Ravishing in Red

by Madeline Hunter

  “We have been asked to replicate what we did for your wedding in two gardens.”

  “People can be very unoriginal,” Celia said. “One lady even wanted the exact same flowers. Daphne had to explain that it would look silly to have daffodils and tulips in pots when they will be growing in gardens freely at the time of the party.”

  “After two summers ago, everyone fears their own blooms will be small, or not grow at all. It will be a long time before our own garden recovers.” Daphne referred to the year without summer, and the hard toll it had taken. She counted out some blooming lilies, pointing to each one as she calculated. Contented, she removed her apron. “They are ready for Mr. Davidson to transport them. Lizzie, please make sure that he gets them all when he comes.”

  They all returned to the back sitting room. Celia went off to make coffee. Audrianna submitted to a long inspection by Daphne.

  “You appear contented in this marriage. Please tell me that you are.”

  “I am, more than I expected. It has not been without surprises, of course.”

  “You refer to Lady Wittonbury’s interference, I am sure.”

  She was not referring to Lady Wittonbury at all, but to the rich sensuality of this marriage. It captivated her more than carriages and silks. She forgot who she was when lost in those pleasures. Even the circumstances that had brought her to that bed became obscured for a while.

  “She has proven to be a little cloud, but thankfully not as big a one as she might be. And the marquess has become a good friend.” Her best friend, actually. Even her only friend in that world. In the light of day, Sebastian remained something of a stranger still, in comparison. She did not speak as freely with him as with the marquess. She did not forget to be careful. Sebastian still dazzled and awed her to the point of disadvantage, and what he did at night only intensified that reaction.

  “Is she trying to cow you?” Daphne asked.

  “Of course. However, I did not come here to cry on your shoulder or talk about Lady Wittonbury’s unkindness. I came to be with dear friends, and to read Lizzie’s newspapers and gossip sheets.”

  Celia arrived with the tray of coffee. “Go and get them, Lizzie. She has quite a stack right now, since we go to town so often with the new trade that your wedding has brought us, Audrianna. Even her headaches do not stop her from reading them all.”

  Lizzie went to a cabinet and brought back a thick stack of folded papers. “I like to know what is happening in the world. I do not know why you tease me so much, Celia.”

  “Because she loves you, that is why,” Audrianna said. “I am happy to see that you are free of your malady today, Lizzie. I feared I would find you prostrate, and be deprived of your company.”

  “They strike without warning or reason, is that not correct, Lizzie?” Daphne said. “I think changing weather is the culprit.”

  They drank their coffee and talked of common things. Audrianna basked in the easy conversation. No etiquette here. No clock ticking away the proscribed time for a morning call. No worry that one laughed too loud, or at the wrong time.

  She watched her dear friends, and Sebastian’s words came back to her. Your lack of curiosity is impressive. She had initially thought the Rule was stupid too, and actually had been very curious. Soon, however, she knew what she needed to know about these other women and their pasts did not matter at all.

  And yet, as they chatted, she thought about how little she really did know. Nothing at all about Lizzie and Celia. And even Daphne, who was her cousin—there had been years when Daphne was lost to her.

  Now that she thought about it, she had been the only person in this house whose history was an open book to the others.

  Celia picked up one of Lizzie’s papers. “What are you looking for? Why did you want these?”

  “I knew she would have many more than I have seen. It would be odd if I required the servants to bring back so many every day. I want to see if there have been any notices from the Domino. He has bought them twice now, and I think he may again.”

  “I do not remember reading any with that name in it, but the last time it was more an allusion,” Lizzie said. “We will help you, so this does not take all your time here.” She took a stack and handed it to Daphne.

  A half hour later, they had finished with no success. The few obscure notices contained nothing to insinuate they had been placed by the Domino.

  “Why don’t you place one instead?” Lizzie suggested.

  “I tried once, but could not phrase it so the Domino would guess it was me, but no one else would.”

  “She cannot risk that Lord Sebastian would see it,” Daphne said. “One does not poke at a sore if one is wise.”

  Audrianna realized that was an apt metaphor. It explained everything about the tenor of her young marriage. Desire and pleasure formed a balm for that sore, but it did not really heal. Dozens of pokes every day kept it unhealed—the oblique references others made to her father, the obligatory nature of the marriage itself, her certainty that, if he could, Sebastian would prove what the world already assumed.

  She wondered what their marriage would have been like if that sore did not exist. It was a pointlessly romantic question. If not for the sore, there would have been no marriage at all, of course.

  “Also, I realized that I cannot arrange a series of meetings to which no one else might come,” Audrianna said. “My days are not entirely my own.”

  “Let him come to you,” Celia said. “Write a notice that merely asks for contact, and use a shop for an address so the response does not come in your own mail. It is done all the time, by lovers for example. Publishers and book-stores often offer the service, as well as some inns and solicitors.”

  “Perhaps I will do that.” She set aside her curiosity regarding how Celia knew such things. She was no longer one of them and the Rule no longer applied, but it would be a betrayal to pry now.

  Could she write a notice that would not catch Sebastian’s eyes, but would be spotted by the Domino? It would require very clever wording.

  “You might also let it be known at places where foreigners gather that you are looking for him,” Lizzie offered. “If you pay an employee to keep an eye out for you, he could direct this man to write to you, if he appears.”

  “Paying someone would be better than trying to stand watch yourself,” Celia said, with a meaningful smile that made reference to their visit to Miller’s Hotel.

  “It sounds inefficient, but it actually might work,” Daphne said. “You provide a description. Your hired helper watches. If such a man appears, your helper would simply ask if he is the Domino. If he is not, the question will be odd but quickly forgotten. If he is, he can be told how to contact you.”

  “Where should I hire helpers, however? Certain hotels, I suppose.” Another smile from Celia. “The Royal Exchange, perhaps?”

  “Places of entertainment,” Lizzie said. “Theaters, and such. Also shops that sell books in foreign languages.” Lizzie tapped her finger against her chin. “What other establishments might attract men away from home with time to spend?”

  “Brothels.”

  Celia’s matter-of-fact answer provoked a collective silence.

  “While undoubtedly a useful suggestion, and quite possibly an accurate one,” Daphne said, “Audrianna can hardly visit them to arrange the hire of a helper.”

  Celia shrugged. “That is unfortunate. It is very likely this Domino visits one, and those are establishments where everyone is for hire.”

  Mr. Davidson arrived then. Audrianna helped the others carry pots out to his wagon, for transport to the London flower shops that were The Rarest Blooms’ regular purchasers. She enjoyed the familiar chore.

  Nostalgia hung heavily when she left The Rarest Blooms to return to London. On the carriage ride home, she composed her advertisement for the papers.

  “Lady Ophelia hired The Rarest Blooms to do her garden party. I must admit they transformed what is a very poor garden even in the b
est of seasons. One did not even notice the odd way she keeps having the boxwood trimmed.”

  Audrianna did not know if she was supposed to accept the praise as a proxy. Lady Ferris had insisted on talking about The Rarest Blooms despite Lady Wittonbury’s efforts to divert the conversation.

  She and Lady Wittonbury had called on Lady Ferris together. Lady Wittonbury had decreed that the visit was important to Audrianna’s acceptance.

  With carefully plotted tactics like this, her mother-in-law moved closer to her goal of procuring a voucher to Almack’s for Audrianna, but without demeaning herself by directly petitioning the patronesses of that establishment—women who held social influence that Lady Wittonbury believed she was entitled to herself.

  As best Audrianna had surmised, Lady Ferris was a longtime favorite of Lady Jersey, and her good word might be worth these repeated morning calls.

  “I was there when Mrs. Joyes arrived to make the arrangements,” Lady Ferris said breezily, as if she pursued the subject for lack of another. “She is an elegant, lovely woman.”

  “All who meet my cousin comment on her grace. Even so, she would be flattered by your kind words.”

  “I hear she was a governess some years back. One can only pity that circumstances require her to be in trade now. She had a girl with her. A very pretty little blonde. I could see the younger one had a vivacious character by nature, although she acted subdued.”

  “That would be Celia.”

  Lady Wittonbury leaned forward just enough to physically insert herself between them. “Will you be hosting your own garden party once the season starts? Last year it was described with admiration for weeks.”

  “Yes. In the middle of April. I intend to use The Rarest Blooms too,” Lady Ferris said. “I recognized her. The young one. Celia.”

  Audrianna did not know what to say. Neither did Lady Wittonbury. They both sat mute while Lady Ferris savored the caution that entered Lady Wittonbury’s eyes.

  “I had seen her once, in a carriage. A year ago, maybe two. I was with Lady Jersey in the park and a particular carriage came by. Everyone knows this conveyance. It belongs to—forgive me, my dear, I hope you will not be shocked—a woman distinguished for the highborn lovers who keep her.”

  “I am sure you are mistaken,” Audrianna said. “Several years ago is a long time to remember a face seen inside a carriage.”

  “It was an open carriage, as is the preference of such women, and this girl’s face was not forgettable. ‘Who is that?’ I asked Lady Jersey—that is how impressed I was by this young beauty. ‘That is her daughter,’ she said, ‘come up from the country now that she is grown.’ ”

  Even Lady Wittonbury, so practiced in poise, could not completely hide her dismay. Her back remained straight and her face an amiable mask, but one could see a little madness enter her eyes.

  “Since Mrs. Joyes’s companion does not live in town, but in the country still, it appears that you erred,” Lady Wittonbury finally said.

  “Perhaps.” Lady Ferris smiled with delicious contentment.

  Lady Wittonbury’s eyes shot daggers. She smoothly found a way to end the visit.

  Once in their carriage, her composure broke. “It is not to be borne. To be forced to befriend a nobody like Lady Ferris in order to advance your interests, only to have her go out of her way to humiliate me . .” She glared at Audrianna. “You will break with them all, at once. I should have demanded this at the beginning. Now look what my restraint has wrought. Oh, my heavens, what if it becomes commonly known that you lived there with her?” That last notion left her eyes wide and mouth gaping in horror.

  “Lady Ferris is wrong.” Only she was not positive that Lady Ferris was wrong at all. She knew nothing about Celia’s life prior to joining Daphne. In truth, the idea that Celia was a courtesan’s daughter made all too much sense.

  It fit with Celia’s worldliness, and the confident way she spoke of society breaking rules in private that they observed in public. And when Celia went to town, she often took some time alone. To visit her mother?

  “You will break with them. You must. Do not think that my son will side with you in this. He will use such women freely, but he would never elevate them, or allow his wife to associate with them.”

  “She did not say Celia was—was a courtesan herself.”

  “Heaven give me patience. The daughter of a whore—yes, whore. Why else would she be brought up from the country, and be shown in the park alongside her mother, if not to become a whore herself?”

  Audrianna braved out the rest of the furious scold. She said nothing, and battled to keep from revealing her own dismay. This might be the real reason why Celia had not come to the wedding. Not to nurse Lizzie. Celia may have known that she might be recognized by someone in that church.

  Only Celia was not a whore, no matter what logic Lady Wittonbury applied. Celia was a sweet, good friend. She lived with other women in obscurity and peace. Celia had never even disappeared for a night like Audrianna had herself. And her happy, cheerful character always brightened the days and made Audrianna laugh.

  She hurried to get out when the carriage stopped. Lady Wittonbury blocked the way with her parasol. “They are not welcome in this house in the future. You are not stupid, and you know I am correct about how it must be. My duty is to raise you up to something approaching acceptability for the role you will someday have. I will not allow you to drag us down instead.”

  Audrianna pushed the parasol aside and alighted from the carriage. She ran into the house before Lady Wittonbury could see her tears.

  Sebastian entered the sick room. He did not flinch at the image that the young gunner presented. He had some experience in this, after all.

  The explosion that had almost killed Harry Anderson had taken a heavy toll. One leg and half an arm were missing, and the scarred scalp would never grow hair right again. He had not yet been twenty before the war had done this to him.

  He could not help thinking of Morgan when he saw Anderson. This young man’s future would be as limited and isolated, here in his sister’s house. He could care for himself, that was true, but he and the Marquess of Wittonbury had much in common now.

  Anderson greeted him with a passivity that Sebastian recognized. So it was for the maimed. Acceptance eventually came, because there was no other choice.

  “I am honored that you would see me,” Sebastian said. “I was told that you do not want to speak of it.”

  “I only agreed to this because Mr. Proctor said you speak for your brother. Lord Wittonbury knows how it is, doesn’t he? I cannot refuse him.”

  “You have his thanks, I promise you.”

  Anderson moved his half arm. The end of his coat sleeve flapped. “It saved me, it did. And the leg. I was turned just so and they took it instead of my gut. I was thrown, and that probably saved me too. They were aiming for the guns, of course. They did not know they were useless.”

  “You are the only gunner to survive, so I think you are right. The blast that threw you saved you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Sebastian let Anderson have his bitterness. He had a right to it.

  “What do you remember, about the guns being useless?”

  “Not very much. We loaded them normal and lit them right. Nothing happened. It could have been sand in there for all the powder did. There were no misfires as such, just some smoke.” He shrugged. “So we cleaned them out and did it all again, with new kegs of powder, making extra sure it was dry, all the while under their fire. The same thing happened. We knew then that we were all quail with no brush. Their guns had torn us to shreds before the officers sounded a retreat, I hear. I was half-dead by then.

  The remnants of those shreds had made their way home eventually. And told the tale of that rout.

  “Will you put your memory of the events in writing? Attest to it officially?”

  “As it happens, I don’t write anymore, sir.”

  “I will bring in a scribner who will w
rite your words, and witnesses for your mark.”

  Anderson hesitated to agree to it. “An officer visited me while I was in that French convent. I told him what happened. He told me the war was over and nothing good would come from telling the world about this. He said to let the dead rest.”

  “Do you believe that he was right? If so, I will leave you in peace.”

  Anderson debated it silently for a good while.

  “It just seems to me that the others were killed by someone’s mistake as well as by enemy fire,” he said. “Doesn’t seem right that no one pays for that, although I have heard one man hanged himself over it. And I keep thinking, what if the same mistake is made again?”

  “Yours is much like my brother’s view, and mine.”

  “Then I’ll put my mark on my story, sir, if you think it will help. You get that scribner here and I’ll do it.”

  Sebastian thanked him. “I have one more question, if you can tolerate it. I would like you to describe those kegs for me. Tell me everything you can remember. Try to recall every marking they had.”

  Sebastian went up to his brother’s chambers once he returned to Park Lane. He finally had information that might break the dam that had held back progress in settling this ordnance matter. He was eager to share it with Morgan, and discuss the next steps.

  Dr. Fenwood was not in the anteroom. Sebastian heard some sounds in the library. The door stood open, and as he neared, he heard quiet sobs.

  He looked in. Morgan sat in his chair, bending low. Audrianna sat on the floor beside him, her hands to her face, trying to hide her weeping. Morgan spoke quietly to her, so softly that Sebastian could not hear, and patted her crown gently.

  The image stunned him. Emptied him. He spied in silence for what seemed a timeless spell. Then a fury erupted from deep in his gut, obliterating the unnatural calm that had claimed him.

  He strode away with dark chaos filling his head. The house could not contain it. Maybe the entire world could not. He went to the garden, and the wilderness at its back. Amid the budding trees and emerald grasses, he let the ugly anger have its way.