‘Do stop staring, Seb, it is not at all the thing.’ Kitty, resplendent in red silk, her justly famous bosom demurely covered by a spangled scarf, tugged reprovingly at his arm. ‘And take that cynical look off your face. These people are seeking solace from their loved ones, just as I am. Do not mock them, or me, for that matter.’
Sebastian eyed his about-to-be-ex-mistress with some surprise. ‘You really do believe in this balderdash, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. And so too do the rest of the audience, so you will please me this one last time, and refrain from disrupting the proceedings.’ Kitty adjusted her bracelet over her evening glove, then drew him a very candid look. ‘Oh yes, I know your mind better than you think. I am perfectly well aware that you are about to give me my congé, so I will accept your promise to behave as the gentleman you were raised to be in lieu of any more prosaic payment.’
‘Alas, I had already purchased diamonds for you. But if you are sure...’
‘Then of course, it would be very rude of me to decline them,’ Kitty said with one of her sweetest smiles.
‘You may have my promise and the jewellery both,’ Sebastian said, making the smallest of bows, ‘and please accept my compliments too. Our time together has been most pleasurable.’
‘Naturally it has. My reputation is not undeserved.’ Once more Kitty adjusted her bracelet, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Nor indeed is yours, my lord. The pleasure has been quite mutual.’
He would have been flattered had he cared, but he did not. They were both adept at giving pleasure. They had both had many years’ practice. They were skilled enough to have turned love-making into an art and indifferent enough to ensure that it remained exactly that—a pleasant pastime which was neither necessary nor encroaching, an indulgence of the senses which was no drain on the emotions.
Which, thought Sebastian, as he watched the other attendees begin to seat themselves around the large table placed in the centre of the room, explained why he was so bored. He needed change. And he needed distance. That last interview with his father preyed on his mind. Having the marquis threaten to disown him unless he mended his profligate ways should have felt like a victory, but the truth was, Sebastian’s taste for scandal and his reputation for refusing no wager, no matter how dangerous, had become as tedious to him as they were repugnant to his father. Perhaps he should consider the Continent.
There were still two empty spaces at the table. As the maidservant circled the room dimming the lamps, one of the chairs was taken by a lady. Tall and slim, he could not at first see her face, which was obscured by her neighbour, but there was something, a prickling awareness, which drew his attention. Unlike the other women, she did not wear an evening gown, but a plain muslin dress with long sleeves, cut high at the neck. Her hair was piled in a careless knot on top of her head. Even in the dim light, he could see it gleaming. His memory stirred.
The arrival of the medium, an impressively large woman bedecked in lilac, intruded on his view. Mrs Foster, spirit guide and conduit to the hereafter, to give her her full billing, took the remaining empty chair. The lights were extinguished and the séance began.
* * *
Grateful for the anonymity afforded by the dark, Caro concentrated on trying to get her breath back. Bella, with Cressie in tow and no doubt the cause of their tardy departure, had only just left Cavendish Square for the Frobishers’ ball, resulting in Caro having to run all the way here, unwilling to risk waiting for a passing hackney cab, lest she miss the beginning of the séance. She had come on impulse, pretending a headache after a piece on Mrs Foster in the Morning Post had piqued her interest. Her sensible self told her that it was silly to expect to make contact with her mother, who had been dead nearly fifteen years, during which time her ghost had stubbornly refused to appear. Her sensible self told her that even if Mama did want to communicate in some way, it was highly unlikely that she would do so through Mrs Foster, with whom Lady Catherine Armstrong had never, to the best of Caro’s knowledge, been acquainted. So spoke Caro’s sensible self, but her secret self was slightly desperate and could not help but hope.
‘Let us all join hands.’
Mrs Foster had surprisingly large, meaty hands, more suited to a butcher than a medium. Her fingers, which rested on Caro’s, were warm in contrast to those of the man seated on her other side, which had the quality of parchment and made her shiver. Like someone walking over your grave, melodramatic Cassie would say. Could this woman really conjure voices from beyond the grave? As the room grew suddenly cold, Caro began to think it possible.
‘Concentrate,’ Mrs Foster intoned in a deep, sonorous voice, ‘concentrate on summoning the spirits of the dear departed.’
The silence intensified, becoming thick as treacle. A smell, a terrible noxious stench, horribly like something emerging from a crypt, drifted into the room, carried on wisps of strange white smoke. One of the women seated round the table began to whimper. Caro’s hand was clutched painfully tight by the man at her side. On her other side, Mrs Foster’s hand had become icy and cold, like marble.
Caro tried not to panic. Part of her was sure it was a charade, but another part of her was afraid that it was not. She had assumed that speaking to Mama would be reassuring, that knowing Mama was there for her would make it easier to bear the absences of those who were not—Papa, Cassie, Celia—and accept the presence of the one person she wished really would go away, Bella. But whatever presence was in this room, it was not benevolent.
The smoke drifted towards the ceiling, and the smell changed, from acrid and dank to something sweeter. Lilies perhaps? The clutching man next to her gasped, making Caro jump. Of its own accord, the table rattled, and the muslin curtains at the long windows blew gently as a light breeze wafted through the salon. One of the female guests squealed. Caro, her leg pressed too close to Mrs Foster’s voluminous skirts, had felt the woman’s knee jerk upwards, but was it before or after the table moved? She could not be sure.
The medium began to speak, her voice tremulous. ‘I have someone standing behind me. Catherine.’
Catherine was Mama’s name. A cold sweat prickled Caro’s spine.
‘Catherine.’ The medium’s voice grew higher in pitch, like the whine of a recalcitrant child. ‘Is Catherine there? She wishes to speak to Catherine.’
To Catherine. The disappointment was so acute that it made Caro feel sick and slightly silly. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mama may have to wait her turn, if she appeared at all. She almost jumped out of her skin when the woman on the other side of the table spoke up, claiming this ghost as hers.
‘Mama?’ the woman said uncertainly. ‘Mama, is that you? It is I, Catherine. Kitty.’
‘Kitty.’
The voice, the same strangled, whining voice which had emanated from Mrs Foster, now seemed to be projected from the other side of the room. A trick? Surely it must be a trick. Had the medium’s lips moved? Caro couldn’t see.
‘Catherine. Kitty. It is your mama.’
A muffled shriek greeted this statement. ‘I am so sorry for our quarrel, Mama. Can you forgive me? I know you disapprove of my—my career, but it has brought me prosperity and security. Please try to be proud of me.’
‘Of course I am, my darling daughter. I am at peace now, Kitty. At peace.’
The voice trailed away. Still, Caro could not tell if it came from Mrs Foster or some other presence. The table rattled again. The smell of lilies grew sickly sweet, and the medium spoke once more, this time in a deep growl. ‘George?’
There was no answer. The attendees waited, it seemed to Caro, with bated breath, until the name was uttered again. More silence.
‘Edward?’ Mrs Foster ventured, in that now familiar high-pitched voice.
The clutching man at Caro’s side let go of her hand. ‘Nancy? Could it be my Nancy?’
‘Edward, it
is your Nancy. It is I, my dear.’
She wanted to believe it, but it struck Caro that Mrs Foster’s messages from beyond the grave seemed to rely on information provided by the audience rather than the spirit world. It had to be a trick. Of course, she’d known it would most likely be so, but all the same...
Her fear turned to anger. It was not fair, to give out the promise of false hope. What an utter fool she had been to think it could be otherwise. Even if Mrs Foster hadn’t been a charlatan—yes, there went the table again, and this time Caro was sure that the medium’s knee jerked before and not after—even if she had been bona fide, even if Mama had made contact, what comfort could she have given her daughter? Bella still hated her. Papa still acted as if he cared nothing for her—or any of his daughters. And Caro was still faced with the prospect of either making a good match to please him or spending the rest of her life looking after Bella’s many progeny. Her stepmother had already given birth to two boys, and she was increasing again. Killellan stripped of all of her sisters would be unbearable. Cressie, in her second Season, was bound to make a match in the near future, and Cordelia made no secret of her desire to wed as soon as possible in order to escape home, where Bella and her infant sons ruled the roost. Caro sighed. Why was it that doing one’s duty seemed sometimes so unrewarding?
Having assured George that his Nancy, like Kitty’s mama, was very happy and at peace, Mrs Foster slumped back in her chair with a deep, animalistic groan which distracted Caro from her melancholy thoughts. Her hand was released. As if by magic, though obviously with the impeccable timing of practice, the maid appeared to turn up the lamps. Caro rubbed her eyes. Across the table from her, a woman was sobbing delicately into her kerchief. The aforementioned Kitty, she presumed, and obviously wholly convinced that she had just communed with her mother. Lucky Kitty, to be so easily placated.
Caro stared at her, fascinated. The woman was voluptuously beautiful. Tears sparkled on her absurdly long dark lashes, but signally failed to either redden the woman’s nose or make tracks down her creamy skin. When Caro cried, which she hated to do, her nose positively bloomed and her skin turned a blotchy red.
A prickling feeling, a sense of somebody watching her, made her drag her eyes away from the beauty to the man at her side. Her heart did sickening somersaults as she looked quickly away. It could not be he, it simply could not be. She sneaked another glance. It was him! What on earth was Sebastian doing here? Surely not, like her, in the hopes of communing with his dead mother!
It was almost four years since they had met, four years since she had tumbled headlong into that girlish crush which she ought to have recovered from long since. Which of course she had recovered from! It was a shock, that was all, seeing him here, looking even more raffishly handsome than she remembered. He had garnered a frankly wicked reputation in that time, while she had turned him, in her imagination, into her dashing knight in shining armour, riding to her rescue in her dreams, taking her away from the tedium and loneliness of her life at Killellan.
Kitty appeared to be his companion. There was something proprietary about the way the woman put her hand on Sebastian’s arm. And something not quite proper in the way she was dressed. Too much bosom on display, even if it was quite magnificent. Caro’s eyes widened. She must be his mistress. Yes, definitely his mistress, and a—what was the saying?—yes, a pearl of the first water, more than worthy of Sebastian’s reputation. Of a certainty, someone of his poise and experience would not look twice at a gauche stork-like female with carrot hair and no bosom to speak of. Except that he was staring, frowning at her, oblivious to his mistress’s tears.
He looked shocked. It hadn’t occurred to her until now, so taken up with her foolish hopes had she been, but she supposed her presence here was a bit shocking. And now she was blushing. Caro pushed her chair back, intent on leaving before he could approach her, because though the thing she wanted most in the world was to talk to him, the thing she wanted least in the world was to be chastised by him, especially in the presence of his beautiful companion. Stumbling from the table, she was halfway across the room when Sebastian caught up with her.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’
Caro turned. He was not quite so tall as she remembered, though that was probably because she had acquired so many extra inches as to make her a positive maypole, according to Bella. And he did seem bigger—broader, more solid, more intimidating, if she was of a mind to be intimidated, which she was not! ‘Good evening, my lord. I seem to recall you asking me a similar question when we last met in your grounds. I see your manners have not improved much in the interim.’ Her voice sounded quite cool, she was pleased to note. ‘As to what I am doing here, I could easily ask you the same question. I had not thought you the kind to be interested in the afterlife.’
‘One life is quite enough,’ Sebastian replied feelingly.
Damned right, was her instinctive reply. She swallowed the words with a small, prim smile. ‘If there is such a thing as an afterlife, I doubt very much that Mrs Foster has access to it.’
‘I am relieved to hear that you were not taken in by the charade. What the devil brought you here, and alone too?’
His eyes were shadowed, with lines flanking the corners of them which had not been there before. Two more lines drew his brow into a permanent furrow. His mouth still turned down in that fascinating way. He had not the look of a happy soul. ‘If you must know, I came here for the same reasons as everyone else—yourself excepted. I had the stupidest notion that I might contact my mother. I thought—oh, it doesn’t matter what I thought, Sebastian, it is none of your business.’
‘Does your father know about this escapade?’
‘Certainly not. He has no interest in speaking to Mama. Oh, you mean he would disapprove of my being here. You may rest assured that he is quite oblivious, as is he seems to be of everything I do, provided it does not damage the prospects he has lined up for me.’
‘His game of matrimonial chess has begun then,’ Sebastian said.
‘You remember that!’
Sebastian grinned. ‘You almost gave me an apoplexy when you leapt on to Burkan.’
Goodness, but she had forgotten the effect his smile had on her. Caro tried and failed to suppress her own. ‘I don’t know why I did it, except that you were so very certain I should not.’
‘And is that why you are here tonight, because you know you ought not to be?’
‘What a very false impression you have of me. I will have you know, that of the five sisters, I am known as the dutiful one.’
At this, he gave a bark of laughter. The deep, masculine sound of it brought the attention of everyone in the room, including the beauty he had escorted who, having recovered her black-velvet evening cloak, was sashaying towards them, all creamy skin, black-as-night hair and voluptuous figure. Caro felt her own shortcomings acutely.
‘My lord,’ the beauty said, ‘I am much fatigued by this experience, and would return home.’
Sebastian was looking suddenly extremely uncomfortable. Obviously, introducing his mistress to his neighbour’s newly-out daughter was not a task he relished. His discomfort stirred the devil in her. ‘My lord,’ Caro said, ‘will you not introduce me to your companion?’
Now he looked appalled. Emboldened, she held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I am Lady Caroline Armstrong.’
Kitty, herself looking slightly taken aback, dropped a curtsy. ‘Miss Garrison. I am honoured, my lady. Mrs Foster has a remarkable gift, has she not?’
‘I’m afraid Lady Caroline is rather more of a sceptic than you, Kitty,’ Sebastian drawled.
‘Lady Caroline prefers to keep an open mind,’ Caro said pointedly. Did he not realise that his mistress was most likely content to be duped? ‘Really, Sebastian, you are every bit as rude as I recall.’
And a good deal more attractive to boot. Hea
vens, but she must not let him see the effect he had on her, it would be mortifying. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you again,’ Caro said, ‘but I must go.’
Sebastian took her hand and surprised her by bowing over it, brushing his lips over the tips of her fingers. His mouth was warm on her skin. His kiss was no more intimate than many she had received since coming out, but it felt very different. She wondered what it would like to kiss him properly, and suddenly remembered wondering the exact same thing that first time they had met. It was a struggle to retain her composure, but she managed. Just.
‘Sebastian, I think we had best be on our way,’ Kitty said with a pointed look at her lover. ‘All this excitement has quite overset me.’
Caro snatched back her hand. Sebastian clasped his behind his back and rocked on to the heels of his polished Hessians. No evening wear for him, despite his mistress’s attire. Had he come here straight from her bed? The thought made her stomach churn. She conjured up a faint smile. ‘You are quite correct, Miss Garrison. I must bid you both goodnight, it was a pleasure.’
‘You have a carriage waiting, I assume?’ Sebastian asked.
‘No, I shall have Mrs Foster’s servant hail a hackney.’
He looked at her, aghast. ‘You surely would not travel alone at night in a public carriage.’
‘Really, it is no distance, and...’
‘Sebastian is quite right,’ Kitty Garrison interjected. ‘Better that he escort you and I will make my own way. No, pray do not protest, I am far more capable of looking after myself on the streets of London than you are. Nor need you have any qualms that you are interfering with our plans for the evening. We have agreed we no longer suit, is that not so, my lord?’
Sebastian bowed. ‘With regret.’
Kitty Garrison laughed softly. ‘No regrets, my lord, only diamonds. You may have them sent round in the morning.’
Rumors That Ruined a Lady Page 4