“You often seem annoyed with me, or an even stronger emotion. Does that have to do with your friend’s sister?”
Looking directly into his eyes, she replied, “No.” Ada could be absolutely truthful. His breaking off his engagement with Jenny had nothing to do with how she felt about him. She had plenty of fuel for her own angry fire.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “Will you tell me about your parents?”
“I have two,” she muttered.
The lights went down, and the opera’s second act began.
*
Back in Lord Vile’s carriage, Ada wondered if the journey home would be more of the same, with him attempting to seduce her while she tried to maintain the illusion of being a possible conquest in his eyes while fending him off.
Instead, he left a little space between them and began to speak nearly as soon as the brougham began to move.
“Normally, I wouldn’t bother defending myself because there are too many offenses of which I have been accused. However, in this case, I want to tell you what happened with Lady Lindsey, seeing as you are a friend of her sister.”
“That’s unnecessary,” Ada told him. She really didn’t wish to hear his excuses.
“Be that as it may, I like you. I never thought to speak of what happened again since it ought to have no bearing upon anyone except the lady in question and myself. However, if you count her sister among your good friends, then I suppose it does have some import.”
Distractedly, he pulled off his hat and ran a hand thorough his already unruly hair, causing it to stand on end in places.
“It is a short tale. I liked Lady Lindsey, at the time Miss Blackwood, and offered for her hand. We never got as far as a formal arrangement or a public declaration. My father sent me to Kent, where we have our family home as well as other holdings. By the time I returned, she and her family had gone back to Sheffield. What’s more, she was under the impression due to her family’s financial ruin, that I had callously broken off our engagement, as was every person with a wagging tongue.”
“None of this is news to me,” Ada said.
“Yes, but you see, I did not break off our engagement at all. It was done in a letter forged by my father in my name. At the same time, he told me she had broken it off. By the time I found out otherwise, she was married to Simon Devere, Lord Lindsey.”
His words certainly put the event in a different light. Ada didn’t know what to say. It was a strange feeling when a long-held belief turned out not to be the case.
“Why don’t you tell everyone the truth?”
Leaning back, he crossed his arms. “Unnecessary. Lady Lindsey knows, and that’s enough. I don’t give a fig what the ton thinks. Besides, as I said, I’ve committed plenty of other offenses.”
He certainly had, including the one perpetrated upon her person, who stupidly, naively, went willingly along with him.
“Even her sister doesn’t know,” Ada pointed out. “Nor, obviously, Lady Cambrey’s husband.”
“I suppose not, but Cambrey would have other reasons to dislike me, as does Lady Lindsey’s own husband.”
“Really?” She wanted to hear all of it.
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t rest with Lady Lindsey believing me such a cad after I’d truly cared for her, so I contacted her when she was in London. We went walking. Alone. Her husband caught us. I think if she hadn’t been so calm and so clearly uninterested in me, Lord Lindsey and I might have decided upon a duel right then.”
Ada processed this new information. Alder had wanted Jenny to know the truth. How strange he had cared whether she thought him a cad or not.
“You loved her?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Oh dear!
“When next I meet up with Lady Cambrey, may I tell her the truth,” Ada asked, “about you and her sister and your father’s perfidy?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me in the least what anyone else thinks. I’m telling you because,” he turned to her, though she couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, “I like you. Moreover, I suppose I want you to like me, too.”
She almost felt sorry for him, but that could never happen.
*
Michael thought better of inviting himself in for a drink. If she said no, then it would push them further apart. Deciding to wait for the next opportunity, he walked her to her door, lightly brushed his lips upon hers because, truly, he couldn’t help himself, and bid her good night.
He would begin his wooing of the inscrutable Mrs. St. Ange the next day, starting fresh. He hoped his suit would go better now she knew the truth. For if she’d been influenced by her friendship with the Blackwood sisters, then this could only benefit him.
Moreover, he could make more inquiries with the small piece of information. Ada Kathryn was a contemporary of Lady Margaret Cambrey. Those who knew the latter and came out the same Season might know of the former, too.
The next day, he went to Almack’s. Though no longer the pinnacle of a debutante’s Season, and certainly having lost its sheen of exclusiveness, still a few years back, it would have been a must for young girls coming out. What’s more, the Lady Patronesses, though no longer active, would have records of everyone who came through its doors. Whether they would share that knowledge remained to be seen, but he would try his damnedest to get it.
To that end, Michael directed his brougham to King Street and the unpretentious Palladian building standing sentry to the hopes and dreams of many a young lady.
Personally, he’d never cared for the plain brick structure, thinking something which decided the social fate of debutantes and bachelors—including the ruin of so many who couldn’t gain admittance—ought to be grander on the outside.
Inside, he could see it was due some redecorating, though it had the shabby gentility of a grand dame of the aristocrats. In fairness, it was midafternoon, and thus, perhaps not looking as good as it did when made up for the evening. He hoped he would find someone there who could assist him.
As it turned out, there was an office on the ground floor. Though the former patronesses probably met and made their decisions elsewhere than the actual structure, Almack’s had a secretary of business, and he was diligently at his desk.
Getting directly to his business, Michael requested whether there were any written lists of attendees, particularly to the Wednesday evening balls during the Season.
The balding man looked down his nose, passed his pince-nez, and shook his head.
“I couldn’t say, my lord.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “That tells me nothing. Are there records you cannot share with me, or are there no records at all?”
“I couldn’t say that either, my lord. Here is a list of our former Lady Patronesses. You may call on any of them at your leisure, and theirs, of course. I would suggest Lady Cowper has a good memory.”
“I’m not trying to go back to the time of our Regent, good man, only about three, maybe four years.”
“Then one of the Willis cousins who now own this establishment may be able to help you.”
He handed him two business cards, one with Charles Willis printed on it and one with Frederick Willis.”
Michael was beginning to feel like one of London’s constabulary, a veritable detective in the making. He also felt a little underhanded. After all, if Mrs. St. Ange wanted him to know about her past, she would tell him. If only he could have a friendly chat with the Countess of Cambrey.
Obviously not! Jenny’s sister was as likely to flay him alive as speak civilly to him.
In short order, he turned up at the home of Frederick Willis, and with good fortune, the man was home and agreed to see him.
“Good day, Lord Alder. To what do I owe this visit?”
He ought to make chit-chat about the important position of Almack’s in the social fabric of London’s society, but he hadn’t earned the moniker of Vile for nothing. Besides, he’d never once attended a ball in the
expansive ballroom stretching a good one hundred feet, if he’d heard correctly. He’d also heard the refreshments were dreadful and not worth the price of admittance. Moreover, there was no alcohol on the premises.
Facing three or four hours without a glass of brandy or gin, pretending to be interested in debutantes any further than idly imagining what each might look like bare, Michael had positively no interest in Almack’s.
Except as how one lady might have enjoyed herself there.
To that end, he got to the point.
“Do you have records of the Almack’s attendees from, perhaps, four years ago?”
“I believe we do, but those records are private, my lord.”
“How private?” Did Willis want money for the information?
“I’m not sure I understand the question. Are there degrees of privacy, my lord?”
Michael sighed. Wasn’t the man going to invite him to have a drink? After all, this sussing out information was thirsty work.
“I will have a glass of brandy if you will have one, too,” Michael said evenly, as if he’d been asked. It seemed a good a way as any to receive a drink.
Frederick Willis looked utterly nonplussed.
“I won’t actually, my lord, but I’ll be happy if you’ll accept my hospitality.” The man didn’t bother calling a servant. He opened his sideboard and drew out a glass and a decanter.
In a moment, Michael was seated with brandy in hand and a delightful warm trickle going down the back of his throat. Was there anything better than that feeling?
It was usually followed by strong desire for a woman, which brought his attention back to Mrs. St. Ange.
“There is absolute privacy,” he said, returning to Willis’s point. “Then there is discretion. I would think this information belongs to the latter category. I am not asking you to print the names in the Times, merely to tell me the last name of a debutante. Since people’s last names are public and since many people would have been in attendance on any given Wednesday at Almack’s—around six hundred, yes?—then I can’t imagine this one young woman’s attendance or name could even be categorized as confidential, let alone private.”
He relaxed, crossed his legs to rest one booted foot upon his other knee, and sipped his brandy.
Mr. Willis hesitated, pondering Michael’s words. “I suppose you are correct. However, I can’t start poring over records right now. We have the Lady Patronesses’ subscription books, with names of those who were issued vouchers, and, of course, the list of the far fewer people who had strangers’ tickets.”
“If I give you the given name, can you find me a surname?”
Willis frowned. “There are many ladies with the same given name, I assure you. You might as well walk along Knightsbridge Street calling it out.”
“This one is unusual, I believe, and I only need you to look through three years of balls, I would guess.”
The man sighed. “I will need a few days and—”
Michael waited for him to name a price. With his stock earnings, he would be able to pay.
“And naturally, your sincere promise you won’t tell anyone where you got the information, particularly if it leads to trouble.”
Relieved Willis wasn’t going to fleece him, Michael drained his glass, stood up, and stuck out his hand to shake on it. “I give you my word.”
Frankly, he was surprised the man would accept the vow of Lord Vile. Perhaps his reputation was wearing off. After all, it had been over a year since he’d been accused, falsely, of corrupting a debutante and even longer since he’d last been found in a drunken heap on the steps of White’s.
“And the given name of the young lady you seek?”
“Ada Kathryn.”
Chapter Twelve
Ada entered the Cambrey townhouse on Cavendish Square, hoping she was not about to be hauled over hot coals by her best friend.
Without preamble, except for hugging and settling into the parlor with a cup of tea, Maggie was ready with her questions and her suppositions.
“I think you are up to something big, and Mr. Brunnel has something to do with it. Are you going to spill the pail of milk, or do I have to pry it out of you?”
“That makes no sense,” Ada said, stalling. “How could you pry milk from a pail?”
“Never mind that! Tell me. Why were you with Lord Vile?”
An easy question. “He asked me to the opera, and I wanted to go.”
Maggie narrowed her lovely eyes. “How did you meet? Where? Why didn’t you tell me? You know how he behaved with Jenny.”
Should she take each in order?
“We met because I dropped some packages in front of my home. There is nothing to tell. And, yes, I know what you thought happened with Jenny.”
“If he has said otherwise, then he’s lying!” Maggie insisted. “Everyone who knew Jenny also knew Vile had verbally asked for her hand.”
Ada sipped her tea. “I know. He doesn’t gainsay it, either. However, he said he didn’t break it off with her. His father did while he was away.”
Maggie frowned. “Why wouldn’t he have told everyone if such were the case?”
“He said he told Jenny. She was already married to Simon at the time.”
“Hmm, I will ask my sister. Be that as it may, he hasn’t been shunned merely because he broke off with Jenny.”
“I know,” Ada muttered. Only too well.
“Then why would you let yourself be associated with him? In public?” Maggie persisted. “He is infamous!”
Shrugging, Ada leaned her head back on the sofa.
“No one knows me,” she said. “I was barely out in society. I don’t have friends among the ton. You weren’t an aristocrat when we were trying to find eligible men, if you recall. Yes, people saw me at the theatre, but who am I to them? A nobody. They know only him.”
“They will try to discover who has replaced Lady Pepperton.”
Ada lifted her head. “I haven’t replaced her.” She felt her cheeks growing warm. “I certainly do not have the same relationship with Lord Vile that she did.”
“No one will believe such is the case, and rumors will spread like wildfire across London Bridge, as will the curious questions. People will want to discover who you are. What’s more, there are certainly enough of us around from our coming out Season who do know you. Someone is sure to say, ‘Oh, yes, the beautiful blonde woman is Ada Kathryn Ellis, Baron Ellis’s daughter.’ All the inquiries about the deceased Mr. St. Ange will begin. And then there’s Harry.”
Ada’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. Could Maggie be right? Would people care who Lord Vile’s latest companion was?
“What should I do?”
Maggie shook her head. “John was most displeased the other night. He doesn’t want to see you hurt any more than I do. I suggest you don’t see Vile again. You haven’t told me why you did, or why you needed Mr. Brunnel.”
Ada sighed. “I have my reasons for spending time with Vi… with Alder, but I am not in any danger of being hurt by him. I promise you that. In fact, nearly impossible as it is to believe, he has been nice.”
“Nice?” Maggie’s tone was incredulous.
“Yes. He found me an excellent butler, for one. And he is letting his cook teach mine, who I admit is quite abominable in the kitchen.”
Maggie’s expression clouded over. “How long have you been keeping company with him? It sounds as if you’ve known him a lot longer than simply one evening attending the theatre.”
Ada nodded. “A few weeks.”
“What!” Maggie guzzled her tea as if it were a fortifying liqueur, then set the cup down on its saucer with a clank. “And during all that time, he has been simply nice? Do you expect me to believe he hasn’t tried to have his way with you? The man has a reputation for an insatiable appetite. Not for food, either!”
“I know!” Ada was becoming a little irritated. Maggie might be married, and a mother, and a countess, but she was not Ada’s keeper.
“Do you intend to let him court you?” Maggie persisted.
That was precisely what Ada intended, but she didn’t have to tell Maggie, who would disapprove strongly unless she also knew the plan for revenge. And even then, Ada suspected her friend would think it too risky.
“Not really courting,” she muttered quickly, trying to put an end to her friend’s questions. Better to divert her.
“As for Brunnel, he is simply passing on some trading information in my stead. You know I could never do it myself. Who would take a woman seriously talking about the stock exchange?”
Somewhat mollified, and then instantly distracted by the feel of her baby moving inside her, Maggie agreed to let the topic of Lord Vile go with one last warning.
“You said you will not get hurt, but you are a sweet person, Ada, and he is definitely not. Moreover, he is—how shall I say it?—worldly. And that’s the nicest word I can think of for such a jaded, decadent rapscallion! I know you’ve had a child, but you still seem as innocent as when we were debutantes.”
They smiled at each other, recalling their carefree days, and then they began to consider baby names in earnest.
*
When Michael received the news of an increase to his account value due to sugar trading, he wanted to celebrate. Moreover, he wanted to do it with Mrs. St. Ange. Knowing he should send a message first, after a few drinks at White’s, he ignored propriety and drove to Belgrave Square.
Alighting from his carriage, Michael hastened to the door, all his thoughts firmly focused upon seeing her.
“Randall,” he greeted the butler, trying to push past, at least into the large foyer.
However, the man was formidable, managing to fill the front door frame and not allowing Michael to bluster his way inside.
“Madam isn’t expecting visitors this evening, my lord.”
He appreciated learning she wasn’t waiting for some other man either, but he didn’t want to simply be another visitor.
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