Chapter Five

Tony found the situation at Shipley House interesting. Having been turned away at the door several times, he agreed with the duchess that Lady Ogletree was trying to keep Miss Livingstone hidden away. After his visit with her today, he was even less inclined to feel that she was a spy. And he felt as though he was the worst of double-dealers, cultivating her acquaintance to aid Beau.

The attraction he felt was still there in spades. It made him deuced uncomfortable. Not only did he wish to know the lady with the interesting face and dainty figure, but he was also physically drawn to her. He found himself longing to hold her close again as he had during moments of the reel and to kiss her renegade freckles.

Tony punched his right hand into his open left palm, angry with himself. He must banish these desires. His heart had led him astray before. His personal history notwithstanding, he owed it to his country to be objective in his assignment from Beau.

No matter how he talked to himself, however, the fact remained that he was looking forward to Saturday. He wished it was Miss Livingstone and not the disapproving Tisdale he was taking up in his balloon. He wondered if the man was her suitor. The idea made him clench his fist.

That evening was the Longhursts’ ball to celebrate Pamela’s engagement. To say he was dreading it was a severe understatement. But he must put in an appearance, or it would appear that he still carried a torch. His pride would not allow that.

His mother didn’t wish to attend the ball, but he managed to talk his brother into accompanying him. Howie would be very attractive to the ladies with his silver waistcoat and dark plum topcoat, his fair hair worn à la Brutus. Tony cut a more conservative figure in dark blue, with his curly brown hair barely tamed by his valet. The last thing he wished to do tonight was draw attention to himself.

“If I were you, I’d give this night a miss,” said Howie. “Don’t know why you’re going.”

“You would have all of London thinking you have a broken heart? Become the major topic of gossip at Miss Longhurst’s ball?”

“I don’t care a fig for what ‘all of London’ thinks, and neither should you. What happened, anyway? I was sure you were to marry her.”

“She found an earl more to her taste than a viscount.”

“It sounds as though you were well out of that, then.”

Tony felt his brother’s words. “You’re right, of course. Any fool would have known something was amiss when she kept me dangling for the better part of a year.”

He tried to appear indifferent as Howie studied his face. “I say! She really wounded you, didn’t she? I’m sorry, old fellow. I had no idea it was like that.”

“Never mind. I have convinced myself that I shall live. Are you coming up in my balloon on Saturday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!”

* * *

Tony found himself wishing that Miss Livingstone were present that evening. The receiving line had been torture, with Pamela’s eyes boldly seeking his and Sutton looking just as Tony had expected—as though he had won a trophy.

Was the man marrying her just to best him? What a self-consequential little tick! For the first time, Tony found himself pitying Pamela.

Howie had gone off to the card room, so Tony employed himself by searching for Bertie. Instead of his friend, he came upon the Duchess of Ruisdell. She was smiling, a welcome lighting her midnight-blue eyes.

“My dear Tony, I hope you will dance with me. I particularly wish to waltz, and the duke had a meeting in the House tonight. Tiresome thing, Parliament.”

He wondered if the duchess was motivated by pity for him. He and Pamela had spent many a soiree or dinner coupled together at her home.

“I should be happy to partner you for a waltz. In the meantime may I bring you some champagne or punch?”

“I would adore champagne. I shall be over there with my aunt.” She indicated her aunt Clarice, resplendent in purple taffeta with matching plumes in her turban.

When he joined the ladies with a glass of champagne for each of them, they met him with bright smiles.

Lady Clarice said, “Good evening, Lord Strangeways. My niece and I were just discussing Mr. Hale. You may tell Miss Livingstone that he is settling in quite well. He is holding his own against Queen Elizabeth and Henry Five. By the way, I was very taken with the gel.”

The duchess said, “We are convinced she must have a very interesting story.”

“It is my theory she is being held a virtual prisoner by her aunt,” said Tony, “but I finessed a way for her to come to the balloon ascension, I think.” He told the women about George Tisdale, whom he had convinced himself was Miss Livingstone’s keeper.

“Oh, good! I shall look forward to seeing her again,” said the duchess.

“What is your speculation about how and why she turned up in London during a war?” Tony asked the ladies.

“Heaven only knows,” said Lady Clarice. “I heard gossip that Lady Ogletree does not want her here.”

“She is an unpleasant woman, to be sure,” said the duchess. “I have asked Miss Livingstone to join my reading circle. We shall have our monthly luncheon in a couple of weeks. Between the three of us here, maybe we can solve the Mystery of Miss Livingstone.”

“She certainly dances very well. She knew all the steps to the Scottish reel,” Tony informed them.

“I believe they dance in America too,” said Lady Clarice with a laugh.

“I cannot believe that landing here in the middle of a war was her choice,” said the duchess.

“Do you not think it suspicious that among the first things she did here was form an acquaintance with the talkative sister of a member of the Foreign Office?” Tony ventured.

For a few moments, there was silence.

“Surely you don’t think her a spy!” said Lady Clarice.

I’ve gone too far. I’m devilishly bad at this!

“No, of course not,” he said. “Just curious. Beau has to be cautious, you know.”

“And you know how unguarded dear Arabella is,” the duchess said and bit her bottom lip. “But to me Miss Livingstone appeared very open and pleasing.”

“Well, I agree and don’t think anything like that for a moment,” said Lady Clarice. “She is a charming gel who has agreed to help us with our literacy work. I don’t believe a spy would have any interest in educating the poor.”

“You have to admit it would make a good cover,” said Tony. “Were she a spy, that is.”

“And here we were hoping that you would take a romantic interest in the lady,” said the duchess.

At that moment Tony was glad to hear the orchestra strike up a waltz. “Will you please excuse us, Lady Clarice? I have promised this waltz to the duchess.”

He enjoyed their waltz. Tony had been one of her admirers before she was married, and he had long wished to find someone like her for himself. Pamela had not been that lady.

* * *

After supper Tony was approached by his brother. “Somewhere we can talk?” Howie asked.

“Not if you want an advance on your allowance,” said Tony.

His brother put on an injured look. “I have done very well tonight, as a matter of fact. No, this is something different. How about the conservatory? It is private. I am told there is a hall behind that screen that leads in that direction.”

Puzzled by such a need for secrecy, Tony nodded and followed his brother. When they reached the conservatory, the puzzle only deepened.

“Wait here,” Howie said. “There is someone who wishes to speak with you in private.”

“What the devil?”

“Sorry,” his brother said. “A favor for a lady.”

“A lady?” Alarm flashed through Tony. He did not like the sound of this at all. Confound Howie!

His brother was gone in a second. Deciding he would have no part of this melodrama, Tony made to follow him when Pamela stepped out from behind a giant hanging fern.

“Tony, stay, please,” she said, her voice soft and urgent.

“Pamela?” Shock shot through him.

“Did you not receive my letter?” she asked.

“I received it,” he told her. “I did not read it. There is nothing left to say to each other.”

“If only that were true, Tony.”

She looked at him with such pleading that he found himself shoring up his heart.

“What is it, Pamela?”

“I have made a dreadful mistake. I cannot marry Lord Sutton. I do not love him. He is not you.”

There had been a time when such words would have been an answer to prayer. But he was surprised—and glad—to find that time had passed. Until this moment he hadn’t realized he no longer wanted her.

“Pamela, you should not be here talking to me like this.”

She threw herself against his chest and clutched his lapels. “If I cry off, will you renew your addresses?”

He was speechless, dismayed that he was very nearly tempted, despite all that he knew of her. Removing her hands from his lapels, he stepped back. Finally, he spoke, “You must go back to the ball. You are celebrating your betrothal tonight!”

“You would have me marry Lord Sutton when it is you I love?”

“You should have given your supposed devotion a thought before you became engaged,” he said. “You must leave.”

“You will think about it, though?” Her blue eyes were soft with pleading.

“My feelings for you are in the past. Now go, before someone finds you here.”

“You are so cold, Tony. It was not always thus. Can you not forgive me?”

“I do not wish to speak of this a moment longer. If you will not leave, then I will. It would be the worst thing for your reputation to be found here alone with me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and then she was gone, the fragrance of lilies remaining. Sitting on the edge of a planter, he put a hand to his head as he tried to absorb what had happened.

He once again relived the devastating moment he had seen the announcement of her betrothal in The Morning Post last month. He had fled to his estate in Kent. For two weeks he had exercised his mind and body to deal with the chaos of his emotions. It had been like trying to rein in a stallion at full gallop.

It was such an unthinkable action on Pamela’s part that, at first, he had blamed her parents and the pressure of the ton. But eventually he had to wonder why she hadn’t cared enough even to warn him, to say goodbye, to end things in person.

He had been mistaken in Pamela. Her actions spoke of a cold heart. During the last month, he had deconstructed their relationship in his mind, seeing how he had been misled by her frenetic good spirits, her supposed interest in bettering their world, and most of all her false affection for him. Telling himself that her present intentions might contradict his conclusion, he went over the facts again and tried to be reasonable.

No. Tony was not going to allow himself to be carried away by his feelings a second time. Into his mind came the memory of Miss Livingstone facing off against the brute who had abused Mr. Hale. Her actions were leagues from anything Pamela would ever attempt. He saw now that Pamela had never been concerned with anything that did not increase her own consequence. How had he ever thought he loved her?

And Miss Livingstone? How had he ever agreed to Beau’s entreaty? He was in the devil of a position, that was for certain.