by L. C. Sharp
“He must have bought the whole of Covent Garden’s supply of flowers,” Amelia said in awe. “And every candle is lit. Hundreds of them.”
“Around a hundred, to be sure,” Ash said. “But you’ve visited before.”
“My parents would not associate with the duke,” Juliana said. “We never attended a ball.”
They spoke low enough not to be overheard, but the people around them seemed unconcerned. Of course Juliana was all but unrecognizable as the woman she used to be, and Ash and Amelia did not venture into society. They didn’t care enough to do it.
By this time they had reached a footman. Already even though no fire was lit, heat was rising from the candle flames and the increasing press of people.
“The Newcastles are notorious for their gatherings,” one woman close by observed to another. “Only the cream of society is offered a ticket.”
“Then the cream of society must be large indeed,” her companion remarked.
The first woman shrugged. “He’s a politician. He needs to invite a few riff-raff.”
When they’d passed the two, Ash murmured, “In fact, Newcastle invites everyone, friend and foe alike, and then throws them together. And his servants listen to the result. He is a genial host, but at his most—” he paused, searching for a word “—public, he has a tendency to grandeur.”
Juliana had heard of the duke’s behavior and demeanor in public. Her father had called him a pompous ass, and that opinion had been sadly confirmed by several broadsheets. But the first time she had spoken to the duke, really spoken, was the other night, when they had brought the widow Coddington the sad news of her husband’s death. He had appeared perfectly friendly and intelligent then.
At the top of the stairs stood the man himself, his wife by his side. The duchess suffered from ill health, but she appeared in good spirits tonight. As comfortably built as her husband, she was similarly adorned, in frills, furbelows and diamonds, the gown in a slightly startling shade of bright pink that suited her. The pallor of her skin owed little to rice powder, Juliana noted with concern.
He bowed over her hand when she offered it, both of them supremely practiced in social niceties. He barely touched her fingers, and the threatened kiss stopped an inch above her skin. “Lady Ashendon, we are honored to see you.”
He offered Amelia a similar address, and exchanged bows with Ash, taking the opportunity to murmur, “If you are staying more than half an hour this time, I’d appreciate a quiet word with you later.”
“If possible,” Ash replied, “but you will be occupied with your guests for some time.”
“At least the next hour,” he said with a slight smile. “But I do enjoy meeting people. If we find no time tonight, perhaps you would spare me a moment tomorrow?”
That was not a question. It was an order.
Ash bowed his head. “I would be delighted to speak with you about the subject. Do people know of your part in it?”
The duke sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. The guests that night knew I was there. But I have said nothing. You may tell them what you wish, but please remember the sensibilities of all concerned.”
“Naturally, your grace.”
With a smile, the duke turned to Juliana. “I would appreciate the honor of the first minuet, unless your husband has claimed it.”
Juliana glanced at the duchess.
“I do not dance,” she said, “but I enjoy watching it.”
Juliana curtseyed. “You honor me, your grace. Won’t the ladies of superior rank resent your choosing a mere baronet’s wife?”
Newcastle gave her a look from under hooded eyelids. “They can think what they please. The Ashendons have long been family friends.”
As if possessed of a preternatural sense, he lifted his head and looked toward the door. “Ah. There’s a surprise.”
Juliana followed the duke’s gaze and nearly gasped. Her parents had arrived.
A polite stir rippled through the company. Although still early, at least a hundred people had already arrived, enough to create a sense of fullness. Enough to gossip.
Juliana did her best. She turned slowly, as if she had not seen the Earl and Countess of Hawksworth, then glided away with a confused Amelia in her wake.
Difficult enough to appear in front of the people who’d known her before in her new guise, without the mask of face paint to hide behind. Now having to cope with this, as well, rocked her.
She needed a moment to recover.
Ash stayed with them, guiding them to a group gossiping in the corner.
Juliana curtseyed to the Duke of Abercorn. He gave her a flourishing bow, and reached for her hand, grazing a kiss against her skin. “You dazzle me every time I see you,” he murmured, and fixedly watched heat stain her bosom. His address, looks, and fine, muscular body had women fainting, but nobody had snared him yet. Not as a husband, at any rate. And Juliana had never been this close to him in company because her mother did not consider him suitable company.
“You are outrageous, sir. Have you made any more conquests since we saw you last?” she asked, rallying quickly.
“Oh, any number,” he said with an airy wave of his hand. “I cannot tell for sure, since I don’t keep count of ’em.” While the ladies laughed, he gave his attention to Amelia, who accepted his compliments with a cool smile and murmured thanks.
“My sister doesn’t approve of Abercorn,” Ash murmured.
The two ladies flicked out their fans with sharp snaps and wafted them before their faces. “I cannot imagine why,” said Miss Laura Attenborough, although the sly smile she sent the duke said otherwise. “Indeed, I was speaking to Lord Stanton a moment ago, and he declared that no other man stood a chance of appealing to a lady with you in the same room.”
The duke raised a brow. “Stanton? I’m not sure I know him.” Miss Attenborough opened her mouth to reply, but the duke continued, “But whoever he is, he has a point. Although it’s more the stories about me. When people know that half the gossip about me is untrue, they soon lose interest.”
“Only half?” Miss Attenborough remarked, plying her fan so the spangles glued to it created a glittering storm before her face. “You are too modest, sir.”
The duke smiled, but the lady turned to Ash. “Ah yes, Sir Edmund, I’ve been reading about you,” the elegant Miss Attenborough said. “You help Bow Street solve the most horrible murders, do you not?” She cast a sly glance at Juliana. “I do not speak of affairs close to home, you understand, but this recent business at the Fireworks has London agog! And your new name—do you approve?”
Ash frowned. “As far as I know, my name is the same as it has ever been.”
“The Falcon,” Miss Attenborough said. “Have you not read this evening’s gossip sheets? The Daily Ransom is calling you the Falcon, the man who will go to war with the evil half of the city to keep it safe for law-abiding citizens.”
Only Juliana would have noticed the lines either side of Ash’s mouth deepen. The reaction was very slight. He disliked the name. “Such foolishness,” he said in a voice of clear ice. “What I do deserves no enticing prose. I work to bring justice to people, that is all. Many other lawyers do the same thing.”
“They are not you, Ash.” That quietly, from the duke. “You are a bright light in the darkness for many people.”
Ransom had aimed a shot directly at them. If he succeeded in attracting public attention with the new nickname, Ash could do nothing to dislodge it. Society would drink it up, especially since Ash was involved in the scandal of the month—the death of Lord Coddington at a royal event.
Ash’s mouth tightened even more. “I shall speak to him.”
Juliana shook her head. He’d do better to ignore it, but she wouldn’t speak of that to him now. Later, when they were—alone. She had almost thought “in bed.” But last night would not be repeated s
o soon, surely.
* * *
A chill ran down Juliana’s back. She turned around, already sweeping into a deep curtsey. Her hands shook, a fine tremble she quelled by clasping them together as she rose and met her mother’s gaze.
The past flooded back into the present. Memories of the chilling, precisely enacted punishments crowded into her mind. The hours spent sitting still, barely able to breathe, staring into space, the starvation, the hour-long lectures.
She forced herself to take one cool, deep breath. Then another.
Her mother tilted her chin. Since Juliana was taller than her mother, that meant little, but the disdainful stare had always shriveled her to nothing.
But not now.
Her father said, “We must discuss our situation.”
Ash stared at him, his eyes chips of ice. “I believe we’ve discussed everything needful.”
“You must come to dinner,” the earl told him, more in the nature of an order than a request. Juliana knew that tone.
“Unfortunately we always appear to have other engagements when you invite us. Such a shame.” Ash didn’t sound as if he regretted it. Neither did she.
Ash did not step forward or try to shield her. She respected that.
Her mother gave her a disdainful sweep, her gaze going from Juliana’s toes to the top of her head. She did not have to say anything, but she did anyway. “Is this the latest fashion, to appear at a ball in undress?”
“Not undress, ma’am.”
Unexpectedly, Abercorn inserted himself into the conversation. He bowed to the earl and countess.
Her mother’s eyes widened. Abercorn lifted his quizzing glass and raised it to his eye. “Just so,” he said. “Well met, countess. A lady of your maturity does not have to keep up with the very latest fashions, and so you might be unaware of them. You have the gravitas that comes with experience.”
Beautifully judged. Her mother spent hours poring over fashion accounts, and even longer with her favorite mantua-makers. Who, of course, had become the mantua-makers her daughter used, too.
The countess tried to stare the duke down, but the quizzing glass won. She flicked her fan open and wafted it. In the past, Juliana had performed that task for her mother, but she made no attempt to do it now.
The earl cleared his throat. “Harrumph! I would discuss the unfortunate affair of Lord Coddington’s death. I had wished to do it in a more private situation, but since you are too busy to attend us, then it must be here.”
“You have information for us?” Juliana asked.
“No. Merely a request that you do not involve yourself in such vulgar matters.”
Juliana spoke before any of her unwanted supporters could. “I find that I share my husband’s passion for justice. If he did not,” she reminded her parents, “I might not be here today. Nobody believed me except him.” The final words even you remained unspoken, but hung in the air between them.
“I hate to interrupt such a heartwarming reunion.”
The Duke of Newcastle had arrived, as the musicians engaged to play for the dances struck up. Few rooms in London could cope with more than a quartet, but Newcastle’s reception rooms could have housed a small village. He’d employed eight musicians, one playing an elaborately painted exquisite harpsichord with the Newcastle coat of arms on the case.
He bowed to Juliana. “I’ve come to claim my minuet.” He graced her parents with a cool nod.
Juliana had the pleasure of knowing her parents watched her as she performed the minuet with the Duke of Newcastle.
Standing on the opposite side of the room was the duke’s brother, Prime Minister Henry Pelham. Since the duke had received his title after his brother’s birth, Henry had no right to use a courtesy title, but then he hardly needed one. He was the most powerful man in the country, and no title was necessary to prove it. He bowed to Juliana, and smiled. She smiled back, inclining her head to acknowledge him.
A more compact version of his brother, Henry had the reputation of being the clever one, but Juliana was not so sure.
“You appeared uncomfortable,” the duke said as he bowed to her at the beginning of the dance, “so I had the music brought forward half an hour. I could not risk missing the pleasure of dancing with you.”
“Thank you, sir. I believe relations between my husband and I and my parents will improve over time, as they accept my choice.” She believed no such thing, but she didn’t wish for gossip to rise up again.
Newcastle might not be in the first flush of youth, but he moved well. The orchestra played the pretty tune a little slower than usual, and so they managed, the nervous one and the grand one, to perform the dance fairly well.
Fully aware that by selecting her, the duke had bestowed a signal favor, Juliana concentrated on the dance, wondering how many people the duke had slighted and why he’d chosen her. She was not so foolish as to think he was merely being kind. He had a purpose in selecting her for the honor.
She turned her mind to the dance. When it was over, when she’d performed the final curtsey without a wobble, the duke took her hand and bowed over it. When he rose, he was smiling. A patter of polite applause made her smile, too. As the orchestra played the chord that signaled the next dance, Newcastle took her off the floor, but not to return her to her husband. He took her to his brother.
Mr. Pelham bowed. “Lady Ashendon, how good to see you. Your husband is an old friend.”
“He says you were very kind to him.”
Pelham smiled wryly, his round face creasing. A jovial man, a comfortable man. Except he could rouse the Commons to action in an instant, and stand up to the fiery Pitt. “One does not always look for favors from a person one helps. However, your husband is a clever lawyer and an even more clever investigator. With you by his side, you should make a formidable team.”
Startled, she met his eyes. “Me, sir? How could I do that? I spent years in ballrooms, learning pretty tunes on the harpsichord. My most useful skill is double-entry bookkeeping.”
“And the way you watch people.” Pelham laughed lightly. “I’m shocked that your parents missed it.” He paused. “Perhaps not. Come, let me introduce you to my wife, give you someone else to watch.”
They strolled up the ballroom to where his wife sat on a sofa, chatting comfortably to another lady of about middle age. “I, too, watch people. Next to harassing Pitt and Fox, it is my favorite occupation. You have clever eyes, madam. At one point, that was all a person could see of you.”
So somebody had noticed the quiet girl, then the woman, sitting by her mother for hours on end. Society had called her vapid. She’d seen no reason to change society’s mind.
The prime minister’s wife and sister-in-law wore the same style as the gown Juliana wore, simpler than last year’s style, the hoop smaller. They were easily contemporaries of her mother. Another snub, though a very subtle one the countess could choose to ignore, if she wished. And she would.
Juliana curtseyed, and took a seat on a nearby chair when Lady Catherine indicated she should. Being the daughter of a duke, Mr. Pelham’s wife retained her courtesy title. As Juliana could, if she wished. She did not wish. Nobody in this room would miss the subtle difference between Lady Juliana Ashendon and Lady Ashendon.
“You have chosen an interesting path in life, Lady Ashendon,” the duchess remarked. “A courageous choice.”
Lady Catherine flicked open her fan and wafted it before her face. “I admire it,” she said bluntly, and smiled at Juliana. “Rather than marry the odious second husband your parents chose for you, you chose your own. I admire a woman who knows her desires and takes steps to achieve them.”
Juliana shifted in her seat. “I had few options at the time, your grace, my lady.” She wouldn’t tell them that she had lied to her parents and virtually forced Ash into either lying or marrying her in truth.
He did not seem too concerned about it, she thought, recalling the events of last night.
“But you have embraced your fate.” Lady Catherine lifted her gaze. “Ah, I can’t see him anymore.”
“Your husband? May I take a message to him?”
“Indeed not. He is busy at his work. Sowing seeds, listening to gossip. No, I meant Lord Stanton.”
“I don’t believe I know him.” Juliana frowned.
“Maybe not, but he knows you. Or of you.”
“Most people in London do.” She disliked her newfound notoriety, but after nearly a year, gossip was finally moving on. While they’d never forget her, she was no longer the topic du jour.
“He lives close to the unfortunate Coddingtons,” the duchess said. “He was discussing the case to the exclusion of everything else. With everybody.”
“Does he know the Coddingtons? Is he related to them?”
“Not at all,” Lady Catherine answered. “In fact, he claims not to know them.”
“Stanton has never shown any interest in lurid murders,” the duchess said. “He is a man about town, really made his mark this season. His father died last year, and he is new out of mourning, flush with cash and ready for trouble.”
“Ah.” Finally, Juliana placed him. “Mr. Wilson.”
“Yes, that was his name before he inherited the viscountcy,” Mrs. Pelham said.
Juliana picked up her fan and plied it gently, setting up a gentle breeze. She remembered him now. A handsome man who had tried to fix his interest with her a few years ago—two?—but her mother had scared him away. Not rich enough, or not controllable enough.
Half an hour later, Ash walked over to join them. He bowed to the ladies. “May I reclaim my wife now?”
Lady Catherine said, “I do enjoy your directness, Sir Edmund. You say exactly what you want.”
He lifted a brow. “Should I have peppered you with flowery compliments, ma’am?”
“Good Lord, no! I tire of being told how lovely I am when I know I’m nothing of the kind. But you have enlivened our little gathering tonight.”