Chapter Eight
James
“They are making a spectacle of themselves.”
James glances down the stands through a sea of top hats and bonnets to spot Mason, Lady Gwen, and MissBertram. They are indeed
garnering a lot of attention heckling Lord Mason, who has the misfortune to be on the field today. James’ stepfather insisted
they attend the Cambridge vs. Oxford alumni rugby scrimmage, and James couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse.
James doesn’t enjoy watching his former classmates and whatever relation-in-law Lord Mason is to him being injured on the
field. No matter how much Lady Gwen and Mason seem to revel in it.
So instead of watching, James sits and stews, trying to find the words to ask his stepfather to either confirm or deny Mason’s
accusation about Miss Bertram and Lady Havenfort from Prince’s party, here, where he can’t walk away. The thought has left
him with a sour stomach all week.
He doesn’t know why Mason would lie. And the strained discussions Lady Gwen and MissBertram keep having, about MissBertram’s
almost-marriage to Viscount Montson last season...
The past two years his stepfather has told him his aunt, Lady Demeroven—Lady Havenfort now—wanted nothing from her late husband and refused his stepfather’s offers of funds from James’ inheritance while he was acting as executor. But James isn’t sure why he ever believed that.
He needs to confront his stepfather, tell him it was craven and horrible to leave their relatives with nothing, to put them
in the position of either needing to marry or become destitute. That they owe Lady Havenfort and MissBertram a sincere apology,
and reparations for their actions.
Because despite not being aware of what happened, James feels guilt burrowing deep into his gut. He should have asked. Even
before he came of age and took over the title, he should have pushed his stepfather, should have done something to assert himself, rather than tumbling arse backward into his seat.
“Sir,” he says, blurting the word out before he can properly brace for the conversation. Thinking about it too hard will only
lead him to chicken out, like he always does.
His stepfather lets out a loud whoop when one of the teams scores on the other. James doesn’t even remember whom he’s meant
to be supporting.
“Sir,” he tries again, squaring his shoulders. “We need to discuss—”
“Ah, Lord Demeroven.”
James turns and feels his spine go rigid. Lord Raverson has vaulted up to scooch into the seat beside him. He’s even more
resplendent in daylight, and somehow twice as ominous a presence.
“Lord Raverson,” James forces out, gritting his teeth against both regret and foreboding.
“You must be the viscount’s stepfather—Mr.Griggs, isn’t it? I’m Lord Raverson,” Raverson continues, leaning across James
to extend his hand.
And that, of course, his stepfather hears. “Raverson, did you say?” he asks, turning to take Raverson’s hand, further pressing James into the back of the stands.
“Indeed. I believe you knew my father,” Raverson says, all charm, flashing those bright, straight teeth at James’ stepfather,
who looks delighted to be recognized.
It’s all he’s ever wanted, after all.
“I did, I did,” Stepfather says. “Stand-up man, truly fought for his ideals. He and Demeroven’s uncle were allies.”
“Oh, I know,” Raverson says, retracting his hand slowly so it brushes against James’ chest. James shivers. “My father spoke
regularly of his and the late Lord Demeroven’s combined efforts to push through their agenda, and that’s exactly how I plan
to comport myself in the Lords now. Fighting for what’s right.”
“Excellent,” Stepfather says. “You can help Demeroven here have an opinion. He’s always been a bit noncommittal. You knew
each other at school?”
Raverson looks to James, all wide-eyed innocence, forcing James to grit out a tight “Yes, we did.”
“Splendid. Good to know there’s at least one positive influence for the sorry lad. No insult intended, Demeroven,” Stepfather
says.
James shrugs jerkily, though there was very much insult intended. He should feel more irritated that his stepfather is willfully
undermining him in public, but he’s too busy fighting the clutch of panic in his chest. His stepfather and Raverson being
so close—Raverson being here at all—is terrifying.
“Perhaps I could take you to lunch sometime soon, sir. Pick your brain about the agenda,” Raverson says. “I’d appreciate your
counsel. I know how much the late Lord Demeroven relied on your sage advice.”
What utter sniveling, two-faced drivel—
“Of course. I would be delighted, Viscount. It would be marvelous to discuss the agenda with a man who truly understands.
I’ll have my valet arrange it,” Stepfather says.
“I look forward to it,” Raverson says, nudging James.
Stepfather nods brightly and then looks back to the game, immediately engrossed in the intense scrum on the field. Leaving
James sandwiched between his stepfather and Raverson, on the edge of a panic attack.
Stepfather hasn’t let James get a word in edgewise on the agenda, just barked his instructions, as if James couldn’t possibly
have any opinions of his own on the matter. And now he’s going to lunch with Raverson? James has never been worth his time;
it stands to reason he’ll be looking for a replacement son while he’s here in London. What a happy accident that Stepfather
gets what he wants and gets to demean James in the process.
But what does Raverson get out of it?
“What are you doing?” James asks, impressed that it comes out as anything more than a strangled whisper.
“Watching rugby,” Raverson says, winking at him.
James clenches his fists and nudges Raverson, forcing him a little further down the bench so James can scoot a few feet away
from his stepfather. Raverson shifts without comment, pulling out his handkerchief to blow his nose.
“Why are you inviting my stepfather to lunch?” James demands, watching Raverson meticulously fold the handkerchief into a
delicate series of small triangles.
“You must use your contacts, Demeroven. First rule of parliament.”
James narrows his eyes just as something exciting happens on the field. A goal, a scrum, a dance break, he isn’t sure. The uproar from the crowd is immediate, including Raverson, who shouts gleefully. But the loudest in attendance by far are Lady Gwen and Mason, hooting for much longer than the rest, and then breaking into giggles while Miss Bertram watches them fondly.
James finds his eyes stuck on the three of them, envy gnawing at his gut. There they are, happy and carefree. How is it fair
that Bobby Mason gets a loving family, and he has... this?
“Awfully conspicuous, aren’t they?” Raverson asks, bringing James’ attention back to his smarmy, beautiful face.
James feels a frustrating need to defend his cousin, which means he has to defend the lot of them. “They’re enjoying themselves.”
“Yes, they do like their pleasures, don’t they?” Raverson asks, before whipping the handkerchief back out to sneeze.
“You still have hay fever?” James wonders, frowning as Raverson makes a show of folding the handkerchief again.
And then James’ blood runs cold. That’s Mason’s handkerchief. The one he used to try to clean James up that night at Parker’s
club. White with little yellow daisies. Dainty and lovely, and in Raverson’s hand, covered with Raverson’s snot.
It could be nothing, James rationalizes. Mason offered it to him to wipe his own vomit; it’s not like it’s a treasured possession.
But then James thinks of his own handkerchief, the one Raverson kept and used in all of their mutual classes, at all of their
social gatherings. A token as if to say: Look what I know about you. Look how intimate we’ve been. Look what I could tell all these people.
If Raverson has Mason’s handkerchief—
Mason whoops again down the stands.
“He is loud, isn’t he?” Raverson remarks, twisting the handkerchief between his fingers.
“I suppose,” James manages, glancing over at Mason. He blinks against an onslaught of images of Mason and Raverson... together.
It twists something in his stomach, horror and arousal mixing into nausea.
“You know, he’s loud during other activities too,” Raverson continues, with such a carefully calculated, casual air. Like
he lets these things slip in subtle ways all the time. Which James knows he does.
“What are you planning to do with this information?” James asks, wincing at his own lack of tact. But that pressure in his
chest is growing larger. If Raverson knows about both Mason and James, the damage he could find a way to inflict on both of
their families with just a little more proof—
“Oh, nothing. Yet,” Raverson says, shrugging and leaning back against the stands in a stretch that does everything to accentuate
the lithe, long line of his body. “But it’s always good to have some insurance, isn’t it? For when times get lean.”
James grinds his teeth together. “You’ve more than enough to give up these childish games for drinking money,” he mutters.
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Demeroven. You’ve always thought small.”
“A title and land aren’t enough for you?” James wonders, looking up at Raverson to find his eyes sharp and calculating.
“True power, true influence, requires much more than my father’s meager estate,” he says, leaning around James as Mason and
Lady Gwen continue to heckle Lord Mason. “But what you have—the intimate connections...”
A chill runs down James’ spine at his words. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, of course I would focus on becoming a formal member of a family such as yours, but given both your cousin and her stepsister seem... reluctant to enter into a union, I’m simply making other forays.”
“You stay away from my cousin,” James hisses.
Raverson shrugs innocently, an infuriatingly blasé smile coming over his face. He opens his mouth, but James jerks forward,
his stepfather clapping him hard on the back.
“Lord Raverson, I look forward to our lunch,” Stepfather says.
James realizes then that the game has ended and people in the stands are starting to file out. His cousin, Lady Gwen, and
Mason have already headed down to the field to greet Lord Mason.
“As do I, Mr.Griggs,” Raverson says. “I’ll see you both soon,” he adds, standing up to button his frock coat before whistling
his way down the stands.
James sits there staring after him, panic and terror warring in his chest.
“Now that’s an impressive young man,” Stepfather says, leaning back in his seat. “You should take after him, watch what he
does this season. Might be able to show you a thing or two.”
James stares out at the field, refusing to react, lest he turn and throttle his stepfather. Instead, he focuses on Lady Gwen,
MissBertram, and Mason, watching as they stand chatting, waiting for Lord Mason to gather his muddy things. Mason’s laugh
carries up to the stands and James feels his ire and panic settling onto Mason’s careless shoulders.
They wouldn’t be in this predicament if Mason were more circumspect. If he were careful, like he should be. Instead, he’s gone and slept with perhaps the most dangerous gossip in the city, who now has evidence of their tryst. Mason has endan gered them all. Put a target on their backs and assured Raverson’s continued interest in their families.
It’s Mason’s irresponsibility that’s to blame. Mason’s devil-may-care attitude.
Mason’s the problem here.
And he has the gall to suggest James is the one shirking his duties. Accusing him of abusing his power because James isn’t
interested in the tittle-tattle of parliament.
Well, no more. If Mason’s going to endanger their families, it will be up to James to protect them all from scandal by making
himself so useful and well regarded he can counteract any... salacious gossip Mason may incur.
***
James’ hand flies over his paper as he listens to Lord Roberts, trying to take down all the notes he can. This committee discussion
in favor of the Medical Act has proved surprisingly interesting.
Their collective proposal to work with the few well-established medical institutions to begin their registry with properly
accredited graduates is a strong start. They’ll then move on to communities using those students as hubs to judge all those
privately trained physicians.
Roberts finishes his speech and the lords around James, Lord Mason, and Lord Havenfort begin shifting and shuffling out of
the meeting room. James marks down one final medical institution, putting a star beside the University of Edinburgh.
“They do have an excellent program,” Lord Havenfort says.
James looks up to find him smiling. His is a handsome face; so much of him in Lady Gwen as well. But the dark circles beneath
his eyes are what catches James’ attention.
“Thank you,” James says, pushing around the lump in his throat that seems to come with addressing anyone of Lord Havenfort’s stature. “I have classmates who’ve gone up for training. I’m sure I could reach out to ask them to begin preparing their rosters.”
“That would be excellent,” Lord Havenfort says, looking... fond seems the wrong emotion. Is that—pride? Can’t possibly be.
“Yes, Mr.Yorks and Mr.Findlay?” Lord Mason chimes in.
“And Mr.Yorks’ younger brother, and Mr.Rilton,” James says, glancing back at Lord Mason. “I think you and Mr.Rilton would
have played rugby together for a year?”
“We did. He was quite the defense. Once you’ve written your letters, send me copies, and I’ll reach out to Rilton as well,
get them all working together.”
“Perfect,” James says, trying to appear casual. His showing effort is going exceedingly well.
“I’ll leave the University of Edinburgh in your capable hands, then,” Lord Havenfort says as they shuffle out through the
last few chairs and down the steps to the antechamber.
“I believe Lady Mason will have a few wives she can contact for references as well,” Lord Mason adds. “I’ll write to her.”
“How is she?” Lord Havenfort asks.
James hustles to keep up with both taller men as they stride across the antechamber toward the street outside. He still feels
a bit like a hanger-on, but they’re speaking with him, not around him, and that’s something. A few more weeks of this attention and he’ll be able to prove Mason thoroughly
wrong. He’ll be irreplaceable, necessary, powerful.
“She’s... improving,” Lord Mason hedges, holding open the antechamber door so Lord Havenfort and James can pass through.
“Good. Remember, I can have Cordelia’s doctor sent up for Meredith, all expenses paid. Please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Lord Mason says with a grateful smile.
“How is my aunt?” James puts in, wanting to seem as connected as Lord Mason.
Lord Havenfort’s smile falters for a moment before it stretches wide across his face. “She’s doing well. I’ll tell her you’ve
asked after her. She’s been meaning to extend an invitation for dinner, when she’s less tired.”
“Of course,” James says. “My mother is excited for the new baby,” he adds, unsure of how else to respond.
It’s true, he thinks. Or maybe she’s jealous? He’s never quite sure when it comes to his mother and her relationship with
her late brother-in-law’s widow.
“I’ll tell Lady Havenfort,” Lord Havenfort says. “In lieu of a dinner, actually, I thought you both might enjoy attending
the opera tonight.”
“I can’t this evening,” Lord Mason says softly. “My apologies, Uncle, though I do appreciate the invitation. I’ve a meeting
with Cunningham and his father to discuss some property.”
“Of course, of course. Gwen and Beth will be disappointed, but they’ll understand,” Lord Havenfort says.
“I’d be happy to attend,” James says quickly, jumping at the chance to make a better impression on his cousin and her stepsister.
“I can pick them up, even. I so appreciate the invitation.”
“Wonderful,” Lord Havenfort says, giving James what feels like a genuine smile. “Seven?”
“I’ll come by with the carriage.”
“I’ll send Bobby along to join them,” Lord Mason says. “Make the numbers even and give him something to do. A substitute Mason,
if you will.”
James opens his mouth, reluctant to be trapped in close, possibly hostile, quarters with Mason for the night, but Lord Havenfort is already handing them both their tickets.
“Splendid. Beth and Gwen will be delighted. Now, I must get home to see my wife. Good day, boys.”
James stands stock-still, holding his ticket as he watches Lord Havenfort march away.
“Have a good evening,” Lord Mason says, patting James on the shoulder before heading off himself.
James slowly turns to walk home, baffled. How has he just gotten himself invited to an evening full of Bobby Mason?
***
“Parr is by far the best jockey trainer, and to suggest otherwise only shows how little you’ve been paying attention,” Lady
Gwen tells Mason later that night as they sit in Lord Havenfort’s box at the newly refurbished Royal Opera House waiting for
the performance to start.
Mason leans around James to glare at Lady Gwen. His cologne wafts past James’ nose and James tells himself staunchly that
he detests the scent of sandalwood, even though it’s long been his favorite.
“George Abdale is just as good a trainer—better, even, since it was his horse that won last year,” Mason counters.
Mason and Lady Gwen have been having this argument now for a solid hour, since James picked them all up in his carriage, and it’s beginning to wear on him. Not only does he have exactly zero interest in horse racing, but it’s wildly cutting into his efforts to impress his cousin and ignore Bobby Mason. He wants something to come of this uncomfortable evening, but they won’t stop talking about the Ascot races, and his opportunity for demonstrating personal growth is rapidly running out. In a few minutes, the fourth performance of Les Huguenots will begin, and they’ll be trapped in silence for hours. He’s going to have to change tack.
“George Abdale is very good,” MissBertram says from James’ right.
“Don’t you take his side,” Lady Gwen whines.
“I can have opinions independent of both of you,” MissBertram says. “And let’s not fight across Lord Demeroven all night.”
“It’s all right,” James says, determined to be polite to the ladies, to ingratiate himself, even if it does come at the cost
of having done research into his least-favorite topics. “But I am sorry, cousin, it does sound like Parr has the best lineup
this season.”
“Hah!” Lady Gwen crows.
“I know he’s new, but his jockeys have been winning heats up and down the races this season, and Wells is favored to be in
the top three by Ascot,” James continues.
“Exactly,” Lady Gwen agrees. “It’s all in the conditioning. Father says Parr has his jockeys doing laps on the field alongside
the horses.”
“Precisely,” James agrees.
Mason stares at him, surprised, and James sits up a little straighter. There, he’s not such a terrible social companion after
all.
“Shall we discuss something that doesn’t leave most of us either yelling or sighing dramatically?” MissBertram suggests.
“Fine,” Mason says. “We’ll see who’s right in a month anyway. Care to place a bet?” he adds, leaning around James again.
“I thought Lord Mason got betting rights from the Spot-the-Scion tournament, didn’t he?” James asks quickly.
Mason groans and slumps against his seat again. “He did.”
“How’s parliament?” Miss Bertram asks, overriding some snarky comment from Lady Gwen.
“It’s going very well,” James says, turning on what little charm he has. “We’re organizing to begin a survey of the various
medical institutions across the country and in Scotland to form the skeleton of the registry.”
“Skeleton, good one,” Lady Gwen says with a laugh.
MissBertram smiles at him. “That sounds very exciting. We’d be happy to arrange more research at the Foundling Hospital,
if you’d like.”
“That would be grand,” James says, bolstered by the way both ladies are smiling, and how Mason is considering him with what
looks like interest. “I’ve been meaning to arrange to meet more of the physicians myself to discuss their work and any improvements
they think could be made with the registry as a reference, now that we have a more concrete plan in place.”
“Father might want to join you,” Lady Gwen says. “He’s eager to pick the brains of the various doctors overseeing the births
in the maternity ward.”
“I’ll be sure to arrange it,” James says, feeling a little balloon of pride at the thought. Perhaps the opportunity to cement
himself as meaningful to his aunt, his cousin, and their family will come from this Medical Act after all.
“Albie will probably want to attend too. Perhaps you could tag along, Bobby,” Lady Gwen suggests.
James glances at Mason to find him watching them all with a strange expression on his face. James doesn’t know if it’s jealousy,
surprise, or even intrigue? But it’s a reaction, and that gives him more encouragement.
“Yes, Mason, you could join us. I’m sure your brother would appreciate another set of eyes and ears, so the two of you could
strategize afterward.”
Mason’s eyes widen a little and he bobs his head, almost smiling now. “Perhaps.”
“Lord Mason has a whole running list of physicians and former classmates to contact,” James continues, looking over at the
girls. “We’re breaking them down by connections and preparing to send letters. Hopefully they’ll get back to us quickly with
recommendations of private physicians we can contact too.”
“That sounds wonderful,” MissBertram says.
“Yes, it sounds like you’re really making a solid effort for the act,” Mason adds, leaning in so he can hear the full conversation.
James smiles at all of them just as the lights begin to dim, pleased as punch. “I find it’s quite rewarding to do work that
could make so much social change. If we succeed, Lord Mason and I just might save the family reputations after all, and do
something of import. I think together we’ve already attended more sessions this season than either of our drunken predecessors,
and we’re already making such progress.”
James takes a breath, feeling a little manic. He rarely speaks for so long and—
MissBertram rises abruptly and hurries out of the box. James blinks, confused, jerking when Mason shoves his shoulder. He
watches Mason rise and march after MissBertram, leaving James and Lady Gwen alone in the box.
“What happened? Did—” James’ words catch up to him then as Lady Gwen stares at him, incredulous. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean—
You must know I didn’t mean to insult— I only— Lord Mason and I actually are doing rather well by the families, and I just
meant—”
Lady Gwen turns to watch the curtains below them begin to rise. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she says curtly.
Shit.