A Husband's Wicked Ways

by Jane Feather

  “Yes, I said I’d be there.” Cornelia accompanied Aurelia to the front door. “What are we raising money for this time?”

  “A new infirmary at Chelsea Hospital, I believe. But she also mentioned that she’s sponsoring a newcomer to London…to the country, actually. A Spanish lady, recently married to the Earl of Lessingham. Have you come across her?”

  “Oh, I think Harry may have mentioned her…or rather the marriage,” Cornelia said vaguely. “I gather Lessingham’s a lot older than she is, but totally devoted to her.”

  “Well, he’s been a widower for ten years, let’s hope she’s as devoted to him,” Aurelia said with a wicked chuckle.

  Cornelia grinned. “If Cecily’s taken her up, she’ll have plenty of opportunity to spread her wings.”

  “Indeed. Cecily’s always reliable when it comes to good causes, whether it’s a foundling hospital, an infirmary for disabled soldiers, or a newcomer to society.”

  “Unlike Letitia Oglethorpe,” Cornelia observed.

  They both laughed, wrinkling their noses at the thought of their bête noire. Aurelia waved a hand in farewell and stepped out into a morning that had brightened in the time she’d spent with Cornelia. She strolled back towards Cavendish Square, reflecting that if Livia and Alex returned to London at the end of May, she’d have to give some thought to her own lodging. She couldn’t expect to stay as a semipermanent guest under their roof, and neither could she stay with Cornelia and Harry. For close to a year she and Franny had moved between the two households, and when Livia and Alex had gone into the country to await Livia’s confinement, they had left her in charge at Cavendish Square. The arrangement suited everyone, but she didn’t think she could revert to being a peripatetic guest.

  Which rather left her with the choice of either returning to the country and her widow’s rustic existence, or somehow finding the funds to set up her own modest establishment in town. Her efforts to find such funds had so far fallen upon stony ground. It wasn’t that she didn’t have funds, more than sufficient for such a purpose, but her inheritance was held in trust by her late husband’s relatives, a group controlled by the Earl of Markby, Cornelia’s ex-father-in-law and a distant relative of her own. Markby was notoriously difficult to persuade when it came to disbursing funds from the trusts, and he had thus far resisted all such requests from Aurelia.

  Maybe she should go down to Hampshire in person and try a face-to-face appeal. She had managed to avoid the ordeal until now, but if she wanted to remain in London, it was going to have to be done.

  Her swift pace slowed as she saw someone coming down the steps of the house, back to the street. It was Colonel, Sir Greville Falconer. And the sight of him had the strangest effect on her. Her stomach seemed to turn to water, her thighs to jelly. It was as if she were terrified. Then her heart began to beat, her skin to prickle, and she was prompted by an urge to turn and run.

  She held herself still, chiding herself for being so ridiculous. The man could do nothing more to her. He’d sprung his surprise, there was nothing more to be frightened of. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. So she told herself, but the reassurance did nothing to steady her erratic heartbeat…or explain it.

  She walked forward slowly, taking deep breaths. He had seen her now and was waiting on the pavement at the bottom of the steps, one gloved hand resting on the iron railing to the steps, the other on the silver hilt of his cane.

  He bowed as she came close. “Lady Farnham, I just called and your butler said you were not at home.”

  “He would appear to have been correct, Sir Greville,” she said, amazed at the even tenor of her voice. She had even managed a lightly ironic lilt to her tone.

  “So it would appear, ma’am.” He smiled that flashing white smile in the bronzed complexion. “I confess I was afraid your servant had been instructed to deny me.”

  “I see no reason to do that, sir,” Aurelia said, proud of the careless shrug that accompanied the statement. She might be terrified, or whatever it was she was feeling, but she seemed able to conceal it.

  “No, neither do I,” he agreed amiably. “May I?” He went ahead of her to the door and banged the brass knocker with a vigor that indicated he had learned the necessity for a loud and imperative knock.

  Aurelia came up beside him, a key in her hand. “It’s easier this way,” she said, fitting the key to the lock. The door swung open just as Morecombe, puffing and grumbling, reached the door.

  “Can’t think why ye ’ave to be a bangin’ an’ a thumpin’ like that,” he complained. “Only jest got t’ the kitchen an’ it starts up again…an’ you’ve a key,” he accused, blinking rheumy eyes at her.

  “I know, forgive me, Morecombe. It was Sir Greville who knocked. He was unaware that I had a key,” Aurelia explained apologetically as she stepped into the hall. “Don’t let us disturb you further. We’ll be in the salon and I’ll see Sir Greville out myself.”

  “Right y’are then.” Morecombe sniffed and shuffled away.

  “Extraordinary servant,” Greville observed, as so many had done before him. “Fancy having to apologize to him for expecting him to do his job.”

  Aurelia turned an icy glare upon him. “I hardly think it’s your place, sir, to criticize the management of my household.”

  “No,” he agreed, with that disconcertingly charming smile. “I ask your pardon. I was somewhat taken aback.”

  Aurelia hesitated, but there was something truly infectious about the colonel’s smile and she couldn’t help a slight, answering chuckle. “You are not alone in that, Sir Greville. Most people on first meeting Morecombe have such a response. He is more family than servant.” She led the way into the drawing room. “If you’d like coffee, I can fetch some immediately.”

  He glanced towards the bell rope by the fireplace but wisely refrained from comment. “No, I thank you.”

  “Very well.” She unbuttoned her pelisse, letting it drop from her shoulders over the back of a chair, before unpinning her hat. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir Greville?”

  She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, Greville reflected. But then why should she? “Two things, really. First, I wanted to be absolutely certain that you understood the need for complete secrecy. You can tell no one of what you know.”

  “I understand,” she said flatly. “Frederick made it very clear that your life would be in danger if your identity was discovered.”

  “That is so…and not just mine. Believe me, if Frederick hadn’t believed you could be trusted with the truth, I would not have permitted him to write that letter.”

  Aurelia looked at him in surprise. “You believe you could have prevented him?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I could.” It was a flat declaration. “But now you know so much, I wonder if you have anything further you wish to ask me. I don’t know exactly what Frederick’s letter contained, but it seems a fair assumption that it contained matters that could benefit from further explanation.”

  Aurelia sat down, gesturing that he should do the same. At some point in the last few minutes she had regained her composure. Her heart rate had slowed and her mind was once again clear. She did have questions, and maybe he could answer them. “You recruited Frederick at sea just off the coast of Gibraltar. Why?” She clasped her hands lightly in her lap and regarded him, her head slightly to one side.

  Like an inquisitive bird, he thought. She was small-boned, fine-featured, her hair the color of corn silk clustered in artfully arranged ringlets. Her dark brown eyes were warm and glowing like rich velvet.

  The description surprised him. He was not accustomed to assessing the purely physical charms of society women, at least not since he’d joined the service. As a young man-about-town, he’d had his share of dalliances, including a heady liaison with the wife of a most distinguished politician.

  Now why in the world had he started to remember Dorothea? She hadn’t popped into his head for close to twelve years. Was there a resemblance between the two wome
n? Perhaps, he thought. Just a little. He gave himself a mental shake and sat down on the sofa opposite her. “It’s part of my job,” he said simply. “To look for likely recruits to my particular branch of service.”

  “Why Frederick?” She leaned forward a little, intent on the answer, certain it would give her insight into the man she thought she had known and now knew that she had not.

  Greville had decided earlier that the best way to win this woman’s confidence was the direct and honest route. He wasn’t sure as yet whether she was right for what he wanted, but he would proceed as if she were. “I had recently lost some men,” he stated baldly. “I boarded the ships anchored off Gibraltar looking for replacements. The men and women who do our particular brand of war work have to be of a certain caliber. They have to have particular character traits, and while they don’t need the necessary skills to be recruited, they do need the ability and willingness to learn them. Frederick Farnham was such a man.”

  “Were there others?”

  He shook his head. “I spent two weeks with the fleet, a day or two on each vessel. I identified several men, officers and sailors alike, who could be used in other ways, but only Frederick was capable of partnering me.” He regarded her with a slight smile. “I only ever work with one partner anyway, so my recruiting mission was entirely successful.”

  “You haven’t told me what those particular traits are,” she pressed. “I need to know what Frederick had…was…that through all the years of my knowing him escaped me, and not you in a few short days.”

  “A readiness to be tested, to break barriers, cross boundaries, to face danger with relish. Oh, a healthy fear is necessary, too, make no mistake, but to do this work one must have the courage to overcome fear.”

  Aurelia leaned back in her chair, letting her head fall back, her eyes closing for a moment. Frederick had been a reckless huntsman, always first over the fences. He’d played every sport at school and university with a fierce competitiveness that usually brought him out on top. He’d joined the navy without hesitation at the start of the war and had fretted about the lack of action. And yet she hadn’t thought him any different from any of his peers. Greville Falconer had seen something different, and with Frederick’s own words playing in her head she had to acknowledge that he had seen what was there, even if she and his friends and family had not fully understood it.

  “Any further questions?”

  The quiet voice broke into her reverie and she sat up abruptly. Her body was reacting strangely again, hot and cold, heart beating fast. But this time she knew the cause. A confused knowledge certainly, but it had everything to do with the man sitting opposite her and the almost palpable currents of danger, mystery, intrigue, that seemed to swirl around him.

  “What are you going to be doing in London?” Her voice had the tiniest quaver, but she didn’t think he would notice. Then she knew that he had of course noticed it. This man was trained to notice everything.

  “A little work,” he said casually, careful not to appear to be watching her too closely. She reminded him again of a bird, one that sensed the approach of a possible hunter but was still unsure. Ready to flee at a moment’s notice, yet hovering. Something in what he’d said had caught her attention.

  “Perhaps you could help me,” he said, watching her start of shock and surprise.

  “Help you? How?” Aurelia was fully upright now. She looked straight at him.

  “I need lodgings,” he said with a deprecating smile. “I am staying with my aunt on Brook Street at present, but if I’m to make an extended stay in town, as I intend, then I must set up my own establishment. Perhaps you know of somewhere suitable.”

  The request was a welcome cold shower. “I am not in the landlord business, Sir Greville.” Her voice was cool and dispassionate.

  “I didn’t imagine you were, ma’am. I merely thought that since you’ve been in town for some time, you might have heard of something…a tenant giving up some rooms, perhaps. It’s not a wildly unreasonable assumption.” He rose to his feet. “But I won’t keep you any longer.”

  Aurelia stood up. “No, not an unreasonable assumption, I suppose. If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know if you’ll give me an address where I can reach you.” She extended her hand in farewell.

  “I am staying with my aunt, Lady Broughton, on Brook Street,” he said, taking the hand with a meticulous bow. “But I trust I may call upon you again soon, ma’am.”

  Was there more to that than the surface platitude? Why did she have the absolute sense that this man never did or said anything without a specific purpose? And how should he have any purpose that concerned her? Once he’d reclaimed the package for the ministry, she should be of no further interest to him.

  “Please do,” she heard herself respond politely. “I’ll see you out.”

  Chapter Four

  AURELIA CLOSED THE DOOR on her departed guest and went up to her bedchamber. She took Frederick’s letter from the jewel casket and sat down to read it again, but this time with dispassionate knowledge of its contents. Now she could tease out meanings, read between the lines, try to understand properly what had driven her husband to abandon everything that she believed he had held dear. And she did believe that he had loved her and their child. So how had he been able in good conscience to sacrifice not just himself but his wife, leaving her to a life of widowhood, at first a pretense and now a reality?

  She was not happy in her widowhood. In motherhood, yes, but there was a barrenness to her present existence. Maybe she was selfish to complain, maybe she should be satisfied with motherhood, but Aurelia found it difficult to accept that that was all there was to her life from now on. In her heart of hearts she knew that she envied her friends who had found love. A second chance for Nell. She would welcome her own second chance, there was no point pretending otherwise.

  Once again she was flooded by that strange pulse of energy, the feeling that was a combination of excitement and fear. She had no idea what prompted it, but she could feel her cheeks flush, a slight mist of perspiration on her brow, and her heart was fluttering as frantically as a wild bird in a cage. Was it the appeal of a double life, the thrill of excitement, as well as the obligations of patriotism, that had sent Frederick on the path he had taken?

  The dainty ormolu clock on her mantel chimed the hour, and Aurelia realized that she’d been sitting motionless for more than half an hour. Her moment of near panic had vanished as quickly as it had come. She looked down at the letter on her lap. She would never know for certain what had driven Frederick. He had told her all he could or would, and now he was gone.

  She folded the letter again and replaced it in her jewel casket, then flung open the armoire in search of a gown suitable for a luncheon where the conversation would be less frivolous than usual. Cecily Langton’s husband was a bishop, a somewhat worldly bishop let it be said, but he encouraged his wife to espouse good causes, and she threw herself into the business with a happy heart. She was renowned for her refusal to take no for an answer when she was dragooning her society friends into parting with their money, time, and energy. Cornelia, Livia, and Aurelia had always enjoyed Cecily’s deft manipulations of the reluctant givers, a category in which they could not themselves be counted.

  Aurelia picked out a gown of dove gray silk with a brown velvet pelisse trimmed with gray fur. Suitably sober, she decided, but undeniably elegant. The costume had been through various transformations, and she was fairly certain only her closest friends would recognize it in its present manifestation. The pelisse was now belted beneath the bosom with a brown silk cord instead of the tasseled gray that had previously adorned it. The fur trimming replaced a dark gray taffeta, and the gray silk gown now had darker gray flounces and little puff sleeves instead of the elbow length of before.

  She rang the bell for Hester, who had added lady’s maid to her general laundress and seamstress duties, and took off the simple cambric gown she’d worn to Mount Street.

  �
�Good morning, m’lady.” Hester, slightly breathless from running up the stairs from the basement, appeared in the doorway. “Should I press the gown, ma’am?”

  “I don’t think it needs it, Hester. But I’d like you to help with my hair. You’re a wonder with that curling iron.”

  “Oh, thank you, ma’am. I does me best.” Hester flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She helped Aurelia into the gown, then took the curling iron to the fire to warm it while Aurelia unpinned her hair, letting the corn-silk locks tumble free. Ringlets required a lot of attention to maintain, and her coiffure now was beginning to lose its curl.

  She had very straight hair and unfortunately curly hair was the fashion, so she must submit several times a day to the hot iron in Hester’s skillful hands. She’d always envied Livia her mass of dusky curls that could effortlessly be teased into any number of styles.

  The smell of singeing hair made her wrinkle her nose, but Hester seemed oblivious, twisting, twining, pulling at the corkscrews she created until the soft, pale hair clustered in shining ringlets on either side of Aurelia’s face.

  “Lovely. Thank you, my dear.” Aurelia reached for the hare’s-foot brush to apply a little rouge before getting up from the dresser. Hester helped her into the pelisse.

  “Will you wear the little velvet hat, ma’am. The brown one?”

  “Yes, perfect.” Aurelia took the hat and arranged it over the ringlets. The dab of a hat with a wisp of a veil looked very well atop her pale hair. Aurelia examined herself in the mirror and gave a little self-deprecating smile at the knowledge of her own vanity. She looked elegant, a figure to draw the eye. Of course as a widowed matron with a six-year-old daughter, such matters should be of no interest to her at all. But they were, and if that was a sin, then so be it.

  She gathered up her gloves and reticule and left the house to walk the short distance to Hanover Square where the bishop had his residence. The day had warmed a little and a pale sun shone weakly from a light blue sky whenever the scudding clouds permitted. The square was quiet and Aurelia decided to walk through the garden to Holles Street on the far side.