by Jayne Davis
Lady Jesson’s gaze ran from his head to his feet and back again. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you this afternoon—”
“It’s not—”
“—and I doubt any of it is true.” Lady Jesson continued speaking over his words of protest.
“Do sit down again, Alex,” Bella said. “I’ve asked Maria to assist us.”
Alex stayed where he was, but didn’t protest again. At least Phoebe had some allies, even if he couldn’t think how they might help.
“I’ve only heard more of the same,” Lady Jesson said to Bella, taking her seat. “As always, no-one seems to know where the story came from.”
“I’m going to see Marstone,” Bella said. “It’s possible he may know something. But I’m worried how Phoebe is taking it. Could you…?”
“By all means,” Lady Jesson said, getting to her feet again.
“If my brother isn’t at Marstone House, I’ll wait,” Bella added. “Will you join us there after you’ve seen Phoebe?”
“Very well.” Lady Jesson nodded to Bella and Alex, and left.
Alex turned to Bella.
“What the h—?” He stopped, and massaged one temple. “Bella, who is that woman?”
“One of the ton’s greatest gossips,” Bella said, a mischievous smile on her face. “But she’s on our side. Alex, did you tell Phoebe who you are?”
“No.”
“That’s good.” She stood, and patted his arm. “I have the beginnings of an idea for mitigating some of the damage, but first we need to know what’s happened in Berkeley Square. Maria will find out about that for us, so I don’t want to get to Marstone House too long before she does. Ring for refreshments if you want something; I’m going to get changed. We’ll leave in an hour.”
Alex paced when she left, returning to the vague ideas he’d been toying with all morning. The timing, so soon after Brevare’s return to London, left no doubt in his mind that Brevare was responsible. He’d contemplated using Brevare’s sister and mother to force him to retract, but knew it wasn’t possible. Brevare didn’t know him well, but well enough to know he would not carry though a threat to harm them. And it was too late now for any retraction to stop the stories spreading.
Chapter 43
Phoebe had just reached her room when Green came upstairs to say there was another caller.
“Lady Jesson, miss. Cookson did tell her that no-one is at home to visitors, but she insisted.”
“Madame is lying down, Green. She cannot receive visitors.”
“No, miss, it was you her ladyship wanted. She’s waiting in the parlour.”
Was Lady Jesson such a gossip that she had to come and gloat so quickly? Phoebe took a deep breath—she was possibly being unfair. Bella had said the woman was not spiteful. She should see her now—if Bella was wrong, it was best to have the confrontation in private.
“Thank you, Green. Please tell her I will be down shortly, and get some tea sent in.”
When Green had gone, Phoebe splashed her face with water from the pitcher on her dressing table and patted her face dry. She peered into the mirror, tidying a few loose strands of hair, then stood up straight. Shoulders back, she told herself, head high. You did none of the things they are saying.
Apart from returning his kiss.
Lady Jesson was wearing purple and grey again, cut in Miss Fletcher’s flattering style. She looked up as Phoebe entered the room, and Phoebe’s apprehension diminished when she saw the woman’s face—it was clear she had not come to gloat, but to sympathise.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, before Phoebe had greeted her properly.
This unexpected kindness broke down Phoebe’s defences at last and she started to cry, gulping into her handkerchief. The tears weren’t only due to today’s unpleasantness, but were a result of all the doubts she had felt the day before as well.
She was dimly aware of the tea being brought and the door closing again behind Green, then her back was being patted comfortingly.
Lady Jesson made no attempt to get her to stop weeping, but when her tears gradually began to dry up she handed her a clean handkerchief and then a cup of tea. Phoebe sipped it as Lady Jesson got up to ring the bell. She spoke to Green when he came, and the footman returned a few minutes later with more tea and a large plate of sandwiches and slices of cake.
“Have some cake,” Lady Jesson said. “There’s not much that cannot be made a tiny bit better by tea and cake.” She held the plate towards Phoebe. “As you can see, it is a maxim I follow often.”
Phoebe couldn’t help a chuckle. Lady Jesson was a little on the plump side, and Phoebe was beginning to like her.
“That’s better,” Lady Jesson said.
The hot tea and sweet cake helped to revive her. “Why have you come, my lady?” she asked. She could recall talking to Lady Jesson on only a couple of occasions.
“You are afraid I have come to gather more gossip?”
“I was when you were announced.”
“And now?”
Lady Jesson was smiling, but kindly.
“No, you’re not here to gossip. But you hardly know me, yet you are the only person who seems to be willing to talk to me.”
“There will be others, my dear. Not everyone will make judgements based only on rumours. Phoebe, have you heard what is being said?”
Phoebe flushed. “No, but I can guess.”
“What I heard was that you all had some trouble during your return from France, that the Vicomte de Brevare and Westbrook were involved, and that you indulged in some extremely improper, not to mention wanton and immoral behaviour with the latter.”
Phoebe opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Jesson held up a hand.
“I believe the first part to be true, and the second part to be a complete fabrication.” Lady Jesson took another piece of cake while Phoebe was absorbing this statement.
“Why?” was all Phoebe could say.
“For the first part, I know that your aunt took you and her daughter to France recently—for what purpose I have no idea. A particularly stupid idea on Lavinia’s part, given the situation over there, but then she always was a bit of a wigeon.”
This agreed so well with her own opinion of their trip to France that Phoebe almost laughed. She liked Lady Jesson very much indeed.
“As for the second part,” Lady Jesson went on. “You wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“How can you be sure of that, my lady?”
“I’ve been watching you.”
Phoebe’s eyebrows rose. A gossip must observe people, she supposed, to gather her information, but she couldn’t believe that she was a sufficiently interesting target.
“That surprises you?” Lady Jesson said. “I watch everyone. You can hold your own in a sensible conversation, you’ve managed not to be rude to all those jackanapes who only danced with you to try to get closer to your cousin, and you are singular in your ability to be around Harlford without drooling over his wealth and title.”
She leaned forward and picked up the plate with the remaining cake on it. “Do have some more.”
Phoebe obediently took another piece.
“And I know Westbrook’s… relatives, and know of Westbrook,” Lady Jesson went on.
“You do?”
“I do. And the fact that these stories have Westbrook as the supposed villain of the piece make them impossible for me to believe. But I assume that your journey was not straightforward—do you feel like telling me what really happened?”
Phoebe hesitated—much of it was not her story to tell, and other parts might lead some people to believe that the rumours may be true. She didn’t think Lady Jesson was one of those people, but she couldn’t risk it.
“Obviously not,” Lady Jesson said. “I can’t say that I blame you. After all, you only know me as a gossip. I’m also a blackmailer,” she added conversationally.
Phoebe choked on some cake crumbs. Coughing, she took a quick mouthful of tea. Was this some kind of
test?
“Now, Phoebe, explain why you haven’t summoned someone to show me out.”
“It’s not every day that someone announces that she is a blackmailer, my lady,” Phoebe said, thinking it through as she spoke. “As I don’t see how you can tell the ton anything that they don’t already think they know about me, I assume you’re not intending to blackmail me. So I’m interested to find out what else you have to say.”
“Very good. Now, how can you turn blackmail into a good thing?”
“I presume you don’t mean blackmail for money?”
Lady Jesson nodded.
This was a test. Phoebe’s lips twitched as she wondered how well Lady Jesson and the Earl of Marstone knew each other.
“You could use… information… to persuade people to do… well, to do good things?”
Lady Jesson smiled approvingly. “As I said, I collect information. I pass along enough harmless gossip to maintain the impression people have of me, and to make sure I get invitations.”
“Why do you need to do that?”
“A general lack of funds, and few high-born relatives,” Lady Jesson said, without any sign of embarrassment. “I hear things, and I make connections. My staff are also good listeners. Often a surmise can be confirmed by a word or two—the unwary often give themselves away.”
“So persuading people doesn’t always require proof, just a good guess?”
“Precisely.”
“But why do it?”
“You could say I’m a busybody, I suppose. I feel that I can occasionally influence things for the better.”
Phoebe looked down at her hands. Lady Jesson had been very frank, and shared information that Phoebe didn’t think she’d want repeating elsewhere. The woman had shown confidence in Phoebe’s discretion; she should return the compliment. But first, perhaps Lady Jesson could tell her something.
“I think I saw my aunt with some letters when we were on the journey back,” she said. “I wondered if they were what she went to Calvac to retrieve.”
Lady Jesson’s hand paused in mid-air, her tea cup half-way to her mouth. “Letters?” She put the cup down, her brow furrowed in thought. “Denville?”
Phoebe waited.
“Lavinia was being courted by Lord Denville’s second son,” Lady Jesson said at last. “I’m not sure what happened, but he went off to join the army and she married your uncle.”
Love letters? And her aunt had not only kept them, but decided to accompany Anson on his journey to retrieve them. She wondered if her aunt had chosen Monsieur de Calvac only for his title, and regretted the loss of a former suitor.
She shook her head—it was none of her business. If her aunt regretted that long-ago decision, it was her uncle she felt sorry for.
But Lady Jesson had asked what had happened in France. “The trouble began when we were waiting to be served at an inn,” Phoebe began. “My aunt didn’t realise the dangerous situation we were in.” She related the basics of the story, skating over the detail of the night the comtesse had made her wear the gold dress. She didn’t mention the information Alex had been carrying. “And my uncle has gone to see if Lord Marstone or Mr Westbrook knows anything about these rumours.”
“That is the complete story?” Lady Jesson asked, when she finished.
“No, my lady. It is all the information that is relevant, however.”
“Well, that will have to do. I must say that I never thought Lavinia would be as spiteful as that.”
“I don’t know why she dislikes me so much. It isn’t as if I can compete with Hélène for suitors.”
“Apart from Harlford,” Lady Jesson pointed out.
Phoebe shook her head. “That’s over. He sent a note to my uncle.” She felt a brief flash of regret—she did like the marquess, but he had shown he did not trust her.
“Hmm.” Lady Jesson gazed at her, her head tilted a little to one side. “Did you know that your uncle made an offer for your mother?”
“No. Really? When?”
“A few years before he married Lavinia. Your mother declined, and married your father instead.”
Phoebe knew that part of the reason her mother’s family had objected to her marriage was because she’d turned down a high-born suitor to do so. She hadn’t known it was her uncle. There hadn’t been much contact between the sisters, and she’d always assumed it was because of her father’s status as a surgeon and apothecary.
It sounded as if her aunt had been jealous of her mother, but why? The comtesse valued status and wealth, and she had those.
“You knew my mother?” Phoebe asked—that, too, was new information.
“Yes, quite well during my first season—she was only a few years older than me. She didn’t come to Town again after her marriage and I lost touch with her, to my regret. I was still in Town when Calvac was courting Lavinia. Were your parents happy?”
“Yes,” said Phoebe. And that brought her back to the current situation. “I do appreciate you calling, my lady. And for your candour. But I don’t see what is to be done about these rumours.”
“Marriage is the usual ending to such things.”
Phoebe sighed. “To anyone who will have me? I had hoped to marry for love, as my parents did.”
“You don’t like Westbrook? He is the obvious candidate, after all.”
Phoebe shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “That is not the point.”
“What do you know about him?” Lady Jesson raised one eyebrow. “Other than his spying activities, that is?”
Phoebe was about to reply, but hesitated. Did Lady Jesson know, or was she guessing? “Why do you say that?” she said carefully.
“Oh, very good indeed, Phoebe,” Lady Jesson said, smiling.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A good, noncommittal answer.” She nodded, the smile still curving her lips. “It gives no indication of whether or not you know he is a spy. I do not know myself, of course, but I surmise—why else would he be travelling in France at such a time? This Brevare fellow has more excuse, as he is actually French.”
“He said little about himself, my lady.”
“So you know nothing about his family or his background?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“Hmm.” Lady Jesson stilled, her cup in mid-air, her eyes fixed on something across the room.
“Lady Jesson?”
“Oh, sorry. I must think about this.” She put the cup down and stood up. “I will leave you now, but do not be too downhearted. Something can be done, I’m sure of it. It may take some time, though.”
Phoebe rang the bell, and Lady Jesson asked Cookson to summon a hackney.
“Thank you for calling, my lady,” Phoebe said sincerely.
“We are friends, are we not? Come now, no tears! I will not be the only one who does not think ill of you, you will see!”
Chapter 44
Alex followed Bella into the library at Marstone House. Lord Marstone was talking to the Comte de Calvac, but Lady Jesson had not yet arrived.
“Why are you here, Bella?” Marstone asked.
“To help decide what can be done about the gossip,” Bella said, taking a seat. “Lady Jesson has gone to talk to Phoebe, and will join us shortly.”
“I am quite capable of looking after my niece,” the comte snapped.
“I only mean to help, monsieur,” Bella said. “Phoebe is my friend, and Lady Jesson was one of Amelia’s friends.”
“Amelia?” Marstone asked.
“Phoebe’s mother.”
Lady Jesson really would be an ally, then.
“I don’t see what there is to discuss,” the comte said. “If the stories are about Phoebe, there is an obvious way to help—”
“Lady Jesson, my lord,” Langton announced from the doorway.
The comte’s jaw clenched at this second interruption. By now, Kellet or Marstone would have told him what people were saying, and Alex could guess what he was about to suggest.
“How is Phoebe?” Bella asked.
“Bearing up well.” Lady Jesson took a seat next to Bella.
“You could have asked me that,” the comte said, irritation clear in his voice. “Can we get on with this now?” He looked around, giving a little nod when no-one spoke.
“Thank you. As I have tried to say twice now, marriage is the obvious way to reduce—”
“Not necessarily,” Bella interrupted.
She glanced at Alex as she spoke, her expression something between sympathy and amusement. Alex wondered if he was going to like her solution any more than the comte’s.
“Do continue,” Marstone said.
Bella glanced around at her audience. “At the moment, there are a number of scurrilous accusations flying about. What is needed is another story giving the opposite view. Perhaps that this Brevare character did not play a major part in the rescue of three ladies in distress and is ashamed of the fact, or that he propositioned Miss Deane—”
Alex’s fists clenched as he recalled that Brevare had done so.
“—and was rejected, and he is spreading these stories to get his revenge.”
“But we cannot put about such a story ourselves,” Lady Jesson said. “It would seem too partisan. However, both Bella and I can arrange for the story to spread via servants—it may well be more effective that way, in any case.”
Bella turned to the comte. “If anyone mentions any of it to your family, monsieur, it is essential that they all say the same—that Phoebe was never out of your wife’s company.”
“They will,” the comte said.
“You will excuse me for saying so,” Lady Jesson put in, “but your wife may need some encouragement to do so—over and above whatever you say to persuade her.”
The comte’s brows drew together, but finally he nodded. Alex felt sorry for him—it could not be easy being married to such a woman.
“How do you intend to…ah…encourage my wife?” the comte asked.
“Maria and I are working on the details,” Bella said. “To start with, I think it will be best if your family is out of town for a little while, so I would like to invite your wife, daughter, and niece to Oakley Place for a week. Your son and his governess, too, if you wish. It’s in Sussex, so only half a day’s travel.”