Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
T he moment Savannah stepped from the carriage, Tristan at her side, Coyle behind her, she knew this was a mistake. Not the picnic itself; it was a lovely day. Not even the promise of seeing old friends whom she'd lost touch with after her broken engagement.
It was the fact that Tristan did indeed stand beside her.
She reminded herself she'd wanted this, the stares, the talk, the fact that people would flock to them both—separately and together—for all the gossip they could glean. Even the servants would surround Coyle for any salacious tidbit.
Savannah looked at her lady's maid, who nodded and stepped beside her. "Don't worry, miss. This isn't my first match."
Savannah's lips twitched at Coyle's confident assertion, and she watched the woman disappear to the side, where the staff stood. For as late as they were, after that…that conversation in the square, a line of carriages still headed in their direction.
"Savannah!" Eliza held open her arms in an enthusiastic and genuine greeting. She did not look at Tristan. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here." Quickly embracing her with a light kiss to each cheek, Eliza stepped back. Her smile faltered and she reluctantly looked at Tristan. "And Tristan Conrad."
Tristan, ever the consummate gentleman, smiled and bowed. "Mrs. Crichton, a true pleasure."
"Hmm." The edges of Eliza's smile froze, and her gaze cooled. "Savannah, dear, come meet my sister-in-law. She's in her second season and more interested in travel than in securing a husband."
Savannah nodded at Tristan, trusting him to discover whatever he could. He knew why they were here, why they showed the world, or at least the upper crust of British society, they had reunited. The moment they discovered the perpetrators of the attacks, the faster they could resume their separate lives.
The stab in her heart was simply a residual ache from the long, bumpy carriage ride. Nothing more.
"You've forgiven him?" Eliza hissed the moment they'd left Tristan behind. "I'm sorry, Savannah." She squeezed her arm, and Savannah wondered if she might ever relax again. "I didn't mean to spring that on you."
"It's been a rush of…change," Savannah admitted. "I wasn't expecting, well…" She trailed off, unsure how she'd finish that sentence. Drat, she should've planned her answers better. Or at all, for that matter.
"Are you certain about this?" Eliza asked, plastering on a bright smile as they approached a group of people Savannah recalled being friendly. At that moment, she couldn't remember a single name from any group of people, even those she used to enjoy spending time with.
"Eliza, I'm not certain about anything," she admitted. Savannah half turned and looked for Tristan.
She easily spotted him despite the distance and the crowd. As if he knew she was watching him, Tristan turned and met her gaze across the field.
"He still loves you." Eliza sounded almost surprised. Almost. "I guess that kind of love never really dies."
Her gaze shot back to Eliza's. "What do you mean?"
Savannah didn't know if Eliza's comment sickened her, bolstered her, or something else. Something in between.
"Savannah, darling, you two have been in love with each other since you could walk." Eliza shot her a knowing look, one only slightly tinged with jealousy. "I always envied that. The way he looked at you, the way you two knew each other so completely you needn't speak."
It stabbed her, that memory of how easy things used to be. The warm confidence that had once wrapped around her, knowing that she and Tristan were simply Savannah and Tristan. Always. Eliza's words echoed her earlier thoughts. Savannah hadn't realized how deeply she'd held that perception. How cold and isolated she'd become in the years since his leaving.
"We're working through things," she admitted. "He's only been back a few days, but…" Savannah looked at Tristan again, unsurprised that he easily met her gaze.
"Don't rush anything, darling." Eliza squeezed her arm again as they joined the group. "But if it's what you want, I'm so happy for you."
What she wanted? Savannah had no idea. Tristan's explanation this morning had done something inside her.
"Ah, Miss Shaw."
Startled, she blinked up at the man who addressed her and dug through her memory for a name. "Lord Shilby." She offered a curtsy and smiled up at the aged Baron of Shilby. "I had no idea you'd be in attendance today."
"I rely on the weather, my dear." He lifted her hand to his lips and offered a smiling kiss to the back of it. "Today is a good day to venture out and enjoy. I'm never sure how many more I'll enjoy, so I take advantage of what I can."
"I'd forgotten how much I enjoy your company, Lord Shilby." Yes, her shoulders relaxed, and she felt the beginnings of a companionship she hadn't had in three years. Perhaps her mother and sister were right, and she needed to mingle with those she'd once considered close acquaintances, if not outright friends. "It's been too long."
"Walk with me, Miss Savannah." Unable to resist his invitation, she nodded at Eliza and threaded her hand around Shilby's arm, not sure if it was more for propriety or his own security. They moved slowly, his walking stick surprisingly firm on the uneven ground as he led her to a refreshment tent.
A slight breeze cooled the afternoon and rippled along the tents, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and lemon balm. Savannah looked out over the meadow and wanted to run through it as she had when she was younger. For once, not a cloud marred the sky, and the day proved as beautiful as the morning had promised.
"How are you faring, my dear?" Shilby asked before she could form a question about his son, whose name she couldn't remember.
No, his grandson. She'd been so out of touch; her memories of those she used to know had vanished. Shilby's son had died in the wars. It was only him and his grandson now.
"I'm quite well," she answered almost truthfully.
He shot her a concerned look, his sharp blue eyes seeing more than she'd have liked. "I see young Conrad has returned." Shilby snorted. "I'd heard rumors, but I also heard you slapped him hard enough to send him back to his ship."
Savannah laughed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so freely, and oh, it felt marvelous. She wanted to know where Shilby gathered his information. As far as she knew, he'd never even heard of Denmark Street, but his wry, almost sour delivery of that line sent her into gales of laughter she hadn't emitted in far too long.
"He's strong enough that it only set him back a couple of steps," she joked in return, still laughing. "Hardly enough to keep him away." Savannah grinned, another sliver of weight off her shoulders, easing from around her heart. "Wherever do you hear such rumors?"
"Bah, you know better than most the necessity of holding on to information." He eyed her as a footman poured a glass of wine for Shilby. She waved it off and accepted the weak lemonade instead.
"I do," she agreed, sipping the beverage and covering her grimace. "But why St. Giles? What could possibly interest you there?"
Shilby's gaze swept the tent, and he turned for the field, where several groups enjoyed shuttlecock and bowls. "Come, my dear." He held out his arm again. "No sense giving the gossips anymore fodder."
"My intent here was just that," she admitted as they strolled the meadow. Best take charge of the conversation. This wasn't the only one she'd have over her and Tristan's supposed reunion. "I'm weary of the rumors and gossipmongers, of the stares and whispers."
"Bah," he snorted again. "People will talk." He slowed his pace, and they meandered toward a large oak, where several tables and chairs had been set up, but, as yet, no one had utilized them. "You know that better than anyone else."
She did, but she preferred not to dwell on the hateful whispers about her ancestry or skin color. The parts about her merchant-class parents she could deal with well enough. Her money might be new, and her father might work for it, but their wealth far outstripped most of the nobility. At least the Shaws also took care of their workers and helped the poor.
Proud of her family and her heritage, Savannah lifted her chin and met Shilby's gaze. "As you say," she agreed.
"What do you know of the troubles in St. Giles?" Shilby settled into his chair and set his glass on the table.
Surprised at the rapid change of subject, Savannah sat opposite him. How on earth did he know about the murders? "I know a lot about the area, Lord Shilby."
He waved that off with an impatient flick of his wrist. "How many times have I told you to call me George?"
"As many times as I reminded you I wasn't going to marry your grandson."
Shilby sighed mournfully, but his eyes sparkled. "A true tragedy, that. The two of you would have made a brilliant couple. You're too smart by half, Miss Savannah." He raised his glass in salute. "I debated matching him with Crichton's sister, but she's more interested in seeing Italy and Greece than marriage."
Smart woman, in Savannah's opinion. "Regarding your curious interest in St. Giles, what information do you have about what's been happening?"
"I don't have many friends," Shilby said instead of answering her question. "Not many I trust, at least." She nodded in understanding and sipped her lemonade. "I consider you a friend."
Touched, she set her glass on the table and placed her hand over his. "That means a lot. George."
Shilby guffawed and downed his whisky in a single swallow. "That's what it takes to have you call me George?" He shook his head and in the next breath turned serious. "Word is there are murders there in broad daylight."
"Yes," she agreed, not seeing any reason not to. She had questions about his sources and why he cared, but she swallowed them down. "With no pattern to them, other than the victims are women who work the theaters. They're all killed the same way." Her voice lowered, though only the trees bore witness to their conversation. "A quick slash across the belly, deep enough they bleed out almost immediately."
Deep enough there was nothing she could do to stop it, to help them or ease their suffering. Nothing save hold their hands as they died. And swear she'd find the culprit.
Shilby nodded. "I've heard that." He held up a hand to forestall her obvious question. "I know many people, my dear." He shook his head. "A beautiful partnership," he added mournfully. "You won't find those criminals here. Eliza and John aren't the sort to cavort with such unsavory types."
She watched the old baron intently and only then realized how savvily he held his thoughts. Shilby used his age as an advantage, and she applauded that. "Do you know where I might discover such unsavory types?"
"Have you ever been to Vauxhall Gardens?"
"No," she said, surprised. "I always wanted to visit, only never did. Why?"
"The fireworks are a sight to see. And it's a fair bit safer than the rookery. A far better place for Conrad to take you, now that he's returned." He stood, and she took his arm again. "Are you and young Conrad truly engaged once again?" He eyed her as they slowly crossed to the tents, the breeze cooler now than she'd expected. Or perhaps it was the chill of Shilby's oblique warning. "Or is it a ruse?"
"I think you know the answer to that, George." Savannah didn't know herself.
"I can't figure it," he admitted. "You always made a handsome couple, and of course your families are well connected to each other." He mournfully shook his head. "Damn shame. Still, keeping power and money intertwined is always smart."
"Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow night in Vauxhall Gardens?" She stepped back, just as conflicted as before over whatever relationship she and Tristan did or did not share. At least she had a new point of focus for the murders.
"I'll make it a point, my dear." He kissed her hand and winked.
Shaking her head and smiling, Savannah turned for Eliza and her sister-in-law—Angela, she thought. Savannah wanted to find Tristan, knew he'd watched her walk across the meadow with Shilby. Instead, she walked purposefully toward Eliza, determined to remember the joy she'd once enjoyed with her friend.
A quick look showed Tristan with the same group, still watching her. It shivered down her spine and out to her fingertips, as if his hand had wrapped around hers and tugged her close.
"Eliza." She smiled brightly, but her friend slightly narrowed her eyes at the brittleness of that smile. "Would you introduce me to Miss Angela?"
If he had to listen to any more banal conversation about Parliament, taxation, or the amount of money they were forced to spend on the poor for another moment, Tristan might find himself in the gaol for murder. At least his parents would be proud of the reason; it'd be justified.
Once upon a time, Savannah would've been right beside him. Tristan looked across the field to where she stood and wondered how she'd feel now. Indignant over the conversation to be sure, but what of his actions?
He had purposely decided on this group of men. He knew many of them; they'd often tried to invest in Conrad Shipping cargo, then turned around and talked down about his family. Needless to say, they were never invited into any sort of investment, though at the moment they didn't seem to care as he regaled them with stories of Antwerp, Riga, and Rostock.
John Crichton was an exception. He didn't care about social standing, despite being the cousin to a duke. He took people at their worth, not their so-called status, which made him a rare man in Tristan's acquaintance.
"Conrad. I didn't know you'd returned." Crichton's gaze slid toward the other tents, where Savannah stood with Eliza and John's sister. His voice remained as bland as the others in this group, though his quiet, penetrating gaze spoke otherwise. Most of the men here underestimated Crichton, who used it to his advantage. Tristan knew better.
"Only just," he said easily, only part of his attention on the conversation around him. As the youngest Conrad, he'd learned early that splitting his attention kept him out of trouble.
"Walk with me; I'm eager to hear of your adventures." Crichton nodded to several of the men who were watching him with various looks of mockery.
"Still playing the fool, I see." Tristan tilted his head in salute since he didn't have a glass to raise. He never drank; his father had an addiction to alcohol, so they were all mindful not to consume it, even in passing. "Though clearly those men are the more foolish, as they've yet to catch on."
"People see what they want to see. You know that." Crichton gestured for the drinks table, but Tristan waved it off. "Eliza tells me you and Savannah have reunited. Mere days after your return."
"You don't sound convinced." Tristan kept his voice low though he trusted, or used to trust, Crichton, and there were no eavesdroppers nearby.
"Your departure was rather…abrupt, shall we say?" He shrugged, but his gaze didn't waver. "I trust your voyage was a profitable one?"
"Immensely." Tristan had yet to write to his parents about his return, though he suspected Aunt Nadia had sent a trusted messenger round the moment he arrived. They'd discover his return soon enough, when one of the company's secretaries delivered the manifests to Grayson, who now ran the company. "Trade is booming now that all the embargoes have been lifted. Karl Van den Berg has set up his own offices in Amsterdam and transports goods throughout the Low Countries."
"And that's why you've returned?" Crichton raised disbelieving eyebrows. "You finished your voyages, made your money, and came home?"
Tristan paused before he could deliver a flippant answer. He and Crichton had been friends before he left, not merely friendly enough. They'd run around Harrow together, where Crichton had attended after something happened at Eton, Tristan never did learn what. Harrow, where Tristan ignored all other women and carried on a robust correspondence with Savannah and Savannah only. Not even his mother received as many letters.
"The last three years have taught me much about myself, John." His gaze returned to Savannah, who was laughing with Eliza and a couple other women. She looked relaxed. "And the mistakes I made."
"Hmm." Crichton didn't sound convinced. "Eliza and I were surprised when Savannah accepted today's invitation." He paused, and the weight of what he didn't say—that Savannah hadn't accepted any invitations since he left—lay heavy between them. "Even more so when she wrote you would be accompanying her." Another significant pause, though Crichton was far too polite to say anything negative about the situation outright. "As her fiancé."
"I've learned," Tristan said honestly, "that talking with one's fiancée helps a great many things." He waited, but Crichton only watched him. Definitely time to change the subject. "Have you heard anything about murders in the rookery?"
Crichton snorted and shook his head. "Is that why you're here?"
"I'm here because Savannah wanted to attend." Tristan watched her again, his heart aching, his mind racing with questions about the last years, what she'd done besides healing and midwifery in St. Giles. Why she apparently hadn't socialized.
"Lord Shilby is concerned," Crichton admitted. "He'd never admit it aloud, but he's been asking questions about the area, and I doubt it's for redevelopment."
"Shilby?" Tristan shook his head and eyed the group they'd just left. "You mix with an odd group, John. Always did."
"They're useful." Crichton smirked, there and gone in a moment, before the bland smile he normally wore reappeared. "You should know that, Tristan."