by Charlie Lane
Allison stepped away from Carson despite his whispered entreaties to “come back this very instant, you mad woman.” She didn’t stop until she stood toe-to-toe with Lady Hemsworth. “Your son is a good man,” she said. “Kind and brave, both qualities you say young ladies should look for in possible husbands.”
Lady Hemsworth focused on her son. His cravat hung limp around his neck, his jacket had disappeared, and a sword hung from his hip by a sash. Allison’s very own drama-mad pirate. The least boring person she’d ever met.
Lady Hemsworth looked back to Allison, her lips trembled. “Where’s his jacket is what I’d like to know. He was always losing his jacket as a child.”
“It’s not lost, Mother.” Carson stepped forward, raising a conciliatory hand. “I gave it to Hellwater for safekeeping.”
Lady Hemsworth’s hands fluttered about her chest. Would she swoon again? “Hellwater and safe,” she said, “are not words that belong in the same sentence.”
“I know the value of a good jacket, madam!” Hellwater bellowed as he strode across the room, jacket in hand. “If it means that much to you, here.” He shoved the jacket at Lady Hemsworth’s trembling bosom.
She snatched it from his hand. “What are you still doing here? I told everyone to leave! This is your fault, I know it!” She stepped away from Allison to face the giant earl head-on. “And yours, too.” She didn’t take her eyes off the earl, but Allison knew the words were aimed at her.
Allison forgot all desire to befriend Lady Hemsworth. “What am I at fault for, my lady? I don’t—”
Carson’s hand on her shoulder stopped her burgeoning tirade. He put a hand on his mother’s shoulder as well. “Hellwater, can we have some privacy, please?”
Hellwater stepped away, pulling the fake mustache from his upper lip. “You’re doomed to a life exploding with passionate women, my poor Romeo. Good luck.”
Carson nodded and steered Allison and his mother toward two of the few chairs not toppled in the room. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Allison felt torn between admiration for his rakish beauty and indignation at the coming lecture. Now the priggish Carson would return? This should be interesting.
Carson sat, his posture and expression softening as he looked from Allison to his mother and back.
“I’m sorry for the play, Mother. It upset you. But I needed to prove to Allison I can be my own man.”
“Hmph.” Lady Hemsworth turned away from her son. “Typical of a man like you.”
“And what do you mean?”
“Typical of a rogue, a cad, a scoundrel, a bounder, the worst sort of man who cares nothing for others’ feelings.”
“I do care about your feelings. But I also have to live my own life. Do you really think me a scoundrel because I like to be active? Because I like gothic novels and the occasional harmless adventure? I’m not losing my inheritance at hells. I’m not sleeping with married women or mistreating the servants. I’m not addicted to drink or any other vice.”
Lady Hemsworth turned to Allison, her gaze sharp as a razor’s edge. “Good luck with him, then. His father’s blood flows true despite all my efforts, it seems. Not even you deserve the fate of living with a man like that.”
Allison bounced from her seat, her fists clenching in her skirts. “A man like what? A joyful man, an intelligent one? A kind one? How many times must I say it? Your son is good, and I love him. You should, too.”
Lady Hemsworth stood. Calmly, with long, steadying strokes, she smoothed her skirts and straightened her spine. When she looked at Allison again, her face was serene, composed, as if the last half hour had never happened. The only tell was the glimmer of tears in her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice rang with smooth confidence. “Do not invite me to the wedding.” Then she left.
Allison watched the empty space of the doorway for several breaths before turning to watch Carson. His shoulders slumped. She leaned her head against his shoulder and tangled her fingers with his. “I’m sorry, Carson.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “That’s not how I hoped this would go.”
“You hoped for her acceptance?”
“I hoped for her forgiveness.”
Allison’s forehead wrinkled. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“She’ll never see it that way. My father was a sporting man, a jolly man. Until he wasn’t. The last time I saw my father was almost six years ago. Before that, I hadn’t seen him since I was a child. No one knew he’d left his mistress in Scotland to … what he’d hoped to accomplish exactly, I’m not sure.”
Allison rubbed her thumb along his knuckles, seeking to sooth.
“He just appeared, a ghost from the past, at an afternoon musical. He was drunk, of course, and stumbled into a young lady playing the violin, knocking over a table of refreshments. He blamed my mother, dragged her from the room, and began beating her before they could exit the house.”
“Oh, I’m …” Sorry? The words weren’t enough.
“I’m not like him,” Carson growled.
“No! You’re nothing like that!”
“I wish she could understand.”
Allison wrapped her arms around Carson’s stiff form. “I am going to be friends with your mother.” She’d try anyway. Maybe she could wear her down over time.
Carson’s laugh stole quietly into her heart. His arms came around her, and she inhaled the sweet scent of him. “Chocolate?”
“I’ve a few more left in my jacket pocket if you’d like one.”
Allison leaned into him, clasped her hands behind his neck, and pulled his head closer. “Let’s share,” she whispered, covering his lips with her own.
He kissed her once, then pulled away. “I like your plan.” Another kiss, this time on her chin. “Let’s share other things as well.” The next kiss settled at the corner of her jaw, tantalizingly close to her neck. “Books.” He kissed the lobe of her ear. “And stories.” He kissed her temple. “And adventures.”
Allison dragged his mouth back to hers. “And life. Let’s share life.”
Epilogue
The townhouse rising above Allison looked like any other, and yet it seemed to stand straighter, as if scared to slouch. Its white marble exterior shone brighter, as if aware of its occupant’s superior virtue. Allison’s palms sweated. She rubbed them on her skirts. At her side, Carson lifted his hand to knock. She grabbed his arm before he could rap on the gleaming wood. “Is not it strange to knock on your own door?”
“Yes. Stranger still, though, to have my mother show up to the wedding, stand at the back of the room, and leave before the kiss.”
Yes, strange indeed.
Carson grunted. “She made a scene.”
Allison looked from gleaming marble to her walking boots. “I’m no longer surprised. She has a talent for scenes. Must be where you got it from.”
“What’s that?”
Bollocks. She’d spoken out loud again. “She’s been making scenes since we married.”
Carson raised her hand to his lips for a kiss, then studied the sky. “Let’s see. First, the wedding. And then the spectacle at Hopkins Bookshop.”
“Not a single Moral Guide remained when she’d finished ransacking the place. I wonder what she did with them.”
“Mm. Then Almack’s.”
Carson’s lip flicked up in a half-smile. “I heard she all but shoved Lady Ann into the string quartet.”
An intriguing image. Allison almost wished she’d been there. But they’d been on an adventure the evening in question. Trousers really were superior to skirts.
Carson turned his gaze from the clouds to the fine-grained wood before them. “And they say she’s not been out in society for a few months now.”
Allison tilted her head in thought. “Becoming reclusive is the opposite of making a scene, but it seems like a scene anyway, doesn’t it?”
“Well.” Carson raised his hand to knock at the door. “Let’s make a scene of our own.”
>
Allison nodded and squeezed the hand not hovering inches before the door. “It’s not your fault, you know, her reclusiveness. The scenes.”
“I know.
“You’ve been a model of propriety, despite your marriage to a hoyden like myself.”
“Hm. I can behave when necessary. And misbehave when desirable.” His deep voice rolled over her like the warmed honey he’d licked from her belly last night.
“My, it’s hot today.”
“Warmish at best. Something else must have you heated through and through, Lady Trevor.”
Allison squeezed his arm. “You must get all such scandalous notions out now before we go inside. Our purpose here today is quite serious.”
He nodded, his face grave for a second before lighting up. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it? The most remarkable thing we’ve done yet.”
“And we’ve done quite a lot.”
“The brothel we visited?”
“Yes.”
“And the gaming hell we ran in our house for a week?”
“Mm-hm. But I’m not sure that counts as a real hell,” Allison mused. We invited only my friends from the Scandalous London Ladies.”
“Their husbands came, too. It counts.” He grinned down at her. “But this! A baby!”
“Yes,” she breathed, bouncing on her toes.
“I think Mother will love being a grandmother. She may even forgive us.”
Allison tugged the brim of her bonnet down. “You don’t think she’ll try to take the baby from us on the grounds we’re unfit parents?”
Carson laughed. “No. Besides, we crossed all the items off our list. There are no more scandalous things to do. And we won’t tell her about the brothel or the hell.”
“Most decidedly not!” She breathed heavily once, twice, then turned a face contorted with worry to Carson. “I’m nervous.”
Carson took Allison’s hands and kissed her knuckles before drawing her up for a slow, scandalous kiss. “Better?”
“Much,” she replied, melting into him.
The door opened on silent hinges and a rusty voice coughed below surprised eyebrows. “Ahem. Lord and Lady Trevor.”
Carson bounded up the steps, pulling Allison along behind. “Greggs! I know we’ve not been invited. And, technically, we’ve been uninvited. Forever. But she won’t mind once we’ve told her why we’re here. I hope. Is she in the green sitting room?”
“No, my lord, they are in her personal sitting room; but—”
Carson frowned at Greggs. “They?” He turned to Allison. “Do you think it’s the old crew from the Moral luncheons?”
Allison shrugged, shaking her head.
Greggs squeezed the door shut until only his face peeped through. “Now is not a good time, my lord. Return in an hour or so—two, perhaps—and I’m sure—”
“No, no. We gathered all our courage. It must be now.” Carson used his foot to swing the door wide and his shoulder to push past Greggs, pulling Allison behind him. “Into the lion’s den.”
They climbed the stairs and strode down a hall on the second floor. Carson knocked rapidly on a door at the end of the hall three times, calling, “Mother?”
A flurry of sounds—swishes, clatters, and coughs—sailed from beneath the door until, after a moment or two of silence, it swung open.
Lady Hemsworth stood tall and proud in the frame. She looked once at Carson, and once at Allison, then scratched her neck above her high-collared gown. Was she nervous? Lady Hemsworth stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. “What are the two of you doing here?” she snapped.
Carson stepped forward, chin held high. “We have something important to tell you. Mother, we—”
“For God’s sake, Carson, whatever it is, now is not the time. Come back later. In an hour or so.” She threw a nervous glance at the door behind her.
Allison bristled. “If she doesn’t want to know, I don’t want to tell her. Let’s go.”
Carson ignored her, narrowing his eyes at the door. “Who’s in there?”
Was there about to be another scene? All the ingredients were present—volatile personalities, a long-standing feud, a mysterious secret. Lady Hemsworth’s mysterious secret. Allison clutched her skirts to keep from rubbing her hands together in anticipation. No, no. That would not do. A scene wouldn’t bring Carson’s family back together. She placed a calming hand on Carson’s back. “We can come back later, when your mother is prepared for our visit.”
Lady Hemsworth raised surprised eyes at her daughter-in-law. “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder again, briefly, then repeated. “Thank you. It will just be an hour or so.”
Carson frowned at the closed door. “Who’s in there?”
“That is none of your concern,” Lady Hemsworth admonished.
Allison sighed. She enjoyed a bit of drama, but she felt quite queasy and wanted a seat and something sweet. It made no sense, but there it was. She hid a yawn behind her hand. She’d never been so tired! Time to be done with it all so she could go home and take a nap. Allison pushed past Carson, past Lady Hemsworth, and straight through the door.
And found the Earl of Hellwater half-dressed, sitting on a couch, puffing as he pulled on his boots.
Lady Hemsworth gasped.
Carson sputtered.
Lord Hellwater abandoned the boot and stood to greet them. “Romeo! Good to see you again, my boy. And Juliet, a pleasure, as always.”
Carson’s voice was sharp as a rapier’s point. “Mother, what is Hellwater doing in your personal sitting room, one door away from your bedroom?”
“Ah …” Lady Hemsworth gestured to the couch. “Sit, please.” She strode to Hellwater, who stood in the middle of the room, looking quite pleased with himself.
Hellwater stroked the curve of her face. “You sit, too, my dear. You’ll scare them.”
“‘My dear’?” Carson sputtered, jumping from the couch before he could completely settle into it.
Allison ignored his outburst and his mother’s endearment. “Lord Hellwater, have you grown a mustache?”
He beamed at her and stroked one end of the long, impressive facial arrangement. “Indeed, I have. The good lady, it appears, has a weakness for a man with—”
“Stop! Just stop!” Carson paced around the room, his arms flailing. “You hate men! And you’re married. The both of you! You can’t mean to tell me you and he … you’re …” He plopped, dazed, beside Allison on the couch.
“I do not hate men, Carson.” His mother’s words were clipped, her spine straight. “I hate bad men. The earl is not a bad man.”
“He lives in Drury Lane with actors,” Carson pointed out.
Lady Hemsworth nodded. “Yes, true.”
“He lived with his mistress,” Carson added.
Lady Hemsworth frowned. “I know.”
“Isn’t Lord Hellwater married?” Allison murmured.
“You’re right!” Carson whipped wide eyes to Hellwater, who had the decency to blush.
“I am married, but I’m also procuring a divorce.”
“Divorce!” Carson and Allison exclaimed. Divorce—perhaps the most scandalous thing Allison had ever heard—was definitely past the line of propriety she’d drawn for herself. She may have slept with Cater before marriage, but divorce! It just wasn’t done.
Apparently, Carson’s line did not extend as far as divorce, either. “Divorce just isn’t done!” He looked how Allison felt—baffled.
Hellwater pulled himself up and stared them down. “It is when your wife, who everyone knows you’ve not been in the same room with for sixteen years, provides you an heir.” He growled the last word.
Lady Hemsworth settled on the arm of the chair he sat in and soothed the frown from his face. “Despicable, darling, I know. But you’ll be free of her soon.”
Carson turned to Allison. “What the devil is happening here?”
“I think your mother and Lord Hellwater are in love. And, quite possibly
, having an affair.”
Carson turned to his mother. “But how?”
Lord Hellwater took Lady Hemsworth’s hand in his own.
Allison almost swooned, and she never swooned.
“I slept the sleep of the righteous,” Lord Hellwater began.
“You mean sleeping off a night of debauchery and carousing,” Lady Hemsworth corrected.
“I had reason. I’d just begun divorce proceedings, and while necessary and righteous in this instance, it’s hardly pleasurable. So, I had a drink. Or two.”
Lady Hemsworth sniffed. “Or twelve.”
“And the next morning, a mighty kick to the gut ripped me from slumber. When I looked up at the lady—”
Carson’s head tilted. “Kicked? In the gut? Were you sleeping on the floor? You were foxed!”
“I’ve already admitted as much. Marriage has dulled your wits, Romeo. But all of you miss the point, except for Lady Trevor, whose quiet attentiveness to my story warms my heart.”
If she hung on his every word, why not? His story was better than Udolpho. And she wanted a biscuit. And a nap. And she couldn’t have either until the people in this room straightened everything out. Allison waved Lord Hellwater’s gratitude away. “Continue, then, if you please.”
“When I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw an angel of fury standing above me, demanding to know why I’d corrupted her son.”
“Mother, you didn’t!” Carson exclaimed.
Allison elbowed him. Must he interrupt the story so often? “Of course, she did. Continue, my lord.”
“The story has come to its natural conclusion already, my dear Juliet. I fell in love instantaneously.”
Allison swung, amazed, to Lady Hemsworth, whose usually strict features had melted into a pool of adoration. “And you, too, Lady Hemsworth?”
The authoress sighed, stood, and strode toward Allison and Carson. She pulled the pair to their feet. “Stand up straight. And don’t interrupt. It’s not polite.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Of course, Lady Hemsworth.”
“You, Allison, may call me Ida.”
Allison tried to figure out what Lady Hemsworth meant, but with her brain half-asleep, found it too difficult. “Ida?”