by Anna Bradley
“My lady.” Darlington bowed over Lady Wylde’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Oh no, my lord, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Lady Wylde gushed in her usual dramatic fashion, simpering over Darlington, flattering Lady Darlington, and relishing having every eye upon her.
Every eye, that is, but Benedict’s.
He kept his attention on Georgiana Harley, and he saw her reach out and lay a hand on Lady Darlington’s arm. She whispered something to her, and Lady Darlington responded by turning to Lady Tilbury with a smile. “Lady Tilbury, and Lord Harrington. How do you do? May I present Miss Georgiana Harley?”
“Lady Wylde, Lord Harrington, Lady Tilbury.” Miss Harley curtsied to each in turn, but Lady Tilbury seemed to be of particular interest to her, and soon enough she’d coaxed her a little apart from the others. At first, they seemed to be exchanging the usual pleasantries. All very dull and ordinary, but for one thing.
Their conversation went on, and on, and on…
For two ladies who’d never met before, Miss Harley and Lady Tilbury seemed to have a great deal to discuss, and judging by Miss Harley’s eager expression and the rapidity with which her lips were moving, whatever they were discussing was of some importance to her.
Benedict edged closer to them, taking care to keep his head down and his movements unobtrusive. Closer, then closer still, until he was close enough to overhear Lady Tilbury murmur, “…tell you what I told Lord Draven, Miss Harley.”
Draven, again? Benedict frowned. Draven’s name seemed to be on everyone’s lips tonight. Curious, for a man who rarely set foot outside his townhouse.
“…appreciate any information you might give me, Lady Tilbury.”
“Despite my friendship with Clara’s late mother, I’m afraid I only know what all of London knows, Miss Harley. Clara was last seen at a Christmas ball at Lord Draven’s country estate in Oxfordshire. The previous Lord Draven, that is, the current earl’s father.”
“The estate is near High Wycombe, I believe?”
“Yes. The Beauchamps lived in the same neighborhood as Lord and Lady Draven, and the two families were friends.” Lady Tilbury sighed. “Poor, dear Clara hasn’t been seen since that night.”
Miss Harley raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain? An acquaintance of hers swore to me she saw Miss Beauchamp sitting in a carriage outside your home less than a week ago.”
“No, no. I think I would know it if I’d seen Clara after all these years. Her family searched all over England for her without any success. Goodness, it is warm in here.” Lady Tilbury murmured, with a vigorous flutter of her fan.
“Miss Beauchamp’s tale is a strange one, isn’t it? Unless one believes in vanishings.” Miss Harley gave Lady Tilbury an appraising look. “Which I don’t.”
“Quite strange, yes. Mrs. Beauchamp was a great intimate of mine, but she didn’t talk to me much about Clara. She couldn’t bear to mention Clara’s name after she went missing.” Lady Tilbury shook her head. “She died within a year of Clara’s disappearance, and I don’t mind telling you, Miss Harley, I’ve always thought she died of a broken heart.”
Lady Wylde overheard her, and having finished flattering Darlington, turned her attention to Lady Tilbury. “I recall hearing at one time that Clara Beauchamp had married a viscount, though I never did believe it to be true.”
Miss Harley frowned. “Why shouldn’t you believe it?”
Lady Wylde swept a disparaging glance over Miss Harley, and despite himself, Benedict’s lips twitched. Miss Harley wouldn’t get far with her ladyship with that forthright tone. As far as Lady Wylde was concerned Miss Harley, in her plain gown and simple ribbons, was hardly worth a second glance. She might not wish to insult the Marquess and Marchioness of Darlington by snubbing their friend, but Lady Wylde’s graciousness would only extend so far.
“From what I’ve heard, Clara Beauchamp was a sweet little thing, but rather insipid, and of course, her family was in trade. She wasn’t the sort of young lady to attract the notice of an aristocrat.” Lady Wylde gave Miss Harley a condescending smile. “She had a tidy little fortune, but not enough to make up for the deficiencies in her pedigree, you understand.”
Miss Harley gave her a blank stare. “Not really, no.”
Lady Wylde settled her ruffles with a disdainful sniff. “It’s the way of things, my dear. Miss Beauchamp didn’t, to my knowledge, ever become a viscountess. She disappeared soon after that rumor started, and there hasn’t been a whisper about her since.”
Miss Harley didn’t seem to realize a lady of inferior rank such as herself was meant to plead humbly for Lady Wylde’s exalted attention. “People don’t simply vanish into the air like so much mist, Lady Wylde. Someone must have seen something.”
“Of course, someone knows something about it, but I shouldn’t hold my breath waiting for them to speak up. They’ve remained quiet for this long, haven’t they? Clara Beauchamp is likely dead by now. But that’s what comes of young ladies getting above themselves.” Lady Wylde’s lip curled. “The Beauchamps were common, and Lord and Lady Draven are among the most elegant members of London society.”
“Ah, well, what’s a kidnapping in comparison to aristocratic patronage?” Miss Harley’s voice was bright, but her face had gone hard. “As long as Miss Beauchamp was fortunate enough to enjoy the attentions of the most elegant members of London society, I suppose she has nothing to complain of, does she?”
Darlington stifled a cough, and Lady Darlington raised a hand to her mouth to hide a smirk, but Lady Wylde only replied without a shred of irony, “Indeed, she doesn’t. But I must say, I don’t understand this sudden fuss over Clara Beauchamp. Lord Draven, of all people was asking about her just the other day.”
“That is curious,” Lord Harrington drawled. “But as we learned this week, Draven has a great many secrets. The Duchess of Kenilworth, for one.”
Harrington’s sneering tone made Benedict’s fists clench. Bloody traitor. He had half a mind to call Harrington out—
“The Duchess of Kenilworth?” Miss Harley repeated. “What does the duchess have to do with Lord Draven?”
“My dear Miss Harley, what doesn’t she have to do with him?” Harrington smirked. “If the gossips are to be believed, the duchess and Lord Draven are…intimate friends.”
Miss Harley looked Harrington up and down as if he were a bit of muck she’d found on the sole of her slippers. “Are gossips ever to be believed, Lord Harrington?”
Harrington’s face reddened, but he glared down his nose at her. “You’re not out much in society, are you, Miss Harley? If you were, you’d know this isn’t the first rumor that’s circulated about Draven and the duchess.”
Lady Wylde tittered. “Indeed. Given their past escapades, it’s not so surprising the duchess and Lord Draven should have fallen into each other’s arms again.”
“When did they fall into each other’s arms the first—”
“Forgive me, but I must see to my other guests. I beg you will excuse me, Lord and Lady Darlington.” Lady Wylde offered them each a curtsy, then swept off in a whirl of scarlet skirts without another glance at Miss Harley.
Benedict had heard enough. He backed into the hallway, leaving the ballroom behind. Once he’d rounded the corner, he tore the masque from his face, an uneasy knot in his stomach. He felt rather foolish, creeping about like a spy, but secrets led to spying, and it was beginning to dawn on him his sister might have more secrets that he’d ever suspected.
What did Lady Wylde mean by past escapades?
Jane had been acting peculiar lately. She’d spent far more time at his country estate this past winter than usual. Benedict had wondered at it, but he’d assumed Jane would confide in him if something was amiss. At eight years her senior, he’d been as much a parent as a brother to Jane. She’d been hardly more than a child when their mother passed, and they’d
only grown closer since their father’s death three years earlier.
So he hadn’t pressed her for an explanation. He’d let it go and simply enjoyed hers and his nephew Freddy’s company. But Jane’s silence had continued. As the season drew near, she’d grown unaccountably anxious about Benedict’s return to London, and encouraged him to remain in Surrey without offering any explanation why.
But an affair, with Lord Draven? Impossible. Jane would never betray her husband. It simply wasn’t in her character to do something so low and dishonest.
As for this Clara Beauchamp, Benedict had never heard her name before, but she was somehow connected to Lord Draven’s family, and Lord Draven was, according to the gossips, somehow connected to Jane.
The whole business was as murky as the Thames, but all hope wasn’t yet lost. Draven hadn’t put in an appearance, but there was one other person who’d come here tonight to stick her pert little nose into this mysterious business.
Of course, there was no reason to think Miss Harley had turned up here, in the last place one would expect her to be, because of the rumors about Jane and Draven. She might be after something else entirely. God knew there were enough sinners gathered in this ballroom tonight to keep Lady Clifford busy for an eternity.
But Darlington hadn’t come tonight because he’d had a sudden yearning for Lady Wylde’s company. No, he and Lady Darlington had come as a favor to Miss Harley. Benedict was certain of it. If she was here to poke about in Jane’s business, who’d put her up to it?
Draven, perhaps, or the Duke of Kenilworth?
There was only one way to find out.
Benedict stuffed his masque into his pocket and made his way to the entrance hall. He collected his hat and walking stick from Lady Wylde’s butler and strolled out into the night. A moment later his carriage appeared, and he climbed inside.
“The Clifford School, Grigg,” Benedict ordered his coachman as he pulled the door closed behind him. “No. 26 Maddox Street.”
It was time he paid a visit to Georgiana Harley.
Chapter Five
“Was your first adventure in the glittering world of the ton everything you hoped it would be, Georgiana?”
Georgiana turned from the carriage window to arch an eyebrow at Cecilia. “I hadn’t any hopes at all. I expected the ball would be tiresome, and it was.”
Cecilia bit her lip to hide a grin. “You weren’t entertained, then?”
“Not in the least.” Honestly, she didn’t see what was so entertaining about spending an entire evening trapped in an airless ballroom in an itchy masque and a gown that squeezed her breathless.
“What is your opinion of Lady Wylde?” Cecilia blinked innocently at her, but Georgiana wasn’t fooled. Cecilia knew very well what Georgiana thought of aristocrats like Lady Wylde.
As usual, Georgiana didn’t mince words. “My opinion is she’s every bit as dreadful as the gossip claims. Her petulance is exceeded only by Lord Harrington’s. He’s a haughty, smirking thing, and a fool as well, to let a woman of Lady Wylde’s ilk lead him about like a lapdog.” Georgiana hadn’t any patience for fashionable, arrogant countesses, and even less for fashionable, arrogant rakes.
Lord Darlington hadn’t said much since they’d climbed into his plush carriage, but now he choked back a laugh. “Dear God. Poor Harrington.”
“Don’t encourage her, Gideon.” Cecilia lay a hand on her husband’s arm and turned what she likely meant to be a stern look on Georgiana. “Nonsense. It wasn’t as bad as all that.”
Georgiana ached an eyebrow at her. “My dear Cecilia, the entire time he was standing there I was searching for his lead.”
Lord Darlington didn’t try to hold back this time, but gave a shout of laughter, and even Cecilia couldn’t prevent a reluctant grin. “Wicked thing. Shame on you, Georgiana.”
Georgiana shrugged off the reprimand. Yes, yes, she had a blistering tongue. She’d been scolded for it often enough, but it had a mind of its own, and she’d long since given up trying to tame it. “What do you suppose happened to Lord Draven tonight?”
Cecilia sighed. “I’ve no idea, but Lord Haslemere is going to be furious when he hears the rumors about Lord Draven and his sister.”
“Yes, he will.” Lord Darlington’s smile faded. “I’ll have my hands full, keeping him from calling Draven out.”
“Calling him out! Would he really go as far as that?” Georgiana had assumed Lord Haslemere would treat the rumors as he had those footraces in Maiden Lane—as if they were amusing, but nothing more than that.
Lord Darlington looked surprised. “Indeed, he would. He’s fiercely protective of his sister and nephew. He’s careless of his own reputation, but he considers any insult to Jane an insult to himself.”
“He’s a devoted brother, and a loyal friend,” Cecilia added. “If it hadn’t been for Lord Haslemere, half of London would still believe Gideon was a murderer.”
Georgiana winced, her conscience pricking at her. Looking at Lord Darlington now, it was difficult to believe only a few months ago most of London had suspected him of murdering his first wife. She herself had believed him guilty, but she’d been wrong about him. As far as she could tell, his only flaw was his steadfast friendship with Lord Haslemere.
A grievous flaw, indeed.
Cecilia, who often guessed Georgiana’s thoughts before she even had a chance to think them, frowned at her. “I’ve told you before, Georgiana. Lord Haslemere is not the feather-brained rake the ton supposes him to be.”
Yes, Cecilia had said such things before, but Georgiana hadn’t seen any evidence of Lord Haslemere’s alleged cleverness. She had seen plenty of evidence to the contrary, but she kept that opinion to herself. “Perhaps we should have stayed another hour to see if Lord Draven would turn up.” She’d have to pay a call on him now, which would be dashed awkward, given they’d never been introduced.
“Not much chance of that.” Cecilia shook her head. “Lady Wylde’s entertainments inevitably descend into debauched frenzies as the evening wears on. If Lord Draven had intended to come, he would have appeared earlier, with the other respectable guests.”
“There were respectable guests there?” Georgiana didn’t recall seeing any. It was nothing but rakes and demi-reps as far as the eye could see, clinging to the edges of the ballroom like scandalous wallpaper. She opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it again, biting her tongue. It was late, and they were all tired. Perhaps the less said about Lady Wylde’s masque ball, and Lady Wylde herself, the better.
A few minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Clifford School. “We’re off to Kent tomorrow, dearest.” An anxious frown creased Cecilia’s brow as she studied Georgiana’s face. “I’ll miss you dreadfully, but we’ll be back soon.”
However soon it was, it wouldn’t be soon enough for Georgiana, but she feigned a careless shrug, so as not to worry Cecilia. “Don’t hurry back on my account.”
Cecilia squeezed Georgiana’s hand, but stopped her before she could open the carriage door. “Oh, wait. I nearly forgot. I have something for you.” She leaned over, plucked a heavy object from the floor, and held it out. “Sophia asked me to give it to you before we left for Kent.”
It was too dim inside the carriage for Georgiana to see what it was, but as soon as she felt the cool, smooth glass against her fingertips she guessed, and a smile lit her face. “Mrs. Beeson’s quince preserves! Cecilia, you’re an angel.”
Cecilia laughed. “I thought you’d like it. Don’t have it all at one sitting, mind you, as you did the last jar. I expect you to make it last, so you’ll be sweet-tempered when I return.”
Georgiana snorted, but pressed a quick kiss on Cecilia’s cheek, clutching her jar of preserves the way another lady might clutch a fistful of diamonds. “I make no promises. It was kind of you to indulge me this evening, Lord Darlington,” she added, g
athering her cloak tight about her chin. “I thank you for it.”
Lord Darlington had been peering through the window into the darkness, a crease between his brows, but now he turned to Georgiana with a distracted smile. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana doubted any of them had gotten any pleasure from this evening, but she gave Lord Darlington a brisk nod, then threw open the carriage door herself before the coachman could climb from the box, and leapt down to the pavement.
Lord Darlington came down after her and held out his arm with a bow. “Allow me to escort you to the door, Miss Harley.”
“There’s no need, my lord, truly. I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s a quick step or two only.” Georgiana waved a hand toward the school.
“Ah, but I insist.”
She flushed at his gallantry, but allowed him to take her arm and lead her up the stone stairs to the front door. “Thank you, my lord.”
He bowed again, his lips curving in a polite smile. “Good night, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana paused on the top step, her gaze on Lord Darlington’s broad back as he strode back to the carriage, but she didn’t really see him as her mind drifted over the events of the evening.
She hadn’t learned nearly as much as she’d hoped to about Clara Beauchamp tonight. Lady Tilbury seemed to know surprisingly little for one who’d been on such intimate terms with the Beauchamp family. As far as discovering Clara’s whereabouts were concerned, Georgiana might as well have stayed in her bed with her nose buried in her book.
Still, the ball hadn’t been an utter waste of time. She’d learned one thing, a thing she’d suspected, but hadn’t been certain of until this evening.
The Duchess of Kenilworth wasn’t being truthful with her.
Her Grace, that soft-spoken, wide-eyed, ladylike creature had looked directly into Georgiana’s and Lady Clifford’s faces, and lied to them.
It was a lie of omission, yes, but a lie all the same. Georgiana and Lady Clifford both had enough experience with secrets to know the duchess was hiding something, but the scope of her lie, the depth of it…