* * *
Marianne found Nora in her chamber, dripping a bit of water into her pot.
“Mr. Llewellyn said it should have indirect light. Do you think he meant to put it in a place like this spot here?”
“I expect so. It is bright there, but the sun will not beat down on it through the window.”
Nora tied a bow around the pot. She sat in her wooden chair and watched it. “Perhaps if it does not die, I will get another one too.”
The conversation with Mama had disheartened Marianne. Much like her uncle, her mother sounded willing to accept behavior from the duke that she would never accept from another, all with the hope it would enhance her position in the community.
Perhaps Mama thought that not only her daughter might attract an eligible man if a duke danced with her. Maybe Mama thought she might too.
It was an unworthy thought, but perhaps not an incorrect one. The biggest problem with Mama’s plan, aside from the risks to her daughter’s reputation, was it would mean being disloyal in the worst way to Nora.
Marianne decided to broach the topic with the person they should be considering first and foremost.
“Mama and I paid a call today,” she said.
Nora looked over, almost interested.
“We called on the Duke of Aylesbury. He received us. You remember, he called here last week.”
“I remember.”
Marianne waited for more of a reaction. None emerged.
“He may call again, Nora.”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
Nora shrugged. “He is a man like all men. They are by nature bestial, except for Vincent. I don’t care about any of them one way or another.”
How odd. “Your father thinks you may have cause to dislike the duke quite a lot. He thinks . . .” Marianne sought the mildest way of saying it. “He thinks you had a tendre for him years ago and that after . . . flirting with you, he ended his attention.” She held her breath, bracing herself.
Nora petted a few leaves of her plant. “Papa is very stupid at times. We should not blame him for that. It is just the way he is.”
Had Uncle Horace been wrong? He had sounded so certain, but Nora appeared indifferent.
Marianne went over and bent to embrace Nora’s shoulders. She angled her head to look in her cousin’s eyes. “So if I dance with the duke at the assembly, you will not mind?”
“It is not for me to mind, is it?”
Feeling better, but also confused, Marianne walked to the door.
“Marianne,” Nora said.
“Yes?”
Nora turned her pot to get a different view of the plant. “Dance if you want, but be careful, dear cousin. He is a very wicked man.”
CHAPTER 10
To the editor of the Times of London, from Gloucestershire:
The recent petty sessions are still being discussed in the county. Of foremost continued interest is the case of Mr. Jeremiah Stone, who was acquitted of poaching. Information was laid down by Mr. Langreth, who apprehended Mr. Stone on the road that separates his property from that of the Duke of Aylesbury. Mr. Langreth was astonished when the duke refused to lay down information too. Since Mr. Stone apparently was leaving the duke’s lands when he was caught, and had not yet helped himself to game from Mr. Langreth’s lands, the magistrates were left with no complaint from the owner of the game in Mr. Stone’s possession.
Mr. Langreth was heard to upbraid the duke in the village of two weeks later. In response, the duke declared that he would never lay down information against Mr. Stone. Local opinion among landowners is that the duke has given poachers permission to steal at will. However, a careful consideration of the argument does not support that accusation, in the opinion of your correspondent.
Elijah Tewkberry, Gloucestershire
The dress slid over her petticoat like a fall of water. The luxurious sensation of the fabric transported Marianne to another world.
“Oh, miss. You are too lovely,” Katy said. “Please sit, so I can fix this around your neck. Your mother said you are to wear it, and I was to accept no objections.”
Katy secured the necklace. Made of fine silver filigree, it managed to set off the dress and add a bit of dazzle while remaining discreet.
The looking glass reflected a person Marianne had never seen before. Her dark red hair displayed more curls than normal, thanks to the curling iron. Her pale skin showed some flush, thanks to a bit of paint. Her neck appeared longer than usual, no doubt due to the low décolletage of the dress.
She did not look like a girl, she admitted. Her maturity showed when dressed and groomed like this, in ways her more casual attire did not reveal so readily. In her own mind her appearance had frozen when they moved to Cherhill, when she was seventeen. Now, tonight, she saw how much she had changed.
A girl no longer. Most women her age were married and mothers by now. She would look to be what she was tonight—a mature, unmarried woman, with one arm and leg already on the shelf.
In that light, perhaps Aylesbury’s behavior had not been nearly as bad as she claimed. With her, at least. The episode with Nora had been another matter.
Lifting her reticule and her wrap, she went to her mother’s chamber. Old Jane finished tweaking a few tendrils, then brought over Mama’s silk shawl.
“You are lovely tonight, Mama.” She noted how Mama’s reflection did not appear all that different from her own. At thirty-nine, her mother qualified as not old yet, or even far into her middle years. Perhaps she actually would receive proposals if men thought a duke favored the family.
“Thank you. You are very lovely yourself.” She stood. “Let us go. Your uncle sent up word the carriage was ready some time ago.”
* * *
“Did you inform Lady Barnell that you are coming?”
Ives asked the question as they rolled toward the lady’s house in the moonlit night.
“I wrote her a little letter a few days ago, saying we would both attend.”
“I hope Sutton is not there tonight.”
“Who is Sutton?”
“The man whose wife you fucked in the garden when you were sixteen.”
“Oh. Yes. That Sutton.”
Poor Ives, to feel obligated to cover his errant brother’s back. And sides. He claimed to be coming to hold off a fight if anyone issued insults. Lance knew the one likely to throw the first punch would be Ives himself.
That volatility was his brother’s main failing. Maybe the only one that mattered. Otherwise the gods had smiled on Ives. Of the three of them, he was tallest, and probably the strongest, although their father had bequeathed them all enough in those areas.
The brother not so blessed had been Percy, the firstborn. It had become obvious by the time they all reached the age when boys either grow or don’t that of them all, Percy would grow the least. He had taken after their mother in that way, and in others that did not favor him. Ives and Gareth were handsome as sin, and Lance liked to think he at least muddled along there, but Percy—well, Percy’s face had been ordinary and boring. Even outright ugliness might have been preferred to such utter lack of distinction.
He had known. Percy had resented every gift any of them showed. One would think being the heir, with expectations he would be rich as Croesus, would be compensation, but Percival could not abide that he had not gotten more than the rest of them in everything.
“What is wrong?” Ives asked.
“Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“You are stroking your face. Your scar. It is something you only do when you are deep in thought about—”
He stopped the instinctive action, resenting that Ives had noticed a pattern to it. “Tonight, if anyone at any time asks where I am, you are to say the gaming room.”
“And if you are not fou
nd there?”
“It will be assumed I departed for the ballroom.”
“You must be careful. Should the lady lack the presence of mind to defend herself, as happened in the gallery, you must draw some lines of your own. It has entered my mind that she may be an accomplice to Sir Horace, and more than happy to ensnare you. It would not be the first time it was attempted with a peer.”
“I do not think she is aware of his visit to me. I cannot prove it, but I do not think she is an accomplice.”
The carriage stopped. A trickle of people still dribbled into the house. Ives hopped out and Lance followed.
“If you are correct, I again say you must be careful. It will be a hell of a situation if you are found in a compromising situation with her. You count on the lady rejecting you, but she won’t be able to then.”
“Do not worry. I have learned a few things since I was sixteen.”
* * *
“I so enjoy watching the young people dance. Don’t you, Marianne?” Mrs. Wigglesworth posed the question while she fanned herself. They sat in chairs against one wall of Lady Barnell’s ballroom.
Mrs. Wigglesworth wore a dress the color of wine tonight. It sported an unfortunate curve of dark lace halfway down the skirt that accentuated her rotund figure. Two long feathers on her headdress in turn curved down on either side of her head. The result was that Mrs. Wigglesworth, who tended to be a composition of circles on the best of days, tonight appeared quite round indeed.
Other women sat with them along that wall. A whole line of chairs and benches stretched out in either direction from their prime spots in the center. Other matrons sat here, as did one or two wallflowers. This was also the place for those on the shelf, young women like Marianne herself.
She had only agreed to take a place in the line because Mrs. Wigglesworth liked to gossip. For the last half hour, tidbits and morsels of social news had flowed into Marianne’s ear as the county walked past them. Now the well had gone dry. Marianne was trying to find a way to take her leave.
Mrs. Wigglesworth angled for a most private word behind her fan. “Do not despair, my dear. I have told Mr. Thaddeus Peterson to do his duty tonight, and request a dance of you and the others past eligibility. As a bachelor, he has an obligation.”
Peterson. How did she know that name? “How kind of you. I hope you did not have to threaten him in some way before he agreed to this odious task.”
“He did not express enthusiasm, I will admit, but as a gentleman it did not come to threats. Who knows, he may even form a tendre for you if you acquit yourself well. You could do worse. He is his father’s heir, although the estate is not large. And of course he is the coroner, which reflects the respect he holds in the county.”
Of course, the coroner. Elijah Tewkberry had made it a point to learn his name. “Can you point him out?”
Mrs. Wigglesworth peered over the crowd, then aimed a bejeweled finger to their left. “Over there, with your uncle. The shorter man, with cropped blond curls. He may not be impressive, but he will come into two thousand a year.”
Mr. Peterson and Uncle Horace looked to be in deep conversation on a serious matter. Marianne decided to wait until Peterson made his request for a dance, should it ever come.
Her mother approached. Mama was not one to sit on chairs against a wall. Not tonight of all nights. However, Marianne could tell that the absence of a certain duke vexed Mama.
“Lady Barnell is most distraught,” she reported.
“I expect she is,” Mrs. Wigglesworth said. “She let everyone know Aylesbury was attending. Half the county did not believe her, but all of the county showed up to see if he did. The crush is impressive, although uncomfortable. She will be humiliated if he does not come now.” Mrs. Wigglesworth did not seem sympathetic to Lady Barnell’s plight.
“Dukes move to their own clocks,” Mama responded. “I am sure he will arrive soon.”
“He has not deigned to socialize with any of his neighbors for fifteen years. I can see no reason why he would now, with everyone still wondering about his brother’s untimely demise.”
“Really, that is such old gossip,” Mama said. “If you cannot come up with something better, you will lose your reputation as the most notorious scandalmonger in Gloucestershire.”
Mrs. Wigglesworth’s eyes narrowed. “Are you defending him? Now, that is interesting. I hope that his greeting you in the village, along with his brothers, did not turn your head. Word of that flared and died quickly, it was so dull. Everyone knows that, unlike their eldest brother, those three have no friends in this county, let alone you.”
Mama’s smile thinned. Her eyes brightened dangerously. “I will have you know that—”
“Mama, I think I would like to speak with Lady Barnell, if you would join me. I want to thank and compliment her for tonight.”
Dragging her glare away from Mrs. Wigglesworth, Mama joined her. The two of them walked the edge of the crowd, looking for Lady Barnell.
“Thank goodness we did not tell anyone about that call at Merrywood,” Mama said. “If he does not show tonight, we may never do so.”
“What did Mrs. Wigglesworth mean about only the eldest brother having friends here?”
“She is just talking, which is all she knows how to do. However, she probably refers to how the last duke, Percival, did condescend to receive his neighbors, and call on some of them, and at least acknowledge them. He truly lived here, unlike the others, who rarely even visited.”
“He was well liked, then.”
“People speak well of him now. Of course, since I was not here for most of his time as duke, I would not know much more than that.”
“There is Lady Barnell. I think she will not mind our interfering with her conversation.”
Uncle Horace had positioned himself so the lady in question had to suffer his attention. More matronly than Mama, but dressed in an exquisite dress no doubt commissioned in London, Lady Barnell looked up at Uncle Horace with an expression of bland politeness.
Uncle Horace must have thought whatever he said to be witty, because he laughed at his own words. The lady barely smiled.
“Sir Horace, I am sure you will not mind if we join you,” Mama declared. She artfully positioned herself between Horace and Lady Barnell, and pulled Marianne next to her. They became a wall over which her uncle peered.
“My daughter wanted a word with you, but feared addressing you alone would be an imposition,” Mama said.
Marianne launched into flattering her hostess about the decorations, the music, the food. Lady Barnell had indeed outdone herself. Some might say she had overdone herself. The assembly was more like a ball than a county gathering.
“Zeus.”
Uncle Horace’s exclamation interrupted Marianne just as she was finishing. She looked over her shoulder at her uncle, then in the direction of his gaze.
Behind Lady Barnell, the double doors that gave out to the stair landing had opened. Two men stood right outside them.
A servant walked forward. “The Most High, Noble, and Potent Prince, His Grace Lancelot, Duke of Aylesbury, and Lord Ywain Hemingford,” he announced. He had not proclaimed anyone else’s arrival.
Lady Barnell closed her eyes and collected herself. With an expression of pure bliss, she turned to her exalted guest. Mama beamed a satisfied smile at Marianne.
The chamber hushed and all eyes turned to the duke. Marianne slipped from her mother’s side and sought obscurity in the crowd.
No one missed how Aylesbury and his brother greeted Mrs. Radley after speaking with Lady Barnell. Mama accepted the attention like a queen would from a courtier.
The moment of theater over, the guests returned to their conversations. The musicians played again. The tableau vivant inside the ballroom fell apart.
Just as Marianne moved toward the terrace doors to disappear, Mrs. Wigg
lesworth appeared with Mr. Peterson in tow. She made introductions. Mr. Peterson asked Marianne for a dance.
Everything about the man made her want to yawn. His expression seemed incapable of animation. The way his eyelids lived at half-mast gave the impression it was all he could do to stay awake.
Unable to politely decline, but wishing she had made it to the upper terrace doors, she accompanied Mr. Peterson into the line forming for the dance.
“Mrs. Wigglesworth says your family is well known in the area,” Marianne said.
“We have been here for generations. I knew your father, although it was my own father with whom he was friends.”
The dance began.
“Are you not also the coroner?” she asked when they came together again.
“I am indeed. I have been for three years now.”
More dance steps.
“That must be a sad position.”
“At times. It can be very interesting, too, and require careful thought.”
It took some time before she could speak to him again.
“I have heard people mention how the last duke’s death still occupies you. How distressing it must be, to be unable to determine the rightness of a decision after all this time.”
He said nothing in reply. When the dance ended, he escorted her back to where he found her. “Do you have a particular interest in a coroner’s duties, Miss Radley? Few people do.”
“I think it must be fascinating. I hope you do not think me morbid for saying so.”
“I am not morbid myself, so I would never think that about you. Death comes to us all. Like birth and marriage, it involves documents. I merely ensure those legal papers are accurate.”
“Much like a vicar.”
He almost smiled. “Yes, that is a good way to put it.”
“Perhaps on occasion, at assemblies and such, you will regale me with your more interesting cases. Such as that of the last duke.”
Half alert now, he stepped closer and spoke in a smug voice. “I would be happy to. As it happens, on that particular matter, I will confide there may be a resolution very soon.” He put a finger to his pale lips.
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