Mind Diver

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gillian’s abrupt and dizzying entry into eighteenth century England had kept her from fully admiring Vauxhall Gardens. All she’d managed to notice at the time of her abrupt arrival, as Edward Alywinth had escorted her down a walk, were high trees and colonnades. In fact, she hadn’t even known exactly where she’d landed, save that it was some enormous park. By the time she’d recovered, they were already in a carriage bound for ‘home.’

It was a different picture on this early evening. Wan sunlight limned the clouds above with twilight fast approaching, providing just enough illumination to reveal what Gillian had missed several nights before. As the carriage rumbled across Westminster Bridge towards the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, Christopher asked if she’d ever been ferried by boat over the Thames to the Vauxhall Stairs. Gillian, in an effort to prove herself adventurous to the earl, said that, yes, she had. And, really, for all she knew, that may have been how she and Edward had arrived a few nights ago.

“And you weren’t frightened of the boat tipping over?” he said, looking rather impressed.

“Well,” Gillian considered, looking upward with an index finger touched to her temple. “If they were to overload the boat with passengers of rather expansive girth, I might become a bit scared and consider taking the Bridge instead.”

“The Westminster Bridge opened around the time that you were born, so you do have choices now. My parents always had to take the boats, and my mother is deathly afraid of water. But she loved the Gardens so much that she insisted on wearing a blindfold during the boat ride.” Christopher grew quiet and turned his head to look out the window. “I can’t believe it’s been a year since my father…”

Gillian didn’t have to plumb the young earl for more information; his tone and his sober manner spoke loudly. It was obvious that there had been no elder earl presiding over the engagement party a few nights ago. And, unfortunately, Christopher’s mother had been openly flirting with Taylor’s father the whole time, in view of her son. It didn’t appear to Gillian that the mother and son had a very close and loving relationship. “I’m so sorry about your father,” she said.

“At least it was quick,” Christopher said bitterly. “He didn’t linger and suffer in illness. My father rose up one night from the dinner table and clutched his chest, then fell back into his chair, dead. There was never any indication that he possessed an ailing heart. Although, I suspect, that my mother helped to damage it further with her demanding ways. She was forever complaining about money, that our coffers were dwindling and that he must do something about it. Did she ever think to curtail her own expenses? Oh, no – my mother saw it as her duty to at least maintain an appearance of wealth. It has always seemed so ridiculous to me: nearly penniless aristocrats living as though we are as rich as the Crown. Because of our titles, we’re given credit until we can sell a few acres of the family properties to pay off those debts. After my father was gone my mother decided that it was time for her only son to take a rich bride and thus save the rest of our holdings.”

“And that’s when I entered the picture…”

Christopher smiled sardonically. “Oh, there were others paraded before me, all rich and eager for the title of Countess. And they were all stupid and homely, or stupid and passively attractive…well, one was bookish, but she had a face so full of pocks that I could scarcely look at her for long. I’m sorry if that sounds terribly superficial, but must be perfectly honest about it.”