Only someone who had never known a day of hunger or faced a night sleeping under a bridge in the cold would think of taking an evening off for leisure. “I’ll take an evening off when I’m dead,” he said. “Have you seen Lord Liverpool?”
She frowned at him then her countenance brightened as she spotted someone she knew. “Lord Chamberlayne, do bring your lovely betrothed over here.” A handsome man with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a long angular face approached. He wore a sleepy expression and had a woman on his arm.
Aidan began to move away, but Lady Birtwistle grasped his elbow in a vice-like grip. “Lord Chamberlayne, might I present Mr. Sterling?”
Aidan bowed and Chamberlayne’s eyes widened slightly. “Sterling! I was hoping to meet you. I heard you uncovered some interesting items in a ground floor room that had been walled over in your town house. But where are my manners? Lady Birtwistle, Mr. Sterling, might I present my bride to be, Miss Tate.”
Aidan bowed to her, glancing at her briefly and then straightening as though he’d been hit by lightning.
And perhaps he had. The last decade faded away, and he stared at his past. She’d been staring at him as well—those same gray eyes that had always been so cool and assessing were scrutinizing him now. When their gazes met, he saw not surprise but curiosity. She was waiting to see what he’d do. He wanted to shout her name and pull her into his arms.
He knew he’d hurt her. Still, he knew Jenny and when she was done with someone or something, she was done. She’d given him his marching orders, and he’d known as he walked out of Spitalfields that he’d never see her again.
He’d missed her terribly. He’d felt like half a person for months, like the other half of him had been cut off. But as the years passed, he also told himself not to think of her. People in Spitalfields didn’t live long lives. If sickness didn’t kill them, poverty would. When he’d returned from the war, he’d spent weeks looking for her to no avail. He’d told himself she was dead and in a better place now. He didn’t want to know how she’d died—hanging or murder or sickness. It was better not to know.
But now he realized it hadn’t been better, only easier. Because here she was, and his elation at seeing her was almost as fierce as the pain.
One look at her face certainly helped Aidan control his surprise. She didn’t look any happier to see him than she’d been that last night together.
“A pleasure,” Aidan murmured belatedly as their hostess complimented Jenny’s ivory gown and diamond parure. Aidan wondered if she’d stolen them.
“Have you set a date?” Lady Birtwistle asked.
“Not yet,” Jenny said, her voice a rich alto. “We were thinking of late summer, weren’t we, darling?” She looked at the viscount who smiled and nodded.
Her voice was familiar and yet novel. She spoke slower than he remembered, her words chosen carefully. It took him a moment to realize she was masking her accent. She’d done a good job of it too. He could hardly hear the rookeries at all.
“But I’ve been reading about your discovery,” Chamberlayne said, obviously much more interested in the first floor of Aidan’s town house than his impending nuptials. “The papers were vague, but they mentioned items from the seventeenth century. Perhaps some even older.”
Aidan was having trouble concentrating on the conversation. Jenny Tate was here, in Lady Birtwistle’s ballroom. And she was engaged to be married to Viscount Chamberlayne. Was it a swindle? Was it part of a plan to steal Lady Birtwistle’s...what? Jenny’s parure looked more expensive than the one Lady Birtwistle wore, and the more he looked at the diamonds, the more he was certain they were not paste but every bit as valuable as they looked.
Aidan forced his eyes away from the jewelry set. “I’m not an expert, but the items do look quite old. I’ll have them appraised before I sell them, of course. Miss Tate—”
“Ah, you need an appraiser then,” the viscount interrupted.
Aidan glanced at him. “I suppose I do. Do you have one you recommend?”
“Oh, absolutely. I recommend myself, if that’s not too gauche. I’m the best there is—well, perhaps Miss Tate is better.” He smiled at her. “Do call on me if you are interested in having me take a look, Sterling. I’d be honored.” He seemed to spot someone behind Aidan and nodded at whoever it was. “Excuse me for a moment, would you?” he said to Jenny.
“Of course.”
He left her side and Lady Birtwistle drew Jenny away to introduce her to some other friends. Aidan watched her go, but Jenny never looked back at him. He supposed he deserved that. He hadn’t looked back when he’d left her all those years ago.
Part of him wanted to go after her, but he needed to think of someone besides himself. Seeking her out would only cause her betrothed to ask questions and could ruin the new life she’d built for herself. He couldn’t be the person responsible for destroying her happiness. Not again.
A selfless man would put her out of his mind. He'd done it before, but that was when he thought she was dead. Not when she was in the same room as him and very much alive.
He spent a quarter hour wandering in a daze before he was finally able to remind himself he was no longer a boy, but a man. With a supreme effort, he fixed his thoughts on business and kept them there.
Aidan made a circuit of the ball once again, checking the card room for the prime minister, and, not finding him, decided to try other venues. He’d left the damn discussion for the bill too late. The vote was tomorrow. He should have sought out the prime minister before now. He paused to check his pocket watch and the next thing he knew he was hauled backward into a curtained alcove.
He would have defended himself if he hadn’t known who’d cornered—er, alcoved him.
“Wot are ye doing ‘ere?” Jenny hissed in her real accent, the one he remembered. The urge to take her in his arms rose again, and he pushed it down. She’d probably punch him if he dared touch her. He would have to be content with being close to her, and the alcove was small.
“I think the better question is what are you doing here,” he said, his first instinct to defend himself.
She drew back, as though offended. “I know wot ye think. I’m ‘ere to pinch the nobs?”
“I admit the thought had crossed my mind. Jenny, I haven’t seen you in ten years—”
“Thirteen.”
“—thirteen years and you show up here claiming to be engaged to a viscount.”
“I am engaged to Roland, and I don’t need you mucking it up.”
His heart fell. He didn’t know why. He should be happy for her.
“So will ye keep yer potato ‘ole shut or no?”
Aidan stared at her. He’d always thought she was pretty, even dirty and smelling like the rubbish pile she’d slept in the previous night. She had those gray eyes that could look cold and hard when she was angry but also very blue when she smiled and her cheeks pinkened. But he’d had no idea she could look like she looked now. She was still small and slim, but there was no doubt she was a woman. All that dark, dark hair was lifted off her face and shoulders to reveal a graceful neck and alabaster skin. The white gown was simple but expensive and delicate. The gauzy sleeves fluttered over rounded shoulders and arms and the scalloped bodice curved over rounded breasts. The high waist meant he couldn’t see much of her waist or legs, but he remembered her wearing trousers often enough. She’d had a small waist and shapely legs.