Wickedly Ever After

  “I don’t think I need you to, Calvin. I think I understand everything perfectly.” Athena would not allow Lady Ponsonby to shock her with her nudity or her words. She brought the chair to the foot of the bed, and sat upon it. “Lady Ponsonby here was not totally frank with me when she told me she barely remembered your last name. In fact, she wanted it for herself, didn’t she?”

  Calvin perched himself on his side of the bed. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. As I said, you don’t know what love is, so you cannot understand what it does to a woman.”

  Calvin looked between the two women, clearly baffled by the silent communication between them.

  Athena folded her legs, another of Countess Cavendish’s faux pas. “Lady Ponsonby has harbored a deep affection for you for some time, Calvin. She’d do anything to become your wife. Even sacrifice me for it.”

  “You two have met?” he asked.

  The mirth was absent from Athena’s smile. “Oh, yes. You see, I begged her once to teach me how to make you fall in love with me. And she taught me what she knew. But she couldn’t teach me that. Because the fact was, she didn’t know herself.”

  Lady Ponsonby crossed her arms over her wrinkled stomach. “And yet, I’m the one in the bed with Calvin, not you.”

  Athena nodded pensively. “True. You may have mastered his cock. But that’s not how you draw out his devotion.”

  Her angular face adopted a shrewd expression. “It’ll do for a start.”

  Athena shook her head, recognizing her own foolish belief in that sentiment. Once upon a time, she had thought that that’s what it took to win a man’s love. She had even taught it to others. But she couldn’t have been more wrong. When a man is aroused, the intensity of his words, his embrace, his kisses, could easily confuse you into believing he cares for you. Marshall had taught her that. Love begets desire, but desire does not always beget love. When a man truly loves you, you will know it not from his kiss, but from his actions.

  “But it was the end you were looking forward to, an end that never came. Calvin never broached marriage to you. In fact, when you saw that he became more determined to wed me in order to satisfy his obligation to the duchess, that’s when you set out to ruin me. Even the duchess could not make Calvin marry me if I was a pariah. So you whispered to Nance what was going on at the school, a school you helped me create.”

  Lady Ponsonby’s large, dark eyes stared into Athena’s, eyes that had long ago lost all innocence. “Don’t pretend to be some poor put-upon ingénue. You asked for that knowledge, and you got it. But everything carries a price, and you can’t expect to acquire the blacker lessons of life without getting stained.”

  Athena recoiled. The older woman was right. Lady Ponsonby had been Athena’s fairy godmother, imbuing her with the sort of beauty she wanted to get her prince. But it was the wrong kind of beauty. And the wrong sort of prince.

  Athena rose from the chair and went to the door. “It occurs to me that I never properly thanked you for that knowledge. This then shall be my extension of gratitude—to the two of you. Lady Ponsonby, I shall never—ever—marry Calvin. You may have him. And Calvin, you may have Lady Ponsonby. You both richly deserve one another.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Every week that Athena avoided speaking to Edward Nance was a week that he printed more scandals in the Town Crier. An article appeared in which Athena’s parents were painted as profligate wastrels who impoverished her and tossed her into the gutter from which her grandfather was forced to take her in. A subsequent article was written casting her grandfather as a drunken scoundrel, whose daughter and son-in-law perished under suspicious and unwitnessed circumstances. The most recent article in the weekly periodical broadcast Hester as an embittered, childless woman whose husband refused to be seen with her in public. They were blatant distortions of the truth, but no one but Athena and Hester were to know that.

  Despite the scathing exposé, Athena and Hester went forward with their plan. Together, they paid a visit to all their students and their families. They endured the angry tirade of outraged parents, brothers, and guardians, furious with her for subjecting them to the most humiliating indignations. They were forced to listen to stories of being rebuffed on the streets, snubbed at parties, and denied admission to clubs. Once they spoke their piece, the family members then heard Athena and Hester say the last words they expected to hear: the students should return immediately to the school.

  Athena explained that the best way to avoid the taint of bad press was not to run from the questions, but to confront them. Keeping their daughters from finishing out the term was tantamount to an admission of complicity. If the ladies returned to the school, they would show the world that they had nothing whatsoever about which to feel ashamed. If they pulled out, a cloud of suspicion would follow them always.

  Hester could empathize with their plight. They were faced with two equally bleak prospects, neither of which offered much promise of protection from public scrutiny. But the only way to combat the prurient inquiry was to band together. A school divided against itself, she said, would bring failure upon all.

  On the day the school officially reopened, Athena and Hester sat in the parlor. Patiently, they waited for the students to show. Although they tried to keep the mood light, the mantel clock ticked away their hope. But when the front door sounded, both of them jumped. Without waiting for Gert, they ran to the door and flung it open. Lady Katherine and her mother were at the door, a footman unloading the former’s luggage. Athena was so happy she hugged all three of them, one by one.

  Within the span of an hour, four more of their students showed up, returning to finish out the term. By noon, all but three of the students had returned. Athena celebrated that night by having a buffet of sweets and engaging a trio of musicians for the ladies to dance.

  But Edward Nance would not be stopped. With each subsequent edition of the paper, he published articles about the school and its occupants. In the days to come, it became evident just how much notoriety Athena had developed. It was impossible to ignore the fact that people on the street rushed past the front door of the School of the Womanly Arts. Or to overlook the whispers behind fans when the students went on an outing to a park. But when she returned to the school and found the front door painted with the words PAYING WHORES, that’s when Athena decided that putting on a brave face was no longer enough.

  She hired a boy to paint over the insulting red words, donned her gloves and hat, and hired a cab to drive her to see the Duchess of Twillingham.

  That night in London, celebration was in the air. Everyone enjoyed the holiday atmosphere, the day that Napoleon Bonaparte surrendered at Waterloo, signifying the end of a long war.

  Gentlemen everywhere celebrated at their clubs, and Watier’s was no different. Though normally a shade more sedate, Watier’s was overflowing with the sum total of its members, and the noise inside was earsplitting. The air was thick with the smell of liquor and smoke, and most of the men stood in tight clusters toasting the victory. Admiral Jasper Rowland sidled up to his friend General Moncrief, a veritable statesman of the British Army, and slapped him on the back. “What do you call a French general who’s won the war?”

  General Moncrief, a man with a patch over one eye, just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Admiral Rowland’s florid face widened. “I don’t know either. There’s never been one before.”

  The laughter they raised caught Marshall’s ear. He could recognize Admiral Rowland’s deep-chested laugh even in this din. Marshall squeezed his way through the crowd until he reached the admiral.

  The admiral pulled Marshall in, slamming him against his wide body. “Ah, here’s my finest officer. Moncrief, you remember Captain Hawkesworth, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said, shaking Marshall’s hand. “You fought at Copenhagen and Trafalgar.”

  “Yes, sir. Congratulations on Waterloo. Outgunned, outmanned, outhorsed . . . it was
a real triumph for the army.”

  General Moncrief put a glass into Marshall’s hand. “That’s all Wellesley’s doing. First-rate strategist, that man is. All I ever do is nod my consent to whatever he proposes.”

  Admiral Rowland elbowed Marshall. “What I wouldn’t give to have met Boney in person on the high seas. One look at our newest hundred-gunners and the war would have been over. Say, why do French people always wear yellow?”

  Marshall swallowed the liquor hard. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”

  “To match the color of their blood!” The admiral guffawed.

  Marshall turned to the general. “Sir, would you mind terribly if I had a word in private with the admiral?”

  “Not at all. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  The club didn’t leave anywhere secluded, so Marshall just lowered his voice. “Admiral, I’d like to speak with you about my future in the navy.”

  The admiral waved his glass. “I thought you might be upset that I pulled you out when I did. You wanted to be in action when the war ended. Not to worry, Hawkesworth. There’s plenty of action still to be had. Spain, Ireland, those pesky Americans—”

  “No, sir. You see, I . . .” Marshall never thought he would ever speak these words. “I want to resign my commission.”

  Admiral Rowland smiled softly. “Oh.”

  Marshall did not expect the admiral’s equanimity. “You don’t seem terribly upset.”

  He sighed. “In truth, I had rather hoped you would.” At Marshall’s indignant expression, the admiral put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand me, my boy. His Majesty owes Britain’s military supremacy to men like you. As your commanding officer, I shall feel the loss of your command keenly. No man I know can take up your sword . . . I doubt there ever will be a man brave enough to do it. But as your friend, I can only express my supreme joy at your news. I trust your decision has something to do with a certain Miss McAllister?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The navy is a very jealous mistress, my boy. She demands all a man has for as long as he lives. I know. I have given in to her all my life. But the sea robs you of the pleasures of family, and I didn’t want you to miss out on that as I have done. You shouldn’t be like me, a man grown gray in service to the Crown, with no one to inspire him in his declining years. Not with a pistol of a woman like the one you’re lucky enough to marry. Mastering the sea will seem easy compared to mastering one such as she.”

  Marshall smiled wanly. “She’s been characterized erroneously in the press.”

  “I know. I’ve read that smut-rag of a paper. Perhaps people’s attention will be diverted to the good news about the war for a while.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Marrying you might change people’s minds about her. I say, Moncrief!” Admiral Rowland waved his drink in the air.

  The general turned his head, and walked back toward Rowland. “Yes?”

  “You know that lady that’s been in the papers, that Athena McAllister? She’s Hawkesworth’s fiancée.”

  “Really?” he said, his one good eyebrow lifting in surprise.

  “Yes, but don’t believe anything that paper has to say. I know the girl personally, and she’s as respectable as they come.”

  The general cocked his head. “You wouldn’t think so by the commotion she caused at Almack’s.”

  Marshall’s face blanched. “Athena was at Almack’s? When was this?”

  “Earlier this evening, while I was there. She asked to be allowed in to see the Duchess of Twillingham, but those snobbish Lady Patronesses refused her admittance. She caused the most frightful row. But what was more surprising is that the duchess actually went outside to meet her. And they left together in the duchess’s carriage. Raised a few eyebrows, I can tell you.”

  Marshall’s mind raced to figure out why Athena would go see the Duchess of Twillingham without him. “I should go find her. Thank you, General Moncrief. Admiral,” he said, shaking the man’s hand, “thank you for your friendship. I shall miss your jokes, sir.”

  The admiral’s white eyebrows lifted. “Not to worry. Do you know where you can find over three million more French jokes?”

  Marshall smiled broadly, nodding sagely as he exited. “Yes, sir. In France.”

  “That’s my boy!” the admiral said proudly.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Marshall was unable to track Athena down that night. Or, for that matter, the next morning. She was not at Almack’s. She was not at the School for the Womanly Arts. And neither she nor the duchess had been seen at the duchess’s home. Athena McAllister had simply vanished.

  Marshall was frantic when he arrived at the school again the next day. Fear had worked like yeast in his mind. His wavy blond hair, so naturally attractive, was tortured by his nervous hands. His cravat, which characteristically was tied with military precision, hung askew in his haste to leave the house. Dark smudges appeared under his eyes, bleary from lack of sleep. Despite his determination to believe that there was a rational reason for Athena’s disappearance, he couldn’t prevent sinister images of evil befalling her from snaking through his head.

  Gert showed him into the dining room. Sweet piano music trilled from behind the doors of the parlor, but it collided with his anxious mood. Hester joined him within moments. “Marshall, are you all right?”

  “Have you had any word from Athena?”

  “No,” she said regretfully. “I was tempted to inform the constabulary, but I was afraid of casting more aspersions on her character if word got to the press she’d been out all night.”

  He shook his head. “What could have become of her? You’re sure she left no note?”

  “We’ve looked everywhere. She just told Gert she was stepping out and then disappeared into the street. I haven’t even told the students. Who, incidentally, are inside the parlor receiving a lecture from Mr. Bainbridge, the dance instructor. I oughtn’t to leave them unchaperoned.”

  “No, o-of course not. You go back inside. I’ll . . . head out to Endsleigh Grange. Maybe she decided to go to her grandfather’s house for some reason. At any rate, I should alert him that she is missing, just in case she turns up—” Dead, he caught himself thinking, and the idea froze his blood.

  The front door opened, and he heard footsteps. Marshall raced into the hall.

  The morning sun exploded from the open door, blinding him from gazing upon the silhouette in the doorframe. As she removed her bonnet, burnished hair cascaded down her back.

  “Athena! Thank God you’re alive!” He squeezed her tightly, grateful to have her soft, yielding body with him still.

  She scooped her arms under his. “Gosh, what a wonderful welcome. I wish everyone were as happy to see me as you are.”

  Hester appeared behind him, relief in her voice. “We thought you’d disappeared.”

  “What . . . in a puff of smoke?”

  Suddenly, like a barrel stripped of its iron hoops, the joy drained from him. He seized her by the arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been mad with worry. How can you leave and not tell anyone where you’d gone?”

  The alarm in his voice brought a few curious faces to the parlor room door, where the music had stopped because of the commotion. Lady Katherine brought a hand to her chest. “Oh! Good morning, Mr. Marshall.”

  Marshall straightened, and turned toward the parlor door. “Good morning, ladies. Please continue your lesson. I hope you’ll excuse me while I kill your headmistress in private.” He took her by her gloved wrist and pulled her toward the dining room.

  “Athena, what happened to you last night?”

  “I’d love to tell you, Marshall, but I haven’t the time.”

  “The hell you haven’t. I was told you drove away with the Duchess of Twillingham. Is this true?”

  “Yes.”

  “What business did you have with her?”

  Athena bit her lip. “Marshall, I really must go. I’m expecting some guests.”


  He shook his head. “Have you any idea what you put me through last night?”

  Her face softened. “I didn’t know you’d be looking for me. I’m sorry.” She stood on tiptoe and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

  His eyes became hard slits. “By God, it will cost you a lot more than that.” He lowered his head and consumed her mouth with his own. He drove her head back with his kiss, the surprise of his assault making her cry out into his mouth. Bent over his arm, her waist was crushed against his body, and he sensed her heartbeat quicken with both fear and arousal.

  “Don’t ever frighten me like that again,” he warned.

  She shook her head dumbly, her rapid breath fanning his face.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Athena jumped. “You have to go now, Marshall.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this will be easier without you.”

  “Who’s that at the door?”

  Athena pursed her lips together. “Edward Nance.”

  Marshall’s scowl blackened. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I asked him to come.”

  “What are you scheming?”

  “A gambit. Queen takes rook.”

  With a clipped, purposeful stride, Athena walked to the front door.

  The man at the door removed his hat. “Miss McAllister?”

  He was not at all as she expected. The animosity that Athena had harbored for Edward Nance these past weeks had made her imagine him to be a snarling old man with pinpoint eyes hunched over cheap parchment with his poison pen. Instead, she found him to be tall and rather handsome, if modestly dressed. He was in his mid-forties, with just a splash of gray discoloring his black hair, and his eyes had a caramel-colored hue. But the smell of cigar smoke that clung to his clothes turned her stomach.

  “Mr. Nance. Do come in.”

  “Thank you,” he said, his perspicacious eyes darting all around the house. “I hear music. Are you having a party?”

  “My students are having a dancing lesson. Won’t you come into the front sitting room?”