by Balogh, Mary
The ton seemed deeply affected. Mr. Manley Rochford was a dignified, handsome man—an older version of his son without the smile. Nobody seemed particularly to notice his wife, who said nothing. Or, if she did, no one heard. Mr. Anthony Rochford still smiled, but there was a brave, sad tinge to it on that Sunday morning.
“It was a magnificent performance,” Estelle reported to her father and stepmother at luncheon. “I almost soaked a handkerchief with my tears.”
They had not been there. But Estelle and Bertrand had gone to church, as they usually did. They had been brought up by an uncle and aunt who had strict rules about worship. Though, as Bertrand was fond of saying whenever questioned on the matter, he and his sister went from personal inclination too. It was, after all, many years since they had lived with their uncle and aunt.
“He is a distinguished-looking man—I will give him that,” Edith Monteith remarked to the Dowager Countess of Riverdale, her sister, as they rode back home in the carriage.
“And handsome too,” Miss Adelaide Boniface, her companion, agreed. “I admire the graying at the temples that happens to some fortunate men when they reach a certain age.”
“If he had been on the stage,” the dowager commented sourly, “he would have been booed off it for overacting.”
“Pride goeth before a fall,” Mildred, Lady Molenor, said to her husband as they walked home from church. “Where is that quotation from, Thomas? The Bible?”
“The Bible or William Shakespeare,” he said. “It is bound to be one or the other. I assume you are making a prediction about Rochford?”
“He is going to be hideously disappointed,” she said. “I cannot wait to witness it. Our plan—Jessica and Gabriel’s actually, but we all have a part to play—is quite spectacular and quite diabolical.”
“I married a bloodthirsty woman,” he said.
“Thomas,” she said. “He is a—” She looked around to make sure no one was within earshot but lowered her voice anyway. “He is a ravisher. And almost certainly a murderer too.”
“Are you quite sure you wish to accompany me tomorrow, Wren?” Alexander, Earl of Riverdale, asked his wife during the afternoon while she was feeding their baby in the nursery. “I will be quite happy to go alone.”
“After observing his behavior at church this morning,” she said, looking up at him tight-lipped, “I will go even if you change your mind. He would have let Gabriel die thirteen years ago. He would have watched him hang. For something he did. He is beneath contempt. And compassion.”
He leaned across their suckling baby and kissed her hard on the mouth.
The Westcott women had held their meeting at Viscount Dirkson’s home on Saturday afternoon. They had all been present, including, to the surprise of everyone else, Jessica herself.
“Because,” she had explained when questioned, “it is not enough simply to confront the man privately and allow him to slink off back home to lick his wounds—though the thought even of that gives me some satisfaction. He must not be allowed to escape some sort of justice, however.”
“My thoughts exactly, Jessica,” Wren said. “But how are we going to bring that about?”
“It is the precise reason why we have gathered here,” Aunt Matilda pointed out.
“I think we should have him arrested,” Grandmama said. “And thrown into a deep, dark dungeon. A damp one. With rats.”
“On thirteen-year-old charges?” Cousin Althea said. “For offenses that were committed a long way away? I think that might be easier said than done, Cousin Eugenia, though I do wish we could do it.”
“Avery could do it,” Jessica’s mother said. “And make the charges stick. So could Alexander. The two of them together—”
“We need a definite plan,” Cousin Elizabeth said. “Something we can implement even if Avery and Alex disagree on the bold move of trying to have Mr. Rochford arrested.”
“I have one,” Jessica told them. “It is why I am here. I would not have come otherwise.” And then she wished she had not added that last, for everyone looked at her—naturally, for she had spoken—and she could feel her cheeks grow hot. She had slept last night, deeply and dreamlessly, probably for several hours, but before and after—
Well.
She probably looked like a dewy-eyed bride the day after. Which was precisely what she was.
“There is that costume ball on Tuesday evening,” she continued. “I have been looking forward to it ever since I received my invitation.”
“I love masquerades,” Estelle cried. “And I am not telling anyone what my costume is to be. No one will recognize me in a million years.” She laughed.
“It is bound to be a great squeeze,” Aunt Viola said. “Everyone loves a masquerade—the respectable kind, anyway, and Lady Farraday’s is always very respectable indeed. No one sneaks in uninvited there despite the most impenetrable of disguises. That distinctive invitation card is everything. Are you hoping Mr. Rochford—Mr. Manley Rochford—will be there, Jessica, even though he is such a recent arrival in town?”
“That is where all of you come in,” Jessica said, glancing about the room. “We need to make sure both that he is invited and that he attends.”
They all gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment.
“I sense a brilliant plan,” Elizabeth said. “The unmasking will be a sensation. I suppose it is the unmasking you are picturing as the climactic moment, Jessica?”
“Yes,” she said. “It will not take care of the meting out of full justice, it is true. We may need another plan for that when the time comes. But it will be a very public humiliation if it is well enough orchestrated. It will be talked about for the next decade. Gabriel and I will take care of that.”
“Oh,” Estelle cried, “why should you have all the fun, Jessica?”
And there she went again, Jessica thought, blushing to the roots of her hair and to the ends of her toes, though that was not what Estelle had meant.
“They will not, Estelle,” Aunt Matilda assured her, sounding quite militant. “Not when there will be Avery and his quizzing glass and Alexander with his magnificent height and looks. And Thomas and Colin and Marcel and Charles. And Bertrand and Boris and Peter too. And that is to name only the men. Then there will be us.”
“All of which,” Grandmama said, “will be worth nothing, Matilda, if Lady Farraday does not send that man an invitation and if he does not attend the masquerade.”
“Mama,” Aunt Mildred said, sounding incredulous. “You surely do not doubt that we can make absolutely sure both those things happen.”
“Who will come with me tomorrow afternoon to call upon Lady Farraday?” Aunt Viola asked.
“I will,” Elizabeth and Wren said together.
“I will go too,” Jessica’s mother said, “even though it will be Sunday. I will go separately from the three of you. Matilda, you must come with me. You too, Mildred. I believe we make a somewhat intimidating trio. The Westcott sisters.”
“I daresay,” Grandmama said, “half the ton will call upon Mr. Rochford and his wife next week. They will, after all, be the sensation of the hour. They already are. Edith and I will call upon them on Monday.”
“Charles and I will call too, Mama,” Aunt Matilda said.
“And Marcel and I,” Aunt Viola said. “With Estelle, if she is willing. She will be an inducement for the man to come to the masquerade, after all, and to bring his son with him. Not that Mr. Anthony Rochford has ever been reluctant to attend any entertainment, though he may be nursing a broken heart if he has discovered that Jessica has married Gabriel. It will be in the morning papers on Monday, I suppose?”
“I am almost as grand a prize as Jessica, however,” Estelle said. “Daughter of a marquess and all that. Yes, I will go with you and Papa, Mother. I would not miss going for worlds.”
“I believe,” Anna said, “we will all wait upon the Rochfords on Monday. Avery normally avoids morning or afternoon calls rather as he would the plague, but I can dare
predict he will make an exception on this occasion.”
“And when we go, we will all express the fond hope that his future lordship will be at the masquerade with his wife,” Wren said. “Before his cousin is declared officially dead, that is, and his grief keeps him from all grand entertainments.”
Grandmama made a sound of contempt that was not quite a word, but she seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings. They subsided for a few moments into a satisfied silence.
Oh, Gabriel had indeed married into a whole family yesterday!
Gabriel! For a moment Jessica’s thoughts wandered. He had gone to find his lawyer, even though it was a Saturday and the man might not be amused to have his day off disturbed. Then they were going to dine together and compare notes and . . .
Well.
Gabriel had been looking forward to getting back to his hotel and to Jessica returning from her meeting with the women of her family. He had looked forward to dining privately with her and to retiring early to bed with her. Last night had been one of broken sleep. Not that it was just to catch up with missing sleep that he hoped to retire early tonight, of course.
Bedtime did not come as early as he had hoped, however. Neither did they end up dining alone.
Jessica was in the middle of telling him all about the meeting at her aunt’s house while he removed her bonnet and kissed her throat, and she accused him of trying to distract her, when they were both distracted by a knock on the door.
They waited for Horbath to emerge from the bedchamber to open it. They listened to the discreetly hushed murmur of voices.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Horbath said with a deferential bow, leaving the door slightly ajar while he came to report to Gabriel. “There is a Mr. Simon Norton belowstairs wishing to have a word with you.”
Norton? Here? Not back at Brierley? He must have assumed that his job there was completed now that Manley had come to London. Or perhaps he had come to bring that news.
“Have him shown up,” he said. He smiled ruefully at Jessica. “I am sorry. Will you mind? He is the man I sent to Brierley to find out a few things for me. I will get rid of him as soon as possible.”
“Of course I do not mind,” she said.
But when Norton was admitted, he did not come alone.
He had Mary with him.
Nineteen
So this was Mary Beck.
The woman for whom Gabriel had come back from America, leaving behind him the life he had made for himself there, his home and his business, his friends and his neighbors. For more than six years he had resisted the allure of an earl’s title and all the honor and respect it would bring with it as well as a stately home and estate and a fortune. He had not been interested. He had been happy where he was.
She was tiny, perhaps not even quite five feet tall. She appeared to have a bit of a hump on her back and one twisted arm. She limped heavily. She wore a long, shapeless coat and no hat. Her hair, a drab mixture of faded brown and gray, was scraped back over her head and sat on her neck in a small, tight bun. She had a long, plain face. She was probably in her fifties, though that was only a guess.
And Gabriel had spoken her name with warm affection and bent over her to hug her close. He held her for a long time, his eyes tightly closed, his arms noticeably gentle.
“Gabriel, Gabriel,” she said over and over in a deep, almost manly voice, patting his upper arms. She laughed softly. “Look at you. You are all grown up.”
The man Jessica assumed was Mr. Norton stood just inside the door, which Gabriel’s valet had closed quietly before disappearing back to the bedchamber.
“You came all this way?” Gabriel asked rhetorically, moving back far enough to look into her face, though he kept his arms about her. “Mary? What were you thinking?”
“I heard that Mr. Rochford had come here,” she said. “And I was afraid he would have you thrown in jail, Gabriel. I was afraid they would . . . hang you before I could stop them. So I went to find Mr. Norton and persuaded him to bring me. Don’t chastise him for coming, even though you had not given him orders to leave his post. I threatened him. I told him if he did not bring me, I would come alone on the stagecoach and you would not like it and blame him. And I meant it. I have a letter with me from Ned Higgins.”
“Ned Higgins?” He frowned. “But Mary, never mind that just now. Let me take your coat and make you comfortable and introduce you—”
But Mary was not to be deterred. If she had been able to talk without stopping for breath, she would surely have done so. “Ned is the young groom who brought me that little fawn and stayed outside the cottage while you and I set its broken leg,” she explained. “Not so young any longer either. He has a wife and three children, two of whom like to come and pick flowers from my garden for their mother when I pretend not to be looking. Ned is still squeamish about animals in pain, bless his heart. I wrote the letter for him, Gabriel, because he can only barely read and write. I asked Mr. Norton to be there, though, so that he could watch and make sure that I wrote only what Ned said and that I did not prompt him at all. Ned did read it over when I was finished, and then he signed it. Mr. Norton witnessed it with his signature. Something I did not know before then was that after Ned left the cottage on that day—you were still there with me—he came upon a cluster of men gathered about the dead body of that poor young man. Ned watched while he was taken up by a few of them to be carried home to his father. So. They are not going to hang you, Gabriel, or throw you in prison. I won’t let them.”
She was breathless by the time she finished. And the whole of her focus was upon Gabriel.
“Mary,” he said, “thank you. Thank you for all this. Thank you for coming, though I am vexed that I made it necessary for you to travel all the way to me when I ought to have gone to you. Thank you for the news, for bringing the letter, for caring. But come and be comfortable. Let me introduce you to someone very special. To Jessica. She did me the great honor of marrying me yesterday.”
He turned her toward Jessica and released his hold on her.
And they looked at each other, the two special women in his life.
“Jessica.” Mary’s hands, one terribly twisted, came up beside her face, palm out, and her face lit up with a smile. “But you are lovely.”
And Jessica realized something that made no sense from the point of view of her eyes. Mary Beck was beautiful. It was something to do with her face—her plain face—and her eyes. She had heard it said that the eyes are the window to the soul. But Mary’s eyes . . . No. One could not see her soul through her eyes. One could see it in her eyes and beaming out from them to light and to warm the whole world. Mary was a living soul. Which was a bewilderingly foolish thought. Especially upon an acquaintance of mere moments. It was true, though. Surely it was.
Jessica reached out both hands, and Mary set hers in them. Jessica clasped the twisted one very gently. “How very happy I am to meet you, Mary,” she said, and kissed the older woman on the cheek.
Travel over English roads must not have been comfortable for her. And that was probably a great understatement. She had not even had the luxury of Avery’s carriage to travel in.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Mr. Norton was saying to Gabriel. “But I judged you would want me to accompany Miss Beck rather than stay put, especially as Mr. and Mrs. Rochford were gone. I’ll turn around and go back up there, with your permission, and see if I can find Mrs. Clark.”
“It is already done,” Gabriel told him. “And you did the right thing, for which I thank you. Go home, Norton—on full pay. I will send for you when I need you again.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mr. Norton let himself quietly out of the room.
Mary meanwhile seemed aware of her surroundings for the first time. She looked around in something like awe and then, beaming happily, turned her attention back to the two of them.
“Yesterday,” she said. “You were married yesterday. Two beautiful people. And I can see that you were made for each other.”
“You just missed our wedding,” Jessica said. “What a pity that is. But you must come and sit down. It will be dinnertime soon. Gabriel will send Mr. Horbath to arrange for the table to be set for three.”
“Oh no, no, no,” Mary said, holding up her good hand in protest. “I did not come to impose my company upon Gabriel. Even less so upon Gabriel and his bride. We can talk another time. I will remain in London—my, my, what a vast place it is—until I am quite certain you are not going to be thrown in jail, Gabriel. Mr. Norton—what a very polite and gentlemanly person he is—has recommended a women’s boardinghouse to me. I will ask one of the kind porters downstairs to give me directions and . . . Well, perhaps I will ask him too if he will call me a—hackney cab, do you call carriages for hire here? Then I will be able to take my bag with me. It is downstairs. That very courteous manager promised Mr. Norton that he would keep it for me.”
“Mary,” Gabriel said, “don’t be ridiculous.”
She looked at him in some surprise, saw that his eyes were twinkling, and laughed her deep laugh. “Well,” she said, “perhaps you will come downstairs and make the arrangement for me, Gabriel. I confess to being a bit overwhelmed. I will not keep him from you for more than a few minutes, Jessica. Oh, you are a lovely young lady. And a kind one.”
“Mary,” Jessica said, smiling. “Sit down. On that chair beside the fireplace. It is the most comfortable. And that is an order.”
Mary threw up her hands again and laughed.
“Jessica was Lady Jessica Archer before I married her,” Gabriel told her. “Sister of the Duke of Netherby, a most formidable aristocrat, Mary. He could reduce you to a dithering heap with one look through his quizzing glass. Jessica could do the same thing—if she carried a glass.”
“I could indeed,” Jessica said. “Come, Mary, and sit down. Gabriel will go in person to arrange for dinner and to secure you a room here at the hotel. And you shall have Ruth, my maid, to keep you company and prevent you from being too bewildered. Just do not expect her to talk. She is a woman of few words.”