At last. Gerald felt free, as if burdens had been lifted from his shoulders. Truly, he had not known what he had until he was forced into this position. Surely there were some advantages in being an earl? Before his advancement he’d had enough and then some, and his sisters and himself could do as they pleased. Now, their freedom was gone and people watched what they did.
Reading about himself in one of the London papers had come as a severe shock the first time it happened. He was only beginning to accustom himself to it. Right after the phase when people had said “Lord Carbrooke” and he’d looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the old man standing behind him.
Their annual duty visits to the Berkshire estate should have warned him what was to come. But how could he know what was to happen when the earl had two perfectly healthy sons to follow him?
Gerald clattered through the streets of Mayfair, avoiding the fashionable landaus, the tattered hackney cabs and the occasional open sporting phaeton. It had not rained and neither had he felt a drop of water, but he could not bear Elizabeth’s presence any longer. It was either that small lie or he would have ripped up at Elizabeth over her edicts about his sisters.
The reason he was doing this was for them. If Elizabeth tried to push them into marriages, Gerald would ensure she had nothing to do with them. He wanted them happy and content, with all the opportunities their exalted position could bring them. Thus, this quick way of getting to the heart of society.
Heading along the Strand toward his old haunts, Gerald shrugged the weights from his shoulders and allowed his horse to break into a trot. Not the canter or gallop the steed needed, but it would serve for now. The journey to his old house was a good four miles, maybe a bit more, so it should give him decent exercise.
Avoiding the sinks of Seven Dials and St. Giles, Gerald took Fleet Street and up Ludgate Hill, past the coaching inns that brought passengers from all over the country, and the bookshops and stalls that thronged around St. Paul’s. He breathed the sooty, occasionally noxious London air as if it was the finest and most bracing country atmosphere, riding up the streets he knew so well, free of all constraint; at least for this short time.
Negotiating Aldersgate Street and the Barbican, where hackney drivers yelled at passengers and pedestrians alike, he reveled in the sounds of the streets. Eventually he reached the corner of the Barbican and Golden Lane, where the old watch house still stood in the road. Home called to him. Perhaps one day his house in Grosvenor Square would have similar memories and resonance for him.
Although he had not stopped at the house Annie Cathcart occupied, he knew exactly where it was. He’d looked it up on the gazetteer in his study.
He dismounted and led his horse, now considerably less frisky, into the yard by the side of the house. It clopped along happily behind him, even though the tang of molten metal was redolent in the air. He should have knocked, but he needed somewhere to tether his steed.
At the back there was no garden, but a yard ringed with outbuildings. The doors of some were open and others were fastened with conspicuously large locks and padlocks. The tang of molten metal hung heavy in the air.
He nodded to a man wearing a stained and charred leather apron, who came out and glared at him. “I’ve come to see Mrs. Cathcart. Is there somewhere I may leave my horse?”
The man nodded and jerked his head toward a small building at the corner of the yard. A tethering post stood outside it, and Gerald wasted no time in securing his horse. After ensuring the animal was comfortable, and had a bucket of water to drink from, Gerald made his way back to the front of the house.
Like a gentleman, he rang the bell. It was wrenched open. “Yes?”
Annie glared up at him, then blinked. “Oh, it’s you.”
“It is indeed. I thought, since I had the leisure, I’d pay you a call.” He tipped his hat.
“Oh.” She studied him more closely. Heat prickled along his skin. Every time he looked at her she affected him. With her tightly bound fiery hair and practical clothes she should not stir him more than Elizabeth. Elizabeth was an accredited beauty, a cool, blonde lady, and Annie—an uncredited beauty. Except by him, of course.
“You’re dressed for riding.”
His smile broadened. “Yes, I am. I left my horse in the yard. I trust that was all right?”
“Yes, yes of course.” Swallowing, she stepped back. “Do come in.”
“Thank you.” Inside the small hallway, he tucked his gloves into his hat and put it on the hall stand. She followed his movements. “It’s as if you always lived here.”
“I lived somewhere similar. But as you have already pointed out, my house is larger.”
“Would—would you like to see the house?”
He preferred this to the formality of his home. In the mansions he now lived in, they were too large to make his voice heard from the drawing room to the kitchens. But why should he not institute something a little less formal than he suffered now? He’d talk to his sisters about it.