Page 67 of Infamous

Eddie sighed. ‘I wouldn’t worry. I think it is at an end. He’s hardly looked at me since Kitty very helpfully shone that lantern on us.’

‘Perhaps you should see that as a blessing,’ said Rose. ‘A lucky escape.’

‘Perhapsyoushould not be casting the first stone,’ Eddie said, feeling more than a little needled. ‘Do you not think this is a bit rich, coming from .?.?. Well, you weren’t actually giving Isabella Cliffe atour of the house, were you? You might also have been discovered, had Kitty decided to dangle a lantern in your direction.’

Rose pulled the blanket off so that she could lie down properly, turning away so that all Eddie could see of her was dark hair and a glimpse of a fist clenched tightly by her forehead. Eddie sighed and slid down under the covers, wishing that one of them had had the presence of mind to close the drapes and knowing that she didn’t have an ounce of energy left in her to get up and do it now.

‘No,’ said Rose, muffled against the pillow, long after Eddie had given up on receiving an answer. ‘I mean, I wasn’t just giving her a tour. But we weren’t .?.?. It wasn’t what you think.’

Eddie’s spirits lifted sleepily as a lightening of her chest as images of Rose and Bella ensconced in some rotting corner of the house kissing passionately were made fiction.

‘What were you doing, then?’ Eddie said.

She couldn’t quite keep her eyes open any more, and gave up fighting the inevitable, letting them flutter closed. She felt Rose turn next to her, a shifting of her weight that meant she was half-leaning on Eddie, an instant comfort.

‘If you must know .?.?. mostly, I was telling her about you.’

Dear Mother and Father,

Mr and Mrs Nicholson hosted a wonderful party at the house last night, inviting all manner of fascinating guests—we drank punch and danced, and stayed up until dawn so that we might watch the sun rise over the hills. It is the perfect house for a party, as there are so many grand rooms and striking portraits, and even an armoury which is a little like a museum, where we can view weapons of historical importance. Lucy-Anne would love it; I have never seen so many ways to maim and injure a person contained behind one door!

I am learning alothere. I think you will be very pleased with the maturity of my character when I return to London society, and with all the new friends and connections I have made, thanks to the Nicholsons’ kind hospitality. I miss you all, of course, but my novel is coming along well. I think this trip will be the making of me.

Yours,

Eddie

Chapter Twenty-three

When Eddie came down to breakfast just after midday, she found Nash sitting at the head of the table, still wearing his party clothes.

‘Good morning,’ he drawled as she sat down at the opposite end, wincing at the scrape of her chair.

Eddie tried not to blush, and failed. He did not seem the least bit embarrassed to be addressing her as usual, despite all that had happened the night before. Hedidlook very tired, dark circles under his eyes, his hair even more of a disaster than usual. She wondered if the fact of their kiss had been overshadowed by the dramatics with Liza; it had certainly been the case for her after her revelations with Rose, although in the cold light of day it was all coming back to her.

Was she supposed to be apologetic? Brazen? Blasé?

If he was going to behave as though it was all only mildly interesting – a lapse in judgement between two equals who had simply had too much to drink – then she supposed she should also aim for such maturity. She certainly wasn’t going to let on that being kissed by Nash Nicholson had been a wild dream of hers since she had first read one of his poems, and that despite everything, some part of her thrilled at the knowledge that it had truly happened.

It was slightly difficult to achieve such composure with the imprint of his tooth still red on her lip, but she soldiered bravely on.

‘It’s the afternoon. Actually.’

‘Oh,well,’ Nash said, perking up. ‘In that case, I suppose I might be forgiven more wine. Care for a glass?’

‘No, thank you,’ Eddie said, her stomach roiling in protest at the thought.

Nash leaned back as far as he could without overturning the chair and bellowed for Mrs Hall. She appeared in the doorway, holding a bucket and a rag, looking extremely harried.

‘There you are. Could you bring that ’65 up from the cellar? And .?.?. eggs. Salmon. Do you want eggs?’

It took Eddie a moment to realise that he was addressing her. She shook her head.

‘Just some toasted bread with butter for me, please.’

Mrs Hall gave such a tiny nod of acknowledgement that it could have been mistaken for a robust blink, and then marched away in the direction of the kitchens.

Nash sighed. ‘Insisting on living so modestly only makes me look extravagant.’