by Jane Ashford
Cecelia’s aunt practically dragged her through the door and away, leaving James alone in his wreck of a house, his mind seething with questions.
Thirteen
Lady Wilton was in the entryway of the Vainsmede house when they arrived home, though it was past the conventional hour for morning calls. “There you are!” she exclaimed. “I was just going. I have been waiting an age.” Not pausing for an invitation, she walked up to the drawing room with them, sat down like a one-woman delegation, and fixed Cecelia with a disapproving stare. Cecelia was strongly reminded of a raven she had once seen at the Tower of London. It had been pecking the eyes out of a dead pigeon.
The comparison nearly made her smile. But her thoughts were too full of James to be diverted. She could not have mistaken his kisses, or the look in his eyes when he said he had been thinking of her. She might have spoken up when Aunt Valeria berated her, but she hadn’t wished for her future to be settled in such a scene. She would return to him, no matter what her aunt decreed, and they would do that together. Her heart sang at the prospect.
“What have you done?” said Lady Wilton.
Wondering if she’d discovered James’s hiding place, Cecelia merely looked inquiring. Inside, she braced for a scolding.
“Prince Karl has been talking about you.”
“What?” This was the last thing Cecelia expected.
“He is giving everyone the impression that you are his mistress.”
“What?” Aunt Valeria turned on Cecelia as well. “What have you…”
“Hold your tongue, Valeria Vainsmede,” said Lady Wilton, her expression and tone sour. “You are a travesty of a chaperone. Pretending to be deaf! Idiotic! You have no right to protest now that you have allowed disaster to befall your charge.”
Aunt Valeria closed her mouth with a snap.
“Prince Karl dares to claim this?” Cecelia wished she had throttled him when she had the chance.
“Not outright,” Lady Wilton admitted. “But he is dropping sly remarks among the gentlemen at their clubs. Which they then pass on to everyone they know, of course. Nothing overtly claimed, but everything smugly hinted. He is creating a strong, most unfortunate impression.”
“He is a worm!” Cecelia exclaimed.
“Possibly. No one cares about that, however. What did you do at Vauxhall?”
“Nothing!”
“Your idea of nothing appears…” began Aunt Valeria.
“Quiet!” Lady Wilton gazed at Cecelia and waited.
“He led me onto a dark path and kissed me,” she admitted. “And I pushed him away and told him I didn’t wish to marry him.”
“He proposed?” Lady Wilton looked surprised.
“No. I–I thought to forestall him. To prevent any awkwardness.”
Their visitor’s frown deepened. “I suppose this is when you learned that he plans a political marriage?”
“Yes.” Cecelia bit off the word.
“And never meant to make you an offer.”
Cecelia nodded curtly.
She got a sigh and a headshake in response. “So you had two fine suitors, and now you have none,” said Lady Wilton. “One you have lost. The other you bungled. I am disappointed in you, Miss Vainsmede.”
Aunt Valeria started to speak. Cecelia cut her off with a gesture. “I did none of that, Lady Wilton,” she replied.
“It is always the lady’s fault in these situations.”
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
“Then you are fortunate in your conversations,” replied the old lady dryly.
“I have done nothing wrong.”
“You have done nothing right either, Miss Vainsmede. That is the problem.” She turned to Cecelia’s aunt. “And you. You’re known to be very lax. Oblivious, in fact. You are the poorest vestige of an excuse for a chaperone. That is adding to gossip. People can believe you would overlook all sorts of unconventional behavior.”
Aunt Valeria looked outraged. “They suggest I would allow Cecelia to become someone’s mistress?”
Lady Wilton shook her head. “Rather that you pay no attention. And thus do not see what is going on under your nose. Which makes some believe that matters might have gotten out of hand.”
A queasy mixture of fury and contempt gripped Cecelia and brought her to her feet. “So you have passed along your news. You have pointed out our supposed failings. And told me my fate. Are you satisfied?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have had your gossip. Perhaps you will go now.”
“I beg your pardon? I came to help you.”
“Indeed?” Cecelia ground her teeth. “If I am such a hopeless bungler, why would you wish to?”
For the first time in this conversation Lady Wilton appeared uncertain. “It isn’t fair,” she said finally.
“You do not say so!”
“Oh, sit down, Miss Vainsmede. Enacting a Cheltenham tragedy won’t mend matters. We must think what to do.”
“We? I still don’t understand your interest.”
“I…” The old lady shrugged. “At one time, I thought you might marry Tereford and become part of my family.”
“Which time?” Cecelia couldn’t help asking.
“It doesn’t matter. You are a sensible young woman. I don’t wish to see you humiliated.”
Cecelia’s turmoil had subsided slightly. “So you are here to… What? Offer advice?”
“It is a bit late to be asking my advice.”
The sour response was almost welcome. It would have been strange if Lady Wilton had suddenly become all kindness and accommodation.
Female voices sounded from below. Cecelia would have told the footman to turn away visitors, but she hadn’t known what news Lady Wilton was coming to deliver. Cecelia started to rise, but before she could act, the drawing room doorway was filled with bright gowns.
Her four new friends arrived like a second delegation. Sarah, Ada, Harriet, and Charlotte stopped a few steps in, clearly disconcerted to find Lady Wilton present. The looks on their faces suggested that they’d heard the gossip.
No one seemed to want to speak, so Cecelia broke the awkward silence herself. “Prince Karl is spreading lies,” she said. “Lady Wilton has told me.”
The young ladies looked at the old woman, surprised.
“The story must be everywhere if even silly chits are hearing it,” said Lady Wilton.
“We are not silly chits,” said Sarah.
“We came to form a scheme to help,” said Ada.
The old lady made a derisive sound. “How do you imagine you could do that?”
“We don’t know yet, but we are very resourceful,” said Charlotte.
“Nonsense!”
“I don’t know why you say so, since you don’t know us at all,” said Harriet.
“I know that society will not listen to girls fresh from the schoolroom.”
“We don’t intend to lecture people,” said Charlotte. “We will develop stratagems.”
“La, what a word.” Lady Wilton shook her head. “You will not get far on vocabulary.”
“I will. To the places I want to go,” snapped Charlotte.
“I begin to feel like a charity project,” Cecelia interrupted. “And I don’t care for the sensation. I will manage this…difficulty myself.”
“No, you won’t,” replied Lady Wilton. “Without allies you will be lost.”
Cecelia felt a battery of eyes upon her. Allies were a fine idea, but she didn’t see what any of them could do. They couldn’t march up to people and deny hints and innuendo. That merely gave them strength. She didn’t know what she was going to do. At this moment, she was mainly thankful that James had withdrawn from society and would not be hearing the prince’s hateful lies.
***
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br /> James was tossing a wad of mildewed tapestry out the window when Effie ran into the room they were clearing. “There’s a man out back,” the little girl said. She looked anxious.
“What sort of man?”
“A fine gentleman. He looked in the kitchen window and saw Mam and me.”
“Why didn’t you hide?” asked her brother, Ned.
“We didn’t know he was there! He just…turned up. All of a sudden like. And he ain’t going away. He went and knocked on the door!”
“I said as how we should fix that lock on the stables,” said Ned.
Since James suspected that the boy had broken it in the first place, he said only, “I’d best go and see.”
Effie looked relieved to have passed off responsibility.
Peering out into the cobbled yard behind the house, James saw Henry Deeping pacing there. He did indeed show no signs of leaving. With a sigh, James went to let him in the back door. “Did Ce…someone tell you I was here?” he asked when he opened it.
“I worked it out for myself” was the reply. “Who knows that you’re here?”
“Never mind.”
Henry craned his neck to see over James’s shoulder. “Looks like a rum sort of place.”
“You have no idea.”
“Did you know there’s a pile of furniture in your back garden?” Henry pointed to the wall at the side of the yard, and James saw that his discards had begun to show over the top. He merely nodded.
“And that Hobbs has gone to work for Bingham? Bingham’s boasting all over town about luring your valet away from you.”
“I suspected as much,” James replied.
“Don’t you care?”
James shrugged.
“What’s happened to you?” asked Henry.
“I have more important things to think about.”
His friend gaped at him. “More important than your valet? You always said…”
“A great many irrelevant things,” James interrupted. “I’m touched by your concern, Henry, but I must get back to work.”
“Work?” He said it as if he could not connect the word with James.
“My great-uncle left a monumental mess.” James gestured at the pile over the wall. “It has to be gone through.”
Henry gazed at him, at the discarded furnishings, and then back at him.
“And I’d appreciate it if you did not share my current address,” James added. He indicated that his friend should go out the way he’d come.
Henry shifted from one foot to the other. “Something to tell you,” he said. “My sister said I had to find you. And after a bit I thought of this place.”
“Your sister?” James couldn’t imagine what that spiky girl had to say to him.
Henry nodded. And then said nothing.
“Well, what is it?”
“Not quite sure how to put it.” Henry looked around as if he feared eavesdroppers. “It’s a bit sticky.”
Seeing that his friend appeared genuinely concerned, James stepped back and led him inside. He took him through the house and up toward his bedchamber, the only livable private space.
As they walked, Henry voiced astonishment about the state of the house. “This is a rum place and no mistake. Is that a spinning wheel?”
James simply nodded. As they passed the room where he’d been working, Ned and Jen stuck their heads out. “Who’s that?” asked Henry.
“My staff.”
“Your… Is this some sort of joke, James? Because I’m not seeing the humor in it.”
“It’s Uncle Percival’s jest, not mine.” They reached James’s bedchamber, and he closed the door. “What is this thing you must tell me?”
His friend looked uneasy.
“You see how much there is to do here,” James added. “I should get back to it.”
“Prince Karl is spreading rumors about Miss Vainsmede,” Henry blurted out.
“What?”
“He’s claiming…well, insinuating that she…succumbed to his advances.”
The fury that swept through James then made him incapable of speech.
“He’s doing it really well, too,” Henry added. “If that’s the word for slander. I saw him at a card party. He drops hints and then pretends to regret his slip. Claims far too vigorously that he meant nothing by it. Goes off with a sly, secretive smile.”
“That foul buzzard,” James growled. He was shaking with the need to pummel the fellow.
“Charlotte says it’s not true,” Henry added quickly.
“Of course it’s not true!” James had no shred of doubt.
“But she’s worried that some people are being convinced.”
“I’ll kill him!” said James. He turned to go and do so immediately.
Henry caught his arm. “A duel would just draw more attention to his story. People would say there must be some truth to it if you issue a challenge.”
James jerked free. He hadn’t been thinking of anything as formal as a duel. More along the lines of assassination. “People,” he echoed with revulsion. But he had to admit that Henry was right. A fight—another fight—would add to the talk. There was also the fact that Prince Karl would skewer him in a duel. He struggled with rage and frustration.
“Charlotte and her friends want to find a way to squash the rumors.”
“Ridding the world of the prince would be a good start,” James answered.
“Not really,” replied Henry.
“Stealthily, as a conjuror makes a rabbit disappear.”
His friend almost smiled. “But that is not possible.”
“You could not use your diplomatic connections to have him deported?” James was only half joking.
“My ‘diplomatic connections’ are no more than a slender hope at this point,” Henry replied.
He’d known this. “I must return to society,” James said. There was no question. Cecelia was more important than anything else, including his own position. He would return to his rooms today. “I don’t suppose you can recommend a valet?”
“I…what?” Henry stared at him.
James had to look his best if he was to come down on Prince Karl like the avenging Furies from the old Greek story. Didn’t they rip evildoers to pieces? That must have been a satisfying role. He would make the fellow sorry he’d dared to malign Cecelia. More than sorry. He would see him crawl. “Never mind. I will call on your sister tomorrow morning,” he added.
“On Charlotte?”
James nodded. “Perhaps you could arrange that her three friends are also present?” He couldn’t recall their names in the heat of the moment, but Henry knew who he meant.
Henry had not moved.
“Well, go!” James commanded.
His friend started and went.
James wanted nothing more than to run to Cecelia and sweep her out of harm’s way, but in the circumstances that was no simple task. There were preparations to make.
He went downstairs to inform Mrs. Gardener that she would be watching over the house until he could return. “The stable lock will be repaired,” he told her. “And you will be given a key. The front door you can ignore.”
“How long will you be away, milord?” she asked.
“I’m not certain just now.” At her anxious look, he added, “Is there anyone you would like to have with you here? A relative perhaps?”
“Uncle Will,” said Jen. “He could fix the lock. He can fix anything.”
“Jen!” said her mother.
“Your brother?” James asked her. He was recalling remarks about the children’s father and wanted no criminals brought into the household.
“Yes, milord,” said Mrs. Gardener.
“He’s a good man, brave as a lion,” said Ned as if he understood James’s worries. “He fought
in the war.”
His mother nodded. “He lost a leg.”
There had been so many such soldiers in the last few years.
“But he don’t go begging in the street,” she added quickly. “He finds work, here and there. Like Jen said, he’s a whiz at fixing things. And he has a peg. He can move about right well.”
Her tone was a further recommendation. James didn’t believe she would advocate for a lawbreaker after the hardships she’d experienced. “Would you like to invite him to stay here?” he asked Mrs. Gardener. “We certainly have much that needs mending. And he could watch over things.”
“I can do that,” protested Ned.
“That’d be fine, milord,” said his mother at the same time. “He’d work hard, he would.”
“Let us do that then.” James turned to Ned, who looked sulky. “You said you could use a flatiron.”
The whole family looked surprised by the change of direction. And uneasy. “Yeah,” said Ned.
“Could you press a coat? Properly?”
“I reckon I could,” answered Ned, his expression shifting to puzzlement.
“Milord,” put in his mother.
“Milord,” muttered Ned.
James examined the idea that was forming in his mind. He was perfectly capable of tying his own neckcloths, and a laundress could manage his linen. But there was more to it if he was to appear in all his old perfection. His landlady would pitch in, but… “Have you ever shined boots?” he asked Ned.
“I could make ’em look better than that,” the boy replied, indicating the ones James currently wore. “Milord,” he added at his mother’s frown.
James looked down at the dusty, scuffed leather. How had he let his footwear come to this? Hobbs would have been horrified at the state of his boots. He made up his mind. It was nothing more than an experiment after all. “My valet has scarpered,” he continued. “I need someone to help with my clothes. Perhaps you could try.”
Ned stared, then grinned, then nodded with wide-eyed enthusiasm.
James noted that the boy’s mother appeared to have doubts. Well, so did he. They could only see how it went.