by Joyce Alec
“It is nothing but foolishness,” he muttered, shaking his head to himself before downing his glass of brandy and ordering another with a simple snap of his fingers.
Misery hung over him like a dark cloud, sending shivers all through him. This was not the life he had hoped for, and yet he felt himself retreating back towards the shadows regardless. He had come to London some years ago, not to marry but simply to enjoy the company that came with the Season, only to find himself shying away from conversation with a delicate, elegant lady or finding himself unable to speak when a bright, confident debutante asked him some question or other. Of course, he was much changed now, but even with that change, he felt there was no hope at all as to his chances of securing a lady of quality for his bride. There were too many gentlemen greater than he, more confident than he, more engaging than he could ever hope to be.
Deep within himself, Stephen knew that he was rather quiet and almost bookish, even though that was not the façade he presented to the ton. Whilst he enjoyed dancing, he much preferred a quiet, genuine conversation – although there was not a lot of such a thing to be found amongst the beau monde, not when gossip was the thing that kept the rumor mill going. Given what had happened to Lord Turner, Stephen found that he despised such idle talk, which, to the rest of society, made him something of a bore, he was quite sure.
“You look as though you could do with another, Lord Johnston.”
Stephen, his head now feeling a little heavy from the two glasses of brandy he had quickly consumed, looked up into the face of a gentleman he did not recognize.
“Lord Shafer,” the gentleman said and chuckled, as another brandy was placed before Stephen by the footman. “We have been introduced before, but I will not mind too much if you do not recall me. London can be remarkably busy this time of year!”
“Lord Shafer,” Stephen muttered, passing one hand over his eyes for a moment in an attempt to clear what was a slight blurring to his vision and in an attempt to toss a coin in the direction of the footman who had served them. “Yes, of course.” The gentleman had a mop of tawny curls that were not allowing themselves to be tamed in any way whatsoever and bright green eyes that appeared to be sparkling with either malice or amusement – although which it was, Stephen could not quite make out. Struggling to recall the gentleman, he pretended that he remembered the acquaintance regardless, knowing that it would be an affront to state the truth: that he was not at all certain if he had ever really met the gentleman before in his life.
“I will not be disgruntled if you wish me to leave you in peace, Lord Johnston,” Lord Shafer continued affably. “I can see that there is something heavy resting on your shoulders and I would not like to interrupt your considerations.”
“No, indeed,” Stephen replied at once, making sure to leave his brandy untouched given that his head was still feeling a little heavy. “There is nothing of great significance, I assure you.” Managing a small smile, he gave a slight shrug. “Although it may be a little early to be present in White’s, I will admit.”
Lord Shafer let out a loud, raucous laugh that had Stephen grinning in a moment, his melancholy forgotten. “Indeed, Lord Johnston, it may be a little early, but it will soon fill with a good many patrons. Now,” he continued, his eyes alight with interest, “are you sure you do not wish to share whatever it is that weighs on you so heavily? It may lift your spirits even more!”
Stephen shrugged, feeling himself already closing off his thoughts and troubles. He was unused to sharing such things with anyone and certainly not a gentleman he barely knew. “I was just considering matters of the heart,” he said slowly. “As I am sure a great many gentlemen are…given that it is the Season.” He tried to lighten his tone, only to see Lord Shafer nod understandingly, his expression rather grave.
“I well understand,” he said, shaking his head. “They can be rather choosy, these eligible ladies, can they not? Even my own sister, who has very few attributes, unfortunately, has not taken notice of any of the gentlemen I have suggested to her.”
For whatever reason, Stephen found himself bristling at this remark, even though he did not know the lady in any way whatsoever. To hear a brother speak so about his own flesh and blood rattled him, for surely a gentleman ought to be praising his sister even if she were the plainest, most difficult creature in all of England. How else was he to ensure that, in time, she was married and settled?
“I am sure she is not as bad as all that,” Stephen found himself saying, a little more harshly than he had intended. “Although I will admit that it is a little discouraging to find so many young ladies of the ton having eyes only for the gentleman with the greatest fortunes.” His words turned bitter, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth, forcing him to take a draught of brandy. The brandy did not remove the taste from his mouth in any way, however, seeming only to heighten it. Taking another mouthful in the hope that it would be washed away entirely this time, Stephen screwed up his face as he swallowed, shaking his head as he put the glass down. They must be serving cheap brandy this afternoon and saving the best until much later in the day.
Apparently unaware of Stephen’s displeasure, Lord Shafer chuckled, his expression thoughtful. “Then mayhap you ought to meet her for yourself, Lord Johnston, to see whether or not I am being truthful about the lady. What say you?”
Stephen fought the urge to roll his eyes and tell Lord Shafer that he was being entirely ridiculous, wondering if, mayhap, he ought to do as the man suggested. After all, given that he had been singularly rejected by both Lady Moore and Miss Huntly, as well as a score of others who had not given him anything more than a passing glance or a few short words of conversation, would it make any difference to find himself in the same situation again with yet another young lady?
“Tomorrow afternoon?” Lord Shafer suggested, evidently seeing the agreement on Stephen’s face. “Might you call upon my sister and me at our townhouse? I shall ensure that she is not expecting any other callers, of course, for I shall want you to have her company all to yourself so that you might make your own judgment.”
Something about this entire suggestion sounded ridiculous to Stephen, but for whatever reason, he found that he readily agreed regardless. His head was swimming, given that he had now finished his glass of brandy despite its strange taste and waved away the footman, who appeared with yet another. He let Lord Shafer’s words run over him, hearing the man’s talk excitedly about tomorrow afternoon’s meeting and telling him that he was sure to be disappointed by his dear sister. He let his head sink lower and lower until his chin rested on his chest and his eyelids began to droop.
“How very strange,” he said thickly. “I did not think I would be so tired after only a few glasses of brandy.” Attempting to get up from his seat, he found Lord Shafer’s hand on his arm, helping him to stand.
“You must have had more to drink than you were aware of,” Lord Shafer said and laughed, half dragging Stephen towards the front of White’s. “The influence of young ladies upon the heart and mind, I fear! Now, here is a hackney, and I shall ensure you are returned home safely. Rest, my good fellow, for I shall want you to be at your most curious by tomorrow afternoon. I will send a runner to your home with my address.”
Stephen tried to ask how Lord Shafer knew where Stephen lived, but found that he could not so much as get his mouth to work. His head was beginning to ache, his feet heavy and unable to take a single step without stumbling. How Lord Shafer managed to get him into a hackney, he was not quite sure, but soon the rolling movement of the hackney through the cobbled streets of London had his eyes closing tightly, his body relaxing completely as he was brought into the wonderful comfort of sleep.
2
The sound of a moan woke Stephen from his torturous sleep. His mind was struggling to free itself from the bonds of darkness and slumber, trying to work out where such a sound was coming from.
It was only when he opened his eyes and saw the anxious face of his butler looking dow
n at him that he realized the groaning was coming from his own lips.
“My lord?” the butler whispered, as though too afraid to speak loudly in case it should trouble Stephen further. “The doctor is here.”
Stephen closed his eyes tightly, the sliver of light coming from a chink in his curtains sending waves of pain all through him.
“I do not think you will die,” the doctor said, as though such a thing was to be reassuring to Stephen. “You may, of course, spend a few days in bed recovering from this…malady. However, it will not be of long duration.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Stephen croaked, his voice rasping. “I am a little worse for wear, but that is only because of the brandy I had last evening.”
There was a short silence and, managing to open one eye, Stephen saw the butler and the doctor exchange a quick look.
“My lord, you have been abed for some days,” the butler explained carefully. “I do not know what it is you have succumbed to, but I had no other choice but to summon the doctor. This is the third time he has called upon you.”
Closing his eyes tightly again, Stephen rested his head back on his pillows with a heaviness beginning to seep into his bones that he could not quite explain. His mind refused to accept what the doctor had told him, trying to work out exactly what had happened.
“You must not take so much laudanum, Lord Johnston,” the doctor said with a good deal of sternness. “And whilst I know that opiate is terribly popular, to drink both poppy tea and laudanum is not wise, unless you wish to draw near to the grave again.”
Stephen lifted one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to focus. “Laudanum?” he repeated, his voice a little stronger. “I have never taken laudanum, sir. Nor opiate, for that matter.”
The doctor eyed him suspiciously.
“It is true that Lord Johnston has never once requested such a thing,” the butler stated quietly, although he still looked rather anxious. “I cannot understand what has occurred here.”
The doctor harrumphed under his breath, shaking his head. Clearly, the man disbelieved Stephen’s story but was unable to say such a thing to a gentleman of the ton.
“Wait.”
Suddenly, with a resounding clearness that seemed to race through his entire body and give him both clarity and strength, Stephen attempted to sit up, his eyes now fixed on the doctor. His jaw clenched as the butler came to his aid, hating his own weakness.
“Yes, my lord?” the doctor asked patiently.
“Laudanum might be mixed with another substance, might it not?” Stephen asked, recalling just how strange his brandy had tasted when he had been with Lord Shafer. “To take away the bitter taste?”
Slowly, the doctor nodded, his expression grave.
“Such as brandy?”
“Another unwise suggestion, if there is a good deal of brandy to be drunk,” the doctor muttered, collecting his things. “Again, my lord, I would not advise that you do such a thing again.”
Given that he was not to make the doctor change his mind about what Stephen had done and since there was no particular need to do so, Stephen let the remark go. His mind was still trying to collect up all the threads of what he had been told and what he remembered, in an attempt to lay it all out in one straight line. Thanking the doctor quickly, he promised to pay the bill with all swiftness and requested that the butler send up coffee and something small to eat. It was not that he felt hungry in any way but rather that he wanted to rebuild his strength, which he hoped refreshment might do.
Nothing seemed to make sense. When he had first awoken, he had thought it the day after he had been in White’s with Lord Shafer. Now, it appeared that it was some days after that event, which meant that he had missed his appointment with Lord Shafer’s sister – although now that he thought of it, he realized that he did not even know the lady’s name.
But if the laudanum had been placed in his brandy glass, then who had done such a thing? The first person he suspected was Lord Shafer, but that simply did not appear to make any sense, given that he had only just met the man for the second time and there was nothing of substance between them. From what Stephen knew, he had never beaten Lord Shafer at cards, or wronged him in any which way. So what reason would there be for the gentleman to drug him so terribly? Especially when he had charged the footman to bring the brandy for them both.
Which meant that there might be someone else who had done such a thing. Mayhap the brandy had been meant for Lord Shafer for some reason, which meant that it had been nothing more than a mistake. However, either way, Stephen felt himself shuddering with a sudden realization of just how close to death he had come.
“I must find Lord Shafer,” he muttered to himself, passing one hand through his hair, aware of just how terrible he must look. Looking up as the butler and maid reappeared at the door, he murmured his thanks as a tray was set over him, before gesturing for the butler to remain by his side for another few minutes.
“How many days have I been abed?” he asked, seeing the butler’s rather tense expression.
“Three, my lord,” the butler replied slowly. “This is your fourth morning since you returned from White’s.”
Nodding slowly and beginning to feel more like himself with almost every passing minute, Stephen paused for a moment. “A hackney brought me back to the house?”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler confirmed. “I sent for the doctor almost the very same hour. I am sorry if I did wrong.”
“No, indeed, you did nothing wrong,” Stephen said hastily, grateful that his staff had taken such care of him. “Now, tell me, has anyone come to the house with a note?”
The butler looked confused for a moment.
“Any messages or letters whilst I have been ill?” Stephen clarified, aware that the butler knew all too well that Stephen was not a gentleman who received much in the way of correspondence. Aside from his sister, he was the only remaining member of his family line, and did not have a good many friends amongst the ton.
Confusion clearing, the butler inclined his head. “Only two, my lord. Should I fetch them for you?”
“At once,” Stephen replied, pouring his coffee quickly. “I must know their contents immediately.”
The butler returned before Stephen had managed to take even a single sip of his coffee, puffing and blowing as though he had run through the house to the study and back again. With a grateful nod of thanks and silently reminding himself to increase the butler’s salary somewhat, Stephen took the letters from him and dismissed him from the room.
Opening the first, he found it to be a letter from his sister, who was married and settled somewhere near Scotland to a Lord Sable. Whilst he was glad to hear from her, his worry did not allow him to read the contents, and so he set it aside and picked up the other.
The seal was one he did not recognize and, upon breaking it and unfolding the letter, saw only a few short lines scrawled on the page. It said nothing more than the address of the lady he had been meant to call upon and the time that he was expected to visit her. Of course, that day and time had now passed, but that did not prevent Stephen from having every intention of calling upon the lady just as soon as he had the strength to do so.
His mind worked hard to untangle the mystery surrounding Lord Shafer. It did not make sense that the gentleman would encourage him to visit the lady, only to then watch him drink the mixture of brandy and laudanum. That meant that, clearly, Stephen would miss the opportunity to call upon the lady and, therefore, prove himself to be both rude and discourteous. There had been nothing venomous about Lord Shafer, although Stephen still could not recall where they had been first introduced. Lord Shafer had obviously recalled it, given that he had addressed Stephen by his title, and he had pretended that he recalled Lord Shafer also.
What if you have never really met the gentleman before?
Groaning, Stephen rubbed his forehead as frustration and confusion began to run through his veins. He
had no answers, no understanding as to why such a thing had occurred. There was no simple explanation to be found. Either the laudanum had been deliberately given to him for some reason, or it had been meant for Lord Shafer. If it had been for him, then had it been an attempt to take his life from his bones, or simply a wish for him to sleep for many days before recovering?
His head began to thump violently, forcing him to close his eyes tightly. Beginning to shake, Stephen drew in long, steadying breaths, trying his best to calm his frantically beating heart. There was so much confusion, so much mystery surrounding him and what had occurred that it was hard to make sense of almost anything.
“I have to visit the lady,” he said aloud, finding comfort in decisiveness. “I must go to her and see if I can find her brother. Perhaps he is in danger. Perhaps he will be able to explain what has occurred.”
And I shall have to ensure I protect myself.
Opening his eyes, Stephen let out his breath slowly, feeling himself grow a good deal more at ease. It would be a few more days until he regained his strength and felt able to go about his business, but at least he knew that, soon, he would be able to find Lord Shafer and discover the truth about what had happened that night.
3
Mary, Lady Ashton, widow and lady of society, looked out of her townhouse window and felt herself smile. This was the first year since her late husband’s passing some two years ago that she had been able to return to society and she was, in short, glad to be back within it. There was something about the company here that brought her a good deal of happiness, even though she knew full well that she had no particular intention of marrying again.
