“I had no idea you were so pious, dear.” Lady Spence said with an air of pronounced skepticism. “Nor so charitable.”
Constance let out a self-deprecating laugh. “My lady, to my deep regret, you are correct. I have scarcely taken an interest in my own soul, let alone that of any other. But hearing Lord Apthorp speak with such emotion of his people’s plight has awakened in me a desire to help.” She paused and locked eyes with Lady Spence. “In that respect it’s a misfortune that the legislation Lord Apthorp was hoping for seems destined not to pass, as it would have improved their lot immensely, and freed my funds for more heavenly causes. But we shall try to do what we can for our tenants even without the waterway, as is our duty. A new church will have to wait, alas.”
Lady Spence and her goddaughter exchanged a look.
“Is that right?” the old woman drawled. “Well then, Lord Apthorp, how convenient you are here with us. Let’s sit down to luncheon, and you can tell me more.”
If Apthorp’s determined politeness had struck her as bland in the past, Constance began to see the wisdom of his methods over lunch.
While she preferred to procure favors using the blunt tools of flattery and innuendo, his were subtler means. He crisply laid out the virtues of his bill, responding to all of Lady Spence’s questions with sound reasoning and good humor. He did not fawn or pander, but he was self-assured, polite, respectful, and thorough. By the second course he had, without directly asking for it, received her pledge to discuss his bill with her husband.
He then engaged Reverend Keeper in a long, enervating discussion of the minister’s recent trip to a revival in Cornwall, nodding along as though it were as scintillating as one of Mr. Evesham’s accounts of the procuresses at Seven Dials.
And he did all of this under Evesham’s penetrating gaze, never once betraying any discomfort at his presence, nor awareness of Lady Spence’s aggression in inviting him.
It was a talent, his bland exterior. In all the years she had dismissed his dullness, she had failed to notice that his affability required as much calculated performance as her theatrics did.
By the end of the meal, if he had not quite gained the trust of Lady Spence, it was obvious that at the very least the rumors about him were fading in the presence of his respectful manner.
“You know, Constance,” Lady Spence said as they rose to leave, “when you smile, you are the very image of your mother. She was a beauty, the late duchess.”
Constance bit her lip. “So I’m told. It pains me not to have known her.”
“Well, I am sure it is a solace that you will now have the maternal guidance of Lady Apthorp,” Lady Spence said. “Such a lovely woman, the countess. Exquisite manners.”
Constance had not set eyes on Apthorp’s mother in years, and scarcely knew her, but she was not about to admit this.
“Oh yes. A tremendous comfort. I hope she will treat me as her own daughter.”
Apthorp, she noticed, looked away at the mention of his mother and appeared more eager to leave.
“Perhaps, Lord Apthorp, your mother will accompany you when you bring Lady Constance to visit our congregation,” Lady Spence said. Her tone implied this was less a suggestion than an order.
Apthorp smiled. “You are too kind. My mother would no doubt love to join us, but unfortunately her ill health does not allow her to travel to London. The bad air is a strain.”
Constance looked at him in surprise. She had heard nothing about Lady Apthorp being in poor health.
Lady Spence frowned. “She has not mentioned such invalidism in her letters. Surely the countess would be an asset in bringing out your future bride to her advantage. Lady Constance would benefit from her skillful chaperonage. Do invite her.” She looked meaningfully at Constance.
Constance smiled reassuringly. “We shall do everything we can to convince Lady Apthorp to brave the pestilential air. And if we are lucky enough to be honored with a visit, we will indeed bring her to your chapel.”
Apthorp shot her a grimace, warning flashing in his eyes.
But she failed to see any harm in making such a promise.
In fact, now that Lady Spence had suggested it, she thought it was an excellent idea.
Apthorp helped Constance into a carriage and made off eastward toward the Strand, fighting back a smile.
They had been set up to be humiliated and they had triumphed.
Constance’s scheme was working better than he had ever imagined. It was working so well he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe their natural partnership and growing ease with each other was not real.
Of course it isn’t real. It’s a performance.
But which parts?
“Lord Apthorp,” a voice called from behind him. He turned to see Henry Evesham striding after him down the street.
“I’d hoped for a word with you in private,” Evesham said, catching up. “I wonder if you might spare a moment.”
“Of course,” Apthorp said. “I’m walking east. Care to join me?”
Evesham smiled. “Thank you. I’ll be frank and warn you the matter is delicate.”
Apthorp labored not to show his unease. “Oh?”
“I’d like to ask for your assistance in an investigation I’m pursuing.”
“I would be happy to oblige if I can be of service,” he lied affably, grateful for years of covering his true feelings behind stiff courtesies. “How might I be helpful?”
Evesham gave him a tight smile. “I’m sure you are aware that my calling is to rid the city of vice.”
“A noble calling.”
“I assume, as a peer of the realm, you share this desire?”
“Of course,” Apthorp said. “One sees the most appalling things in London. Maidens abducted and forced into prostitution. Predations upon children. Procurers who trade in despondence and disease. I hope you are directing your efforts toward the most vulnerable among us.” It would be a nobler use of his efforts than shaming whores and mollies in his pages.
Evesham nodded. “Of late I have been investigating a growing moral pestilence: houses of iniquity.”
“Oh?” London was littered with such places, from lavish pleasure houses peopled by cultured courtesans to squalid Seven Dials brothels filthy with rats and syphilis. He was not opposed to efforts to protect harlots and culls alike. Fornication would always be bought and sold. But if Elena Brearley’s club had taught him anything, it was that it could be done so with an eye to fairness, pleasure, and good health. “You are wise to advocate for reform and regulation.”
“One establishment in particular is the subject of my special interest,” Evesham went on. “I’ve heard of a place in Mary-le-Bone where all manner of vile eccentricities take place. Violence. Depravity. Sodomy.” He lowered his voice. “All practiced in secrecy by aristocrats who possess wealth enough to keep their vices hidden.”
Apthorp kept his expression blank, even as his blood went cold. Was this man truly going to exhibit the cheek to address Elena’s club with him directly? On the bloody streets of Mayfair?
He wanted to push him against the wall and say depravity was in the eye of the beholder.
“Fascinating,” he drawled instead. “Yet I fail to see how such a place could overawe the plight of kidnapped children and helpless girls. Perhaps you should redirect your efforts there.”
Evesham sighed, as though he was as pained as Apthorp. “I don’t disagree with you that such crimes are graver sins in the eyes of God, my lord, but I will be candid. A humble scribe must answer to his readers’ interests. Noblemen with sinful predilections are good for circulation, and I am beholden to my publishers.”
“Your publishers must have prurient tastes,” Apthorp remarked.
“If that is true, my lord, they are not so unlike their betters.” Evesham shot him a meaningful sideward glance. “From the tales I’ve heard, it seems many of your fellow peers believe themselves above the laws of decency.”
“As do many member
s of the clergy, alas,” he said evenly.
“Most upsetting, such hypocrisy,” Evesham agreed. “Perhaps, armed with your knowledge, I might do my part to unravel such abuses.”
“What is it you’re suggesting I can help you with, Mr. Evesham?” If the man was going to accuse him of something, he’d had enough of dancing around the charge.
“I’m sure you’re aware I printed a poem suggesting a person not unlike yourself in description might have some familiarity with the notorious establishment I am investigating.”
Trust a man of letters to be as tortured as possible in making a very simple point.
“Any such resemblance is coincidental, I assure you. But your poem was amusing. Lady Constance and I had a long and merry laugh about it.”
“I’m sure. But I understand that you have encountered no small measure of difficulty as a result of the ensuing talk, spurious though I’m sure you’d say it is.”
Evesham smiled in a manner that, though not unkind, communicated clearly his belief that it was not spurious at all. A manner that suggested they both understood the ways of the world and were above the pretense that they didn’t. Apthorp would almost like him for this attempt at candor, were Evesham not suggesting that he help betray the secrets of consenting people who had asked the world for nothing more than the tolerance to do what they liked harmlessly in private.
Apthorp slowed his pace, narrowing his eyes to signal they were not allies in this matter.
“The political climate is mercurial. One finds oneself the subject of whispers when it is convenient for one’s rivals to have them believed. They rarely coincide with the truth.”
Evesham nodded in a way that made clear he understood he’d been dismissed. He paused, as if reconsidering. “I see. A nasty business, politics. Nevertheless, I wonder if we share a mutual interest in locating the source of such whispers. I’m a great admirer of Lady Constance and wish her every happiness. I have no wish to see her embarrassed. If you were to assist in my investigation, I would, in return for such a favor, keep your involvement in strict confidence. Whatever it may prove to be.”
Apthorp stared at him. The man seemed to be offering this in good faith, as though the implication of what he was saying was not enough for a less restrained man to bash him in the face with his walking stick.
“I will overlook what you’re suggesting, Mr. Evesham, and thank you not to mention such topics in the same sentence as my future wife.”
“I mean no offense, Lord Apthorp.” He said this so flatly that Apthorp almost wanted to believe he meant it. Who was this man, and what was he about?
“Whatever you mean, Mr. Evesham, I have no interest in perpetuating the slander against me by appearing to take an interest in it.”
Evesham leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Of course, my lord. I should only note that any person helpful in my efforts to rid the city of vice can be guaranteed a degree of discretion that he will not enjoy if he is found to be complicit in perpetuating it later. I hope to do good in the world. I invite you to do the same. Should you recall any further information, I hope you will write to me.”
Evesham took a card from his coat and held it out.
Apthorp made no move to take it. “I would urge you not to sit at home waiting for my correspondence, Mr. Evesham. This is my turn,” he said, nodding at the corner. “Good day.”
Evesham stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to say more.
Wordlessly he returned the card to his pocket, bowed, and walked on.
Apthorp ducked into a public house and waited a few minutes until he was sure the hack was gone. And then he doubled back down the street toward Mayfair.
He needed to speak to Constance.
Before Evesham did.
Chapter 8
Lady Constance Stonewell had always intended to fall wildly, extravagantly in love.
Eventually.
The timing of this condition was, regrettably, outside her control, for it depended on the arrival of a man.
Assuredly this gentleman she awaited would be handsome, though the exact cast of his features was not of paramount importance. And he would be clever, though he need not be his generation’s greatest wit, as she was cunning enough for them both. He would be kind, though not so kind that his manners lacked a suitable degree of edge, and loyal, though most principally to her.
The precise dimensions of his make and character were fungible, for the important thing about him was that he would be the first person in living history to want her exactly as she was.
She would not have to disguise her love of devilry nor her too-tender heart to be found winning. She would not have to exercise beguilement to captivate his interest nor dampen the contours of her character to maintain it. He would adore her wholeheartedly and without reservation and above all without the least imposition of her will. He would be wholly, unconditionally insane for her, and that’s how she would know he had, finally, arrived.
Since she had not encountered a fellow even remotely resembling this description in all her days, she had never spent much time imagining what being in love with him might feel like.
But now, as she sat at her desk, making arrangements for her new life in Genoa after an afternoon of feigning lovestruck bliss, she wondered.
Would it feel like pride at his ability to charm her godmother while an assembly of disapproving Methodists tried not to swoon over the absurdly pretty way he held his fork?
Would it feel like pretending to fall asleep beside him at the opera so that she might rest her head against his neck, where she could smell his skin?
Would it feel like lying up awake remembering the contours of his body as he’d pressed against her in a closet, unable to resolve the tension that welled up at the memory because, regrettably, he wasn’t in bed with her?
It mustn’t. For if it were like that, would she not be joyfully embroidering marital linens, rather than making discreet arrangements to flee to the Continent alone?
“My lady?” Winston said, tapping gently at her door. “Lord Apthorp is here to see you.”
She jumped. How odd. It had been only an hour since they’d parted.
She tucked her letters in a drawer and followed Winston to the parlor, where Apthorp was waiting, staring prettily out the window. Without his wig, positioned in the sunshine, he was so luminous he seemed to emit light.
Was that what it would feel like to see the man you were in love with? Would he be so beautiful he looked as if he glowed?
“Oh, young lovers,” she said archly, lest he sense that the sight of him made disorder of her heartbeat. “They simply cannot bear to be parted for more than an hour’s time.”
He glanced up. “Ah. Thank you for seeing me. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“I shall forgive you. You must have been pining for me dreadfully to rush back to me so soon.”
“Dreadfully,” he agreed. “I confess, I never stop.”
She bit her lip. His ability to quip still came as a surprise, given he’d been so humorless for years. She wished he’d displayed more of that talent rather than his less charming abilities to chide, harass, and tutor her.
His eyes traveled down to her face. “You’ve got something on your cheek,” he observed.
She put her fingers to her skin. “Do I?”
He laughed softly. “Ah. Ink’s the culprit as ever, Lady Constance. It’s all over your hands.”
She smiled, though in truth she was annoyed she was appearing before him splattered in drops of brown sludge, given his current state of summery radiance.
“Regrettably, Lord Apthorp, I am famously indelicate with my quill.”
He met her eye, but if he caught the double meaning in her words, he didn’t show it. Instead, he walked toward her, taking off his gloves.
“Here, let me.” He reached out and gently dabbed at the skin beneath her left eye with his thumb.
He frowned. “I�
��ve only smudged it.”
She held her breath, very much hoping he would not notice that she had, for some reason, started shaking at the onslaught of his touch.
He licked his thumb, steadied her chin in his other hand, and rubbed more firmly at her skin. She was not sure if it was pleasure or mortification that made her close her eyes and simply let him.
“There. Good as new,” he said, stepping back.
She was glad he’d withdrawn his hand before she’d rubbed her cheek against his palm like a cat. “Thank you. I shall inform my lady’s maid that there is a rival for her position. Now, then, what brings you here?”
“I’m concerned we may have a problem with Henry Evesham,” he said.
She had suspected he was unsettled by her acquaintance with the scribe. His face, when he’d gathered that they knew each other, had gone so blank she had worried Lady Spence would notice and declare victory early. But he’d played it off quite skillfully.
“Don’t worry. It was impudent of Lady Spence to invite him to lunch, but you handled it just the right way. In fact, you were perfect with her. She would probably have offered to sponsor your bill herself if you’d agreed to bring your mother to town. You will invite her, won’t you?”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“Why not? Is she truly ill? You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“She’s not ill, no,” he said in a manner that implied she would be rude to ask further questions. He turned his back, once again gazing out the window in the haughty, superior fashion of Lord Bore. It was kind of him to return to form just in time to remind her of the reasons why she’d never liked him.
She went to stand beside him, where he could not evade her. “You know, Apthorp, bringing one’s mother to town seems a far easier way to secure Lady Spence’s favor than attending weeks of revivals and gospel studies. And don’t you think she’d enjoy a few weeks of the season? Your sister could accompany her. They must be bored senseless rusticating in Cheshire.”
“Well, Constance, had you ever spent any time rusticating in Cheshire, you might discover it’s not entirely charmless,” he said, an edge to his voice.
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