Page 28 of Unforeseen Affairs
He was so innocent, so noble. And, Charlotte was certain, being horribly used by this fair-weather friend of his. So helpless, a sailor without a sea. And why was that, exactly? Just what had come to pass that a seaman as esteemed as him would be left adrift and ashore?
“Hm.”
It was not a straight-out denial; something inside her wanted him to ask one more time. More emphatically. If he had to strive for her input, it stood to reason he would value it all the more.
“There are so many ways in which two people might achieve what one could not. Come now, you must see that.” He studied her, his eyes brighter than before. “As a gentleman of some notoriety, there are doors I might be able to open for you. And there’s always the matter of protection, and of pro…” He stumbled on the last word, as if he were wavering on its potential to persuade her. “Propriety.”
Upon saying the last word, he seemed to suddenly realize how far he’d leaned in, and he quickly straightened up, restoring the space between them.
Behind them a door opened. Sir Colin glanced over his shoulder to confirm what Charlotte supposed without looking.
The sounds of whistling and the sweeping of a broom signaled the hall steward’s arrival. Charlotte glanced down at the bits of refuse upon the floor. With the toe of her boot, she brushed a balled-up program to the side, far from her skirts.
“Very well,” she said drily. “Who am I to refuse such a generous offer?”
Sir Colin beamed, as wide and honest a grin as Charlotte had seen in quite some time.
Chapter Eight
ColinhadknowntheSedleys were mad, but he had not expected this one to begin moving full speed ahead so quickly.
When he had first decided to go to the Egyptian Hall after agreeing to help Beaky, he’d done so not with a plan, but merely because it seemed as good a place as any to start, absent a better idea. He certainly hadn’t expected that, directly after the show, he would find himself in a dark and creaking café, conspiring with another party to bring Thaddeus Taggart Bass low.
Colin had been particularly impressed by Mr. Bass’s elongation trick, for the man seemed to have made himself even larger on stage than he had at his mother’s entertainment. Though afterward, Miss Sedley had explained the likely method to him as they walked the streets of London on the way to the café—a trumped-up suit of clothing, perhaps with a hidden, telescoping metal frame. So banal and pathetic, when the curtain was drawn back. It almost made Colin wish that, despite his dislike for Mr. Bass, the man was actually capable of the real thing.
It was clear there was a lot Colin didn’t understand about spiritualism and stagecraft.
One thing he did understand, though, was how untoward it was to be dragged along to this odd corner of the city by a young lady he was barely acquainted with. The Cat and Fiddle, the establishment was called, all wood paneling with a rich patina. They were surrounded by etched glass windows covered in smudges, crooked tables tucked into corners and alcoves, and outdated oil lamps that flickered and sputtered, making the hour seem far later and the setting more mysterious than it actually was.
Miss Sedley, sitting across the table from him, remained inscrutable.
She nursed a pewter tankard of punch, her deep purple get-up making her appear far more serious than a young lady ought to. An ostentatious carnelian hung around her neck in a bizarre setting that recalled a watch fob.
Colin frowned at it.
Her gaze followed his, and she smiled wryly as she set down her drink.
“What is it, Sir Colin? Is this”—she lifted the piece and turned it over showily—“offensive in some way?”
With her gloves set neatly aside, he could see how long and elegant her fingers were. She was tall for a chit, wasn’t she? Sir Colin thought of how her shoulders had been at a level with his as they’d walked. His shorter stature had never bothered him that much; after all, he’d the brawn of a young man trained to rig ships and assist in the gun batteries, and his quiet competence and ready attitude had frequently earned him the admiration of able seamen and senior officers. It was only his lazier peers from whom his height had drawn scorn.
“No,” Colin said, entranced by the way she spun the bauble about with a practiced hand. “It’s just… an interesting item, that’s all.”
“It was my uncle’s.” She lifted it closer to her face, regarding it impassively. “I found it in the attic, with his papers and other assorted effects. Titus Sedley. He died of infection. From an injury sustained in a duel.”
“A duel?” Colin couldn’t help but sound skeptical. “Come now, Miss Sedley. A duel would be absurd in these—”
“It was decades ago. Before I was born. He’d been carrying on with some admiral’s wife.” She raised her brows. “Perhaps one of the Gearings?”
Colin felt his mouth fall open; quickly he shut it again.
“You do have a great number of portraits in your house. I suspect there ought to be an admiral somewhere among them. And it’s only natural to assume at least some of them had wives.”
Colin scoffed. “I should think not,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
Miss Sedley raised an eyebrow. “Really? No wives? How is it that you are sitting here before me, then?”
“No, not… of course they… it just simply isn’t possible.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so thoroughly taken aback.
