Page 59 of The Raven’s Lady

“Yes,” she said. She had forgiven him, too easily, too completely. He wanted to be part of the world she’d left behind, a world she had taken for granted. Before the disaster of her Season and her accident, she had assumed that she would always have a place in that world. She knew better now.

The stately dance required them to join hands over head and behind their backs. Each time he seemed reluctant to let her fingers go. His gaze never left hers. The music made a space where they danced alone. The advance and retreat of the dance mimicked their friendship.

They reached the end of the line. The last moments of the dance required one more bow, one more coming toward each other and taking hands. The music ended with their hands still joined and his eyes gazing into hers. In a heart-stopping moment, she realized that he knew, knew that she loved him. It should be mortifying, but it was instead a release of pent-up feelings that had had no expression since they had begun. And then his face changed, matched her own, pain written plain on his features. He knew that he loved her, too. His eyes admitted it. But he would marry Amabel. She feared she would start shaking and not be able to stop.

There was a burst of clapping around them, and he tucked her arm into his and walked her to her grandmother and his grandfather. She caught the looks on their faces, Grandmama knowing, Mr. Cole confused. She turned her gaze to Raven’s evening shoes as he bowed his farewell. He would go to Amabel now.

When the supper interval began, Cassie slipped away. She had nearly fulfilled her bargain with Grandmama. London beckoned.

*

Raven danced with Amabel and with a half dozen of his neighbors’ daughters before the waltz he had saved for his betrothed. He made every effort to avoid looking for Cassie in the crowd. He was aware of having betrayed himself in the last moment of their dance.

Now that he knew his heart, the evening seemed interminable. His vision was extraordinarily clear. He could see each step of the way that led him to this moment. He could see the blue flame at the heart of each candle and the individual petals on the pink dog roses trailing from the tall urns. He had created a triumph for Amabel, and he owed her his allegiance even if that allegiance was compromised because his heart did not belong to her. She was lovely still, though her loveliness was a surface thing, a matter of paint and gilding rather than the grain of her being. But he could choose to make her happy. It was no small thing in life to care about another’s happiness. They might live more in London than in the country. Her sphere would be with her friends and his might shift back to his business.

Chapter Twenty

Cassie and Honoria were to spend a fortnight in London with her mother’s cousin, Marianne Howarth. Then they would travel to Chichester to meet Grandmama for Hermes’s first outing in the flat races.

The Howarth town house in Brunswick Square proved to be a good place for Cassie’s project of forgetting Raven. Marianne, who had at first written to say that of course they could come, but that she might be occupied with other duties, was now keen to show them her favorite parts of London, and to share her expertise about shops and spots of historical importance. She was a tireless promoter of the benefits of living in Brunswick Square.

Cassie and Honoria had a room on the third story facing the square itself. In the first week of their visit, Marianne took them to Hatchard’s and Lackington’s for books and to the shops on Oxford Street, including the Pantheon Bazaar. She led them through her own neighborhood to the Reading Room of the British Museum where Honoria was able to procure a reader’s pass. With so much activity and with the conversation of the household centered around Marianne’s grown children and their prospects, Cassie never thought of Raven above three or four times an hour.

Like others before her, Marianne believed Brunswick Square with its modest modern town houses, airy open space, and conveniences which attracted a class of professional men, to be an ideal place to live in London. The square had a village atmosphere with neighbors greeting one another, stretches of grass dotted with plane trees, and at one end open fields and a view up to Hampstead. Cassie found the walking excellent.

It felt very different from the London she remembered from her unhappy Season. It might be possible, she thought, to take a house in the neighborhood. Honoria could write, and Cassie could find something to do, she was sure. As well as being home to prosperous professional men and their families, the neighborhood was home to waifs of every sort. A quaint old church ministered to the climbing boys with a splendid Christmas dinner each year. Cassie suspected that more could be done.

The greatest neighborhood institution was the Foundling Hospital, which had taken in London’s unwanted infants for nearly a hundred years, educated them, and sent them off in the world to be apprenticed or to enter service. The hospital had associations with musicians and painters, and its chapel was famous as the place where the great composer Handel himself had performed. As Cassie entered for Sunday services, she congratulated herself on the progress she’d made in a mere week. She was learning to live in a world in which Raven would soon be married to Amabel.

The chapel impressed with its soaring ceiling and great windows letting in light. At the east end, the children, girls in their white caps, boys in their uniforms, sat on the upper level, ranged in tiers with the pipes of a great organ reaching up behind them. As Cassie climbed the stairs to the second level boxes, a bright yellow plaque on the wall caught her gaze. It named Mr. Jedidiah Cole as a benefactor who had provided a fund for clothing and blankets for the children. Instantly, her progress in forgetting Raven came to an end. Cassie tugged Marianne’s sleeve and pointed to the plaque.

“Marianne, do you know the story behind this philanthropy?”

“Of course. Mr. Cole’s grandson was a foundling here. It’s one of those stories the governors like to tell the public. Sadly, few of the foundlings are ever reunited with their original families, though I imagine the mothers must hope.”

Marianne continued up the steps while Cassie remained standing transfixed by a sudden rush of thoughts, unable to take a step. Raven’s past could hardly matter to her any longer. The smart thing was to let thoughts of him go. But she could not. Of course, the mothers must hope, but what did the children think? What hopes did they have of finding their families? Raven had lived here. He had been a boy in this place, separated from his family, anonymous in his uniform. She took a deep breath and concentrated on climbing. Marianne, with her usual expertise, found them seats in the very front of the upper box, with an excellent view of the crowd below and of the foundlings themselves in their neat rows. All Cassie could think was that Raven had been one of them. And that he had never accepted the place in society marked out for him by the institution.

Marianne exchanged words with Honoria. When she turned back to Cassie, she said, “Honoria tells me you’ve met Mr. Cole. No wonder you noticed the plaque. Shall I tell you the story?”

Cassie pressed her hands together in her lap. It was not in her power to say ‘no.’

“Mr. Cole is a fairly recent patron of the hospital. It turns out that his daughter bore a son to a young officer bound for the Peninsula War, who died there. She presented herself and the infant to the hospital without confessing her true identity, though she did name the father’s regiment. As is their practice, the governors of the hospital particularly want to accept the orphaned offspring of military men.”

“What became of the mother then?”

“No one knows. In theory a mother can reclaim her child if she leaves a token, half of which is affixed to the child’s papers. She keeps the other half. Many write notes, or leave a bit of cloth, or half a coin. In practice, so little is done for these mothers that their circumstances rarely improve.”

Below them the chapel was filling up. “Mr. Cole’s daughter did not go back to her family then?”

“Not that I have ever heard. The hospital actually lost the child when he was quite young.”

“Lost him? How?”

“Once a year they take the boys to Primrose Hill for an outing. On one occasion, several boys disappeared. The hospital covered up the scandal, and it isn’t clear whether the boys left on their own, or whether they were lured away by the sort of unscrupulous persons who want to sell small boys to the sweeps or the mills.”

“So how did Mr. Cole ever reconnect with his grandson?” Cassie knew very well that the old man had connected with Raven and had made Raven his heir.

“Ah, well, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Duke of Wenlocke, have you?”