Chapter 10 #2
“She’s half a generation younger as well,” Alathea added. “And she has no children, so she doesn’t cross paths with us on that front, either.”
Viewing the younger matrons’ faces, Lady Osbaldestone stated, “To me, the most notable comment one could make of the current countess is that, in spite of how Moran seems to ignore her along with wider society, she hasn’t taken a lover, at least as far as anyone knows.”
Lady Osbaldestone looked around hopefully, but no one corrected her. No one piped up to say they’d heard of any dalliance on the countess’s part.
Helena mused, “Certainly, that does seem odd. Living in relative social obscurity couldn’t have been what she expected when she agreed to become Moran’s second countess.”
Patience humphed. “Maybe she’s just amazingly discreet.”
With inclinations of their heads, the ladies wordlessly allowed that was a possibility.
“This second marriage of Moran’s.” Penelope focused on the four older ladies. “Do you know how that came about?”
“As I understood it,” Celia said, “Moran wasn’t all that keen, but there was pressure brought to bear from his mother and also his paternal aunts.
They weren’t concerned about the succession—not with Frederick there and his sons—but they felt that Moran wasn’t meeting the social expectations of his rank and was unlikely to do so without a countess by his side. ”
Sagely, Lady Osbaldestone nodded. “And looking back over recent years, one would have to conclude that his mother and aunts were correct, but even having a countess beside him hasn’t been enough to prod Moran into stepping up and fulfilling what most would see as his social obligations.”
“I have heard,” Honoria said, “that when it came to his own consequence, Moran wasn’t one to stint, but such observations relate solely to how he presents to the world, not how his family members fare.
” She tilted her head. “Perhaps the deterioration in the public facade of the House of Moran has been merely a reflection of Moran’s lack of interest.”
“Possibly,” Patience allowed, “but then there’s the little things that suggest distinctly straitened circumstances affecting the Frederick Fitzhughs.”
“Indeed,” Alathea said. “And although Mitchelmore and Southerly—the latter especially—seem in sound financial health, I’ve heard rumors suggesting that the Mitchelmore sons as well as their Fitzhugh cousins are all viewed askance by the current crop of fond mamas with daughters to marry off.”
“Given the Fitzhugh family’s elevated social rank and that the lads themselves are agreeable, handsome, and presentable, that surely suggests some financial constraint is suspected if not outright known,” Honoria concluded.
“Of course,” Alathea said, “young gentlemen on the town being short of cash is nothing new. In fact, it seems almost a condition of the species—a rite of passage, if you will—and perhaps it’s unfair to judge the Mitchelmores and Fitzhughs against the yardstick of our own sons.”
“And our children are older,” Patience pointed out. “Indeed, you are among the youngest of that generation, so in the same way you don’t know much about the Fitzhugh children, we, too, are scraping the bottom of our barrel of knowledge to find what scraps we can for you.”
Penelope grinned. “And I do appreciate your efforts, which you know.”
Patience grinned back, and Honoria and the others all smiled.
“What about Frederick and Imogen?” Penelope asked. “How are they regarded?”
The ladies looked at each other, then Honoria offered what was, apparently, the consensus view.
“Looking past the subtle signs of financial stress, Frederick and Imogen are widely viewed as solid members of the ton. They behave as the ton expects, and I—we—know of nothing, no rumor or whisper, that speaks to the contrary.”
“They have children,” Alathea added, “and that connects them more widely and more deeply into society as a whole. The same can be said of the Mitchelmores and Southerlys.”
Lady Osbaldestone opined, “The other three of Imelda’s married children and their families are viewed in a significantly more positive light than Gordon and Victoria. Whether it’s the lack of children or something else, that couple were never a success within the ton.”
“Primarily,” Horatia added, “because of Gordon’s lack of interest in being a success within the ton.”
The other ladies nodded.
“In that regard, meaning the approval of the ton, or rather, the withholding of it,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “Moran’s attitude to not assisting his brothers, especially Frederick, while legally excusable, is widely frowned upon.
Given that Frederick is—was—Moran’s heir apparent, and Frederick’s son, William, would follow after him, the accepted practice holds that Moran should have ensured that both Frederick and William lived in appropriate style.
That Moran so openly ignored that familial obligation wasn’t appreciated within the upper echelons of the ton—those circles Moran himself should have inhabited rather more. ”
Glancing around the gathering, Penelope saw many sober expressions and serious nods.
“We’ve spoken of the sons,” Louise said. “Of the daughters—Imelda’s granddaughters—I know Lizbet, the Mitchelmores’ eldest girl, married Lord Brompton, and all seems entirely as it should be there.”
Helena nodded. “A good match, and they seem to suit.”
“Ah, but then we come to the next three girls, who have just made their come-outs.” Her lips tight with disapproval, Lady Osbaldestone looked at Honoria, Patience, and Alathea.
“You must have heard of the scheme to combine their come-out balls. Three in one! If any one incident waves a red flag as to straitened circumstances, that surely does. And even more telling, no one is imagining they’ll have the use of the Moran House ballroom. ”
Helena was nodding. “More’s the pity. It’s a lovely ballroom, and no one in the ton has seen the inside of it since the old earl’s day, when Imelda reigned as one of the brighter lights in the pantheon of ton hostesses.”
Rapidly reviewing all she’d heard, Penelope realized there was one member of the late earl’s immediate family no one had mentioned. She looked around the gathering. “What about Christopher Fitzhugh?”
Inwardly, she debated but decided not to mention that there was a good chance that Christopher was behind the poison plot. That was not yet proven, after all.
To her surprise, rather than offer any answer, the ladies exchanged uncertain glances.
Uncertain? These ladies?
“Well, dear,” Lady Osbaldestone finally commenced, “I—we—have to admit that we’re not quite sure what to make of our observations.”
The other ladies nodded, then Honoria offered, “We—all of us—have seen signs and wondered if, perhaps, there was some sort of connection, a link of sorts, between Christopher and his sister-in-law.”
“Victoria,” Patience supplied. “And yes, of course, we all initially assumed that ‘link’ was by way of them being lovers.”
“And as we noted earlier,” Louise rushed to say, “that really would surprise no one, given Gordon’s neglect of Victoria and that Christopher is handsome enough, and after all, he and she live under the same roof.”
“Namely, her husband’s roof.” Helena looked ready to be censorious but also still unsure.
“The issue,” Horatia stated, “is that none of us believe the connection to be a romantic one.”
“It’s not romantic at all,” Celia said. “More as if they were each other’s most stalwart supporter.”
“Yet they’re not exactly friends, either,” Alathea put in. “It’s very confusing.”
Lady Osbaldestone met Penelope’s gaze. “None of that should be noteworthy, really, but what makes it so is that their…whatever it might be—connection, link—is simply so intense.”
“So very focused,” Honoria said, “and very tightly held solely between them.”
Penelope had been juggling the ladies’ observations with what might—or might not—have occurred. Tentatively, she suggested, “Could they be working together toward a particular shared goal?”
Honoria’s and most of the ladies’ expressions cleared.
Lady Osbaldestone nodded definitively. “Yes! Clever girl! That’s the impression exactly.”
In other words, Victoria and Christopher might well be coconspirators.
It was a fine, midspring day, and when Penelope returned to her home, she elected to sit in the garden parlor. Through the open French doors, she watched her sons, Oliver and Pip, as they played on the rear lawn with Hettie, their nursemaid, and Roger, the ever-present spaniel pup.
Mary had been helping Hettie with the rambunctious pair, but with James, the footman, hovering nearby, there was really no need, and after spotting Penelope sitting on the sofa, Mary came to join her.
Penelope smiled and waved Mary to the cushions alongside her. “The men should be here soon, then we can see what information we’ve managed to gather. I’ve asked Mostyn to bring in sandwiches so we can eat while we talk.”
Smiling in reply, Mary settled on the sofa. “You’re used to this—to juggling investigations while keeping an eye on your children.”
Penelope’s smile widened, and she offered, “In a fundamental way, the innocent children—ours and everyone else’s—are the very reason Barnaby and I work with Stokes to bring villains to justice. In the cases we consult on, were we not involved, often the guilty party would avoid all repercussions.”
Mary’s brows rose as she considered that. Eventually, she murmured, “I can imagine that’s true.”
“I strongly suspect it would definitely be true in this present case,” Penelope returned.
The sounds of arrival followed by brisk approaching footsteps had both ladies swiveling to look at the open doorway.
Julian bounced in, followed more sedately by Curtis.
Julian bent to kiss Mary’s cheek, while Curtis nodded to both ladies.
“Adair and Stokes are just behind us,” Curtis said.
Penelope waved him to an armchair. “Sit, both of you. We’re going to eat while we confer.”