“The sculptures Lord Elgin brought back from Greece?”
“Yes, the very ones.”
“The ones Parliament just purchased on behalf of the English government?”
“Why … yes.” He looked askance at her, obviously confused by the brittle tone of her remark. But Bel could not help herself. Useless walking sticks were one thing, but there was no holding her tongue on this matter. “Sir Toby, do you not realize Lord Elgin stole those statues from their rightful owners, the Greeks? And now Parliament has squandered millions of pounds to purchase them, while hardworking English farmers have not the corn to seed their fields, and orphaned children starve in the streets? It is a travesty!”
He pulled the team to a halt. “So …” His lips pursed around the drawn out syllable. “You don’t wish to see them?”
She couldn’t believe he would even ask! “No.”
An awkward minute passed. Embarrassed by her outburst but unable to apologize for it, Bel faced forward and made a show of straightening her gloves. She could feel Toby’s eyes on her all the while. Eventually, the phaeton lurched into motion again.
Oh, he must think her inexcusably rude. Here he had suggested two different amusements, and she had refused them both. And with intemperate scoldings, no less. Bel made up her mind then and there to greet his next suggestion with polite enthusiasm, what ever it might be.
“There’s Berkeley Square just up ahead. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
Bel clapped her hands together and forced a bright tone. “Yes, thank you. That would be delightful.” Her breakfast had been cut short, after all. A spot of tea would be most welcome. He maneuvered the carriage into the green in the center of the square, drawing the team to a halt beneath the shade of a large tree. Alighting from the phaeton, he tossed the reins and a coin to an eager boy, then beckoned a waiter from the establishment across the street. The two men conferred briefly, and then the waiter returned to the tea shop.
Wearing a renewed smile, Toby strolled around to Bel’s side of the carriage. “There we are. Give it a moment, he’ll have a lovely treat out for you.”
“Shouldn’t we go inside?”
“Oh, no.” He tossed his hat on the phaeton seat. “It’s not the done thing. The ladies all take their refreshment out here, in the square, where they can see and be seen.”
Bel folded her hands. She knew it would be impossible to become a lady of influence without attracting public notice; and one did not attract public notice without a certain amount of spectacle—whether that spectacle involved sipping tea in a flashy carriage or selecting an infamous rake for a husband. So long as she reminded herself it was all for a purpose, she could justify the indulgence.
Or so she thought.
The waiter appeared, bearing a tray with a glass dish. In the dish sat something that looked like a child’s ball—perfectly round, pale yellow in color, and sparkling in the morning sun.
“How lovely,” she said, accepting the proffered dish and a small silver spoon. She looked to Toby. “What is it?”
“Why, it’s an ice, of course. Gunter’s is famous for them. That’s a sample of their newest flavor: lemon and lavender.”
“An ice,” she said wonderingly. The chill of the glass dish nipped at her gloved fingers. “I’ve never had one. Nothing freezes in the West Indies, you know. Until we arrived in London, I’d never seen ice of any sort, much less one flavored with lemon and lavender.” She prodded the treat with her spoon, breaking through a thin, granular crust to discover a softer, creamy texture beneath.
“You’d best eat it quickly. Or it won’t be an ice much longer, but only a syrup.”
Bel looked up. “Is that how it’s sweetened, then? With sugar?”
“Why, yes. It’s sweet and cold, and …” He gave her a teasing grin. “And you could discover that for yourself, if you’d only have a taste.”
Her spoon hovered over the pale yellow ball. Beads of dew formed on the ice’s surface and rolled down to pool in the shallow glass bowl. Bel’s mouth watered, but she pushed the dish back at him. “I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
She shook her head, feeling indescribably ill-mannered for refusing yet another of his gestures. But of all the things for him to suggest, why did he have to suggest this?
“Why not?” He looked her up and down. “Please don’t tell me you’re concerned for your figure.”
Her face burned, and she dropped her eyes. To be sure, he would have noticed her ample figure. She’d learned some years ago that her body drew men’s notice, whether she wished it or not. And she did not. Bel was extremely self-conscious about the voluptuous curves she’d inherited from her mother—over-large breasts, wide hips.
Though she had no wish to see those curves increase, they weren’t the reason she declined the ice. “I don’t eat sugar,” she explained. “Not unless it is imported by my brothers’ company.”
“Why not?”
“Because the sugar my brothers import is grown and harvested by free men.” She cast a pointed look at the ice. “That is likely the product of slave labor.”
Toby studied the growing puddle of lemon. “Darling, that Quaker sugar boycott—it went out with my grandmother’s generation. The slave trade was abolished more than a decade ago.”“The slave trade was abolished, yes. But slavery itself remains legal and is still the practice in nearly all sugar-producing countries.” Bel clutched the seat iron with one hand, trying to keep a grip on her emotions. “You would offer this to me as refreshment? Tell me, what is refreshing about human bondage?”
“I don’t know. I suppose … That is to say …” He shrugged. “It’s only an ice.”
They stared at one another then, in exquisitely painful silence. Bel started to wonder if she’d made a very grave mistake. Of course, the entire engagement had been a mistake, but she’d hoped it not an irredeemable one. Toby’s infamous reputation would be of benefit in her quest to raise public consciousness, she’d reasoned. But rakishness was one thing, and oppression was another. It’s only an ice.
Of course, she reminded herself—to him, it was only an ice. He didn’t look at it and see the misery of a thousand souls served up in a chilled glass dish, as she did. He didn’t know any of those thousand souls by name, as she did.
Toby lifted an eyebrow. “It’s just going to melt, if you don’t eat it. It will go to waste.”
Bel sighed. He was right, there was no way to undo the injustice committed in the ice’s creation. Still, she shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Then you shan’t.” Toby handed the dish to the young boy tending the horses. “Here, lad. Have at it.”
“Truly, sir? You mean for me to eat it?” A dirt-smeared hand closed around the dish.
“Yes, cert—” Before Toby could even make his assurances, the boy had devoured half the dish’s contents. Wielding the spoon like a garden trowel, he ate greedily, as if the treat might disappear on its own, if he didn’t work fast. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Bel could not suppress a small laugh.
She suddenly realized Toby was watching her closely.
“Now you’re smiling. Thank God. I was becoming a bit desperate there.”
“I’m so sorry. I know you meant to be kind, but truly—I could not have enjoyed the ice.”
“Yet you can enjoy the boy’s enjoyment of it.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, though she didn’t know how to explain. Growing up as she had, she’d been acutely aware that every pleasure or convenience she enjoyed—a clean shift, a warm bath, a cool drink—came at the expense of another person’s dignity. But viewing someone else’s pleasure felt different. Safer. Last night, she’d liked watching the dancers far more than she’d liked dancing. Today, she could not enjoy eating the ice, but she could enjoy the boy’s expression of innocent delight.
Bel tried to make sense of it, but the logic knotted in her mind. Biting her lip, she asked, “Does that make me a terrible hypocrite?”
“Not at all.” Gently, he unfolded her fingers from the seat iron. She hadn’t even realized she was still clutching the metal rail. His eyes warmed as he kissed her gloved fingers. “It makes you a selfless, generous angel. And it makes me wonder how I will ever deserve you.”
Oh, and now a sweet, viscous emotion puddled in her belly. So rich, so indulgent, it made her feel a bit ill.
“You’ve given me an idea,” he said.
“I have?”
“Yes. An inspiration, more like.” He released her hand, then summoned the teashop waiter with a subtle nod. Bel watched as the two men conferred quietly. Then Toby returned to his side of the phaeton and vaulted into the seat. “I have in mind an amusement, which I am positive will bring you great enjoyment. But it requires us to drive fast. Can you bear it?”
Oh dear. Anticipation gleamed bright in his eyes, and Bel could not bring herself to dim it. She gave a brave nod and once again latched her fingers over the seat iron.
“No, no,” he said, glancing at her two-fisted grip as he gathered the reins. “You’ll only feel more jounced about that way. Best to hold onto my arm.”
He offered his elbow, and Bel stared at it. “If you insist…”
“I do.”
She threaded one arm through his, linking her hands around his upper arm. The waiter emerged from the teashop bearing a large hamper, which Toby directed him to secure behind the phaeton seat. Then, with a clipped word from their master, the horses jolted into motion. Bel clutched at Toby’s arm as they turned out into the street. His muscles flexed under her fingers, and a thrill shot through her.
“Are you well?” he shouted, urging the horses faster.
“Yes,” she managed in a weak voice. When collision with an approaching barouche seemed imminent, Bel suppressed a cry of alarm and clamped her eyes shut.
Oh, this was much better in the dark.
He was right. The jolts of the carriage felt less pronounced now that she gripped his arm rather than the metal frame. Leaning into him, she endeavored to make her body pliant, weightless. Soon she learned how a small flex of his arm or shift of his weight preceded any alteration in course. The easy command he displayed soothed her concern, as did the familiar, sophisticated scent of his cologne. Yet they also stirred her, in some deep, undeniably feminine way. The more she became aware of his strength, the more her own body softened in response. She coasted along with the rocking motions of the carriage, the fear in her belly replaced by a new sensation … a dark, sweet hunger that built and built.
“We’re here,” he announced, drawing the team to a halt.
Surely we’re not, thought Bel, feeling a profound sense of interruption. Wherever this wave of sensation was carrying her, she couldn’t possibly be more than halfway along. She opened her eyes. A forbidding brick-and-stone façade rose up before them. “What is this place?”
“It’s Dr. David’s dispensary for children.” He tossed the reins to a groom and slid down from the seat. “Quickly now,” he said, hurrying around to help her down. Puzzled, she watched him beckon a manservant from the dispensary’s entrance. Together, the men worked to unstrap the hamper from the back of the carriage.
Toby grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her toward the entrance. “Hurry along. We don’t want it to melt.”
Bel followed him, mute with confusion, as they entered a cool, ceramic-tiled foyer and made a sharp left. Behind them, the manservant trotted to keep up, bearing the hamper.