So, Gavin found himself folded into a first class compartment, heading back to London on the morning train. Jack slumped, dejected, opposite.
Gavin was feeling equally dejected and not inclined to talk.
Jack was not so reticent. “I’m all suffering and dashed hopes.”
“You brought it on yourself. Why anyone might think a dirigible, a piccolo, and a lobster should advance his suit is beyond me.”
“I was desperate. I was losing her favor.”
“And with that one act, ensured its absence forever.”
“Don’t be harsh, Ruthven, old chum. I’m already cut up, tortured by a broken heart.”
“Jack, you gyte, a piccolo!”
“Do you play?”
“Na my instrument of choice.” He thought of Preshea’s smooth white skin under his big hands.
“It has a certain peeping wistfulness.”
“If you must be daft, I’d as lief you wallowed in silence.”
“Callous sod. You’ve a heart of stone, never to understand my pain.”
“Never.” Gavin turned away, for once his spirit not particularly uplifted by his friend’s absurd banter.
Gavin couldn’t blame Preshea. He’d known it was her nature to be cruel; he simply hadn’t realized she was also petty. He wanted to know why. Why continue to goad poor Jack when he’d done himself over? Why bother? Why not a little compassion, if not for Jack, then for the sake of his friendship? She’d not given Gavin the chance to ask. He would have accepted any lie she offered, so as not to believe any worse of her character.
Instead, she had let him leave thinking ill of her. Not even tried. She doesn’t want me. Gavin wallowed, too.
* * *
Preshea watched them depart. She hadn’t slept. Her big Scotsman followed his friend out of Bickerstung Manor with those long, confident strides. His back was soldier-straight; a top hat hid his thick hair so she could not see what color it had decided to be this morning.
His face, when he realized what I’d done. Would he ever forgive her for humiliating a friend so? Likely not. And I am too proud to ask. So, I’ve destroyed any chance I might have had to continue our liaison. Presuming I wished to.
The carriage trundled away. They had elected, wisely, not to use the dirigible to return to the train station.
God, yes, I wish to. I never got to see what he could do kneeling before me while I stayed standing. We never tried other positions, other touches.
Certainly, this was nothing but lust. Lust driven by a profound curiosity and pursuit of a joy she’d never before known. She wanted Gavin because she feared she might never again know the sensations he incurred.
Unlikely that I would approach any other man. Preshea hated to admit why, even to herself. But she was ruthless with internal truth. One had to be if one’s outer life was all lies. Another man would not be Gavin. Would not understand how much I need quiet stillness. Would not have big hands, gentle and undemanding. My mountain of a Scotsman with a tongue that is only wicked without words.
You’re pathetic, Preshea Buss. Pull yourself together.
* * *
The house party concluded with no further excitement. The Fenians did not try again. More’s the pity; she could have used a distraction. They saved their wrath, as it turned out, for a Hyde Park rally some weeks later.
Preshea traveled back to London with the rest of the party. The Snodgrove party was returning to town. Lady Flo was to come out this season. The Blingchesters also intended to present their niece. There was shopping to do.
Miss Pagril and Lady Flo surprised Preshea by insisting she share their train carriage. The Bicker-Harrows and Blingchesters took one first-class compartment. Preshea could not fit in with them, and the duke would be safe enough at speed. Thus her choice was to travel with Miss Leeton, Lord Lionel, and Lady Violet, or with the younger girls. She assented to Miss Pagril’s demanding her company, as she couldn’t tolerate the idea of Lady Violet’s unhappy face the entire trip to London.
She had chosen wisely. The conversation was light and comfortable. While never mentioned overtly, the two young ladies were grateful to Preshea for keeping their secret. Any harsh words were apparently forgotten. She was forgiven all for having concocted the headache excuse.
Travel to London took several hours, their train being of the regional variety that stopped at every inconsequential town. The young ladies didn’t seem to mind Preshea’s company, so long as her barbs were dulled and mostly not directed at them. They even laughed a few times. Preshea, strangely exhausted, found it easier to be kind. For a change.
As they pulled into London, Miss Pagril clasped Preshea’s hand. “Dear Lady Villentia, I do hope we will see you at some of the upcoming social events? I know we are not your typical acquaintance, but perhaps you will make an exception?”
“My dear child, it is I who am not appropriate society for you. You would do better not to know me when we meet in public. I will not take it amiss.”
Lady Flo was crestfallen. “We could never do that to a friend!”
Preshea was startled. She had never really had a friend before. And here were two, choosing her. Only out of desperation that I keep their secret, surely.
“You needn’t worry. I shan’t tell anyone anything.” What benefit would I reap from wrecking the lives of these two young lovers? The world will be hard enough on them. Anything I add would only be needless cruelty. Unless, of course, I stay friendly, keep an eye on them, cut others down who mean them harm.