by Regina Scott
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he murmured. “This has been a mess all around. We’ll avoid Curtis, focus on our work.”
Charlotte sighed. “I fear that’s your response to every difficulty.”
Once more Worth frowned, but Bateman bumped his shoulder. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What?” Worth demanded.
“Your sister may have told this Curtis fellow about your balloon, but she wasn’t the one who cut the ropes.”
“Certainly not,” Charlotte agreed.
Bateman nodded. “That means there’s someone else out to harm your work, my lord, perhaps the same person sending those notes. Until you know who, you better not bring the balloon home.”
Chapter Nineteen
Meredith set aside the novel she’d been reading and went to the window. Fortune ran ahead to jump up on the sill. Pulling back the thick drape and cracking the shutters, Meredith joined her pet in gazing out into the night. Carriages, lamps a warm glow, trundled past, taking the fine ladies and gentlemen of Clarendon Square to a ball, soiree, play, or opera. Her feet twitched in her lavender-colored satin slippers. As if she felt it, Fortune glanced up at her.
“I have no wish to join them,” Meredith assured her. “I had entirely enough of Society with Lady Winhaven. All the gossip, all the snide remarks. It’s rather refreshing not to have to pretend I care.”
Fortune’s tail swished back and forth, brushing the velvet of the drape.
“Well,” Meredith allowed. “I do miss the opera. Perhaps we could go sometime. That place isn’t the sole possession of the haut ton. All we need is the price of admission.”
Fortune’s ears perked, and she pressed closer to the glass. Meredith saw it too. A carriage had pulled up below, the driver holding the horses steady while his passenger alighted with a swirl of a black evening cloak. From a story above, it was impossible to see who it was, but that confident walk told her who was coming to call a moment before he looked up at her window and the gaslight illuminated his dear face.
Julian.
She jerked back before he could spot her. Heartbeat speeding, she made herself close the shutters, return to the sofa, and pick up her book as if she had nothing more important to do.
Fortune had no such need to impress. At the sound of the knock, she was out the door to greet their guest. Meredith smiled a welcome as Cowls and Fortune ushered Julian into the room a few moments later. Her butler must have taken his cloak and top hat, for he looked splendid in his evening black, shirt points crisp and cravat elegantly tied.
“I didn’t expect you this time of night,” Meredith said as he inclined his head in greeting.
“I found my evening’s engagements less than engaging.” He came to join her on the sofa. “I saw your light and hoped you might be willing to receive me.”
Always, but perhaps it would be best if she didn’t admit that out loud. She had been enamored of Julian since she was nine and he a lordly thirteen. One Christmas when she was sixteen, she’d done all she could to catch him under the kissing bough, sure that one touch of their lips would convince him they were meant for each other. Whether it was the kiss they’d shared or the clamoring of their hearts, she had never been sure, but Julian had declared his undying devotion that day. If only she could believe him so besotted now.
“You are very welcome,” she said as Fortune jumped up between them. “We had no plans for the evening.”
As if to agree with her, Cowls ambled out of the room and left them alone.
Meredith frowned after him. He was getting on in years, for all she tried not to remember. But surely he wouldn’t forget the need for a chaperone. Fortune, now rubbing her head against Julian’s leg, hardly signified in the eyes of the ton.
Then again, Meredith was no longer considered a member of the ton, having put herself beyond the pale by opening her own business. Being accused of murder hadn’t helped. And she knew she could trust Julian to behave as a gentleman.
Perhaps too much a gentleman?
He did not look the least at ease. Rather than lean against the curved back of the sofa, he sat upright, hands each gripping a knee of his black satin breeches. One foot tapped at the carpet, the silver buckle on his evening pump flashing in the firelight.
Meredith cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”
His head came up, eyes on her face but in a rather vague manner, as if he wasn’t seeing her at all. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
Lies? She’d thought better of him. Her spirits slumped with her shoulders. “You’ve changed your mind.”
He blinked. “My mind?”
“About pursuing this courtship. You’ve come to break things off.”
Julian shook his head. “I have no intention of breaking things off. I remain your most devoted servant.”
She didn’t believe him. Neither did Fortune, for she pulled back to align herself with Meredith.
“So devoted, sir,” Meredith said, “that you refuse to be seen publicly with me, that you feel it best to sneak into my home in the dead of night lest someone spot us together.”
He grimaced, and she felt heavier still.
Meredith waved her hand, and Fortune hunkered lower. “Go, then. I suppose it was too much to hope. Between the scandal with Lady Winhaven and my audacity to ply a trade, I’m a rock weighing down your ambitions.”
“That,” he said, eyes lighting at last, “is nonsense.”
“Is it?” Meredith challenged. “You were invited to more than one engagement this evening. I wasn’t.”
“You were invited to the Lady Lilith’s wedding,” he countered. “I wasn’t.”
“Only because Lydia is my client and friend,” Meredith insisted.
His mouth hinted of a smile. “If all your friends end up marrying into the aristocracy, you won’t have to worry about being accepted long.”
“But you do worry,” Meredith said. “You have since Eton. You like the acceptance of your friends, Julian. I could threaten that.”
He took her hand, held it in both of his, the touch sending a tremor through her, even as Fortune jumped down and disappeared under her skirts.
“Then perhaps I have the wrong sort of friends,” Julian murmured.
How easy to slip into his smile, float in the admiration shining from his eyes. But her mother had once warned her Julian thought more for his future than hers. She hadn’t believed the claim then. She feared it now.
“Julian, I would not have you regret our association,” she told him. “More than anything, I want you to be happy.”
“And I am convinced I can only be happy with you at my side, my dear Mary.”
She pulled away from him. “I’m not Mary Rose. I’m Meredith Thorn. The girl you knew vanished ages ago. Can you love the woman she became?”
“With all my heart.” He leaned forward and kissed her.
And all at once, her fears, her frustrations, melted, to be replaced by a joy and a wonder as deep as the first time he’d kissed her. Here were her dreams, her future. Here was love. Why couldn’t they stay this way, always?
Something pressed against her leg, her chest, insistent, demanding. Meredith broke the kiss, and Julian leaned back. Fortune stood between them, tail slashing and ears back.
Julian rose and bowed to her pet. “I beg your pardon, Fortune. You are quite right to chastise me for my behavior. I should go.”
Disappointment pushed her to her feet. “So soon?”
If Julian heard the desperation as clearly as she did, he didn’t show it. “Forgive me, Meredith. I can see I’ve given you the wrong impression of my feelings for you. I will rectify matters. I may not have the opportunity for tea the next few days, but rest assured I will return as soon as possible.” He inclined his head and turned for the door.
Meredith took a step forward, to do what, she wasn’t sure. Fortune jumped from the sofa and positioned herself directly in front of her, only to sit and begin licking one delicate paw as Julian left.
Meredith bent to pick up her pet, smoothing her hand over the silky fur. “I don’t know whether to thank you or scold you.”
Fortune’s mouth turned up, showing her sharp, white teeth, as if she’d known exactly what she’d been doing.
If only Meredith felt the same.
~~~
The next day, Lydia stepped back from where Worth and Bateman were settling the balloon in the rear garden.
“It will be safe here, Miss Villers,” Marbury promised.
The tall, imposing dark-haired butler with his hawk-like nose had managed Carrolton Park, the former home of her new sister-in-law Lilith. He had been brought to London to set up the house where Lilith and Beau would reside when they returned from their honeymoon. The three-story brick house just off Clarendon Square had a walled garden behind it and had been a gift from Lilith’s brother, the Earl of Carrolton, someone Worth trusted from longstanding. It hadn’t been difficult for Lydia to convince him this might be the safest place to hide the balloon until they determined who was out to destroy it.
“We know you will safeguard the balloon,” she told Marbury. “It shouldn’t be long. Lord Worthington will come to remove it as soon as he can.”
Once he had assured himself of his team’s loyalty.
Charlotte was already at the Worthington houses assembling the others. Lydia rode back in the carriage with Worth and Bateman. Though the bodyguard kept glancing between her and Worth as if unsure what to make of them, she was glad for his company. Since Worth had proposed, and she had refused, they had not had time for private conversation. In truth, she wasn’t sure what remained to be said.
He had admitted he feared that he did not choose the right people as associates. Certainly he’d been used most cruelly by John Curtis, who had claimed friendship, a desire to work together, before betraying Worth. To publish Worth’s work as his own! She could imagine little more devastating to a natural philosopher. Small wonder Worth had been so leery of trusting again. He could only see the trouble with the balloon as further evidence of his inability to determine the truth about the people around him.
But when they were all gathered in Charlotte’s study, Miss Pankhurst and Miss Janssen seemed just as appalled by the idea that one of them was a traitor.
“Who would attempt to damage our balloon?” Miss Janssen cried from her place on the sofa, glancing around as if seeking a suspect among the books and instruments. “So hard we all worked.”
“Perhaps the balloon wasn’t the intended target,” Miss Pankhurst put in from where she sat beside Charlotte at the table.
Charlotte frowned at her. “Then what was?”
Miss Pankhurst’s hands fluttered. “Goodness, how would I know? I have heard, however, that in such circumstances, one should look at who benefits. Certainly Miss Janssen and I had no reason to risk the balloon on a moonlit ride.”
Miss Janssen nodded her broad head so vigorously both chins disappeared.
Charlotte glanced to Lydia. “True.”
Lydia felt as if she’d stepped into a stream, cold shooting from her toes to her top. “I didn’t make off with the balloon. The ropes were cut.”
Miss Pankhurst tsked. “You needn’t dissemble, dear. We all know who cut them.”
The villain! With each statement, she dropped crumbs that marked a trail leading straight to Lydia. And Worth, dear Worth, would follow the trail all too easily, not believing in his ability to do otherwise.
She glanced at him now. His brows were down, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth tight. Her heart sank.
He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Let us put aside Miss Villers for the moment. Why else would anyone seek to delay our work?”
“Jealousy,” Miss Janssen said readily, with a look to Lydia. “I myself was bitter once, though I never compromised the work.”
“Jealousy,” Worth mused. “Of what?”
“Of whom,” Charlotte corrected him. “We know Mr. Curtis was too interested in you and your work.”
“Mr. Curtis?” Miss Pankhurst asked. She too turned to Lydia with a smile that was patently false. “Isn’t he the man you dined with, dear, just before the balloon met with its mishap?”
Such venom. Lydia had been greeted by it many times, generally from other young ladies intent on making a match, but never when the stakes were so high. If Miss Pankhurst convinced Worth, everything Lydia had worked for would be lost.
Still, she knew only one way to counter such despicable behavior. With a sunny smile.
“Why, yes,” she admitted. “I met with Mr. Curtis. He claimed to want to help with the balloon. I already explained the matter to Lord Worthington.”
“Indeed,” Worth said, gaze going to Miss Pankhurst over his fingers. “In a private conversation held hundreds of feet in the air and miles from London. I seem to recall you knew the meeting was at Gunter’s as well. How did you learn of it, Miss Pankhurst?”
Now her lashes fluttered with her hands. “Why, Miss Villers told me.”
“I most certainly did not,” Lydia declared.
She dropped her hands. “Of course you did. You needn’t posture. You wouldn’t be the first to be taken in by his promises.”
Charlotte blanched.
“So he took you in as well, did he?” Worth asked Miss Pankhurst.
Lydia started, even as Miss Pankhurst pursed her little lips.
“Why,” she asked brightly, “what would a gentleman of Mr. Curtis’s standing want with a mere companion like me?”
Charlotte was staring at her. “Because he assumed a companion would be as hungry as any spinster for attention. Oh, Miss Pankhurst, not you too?”
She raised her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Miss Janssen turned to Charlotte. “It can’t be true. Mr. Curtis is a gentleman, even if he has shown himself to lack honor. Why would he pursue an old spinster?”
“I’m younger than you,” Miss Pankhurst snapped, chin dropping. “And some gentlemen are wise enough to realize that with a certain age comes knowledge and skill.”
“And the eagerness to have others recognize it,” Lydia agreed.
She rounded on her. “You see! I knew you would understand. Confess now, Miss Villers, and I daresay Lord Worthington will go easy on you. That’s how most men react to your blandishments, isn’t it?”
Just when Lydia thought the woman hung, she threw off her noose and dropped it neatly about Lydia’s neck. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe.
Didn’t dare glance at Worth, for fear of what she would see. If he had believed the worst about her a year ago on a mere story from Miss Pankhurst, how could he do less now?
Chapter Twenty
Anger made Worth’s face hot, his throat tight. Why did he continue to be plagued by the betrayal of those closest to him? Did they think him stupid, weak? Had he no reason, no character capable of seeing perfidy?
And how dare she try to point the finger at Lydia?
“Miss Pankhurst,” he said. “Collect your things. We will have no further need of your services.”
Both Miss Pankhurst and Miss Janssen stared at him. Lydia straightened, face lighting, but she clamped her pretty lips together as if to keep from speaking.
“I don’t understand,” Miss Pankhurst said, glancing at Charlotte as if for support. “I have ever given good service. Miss Worthington will vouch for my character.”
“Once,” Charlotte said, leaning back. “But I begin to see my brother’s point. You have had several half days off recently. You knew where Miss Villers had been before she informed any of us.”
“She told me!” the woman insisted.
“I can only conclude,” Charlotte continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “that Mr. Curtis offered you something more than we could provide. I hope it keeps you warm and fed, for I cannot in good conscience provide you with a reference.”
All timidity and deference disappeared. Miss Pankhurst rose, nose up and mouth a sneer. �
�Why would I want a reference from you? No one in any good family would put stock in it, not after the stain of your ruin becomes common knowledge.”
The woman landed punches better than Bateman. Worth felt as if he were reeling from a strike to the nose. Had he been so derelict in his duty to protect his sister?
“Charlotte,” he said, “what is she talking about?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte insisted, so fervently he could not doubt her. “Mr. Curtis and I met only in public. There is no shame in that.”
Relief coursed through him. But Miss Pankhurst wasn’t finished.
“No shame at all,” she agreed. “But I have been your companion this last year. If I were to claim knowledge of secret meetings, some lasting overnight, I would be believed.”
She might at that. Worth chilled at the thought. Charlotte certainly saw the danger, for she was turning white.
Lydia giggled, turning all eyes to her.
“Miss Pankhurst, you are so funny,” she said, green eyes bright. “But attempted blackmail? No, no, you simply don’t have it in you. As the sister of a man steeped in the art, perhaps I could give you a lesson.” She rose and went to sit beside the woman, for all as if she was intent on having a good coz. Worth couldn’t look away.
“In the first place,” Lydia explained sweetly, “it is well known that Lord Worthington spends an inordinate amount of time at home, and Charlotte is his nearly constant companion. Surely he would have noticed if his sister was entertaining, particularly a man he is known to abhor. Likewise, he would have noticed if Charlotte was gone for any length of time.”
“Quite right,” Worth said. He wanted to grin at her flawless logic, but he was afraid of spoiling the effort. And he couldn’t wait to see what else she said as Miss Pankhurst’s face turned an ugly shade of red.
“Then there is your failure to deliver an ultimatum,” Lydia continued with a shake of her head that set her ringlets to bouncing. “A good blackmailer demands payment that is not out of reach. You demanded nothing.”