by Willa Ramsey
Caro shook her hand and watched her head upstairs to the great room, where Papa was set to speak. When she turned back, hoping for a glance outside at the lovely twilight, she saw none other than Lord Strayeth entering the building.
She forced a smile as the pain gripped her chest. “Good evening, Lord Strayeth.”
He bounded up to her and bowed, then grinned at her as he sifted his fingers through his forelock. “Good evening, Miss Crispin. How lovely to see you this evening.”
She did not know how to behave. It was the first time she had seen him since that terrible morning, and she had not anticipated him coming to her father’s lecture. He had never shown any interest in the intellectual aspects of their work.
“Did you bring me any books, my lord?” she blurted out, eager to stab at the silence.
He glanced at the stacks of books on the tables that surrounded her on three sides. But he quickly lost interest. “No, but I brought you my most fervent admiration.”
She suppressed a groan. This was going to be a long few weeks.
He leaned in. “In fact, I must insist that you sit with me for the lecture. I desperately need your explanation of things, as I am a terrible student of both history and the arts.”
She felt her heart calm a little, and her skin cool. It was much easier, it turned out, to be in the company of one’s enemy when one’s enemy was being profoundly ridiculous.
“Not even I can make up for years of poor school performance, my lord.”
“Oh—I bet you could teach me many things, Miss Crispin.” He leaned in still further, his usual scent of leather and cloves more prominent than ever.
“Not when I do not plan to attend the lecture.”
He cocked his head at her. “You will not hear your father speak?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. I must…” She tried to think of a place where Strayeth would be loath to go. “I must bring these books to…to…Bott’s House. Right away,” she lied.
“Bott’s? Truly? Isn’t that where they treat people with the spotted fever?” He took a small step back.
“Yes, my lord.” Why are not more people coming in just now? There was a lull in the stream of people arriving to the lecture, at just the wrong time. She picked up a pile of books and turned to take them to the adjoining room for temporary storage, trying to give Strayeth a hint.
“Here…allow me to help,” he said, reaching out. His hands clasped onto hers beneath the pile of books, and he gave her a knowing grin. “You should not be doing this work on your own. And perhaps you can…show me what you’ve got in there,” he said, nodding to the room.
She let go of the pile and began trembling again. Here it is: the pursuit in dark corners. “Of…of course,” she replied, moving slowly. Then she had an idea. “That pile, Lord Strayeth? The one you so kindly took from me? It was donated by a recent patient from Bott’s. Can you imagine? Just a week ago he was covered in red lesions. Now he’s out and about, mixing in society!”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. He even carried the books himself. Here, have another stack from him.”
“Miss Crispin, I must apologize!” he said, dropping the books on a table. “I’ve just remembered a dinner engagement with my dear aunt.” He put his hat on and stepped backward, stumbling on a loose tile. “Were I late, Aunt Fanny would be most upset.”
“We cannot disappoint Aunt Fanny.”
“Until next time, Miss Crispin.”
As he left, she took a deep breath and chastised herself for not being more prepared for seeing him and Chumsley. Perhaps at their next encounter, it would be easier? No—as the end of the season drew nearer, they would only become more and more aggressive.
She made a note to bring some of the books to Bott’s House, and moved several more stacks to the closet. When she paused for a rest, she saw Adam bounding toward the building in a nutmeg-colored coat and pale nankeen breeches. He had just removed his hat and was reaching up to smooth his hair down as he dipped his head and entered the building.
He still hadn’t seen her, and she relished the opportunity to take him in for a moment.
She thought about what he had told her—that he hadn’t any interest, and not much experience, in athletics. She could see why so many people made the mistake of thinking otherwise. Once, when she and her parents had visited Oxford, she’d asked for permission to watch the students compete in a bumping race. Her mother had agreed to accompany her to the bank of the river—rather eagerly, as she recalled—where they’d both been mesmerized by the relentless synchronization of the rowers. And, once a few of the men had disposed of their coats and shirts, and splashed and dunked one another? They were equally mesmerized by their fine, muscled backs. Although Adam avoided that sort of organized training and whatnot, seeing him transported her back to the Thames, to those physiques, to that fascination.
“Lord Ryland,” she called out. “I’m sorry, but I see you have no books for me. I cannot let you pass.” She was only teasing, though part of her was indeed disappointed that this gentleman, who had recently been so sensitive and thoughtful, would show up to her event without books.
He approached her with an impish smile. “It’s true, Miss Crispin. I haven’t any books.” He lifted his hat and cane as if to emphasize his overall lack of books, then stood there quietly, as if waiting for her next move.
There were gentlemen waiting behind him, so she reluctantly stepped aside. As he passed by, however, he leaned toward her and whispered, “I didn’t bring any books because it was so much easier to have them delivered.”
She started to gasp but caught herself—just in time to turn it into an irritated snort. “How many?” She put her hands on her hips.
“As many as would fit in my carriage. A couple hundred, I should think.”
She leaned back from him, taking in his satisfied expression. “Half to the orphanage, half to Mrs. Hellkirk’s?”
“Edie provided the addresses.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
He shrugged. “Or lazy.”
She shook her head and whispered, “Hardly.” She glanced at the men waiting behind him, then moved closer. “Thank you, Lord Ryland. Now save me a seat, will you? I’ll be in shortly.”
“We need a place where we can talk,” he replied softly.
“How about we stand behind the last row of chairs?” she replied. “I don’t want to miss the lecture.”
“I did just inform you that I was lazy,” he whispered, shifting from foot to foot. He was standing next to her at the back of the dimly lit hall and pretending to listen to her father. “I wish you would take me at my word.”
“Consider it my retribution for your teasing me about the books,” she replied. He didn’t turn to look at her, but he could tell from the notes in her voice that she was smiling. “And besides, I do believe you’re all talk.”
He turned to her now—he couldn’t resist—and asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“I believe you exaggerate, Lord Ryland, with all your talk of laziness.”
“I assure you, Miss Crispin, I want nothing to do with athletics, and do no training whatsoever.” Really! He had thought Caro was different—that she would regard him as he regarded himself, and be fine with his lack of sporting credentials.
He was beginning to feel a little sore when she responded, “Sir, I understand how the human body works. Perhaps it’s not athletics that engages you, but I don’t think you would look the way you do if you were loafing about your study all day.”
“You’ve been thinking about…the way I look?” Too bad it was so dim where they were standing; he would have given half his fortune to see if she was turning crimson at that moment.
“I know it’s scandalous, Lord Ryland—”
“Adam.”
“Adam. My observation might seem scandalous, but you are the one who keeps emphasizing—three times now—that you are not the least bit industrious. I simply point out the obvious evidence
to the contrary.”
“Miss Crispin—”
“Caro.”
“Caro. This seems like an excellent time to tell you that I wish to spend more time with you in future.”
He watched her throat move as she turned back to him, and found he wanted to plant a kiss there, where a deep indentation ran the length of her lovely neck. Anywhere to the left of middle would do nicely. There was room enough in it for many, many kisses, in fact, and he wanted to be the one to deposit them there, very slowly if possible—and soon.
“Sir?”
“Adam.”
“Sir. What are you saying to me, precisely?”
“I’m asking if I may call on you, Caro. I know you do not wish to be courted, but I enjoy your company and wish to see more of you. I might find an opportunity to prove to you my lack of athleticism, but if nothing else, we might get to know one another better.”
“Are you quite serious?”
He stepped back. “Caro, I would not tease you about this, knowing what you have been through these past several days.”
She turned back to face the room, and he moved his eyes lower, to the skin exposed at the top of her golden gown. He questioned why he had delayed moving his gaze there sooner, though he quickly forced himself to look up again. He didn’t want her to catch him slavering over her, or she would never believe that underneath his obvious desire, he was entirely sincere about wanting to court her.
She eventually looked back. “That would be…fine. I’ve decided that that would be fine.”
He smiled. “Good. Now that we’ve settled that, I have something to report to you from White’s.”
“Yes, let’s get to business. Just tell me, please—quickly. What did it say?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled, wanting to comply with her request but fearing that she would be hurt when she heard the news. “You were right: the wager is in the book.”
She nodded at him and crossed her arms. “And?”
He recited the limerick for her, and told her that only the men’s names had been recorded. “And it said one other thing that might concern us: they agreed that proof would need to come in the form of a letter from the lady, and that it must state, to the other’s satisfaction, that…that...”
“That the deed has been done,” Caro finished.
“Yes.”
She looked away, tapping a finger against her arm. “Couldn’t a letter be fabricated?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. But these wagers are dependent on a strict honor system. And it’s rather well adhered to, I must say. Despite the number of scoundrels who take part in them.”
“So some proof is required, but its authenticity is accepted on the man’s word alone?”
“Precisely.”
“I would like to go into the other room, now. Will you accompany me?”
He followed her through the reception area, down the stairs, and into a small room where she’d been piling the donated books. Under better circumstances, he would have been thrilled to find himself in such a private space with her, but her face was grim, her posture rigid.
“I have a new scheme to conduct,” she began. “Would you like to hear about it?”
“Of course.”
She stood taller and put her shoulders back. “I am going to teach Strayeth and Chumsley a lesson.”
Something in her tone caused his heartbeat to pick up a little. “What do you mean, ‘a lesson?’”
“I’m going to teach them that their behavior toward me was insupportable.”
He laughed nervously. “They know as much, Caro. They just care more for their own amusement than they do for your well-being.”
She made a dismissive gesture, a wave of her hand. “I apologize, Adam—I’ve been unclear. I plan to teach them that they mustn’t do such a thing—slander another woman—ever again.”
He scratched behind his ear. “How would you accomplish such a thing, Caro? How would anyone accomplish such a thing?”
“They will make me a promise.”
“Of what value is a promise from those two?” Incredulity seeped into his tone, and he smoothed his jaw with his hand. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling about this scheme. “Any man who wagers on a woman’s virtue can’t be trusted to keep a promise to one.”
She shrugged. “A moment ago, you assured me that gentlemen’s wagers are based on honor. Let’s give Strayeth and Chumsley the benefit of the doubt, and assume that their promise to me will be equally honorable.” Despite her calm tone, the hairs on his arm stood up. What was she saying? Was this the same Caro from Covent Garden? From the servants’ corridor of his home?
“Caro—”
“I thought you would have a little more confidence in me, Adam,” she interrupted, her eyes searching him. “I do have a plan, after all.”
He forced himself to breathe deeply, and began again. “You are right. And I do, Caro. Please. Tell me about your plan.”
“I’m still working out the details—”
“Does it require you to spend time with Strayeth and Chumsley, in public?”
“Yes,” she replied, crossing her arms, perhaps annoyed at the interruption. “That much is certain.”
He ran his hands through his hair, searching for calm, searching for patience. How did she not see that going after Strayeth and Chumsley would be a waste of time at best, and ruinous to her, at worst? “Caro—people will be watching Strayeth and Chumsley like hawks for the rest of the season, looking to identify the mystery woman from the wager. Any time you spend with those buffoons will put you at risk of being revealed as their object. We should seek to reduce the risk of your being revealed—not to increase it.”
She scoffed. “Before, you said that they would pursue me ‘in dark corners’—weren’t those your very words? If that’s true, then their attentions to me won’t be terribly obvious. And besides, those two are beastly flirts. They’ve yet to be in the same room with a woman without batting their eyelashes nearly off their faces. Society’s detectives will have quite a time sorting out which of the ladies they fawn over is the one worth a hundred pounds to them.”
“You underestimate the sleuthing abilities of the ton, Caro. They will find you out, and when they do, they will shun you. Daughter of the Royal Architect or no, society will not accept you being involved in a scandalous public wager. It is a bridge too far.”
She fussed with the ends of her gloves, her face pinker than usual, her eyes cast downward. “If society would shun me for being wagered about—without my knowledge and with no provocation—then I don’t care to have society’s good opinion.”
He scratched roughly at his head. “You would not be invited anywhere, Caro! No more parties, no more balls. And Edie could not see you…”
“Edie would never shun me!”
“No, no—you are right. Edie would never shun you. It’s just that…many other people…couldn’t be as close to you as they would like to be.”
“We would make do. People who care about each other make do.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“I believe it is.”
He raised his hands to his temples, his pulse thundering beneath his fingertips. She didn’t seem to be listening to him, and she certainly wasn’t grasping his meaning: if she were shunned by society, he would not be able to see her. Edie—her longtime friend—might sneak in and visit her now and again, but there would be no future acquaintance with him.
He pulled at his hair. “The season is almost over, Caro. The wager could be all but forgotten by Michaelmas, if you just took pains to alter your behavior...”
He thought her eyes might bore a hole right through him. “Alter my behavior? In what fashion? You’d like me to stop bantering with unmarried gentlemen, I imagine? Should I also decline every invitation I receive? After that, perhaps you’d have me take up residence in a convent.”
“You exaggerate, Caro. I only suggest that you blend in with the debutantes for a t
ime.”
A warm breeze came in from the street, fluttering a book that lay open on her table. He glanced over at it and when he looked back, something in Caro had been snuffed out. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes glistened. Her arms hung limply at her sides.
“I want to change the men who hurt me, Adam,” she said softly. “But you? You would rather change me.”
“What is this need of yours to play the queen of the coquettes?” he pleaded, raising his voice still louder. “Please know that I wouldn’t change a thing about you, but if it saves your reputation and keeps you from harm, then I would see you put on a disguise for a time, yes.”
She turned for the door.
“What is it? What have I said?”
She stopped in the doorway and spun on her heels and faced him. “I withdraw my permission for you to accompany Edie on her visits, my lord.”
Then she turned again and entered the reception area, and he followed. It was empty—everyone was in the lecture—but the door to the street remained open, letting in another gust of hot, gritty wind, and with it the groaning of carriages, the clacking of hooves, and the echoes of the rawest sorts of laughter.
“And you can expect a refusal from my parents,” she said over her shoulder as she began picking up stacks of books and moving them with a thud, “when it comes to architectural services for your home.” Thud.
He stepped back. “Are you so stubborn as this? Why do the words of two men matter so much to you? This can’t just be about protecting other women, Caro.”
Thud. She was going to ignore him, apparently. Thud. Thud. THUD.
“Caro—” he bellowed over the din, reaching for her elbow. “What is really going on here? Is this about revenge?”
She yanked her arm from his reach. “You would not understand.”
“Please—help me to do so,” he said in a softer voice.
She spun around. “When you are a woman, and you have been wronged by a man, and you have been told to alter something about yourself in response to that wrong, then you might begin to understand the depth of my anger.”