For the Earl's Pleasure (25 page)

“Poor specimens now, but they served the greater good. I started out with the derelicts, the deranged upon the streets. But I found in time that I needed something a little more. People from other levels of the social masses.”

“So you picked Lord Rainewood?”

“Ah, yes.” He looked her over. “Lord Rainewood. A more advanced experiment, if you will.”

“He is betrothed to your
daughter
.”

An emotion other than gentle calm stole across Sir Walter’s face for the first time. “Is he?”

“The ball—”

“Ah, the ball. Did you know, Miss Smart, that Lord Rainewood has put off the betrothal for two years? Two years that my dear Celeste has been waiting. A diamond on display, losing her shine a month at a time.”

Abigail blinked.

“I couldn’t understand it. Who wouldn’t want my beautiful daughter?” He tapped his walking stick. “And then I saw him with you. And I knew.”

“I’m sure you are mistaken,” she said as calmly as she could. “But if you believed that, why not just find another suitor who was more ready to marry?”

“No. The Palmbury heir is the richest prize in the ton. And furthermore, once married into the family, the connection becomes untouchable.”

A strange feeling overcame her. “You are afraid you are on the list.”

“Very good, Miss Smart. I told you that I didn’t doubt your intelligence. I looked into your past and found out everything I could about you. Fascinating.”

He tapped his cane again. “I realized I could kill two birds with one perfect throw. Taking care of Lord Rainewood solved all of my problems. A purebred subject to study. A new heir to the dukedom and husband to Celeste in Lord Basil. And best of all, he brought you to me.”

She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Oh, yes. You were the richest prize in that sense. The driving force. A chance to study you.” He stepped toward her. “Dr. Myers was kind enough years ago, over a bottle of wine, to tell me the tale of a girl who could see spirits. I had to meet you, of course.”

Stars built in the back of her eyes. She blinked, stumbled, tried to keep herself upright.

“I am a patient man, Miss Smart. A man interested in humans and science—a man who began with similar origins to you—needs to be in order to succeed as I have. I simply had to set the right course and let things fall into place.”

“No.”

“But yes. Someone who could see spirits! Why the possibilities were endless. Imagine, being able to peer into the afterlife? To speak with them. To finally understand the answers to questions that never have answers. To use for, well, anything. To become anyone. Just as your mother did.”

“The spirit world is not as scientifically sound as you make it, Sir Walter, nor as interesting.”

“Ah, but I need to know.” He smiled. “And you are my link. I’ve had to do my share of interfering in order to get you where I wanted you. Alas, that you have such a stubborn streak. And Lord Rainewood made things difficult.”

“So you, you picked Lord Rainewood because of me?” She could barely get the words out, horror icing her veins.

“His link to you was one I wished to explore, and have in a most fascinating fashion.” He looked from her to a few feet to her side. “I assume that he is here in some form, guiding you.”

She said nothing.

“And then there were the other reasons that I stated. Lord Basil will make a much more malleable husband. Celeste has her eye on Lord Rainewood, alas, but she will adapt.”

“And Mr. Templing?”

“The wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid, for Mr. Templing. He has been quite useful in my studies. I hadn’t expected him. My men gathered both after Mr. Brockwell did his job.”

“Phillip is in on your scheme?”

“Oh, heavens no. Just easily influenced. A few harmless phrases untraceable back to me—so easy to make others think ideas are their own—and he took to finding the list like a duck to water. Probably best though for him that he didn’t find it.”

He smiled. “So many people after that one piece of paper. Your friend Mr. Penshard. If he follows in his father’s madness, perhaps I will study him someday as well. An associate of mine took on his father’s case. A fine man, Gregory, if a bit hotheaded. I would have encouraged his suit of you if I thought I could have gained access to you that way, but he is too strong willed. I would have had to use his father against him in order to control you, and unfortunately Mr. Penshard tends to think on his own.”

Something else snapped into place. “Mrs. Browning.”

“Ah yes, a dear, distantly related cousin. But then we are all somewhat related in society, sometimes it seems. Mrs. Browning took your case at my behest.”

That explained so much that if the rest of what he said wasn’t so incredibly mad, she would wonder why she hadn’t thought about someone putting Mrs. Browning up to the task before.

“How do you think to just cover our disappearances? I assume poor Mr. Campbell was also your doing?”

“A joint venture. Mr. Campbell owes a lot of money. I was simply taking the opportunity to help his creditor while also purchasing myself another useful specimen.”

“And you’d just, what? Let the ton shrink down one by one to nothing due to your tests? What about when you want to reveal whatever knowledge these tests have gained you?”

“Ah yes. The dilemma. But I am a man who is dedicated to the sciences. To the study of humanity. I will give up my fame in order to bring about advances for society. I will gain other advantages through the links to the other side I find through you. I do not fret that anyone will truly care about the fate of the lordling and his scathing friend in a year. In fact, it will make for delicious gossip—stirring the pot, helping the others retain their need for scandal. Our society thrives on it. We will continue to flourish, even if I need to sate my urge to pick a few test subjects from the edges.”

“But Phillip…”

“Ah yes, a simple matter of human motivation, as I said. I merely planted a few well-placed suggestions to dear Mr. Brockwell, and he took matters into his own hands. Delightful. I have made sure he will be rewarded. And he doesn’t even know it. Truly a successful experiment.”

“You are horrible. He will live with the guilt.”

“I’m sure he will get by it in time. I will study him most judiciously while he does. He is interested in Miss Penshard and I will encourage the match.” He smiled. “I am not an evil man, Miss Smart.”

“No?” She looked around the room.

“No. You will be well kept. I will study you, of course. Find out how this delightful world of spirits works.” He looked eager. “Dr. Myers has explained much, but he can’t tell me the specifics, the hows and whys.”

“Did he tell you that he tried to rid me of my ability?”

“I told him under no circumstances would that be allowed.”

“Oh?” The thought that even if she didn’t survive, she could make Myers regret his own part as well was too keen. “He tried to rid me of it just a day past.” Sir Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Methinks you need to have a talk with your friend. He doesn’t much sound like he is following your orders.”

“I see. Thank you, Miss Smart.”

“And if I lose the ability?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It would be unfortunate, but a dissection might help to understand the root cause. There would still be some good to come.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. Her breath too caught in her throat.

A loud thud sounded and two of the men fell to the ground.

“I think not.” Valerian limped around the corner carrying a shovel and two pistols.

“Ah, Lord Rainewood. So good of you to join us,” Sir Walter said calmly.

Valerian stared at him for a long moment. Then he raised one of the pistols in his hand.

“Are you going to shoot me, Lord Rainewood?” Sir Walter asked, as if this too were a social experiment he was conducting.

Valerian took aim and fired. Abigail gasped as Evans went down with a ball firmly embedded in his leg. “That was for what you almost did to Abigail. Don’t make me shoot higher.”

Sir Walter watched his lackey writhe in pain. “A most inauspicious beginning. Are you going to shoot me now, Lord Rainewood?”

“I haven’t decided.” Valerian cocked his head. “I’d like to choose the most painful method of dispatching you.”

The other pistol didn’t waver, even though he had to prop himself up against the wall with his hip.

“I was thinking that trying you in the courts—creating a public ordeal that the masses could gobble in order to stir their need for scandal—might be just the method.”

Sir Walter watched him. “Touché, Lord Rainewood. You think they would believe you over me?”

“Are you trying to convince me to put a bullet in you instead? I am amenable to that solution.”

“Surely a man of your standing can see a more beneficial trade?”

“Can I? I thought I heard something about how useless I was. Surely you can’t want to do business with someone as worthless as I?”

Sir Walter smiled slightly. “You always did have potential. Wasted potential, but potential nevertheless.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Your brother dying squashed that potential. I wonder if we could have resurrected it? Had I thought about taking you under my wing earlier…but your father is a determined man.”

“Stop speaking,” Valerian said calmly, though his eyes were angry.

“Ah, but conversation is truly the vehicle we use to understand.”

Valerian watched Evans push himself back against the wall, still writhing. He kept his pistol steady and trained. “I don’t seek to understand you, Malcolm. I couldn’t care less about you. All I want is for you to pay for your crimes. For what you did to Abigail.”

“Ah! Marvelous.” He looked between them. “Once I let go of my need for you as the duke’s heir, the pair of you truly became a delight to watch.”

“And you are becoming irritating.” Valerian motioned with the pistol. “Get moving.”

“To the courts, then? I should think this should prove a most interesting trial should you actually make it out of the building.”

Valerian’s eyes narrowed on the man.

“Valerian—”

“I know, Abigail. I won’t shoot him yet.” He raised his voice. “Unless he does something to you, then I will shoot off body parts at will.”

They began walking down the hall, and some of the patients quieted as Sir Walter passed. Terrified.

He walked steadily in front of them, with a certainty that bespoke confidence that he would overcome.

Pounding footsteps came from below. Reinforcements. And not ones for their side.

Abigail was just thinking on how they were going to figure a way out of this mire when one of the patients suddenly lunged up with a yell and plunged a pair of surgical scissors into Sir Walter’s back. The patient tumbled from the bed and lay still upon the floor.

All cries ceased for an eerie moment, and then another patient—one who had looked comatose-vaulted from bed with a war cry and undid the straps of the man next to him. And the man after that. Bedlam reigned as the cries started again, in increased intensity as one man after another was freed. They ran in all directions, a good number rushing the men who had appeared down the hall to help Sir Walter.

Sir Walter’s eyes were disbelieving. He reached behind him and felt the protruding steel. Valerian pulled Abigail back.

“Well, I hadn’t quite accounted for that.” He said it so calmly, that for a second she didn’t think he was truly hurt. He looked at her, head tipped, eyes calm. “Do not tell Celeste.”

Then he tipped forward and fell to the floor in a heap, the large metal handles appearing on an island of spreading red across the cloth at his back.

The action seemed to take the wind right from Valerian’s sails. She reached for him as he began to collapse. She got her hands beneath his armpits and nearly buckled under his weight, even as thin as he’d become.

She gripped the pistol in one hand and looked around as well as she could while trying to balance him. “Valerian. I need you to help me get you outside. Just a little ways more. We don’t know who is still here inside.”

She half dragged, half helped him down the hall of crazed patients, some of whom were fighting the men, the other portion doing insane things like crawling on the beds, or rubbing the walls. She somehow steered Valerian through the madness, down the stairs, and into the street. Luckily no one followed them out, though she kept the pistol cocked and ready.

She hailed the waiting hack as soon as she was near enough for the driver to see. He jumped from his perch and helped her load Valerian inside.

The carriage started to move and fingers touched her face—real fingers, firm and gorgeous. “Abby, I 1—” The fingers slipped from her skin and dropped to the floor.

She panicked for a moment before she found his pulse, strong beneath her fingers. She breathed a sigh of relief and held back the tears that threatened.

Ten minutes later she ascended the walk and knocked on Stagen’s door.

A
bigail strode into the ribbon store, Telly lurking behind her. Telly had been acting strangely for the last few days. But then, everyone in the household had. Mrs. Browning had made quite a scene when Abigail had informed the woman that her services would no longer be required.

Her mother hadn’t said anything in the negative, allowing Abigail to handle it. A tentative salvo in their blooming relationship. Abigail just hoped it continued.

She could barely see the outlines of four spirit women chatting in the corner. They were all vague shapes now. Even Aunt Effie was a mere shimmer.

Valerian had been holed up in his home, recuperating under strict orders from the duke, and Templing had been rescued and was recovering as well. The ton had been talking nonstop about both men and about poor Sir Walter who had been in a tragic carriage accident. Gossip was ripe with what would happen to the betrothal.

She desperately wanted to speak with Valerian about Sir Walter and what had happened in the asylum. To apologize for putting him in that situation because of her. But every time she had sent a note it had come back unopened.

All of her fears reared. Did he blame her? Had he reverted back to the old Valerian? The one who wanted nothing to do with her other than as a taunting target? What if the man he had been as a spirit was as fake and fleeting as the spirits who now flickered in and out of her vision?

Two society women entered the shop and Abigail ducked her head, her bonnet hiding her face. She didn’t feel like chatting with anyone at the moment. It was likely to be all talk about Valerian and what would happen with his betrothal. The two women walked to the basket of ribbons a few down from where she stood.

“Have you heard?”

“It’s delicious.”

“The Smarts aren’t really the Smarts after all. Fakes, pretenders, common bourgeoisie.” The last was said with the relish of a light French accent.

Abigail froze, her hand clutching the black-and-white striped ribbon in her hand.

“I know. The Tynsdales or Travings, or something. Can you believe the gall? Thinking that they would not be discovered? As if we couldn’t see a pretender in our midst.” The woman sniffed. “I always thought there was something off about them.”

Abigail tried to release the ribbon, but her fingers continued to grip it. She tried to move her feet, but they were stuck fast to the floor, as if made of slate.

Sir Walter had discovered the truth, but to her knowledge, only one other person had known that she was not who she said she was.

“Well, we won’t be seeing much of them anymore. Nothing for it but to run from London. They’ll never be accepted into polite society again.”

“Never. Oh, but I do so hope they try. Imagine it?” The other woman tittered.

“I hope so as well,” the other woman said with a vicious titter. “Social climbers should all be put under rigorous regard, in my opinion.” The snobbish tone to the woman’s voice made Abigail’s fingers clutch a little more tightly.

“Do you think someone will tell the Smarts before the Landmarks’ ball tonight? Or will we all wait for the fireworks?”

“I do so hope for the latter, don’t you?”

“Of course! Fine entertainment.”

The other woman sniggered. “Yes. Let’s go. These ribbons are all passé, and I hear the new store near Piccadilly has brand-new fabrics. All the rage.”

“Yes. And I need a new one for mourning. I hear that with Lord Rainewood back, and poor Sir Walter in the grave, the announcement of the earl’s official betrothal to Celeste Malcolm will happen tonight or tomorrow before she goes into mourning.”

“Lucky girl.” Envy bordering on dislike laced the words. “Such a priss, Celeste.”

“Stay your tongue. She will wield too much power for us to be on her bad side.”

Thunder sounded in the distance.

“Rain again. And the last few days have been so unbelievably bright. I had hoped to go to the gardens this afternoon,” one of them said.

Valerian was the only one who knew. Who had known. And all of her notes had been returned unopened. Abigail couldn’t swallow around the knot in her throat. The ribbon crushed beneath her palm.

“Brighter days beckon, surely.”

“I do hope so. Now about that new shop…”

The two chattered as they exited.

Abigail looked at her hand, the crumpled stripes of the black overtaking the white, drowning them. Anger rose to drown the devastation. She let the ribbon fall from her hand and walked to the door.

“Miss, miss!”

Telly yelled as Abigail stepped outside. A light drizzle was falling, but the steady pat of increased raindrops signaled that she would be drenched soon. She continued walking.

“Miss, your parasol!”

Abigail ignored her. Grayton House was two blocks down and four over. Then only one block down, then three to go. Telly kept moaning and fussing, but Abigail didn’t care. She let the rain sheet over her, let her hair fall, plastered to her forehead and cheeks until she stepped up to the door and rapped the knocker.

A servant answered immediately, a footman by his dress, and she stared him full force in the eyes. “You will summon Lord Rainewood.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Lord Rainewood is unavailable for visitors, Miss—” He paused as if asking her name.

She gave a tight smile and stepped inside.

The man had obviously not thought her a threat, not even considering her bedraggled appearance, and so hadn’t expected such a move. He sputtered. “Miss, you can not just enter the house.”

“Summon Lord Rainewood.”

“If you leave a card, perhaps I can see that he receive it.”

At another time she might have felt bad for the poor man, but the fading, drab outline of the opera singer passing behind him—a reminder of this madness and its consequences—made her less agreeable. “I will not leave a card.”

The man signaled frantically to another servant passing through the hall. The other servant’s eyes widened and he turned and made haste in the other direction. Going to get the butler most likely. To eject her from the house through intimidation first, and if that didn’t work, by force.

She walked down the hall toward the parlor without waiting for such a thing to occur.

“You can’t go there.” The footman tried to grab her, but she twisted from his grip.

The Duchess of Palmbury sat inside sipping tea by herself. Abigail stopped and waited, watching as the dowager’s eyes turned to her, weighed her, satisfaction in their depths.

The footman bowed, and then bowed again, nearly apoplectic. “Your Grace, my apologies, she simply walked through.”

The Duchess of Palmbury’s mouth turned upward, her entire face reflecting malicious excitement. She waved the footman away. “The upstart come to have her last stand, I see.”

“I wish to speak with Lord Rainewood,” Abigail said as calmly as she could.

“I believe that will be quite impossible. What would you have to say to him? Nothing of note.”

“I have something quite significant to take up with the earl.”

The Duchess of Palmbury shrugged and sipped her tea. “He doesn’t speak with common women.”

“But he doesn’t have any trouble with vulgar women, I take it? Or else he would never speak with you.”

The dowager’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Nasty little trollop. Such an annoying gnat. How fabulous the last few days have been for me.”

“I am sure they have been. I’m sure you will not mind me speaking to Lord Rainewood in that case. I’d like to make my displeasure over his actions known before I leave town. Your fondest wish, isn’t it, Your Grace? That I leave? All accomplished, if you just let me have a word with your grandson.” She shrugged. “Or else I will haunt society until I do.”

“My, aren’t we the obsessive little nobody. Threats? You think the watch will take your side? That the magistrates won’t hesitate to make sure that you never, how did you term it,
haunt
, us again?”

“I am extremely determined. I will take your bet to see which of us succeeds.”

“Foolish girl. All I have to do is hold you here and have them come to remove you.”

“But you won’t,” Abigail said calmly. “You are far too interested in my demise not to draw this out.”

The Duchess of Palmbury sipped her tea. “It is true, I want to see your face when Rainewood completely snubs you. He has been living up to my exact requirements for years when it comes to you.”

Anger pulled through Abigail, but she simply nodded. “Yes, I had figured that you were behind most of his behavioral changes toward me.”

“No,
dear
. That was entirely on your head. I never did know what caused it, but I was delighted to no end.”

“I am sure that you were.”

The dowager smiled and waved her hand. “And now I grow bored. Leave and be on your way. Exiled to wherever you choose. Though I shall delight if you decide to stay in Town and get snubbed at every turn.”

“That is because you are a notorious crank.”

The dowager’s nostrils flared and her teacup hit its saucer with a clang. “Be gone from my house before I have you thrown out.”

“Not until I have my say with Lord Rainewood. I want to tell him exactly what I think of him.”

“And what do you think of him?”

She whipped around to see Valerian leaning against the door. He looked worn, but far better than when she’d dropped him off at Stagen’s.

“Va-Rainewood.” She squared her shoulders. “Your grandmother and I were just discussing the gossip around town.”

Valerian frowned. “I find myself uninterested in the gossip at present. I’m sure it is full of more stories of forced betrothals and tawdry tales.”

“Rainewood!” the dowager exclaimed. “Take that back, young man.”

Valerian lifted a brow at his grandmother, then turned back to Abigail.

No attempt at an apology or even an explanation. Not even a denial and a good day.

He tapped a finger against his arm. “I take it from the pugilistic set of your shoulders and face that you are not here to inquire after my health but instead are displeased with me for some reason.”

“Yes. You know well what reason that is. No wonder you returned my correspondence.”

“I am afraid I do not know the reason. And what correspondence?” He moved from his reclining position against the doorframe. She caught the faint wince as he straightened. “Please enlighten me as to my new sins.”

The dowager’s eyes twitched at the mention of correspondence. Ah. But that didn’t solve the bigger concern.

“You used me,” she said, trying to keep the pain from her voice. “And then you revealed what you knew.”

“What is this? How long have you known, Raine wood?” the dowager demanded.

“How long have I known what?” He addressed the question to Abigail, eyes narrowed, face unreadable.

“About my family.”

Something changed in his face, but she couldn’t tell what.

“What about your family?”

“Don’t be coy, Rainewood.” The dowager brushed imaginary crumbs from her skirt. “About how she and that vulgar mother of hers are frauds. Everyone knows.”

“I see. I did not know that everyone did.”

“You are saying that you did not reveal the information?” Abigail demanded.

His eyes turned icy. “I see that you believe that I did. What have I to say in my defense against such belief?”

Abigail laughed bitterly. “The slipper is on your foot now, is it not, then? To have no defense to the sure belief that someone else maintains?”

He regarded her for a moment and his expression loosened a fraction. “Touché.”

“Why?” She tried to keep the pain from her voice. “I did everything I could to help, at complete cost to myself.”

He took a step toward her and stopped. “I said nothing.”

“You were the only one who knew.”

“I said nothing.”

“You embraced me afterward. Like you meant it. Like you…” She broke off.

“Abigail, do you want to do this in front of her?” He inclined his head sharply toward his grandmother.

“Rainewood!”

He ignored the dowager, his eyes narrowed on Abigail.

She shook her head in denial seeing nothing more to lose, nothing of her pride remaining. “I just want to know why. Why? I, I gave you everything. You might not have realized it, but I did,” she finished in a near whisper.

“I know.” He stepped toward her then. “I know.” He tentatively reached out a hand and pulled her to him. She melted into his arms, nearly sobbing.

“Rainewood!” The strident voice echoed outside of the bubble.

“I was going to come for you,” he said against her hair. “I thought there was plenty of time. And I was going to do it right. I had no idea what the gossip mill had caught,” he said softly. “I will work every day to make sure that you never doubt me again.”

She stiffened against his chest. “What?”

“Rainewood! Butler! Lord Rainewood is ill and this interloper is attacking him!”

She felt Valerian look above her hair. “Your Grace, I hardly think it wise to embarrass yourself so.”

“Rainewood,” the dowager sputtered. “You are not yourself. Let that miscreant go.”

“You are talking about the woman I plan to keep permanently in my life, Your Grace.”

Abigail pulled back to look at him. A drop of water dripped down her cheek.

“You cannot just take her to mistress, Rainewood.”

“I said nothing about taking a mistress.”

The dowager sputtered, unbelieving. “But she is a fraud. You can not do this to the family.”

Valerian looked down at Abigail and wiped the drop away with his thumb. “I am not ‘doing’ anything to the family, Your Grace. It won’t even be a blip on the gossip sheets unless we treat it as such.”

“Everything is fodder for the gossip sheets.”

“Not if we don’t dignify it with a response and just go along as if this is the way things will be.”

“We will not go along with it as the
way things will be
. You will marry Celeste Malcolm. We have already approved the match.”

“I believe that you would rethink that were you to know certain truths. Besides, you need the groom’s signature in order to have a fully-drawn contract these days.”