Night at the opera, p.18
Night at the Opera, page 18
“For kissing me?” she couldn’t help asking. She shifted so she could see his face, though she hated the thought of seeing the regret in his brown eyes.
“What? No.” Avery frowned. “I wasn’t apologizing for that.”
She glanced away in confusion. “You mean you don’t regret kissing me?”
“Seeing as it kept you safe, I don’t regret it for a moment.” He waited for her to look at him again, and when she did, a gentle smile lifted his fine mouth. “Truth be told, I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since . . . Well, for a while now.”
His admission soothed her disappointment, and yet it couldn’t mollify it completely. Gwen wanted more from him than friendship and stolen kisses. She wanted a commitment she knew he’d never give. But even if she couldn’t have that, she at least wanted him to tell her himself that he was the man she’d helped in the opera box.
For a moment, she considered asking him outright if it had been him, but there must be a reason Avery hadn’t yet shared the truth with her. And for now, she would respect his wish for anonymity.
“Then what are you apologizing for?”
Avery rubbed her sleeves with his hands. “For dragging you along to follow Hanbury and nearly being accosted by armed ruffians. And for assuring you that you wouldn’t be in danger by helping me.”
“I agreed to help you spy and to follow Mr. Hanbury, Avery.”
“Be that as it may, I don’t think you should go anywhere with him alone. Not even with your mother accompanying the two of you.”
Gwen was more than willing to concede to that plan. She didn’t wish to be alone with Mr. Hanbury either. “I won’t. Do you still need me to gather information on him?”
His hands stilled on her forearms, his expression somber. “No. There’s still a chance that Hanbury saw you with me, and you questioning him might make him respond . . . unpredictably. But even if he didn’t see you, I think it’s best if you don’t make any inquiries of him or anyone else for the next week.”
“All right.” She nodded. “I suppose we don’t need to meet to exchange information, then. At least for a while.”
Avery looked surprised. “We could still meet as friends, couldn’t we?”
Before she could answer, he released her and ran his hand through his hair. Somewhere in the shuffle earlier, he’d lost his hat. “I know I kissed you, Gwen, and I meant it when I said I don’t regret doing so. My only regret is that there wasn’t time to ask for your permission.” Agitation saturated his entire demeanor as he paced beside the opening of the alleyway. “In light of that, I understand if you no longer wish to be friends.”
“We’re still friends, Avery,” Gwen said, stopping his distressed movements with a hand to his arm.
She only wished she could feel the same relief that lit his handsome face. “Thank you. Shall we go?” He held out his hand to her.
“Yes.” She locked her fingers with his. Proper or not, she needed the tangible reminder that she was well and safe, and she guessed Avery did too.
As she followed him back toward the direction of the orphanage, she struggled to keep her threatening tears at bay. She and Avery might still be friends, but everything else had changed for Gwen. Her hopes and dreams of a love match with the man from the opera would remain just that—a dream. Even though she was now certain of his identity, he would remain as unreachable and mysterious as he’d been that night. A man who had captured the feelings of her heart but who would never be free to return them.
Chapter 15
By the time the carriage settled to a stop in front of the Rodmills’ townhouse, Gwen was more than ready for the afternoon to be over. The visit to the orphanage seemed a lifetime ago, rather than merely a few hours in the past. A headache throbbed behind her eyes, and the ache in her foot felt as if it had lodged itself inside her throat too.
“Thank you for the chance to see the orphanage.” She managed a semblance of a smile.
Avery’s expression remained as troubled with bewilderment and sorrow as it had been since they’d located his carriage for the return trip home. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He glanced down. “I’m sorry again for dragging you into the other . . . situation.”
“You didn’t know what was going to happen, Avery.”
She started for the front steps, but his next question made her stop. “Will I see you this next week?”
Earlier today, Gwen would have responded with a resounding yes. But now? Her initial surprise at realizing he was the injured man from the opera had begun to give way to anger at his silence. Whatever his reasons, he should have still told her the truth the moment she’d asked for his help.
The other source of frustration wasn’t so much about Avery as it was herself. Their kiss had revived Gwen’s deeper feelings for him, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear spending time with him like this, all the while knowing they could never be more than friends.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “Our social schedule is very full.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze unreadable. “May I send you a note, then?”
“That would be fine.”
His own attempt at a smile appeared as unconvincing as hers likely had. “Good day, Miss Barton.”
“Good day.”
The easy camaraderie and connection she’d come to cherish with him had vanished, leaving this stiff formality in its wake. The realization tore at her already bruised heart. She hurried up the stairs, stumbling a bit in her rush to get inside. This time Avery wasn’t beside her to help. Gwen grabbed for the railing to keep herself from falling, but not before striking her knee against one of the steps. Pain radiated up her leg and brought a fresh rush of moisture to her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from escaping as she fled into the townhouse.
Ducking her chin to avoid the servants’ curious looks, Gwen limped toward the grand staircase. Movement through the open door of the drawing room caught her attention and she stopped. Aunt Vivian stood within the circle of her husband’s arms as the two shared a lingering kiss.
Gwen knew she ought to slip away before they noticed they had an audience. But she couldn’t make her feet move anymore. Instead, she watched the tender exchange between her aunt and uncle with pained fascination and longing. Had they initially felt this way for one another when they’d married? Or had this affection grown out of mutual rapport? She hadn’t spent a great deal of time around Uncle Albert, beyond dinners and a few social engagements. And yet the man exemplified quiet patience, and a tender glint shown in his eyes whenever he looked at his wife.
That’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
In spite of her love for the orphanage and her belief that working there would bring complete fulfillment, deep down Gwen still longed to marry. Not for money or a title or social station, but for love. She wanted to share her thoughts, her faith, her life with someone. Wanted to treasure a husband and children and be treasured in return. Was that path closed to her now? Did God wish for her to find contentment with her work at Heartwell House and nothing else?
“Oh, Gwen, you’ve returned from your outing.”
She glanced up to find her aunt and uncle watching her. Her cheeks flooded with heat at being caught standing there. “Y-yes.”
“Are you all right, my dear?” Aunt Vivian moved to the doorway.
Gwen considered giving an excuse, but her emotions were likely to betray her no matter what she said. Better to stick with the truth. “No, not really.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Uncle Albert said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek. He strode into the foyer and paused beside Gwen. “It’s been a pleasure to have you here with us this season.”
The warm sincerity of his tone resurrected the threat of Gwen’s tears. “Thank you for having us.” She meant the words. She’d been reluctant to come to England, but now she couldn’t imagine having not come at all. Having never met Avery, even if she still felt angry with him.
“Come sit with me.” Her aunt motioned for Gwen to join her in the drawing room.
Her hidden burdens felt twice as heavy as Gwen shuffled into the room and sank onto one end of the settee. Aunt Vivian took a seat on the other end, her expression full of concerned compassion.
“I hope you know you can confide in me, my dear. I will simply listen if that is what you wish.”
Gwen nodded, words and emotions clogging her throat. Where to begin? And what could she share without sharing too much?
“Am I right to assume your distress has something to do with your different suitors?”
“Yes.” Though it had more to do with one suitor in particular, and he wasn’t even officially that.
Aunt Vivian gave her a knowing look. “It can be rather confusing trying to understand one’s feelings and preferences.” When Gwen remained silent, she asked, “What do you think of your two most persistent suitors?”
Her aunt meant the earl and Mr. Hanbury. Mr. Fipwish had dropped out of the running for Gwen’s hand—he hadn’t visited or approached her in more than a week. But what could she say about the others, especially since they were friends of the Rodmills? She didn’t care for Lord Whitson, and Mr. Hanbury was likely spying for Germany and may have sent assailants after her and Avery earlier.
“Of the two, I find Mr. Hanbury’s manners more appealing.”
To her surprise, her aunt laughed. “A very diplomatic answer, and one I agree with. They may be Bert’s friends, Gwen, but that doesn’t mean I’m keen on either of them marrying my favorite brother’s daughter.”
“That’s a great relief,” she admitted with half a smile.
Aunt Vivian returned the gesture. “What about Mr. Winfield? What do you think of him?”
“I . . .” Gwen glanced away. “I consider him a good friend.”
“He is a good man.”
Gwen couldn’t prevent her next question from spilling out. “What do you know about him, Aunt Vivian?”
“He’s to inherit his uncle’s title and the family estate near Exeter.”
These were things Gwen already knew. “What of his character?”
“I think you know the answer to that question far better than I do.” Her aunt tempered the chiding words by reaching out and resting her hand on top of Gwen’s. “I will say, though, that I know him to be an honorable man and one who seems to be quite taken with my niece.”
Could that be true—was Avery taken with her? “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’ve observed moments between you and Mr. Winfield that remind me of myself and Albert when we first met.” Aunt Vivian sat back, her countenance nostalgic. “Like oil and water at times.”
“You and Uncle Albert?” Gwen couldn’t imagine such a thing.
Her aunt’s pleasant laughter rang through the room again. “You didn’t inherit your strength from your mother’s side only, Gwen.”
“You think my mother is strong?” she countered in surprise.
Aunt Vivian’s expression changed to one of quiet consideration. “Mothers of daughters have to be strong.” She studied her clasped hands that now rested on her lap. “I would have loved to have a daughter, but there are days I’m grateful we only had a son. I don’t have to worry as much about Bert because he can make his own way in this world, whatever he chooses. But a daughter . . .” She lifted her chin to reveal dark eyes glimmering with tears. “A daughter is so often at the mercy of others. All that scheming and prodding for a good match is often done out of great love and equally as great a fear.”
Regretful understanding flooded through Gwen. Her aunt’s words shone a different light on Gwen’s mother’s motives and actions of the past few years.
“Are you happy, Aunt Vivian?”
Her aunt’s soft smile was as much an answer as her reply. “I am. Like anyone’s life, mine hasn’t been without challenges and disappointments. At one time, I felt certain my life’s work would be helping secure women’s suffrage.”
“Really?” Gwen couldn’t quite picture her demure aunt giving impassioned speeches, or chaining herself to a fencepost, or sitting inside a jail cell, all in hopes of winning a woman’s right to vote. Then again, why not? Who better to assist in such a worthy cause than a former American heiress who was the respected wife of an English baronet? “Do you still feel that strongly about women’s suffrage?”
“I’m still quite active in helping with the movement here, but I understand now that God had other things in mind for me.” Aunt Vivian regarded her kindly. “May I share something else, Gwen?”
“Please.”
“I’ve watched you when you’ve returned from spending time with Mr. Winfield.” Her aunt leaned toward her, giving earnestness to her observation. “Apart from today, you are much happier with him than with anyone else.”
It was true. But the knowledge didn’t bring the relief Aunt Vivian likely thought it would. Her aunt didn’t know about Avery’s reluctance to risk his heart, his certainty that he could never marry. “What do I do, Aunt Vivian?” All of the emotions Gwen had felt earlier rushed over her anew, creating a tidal wave she felt powerless to swim through.
Her aunt surprised her by pulling Gwen into a hug. “You follow your heart, my dear,” she whispered. “Then you trust God and yourself in following the answer it gives you.”
Following the answer . . .
As her aunt released her, Gwen rose to her feet. She knew her own heart—she was falling for Avery. Unfortunately, that was as much a dead end as the alley had been earlier. That didn’t mean she couldn’t move forward, though, with the one answer she already had. To do all in her power to help the orphanage.
In all of the excitement of an outing alone with Avery, she’d nearly forgotten her scheduled appointment with Dr. Smithfield. “Would you be willing to accompany me on an errand tomorrow? I have an appointment with a doctor here in London.”
Aunt Vivian stood as well. “Of course.” The curiosity in her gaze was unmistakable, though she was too ladylike to satisfy it with questions. Gwen trusted her aunt with her secret, though.
“Remember what I told you about Dean’s orphanage in New York?”
“Oh yes.”
Gwen quickly explained the nature of Dr. Smithfield’s work. “While initially my visits focused on getting recommendations for doctors in America who might help the orphanage, I’m also hoping he can fix my foot, so I can have greater mobility than I’ve had since the accident.”
“I hope he can help,” Aunt Vivian said, her tone kind.
“I feel confident he will.”
She followed her aunt from the room and up the staircase. It was time to change for dinner, then she would need to ready herself for the reception they’d all be attending tonight. Mr. Hanbury would be there, and Gwen was determined to see if he acted any differently toward her after the events of this afternoon.
Her hopes for her and Avery may have been uprooted again today. But that didn’t mean she was without purpose or something to offer. Once Dr. Smithfield fixed her foot and Gwen left England, she hoped to be free at last to follow her true aspirations.
*
He’d done something wrong. But other than having Gwen join him in following Hanbury and nearly getting them caught by armed assailants, Avery couldn’t think of what it might be. He didn’t regret kissing Gwen, though he still wished he’d had time first to ask her permission.
As the carriage navigated the streets toward home, Avery couldn’t stop thinking of those moments in the alley. Kissing Gwen while semiconscious at the opera had been nothing short of wonderful. However, kissing her while he was fully conscious had been extraordinary. Not only had their impassioned kiss saved them from harm, but it had tumbled the walls around Avery’s heart too, revealing hopes and longings he’d barricaded long ago.
In that moment of sheer delight and vulnerability, he’d nearly confessed to Gwen that he was the man whose identity she’d hoped to learn. The commotion from the street had jerked him back to reality, though. A reality where he’d nearly witnessed Gwen getting hurt for her involvement in his spy activities. As long as he continued his work with Captain Kell, danger would be inevitable for any woman who chose to align her life with his.
Was that the reason Gwen had acted aloof during the long walk back to his carriage and on the return drive to the Rodmills’ house? Had she realized what risks came with spending time with Avery?
Resting his elbows on his knees, he raked his hands through his hair and hung his chin. He’d made a mess of things, regardless of Gwen’s reassurances that they were still friends. The hesitation on her face when he’d asked if he might see her again had cut straight through his chest. As had her honest reply that she didn’t know.
His mind had shouted at him to begin at once to rebuild his inner fortress, but his heart hadn’t listened, urging him instead to at least see if he could send her a note. Though what he’d say in his message, Avery had no idea.
The closeness he’d experienced with Gwen as they’d toured the orphanage had disappeared as quickly as Hanbury had. Even the information Gwen had gathered on the man and the triumph of catching Hanbury in the act of studying ships along the river failed to bring Avery the usual sense of satisfaction. In its place, he felt only confused and burdened.
He glanced up to see he was nearly home. The thought of being by himself for the rest of the day held no appeal for him. However, he didn’t wish to divulge his inner struggle to his best friend within the public arena of the club either.
“Will you take me to my uncle’s home?” he asked his driver.
The look of surprise on the older man’s face probably mirrored that on Avery’s. He rarely visited the duke’s home. But something inside was nudging him to go see the only family he had in London.
When his driver stopped before the duke’s residence, Avery found the front steps busy with foot traffic as servants carried items from the house to a waiting carriage. He climbed from his own vehicle and maneuvered his way up the stairs to the front door.
