Chapter Ten

Alone in her room facing the front walk of Shipley House, Virginia missed her lovely feminine quarters at Southbrooke Hall. This room was utilitarian at best. The floor was bare, the walls a faded lavender, almost gray, and the furnishings a putty color. She felt distinctly like the poor relation.

But she was not poor. Her memory of more recent events might be lacking, but she did know that she was an heiress. This whole situation reminded her uncomfortably of one of the fairy tales she used to read with her mother.

The only journal she had found was the one she had been writing between the fire and when she left America. It would not surprise her if she had worried anything she wrote in this house might be read. Anything older than the fire would have been destroyed.

Since returning from Kent yesterday, Virginia had spent her time reading the books she had found in her room. It was the only way she could avoid her aunt and Mr. Tisdale. They were tedious company and, if she was right, shared some kind of secret between them that involved her.

Declining an invitation from Mr. Tisdale to “see London,” she thought it best to remain alone until her memory returned. As things stood, she was very ill-equipped to face this new life in England. The visit from Mr. Sagethorn was a constant source of anguish.

I love my country, but would I really have agreed to be a spy?

Perhaps it had seemed great sport to her before she had met Lord Strangeways and his friends. Now things were different. America might be at war with England, but these new friends were not the enemy!

The fact was, in spite of everything, she wished she could see the viscount again. Maybe just from a distance? The prospect of living in her aunt’s house with only Mr. Tisdale for company was not at all appealing.

For this reason, her heart leapt when Sarah brought her a note in masculine hand that had been delivered to the house while she was reading in the small sitting room off her bedroom.

 

Larkspur House

Dear Miss Livingstone,

My mother has heard a lively account of you from the Duchess of Ruisdell and would very much like to make your acquaintance. Would you, your aunt, and her guest, Mr. Tisdale, do us the favor of joining us for tea this afternoon at four o’clock? The duchess will be here as well as Miss Arabella Saunders, whom you have met but may not remember.

Most sincerely,

Lord Strangeways

 

The invitation brought mixed feelings. The simple thought of being with Lord Strangeways again both worried and delighted her. How could she ever use this man to gain intelligence for her country? He had treated her like a lost kitten in a rainstorm. More than that, he made everything inside her soften and melt in the strangest way. She had never felt like this with any other man.

I want him to kiss me. Not just once but repeatedly.

But he was an Englishman! An aristocrat! Why were her desires so contrary? Papa was probably spinning in his grave.

Perhaps it would be best to decline the invitation. If she never saw the viscount, how could she be expected to use him for Mr. Sagethorn’s ends? But everything in her longed to see that one-sided smile and those kind eyes that searched hers as though trying to discern her feelings. She read the note again.

Surely this Arabella Saunders was one of the people Mr. Sagethorn had told her she must spy upon? Was it not her brother who was with the Foreign Office?

This remembrance robbed all the joy she felt from the invitation. What was she to do? She liked Mr. Sagethorn far less than she liked her new friends, but the man was a countryman. According to him she had agreed to this spying mission as a way to help America defend itself in the present war. How could she say no?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to put the conundrum out of her mind. She could not stay away from Lord Strangeways. Just being away from him a mere twenty-four hours had been difficult. He drew her like the tides were drawn to the shore. The simple fact was that given any opportunity to see him again, she would. She refused to consider any consideration of where her partiality might lead her.

Perhaps if she found nothing that served Mr. Sagethorn’s cause, the strange man would leave her alone. She went in search of her aunt and found her attending to her correspondence in her downstairs sitting room. Mr. Tisdale was reading what looked to be a racing sheet.

“Aunt, would you like to have tea today with the Duchess of Ruisdell? Mr. Tisdale, you are invited as well.”

Aunt Lydia’s eyes widened. “The duchess has asked us to tea?”

“Actually, it is to be Lady Strangeways’s tea party. The duchess, Lord Strangeways, and Miss Arabella Saunders will be there.”

She could see her aunt weighing the proposed circumstances. “Why would Lady Strangeways ask you to tea? You do not know her.”

“She knows of me from the duchess and wishes to make my acquaintance.”

“So this is not his doing?” Her aunt acted as though she had caught the man trying to sneak into her house.

“Why do you dislike Lord Strangeways?” Virginia asked.

“You know little of men, my dear. I have my reasons. But it would be rude to disappoint his mother when she has gone to the trouble to invite the duchess. We will accept her invitation.”

The little she knew of her aunt told her that the prospect of rudeness was not the reason for her acceptance. She wanted to cozy up to the duchess. And though he hadn’t said a word, Mr. Tisdale was looking particularly smug.

* * *

Virginia bemoaned the state of her wardrobe. It was certainly not adequate for London society! The cut of her various muslin gowns was unfashionable and did not fit her particularly well, being overly large. Why had she not done something about this? The clothing she had lost in the fire was well styled, so she knew enough to know that this wardrobe was a disgrace.

How long had she actually been in London? And how, pray tell, had she even managed to come here from America?

That question had troubled her most of the night. She was certain that before the fire she had never met her aunt nor her uncle, who was, according to Aunt Lydia, at the estate in Dorset. Surely she had not come across the sea alone! No British or American ship would bring her, but the only alternative was coming by balloon! She winced at the shadow of headache that continued to remind her of how she lost her memory. Her body was still stiff, and her back and neck ached from her harsh fall. At least she hadn’t broken a limb.

Perhaps one of the women at tea this afternoon could refer her to a dressmaker. For now, the rose-colored gown with a black ribbon threaded and tied under her bosom would have to do. She would soon write her uncle about funds for clothing.

Virginia called Sarah to help her dress and arrange her hair. As Sarah did the latter, Virginia realized that the maid was quite gifted at the process. Her long dark hair was plaited and arranged in a double chignon with wispy curls at her temples. The look flattered her, softening her features and drawing attention to her eyes. At home Virginia had merely worn it pulled back and tied with a ribbon. She couldn’t recall that she had ever cared this much about her appearance. It was much easier to think about these things than about the question of whether she was a spy.

Her aunt, despite her disposition, was a handsome woman with her white hair dressed high on her head. Today she wore a fashionable gown of sage green trimmed in ivory, clearly outshining her niece.

Doubtless she prefers it that way, Virginia thought. Mr. Tisdale looked fine as five pence in his sky-blue waistcoat and tobacco-colored jacket and breeches.

“It will be delightful to see Her Grace again,” he said. “She appears to be a very intelligent woman. Bested me at piquet, as a matter of fact!”

When they reached Larkspur House, the Strangeways’s residence, all thoughts of Mr. Sagethorn nearly flew from her head with the anticipation of seeing the viscount.

Forget it for now, Virginia. Whether I intend to spy or not, a tea party is certainly no place for it.

She and her aunt were shown into a lovely yellow sitting room with white crown moldings and cornices. Flowered chintz–upholstered sofas faced each other, while silver-green wingback chairs stood on either side of the white marble fireplace. A bowl of sweet peas sat on a low mahogany table.

In the midst stood the incredibly handsome Lord Strangeways, his eyes alight and resting on Virginia. Her heart performed a reel. His one-sided smile gave her butterflies, though they had been apart for only a day. Had he decided to dismiss her awkward demeanor of yesterday morning?

Next to him was a tall, beautiful woman dressed in sapphire blue, wearing her auburn hair cut short with curls framing her face.

“Ladies! Mr. Tisdale!” said the viscount. “I am so glad you were able to come today.” He gave a short bow. “Mama, I believe Lady Ogletree to be known to you. May I present Miss Virginia Livingstone of the Commonwealth of Virginia in America and the Honorable George Tisdale, Lady Ogletree’s nephew? Miss Livingstone, Mr. Tisdale, this is my mother, the Viscountess Strangeways.”

“I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Livingstone,” said the lovely woman. She nodded toward Mr. Tisdale. “And yours, sir.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “Your ladyship.”

Virginia performed her nicest curtsy. “I am so happy to meet you, your ladyship. You have a lovely home.”

No sooner were these introductions concluded than the duchess arrived, dressed in ruby red and accompanied by a girl Virginia took to be Miss Arabella Saunders. The young lady rushed up to her with hands held out to grasp hers.

“Oh! Miss Livingstone! I was so sorry to hear of your ballooning accident and the loss to your memory. How positively dreadful! I am Arabella Saunders. We met at Hatchard’s, then we went on to Gunter’s for ices. It is so lovely to see you again.”

Virginia felt her aunt’s disapproving eyes on her and wondered if she had informed her relative of the encounter in those days before her memory was lost. She thought not.

“I am glad to become reacquainted with you, Miss Saunders.” She squeezed the girl’s hands. “This is my aunt, Lady Ogletree, and her nephew, the Honorable George Tisdale. Aunt, Mr. Tisdale, this young lady, as you have heard, is Miss Arabella Saunders.”

George bowed, but her aunt acknowledged the introduction with only a short nod and then performed a curtsy for the duchess. “Your Grace. A pleasure.”

Virginia curtsied as well. “Duchess, how glad I am to see you again.”

Lady Ruisdell smiled at her. “I am so sorry to hear that your memory has not yet returned, my dear.”

She then greeted her host and hostess, and everyone was seated. Lady Strangeways rang for tea to be served.

“You will not have remembered, Miss Livingstone,” said Miss Saunders, “but the duchess is the author of the book you bought at Hatchard’s, The Curious Affair at Staley-in-the-Wold. It is meant to be a secret, of course.”

The duchess laughed. “I am afraid it is the most ill-kept secret in London.”

“Are you writing anything now?” asked the viscount.

“Of course,” Lady Ruisdell replied. “A writer is always writing.”

Until the arrival of the tea tray, they discussed the modern poets, Arabella decrying her brother’s ban on her reading Lord Byron, and the viscountess waxing lyrical about Wordsworth and Blake. Mr. Tisdale wondered aloud how any man could consider the writing of poetry a fitting vocation.

When the tea trolley arrived, Lady Strangeways poured and the viscount delivered the beverage to the guests, as well as tiny lemon poppy-seed cakes and scones. He managed to brush Virginia’s fingers as he handed her a cup. A thrill passed through her hand, up her arm, and into her heart, which began to beat madly. She chastised herself. What had her relationship been with this man before her accident? Was she truly a spy trying to ingratiate herself with him? Tension spiraled through her at the thought.

With his back to the others, he gave her a solemn wink, so brief she wondered if she had imagined it.

“Thank you, Lord Strangeways,” she said. “I think I have never drunk so much tea in my life.”

“You do not drink tea in America, then?” asked Miss Saunders.

“We have coffee with breakfast,” Virginia answered. “But where I live, the neighbors are too spread out to have afternoon tea parties.”

“You know what I have been wondering?” Miss Saunders asked. “How on earth did you get here from America with the war going on?”

Obviously the straightforward girl lacked basic training in polite conversation among the ton. Virginia liked her better for it. “I wish I knew,” said Virginia. “I have no idea.”

She looked at her aunt, but Lady Ogletree’s face had become a blank. If she knew the answer to the question, she obviously had no intention of giving it. Instead, Lady Ogletree asked the duchess, “How is your little marquess doing?”

“He is sitting up now! Soon he will be giving his nurse fits, I imagine. He takes after his father.”

The conversation became general with the duchess and Lady Ogletree discussing the baby marquess while Virginia asked the viscountess for the name of her dressmaker. The viscount sat back in his chair and, having finished his tea and scones, chatted to Mr. Tisdale about a coming race at Newmarket. Virginia decided it took a remarkable man to be comfortable among so many females. Mr. Tisdale was not managing it nearly so well.

In a quiet moment, Miss Saunders asked, “Miss Livingstone, what is the last thing you remember?”

Virginia now wished the girl weren’t so forthright. “A sad memory. My home was destroyed in a fire.”

“Oh!” The girl’s hand flew to cover her mouth, her eyes growing big. After a moment’s silence, she said, “I am sorry. How absolutely horrid!”

The viscount intervened as he checked his pocket watch. “It is the fashionable hour in Hyde Park, Miss Livingstone. Would you care to accompany me for a ride in my curricle? It is quite proper to ride with a gentleman in the afternoon in an open equipage.” He smiled as though they shared a joke.

Virginia didn’t even look in her aunt’s direction. “I would like that very much. Are we to go now?”

“If you have quite finished guzzling tea,” he said.

Virginia laughed. He was so very attractive. “This has been very enjoyable, Lady Strangeways. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

She risked a glance at George and her aunt. Mr. Tisdale was sitting stiff as a poker, his countenance tight with offense, and her aunt was clearly mortified, her face red and her eyes shooting daggers at Virginia. Neither appeared to like the idea of her slipping off with the viscount.

The viscountess said, “Thank you for coming. I hope that now we shall not stand on ceremony and we shall become friends.”

“I would like that very much,” Virginia said. Remembering Mr. Sagethorn, she felt a stab of guilt. It seemed that, intentionally or not, she was going forward with his plan to ingratiate herself.

What military secrets could the viscountess have? You are being ridiculous.

Taking her leave also of the duchess and Miss Saunders, she preceded Lord Strangeways out of the room.

* * *

Hyde Park was virtually crammed with society, dressed in their finest as they displayed equipages and mounts. Virginia felt almost overwhelmed by the crowd. Everywhere she looked there were elaborate bonnets and gowns, top hats, and shiny, high-spirited horses pawing the ground in place as their owners visited with acquaintances.

Shortly after they arrived, Lord Freddie drew up beside them in a curious high-perched affair painted bright yellow.

“What ho! Miss Livingstone, Strangeways!” He tipped his hat. “Lovely to see you out and about.”

“Freddie,” Lord Strangeways greeted him curtly.

“Good afternoon. What kind of carriage is that?” Virginia inquired. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“High-perched phaeton,” the man said. “May I inquire after your health? I hope you are quite recovered.”

“Your hope is in vain, Freddie,” said the viscount. “She continues to suffer from your carelessness.”

The man was immediately crestfallen. Lord Strangeways’s harshness was so out of character that Virginia put a restraining hand on his arm.

“I’m sure I’ll be well soon,” she said.

“Afternoon, Freddie.” Her companion snapped the reins, and they progressed away from Lord Freddie, through the crowd. “I’d advise you, for your health and reputation’s sake, to steer clear of that fellow in future.”

Noting his set jaw, she refrained from commenting. The next moment they were approached by a smiling fair man riding a large black stallion. He tilted his hat. “Well met, Strangeways, Miss Livingstone.”

“Miss Livingstone, you may not remember meeting this dandy at the balloon ascension. May I present Lord Wellingham? He is Miss Saunders’s reprehensible brother, who keeps her from the delights of Lord Byron.”

He looked into her eyes as though he were studying her. Her heart quickened with a jolt at his keen attention. So this was Mr. Sagethorn’s target!

“Miss Livingstone, I was dreadfully concerned to hear about your accident, as was my wife. My sister was going to tea with you today, wasn’t she? She was also quite anxious about your fall.”

“I’m happy to meet you again, my lord,” she said, lifting her chin and striving to appear at ease. “Your sister is a delight.”

“A handful,” he corrected with a short laugh and a shake of the head. “I understand you first met at Hatchard’s?”

“Apparently. Unfortunately I have no memory of the event. But that is only temporary, I’m told.” Never had the flat tones of her speech made her so self-conscious. Up on his stallion looking down at her with his piercing blue gaze, the man intimidated her. Virginia summoned her scattering wits.

“I understand you are from America,” he said.

“I am,” she replied, then felt the need to elaborate. “My parents died suddenly, and my Uncle Ogletree is my guardian.”

“Ah.” He nodded his head, saying what no one else had dared to say, “A bit awkward with the war on.”

She had no idea what to answer. Stammering, she managed to say, “I’m dr-dreadfully ignorant. I’m afraid I know very little about the war.” An outright lie! Even with her recent memory loss, she remembered plenty about the war from living in America.

Lord Strangeways tensed beside her. “Remember, she has lost her memory, Beau.”

The man on the stallion seemed to be inspecting her from head to toe. Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Forgive my rudeness. I’m certain my wife would like to further her acquaintance,” he said. “Perhaps she could call on you?”

“I would like that,” said Virginia, her heart pounding. “I live at Shipley House on Half Moon Street with my Aunt Ogletree.”

As he tipped his hat and moved off, she wondered if now she was obligated to spy on the Wellingham household. Her insides writhed.

Blast Mr. Sagethorn! I am not going to spy on these people.

“I apologize for my friend’s abrupt manner,” said the viscount. “The war is much on his mind.”

Virginia unclenched her fists. She managed to act interested in the other people she met, but she could not have remembered their names at any price. Lord Wellingham had spoiled her outing.