Sweet Revenge

by Andrea Penrose

  “I shall take care that no more unwanted interruptions occur.”

  Gavin’s approach to claim the next set ended the exchange. Tapping her fan to Concord’s shoulder, she flashed him a wink. “I shall hold you to your word, sir.”

  For the next hour, Arianna spun across the polished parquet, one partner blurring into another. Several of Concord’s cronies were among them, as well as a number of gentlemen introduced to her by Mellon. She seemed to be treading a fine line between good and bad. Light and dark. Glancing around the glittering ballroom, Arianna reminded herself that she couldn’t afford the slightest stumble.

  A second look did not reveal Saybrook among the guests. He might be in one of the side rooms, she mused. Or he might have decided to change his plans. Regardless, he could find no fault with her actions this evening—she had performed her assigned duty of distraction.

  Suddenly thirsty, she requested that her next partner, a captain in the Coldstream Guards, fetch a glass of punch in the short interlude between sets.

  Her drink, however, was brought back by a different gentleman, who explained that the captain had been called away on a different duty.

  “Oh?” Arianna eyed the stranger over the rim of the glass. A thin visage, tapering to a pointed chin, a straight nose, pointing to a pair of narrow lips—his face would have been unremarkable, save the intensity of his gunmetal-gray eyes. Something about them stirred a sense of unease.

  Dropping her gaze, she asked, “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

  He responded with a razor-thin smile. “That remains to be seen, Lady Wolcott.”

  Perhaps it was just her imagination, but he seemed to be trying to frighten her. “Dear me, that sounds rather ominous,” said Arianna lightly before pausing for a long sip of her drink. “Have we met, sir?” she challenged, deciding to match his slightly aggressive tone.

  “I’ve not yet had the pleasure of a formal introduction, but having heard so much about you, madam, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make your acquaintance.” His bow was barely more than a dip of his head. “I am Lord Grentham.”

  The announcement turned her insides to ice.

  “Allow me to take the captain’s place,” he said as the musicians struck up the first notes of a waltz. It was more of an order than a request.

  Somehow, she forced her lips to bend in a smile. There was nothing to do but brazen it out and slide into a second—or was it third?—skin.

  I am not quite sure who I am anymore.

  “But of course.” Setting aside her glass, Arianna let him lead her out onto the dance floor. “Your name is familiar, sir—I must have heard it mentioned by Mr. Mellon. Are the two of you friends?”

  “I am well acquainted with all of your relatives, including the Earl of Saybrook.” Grentham spun them through the first turn. “Indeed, I am well acquainted with most everyone in London Society. Save for you.”

  “Alas, you won’t find me very interesting, sir. I’ve lived far removed from the glitter and glamour of city life.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Wolcott. You fascinate me.”

  Fighting down a feeling of vertigo, Arianna moved through another twirl. Steady, steady. There was no reason to panic—she had been in slippery situations before.

  “Then it seems you are easily amused, sir.”

  In another man, the rumble in his throat might have been mistaken for a laugh. “Ask anyone and you will be assured that I have no sense of humor.”

  “And why is that?” she asked.

  “Because I am in charge of state security, Lady Wolcott, and as such, it is my duty to keep the country safe from those nefarious persons who would do it harm.”

  “I can see that is no laughing matter, sir.”

  Grentham subjected her to a piercing stare. Up close, his eyes appeared even more steely. Sharp. Merciless. They bore into her with unrelenting intensity.

  “No, it is not. I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

  Arianna had long ago learned that any show of fear encouraged a predator to go for the jugular. Lifting her chin, she regarded him with a show of sangfroid. “Then I wonder why you choose to indulge in such frivolous activities as dancing, Lord Grentham. Especially with a provincial nobody.”

  “Oh, don’t underestimate yourself, Lady Wolcott.” His voice dropped a notch. “Be assured I don’t.”

  She assumed an expression of polite puzzlement. “I confess, sir, I’m not sure that I follow your meaning.”

  A quick sidestep and intricate twirl seemed deliberately designed to throw her off balance. “And yet your footwork seems extraordinarily adroit,” he remarked after she had come through the moves without missing a step.

  “Dancing is a skill that all proper young ladies are expected to master.”

  The minister’s gaze shifted for an instant, as if distracted by a movement across the crowded room.

  “Along with a number of other feminine wiles,” murmured Grentham.

  “La, you appear to have a harsh opinion of the opposite sex, sir.” Arianna batted her lashes, hoping her nonchalance didn’t ring too false. Given his interest in her, the minister must be aware of her attraction to Concord and his crowd, so a bit of boldness was in character. “Is there nothing I can do to win your regard?”

  His flash of teeth was clearly not meant to be a smile. “We shall see, Lady Wolcott, we shall see.”

  They danced through the next few figures in silence. Then, much to her relief, the music rose to a sweeping crescendo and came to a flourishing end.

  “Thank you for such a delightful interlude,” said the minister as he escorted her to the perimeter of the room. An undertone of mockery gave an ominous edge to his words. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

  Yes, I imagine that you did, thought Arianna.

  He kept hold of her hand for just a fraction longer. “By the by, I won’t find any record of a William Wolcott in Yorkshire, will I?”

  “Of course you will,” she replied without hesitation. “Why would I lie, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Lady Wolcott. But I intend to find out.”

  Inwardly shaken by the encounter, Arianna signaled to a passing footman for a glass of champagne. Being adrift in a sea of strangers only heightened her awareness of all the hidden shoals beneath the surface of London Society. The myriad faces, alight with . . .

  Spotting the earl across the room, she suddenly veered away from the secluded spot behind the potted palms.

  “Any shelter in a storm,” she whispered under her breath. Saybrook was standing apart from the crowd with an elderly lady who, despite her advanced age, still possessed a regal beauty. It appeared that they were engaged in a private conversation.

  Ah, but I am family, she thought wryly.

  It would appear odd, too, if she did not pay her respects to him.

  The earl looked up as she approached, his expression hovering somewhere between wariness and welcome. “You see, Aunt Constantina, I told you that our newly arrived relative would be anxious to make your acquaintance,” he said dryly. “Lady Wolcott, I’m sure the dowager Marchioness of Sterling needs no introduction.”

  “None whatsoever,” responded Arianna, picking up her cue. “It is, of course, a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Sterling.”

  The dowager raised her quizzing glass to one eye, the thick lens magnifying its speculative gleam. After a long moment of scrutiny, she let the beribboned handle fall back against her bosom. “What side of the family are you from?” she inquired brusquely.

  “Lady Wolcott’s mother was a Peabody,” interceded Saybrook smoothly.

  “Hmmph.” Another look, this one unaided by special optics. “I can’t say that I see the resemblance.”

  “Such things are not always so apparent,” replied the earl. Before his aunt could respond, he quickly changed the subject. “I see you have met Lord Percival Grentham, Lady Wolcott.”

  “Yes, and I cannot say that the experience is one I care to repea
t.”

  “And no wonder.” The dowager gave a small sniff. “These days I hear he is better known as ‘Persecute’ Grentham. He was not, however, such an odious man in his youth. His mother would be greatly disappointed at what a stick in the mud he has become.”

  “Yes, but like most of London’s citizens, she would be terrified to say it aloud, for fear of being hauled off to prison on charges of sedition,” quipped the earl.

  Repressing a shudder, Arianna tried not to recall his cold-blooded touch. “I admit, his manner was intimidating. I shall take care to avoid him in the future.”

  “A wise choice,” murmured Saybrook. His gaze held hers for a moment, and for some reason, the fleeting connection helped settle her nerves. There was, she admitted, something to be said for not feeling utterly alone.

  “Ha, let him try to breathe fire and brimstone at me, and he will end up with his own bum burned,” remarked Lady Sterling.

  Arianna ducked her head to hide a smile. Strange, but she felt an immediate kinship with the outspoken dowager. Which was ludicrous, considering that the only thing that had drawn them together was a web of lies.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said the earl. “You can be quite a dragon when you so choose.”

  “Ungrateful boy.” Lady Sterling rapped his shoulder with her fan. “You will have the poor gel more frightened of me than of Grentham.”

  Saybrook’s jaw gave a tiny little tic, as if he were trying not to laugh. “I would guess that any relative of ours is made of sterner stuff than that.”

  The dowager turned her attention to Arianna. “Ignore my nephew’s teasings. He can be impossibly annoying at times.” She cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, he tells me you have only recently arrived in Town.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Well, you must come pay me a visit if you wish any advice for how to get along in Society. Sandro will tell you that there is not a soul who knows more about the ton and its secrets than I do.”

  Secrets. Keeping a smile pasted in place, Arianna acknowledged the invitation. “How very kind.”

  “Oh, pish.” Lady Sterling waved a bejeweled hand. “We are, after all, family, my dear, and family must look out for each other.”

  For a fleeting instant, the cacophony of the crowded ballroom was drowned out by a strange keening sound in her ears. Like the weeping of the wind on a stormtossed night.

  “May I get you more champagne, Lady Wolcott?” asked the earl softly.

  Arianna realized that she was gripping her glass so tightly its stem was in danger of breaking in two. “No. Thank you.” All at once, the heat and noise seemed unbearable, but before she could excuse herself, Lady Sterling suddenly narrowed her gaze.

  “Well, well, well. I see that Persecute isn’t the only odd guest here.” The dowager’s attention seemed riveted on a spot to the right of the refreshment table. “Hortense is such a high stickler. I am surprised that she would invite Lady Spencer.”

  Sure enough, Arianna spotted her erstwhile employer deep in conversation with Gavin.

  “Why do you say that?” inquired Saybrook. His tone was deceptively casual, yet his body had become more alert.

  “To begin with, she is the Prince’s current mistress,” answered the dowager. “Or one of them. It’s hard to keep a precise tally.”

  “If Lady Ravenell chose not to invite all the ladies who have slept with Prinny, the ballroom would be half empty,” murmured the earl.

  “True.” Lady Sterling toyed with the ribbon of her quizzing glass. “Still, given the position that Hortense’s husband holds at the Bank of England, I find it strange that she would overlook the other scandal.”

  Arianna noted the subtle sharpening of Saybrook’s features. “What other scandal, Aunt Constantina?” he inquired softly.

  “Oh, that unpleasant mess from the last century. Lady Spencer’s maternal grandfather was Mr. George Carsall.” The dowager waited expectantly for the earl to respond. When his only reaction was a raised brow, she heaved an impatient sigh. “For God’s sake, don’t they teach English history at Oxford anymore?”

  He gave an apologetic shrug. “As you know, my interests lay in other studies.”

  “Well, much as I adore your chocolate creations, Sandro, all peers ought to pay attention to that particular subject in order to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.”

  “I stand duly chastised,” replied Saybrook. “Perhaps you would care to fill the hole in my knowledge?”

  The dowager slanted another owlish squint at Lady Spencer. “My dear boy, Carsall was a governor of the Sword Blade Bank. Now, please don’t tell me that you haven’t heard of them and the South Sea Company, else I may have to resort to my smelling salts.”

  17

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  I’ve just found a wonderful colored botanical engraving of a cacao tree and fruit in one of the antiquarian bookshops. I shall have it framed for Sandro, as he will appreciate all the scientific nomenclature inscribed at the bottom. During his studies at Oxford, he was fascinated by Carolus Linnaeus, a Swedish scientist who in 1753 devised a system for classifying all living organisms. Each has a Latin name, and chocolate is called Theobroma cacao. How fitting that Theobroma means food of the gods. . . .

  Chocolate Sambuca Crinkle Cookies

  1¼ cups all-purpose flour

  1 tablespoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  12 ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not

  unsweetened), chopped

  ½ stick unsalted butter

  2 large eggs

  ½ cup walnuts, coarsely chopped

  ½ cup sambuca or other anise-flavored liqueur

  2 tablespoons granulated sugar

  1 cup confectioner’s sugar

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

  2. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Melt chocolate with butter in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water, stirring until smooth. Lightly whisk together eggs, walnuts, sambuca, and granulated sugar in another bowl. Stir in flour mixture and chocolate (dough will be thin). Chill, covered, until firm, about 2 hours.

  3. Sift confectioner’s sugar onto a plate. Roll heaping tablespoons of dough into balls and roll balls, as formed, in confectioner’s sugar to generously coat. Arrange balls 2 inches apart on 2 lightly buttered baking sheets and bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until puffed and cracked but centers are still a bit soft, 10 to 12 minutes total. Transfer to racks to cool.

  Arianna sucked in an audible breath.

  “Bravo, gel,” said the dowager. “You appear far more educated than my nephew on the history of financial scams and scandals.”

  “N-not really,” she stammered.

  “Even I have heard of the South Sea Bubble,” said Saybrook.

  “I should hope so.” Lady Sterling grimaced. “Thank God that my brother—your grandfather—was convinced not to invest in their stock. Anyone with a grain of sense could see that the value of the company was built on thin air.”

  “And yet, a great many intelligent people were blinded by greed,” observed the earl.

  The dowager nodded. “Aye, greed is a powerful emotion.”

  “That it is,” whispered Arianna.

  “Even so brilliant a man as Sir Isaac Newton was caught up in the trading frenzy,” added Saybrook. “It’s said that he lost twenty thousand pounds, and later remarked, ‘I can calculate the movement of the stars, but not the madness of men.’ ”

  “Yes, well, no matter how often the lesson is taught, it doesn’t seem to sink in,” remarked Lady Sterling. “People have very large appetites and very small memories.”

  Arianna swallowed a bitter laugh. Oh, how very true.

  “Thank you for the history lecture,” said the earl.

  “Don’t be impertinent,” scolded his aunt. Turning to Arianna, she gave a brusque wave. “Go dance with my great-n
ephew. My mouth is now dry and my feet are aching, so I wish to sit down and enjoy a cup of negus with my friends.” Patting the snowy white plumes of her headdress into place, Lady Sterling marched off to join a group of matrons seated near the entrance to the card room.

  Saybrook offered his arm. “Seeing as the waltz affords a modicum of privacy in which to talk, let us not waste the opportunity.”

  “I agree—the sooner we have a council of war, the better,” murmured Arianna, once the lilting notes of the melody swept them into motion.

  “Has something happened?” he asked quickly.

  “Aside from having that watchdog Grentham sniffing around my skirts?” Expelling a harried sigh, she pushed aside her fears about abstract numbers to concentrate on a more real threat. “It is a good thing that plans are progressing quickly—at least on my end. The minister seems to suspect that I am not quite what I seem.”

  Saybrook’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “It appears that he, like us, doesn’t put much credence in coincidence. Apparently the timing of your arrival has set off alarm bells.”

  “Why is he so interested in your family?” she asked. “The comings and goings of various relatives shouldn’t ordinarily attract much notice.”

  He ignored the question to pose one of his own. “How much do you know about your father’s business dealings before he left England?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He hesitated, moving with careful steps through a box turn before answering her. “I did a bit more digging into the past this afternoon. Your suggestion of illicit dealings involving military supplies reminded me of an old rumor I had heard—”

  “But now we know that ‘sword blade’ refers to something else,” she protested.

  “Perhaps.” His dark eyes turned more opaque. “Be that as it may, I have reason to think that your father’s cleverness with numbers was used for more than playing cards.”

  Try as she might, Arianna couldn’t keep a tiny skip out of her voice. “W-what do you mean?”