Chapter Three
Alice felt as though her body had been clenched for the two years since her brother’s death. Charles had been the only person she’d loved without reservation—besides Aunt Gwen—and the only one who had loved her back, even if at the end he had been too broken to show it.
Looking around the Barringtons’ ballroom, Alice wondered how soon she could leave as she had no wish to be here, or to encounter Lord Stafford again. It had been folly to dance with him, and yet she’d wanted desperately to see if he could help her locate Kenneth Jackson.
Revenge is not something to be taken lightly with a man such as he.
He’d spoken those words to her in a deep, solemn voice, and she’d known they’d come from the experience he’d had dealing with Kenneth Jackson.
Alice made a conscious effort to unclench her fists and breathe calmly. She’d stepped back into society in the hope that someone would know something about Jackson. She’d found that someone, but Alice knew it would not be easy to get him to talk to her.
How can I feel so alone surrounded by so many people, she wondered.
The air shimmered with heat, candles flickering in gilt sconces, their flames reflected in the huge mirrors that lined the walls.
The scents of orange blossom, rose attar, lavender water, and others, mingled with the sharper tang of beeswax polish and sweat in the air.
The chatter of a hundred voices rose and fell, punctuated by the scrape of bows against strings as the musicians prepared to play another set.
Silk rustled, jewels sparkled, and every guest was looking their best.
She ought to feel part of it. Her parents had loved society events before her mother passed and her father had fled to France, but since losing Charles, and what they’d endured before the end, Alice was a different person.
His life had not been the same since he returned home from Blackwood Hall, where he stayed during his short school years.
Alice could still see him that last day he’d been alive.
For the first time in a long while, he’d been rational.
There had been no anger or need to hurt her for the pain he was suffering.
He’d asked her to make him tea to help him sleep.
When she returned, his lips were still, his eyes open but empty, and the silence in the room had been louder than any society event.
Charles had been dead at his own hand from an overdose of laudanum she hadn’t even known he’d been collecting.
Alice felt like her life had ended that night too. Or rather, she had become someone else entirely. A person desperate for vengeance.
Kenneth Jackson. The name burned inside her, etched into her memory by the pages of Charles’s diary, which she’d found when she had gone through his things.
Page after page of rambling pain, always circling back to that man.
If she thought too long on what had happened inside Blackwood Hall, she felt ill.
To know her beloved brother had suffered the horrors he had, made her alternate between rage and weeping.
She’d known he’d suffered, as some of his story had come out, but not all—not the worst parts, and not the name of the man who ultimately had been responsible.
A ripple of laughter pulled her back from her memories, and her eyes went to the dance floor, but did not see the tall figure of Lord Stafford.
Alice was constantly hearing whispers about how handsome and charming he was. But she also knew there was another side to the marquess.
He didn’t care overly what society thought of him according to her aunt, who was a font of knowledge when it came to the ton.
Lord Stafford didn’t step over the invisible line into impropriety, or that anyone knew of, but her aunt said he was close to it a time or two.
Aunt Gwen said he had a rakish air to him, and Alice had to agree.
There was something a little wild about that man.
She had heard the emotion in his words the night she’d sat before him on his horse.
The night she’d asked if Kenneth Jackson was his housemaster too.
Something dark and dangerous had been in his gaze when she’d looked at him.
Had he too lived through what Charles had not survived?
It now seemed likely that was indeed the case after the two conversations she’d recently had with him.
Unlike her brother, however, it had not affected his mind, or was he just better at hiding it?
Could he help her find answers to the questions she had? Help her find Jackson?
“Alice!”
The hiss sliced through the hum of conversation, startling her out of her thoughts. She turned, scanning the room.
There, half-hidden behind a potted palm, two familiar faces grinned at her.
“Why on earth are you whispering at me from behind a plant?” Alice asked, eyebrows arching.
“It is a Kentia palm,” Thaddeus Thomas declared, emerging with a flourish that made the plant wobble in its pot. “A most resilient species, imported from the South Pacific. Quite adaptable, you know. Thrives even in poor soil—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Eloise Thomas groaned, dragging her brother back by his sleeve. “We are not here to bore Alice with a botany lesson. I for one wish to know what she talked about while dancing with the handsome marquess.”
Alice’s lips twitched despite herself. She had met the Thomas twins upon her first season in London many years ago.
Inseparable, they were closer than any siblings she had ever known, though they seemed to thrive on arguing.
Their quarrels were legendary, so much so that some people often placed bets on who would win their latest spat.
Even when she’d not returned to society for many years, Eloise and Thaddeus—mainly Eloise—had continued to write to her weekly. Filling her in on scandals and gossip.
“I’ll have you know,” Thaddeus continued stubbornly, “that the Kentia palm is an exceedingly elegant plant. Strong roots, graceful fronds, rather like myself, don’t you think?
“Graceful?” Eloise scoffed. “You trip over carpets.”
“I was bowing,” he said stiffly.
“You were sprawling.”
Alice pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. For the first time that evening, she felt lighter, and she’d take that relief from her dark thoughts for as long as it lasted.
“Now,” Eloise said, turning her sharp eyes back on Alice, “you are cornered. Tell us first what you talked about with Lord Stafford?”
Alice smoothed her skirts, carefully arranging her expression. “We didn’t touch on anything really, just the usual. How the weather has been in London the last few days, and how lovely the ballroom is decorated.”
“Well, that’s dreadfully boring,” Eloise said, looking deflated.
“Where is your aunt?” Thaddeus asked.
“Seated with her friends. Discussing novels, no doubt.”
Eloise softened slightly. “A delightful woman, your Aunt Gwen. If a trifle… consumed.”
In truth, Aunt Gwen’s devotion to her books was Alice’s saving grace. While her aunt debated fictional heroes, Alice could pursue a real monster.
“I think,” Thaddeus interrupted solemnly, “that our dear Alice has acquired a secret lover. That explains her absence these past few days. She avoids us to spend time in some man’s arms.”
Suppressing guilt, Alice forced a light laugh. “Alas, no lover. I simply prefer quiet evenings to endless balls. But I am here tonight, am I not? To see you both.”
Not a lie, exactly. She loved them dearly. But her true reason for being away from London had been yet again following more leads to find Jackson. Unfortunately, that too had led to a dead end.
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “You are lying.”
“I would never lie to you.” She fluttered her lashes with exaggerated sweetness.
He snorted. Eloise rolled her eyes.
“Good Lord,” Eloise whispered suddenly, “Miss Ellington is wearing mustard.”
Thaddeus followed her gaze, grimacing. “Positively ghastly. She looks like a cautionary tale against overcooked vegetables.”
And just like that, the siblings were off—debating the merits of color, cut, and whether the poor young lady ought to be pitied or scorned. They never spoke loud enough for anyone to overhear, except Alice. The twins were not mean spirited, but like many, they just loved to gossip.
Alice let their chatter wash over her. Yet the guilt pressed back in. They thought her absence from society was simply because she preferred to be elsewhere. If only they knew she spent her days chasing trails that might lead her to Kenneth Jackson, and thus far hadn’t.
“Tomorrow,” Thaddeus declared abruptly, “we are driving in the park, and you shall join us, Alice.”
“Do I get a choice?” she asked.
“No,” Eloise said.
“We will return, Alice, but right now we need to dance, or Mother will have stern words for us. Unlike your aunt, she watches our every move,” Thaddeus said.
She had barely escaped the whirlwind of the twins when another obstacle appeared—three ladies advancing with the determination of a cavalry charge.
“Lady Alice!” Lady Petunia boomed, feathers quivering from the violent flutter of her fan. At her side was Lady Agatha, equally formidable, encased in apricot satin. Lastly was the youngest, Mrs. Lavinia Williams. She seemed to favor different shades of green.
“My dear girl, how delightful to see you,” Lady Petunia said. “We were quite certain you had abandoned society altogether.”
Alice dropped a curtsy, her smile fixed. “I have been in the country, ma’am. I find it soothing.”
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Williams said. “But you are far too young to be hiding there, my dear.”
“Indeed. You will never find a husband if you continue to do so,” Lady Agatha added.
Alice kept her tone mild. “Marriage is not my fondest wish.”
The women exchanged a look before speaking again.
“Oh? Then what is, child?” Lady Petunia asked, a gentle smile on her lips.
“To live my life as I choose,” Alice said calmly.
She rarely spoke like this in public, but perhaps it was time she did, then people would know marriage was not of interest to her.
Of course, that was scandalous considering she was a young woman, and they were usually raised with the single goal of finding a wealthy man to wed.
The ladies smiled, like she’d done something that made them proud.
“How refreshing, and I like that you have your own mind, dear, but of course there are plenty of wonderful men who would be just brilliant for you to marry. In fact, we know of one who would be perfect. He is a friend of our nephew’s,” Lady Petunia said.
Surely not?
“Yes, plenty of wonderful gentlemen in London society, but the one we have selected would be an excellent choice for you.”
“Thank you, but no. I have no interest in a husband. Now, if you will excuse me, I am due to dance with Lord Taylor.”
She didn’t exactly run, but it was close. Skirting the guests, she headed in the opposite direction to where the three meddling women stood.
Over the next few hours, Alice danced, smiled when required, and allowed the Thomas twins to chatter at her until her head spun. She avoided Lord Hamilton’s aunts, and of Lord Stafford there was no further sign. It seemed he’d left the ballroom, and she told herself she was happy about that.
He’d warned her to stay away from Kenneth Jackson, and while she understood why—the man was dangerous—she didn’t like it and would be ignoring his direction. Alice had made her brother a promise that she would not be breaking.
As yet, she had no idea what she’d do when she found Kenneth Jackson, but she’d think about that when the time came.
After saying good night to the twins when she thought she’d been here long enough to please gossips and her aunt, Alice went in search of her relative.
Mrs. Gwendoline Patterson was her late mother’s elder sister and had come to live with Alice after Charles’s death.
Aunt Gwen’s gentle nature and innate kindness had soothed much of Alice’s early grief.
She liked everyone, and within days had charmed the household staff.
Her white hair framed a round, sweet face that always seemed slightly flushed.
She loved to stitch, to read, and to spend long afternoons with her friends discussing whichever novel currently absorbed her. Alice adored her.
“Hello, darling,” Aunt Gwen said warmly as Alice approached. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I am to take the Thomas twins home.” The lie slid from her tongue easily now. Deception had become a second language. She used it to escape the house, and to protect her aunt from worry.
“I wondered if Lady Cecil might drop you home instead, Aunt. It could be a late night.”
Lady Cecil, perched to Gwen’s right, adjusted the tall black feather in her hair and fixed Alice with hawk-like eyes. Terrifyingly direct, she could cut a man to ribbons with a single phrase. Alice, perversely, adored sparring with her.
“I will drop your aunt home,” Lady Cecil declared, voice like a steel blade. “But you’ll have a care, Lady Alice.”
“They live not far from our townhouse,” Alice replied mildly. She leaned down, kissed her aunt’s cheek, and then pressed another kiss against Lady Cecil’s surprisingly soft one. With her farewells complete, she drifted away, and only when she saw them depart, did she take her own leave.