A Poisoned Season (11 page)

“I’d love to see you spar with him,” Jeremy said, sipping his port. I hardly heard him speak, my thoughts remaining focused on more serious subjects. Was it Berry who had followed me from Richmond? My guest soon realized that I was hopelessly distracted and took his leave from me. Almost as soon as he was gone, Davis entered the library with an envelope.

“The duke noticed this on the doorstep when he left, madam,” he said. I recognized the handwriting at once.

I did not reply but leapt from my seat, thrust my half-empty glass at the butler, and ran out the front door, calling for Jeremy, thinking
he might still be in the vicinity. There was no reply. I would have to wait to ask him if he had seen anything else suspicious. I went back to the house, where I turned my attention to the note:

It took me only a few moments with my lexicon to translate the passage:
And what is Reason to Love? Light up, quick!—And where is thy old study of philosophy?—Away with the long toil of wisdom; this one thing only I know, that Love took captive even the mind of Zeus.

“Davis, did you see the note before the duke picked it up?”

“No, madam, I did not. I can assure you that it was not there when Mr. Berry departed. He dropped several cigarettes when His Grace removed him from the house. Molly swept the stairs immediately.” I had hired Molly away from the Savoy the day after I learned about Charles Berry’s treatment of her.

“Would you please go into the square and see if the undercover policeman Mr. Hargreaves has stationed there saw anyone?” I asked. Davis did so, but the man had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever had left this missive was skilled in the art of remaining hidden.

If I hadn’t witnessed firsthand Jeremy’s lack of interest in the ancient language, I might have suspected him of having left the message. As it was, I dismissed the thought almost at once. My admirer and the cat burglar were the same person, and there was no possibility that Jeremy was the thief. He’d never have the focus for such an endeavor. I would not be surprised to learn that he frequently found himself in the bedrooms of some of the best houses in London, but I doubted
that he was ever reduced to using the window as his method of entrance.

T
he walk from Berkeley Square to Park Lane was a short one, past tree-lined rows of stately houses. It was a fine day, the heat having relented at last, and the improved weather had driven society outdoors. I passed no fewer than seven acquaintances before reaching the perfectly manicured park at Grosvenor Square, and until that moment, I had given no thought to the notion that my mission might be considered inappropriate. Being in close proximity to my parents’ house, which stood on the north end of the square, made me more self-conscious, and I wondered if calling unescorted on a gentleman would further damage my already tender reputation. I steeled my resolve and continued on, feeling only the slightest tinge of apprehension when I reached my destination and knocked on the heavy door. The dignified butler who opened it confirmed that Mr. Hargreaves was at home and ushered me quickly into the magnificent house, doing nothing to disguise the fact that he was neither accustomed to nor approving of finding young ladies on his master’s doorstep. He led me to an elegant salon, where rather than sit, I circled the room, examining the pictures that hung on the walls. So engrossed was I by a scene of the Thames painted by Turner that I did not notice Colin had entered the room until he stood next to me.

“Very daring of you, Lady Ashton,” he murmured, “to come here quite unprotected.”

I laughed. “I know that you’re right, though I don’t see how it is any different from your calling on me.”

“At your house you are surrounded by your own servants. Here you are at my mercy.”

“Your butler clearly does not approve of me and is certain to look after your own honor, so I feel confident I’m in no danger.”

He stood very close but was careful not to touch me. “Fear not, Lady Ashton, your reputation is perfectly safe.” He kissed both of my hands, then stepped away.

“You are taking this no-kissing business far too seriously,” I said.

“It is quite serious.” His eyes sparkled. “What brings you to me this afternoon?” I told him, as succinctly as possible, about the letters Beatrice had found.

“What do they say?” he asked.

“They were written when the queen was in jail and seem to contain nothing of consequence, just a friendly correspondence with a man called Léonard. Cécile says he was Marie Antoinette’s hairdresser and a close confidant. She entrusted him with her personal jewels when it became clear the royal family was in danger. It was he who took them out of France and eventually brought them to her daughter after the revolution.”

“Was the pink diamond one of those jewels?”

“Yes.”

“That’s most likely why Francis had the letters. They, in a sense, go with the stone.”

“I am certain they are somehow more significant.”

“Has Cécile read them? It’s possible that a native speaker of the language might notice something you overlooked.”

“I had not considered that. I’ll give them to her when I get home.”

“Is there something else, Emily?” he asked, looking at me closely. “What haven’t you told me? Your brow creases right here”—he touched me lightly—“whenever you are not being candid with me.”

“There’s no need to accuse me of deception. I hadn’t finished with my story.”

“I see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do continue.”

“I have been involved in a number of strange incidents.”

“A number?”

“Three.” I described the coach that followed me from Richmond, the note from my anonymous admirer, and last, Mr. Berry’s visit to my house.

“Did he try to harm you?”

“No. Jeremy was with me.”

“I see.” He stood very still.

“Colin, you know that—”

“Was Cécile with you?”

“She was at a ball.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, thank heavens you at least had Bainbridge.” His demeanor had not changed, but I could sense an increasing tension in him.

“Colin, you know that Jeremy is nothing more than a friend to me.”

“Of course.” The tension did not dissipate. I took his hand in mine, wanting to reassure him. He continued to speak in a most businesslike manner. “I am most sorry that my work has taken me away from you so much lately.”

“I understand.”

“To make matters worse, I must go now. I’m to meet our friend Berry on Rotten Row.”

“Are you free this evening?”

“I had planned to go to the Ellesmeres’ ball. Will you be there?”

“No. I wasn’t invited. I’m afraid that the combination of my intellectual pursuits and these ridiculous rumors about Jeremy is having a rather detrimental effect on my social life. Not that I particularly mind. It makes the mail much easier to manage.”

“You should, perhaps, ask Miss Seward to use someone else as the front person for her false engagement. It’s one thing for Bainbridge to embroil himself in scandal. He’ll recover from it unscathed. It might not be so easy for you.”

“What do I care about that? The fewer invitations I receive, the fewer excuses I have to make for not accepting them.”

“You say that now, but I don’t think you would enjoy being cut from society.”

“I hardly think there’s any danger of that happening,” I said, adjusting my hat and preparing to leave. “Am I really to have no kiss good-bye?”

“Are you really accepting my proposal?”

“I might if it weren’t such fun to tease you about not accepting it.”

“Then I see we are at an impasse,” he said with a most charming smile. He raised my hand to his lips but did not even brush my glove with them, then saw me out of the house.

I had not gone half a block down Park Lane when an open carriage pulled to the side of the road and stopped next to me.

“Emily, my dear, dear girl! How lovely to see you,” my mother said, so forgetting herself that she reached out of the open carriage as if she would embrace me. What could I have done to gain such uncharacteristic approval? “You must be on your way to see me—I knew you would come today. I do wish your father were home, but he’s at his club. He’s been utterly silent on the subject, you know. Just like him, isn’t it?”

I was thoroughly confused. “What subject?”

“Oh, child, don’t bother to trifle with me now. I’ve heard everything.”

“You have?” I asked, climbing in next to her. The driver urged the horses on, turning towards Grosvenor Square.

“You should be more careful about receiving gentlemen visitors late at night, my dear. It can lead to all sorts of gossip.”

“What exactly have you heard?”

“All of London has heard tales of you and the Duke of Bainbridge.
I will admit to having been most distressed by your conduct until I heard about last night.”

“Last night?” I was mystified.

“Have you and Jeremy settled all the details between you? I imagine he spoke to your father at his club.”

“Mother—”

“I think you ought to be married from our house, Emily. Berkeley Square is too much the domain of your late husband, and a duchess should have a completely fresh start. I am so pleased that Jeremy does not object to your having been married before. Some men, you know—”

“Mother!”

“Do not interrupt me, Emily. Have you told Mr. Hargreaves? He is a dear man, and I hate to see him disappointed, but don’t concern yourself with that too much. He’ll recover nicely. He’s so much in the company of the Marlborough Set that I can’t help but think he knew his suit was hopeless. Oh, Emily, a duke! I’m so happy!”

“Jeremy and I are not engaged.”

“What can you possibly mean by saying such a thing?” She gave me a sharp look.

“I don’t know that I could speak more plainly.”

“Of course you are engaged. Were you not chasing him through Berkeley Square, calling out for him? Odd behavior in any case, but I suppose young persons in love must be forgiven for such transgressions.”

“How on earth do you know I did that?” I had not seen anyone in the square. Surely the undercover policeman sent by Inspector Manning would not have started such gossip.

“Everyone is talking about it.”

“Hardly evidence of a betrothal, Mother.”

“Well, if you are not engaged to him, you’d better remedy the situation quickly. Whatever were you thinking to send Mrs. du Lac and Miss Seward away in the middle of the night?”

“It was not the middle of the night, and I did not send anyone away. Jeremy dined with us. Cécile and Margaret went to a ball. I stayed home.”

“No wonder Mr. Hargreaves has thrown you over. Who would want a wife with so little a sense of propriety?”

“Mr. Hargreaves has not thrown me over, and I can’t believe that you are angry at
me
over this. Shouldn’t your anger instead be directed to whoever is spreading this gossip?”

“There was nothing malicious in the story, Emily. People assume that the daughter of an earl would always act honorably, and, given your behavior, which is completely lacking in discretion, that would necessitate marrying the Duke of Bainbridge.” There was a little too much satisfaction in her voice.

“Colin’s called on me innumerable times in similar circumstances, and no one’s ever raised an eyebrow over that. I’m a widow, and not subject to chaperones like an unmarried girl.” She did not reply. “Have you orchestrated this, Mother?”

“How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

“It’s not difficult in the least. You’ve made no secret of your desire to see me married again.”

“I will not allow my own daughter to speak to me like this.”

“Then I’ve nothing further to say on the subject.” I rapped on the side of the carriage to signal for the driver to stop and climbed out, slamming the door behind me. “I do not appreciate being so brazenly manipulated and can assure you, Mother, that such tactics will never succeed.”

“If you are not engaged to the Duke of Bainbridge, you’d better find a way to become so as soon as possible. I’ll not have my daughter providing fodder for gossip.” Much to my chagrin, tears filled my eyes, and I turned away before she could see them. Suddenly, the day felt oppressively hot.

10

L
ADY
A
SHTON!
M
Y DEAR CHILD!
A
RE YOU UNWELL?”

I recognized the voice at once, and cringed at the thought of any of my acquaintances seeing me in my current condition. Unfortunately, I did not have the luxury of ignoring Lady Elinor’s question; given my rank and the friendship between our families, deliberately slighting her would be a gross insult. I stopped walking and tipped my head back, trying to will the tears away. My eyes would not cooperate.

Lady Elinor caught up with me and took my arm. “Do forgive me for accosting you like this, but I could not help overhearing your argument with your mother. Will you walk with me?” Having at the ready no acceptable excuse to refuse, I consented, and we headed along Upper Grosvenor Street and crossed Park Lane. All this time, Lady Elinor said nothing. It was not until we had entered Hyde Park through the Grosvenor Gate that she broke her silence. “It is difficult to be at odds with one’s own mother.”