Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  “Lady Wolcott’s mother was a Peabody,” interceded Saybrook smoothly.

  “Hmmph.” Another look, this one unaided by special optics. “I can’t say that I see the resemblance.”

  “Such things are not always so apparent,” replied the earl. Before his aunt could respond, he quickly changed the subject. “I see you have met Lord Percival Grentham, Lady Wolcott.”

  “Yes, and I cannot say that the experience is one I care to repeat.”

  “And no wonder.” The dowager gave a small sniff. “These days I hear he is better known as ‘Persecute’ Grentham. He was not, however, such an odious man in his youth. His mother would be greatly disappointed at what a stick in the mud he has become.”

  “Yes, but like most of London’s citizens, she would be terrified to say it aloud, for fear of being hauled off to prison on charges of sedition,” quipped the earl.

  Repressing a shudder, Arianna tried not to recall his cold-blooded touch. “I admit, his manner was intimidating. I shall take care to avoid him in the future.”

  “A wise choice,” murmured Saybrook. His gaze held hers for a moment, and for some reason, the fleeting connection helped settle her nerves. There was, she admitted, something to be said for not feeling utterly alone.

  “Ha, let him try to breathe fire and brimstone at me, and he will end up with his own bum burned,” remarked Lady Sterling.

  Arianna ducked her head to hide a smile. Strange, but she felt an immediate kinship with the outspoken dowager. Which was ludicrous, considering that the only thing that had drawn them together was a web of lies.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said the earl. “You can be quite a dragon when you so choose.”

  “Ungrateful boy.” Lady Sterling rapped his shoulder with her fan. “You will have the poor gel more frightened of me than of Grentham.”

  Saybrook’s jaw gave a tiny little tic, as if he were trying not to laugh. “I would guess that any relative of ours is made of sterner stuff than that.”

  The dowager turned her attention to Arianna. “Ignore my nephew’s teasings. He can be impossibly annoying at times.” She cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, he tells me you have only recently arrived in Town.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Well, you must come pay me a visit if you wish any advice for how to get along in Society. Sandro will tell you that there is not a soul who knows more about the ton and its secrets than I do.”

  Secrets. Keeping a smile pasted in place, Arianna acknowledged the invitation. “How very kind.”

  “Oh, pish.” Lady Sterling waved a bejeweled hand. “We are, after all, family, my dear, and family must look out for each other.”

  For a fleeting instant, the cacophony of the crowded ballroom was drowned out by a strange keening sound in her ears. Like the weeping of the wind on a stormtossed night.

  “May I get you more champagne, Lady Wolcott?” asked the earl softly.

  Arianna realized that she was gripping her glass so tightly its stem was in danger of breaking in two. “No. Thank you.” All at once, the heat and noise seemed unbearable, but before she could excuse herself, Lady Sterling suddenly narrowed her gaze.

  “Well, well, well. I see that Persecute isn’t the only odd guest here.” The dowager’s attention seemed riveted on a spot to the right of the refreshment table. “Hortense is such a high stickler. I am surprised that she would invite Lady Spencer.”

  Sure enough, Arianna spotted her erstwhile employer deep in conversation with Gavin.

  “Why do you say that?” inquired Saybrook. His tone was deceptively casual, yet his body had become more alert.

  “To begin with, she is the Prince’s current mistress,” answered the dowager. “Or one of them. It’s hard to keep a precise tally.”

  “If Lady Ravenell chose not to invite all the ladies who have slept with Prinny, the ballroom would be half empty,” murmured the earl.

  “True.” Lady Sterling toyed with the ribbon of her quizzing glass. “Still, given the position that Hortense’s husband holds at the Bank of England, I find it strange that she would overlook the other scandal.”

  Arianna noted the subtle sharpening of Saybrook’s features. “What other scandal, Aunt Constantina?” he inquired softly.

  “Oh, that unpleasant mess from the last century. Lady Spencer’s maternal grandfather was Mr. George Carsall.” The dowager waited expectantly for the earl to respond. When his only reaction was a raised brow, she heaved an impatient sigh. “For God’s sake, don’t they teach English history at Oxford anymore?”

  He gave an apologetic shrug. “As you know, my interests lay in other studies.”

  “Well, much as I adore your chocolate creations, Sandro, all peers ought to pay attention to that particular subject in order to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.”

  “I stand duly chastised,” replied Saybrook. “Perhaps you would care to fill the hole in my knowledge?”

  The dowager slanted another owlish squint at Lady Spencer. “My dear boy, Carsall was a governor of the Sword Blade Bank. Now, please don’t tell me that you haven’t heard of them and the South Sea Company, else I may have to resort to my smelling salts.”

  17

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  I’ve just found a wonderful colored botanical engraving of a cacao tree and fruit in one of the antiquarian bookshops. I shall have it framed for Sandro, as he will appreciate all the scientific nomenclature inscribed at the bottom. During his studies at Oxford, he was fascinated by Carolus Linnaeus, a Swedish scientist who in 1753 devised a system for classifying all living organisms. Each has a Latin name, and chocolate is called Theobroma cacao. How fitting that Theobroma means food of the gods. . . .

  Chocolate Sambuca Crinkle Cookies

  1¼ cups all-purpose flour

  1 tablespoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  12 ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped

  ½ stick unsalted butter

  2 large eggs

  ½ cup walnuts, coarsely chopped

  ½ cup sambuca or other anise-flavored liqueur

  2 tablespoons granulated sugar

  1 cup confectioner’s sugar

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

  2. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Melt chocolate with butter in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water, stirring until smooth. Lightly whisk together eggs, walnuts, sambuca, and granulated sugar in another bowl. Stir in flour mixture and chocolate (dough will be thin). Chill, covered, until firm, about 2 hours.

  3. Sift confectioner’s sugar onto a plate. Roll heaping tablespoons of dough into balls and roll balls, as formed, in confectioner’s sugar to generously coat. Arrange balls 2 inches apart on 2 lightly buttered baking sheets and bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until puffed and cracked but centers are still a bit soft, 10 to 12 minutes total. Transfer to racks to cool.

  Arianna sucked in an audible breath.

  “Bravo, gel,” said the dowager. “You appear far more educated than my nephew on the history of financial scams and scandals.”

  “N-not really,” she stammered.

  “Even I have heard of the South Sea Bubble,” said Saybrook.

  “I should hope so.” Lady Sterling grimaced. “Thank God that my brother—your grandfather—was convinced not to invest in their stock. Anyone with a grain of sense could see that the value of the company was built on thin air.”

  “And yet, a great many intelligent people were blinded by greed,” observed the earl.

  The dowager nodded. “Aye, greed is a powerful emotion.”

  “That it is,” whispered Arianna.

  “Even so brilliant a man as Sir Isaac Newton was caught up in the trading frenzy,” added Saybrook. “It’s said that he lost twenty thousand pounds, and later remarked, ‘I can calculate the movement of the stars, but not the madn
ess of men.’ ”

  “Yes, well, no matter how often the lesson is taught, it doesn’t seem to sink in,” remarked Lady Sterling. “People have very large appetites and very small memories.”

  Arianna swallowed a bitter laugh. Oh, how very true.

  “Thank you for the history lecture,” said the earl.

  “Don’t be impertinent,” scolded his aunt. Turning to Arianna, she gave a brusque wave. “Go dance with my great-nephew. My mouth is now dry and my feet are aching, so I wish to sit down and enjoy a cup of negus with my friends.” Patting the snowy white plumes of her headdress into place, Lady Sterling marched off to join a group of matrons seated near the entrance to the card room.

  Saybrook offered his arm. “Seeing as the waltz affords a modicum of privacy in which to talk, let us not waste the opportunity.”

  “I agree—the sooner we have a council of war, the better,” murmured Arianna, once the lilting notes of the melody swept them into motion.

  “Has something happened?” he asked quickly.

  “Aside from having that watchdog Grentham sniffing around my skirts?” Expelling a harried sigh, she pushed aside her fears about abstract numbers to concentrate on a more real threat. “It is a good thing that plans are progressing quickly—at least on my end. The minister seems to suspect that I am not quite what I seem.”

  Saybrook’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “It appears that he, like us, doesn’t put much credence in coincidence. Apparently the timing of your arrival has set off alarm bells.”

  “Why is he so interested in your family?” she asked. “The comings and goings of various relatives shouldn’t ordinarily attract much notice.”

  He ignored the question to pose one of his own. “How much do you know about your father’s business dealings before he left England?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He hesitated, moving with careful steps through a box turn before answering her. “I did a bit more digging into the past this afternoon. Your suggestion of illicit dealings involving military supplies reminded me of an old rumor I had heard—”

  “But now we know that ‘sword blade’ refers to something else,” she protested.

  “Perhaps.” His dark eyes turned more opaque. “Be that as it may, I have reason to think that your father’s cleverness with numbers was used for more than playing cards.”

  Try as she might, Arianna couldn’t keep a tiny skip out of her voice. “W-what do you mean?”

  “My research has uncovered a business venture, one involving the supply of munitions to the Duke of Brunswick’s army during the First Coalition campaign against the French revolutionaries. The duke was advancing on Paris and the French should have been no match for his veteran forces. However, at the Battle of Valmy, Brunswick was forced to retreat in the face of superior artillery fire.”

  She frowned. “I assure you, my father wasn’t the least bit interested in politics or warfare.”

  Again the earl hesitated. “No, but he was very interested in money, wasn’t he?”

  Her throat grew painfully tight.

  “There seem to have been some serious questions concerning the company’s bookkeeping,” he went on. “Nothing was proved, but in reading over the records of the case, I learned that one of the investigators thought that there appeared to be a complex and cleverly designed formula in place, one that allowed the partners to profit handsomely while leaving the British army short of cannon shells.”

  No, no, no! Would the lies of others forever haunt her life?

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  Saybrook’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “Because the names of the company’s investors included not only Lord Concord and Lord Hamilton, but also Richard Hadley, the Earl of Morse.”

  Arianna felt her stomach begin to churn. Fear, trepidation, denial—a hot mix of emotion that burned like acid at her very core. And then suddenly all her pent-up anger surged upward rather than inward. “How dare you!” she whispered. “My father would never have betrayed or cheated his country. Never.”

  “We are often the last ones to see fault in the people we love,” said the earl gently.

  She saw a stirring of sympathy in the depths of his chocolate-dark gaze, which only goaded her to greater fury. Pity was the last thing on earth she wanted from him.

  “You pompous prig,” she hissed. “You just said yourself that there was no proof, yet you show no shame in repeating such scurrilous rumors. Oh, how easy it is to blacken the name of someone who isn’t able to defend himself.”

  “Smile,” he warned under his breath. “The other guests will get the wrong impression.”

  “On the contrary, we want them to think that I find your company odious,” she said tightly.

  “I know this must be hard for you,” he murmured. “But if we don’t explore every possibility, we shall never find the truth—”

  “The truth? You don’t care about the truth,” she said bitterly. “This is simply a cerebral challenge for you. A distraction to draw you out of your own morbid musings. A body here, a scandal there—you may tell yourself how very, very smart you are when you piece it all together. As for what lives are ruined in the process, well, for a veteran officer, that’s simply the casualties of war.”

  “Have a care about making your own unfair accusations, milady,” responded the earl.

  “What about the revelation we just learned from your great-aunt? That seems far more explosive information than some vague twenty-year-old charges against an obscure company,” challenged Arianna. “Do you intend to pursue Lady Spencer as ruthlessly as you have my father?”

  “Yes, you may be assured that I won’t spare anyone.”

  Nor will I, she thought, as the whirling dervish blur of numbers in her head began to slow and form a more solid shape.

  The music must have ended, for on looking up, Arianna saw that the earl was steering their steps for a secluded spot between the marble colonnading and a display of tall potted palms. Grateful for a moment of respite, she took shelter in the leafy shadows.

  “I regret that my words caused you pain,” began the earl after a moment of awkward silence.

  “You must understand that my father was a dreamer, and in many ways naïve to the ways of the world,” interrupted Arianna. “He was generous, and trusting—perhaps to a fault.” The echo of a rich, baritone laugh danced unbidden across her consciousness. “If there is any truth to what you just told me, it would be because he was manipulated by his friends.”

  Innocent, innocent—his dying words reverberated in her head.

  “In fact,” she said slowly, “certain things are beginning to make more sense.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Saybrook. Though bladelike shadows cut across his face, making his expression impossible to discern, his voice was sharp with skepticism.

  Don’t react, she warned herself. But the words, bitter as bile, had already escaped her lips. “Because he was murdered, sir. Stabbed in a dark alley in Kingston Harbor and left to bleed to death in the filth and garbage. He managed to crawl back to our tavern room, but . . .”

  “I am sorry. I didn’t know that.”

  Aware that she had already revealed far more than she meant to, Arianna remained silent.

  Saybrook turned slightly, his big body shielding her from the glittering lights and laughter. “I take it he told you who was responsible?”

  “He said enough for me to figure it out on my own.” She steadied herself with a deep breath. “My father swore on his deathbed that he was innocent of the cheating charge, and I believe him. As for any other—”

  A rustling of the leaves warned that someone was approaching.

  “Lady Wolcott?” said a tentative voice.

  It was Ashmun.

  “Ah, here you are.” His hooded gaze lingered on the earl, and though the flickering light of the chandeliers did not quite penetrate the greenery, it caught the momentary pinch of a scowl. “Forgive me for int
ruding, but I believe we are slated for the next set, and I would be very disappointed to miss the pleasure of partnering you.”

  Despite her misgivings about the man, she was not unhappy over the interruption. “Oh, there is no need for apologies. The earl and I were merely discussing a relative. But reminiscing can wait. I would much rather dance.”

  “Excellent,” said Ashmun.

  Saybrook yielded his place without objection. After a perfunctory bow, he turned and walked off.

  In the direction of Lady Spencer, noted Arianna out of the corner of her eye. Whatever else his faults, the earl was a man of his word.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” said Ashmun. “But it appeared as if the two of you were engaged in a rather heated exchange. I do hope the earl wasn’t upsetting you. He has the reputation of being . . . unstable.”

  “It was simply an old family matter,” she replied brusquely. “There is no call for concern.”

  Ashmun didn’t press, but even as the formations of the lively country gavotte drew them apart, she could sense that he was watching her like a hawk.

  Silk swirled around her ankles, the paste jewel ear-bobs caressed her lobes, and for an instant she yearned to strip away the layers of lies, the practiced deceptions, the well-rehearsed lines, and flee from the past. Oh, to imagine that she might ever be free to be herself.

  Whoever that was.

  But as Lady Sterling had so wisely pointed out, there was no escaping history.

  Another glass of champagne fortified her for the next set. And then another. Arianna was feeling a little light-headed when Gavin came out from the card room to claim his second dance with her.

  “The Spanish Inquisitor seems to have shed his monk’s robe for the evening,” he remarked, eyeing the earl and Lady Spencer standing together in close conversation by the balcony doors.

  “You mean Saybrook?” She made a pained face. “The man is a tedious bore. For propriety’s sake, I had to take a turn around the dance floor with him, but then he insisted on subjecting me to a lecture on proper behavior for a lady.”