Page 44 of A Game of Scandal

Sylla’s eyebrows shot up. “You think? Isn’t that the sort of thing that should be reasonably obvious?”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of marriage proposals to compare it to,” I said, flustered.

“I’ve had a great many,” Sylla said, without conceit, “and though the quality of them has varied, the salient central point has always been clear.”

“We were interrupted,” I managed. “But he definitely gave the impression of romantic interest. Then he sent me flowers afterwards.”

A look of displeasure crossed Sylla’s face.

“That is troubling,” she said thoughtfully.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t marry him, if I were you,” Sylla snipped, but it was obvious the wheels in her clever mind were turning.

“Of course I’m not going to marry him,” I said impatiently. “But don’t you think I should tell him that?”

“Yes, if he asks you,” Sylla replied distractedly, still deep in thought. “It’s a complication, but there’s nothing you can do,” she said finally. “Not right now, at least. We’ll continue to monitor the situation. If anything happens that causes you concern, you get a message to Izzy, or me, or the Aviary at once.” She reached out a hand, as though she were about to lay it comfortingly on my arm, but then – catching herself – scowled, as though I had tricked her into an almost act of kindness, and snatched it back.

“I have to wait and see what happens?”

“Much of our work is waiting to see what happens,” Sylla said, and her tone had softened fractionally, I think because she understood and shared my frustration. “But after that there comes a reckoning.” The smile that spread across her face then was as bloodthirsty as any pirate. “And the Aviary always gets her man.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Despite Sylla’s reassurances, I knew that the instruction to “wait and see” was going to be difficult to follow. The truth was that I wasn’t really a “wait and see” sort of person.

During the night, I woke and slipped over to look out of the curtains in my bedroom to the street below. The world was still and silent, but in the dingy shadows I caught the red glow of the end of a lit cigarette, a profile turned in my direction and my heart thumped.

Dropping the heavy fabric of the curtain, I got back into bed and pulled the covers over my suddenly cold body. It could be nothing, of course, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I hadn’t been able to voice this suspicion to Sylla – at the time it seemed melodramatic at best. And yet … I thought again of that possessive, intense glimmer in Laing’s expression, and shivered. Was he the sort of man who would have a woman followed simply because he believed she belonged to him somehow? It sounded like something from a penny dreadful.

Still, now I knew that he’d recognized me from the poker game all along, it cast things in a different light. The Wellerbys’ ball, Lady Endsleigh’s… Perhaps it was not by chance that I encountered him at those events. I heard Ash’s voice telling me that Laing wasn’t usually found in such places, his warning to be careful rang in my ears.

My mind swung back and forth. Was I imagining things? There was nothing I liked less than unanswered questions. I wished that Laing had asked me to marry him, so I could have told him, quite clearly, that I wasn’t interested.

Then and there, I decided I didn’t want to wait and see, after all.

The next morning, I waited until Izzy had gone out for the day before approaching Mother with a bright smile and a sense of purpose.

“I know we have plans this afternoon, but I wondered if you might like to take a walk in the park this morning?” I said innocently. “It’s such a lovely day.”

Mother’s look of surprised delight made me feel guilty, but I told myself it was for a good cause. “What a nice idea!” she exclaimed. “You know I don’t like to overtax you, darling, but the season is short – one must make the most of it.”

She said the words earnestly. I was beginning to understand her thinking. She had a goal – it wasn’t a goal I liked or shared, but it was one that she was pursuing with a single-minded focus that I could admire. To her, finding me a husband was a problem as knotty, complex but ultimately solvable as any equation. Increasing exposure to potential suitors was a logical step, and today it was a step that worked with my own secret plans.

Unfortunately, as with everything to do with high society, a casual walk in the park had to be planned like a military operation, and I had to be primped like a doll. It was another hour before Mother pronounced my appearance perfect.

“Just right, Felicity.” She smiled approvingly. “Effortlessly lovely.”

Hardly effortless, I thought, as my appearance had taken a great deal of effort (four people fussing over me, all directed by my mother, a conductor producing a great symphony) but I was forced to swallow my retort. Dressed far too finely for any sort of real walk, the kind where one stomped around, breathing deep and clear and uncaring of mud spatter, we finally set out for the park.

It was a ritual, this promenade through the city’s green spaces. Like any good cattle market, such an activity allowed a man the chance to examine his potential purchase from all angles, while for the women it was an opportunity to show themselves to their best advantage. I hated the shameless, ruthless efficiency of it, and generally avoided it like the plague, but for today, at least, I was not above using this particular setting to my own advantage.

If, as I hypothesized, Edward Laing was having me followed then he would surely take the opportunity to catch me in a private moment. A visit to the park provided precisely that. It was not a typical activity for me, and it was spontaneous enough so he would have no prior knowledge of my being there. If he turned up it wouldn’t prove definitively that he was keeping an eye on me but it would strongly suggest it.

Worst-case scenario, I would spend the morning making small talk with chinless aristocrats. Best-case scenario, I would draw Laing out and firmly decline his offer, hopefully putting an end to his interest in me. It made logical sense.

Unfortunately, logical was the last thing I felt as we approached the park, Mother’s arm was through mine, the latest gossip from the night before on her lips. (When people had the time to get up to all this scandalous behaviour during a three-hour performance, I had no idea.) My heart was thumping, my palms sweating. I couldn’t stop my gaze from darting around, looking for Laing, or perhaps for anyone he had following me.