by Archer, Kate
“I think I do!” Kitty said, all enthusiasm. “You will make inquiries with your relations to see what anybody may have heard of John Hill. There may be some family stories, some remembrance of him, just as my father remembers the story from my grandfather. Perhaps Veritas is even a relation of John Hill!”
“Exactly,” Lord Grayson said. “Any bit of information may provide a clue as to the connection of the old to the new.”
Kitty hoped she contained at least some of her astonishment. Here was a real action to be taken. So far, at least from what she gathered from Mrs. Herschel, nobody had thought of anything to do that might solve the mystery beyond reading recently published papers.
“A ridiculous goose chase,” Sir John said gravely.
Lord Grayson turned sharply to Sir John. “I see,” he said. “And what, pray, are you doing to unmask the culprit?”
A faint bloom of pink arose and made its way across Sir John’s pallid cheeks. “I, sir, am examining the papers recently published. As all of us with sense are doing. It is in words that truth may be found, if only one is equipped to read them.”
Kitty took a breath in. Sir John was running dangerously close to an insult that must be answered. And, though Lord Grayson was most certainly a dandy, she suspected the lord to be no stranger to a pistol.
Lord Grayson laughed. “You speak an infinite deal of nothing, or so Shakespeare would say of you. And Sir John, take note that I am not a sir, I am a lord. Address me as such or you will find we have a most unpleasant meeting some early morning.”
Kitty watched in alarm and prayed Sir John would make his apologies. Though she prayed it, she was not certain he would do it. His breath came quick and his eyes had taken on a strangely cold and distant, almost dead, aspect. His pupils were unnaturally small, and his dark irises seemed pools of black.
As if it were a hundred miles away, though it was only the other end of the drawing room, Lady Milton said loudly, “Everyone, let us go through.”
*
Giles had led Miss Blessy to her seat and the lady had only managed to step on his toes once. Lady Milton had been as good as her word, Miss Dell was seated across the table from him. What Lady Milton had not revealed was who the gentlemen would be to have the honor of being seated next to Miss Dell.
Though he was infuriated, he was not surprised to see that one of them was Sir John. He was surprised to see Dalton was the other gentleman.
Were he such an unsuspecting man as Lockwood or Hampton or Cabot or Ashworth, he might have idly wondered why Dalton had made an effort to secure Miss Dell to his right. As he was not any of those innocent-minded gentlemen, he did not wonder. Dalton had taken great pains since the inception of the Dukes’ Pact to insert himself and cause trouble between any couple he feared might make their way to the altar.
Apparently, Dalton’s fears over Miss Dell had grown to such a degree that he was once again sticking his nose in.
It was ridiculous, of course. How many times must he explain to his friend that he only engaged in infatuations? That he had become a bit single-minded about this particular enchantment did not make it any different whatsoever.
The hard outer layers of his heart were all for Miss Dell. The inner layers, though, would never be for anyone. The deep recesses where Shakespeare and Byron lived were theirs alone.
As for Sir John, Giles was more determined than ever to reveal him as Veritas. Of course, he’d not mentioned his suspicions to Miss Dell. Not yet, anyway. Though he wondered if Sir John did not seem exceedingly uncomfortable with the whole idea of gathering information from the continent? He supposed the fellow would be even more uncomfortable if he realized the subject of Giles’ inquiries was not only John Hill, but Sir John Kullehamnd as well.
As the dinner wore on, it was proving difficult to insert himself in the conversation across the table. For one thing, Miss Blessy had a lot to say. She was a regular Gratiano—words and words adding up to nothing. If he was not mistaken, it was a good ten minutes of talking before she managed to convey that she had a brother still in the schoolroom.
Lady Philippa on his other side provided little relief from the onslaught of Miss Blessy. The lady was recently married, which had surprised everybody, as her temperament was very like Lady Montague’s—always seeking to find fault and condemn. Among other things, Lady Philippa related the shocking story she’d been told, by one who had been told, by one who knew someone who had been there, of Lady Cabot driving a phaeton at scandalously excessive speeds. At the end of each story, Lady Philippa would narrow her already narrow eyes and say, “What do you think about that?”
Giles thought absolutely nothing about that, except to think it was well that Lady Philippa had not heard the rumor of Lady Cabot riding her lord’s horse at Newmarket.
Finally, he saw his opening. Miss Blessy was telling the roundabout story of her brother to Mr. Fister and Lady Philippa was relaying the shocking story of Miss something-or-other who’d worn a delicate silk to a picnic to Lord Macendray. Dalton was turned away, as was Sir John.
Miss Dell’s eyes met his.
Before he could speak, she said, “Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.”
Giles knew the quote perfectly well, though it seemed apropos of nothing at this moment. “Timon of Athens?” he asked.
Miss Dell nodded, though she appeared surprised that he should know it.
“But what does it mean?” Giles asked.
Miss Dell inclined her head toward Lord Dalton.
Giles knew in an instant that Dalton had been up to some sort of trickery. “Whatever he has said, do not believe a word of it!”
Miss Blessy turned to him. “Who should we not believe, Lord Grayson?”
Miss Dell’s brows raised ever so slightly, as if she dared him to say more.
Both Sir John and Dalton had turned away from their dinner companions at the sound of his raised voice.
“I only say, Miss Dell, that there are those lords who will prevaricate for their own purposes,” Giles said.
“As I understand it, Lord Grayson,” Miss Dell said, her voice as cold as ice.
Chapter Ten
In the country, Kitty had sometimes gazed through her telescope and watched a murmuration of starlings at dusk. As they dropped from towering heights and broke apart and came together and swooped up again, her logical mind said they were specially built for such activity. Her less than logical mind said they must be sickeningly dizzy.
She felt sickeningly dizzy at this moment. Curled up on the soft velvet chair in her sitting room, she grasped the armrests lest she lose her balance. She had come upon too much information for one evening, and she knew not what to believe. Like a starling, she could not easily determine which way to go. Unlike a starling, she did not have close neighbors in flight who would signal the direction.
Her sole aim that evening had been to test Lord Grayson on his knowledge of Shakespeare. She wished to discover if Penny was right—did the lord only keep a few phrases in his pocket to use for effect?
It did not seem so. He had accused Sir John of speaking an infinite deal of nothing. If her memory served her, that was from the Merchant of Venice. Then, when she’d said, every man has his fault, and honesty is his, he’d recognized it instantly from Timon of Athens. It was an obscure line to have recognized. She supposed she could at least conclude that if Lord Grayson thought to use Shakespeare as a means of flirtation, he had memorized a vast amount of it.
She wished that were the only thing she must think of.
There had been the conversation between herself, the lord, and Sir John. Lord Grayson was actually doing something to solve the mystery of Veritas. At least, he said he was. Could she be sure of that, though? And even if he were not doing anything, if it were only some strategy to slip into her good graces, why had Sir John been so perspiring and angry over the notion?
All of that had been only a lead-up to what she would be informed of at dinner.
She
had not been enthused to find Lord Dalton on her left. She found him a rather frightening sort of person and had not the first idea of what they might talk about.
It would have been well if they had gone down the road of usual subjects, but Lord Dalton would not have it so. In fact, he had been far more direct than one was used to experiencing at a dinner. His words were burned into her memory.
“Miss Dell, forgive me if I overstep, but I would warn you off Grayson.”
Kitty had not quite known how to answer, only that she longed to hear his reasons. Would they tip the scales on her wavering opinion?
“How so, Lord Dalton?” she’d said. “I understood you to be Lord Grayson’s friend. Do you say something against him?”
“He is my friend, Miss Dell,” Lord Dalton said. “As are many other gentlemen I would not introduce to a sister.”
Kitty was both shocked and wishing for more. Why would Lord Dalton say such a thing as that? Why would he condemn his friend as not fit for refined society? It was true that Lord Grayson was known as a terrible flirt, but she had not heard anything more dreadful against him.
“As you have spoken plainly, and strongly,” Kitty said, “I think it my prerogative to ask you to be specific in your charges.”
Lord Dalton had seemed irritated by the notion, as if he were not in the habit of being questioned. Kitty did not fill the silence, however. She only waited for him to answer.
Finally, he said, “I had hoped to avoid shocking what I am sure are your delicate sensibilities. At least, I am told that all young ladies have delicate sensibilities these days. However, if you insist on knowing—he has laid bets at his club that he can engage your affection. He does it every year with some girl or other. I thought to warn you off as I am growing tired of the game. It does not do him credit to injure a lady’s reputation. Now, I find it does not do me credit, as he is living in my house.”
Kitty had been dumbstruck. Whatever she had thought of Lord Grayson, she had not thought that. Her name was mentioned in a gentlemen’s club? It was written down in a club book? And in such an outrageous manner?
“By the by,” Lord Dalton said, “I have bet against him. I think, this time, he may have set his sights on a lady too intelligent to fall for his amorous gambits.”
“I was never in the slightest danger, my lord,” Kitty said.
Had she meant it though? Or had she allowed herself to believe that Lord Grayson was somehow different from what everybody said he was? She had believed that he’d taken up the challenge of unmasking Veritas and that had made such a difference!
Then, there was the source of the condemnation to consider—Lord Dalton. She did not know him well, but there was something she did not entirely trust about him. For that matter, Penny had not said much about him, but she did not seem to love him. At least, not as she did other of Lord Cabot’s friends. She was very approving of the Lords Hampton, Ashworth, and Lockwood.
Was Lord Dalton to be trusted? Or was he also playing at some game? If he were, she could not fathom what it was.
As well, if it were all true, why did Lord Grayson engage in such behavior? That, of all questions, burned in her the most.
“Lord Dalton,” she’d said, “while it is of no concern to me, I am curious. Why does Lord Grayson behave so badly? Why does he seek to injure any lady?”
“He does not imagine he injures, it is only meant to be a bit of fun,” Lord Dalton said. He paused, as if he were parsing his thoughts. “Grayson, if I understand him, is not capable of falling in love, therefore, he falls in infatuation. His pursuits are rather like a meringue—wonderful in the moment, but an hour later one has forgotten all about it. Despite the poets’ high-flying phrases, I think it a rather common condition.”
“Is it a condition you suffer from yourself?”
“I am even less likely than Grayson to be slayed by love,” Lord Dalton said with a rare smile. “Though I do not see that deficiency as suffering.”
Kitty would have liked to press on. She was not sure she had ever had a gentleman speak to her in such a frank manner. And yet, her mother’s training and good example overtook her. She merely nodded and turned to Sir John.
And what of Sir John? Over dinner, they’d had a perfectly acceptable conversation about the various papers from the Royal Society they’d both read. Sir John had been kind enough to mention other papers that had been published earlier than her current collection and point out particularly interesting studies.
She was very sure she should have been more fascinated by an examination of the head of a platypus. And why could she not pay proper attention to the description of the gizzards of a cassowary?
These sorts of conversations were just what she’d most wished for. A gentleman who would discuss the findings of the day, and she his equal.
Perhaps it had not been to Sir John’s credit that he had seemed over-smug at Lord Grayson’s outburst across the table. Though he could not know the circumstance, he seemed to take too much pleasure in another’s apparent distress.
But then, he had allowed himself to be guided back to scientific discoveries and had informed her of the properties contained in the tusk of a narwhale. In any case, did not every person have their faults?
Sir John might be, on occasion, a bit unkind. But he was learned, and he recognized that she was too.
But why did he not have a greater effect on her? Why did her heart not skip a beat in his presence? Perhaps it would, but it had not done yet. And, if it never did, was that so terrible?
Her mother might say so, but she was not her mother.
Kitty gazed around her sitting room. The bookcases that had been empty upon her arrival were now filled with books. She was safe here, she understood this room. As for what went on outside of this room, she was entirely lost.
“You are in over your head, Kitty Dell,” she said quietly, “and you’d best get out of the water before you drown.”
*
Giles galloped his horse through the streets, determined to catch up with Dalton. The devil had studiously avoided his stare over port at Lord Milton’s table and then promptly joined a card game in the drawing room. Giles had turned his attention to Miss Dell. It was urgent that he speak to her. She must know that Dalton was full of tricks and nobody should believe him if he claimed the sun was out or the day was Wednesday.
Miss Dell had been no easier to reach than Dalton and had seemed to adopt the same evasions. She partnered at whist with her brother and there was no getting near them. It would be difficult enough to strike up a conversation in a card game one was not a part of, but then there was Dell himself. What had at first seemed a neutral stance had seemed to have hardened somehow. Giles got the distinct impression that Dell did not care for him. He supposed the fellow was still sore over having been thrown in the vicinity of Miss Blaise’s fan.
Giles had hoped to bide his time, waiting for Miss Dell to leave. He might depart at the same time and have a moment to speak to her in the foyer as she waited for her cloak.
That was not to be, she’d been surrounded by her brother, Mr. Fister, and Sir John—all wishing to be the first to hand over her garment.
If Giles had not been in such earnest, he might have laughed at the near-wrestling between Sir John and Fister, before Dell settled the matter by demanding the delicate velvet wrap be handed over.
Somehow, Dalton had slipped out when he was not looking, though he did not think the man could be too far ahead of him. In any case, he knew where Dalton was going, as they lived in the same house.
He would demand to know what Dalton had said. Then he would demand that Dalton retract his words the next time he encountered Miss Dell.
But first, he must catch him.
He reined in his horse and trotted down a narrow alley. It was a shortcut and would bring him to the avenue that was Dalton’s likely route.
He hurried over the wet cobblestones, not caring to think what they were wet from as it had not rained all day.
He turned onto the better lighted street. Dalton was trotting toward him.
Giles blocked his path, forcing Dalton to rein in his horse.
“Well?” he said. “What lie did you tell Miss Dell?”
Dalton yawned, as if he had been expecting to be waylaid. “Is it a lie to say that there are bets laid all over town about whether you can win the heart of a particular lady?”
“I have nothing to do with that!”
Dalton examined his glove. “You have everything to do with that, my friend. If you had not spent season after season pursuing one lady after the next and then nothing comes of it, there would not be any bets. There would not be any amusement in it. As it is, you have created this situation. You, and no other. By the by, I have bet against you. I do not believe Miss Dell is so foolish as to fall for your stratagems.”
“I demand you retract it, Dalton! You must tell Miss Dell you did not mean what you said.”
“I did mean it.”
“Say you didn’t.”
“I will not,” Dalton said. “Further, it is for your own good. When I said Miss Dell is not foolish enough to fall for you, I did not say you were not foolish enough to fall for her. We have a deal, Grayson, keep up your end of it.”
With that, Dalton urged his horse and cantered down the road.
*
Sir John paced his sitting room, only stopping to occasionally stab at the fire. Such an evening! He had expected it to be rather dull, just one more necessary step in his plan. Instead, it had been one of distinct highs and lows.
He must not spend too much time thinking over the highs. He need not congratulate himself too much over his successful dinner by the side of Miss Dell. He had come prepared to speak of the things that interested her, and so he had.
He was certain she was growing fond of him. Why else would a lady ask so many questions about the head of a platypus? And then, he was certain there had been some sort of falling out between Miss Dell and Grayson. He did not know the cause, but he’d overheard Miss Dell ask Dalton what he had against Grayson. Then, she had been decidedly cool when Grayson had attempted to engage her across the table.