‘Of course, my dear, of course.’ He subsided back into his chair, his relief obvious that she had become a tremulous, biddable female relying on his superior judgement. ‘I will ring for a small glass of sherry wine for you. I do not as a rule approve of females consuming alcoholic beverages, but in this case, it may be wise.’
‘Thank you,’ Averil murmured, wielding the handkerchief again as she sank back into the depths of the chair. At least it would give her a few minutes to think. What on earth was she to do now?
She could go to Lady Perdita Brooke—but Dita’s parents would never countenance her sheltering a runaway, especially when Dita herself had a recent scandal to live down. Nor could she ask Dita for a loan, not of the amount of money she would need for lodgings until the ship sailed, the fare, money for three months and wages for Grace, whom she could hardly abandon.
There was one possibility, so shocking that when the sherry came she gulped it down and almost made herself choke. Was it her only option or was it what she wanted to do and she was finding excuses, telling herself she had no other choice?
It took several minutes to shake Mr Wilton off, to assure him she did not require handing into her carriage—which was a good thing as she had come in a hackney—and that she felt much more calm and rational now. She had a sinking feeling that he might write to Papa, but if her plan worked she would be home in India at the same time as any letter.
With the patient Grace beside her she stood on the pavement and looked for a hackney. ‘Grace, I need to talk to you, in confidence, about something rather shocking. If you feel you would rather not be involved I quite understand, but in that case we had better go back to Bruton Street now and I will drop you off. All I ask is that you say nothing about it for as long as possible.’
‘Of course I’ll come with you, Miss Heydon,’ the maid said. ‘Look, there’s one.’ She darted to the edge of the pavement and waved down a cab. ‘Is it an elopement, miss?’
‘No. Not quite.’ The driver leaned down for directions. ‘One of the main shipping agents, please. I want one who handles the East India ships.’
‘Oh!’ Grace’s eyes were wide as they settled on the worn seats. ‘Are we going to India?’
‘I am, but not you.’ The girl’s face fell. ‘It is a three-month voyage, Grace. And dangerous—look what happened to me on the way here. And India is hot and unhealthy.’
‘I’d like to go,’ Grace persisted. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel, honest, miss. If I can survive all the things you can catch in the Rookery, I can manage in India, I’ll be bound.’
‘I might not be able to pay you for months,’ Averil admitted. ‘I may not even be able to pay for the two weeks you have been working for me already. I am going to do something very shocking, Grace. I am going to put myself under the protection of a gentleman and hope that he will fund my passage and your wages.’
‘I knew it! I knew this valise had more in it than a gown to be altered like you told her ladyship. It’s too heavy.’
‘It contains everything I own,’ Averil admitted. ‘Which is not much. And then there are your things—I did not dare tell you about it in the house in case anyone overheard, and I did not know how we could get two valises out.’
‘Not to worry, miss.’ Grace showed no sign of shock or alarm at Averil’s explanations. ‘When we find out whether he’s up for it I’ll take a hackney back to Bruton Street and sneak my stuff out the back way.’ She sat in silence for a while. ‘You don’t want to marry Lord Bradon, miss? Can’t say I blame you. Nasty bit of work he is, if you ask me. Like a dead flounder.’
‘Grace!’ Averil choked on a gasp of laughter.
‘Well, he is. He’s got hands like one, too.’
‘How do you know? He has not made advances to you, has he?’
‘Sort of pats and gropes when he’s passing.’ The girl shrugged. ‘Nothing I can’t cope with. Some of the gents is like that—they fancy a servant girl because we don’t answer back—mostly. Yes, me lud, no, me lud,’ she mimicked savagely. ‘Lie on me back with me skirts up if you like, me lud. I don’t stand for it myself.’
‘I am so sorry, Grace. I had no idea—how dreadful.’ The hypocrisy of it! Lecturing her on virtue while all the while he was harassing the servants.
‘Your gent’s not like that, is he, miss?’
‘No,’ said Averil. ‘He asks for what he wants and he takes no for an answer.’ More or less. ‘I think this must be the shipping office.’
They climbed down into the bustling street. It was closer to Calcutta than Mayfair, Averil thought, finding to her surprise that she could smile. The noise and smells and the mass of carts and porters and hawkers were familiar and unthreatening. ‘Wait please,’ she called up to the driver. ‘We will not be long.’
‘Two weeks,’ Averil said as they sat back in the hackney fifteen minutes later. She studied the printed sheet in her hand. The Diamond Rose for Calcutta. Cabins close to the Great Cabin that would accommodate the two of them were still available, but at a price that was quite impossible to meet unless Luc helped her.
Would he pay that much, plus Grace’s wages and some money for her expenses on board, in exchange for her virginity and just two weeks of her unskilled lovemaking?
‘Do you love him, miss?’ Grace asked as the cab turned into Piccadilly. Averil felt her chest tightening so that she could scarcely breathe.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But he does not love me and he does not know h
ow I feel about him. And he must not.’
Grace did not answer, but she changed seats to sit next to Averil and squeezed her hand. Her lover had jilted her, Averil recalled, and squeezed back. The pressure in her chest eased a little.
The hackney swung through a tight opening into a cobbled yard. ‘Albany!’