Unlaced 1

by Kristina Cook

  An amused smile had spread across John’s face as he listened to his lover’s tirade.

  The surroundings had begun to spin and blur, and Henry fought for each ragged breath. He took several steps back, clutching wildly at his burning chest.

  “Go, crawl back to the house. I dare you to tell your father what you saw here tonight. But you won’t, will you? You haven’t the gumption. No, like father, like son, they say.”

  Henry had turned and fled, John’s laughter ringing in his ears. Somehow he managed to drag himself back through the maze, back into the house, and up the stairs to the nursery. Eleanor had been sitting on the window seat and she’d looked up with wide eyes when he’d come in panting and gasping for breath. He’d tried to tell her what he’d seen but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Eleanor had run for the nurse just as Henry slumped to the floor, and the next thing he remembered was awakening hours later with the family physician by his side.

  Henry had never told a soul what he’d witnessed that night in the maze, but he’d never forgotten the revolting images or his mother’s cruel words.

  “I’m nothing like my father,” Henry blurted out, back once more in James’s drawing room. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

  “Here, have a drink.” James handed him his port and Henry gulped it down with one stiff jerk of the wrist. “Are you all right, son? You disappeared within yourself for a moment there.” He reached for the decanter and refilled Henry’s glass.

  “I...I’m fine.” He took another long draught of the liquid, feeling it burn a path down his throat to his unsettled stomach. Good God, if only the drink could permanently erase such memories from him mind. “I’m sorry, James, but I really must be going.” Henry rose on unsteady legs. Damn it to hell, he was still a weakling. His whore of a mother had been right all along, hadn’t she?

  “Not until you tell me what just happened. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  No, not a ghost, but a personal demon, one that he couldn’t seem to exorcise. He reached for his hat. He had to get out of there, and fast. “I just remembered an important engagement. I must be on my way at once.” He snapped shut the portfolio and strode toward the door, only glancing back long enough to see James staring at him, his mouth agape.

  No, he would not be like his father.

  Chapter 14

  “Why the Friday face, Lucy?” Jane asked, reaching for her hand. “It’s only a soirée, not a public hanging.”

  “I know, but do you realize we’ve been to no less than two balls, three dinners, two luncheons, and one rout in the past week alone? How on earth is one supposed to keep up with it all? I’m just so...tired.” Lucy sighed. Bone tired. Tired of parties, tired of pasting on a practiced smile and pretending to enjoy herself. It had been a bit of fun at first, this grand social whirl. But now it had become nothing but a chore to endure between sessions at the college with Professor Williams. Worse yet, she’d somehow managed to garner several new ardent suitors, much to her chagrin. Not one of them had anything interesting to say. All preening and strutting like peacocks, treating her as if she were some prize brood mare at Tattersall’s. She let out a huff and turned to stare out the window.

  “Lady Middletown throws quite a crush,” Colin offered. “I’ll wager you won’t find it too unpleasant, Lucy. Besides, you’ll have the pleasure of my company.”

  “Hah,” said Jane with a smile. “You’re just hoping Lady Helena Waring will be there.”

  “Lady Helena? Hmmm, I suppose she will be.” He grinned wickedly.

  At the mention of Lady Helena’s name, Susanna sighed dramatically. Lucy reached over and patted her hand. Lately it seemed as if all the gossips were linking Lady Helena and Lord Mandeville, not that Lucy or any of the Rosemoors had the opportunity to witness it firsthand—Lord Mandeville had not attended a single function that they’d been at in more than a month.

  Oh, he wasn’t totally absent from the social scene. It seemed as if he never missed an appearance at Almack’s, and all the unattached young ladies were talking about him. Lady Mandeville still hinted to her closest confidants about her son’s impending betrothal to Lady Charlotte Haverford, but word had it that, more often than not, he was seen with the beautiful Lady Helena on his arm instead.

  Yes, their plan to avoid one another was working, working perfectly at that. She should be pleased, Lucy reminded herself. Things were going so very well at the college. Just last week the professor had asked her to write up a short paper on her own little experiment in stable ventilation at Ludlow House. Of course, with her hectic social schedule she’d barely had time to put pen to paper. But she was already busy envisioning the practice she’d build once she returned home. It was no longer a hazy, unattainable dream but rather a soon-to-be-realized reality, and she was brimming with excitement. All she would need was a letter of recommendation—a letter of support—from Professor Williams and she would have the necessary credibility. Perhaps she and Mr. Wilton could form a partnership of some sort once he was graduated.

  She looked up sharply as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Middletown House, an attractive gray stone structure just off Berkeley Square. The door swung open and Colin hurried out, offering his hand to assist the ladies to the walk below. Lucy took Colin’s arm and allowed him to steer her through the front door and into the foyer, her body becoming numb and her senses dulled. It was almost as if she could float above her body and watch someone else go through the motions of flirting and conversing, dining and dancing. It was the only way she could stay sane, especially once the conversation turned toward Lord Mandeville and his inevitable absence.

  She vaguely heard her name announced as she stepped inside the music room. Her heart began to race. There, leaning indolently against the pianoforte, was Lord Thomas Sinclair. As if that weren’t bad enough, Lady Charlotte Haverford was standing by his side, her dark head bent toward his fair one.

  Oh, why had she come tonight? She’d felt the first stirrings of a headache this afternoon. She should have stayed home. She looked around frantically for Jane and Susanna, but found them already in conversation with their hostess. No, there was no escaping the vile man. Might as well get it over with.

  Sinclair looked up and saw her. He leered at her across the space, his smile wolfish. She distinctly saw him nudge Lady Charlotte’s side.

  “Mr. Rosemoor, Miss Abbington. How good to see you both,” Lady Charlotte called out sweetly.

  “Good evening, Lady Charlotte,” Colin replied, his voice cold.

  “What a lovely gown, Miss Abbington. You know Lord Thomas Sinclair, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. Lord Thomas.” Lucy nodded stiffly, boldly meeting his gaze.

  He raised one brow suggestively. “Miss Abbington and I are quite intimate friends, are we not?”

  Colin’s arm tensed under her hand. “Sinclair, how dare you suggest—”

  Lucy cut him off. “No, I don’t believe we are, sir,” she interjected. “In fact, if I remember correctly—”

  “Ah, yes,” Lady Charlotte interrupted. “That little scene at the opera. More entertaining than the drama onstage, from what I’m told. I’m so sorry I missed the spectacle.” She tilted her head toward Sinclair’s and laughed.

  How dare she!

  Lucy looked to Colin and saw his chest puff up and his face turn scarlet. “You’re lucky I don’t call you out, Sinclair.”

  A hush fell over the room, all eyes turned toward them.

  “Standing up for her honor, eh, Rosemoor? I thought that was Mandeville’s job. Is her reputation really worth dueling over? After all, it appears that Mandeville has already abandoned her side.”

  Lucy clutched Colin’s arm, digging her nails into his coat. “Don’t bother, Colin,” she said, her voice steady. “He isn’t worth it.” She spun around and stalked off toward the refreshment table.

  Colin caught up with her immediately and she looked up into his eyes and smiled. “They all seem
disappointed that it won’t come to blows, don’t they?” She tilted her head toward the crowd gathering around the pianoforte, heads wagging as they surreptitiously stole glances at her. “Look at them all, whispering behind their fans. Honestly, Colin, I don’t care a whit what they think of me.”

  “I should call him out. I can’t allow him to suggest that your reputation is anything but exemplary.” Colin’s face was a mottled red.

  “Of course you can, and you will. No need getting yourself shot over it.”

  “I thank you for your faith in my marksmanship.”

  “Colin, really. Who pays any mind to what that scoundrel says? And Lady Charlotte? The two of them make some pair.”

  “You’re right. Nevertheless, I’m not leaving your side tonight.” He tightened his grasp on her elbow.

  “Thank you, Colin.”

  “You’re very welcome.” His gaze traveled to the doorway. “Ahhh, there she is,” she heard him murmur.

  “There who is?” Lucy turned and followed his gaze to a beautiful blonde wearing ice-blue silk.

  As if she’d read his mind, the girl practically floated toward them, flashing Colin a perfect smile.

  “Lady Helena,” he called out, bowing.

  “Mr. Rosemoor,” she answered, nodding. “How lovely to see you.” She turned to Lucy. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lady Helena Waring.”

  So this was Lady Helena.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Colin said. “Lady Helena, may I present a longtime family friend, Miss Lucy Abbington?”

  The two women curtseyed to one another. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you. What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Lord Mandeville tells me you are the Rosemoors’ guest for the Season. What a delightful treat that must be.”

  Lucy started at the sound of the marquess’ name, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Just what was he telling Lady Helena about her? “Yes, it is indeed quite a treat,” she finally managed to reply.

  Lucy was relieved when Lady Middletown interrupted them by announcing that the evening’s musical entertainment was about to begin. She took a seat beside Colin, and Jane and Susanna hurried to join them. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of blue. Lady Helena was settling herself just behind and to the left of them. Lucy couldn’t resist twisting a bit in her seat to peek at the girl as the lovely piece by Beethoven began.

  She was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. Her ringleted hair was the same pastel blonde as Susanna’s, but her face was rounder, fuller, her lips a perfect bow. Her round eyes were a rich blue, framed by thick lashes. Susanna, with her sharp features and pale eyes, looked practically elfin in comparison. She could see why Lord Mandeville would be drawn to a girl like Lady Helena. She was every inch the lady, a duke’s daughter at that. Lucy felt a pang of jealousy startle her, and she fidgeted in her seat.

  Her thoughts were drawn back once again to the night in Lord Mandeville’s carriage. She looked to the floor as she felt the blood rush to her face. Goodness, the things she’d let him do to her. She’d done things to him, as well, she reminded herself, remembering with an inward groan the way she’d touched him so intimately. The heat in her cheeks intensified. She couldn’t resist turning in her seat once more, to peer curiously again at Lady Helena. The girl sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, a rhapsodic look on her face as she watched the musicians perform. Had Lord Mandeville touched Lady Helena the way he’d touched her? Kissed Lady Helena the way he’d kissed her? The thought made bile rise in Lucy’s throat.

  She faced forward again and reached up to finger her mother’s locket. Her face hardened. No, he likely hadn’t taken such liberties with Lady Helena. The girl’s pedigree was impeccable, after all, nothing like her own. She was just a commoner’s daughter to be trifled with, taken advantage of without repercussions.

  By the time the last strain of music died away, Lucy’s head was pounding. The cacophony of voices was prickling her every nerve, and an unease had settled in her stomach. Reluctantly, she followed Jane over to the Butler girls. “Wasn’t the music lovely?” Miss Butler asked. “I must say, I prefer music to dancing any day. At least I don’t have to worry about standing alone against the wall, or listening to Mama groan about my lack of prospects.”

  “Nonsense,” Jane said. “Why, I see the way Mr. Tanning looks at you. Poor lad can barely find his tongue in your presence.”

  Miss Portia covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “It’s true. He croaks like a toad whenever he speaks to her.”

  Miss Butler rolled her eyes. “I was hoping Lord Mandeville would be here tonight. It seems as if he’s never around, yet everyone is always speaking of him.”

  “Is that so?” Jane said vaguely. “Have you heard the latest on-dit about Lord Chesterfield? I’ve heard that—”

  “Why, just this afternoon Lady Allen came to call,” Miss Butler interrupted, “and she said that Lord Allen says he’s made quite an impression in Parliament of late.”

  “Lord Chesterfield?” Lucy asked hopefully.

  “No, Lord Mandeville.”

  “Good lord, tell me Mandeville isn’t rallying still for schools to educate the street urchins?” Jane laid a reassuring hand on Lucy’s arm.

  “That was weeks ago. No, they were debating the Seditious Meetings Bill, and it’s said that the House was positively brimming, which is most unusual. People were crowding in to hear him speak, standing in the aisles. I heard that many a vote was swayed by his passionate speech. Why, perhaps he’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

  “I had no idea you were so interested in political affairs, Miss Butler.” Jane shook her head, her expression one of utter amazement.

  “Anyway,” Miss Butler continued, “when I saw Lady Helena here tonight I thought for sure that Lord Mandeville would be here, as well. Perhaps the rumors aren’t true that...”

  Lucy could no longer listen to the girl prattle on. She was desperate for an escape, any sort of respite. Seeing Jane look up and smile broadly as William Nickerson headed their way, she took the opportunity to excuse herself and head upstairs to the ladies’ retiring room.

  As she reached for the cut-glass door handle, she paused, instantly recognizing the lilting, perfectly modulated voice of Lady Helena, followed by a tinkle of laughter.

  “Perhaps she’s some sort of witch,” she was saying. “The Rosemoors’ cook told our cook that she saw her with her very own eyes, laying her hands on some wretched dog and practically bringing it back to life. Can you imagine? Poor Lord Mandeville. It’s why he isn’t here tonight, of course.”

  “Is that so?” someone asked.

  “I’m afraid the poor besotted girl has thrown herself at him in such an embarrassing fashion that he’s had to avoid any function at which she might appear. He’s probably hiding out at White’s right now, rather than facing what could be another embarrassing scene like the one at the opera.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard there’s no less than ten wagers about her in the betting book at White’s at any given time,” another feminine voice was saying, followed by more laughter.

  Lucy could hear the blood pounding in her temples. So that’s what Lord Mandeville was telling them, then? That he was avoiding her company because she was throwing herself at him? How dare he, the bloody bastard! She clenched her fists by her sides, wishing he were there right now so she could throttle him with her own hands. White spots of anger floated before her eyes, nearly blinding her.

  “She fancies herself a healer, did you say? Animals only, or people, too? Because I could use a ...”

  Lucy fled before she could hear more.

  ***

  “Absolutely not, Eleanor. I can think of nothing worse.” Henry snapped shut his pocket watch and leaned back against the window, the bright midday sun warming his back. Replacing the watch in his waistcoat pocket, he indolently crossed one boot-clad ankle over the other and surveyed his sister with narrowed eyes.

  “Nothing worse than a ho
use party?” Eleanor asked, running one hand absently over the sofa’s curved arm. “Please, Henry, it’s not as bad as that. It’ll be lovely, I promise. Just a small gathering. The invitations have already gone out. The children are so looking forward to some time in the country and they will be disappointed if you don’t come.”

  “A small gathering, you say? And might I ask whom you’ve invited?” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Eleanor fiddled with the hem of her sleeve as she always did when she was nervous. Henry had the feeling she was up to something, that he was being manipulated, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Selina, of course, and her family.” Eleanor’s dearest friend, married to the Viscount Henley. Lord Henley was a favorite of Henry’s, and he nodded approvingly.

  “Lord and Lady Stanley, the Nickersons, the Merrills, the Avondales.” She refused to meet his gaze.

  “Is that all?”

  “No. A few more. There’s the Rosemoors, as well.” She practically whispered it.

  “Of course.” He felt anger rise in his chest. He was being manipulated.

  “Don’t glower at me like that, Henry. You know I couldn’t have a house party and not invite them. I particularly enjoy their company, as does Frederick.” She cleared her throat. “And the children adore Miss Abbington.”

  “I see.” He turned to gaze out the window, both hands shoved into his pockets.

  “Before I resort to begging and pleading, I’ll let you know it gets worse. Mama invited Lady Charlotte.”

  “What?” he bellowed, spinning around. “That settles it, then. I’m not coming.” He stormed toward the door.

  “Henry, you must come, and you will. I’m not happy about this myself.”

  He paused in the doorway. “Then why is she invited? It’s your home. You know how I feel about her, Eleanor.”

  “I told you, Mama invited her. It was rude and presumptuous of her to do so, but she has. What am I to do, uninvite the woman?”