by Kim Bowman
He appeared thoughtful, doodling mathematics in the margin of his newspaper. When she quit trying to understand the equation and took in the whole, she noticed the numerals and their odd arrangement in his formulae. Sophia gasped as she saw outlined figures — two of them, male and female — engaged in the very act that had transpired the previous night in his bedchamber. The addition of a horizontal figure eight — the infinity sign — and the number one made it even worse when combined with a zero.
“Ooh, Uncle Wil, what is that?” Madeline peered over his shoulder before Sophia could shield the girl’s eyes. Mary and Elise leaned to examine the numeric figures. Confusion shuttered each of their expressions, and Sophia sighed in relief. Apparently they saw patchy rows of numbers.
Wilhelm hummed casually. “Just the product of a bit of inspiration. If I can solve this equation, I might have discovered the solution to a divergence of the harmonic series paradox. Architects everywhere will petition my sainthood.”
Mary nodded as though she comprehended his onslaught of mathematical terms. “You are very clever. Well done.” Then the girls lost interest and returned to their drawing.
Sophia muttered, “Yes, darling. Submit that to the Oxford department of mathematics.” She appraised the number four serving as a profile of her face, and numbers three, one, and a handful of sevens and Xs behaving very naughtily with his opposing two and six.
He shot her his rakish pirate smirk. “Simple calculus. The equation is completely viable.”
Brilliant madness.
“Yes, I can see that.” Lovely how she inspired him to expound on his talent. Put that in a history book: Anne-Sophronia Montegue, muse for mathematical erotica.
~~~~
Mundane-looking, the three locks of hair resting atop a sealed envelope on her bedstand. The long golden strands belonged to Elise, the coarser raven curl Mary’s, and the short caramel ringlet unmistakably Madeline’s. These could have been waiting days or weeks — Sophia hadn’t slept in the Scarlet Suite for over a month, since that lovely day in the garden.
Curiosity turned to dread as she saw the penmanship on the outside of the envelope. It curdled her blood. Slanted, compact, with pointed strokes like little weapons sticking out at odd angles. Only one soul in the world wrote that way.
Darling Daughter,
It may interest you to know I have in my possession a notarized copy of a most interesting bill of annulment, signed by none other than the illustrious Wilhelm Montegue, Earl of Devon. Oddly, it lacks the necessary detail of your signature.
Imagine my surprise to receive in coincidence several affidavits of complaint filed by continental dignitaries and officers of the army, all shocking in nature and most condemning to a mutual person of interest should their contents emerge from the dusty archives to, say, the Times.
You are now aware how I might exercise the powers of influence at my disposal, and no doubt, you understand my determination in matters of utmost importance. In truth I have no quarrel with the noble family of Rougemont and will gladly reinvest my interest where it is most effective, contingent upon your prompt cooperation. I am most concerned for your welfare and the continued well-being of those whom you consider friends. Your dear mother, whom I have here in my company, agrees.
Instructions for your safe transport to be forwarded shortly.
Your loving father,
Alfred Duncombe, Lord Chauncey
The paper made a gratifying crumpling sound in her fist, and she appreciated the sight of it burning in the fire grate even more. No wonder he had the press eating out of his hand. He almost sounded like he meant to invite her to tea, as though she had only a good-natured scolding in store upon her return. It dawned on Sophia that even if she had proof of his evil deeds, no court would convict him. No punishable crime had been committed. Apparently common sense and human decency were optional for a peer of the realm.
In the eyes of the law, Lord Chauncey had every right to reclaim his ungrateful, wild daughter. He would probably submit last year’s marriage contract with Lowdry — she hoped her dog’s teeth had left horrid scars on his neck and gave him eternal nightmares — suing Lord Devon for some sort of breach. Granted, Wilhelm could wield influence on her behalf, but not if Chauncey found a way to discredit him. Her belly full with Lord Devon’s baby would have helped, but since when had fate ever been so kind? Dickens must have first heard his famous The law is an ass quote from a woman. And she was damned right, for all the good it did her.
Sophia had been surrounded by Wilhelm and Philip, as well as the “forcibly reformed” male staff at Rougemont, for so long she’d nearly forgotten how loathsome the fouler gender behaved. As soon as she left the idyllic cocoon Wilhelm had created for her here…
Had Chauncey truly kidnapped her mother, or was that a bluff? Threatening Sophia with harming her mother, and vice versa, had long been one of Chauncey’s favorite games. Sophia refused to play, but she probably wouldn’t sleep until she got word from her capricious mother.
Sophia’s head jumbled with half-hatched ideas, sprouting contradictory tangents. She let out a growl of frustration, rubbed her hands down her face, and willed herself not to panic. She sank into the desk chair and snatched a pen and paper. Her first mark poked through the page, stabbing the leather pad with an unsightly blotch of ink.
None of her choices were palatable, which was why she stared at the page long before writing:
Option 1. Stow away on the next steamer bound for America. Or Australia? And dye my hair a bad shade of ginger, work on a remote vegetable farm for the rest of my life.
Option 2. Run away to Spain and take my vows at St. Angelo’s.
Option 3. Confess all to Wilhelm and hide under his coattails while he rides to his ruin as my faithful champion.
She thought longer and recognized it would be worse than his humiliation or disinheritance. More than once, Wilhelm had vowed to kill Lord Chauncey. He had slain Vorlay for far less than what her father had done. Wil would do it. And then he would hang for it, because the nobility got away with everything except murdering other members of the nobility.
Option 4. Pretend to cooperate with Chauncey while conspiring to kill him myself.
Obviously it had to be the fourth one. With Wilhelm, the girls, and her mother at stake, it didn’t seem she had much choice. She would need a bit of help, a co-conspirator to cover her disappearance long enough for her to get away.
All right, then should she speak to Martin or Aunt Louisa? Well, Martin seemed to like Sophia, but Aunt Louisa would be in favor of any scheme that protected Wilhelm, whereas Martin’s loyalty would likely fall toward what Wilhelm wanted rather than what he needed. Sophia huffed, thinking Aunt Louisa would be glad to see the back of her. The Old Dragon it is, she decided with a sigh.
~~~~
The blood drained from Aunt Louisa’s face, she fanned herself faster, and Sophia worried the woman would faint. “What sort of affidavits? And from whom?”
“He didn’t mention the contents, but cited ‘continental dignitaries’ and army officers. Is Chauncey bluffing? Could such documents exist?”
“Merciful saints, yes. Piles of them, if the papers were not destroyed as they should have been.” Aunt Louisa glanced to the doorways, the windows, then seemed assured of privacy in the drawing room. Still she lowered her voice. “Those documents must not see the light of day, Miss Duncombe. No matter the cost.”
Sophia blinked at being called Miss Duncombe when she’d been Lady Devon for months now. She could see Aunt Louisa was about to elaborate and nearly stopped her, loath to hear what dreadful deeds hung over Wilhelm’s head.
“You might as well know it all.” She sighed and shook her head as she settled back in the chair. “When Wilhelm inherited the title, he retired from the army with the rank of lieutenant-general. A promotion instigated by his friend Lord Courtenay and the Secretary of State for War to protect Wilhelm from pending court charges. The rumors still are… fanciful, but yo
u are one among the very few souls who know Wilhelm acted as a spy and assassin in the Russian war.”
Aunt Louisa leaned in, speared Sophia with a look of challenge, and half-whispered, “The Russian War was a disaster. Many British officers and politicians defected or took bribes from the Russians and Turks. Secrets were sold and strategies divulged. Battles were lost in Crimea, Russia, Turkey, across the Balkans for the Navy — sabotage and disaster everywhere. Hundreds, even thousands of English lives, understand?” Her voice wavered, but her stern expression returned as she swallowed.
“Something had to be done, and only a man of rank could have infiltrated the high-society conspiracy. Lord Courtenay, an officer in the covert operation, called Wilhelm from the battlefield and recruited him for his ability to memorize texts — a courier who carried no incriminating documents. To the eyes of the world, Wilhelm cavorted with undesirable characters — as their houseguest, at their disgusting parties, inside gentlemen’s clubs of the sort we cannot speak of. Foul debauchery, by all appearances, to gain the confidence of traitorous men.”
Sophia remembered the rumors about Wilhelm’s supposed homosexuality, that he favored outrageous “unnatural proclivities.” Such as what? Animals? Blood? The occult and pagan? Well-bred ladies weren’t supposed to know of such things, but Sophia had traveled most of the civilized world, and little of it remained a mystery to her.
Wilhelm’s daring bedroom proclivities included a touch of rough play, such as a welt from her fingernails dragging down his back. Normal for a healthy, enthusiastic male. However, he had the appearance of a man capable of all kinds of lechery; even she was often put off by his… darkness. The right word for a fearsome and secretive man?
Aunt Louisa straightened in her chair and shook a finger at Sophia. “I do not mind saying he did what he had to do. For England. For her sons, who would have otherwise suffered at the hands of their bumbling superiors. Britain won that war, mind you, and no thanks to—” She paused, supposedly noticing she’d been about to rant on politics, as Sophia had hoped she would, but Aunt Louisa calmed instead. Sophia didn’t dare interrupt.
“It was a chaotic time. Betrayals, defection, double and triple upon layers. A treacherous game of secrets and power, and Wilhelm became caught in the middle. He believes a number of his orders may have issued from traitors who infiltrated the War Office in London. He cannot assure himself every life he took was guilty.”
She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and cleared her throat. “No one contemplates the business of an assassin, none considers the cost on the soul of the person who must carry out black deeds. I came to Rougemont when he inherited. I saw how the war had changed him. I heard him screaming at night, destroying the furniture in fits of rage. He was not himself. At first I believed him insane and feared for his fate. He talked endlessly of ghosts, said they haunted him. I heard him arguing and shouting at them.”
Aunt Louisa’s voice held steady as she dabbed away tears. “I came to understand he sees the faces of the slain. You know he remembers everything, every detail, because of his gift. Hundreds, he said. Can you imagine reliving the deaths of each? You would go out of your mind, too. Anyone with less strength would have succumbed.”
Sophia liked Aunt Louisa’s term, gift. Much better than illness. Because Wilhelm was neither ill nor insane. He simply had the mind of a genius, nearly beyond the mortal world.
“There were complaints from ambassadors, widows, and fathers. By their accounting, Wilhelm was wild, licentious, a dangerous scoundrel. The blackest of rumors besmirched his name. There was an effort to charge him on counts of murder, insanity, and — lord help me — sodomy.”
Sophia racked her brain, trying to remember anything of the scandal, but she would have been abroad from 1853 to 1856, between Greece and India where news of Crimea had come from England’s opponents. Sophia had been seventeen with her head full of books and music when the war had started, too young to pay much heed.
Wilhelm would have been only a few years older at the time, early in his twenties. Her heart pinched, imagining him a brilliant scholarly youth full of promise. How tragic it must have been to compare the shadow-eyed half-demon he had become. Aunt Louisa was right — he had to be protected now at all costs.
“A collaboration of accusers gathered much fervor in the papers, and to this day I have no idea how it was put down so swiftly. I suspect Lord Courtenay played a part, but neither he nor Wilhelm would breathe a word about it. Martin seemed to know, but he would not say either, the impertinent lout. I only caught whisperings of a name I had heard a few times before, when Wilhelm corresponded with his superiors in London: The Brotherhood of the Falcon. Whatever the deuce that is.”
Sophia nearly coughed, shocked at hearing Aunt Louisa curse. “So, if Chauncey were to resurrect the old scandal, he could complicate matters.”
Aunt Louisa huffed. “To put it mildly. You know as well as I that Wilhelm is the brightest among us, but it would not be difficult to argue his insanity. They could strip his title and lock him away.”
She rapped her fan on the arm of the chair, contemplating. “He is Archduke Franz Karl of Austria’s son, and everybody my age knows it. Richard Montegue claimed him, a harmless boon for a second son. He favors the look of his Cavendish mother. So when Roderick died, not much fuss was made over Wilhelm inheriting, since royal bastards may hold rank. But will that prevail in court? I think not. Not against a determined, persuasive opponent.”
Sophia groaned. “My father has the devil’s own gilded tongue. And no scruples to speak of.”
“I know that. Yet Wilhelm will fight until he is bankrupt or dead.”
“And I know that,” Sophia answered as smoothly as Aunt Louisa had, when in truth she wanted to shout, “How could you think I would take it for granted?” “Well, what should I do? When Chauncey sends instructions, I must go without alerting Wilhelm.” Good, she managed the words without choking.
Aunt Louisa snapped her fingers. “Nothing frightens away a man faster than an ill mother. Tell him you received news that Lady Chauncey is stricken with… oh, something not contagious or he will forbid you to leave. Say I offered to escort you, then go on about how demanding his duties at Rougemont are. That should work on him.”
Sophia nodded, thinking it through. Wilhelm would be so pleased at the appearance of Aunt Louisa’s benevolence toward his wife, he would probably concede on the hope of their cultivating a motherly friendship.
“But can you convince him? At the slightest hint of falsehood, he will know. Uncanny, his way.”
“I learned deception from the best. He will believe me.” To prove her point, Sophia discussed the rest of her plans without betraying a flicker of emotion.
If she succeeded, she would return to Rougemont in a few weeks, reporting that Lady Chauncey had finally recovered while Wilhelm would wonder who had put Sophia’s father in the ground.
Once she shut the door to her dressing room, Sophia collapsed and wept, allowing a few minutes to indulge her fear and sorrow before she wiped her face and went on as though nothing at all bothered her. She was quite good at that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In Which Sophia is Kidnapped
“Martin, fetch Philip. Tell him to meet me at the stables. And signal O’Grady’s men — the east company. Then gather the women together and guard them.” At Martin’s puzzled expression, Wilhelm prompted, “Make something up! Lock them in the cellar if you must.”
Wilhelm turned to watch out the window again, studying the chaotic flock of birds fleeing from the east side of the property where the gate should be. Such an assortment of fowl did not travel together, and their pattern in the sky resembled a handful of tossed seeds rather than a flight pattern. It meant every bird perched in the cluster of trees below had been startled.
Ridiculous, how obvious LeRoy’s invasion. Wilhelm kept a small private army camped around the perimeter, and today the precaution would pay off.
When he fe
lt certain he knew which path the intruders took, Wilhelm turned on his heel and jogged for the stables. Thor would finally quench his thirst for a skirmish. The offspring of the black Arabian Wilhelm had ridden through the Crimean battlefields, Thor was born to charge and trample. He might yet earn his heart’s desire.
The groomsmen leapt to action at Wilhelm’s command, helping him fasten the buckles while he calmed the stallion. A bloodthirsty smile quirked Wilhelm’s mouth; Chauncey had done precisely what he’d expected.
With every avenue of funding reputable and otherwise cut off, Chauncey had resorted to attempting a blatant kidnapping, on Wilhelm’s highly defensible land — the scaffold. Wilhelm was a painful 450,000 quid lighter, but he now owned even Lord Chauncey’s underwear, as Sophia jested — the noose. All he had to do now was call in the debt — the trapdoor — and Chauncey was hung.
Good, Philip had come quickly. “Throw on a saddle and ride out with me — No! Not Sadie.” Wilhelm paused to point at a chestnut Arabian gelding, and Philip nodded. “Did you stow a pistol?”
“Two,” Philip called back, already cinching the harness.
“LeRoy’s mob came over the east gate. O’Grady will cut off their retreat. We flank the north and south sides and close in. Take the others prisoner, but if you get a clear shot at LeRoy, take it.”
They rode over the field then split to form the opposing sides of a vise. After this battle, Chauncey would have no shield to hide behind. The old bastard must come out and greet the devil himself.
~~~~
Sophia painted on a smile and resisted wringing her hands. The moment Martin had asked her to placate the inspector waiting in the first floor drawing room, she’d gotten a sinking feeling in her stomach. Martin had behaved even more anxiously, as though he was asking her to come despite his better judgment. That could only bode ill.