Chapter Nineteen
Ophelia and Dessie found no opportunity for a private talk until they set off in Lynch’s landau the next afternoon.
After the late night at the opera, they’d both slept until noon, and then had to submit to the lengthy preparations for venturing out in society: choosing the right clothes, having Milly dress their hair, asking for Lynch’s carriage to be readied.
All Ophelia knew was that Dessie was determined to call on Lady Elizabeth.
She said they were “running out of time to stop the runaway train”.
Ophelia wondered if her sister might be having fun with this, seeing it as just another adventure.
But no. Dessie knew this was serious—there were hollows under her eyes as well.
As soon as they were rolling along, Dessie began her interrogation.
“So? What did you and Robin discuss last night when we left you two alone? Wasn’t that a stroke of fortune? I couldn’t have planned anything so perfect!”
Ophelia shrugged. “We talked about the opera.”
Dessie’s face fell. “That’s all?”
There was more. Too much more. Before finally falling asleep, Ophelia had tossed and turned until dawn, mulling over what Trentham had said: He’d insulted her at the Barringtons’ ball to be respectful of the lady he’d decided to court. Did that make him a rogue? Or the opposite?
“He told me that he’d apologized for accusing Mr. Cameron of impropriety.”
“He did?” Her sister’s eyes lit. “That’s better. What else?”
Ophelia hesitated. Had Trentham spoken in confidence? His courting of Lady Elizabeth was now common knowledge. But the rest she wasn’t ready to share. Not until she had answers to the questions that had plagued her all night.
First, when he’d decided to woo Lady Elizabeth, how many women had he felt he had to…
put aside? Would it hurt even more to learn that she was not the only one?
Second, why had he abused Mr. Cameron with words he now said he didn’t mean?
And third—perhaps the most curious—why was he courting Lady Elizabeth?
Ophelia was more interested in these questions than in the mystery of some long-ago wrongdoing.
But Dessie was awaiting an answer.
“Nothing else. Mr. Cameron returned too quickly.”
“Blast.” Dessie screwed up her face. “Well, that was an unproductive use of a good opportunity.”
Ophelia gasped a laugh. “What did you expect me to do? Command him to woo me instead of Lady Elizabeth?”
Dessie turned aside and lifted the edge of the curtain. “We’re almost there.” A moment later, she said, “Oh! Oh, stop the carriage!” She rapped on the roof and called again to the coachman, “John, stop! Turn around.”
As the landau slowed, Dessie beckoned Ophelia to the window. “Look.”
Ophelia peered out. Trentham’s coach was in the Barrington’s drive. Her stomach lurched. Whether he was coming or going, she didn’t want to cross paths.
“Take us back home, John!” Dessie called out.
“Yes, my lady,” the coachman answered, steering them down a side street.
“Do you think he saw us?” Dessie whispered. She slouched away from the window as if she imagined he could glimpse her inside.
“I don’t know.” It struck her as odd that Dessie was more fearful of meeting up with Trentham than she was. “Why are we hiding?”
Dessie sat up straight and pouted. “Because Robin will tell Lynch that he saw us at Lady Elizabeth’s.”
“And?”
“And Lynch told me to leave it alone. To leave Robin and Lady Elizabeth alone.”
That sounded like resignation on Lynch’s part, which was not a good sign. “I thought he said we should persuade her to reject Trentham’s suit.”
“Yes, well, that was before I told him about step two.”
A cold shiver ran down Ophelia’s spine. “And what exactly does he object to?” Dessie had said they were just going to gauge Lady Elizabeth’s current level of interest, and try nudging her toward giving Trentham a “no.”
“It’s complicated.”
“We have time.” At least a quarter hour until they were home.
Dessie let out a long sigh. “You wouldn’t have noticed, but Lady Townes was bothered by something last night, especially so in the second act. When we got home, I asked Lynch if he saw it. He was evasive at first, but I wore him down.” Her lips pursed. “You can’t repeat this, of course.”
“I won’t.” Who would she tell?
“He told me Lady Townes was often unhappy. Her marriage is a mess, and it’s a source of concern to Robin. Lynch said she was only seventeen when she wed Sir George. He was in his thirties.”
Ophelia swallowed an “Oh!” in her throat. She thought she saw where Dessie was heading and didn’t want to hear it.
“At the time, he was considered to be exceedingly handsome and charming, if rather a rake. But he latched onto her, possibly because she was a duke’s daughter with a significant dowry. She was lovely, too, of course. At any rate, her father allowed Sir George to court her.”
The carriage began shuddering as they reached a rough cobbled stretch of road. Dessie raised her voice. “The old duke was…Lynch says there is no proof of this, but it makes sense in a sad way. He was quite enamored of his new wife and their baby son—”
“Trentham?”
“Mmm-hmm. He was just two or three years old. And the new wife—”
“Trentham’s mother.” The harpist.
They swayed side-to-side as the coach turned and the road smoothed out again.
“Yes.” Dessie lowered her voice again, suiting it to the quieting of the wheels.
“Lynch says Trentham’s mother was a wonderful woman.
Truly. But she had her hands full as a new duchess, and she’d given the duke an heir, and Felicity may have felt unloved, you see.
Neglected. But be that as it may, when Sir George asked permission to court her, the duke said yes.
And when he asked her to marry him, she said yes.
I don’t know if the marriage was ever a happy one.
” She paused. “Although they do have three children.”
“Which does not indicate a love match.”
“No.” Dessie frowned. “Lynch says that Sir George has had a string of mistresses and a number of illicit affairs. They mostly live apart.”
Her heart went out to the woman. “It sounds dreadful.”
“Yes, well, then I made the mistake of pointing out that Lady Elizabeth is seventeen and Robin is in his thirties…”
“Oh, Dessie, you didn’t!” This was where she had been leading! “You can’t think Trentham would be so cruel.”
“Well, but we don’t know, do we? He did do something awful if prominent members of the ton won’t receive him.
” She harumphed with indignation. “And Lynch came back with the argument that Robin isn’t thirty yet.
He’s twenty-nine!” Dessie shook her head.
“Can you imagine that for a rebuttal? Couldn’t he have argued Robin would not take mistresses?
But the idea sprang into my head that we should get Lady Elizabeth and Lady Townes together.
And maybe frighten Lady Elizabeth with the reality of what an unhappily married woman looks like. ”
Ophelia choked. “That is your step two?” The plan, built upon a scaffold of gossip, was appalling. And to suggest that Trentham would be a poor husband…
“Yes, but that really infuriated Lynch. He said, practically shouted—this is truly ghastly—but he said Robin would never ever hit a lady, which shocked me to my toes. I wouldn’t imply that about Robin.”
“Wait. Slow down. Sir George hits Lady Townes? And what were you willing to imply about Trentham?”
“There are rumors he might be violent. Sir George, of course I mean, not Robin. And not that he has hit Lady Townes. I can’t see Robin permitting that, even if it is a husband’s right.
But Lynch said some of his paramours have sported bruises.
” Dessie frowned. “And I don’t think it is so very farfetched to imply Robin would have mistresses. Any number of men do.”
But Trentham would not even flirt because it would be disrespectful to Lady Elizabeth. What would Dessie make of that? Ophelia turned this all over in her head, then said, “Lynch told you not to pursue step two?”
“Yes.” She scowled.
“Yet you were ready to do it anyway.”
Dessie nodded.
“For me?” Ophelia whispered. This was terrible. Lovely, but terrible. Dessie would risk angering Lynch for her?
“For you and Lady Elizabeth. I don’t know if he’s right for you, Ophelia.
We still have to discover that. But I know he is wrong for Lady Elizabeth.
And she’s wrong for him! And…” Her voice broke, “and Lynch should be on her side, not the side of everything that’s wrong with the way the world treats women.
To say Robin is doing her a kindness? As if he truly is the ton’s sacrificial lamb?
Is there anything more patronizing than that? ”
“But Dessie—” The image of Lynch shouting at Dessie, or her at him, brought tears to Ophelia’s eyes.
Dessie raised her chin and said stubbornly, “We need to bring Lady Townes and Lady Elizabeth together.”
“Why?” This was sounding more and more desperate. And farfetched. “You can’t think Lady Townes will have her unhappiness out on display.”
“She did last night.” Dessie sighed. Then she rapped on the roof again and called out, “John, take us to St. Martin’s Street.”
“Dessie, we just called on Lady Townes yesterday. We can’t show up on her doorstep again so soon. It’s gauche.”
“Yes, but now, after all this, I’m worried about her. Aren’t you?”
*
Once more, Ophelia found herself at Lady Townes’ doorstep.
However, this time, before Dessie reached for the knocker, the door opened and a young man stepped out.
All three drew back, startled. The fellow reached up to tip his bowler hat, but then merely touched it, blushed, and walked quickly away.
“How awkward,” Dessie muttered, as they both watched him retreat.