Ben took a deep breath and continued, “Max is getting more powerful through the money he makes for the Knights, and he’s won over many a member by providing them with a clubhouse, but Warthon is still officially the leader of the Knights and very much clings to that power. You, my dear, have stepped inadvertently into a brutal power struggle betwixt Max and his grandfather.”
Lady Jane sounded confused. “What do you mean? Max is the heir!”
“He is indeed, and Warthon did his best to create him in his own image, I’m sure you remember. But Max has become his own man despite all the earl’s efforts, and Warthon doesn’t like it one bit. You see, this is a very old organization, with rules and rituals dating back to the Dark Ages. Warthon is a true disciple of the old ways. As far as he is concerned, there can only be one leader, and since he is that leader currently, everyone should follow him unquestioningly or face the consequences. Max’s ascension looks like rebellion to him and therefore needs to be quelled. Max, however, is already far too powerful for the earl to simply discipline him, hence the power struggle.”
Again there was an impatient huff from the lady. “Yes, yes, I see. So they are posturing about like prize fighters. How very male of them. I still don’t see why I can’t be part of this ritual you speak of.”
Henry could feel the waves of frustration emanating from the young man in the coach, but he answered Lady Jane with remarkable patience. “The original Knights came over with William the Conqueror. They were all younger sons with no hope of inheriting land and had pledged themselves to William in the hope of earning land through their service. They proved themselves in battle, and when they were given their reward in England, they were also given carte blanche in how they wanted to handle taking over the land. They were Norman, and everyone else on the land was Saxon, so not only did they have trouble communicating with the people who worked their land, the populace tended toward rebellion. So the twelve original Knights, who were all unmarried when they arrived, decided to pacify the land by marrying either the widow or the daughter of the disposed Saxon lord. They killed the men, then literally claimed the women, publicly, with a priest in attendance.
“Two of the Knights who were given land found no lady of marriageable age left on their new property. They called for a meeting and asked their friends to bring marriageable women they were now responsible for so they could choose from amongst them. The Knights claimed wives at the meeting and thereby pacified their land. And as new Knights joined their secret pact to protect the king and claim England, and as their daughters grew to womanhood, they performed claimings at their annual meetings. Two generations later, they no longer needed to pacify the land, but marriage amongst their children made the bonds between them stronger.”
Lady Jane snapped impatiently, “So my father decided to offer me to the Knights to find me a husband. Why is that so bad? I’m of age; all I had to do was say no.”
Ben let out a bitter little laugh. “You haven’t been listening. The Knights never gave the women a choice. If a father offers his daughter at a meeting, he presents her naked, and the Knight with the highest rank who wants her, claims her by taking her virginity right there in front of all those present.”
Henry could hear Lady Jane drawing in a sharp breath, then there was a long pause. When she finally spoke, she sounded much younger, almost vulnerable. “Oh Lord. I never would have thought my father could be so cruel.”
Ben’s voice gentled. “To be fair, I don’t think it was your father’s idea. The old earl was behind it. Warthon is desperate to find some way to bring Max back under his control, and he knows about your friendship with him. He banked on Max doing everything in his power to shield you, but the only thing he could have done would have been to claim you himself. You see, a ritual claiming in this day and age would have been a clear victory for Warthon. All the younger, more progressive members would have gone along with it because they’re already drunk on spirits and the sexual display they’re watching. The ones less familiar with the ancient rules would probably have assumed it to be part of the display. Max can’t openly challenge his grandfather in such a meeting without losing all he has worked for, and you know how important guiding the Knights into a new era is to him.”
“So my oldest friend and confidant would have claimed me, raped me, in front of a crowd of drunken men, and then forced me to marry him.” The words were bitter, but Lady Jane sounded so lost, Henry actually felt sorry for her. The coach shifted in an odd way and Henry surmised Ben had moved to sit beside her.
“Jane, my love, there would have been no other choice. He can’t go against the rules of the Knights, Warthon, and your father without incurring the wrath of the entire assembly. In this organization you do not publicly defy your elders, and most certainly not those with higher rank than you. Warthon would’ve stripped him of his membership and named a new successor, then the next-highest ranking Knight would’ve claimed you. Do you see now why you really couldn’t be there?”
Jane’s response was muffled, as if she had buried her face in his lapels, and he made a humming sound, presumably to soothe her.
Henry, from his perch behind the coach, noticed the lights of Hove and decided to leave the two lovebirds to their own devices. As the coach passed the next bush, he jumped down from the high seat and immediately rolled behind the bush in case someone in the carriage noticed the movement and looked out the window. But the vehicle carried on along the tiny lane, and so, after a suitable interval, Henry got up and headed back to check on the three women taking part in the display. But by the time he reached the abbey, the three ladies of the night were climbing into the wagon, happily chatting, so Henry returned to where he and William had left their mounts in the little stand of trees.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HENRY REACHED THE HORSES WITHOUT INCI-dent, sounded two owl hoots separated by three beats to tell William it was time to retreat, and freed the animals from their tethers. By the time William joined him, Henry was in the saddle, eager to get back to the hotel. An hour later, they made their way up the back stairs to Henry’s apartment.
William gave the rooms a quick inspection, then took a glass of brandy from his employer and sat opposite Henry by the fireplace. “And?”
Henry took a sip of his brandy and grinned at his companion. “It’s the Snake Pit, all right. Didcomb wears the ring, and I could swear Jennings had one too. There is no conspiracy against the crown to speak of, or anything like we found in Astor’s dungeon, but they are still as active as we suspected, and some of their rituals are rather barbaric. Warthon is the leader, not Elridge as we thought, and the rather ingenious Lord Didcomb is changing the organization from within. He is sidelining the old warriors by recruiting young, like-minded people and providing them with a clubhouse. He is also making them all rich with his forays into the world of commerce. I have a good mind to invest a little money with him just to see how he does it. No way to know for sure until Allen finds the house, but I think Mary and the missing girls are employed at Didcomb’s club, and if the three women I observed this evening are anything to go by, they are quite happy with their lot.”
William whistled through his teeth and raised his glass to salute his employer. “Quite the night’s work. So what will we do now?”
Henry contemplated the amber liquid in his glass. “Keep an eye on the Warthon estate, since Warthon is the one who wants to take revenge on me, and he is the leader. We also need to identify all the members and make sure Ostley has no opportunity to harm Emily in any way.” Henry smiled at his old comrade. “Beyond that, I intend to enjoy the summer by the sea.”
William couldn’t resist teasing, “And carry a certain young lady’s painting bag about the place.”
Henry grinned and drained his glass. “A worthwhile occupation, I assure you.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING FOUND ISABELLA on the first-floor landing, about to descend the stairs to attend Mrs. Curtis’s At Home, when George’s voice stopped her shor
t. Knowing he was near disturbed her no less than it had the day before. All the blood seemed to drain from her brain, and she had to hold on to the banister to steady herself.
There was a short exchange with the footman at the door, then George was led to the drawing room.
“My lady, Viscount Ridgeworth to see you.”
Isabella, still frozen in place, could hear her mother’s excited greeting through the open drawing room door.
“George, hello! What do you mean, Viscount Ridgeworth? Since when?”
“Since April, Lady Chancellor. A tragic accident.”
There was a pause, and Isabella imagined him bowing and smiling that ingratiating smile everyone thought kind. He continued, “I ran into the lovely Isabella on the beach yesterday and simply had to come pay my respects before I have to return to London. A viscountcy doesn’t run itself, you know, so my stay here is short.”
Isabella noted for the first time how affected his speech was. It certainly wasn’t an improvement on the impulsive boy she had known. Sally had come up behind her and put her arm around her waist as the drawing room door closed, and they could hear no more.
“At least now you know he isn’t staying long.”
Isabella nodded, but made no move to go down.
Sally gave her a little nudge. “You best get in there before he puts a flea in your mother’s ear. Remember what we talked about.”
Isabella remembered, but didn’t trust her voice. She was still contemplating her wobbly legs when another knock sounded from the front door, and the squire was admitted, carrying a big bouquet of daisies and cornflowers.
Sally nudged her again. “Go in with the squire. It’ll be easier.”
Her friend had a good point: it would be easier to enter the room on another man’s arm. Still not easy, but easier. Isabella squared her shoulders and descended the stairs.
“Good morning, squire. Are these for me?” She smiled at her unsuspecting savior. “They are lovely!”
The squire smiled back and came forward to offer his hand as she stepped off the last stair. “Good morning, Miss Chancellor. You look pretty in blue. I’m so glad you like what grows on my land.”
“Thank you, squire, I’m indeed partial to wildflowers.” She took the flowers and put her free hand on the squire’s arm so he could lead her to the drawing room, addressing the footman as she went. “Eddy, would you bring me a vase?”
It was unusual to arrange flowers during an At Home, but it would give her something to do, and that would make it easier to face George once again.
George jumped up as soon as she entered the room, but she only greeted him with a short, “Hello, George; you found us, then?”
George bowed. “Indeed I did, Izzy. I couldn’t leave without ascertaining if I would still find you here in a fortnight or so, when my affairs may allow me to return.”
Isabella took the bouquet to a small table by the window, so overcome by the news of his planned return that she forgot to reply.
The baroness answered for her. “Oh goodness, of course you will! We plan to remain here till the second week of September. Do come back. You two must have so much to talk about.”
Isabella cringed at her mother’s enthusiasm, but managed a weak smile. “We shall expect you then.”
George happily took that as his cue to leave. “I shall hurry back.” He made another bow. “Until we meet again.”
Isabella’s eyes followed George to the door and stayed there even after it had closed. It was as if she needed to know he had left the house before she could breathe again. Her hands shook as she arranged the flowers in their vase, but the squire helped her and made pleasant small talk, and bit by bit she calmed again.
A quarter hour later, the squire took his leave, and as soon as the door closed behind him, the baroness swung around to face her daughter.
“You could’ve been more welcoming to an old friend like George, especially now he is a viscount. He asked for your hand once, and he isn’t married yet. I’m sure he could be persuaded to offer again.”
Isabella was not surprised at her mother’s way of thinking, nor that she knew he was unmarried. Remembering Sally’s advice, she pulled a sour face. “Mama, George was Freddy’s best friend when we were children; he put bugs in my hair and soap in my tea. How could I ever think of him in that way, especially with a man like Sir Henry about.”
Isabella conveniently blushed at this point, because, after all, it was true. Both Lady Chancellor and Mrs. Curtis looked at Isabella in stunned silence for a moment, then Mrs. Curtis excitedly tittered into her handkerchief. “Oh, Lydia, I do believe our Isabella has a tendre for Sir Henry.”
The baroness’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Is that so, Isabella?”
Isabella lowered her eyes to the floor and shrugged. “I do like him.”
Mrs. Curtis smiled with the enthusiasm of a woman who knew love and wished such happiness upon every other female. “Look at her, she’s shy about it.” She nudged her friend conspiratorially while the baroness assessed her daughter from head to toe.
“Well, if you want him, we better all do our part to bring him up to scratch.”
Isabella, realizing what hornet’s nest she’d stirred up in her zeal to draw her mother’s attention away from George and his title, racked her brain for a way to halt her mother. “Please, Mama, keep in mind Sir Henry had a rather unpleasant experience during the London season. I don’t think he would react well to any sort of pressure.”
Mrs. Curtis cocked her head to the side in thought. “Lydia, dear, I do think the child is right. And he is already very attentive. No need for feminine wiles just yet.”
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE spent in the kinds of pursuits both a fifteen-year-old and a lady of four and twenty could enjoy. They went shopping for a new painting hat for Isabella and dresses for Emily. Isabella used the trip to the modiste to order a dress made from the silk Henry had given her. She brought in her own design, and Emily was so enamored with it, she asked Isabella to design a dress for her as well. They spent a very pleasant rainy afternoon working on it.
Other outings included a walk in the grounds around the Royal Pavilion, another beach day, tea with the baroness at Mrs. Curtis’s house, and a drive into the countryside in an open landau. The dowager duchess chaperoned them wherever they went, firmly establishing Henry in the number-one spot among suitors, in Lady Chancellor’s mind.
The baroness was made aware of Mr. Wickham’s less-than-desirable reputation, which, much to her daughter’s relief, prompted her to give the man the cold shoulder. Isabella’s other two suitors still hung round, but Henry’s presence and continued interest relegated them to the background.
Lady Chancellor was clearly not happy with the presence of Henry’s illegitimate child, but couldn’t hide her pleasure at making the acquaintance of the legendary Dowager Duchess of Avon. That Emily was beautiful and the dowager doted on her reconciled the lady somewhat to the prospect of having to accept her into the family. After all, marriage to Sir Henry would bring some major advantages. He had no need for an heir since he had no title and already had a child to spoil and love, therefore there was a good chance he might spare Isabella the marriage bed and return to his long-term mistress immediately after the wedding night. She communicated these conclusions to her stunned daughter and was gratified to find her child rather sensible on the matter for a change.
What Lady Chancellor didn’t realize was that Isabella agreed Henry would seek solace in his former mistress’s arms—in fact, she assumed he would do so as soon as he discovered her secret. She spent a dismal night in contemplation of her future because of it. There was only one consolation in this situation: Henry was her friend and knew her thoughts on marriage, so there was no danger of him proposing. And with his daughter and grandmother constantly in attendance, he posed no danger as a man either.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A COUPLE OF WEEKS AFTER EMILY’S ARRIVAL IN Brighton, and in the midst of t
he July heat, the dowager announced to her grandson that all was in readiness for them to enjoy a weekend excursion to his estate above Brighton. Lady Chancellor, Mrs. Curtis, and Isabella were invited, and several horses hired so they could go riding along the cliffs.
When they reached the town house on the appointed day, however, they were greeted by a harried-looking maid and, behind her, the male members of the staff rushing in and out of the morning room, while a continuous wail of despair emanated from that direction.
Alarmed, Henry flung all decorum to the wind and ran to the little salon at the back of the house. There he found Isabella wafting smelling salts under Mrs. Curtis’s nose while her mother paced the floor, wringing her hands. Henry knelt next to his Isabella—having started to refer to her as his in his mind. He took the smelling salts out of her hand and asked quietly, “What in the world is going on?”
Isabella helped the wretchedly crying Mrs. Curtis to sit up so her maid could loosen her corset. “We just got word Mr. Curtis died two days ago of a heart attack. Poor Mrs. Curtis is in complete shock.”
Henry covered the distraught woman’s hands with one of his. “I’m so sorry for your loss, my dear Mrs. Curtis. Whatever you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Mrs. Curtis looked up at him miserably. “He’s never had anything worse than a cold in his life.” She sobbed between hiccups, “I’m so sorry to spoil your weekend, but I don’t think I can make it to Surrey all by myself. I need Lydia to come with me.”
Isabella rubbed the distraught woman’s shoulders and met Henry’s gaze, her eyes full of sadness and regret. Surmising Lydia to be the baroness, Henry nodded his understanding. “Of course we can’t let you make the journey by yourself.”
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