it would please me if you received invitations to parties of less elevated society. Traders, financiers, and such.”
“That is good of you. However, I have learned athing or two in the last few weeks. You are well known, of course, and the object of some gossip. It is said that you do not partake of social events yourself. A recluse, you are called. Why do you think your stated pleasure will produce invitations for me?”
“Because I am Easterbrook.”
His answer did not even sound arrogant. He merely stated a reality that explained everything.
An insight came to her, one that she suspected was important. He announced his identity not only with calm confidence, but also with utter acceptance.
Being Easterbrook would not only be about influence and wealth. It would not only mean that people bowed to you, and sought to please you. There would be bad along with the good, and obligations along with the prestige.
This was how he had changed, she realized. His appearance was the least of it. The young man in Macao had exuded dark chaos. The darkness still existed, but it did not rule anymore, and the chaos had been tamed. She wondered whether the calm way he said
I am Easterbrook
was the reason for this essential change, or the result of it.
He checked his pocket watch. “My carriage should return soon. You will accompany me to the park.”
“That is kind of you, but I have had a full day already.”
“You will join me, Leona. It will reinforce my patronage of your efforts. Society will see you in my company, and the invitations will come no matter what your birth and history.”
“If I am in your carriage, alone in your company, won't society misunderstand?”
That gave him pause, but not for the reasons it should. His soft smile implied that to his mind they would misunderstand nothing if they drew conclusions, but that he would indulge her hesitation for now.
“Isabella will come too,” he said. “That should make it proper enough.”
While it might make it proper enough for his intentions, she doubted that Isabella's presence would prevent gossip. However, only a fool would refuse the influence of a marquess who had decided to aid her plans, no matter what his motives and no matter what her suspicions.
And Leona was not a fool.
CHAPTER
FIVE
C hristian suspected that when he finally went to hell, perdition would bear an uncanny resemblance to the fashionable hour in Hyde Park.
The crush itself did not oppress him. He could tolerate crowds, and even sought them out for brief periods of time. Markets could be stimulating, for example. They were so full of variety in the people assembled that the good balanced the bad. Much like a symphony could invigorate with its contrasts and multiple instruments, a good crowd experienced sparingly, could actually be enjoyed.
The fashionable hour, unfortunately, was no symphony. Rather it consisted of innumerable horns bleating the same weak note, over and over. Even interesting people became tedious and shallow in Hyde Park at five o'clock. Being assaulted by the overwhelming vapidity exhausted him.
All the same, he instructed the coachman to plow into the thick of it. He centered his thoughts on the woman who graced him with her company in the opencarriage, until the horns became muted wails in the background.
Leona chatted with Isabella, pointing out hats and coaches and other things of a woman's interest. Isabella had dressed in English clothes, but her Oriental heritage showed in her soft, round face, distinctive eyes and simply coiffed black hair.
He remembered Isabella as a girl adrift between two worlds when he was in Macao. The unacknowledged daughter of a Portuguese official who had made her mother his mistress, she had been barely tolerated by the Europeans, despite her mother giving her a European name in hopes it would help. The Chinese for their part had completely ignored the child of mixed blood.
Leona had befriended the outcast Isabella back then.
“That is good of you. However, I have learned athing or two in the last few weeks. You are well known, of course, and the object of some gossip. It is said that you do not partake of social events yourself. A recluse, you are called. Why do you think your stated pleasure will produce invitations for me?”
“Because I am Easterbrook.”
His answer did not even sound arrogant. He merely stated a reality that explained everything.
An insight came to her, one that she suspected was important. He announced his identity not only with calm confidence, but also with utter acceptance.
Being Easterbrook would not only be about influence and wealth. It would not only mean that people bowed to you, and sought to please you. There would be bad along with the good, and obligations along with the prestige.
This was how he had changed, she realized. His appearance was the least of it. The young man in Macao had exuded dark chaos. The darkness still existed, but it did not rule anymore, and the chaos had been tamed. She wondered whether the calm way he said
I am Easterbrook
was the reason for this essential change, or the result of it.
He checked his pocket watch. “My carriage should return soon. You will accompany me to the park.”
“That is kind of you, but I have had a full day already.”
“You will join me, Leona. It will reinforce my patronage of your efforts. Society will see you in my company, and the invitations will come no matter what your birth and history.”
“If I am in your carriage, alone in your company, won't society misunderstand?”
That gave him pause, but not for the reasons it should. His soft smile implied that to his mind they would misunderstand nothing if they drew conclusions, but that he would indulge her hesitation for now.
“Isabella will come too,” he said. “That should make it proper enough.”
While it might make it proper enough for his intentions, she doubted that Isabella's presence would prevent gossip. However, only a fool would refuse the influence of a marquess who had decided to aid her plans, no matter what his motives and no matter what her suspicions.
And Leona was not a fool.
CHAPTER
FIVE
C hristian suspected that when he finally went to hell, perdition would bear an uncanny resemblance to the fashionable hour in Hyde Park.
The crush itself did not oppress him. He could tolerate crowds, and even sought them out for brief periods of time. Markets could be stimulating, for example. They were so full of variety in the people assembled that the good balanced the bad. Much like a symphony could invigorate with its contrasts and multiple instruments, a good crowd experienced sparingly, could actually be enjoyed.
The fashionable hour, unfortunately, was no symphony. Rather it consisted of innumerable horns bleating the same weak note, over and over. Even interesting people became tedious and shallow in Hyde Park at five o'clock. Being assaulted by the overwhelming vapidity exhausted him.
All the same, he instructed the coachman to plow into the thick of it. He centered his thoughts on the woman who graced him with her company in the opencarriage, until the horns became muted wails in the background.
Leona chatted with Isabella, pointing out hats and coaches and other things of a woman's interest. Isabella had dressed in English clothes, but her Oriental heritage showed in her soft, round face, distinctive eyes and simply coiffed black hair.
He remembered Isabella as a girl adrift between two worlds when he was in Macao. The unacknowledged daughter of a Portuguese official who had made her mother his mistress, she had been barely tolerated by the Europeans, despite her mother giving her a European name in hopes it would help. The Chinese for their part had completely ignored the child of mixed blood.
Leona had befriended the outcast Isabella back then.
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