by Tessa Candle
Lady Aldley lifted her chin. “I hope you are not referring to anyone of my acquaintance.”
“As do I. But as it is my first morning back in town, let us have a peaceful breakfast together, and speak no more about settling down. I find the topic puts me off English food.”
“Off English food?” She dabbed the corner of her mouth.
“I mean that it makes me desirous of a nice petite Madeleine, still warm from the patisserie.”
“Such nonsense. You have only just returned. You have more sense than to immediately go back again.”
“Oh well, perhaps not to Paris.” Aldley tapped his fingers on his lips, as though in serious contemplation. “But I have always wanted to see St. Petersburg.”
Lady Aldley poured her son another cup of tea. “Was there an invite to Lady Goodram's ball awaiting you when you returned?”
“Indeed there was. I admit, I was rather hoping not to be swept into the season so soon. However, I should as soon shoot my best horse as give that lady any offence.”
“I do not believe you have any horses to shoot at the moment.” She gave him an arch smile. “Unless you have sent word to the estate to have one of the plough animals delivered.”
“Oh, but it is terribly amusing that the earl has no equipage. I quite understand your levity. In any event, Lady Goodram's balls are less tedious than most. And I should dearly love a long chat with her, even if everyone else there should prove to be intolerably stupid.”
“Yes. She is a lady of importance.” Lady Aldley left the intonation of the final word hanging in the air while she sipped her tea at length. “But I should warn you that she has some rather liberal ideas, and has invited certain young women who are, perhaps, not entirely suitable company for an earl.”
“Indeed?” He should not be surprised that his mother would presume to call Lady Goodram's judgement into question. “Surely, you must be mistaken.”
“No. I am afraid she has invited at least one young woman who is not even the daughter of a gentleman—though she may be the daughter of one of Lady Goodram's old friends. I have heard she goes about town unescorted, and has been known to climb trees. Trees. The ramshackle. Can you imagine it?”
He took a mouthful of tea to cover his sudden confusion. A tree-climber. How many tree-climbing maidens could there be around London? Surely it was not some sort of fashion that had sprouted up while he was in France.
Was there any chance the young woman could be the same helpful dryad that had haunted his thoughts ever since he left England? It was foolishness to think so. And anyway, he did not know what she looked like. If she were to attend the ball, how would he even recognize her? Foolish obsession. His heart beat faster.
“Who is this young woman?” He tried not to sound interested.
His mother pursed her lips. “I do not recall. But in any case, most unsuitable company for an earl.”
“Tree-climber as she may be, I must contradict your assumptions about suitable company for earls. The requirements are quite low, I assure you.” Aldley knew his jest would sour her mood, but it seemed fair penalty for presuming to question Lady Goodram's discernment. He found the amusement of trying her nerves irresistible.
“Nonsense. Earls must be particular about their acquaintances.” She poured herself another cup of tea.
“No, indeed.” He affected an air of noble boredom. “In fact I know of more than one earl who has rather preferred the company of young women known to go about town unescorted, with no ties to the nobility whatsoever—or at least no ties that could be spoken of in polite company.”
Lady Aldley flushed deeply, which was becoming in her handsome, though sometimes severe, visage. She deliberately chewed a bite of her roll for longer than Aldley had thought possible, then replaced the bread in the centre of the bread plate, and in a frosty voice said, “Despite your apparent amusement at the erosion of decency, it is most galling to be thrown into such low company against one's will. It leaves one desolate.”
“There, there, Mother. Do not let it sink your spirits. It is the stuff of life that we must occasionally suffer the debasement of intolerable society.” The alternative being to slip away to the continent.
He finished the last of his eggs and tea, and tapped his mouth with the serviette. “Now I must take leave of you, for I have an appointment with Rutherford.”
“Rutherford.” Her lips formed a flat, pale line. “I suppose I should be thankful that you paid me the honour of calling upon me before that man.”
“Nothing of it. He is my oldest friend, Mama, to be sure, but you are my mother.” He did not add duty before pleasure, or else what would the world come to? But he gave her a cheeky grin as he said, “And do thank Simmons for breakfast,” before striding to the door.
“We do not thank servants for discharging their duties.” Lady Aldley hissed to the broad, disappearing back of her son.
At Rutherford's house, a cabriolet was just pulling away with two pretty young faces tucked into the back. Rutherford bounded down the steps to greet the earl. “Aldley, you are finally come. I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again, my old friend.”
“Indeed it is,” Aldley warmly returned the greeting. “It has been far too long, Rutherford. I assume those ladies were your guests—or have you fallen on hard times, and are so attempting to conceal the fact that you have let Smythe go, by greeting me out on the street?”
“You have some inkling that I could so easily be rid of him? No, no. I shall never have a hound so loyal to me as Smythe is. And perish the thought that I should ever lose him, for life would be impossible without him, frankly. But yes, that was my sister, Susan, and her governess.”
“Little Susan? Have I been gone that long?”
“You were rather too distracted to notice her when you were here last. But forgive my droning on and come inside.”
The billiards room was just as he recollected it. The Dark oak panelling that adorned the walls was carved with scenes from classical mythology, and enclave tables of dark marble supported pillar candles that reflected off of the gold framed mirrors at either end of the room.
It still smelled faintly of the late Rutherford senior's favourite blend of pipe tobacco, and even the sideboard appeared to be arranged just as it always was, with cut crystal decanters sparkling in the candlelight and the contents glowing like an array of witch's potions, amber, burgundy and blood red.
“What memories this house holds for me, Rutherford.” Aldley finished racking up the billiard balls, and chalked his cue. “It was my great refuge when my father passed. Did I ever thank you for that? I must have been insufferable company.”
“No more than usual.” Rutherford laughed, and poured them both a drink. “But I know what it is to lose one's parents. And you were certainly no worse company to me than I was to you when your sister married that viscount.”
“Lord Essington. Quite. That was my mother's doing. My father rather liked you, you know, he was merely influenced by his wife. And she terrorized Elizabeth until the poor girl gave in. I should have done more. I should have arranged an elopement.”
Rutherford put up his hand. “Do not think on it, Aldley. I was a young puppy, probably too young for marriage, anyway. But I do not suppose your mother has kept you apprised of your sister's life.”
Aldley lowered his nose into the balloon glass and took a long whiff of the liquid—lightly almondy, dark caramel sweetness. It pleasantly stung his nostrils. “She has only briefly mentioned Eliza in her letters, in fact.”
“Ah.” Rutherford broke the billiard balls neatly, then returned to his drink.
“Why, do you know something?” Aldley turned his attention from the table.
“It is just a bit of gossip. But it is better that you hear it from me.” Rutherford loosened his cravat.
“Good God, man, spit it out. Has something happened? Has she been harmed?”
“No, no. Do not trouble yourself on that head. Lord Essington has
been travelling in Venice, and has left Elizabeth alone with their newborn son.”
The earl's eyes narrowed. “It is not on business, I take it.” He took his first shot and scratched.
Rutherford took his penalty shot and the ball sunk with a satisfying thud into a corner pocket. “If it is, it is the sort of business that has kept him away from Essington Hall for almost a year.”
“You mean he left before the babe was born? Why did she not write me about it?” Aldley was ashamed. He had been so absorbed in his own need for escape that he had neglected his sister. “Poor girl. Still, I can only imagine she is more or less relieved to be out of his company.”
“Perhaps. But you know how society loves the scent of a scandal. I only know about it because of Randalls—the old gossip. It is like having a woman in the club. I suppose I cannot wonder at Lady Aldley not mentioning it to you.”
“No. I imagine my mother would prefer not to acknowledge scandalous talk about her perfect match. This turn of events could hurt her chances with The Five. But you would think she would have some feeling for her own daughter.”
Lord Aldley was thoughtful for several minutes, and missed three simple shots, as Rutherford sunk more and more balls.
Rutherford finally laughed. “You are out of practice. Could you not find a billiard table in France?”
“My amusements focussed more on the opera and theatre, and the occasional shooting party.” And never a thought for Eliza. Aldley missed his next shot, too. “I must go visit her, Rutherford. She may need assistance. Will you come with me?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Aldley winced. “I beg your pardon, Rutherford. I am a dunderhead. It might have occurred to me that it could be uncomfortable for you.”
Rutherford walked to the sideboard and poured himself more brandy. “Not at all, I assure you. I have not the slightest romantic inclination for your sister, or anyone at the moment. The women I meet do not have enough spirit. So if you need my assistance, you shall have it.”
“Well, it is not so much your assistance as your set of four greys.” Aldley took a sip and eyed Rutherford over the rim of his glass.
“Ah, I see.” Rutherford blandly rubbed his eyebrow. “At last we get to the point.”
“There is no sense in clomping about the countryside on the back of a hay wagon, is there?”
“I believe there might be a few other alternatives, my lord.” Rutherford's eyes were amused. “And I suppose you cannot borrow your mother's carriage.”
“No. Besides, your nags are faster. I have to be back before Lady Goodram's ball. Look, I am sorry to ask, Rutherford, but I sold all my London horses before I left, as I did not know when I should wish to return. And we have not time to wait until Friday and go about checking teeth down in Smithfield.”
“Right then. But you will owe me a rather fine dinner when we return.”
“I shall give you two fine dinners.” He thumped Rutherford on the back. “And send over a crate of champagne. Perhaps that will put Smythe's nose back in joint.”
“True, he will not be happy to be left behind.”
Rutherford insisted on driving his own horses out of town, which left Lord Aldley at leisure to survey the London he had left for so long. It was growing. It never stopped sprouting out new neighbourhoods and shops.
As they passed a small park in a fashionable area, he saw, disappearing into the treetop of an evergreen, a slender body in a grey dress and bonnet. This odd person had scampered up the tree as though she were a wild animal. Could it be the young lady he had met so long ago? Could it be the tree climbing young woman that his mother found so unsuitable?
He shook his head and turned away. She was not dressed like a society woman. His fancy was playing tricks on his rational faculties. Perhaps it had been a very large child, or an unfortunate. And yet, she had climbed into his thoughts, and he could not shake her free.
Chapter 8
As Lydia arrived at Lady Goodram's on Monday morning and removed her outer clothing, she could hear the muffled notes of a pianoforte.
A man's voice was singing rich and warm. It was beautiful. Though the sound was muffled by the walls, she thought the voice was familiar. Did anyone among her acquaintance have such deep, alluring voice?
Even in its muted state, something about it compelled her, and she followed the footman through the ornately moulded hallways, past the bronze sculptures of portentous angels and noble unicorns forcenés, transfixed as if under a spell.
The music stopped. Lydia hurried to the music room. She met Lady Goodram and a young lady leaving just as she reached the door and the servant was about to announce her.
“Hello my dear Lydia. I am so glad you have come. This is Mrs. Childes. Mrs. Childes, this is Miss Norwood.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Norwood.”
“And I, you.” Lydia turned to Lady Goodram. “I hope you are well recovered now, Lady Goodram.”
“Indeed I am feeling much better. A little delightful company will fix me up completely.”
“Was that you playing the pianoforte just now, Mrs. Childes?” Lydia could not help indulging her curiosity.
“Yes, it was. Lady Goodram has a beautiful instrument.”
“Did I not hear a man's voice as well?” She had to know who it was.
“Oh yes, that was Lord Aldley.” Lady Goodram clasped her hands together and grinned. “How I love to hear him sing. He was kind enough to oblige me, though he had just returned from a visit to the countryside to see his sister, and could not visit long. He has only just come home from a lengthy stay in France. He seems to be rushing all about these days, and he left us again as suddenly as he arrived.”
“Indeed? I did not see him pass.” Lydia tried not to sound disappointed.
“Yes, he dashed out the back entrance to access the hackney more quickly—and I suspect more secretly. He apologized for embarrassing me by showing up in a shoddy hired carriage—as if I cared in the slightest about such trifles! I always tell him he only does these things to make himself appear more fascinating.”
Lydia was already a little fascinated. “I am sorry that I did not get a chance to meet him.”
“I believe you will have another opportunity some day.” Lady Goodram patted her arm, apparently oblivious to Lydia's interest in the earl. “Shall we have some tea?”
Lydia thought, as she followed along, that Lady Goodram had dropped this topic rather too quickly. She shook her head and chided herself for assuming that everyone else should be consumed by the same topics that preoccupied her.
Lady Goodram led them through the main hallway, with its long gallery of gold-framed Goodram antecedents, to a small, warm room on the south side, with a round oak door carved with dragons and other fabulous creatures and fitted with a pentagonal brass door knob in its middle. It was the principle eccentricity of the house, and had always entranced Lydia when she visited as a young girl. It still made her smile.
“I see Brown has not yet prevailed upon you to replace your fairy door.” Lydia settled herself into a chair with gilded legs and fat cushions upholstered in purple velvet.
“No indeed.” Lady Goodram crinkled her nose as she smiled. “And he never shall. But I suppose I should be thankful that he did not turn mutinous and remove it while I was visiting the continent.”
After tea, Mrs. Childes left them, and they pulled their chairs closer to the fire. Lydia settled into a little slouch and squirmed comfortably into the plump cushions, as she drew the wool shawl on her chair back around her shoulders—it was from Lady Goodram that she had borrowed this idea for her own sitting room chairs. Warmth was such an important comfort in London.
Just as Lydia was lulled into torpor by the soothing crackle of the logs and the slight scent of resin and wood smoke, Lady Goodram leaned over and put a hand on her arm. “Now, my dear, I have a serious matter to discuss with you.”
Lydia roused herself and asked saucily, “Oh indeed? Do you have s
ome privateering venture you wish me to invest in, or have you heard that I have been making a public display of my needle work?”
“My word! Of course not! Nothing as awful as the grotesque spectacle of your cross-stitch. I told your mother she should burn all your yarns, you know.”
“I believe she has given them to her lady's maid.”
“Just as well. She has no business with them, either. These deficiencies run in families.” Lady Goodram resumed her more earnest face, and continued, “No, but I have heard some gossip about you. I shall not say from where, but a rumour is circulating that you have been spotted climbing trees.”
Lydia flushed. “I wish people would mind their own affairs.”
Lady Goodram smiled brightly. “That is the eternal wish of the guilty.”
“I am not indiscreet, and I see no means by which anyone would know without spying on me.” Lydia's thoughts immediately turned to Delacroix.
“London is full of spies.” Lady Goodram clicked her tongue. “I know your father has given you rather free rein, but do you not think it is time to stop climbing trees? At least while you are in town.”
“I suppose I must. But I confess that I resent it, and it makes me despise London all the more. And furthermore, I believe I know from what quarter these rumours are flying, and may I just say that this person has absolutely no grounds for calling anyone else's propriety into question.”
“They never do. But, of whom do you speak?” The lady's gaze was penetrating.
“What, you are not to tell me of your sources, but I must tell you whom I suspect?”
Lady Goodram chuckled. “I rather imagine my source to be a few word-of-mouths removed from your malefactor.”
“In that case, there is little to be gained by my giving up tree climbing now, is there? By breakfast tomorrow, everyone in town will know. In the view of society, my character is quite fixed, I imagine.”
Chapter 9
Aldley was a great fool, and he knew it. He had walked around the little park for an hour and a half, and the tree climber he had spied before was nowhere to be seen.