by Archer, Kate
Not the other loves he’d so fleetingly enjoyed across the years. Not the surface gayness that held no personal danger. This was a deeper more permanent thing. It felt as if it lived at the core of him. Almost as if it had always been there, waiting to be revealed. It was as Shakespeare and Byron described it. It was as Miss Austen had portrayed. An everlasting thing that could not be denied or forgotten. It was awful and wonderful.
And, in that moment, he knew just as clear that she’d never have him. He was not good enough for Katherine Dell. Not even close.
Despite all his planning and efforts, the worst had befallen him. He had put himself in a lady’s power. Valmont had been defeated by his own machinations.
“What am I to do?” he whispered. As he whispered it, he knew what he must do. He must leave her alone. He must stop dancing and dining with her. He must allow her the time and opportunity to meet with some fellow more worthy than himself.
As he ruminated about fellows more worthy, Sir John came into his mind like an unwelcome houseguest. Giles was certain the fellow was a villain, just as he himself was a villain, though in a different manner. If he would protect Miss Dell from himself, he would protect her from Sir John as well. She fancied she liked Sir John, he thought. Or she admired him. He would not allow the weasel Sir John to take advantage of that fact.
At this moment, he would very much like to ride his horse out of town and closet himself at some friend’s house in the country. He must stay where he was, though. He must stay until Sir John’s connection to Veritas was revealed.
The best he could do for Miss Dell was protect her from all the villains in her orbit.
Giles heard the door swing open behind him. He turned and found Lady Blakeley poking her head in.
“Come Lord Grayson, my musicians are ready to start.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kitty had been used to Lord Grayson’s banter during a dance, and now found he had none. It was a strange circumstance, as she had never observed the lord so subdued.
Despite the idea that she should have been relieved, she found herself rather disturbed by it.
What had happened? It was almost as if he did not admire her as he had done only a quarter hour before. She did not like the clenching of her heart upon considering it. She ought to be grateful, but she did not feel grateful at all.
She was very much of a mind to cheer him up. To bring him back to what he always was.
“Lord Grayson,” she said, as they passed round one another, “I do not believe Lady Blakeley has named you vain. I suspect her note was of another flavor altogether.”
“Perhaps it was, Miss Dell,” Lord Grayson said, “but some things may be better hidden from view.”
“That is mysterious,” Kitty said. In truth, it was more than mysterious. What on earth must be hidden from view?
“Mayhap Sir John will look into the mystery of my mask, he seems to like that sort of thing,” Lord Grayson said in a derisive tone.
Kitty was entirely flummoxed. Why were they now talking of Sir John?
“I will just say, Miss Dell,” Lord Grayson said, “that some fellows are not what they seem. The clues may be in front of one and easily divined if one would only look at them.”
Kitty did not answer. How could she when he spoke in such riddles? And so seriously, too. He wished to point out that some men are not what they seem and clues are there if one would only look.
She glanced up at Lord Grayson and saw him staring down at her, his curls moving with the dance and that large V on his forehead.
Like a puzzle where all the pieces seemed not to go together until they suddenly snapped in place, Kitty saw a picture emerge. The V on his forehead, the mystery, the clue one was looking at.
The V was for Veritas.
No, it could not be. Could it? Could Lord Grayson have been Veritas all along?
Why? Why would he do it?
Kitty began to get a sinking feeling. It might be a joke, some prank he and his friends had invented. She knew very well he thought the Royal Society’s pursuits silly. Perhaps he and his friends laughed over sending the intellectuals running in all directions over a letter.
If he was Veritas, then he had certainly not written to relations on the continent to discover if there were a connection between Veritas and John Hill. How easy to say so and yet do no such thing.
Though where would he even have heard of John Hill to even inspire the jest? It was an old history, she had certainly never heard of it. Her father had known the story and never bothered to mention it before the letter arrived. It could not be a thing often spoken of.
Perhaps it need only be spoken of once. Perhaps Lord Grayson had overheard the story at his club? He and his friends would have laughed heartily over the botanist’s revenge—the paper Lucina sine concubitu. That a lady might discover she was with child from the air would be just the type of low subject that would entertain.
But for all that, was Lord Grayson really so cruel? He had seen how engaged she was in solving the mystery and unmasking Veritas. Would he really have played her for such a fool?
She did not know what to think. Was he Veritas, or was he not? She might as well ask him. Regardless of whatever answer he gave, she might divine the truth from his demeanor.
“Do you say then,” Kitty said, “that you are Veritas?”
“I say no such thing,” Lord Grayson said, almost stuttering, “I point out that Sir John is Veritas.”
“Sir John?” Kitty asked. “The notion is absurd.”
“Is it?” Lord Grayson asked.
Kitty’s head spun. First, the lord wears a mask with a V on it and hints that clues are right in front of her eyes. Then he says it is Sir John who is Veritas?
None of it made sense.
The dance ended, and very unsatisfactorily she thought. She must discover the truth. If Lord Grayson was Veritas, she must alert Mrs. Herschel that they had all been sent on a merry chase by a couple of scoundrels who amused themselves.
She must be certain, though.
*
Giles spent the evening going through the motions. He worked to make conversation, though he was not in the slightest interested in the replies. He felt he must make the effort—were he to appear sullen it would be attributed to the mask he’d been assigned by Lady Blakeley. For all that, he found himself grateful to be wearing a mask, as he did not wish to be really seen.
Burke was right in his estimations. He had been a scoundrel and he must change his ways. He would never encounter another Miss Dell, of that he was certain, but he would marry someday. He would marry a pleasant lady and do his best to be pleasant in return. Until that day, he must conduct himself more circumspect.
He suspected it would be all too easy. He had not the appetite for flirtations that he’d once had. Now that his heart had been exposed, his real heart, anything less than true was unacceptably false.
Miss Dell may have broken him, but she had also done him the favor of curing him of his worst habits. He supposed he must always be grateful for that.
As Miss Belrayton chattered on at supper, he could not help but ruminate on the nature of things. He’d always wondered why the old fellows at White’s were so serious-minded. It seemed to him that they’d always been so. He now suspected that was not the case. They had just grown into men.
He felt he, himself, had crossed over that rubric. As if, somehow, he was older. He could only hope that meant he was wiser.
He would carry on with what he now knew to be right. The chasing of Miss Dell would end, he would expose Sir John, and he would retreat to the countryside to become better acquainted with this new person he was becoming. Perhaps he might ask Burke for some tips. Perhaps he might even go to stay with Burke. Certainly, he knew of no other gentleman who might guide him as well. That is, if Burke would still have him as a friend.
But first, he must expose Sir John. He had to get that appointment book out of Sir John’s house.
*
/>
Kitty had done her very best throughout the evening to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. She did not think she was entirely successful and suspected most of her partners had found her distracted.
She was far too taken up with considering how she might discover the truth about Lord Grayson. Was he Veritas? Were they all only being mocked?
Her thoughts had gone round and round and her scientific mind knew she did not have enough facts to form a rational hypothesis. She needed more information and Lord Burke just might have it.
She did not think Lord Burke, as one of Lord Grayson’s friends, would give up the information so easily. Kitty decided the only way to confirm what she suspected was to pretend she already knew it as fact. She would have ample time to come to a conclusion over supper.
“Lord Burke,” she said, after they’d gone through the usual pleasantries, “I know very well that Lord Grayson is not painted vain or as Louis XIV. I know very well the V is not for vanity, vain though he might be. I know what the V really stands for.”
Lord Burke appeared thoughtful and stared at his fork as if it were a fascinating thing.
After a long pause, he said, “I wish you had not been made aware. A shocking bit of business, I am sorry you should know it.”
“I think everybody ought to know it,” Kitty said. “It will not be right to fail to expose who Lord Grayson really is.”
Lord Burke looked alarmed and Kitty supposed he did not wish to be a part of exposing Lord Grayson as Veritas. She did not know why he should mind it, it was only his friend being exposed as a ridiculous prankster and had nothing to do with him, she was sure.
“Miss Dell,” he said seriously, “this is an unsavory subject for a young lady and I dearly hope you stay well clear of it.”
Lord Burke made the pronouncement with particular gravity. Kitty wondered why it was so, until it occurred to her that at some moment in time, the ruse would be exposed. All those intellectuals who had fallen for it would be mocked, perhaps even in the newspapers.
The lord did not wish her to be among those who were ridiculed.
Neither did she, for that matter. However, the truth must come out. They could not all go on searching for a villain who did not exist. They may have fallen for the hoax, but the longer they went on with it, the more foolish they would seem.
She must find a way to put a stop to it.
*
Giles had risen early, determined to carry out his duty. As the only thing he had in mind was to get hold of Sir John’s appointment book, he had thoroughly briefed LaRue on the plan.
LaRue, upon hearing he was to have dealings with a charwoman, was just as offended as Giles had thought he would be.
“C’est en dessous de LaRue!”
Giles might have wondered at the meaning, if LaRue was not always complaining that something was below him or otherwise offending his dignity. He had the career of a valet and the pride of a king.
“What do you think you sold my coats for?” Giles said. “You understood the plan from the beginning so there’s no use complaining about it. In any case, I pay you to serve me and so you should not complain at all. I’m sure other valets do not carry on as you do.”
LaRue had straightened himself to his full height, which was not much of a height at all. “You pay me? Mon Dieu, I suffer amnesia! When did this happen?”
Of course, he had not paid LaRue in quite some time. “All right, you’ve made your point. I will pay you, at some later date. In any case, I cannot approach a charwoman and suggest she steal from the house. It has to be you.”
“Of course,” LaRue said. “And you, my wonderful employer, will wave to me as I swing from the gallows.”
“I will not let you down, if it comes to that.”
LaRue had continued to complain all the way to Sir John’s neighborhood. They had arrived just as the sun was coming over the rooftops. It was Giles’ plan that they watch the house for their opportunity. They must see Sir John leave and then spot the charwoman. If that good lady arrived while her employer remained in doors, they would have to take their chance another day.
They found a bench on the sidewalk, alongside a bricked garden wall, almost a block from the house. If they leaned forward, they could see the comings and goings of the house. Giles pretended to be taking in the day at his leisure, while occasionally craning his neck to see if there could be any movement spotted.
Sir John finally exited his abode three hours after they’d arrived. Giles had been on the verge of giving up, and LaRue claimed he would faint in one more minute of fresh air. Now, the fellow strode down the street in the opposite direction as if he had some important matter to attend to. Giles assumed he was on his way to some library or other to collect more dusty facts for Miss Dell. Well, he would not get away with whatever he was trying to do.
All they had to do now was wait for the charwoman.
*
Kitty had once again received an unexpected summons from her father. As she hurried to his study, she prayed it was not another book arriving. On the other hand, it might be even worse. What if it had come to her father’s attention that her name had been the subject of a wager in a gentlemen’s club? Or perhaps he had heard that Lord Grayson had been unmasked as Veritas and he wondered how she’d been fooled with all the rest?
The facts pointed to Lord Grayson, though something in Kitty’s mind had set up a small rebellion, arguing against it.
While she had told nobody of her ideas, that did not mean that someone else had not exposed Veritas using other clues. Sir John might even have done it. It was clear enough that there was enmity between the two gentlemen—if Lord Grayson accused Sir John of being Veritas as some sort of red herring, might not Sir John also be suspicious of Lord Grayson? There would be much talk after Lady Blakeley’s masque—might some of that talk include noting that there had been a certain gentleman wearing a very large V? Might some of that talk reach Sir John’s ears and he leap to a conclusion upon hearing it?
Lord Penderton was behind his desk with a sheet of paper in his hand. “Ah, Kitty, do sit down.”
Kitty did as she was bid and waited for her father to speak.
“I have received a note from Sir John Kullehamnd,” he said. “The gentleman wishes to call on me.”
Kitty was taken aback. He had proposed doing so and she had clearly told him not to do it. Certainly, he did not suggest an interview on her account.
The idea that he would not dare so much began to crumble. She got the awful feeling that Sir John might have decided to do what he liked, regardless of her opinion.
“Of course,” Lord Penderton continued, “there might be any number of reasons for his call, but as he does not name them I am convinced it is in regards to you.”
“I am afraid it might be so, papa,” Kitty said, “though I told him there was no need for anybody to call on my father at this moment.”
“I see,” her father said. “You were as clear as that, and yet he insists?”
“That is what I think, though as you said, there might be some other reason for it.”
“If there is not, if our surmises are correct,” Lord Penderton said, “why would the fellow ignore your wishes?”
“I believe,” Kitty said slowly, “that it may be because he does not put much stock in a female’s opinion. I only discovered it recently, he is…highhanded, is what I would call it.”
“I would call it forceful, and I do not like it,” Lord Penderton said. “He does not even really request an interview, he writes as if it is a foregone conclusion that I will see him.” He looked over the letter and laid it down. “May I assume you do not like him?”
“Yes, you may,” Kitty said. “I tried to like him, but I do not.”
“I am glad, my dear,” her father said. “When a woman marries, she puts herself in a man’s power. Of all the unhappy marriages I have seen, the cause is usually that the lady has married a man who exerts too much power.”
/> Though Kitty would not have expected her father to be so astute on this particular subject, he had summed up all of her misgivings about Sir John. She would have been in his power and as far as she could tell, he did not mind wielding that power.
“Can you imagine how the baroness and I would have got on if I attempted to exert control over her? If I dictated and directed?”
A giggle escaped Kitty as she really could not imagine such a circumstance.
“You may indeed laugh,” Lord Penderton said, smiling. “The notion is absurd. Your mother and I get on well because we allow each other to get on how we like. I would no more inform her of what her opinions are than I would howl at the moon. You are well to be clear of Sir John.”
“How should I be clear of him, though?” Kitty asked. “I told him not to approach you and he has anyway. What will you say to him?”
“I shall not say anything at all. I will write that I am not currently arranging any interviews and that should be sufficient. He will get the hint unless he is an absolute block of wood.”
Kitty was certain her father would know best how to handle the situation. It would be awkward to encounter Sir John afterward, but she fully expected he would say nothing of it and that would be the end of it.
The door opened and Hidgson stood in the doorframe appearing red in the face and entirely put out.
“I am sorry to disturb, my lord,” he said. “There is a gentleman at the door who refuses to be turned away. He is insistent that he must speak to you and claims he wrote ahead of time and you are aware that he would arrive. He says his name is Sir John Kullehamnd.”
Kitty felt herself go as cold as ice. It had been disturbing that Sir John had gone against her clearly stated wishes and written to her father. But now, he had come to the door?
It was frightening, as if there was nothing to be said or done to put him off. For that matter, the look on her father’s face was frightening. She could not remember ever seeing him so incensed.
“We ought to just send him away, papa,” Kitty said, “We can pretend you are not at home.”