“Allow me to demonstrate the distinction between an error and a scandal: Mistaking one’s husband for the footman is an error. Mistaking the footman for one’s husband is a scandal.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her son, Charles, upon news of a certain widow’s unfortunate predilections.
“Breeches?” Incredulity elevated Annabelle’s voice a full octave.
“Breeches,” Maureen confirmed, patting Jane’s hand where it rested in her lap. “And a mask.”
For her part, Jane could not bear to look at either of her sisters, opting instead to stare blankly out the window of her bedroom.
It was the morning after the greatest mistake of her life. And Annabelle could not seem to grasp the simplest of concepts. Yes, breeches and a mask. And, yes, she’d been caught attempting to burglarize the London house of Lord Milton. What was so difficult to comprehend? It was untenable, granted, but hardly complex.
“Well, I don’t believe it. There must be some error. Jane would never …” Trailing off as Maureen shook her head solemnly, Annabelle slowly moved to sit on Jane’s opposite side on the divan. They were like parentheses, her sisters, surrounding the bumbler between them. Annabelle slid her hand over Maureen’s, which remained over Jane’s.
What a bloody tangle.
“If you were in need of funds, you had only to say so. Robert would gladly grant me an increase, and then I could give you whatever you required. Truly, there was no need to go to these lengths—”
Before Jane could utter a word, Maureen answered, “This was not about funds, Annabelle. She was deceived by a dastardly pretender.”
Annabelle’s eyes, so similar to Jane’s own, flew wide. “Who?”
“Lord Lacey.” The answer came not from Maureen, or even Jane, but from Genie, who had poked her head into the room.
While Annabelle gasped, Maureen inquired, “What are you doing in here, brat? I thought you were occupied with your music lesson.”
“Papa asked me to fetch Jane. He wishes to speak with her in the parlor.”
Jane’s stomach plummeted down what must surely be an entire flight of stairs. Papa was a kindhearted, good-humored sort, but this—Jane’s hideous error in judgment—would try the most saintly of fathers.
Fortunately, Jane had sisters to help her to her feet, sisters to brace each of her elbows as she somehow navigated out into the corridor, down the stairs, and to the closed parlor doors. There, she stood flanked by Maureen and Annabelle, with Genie hovering behind. Together, they gazed blankly at the golden-brown wood, perhaps expecting it to convey a different sort of message. One in which Jane’s folly, rather than being the cause of her certain ruination, was seen as a lark, blithely dismissed by those in the ton who made such judgments.
“Perhaps you could come and stay with me and Robert for a spell,” Annabelle whispered as they all waited for a miracle to occur. “It shan’t be long before having an auntie around the house would be welcome.”
Marvelous. I shall be the spinster auntie living on the largesse of my brother-in-law. Although she was grateful for the offer, she did not relish becoming a charitable project. Besides, it would do nothing to solve the central problem: If she was ruined, Maureen and Genie and even little Kate would find their marriage prospects severely diminished.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. At her father’s quiet, “Come,” she stepped through. Papa turned from the window, his usual grin absent, supplanted by exhausted resignation. Suddenly, he was no longer her doting Papa, but a man of many years, with thinning, graying hair and creases along his forehead. Hazel eyes that normally crinkled and danced with laughter now were shadowed and drawn.
Swallowing a lump, she rasped, “I’m sorry, Papa.”
Hazel eyes softened and warmed. A small, gentle smile lifted his mouth. “I know, Poppet.” He glanced away for a moment then gestured to the striped sofa across from his favorite green chair. “Let’s sit and see about negotiating our way through this labyrinth, shall we?”
As they sat across from one another, Jane wondered if it was even possible to extricate oneself from the trap she had blithely—and blindly—sprung. Victoria had been thoroughly ruined last season, and with the aid of Jane’s family and Mama’s good friend, Lady Wallingham, her reputation had been restored. But she had been offered marriage by Lord Atherbourne, which had helped immensely in neutralizing her indiscretions. Jane had no such prospects. Lord Lacey was as likely to come up to scratch as he was to sprout wings and lay eggs for breakfast.
Papa rested his hands on the arms of the chair and sighed his weariness. “I wished to speak with you before your mother and Lady Wallingham arrive.”
“Lady Wallingham is coming here?” She shook her head, denial and despair warring within her. “Must we involve her, Papa?”
Victoria referred to the Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham as “the dragon.” It was an apt description. As Mama’s bosom friend and a powerful figure within ton gossip circles, she had readily assisted Victoria, a duke’s sister, when asked. But she had never seemed to have a high regard for Jane, criticizing her shyness and bookishness as “a lengthy, self-serving sulk waged against one’s own interests.” Aside from the dragon’s likely disinclination to help, Jane failed to see how even a matron as influential as Lady Wallingham could possibly reverse the damage. The mistake was simply too grave.
“Your mother insisted,” Papa answered. “Now then, we have greater concerns before us. What were you thinking, Jane?” His present exasperation was closer to what she’d expected. She remained silent to give him the chance to release it.
Last night, still reeling with shock, she had managed to explain the bare facts of the situation, but had been too distraught to elaborate more fully. Having assured themselves of her safety, both he and her mother had agreed to delay further explanations until this morning. Now, Papa desired a thorough accounting. She could scarcely blame him. Her stupidity astounded even her.
“You have always been a sensible girl. This scheme was, to put it kindly, as addlepated as any I have ever heard. What could Lord Lacey possibly have promised in exchange for placing not only your reputation, but your sisters’ future prospects in jeopardy?”
Cringing, Jane muttered, “Nothing. He offered me nothing.”
His hands spread wide, beseeching heaven for answers. “Help me understand. Because right now, I simply do not.”
“I believed him a friend. He required my help, or so I thought. He gave me his word I would be in no danger.”
“Did it not occur to you that a friend—let alone a gentleman—would not ask such a thing of you? Would not conceive of placing you in such jeopardy?”
She blinked. “I supposed the circumstances to be extraordinary. He had prevailed upon my generosity before, and so I believed—”
Papa straightened in his chair, leaning his elbows on the arms. “Did he dare to take liberties—?”
“No! It was nothing like that, I assure you. He behaved as a proper gentleman.” It took her merely a second, and her father’s disbelieving expression, to revise, “Well, until last night. Deceiving me in order to win a wager cannot precisely be termed ‘gentlemanly,’ I suppose.”
Thankfully, Papa seemed mollified by the reassurance and relaxed back into his chair. “Your mother is apoplectic. I shall do what I can, but you must know she is quite beside herself. And quite determined.”
Swallowing and squeezing her hands into fists where they rested beside her hips, she nodded and sighed, “I expected as much.”
“… aware he requested privacy, Godwin. I doubt very much he intended to exclude his wife.” The doors to the parlor swung wide as Mama entered. But it was the woman beside her that caused Jane to tense. Small and birdlike, Lady Wallingham was an aged, thin wisp of a woman—a dragon contained within a white-haired, fragile form.
Sharp green eyes instantly found Jane and sank into her flesh like talons. “Did I not tell you to cease reading those fanciful storybooks, Jane Huxley?” Lady Wallingham’s voice was approximately twice as loud as one would expect from her tiny frame. Jane occasionally wondered if she was a bit deaf, but she showed no other signs of it. “True love and stirring adventure. Pure balderdash! Little wonder you were fooled by the first passably handsome scoundrel who cast a glance in your direction.”
Before Jane could respond, Mama ignored Lady Wallingham and charged toward her. Jane shrank back into her seat, but her mother was not deterred. She immediately clutched Jane in a tight hug, pressing her face into her bosom and knocking her spectacles askew. “Oh, Jane,” she wailed, rocking them back and forth. “How has it come to this? My own daughter, disgraced. I shall never forgive that man.”
“You do realize she disgraced herself, Meredith,” came Lady Wallingham’s tart rejoinder.
Mama finally loosened her grip and sank down onto the sofa, which thankfully rescued Jane from death by smothering. Her arm remained firmly around Jane’s shoulders, however. “Nonsense. Would she have been in Lord Milton’s house at all, were it not for the lies of that despicable creature? I think not.”
Lady Wallingham seated herself regally in the chair beside Papa. “Any friend of Benedict Chatham is suspect. She should have known better from the outset.”
This caused Mama to pause as she absently rubbed Jane’s shoulder. “Come to think of it, why was it Lord Chatham who brought you home, Jane?”
She had wondered when one of them would ask. He had not accompanied her to the door, but his carriage was clearly marked, and by the time she had arrived at Berne House, Maureen had already discovered her absence and alerted their parents. They had been on the verge of launching a full-scale search of Grosvenor Street, and so had rushed outside when Lord Chatham’s coach pulled up. Once she had been bundled into the house, she had only managed to confess the essentials of her misadventure before dissolving into tears once again. It had not been her best night.
“Af-after I was unmasked, Chatham said the terms of the wager had been met, then insisted on escorting me home. I told him I could walk, as Lord Milton’s house is not far, but he was most adamant.”
Lady Wallingham harrumphed. Loudly.
Papa grumbled, “One might consider him chivalrous but for the fact that he took part in the scheme.”
Jane shrugged and fussed with her spectacles, which still had not regained their proper shape after her journey through Lord Milton’s library window and Mama’s effusive hug. “I do not know why he did it,” she said. “Perhaps he regretted his participation in Lord Lacey’s plan.”
A second Wallingham harrumph was followed by, “If that is true, I shall eat my hat.”
“It matters little how you were returned to us,” Mama declared. “Only that you are safe.”
“And then my slippers!”
Rolling her eyes at Lady Wallingham, Mama squeezed Jane’s shoulders comfortingly and continued, “Don’t fret, Jane. For every problem, there is a solution. Lady Wallingham and I will not rest until we discover it.”
This time, Lady Wallingham raised her brows at Jane’s mother. “I?” she queried dubiously. “It is not I nor you who should be responsible for rectifying this appalling circumstance, Meredith.”
Papa snorted in disgust. “If you imagine Colin Lacey will set things right, my dear lady, I fear you shall be disappointed.”
“I expect nothing of the sort,” Lady Wallingham scoffed. “The one who should be held to account for that whelp’s scurrilous behavior is Blackmore. So much the better that he owes us a debt for our efforts on his sister’s behalf.”
Jane’s stomach lurched sickeningly at the mention of the duke. It took her a moment to catch her breath, but at last, when she did, she managed to squawk, “No!” All eyes turned to her. “Lady Wallingham, I beg of you, please, please do not involve the Duke of Blackmore in this … this debacle.”
The dragon sniffed dismissively. “It is already done.”
Jane groaned and dropped her face into her hands.
“Spare me the dramatics, girl. And cease your tiresome worry. As always, I have a plan.” This statement caused a fresh round of despair. “It is better this way. Leave the thinking to those of us with a facility for it.”
If Jane were reading about this in a book, she would not have believed it. Surely, her life could not possibly get worse than being duped into burglarizing a man’s house, being caught there in a mask and breeches, and being escorted home by one of London’s most disreputable rakes. But yes, apparently it was possible. Because now the Duke of Blackmore would not only be informed of her stupidity, but obligated to help remedy it. All of his worst suspicions about her character would be confirmed. She could envision his haughty, superior sneer even now.
Her mother stroked her back and murmured soothingly, “Trust Lady Wallingham, dearest. She knows what she’s about.”
Yes, Jane thought. She’s about to turn a debacle into an unmitigated disaster.
*~*~*
When one had the Blackmore legacy in one’s charge, scandal was very much like poison. And yet, for Harrison Lacey, the eighth Duke of Blackmore, the last three London seasons had been cursed with that vile malady.
First had come his own: a duel with the previous Viscount Atherbourne—which had ended disastrously in the man’s death. The following year, in a bid for revenge, the brother of the aforementioned viscount had lured Harrison’s sister, Victoria, into a ruinous liaison. And now … this.
The expensive parchment crumpled in Harrison’s hand, the words written in Lady Wallingham’s bold scrawl fading into a reddish haze. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed his unruly anger to recede. Quickly, he released the letter, allowing it to settle back onto his desk.
He should have known it would come to this. Colin had been veering dangerously out of control for years now, growing increasingly petulant, rebellious, and reckless. And yet, to deliberately destroy an innocent—albeit vexing—young lady, particularly one from a respectable family with close ties to his own, was simply unfathomable.
“Your grace, Mr. Drayton has arrived,” Digby announced quietly from the study doorway. “It appears he has located Lord Lacey.”
Harrison glanced up and nodded at the sandy-haired butler. “Show them in.”
His throat was uncomfortably tight. Rising, he clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window, then to the bookshelves on the opposite side of the room, then back to the window. They were his responsibility, Victoria and Colin. His failure, at least in Colin’s case.
Boots clomped and squeaked on the polished floor of the corridor. “… love of God, Drayton. Leave go before I darken your daylights.”
The Bow Street runner answered by giving Colin Lacey another shove, sending him stumbling into the room. Once he’d regained his balance, Colin tugged at his coat and glared at Harrison. “Call off your hunting hound, brother. An invitation would have done just as well.”
“I doubt that,” he replied softly.
Swiping a hand through his hair, Colin looked over his shoulder at the rumpled Drayton. He waved his other hand in dismissal. “Shove off, then. There’s a good hound.”
Drayton, a rangy, haggard man who had proven indispensible to Harrison over the past year, ignored the order, standing silently in the corner of the room. The runner knew his employer well.
“Sit down, Colin.”
Turning back to Harrison, Colin snorted. “Right. Time for another lecture, no doubt. What is it now? You’ve already cut off my funds. Is transportation next?”
Harrison moved forward, sidestepping the desk and standing directly in front of the pale, red-eyed boy—for he could not properly be termed a man—who had created so much destruction. “I. Said. Sit. Down.”
He sat, though grudgingly. Harrison rounded the desk and did likewise. “Explain the wager.”
Colin stilled then plucked at the fabric of his waistcoat. “Wager?”
Silent as a stone, Harrison simply glared and waited. His brother shifted, avoided his gaze, and attempted to keep his own silence. But Harrison was patient. Colin had never possessed the discipline to outlast him.
“It was nothing, really.”
Harrison waited as ruddy color moved up his brother’s neck.
“A small lark. With some friends. No concern of yours, certainly.”
“A lark,” Harrison said softly.
Colin threw up his hands. “Very well! It was a colossal lapse in judgment. Is that what you wish to hear?”
“I wish to hear the truth. Tell me what happened.”
“You cut off my funds,” he replied, crossing his arms. “What else was I to do?”
Again, Harrison let Colin’s words hang in the silence. A full minute passed. Finally, Colin glanced away. “I did not intend to harm her.”
“That refrain is both familiar and tedious. It does not matter what you intended, only what you have wrought.”
Swallowing hard, Colin dropped his gaze to his hands. “Is it very bad, then?” he asked in a thin voice. “Will she be …?”
“Ruined? Oh, yes,” Harrison confirmed, managing not to shout the words by the merest thread. “Quite so.”
Colin pinched his forehead between finger and thumb. “It wasn’t supposed to be … Damn it all, Harrison, it really did begin as a lark. Milton jested that I had become a dreary humdrum without the brandy, and that he did not believe I could entice even Plain Jane Huxley to a turn about Hyde Park. He offered up a few quid, and the wager was set. Other gents added their bits. Before a fortnight passed, the thing had gone a trifle mad.”
“Yet, at no point did you call a halt.”
“I needed the funds. You haven’t any notion how dire—”
Harrison’s hand slammed onto his desk. “I am not interested in your excuses. Tell me what occurred last night.”
Colin stared at him, eyes flaring.
“Now!” His command was a gunshot. Harrison did not often raise his voice, but the circumstances were rather extraordinary.
Attempting to appear casual, his brother shrugged. “I spun a tale about our mother’s necklace. Claimed Milton stole it, asked Lady Jane to help me retrieve it.”
“What necklace?”
“The one intended for the next Duchess of Blackmore.”
Harrison frowned. “There is no such necklace.”
“As I said, I spun a tale.”
“Why did she agree to help you?”
Colin shifted in his chair, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I played upon her feminine sensibilities. I am not proud of it.”
A strange shaft of darkness, cold and stunning, crept through Harrison’s body. The light in the room dimmed until the only bright thing was his brother’s face. “You seduced her?”
The question, quiet though it was, must have revealed something of Harrison’s current state, because Colin froze as though cornered by a predator. “No,” he protested, then more emphatically, “No! Nothing of the sort. I befriended her. We are friends.” His gaze slid away from Harrison’s. “Were friends, rather.”
In Harrison’s experience, plain young women with no suitors and few prospects were unlikely to interpret the sudden attentions of a man like Colin as mere friendship. But his patience was thin, and so he moved on. “I ask you again, what happened last night?”
Sighing, Colin let his head drop back against the chair and loll to one side. “She did everything I asked. Wore a coat and breeches. A mask.” He chuckled, the sound affectionate and sad. “Had to wear her spectacles over top. A bit awkward, that. But Jane is …” He glanced at Harrison and immediately straightened. “She entered through the library window. We were waiting inside the drawing room. She must have heard something through the door, because Milton had to fetch her and bring her back. I wanted to end it there. But the gents had other ideas. They demanded she be unmasked, so Chatham—”
“Benedict Chatham was involved?” Harrison snapped.
“He pulled off her mask.” Colin’s throat worked visibly on a swallow. “She—she wept, Harrison.”
The shaft of black, writhing shadow slithered through him again. This time, it pushed him from his chair with such force that the thing slid back into the wall eight feet behind him. His hands landed with a brutal crack on the desk, and he hung his head between his shoulders. That coil of rage gripped like the serpent it was, setting fire to the walls that contained it, tempting him to squeeze his brother’s throat in his hand. Instead, his hands formed fists on the polished surface of his desk.
Colin’s voice was thin when he confessed, “Once I saw it—saw her—standing there, her hair fallen down, her spectacles gone, I knew how wrong it was. I should never have allowed the men to gather like a pack of—”
“You bloody well should never have done any of it!” The magnitude of Harrison’s roar caused Colin to leap up and drop back several steps. Drayton, who had been standing silently in the corner, flinched in surprise then moved to stand in front of the doors, preventing Colin’s possible escape. After a thick, lengthy silence, Harrison pushed away from his desk and paced to the window. He could not look at Colin. He was afraid of what he might do. When he finally spoke, the words were like stone—heavy, hard, and cold. “I can only be grateful our mother and father are not alive to witness what has become of their son. For my part, I have never been so ashamed to call you my brother.”
For a long time, they stood in the same room, both simply breathing and absorbing the enormous, jagged chasm that had formed between them. In age, they were separated by only six years, but the distance between Harrison and his brother had grown steadily as he had waited for Colin to show signs of true manhood, only to be bitterly disappointed. His brother was now five-and-twenty, but behaved like a reckless youth of five-and-ten. Last year, Harrison had learned that Colin’s callous treatment of an innocent young woman had led to the girl’s suicide. That was when he had cut him off, hoping the measure might force him into sobriety. Based on Drayton’s reports, it had worked. But not well enough to prevent another scandal, another victim of Colin’s selfishness.
“You should be ashamed.” The quiet statement stunned Harrison enough to turn and look at his brother. Colin was white as milk, his hand braced on the back of the chair as though too weak to stand on his own. “I disgraced myself. I betrayed a friend. I was desperate, but you are right. That is a paltry excuse for my actions. I shall offer for her this very day.”
Harrison blinked. “No, you shall not.”
Colin’s head came up. “You said she is ruined.”
“She is.”
“And I am to blame.”
“Despite her participation in this preposterous enterprise—against all good sense and at grave risk to her reputation, I might add—spending her life shackled to a penniless scapegrace is too severe a punishment.”
His hand clenching and unclenching on the back of the chair, Colin seemed prepared to argue the point. He opened his mouth, only to close it a second later. Then, ceding greater wisdom to Harrison, he half-smiled and nodded in wry, humorless agreement. “I know you don’t believe me, but I have been attempting to reform. I have refrained from excess at the tables and the brandy bottle.” At Harrison’s dubious look, Colin revised, “For the most part.” He rubbed at his chin and sighed. “Your sanctimony always brings out my worst tendencies, but in this, you are correct. The wager was an unforgivable mistake. I needed the funds to leave England”—at this news, Harrison shot a questioning look to Drayton, who frowned and shook his head; apparently, it was the first he’d heard of it as well—“but I never should have agreed to involve Jane. She deserves far better than that. Than me.”
Rarely had Harrison seen his brother this way—serious and reasoned enough to analyze his own actions. It was disorienting. “Where will you go?”
Colin shrugged wearily. “Caused too much strife for England to contain. Perhaps America will have an improving effect.” His smile was weak and quickly faded. “You’ll take care of her then? Jane?”
Harrison gave a single nod.
“Good. Treat her well, Harrison. She’s rather more remarkable than one would suppose.”
Again, the affection in Colin’s voice made Harrison wonder at the nature of their supposed friendship. “Don’t concern yourself with her welfare. I’ve grown accustomed to cleaning up your wreckage. You can best help her by keeping your distance.”
His mouth tightening, Colin acted as if he wanted to say more, but then glanced back at Drayton. “If you wish me to leave, you will need to leash your dog.”
Harrison gave Drayton a nod, and the man moved back to his corner. Colin went to the doors and paused. Without turning, he said quietly, “I am sorry for what I have done. You may not believe that, but it is true. I was sorry even before I did it.” He waited, possibly expecting Harrison to cheer and clap his shoulder in felicitations at finally achieving some measure of adulthood. Instead, Harrison said nothing, leaving Colin to utter, “I wish you well, brother,” and slip away.
Moments later, Drayton sent him an inquiring glance, and Harrison nodded. “Watch him.” The runner immediately disappeared to follow Colin’s trail.
Frowning, Harrison returned to his desk, realizing his chair was feet away, against the wall. He dragged it back and sat, taking up a pen and fresh paper. After several minutes, he was satisfied with his two messages and called to Digby, who appeared instantly.
“Yes, your grace?”
Harrison addressed and sealed both letters and held them out to the butler. “See that these are delivered without delay.”
Digby glanced at the envelopes. “Lord Chatham and … Lord Berne, your grace?”
“Indeed,” he answered absently, his pen already at work again on a note to his solicitor. After that, it would be a letter to Victoria, and perhaps one to Aunt Muriel. “I’ve always believed in paying one’s debts promptly.”
*~*~*