by Merry Farmer
Basil scowled at the letter, scanning it once more before folding it and glaring at Turpin. “What is going on here?”
“Whatever do you mean by that?” Turpin replied with mock innocence. “Your beloved has been accepted into the most prestigious group in London. Well, as prestigious as women’s groups can be.” His sour expression said just what he thought of that.
Basil took a threatening step toward him. “Why are you so happy about this? What do you have to gain?”
“Who said I gain anything?” Turpin shrugged, failing to back away or appear intimidated. “I am delighted by the prospect of my niece standing up in front of the queen and some of society’s most influential women, sharing her politics with them.”
Basil narrowed his eyes, suddenly understanding. He shuddered at the mess that could come of Elaine speaking her mind at a gathering like the one that would take place tomorrow. The queen was notoriously fond of Disraeli and despised Gladstone, and by all reports, she was beyond distressed at the political climate her country was swinging toward. Her majesty was as old fashioned as Methuselah. If Elaine spoke her views in front of the queen, she would be crucified by the highest authority in the land.
The smile that stretched across Turpin’s face hinted that the blackguard knew exactly what would happen and exactly what Elaine would face if she so much as uttered a peep at the gathering. “Do you recall,” he began, as cheerful as though it were Christmas morning, “the scandal that gripped London society two years ago when a certain Miss Elizabeth Grey was rumored to have been ruined by a rakish earl?” Before Basil could answer, Turpin rushed on with, “Of course not. You fled before the worst of it happened. Poor Miss Grey was nearly decimated by the scandal. The only thing that saved her was marriage to Lord Royston, God help her.”
“I saw Lady Royston has risen above it successfully,” Basil said, his voice gruff with resentment. “She is happy and comfortable in society.”
“Do you think Miss Bond would come out of her impending social catastrophe as gracefully?” Turpin said, his smile snake-like, glancing over his shoulder at his carriage. “Do you think there would be a single corner of this country that she could flee to once word got out of the way she offended the queen and made an utter fool of herself?”
A deep sense of horror pooled in Basil’s chest. Elaine would speak out. She would continue to speak out, even if the crowd attending the queen reacted negatively. She would embarrass herself in the moment, and she would ruin any chance she could possibly have of showing her face in public again. Some would say that if she embarrassed herself badly enough, there was no way he could marry her. Those people didn’t know him, but unless Elaine toed the line of social norms with perfect rigidity, not even marriage would stop her from being the clown countess. She would destroy herself beyond even his ability to fix things. Was that what Elizabeth was thinking by befriending Elaine and elevating her this way? Was it revenge for the way he’d bungled their relationship?
“Why are you so intent on seeing your own flesh and blood humiliated?” Basil asked the other question that haunted him aloud.
Turpin narrowed his eyes. “She betrayed me. I let her impose on my hospitality and I bought her a ridiculous wardrobe full of clothes. She was supposed to improve my chances in the election, but she’s been as useless as tits on a tiger.”
“So you would throw her into a situation where she will likely ruin any chance of social acceptance?”
Turpin shrugged, smiling. “It will be fun.”
“I won’t let her go,” he said, attempting to push past Turpin and head for the carriage.
“Of course you won’t.” Turpin stepped into his path. “And I won’t either.”
Basil stopped, frowning at the man in confusion. “You just said—”
“I will prevent her from going, if,” Turpin continued, drawing the last word out, “you do a little favor for me.”
“What do you want?” Basil growled.
Turpin settled back on his heels, like a man who knew he controlled the situation. “I want to win the election. I want my party to win the election. I want Disraeli to continue as Prime Minister and all to be right with the world.”
“I don’t have the power to give that to you,” Basil said.
“No, but you have the power to sway public opinion, and not just with puffed up misses, deluded by their own senses of importance. You always were a powerhouse in Lords, and now that you are a public sensation—the missing Earl of Waltham returned—you have more influence over, shall we say, less experienced voters than you think.”
“Nobody listens to me,” Basil insisted. “I’m not as important as you think.”
“I disagree. Since you have returned and made a nuisance of yourself at half the political rallies and events in London, the newspapers are reporting a surge in Liberal votes. The Times and The Observer are reporting on every word you speak.”
“I have no control over that,” Basil said.
“Either way, your endorsement holds power.”
Basil suddenly understood. “I am not endorsing you, Turpin. Your politics are abhorrent. They go against everything I have been fighting for my whole life.”
“Your whole life?” Turpin raised an eyebrow. “Including the last two years?”
“I needed a rest.”
“Which is why it wouldn’t seem at all unusual for you to change your public stance to support a candidate and a party you formerly fought against.”
“No.”
Turpin sighed and shook his head with mock disappointment. “I don’t think you realize the simplicity of the deal I am trying to strike with you, Lord Waltham. And the part you would play is so laughably easy.”
“What do you want?” Basil demanded in a low voice.
“You will attend a political rally being held in St. James’s Park by the Conservative Party tomorrow. When asked, you will stand up and lend your support to Disraeli’s platform. In turn, I will make sure that my dear niece fails to attend the event to which she is invited tomorrow. She will miss the opportunity to ruin herself irreparably. She’ll be disappointed, of course, but that’s when you will sweep in, fresh from your startling endorsement, to whisk her off, back to your precious Cumbria. You save the damsel in distress and get to return to the life you made for yourself, my niece avoids disgrace and gets what she wants, and I maintain my seat in Commons as Disraeli holds onto the reins of government.” He grinned, spreading his hands to his sides. “Everyone wins.”
Basil remained stock still, looking for a way to wriggle out of the unholy deal. Turpin was right, it was simple. But it would kill the last bit of credibility he had. Disappearing for two years and returning in the midst of an election made for an exciting news story. Betraying his party and then running away again would cause an entirely different sensation. But he would have Elaine. They could go home, and she would be safe. Malcolm would kill him, and likely the rest of his friends too, but what could they do if he was hundreds of miles away in Brynthwaite?
“All right,” he grumbled, the words tasting sour in his mouth. “I’ll do it. But I want proof that Elaine is safe and that she has been waylaid from attending the recital before I speak at your unholy event tomorrow.”
“Understandable.” Turpin nodded. “She’ll end up at Prior’s house. All you need to do is send someone there to confirm her arrival.”
“I will,” Basil said, lowering his voice. “Believe me, I will.”
“The arrangement is made, then,” Turpin said with a bow of finality. “I shall see you on the morrow at St. James’s Park.” He gave Basil one last, victorious smile before turning and marching up his front steps, chuckling all the way.
Basil stood where he was for several more seconds, staring at Turpin’s front door. He didn’t trust the man for a moment, but Turpin had him over a barrel. If it was a choice between Elaine’s reputation and his credibility, there was no contest. He would do anything for her, even this.
; Chapter 17
The night ticked slowly by. Basil could barely bring himself to return to Waltham House, let alone sleep. He wanted to stand vigil outside Turpin’s house through the night to be sure that Elaine was safe. He didn’t believe for a moment that Turpin would keep his word and prevent Elaine from attending the queen’s recital. He cursed himself every second of the long night for abandoning her to Turpin’s devices.
And yet, part of him continued to insist that if there were any woman in all of England who could take care of herself and hold her own against the likes of Turpin, it was Elaine. She had a determination that was unmatched by anyone in his list of acquaintances, perhaps even Katya. A few hours of separation wouldn’t end in disaster.
But no, as the night wore on, his mind changed again. He should have stayed with Elaine. He should have marched into Turpin’s house and demanded she come away with him, whether it would have destroyed her budding friendship with Lady Lavinia and her possible acceptance by the May Flowers or not. Elaine’s life and well-being were far more important than a few little friendships.
By the time morning came and Lovett, his valet, came to help him wash and dress, he’d abandoned that line of thought as well. Elaine had so few friends. How could he deny her the chance to form what, to his unschooled eyes, looked like just the sort of friendships she needed. Especially if he gathered enough courage to marry her and make her a countess. It was quaint to think they could run away to Brynthwaite forever, but the reality was that duty would call him back to London now and then. It would be so much easier for Elaine if she were associated with the May Flowers.
That thought transitioned into the idea that perhaps she should attend the May Flowers’ gathering after all, but under his supervision, so as to prevent the disaster that Turpin seemed so convinced would happen. Except that by the time he had the idea, it was too late to do anything about it. The best he could do was to send Lovett to Prior’s house to watch for Elaine and to make sure she never made it to the gathering.
His mood had gone completely sour and his nerves were bristling from lack of sleep and indecision by the time Basil marched into St. James’s Park for Turpin’s rally. St. James’s Park was his favorite of the royal parks, under normal circumstances, but as he walked, solemn as an undertaker, from the shadow of Buckingham Palace toward Trafalgar Square, he saw face after face of the men whose opinions he despised and who’s policies he had fought against in Lords. He avoided speaking to them for as long as he could, but trouble came looking for him.
“Good heavens, Waltham, you look as though you’ve come to witness a public execution,” Shayles greeted him as he neared the edge of the gathering crowd. Lord Gatwick stood a step behind him, dressed in black, his expression dead as usual. “Your own execution.”
“I’m not here for my health,” Basil grumbled.
He nodded to Gatwick, who nodded in return, then attempted to walk past Shayles so that he could find a discreet spot away from the bulk of the crowd to wait until Turpin called on his endorsement. But Shayles stopped him by extending his ebony cane to block his way.
“What do you want, Shayles?” Basil asked with an impatient sigh.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Shayles replied in a mock hurt voice.
“We are not friends.”
“But we’ve had such jolly times together, locked in parliamentary debate, going head to head. Haven’t we, Gatwick?”
“Quite,” Gatwick answered, glancing off across the crowd.
“See?” Shayles said, then broke into a sly grin. “Besides, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you yet.”
“For what?” Basil clipped, narrowing his eyes at the man.
“For your exceptional taste in women,” Shayles went on, his grin turning to a sneer, his eyes flashing with malevolence. “I met your new mistress the other day.”
Acid-sharp alarm churned in Basil’s gut. “Stay away from Elaine,” he warned in a low growl.
“Oh, I shall, I shall,” Shayles said, raising his hands in feigned surrender. “But when you’re done with her….” He licked his lips. “I gave her my card.”
“She doesn’t know what that means,” Basil seethed.
“All the same, she took it,” he gloated. “And we both know what that means.”
“Elaine is unaware of your fiendish club’s existence, let alone what accepting your card signifies.” Basil clenched his hands into fists.
“Still,” Shayles shrugged. “Turpin promises me he’ll ensure that his delightful niece turns to me for comfort when you inevitably tire of her.”
“I have no intention of tiring of Elaine.” Basil’s voice shook with venom, and it was all he could do to suppress the urge to punch Shayles in his pointy, arrogant face.
“Didn’t you say that about Miss Grey? Or should I call her Lady Royston now? And Lady Everleigh and Lady Grafton and Miss Rutland—she was aptly named, wasn’t she—and Lady Creswell and Katya Marlowe and—”
“Your point is taken,” Basil hissed. “But it is also moot. My past is a closed book. My future is with Miss Bond.”
“How quaint of you to think so,” Shayles grinned. “You’ve grown so sentimental in your old age, so soft.” He sent a quick glance to Basil’s trousers, an unmistakable dig that belonged more in the schoolroom than between men of experience.
“This conversation is over,” he said, the words coming out rough, and pushed on.
Shayles didn’t try to stop him, nor did Gatwick, who seemed unusually interested in the leaves of the tree standing a few yards from them and not at all in the conversation that had just happened.
Basil made his way around the edge of the growing crowd, toward the front. Turpin had arrived, and it was time the man made good on his end of the bargain.
“Is she safe?” he demanded as soon as he drew close enough to Turpin to speak.
“Ah, Lord Waltham. How good of you to come. Your endorsement means the world to me.” Turpin grinned at the pair of men standing with him, who seemed shocked to see Basil there. “Didn’t I tell you that my circle of influence was growing every day?” he gloated.
“You did,” one of the men said. “This changes everything.”
“Lord Waltham,” the second one began, then cleared his throat. “Are you truly throwing your support behind Mr. Turpin and the Conservative Party?”
Bile rose up in Basil’s throat. He glared at Turpin, who baited him with a look that reminded him they had a deal. “I have had many changes of heart during my time away from London,” he answered, then nodded. It wasn’t an outright lie, but with any luck, it would satisfy Turpin.
“Extraordinary,” the first man said. “Simply extraordinary.”
He and his friend walked off, leaving Basil and Turpin face to face and relatively alone.
“Has Elaine been kept away from the gathering?” Basil asked, point blank.
“Yes, yes, you’ve no need to worry.” Turpin waved his hand as if to dismiss Basil’s question and glanced off over the crowd. “We’ll have quite an audience today. I believe I see reporters from a dozen newspapers at least.”
Basil winced. He should have known that whatever lies he told on Turpin’s behalf that morning would be heard by far more than the people assembled in St. James’s Park. The entire nation would learn of his betrayal of the Liberal Party. But if Elaine was spared social disaster, it would be worth it.
“Where is Elaine now?” he asked, focusing on what was important.
“With that simpering friend of hers, Lady Lavinia, of course,” Turpin answered. He made a sour face. “Why anyone would want to pass even five minutes with a dry piece of milquetoast like that is beyond me. Her mother’s probably sewn her cunny shut.” He laughed.
Basil barely stopped himself from striking Turpin. He made a disgusted noise and walked away, taking up a position under a tree near the street so that he could spot Lovett when the man arrived to confirm Elaine was safe. The fewer people saw him before
he spoke out on Turpin’s behalf, the better.
“Lord Waltham, what are you doing here?” Basil was startled out of his glowering thoughts by the gentile voice of Elizabeth Royston.
He snapped straight and turned to find Elizabeth sitting in an open carriage that had just stopped a few yards from him. “Lady Royston.” He nodded as formally as he could, cursing the heat that rose up his neck to his face. “Aren’t you late for your gathering?”
Elizabeth stepped down from the carriage with the driver’s help and approached Basil. “I’m on my way there now. I had to stop when I saw you standing here. This isn’t where I would expect to find you at all.”
Basil’s mind refused to work as fast as it needed to. Too large a part of him wanted to demand what tricks she was playing on Elaine by inviting her into a situation designed to humiliate her.
“Does your charming Miss Bond know you’re here?” she went on before he could form words. Her lips flickered into a teasing grin as they both turned to glance out over the crowd. “I’m not sure she’d approve.”
“She wouldn’t,” he agreed, the gears on his thoughts slowly beginning to turn again. “She has strong views and is outspoken about them.”
“I know.” Elizabeth’s grin widened. “She was quite vocal about them when we met in Hyde Park. She reminded me of you in many ways.”
“She did?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth laughed. “That is why I urge you to be careful not to let Miss Bond slip away.”
Basil frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Elizabeth fixed him with a frank look. “You have a terrible history of letting women go.”
Basil’s face went so hot he was sure he looked like a lobster that had been left in the pot to boil for too long. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.