“So I’ve heard.”
Grentham waited a moment, and when the earl said nothing more, he merely shrugged, his expression inscrutable.
“What about the ring?” demanded Saybrook. “Dare we hope it’s more than false glitter?”
“I’m on my way to Antwerp. I hope to return in a day or two with an answer to your question. In the meantime . . .”
The horses splashed through a shallow stream cutting across the path.
“Why the devil did you allow Miss Kirtland to accompany you here?” growled the minister. “Aren’t two headstrong ladies enough to wreak holy terror among the ton? With three of them, God only knows what trouble they’ll get into.”
“Allow?” Saybrook raised his brows. “Oh, come. By now you must know that any suggestion that I might exercise absolute authority over the ladies in my life is laughable.”
“You’re admitting your wife wears the trousers in your household?” challenged Grentham.
“On occasion.” The earl’s lips twitched. “I have to say, she looks quite fetching in breeches and boots.” A pause. “As does Miss Kirtland. She’s a superb rider and a crack shot. Put her in a Hussar’s uniform and Heaven help the French Cuirassiers.”
A small sound rose above the thud-thud of hooves. It must have been a grunt as it surely couldn’t have been a laugh.
Bright sunlight fluttered up ahead, showing that the path forked, one way leading down through fields of well-tended farmland, the other turning toward the forest beyond the shimmering expanse of ripening wheat.
“Do try to keep some control over the ladies,” said Grentham as he turned his horse for the trees.
“They would likely respond that it’s the men who have made a muck things, and the time has come for them to take charge,” replied Saybrook.
Their eyes met for an instant.
“Remind them that pride goeth before a fall.”
“That applies to all of us,” whispered the earl as Grentham spurred to a canter, horse and rider quickly lost against the dark-on-dark silhouette of the distant woods.
Rather than use the brass doorknocker, Constantina raised her cane and rapped a staccato tattoo upon the painted oak. As she lowered the ebony shaft, she slanted a look at Arianna and Sophia and gave a wink. “Maintaining my reputation as eccentric old dragon will play in our favor.”
She was about to hammer again when a flustered butler opened the door and fixed them with a wary stare. “Milady?” he intoned with a note that seemed to question whether the dowager, despite her finery, was deserving of being addressed as a lady.
“Hmmph, don’t just stand there like a lackwit,” snapped Constantina, quick to seize the offensive. “Do I look like someone who wishes to wait until Doomsday before being escorted inside?” She pulled out her card and held it out. “Kindly inform my dear friend Charlotte that the dowager Countess of Sterling is cooling her heels outside.”
The man paled at the mention of a title. “T-this way, milady,” he stammered, gesturing for them to follow him inside.
Arianna knew the Duke of Richmond and his family had been late to take up residence in Brussels, and by the time they arrived, all the desirable houses in the fashionable neighborhoods near the park had been snapped up. Given the size of their brood—seven sons and seven daughters—he and he wife had little leeway in being finicky about their quarters. When it became known that a large house with spacious gardens and a number of outbuildings was available for rent on rue de Blanchisserie, the duke accepted, even though it had an unpleasant whiff of “trade” about it. Indeed, some wags mockingly called it “the Wash House” because of the street’s name.
“I understand this place belonged to a haute monde coachmaker,” murmured Arianna, as the butler left them in one of the side parlors to go inform the duchess of their arrival.
“A fact that has Charlotte’s nose out of joint,” replied Constantina. “She dislikes not being the arbiter of style.”
“It seems very airy and spacious, with tasteful appointments,” observed Sophia.
“I’ve heard there are two large wings, and the house is connected to the former workshops by—”
“This way, ladies,” said the butler, careful to keep his distance from the dowager’s cane.
“Ah, Lady Sterling, what a marvelous surprise to find you’ve come to Brussels!” gushed Charlotte Lennox, Duchess of Richmond, as she rose from her settee and rushed to greet them. “I do hope the journey wasn’t too grueling. The Channel crossing can be so rough.”
“I’ve a very tough constitution,” replied the dowager.
Someone in the room smothered a laugh.
“It takes more than a few waves to knock me off-kilter.”
“I’m delighted to hear that.” The duchess stretched her false smile a touch wider. “Just as I’m delighted to see Lady Saybrook has accompanied you.”
Liar, thought Arianna. The two of them had met only once, and it had been clear that the Charlotte had heard enough rumors to deem Arianna unworthy of moving within her exclusive circle.
“Allow me to introduce Miss Kirtland,” said Arianna, “who is also in Brussels as part of our party.”
Hearing no title, and no august family name, the duchess flicked an uninterested look over Sophia, as if she were a crumb sullying the carpet. “Enchanted.”
Her friend maintained a polite expression, but Arianna could see fire sparking beneath her lashes.
“You’re of course acquainted with our fellow Londoners, Lady Sterling,” An airy wave indicated a group of ladies seated near the hearth. “But now, come and let me introduce you to some of our local luminaries.”
Left on their own, Arianna and Sophia drifted toward the refreshment table, where two of the duchess’s elder daughters were serving tea.
“What a dreadful woman,” muttered Sophia under her breath.
“She’s arrogant, mean and spiteful,” agreed Arianna. “She’s also determined to keep an iron-fisted control on her position as the leader of beau monde Society. Which means she does her best to sniff out all the gossip and scandal. She’ll be an invaluable resource—we simply have to find a way to get her tongue wagging.”
Sophia made a face. “Being a toadeater isn’t my strength. But I shall do my best.”
“There are other ways of encouraging confidences,” said Arianna as she slanted a look around the room. Uninterested in the frivolous glitter and swirl of the London Season, she and Saybrook rarely attended the society parties. So while she recognized some of the faces, there was no one present whom she would call a friend.
And judging by the cool looks she was receiving in return, the feeling was mutual.
“Miss Kirtland!” A young lady who was speaking with the duchess’s two daughters suddenly looked around, her face wreathing in a smile. “How delightful to discover you’re here in Brussels.”
“And what a pleasant surprise to see you, Miss Capel,” replied Sophia. “From what I’ve seen so far, the city is filled with a great many superb-looking horses, so I imagine there’s ample opportunity to ride.”
“Oh, yes! Indeed there is.” Henrietta Capel turned to her friends. “Your brother will be quite impressed with Miss Kirtland’s equestrian skills. I shall demand that he invite us to join all of you for a gallop tomorrow.”
“I should like that very much,” responded Sophia.
After introductions were made all around, Arianna edged away as her friend was drawn into talk of horseflesh and handsome cavalry officers with the Lennox sisters and Harriett Capel. Constantina’s plan was proving a good one . . .
“La, what brings you to Brussels, Lady Saybrook?” A lady dressed in plum-colored silk approached, her plain face overpainted with rouge and kohl. “I would guess it’s not for the parties.”
The barb wasn’t particularly subtle. But then, the Honorable Mrs. Frederick Quincy wasn’t known for her wit or charm.
“No,” confirmed Arianna. “We’re here because of my husband
’s interest in botany.”
“Botany,” repeated Mrs. Quincy with a blank look.
“Plant life,” she murmured. “Flowers, shrubs, trees.”
“How . . . odd.” A spark of malice lit in the lady’s eye. “But given the number of foreigners here, I’m sure the earl will find kindred spirits among his Spanish compatriots.”
A faction of the beau monde found it infuriating that one of the oldest and most respected titles in Great Britain had been inherited by a man they considered naught but a half-breed mongrel, rather than one of their own bluebloods. No matter that Saybrook’s mother had been an aristocrat from one of the grandest families in Spain.
He—and she—were considered outsiders.
Thank God.
The high sticklers considered Saybook a pariah, and yet welcomed men like Mrs. Quincy’s husband—rakehell reprobates who, having squandered their family money and run up enormous debts, had fled to the Continent where they could live more cheaply.
“No doubt he will,” replied Arianna, deciding to keep her own rapier tongue sheathed for now. The thrusts and parries were, she knew, just beginning. Better to stay disengaged until she had a sense of who wielded the most dangerous blades.
“Will you be attending the Lady Howe’s ball on the day after tomorrow?” Mrs. Quincy’s expression betrayed her hope that the answer would be negative. New arrivals always threatened the pecking order of the local haute monde, and the lady was likely clinging to bottom rungs as her husband was only the younger son of a baron. “It’s very exclusive, as the Duke of Wellington will be there.” Word was, the Duke would be arriving in Brussels by early evening. “But of course, the guest list is extremely limited due to the small size of their residence.”
“As you see, my husband’s great aunt wields a good deal of influence in Society.” Not to speak of a very sharp stick. “So I imagine we shall be invited.” Arianna couldn’t resist adding, “And Saybrook is quite close to Wellington, having served on the Beau’s staff during the Peninsular campaign, so I’m sure the two of them will want to discuss the current situation.”
A flush darkened the two spots of rouge on Mrs. Quincy’s cheeks. “If you’ll excuse me, I see that Lady Auburn wishes to speak with me.”
“But of course.” Arianna circled back to the refreshment table, feeling the need for a cup of tea to wash the sour taste from her mouth.
Polite Society—ha! She would much rather face a regiment of knife-wielding whirling dervishes than a roomful of cat-clawed highborn ladies. That danger had a certain moral honesty. The other was swathed in layers of lies and subterfuge.
“Are you ready to take your leave?” Having finished making polite conversation with the duchess and her inner circle, Constantina had come to fetch her.
“Yes.” Sophia was conversing with the young ladies in a spot by the diamond-paned windows, but Arianna caught her eye and gave a small nod. “I find myself in need of a breath of fresh air.”
“French perfume is cheap here,” quipped the dowager.
“So are insincere flatteries and double-edged jealousies.” She took another glance around the room. “This is the sort of place where people will sell their soul for a pittance.”
“And pay a terrible price for betraying all sense of honor,” said Sophia as she joined them.
Honor and betrayal. Victory and defeat on the battlefield depended on more than bullets and blades.
The dowager took Arianna’s arm. “Let us have the carriage drop us for a stroll in the park before we return home. It’s a favorite gathering spot for the Society, and the officers from the various regimental encampments in the area often come there to strut their plumage.”
The drive from the Lennox family residence to the park followed along the curve of the old stone ramparts of the city, which afforded a view over the countryside and the Forest of Soignes. The verdant enclave of lawns and shrubbery was encircled by a handsome wrought iron fence and looked out upon the most fashionable residences in the city, their façades highlighted by marble columns and painted trim in mellow shades of ochre and green.
As they stepped down into rue Ducale, Constantina pointed out two of the nearby houses. “The Capels live there, and Lord Lynedoch—General Graham before the King recently rewarded him with a title—is next to them. He was, you know, one of Wellington’s favorite commanders in the Peninsular campaign and is much admired for his bravery.”
She gestured with her cane. “Wellington’s house is directly across the park. No doubt this will be a center of activity as crowds gather, hoping for a glimpse of the Great Hero.”
And no doubt the duke’s headquarters will also attract a bevy of French spies, thought Arianna. They would be watching the coming and goings, and hoping to overhear some useful information.
Already she could see the walkways within the park were alive with activity, the sprigged muslins and pale silks of the ladies a fluttery counterpoint to the bright regimental colors and gold braid of the military officers. In the center of the lawns, half hidden by the leafy shrubberies, was a pavilion selling refreshments.
“Shall we enter?” she suggested.
The trees cast a pleasant shade over the wide graveled paths. Intent on seeing what views of Wellington’s residence could be had from within the gates, and what sort of cover the bushes provided, Arianna suggested cutting across to the other side. A pocket telescope, used from the right angles, could reveal more than the duke’s military attachés might imagine. If a word of warning needed to be passed . . .
The dowager stumbled on the stones, snapping Arianna’s attention from the surveillance.
“Why don’t you and Sophia have a seat on the bench up ahead while I walk to the far end of the park and back,” she suggested.
Constantina looked about to argue, so she quickly added, “ I’d like to have a look at the houses. I won’t be long.”
A glint of understanding lit in the dowager’s eyes. “Don’t hurry on my account. I’m happy to sit and watch the parade of people.” In a softer voice, she added. “I’ll make a mental note of who I recognize and this evening we can begin a ledger of who is here, and who may prove a useful contact.”
“An excellent idea,” replied Arianna. Given the dowager’s acquaintance with all the leading families of the beau monde and how all the various minor branches intertwined, a list could be valuable.
“I shall also have Gerard bring me here for an afternoon stroll, so we may identify many of the foreign visitors.” A pause. “Even if they would rather their presence remain unnoticed.”
“Another good suggestion,” she remarked. Despite the sylvan setting, the whispery rustle of the leaves in the afternoon breeze was a reminder that intrigue was afoot in every nook and cranny of the city.
Leaving them settled in the shade, Arianna made her way to the perimeter walkway and slowed to a leisurely pace. The border plantings of colorful flowers and ornamental shrubs provided ample opportunity to pause and pretend to admire the arrangements. As it was de rigueur for a lady to have an interest in art, it occurred to her that she could bring a sketchbook next time and make some detailed drawings of the houses surrounding Wellington’s residence. Her skills with a pencil were mediocre at best, but one never knew when a map, however crude, might prove important.
There were, she noted, two gates on this side of the park—
A soft cry from the thicket of rose bushes behind her startled Arianna from her surveillance. On instant alert, she whirled around.
And saw nothing.
The cry came again.
Crossing to the interior side of the path, she crouched down and spotted a flutter of pale pink fabric through the spiky branches, and then a fleeting glimpse of raven-dark curls framing a small, tear-stained face.
“Estoy atascado.”
Arianna quickly rose and circled around into the shadows of the bushes. “Here, let me help you,” she murmured, then repeated the words in Spanish.
A little
girl looked up, a blade of sunlight sparking a glint of topaz in her velvety brown eyes. “Z-zhank you,” she stammered as Arianna unsnagged her petticoat from the thorns.
“De nada.” Arianna helped her slide out from the branches. “You speak English?”
A tremulous smile. “A little.” The girl was slender as a woodsprite and her heart-shaped face possessed an ethereal elfin beauty. “Mama and I lived in London for a time.”
“Is your Papa a diplomat?” asked Arianna, thinking perhaps Mellon knew the fellow.
The little girl’s expression clouded. “I don’t have a Papa. He—”
“Nereid! Nereid!” A lady’s agitated voice rose ruffled through the breeze. “¿Dónde estás?”
A guilty look pooled in the girl’s luminous eyes. “I’m not supposed to wander off, but the roses looked so pretty and I wished to see what’s inside the petals.”
“I’m sure your mother will forgive you. Children are meant to be curious.” Arianna felt a strange stab, all the more sharp for being so unexpected. Hers wasn’t a particularly maternal nature, perhaps because she had lost her own mother at such an early age, so the sudden twinge of regret at having no children came as a great surprise.
But no doubt the worries about Pierson’s daughter had her emotions on edge.
Shaking off the sensation, she took the girl’s hand. “Come, let us assure your Mama that you’ve suffered no mishap.”
As Arianna rose, she saw a lone figure hurrying down the walkway. A tall and willowy lady, whose obvious agitation couldn’t hide the grace of her movements.
Lifting a hand, Arianna gave a wave.
“¡Querida!” The lady rushed to join them and swept up the girl in a fierce hug. “You mustn’t wander off, Nereid. There are so many strangers here these day and it’s . . . easy to get lost,” she scolded in Spanish. Fixing Arianna with a grateful smile, she switched to French. “Merci, madame.”
“She is English, mamá,” offered Nereid.
“Then please allow me to express my gratitude in that language, too.” A brilliant smile, its pearly perfection accentuated by the lady’s flawless olive complexion. Like her daughter, she was a stunning beauty. And judging by the expensive silk and exquisite cut of her gown, a rather wealthy one.
A Question of Numbers Page 9