Ravishing in Red (6 page)

“He said that ‘My Inconstant Love’ has sold particularly well. He said to tell you that your sad melodies make more money than the others.”

“I am not sure that I only want to write sad songs, but I will try to compose a few more.”

“I am sure that whatever you write will be successful, if it comes from your heart. ‘My Inconstant Love’ has sold well because of that.”

That was possibly true. Audrianna had composed that song while devastated about Roger’s inconstancy, during the week after he threw her over because of Papa’s disgrace. Tears had blinded her while she worked out the melody.

Daphne opened a cabinet and examined its contents. “I think that Mrs. Hill plans on the rest of this ham for dinner tomorrow, so we had better not steal that. Let me see what else can be pilfered.”

“A bit of cheese and some bread will be enough.”

“You are sure? If you have been traveling—”

“I will be fine with bread and cheese.”

Daphne served the food, then sat at the worktable across from Audrianna. “Did you go to London to visit your mother?”

“You know that I only visit for meetings arranged in advance, and almost always on Sundays.”

“I know nothing, certainly nothing about this adventure of yours. You left no word. No note. If Lizzie had not noticed your valise was gone, I might have thought that you fell into the river.”

So, Daphne was going to scold after all. It had been inconsiderate to leave with no word, but that word would have only led to many more words than Audrianna wanted.

“I remind you of your Rule for living in this house, Daphne. Foremost among its orders is that we do not pry into each other’s histories or lives.”

This household, composed of single and independent women, maintained civility and safety due to Daphne’s Rule. Like the codes of the monks of old, the Rule’s precepts governed their behavior and helped them avoid the sort of bickering that could easily arise in such an environment. Upon first coming here, Audrianna had found the Rule a little silly, but she soon came to appreciate its wisdom.

“You are correct. It is a good part of the Rule. An essential part,” Daphne said. “However, that does not stop us from wondering about each other, or caring for each other like sisters. Which is why the Rule also includes the instruction that if we are going to be absent for an extended period, we should inform the others of that so they do not worry.”

She was not scolding, despite her words. Her voice was far too soft to be called a scold. There was concern in it, and gentle sympathy, and maybe a little hurt too, as if Audrianna’s secrecy implied a lack of trust.

Audrianna kept her attention on her supper. She dared not look at Daphne. Her cousin possessed a worldly wisdom that far exceeded what one would expect of a woman not yet thirty years old. Audrianna doubted she could hide her discouragement if Daphne looked right into her eyes.

A white hand reached over and gently touched Audrianna’s arm. “Did you visit a man, Audrianna?”

Audrianna had to look over then. Not only did the question astonish her, but also the earnest manner in which Daphne asked it. She spoke as if it would be normal for Audrianna to have spent last night with a man.

Which, to be honest, she had.

She felt her face get hot when she realized that.

“It is not that I want to pry into either your life or the state of your virtue,” Daphne said, pretending she had not noticed the blush or dismay. “In fact, I question whether virtue, in this sense, should be as highly regarded as it is. It is just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I know that you still mourn what transpired with Roger, and that you have not conquered that disappointment,” she said gently. “If you visited a man, that does not concern me as much as your reason for doing so. I hope that you have not allowed sorrow to make you reckless. Neither happiness nor pleasure will be yours if you embark on an affair out of resentment, pique, or rebellion.”

“Please be reassured that I have not embarked on any affair, for any reason. I am grateful for my place in your home, dear cousin. More grateful than you will ever know. I was gone these two days on a personal matter but not one of the heart. I ask that you allow me to leave the explanation at that.”

Daphne bowed her head in agreement and retreat. She revealed no insult. Still, Audrianna worried that she had offended her cousin. They normally were of like mind, and this was as close to a contentious conversation as they had ever had.

Audrianna would not mind confiding in Daphne, but tonight she was not sure how to explain, or what to say. She needed a long rest before she sorted out the events and implications of her disastrous journey.

She rose and took her plate to the washbasin. Daphne continued sitting there in pale, lovely serenity.

Audrianna bent and closely embraced her cousin, who as always felt rather cool in a refreshing way. “I will retire now. I will see you in the morning. Thank you for your concern. I apologize that I worried you.”

Daphne turned her head and kissed her. “Sleep well, dearest.”

Just as Audrianna reached the door, Daphne spoke again.

“Oh, there is one more thing I must say, lest I forget. Audrianna, the pistol that I keep high in the library’s cabinet has gone missing. If you come upon it, please let me know at once.”

 

 

 

 

S
ebastian winced while he slid into the blue frock coat that his valet held. His upper left arm rebelled at the movement.

A surgeon had arrived at dawn to apply salves and a new dressing. He had announced that the wound appeared uncorrupted. It seemed that the worst consequence would be this current damnable stiffness of the entire limb for a few days more.

He checked his pocket watch to make sure it was ten o’clock, then headed downstairs to his brother Morgan’s chambers.

He did not have to make this visit every morning that he was in town, but he did anyway. He knew his brother looked forward to everything about their hour together. To the silent companionship while they drank coffee and read the newspapers and mail. To the discussions about the gossip and strategies occupying the government. To the respite of being normal, in a day when there would be too many reminders that very little remained the way it was supposed to be.

Dr. Fenwood came out to the front sitting room just as Sebastian entered it. Fenwood was not really a doctor, but instead a manservant of significant strength and appropriate circumspection. Morgan had first called him Dr. Fenwood as a joke, but had never stopped.

Now everyone called him Dr. Fenwood, so that Morgan could maintain the small pretense that the person who helped him in appallingly intimate ways was a medical professional. There were a lot of illusions like that in this house, as everyone tried to preserve a good man’s dignity.

“The marquess’s health is fine this morning,” Fenwood said. The title had gone to his head a bit, and he offered his opinion as if he knew the difference between fine and not fine. “My lord’s disposition is good too.”

That was the information that Sebastian really wanted. His brother often succumbed to bouts of melancholy. The real physicians had warned from the start that this was often common with invalids.

He entered the chamber that served as a small drawing room in the master’s extensive apartment. His brother did not hear the door open, and continued reading his mail. There was quite a stack of it. Society still sent invitations, knowing they would never be accepted. And Morgan, third Marquess of Wittonbury, read every one, as if he might choose to attend a few dinner parties.

Morgan’s chair abutted a window, through which he could look down on the town. Both the table and a dark blanket obscured any view of the lifeless legs that had kept him a prisoner of these rooms ever since he was carried home from a war that he had joined nobly, idealistically, belatedly, and impulsively.

That Morgan had bought that commission so late in the war always struck Sebastian as an impossible irony. One might wonder if the French retreat in the Peninsular campaign had been timed just so fate could ruin Morgan’s life.

Sebastian took his place in a chair that faced his brother and poured some coffee from the waiting pot. No servants or footmen hovered to intrude upon this daily hour that they shared.

Morgan looked up from his letter. “I am glad to see that you are back.”

“I was unexpectedly delayed by the rain yesterday.” Normally if he were going to miss these morning visits, he let Morgan know. Yesterday, that had not been possible, of course.

Sebastian did not mind this demand on his time. He had created it himself, by starting the habit and allowing his brother to depend on it. Morgan had so few visitors now that the company of family was all that broke up the day for him.

And yet, as Sebastian made his explanation for yesterday’s absence, he did not miss how his own life had changed along with his brother’s. The paralysis that kept Morgan in these chambers, living a tragically altered life, had radically changed Sebastian’s fate too.

“I was down near Brighton,” Sebastian said. “I was looking into something related to that ordnance matter.”

“It might have just been negligence, like everyone thinks.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No.” Morgan looked out the window, but his sight really turned inward. To the memories of war, Sebastian suspected.

Morgan had followed that ordnance scandal closely, shaking his head over the newspaper reports of a company left defenseless by bad gunpowder. The Marquess of Wittonbury wanted those dead soldiers to have justice, and Sebastian wanted his brother to know the satisfaction that his comrades in arms had finally been vindicated.

“Did you learn anything?”

“I may have discovered a man who knows something. It may turn up information that dislodges the truth in the end. Finally.”

Morgan nodded absently. He picked up one of the neatly ironed newspapers waiting for his attention.

Sebastian did the same. These visits had become routine. Ritualized.

“Our mother visited yesterday afternoon,” Morgan said while he perused the paper. “She wanted to talk about you.”

Now, that was
not
routine. “Did she now?”

“Mmmm. She wants me to tell you that you must marry. She has picked out several girls who are suitable.”

“I am sure
she
thinks they are.”

“I told her that she should not fool herself that you have changed that much. I suggested that what she sees as a new leaf is merely foliage rearranged to obscure the old bark. Discretion is not the same as repentance or reform.”

“Thank you.”

“She became very determined and imperious—well, you know how she can be.”

“Is she visiting you often these days?”

Morgan shrugged. “More than before.”

“Too much, then. Tell Fenwood that you are not receiving when she comes next time. Do not allow her to make this apartment hers to enter as she chooses.”

There had always been the danger that their mother would turn Morgan back into a child if given half the chance. She would intrude and coddle and dominate until he lost his right to be a separate man.

That was why Sebastian had moved back into this house upon his brother’s return from war. His presence ensured that their mother could not expand her rule too much, especially when it came to her older son.

“You were always better at managing her than I was. Like so much else,” Morgan said.

There was nothing to say to that, so they both returned their attention to their papers.

“You said you were down near Brighton yesterday? Did you hear anything about this spectacle at the Two Swords?”

“Spectacle?”

Morgan peered at the print in front of him. A grin broke. “Some fellow’s lover shot him. Now that must have been good theater. Not dead, it seems. Still, it must have been all the talk down there.”

“What are you reading there?”

Morgan flushed. “One of our mother’s scandal sheets.”

“From Brighton?”

“London.”

Damn. Sir Edwin had been correct. The gossip had probably arrived in town before either of its victims. Evidently, no names were in that scandal sheet, however.

Yet.

 

 

 

 

T
he ritual ended at eleven o’clock. Sebastian took his leave and returned to his own chambers. His valet greeted him with a sealed letter in his hand.

“The directions were not accurate, sir.”

Sebastian took the letter. He had written it to Miss Kelmsleigh and sent it by messenger to her father’s home. “Do they no longer live there?”

“Mrs. Kelmsleigh does, and Miss Sarah Kelmsleigh. However, Audrianna Kelmsleigh does not. The footman inquired and was told that she has taken residence in Middlesex near the village of Cumberworth.”

Sebastian carried the letter into his dressing room. He opened a drawer and gazed at the pistol that he had carried away from the Two Swords. His attempt to initiate arrangements to return it discreetly had been for naught.

He could send the footman to Cumberworth. If Miss Kelmsleigh had been rusticated there, a few queries should locate her. He could pack up the pistol and give it to the footman too, and be done with this.

He saw that pistol in a soft, feminine hand. He saw a woman’s green eyes flashing spirit, then sparking with fascination and passion, and finally dulled by melancholy. He pictured her walking through the inn to the coach, pretending not to notice how the other patrons stared and whispered.

He told his valet to call for his horse.

C
umberworth remained a country village, but London moved closer every year. It had already been absorbed into the environs of the city, one of many small Middlesex hamlets that saw newcomers mix with old residents, and land developers carve farms into small estates for the prosperous families of its larger neighbor.