Lexford’s optimism faded. “And the opportunity?” he whispered into the tense silence between them.
“Swenton was the only one absent from the tent when Fowler initiated the ruckus over Ashmita. If you recall, the baron returned only seconds before the melee began.
The edge of Lexford’s rising incredulity enflamed his words. “Then it is possible Lady Swenton used an assumed name so no one could trace the jewel to her husband. To prevent the cloak of guilt to cover the baron. Could Lady Swenton have recognized the possibility Lady Fiona had taken it upon herself to create several fine pieces from Mir’s emerald? Surely the former Miss Aldridge possessed some knowledge of the jewel. She was part of the guise we practiced when Jamot staged the kidnappings of Velvet Aldridge and Sonali Fowler in exchange for the emerald’s return.”
Pennington reasoned, “We hold too many questions to announce Swenton as a thief, but we must practice caution. I have previously sent men to Vienna to discover more of Lady Fiona’s passing and of the baron’s speedy marriage. Until we possess more answers, I want you two to keep your suspicions private. If Swenton thinks we are watching him, he will cloak his steps.”
*
It had been a stroke of luck, which had brought her the information she sought. After recuperating for two days at Briar House, Isolde had rejoined her staff at the hotel. The duchess had escorted Miss Neville to the suites Satiné and her uncle occupied.
“Miss Neville is not to lift anything heavy for at least another sennight,” Velvet had explained.
“I understand,” Satiné had replied grudgingly. Her sister spoke to her as if Satiné were a misbehaving child, and the duchess’s tone gnawed at Satiné’s already worn-thin congeniality.
Ashton asked, “Is there word from Lord Swenton? I am anxious to return to Manchester.”
Satiné sniped, “You must not remain in London on my account.”
Her Uncle Charles huffed in exasperation. “We mean to reestablish your reputation, Satiné. That cannot happen if you reside alone in a hotel. It is just not done in England. You are no longer upon the Continent.”
“I wish I were,” she murmured under her breath. More loudly Satiné asserted, “There is another option. My husband owns a Town house: It would be acceptable for the mistress of the house to reside under her husband’s roof without more than her lady’s companion and maid as her chaperones.”
The duchess confided, “Thornhill expects Lord Swenton to call at Thorn Hall on Monday; Tuesday at the latest.”
Satiné counted the days: five, possibly six, until her husband’s return. “As you have claimed my guardianship, I shall follow your direction, but surely Lord Swenton meant for us to enjoy part of London’s entertainments. After all, we have waited to celebrate our joining, what with my illness and my Lord’s responsibilities to his estate.”
Ashton ended the conversation. “I will discuss what should be our course of action with Thornhill tomorrow. Until then, the subject is closed.”
Knowing her uncle’s stubbornness, Satiné swallowed her other suggestions and resigned herself to be patient. If Ashton did not deposit her at Swenton Hall, she would use her femininity to convince her husband to seek his London’s residence.
*
Isolde listened carefully to the conversation. Despite her best efforts to ignore her growing interest in His Lordship, she anxiously rejoiced in the possibility of Lord Swenton’s return. He was not hers–never would be, but that fact did not keep her foolish heart from beating a little more quickly with the just the mention of his name. She had decided over her two days of “luxury” under the Duke of Thornhill’s roof that she would see His Lordship and Lady Swenton together. She would set herself the task of leading the baroness to treat her new husband with more kindness, and she would continue to advise the baron as how best to approach his wayward wife. Above all else, Isolde wished Lord Swenton to know happiness, and the man was, obviously, in love with his wife. It hurt her to think Lady Swenton might make his life miserable, and so Isolde would do what she could to set things aright.
However, her hopes for a speedy reconciliation died quickly when she heard Lady Swenton’s “sweet” tones of encouragement regarding Lord Swenton’s London house. Her mistress had set a plan in motion to remain in London. Such a plan would require that Isolde remain vigilant regarding Lord Swenton’s best interests.
*
Satiné had agreed to leave Rupert under Thornhill’s protection. The duke had thought he had deprived her of some precious treasure, but Satiné was not the kind of mother her elder sister was. She had been content to permit others to tend the boy. The child had not brought her the happiness she had sought with Henrí. Satiné easily recalled how each of her innocent dreams had been crushed. “Neither my father or my wife will approve of my keeping a mistress,” Henrí had protested lamely when she had hinted he should introduce her to his father. The word wife had been a dagger thrust deep into her heart. Shortly following this conversation, Henrí had been recalled to Rintoul, and she had accepted the invitation of Lady Fiona to join the late baroness in Vienna. “Too many mistakes,” she silently warned her foolish heart. “You can no longer act with such inexperience.”
The duke rode beside her uncle’s coach. Both men meant to escort her to Lord Swenton’s home and to provide specific orders to the baron’s staff. Satiné would permit the men their delusions. She meant to have her way, and there was little either man could do to stop her.
The duke dismounted to assist her to the ground. Satiné looked up at the building. “Not the most fashionable part of Town,” she remarked.
“Baron Swenton’s ancestors have known this property for five generations. It is an excellent home, built with pride. You would do well to honor your husband’s family and traditions.”
Satiné said prettily, “You are a loyal friend to Lord Swenton, but what passes between my Lord and me is of no concern to others.”
The duke leaned closer to protect his words. “You are foolhardy if you think John Swenton will not rebel against what you offer. The baron’s talent is seeing through the machinations of those who are deceitful.” With that, he marched her to the door to release the knocker. Satiné thought, We shall see how perceptive Lord Swenton is around a woman he desires.
Immediately the door swung wide. “Your Grace.” The butler bowed low.
Thornhill directed her inside. Ashton followed with Miss Neville and Sally. “Baron Ashton and I have brought your new mistress to Swenton Hall. The baron will arrive on Tuesday next.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” The butler bowed again. “Welcome, Baroness. I am Mr. Cooper.” He assisted her with her cloak. “We had no news of the baron’s joining.”
“It is understandable,” Thornhill responded for her. “The baron and my wife’s sister exchanged their vows while in Vienna. There was no time since to think of opening Lord Swenton’s house. The baron had several pressing matters with which to address upon his arrival on our shores.” He gestured to her uncle. “Baron Ashton and I would prefer to speak to you regarding arrangements to be made before Lord Swenton’s arrival, but perhaps we should wait in the baron’s study while you see to rooms for the baroness and her companion, as well as her lady’s maid.”
“Immediately, Your Grace. Would you care to lead the way, Sir, or shall I?”
“I will settle everyone. You tend to the appropriate arrangements, Mr. Cooper.”
*
Isolde did not approve of the idea of Lady Swenton assuming her position in the baron’s household without his knowledge. Somehow it reeked of a betrayal of the trust he had placed in his wife, but Isolde was in no position to protest, only to observe and to chronicle the changes Lady Swenton meant to make. Although a bit dated, her room was lovely, as were the other rooms she had seen. Antiques. Gold trimmings. Polished silver. It was obvious Lord Swenton had rarely entertained, especially female guests. His grandmother likely had chosen the items. From what she had learned of his mothe
r, Lady Fiona had wanted nothing to do with the Swenton family–a fact very much reminiscent of the current baroness.
Unlike Isolde, Lady Swenton had complained from the first moment the housemaid had shown her to the baroness’s suite. “Thank Goodness, Viscount Lexford has suggested a competent young woman to assist with redecorating. I shan’t be made to suffer with old lace forever.” She snarled her nose at the maid’s efforts to please her.
Upon attending her mistress, Isolde dutifully awaited Lady Swenton’s orders. Despite her vow to see the baron and baroness to an understanding, each day Isolde was more certain she would soon leave the baroness’s service: She had grown weary of the girl’s manipulations. She would have departed long since if not for Isolde’s uncharacteristic fascination with Lord Swenton. She did not understand Lady Swenton’s purpose. The baroness held the steady regard of a titled gentleman, who meant to protect the girl from her own folly; and yet, Lady Swenton sought something intangible. Isolde could not imagine what more any woman could desire. Lord Swenton was a man worth knowing. A kind man. A man built for safeguard. Whereas, Lady Swenton sought the glamour–the false admiration–the total consumption of pleasure. It made little sense to Isolde, who had never wished for anything more than what she had observed among her family: trust, truth, and devotion.
“As your injury prevents you from managing my correspondence, I will address the notes I wish to send out.” Isolde wondered to whom the baroness meant to write; she prayed her mistress did not intend to contact the odious Lord Morse. “In the interval, I expect you to meet with the baron’s cook and plan our meals for the upcoming week. Please ask the cook…”
“Mrs. Ridley,” Isolde supplied.
“Please ask Mrs. Ridley,” Lady Swenton emphasized, “to have refreshments available. I mean to entertain callers.”
Isolde reasoned, “No one knows we are in residence at Swenton Hall.”
“Of course, no one knows,” Lady Swenton said with a girlish giggle. “But they will after I make morning calls tomorrow. Even with your hand in that unstylish sling, I expect you to accompany me. We shall spend no more than a quarter hour at any one address. I have several recent acquaintances I mean to invite to Swenton Hall.”
Isolde thought upon Lady Swenton’s choice of associates, women known for their snide opinions and their suggestive ways of speaking to any gentlemen in attendance, while the men would be classified as rakes and rogues. It was not a social circle to which a recently married girl should aspire.
Chapter Twelve
They had called upon five households on the following day. At each, Isolde had remained in the shadows and observed, as Lady Swenton became the young pawn in the hands of obviously sophisticated women. “You really must join us at Lady Benson’s masquerade or Friday; otherwise, you leave poor Morse in Miss Callender’s hands.” Lady Sanderson said in the manner of all women offering a temptation.
“Miss Callender? The girl with no connections? Why would Morse wish to entertain such a insipid miss?”
The Ladies Kelley and Sanderson sniggered. “The same reason half the ton traces after the girl: her forty thousand pounds dowry,” they said in unison. Isolde thought they must have practiced the line for it was perfectly delivered.
“Oh,” Lady Swenton said as if she had never considered the fact Morse could be bought as easily as any man among the beau monde. Isolde watched as her mistress shook her head in the manner of clearing it. Finally, Lady Swenton whispered, “I am not familiar with Lady Benson.”
Viscountess Sanderson ignored the girl’s protest. “We do not stand on such propriety among friends.” The woman sipped her tea and pretended not to notice the baroness’s anticipation; however, expectancy was clearly written on Lady Swenton’s countenance. “Has Lord Swenton returned to London? We would all take pleasure in his presence. You are most fortunate, my Dear, to have a ruggedly handsome mate.” It sounded to Isolde as if Lady Sanderson would enjoy a tryst with the baron; however, Lady Swenton did not hear the “invitation” in the older woman’s tone.
“I cannot imagine Lord Swenton would enjoy a masquerade,” she responded with a bit of innocence, a characteristic Isolde had nearly forgotten existed in Lady Swenton’s repertoire.
Lady Sanderson had said with a knowing smile, “Men of Baron Swenton’s caliber enjoy a variety of entertainments. If the rumors from the Continent were true, your husband would come by his ‘desires’ naturally. I understand Lady Fiona Swenton regularly hosted luscious soirees.”
“Oh, yes,” Lady Swenton gushed. “I attended several of Lady Fiona’s fetes. My husband’s mother was known for her string of young lovers.” With her mistress’s confession, Isolde cringed. Even without his acquaintance, Isolde would have recognized Baron Swenton as a very private man. Why could not the baroness abide by her husband’s wish for secrecy regarding his mother?
“Do tell,” Lady Sanderson prodded.
“Mostly painters. A few actors. Minor aristocrats,” the baroness disclosed with delight. “A taste for everyone but her late husband. Of course, I did not realize she was Baron Swenton’s mother; Lady Fiona claimed they were distant cousins. It was only after her death that I realized she was His Lordship’s mother. Lady Fiona held no maternal instincts.”
With rancor, Isolde thought, Neither do you.
Viscountess Sanderson snatched at the fact, which was not common knowledge. “Lady Fiona has passed?”
“Most decided so. My Lord has escorted his mother’s remains to Marwood Manor. Can you imagine going to such extremes for a woman who constantly denied one’s very existence?”
Avoiding the baroness’s eyes, Lady Sanderson paused and then encouraged the girl to elaborate. “I shall understand if you choose not to attend the Bensons’ masquerade. After all, your household is in mourning. I am surprised you do not wear black.”
Lady Swenton announced, “I do not intend to grieve for a woman for whom I never cared. As to my wearing black, with my coloring, I would appear a witch from a children’s story.”
*
Lord Morse had sent flowers, but he had made no appearance at Swenton Hall. It was one of the few blessings Isolde could count over the days following their morning calls upon the ton. Several of the Society tabbies had called upon the baroness. Evidently, the baron had avoided such popularity, and the women were quite curious as to the baron’s Town address, the new baroness, and the baron’s once secret family history.
Unfortunately, Lady Swenton could not see their vicious tongues wagging with rumors. The girl delighted in telling one and all every fact she knew of the baron’s life. When she referenced his connection to the Home Office, Isolde had purposely spilled her tea upon her mistress’s lap. Although Isolde knew little of Lord Swenton’s service to England, she could not imagine his position should be spoken of so openly.
“Look at my gown!” Lady Swenton had hissed.
“I apologize, Baroness. The cup slipped from my hand.” Isolde still wore the sling Mr. Granwithe, the duke’s personal surgeon, had insisted she wear for yet another week.
“Be from my sight!” Lady Swenton had ordered as he dabbed at the wet gown.
“We should depart so you might change,” Lady Kelley had said graciously. “We shall continue our conversation this evening at the masquerade.”
“Certainly,” Lady Swenton had said through tight lips. “I have household matters to which to attend before this evening’s entertainment.” Her mistress had shown the women from the room, asking a footman to escort them to their waiting carriage. Isolde braced herself for the baroness’s vituperations. “Despite your recent injury, your movement appeared most focused,” she declared suspiciously.
“I assure you, Baroness. Guile was not part of what occurred. Poor judgment, yes. Deception, no.” A lie to save the baron’s tattered reputation was worth Isolde’s prayers of repentance.
“I shall not require your company this evening,” Lady Swenton declared. “A footman will escort me.”
>
“As you wish, Ma’am.” Yet, Isolde had already hatched an scheme to prevent her mistress from making an error in judgment.
*
Once Lady Swenton had sought her bed for a restorative sleep, Isolde had stolen the opportunity to call in at the nearest apothecary. She was aware she could find laudanum in the baroness’s quarters, but she wanted no one to know what she had planned. It was her intention to keep Lady Swenton from sharing more of the baron’s secrets and from imbibing in the debauchery the masquerade offered. It had taken less than a half hour to locate an establishment selling the medicinal and to return to Swenton Hall. She paid for the item with the funds Lord Swenton had advanced her. Isolde thought it ironic he would pay for the deception Isolde meant to practice. Returning to Swenton Hall, she had called in at the kitchen, where she knew Sally would be keeping company with Pauley, one of Lord Swenton’s footmen. “You should see to Lady Swenton’s dress for this evening,” she said as she awkwardly poured herself a cup of tea.
“You went out?” Pauley remarked.
“Just to the park across the street. A quick stretch of the legs. I am accustomed to long walks. Town life does not afford such luxuries.” She sat at the rough table to drink her tea as she planned what to do next. It was essential she not be seen as the culprit in this matter.
Sally rose slowly from her position beside Pauley. “I should do as Miss Neville suggests. Lady Swenton was in a snit when Miss Neville spilled the tea earlier. I shan’t wish to upset Her Ladyship again. I must make her another vinaigrette to match her gown for the masquerade.”
Pauley followed Sally to his feet. “I am to escort the baroness this evening. I should polish me boots again so as not to shame the new mistress.”
Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor Page 16