Chapter 11
Laura was going to kill Georgiana.
When Laura had received a note from her friend that morning requesting that Laura join her for a ride in Hyde Park, Laura had assumed it would be just the two of them, but Gia had elected to invite a pair of gentlemen to meet them at the entrance of the famed Rotten Row.
“Why? Why, why, why?” Laura hissed as they approached the waiting men, both atop prancing thoroughbreds who looked eager to get moving in the late morning sunshine. As she surveyed their escorts, she noted that one of them was Mr. Fennimore, the gentlemen she had spoken to at the opera. Of course, thoughts of the opera inevitably led to thoughts of Remington Rothstone kissing her with searing heat, but she forcefully pushed those thoughts into the depths from whence they came. She actually rather liked Mr. Fennimore. As she trod closer, his smiling visage soothed her frustration. Here was a man with whom she didn’t have to be on guard every second.
“Oh, come now,” Georgiana wheedled. “You can’t be a recluse forever. I made that mistake after…” she paused, then cleared her throat. “ -once, and it did me no favors in the eyes of society. If you don’t become a welcome face again, people will think there is something to the rumors.”
Laura knew she was right, but still ground her teeth at the idea that she somehow needed to prove herself to people she didn’t even know or particularly care about. As soon as her feet had started to heal, her mother and Gia had both plagued her to attend some sort of event at which she didn’t have to use her feet very much, as much for her own benefit as to quell the rampant rumors surrounding Laura’s escapade at Honeymoore Manor. Since this was the second such time she had eschewed society for a mysterious reason, Astoria Parrington had been nervous at the effects it would have on her prospects. Finally, Laura had agreed to go on a ride, as she had been missing her frequent riding habits anyway. Her half-boots were tied loosely around her sore feet, and she knew she couldn’t do more than docilely clop through Hyde Park on her trusted bay mare.
The doctor had given her strict orders to remain un-corseted and in bed for the past week, which had certainly helped her ribs and feet. However, it was becoming stifling to remain so any longer. She was wearing only a loose stomacher today, which still put an uncomfortable pressure on her torso, but she was glad to be able to be out from under the fretful glances and constant cosseting of her mother and father.
Resigned to the course before her, Laura stretched her lips into a smile that felt rubbery and cracked while closing the distance between them and the gentlemen. Laura didn’t know how she would be received by polite society after her absence, but these men, at least, seemed pleased to see her and her companion.
“Miss Parrington, you are looking fetching today. We have missed your face in town these past weeks,” Fennimore greeted her with a smile and a tip of his satiny top hat. His gray eyes asked questions while still managing to be kind.
Laura felt her smile melting into a genuine one as her horse drew alongside his. “Thank you for saying so, Lord Fennimore. I have quite been bored out of my mind while convalescing,” she revealed, hoping he wouldn’t press for further details.
“My sympathies, Miss Parrington,” Fennimore’s companion chimed in. He was a round-faced fellow with a shock of red hair and freckles spanning his pale face. He sat his horse a bit awkwardly, and his horse skittered as if his rider’s legs were squeezing a bit too hard. “Grayson here tells me I need to get out more or I’ll become bored as well, but I’m afraid he overestimated my equestrian skills when he invited me today.” He shrugged in self-deprecation.
Georgiana laughed. “Oh, Harry, you’ll be fine. No one said being well was fun!” She shouldered up next to him playfully. Before Laura’s quizzical gaze could be formed into a question, Gia explained, “Harry is my second cousin. He has just recently been informed by his physician that he is recovered enough to leave the house.”
Laura smiled in commiseration as the party began to move down the lane. “Oh, have you been sick as well, Mr…?”
“Lord Chalsey. But Harry’s perfectly fine, Ma’am.”
“She can’t call you Harry, Harry,” Gia commented. “So much to learn…” She looked skyward as if praying for patience.
“Oh, well, I suppose not,” he said with a flush coming over his cheeks. “I have been plagued by a lung condition since childhood, Miss Parrington. Unfortunately, as a result, my time in society has been somewhat limited.”
“Nonexistent, you mean,” Gia supplied. “Poor Harry has had to stay indoors for the majority of his life and has never been to London before this trip because of the foul air. So I’m determined to show him around,” she said with warmth.
“Well, Lord Chalsey, I feel silly complaining of my recent infirm when your history is so clearly more deserving of sympathy,” Laura said, and she meant it. She couldn’t imagine spending any more time indoors than she had for the past two weeks, let alone one’s entire life.
“I must admit that it feels both exhilarating and terrifying to be out and about as is expected,” Chalsey said without artifice.
Laura smiled, feeling a particular kinship with this man. She, too, had felt the same way during her first fortnight here in London. She frowned. What had happened since then that she now felt only a wry cynicism at the thought of the social whirl that was the London season?
It wasn’t just one thing, she answered herself as the group continued down the well-manicured path, but many small things throughout the course of the last few weeks that had caused her innocent wonder to recede. The fawning attention of those she could sense were falsely enamored by outward appearances, the snide whispers of those women who wanted to find fault with her popularity, the general obliviousness of society to what truly mattered- a person’s heart and interests and passions- Those things had quickly eaten away at the excitement she once felt when preparing to attend social gatherings.
And yet…. Here she was in the company of a group of people who didn’t exhibit any of those dismaying qualities which seemed to plague per patience. She looked at the faces of the others on horseback beside her, their faces amused as Gia related an incident involving a ripped hem and an overturned punch bowl, her penchant for self-deprecation in full force. Laura’s mouth turned up at the corners. Now these people, she was actually enjoying.
The foursome clopped, or, in the case of Gia’s Arabian mare, pranced, down the lane, coming upon a copse of trees that they all agreed would make a lovely place to set up their picnic stuffs. Laura relished reminiscing about life in the country with Lord Chalsey, who also missed the open fields and endless green forests that seemed so far away from the dingy busyness of the city. It brought an ache to her chest that she hadn’t known was possible, thinking of returning to the peaceful existence that had been her life before coming here.
The gentlemen carried the saddlebags of food over to where Laura and Gia had spread a soft wool blanket down onto the grass.
“Are you alright? You look…almost sad. Forlorn, perhaps,” Mr. Fennimore said quietly to Laura as they sat down, his keen eyes observing her face closely.
Laura met his gaze and smiled. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine, but thank you,” she reassured him, spreading her skirts into a comfortable array over her legs. Gia and Harry were speaking animatedly about a mutual relative and were not paying attention to their conversation.
He reached out and put a warm, broad hand over hers. “Are you in pain? Please tell me.”
She laughed. “Not that kind of pain, no.” His nearness unsettled her, the concern in his feathered gray eyes making the lump in the back of her throat larger.
“Good.” He left his hand where it was. “Then what is troubling you, Laura? I mean, Miss Parrington,” he corrected himself sheepishly.
“It really is nothing,” she said, her leafy green eyes flitting to his and back down to her skirts where she picked at a poplin of embroidery. “I’m simply a country bumpkin who has little business living in the city.”
Mr. Fennimore looked as though he was trying to hold back a smile. “That’s patently untrue, darling.” His fingers rubbed the back of her hand gently.
Laura had been called endearments by many men lately, both casually and ardently, so the occurrence shouldn’t have registered as significant. But it did. She looked at his angular, handsome face and wondered if she had overlooked this man and missed his measure because of another who had so overwhelmed her consciousness lately. His eyes were not a deep brown, and his brows were sloping rather than slashes above them. The thick head of hair that crowned his head was a tawny brown instead of rich, deep mahogany, and his frame was slim, yet still broad across the shoulders. However, none of that she could hold against him. He simply wasn’t Remington Rothstone. And that might be alright, she decided. “What makes you say that?” she asked, hoping his answer would reveal…she didn’t know what, but something she needed to hear.
His smile kind. “Just because an orchid is uprooted from its native land and transplanted into a household doesn’t mean that the orchid is any less valuable where it has ended up. And perhaps the orchid will come to love the comings and goings of a place where it is beheld as rare and beautiful, treated with delicacy and care as something of its nature deserves.”
Laura blinked, taking in his calm features, his expression both open and enigmatic at the same time. She now saw there were depths to this man that she could see herself exploring if she so wished. “That might be the loveliest thing I’ve heard in quite some time, Mr. Fennimore,” she murmured, feeling more aware of his hand still atop hers.
“Grayson, if you feel comfortable,” he said in his low voice, his finger stroking her knuckle once more.
Shivers made their way down her neck. “I’d like that. Grayson,” she replied, smiling.
They continued to hold eye contact for another few seconds, Laura’s mind whirling with both trepidation and something like joy.
“Laura, don’t you think so?” Gia’s voice penetrated the bubble that had formed around their conversation
She turned to face her friend, raising her hand from under Grayson’s to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight facing her. “I’m sorry, what?”
Gia’s eyes caught the movement, but didn’t indicate any judgement of it. Laura suddenly wondered if she had hurt her friend’s feelings by accepting attention from the man that Gia had indicated was a good catch for herself. It felt terrible, as if she had told a lie or landed someone in trouble.
As they devoured the picnic of cold sausage with mellow cheese, mulled pears in wine, and crusty bread washed down with crisp apple cider, it became clear that Gia bore no ill will towards her, although Laura resolved to ask her about it later. The rest of the afternoon passed by in blur of pleasant conversation and leisure in the sun, but eventually, Laura’s body protested at the prolonged activity and began to ache in the familiar places- ribs, shins, feet. Grayson noticed her fatigue and hidden grimaces first and suggested they conclude their outing, accompanying Gia and Laura back to the entrance of the park on their content horses.
As they said their goodbyes, Laura felt Grayson’s eyes linger on her back and felt a shoot of nerves traverse her spine. It felt both wrong and good to have felt a connection with someone other than “The Weasel,” as she was now calling him in her mind.
Gia dropped Laura at her front door and sent for her footman, whom she had given most of the day off while she and Laura had been in the park. Gia didn’t much like supervision, so she regularly arranged for her staff to accompany her out and then told them to go get lost for awhile.
After Gia had departed, Laura changed into a dress that allowed for her to eschew her corset and let her ribs expand. Gingerly, she curled up on the couch with the book she had been reading recently, grateful for the reprieve from the soreness that had plagued her during most of the afternoon. When Jonathan came in to see if she needed anything, she asked him the question which she’d been asking every day for the past three weeks:
“Any news of the investigation?”
“No, Miss, I’m afraid not.”
Laura nodded. Two days after returning from Honeymoore, a note had been sent round from a detective at Scotland Yard informing them that an investigation into the incident was ongoing, but that there were no suspects yet. Since then, there had been no developments, though Lord Parrington kept putting pressure on, demanding information.
But there were just no clues as to who had committed the atrocities that had occurred, save for a single button that hadn’t belonged to any of the deceased. It had been found in the clenched hand of one of the horsemen, so it was assumed that it had been torn from the killer’s garments during the scuffle. The detective had brought the object to the Parrington’s town house to show to them, asking if they recognized it or knew anyone who wore such buttons. But it had been like asking if she remembered a particular flower in a field of flowers. The button wasn’t anything especially notable, although it was clearly custom-made. Round, inlaid with silver filigree in the shape of a generic coat-of-arms- two swords crossed diagonally, the detail exquisite. Laura cursed herself for not having been more aware of buttons in the past, although she knew it wasn’t reasonable to remember every person’s accessories.
She just felt responsible in some way for what had happened, though she hadn’t had any part of it. Dreams of corpses and silver buttons had tortured her sleep several nights, and, truth be told, her days as well, but as the weeks wore on and no news came, Laura’s mind began to relax and loosen its hold on the gruesome images. Her sleep grew peaceful again, and the worst part of her existence grew to be the silence on a certain gentleman’s part, but her day in the park with good people had cheered her, making her feel a little more optimistic about the future.
And then two very bad things happened the very next day.
The first occurred while Laura was at breakfast, trying her keep Reginald from repeatedly leaping onto the table and devouring her sausages before she could. Her mother and father were in the middle of a lively conversation regarding the merits of dogs versus cats, Reginald’s current behavior factoring in heavily. Cranston, the butler, arrived with the daily news sheets freshly ironed, depositing the business and political sections with Lord Parrington and the society pages with Lady Parrington.
“Henry would never resort to such measures,” Lord Parrington argued, eyeing Reginald, who was biding his time in the seat next to Laura’s, presumably waiting for another opportunity.
“You’re quite right,” Astoria agreed, arranging her news sheet comfortably in front of her. “- Because Henry is tall enough to simply reach his head up and pull the food off the plate. You know he’s done it before,” she said pointedly, taking a sip of her tea with a raised brow.
“Yes, but the frequency of such incidences should be taken into acc-“
Astoria gasped, the teacup slipping from her fingers to shatter on the floor beside her chair. Her face was white as a sheet, eyes fixed to the paper she held with a shaking hand.
“Tory?”
“Mother?”
Laura’s father put his hand over his wife’s forearm as the footman attending the sideboard came forward to clean the pieces of china from the floor and soaking up the tea that had spilled.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Laura demanded.
Astoria swallowed and set the paper down on the table. “Thank you, Forest,” she said automatically, patting the footman on the back as he patted the last of the liquid from the rug. She cleared her throat and looked directly up at Laura, seated across from her. “We might have to move to America.”
“What?” Laura and her father both said together.
Lord Parrington grabbed the society sheet from the table and, upon reading the headline, also turned pale. He began reading aloud:
July 17, 1840- Bell of the Ball’s Balloon Bursts
Current society darling and smash hit of the season Lady Laura Parrington has been conspicuously absent from the public eye lately. Despite claims of an extended infirmity put about by another out-of-favor Miss, Lady Georgiana Hammond, it has recently been confirmed that the actual reason for Miss Parrington’s absence is related to a scandalous night alone with one Lord Remington Rothstone that occurred in the village of Lorenberry three weeks past. The pair was reported to have taken an unchaperoned hot air balloon excursion, which led to a romantic interlude in the forest lasting all night, the pair only emerging the next morning with evidence of intense exertion. This correspondent can only assume that Miss Parrington (I hesitate to call her a “Lady” at this juncture) has been hiding away to conceal another burgeoning problem resulting from her time with Lord Rothstone. And if the debutante does arrange a hasty marriage with the illustrious young Lord, twill be proof indeed of the state of her dubious virtue. One can only hope that the gel will have the decency to spare those in society with high moral sensibilities from her presence in the future, lest she contaminate others with her degeneration.
Laura sat back in her chair, stunned. Her throat closed up and tears formed in her eyes. It hurt. She didn’t particularly care about her shattered status in society, but the vicious words aimed at her by someone who didn’t even know her character were like stabs in her heart. Why did this anonymous person hate her so much? What had she done to deserve such immediate and eviscerating judgement? And now others might think the same of her. People who had smiled and complimented and called on her in the past might flee her presence as if she were the proverbial plague based this person’s words. It wasn’t fair. Or nice or kind or even decent. She understood that society had its ways of discouraging promiscuity, but this… For one thing, it wasn’t true! And even if it was, one mistake shouldn’t cause one’s friends to abandon you and act as if you’re tainted somehow, should it?
“Laura, dear, this isn’t your fault,” her mother said firmly, pushing back from the table to come to Laura’s side of the table. “We will figure this out.” She put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders as Laura continued to stare blankly at the wall opposite her.
Laura saw only two possible paths for herself, neither of which appealed to her. Number one, she could hastily marry someone who was willing to overlook her current status as a pariah to stave off the scandal and hopefully be viewed as respectable again once the shock to the ton wore off. Or, number two, she could retire to the country and eschew polite society altogether, with the assumption being she would remain unwed and become a spinster for the rest of her life.
Neither possibility seemed particularly pleasant in the long run.
And while Laura’s parents began to plan damage control, with travel arrangements to America still being bandied about as a possibility, the second terrible announcement lay forgotten until later that day when Lord Parrington finally got around to reading his portion of the paper. Even then, it did not register as significant to the Parrington family in comparison to their current situation. The body of Lord Daniel Craigerton had been discovered early the previous morning in the woods to the east of London- or, more accurately, his skeleton had. In an unfortunate incident, a textile factory manager’s dog had trotted in the front door of his owner’s cottage with a distinctly human arm bone, which had led to the discovery of the rest of the remains. Laying in a shallow grave, Lord Craigerton had been identified by what was left of the clothes he was wearing and the signet ring on his right hand. Animals had fed on his corpse, which hadn’t been buried deeply enough in the soil to prevent such an occurrence. The cause of death was yet unknown, as there was so little left of him to examine. Lord Parrington had, of course, sent out a letter of condolence and a large bouquet of peace lilies to his parents, both of whom he had met during the course of his parliamentary duties. He informed his wife and daughter of the news, not knowing that Laura had actually met the gentlemen.
“Oh, how terrible. He was quite nice to me on several occasions,” Laura commented, her mood souring even further since the morning’s development. “He had even mentioned asking permission to court me. I hope his death-that is, I hope...he didn’t suffer,” she trailed off, images of ripped flesh and skull fragments strewn heedlessly across a forest path flashing in her mind. Another person, dead. Was death to be so pervasive, then? How had she gone her entire life not being affected by the phenomenon and then suddenly encounter it at every turn? She knew people died every day, but it seemed as though one didn’t normally come across it so often as this.
She was aware more than ever of the finality of her childhood’s end. She hadn’t realized that she would note its loss so painfully or that there was even a point at which the transition happened consciously. But there was. And this was it. Her reputation was in ruins, real people were dying right and left, and she would very soon have to make a decision that would decide the course of the rest of her life. She wanted to scream into her pillow and not think about any of it. She wished she had never come here, to a city whose glitter had turned out to be nothing but coal dust and whose sophisticated people were nothing but cruel.
Gia arrived at the Parrington townhouse just as Laura had decided that screaming into her pillow was, indeed, the most appropriate response to the day’s events.
“Oh, love, don’t cry. Everything will be alright,” Gia soothed, coming to pat Laura on the back as muffled sobs escaped the vicinity of the pillows in which her head was buried. “Now you’re like me. We can both be pariahs together!”
The sobs came louder.
“Well, maybe that’s not the best thing, but I survived, and so will you. You’re brave,” Gia declared stoutly, drawing up her legs underneath her on the bed.
“But-but I have to get married!” Laura wailed, pausing to blow her nose into a handkerchief, which she then promptly threw across the room.
“Alright, that might be true. But marriage isn’t the worst thing to happen to someone. What about Rothstone? I thought he offered for you.”
Laura sat up and glared at Gia. “According to the article, if I marry him, then I really am a tart. And that toad hasn’t even called on me in three weeks. Not since the proposal.” she huffed, leaning back against the pile of pillows she had made for herself.
“But didn’t you turn him down?” Gia asked tentatively.
“That’s beside the point. He was an ogre” she sniffled.
“I thought he was a toad.”
“That too. And a weasel. All of them,” she gestured widely to the room at large.
“Certainly a handsome one, though. You could do worse, dear,” she said pointedly.
“But Gia, he… He proposed like it was a business arrangement. Like I had no choice in the matter anyways, so I should be perfectly happy.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you. It takes a lot to put that kind of sentiment out there, and he probably felt like he needn’t take the risk at that point. He might have been afraid.”
Though Gia’s arguments sounded reasonable, Laura scoffed. “I don’t think Remington Rothstone has ever been afraid in his life. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever been told no either.”
“That’s as may be, but he’s the best chance you’ve got at controlling a colossal scandal. May I have one of these?” Gia asked, not waiting for an answer as she reached for the tin of chocolates on Laura’s bedside table.
Laura put a hand across her eyes, the swelling around them from crying beginning to subside. “What if I just go back to Parrington Manor and never show my face again? That could work too.”
“You could,” Gia replied around her mouthful of chocolate. “But then,” she swallowed, her words becoming clearer. “-you’d probably never marry and never have children, and even if you did, your children wouldn’t be accepted into society. Your whole family would be outcasts.”
Laura sighed gustily. “I know.”
“I’d still come visit though.”
“Oh, well, in that case…”
“You really are quite sarcastic when you want to be.”
“Is that a debilitating flaw?”
“No, I like it,” Gia stated, popping another candy into her mouth, which already had chocolate stains around it. “When you’re sarcastic, you’re more honest than when most are being sincere.”
“I’m not sure that makes sense, but I appreciate it. I suppose I have to take my compliments where I can get them now.” She sat up further on the bed.
“My compliments are the best, anyways. Loads better than some toadying gentleman who only wants to get under your skirts or into your pocketbook.”
“Gia!” Laura slapped her friend’s hand, which was rummaging around in the chocolate tin again.
Gia didn’t even blink. “What? You know it’s true.”
“When did we become such cynics?” Laura pondered aloud.
“When everyone else decided it was more beneficial to take down those around them to feed their own pomposity than to be decent human beings.” Gia’s weary tone indicated the wealth of experience she had in that area.
“I don’t understand how people who don’t even know me can say such terrible things,” she groaned.
“Oh, just you wait,” Gia warned. “It’s only just begun.”