Chapter 9 #2
Mainwaring opened his mouth, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam cut across him with the briskness of a woman rescuing a drowning man from his own flailing.
"I believe that topic has been thoroughly exhausted for one evening.
" She fixed Lady Havers with a look that would have wilted hardier souls.
"Mr. Ellsworth, I should like to hear more about the drainage situation.
You mentioned a report from the Board of Health? "
A groan circled the room. Mr. Ellsworth, oblivious to the collective dismay, brightened at once and launched into a detailed account of effluent management in the eastern parishes.
The conversation continued for another hour, but I barely heard a word of it.
My mind was turning over what had just occurred—not Lady Havers's gossip, which was precisely what I had come to expect from her, but Mainwaring's reaction.
The way his hand had tightened on his glass.
The careful neutrality of his answer. He had been at that house party.
He knew something. And I intended to find out what.
As the guests began to take their leave, Peregrine paused beside me as he collected his hat.
"A word of caution, my dear,” he said, so quietly that only I could hear.
"The events of that house party were buried for a reason.
People who dig up hornets' nests tend to get stung. I would hate for you to get hurt.” He smiled, tipped his hat to Miriam, and disappeared into the night.
I had never been very good about listening to reason.
So, I caught Mainwaring near the hall and asked, quietly, whether he might stay behind for a few moments. I had a matter I wished to discuss. He agreed with a readiness that suggested he thought himself the object of flattering attention.
He was not entirely wrong. I was interested in him—though not in the way he imagined.
When the last carriage had rattled away and the hall had fallen silent, Mainwaring remained by the fireplace, wine glass in hand, a look of self-satisfied expectation firmly in place.
Miriam closed the drawing room door and settled herself in the chair beside it—not quite standing guard, but making her presence as chaperone unmistakable.
Mainwaring glanced at her with poorly concealed disappointment.
"Now then, Lady Larkspur," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "What did you wish to discuss?"
I sat down and gestured for him to do the same. "The gentleman who accompanied you to my salon the other evening. I do not believe we were introduced."
For the first time, genuine surprise crossed his face. "No one of consequence. Merely a socially minded friend with an interest in reform."
"A friend without a name?"
His mouth twitched. "A friend who values his privacy."
"As do many people, I suppose."
"Quite."
The answer told me nothing. Yet something in the speed with which he dismissed the subject made me suspect it was not as unimportant as he wished me to believe.
"There is something else."
Mainwaring's expression tightened. "What now?"
"The Everthorne house party. You said you were there."
The wine glass stilled in his hand. "I attended, yes. Along with dozens of others. Why do you ask?"
"Because Miss Gray believed the truth about that night had never been properly told. And now she is dead." I leaned forward slightly. "I find myself wondering whether there is a connection."
"That is preposterous." But wariness had crept into his voice, and his fingers whitened around the stem of his glass. "Miss Gray was a servant. She would have known nothing beyond gossip and speculation."
"She was companion to the Dowager Marchioness," I corrected. "A position of considerable trust."
Mainwaring set down his glass with a sharp click. "Lady Larkspur, what exactly are you suggesting?"
"I am not suggesting anything. I am asking." I kept my voice calm, reasonable—the tone I had learned to wield like a blade sheathed in velvet. "Who else was at that party? Who was present the night that young woman was ruined?"
"This is ancient history—"
"History that ended with a young woman's destruction."
His face paled. A muscle twitched along his jaw. "You are treading on dangerous ground."
"Am I? Then help me understand why. What happened that night, Mr. Mainwaring?"
He drew a breath. When he once again spoke, his voice had the clipped precision of a man choosing each word as though it might detonate. "What happened was that a foolish girl was found in a compromising position. The shame of it led to her withdrawal from society. There is nothing more to tell."
"But who was she found with? That detail has always been rather conveniently vague."
He stood abruptly. "I will not be interrogated in this manner—"
"Were you close to the family?" I continued, unmoved.
He hesitated, then seemed to decide that refusing to answer would appear worse than compliance. "I was a friend of William's. The elder son and heir. We were at Oxford together."
"And what did you see that night?"
"Nothing." The word came too quickly. "I saw nothing. I came upon Emily after she had been—" He stopped, swallowed. "After it was over."
"Did she say who was responsible?"
"She was too distraught to speak coherently. By the following morning, her father had taken her away."
"What became of her?"
"She was married off. To some nobody in the country. Do not ask me for his name. I never knew it."
"And the current Marquis of Everthorne? Why was he named as her abuser?"
Mainwaring's gaze shifted—not to me, but to some middle distance, as though he were looking at something he would rather not see. "I cannot say. I left the following morning. A week later, he’d taken a commission."
“You know, don’t you? You know who attacked Emily.”
He moved toward the door with jerky, agitated steps. "You have no idea what you are meddling with, Lady Larkspur. Some doors are better left closed. Some questions are better left unasked. And some young women—"
He stopped, as though a hand had closed around his throat.
"Some young women what?" I pressed. "Should know their place? Should remain silent? Should disappear conveniently, as Emily did?"
"I didn’t say that." His voice had gone hoarse. For a moment, Mainwaring stood frozen in the doorway. Then, without a word, he was gone.
The silence he left behind was louder than anything he had said.