Chapter Twelve
Lord Chester had not the nerve to go directly back into the house after Annie had been made to depart. He paced Lord Foley’s gardens until he heard one of his infernal mastiffs barking. Then he slipped back onto the street, staying to the shadows, and went to a tavern.
He drank a bottle of mediocre wine as he stewed over what was to be done. If there was a positive to this situation at all, it would be that his mother and father, and the damned dowager too, would give up on trying to make a match with Lady Beatrix.
That was the only positive thing he could think of, though.
He imagined his father would cut him off. If he did not get the small estate under his control in order, he’d end no better than Monroe. He certainly would not have the funds to maintain Annie. He rather wished he’d not dismissed his steward.
Who sent Annie that letter? He could well believe that she’d believe it when she read it.
She had not a lick of sense and he had put her off for weeks with promises of some future introduction to his mother and father.
To Annie, the ton was just fenced in. She did not see that it was an impenetrable castle replete with a moat, arrow slits, and murder holes, its drawbridge up.
She did not understand that if she threatened those walls, she would find the ton’s matrons on the ramparts, ready with boiling oil. She would never breach the castle.
The only person he could think might have sent that letter was the dowager.
But it really did not add up. She did not like scenes, for one.
She would not have dared to promote a scene in view of Lord and Lady Copperstone.
She would never tolerate an actress stepping through her door.
Everything he knew about his grandmother ran against the idea.
But if not her, who? Somebody wished him harm. Who was it?
Lord Chester set down his glass. Harrelston had been conveniently nearby at the denouement.
Was that a coincidence? Or perhaps Harrelston thought to expose him to Lady Beatrix.
Harrelston may have heard of the proposed match and had no idea Lord Chester was trying to pawn the lady off to Monroe.
Harrelston might have designs of his own, in fact he rather thought that was the case.
He would not have expected Harrelston to stoop to such deception. He supposed one never really knew a man.
But then, did Annie not even recognize that the letter was not in his own hand?
He could not be sure, as he’d not seen the letter yet.
Lord Chester eventually made his way home, late enough that the rest of the house would be abed. He had his own key, as the household servants were well used to not bothering to wait up for him.
He opened the door slowly to avoid any sound. The house was dark. All he had to do was tiptoe up the stairs, avoiding the rises that creaked. He could see his mother and father in the morning, when hopefully cooler heads would prevail.
Lord Chester had just closed the front doors behind him and turned the locks when her voice reached him.
“Walk in here at once.”
The dowager. The crafty old bat had been sitting in the dark in the drawing room. He might as well have it out with her now. He could manage his parents separately. With any luck, the dowager would die in her sleep and he would not have to deal with her further.
He walked into the drawing room. “Yes?” he said curtly.
She walked over to the banked fire and lit a candle from the embers. She turned and walked back to the sofa.
Lord Chester shivered. She looked like a ghostly apparition.
How was she still alive at this late date?
Year after year he thought she would expire.
Each time he received a letter from his father he expected to be told about the funeral.
And yet, she hung on to life like a lamprey on a fish, draining the life out of anybody nearby.
“Are you so opposed to a match with Lady Beatrix that you would humiliate her, her parents, your own parents, and your grandmother in such a manner?”
“I did not invite her here.”
The dowager picked up the letter. “It is in your own hand.”
Lord Chester crossed the room and snatched the paper from the dowager’s withered clutch. He held it near the candle and read through it.
My love—
I have told the viscount and viscountess all about you. They are longing to meet you. Please come this evening at ten o’clock, we will all have a late supper together. C.
The handwriting was not his own. It was close, though. Annie could have been fooled by it. Anybody could have.
“Somebody has gone so far as to forge my handwriting.”
The dowager snorted. “Oh I see, there is a big conspiracy against you. You must be very important. I had not known.”
“I do not know why somebody would have gone to such lengths or had the ability to do it. I assume my mother and father are along abed.”
“Is that what you assume? You see, I assumed that they were weeping in the dark together over their disappointment of a son. But who really knows?”
Lord Chester took up the candle and made his way up the stairs. He left the dowager in the dark. With any luck, the old terror would trip and break her neck. He was going to bed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mr. Feldstaffer settled himself in The League’s headquarters in Cheapside as Mrs. Belkey set down the tea tray.
He did not yet know what his fellow butlers had heard.
Certainly they would have heard something.
It seemed there had been more than a few Nosy-Nancys peering out windows on Portland Place when Annie had put on her performance.
It had been a daring plan. Use Lord Chester’s invitation to the musical evening as an example of his handwriting, copy it, and send a note to Annie Wister.
She was to know that the viscount and viscountess were longing to meet her.
It was planned for the night of the musical evening so that there was no way Lord Chester’s mother and father could hush it up and hide it from the earl and the countess.
Lord and Lady Copperstone must see, and face, what sort of man they had been throwing their daughter in front of.
If Mr. Feldstaffer had been forced to identify the likeliest way the whole scheme would fall apart, it would be the absurd idea that a viscount and viscountess would be interested in becoming acquainted with their son’s paramour.
It seemed Annie Wister was not overburdened with intellect, as she’d found the idea entirely credible.
Mr. Feldstaffer was not certain they had anticipated a scene playing out on the street.
For himself, he’d had some idea that it would all play out inside, in private.
Lord Chester would be exposed, Lady Beatrix would be saved, and that would be that.
Of course, he’d also had the idea that it would all go wrong somehow.
So in the end, it seemed he’d been at least partially right.
Mrs. Belkey let herself out.
“Gracious,” Mr. Penny said, pouring out the tea.
That sounded very bad. Mr. Penny put a shiny happy icing on absolutely every cake. If all he could come up with was “gracious,” things were not looking good.
“It’s all over Town,” Mr. Browning said. “And not confined to servants either. I overheard my duke and duchess talking about it this morning.”
“Were they condemning of Lady Beatrix?” Mr. Harkinson asked.
“Them? No,” Mr. Browning said. “You know how they are. They spent the time wracking their minds for some plausible reason why an actress should be shouting outside Lord Chester’s house.
The duchess finally concluded that Lord Chester must be backing a play and the poor lady did not get the part that she’d pinned her hopes on. ”
“The rest of society will not be as kind as the Duke and Duchess of Greystone,” Mr. Wilburn said.
“It is not so much what occurred as the surrounding questions that are going round,” Mr. Wilburn said.
Mr. Rennington nodded. “My servants’ hall is rife with them.
Why would an actress and the daughter of an earl attend the same event at Lord Chester’s house?
Did the earl know there was to be an actress attending?
Why was an actress at a lord’s house under any circumstances?
Or at least, why was she there while the viscount, the viscountess, and the dowager were in residence?
Is it true that the actress had claimed Lord Chester is in love with her? ”
“Perhaps it will all die down, though?” Mr. Penny asked hopefully.
Mr. Feldstaffer really wondered how it would be to go along like Mr. Penny did. That fellow just blithely staggered along, hoping for the best. The world could fall on his head and he would be confident that things would “work out.” The man was a well-mannered lunatic.
“What are they saying inside the house, Mr. Feldstaffer?” Mr. Browning asked.
“They are saying things in very low tones,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “It has been hard to gather information. As far as I can understand it, they are hoping it is not widely spoken of.”
“Too late for that!” Mr. Harkinson said.
“I am aware, Mr. Harkinson,” Mr. Feldstaffer said. “They are scheduled to travel to Lady Dudmore’s house party—”
“Lady Dudmore’s house party? How on earth did they allow themselves to get bamboozled into that?” Mr. Wilburn asked.
“They’ve dodged it all these years on account of the earl being so busy in parliament.
Lady Dudmore wrote that she was delighted he would be free to attend this season, as he was bringing his daughter out and filling his calendar with entertainments.
Then she slyly informed him that she’d mentioned his attendance to the queen and that lady was looking forward to seeing him. ”
“Boxed him in,” Mr. Browning said.
Mr. Feldstaffer nodded. “All three of them are to go. They are hoping the news has not yet traveled to Kent.”
“Perhaps it has not,” Mr. Harkinson said. “Though it would be very optimistic to imagine the news would not travel to Kent with some of the guests that are going.”