James seemed to shrink into himself. “Oh, my dear boy, not everything? I can’t believe that is entirely my fault. Your father . . . well, he was quite a one for the horses and the cards. I think he should share some of the blame. And you yourself, Rufus, when you were younger and more jolly, had a tendency to frequent certain places where the wagers were rather high.”
Rufus didn’t answer. He thought if he did he might take his uncle by the throat and strangle him. The worst of it was that James was right, it wasn’t all his fault. The whole Southbrook family had contributed to their downfall; it was just that Rufus was the heir and the only one left who cared. And what of Eustace? Southbrook was his inheritance. How could he explain to the boy that he’d lost the lot?
“Papa, why is that lady showing her legs?” Eustace was staring at the woman on the stage, who was kicking up her feet and showing a great deal of leg beneath her short skirt.
“Turn away, Eustace.”
Eustace seemed disinclined to turn away but he was a good boy and did as his father told him. “Can we go home now, Papa?”
“I have to collect someone first. She is hurt and requires a ride home in the coach.”
“The lady over there?” he asked hopefully, and James chuckled.
Rufus shook his head. “No, not the lady over there. At the moment she’s upstairs but she should be with us very soon. Ah, here she is.”
And they all looked up as Averil, with the help of the girl, made her way with painful slowness down the stairs.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
Averil clung to the banister despite its greasiness. She was beyond such niceties now. Her sister—Rose, she would call her Rose, Rose was a sweet name—had been taken to the orphanage at St. Thomas’s, which was probably close by. Surely there would be a record of her? Someone must know something.
Please, oh please, Averil’s thoughts were agonizing, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, don’t let her be dead. Was her journey coming to an end, in one way or another? Was she finally to know whether or not she was truly alone in the world?
She cast an anxious glance about the room, hoping to see Lord Southbrook among the noisy mass of humanity. Her head was aching and she wanted to go home. Perhaps she could persuade the sullen girl to fetch her a hackney cab? Slip away before Southbrook returned?
But it was too late. He was coming toward her, and he wasn’t alone.
Lord Southbrook had his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who looked like him, and his other hand tucked rather like a jailer into the arm of a gentleman who also looked like him, only older, with graying hair.
Good Lord, three generations of Southbrooks!
Averil swallowed and forced a wan smile to her lips.
“Lord Southbrook, there you are. I was just going to ask someone to fetch me a hackney cab. Jackson sent ours away and I’m sure you have enough to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance. Or more of a nuisance than I have already been.”
His face darkened. “I’m taking you to my coach. It is completely safe. I will see you home.”
“Really, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You couldn’t possibly refuse,” he cut her short.
The older man leaned forward and said in a confidential voice, “Best to just say ‘yes,’ my dear. My nephew is a bully and will have his own way whatever you say.”
“Papa isn’t a bully,” the boy piped up, dark eyes narrowing. “Hackneys are grubby and we have a nice coach.”
Averil sighed.
The older man peered at her with interest. “Are you coming to Southbrook Castle, too? It wouldn’t be so bad if she could come, too,” he added to Lord Southbrook with a hopeful note. “Do introduce us, Rufus.”
Lord Southbrook introduced them, as if they were at a perfectly respectable house, rather than surrounded by drunken revelry.
“Lady Averil Martindale, this is my uncle, the Honorable James Blainey. And this is my son, Eustace, Lord Turrif. Lady Averil fell and hurt herself on her way here so we are taking her home in the coach.”
“My lord,” she tried again, “I really don’t think this is necess
ary. I can find—” Find what? Frustration filled her. How dare Jackson run off and leave her in this mess. Averil all but stamped her foot and might well have done, if her knee wasn’t so sore. She would be having words with him the next time she saw him.