A thunderclap of chords split the air. The remaining chatterers fell silent. Anticipation sharpened the pause that opened. And then Andreasson filled it, slamming his hands onto the keyboard and launching forth a dark, vigorous sort of … marching tune, Nell thought. Violent and jangling. The sort bound to give a girl a headache.
But the crowd seemed to like it. Half of the eyes that had pressed upon her a moment ago now turned toward the piano. Nods of approval spread right and left, looks of appreciation on thoughtful faces.
She bit her lip. Didn’t take Mrs. Hemple to guess that laughing would be rude.
Simon leaned down. “What do you think?”
“I think he can’t play nearly as well as you.”
“You’d be wrong,” he said. “Technique aside, though—he’s quite innovative in his compositions.”
The snooty tone rubbed her wrong. He wasn’t talking to Viscountess Swanby. “I can bang on some tin pots for you,” she offered. “I guess that would be original if I did it in a drawing room.”
He snorted. Heads turned and he smiled down at her. “You’ll ruin my reputation with such talk.”
Now he was teasing. “If this pianist didn’t harm it, I’d say you’re ironclad.”
His smile faded a little, growing softer, more intimate, like the look he’d showed her in bed this morning. “You haven’t learned yet when to lie.” Slowly, as if the words were being dragged from him, he added: “I confess, Nell, I hope you never learn.”
She found herself staring at him. Unsteadying thought: there was something hot in his eyes that wasn’t purely want. It was too tender, too … affectionate.
Under that look, secret places in her fluttered to life. Look at me that way forever, she thought. She’d learn everything there was to know about music as long as he always looked at her so.
A dark thought intruded: he might be looking at her, but if he thought she didn’t know when to lie, then he was watching a woman who only existed in his imagination. Nell could lie through her teeth all the day long. Sorry, Michael, only fourteen shillings this week. Hannah, the gloves are lovely. Simon, I don’t care what you’ve done with that viscountess; this marriage is only for money, after all. I could leave you and never regret the loss …
The piece segued into another—and Simon’s expression went blank at the same moment she recognized the music: the piece he’d written when heartbroken.
Lady Allenton approached, evidently deciding that the bride and groom had enjoyed enough privacy. “Have you had many opportunities to enjoy Mr. Andreasson, my dear? I hope Lord Rushden is not selfish in sharing his coterie’s talents!”
“Not yet,” said Simon, speaking before she could open her mouth. “But I’ve an artist in mind for our wedding portrait. A very unusual talent. There’s a deceptive simplicity to his palette, but his brushwork is extraordinary. The results are astoundingly rich.”
“You must give me his name,” Lady Allenton said.
Nell tried to tune out their banter. The music continued to unroll, aching as a bruise, blue as an autumn twilight. It was too sad for company. Listening to it was a terrible pleasure, like putting a frozen hand too close to the fire after a trek through the bitter cold.
But Lady Allenton wanted more of her attention. Inching closer, she said, “Argos. My favorite piece of his. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nell said softly.
“Some people say he’s a misanthrope,” the woman continued. “But I fancy there must be some other reason for his seclusion. Illness, perhaps. A man who could write such music—he must have a very large heart, don’t you think? I can’t imagine he would scorn the world.”
“Who?”
“Argos,” Lady Allenton said. “The composer of this piece.”
“But this is—”
“Your taste,” Simon said, shooting Nell a look that made her clap her mouth shut, “is superior, Lady Allenton.”
Lady Allenton preened. “Yes, well, I spend a good deal of the winter in Paris, as you know. In such a city, one receives an incomparable education from a mere willingness to listen.”
Nell gaped at him. He let people think this was someone else’s music? He’d never struck her as a modest man, much less a shy one.
The piece drew to a halt. Stunned silence settled—to be punctured, hesitantly at first and then with building, resounding, enthusiasm, by applause. Click click click went the ladies’ fans, tapping against rings and jeweled bracelets. Andreasson stood, making his bows, a scowl still fixed firmly on his brow.
“Oh, have we missed the performance?” came a sweet voice—one that caused Simon to catch hold of Nell’s upper arm as though to keep her upright. She glanced up, startled, and then followed the direction of his grim, instructional nod.
The first thing she saw beyond her hostess’s swiveling head was a tall, string-thin man gaping at her in open horror.
And then she saw the girl beside him, one hand frozen where it had lifted in greeting to Lady Allenton. Lady Katherine’s smile was crumbling from her mouth as she locked eyes with Nell.
“Oh, splendid! I was hoping you’d join us,” said Lady Allenton.
She was real. Nell could have watched Katherine Aubyn forever: moving, talking, hands waving, voice a bit shrill as she spoke.
“This can’t be happening,” Lady Katherine said. “What sort of trick is this?” She was kicking up her russet-brown skirts, furiously pacing the carpet in Lady Allenton’s library. The hostess had been creamily solicitous, deliciously glad to offer a private room for their historical reunion, as she’d put it.
For her part, Nell stood stiffly beside a chair. She felt as though somebody had brained her with a cast-iron pan. Try as she might she couldn’t muster a coherent thought other than: she’s real. Which was stupid. Of course she was real. Had there ever been any doubt?
But a photograph hadn’t captured the vividness of the living woman.
This woman pacing the carpet might have been Nell’s double.
She felt as though she were watching herself.
She couldn’t look away, although she was the object of stares of her own: a portly lady, Katherine’s chaperone, gawked; Katherine’s guardian—the balding, nasal-voiced man called Grimston, glared from the corner, where he was exchanging terse words with Simon.
Lady Katherine suddenly pivoted. Her hands were locked together at her waist, an angry grip by the livid color of her fingers. “Who are you?” she burst out.
“Katherine,” came the low, oily admonition from the corner. Sir Grimston stepped forward. “Perhaps we should go—”
“No.” Katherine came toward Nell, elegant in a collar of diamonds, her hair piled high, her face pale, her eyes a touch wild. “You can’t—I can’t—” Her hand lifted, trembling, as though to touch Nell’s cheek, but at the last second, her fingers curled away as if from a flame. “You’re …”
“Yes,” Nell managed. “I think so.”
“Enough,” said Grimston. “This is a very clever sham, Kitty, but you mustn’t—”
“A sham,” Katherine whispered, staring at her. “You’re wearing my mother’s bracelet. Her necklace. Are you a sham?”
Nell took a breath and looked down at the emeralds on her wrist, at the pristine white elbow gloves that disguised the hands beneath them, the rough calluses on her palms, the freckles that spotted the backs of her knuckles. “No,” she said softly. She looked up. “I don’t think so.”
Katherine opened her mouth. Shook her head as if the words wouldn’t come.
Nell knew how she felt. She felt the empathy quicken her heartbeat and draw her forward. Her own hand unsteady, she reached out to take Katherine’s.
They stared at each other. It just … didn’t seem possible that they were so much alike. That this gorgeous creature, who’d walked into the drawing room so casually, who faced her now in a fortune of diamonds, whose face had looked down at her rags in Bethnal Green, could be related to her.
Blood.
&
nbsp; Her twin.
Katherine blinked, tears threatening to fall. “Where have you been all these years? Why didn’t you come back to me?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t remember. I couldn’t.”
“Oh!” A soft, shaky syllable. The hand in Nell’s turned, gripped her fingers hard. “Was she very cruel to you?”
“No,” Nell said softly. “She was … I thought she was my mother.”
Katherine let go, physically recoiled a step. “That monster! Your mother!”
“I didn’t know,” Nell said. “How could I know?”
“But you must have felt it!” The girl’s voice turned pleading. “Didn’t you—miss me? Didn’t you long for your sister? Not a night passed that I didn’t wish for you, pray for you to come back—”
Nell shook her head, mute, miserable. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just didn’t …” Know.
How hadn’t she known? Seeing this girl before her, she found her own ignorance astonishing. Hideous. Shouldn’t she have known she was missing the other half of her?
“But where were you?” Katherine took a sobbing breath. “Father looked and looked—did she take you from the country?”
“No. I was right here in London. So close. Only in Bethnal Green.”
“Bethnal Green …” Katherine frowned. “But that’s … the East End? Dear Lord,” she gasped. “And you … you lived in such filth? How did you—” She looked Nell up and down, as if searching for proof of the tale on Nell’s body. “How did you survive it?”
“I worked,” Nell said—and realized too late that the question had been rhetorical: the shock, the horror on her sister’s face, gave that away. “Respectably,” she stammered. “Proper jobs, at factories.” It didn’t seem to penetrate; Katherine’s mouth had fallen agape. “Not anything—low,” she said. “First I made boxes and then I rolled cigars.”
“Cigars!” The girl laughed: a high, hysterical sound. Trembling fingers covered her mouth. “Oh, my God.” She turned toward Grimston. “A factory girl?”
“Ludicrous,” he said flatly.
“Can you imagine—” Katherine wheeled back to her. “What people will say—”
“Calm yourself,” said Grimston. “Nothing has been proved yet.”
“You look so like me,” Katherine said slowly. “But …” Her eyes narrowed. “You say you didn’t remember me? I remembered you—I remembered my sister every day of my life!”
Nell swallowed. “I can’t explain it. But—”
“How could you forget?”
“I don’t—”
“You were in the same city, so close, but you never once tried to come home?” Katherine retreated another step. “You can’t be her,” she said hoarsely. “Cornelia would have tried—” She shook her head. “You’re not Cornelia,” she hissed. “I never forgot. Never. My sister never would have forgotten me!”
Nell sucked in a breath. The words scraped over her like razors. Caused her ears to burn. To be turned on so quickly—did this girl not have eyes? Did she not see?
Oh, yes. Katherine saw, all right. She was looking at Nell now like a bug that had just crawled out from under the carpet.
Anger felt good. Like a cure. What right had this girl to judge her? Of course Lady Katherine had remembered: she’d had the whole world reminding her of what she’d lost. Probably had been pitied and coddled every time she’d wept. She’d never had to lift a finger her whole bloody life. How dare she judge?
Nell spoke hard and sharp, with scorn—aimed at this girl and at herself for letting such a creature wound her. “Sure and I’m not your sister,” she said. “Funny how quickly your mind changed once you found out that I’d done a bit of honest labor. I suppose you’d be happier if I’d been locked in a box all these years.”
“How dare you.” The girl turned to Grimston, lifting her chin, announcing it: “This is not my sister.” Her voice suddenly trembled. “My sister is dead.”
“Curious,” Simon said. He was suddenly beside Nell, his hand a warm, steady pressure on her back. “You felt so strongly to the contrary in the courtroom last autumn.”
“Enough,” Grimston harrumphed. “This was wicked of you, St. Maur—”
“Rushden,” Simon said mildly.
“—bringing her here, imposing her on these unsuspecting people! And you—” Grimston faced Nell, his face purpling. “You, young lady, are either a very clever confidence artist—”
“Aye,” Nell said sarcastically, “it took an awful lot of work to end up with this face I’m sporting. I do confess, I wonder why I didn’t choose a prettier one.” She sent a pointed look toward Katherine, who bridled.
“A natural daughter of the late earl,” Grimston said curtly. “Of that, I’ve no doubt. But whether you are a deliberate fraud or the innocent, ignorant victim of Lord Rushden’s evil games, I cannot say. Nevertheless, you should know that you are testing dangerous waters with this stunt. We will prosecute you for fraud and extortion—”
“And isn’t that the Aubyn way,” Simon said. “So warm, so familial.”
“You mustn’t think you can simply swan into a room of your betters and find welcome. The insult!” The man glowered. “The effrontery! Your claim will be easily disproved. There are distinguishing marks, evidence of which you”—Grimston directed a venomous look at Simon—”have never been made aware of.”
“Nor Lady Katherine, apparently,” Simon said.
The girl in question wiped the puzzlement from her face. “You know nothing of me,” she snapped at him. “You’re a boor and a blackguard and a—the worst sort of gentleman—not a gentleman at all, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing! You drove my poor father into an early grave—”
“Save it for the stage,” Nell cut in.
“We’ve endured enough of this.” Grimston straightened and turned to Katherine’s chaperone, snapping his fingers at her as though to call a dog. “We will speak through our lawyers. Rushden, you may depend on hearing from me.”
“Oh, I do,” said Simon. “You owe my wife a considerable sum of money, I believe. Something near to … nine hundred thousand pounds?”
A strangled noise burst from Katherine. “Beyond vulgar! To see my father’s station reduced to this—to you—who would play such a cruel and tasteless joke—when I have longed to see—oh, I cannot bear it!” She spun on her heel and fled from the room—Grimston and the older woman following.
As the door slammed behind them, Nell stood stock-still, gripped by astonishment, dumb with it.
A gentle hand closed on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” Simon said quietly. “I thought—” His laugh was brief, humorless. “I didn’t think,” he corrected. “I didn’t expect to see them here tonight, but no matter—it was terribly sloppy not to plan for it.”
She shook her head. What difference did it make how she’d run into them? “No wonder Mum took me,” she said. “My … other mum, I mean.”
“Yes,” Simon said after a moment. “Or what a pity that she did.” His fingers traced her cheek, and to her shock, she realized she was weeping. “What a terrible crime,” he said. “You deserve so much better.”
“Do I?” she whispered.
Not a night passed that I didn’t wish for you, Katherine had said.
But then she had taken it back: those words were not, after all, for Nell.
These tears seemed to ooze like pus from a wound. She felt infected, dirty, contaminated by this knowledge she hadn’t wanted or asked for. I am that lost girl, she thought, and there is nobody left who wants me back.
The landau was spacious. On the drive to Lady Allenton’s, Simon had taken the opposite bench to avoid crushing her train. Now he settled down beside her, causing her silk skirts and underskirts to crunch and shush in protest.
“I should have gone about this differently,” he said as the coach started forward. “Should have insisted …” He sighed. “Had she been prepared, it might have gone differently.”
Nell shrugged.
Her tongue felt dead in her mouth. Now that her tears had dried, she felt embarrassed by them. The weeping seemed like a betrayal of herself. She’d spun such foolish dreams about what would happen when she met her sister. So much for them. Why should she care whether or not the bint acknowledged her?
Because that bint was her sister. Nell had looked into her face tonight and felt … an unspeakable wonder. You could know me. You’re one of mine.
Only it wasn’t true. Katherine Aubyn wanted nothing to do with her.
“Of course, it makes no difference either way,” Simon said. “Her support would have been helpful, but sixty of London’s most prominent persons acknowledged you tonight. That’s a triumph by any angle. And tomorrow, every newspaper in town will be declaring your return.”
There was a persuasive flavor to his voice. He was trying to hearten her, to charm her into sharing his view of things, just as he’d done with all those guests tonight.
His effort made her throat tighten. She reached blindly for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, not looking at him. This sadness rising in her seemed too large, too sharp, to manage with reason or words. Her skin would split with the effort to contain it.
Mum, what did you do?
Jane Whitby had robbed her of the chance to know the people who’d rightfully belonged to her. Her mother, her father, a sister who would have loved her.
Simon’s hand turned in hers, his grip firming. “There’s no cause for concern,” he said.
“Right.”
“Do you believe me?”
She nodded and leaned into his body. She supposed he knew more about her chances in a court of law than she did.
“You did brilliantly, you know.” His knuckle skated down her cheek. “We could not have hoped for a better performance.”
The words pierced her. Aye, it had all been naught but a performance. She’d enjoyed herself grandly, with the glee of a girl who felt she was getting away with something. But Katherine had seen right through her. A factory girl, she’d said with scorn.
Maybe the viscountess hadn’t been fooled, either. Perhaps that hadn’t just been jealousy jaundicing her manner. “Did you sleep with Lady Swanby?” she asked.