Ravishing in Red (11 page)

Then again, perhaps not. It could remain confined to London alone. She might still be able to maintain her obscurity out here in the country. How many people who passed by Mr. Trotter’s shop had also heard the gossip, after all? When one thought about it, a woman shooting a man was not an absurd image to put on the top of a song titled “My Inconstant Love.” It might all remain fairly quiet and—

“Audrianna, I fear that I must break my own rule.” Daphne’s voice, right behind her head, made Audrianna startle.

Daphne walked around her chair and sat once more in her own. She leaned forward and reached out to take Audrianna’s hand. “As my relative, and as a young woman new to her independence, you are not merely a guest here. Your mother agreed to your staying here because she assumed you would be safe.”

“And I have been.”

“As you say. However, this image—I must ask you to tell me again what happened at the Two Swords, Audrianna. And this time I implore you not to leave half the story out.”

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian perused the stack of papers on his writing desk. Besides the engraving given to Morgan, five others had now been procured in town by the servants, at Sebastian’s instruction. Yet another adorned the top of a piece of sheet music published by Mr. Thomas Trotter of Albermarle Street.

The music and song had been written by none other than Miss Kelmsleigh herself. “My Inconstant Love.” Sebastian hummed the melody in his head while he read the words. It appeared a heartfelt song, ripe with the fresh ache of a broken heart. It appeared that Miss Kelmsleigh had been disappointed in a matter of the heart, and had released the pain in this sad little song.

He turned his attention to several notices in scandal sheets from the last week. He had not been named in any of them, but anyone aware of the rumor about the doings at the Two Swords—and he assumed that meant all of society now—would have no trouble following the direction that speculation was taking. It appeared that the scandal was going to stick, and stick hard.

To be accused of seducing Miss Kelmsleigh, when he had not, did not surprise him too much. He had all but invited that when he implied to Sir Edwin that he and she had met because they were lovers. The world knew he had not been a saint, so he could hardly expect anyone to view the evidence otherwise.

These engravings and notices did not imply a liaison, however. The accusation was that he had used his role in the investigation of her father to coerce her into bed. One might easily assume that he had discovered more than he had ever revealed about that bad gunpowder, but buried the evidence in trade for Miss Kelmsleigh’s favors.

That made him a scoundrel of the worst kind. He was being depicted not only as a man who would cynically prey upon the innocent, but also as one who would compromise his duty to his position and to the truth in return for ill-gotten pleasure.

He noted that Miss Kelmsleigh, whose willfulness had brought all this about, was treated most sympathetically in all these images and insinuating notices. The engravings showed her as sweet, innocent, frightened, confused, dismayed, resistant, and victimized—even the ones that drew a pistol in her hand.

The assassination of his character distracted him enough that he was not ready for the day when ten o’clock came. He went to Morgan’s chambers anyway, wearing neither coats nor cravat.

Morgan hid any disapproval, of which Sebastian assumed there was some. Even in his infirmity, Morgan dressed for the day.

“How does your arm fare?” Morgan asked.

“It is still stiff and sore, but is healing cleanly.”

Not much was said while they ate breakfast. They had not spoken much since that interview two afternoons ago, when Morgan had revealed the engraving.

“It is getting worse,” Sebastian finally said. “The scandal. It is taking an unfortunate turn.”

“I know. Our mother brought me several more engravings yesterday.”

“How thoughtful of her.”

“Her place in society means a lot to her. It is all that she has now.”

“My concerns are bigger than our mother suffering a few innuendos during her social calls. There has been a change in how I am viewed. It is subtle, but unmistakable. My influence has been compromised, along with Miss Kelmsleigh’s reputation.”

The reaction had not been entirely subtle. Castleford had retreated from serious negotiations at once. Among other MPs he saw, a few eyes reflected satisfied glee when aimed his way. More telling was that he had not been invited to an important meeting today that normally he would expect to attend.

Morgan pondered that. “Your arrival may have been too abrupt for some, and your rise too fast for others. There will always be those who resent a man of merit and consequence who surpasses them.”

Merit may have helped that rise, but birth and blood had mattered more. Everyone knew that although active in the Commons, he was Parliament’s stand-in for his brother, and his seat itself was in Wittonbury’s pocket. Not only was Morgan a marquess, but he had also been one of the nobility’s sacrificial lambs to the god of war, and that gave more weight to Sebastian’s influence too.

Sebastian suspected this indirect attack on his character had other reasons besides envy, though. A man could not be effective in politics without making enemies. There were winners, which meant there were losers.

Since Sebastian usually was among the former, there undoubtedly were men looking to extract as much revenge through this scandal as possible. The only question was whether it would render him totally useless in the end. As Castleford had put it, would he instantly become yesterday’s fashion?

“Our mother is distraught for herself,” Morgan said. “As you noted, the truth is this will cause her a few moments of embarrassment and little more. There is no doubt that you can take care of yourself, so even if the worst happens, I do not fear it turning you to drink. The only person who will be truly hurt by this is Miss Kelmsleigh.”

Morgan turned his attention briefly to the street below his window. Then he braced his arms against his chair and resettled himself on it a bit. Finally he reached for the coffee urn and set about completing his meal while his reference to Miss Kelmsleigh hung in the air.

Morgan had always been a bit dull, but he also had always been honest. Forthright, frank, and honorable in the simple way taught to young boys, the nuances of life often perplexed him. All of which made him ill-suited for the kind of sly manipulation of the conversation that he attempted now.

It was not clear how this good, decent man of few vices had been born into the family. He did not take after their father; that was certain. Sebastian did, to their mother’s vexation. But Morgan had little in common with her either, and possessed none of her ruthless indifference to the pain of others.

“I did not do it,” Sebastian said. “I have not had Miss Kelmsleigh’s favors under any circumstances, least of all those insinuated by this gossip.”

“I did not think you had.”

“Like hell you didn’t.”

Morgan expressed dismay at Sebastian’s sharp tone. “No matter what happened, she is a victim twice over, isn’t she? Of her father’s negligence, and now of these rumors.”

“All criminals have families who become victims of their acts.”

“That is what our mother said. I did not answer her, because she never hears anyway. I will tell you, however, that I do not like that this criminal, if he was one, had a family who now must suffer more because your enemies make sport of this . . . misunderstanding.”

Morgan leveled his gaze on Sebastian. Sebastian looked straight back. The rest of the conversation passed without words. Then they returned to their coffee and mail.

“I will put out the true story of what transpired at the Two Swords,” Sebastian said when he rose to leave. “For everyone’s sake, that might be best.”

“The truth is always best, Sebastian.”

The hell it was.

 

 

 

 

S
candal created the oddest excitement, Audrianna thought the next afternoon. The household became both funereal and charged with purpose at the same time.

Lizzie and Celia had debated long into the night just how Audrianna might be salvaged. They came to the problem from very different perspectives. Lizzie believed that at best a few decades of impeccable living and significant charitable work would be needed to redeem a fall that involved the loss of virtue. Celia opined that a confident demeanor, superb style, and one important lover could get a woman back in society faster, and at a more elevated position.

Neither asked which Audrianna preferred. She just sat there on her bed while they picked apart the disaster her life had become.

The next morning both of them walked to Cumberworth to post a letter that Audrianna had finally written to her mother. A half hour after they left, it became clear that the letter had been unnecessary. A hired carriage rolled up the lane and stopped in front of Daphne’s house. Audrianna recognized its occupants from where she spied from a window.

Daphne materialized at her side and together they watched her mother and sister approach the door.

“She is distraught, of course,” Daphne said. She referred to the expression on the face of Audrianna’s mother.

Audrianna had never seen her mother look so weary. Even after her father’s death, even during the relentless hounding by Lord Sebastian and others, Mama had not broken completely. Now she walked like it pained her to be alive. She still dressed all in black, even though her remaining friends argued that the period of deep mourning should be shortened if a husband takes his own life.

“Your sister Sarah appears angry,” Daphne said. “For you, I trust.”

“Not for me. She knows what this will cost her.” There had been a chance, a small one, that Sarah might escape the worst of their father’s disgrace. With a modest settlement and a few years passing, she might marry decently even if not as well as she wanted. It was one reason Audrianna had left and come to live with Daphne—to allow her mother to spend what little she had on the one daughter for whom a respectable future might still be attained.

Audrianna followed Daphne to the door. When it opened, both Mama and Sarah had replaced their real feelings with masks of sympathy.

“Dear Aunt Meg,” Daphne greeted, leaning in for a kiss. “It is fortunate that you have come. There is much that we must discuss.”

 

 

 

 

“
T
he most preposterous tale came to my ears, Lord Sebastian.” Mr. John Pond, Astronomer Royal, peered into the observatory’s new ten-foot transit telescope while he spoke. He tipped the mechanism a fraction of an inch and peered again. Above them a panel in the Greenwich Meridian Building had been opened to the stars.

“It was about that business at the Two Swords outside Brighton. A long, elaborate, fantastical tale is now being told. Something about a mysterious intruder and a coincidental meeting. Your friends should devise a more plausible explanation if they seek to absolve you.”

Sebastian had known Pond for over ten years. They had met when Sebastian was still at university, and the noted astronomer had since taught him a few things about his science that could not be learned from books and lectures. A friendship had developed, which now allowed Sebastian easy access to the observatory, and also allowed Pond to speak so freely.

“I have no friends with imaginations fertile enough to concoct such a story. Or stupid enough to hope such an absurd truth would be believed faster than a more damning lie. The story that you heard came from none other than me.”

Pond turned his head just enough to look askance at Sebastian with his free eye. “You are saying that is what really happened with that young woman?”

“I am. You have my word as a gentleman.”

Pond went back to his study of the heavens. “No one will believe it.”

No, probably not. No one would actually say it was a lie, though. That could mean a duel. But sly grins and raised eyebrows could hold entire conversations that spoke what the mouth could not.

It was a hell of a thing. The truth, which had spread faster than the scandal, seemed only to stoke speculation owing to its peculiar circumstances, and to the fact that it touched on Miss Kelmsleigh’s father.

Better to have kept silent on that whole matter.

“The heavens are unusually clear,” Pond said. “It was a good night for you to come. It has been too long.”

Too long, like so much else. Too long without a woman unless he observed the most stifling discretion. Too long without a good ride in the country with no destination. Too long since he had indulged any of his interests that required time, like these astronomical studies that had once been his claim to displaying any purpose besides the pursuit of pleasure.

Having taken his brother’s place, he should have executed those duties as his brother had, and not allowed duty and government to absorb his life. Morgan himself had never done that. But then Morgan was the marquess, and had nothing to prove.

Pond pushed away from the telescope and jotted some notes on a paper near his chair. “I am done. It is all yours. I will leave you the list of stars I am observing, and you can make notes. You can help me make Brinkley eat his theory.”

Sebastian adjusted the chair, which was designed to allow a semireclined angle to match the telescope’s trajectory. He settled himself into it, leaned back, and positioned himself at the end of the long, dark metal tube held firmly in place by two massive, flanking piers.

“Be sure to alert the watchman when you leave, so the building can be locked,” Pond said.

Sebastian adjusted the eyepiece. He peered into the dark sky, and gave himself over to awe of the eternity that the cosmos implied. Nothing at all in his small, transient world seemed very important when he gazed at the stars. Certainly not the decision that had set him on the road to Greenwich tonight, seeking distraction.