by Joyce Alec
Josephine smiled, thinking rather highly of Lord Kingston. “I am sure she is most grateful,” she said, glancing about the room and wondering which of the ladies was his wife. “I, too, have only just returned to London.”
Lord Kingston nodded. “And your son?” he asked keenly, looking at Josephine with a rather sharp eye. “Is he in London with you?”
Josephine shook her head, a little surprised at his question. “No, he resides with my aunt,” she told him, all the more astonished when he appeared rather relieved. “Although he does very well in all aspects.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Lord Kingston replied quietly. “And are you in London for the Season?”
Lifting one shoulder, Josephine gave him a small smile. “I came to London simply to enjoy the company of the ton,” she lied. “And to perhaps reacquaint myself with those who were in the company of my husband.” Her eyes watched him keenly, seeing how he frowned at her remark. “I lost him very soon after he returned from the house party at Lord Stevenson’s estate and I cannot help but wonder whether or not there was anything I needed to know.”
Lord Kingston cleared his throat, his eyes a little dark. “I do not know what you mean, Lady Rutherford.”
“Was there any sign of illness upon my husband?” Josephine asked as Lady Fortescue watched them both converse. “He came home and then passed shortly afterwards. I did not get to speak to him about anything that had occurred at the house party, and that has been plaguing me ever since.”
The expression on Lord Kingston’s face changed in an instant. Now filled with sympathy, he shook his head and reached to press her hand for a moment.
“Your husband was a good man,” he told her kindly. “He did not keep anything of importance from you. I am only sorry that you had to lose him so soon after your marriage. That must have been very difficult indeed.”
Josephine nodded, appreciating his compassionate words but aware that he had not told her anything of importance. “Might I ask if there was an incident that took place at the house party, Lord Kingston?” she asked, choosing to be blunt rather than to dance around the issue at hand. “It is only that I have heard there was such an incident but, as yet, I have discovered no particular details.”
Lord Kingston frowned hard, his eyes filled with dark clouds, making Josephine worry that she had spoken out of turn in some way. Choosing not to rephrase her words or apologize for what she had said, she held Lord Kingston’s gaze and felt herself tremble inside.
“I do not know who has told you of such things,” Lord Kingston said slowly, “but I can assure you that no good will come from seeking out the truth, Lady Rutherford. The matter was dealt with and shall not be spoken of again.”
“I will not accept that,” Josephine replied firmly. “I do not believe, Lord Kingston, that my husband died of a malady of some kind that stole his life from him before his time. Instead, I believe that there may have been someone eager to do so.” She saw Lord Kingston’s frown lower all the more, became aware of the tightness of his jaw, but forced herself to continue regardless. “I am anxious to know what such an incident was at the house party, Lord Kingston, and I am certain that you are able to inform me of it.”
“But I shall not,” Lord Kingston replied resolutely. “I have sworn not to do so, Lady Rutherford, and despite your own eagerness to find out the truth, I will remain true to my word.”
Closing her eyes, Josephine felt hot tears burn in the corners but with an effort, forced them back.
“I do not know what to say about your belief that your husband was taken from this world by the hand of another,” Lord Kingston continued in that same, forceful tone of voice, “but I will state that I think it unlikely. The matter was dealt with. Lord Farrington made certain of it and I cannot imagine—”
“Regardless as to whether or not you can imagine it, Lord Kingston, the possibility remains,” Josephine interrupted, a little more forcefully. “But if you are unwilling to speak to me of it, if you have no desire to break your bond, then I shall respect that, Lord Kingston.”
Lord Kingston made to say something, then stopped himself. With a deep breath, he spread his hands and allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth.
“I do not mean to be either difficult or discourteous, Lady Rutherford,” he said, no trace of irritation in either his voice or his expression now. “Thank you for your understanding.”
Feeling utterly defeated, Josephine nodded and made to turn away, unable to find the words to thank him for, at the very least, listening to her.
“Lady Rutherford.”
She swung back to face him, a tiny spark of hope in her heart.
“The person you must speak to would be Lord Farrington,” Lord Kingston said gravely, looking for all the world as though he was giving away a dreadful secret. “He is the man who can tell you all, the man who should, by rights, be honest with you, no matter what he has promised himself.”
Josephine pressed her lips together, tingling spreading all through her as the shock of Lord Kingston’s words ran through her.
“Although I cannot say whether he will be willing to speak to you or not,” Lord Kingston said, almost by way of apology. “I should hope that he would have the decency to do so, but I could not give you my word on it.”
“I—I thank you,” Josephine managed to say, one hand pressed lightly to her stomach as she fought to keep her composure. “You are very generous, Lord Kingston.”
“I would rather not have spoken of it at all,” he told her, grimacing. “And from this point on, I shall do so no longer.” He bowed. “Good evening, Lady Rutherford.”
Josephine watched him depart, the urge to immediately go in search of Lord Farrington filling her. Such was her sense of urgency that she found it difficult to contain herself, growing almost desperate to find him.
“Lord Farrington is not present this evening,” Lady Fortescue murmured, putting a hand on Josephine’s arm. “Our host is not at all inclined toward him and I am certain would not have issued him an invitation.”
Josephine let out a long breath, closing her eyes and feeling the truth of her husband’s death finally growing a little closer to her. For so long, it had seemed like a vague, distant hope, like an early morning mist that appears for only a short time but fades soon after. But now, with what Lord Kingston had said, Josephine’s hopes were building furiously.
“I must speak to him,” she said, turning to Lady Fortescue, who was looking at her with wide eyes. “There is no time to be wasted.”
Lady Fortescue held up one hand, halting Josephine’s thoughts and intentions at once, given the frown that was now growing upon her friend’s brow.
“Do you truly think that he will tell you anything more?” Lady Fortescue asked gently. “After all, he was not inclined to do so the last time you spoke to him.”
With a quick frown, Josephine recalled how Lord Farrington had lied to her completely, without even a hint of guilt or remorse in his expression. In her head, she played out the situation that would occur if she spoke to him directly. Would he do the same as Lord Kingston had done and refuse to answer any questions she put to him? Would he claim that he, too, had promised silence on the matter? Or would he merely pretend that he had no knowledge as to what she spoke of and simply tell her that the other gentlemen were mistaken?
She did not have to consider the matter for long. The answer came to her very quickly indeed. From what she knew of Lord Farrington, he would not tell her anything she wanted to know. He would evade the questions she would put to him and not tell her a single word of truth.
“Then what am I to do?” she asked Lady Fortescue desperately. “I must know the truth from Lord Farrington and if he will not give it to me…then I am lost.”
Lady Fortescue studied Josephine carefully and did not give her an immediate answer. Josephine wanted to shake her friend, to beg her to give her an answer that would satisfy her completely, but she found she could only s
tare at Lady Fortescue, hanging onto the hope that she would be able to give her some kind of idea.
“Mayhap I could speak to him,” Lady Fortescue suggested carefully. “I could speak to him generally, mentioning you and your thoughts about the house party and mayhap even about Lord Kingston, just to get his measure.”
It was not the answer that Josephine had wanted from her friend but, after a moment of consideration, she realized that it was the only thing she could do for the time being. “I think that would be wise,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “I think that it would allow us both to know whether or not he would be willing to speak to us of anything—although I am certain that he will not.”
Lady Fortescue nodded, looking satisfied. “Very well.”
“But you must not speak to him for at least a sennight,” Josephine continued, feeling a little more in control of herself. “We must allay any suspicion and given that I have spoken to him only recently about such a thing, it would not be wise for you to mention it again so soon.”
Lady Fortescue agreed at once. “But of course,” she said, looping her hand through Josephine’s arm and turning to make their way a little more into the crowd of guests. “I do hope that he will speak to me of it, however, for it would be very helpful indeed, I know.”
“Indeed, it would,” Josephine mused, tilting her head as she considered something carefully. It was not a plan she would tell Lady Fortescue about, or even mention a word of it to anyone. But it was an intention, certainly. An intention that, if Lord Farrington did not speak to Lady Fortescue as she hoped, Josephine would take matters all the more firmly into her own hands. It would not be easy to accomplish and would, in fact, make things a lot more difficult for her in the long term. Would it be worth it to find out the truth? To bring about justice for her son in one way or another?
What will you do if Lord Farrington admits to the death of your husband? came a quiet voice within her. What will you do then? Will you seek vengeance?
Josephine shook her head to herself as Lady Fortescue continued to speak about her own intentions for Lord Farrington. She would certainly not seek to take anyone’s life in retribution, for, as far as she was concerned, she did not think it her right. But what she would do, she decided, would be to seek compensation for the loss of her son’s father in some form or another. She would make Lord Farrington—if it was he—publicly declare that he was guilty of the crime and thus, society would enact a punishment upon him for the rest of his days.
And just how shall you achieve such an outcome?
A small smile slid along Josephine’s face as yet more of her plan began to form. One way or the other, she would find out all the secrets Lord Farrington was hiding at present—and he would discover that he had very little choice but to do as she asked. Of that, Josephine was quite sure.
6
It had been a fortnight at least since Thomas had spoken to Lady Rutherford. A fortnight since he had determined that he would not care a jot should she be at the same social occasion as he, would not even glance at her should she come to stand directly next to him. As far as he was concerned, Lady Rutherford was nothing but a distraction—and a distraction he did not need.
What also worried him was the fact that she had discussed Lord Stevenson’s house party with him. Even Lady Fortescue had, only a few days ago, brought the event up in general conversation, although he had been able to push her from the topic very easily. Thomas was certain that all that had taken place there had been lost in the past and quite forgotten by those who had attended—and by those who had promised not to speak of it again. It seemed, however, for whatever reason, that Lady Rutherford had every intention of bringing it to the fore again, despite his own intentions.
Unfortunately, in her speaking to him of it, it had become rather difficult for Thomas to push it from his mind. It had all come flooding back and with it had come the disturbing memories and the painful guilt that had nearly swallowed him up back at the house party. Perhaps that was why he had thrown himself into society and had become the gentleman he was at present. It was nothing more than an attempt to forget, to rid himself of the pain and the remorse that still lingered in the depths of his heart. Pain that he had done his very best to bury so that he would think of it no longer, but pain that was there, nonetheless.
“You are becoming much too melancholy of late, Lord Rutherford.”
Snapping back to the present, Thomas looked down into the face of Miss March, rather surprised at her words.
“I am not melancholy,” he replied with a broad smile that he hoped would chase away any expression of despondency. “I am simply thinking of just how I shall miss your company when you are wed.”
Miss March blushed furiously. “It is not yet agreed,” she said, pressing herself a little more against him as they spoke quietly together. “There is still opportunity for—”
“But alas, I would not be given even a moment of your father’s consideration,” Thomas interrupted before Miss March could say any more. “As much as I might wish it, Miss March, there is nothing that I can do.” Pressing one hand against his heart, he let out a plaintive sigh whilst making certain that Lady Matheson had not yet turned her face toward them. “If only it could be otherwise.”
Miss March’s eyes rounded, possibly a little astonished at his evident eagerness to draw near to her, but Thomas said nothing more, only heaving another great sigh before capturing her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. With a gentle press of his mouth to her skin, he released her from his embrace and stepped back.
“I should take my leave,” he said in what he hoped was a sorrowful tone. “I do hope that your marriage is very favorable, Miss March. I shall be very sorry indeed to lose your acquaintance.”
Miss March’s eyes flooded but Thomas turned quickly and began to make his way through the drawing room, away from her and from Lady Matheson. Miss March had been a little in his company these last few weeks, but it was not enough of a temptation for him. She was to be married to a very suitable gentleman and Thomas truly did wish her the very best. There was nothing that he wanted from her and it was almost a relief to be parted.
“And what shall you do now?” said one of his acquaintances, slapping his hand so hard on Thomas’ shoulder that Thomas had no other choice but to come to a stop. “Are you to be quitting Miss March’s acquaintance?”
“Good evening, Lord Sheffield,” Thomas replied dryly, turning to look at the fellow. “Yes, I have every intention of quitting Miss March’s company for good, since she is now to be wed.”
Lord Sheffield’s face split with a wide grin. “And when has that ever stopped you from doing as you pleased?” he asked, laughing as though Thomas had said something truly outrageous. “Miss March clearly did not interest you enough to—”
“If you will excuse me,” Thomas interrupted, suddenly eager to remove himself from Lord Sheffield’s company. “I am called to another acquaintance.”
He frowned hard as he made his way toward the door, suddenly having no intention other than leaving the little soiree. Too many guests were present, too many faces to smile at, too many conversations to ignore. Besides which, he felt himself rather unsettled by all that had been said. Lord Sheffield’s consideration of him meant very little but the words had driven him away from the evening’s event. He no longer wanted to be in any particular company but instead thought to find himself an excellent bottle of brandy and a quiet corner of a room where he might observe others coming and going but would not be required to converse with anyone else.
“Are you leaving already?”
Thomas gritted his teeth as Lord Warwick stepped in front of him, one hand held out as though to prevent Thomas from moving forward.
“I am to go to White’s,” Thomas bit out, a frown darkening his brow. “I have no interest in remaining here.”
Lord Warwick said nothing for a moment or two, observing Thomas’ expression carefully.
“Very well,” cam
e the reply after a minute or so. “Then I have every intention of joining you.”
Looking hard at his friend, Thomas shook his head. “There is no need for you to do so, not if you are enjoying the evening.”
“I am not,” Lord Warwick replied with a shrug. “Lady Fortescue is present with that odious husband of hers and whilst I have enjoyed many a private conversation with her these last two weeks, I cannot be glad to see her with Lord Fortescue.” These last words were said with such feeling that Thomas rocked back on his heels in surprise. He had never once expected Lord Warwick to have such feelings for a lady of the ton, and certainly not one who was already married at that.
“You will, no doubt, think that I am being very foolish indeed,” Lord Warwick muttered, looking down at the floor in clear embarrassment. “I find Lady Fortescue to be the most charming lady of my acquaintance and to know that her husband cares nothing for her is deeply frustrating. I would have been a much better match for her than that…that blaggard!”
Thomas stared at his friend, not at all sure what he ought to say in response. He had not thought there was any particular issue with Lord Fortescue taking a mistress but seeing now the clear interest Lord Warwick had in the lady, Thomas had a glimpse of what a good match might look like. A match where both the parties had respect for the other, where they devoted themselves to the fulfilling of their vows. It was not something that Thomas had ever truly considered but, as he watched his friend look entirely miserable, he realized that such a match might be truly rewarding.
“I am sorry,” he said slowly, but Lord Warwick only shrugged.
“There is nothing I can do,” came the reply. “Therefore, it is foolish to even consider her—and yet I cannot remove her from my mind.”
“You could—”
“No.”