by Darcy Burke
“Yes, but she doesn’t know.”
Mrs. Erickson nodded. “Let’s get it back quickly then.” She held her arm out and gestured for Lydia to hurry up the back stairs.
Lydia didn’t move. “You must tell Aunt Margaret. She won’t hesitate to—”
Mrs. Erickson put up her hand to cut Lydia off. “I didn’t see anything.”
Lydia forced her heavy feet across the bricked floor. “For now. But if I think for a moment she’s figured anything out, I’ll tell her I threatened you.”
On occasion, Aunt Margaret was more than verbally abusive. She’d raised a hand to Lydia more than a few times, though not in the past couple of years. Once, a servant had intervened on Lydia’s behalf and had been summarily dismissed without reference. Lydia had vowed that no one would suffer because of her again.
Mrs. Erickson clearly remembered the same occurrence, for her eyes turned sad. “Go.”
Lydia hurried up the stairs and changed out of the maid’s costume as quickly as possible. She’d replaced the garments in Coxley’s room and was just coming down from the topmost floor when she heard her aunt’s voice coming from her sitting room.
“Where is Lydia?” Her voice climbed to a near-shriek, and Lydia knew it wasn’t the first time she’d posed the question.
She hurriedly went to the sitting room and forced herself to remain composed despite her frantic emotions. “I’m here, Aunt Margaret. I was upstairs.”
Aunt Margaret’s cheeks were flushed and she was yanking her gloves off with violent tugs. “Looking through your mother’s things again?”
There was a small trunk of items that had belonged to Lydia’s mother in a room upstairs. Lydia had brought it with her from Northumberland as a means to keep the memory of her mother close. When Lydia sought solitude, she went up and spent time with her mother the only way she could—by touching things that had belonged to her. Aunt Margaret never ventured to the top floor, and the servants never intruded on Lydia when she was up there.
Today, it was a blessed excuse. “Yes.” She smiled and tried to look as cheerful as possible. “Did you have a nice afternoon?”
“I did not.” The dark glint in her narrowed eyes studied Lydia as if she could discern her secrets.
The butler backed out of the sitting room and closed the door without a word. Lydia hovered near the doorway, her legs wobbling. She didn’t like the flush in her aunt’s face or the shadows in her gaze. Had she somehow learned that Lydia had gone to Lockwood House?
Aunt Margaret slapped her gloves against her palm. “Mrs. Lloyd-Jones was at Lady Dunthorpe’s this afternoon. I overheard her saying the most outrageous thing.”
Lydia tensed, but she tried to act nonchalant. “Indeed?”
“She was talking to Mrs. Horwatt about available bachelors and had the audacity to include Lockwood in her accounting.” Her voice dropped to a deceptively soft tone. “And do you know what she said next?”
Fear gathered in Lydia’s chest. She shook her head.
“She said she hoped you would catch his eye.” She skirted the furniture, stalking toward Lydia with heavy steps. “Have you any idea why she would say such a thing?”
Lydia forced herself to exhale. Talking to Aunt Margaret about helping Lockwood was certainly out of the question now.
Aunt Margaret came to stand in front of her. She smacked her gloves against her palm again. “You’ll disabuse Mrs. Lloyd-Jones of this folly. Lockwood isn’t fit to be anyone’s husband. He belongs in an institution or under the care of a physician like his demented mother.”
How Lydia longed to defend him. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Lloyd-Jones.”
“Good, but it’s not enough. I want him gone. For good.” She tipped her head to the side and stared at Lydia. “You agree, don’t you? His presence isn’t to be borne.”
Lydia gritted her teeth before saying, “Of course. But what can we do? It’s not as if we can force him to behave a certain way or—”
Aunt Margaret’s gloves slapped against Lydia’s face with a force that shouldn’t have been possible from a woman of her age and stature. “You stupid girl. We can manipulate anything we like. How in the world do you think I got rid of his mother?”
Lydia’s jaw dropped before she could help herself. The gloves hit her face again, and this time the buttons smacked her jaw, stinging her flesh. Aunt Margaret hadn’t raised her hand to her in years, why now?
Because of Lockwood. She’d said Harmony Lockwood hated her, but clearly the feeling was more than mutual, and it extended to Lady Lockwood’s son. So much so, that Aunt Margaret was completely irrational about him.
“Close your mouth and listen to me.” Aunt Margaret’s eyes were overbright, and Lydia wondered if she hadn’t gone mad. “You will do precisely as I say and nothing else.”
Lydia blinked through the pain in her cheek and jaw. “Yes, Aunt Margaret, but I wonder if I might make a suggestion?”
Aunt Margaret’s breathing had become rapid with her anger. “What? And this had better be worthwhile.”
It was a bold risk, but Lydia had to do something. “What if I assisted Lord Lockwood with a party?” Aunt Margaret’s nostrils flared, she sucked in air and then lifted her hand.
Lydia couldn’t help herself from moving back to avoid the coming blow. “Just listen, please! Only think of it—the best of Society inside Lockwood House. His secrets there exposed. It’s precisely what you want.”
Even as she offered this scheme, she tried to think of how she could preserve him from humiliation and degradation.
Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed and she stared at Lydia, though she didn’t seem to be seeing her as she weighed her proposal. “I would have to be invited.”
“Of course.” Lydia hadn’t told him that, but he was rational and would understand.
Aunt Margaret’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What would ‘assisting’ him entail? You can’t be going to Lockwood House and acting like you’re his wife.” She sneered as if that were the most distasteful thing she’d ever heard, and maybe it was.
“No, Aunt. I would give him a guest list. I would tell him how to decorate, what food to serve, what musicians to hire.”
“And once we’re inside?” Aunt Margaret sniped. “What exactly do you hope to expose—and you’d better have specifics.”
She didn’t, and so she frantically came up with something and strove to make it sound specific. “He keeps a guest list of attendees for his vice parties. I might even be able to find it before the party, actually, if you allow me to visit Lockwood House.” She had no idea if such a list even existed, and even if it did, she wouldn’t want to actually find or reveal it.
“No, you can’t be seen at Lockwood House before this party. That would be a disaster.” She shot Lydia a suspicious glare. “Besides, I don’t want you spending time with that scoundrel.”
“But—” She regretted the utterance as soon as the gloves smacked her face again. She’d been about to argue that helping him plan a party—a regular, non-vice party—would put her, and by extension Aunt Margaret, in a favorable light. However, Lydia ought to have realized that Aunt Margaret wouldn’t agree, because in her experience, one only achieved notoriety by tearing other people down.
“You may provide him with guidance by letter. I will read each one before they are delivered, as well as his responses. You will have no secrets from me, Lydia.”
Of course not. Lydia’s only privacy was in her mind. She forced a placid smile to mask her bitter disappointment. “As you wish, Aunt Margaret.”
Aunt Margaret turned from her. “Go on. The Comptons’ musicale is tonight. Make sure you cover that mark on your face.”
Lydia brushed her fingers over the throbbing pain along her jaw and felt a tiny welt. “Yes, Aunt.” She sounded defeated, but that would please her aunt. A broken spirit was the most malleable kind.
Chapter Ten
LYDIA TRAILED her aunt into the Comptons’ drawing room with her head held high
. Inside, she was in turmoil, but she would never let it show. Society had no idea of the despair darkening her soul, and they never would.
Lady Compton welcomed them with a broad smile. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, Lydia left her aunt as quickly as possible. She searched for Audrey, but was waylaid by a pair of young ladies, Miss Rowe and Miss Bryant.
“Lady Lydia!” Miss Rowe exclaimed. “You must tell us about Lord Lockwood. I can’t believe you danced with him. Is he horribly clumsy?”
Lydia stifled the urge to scowl. Instead, she leaned close as if imparting a secret. “Actually, he’s quite graceful for such a large man. I was most impressed.”
Miss Bryant’s eyes widened. “Never say so! He’s just so . . . frightening!”
“Nonsense,” Lydia said with just a touch of venom.
“Oh, but that ghastly scar.” Miss Rowe shuddered. “Did you have to keep your gaze averted?”
Lydia’s patience was thinning. “No.”
Miss Bryant gave a tiny shriek. “There he is!”
Lydia resisted the urge to turn and look at him. She was actually hoping to avoid him. Things would be smoother with Aunt Margaret if she stayed away from him—at least publicly.
At last, she caught sight of Audrey in the corner. “Please excuse me.”
Audrey smiled as Lydia arrived at her side. “I love your new gown, Lydia. That amber looks wonderful with your coloring.”
“Thank you, I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.” Lydia said, glad for something to take her mind off Lockwood and her aunt.
Audrey lowered her voice. “Lord Lockwood is staring this way.”
Apparently, he wasn’t going to make avoidance easy. Lydia didn’t turn to look. “He’s not coming over here, is he?”
“He’s talking to Lord Sevrin of all people.”
Of course; they were friends. Sevrin had frequented Lockwood’s parties before he’d married. “Good. Will you let me know if Lockwood moves in our direction?”
Audrey darted a glance toward Lockwood. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like Lord Lockwood?”
“Yes, but I don’t need to be seen with him at every event, do I?” Lydia had to increase the distance between them. If Aunt Margaret had been furious about Mrs. Lloyd-Jones’s comments, she would be positively enraged if she thought there was a consensus building that somehow linked her to Lockwood—which was asinine, as they’d only danced a single waltz.
Nights like this almost made her wish she could be happy in Northumberland married to a miller or a farmer whilst raising children and cats. But no, she had to appease Aunt Margaret, which meant going about her usual business. She pasted a smile on her face. “I can’t adorn the corner tonight. Let’s go find someone to talk to.”
She caught Lockwood out of the corner of her eye. He was looking in her direction, but she didn’t return his regard. Though her neck prickled, she kept moving. Why did she have to like him? Her life would be so much easier if he was the scary beast everyone assumed him to be.
But no, he was considerate and witty and he made her heart sing. And if Aunt Margaret had her way, she would end up crushing him.
JASON WATCHED Lydia talking to Miss Cheswick. He returned his attention to Sevrin, with whom he’d been hoping to speak. “Though you’ve only just returned to Town, I’m sure you’ve heard about my half brother.”
“Mr. Ethan Locke? Yes, I’ve heard about him, though I haven’t made his acquaintance, and you’ll understand when I say gossip doesn’t interest me much.” His smile was droll. If anyone knew about the pitfalls of rumor and innuendo, it was Sevrin.
“This is not rumor and something only you will fully understand: Locke is better known as Ethan Jagger.”
Sevrin’s eyes widened and he moved closer to the wall, drawing Jason with him. “He’s your brother?”
“Half brother.” If nothing else, Sevrin was acquainted with him as Jagger the pugilistic sponsor, but what else did he know? “How much do you know about him? And do be honest. I suspect he’s a criminal.”
Sevrin kept his voice low. “You’d be right. He coerced me into fighting for him by threatening to expose Philippa as the woman I was seen with that night at your party.” So, in addition to being a criminal, his half brother was a right prick. Sevrin continued, “I’d agreed to find him a permanent fighter, but when I took too long, he brought Philippa to the fight in Dirty Lane.”
Jason had watched that bout, and he’d seen the masked woman seated beside Ethan. He hadn’t realized she was Lady Philippa. “Wait, didn’t you fight for him again in Cornwall? I’m surprised you didn’t use your considerable pugilistic skills on him.”
Sevrin’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t entirely hold back. But I must admit there is something about him that soothed my anger. He understood my need to fight, appreciated it even as he exploited it. It’s why I fought for him in Cornwall.” He paused a moment, then lowered his voice even further. “There’s something else. One of his men—a nasty brute—kidnapped Philippa in Cornwall. I was able to stop him before things got . . . ugly.” The way he said the word and the intangible aura of menace Sevrin elicited gave Jason an idea of what precisely that meant.
Jason continued to wonder how Sevrin hadn’t beat Ethan to within an inch of his life. “What role did Ethan play in all of that?”
“That’s just it: none.” Sevrin frowned. “He was actually rather upset to learn what his man had done. He went so far as to apologize. What’s more, the kidnapper was killed in prison. I have no proof, but I wonder if Jagger was behind it.”
Once again, his half brother was at the center of some evil. It didn’t make sense that Ethan wasn’t involved, regardless of what Sevrin believed. Perhaps Ethan had simply convinced him otherwise by using his infamous charm—something he’d always employed to gain his own ends. The servants at Lockwood House had adored him when their father had brought him for visits. It seemed even a man like Sevrin wasn’t completely immune. “I pray you aren’t being naïve.”
“I didn’t say we were bosom friends,” Sevrin said wryly. “No one knows what happened in Cornwall, and for Philippa’s sake, I’d like it to stay that way.”
Jason’s gaze flicked to Lady Sevrin, who was now engaged in conversation with Lydia and Miss Cheswick. “Of course. But you said Ethan was a criminal. Are you aware of any other criminal activity beyond kidnapping and coercion?”
“He works for Gin Jimmy.” Sevrin shrugged. “I couldn’t say what Jagger does, but when Philippa and I were brought to him, he certainly seemed a prince lording over his subjects. He had quite a gang of brutes.”
Now Jason had firsthand testimony of his brother’s crimes, even if it wasn’t anything he could take to Bow Street. “Thank you for telling me.”
Jason must have let his animosity show, for Sevrin cocked his head to the side and said, “There’s no love lost between you, is there?” When Jason failed to respond, Sevrin’s voice grew soft. “That’s unfortunate. I’d give anything to have my brother back.”
Unable to share that sentiment, and strangely discomfited by it, Jason completely changed the subject. He looked toward Lydia again. She was still talking with Lady Sevrin, but Miss Cheswick was no longer with them. “Speaking of your wife, it’s past time we were properly introduced.”
Sevrin shot him an inquisitive glance. “Did you know who she was that night at Lockwood House?”
“Not precisely, but I didn’t believe for a moment that she was just some paramour you’d brought along.” As had many people, so Jason added, “A supposition I never repeated.”
Sevrin sighed. “She’s too damned elegant, too perfect. No demimondaine could carry herself as she does. Come.” He led Jason to his wife and, more importantly, to her companion, Lydia.
Lydia registered their approach, but quickly averted her eyes to Lady Sevrin. Sevrin took care of the introductions.
“Lord Lockwood, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Lady Sevrin said with a mischievou
s sparkle in her eye. They had, of course, already met when she’d mistakenly intruded into one of his vice parties. Sevrin had rescued her, and though it had been a bumpy road, things had turned out splendidly for them. If a scoundrel like Sevrin could find redemption, perhaps there was hope for Jason after all.
Jason took her hand and bowed. “The pleasure is mine.”
“You already know Lady Lydia,” Lady Sevrin said, her gaze flicking to Lydia who continued to avoid meeting his eyes. What the devil was wrong with her? Had they not just entered into a partnership that very afternoon?
“Indeed. Good evening, Lady Lydia.” When she didn’t offer her hand, he boldly took it and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove. He felt her muscles tense, and her gaze finally snapped to his. But her brown eyes were flat, lacking their usual sparkle.
“Lord Lockwood.” She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Please excuse me, I see someone I must speak with.” She turned and left.
Jason frowned. Someone stopped her less than ten feet from them. He couldn't hear what was said, but he picked up her response. “Yes, he hosted one of those parties.” She sounded resigned, indifferent.
This time he heard the other woman’s comment. “Judging by the company he keeps, he’s not rehabilitated at all. One must wonder if he should be allowed to mingle with our most impressionable members of Society. Like you, for instance. I should think you’d prefer to keep your distance.”
“I am trying, yes,” Lydia said.
Jason’s insides turned to ice. What game was she playing? Was she setting him up for a humiliating failure? Was she hoping to push him over the edge into madness as her aunt had done to his mother at that dinner party seven years ago? Anger swirled in his gut, and it took every ounce of will he possessed to not stalk over to her, grab her by the arm, and drag her somewhere to get the truth.
He excused himself from the Sevrins and walked around the periphery of the room. As he watched Lydia move from person to person, likely spreading her poison, his mood blackened.