Chapter Ten
Corbyn paced his bedchamber with a glass of brandy.
Farber said, “As far as I can tell, the gossip about Lady Beatrix’s reading material has made it into the gentlemen’s clubs. That is probably how it ended up mentioned at the Duchess of Ralston’s annual farce of a party.”
“The book was not mentioned specifically, so I had hoped it was just a coincidence.”
“The real question, to my mind,” Farber said, “was who heard about it, then decided to use it, and decided to claim they would stand by her.”
“The idea of standing by her leaps out at me. Had it been some fool simply thinking it was amusing, they would not have included that. It makes me think it might be Lord Monroe. He is a crony of Chester’s so he could have heard about it that way.
He requires a dowry, and he has paid marked attention to Lady Beatrix. ”
“That fellow does not just require a dowry,” Farber said. “He is desperately hanging on by a thread. If he does not secure a dowry soon, he will be entirely ruined.”
“Really? I had not known he was in such straits.”
Farber nodded. “It’s all being hidden. He gets his post at Lord Chester’s house.”
“Yes, I did understand he stayed there for the season. His own house was rented out for some reason.”
Farber shook his head vigorously. “He doesn’t stay at Portland Place, that’s why you’ve never seen him coming and going. Lord Chester collects his post here and passes it along. After all, a lord cannot expect his peers to send invitations to Mrs. Dallway’s Rooms for Upright Gentlemen.”
“You are joking,” Corbyn said.
“I am not. Lord Monroe was originally meant to be staying with Lord Chester, but then plans were upended when his parents and the dowager announced they were coming. Another arrangement had to be made.”
“That is some arrangement.”
“Indeed. From what I hear of Mrs. Dallway, she regularly roots through her tenant’s belongings when they are out, to ensure they are as upright as they claim.”
“Well, knowing it is Lord Monroe at the bottom of it, or at least guessing it, does not tell me what to do about it.”
“No, but it does tell you that he is willing to put pressure on the lady. Why else would he have done it? If he weakens her position, he strengthens his own.”
“Would he be that underhanded, though?”
“He’s desperate. Desperate people often do things they would not otherwise. He is also under the thrall of Lord Chester, who floats him funds when he is particularly pinched. That is a recipe for underhandedness.”
“If he thinks he will get the upper hand by spreading this gossip with more specificity, including her name and the book’s name, and then standing by her…”
“Perhaps you should make a move sooner than you might have planned.”
“A move?”
“You were planning to marry the lady, I assumed.”
“As to that, nothing has been firmly decided, early days and all that.” He said it, and it sounded very rational. Was it the truth though?
He rather thought he had decided. He’d just thought he’d go along, step by step, in a usual courtship. That might not be possible. It might not be preferable either.
After all, what did he wait for? What clue or moment was he waiting to see?
He’d never been as attracted to anyone as he was to Lady Beatrix.
He had a deep feeling, a surety, that she was for him.
He’d known she was special when he was introduced to her and that surety had only been confirmed since then.
Further, assuming she was willing, he could provide the safety of marriage.
Best of luck to anybody who would attempt to insult his future countess.
He would destroy them. He did not, as a habit, go in for destroying people, but he would in such a case.
A man could be reasonable and judicious and still set out to destroy a person attempting to hurt their wife.
He ought not dawdle until it was too late. The facts, as they were, showed clearly enough that Lady Beatrix had other suitors, as inappropriate and unsuitable as they were.
“I do not suppose you will see her at the Kelgoody’s rout this evening?”
That was another irritation. “No,” he said. “She will be going to Lord Chester’s house for some kind of musical evening.”
“Really? Perhaps I ought to slip in the servants’ entrance and see what I can pick up. Lord Chester’s cook is rather fond of me.”
“Yes, do,” Corbyn said. “I feel as if the more information I have just now, the better.”
“You’re in luck. Information happens to be my primary hobby.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mr. Feldstaffer paced morosely. The plan to expose Lord Chester had been set in motion. There was no way to turn it round now. It was a runaway carriage and it would crash as it saw fit.
He did not expect success. Why would he? He never did expect success and he saw no reason to change his views of the world at this late date in his history.
The best he was hoping for was that he would never be connected to the scheme.
A boy had been hired to carry the letter to Annie Wister.
The forged letter. The boy would have no identifying livery.
Mr. Feldstaffer did not see how it could be traced back to him, but disaster was a sly fox.
It was behind every corner, rubbing its hands together and planning its next move.
How could Mr. Feldstaffer compete with that?
He had duties to perform. He did not have the luxury of sitting around, planning his next move.
The League had agreed to go forward with a plan to save Lady Beatrix from Lord Chester.
Or to try, anyway. That was the next move.
Expose Lord Chester so that the earl and countess would wake from their fever dream of a match between him and their eldest daughter.
The earl and countess were already downstairs. The carriage was outside. He could hear the occasional stomp and snort from Mars, the earl’s perennially bad-tempered lead horse.
Lady Beatrix came down the stairs, followed by Lady Caroline and Miss Sprite to see them off.
She was looking very well in a lightweight dark blue velvet dress.
Mr. Feldstaffer wished she did not look so well.
It did not seem as if Lord Chester had any interest in her and he would not like that charlatan to get any ideas.
“Miss Sprite,” the countess said, “do not allow Caroline to stay up too late.”
“Certainly not, my lady. We will play a few rounds of piquet and then a nursery tea and to bed.”
Mr. Feldstaffer watched Lady Caroline wrinkle her nose as she did not like piquet or nursery tea or an early to bed. Of course, Miss Sprite liked all those things, therefore, they were deemed essential.
“Do not hit wrong keys, Beatrix,” Lady Caroline said, “else they will think our music master did not teach us very well.”
Miss Sprite sniffed. “Mr. Williams is not a magician, Caroline. Practice is what makes the musician. Beatrix will do very well.”
Mr. Feldstaffer presumed that was a swipe at Lady Caroline regarding her lackadaisical practice on the instrument.
“I will see you in the morning,” Lady Beatrix said quietly to Lady Caroline.
Mr. Feldstaffer understood that for what it was. The two ladies’ bedchambers were next to one another, and it had been a habit since they were out of the nursery to visit in the early morning hours. Miss Sprite would certainly have put a stop to it had she liked to rise early, which she did not.
The family got into the carriage. Mr. Feldstaffer watched Mars react to the feather touch of the coachman’s whip and the carriage rolled down the street.
He felt as if he were in an audience, watching a play unfold before him.
It was a play in which he knew what the second act would reveal.
What the third act would be, he could not say. Ghastly, was as good a guess as any.
It could not be stopped, though. The letter had been delivered. Time was rolling along with the carriage and none of it could be stopped.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beatrix was greeted warmly by Lord Chester’s viscount and viscountess. Even the dowager forced a smile, though she did not think that lady was in the habit of it. Lord Chester did not bother, though his words were civil enough.
She had hoped she would like him, but things had traveled so far in the other direction that she was beginning to positively dislike him.
He did not seem to make the slightest effort to make himself pleasant.
Not really, in any case. His words might be civil, but a person could perceive it when they were not admired, even if words to express it had not been said.
Beatrix had a great wish to say, “None of this was my idea, so dismount your high horse, Sir.” She of course said nothing of the sort.
It seemed they were the first to arrive. Beatrix glanced around. She had never been to Portland Place. She had never been to a lot of places in London, but she had at least passed by most of the squares of Mayfair.
Portland Place was its own unique location, though.
There were no through streets so the only reason one would venture into it is if one were visiting a household located there.
Beatrix was well aware that Lord Harrelston kept a house on the street, though she did not know the number.
Perhaps he was just the next door over. She had a great urge to lean against a wall and listen for his voice, which was very stupid.
“We seem to be early,” the countess said.
“No, no,” the viscount said, “nobody else is coming.”
Beatrix looked at him in surprise. They were the only people coming? It was meant to be a musical evening. What did it mean? If there were no other ladies to play, was she to be left to play all night on her own?