Godfrey nodded and gripped one of his brother’s arms as he took a cautious step. “I’m weak as a babe in arms, Patrick, but I can walk without any pain to speak of. It’s . . . hard to imagine life without pain.” As his brother led him to a chair, he gazed at Lucas. “Saying thank you doesn’t seem like enough, Lord Foxton.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Lucas said. He was leaning against the treatment table, and Kendra guessed he was holding himself upright by sheer willpower.
“Then let me give you a piece of advice, Foxton,” Patrick said gruffly. “Stop acting so damned guilty when anyone looks askance at you. If someone asks about your parole or captivity, just say that the commandant of the facility didn’t uphold his end of the bargain, so you escaped. It has the advantage of being the truth. For what it’s worth, my brothers and I will spread the word that we misunderstood the situation.”
Lucas looked as if the other man had punched him in the stomach. Expression strained, he said, “You think that will stop gentlemen from giving me the cut direct?”
“Eventually. That, plus acting matter of fact about what you did instead of looking as if you were caught stealing a friend’s wallet,” Patrick said with acid humor.
He turned and helped his younger brother into his coat and boots, then collected the crutches. “Are you sure you don’t need these, Godfrey?”
Godfrey stood and took another, surer step toward the door. “Not at the moment. I want to walk out of here on my own two feet.” As he reached for the doorknob, he glanced at Kendra. “Are there any more like you out there?”
She shook her head. “I was an only child.”
“Good,” he muttered as he lurched through the door, but she heard an undertone of amusement in his voice.
He stepped outside, and his brother William cried, “Godfrey, you’re walking!!”
When the door closed behind the Rogers brothers’ happy reunion, Lucas asked hesitantly, “Simon, do you think he’s right? That if I’m confident about what happened in France and don’t look guilty, the stain of dishonor will fade?”
Simon’s brow furrowed as he considered. “There will always be a few high sticklers who prefer condemnation to understanding, but I think that Major Rogers is right. If you look like you’re at peace with yourself, most people will accept that. Scandals fade in time.”
“Then today is the day I bury the doubts I’ve had about what I did,” Lucas said quietly.
“It’s time,” Simon said simply. “I assume that now you just want to collapse into Kendra’s arms?”
Lucas managed a crooked smile. “That, please!”
Simon smiled at Kendra, patted Lucas on the shoulder, then returned to the main studio. Kendra crossed the room to where Lucas was supporting himself against the table and wrapped her arms around him. “Miracles don’t come cheaply, do they?”
He laughed a little. “I’ll recover. I’m just glad I could help that poor devil.”
“I wish he’d chosen a target other than you to lash out at!” she said.
Still leaning on the table, he draped himself over her, his arms encircling and his cheek resting against her temple. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Knew what?”
“That I’d never fully made peace with breaking my parole.”
“I wouldn’t use the same words as Major Rogers, but whenever the subject of your parole came up, you withdrew like a turtle into its shell,” she said compassionately. “But it wasn’t a true parole when your beastly Colonel Roux meant to hold you captive until you were dead, so you behaved with good sense when you escaped.”
“It still felt as if I’d committed an act of dishonor,” he said slowly. “I never really overcame that feeling. Until tonight. As you said, a wound must be cleansed if it is to heal.”
“It seemed like the right time to speak up.” She leaned into him, glad she could do something in return for all he’d done for her.
He ran a warm, powerful hand down her back and over her hip with slow appreciation. “Holding you helps me regain my strength.” He laughed a little. “Though I’m not yet as strong as I would need to be for what I’d like to do, which is to enjoy another one of those nights that didn’t really happen.”
She laughed as well. “Angelo’s Academy is far too public for any such thing!”
“True.” He straightened and took her hand, leading her to the chairs by the side of the room. He sat her down in one and took the next chair for himself. They could hold hands but no more than that. “I’ll be glad when the Duchesses’ Ball is over. No matter what the outcome, at least it will be behind us.”
She nodded, holding his hand tightly. “I feel as if I’m in limbo. We’ve invited our list of willing witnesses and know what they’ll say. We’ve worked out how you will present the evidence.”
“We might want to revise that,” Lucas said. “You handled a difficult situation brilliantly tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to state your own case?”
She shivered. “I’m sure. Tonight’s confrontation wasn’t about me, but about you and Godfrey Rogers. It was easy to keep the discussion under control.”
He laughed. “You managed it all like a really good nanny. I’m impressed that you got the two Rogers brothers to come in here.”
“It’s my nanny voice,” she said sternly before returning to her normal tone. “I’ve had some possibly foolish thoughts about how my case should be presented,” she said hesitantly. “Not as a mock trial, but as a performance.” She sketched out her idea.
“That’s brilliant, Kendra!” Lucas exclaimed when she was finished. “This will take some planning and rehearsal, but I think it will be more effective than our original idea. We need to talk to your allies, particularly the Ashtons, since the ball will be at their house. And all your Fencing Females.”
She smiled crookedly. “I just hope I can make it to the ball without expiring of nervousness!”
He lifted their joined hands so he could kiss her fingers where they were linked with his. “We’ll go on day by day, hour by hour. We’ll both continue our volunteer work at Zion House and the infirmary. We’ll come here for more fencing exercise. I shall hope I won’t be challenged to any more duels by any more Rogers brothers. If we think of any more ways to improve our performance at the ball, we’ll add them in.”
He leaned across the space between the chairs and brushed a tender kiss on her lips. “And after the ball, perhaps we will both be free.”
Her breathing caught as she looked into his eyes. She was beginning to think that perhaps she did know how he really felt about her.
CHAPTER 32
The fateful night had arrived. Grand carriages rolled between the gates of Ashton House, home of the Duke of Ashton and the largest private home in London. The drive was lit by torches, and a scarlet carpet had been rolled down the steps to where guests would step from their carriages.
Kendra had arrived earlier, consumed by nerves but comforted by the support of the women who had become her friends. They were delighted to be part of this grand occasion and determined to see justice done. Kendra wore a sumptuous black silk gown decorated with jet beads, and she wore a necklace and earrings of black onyx. The black half mask she would don later was clenched in one nervous hand along with her black lace folding fan.
When she’d arrived at Ashton House, she’d been greeted by the official hostesses: the Duchess of Ashton; Lady Julia Randall, daughter of the late duke of Castleton; and Lady Julia’s exquisite grandmother, the Duchess of Charente. Mariah studied her costume and said teasingly, “You look like a really beautiful Angel of Death!”
Kendra laughed and relaxed a little. “That was the effect I was hoping for.”
Lady Julia said, “We have a whole box full of black armbands for your allies to wear when it’s time for the evening’s special performance.”
“You don’t think the idea is mad?” Kendra asked nervously.
“Not at all,” the Duchess of Charente said in
her charming French accent. “One must first get people’s attention to persuade their minds. Stating your case in a performance will fascinate them.”
“We’ve had a program printed for guests,” Lady Julia said. “Have you seen it?”
She handed a copy to Kendra. The program described the event as “The Duchesses’ Bijoux Ball & Mystery Performance.” Under her breath, she said softly, “You haven’t met my foster son, Benjamin Thomas, have you? He’s the orphaned son of one of Alex’s cousins. He goes to school at the Westerfield Academy, where Alex and Ashton and Kirkland and others became loyal friends.”
Kendra’s gaze shot up. “I’ve heard of the school.”
“Benjamin loves it. If and when you regain custody of your son, you might consider sending him there.” Lady Julia smiled warmly. “They have a fine big brother program where older students work with new young ones. Benjamin enjoys doing that.”
Aristocratic London was a very small world. Luckily Lady Agnes could be trusted not to reveal that her son was already a Westerfield student. “I’ll definitely consider it for Christopher. Do you know if the headmistress, Lady Agnes, will be here tonight? I know an invitation was sent to her.”
“She declined with regret, but said we already had quite enough females of ducal blood!”
Kendra laughed. “And countesses past counting!”
A trumpet fanfare sounded from the ballroom. The three hostesses collected themselves. “Time for us to greet arriving guests,” Mariah Ashton said. “We’ll only have two dances before your performance. We don’t want to let the guests drink too much before we start.”
The women moved away, heading to the ballroom. All three were petite and exquisitely gowned. They looked like a bouquet of flowers—with spines of pure steel.
Kendra was playing with her black lace fan when Lucas joined her. He also wore black tonight, which set off his blond hair splendidly. A dark prince touched with gold.
“Everything is in readiness,” he said. “The stage curtains are pale gold so our black garments will show up well in front of them. The tables are all set up in front of the stage and servants are bringing trays of delicious tidbits to each table.”
She smiled a little. “How do you know the food is delicious?”
“I sampled a few pieces, of course. In the interests of ascertaining the quality.” His tone was light and he took hold of her hand to calm her restless fingers. “Our special guest witnesses are dining splendidly in the breakfast room, which is small and secluded from the ball. They’ll be ready when their turn comes.”
She gave him an unsteady smile. “I hope they enjoy their meal. I couldn’t eat a bite myself.”
“Don’t you want to feed those butterflies in your stomach?” he asked with mock surprise.
She laughed and her tension eased a little. “They can wait to be fed.”
After that, they spoke little as they waited in the room behind the small theater. Kendra could hear the music playing in the ballroom, which was just beyond the private theater. Mariah Ashton sent a note saying that Denshire had arrived, along with the friends who’d borne witness against her in the parliamentary divorce trial. Mariah said she’d personally escort them to a table in the front row by the stage.
Then another trumpet fanfare rang out. It was the signal for their performance. In the ballroom, the hostesses were explaining that the mystery entertainment was about to begin so guests should move into the theater and find a table. Shuffling feet and light chatter were heard as people entered and found places. The number of guests at the event matched the seating in the theater, so the ball was not “a sad crush,” but an exclusive entertainment.
Kendra donned her black mask with numb fingers. “Is this on straight?”
Lucas adjusted the mask slightly. “There. You look splendid and compelling.”
“Mariah said that I look like the Angel of Death.”
“Not the Angel of Death. The Angel of Justice.” Lucas rose and moved to the slit in the back of the curtains to wait for his cue. Kendra joined him and peered out.
In the theater, the Duke of Ashton was giving the three hostesses a gentlemanly hand up the steps to the low stage. Kendra had only met him once, but she liked his obvious intelligence and quiet humor. He had been very willing to volunteer the resources of his house to the night’s performance.
The trumpet players gave one last clarion call, then fell silent. As the host, Ashton joined the women on stage, then began in a voice that filled the theater as easily as it filled the House of Lords. Kendra had been told that when the Duke of Ashton spoke, others listened, and as she watched him through the curtain slit, she understood why.
“I’m glad you could all join us tonight for this very special evening,” he said in his deep voice. “There will be a full supper later, after more dancing, but enjoy the refreshments on your tables in the meantime. The champagne that is arriving now will quench your thirst during the performance that is about to begin.”
He paused, his gaze moving lightly across the audience. “The inspiration for tonight came from our lady hostesses and their friends.” He turned and bowed to the duchesses, all of whom were now wearing black armbands as if in mourning.
Straightening, he continued, “Think of this as a mystery play called ‘You Be the Judge.’ A remarkable tale will be told, and you will decide whether or not you believe it. The principal narrator will be my friend Lord Foxton.”
Ashton made an inviting gesture and moved toward the wings as Lucas emerged from his position onto the stage. He bowed to the audience, then began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our story is a tale of marriage and morality that reflects our society. While a love match is a beautiful thing when it occurs, it’s true that even the most modest of men and women also contemplate the monetary benefits of marriage, because a love match is even more beautiful if it has a nice little fortune to go with it.”
That produced a ripple of laughter as people sipped their champagne and wondered what would come next. Like Ashton, Lucas had a beautiful speaking voice, rich and flexible. She’d have to ask him to tell the tale of Dick Whittington and his cat.
Lucas continued, “For a man to marry an heiress is as timeless a pursuit as for a lady to marry a lord with a title and fortune. Our tale begins when our protagonist—we’ll call him Lord D.—is accepted by a beautiful young heiress.”
This was Kendra’s cue to enter in her dramatic black costume. Suddenly her nerves were gone and she was ready to give what would be literally the performance of, and for, her life.
She emerged from the curtains to glide daintily across the polished wood as if performing a minuet, demurely fluttering her fan. Lucas turned and caught her hand and they performed a graceful dance figure. As they circled each other, he whispered, “You’re doing splendidly.”
“As are you, my Lord Fox!”
He released her hand and turned to the audience while she took a pensive pose to his left. She saw Denshire in the middle of the front row with his friends, looking amused at the story. “The heiress’s money came from trade,” Lucas declaimed, “but any reasonable lord can overlook that!”
More laughter.
“But much harder to overlook are the stipulations of the marriage contract. What, the vastly wealthy grandfather is tying up all that lovely money in trusts controlled by his granddaughter and her trustees? Isn’t it a man’s God-given right to spend his wife’s money? There’s a reason why the Quality don’t like dealing with merchants!”
That produced another ripple of laughter. Lucas’s timing was excellent. “Lord D. considered withdrawing from the betrothal over the matter of the trusts, but it would make him look ungentlemanly, and besides, an heiress in the hand is worth a flock of heiresses in the bush. He didn’t doubt that his manly charms would persuade her to loosen the purse strings when he desired funding.”
Kendra discreetly studied the audience. All her friends were wearing black armbands in silent su
pport of her position. Simon and Suzanne were sitting together and holding hands, looking innocent, as were the Kirklands. Rather large and dangerous-looking men were lounging by the two exit doors. She recognized the husbands of Lady Julia and Athena Masterson, both of them former army officers. Denshire would not get past them if he tried to leave.
She didn’t know two of the men sitting with Denshire, but she recognized Hollowell, who had searched Thorsay House on Denshire’s behalf. There was a furrow between his brows, but Denshire still looked more interested than nervous. He’d probably drunk too much champagne to recognize himself in Lucas’s narrative.
Tone light, Lucas said, “The marriage started well enough. There was a measure of fondness, and a warm wife is a fine thing on a cold English night.” There were more titters. “After a respectable interval, Lady D. presented her husband with a fine, healthy son. Even better, she was happy to live in the country with the child and leave her husband to indulge in the more sophisticated pleasures of the great metropolis.”
His voice deepened melodramatically and he hissed, “Then once again the Sssserpent of Money entered the Garden of Matrimony!
“Lord D.’s man of business informed him that his own fortune was alarmingly depleted. It was time to charm the necessary funds from his very rich wife. He loathed going to her with hat in hand, but the first time, she reluctantly opened her very deep purse.
“But the next time he went to her, the hussy proved annoyingly stubborn. She seemed to think the money was hers just because her grandfather had left it entirely and legally to her.”
There was a long pause before Lucas resumed speaking with a whine in his voice. “Lord D. didn’t beat her very hard, and after all, he had the right to do so, as does any other husband. She was hardly bruised at all. But there was that unfortunate incident when his blow knocked her onto the burning hot grate in the fireplace.”
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