The Stranger I Loved

''Formerly the Spinster of the Stage, actress Rose Dawson is spotted for the fourth time in seven days with American photographer Jack Dawson...''

''Stop reading that horse shit will you.''

Richard finished reading aloud and lowered the paper, staring at Jack with brows raised.

"What?" Jack asked, before enjoying a long drought of ale.

"Don't be coy. I saw Rose last night. That dress...What have you done to her? Before that, she was as much as a spinster as they say in the papers." Richard's voice was tinged with accusation, his eyes boring into Jack's.

"Why don't you ask what she has done to me? That answer is far more profound, I assure you." Jack's gaze swept over the great room of the Gentlemen's Club. His casual perusal was met with many nods and smiles. He now understood the interest that had baffled him previously. One of his changes in circumstance was before he did. He was still catching up. Still reeling. He'd called on Albert's widow earlier in the day, a friend he'd lost in the war, attempting to ascertain her circumstances and offering whatever assistance she required. She would need a strong shoulder to lean upon, and he offered his to her, knowing how vital a loved one could be to the simple acts of rising in the morn and breathing. In return, she had given him something that could change so many things. He held her gift close to him. It was something which he would give to Rose.

"Your name, paired with Rose's is all I have heard all bloody day," Richard groused. "The announcement of an engagement is expected in tomorrow's gazettes, smothering all prurient interest with the blanket of propriety and respectability.''

Jack laughed aloud, drinking more of his ale.

''Is that right? Maybe there would have been an announcement last night, the notices would have appeared today, but I was . . . detained last night." Jack felt the colour of his cheeks simmer, as he recalled making loaves, back in the backseat of a horse-drawn hackney. ''I don't see why I have to announce a damned thing anyway. It isn't as though we plan to stay here longer than this week.''

''You're set on leaving?''

''Yes. Tomorrow, maybe the day after. Neither of us are cut out for this life.''

"What of your parents?" Richard asked. "What of Albert's widow?"

Jack shrugged, feeling a sharp pang of regret but no responsibility for it. "My parents have been dead for longer than I remember and Fiona will be all right. She has given me more than her blessing to return to the States. Why is it so hard to believe that I could just leave?"

The crumpling of the newspaper drew Jack's attention to Richard's clenching fists. He wondered what he'd said to elicit such a response. Then he noted that his friend was looking beyond him. Following the line of Richards's gaze, Jack glanced over his shoulder and saw Stuart Black enter the room, and behind him, entirely separately, an Earl; he some connections with the theatre apparently, with a boisterous pack of cronies about him. The Earl's presence was always a cause for unease, especially for Richard.

"What has rattled your cage?'' Jack settled himself back into the chair.

''That Earl of Something-or other. He was engaged to Lisa before she was with me. He was abusive to her, hit her senseless.'' Richard's voice carried the weight of his past struggle.

''Is that why you moved to the sea?''

"Mostly, yes."

"I had no idea. You concealed it well, your love for her."

Waving one hand carelessly, Richard said, "I was adept at hiding it from myself as well. I convinced myself that my interest was base and easily resolved by indulgence. In hindsight, that self-deception was probably wise. If I'd known then that she would turn me so completely around and inside out, I might have run in terror."