Page 88 of From Rakes to Riches

“It does make one wonder, doesn’t it? I suppose there’s more that needs to come out.” Huntington paused as his gaze traveled around the room. Was he taking note who stood within hearing distance or gathering his thoughts? Theodore had no way to know.

“Wonder about what?” Theodore prompted. If his friend knew why Fremont was in Vauxhall last night, if he knew anything connected to the untimely death, it needed to be said.

“Never would I speak unkindly of the dead. You know me better than that, Essex.” Huntington exhaled deeply. “But you’ve been gone for two years. Things have happened. People have changed. You might want to speak to his sister. There’s really nothing else to be said.”

“Except what you just told me expressed there’s quite a bit more to be said,” Theodore replied, unable to restrain a note of tempered frustration. “Fremont was a good man. If he found himself in trouble, he would respond appropriately and resolve the conflict. Pestering Margaret when she’s only begun mourning her brother is a cruel suggestion.”

The longcase clock on the adjacent wall had the good sense to chime six, otherwise Theodore might have continued and said a few unforgiveable things in Fremont’s defense. Instead, he stood up, abruptly ending the conversation.

“I’ve somewhere else to be. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Huntington.”

Then he made for the door, quick to retrieve his greatcoat and head out into the night.

4

The grandstand was packed full with spectators. The weekend usually brought out a bigger crowd and tonight was no exception. Apparently having a murder occur on the grounds less than twenty-four hours earlier did little to discourage sales. Such was the popularity of Vauxhall. Danger was a large part of the allure.

Lola stood on the left platform, her skirt catching a light breeze to dance across the back of her legs, her ribboned sash chasing after it. She looked out across the gardens, beyond the rotunda and picture rooms, in the opposite direction of the pleasure paths.

Simon, the hot air balloon pilot, was completing his last ticketed fare. Seeing the giant balloon float weightlessly through the air always brought a smile to her face, but tonight it failed to charm. In the area adjacent to the balloon’s landing circle, she watched as the orchestra pit emptied alongside dinner boxes doing the same. It was nearly time for her to begin. The tightrope was the closing act before the fireworks display.

Biding her time, she shifted toward the grandstand and waved to the visitors, their bright eyes and expectant faceslifted upward as they awaited her daring walk. A familiar tingle of anticipation flowed through her as she glanced to where Morland stood in position at the grandstand gate. His signal, nothing more than a nod of his hat, would tell her when to begin. In the meantime, she would soak in the thrilling experience of living high above the world, out of reach of problems and emotions. Alone, in the shimmering light of multiple lanterns strung between the platforms.

Breath by breath, her world quieted. Simon’s balloon was again anchored to the ground. The music that once filled the air with song had ended. At the ready, she sought Morland’s signal, but now his back was turned as he spoke to someone lost to the shadows.

With a huff of impatience, she waited. Until at last, she saw him.

The earl had returned. Theodore M. Coventry, third Earl of Essex. That’s what his calling card said in two sharp rows of engraved block letters. Even his name was complicated. Nobility always neededmorethan everyone else. Her interest fell away and she moved into position on the platform, focused on the task before her.

The earl’s return didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except walking the rope. As she waited for Morland’s signal, she told herself not to look at Essex, but her brain didn’t listen and her eyes followed the earl’s tall form as he moved further into view along the walkway. He stopped beneath the platform where she would complete her walk. When he glanced upward their eyes met and that same startling sensation coursed through her. As if he could see inside her. Know her secrets. But that could only be her imagination.Everyonestared at her. It was the very purpose of her performance. To be a spectacle. To entertain.

That, she would do. She placed one foot on the rope, her weight causing the slightest waver as she moved gracefullyforward, one step after another. The soles of her feet, accustomed to the pressure and texture of the rope, held steady even though her heart thrummed at the knowledge his eyes moved with her. Why had he returned? What could he want? He was a distraction that would lead her to fall if she didn’t stop thinking about him.

At the halfway mark, she paused and raised her arms in a graceful arch, the colorful ribbons around her wrists fluttering. Below, the crowd cheered and clapped with excitement. She bent her knees slightly, adjusting the angle of her shoulders to retain her balance. A few more steps and she would be finished and yet the rope suddenly seemed endless. As if she would be forever balanced between one side and the other, undecided where her loyalty belonged.

Dispelling the unsettling thought, she forced herself forward, confident she would not falter. Her skill had been honed through childhood. Unknowingly accomplished, but attained nonetheless. First by balancing on the ornate limestone wall that enclosed the estate’s prized rose garden. Then with more daring, on the wrought iron railings surrounding the expansive stables. For her it had been a way to combat boredom. Child’s play, nothing more. But now the ability had become her salvation. A delicate and daring act on a tightly strung rope at an unthinkable height. It reminded her of teetering between life’s choices, one wrong step could lead to irreparable consequences.

She was nearly at the platform now and brought her eyes to the rope, then to the ground, where the earl intersected her line of vision. Broad shouldered and darkhaired, standing in the one place she needed to focus, he was impossible to ignore.

The impact of his prolonged attention caused her to wobble and the tenuous sway of her body evoked gasps of horror from the crowd though she was quick to compensate. Continuing without error, she reached the wooden platform and curtseyedgraciously at the audience’s applause. All that risk for one fleeting moment of glory.

Just like the previous night the grandstand emptied quickly. With nothing left to see, the guests departed, anxious to purchase a meat pie or sweet treat before they found a comfortable location to view the fireworks display. Lola lingered, unsure what she would say to the nobleman who waited at the bottom of the ladder. Lord Essex hadn’t left like the others. He seemed determined to speak to her again, whether she wished for it to happen or not. She was trapped.

Never a coward, she gathered her cotton wrap around her shoulders, tied it in a tight knot over her heart, and started down the ladder.

“You’re fearless, Lola.”Theodore watched her progress as she climbed down the ladder, but then quickly averted his gaze, too aware of her captivating silhouette as she descended. Her costume was nothing more than wisps of gauze and silk which reached mid-calf and left her dainty ankles exposed, the ribbons of her slippers hardly wide enough to cover all her bare, soft skin.

“It is an art as much as a skill, my lord.” She turned and offered him a tight smile. “Why are you here?”

“You waste no time on niceties, do you?” He answered, hoping to keep the mood light.

“Is that why you’ve returned to Vauxhall? For pleasant conversation?” She tugged at the ends of the shawl covering her shoulders. She was either cold or nervous, and it was unusually warm for a mid-May evening.

“No. I’ve returned to speak to you.” He suspected she would appreciate his bluntness. “Would you like to walk while we talk?”

“Surely you must have more important obligations than to waste your time here. What do you need to say?” She worked at the ties at her wrists and removed the colored streamers, rolling them around her fingers and tucking them into the invisible pockets in her skirt.

Clever how she’d switched the focus of their conversation away from herself. For someone who lived in an entirely different arena, she wasn’t intimidated by his title, her words as brave as her performance.

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