15. Hatchard’s

Chapter fifteen

Hatchard's

K eeping her ears open as the week went on, Louisa learned that Mrs. Audeley's megrims lasted three days and then abated quite suddenly the morning the earl went to call on her. There must have been a rapprochement of some kind, for after that visit, the Audeleys were back to daily visits at Kendall House, and Louisa was put to significant exertion to avoid Gyles Audeley's constant presence.

There was an awareness between them that shimmered like the last gleam of twilight before darkness came. Louisa could not glimpse Gyles' chestnut curls without reliving the moment he had climbed the wall at Carlton House or remembering the instant he had called out to her in the stone pavilion. She could not tell if the same memories glowed in his chest beneath his plain dark waistcoat or if he had forgotten them altogether. But even if the latter were true, his brown eyes continually reached for her no matter how much she relegated herself to the outskirts of the Kendall House gatherings. He might not know her as Julia, but he certainly wanted to know her better. And that, above all things, she could not allow.

On a convenient afternoon, Lord Kendall's proposed visit to Hatchard's took place, and the party visited, browsed, and enriched the Piccadilly bookseller by the price of a half dozen novels. There was one for each of the Trafford misses and one for Mrs. Audeley herself, but Louisa declined the gift of a novel from the earl. "I am far too busy with my duties, my lord, to have time for something so frivolous."

"Doing it rather brown, Miss Lymington," said the earl, lifting an eyebrow, but he left her alone after that. Apparently, he was less interested in trying to convince an aloof governess than in finding out which volume Mrs. Audeley wished to select.

Lord Kendall had made no mention, since Louisa's arrival, of her hidden identity. Indeed, the meeting in his study had been exactly what he said it was—a discussion of his wards' progress. And Louisa had felt strangely delighted to tell him that Milly was excelling in French, Italian, drawing, and music, and that Ginny—with her more modest talents—was also proceeding as quickly as could be expected. She was beginning to hope that Lord Kendall would keep her secret indefinitely.

But what about Gyles? Did he realise who she was, and would he share that knowledge with anyone? From beneath her veil of eyelashes, Louisa observed the young man meandering through the natural history section of the store. He was too engrossed in a detailed book of botanical drawings to pay her any heed. She continued to stare, the abstracted look on his face so peacefully soothing that it was hard to pull her eyes away. Her velvet eyes lingered on his tan cheekbones and then focused on the rhythmic quality of his lips, silently murmuring the scientific nomenclature printed on the page. She watched him the way he had been watching her for the last week at Kendall House.

It was not long, however, before Louisa's better sense prevailed.

What if he should see you staring at him? Have you no shame or self-respect?

Carefully, she tore her gaze away from Gyles, as one would tear a page from a well-beloved book. Then, slipping between the freestanding shelves of books, she attempted to remove herself as far from him as possible.

But in her haste to avoid Gyles Audeley, she ended up putting herself on display in the window at the front of Hatchard's. Her dark bonnet covered her golden hair almost completely, but the bright window still left her feeling too exposed.

What if you should be sighted by an acquaintance passing by in the street?

Too late! With barely enough warning to react, Louisa recognised the broad shoulders of the next passer-by. It was the Duke of Warrenton, striding down Piccadilly in a trim coat and tight pantaloons. His chiselled jaw looked more careworn than she had ever seen it and his dark eyes more haunted, but Louisa's care was less for her uncle's state of mind than it was for her own safety.

No. No! Not Uncle Nigel. Not here. Has he seen you?

With a sharp intake of breath, Louisa bowed her head and stepped backwards out of the light of the window…and right into the approaching form of Gyles Audeley.

"Oh!" cried Louisa, losing her footing. As she stumbled, Gyles' hands reached out to steady her, one of them catching her elbow and the other holding fast to her waist. "Miss Lymington," he said in low tones, "are you all right? "

"Perfectly," said Louisa. She turned her head to screen her face from the window once again and discovered that her chin was almost touching Gyles' shoulder—a shoulder that was attached to an arm that was attached to a hand that was attached to her waist. "You may release me, Mr. Audeley," she said, a wave of dizziness overcoming her even as she decried her need for support.

His right hand loosened and let go of her waist, but his other hand lingered beneath her elbow. She discovered that she could not fall to the ground, even if her legs gave way, for his grip was as steady as a bannister of oak.

"Allow me to find you a chair." He guided her toward a set of armchairs in the corner of the shop.

Louisa almost objected to his solicitude, but then she realised that a chair would let her escape the overly public panorama of the shop window. Her uncle had passed by, but there was always the fear that he might finish whatever errand he was on and walk down Piccadilly again.

"You are too kind, Mr. Audeley," she said curtly as he seated her in the ruby velvet armchair.

"Something you dislike, I think." His mouth crooked into a longsuffering smile as he looked down at her from above.

Louisa flinched. "Why, what do you mean?"

"You dislike it when people are kind to you."

"I am…not accustomed to it."

Gyles' smile metamorphosed into a frown. "That is not as it should be. Miss Lymington, you must—"

Before he could say anything further, the eldest Miss Trafford entered their orbit and thrust a slim volume between them. "See here, Mr. Audeley. My uncle has purchased me a copy of Marmion . I hear it contains a most dreadful villain, and the heroine must suffer many trials to escape his schemes and stratagems. But it is not a novel—it is poetry, and poetry is respectable. So my uncle cannot object to it, and neither can Miss Lymington."

"How exciting," said Gyle politely.

Louisa could barely control her sense of pique at the interloping Penelope.

Why do you care so much what Gyles was about to say to you? The Audeleys mean nothing to you. Nothing at all.

"I believe that you have made it clear that I am not your governess, Miss Trafford," said Louisa, "so I have nothing to say to you on what you should or should not read."

Louisa noted with satisfaction that Penny did not know how to answer her. But the girl was clearly too jealous to leave Gyles in conversation with her "not-governess." She commandeered his assistance in retrieving another volume from a high shelf on the other side of the store. For the rest of the excursion, Louisa was left alone in the armchair, relieved that her uncle had not chosen today to buy a book at Hatchard's and perplexed that Gyles Audeley could make her lose her self-possession so completely.