He retreated to the other side of the room.
Señora Alvarez soon joined him. “It is clear that staying here would be worse for Odile than the drive to town. However hard that may be.”
And so the arrangements were made, and they all set out—Teresa and Macklin in the curricle, the six young women in a roomy post chaise, and Tom riding beside.
“Where are we going to go?” Señora Alvarez asked after a few miles on the road. “The dancers lost their lodgings when they were taken away, and Poppy and Jill have none.”
“I’ve been considering,” Arthur replied. Six girls, most of whom showed clear signs of ill usage, would not be welcomed at an inn or hotel, even with ample funds. And after their imprisonment, they would not care to be shut into strange rooms alone. He thought they might do best if they were together. “I believe the best plan is to take them to my house for a while to recover,” he answered.
Her mouth fell a little open. “Your…”
“You could stay with them there, as reassurance and as a nod to propriety.” He hadn’t thought of this until just now. But he found the idea of installing her in his home very appealing.
Señora Alvarez seemed to grope for words. “Have you gone mad?” she asked finally.
“Not that I’m aware.”
“Nod to propriety,” she muttered. “You know very well that I offer no such thing.”
“Ah, well, you appear very proper.” He was more and more pleased with his plan.
“Lord Macklin!”
He reined in his high spirits. But not his determination to convince her. “These poor girls need peace and quiet and safety,” he said. “Time to see a doctor. And it seems to me best that they be kept together for a while. So that they can support each other as they heal. My house satisfies all those conditions.”
“But word would spread. This would cause a great scandal.”
He had thought of this, and found he didn’t care a jot. “I have lived a life untouched by any hint of scandal,” he replied. “Perhaps it’s time to add a bit to the mix.”
“Will you be serious? This is not a joke.”
“I’m not joking.”
She stared at him as if trying to probe the depths of his brain. Arthur endured the examination calmly. It was true that he wanted to impress her as well as help the unfortunate girls. But he did wish to help them. There was no deception involved. “Your house,” she said.
Her heavy tone reminded Arthur of her history. He hadn’t thought that an invitation to stay with him might feel like a threat. Now he remembered the grandee who had done the same and then closed her in a trap. “You will be completely free to order things as you wish. I can ask my housekeeper to give you charge of all the keys.”
Her gaze at his face never wavered. “Your housekeeper would be outraged by such a request,” she said. “She would probably give you her notice.”
“We can explain what the girls have endured. And that they trust you. And so this temporary measure…” He trailed off. Mrs. Garting would not be pleased by such an arrangement. Nor was Chirt going to welcome these visitors. At first. He would come around. Probably. “My butler may be a bit…difficult. He has a rigid sense of propriety. I wonder if I should stay with friends, or at a hotel, until this is…”
“Running away and leaving me to cope with the complaints of your staff?” She seemed torn between amusement and irritation.
He had to admit the option was appealing. “I’m certain you are more than up to the task.”
“Have you ever lived in a house where the servants showed their displeasure at everything they were asked to do? No matter how small?”
“No.” Arthur realized that the idea shocked him, as if servants had no right to opinions. He did not believe that. Did he? Señora Alvarez always taught him things—some, about himself, that he might not have wished to learn.
“There must be some other place we can go,” she said.
“Not with all they need. Not immediately.”
Struggle was visible in her lovely face. “For a day or two. I suppose. After that we must think of something else.”
“Certainly.”
“You have an annoying way of agreeing with what I say when I know you will actually do whatever you please,” she replied.
“I would do nothing you disapprove of.”
“You have done all sorts of things I disapprove of.”
“Ah, well, I’ve noticed that you are occasionally a bit overparticular.”
She burst out laughing. Under the circumstances, Arthur took it as a triumph and let the subject rest. And when Tom rode closer as they neared London and asked where they were headed, he answered with bland calm. Fortunately, Tom received the information with no sign of disapproval, or surprise.
When they pulled up at the doors of Lord Macklin’s town house some time later, Teresa stepped down from the curricle with a good deal of trepidation. She had informed the earl that she would not require the keys from the housekeeper. She did not want to contemplate the uproar that request would have caused. But she still expected his very superior servants to object to this invasion. And unlike him, she knew quite well what animosity from staff was like.
Tom bid them farewell, saying he would visit the next day. “I’ll see about having their things brought over,” he said as he went.
The earl offered Teresa his arm, and she took it. In the entry hall, the butler, Chirt, received the news that they were to host seven female houseguests with quickly hidden surprise. When the girls began to file in, and their station and battered condition grew obvious, he went utterly expressionless. Stunned, perhaps? Lord Macklin introduced only Teresa, saying she was in charge and should be given anything she asked for.
This earned her a searching look from the majordomo. She must not be cowed. That would be fatal to her future interactions with the staff. But she could assume an air of calm command nearly as well as Macklin. “We must send for the doctor first of all,” she said.
“Have someone fetch Phipps,” the earl confirmed. “Ask him to come as soon as he is able.”
His butler gave one nod and a nearly imperceptible gesture. A footman at the back of the entry leapt forward. “Also Mrs. Garting,” murmured the butler. The younger servant practically saluted before disappearing into the back premises.
The housekeeper appeared so quickly that Teresa wondered if she’d been listening at the door. She was a solid, efficient-looking woman who would no doubt have been welcoming under other circumstances. It would be best to confide in her at the first opportunity, Teresa decided. Not the entire truth, but a version of it. She could frame this visit as…a burst of eccentric philanthropy. And make its temporary nature quite clear.
“We require rooms for our guests,” the earl said. He didn’t make excuses, which was wise.
“Yes, my lord. If the ladies would like to sit in the blue parlor for a bit.” The tiny emphasis on the word ladies was the closest the housekeeper would come to a reproach, Teresa thought.
“The drawing room,” replied Lord Macklin, his tone a mild reprimand.
The housekeeper dropped a curtsy. Message heard and received, it said. But not greatly appreciated.
“We will be happy to do so,” said Teresa, as if she customarily commanded a vast estate. “Except for Odile. She must lie down at once.” She’d noted that Odile was swaying on her feet and looked ready to faint. “And perhaps we might have some tea,” she added, just to show that she could. She wished she’d worn a grander gown. But how anyone could plan an ensemble for breaking into a criminal bordello and visiting an earl’s London town house in the same day, she did not know.
The butler and the housekeeper looked at her, evaluating. They’d taken in her manner and way of speaking. “Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, and Teresa knew that she had established a measure of authority.
By the time the rooms were ready and the girls settled, the doctor had arrived. Teresa stayed with her charges for the examinations, knowing that they should not be left alone with a strange man just now. Afterward she returned to the drawing room and sat with Lord Macklin to hear the man’s opinion.
“Most of the young ladies are merely bruised and weary,” he said.
“Merely?” Teresa could not help but reply.
The doctor accepted the reprimand with a bow of his head. “I beg your pardon. There is nothing ‘mere’ about such treatment. I found no broken bones or serious injuries except for the first. Odile, isn’t it? She has been hit very hard in her midsection.” He touched his own torso to demonstrate the location. “Very hard. Something may have ruptured inside. With complete rest and quiet and proper care, she may heal.”
“May?” asked Teresa, dismayed.
“Some recover from this sort of injury. Others do not. It is difficult to tell why.”
Lord Macklin looked as grim as Teresa felt. “Leave instructions about what she requires,” he said. “We will see that they are carried out.”
“Yes, my lord.” The doctor looked from him to Teresa and back again. “These girls have been badly treated. I hope something is being done about that.”
“The matter is in the hands of a magistrate,” replied Lord Macklin. “All that can be done will be.”
Teresa wondered a little at the way he phrased this.
“Ah. Good,” said the doctor. When it became clear that he would be told no more, he rose and took his leave, promising to send the medications he recommended with all speed.
And then Teresa was left alone in the grand drawing room with its noble owner. He sat beside her, the partner who had helped her accomplish…miracles really. And he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He was a man like no other.
If she reached out, she could touch his hand, his cheek. The love she felt for him filled her. “I would like to thank you,” she said. “For helping me get them out.”
“As who would not?”
“So very many people. You know how girls in their position are valued by most of society.”
“Not at all, you mean.” He looked vexed. “I admit I never paid much heed. You have shown me so many things.”
Teresa’s throat was tight with emotion. “You are extraordinary.”
“I hardly think so.”
“That is part of what makes you so.” She hadn’t understood that such men existed. She hadn’t believed until he proved it to her. Now he drew her irresistibly. She wanted to nestle into his arms. She wanted to throw off every scruple, forget everything but him.
“That word applies better to you,” he said with one of his dizzying smiles. “But I’m pleased that you think so. I want you to think well of me.”
“I?” He said this even though he knew the truth of her past? She’d fallen in love with this English earl because of the way he treated her. She’d been certain his attitude would change when she told her story. How had it not? She leaned closer. Her fingers brushed his sleeve. His lips were right there. She moved the last few inches and kissed him. Tentative at first, questioning, merely exploratory. At his immediate, ardent response, she slid her arms around his neck, pressed close, and lost herself in the embrace. Soft, all-encompassing, replete—a kiss like no other. She’d thought of him once as an ocean wave that knocked one tumbling and then dragged irresistibly toward the depths. Here they were, engulfing her. And she didn’t care. She surrendered to that passionate tide.
Lord Macklin pulled away from her. Teresa reached for him with a soft protest. “I cannot,” he said, his voice uneven. “You are a guest in my house. Under my protection. Any… It would be quite wrong of me.”
“I don’t require protection from you,” she replied. The truth of it rang through her as soon as she spoke, leaving her shaken. Here was the heart of the matter—trust.
But he edged farther back and then stood up. “I had better go before…”
The always immaculate earl looked mussed. His neckcloth was twisted.
“One cannot resist the irresistible,” he murmured. “But I must.”
The ever-articulate aristocrat spoke in disjointed phrases. Teresa reveled in it.
“When this visit is done…” With one searing look at her, he strode out.
Lord Macklin did not appear at dinner that evening. Nor in the drawing room afterward. Teresa assumed that he slept in his bedchamber, a few doors down the hall from hers, through the night. She was tempted to find out, but she knew he would not like it. So in the end she too resisted.
Rising early the next morning she found no one else in the breakfast room when she went down. The earl had gone out, she was told, and it appeared that the girls were taking advantage of the unaccustomed luxury and sleeping as long as they liked. She was glad; they needed the rest after their ordeal. Having eaten, Teresa sought out the housekeeper and talked with her as she’d planned. Mrs. Garting was stiff at first. But she gradually unbent as Teresa told her tale—all true but carefully tailored to her audience. By the time she’d finished, the atmosphere had lightened, and she thought the earl’s staff would be less prickly from now on. She went to sit in the drawing room, not sure quite what to do with idleness after the recent intense activity.
The butler came to her there to report that she had callers.
“But no one knows I’m here.”
“These ladies appear well informed, madam.”
She hadn’t expected the rumors to begin quite so soon. Teresa sighed. She didn’t feel like fending off curious gossips, coming to pry all the details out of her. All alone. Then she remembered that she had a high-nosed butler at her command. “Tell them that no one is at home to receive them.”
“Yes, madam.” Chirt looked as if he would enjoy it.
But a few minutes later Teresa heard a chorus of voices approaching, and in the next instant three young ladies burst into the drawing room. Chirt followed on their heels with an outraged expression.
“I cannot believe you would deny us,” said Miss Charlotte Deeping.
“You left us out of everything,” complained Miss Sarah Moran. “It’s not fair.”
“Tom told us what you’ve been up to,” said Miss Harriet Finch, in response to Teresa’s startled expression. “Part of it, at any rate. I suspect he left out a good deal. No, I’m certain he must have.”
“And so we have come to hear.” Miss Deeping plopped down on the sofa next to Teresa. She looked as if it would take several strong footmen to remove her. “And if you think you can fob us off, you will find you are mistaken,” she said, confirming this impression.
Miss Moran and Miss Finch also sat. They looked like fashionable debutantes, decked out in gowns and bonnets for morning calls, but the stares they fixed on Teresa were worthy of a wolf pack.
“It’s all right, Chirt,” said Teresa. “Thank you.”
The butler turned away, clearly incensed. He walked out, somehow managing to express profound disapproval with his back.
“He thinks we’re dreadfully rackety,” said Miss Moran.
Miss Deeping made a dismissive gesture. “Tell,” she said to Teresa.
She didn’t care to be commanded. But more than that, she wasn’t sure how much the young ladies should be told about the sinister house in the country.
A movement at the door caught her eye. The earl looked in and then ducked back out of sight. “Lord Macklin!” called Teresa.
After a moment he reappeared. His expression made it obvious that he had intended to escape. Teresa laughed at him. He smiled ruefully when he saw it.
A clamor rose from the three visitors, accusing the earl also of leaving them out of the adventure. They began to sound like children deprived of a promised treat.
“Enough!” said Teresa. She looked at Lord Macklin and pointed to an armchair. He sat down. She stood up. “You have no actual right to information, you know,” she said to the young ladies. “You are not owed an explanation.”
They looked surprised, hurt, offended, according to their various personalities. Teresa felt a mixture of weariness and compassion.
“We helped investigate,” said Miss Deeping.
“We asked all sorts of questions,” said Miss Moran. “How can you say that we…”
“We are not speaking of a pet raven stealing trinkets here,” interrupted Teresa.
Now she had provoked them all. A row of frowns confronted her.
Teresa suddenly felt far older than these young ladies. “Evil exists in the world, you know.”
“We are well aware…” began Miss Deeping.
“You don’t know what real evil is, and perhaps you shouldn’t have to,” Teresa interrupted.
“We may be ignorant,” replied Miss Finch. “It does not follow that we should be.”
“You could consider it good luck,” said Teresa. Much of a person’s destiny seemed to come down to luck.
“I do not,” said Miss Moran quietly.
Teresa was surprised that it should be this girl who objected.
“Knowing is always best, I think,” the girl added. “One should never refuse to learn.”
“But once you learn a…dreadful thing, you cannot erase it from your memory.”
“Talk, talk, talk,” said Miss Deeping. “The truth is you have gone off on adventures without us, and you have no intention of explaining.” She looked from Teresa to the earl and back again.
Her petulance goaded Teresa. “The opera dancers we were seeking, and two other girls, were imprisoned in a place where men came to do whatever they pleased to them. Vile, unprincipled men. The girls are lying upstairs, bruised and still frightened. Odile may die from the mistreatment she received.”
This brought a shocked silence. Lord Macklin, who had raised a cautionary hand, let it drop.
Miss Finch murmured a curse.
“But why would anyone…” Miss Moran began. She fell silent.
“Evil,” said Teresa. “In the world.” She’d achieved the effect she was looking for; she had shaken them. And now she was sorry she’d lost her temper.
“How did you…” Miss Deeping began. She stopped and shook her head. “It’s not just an exciting story.” Miss Moran swallowed, her blue eyes wide.
“I hate people,” said Miss Finch. She was looking out the window as if she could eliminate a few passersby with her stony gaze. “Nearly all of them are despicable.”
Even more, Teresa wished she hadn’t spoken.
“Helping can be an adventure too,” said Lord Macklin.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“The old tales are full of swordplay and derring-do, but adventure is not only physical danger. As I discovered this past year.”
“Whatever it is, we are supposed to have nothing to do with it,” said Miss Deeping. She sounded thoroughly disgruntled.
“Not necessarily.”
Teresa was surprised by his intervention. She didn’t understand what point he was making.
“Are you going to suggest that we become smug Lady Bountifuls, distributing largesse?” asked Miss Finch. “If you knew how many people have come to me for donations since I inherited! I find their attitude…”
“Grasping?” the earl interrupted. “Undeservedly entitled? Condescending?”
Miss Finch nodded, looking surprised.
“I hate being patronized,” said Miss Deeping. “Half the haut ton seems to think they know better than I ever could. About everything!”
“I don’t think anyone enjoys being treated so,” said the earl.
“As if you’d know,” muttered Miss Deeping.
“Charlotte!” said Miss Moran. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Miss Deeping murmured an apology. Lord Macklin waved it aside. “I was patronized as a boy,” he said. “I admit it has been a while.”
When his eyes twinkled in that way, he was irresistible, Teresa thought. What if she refused to resist? The thought was so enflaming that she nearly missed the next remarks.
“What do you mean by help?” asked Miss Finch. She had a gift of staying with the topic at hand. “And why do you call it an adventure?”
“The adventure comes in discovering the kind of help people really want. Not what you may believe they want, or think they should want. Particularly the latter. That discovery takes one in unexpected directions.”
“Isn’t finding out just another kind of patronizing?” asked Miss Finch.
“You are quite an intelligent young lady,” the earl replied.
Miss Finch blushed with pleasure.
“And the answer is, it can be,” he went on. “One must make an effort to be sure that it is not. Beginning with respect. Discussing matters as equals and not, as you said, Lady Bountifuls. And then observing behavior as well as talk. Action may not match words. People may not know their true wishes. The process is not easy.”
He spoke to the young ladies as if they mattered, Teresa thought, just as he’d always treated her with respect. How had a privileged nobleman become this unusual man?
“That doesn’t sound like adventure to me,” said Miss Deeping. Seeing Teresa’s eyes on her, she sighed. “Yes, I understand what you have said.”
“The opera dancers need help,” said Miss Moran slowly. “Especially the ones staying here. But all of them have a hard time of it.”
“Perhaps we could find better places for them,” said Miss Deeping. “Some other sort of employment.”
Miss Finch shook her head.
“They like to dance,” said Teresa. “Most of them love the theater. They don’t wish to leave.”
“Better pay?” asked Miss Moran tentatively.
“You would suggest that we ask them,” said Miss Finch, with a nod to Lord Macklin.
“In doing so, you would enter another world,” he said.
“And that is the adventure,” said Miss Deeping. “I do understand.” She didn’t seem entirely reconciled to the idea.
“May we see them?” asked Miss Finch.
“When they are more fully recovered,” answered Teresa.
It was agreed that she would send word when this time came, and the group started to break up. But they had scarcely pulled on their gloves when Chirt marched in with a large figure at his heels. “Miss Julia Grandison,” the butler announced in a deeply aggrieved tone. Arthur had no trouble interpreting his expression. Chirt resented the chaos that had overtaken his well-ordered household. And he was just waiting for the right opportunity to express his outrage. “She did not care to wait below,” the man added in sepulchral tones.
“What do you think you are doing, visiting a man’s home?” boomed a familiar voice as the formidable lady sailed in behind him. She raked the young ladies with her harshest glare.
“Señora Alvarez is here,” said Miss Deeping.
“Indeed? Well, she should know better. Or perhaps be better.”
“I can only aspire,” said the señora. Arthur stifled a laugh.
Not waiting for an invitation, Miss Grandison took an armchair as if it was a throne. “The most extraordinary rumors are flying about town,” she said. She frowned at Arthur. “They are saying you have filled your home with opera dancers, Macklin. Dozens of them!”
“There are only…” began Miss Deeping, then fell silent as both Teresa’s and Miss Grandison’s sharp gazes swung to transfix her.
“Well,” continued Miss Grandison. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” Arthur replied. He had to keep reminding himself not to gaze at Señora Alvarez like a lovelorn boy. He could think of nothing else since that searing kiss. He ached for her, day and most particularly night. To be so near and not touch her—it was maddening. His only consolation was the conviction that she would welcome his suit when they were done with this visit. Which already felt interminable.
“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Grandison.
“I owe no one explanations,” he replied.
“You will allow malicious tongues to wag?”
“I doubt I could stop them.”
“How fortunate to be a man,” murmured Miss Finch. Señora Alvarez gave her an appreciative sidelong glance.
Momentarily, Miss Grandison seemed at a loss. Clearly, she had expected to mow down opposition. But for what purpose? “I wish to speak to these opera dancers,” she said then. “At once.”
Ah, that was it. “About your brother?” Arthur asked.
“I require only a bit more information.”
“No,” said Señora Alvarez.
Miss Grandison turned on her. “You do not wish to make an enemy of me, my good woman.”
“I would rather not. But I will not expose the girls to your interrogation.”
Arthur agreed with this. They were in no shape to endure the formidable lady’s questions.
“I believe I can talk civilly to anyone,” said Miss Grandison.
“Your idea of civility will intimidate them,” said the señora. “Find out about your brother from someone else.”
Miss Grandison made a sour face. “The men close ranks, you know. And many of the women as well.”
Señora Alvarez looked as if she was quite familiar with this tendency.
“Those who recall me under the overturned punch bowl seem to rather enjoy the memory. I’m sure I made a most amusing picture.” The older lady’s tone was bitter.
“I am sorry.” The señora sounded sincere. “But would it not be better to let the past go? Is it really necessary to humiliate him? What about your brother’s wife? Do you give no thought to her?”
“He treats her with contempt,” replied Miss Grandison coldly. “But she is too timid to pay him back herself. He ought to be taken down a peg.”
The three young ladies looked as if they agreed with this description, which was telling. There was a short silence. Arthur saw no need to fill it. Señora Alvarez was more than holding her own. She was the equal of anybody.
“I will ask the dancers more about your brother,” she replied finally. “When I think they are up to it. I cannot predict what day that will be.”
The two women’s eyes held. Neither wavered. Arthur decided one would have to judge the face-off as even, ending in mutual respect.
“Very well.” Miss Grandison stood and hovered at her full impressive height. “I will bid you farewell. Are you girls coming with me?”
“We will stay a bit longer, ma’am,” said Miss Finch. Only to avoid Miss Grandison’s company, Arthur thought.
“I am not your chaperone” was the disapproving reply. “I suppose you may behave as badly as you please.” She turned and swept out of the room.
“You might have helped me,” Señora Alvarez said to Arthur.
“You didn’t need any help,” he answered. “And I feared the intervention of a mere man would make things worse.”
Miss Finch snorted a laugh.
“You were wonderful,” said Miss Moran. “Ada’s aunt always makes me quake in my boots.”
The señora made a pfft sound. She was always magnificent, Arthur thought.