by Allison Lane
Only now did she realize how unusual it was for him to discuss this with her. Most men considered openness to be weak, or they believed ladies were incapable of understanding. To be fair, most ladies did not want the responsibility of facing trouble, so they discouraged disclosure by suffering vapors over any unpleasantness. But Gray was treating her as a partner. The implied trust nearly stole her breath. “Did she mention any friends to her brother?"
"He did not say. Why?"
"Because if anyone knows her secrets, it would be her bosom bows. The seduction had to have occurred long before she met you, probably in the country."
"True, but London friends would hardly know whom she'd met in Yorkshire.” He shuddered.
"Not necessarily. When did you meet her?"
He frowned. “Early May, though I don't remember the exact date. I was late returning to town that year."
"Did she pursue anyone else before fixing on you?"
He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. Nick claims she was an observer rather than a participant in the Season. As far as I know, she didn't flirt and rarely danced. That was why I—” He broke off.
"That was why you partnered her that night. You feel compassion for those who are ill at ease."
"I certainly have no compassion for her,” he snapped, twisting away.
She followed. “Of course not. But you discovered too late that she was neither shy nor nervous. She must have expected to wed her lover, so she really was an observer in town. And she probably knew that exertion would cause dizziness or nausea. Catherine was miserable for months while carrying Sarah, and it was even worse with Max.” Blake's heir was now six months old. Catherine's morning sickness had kept them at Rockburn last Season. “The problem was bad enough for someone like Catherine, but for Miss Turner, any hint of illness would have brought disclosure and censure."
"Then why dance with me?"
Mary paced to the door and back. “Something changed. I suspect her paramour repudiated her when she informed him she was increasing. Thus she needed a husband immediately."
"Lucky me,” he muttered. “But it's true that she hung on me after that set ended, even following me onto the terrace at one point. At first I thought she was terrified of her first London ball. I tried to discourage her interest and left as soon as possible. It wasn't until later that I learned she'd been in town for weeks and rarely spoke with gentlemen. When the next day's rumors claimed we were old friends, I was furious. That's when I decided to avoid any gathering she graced."
"And you quit speaking to innocents entirely, confining your attentions to matrons and courtesans."
"Gossip has always exaggerated my deeds.” Fire flashed in his eyes. “The wildness it describes lasted less than a year. And I never pursued married women, no matter how many lies claim otherwise. I refuse to follow in Rothmoor's footsteps. The man is disgusting."
"I know that.” She laid a hand on his arm, but refrained from sharing her own conclusions of his motives. He might take insult.
"There is only you now, Mary,” he vowed, drawing her closer.
His eyes warmed her clear to her toes. But the vow confirmed that his honor was unique. Even a forced marriage to a near stranger would not cancel an oath he must have made many years earlier—which told her even more about his childhood.
"Thank you.” She squeezed him, then returned to business. “Even if Miss Turner ignored gentlemen, she would have had friends. But since you avoided her, I must discover their identities elsewhere."
"Where? I don't want you taking risks, Mary. Turner is obsessed by her death and determined to avenge her. He may strike at me through you."
She smiled. “Lady Beatrice can answer my questions. Turner can hardly be surprised that I call on her. It is only natural that I verify his claims, and Lady Beatrice prides herself on knowing everything."
"Clever. I knew you were. May I see the letter?"
"I consigned it to the fire. But you surely know what it said. Every charge Lady Horseley makes, plus some rather venal speculation about your motives and preferences.” She blushed.
"Damn his hide,” he muttered, drawing her closer. “I would have spared you that."
"I am not a fainting violet, Gray.” She looked up at him.
"Thank God."
She sighed. “I heard worse imputed to me when our neighbor tried to destroy Catherine. He understood that his most effective tactic was attacking her family."
"Why did he hate her?"
"He'd killed our father and Catherine's first husband—not intentionally, but his conscience was uneasy. Though everyone assumed it was an accident, he feared she knew the truth and meant to make it public."
"And now I've placed you in a new scandal."
"Hardly. We will prove you innocent."
"You really believe it possible?"
"I know we can. Since everyone accepted your guilt, they never questioned the evidence. I will make them do so. And that's a vow.” She looked deep into his eyes, willing him to believe.
He shuddered. Then his mouth claimed hers in a kiss more searing than last night's. She melted against him, awed at the strength of his passion. And he had pledged all of it to her—
The front door opened. Voices floated up from the hall, followed by feet clattering on the stairs. Gray jumped back and straightened his coat.
Mary forced herself to breathe slowly. Thank heavens they had been interrupted before she did something stupid. “Catherine and Laura have returned.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
"Then I must leave. I've no wish to meet your sisters today."
"Understandable. I will let you know what I learn."
"Until Almack's, my dear.” He kissed her lightly, squeezed her hand, then left. Catherine entered moments later. Laura's half-boots continued loudly toward her room.
Mary sat, retrieving her cooling tea. She'd not yet explained her friendship with Gray to either Blake or Catherine, so she must do so now. To give her nerves a chance to settle, she gestured toward the stairs. “She sounds angry."
"She is no longer in favor.” Catherine helped herself to tea and sighed. “Blake told me about last night. I cannot believe she expected forgiveness after that. She has completely lost her wits. I knew she was vain and arrogant, but where does she find these delusions? Even after she received eleven cancellations at breakfast, she expected to walk into Almack's tonight and find her usual court."
"What happened, Catherine?"
"What didn't?” She set aside her cup so she could massage her temples. “The crowning touch was Lady Jersey, who not only cut Laura dead—after greeting me warmly—but crossed the street so she didn't share a walkway with her. And she made sure Laura knew you'd received permission to waltz."
"Ouch."
"But no matter.” She straightened. “You should not meet Grayson alone. I know you are betrothed, but the circumstances raise questions. Any hint of impropriety can harm you."
"He was here only for a moment,” protested Mary. “And we left the door open. He brought me this.” She held up her hand.
Catherine gasped. “Gorgeous. Where did he find that emerald? Or it is some other stone?"
"It's an emerald. One of his captains discovered it. Gray had the ring made up this morning."
"Really? That is most unusual, even for a love match."
"I know. He is a most unusual man. We will deal well together.” She described her meetings with Gray and her conviction that his reputation was undeserved, though she left out Turner's campaign. It would stop as soon as they proved Gray's innocence—tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. But soon. Once she forced people to think, they would acquit him.
"I'd no idea,” said Catherine when she finished. “But you are right that we can claim a courtship, unconventional though it might be."
"He could hardly seek me out in public,” said Mary piously, then laughed. “Your expression!"
Catherine chuckled.
"In truth, he is a good man. I am
content, except—” She hesitated, but this was as good a time as any. And it would deflect further questions. “I must find my own maid. Now that everyone is watching me, I can no longer dress myself. Laura will never give up Frannie, even if she is confined to the house."
Catherine bit her lip. “I should have thought of that weeks ago. Frannie is too loyal to Laura to do you justice."
"Dressing me is a waste of her talents."
"Hardly. Her talents are limited to creating tight curls and to lowering necklines. Those styles don't suit you."
"I will not argue the point. For the moment, can Wilson help me change? I need to call on Lady Beatrice, but Frannie will be busy with Laura."
"Of course. Will you be out long?"
"An hour at most."
"Then take Wilson with you. I can do without her for now, and she will lend you more countenance than a parlor maid. When you return, we will leave for morning calls."
Mary groaned, but it couldn't be helped. She owed it to Gray to play the role of a well-bred lady delighted with her betrothal. Nodding, she headed upstairs to change.
* * * *
"You wished to see me?” asked Lady Beatrice when Mary was ushered into her private sitting room. It was even shabbier than the drawing room, but more comfortable, with footstools and deeply padded chairs. An exquisite piece of needlework protruded from a sewing bag at the dowager's side.
"If it isn't t-too much trouble.” Mary took a chair. Her hands shook. Seeking out Lady Beatrice was the hardest thing she had done in her life. And now that she was here, she couldn't find the words to begin.
"What an unusual ring,” said Lady Beatrice.
"Lord Grayson had it made for me,” Mary admitted, offering her hand to provide a closer look. She'd slipped it over her glove.
He trusts you, whispered her dreamer. And he needs this information. You can't let him down.
"That takes time.” Lady Beatrice nodded. “Have you known him long?"
"Long enough. Though his illness kept him from calling this past week, we have spoken often—suitably chaperoned, of course."
"No secret assignations?"
"Never!” Mary tried to sound shocked, though her claim was true, for they had never planned to meet. “That would be most improper and reflect p-poorly on the Rockhursts. I could never cause them distress. But Grayson and I wanted to make our decision without the distraction of gossip and well-meaning friends. His reputation makes the usual courtship difficult."
Lady Beatrice held her gaze. “I believe you will do well together,” she announced at last. “You share a number of interests. Birds, for example.” She smiled at Mary's surprise. “These old ears hear much. For example, while many know that Lord Wendell lost yet another fortune at Watier's last evening, only I know that he cannot cover his vowels this time. He will be fleeing London by nightfall, unless he chooses a more permanent escape."
"Men. Why do they risk what they cannot afford to lose?” murmured Mary.
"Men are not the only ones who take absurd risks. Your sister is another. She also risked everything last evening—and lost. Like all gamesters, she did not expect to lose, so she ignored potential consequences.” Lady Beatrice shook her head. “Now what can I do for you, child? I do not flatter myself that you seek idle gossip."
"Not idle,” Mary admitted. She drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I had t-two purposes, my lady. The first was to ask you not to blame Rockhurst for Laura's behavior. I know he sponsored her, but he did not realize the extent of her willfulness. None of us did."
"You flatter her. Last night surpassed willful,” said Lady Beatrice sternly.
"I know.” Mary twisted a handkerchief between her fingers. “She deserves rebuke, but not Rockhurst. And even Laura does not deserve to be p-permanently ruined. Perhaps you can someday forgive her."
"Perhaps. It will depend on her future conduct. Personally, I doubt she will warrant redemption. Nor will she thank you for intervening. I have seen many girls make their bows to society—from kind to cunning, naïve to scandalous. She is the sort who will blame all her troubles on others. And because she never admits fault, she will not change her ways."
"I know. But I hate to see others pay for her indiscretions."
"They won't. Now you told my butler that you needed information."
Mary nodded, speaking slowly to control her tongue. “I know Grayson well enough to know he is not the blackguard rumor paints him, particularly with Miss Turner. Her condition existed before she arrived in town."
"Quite true,” agreed Lady Beatrice. “She was nearly four months with child when she died."
"Thank you. I was sure it must have been that advanced. So why did everyone assume Grayson had seduced her?"
Lady Beatrice examined Mary's face closely, then nodded. “She paid little attention to gentlemen that year. When Grayson finally returned, he immediately sought her out. She welcomed him with the fervor of a lover. But after a walk in the garden, his attitude changed. He cut her quite cruelly and left. That must have been when she revealed her condition. I cannot abide a man who ignores his by-blows. Even worse is one who seduces a lady of quality."
"I agree with both points.” Mary braced to challenge the formidable dowager, fingering Gray's ring to keep up her courage. “But Grayson describes the evening quite differently. He had just returned to town for the Season and noticed a girl sitting apart, shy and without a chaperon to supply her with dancing partners. Hoping to ease her fears at what he thought was her first ball, he shared a set with her, then moved on to talk to friends. To his surprise and consternation, she threw herself at him, clinging to his side and even following him onto the terrace. He told her to mind her manners, then left, but she persisted, finally driving him from town."
Lady Beatrice sighed, but said nothing.
"I believe him,” continued Mary. “He had barely returned to London when they met. She had been in town for weeks and in Yorkshire before that. So how could he have seduced her? His feud with Rothmoor has kept him from Yorkshire since he left school."
Lady Beatrice's eyes sharpened. “An astute observation, my child. Would you care to elaborate?"
Mary sagged in relief. “I rarely indulge in gossip, but I hear a great many things because people seldom notice me. Grayson has been a frequent topic of conversation since he returned to town. Many know he divides his time between his Sussex estate and his import business. I doubt he has been ten miles north of London since founding that business, let alone two hundred."
Lady Beatrice nodded.
"I've heard condemnation of Miss Turner's half brother, who allowed her to run wild for years with limited supervision. I know that her Season in London was the first time she'd left Yorkshire in her life, for she did not even attend a school for gently bred girls. So who fathered her child?"
"Hmmm. Have you an answer?"
"Not yet, which is why I am here. As you noted, she paid little attention to potential suitors. That tells me that she considered herself betrothed. I believe that shortly before Grayson's return, she learned that her paramour had no intention of wedding her. Imagine her shock and desperation. She could not hide her condition much longer. So she had to find a husband immediately. Grayson had the misfortune to approach her soon afterward. His reputation made him a good target, for people believe anything of a rake. His ties to Yorkshire made him seem perfect. So she made up tales of clandestine meetings and passionate trysts, hoping that pressure would force an offer. But it was fantasy from start to finish. He never encouraged her. Now I must prove it."
"Because you don't want a husband of questionable reputation?” Her voice had hardened.
"Not at all. I believe him innocent, which is all that matters on my own account. But he deserves better, especially now that Miss Turner's brother has arrived. Mr. Turner was so furious when Rockhurst announced our betrothal last night that I thought he would call Grayson out. I fear he will not allow the man he blames for his sister's dea
th to find happiness."
"A grave charge."
"And perhaps unfounded,” she lied. “But I cannot bear to see Grayson hurt. The best way to avoid trouble is to discover the truth. To that end, I hope you remember who Miss Turner's particular friends were. I know they would have spoken up if they could name her lover, but it is possible that they might recall clues to his identity."
"I am pleased at your loyalty,” said Lady Beatrice slowly. “And this explains your sister's pique. Beauties take offense when those whom they deride make brilliant matches, particularly love matches."
Gray would be relieved that Lady Beatrice accepted their story. And if she thought Laura had acted from envy, the scandal would fade sooner.
Lady Beatrice frowned for a moment. “Perhaps we wronged Grayson. I know he was innocent of the imbroglio with Miss Irwin. Her father was a scoundrel who schemed to attach a wealthy son-in-law from the moment he set foot in town. She was more than willing to help. In the end, she actually believed her own lies. Irwin would not have backed down unless Grayson could prove their claims false, so the incident was no more than a nine-days wonder. But the Turner case was different. Grayson's denials carried little weight against the note blaming him for her condition."
"It actually named him?"
Again she frowned. “I don't remember the exact wording, but it was something like, Grayson refuses to offer. How could I have thought him honorable? She went on to describe his flight from London. Then she said, He has utterly ruined me, leaving me no choice but death. My only request is that someone avenge my honor. It seemed quite clear."
"Not rambling in any way?"
"Most such notes ramble. Those with clear minds rarely choose to end their lives."
"Then she undoubtedly wrote only part of her thoughts.” Mary stiffened her back, meeting Lady Beatrice's eyes. “She probably spent hours on that farewell. Her emotions would have progressed from yearning to anger to despair. Grayson had fled town, leaving her plot in shambles. It was too late to find another beau. She could no longer hide her condition. After decrying her untenable situation, for which she blamed Gray—like Miss Irwin, she had described their fictitious courtship so often, she may have come to believe it—her thoughts probably turned to her seducer. She still loved him, perhaps possessively. Yet he had ruined her. She faced expulsion from society and the fury of a half-brother who bore her no love. He would hate having her on his hands forever and might even repudiate her, casting her into the workhouse. Death would save her from such disgrace, but she also wanted revenge against the man responsible for her troubles. Unfortunately, in her distress, she didn't name him."