She smiled at him, and Alec’s pulse automatically accelerated. “The horses…”
“It doesn’t do to keep them standing, I know. Perhaps you could send them home and get a cab later?”
Alec knew he should refuse. It was nearly six. He had a thousand things to do, preparations to make. But the whole tide of his heart pulled against that knowledge. He handed her down from the carriage and gave Tom the coachman the order. As his equipage pulled away, Charlotte used her key instead of ringing. He followed her into the house, his thoughts a turmoil of questions and desires that must never be spoken.
Nineteen
“They got temples with heathen statues twenty feet high,” said Ethan’s cousin Jack. “All gold and glittery. Some of ’em has six arms. And every morning they washes them with milk, giving them a bath in it, like.”
“Go on,” replied Mrs. Trask. “That’d be a pure waste of gallons of milk.”
“It’s true, Gran. I seen it myself, when our ship put in at Bombay. One of the fellers took us into the city to see. Anyhow, they’ve got plenty of milk in India ’cause it’s a crime to kill a cow there.”
Ethan’s aunt shook an admonitory finger at her son. “Now, Jack, you’ve traveled and we haven’t, but that doesn’t mean we’ll swallow any rigmarole you care to spin.”
“It’s true, Ma. I swear.” Jack put a hand over his heart. “The Hindoos claim that cows are holy. Got ’em wandering all over the city doing as they please. You’re in big trouble if you hurt one.” Though he was only twenty-six, Jack had sailed to both India and the West Indies.
Ethan watched all the adults present shake their heads in wonderment. The children, who’d marveled over Jack’s tales earlier, now played a noisy game of lottery tickets in the back parlor. There was ale and a juicy roast, and Lucy sat next to him, looking relaxed and interested, as if she’d been part of the family for years and years. It was all just as he’d imagined, and Ethan’s spirit expanded with warm contentment. It was hours before they had to be back at their posts. He’d sent off his letter home and not yet had an answer, so he could bask in the belief that his future would be as pleasant as this.
He moved so that his shoulder brushed Lucy’s, wishing he could put an arm around her and show their connection before everyone. When she turned her head and smiled at him, he only just stopped himself from kissing her.
“I hope Miss Charlotte is all right,” Lucy said.
At that moment, Ethan didn’t care a whit about Lucy’s mistress. All his consciousness was occupied by visions of his own happiness. But he knew better than to say anything like that. “She said she was going to visit Miss Anne and Miss Lizzy.”
“She said she might.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
There was a flurry at the door, and Tom the coachman came in. He hadn’t been sure he’d be free to come. Prodded by Lucy’s elbow, Ethan got up and crossed the room to speak to him. “You got the night off, after all?”
“Aye,” said Tom, taking a deep draught of ale. “Ah, that’s good, that is. Left the master at Mrs. Wylde’s to be getting a cab for himself later on.”
Lucy wouldn’t like that, Ethan thought. She’d want to go on home to make sure all was well, ending the evening, as far as he was concerned, here and now. And maybe doing even worse. Wasn’t it better for them if her mistress was left alone with Sir Alexander? ’Twasn’t proper; that was true. People would talk scandal if they heard of it. But how were a man and a woman ever to get together if they never had a moment alone? That was a problem he understood very well, surrounded as he was by prying eyes and disapproving elders. Here was, maybe, an opportunity to further his plans of getting Lucy up to Derbyshire.
An unfamiliar ruthlessness rose in Ethan’s breast. He wished no harm to Lucy’s mistress; she seemed a nice enough young lady and treated Lucy well. But his own happiness, and Lucy’s, mattered more to him than anything else. If there was any chance at all… “Keep your trap shut about it,” said Ethan to the coachman.
Tom goggled at him. “Eh?”
“No need to tell everybody what the gentry’s up to.”