by Allison Lane
Mary saw that disappointment in the growing petulance, the imagined slights, and the increasingly desperate flirting. Laura wanted more than London could provide, which endangered them all.
"You are right. Most of my suitors are pitiful puppies, and Whitehaven is too obedient to his father's will,” said Laura, making one of her inexplicable reverses as she joined Mary on the stairs. “Society bores me. My suitors are no better than the squires and farmers at home. Their clothes may be more elegant, but behind their dash, they care for exactly the same things."
"Why does that surprise you?” Mary asked cautiously. “The gentry and aristocracy have similar interests. But don't make the mistake of thinking everyone dull. Town conversation revolves around gossip, clothes, and the latest wagers. Other topics are unfashionable. Even Blake adheres to that custom, though he has many interests."
It was another reason Mary knew she could never find a husband in town. Society chatter disguised a man's character. She might have met some interesting gentlemen at literary gatherings or intellectual soirees, but she had no time to attend. Thus the only intriguing man she knew was Grayson.
But she could hardly count him a friend. He would hate knowing she had seen him at his worst. No gentleman admitted weakness.
Laura lowered her voice. “That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. I enjoy gossip as much as anyone. But I cannot tolerate a husband who remains on his estate, or even in London. He must be a traveler. An adventurer. Someone who ignores convention."
"Like Lord Byron?” Mary shook her head.
"Of course not,” snapped Laura. “Byron is too conceited to ever interest me. I don't know what Lady Caroline sees in the man. He ignores her every wish."
Mary bit her tongue, though she knew that a man with the confidence and determination to explore the world would never devote his life to satisfying Laura's whims.
"But I've finally found the perfect husband,” Laura continued, excitement threading her voice. “I suspected as much earlier, and now Lady Wilkins has confirmed it."
Mary grasped the handrail more tightly. Lady Wilkins was vindictive and had a grievance against Laura. It would not take much intelligence to plan the perfect revenge. Laura's penchant for coveting anyone not in her court was already known.
Laura didn't notice her agitation. “He has traveled extensively, both in England and abroad. He is titled and wealthy, is fascinated by China and the West Indies, and would welcome a wife on his journeys. She was interrupted before she could introduce us, but I caught him watching me a short time later. The look in his eye was obvious. I expect he'll contrive an introduction tomorrow."
"Who is he?” Maybe her fears were groundless.
"Lord Grayson."
"Don't be ridiculous, Laura. You know better than to take Lady Wilkins's word for anything. She would love to ruin you. But even if her claims were true, Grayson will never do. You can't even speak to him. Every matron in society would cut you, and your entire court would flee."
"Her claims are certainly true. I heard the same ones at Lady Beatrice's yesterday."
"What difference does that make? You of all people should know how rumor can exaggerate, twisting truth into something utterly false. Have you forgotten Jasper Rankin?"
"Jasper was a consummate liar. The chances of it happening again are so remote as to be impossible."
"I doubt it. I heard another version of Grayson's so-called travels from someone in a position to know. There was only one trip—to Brussels on business. He splits his time between his London office and his Sussex estate."
"That sounds like Lady Westlake. I swear she must fancy the man to champion him so consistently. But it will avail her naught. I'll not tolerate liaisons."
"You won't have a say in the matter."
"Of course I will. We will be wed before the Season is out. I saw the spark in his eye. He is already madly in love with me."
Shock turned Mary speechless. And fury. It was bad enough when Laura formed sudden tendres for men she barely knew. This time she hadn't even met the man, yet she was planning a wedding.
She must deflect her attention. Grayson already considered her a pest. The last thing he needed was another Miss Turner.
Yet what could she do? Claiming that Grayson wasn't interested would raise questions, and Laura would deny anything she said anyway. It would do no good to reveal that Grayson had fled the ballroom to escape her. Laura would twist his actions into concern for her reputation. She'd done exactly that with Blake.
Laura seemed to read her mind. “Don't you dare mention Blake again. I never would have misjudged him if he hadn't pretended a courtship to cover his investigation,” she swore in blatant untruth.
Mary drew in a deep breath. “If Grayson cares for you, then he will contrive to meet you. Let him handle everything, Laura. Showing undue interest could ruin you. Society is not ready to forgive him."
"Brilliant idea!” Laura beamed. “I will prove my love by redeeming his reputation. I have more than enough credit to do so. How grateful he will be."
Mary's mouth fell open. She should have expected this twist. Laura would naturally seek to heal. Yet the suggestion created a new dilemma. Laura's credit was already under fire if Catherine's complaints were any indication. Fashion might proclaim her a diamond today, but that could change in a trice. Yet that was another reality Laura would ignore.
"Laura, think! Some of Jasper's rumors reached town. While his banishment laid most of them to rest, too many people believe there is no smoke without fire. Thus we must avoid any hint of scandal. If you so much as smile at a man society dislikes, they will turn on you.” Listen to yourself, her conscious warned. You should also take heed. “Speaking to Lord Grayson can ruin you—and not just you. None of us can weather another scandal. Do you wish to be ostracized? Surely you remember how it felt to be denounced by people we had known all our lives. If Blake hadn't discovered the truth, we would be outcasts."
Laura bridled. “While it is true that you must be careful, that restriction does not apply to me. Society worships beauty. I could ride naked down St. James's Street with impunity. If you stayed in company instead of fleeing at every turn, you would know that."
"I do know the difference between your situation and my own.” Mary kept her voice steady with difficulty. “Acclaim has perched you on a pedestal high above the rest of us. But that means you have farther to fall, making you more susceptible to scandal. People watch your every gesture and drink in your every word. Your rivals will pounce on the slightest indiscretion, trumpeting it to the world. Public opinion can shift in an instant, especially about a diamond. You need look no further than Miss Norton."
"You sound like Miss Mott. Governesses often spout such nonsense to coerce blind obedience from their charges. But it isn't true. You know little about society and nothing about love. You've never seen a man gaze at you with his heart in his eyes or communicate across a room with a single glance. Grayson loves me. It is as clear as the words in those books you devour. And he knows that he cannot approach me until his reputation is restored. He will suffer unbearably until we can be together, so it is up to me to save him."
Mary nearly swore. “At least let him come to you instead of chasing him. If you even look at him, your reputation will suffer."
Laura shrugged. “It matters not. We will not be in England long enough to notice.” Her expression hardened when Mary raised a hand to protest. “I will wed him. Make no mistake about that. He is everything I seek in a husband—exciting, adventurous, and determined to have only the best, as his refusal to wed his mistress proves.” She glared. “And if you try to stop me, I'll destroy you. It is bad enough that I must share my Season with an antidote, enduring pity and suspicion whenever you draw censure. But I won't tolerate interference. I had nearly given up hope, but this match is perfect.” She stalked into her room and slammed the door.
Mary stared, appalled. Would Laura never grow up? She might be two years the elder, b
ut she had no more sense than a child. And her craving for adventure was as powerful as ever. She hadn't changed a jot in eighteen months. Her arrogance had led to trouble then, and it would do the same now. Unless she was stopped, her antics would drive Grayson from society for good. And she could irreparably harm Blake and Catherine.
* * * *
Mary woke early, despite lying awake for hours trying to choose her course. Laura's new obsession threatened them all. This was hardly a country backwater in which indiscretions could be covered and forgotten. Lady Beatrice knew everything that happened, most of it within the hour. And what Lady Beatrice knew, everyone knew.
But perhaps Laura was not as reckless as she sounded. She was far from stupid. In addition to adventure, she also craved adulation. Thus she would not risk losing her court until she grew desperate. So Mary had a day or two before she must carry tales to Blake.
That was the point at which she'd fallen asleep. But dreams had kept her tossing. Not of Laura, but of Grayson. He had been tied to a stake, with angry lords and ladies thrusting blazing torches into the wood heaped about his feet. She had tried to stop them, to convince them he was innocent, but no one saw or heard her. Finally her mounting frustration had awakened her.
Rain drummed against the window, promising a dreary day.
Mary treasured these early morning hours. No calls or callers. No ladies frowning at her for slips of the tongue. No criticism to increase her tension and make matters worse. If only she'd remained in the country. Laura would certainly be happier.
But that option was even less possible today. Laura would destroy Grayson if she wasn't stopped. Unfortunately, Mary was the only one who could protect him. Blake would take the threat seriously, but he rarely attended Marriage Mart parties, so would not be at hand. Thus any action he took would be after the fact. Catherine would dismiss the complaint as exaggeration. Even after the plot against Blake, Catherine did not truly understand Laura.
Mary shook her head as she slipped into a muslin morning gown. Catherine had married their vicar when Laura was twelve. Thus she had not witnessed the lengths to which Laura would go to win a man's favor. The incident with the groom two years later had not been an aberration. There had been similar scenes with a footman, two tenants, and a neighbor. And those were just the ones Mary knew about. She thought Laura's virtue remained intact, but there was no guarantee. Laura craved affection and sought every possible sign of it. So if she wanted Grayson's hand, she would take steps to claim it. Patience had never been her forte. Thus Mary must remain nearby, ready to deflect any schemes that might harm the family.
But for now, she would go to the bookstore.
Shopping was something she rarely enjoyed, for Laura usually took charge of expeditions, spending hours—and fortunes—in hat shops, modiste shops, and bazaars. After a lifetime of pinching pennies, Laura was determined to make a name for herself as the best-dressed, most beautiful miss of the Season. As a result, she had long since overspent her allowance.
Catherine made an equally tiring companion, complaining constantly that Mary's wardrobe was inadequate. She even offered to buy gowns out of her own money so Mary needn't feel beholden to Blake, but Mary always refused. She had enough gowns. It was more important to expand her library, for there was so much she did not know. That was today's errand.
She had just arranged for a maid to accompany her—Frannie had to be available when Laura awoke—when the knocker sounded. A footman accepted the first of the day's flower deliveries. Mary shrugged. Laura received many such offerings, though they meant nothing to her beyond a way to keep track of her popularity.
She was heading upstairs when the footman stopped her.
"For you, Miss Mary.” He handed her a posy of delicate violets.
"Me?” There had to be a mistake.
But her name was scrawled across the attached card. It was unsigned, save for a sketch of a pied flycatcher.
She nearly laughed. Grayson was so very different from rumor. Without risking her reputation, he had thanked her for their time together and assured her that no one would learn of the incident. A true gentleman.
Smiling, she set the violets on her dressing table, then set out for Mason's Book Emporium, a smallish shop that specialized in the sciences. If the day were truly magical, she might find a copy of that folio.
That hope soon died, but an hour later, she was engrossed in a book on the natural history of Cornwall. Despite its proximity to Devonshire, the duchy supported a different mix of birds, animals, and plants, some of which Mary had never seen.
"The carriage is here, Miss Mary,” reported the maid.
"Already?” But the clock on the counter verified that it was time to go. Catherine would be furious if she was late for morning calls.
"Tell Briggs I will be out momentarily,” she instructed. At least the rain had stopped. If her gown remained dry, she wouldn't have to change.
But she nearly dropped her parcel when she stepped outside. Despite the early hour, Lord Grayson was strolling along the street, looking healthier than last night except for his purple eye.
No one from society was in view—not surprising at this time of day—so she could thank him for the flowers. And she could also warn him about Laura. If he avoided any balls the Seabrooks attended, Laura could do nothing rash, and Mary wouldn't have to tell Blake about this latest start. But as she raised a hand in greeting, Grayson darted across the street, narrowly avoiding a carriage.
"Stop!” His command was clear above the clatter of traffic, though the rest of his words were drowned by shouts and curses from a dozen drivers. He looked furious as he pulled two boys upright by their collars and shook them. Whatever he said was effective. The moment he released his hold, they fled.
That's when she saw the dog cowering against a building. The boys had been tormenting it.
Grayson scooped it up, holding it against his chest as a hand soothed its fears. He jumped into a carriage and slammed the door. Only then did Mary recall her own carriage.
Her throat tightened.
Grayson protected girls from social disaster, studied natural history, and rescued animals from harm. He was a kind man with a sensitive nature, as she'd suspected from the first. How had he tolerated the scorn heaped on him by a judgmental society? His only crime was helping people like her who didn't fit. And for that he was reviled, distrusted, and misused by unscrupulous girls who knew nothing about him.
No matter what Lady Horseley and her ilk claimed, Grayson was not a cold, callous man who cared only for pleasure. It might be a façade he used to cover pain, but it wasn't real.
She owed him a stronger warning about Laura. Maybe a let—
Her carriage suddenly stopped in the middle of Piccadilly. Merchants, peddlers, and a dozen wagons blocked the way. Beyond a narrow arch stood a crowd of gentlemen, many attired in dressing gowns. Smoke poured from a window above them.
Fire.
It was a most fearsome enemy.
The gathering had also blocked Grayson's carriage. He jumped out and hobbled into the building, leaving the dog behind. To help?
Blake's cousin, Jacob Townsend, spotted the Rockhurst crest and hurried over. Blake had introduced them a year ago, hoping they might make a match. That hope had rapidly fizzled, but they had become friends.
"What happened?” she asked.
"Mischief.” Jacob shook his head. “Two lads stole one of those rockets they use for the Vauxhall fireworks displays. I don't know what they expected when they set it off, but it broke loose, crashed through one of Albany's windows, and set fire to the room."
"Goodness!"
"Fortunately, no one was there. Servants and neighbors are battling the blaze, but it could have been disastrous. Jenkins claims it landed in a bed and ignited the linens.” He nodded toward a gentleman standing at the curb.
"What will happen to the boys?"
"We have to catch them first.” He grimaced. “They fled. Several people followe
d, but the lads probably escaped. It has been half an hour with no sign of them."
She gazed again at the building, where the smoke was lessening. Whoever lived there would suffer considerable damage. “Poor man."
"Who?"
"The owner. Even if the furnishings survive, they will never be the same. One of our neighbors once suffered a chimney fire. You could still smell smoke in her drawing room a year later."
He nodded. “Our local inn had the same problem. They finally refurnished the private parlor because too many customers complained.” He shook his head. “But don't lose your soft heart over this one, Mary. By all accounts, the damage is slight and easily repaired. Grayson will hardly notice the expense. His fortune puts Golden Ball to shame."
"Lord Grayson?"
"Those are his rooms, though he wasn't here. He just returned from his evening revelries.” Jacob nodded toward Grayson's carriage, then mumbled something about the Delectable Wren. Probably his mistress if Jacob's blush was any indication.
She stifled a burst of pique at Jacob's assumptions, but didn't bother correcting him. Grayson could not have remained out all night. He had been too faint after the ball to do aught but stumble home, and he had changed his satin evening jacket for a superfine morning coat before reaching Coventry Street. He was also wearing boots today. But defending him would raise questions, and Jacob would never believe her anyway. He was a prig who probably thought Grayson split his nights between multiple gaming hells and a dozen courtesans.
Men were clearing the street, allowing traffic past. But she couldn't get the image of flames from her head. First her dream, and now this. Coincidence or warning?
At least Grayson had been away, for stiff bruises would have hampered his escape. If he'd been in bed—which most gentlemen were this time of day—he would have been badly injured. Or worse.
Or perhaps not. People often accomplished the impossible in emergencies. One of William's tenants had escaped a furious bull by running a quarter mile despite a broken ankle.