The Heart That Lies Read online

  Meldon felt at peace with the world, a rare event these days. Smith also looked less haggard than he had on his arrival. Meldon thought that he probably couldn’t afford to eat well and resolved to invite him as often as he could to Meldon House or his club. In this mellow state he thought that the exercise in self-control would do him good.

  “Are you out much?” he asked.

  “Only to gamble. I know very few people.”

  “Then dine with me at the club. You’ll meet a lot of people very quickly.”

  “But, my lord, I can’t...”

  “Yes, you can,” said Meldon gently, ignoring the stricken look on the boy’s face. “You need to meet people who can help you and one day you’ll be in a position to help others. That’s how these things work.”

  “That’s very kind of you, my lord.”

  Meldon was uncomfortably aware that this wasn’t true, but he smiled as benignly as possible.

  “And women? Have you met many women?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The boy’s face fell and he wished the words unsaid.

  “Not many, my lord. I’m only a poor man from Lincolnshire.”

  “When you know more men you’ll be invited to suppers and balls. I could even invite a few mothers and daughters here.” Meldon entertained a great deal. It was a good way of learning what was going on and what was being said and he enjoyed it.

  “Please do not trouble yourself.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Meldon thought that seeing Smith fall in love might cure him of the attraction he felt for the boy. “A young man should fall in love.”

  Smith blushed. “I am already in love.” He looked away from Meldon.

  “Oh.” Meldon had not expected the disappointment that washed over him. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

  Smith hesitated.

  “She’s not married?” He could not bear the thought of consoling the boy for a hopeless affection.

  “No, my love is not married and yes, the object of my affections is known to you, my lord.”

  “A young woman, then and doubtless beautiful.”

  Smith smiled the smile that Meldon had seen before only once. It was like a brief glimpse into his soul.

  “My... my love is older than me, but quite plain, apart from the hands. My love is possessed of very fine hands and a good character.”

  Unwittingly Meldon looked at his own hands. He was not a vain man, all the looks had gone to his sister, but he was proud of his hands. His fingers were long and thin and he went to great lengths to protect them, much to the despair of Perkins, who had to ensure that there was always a pair of good gloves available for his master to wear, even when the earl was indoors without visitors.

  “A good character is more valuable than beauty,” he said after a long pause, “and it lasts longer. Does she return your affection?”

  “No, I do not believe so.” Smith smiled weakly, but Meldon could see that the admission saddened the boy.

  “I’m sorry for that. Is it your poverty that disgusts her?”

  “No, my lord. No one of good character can be disgusted by poverty. Let us just say that my... my love does not see my situation, or even my person, clearly.”

  “Yet you hope.”

  “Of course I hope. I would not let that hope die for anything.”

  Meldon nodded, although he did not understand. He had never loved, never even come close to it. He had had two mistresses. He had taken them more because it was the thing to do than because he had wanted them. He was almost grateful to his wound for giving him an excuse to give up his last mistress and he had not taken another. He had found the relationships to be utterly devoid of passion and could not see the point of making love to a woman for whom he felt nothing. He had become convinced that he would never know love, but hearing Smith talk about his love he began to wonder whether he had been wrong to dismiss the idea, despite the pain it obviously gave the boy.

  He roused himself from this reflection.

  “If I know her, perhaps I may be of assistance in helping her to see your situation more clearly.”

  “You are indeed very kind, my lord, but...”

  “Kindness be damned!”

  Meldon jumped out of his chair so quickly that Smith jerked his hand up protectively, as if afraid of an attack from Meldon. Whisky flew out of his glass and onto his clothes.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll send for Perkins and he can put you into a clean shirt and waistcoat. I’m a lot larger than you, but Perkins can work wonders.”

  Smith was on his feet and dabbing ineffectually at the stains with a handkerchief.

  “Please don’t bother, my lord. I should be going anyway.”

  “Nonsense. I can’t let you go out looking like that.”

  “It is nothing, my lord.”

  “Please, forgive my lack of manners.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “Then allow me to make amends by inviting you to supper on Thursday evening. I shall have company, so that you shan’t have to bear my boorish manners alone.”

  “Thank you. That would be very pleasant.”

  After Smith was gone Meldon ripped off his cravat and pulled off his waistcoat before he sat again. It was unbearably hot and there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room to breathe. Damned if he hadn’t made the boy so uncomfortable that he was afraid to remove his shirt in front of him. This could not go on.

  “This evening will be the talk of town for days,” said Finch.

  “Hmm? Why?” Reluctantly Meldon dragged his attention from Smith, who was laughing and smiling with the Misses Arbuthnot.

  “When was the last time a pretty young woman crossed your threshold? With the exception of Lady Caroline, of course.”

  “Caro wouldn’t be flattered that you call her young.” At forty-three Meldon’s sister was fifteen years his senior. Those fifteen years represented continually dashed hopes for his parents as each son who was born to them died after a few weeks or days. His own arrival had been preceded by four years of barrenness.

  “Yes, she speaks every bit as plainly as you. But you must concede that she’s beautiful.”

  “I will allow that.” Meldon smiled, for he was very fond of his sister and she was beautiful. The only reason that he had not invited her tonight was so that his oldest nephew John, just about to go to back to Oxford, could enjoy an evening with other young people away from her censorious gaze. It meant that he had to watch him himself, but John was everything that his mother could hope he would be in company. Since John was as interested in the Arbuthnots as they were in Smith, it was not too great a task to keep an eye on him, for Meldon was constantly looking to see who Smith talked with and how he behaved and John was always near.

  Although Smith had shown a preference for remaining with Meldon’s male guests, he had seemed to understand that the purpose of the evening was for him to meet women of his own age and station and had gradually spent more and more time with the female guests. Now he seemed very comfortable with the Misses Arbuthnot and Meldon was unhappy.

  “You have been nagging me to have such a supper for some time and now you complain,” said Meldon.

  “I do complain. I meant for you to find a wife, not Smith.”

  Meldon looked at his friend. “I am not as lonely as you think.”

  “No? It won’t be long before you won’t know how to talk to a woman and when you do find the one you want you won’t be able to tell her.”

  “It’s a good thing that you’ll be around to give me advice, then.”

  Finch laughed so hard that he snorted and every eye in the room turned to him.

  “Are you alright, Mr Finch? Shall I fetch you some water?”

  It was Smith. When had he left the group on the other side of the room to come here?

  “He’s well enough,” said Meldon. “Just laughing at a joke.”

  Smith looked at Meldon as if he could not conceive of the other man telling a joke.

/>   “Are you enjoying yourself?” Meldon asked as Finch started to cough beside him.

  “Yes, thank you. It was very kind of you to invite me.” He spared a glance for Finch. “Are you sure that Mr Finch is quite well?”

  Meldon slapped his friend on the back, so hard that he almost fell. “Yes, he’s perfectly well.”

  Finch stopped coughing and took a sip from the glass in his hand.

  “Meldon is quite funny when you get to know him.”

  Smith looked doubtful.

  Miss Arbuthnot came up to Meldon with her sister. She smiled briefly at Smith then turned shyly to her host. “May we dance, Lord Meldon?”

  “Of course.” Meldon had calculated the number of guests so that they might dance. He wished to see how Smith would acquit himself. “But make sure you take it in turns to play the pianoforte.”

  Much as he hated the idea of inexpert players touching his pianoforte, he hated even more the injustice of making Miss Webb, the best player, accompany the dances for the rest of the evening.

  Neither sister moved away. The elder stood looking expectantly at Smith, the younger seemed to be fascinated by the floor.

  “Mr Smith, will you not choose a partner?” Meldon nudged him gently.

  Smith started. “Oh, I had not intended to dance.”

  “I thought all young people came to an evening such as this with the express intent of dancing.”

  “You do not dance, my lord?”

  “I am no longer...” Young he had intended to say. I am no longer young.

  Finch caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.

  “Meldon’s wound makes it too awkward for him. Smith, why don’t you dance with Miss Arbuthnot? Oh, I see Mr Sinclair is there before me. Perhaps Miss Sophia, you would do me the honour.” Miss Sophia Arbuthnot looked up from the floor with a radiant smile and accepted Finch’s proffered hand.

  The three of them went off to help move furniture, while Meldon stood alone. When had he started to think of himself as old? He was not yet thirty, not much older than most of his guests and younger than some of them.

  He had kept himself apart for too long, but, even as he watched the dancers, he had no desire to join them. He had not invited silly women, feeling that Smith would feel about them the same way as he did himself, but none of his female guests made his heart beat faster. He had no interest in being alone with any of them. He did not wonder what it would be like to kiss them. He did not wish to dance with any of his guests.

  He turned his attention back to Smith. He danced well and smiled at his partner as he should, but every now and again he glanced at Meldon. At the end of the set he excused himself from his partner and came to stand next to the earl.

  “You look lonely, my lord. Do you desire company?”

  “Would you leave me alone if I said I did not?”

  “Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude.” The boy looked crushed.

  “No, forgive me, I was rude. Stay if you wish.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a while.

  “Is she here, the woman you love?” It was impertinent, but he had to know.

  “Yes.”

  “I have not noticed you particularly seek out the company of any woman.”

  “I do not wish to cause any embarrassment by making my feelings obvious.”

  “But you could dance with her.”

  Smith’s face became sad, “No, that will not be possible. Please, ask no more.”

  “You don’t wish to dance with her.”

  “I desire nothing more.”

  The boy looked away quickly, but not before Meldon had seen the wetness of a tear in his eye. Here was a man who could not hide his feelings.

  “You must become harder, Mr Smith,” said Meldon gently. “Other men will ask more intrusive questions than I.”

  “Perhaps I should lie to them.”

  “That is certainly a solution.”

  “But you do not think I can carry it off?”

  “On the contrary, I believe it is the nature of this age to lie. We are none of us what we appear.”

  Smith seemed to pale. “Not even you, my lord?”

  “Especially not me,” said Meldon, for now it seemed to him that he felt a real affection for the young man standing next to him. He was beginning to cast aside his suspicion that the boy had been sent by the French to embroil him in some scandal or to enable them to blackmail him. He had never been interested in boys and doubted that anyone would think of it as a way to bring pressure to bear on him.

  “And what is the nature of my dissembling?” asked Smith, his face sceptical.

  “You are a gambler disguised as a poet.”

  Smith laughed uneasily.

  “That is easy for you to discern, since it is what I told you myself. And your own deception?”

  Which of the many could he reveal? “That I am a man without passion.”

  Smith laughed again. “That is not a disguise you wear very well.”

  “Really? I thought I was rather good at it.”

  “Each time we have met you have talked passionately about your estate and your plans for it. Everyone knows that you would rather be there than here. That is the object of your passion.”

  Meldon had always thought that this was part of his disguise and was shocked to find that he had revealed himself through it.

  “Is everyone else in this room as easy for you to see through?”

  Smith shook his head. “I have not spent enough time with anyone else except Mr Finch and he, well, he is not as stupid as he chooses to appear.”

  Meldon tried to keep his face blank. He had always considered Finch’s stupidity well done. It was not exaggerated and he did not make himself seem so stupid that he could not be expected to be the friend of an astute man like Meldon.

  Meldon looked at Smith appraisingly. Could this man be a replacement for Vincent? His ability to see through people would be useful, but Meldon found he did not like the idea of introducing Smith to his more dangerous world, even for the sake of his country. Vincent would still be alive if Meldon hadn’t introduced him to General Warren. He couldn’t make that mistake with another man.

  “You see a great deal.”

  “I see a bit and imagine the rest.”

  “Ah, ever the poet.”

  Finch came up to them. “I believe, Mr Smith, that Miss Arbuthnot would welcome an invitation to dance from you. She has been muttering about Mr Sinclair’s clumsiness.”

  Smith bowed slightly.

  “Then please excuse me.”

  He did not look happy to be called to dance with the beautiful Miss Arbuthnot and Meldon wondered why, then realised that she was not the woman that Smith loved. Smith had said that his lover was older than himself, but Miss Arbuthnot was more or less the same age.

  Once again Meldon watched Smith wind his way up and down the dancers. He was certain he did not imagine the frequent glances that Smith sent in his direction.

  “He dances well,” said Finch after a while.

  “He sees through people,” offered Meldon as an explanation for his study of the young man. “He says you are not as stupid as you appear.”

  “Does he indeed? Then he might be dangerous.”

  Meldon thought for a moment.

  “You think he might be an agent for the French?”

  Although Meldon had almost convinced himself that this was not the case, he still valued Finch’s opinion.

  “I am inclined to think not, but a man who gives voice to thoughts like that to a man not well known to him could be a danger to himself.”

  “I do not feel that he is that open with everyone.”

  “He will bear watching.”

  Meldon was only too happy to agree.

  After his guests had departed, Meldon sat at the pianoforte and ran through a couple of sonatas that had arrived recently from Austria. He was relieved to find it still in good condition; Miss Howard had a tendency to hit the keys carelessly. H
e would have to tune it, but that could wait until tomorrow.

  More at peace with himself now, he was able to look back at the evening more objectively. He had received much information and his particular talent lay in examining different pieces of information, seeing a common thread and making connections that other men would miss. First he looked for information that he could pass to Warren. Ever mindful of his duties in that direction, two of his guests had been men who had attracted Warren’s attention earlier in the summer. Meldon had been instructed to seek them out and befriend them. They had visited his table at the gambling club a few times and dined with him twice. He had gone hunting with one of them and entertained the other at Meldon Hall. This was the first time that he had had them both in his company at the same time. Their conversation had not caused him any concern this evening, but still he considered it again and looked at what they had said to his other guests in his hearing. It had all been innocuous, except for... Ah! There it was. Meldon smiled. It was a small enough prize for the amount of effort he had put in, but that was often the way of things. It would please Warren.

  Now he set himself to discovering Smith’s lover. By the end of the evening, Smith had danced with most of the women. He had been pleasant to each of them and had complimented them on their dancing ability in exactly the same way. He had not lingered with any of them after the set was over. Try as he might, Meldon could not see that he had shown a preference for any one of them. Miss Arbuthnot had certainly shown her preference for him, but Smith had danced with each of them only once. He had spent some time talking with Meldon during the dancing, making complimentary comments about each of the dancers. Either Smith had lied about his lover being present this evening, or he was much better at hiding his feelings than most men, which Meldon knew was not the case. Then he remembered that Smith had said that he would not dance with her. That gave him a much smaller number of women to consider. Still he could not discover which of the remaining women Smith thought would be embarrassed by his attentions. The more he thought about it the more it seemed to him that Smith had spent more time with him than with anyone else. He shook his head and started to try out a tune that had been running through his mind all evening. It was only when it occurred to him that the rather feminine tune really represented Smith that he came to an abrupt stop. Through the open window he heard the clock in the nearby church strike three times. He stood and carefully covered the keys of the pianoforte, resolving that tomorrow night he would spend some time on his own sonata.