by Burnett, May
“If you discover who invented this story that I killed Fenton for love of his widow, let me know, even if it has nothing to do with the other case,” Jeremy requested. “I am not going to challenge anyone else to a duel, but there might be other ways to get my own back.”
Hendrickson was led out, and the brothers looked at each other. “At this rate you’ll never get to the bottom of the story,” Barnaby said. “The cat-and-mouse game Chatteris is playing with Lady Fenton is worrying me. If it was just a question of money, we could have dealt with him already. But he seems to take a malicious pleasure in drawing this out. Can it be that someone wants to avenge the former Lord Fenton? He was not a particularly endearing fellow. I wonder who would feel that strongly about him.”
“I cannot think of anyone. He could be charming when he tried, but he rarely bothered. Susan wanted nothing to do with him, which demonstrates her good instincts, for then he was considered a perfectly suitable match.”
“Hendrickson strikes me as an objective judge,” Barnaby said thoughtfully, “and after his verdict I badly want to see Lady Fenton for myself. I don’t suppose I can just call upon her at the hotel, under the circumstances.”
“Maybe Aunt Penelope is willing to do so, and you can tag along,” Jeremy suggested. Their late mother’s younger sister, the widowed Lady Cirrell, was eminently respectable and well-connected.
“She will be angry about the article, on your behalf. Why should she lift a finger for this widow?”
“Because Lady Fenton is Susan’s sister-in-law, and a fellow victim of this slander? I am going to call upon Aunt Penelope now, to see what she suggests. Even if she is not willing to do anything for Lady Fenton, she might feel sympathy for the situation of Miss Trevelyan. She must remember her from the time she chaperoned Susan, the girls were always together.”
“Well, I hope she has wise counsel to offer, because I am at the end of my own Latin, Jer. Are you still going to attend the Daventry ball tonight?”
“Unless Aunt Penelope advises against it, certainly. I am not going to dignify that article by changing my behaviour, or hiding my face.”
“I’d better go too, then, to keep an eye on you. Are you going to dance with Muriel?”
“Normally I would, but what with one thing and another, I have not had occasion to ask her for any dances yet. And didn’t you advise me yourself just the other day not to offer for her? Frankly, I have little desire to do so at this point. There was also an odd hint from her father, long before the article, that made me wonder if he wanted to hurry my proposal along for financial reasons. But maybe I am too suspicious.”
“I shall keep my ears open,” Barnaby promised. “You could always ask Hendrickson to check Sibury’s situation, though if you are no longer planning to offer for Muriel it would be a waste of time and money. Are you still determined to fulfil that promise to Father?”
“I have several months yet; the case is far from desperate.”
“Well, good luck,” Barnaby said, and left. Jeremy had reports to read and letters to write, but found he could not immediately concentrate on those routine tasks. It was still too early in the day to visit his aunt.
With a sigh, he forced himself to deal with business after all. Work did not stop just because he was suspected of an illicit attachment, or hunting after a spiteful will.
Chapter 12
“No thank you, Lord Barton, I am already engaged for this dance.” Jeremy kept his expression polite at this third rebuff of the evening, coming from Miss Rellingford, one of the year’s most sought-after debutantes. He must not betray the exasperation he felt. He had known most of the guests at the Daventry ball for years, had been flattered and pursued only days ago. Was it truly within the power of one malicious journalist to blacken his reputation to this extent?
Even that duel, two years ago, had not had such a strong effect on his popularity. Fenton had behaved badly, and people had been expecting a reckoning for weeks. Afterwards there had been some talk that his father’s political connections, and the fact that the Winthrops were related to half of England’s aristocracy, might have protected Jeremy from having to leave the country. A period of exile was the usual consequence of duels with fatal outcome. In fact the magistrate in Truro had exonerated him after listening to all the witnesses, particularly the dead man’s reluctant seconds. Jeremy had been lucky, but politics had had nothing to do with it.
It was not quite ostracism yet – Lady Malmsbury, a rotund and jolly Countess, smiled at Jeremy and accepted his invitation to a dance. As the orchestra struck up a waltz, she remarked, “They will soon forget about that ridiculous article. Don’t mind the gossip.”
“Thank you,” he said a little bleakly. “Given that it is all lies, I am surprised how seriously my acquaintances seem to take it.”
“All lies?” She sounded almost disappointed as they swept into a turn. “Oh. I should have realised that you are not the type to harbour a fatal passion. After all, you have been on the town for all those years and never succumbed. Your heart must be as hard at your head.”
That was basically true, alas. “Maybe I simply do not wear my heart on my sleeve, Lady Malmsbury.”
“But you are not secretly in love with Lady Fenton? The duel had nothing to do with her?”
“Nothing at all. I am no more in love with her than you are with me.”
“Maybe I am another who does not wear her feelings on her sleeve,” the Countess said with a flirtatious look, but her heart was not in it. After all, she had known him as a callow schoolboy. “My advice is to get married to some other lady sooner rather than later,” she added more seriously. “That will quickly scotch these rumours. Otherwise they will only grow out of all proportion. Already the debutantes are warned away from you.”
“While you as a married lady can still afford to dance with me?”
“Exactly. It only adds to my cachet, and I rather enjoy being thought a trifle fast. People will eagerly ask me what news I extracted during our dance. I like you and will do my best to disappoint them, but this is a serious situation. Do not underestimate it.”
He nodded and took a left turn, where fewer couples impeded their progress. Lady Malmsbury’s blue silk dress was swinging around her shapely ankles, and she followed easily enough. “If the debutantes are being warned away from me, it may not be easy to marry one of them.”
“Oh, any of them will change her tune the moment you talk marriage. You are still one of the greatest prizes on the marriage mart. But after disappointing scores of hopeful girls year after year, can you blame them for being wary?”
Jeremy was silent. It was true; he must have danced and flirted with hundreds in the years since he first came down from university. As his father’s heir he had always been a desirable parti. Was it his fault, though, if he had not fallen in love with any of the pretty debutantes? Of late the whole thing had become a chore rather than a pleasure. Before his father had made him promise to marry he had already started to avoid Almack’s, and the balls given for new debutantes. Had he missed the ideal time and age to form a family? His father certainly thought so.
“This too will pass,” Lady Malmsbury said as the dance was drawing to a close. “Good luck, Barton.”
He bowed and left her with a group of friends. He needed a drink, and not the overly sweet ratafia the ladies were offered. Fortunately there was sparkling wine too, and he drank more deeply than was his custom at these entertainments.
“Trying to lose yourself in drink?” a familiar voice cut into his reflections. Turning swiftly, he beheld his aunt, Lady Cirrell.
“I was hoping to see you,” he said. “You have heard?”
“Everyone has. Come, let’s sit over there, where we can talk in private.” She pointed to a group of chairs in the far corner, surprisingly free of despondent wallflowers. He extended his arm. She only reached his shoulder.
“I tried to see you this afternoon, but you were out,” Jeremy said.
“Yes, I do have a social life, dear. I was playing cards with some friends, as I do every Wednesday afternoon, not that it matters. How have you got yourself into this pickle?”
“I don’t really know,” he said, striving not to show his resentment. “One day I was a perfectly well-regarded sprig of fashion, and suddenly, without doing anything heinous at all, I am treated as a dangerous outcast. Just because of some stupid journalist’s speculation, that is completely off the mark.”
“You have been stoutly denying everything, I hope?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Then with any luck we can still retrieve your reputation. Had you truly seduced the widow of the man you killed, it would not be easy to smooth over.”
“Seduced? Nonsense. I haven’t seduced anyone lately. My life has been pure as the driven snow since that duel.” Jeremy had not even kept a mistress recently, as he had been used to in younger years. He had developed a fastidious distaste for that sort of mercenary relationship. And with the prospect of marriage imminent, it seemed the wiser course to avoid other entanglements.
“My reasons to call upon Lady Fenton and Miss Trevelyan were compelling, but confidential,” he said. “I may have to talk to them again, in fact.”
“Miss Trevelyan? Young Abigail? I had wondered what became of her since she paid that visit to Susan in Cornwall. I cannot imagine how she got involved in this, as timid and conventional as she is.”
Jeremy wanted to protest this uncharitable assessment, but it was not easy to interrupt his aunt in full spate.
“If Lady Fenton is really such a beauty, Miss Trevelyan is ill-advised to stay with her if she hopes for a match herself. She never seemed to mind when Susan overshadowed her, but by now she must be getting a little long in the tooth – over twenty, I suppose.”
He grimaced involuntarily. “If that is long in the tooth, what are you and I, Aunt Penelope?”
“Oh, I am ancient, and you, as a man, are on a different timescale altogether.”
“To answer your question, Miss Trevelyan was unhappy under her stepmother’s rule. When it emerged that Milla needed a companion she volunteered for the task, rather than return to London. They have been living in Dorset for almost two years, in the dower house on Fenton’s estate. But now urgent business has brought them to London. Miss Trevelyan rather than Milla asked me to call, to discuss these matters.”
“I had no idea Miss Trevelyan was so close to you. From what I remember when she and Susan were always together, you never paid any attention to the girl.”
“Yes, I did, as my sister’s friend. I danced with her at Almack’s. And I escorted her to Cornwall soon after Susan’s marriage. She nearly died in a carriage accident on that journey, and with one thing and another, I know her fairly well. In a respectable way,” he quickly added.
“You escorted her to Cornwall and are still unshackled? How is that possible? I did not hear anything about it.” Lady Cirrell fixed a suspicious eye on her nephew.
“She was travelling with our old nurse as well as a maid, and I rode most of the time,” he said, “and I did offer to marry her if she felt herself compromised after the accident, but she thought that was not a good basis for marriage, and she was quite right. Don’t go blabbing about it, especially now, all right?”
“No.” His aunt was looking at him in a penetrating manner that he found distinctly unnerving. “Are you telling me that Miss Trevelyan refused you? I could have sworn she had a tendre for you, during her Season.”
“Nonsense.” It couldn’t be true, could it? Surely he would have noticed? But maybe not. For all he knew, dozens of debutantes had nursed warm feelings towards his oblivious person.
“It was only an impression, and I daresay I must have been mistaken, or she would have snapped you up when she got the chance.”
Maybe not. Abigail had her share of pride, as he had discovered during that awful journey. And the way he had offered for her – especially that first time - could not have been at all flattering to her self-esteem. Had she felt more than mild liking for him before Fenton’s assault, by the time of her arrival in Cornwall all that would have been irrelevant. She hated all men then, he suspected, and who could blame her?
“This suggests an obvious way out of your difficulty,” Lady Cirrell said thoughtfully. “What if we pretend that you were interested in Miss Trevelyan rather than Lady Fenton? But no, if the other is such a beauty and poor Abigail Trevelyan the quintessential wallflower, it would hardly be credible.”
“Miss Trevelyan is prettier now than during her Season. In fact she was always more than passable, but her timidity and the awful stepmother did not allow her to shine. It would not be that much of a stretch to prefer Miss Trevelyan to Lady Fenton. Looks are not everything, you know.”
“I know, but it is surprising to hear it from a bachelor your age.”
“She may not be willing to go along with your scheme. I would not want to put Miss Trevelyan’s reputation at risk.”
“What does she risk? You might have to marry her, in the worst case. But you were already resigned to that once, and your Father would be pleased. As an unmarried female of respectable birth, your courting her should not harm her reputation, quite the contrary. After all, you did not kill her husband in a duel.”
No, not her husband, only her rapist. Jeremy nodded. Marrying Abigail would not be a sacrifice. He had to marry in any case, and she had more sense and substance to her than Miss Rowan.
It was she who did not like the idea of marriage, and intimacy, for very understandable reasons. Still, she would probably be willing to go along with the ruse, both for Milla’s sake and his own. She was generous and unselfish, unlike most of the people here – he cast a jaundiced eye around the ballroom, – including himself. If he presented the matter as helping him out of a difficulty, her pride would not rebel, as it had that other time. He had not understood then, but he would do better now.
It must have been fate that drew her back to London, just when he had been on the point of offering for Muriel. Muriel had looked at him with such disdain earlier in the evening that Jeremy had preferred not to ask for any dance. If she condemned him without even asking to hear his side of the story, she clearly was not the wife for him. Abigail would not be that foolish or disloyal.
It felt right. Now he only needed to convince that stubborn young lady to accede to his desires.
“You will have to be my ambassador, Aunt,” he said. “There is no time to be lost.”
***
After a short discussion of ways and means Jeremy left Lady Cirrell, much more hopeful and optimistic than he had been earlier in the evening. He did not waste another moment on the debutantes who were casting him sideways looks, half-interested, half-frightened, or their mamas. He was done with them.
As he approached the exit a bulky man stepped in his path. “Lord Sibury,” Jeremy said coolly. “Excuse me, I am expected elsewhere.”
“Just a moment.” The baron’s red face glistened with fat, or was it sweat? “I want a word with you, Barton, if you don’t mind.”
What now? The man might resent that he was no longer courting his daughter, but there had been no promises or obligations yet. He did not owe Lord Sibury any explanation, but might as well hear him out.
“If you have to.” He followed Sibury into a small deserted alcove off the entrance hall. “I cannot imagine what we have to discuss.”
“You are in trouble,” the baron stated, “and I need a son-in-law who is not stingy when it comes to settlements. A quick engagement to my Muriel would be in your best interests, and what are a few thousand more or less to a man of your wealth?”
“Muriel did not look upon me very favourably just now. I cannot imagine that she would approve of this offer.”
“She’ll do what her parents tell her, right enough. And as your wife she’ll do what you tell her, unless you are more of a weakling than I take you for. She’s been brought up to be obedient.”
The last was a shot in the dark. If his suspicion was justified, maybe he could offer the man a loan.
Sibury blew out his breath in anger. “Yes, dammit. The news that you are looking elsewhere was most ill-timed. But if you are not agreeable to my offer, Barton, I still have enough influence to make your own situation more difficult – even a murder charge is possible, once I talk to my friends in the Home Office. I advise you to sleep on it and give me your reply by Friday, two days from now. You will regret it if you don’t accept my help.”
All thoughts of offering financial assistance had evaporated by the end of this little speech. “I see. Good night, Sibury.” Jeremy waited until the fat peer had left the alcove. Sibury would not see a single penny of Winthrop money, let him do his worst.
Blackmail seemed to be a very popular pastime in London at this time of year. Should he spread the news of Sibury’s impending bankruptcy? That would go a long way in neutralizing his threat. But no; such a course would also hurt Muriel and her mother – there might be younger children as well, though Muriel had never mentioned siblings. Muriel had better hurry to accept one of her other admirers, for once the news of the family’s ruin spread, it would be too late.
Chapter 13
The next afternoon Lady Fenton and Abigail set out for another walk in Hyde Park. Both wore new clothes, the first fruit of their London shopping, and had their maids walking behind – without umbrellas this time, as the day was sunny, and the park even fuller than before. Abigail’s new walking dress was more splendid and becoming than anything she had worn previously; she had to look the part to which she had agreed when Lady Cirrell had called earlier in the day.