by Anna Bradley
Handsome face?
Hyacinth blinked. Lachlan Ramsey was imposing, yes. Frightening, certainly. But handsome? Perhaps some ladies might think so—the sort of ladies who found a dark scowl attractive, for instance, but—
“You may be a favorite with her, but that alone won’t be enough. You have less than half an hour today to make her invite us to her ball, reveal Lord Huntington is our brother, and persuade her I’m not a murderer.”
Hyacinth twisted her hands in her lap and tried to breathe through her rising panic. How in the world would she manage to stammer her way through all of that without making a mess of it? The minute Lady Bagshot’s beady eye was upon her, she was sure to collapse like a house of sand—
“Well, Miss Somerset?”
Hyacinth frowned at him. Was this why he’d insisted on accompanying her and Isla to Lady Bagshot’s townhouse? So he could quiz her in the carriage, and then prevent them from making the call if he didn’t care for her answers?
And he didn’t care for them—that much was plain to see. The black scowl was already gathering on his brow like an incoming thunderstorm. “I, ah, thought I’d determine the best way to proceed once we arrived.”
Lachlan drummed his fingers against the head of his walking stick, his face grim. “But what if you become...how did your sister put it? Overwrought? If you get nervous or hesitate, it could make things worse.”
Hyacinth arched a brow. “Lady Bagshot thinks you’re a murderer, Mr. Ramsey. I don’t see how it could get any worse.”
“It can always get worse.” He shifted his attention to Isla, who sat next to Hyacinth. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Isla’s mouth pinched with annoyance. “Nonsense. I trust Hyacinth. Stop teasing, Lachlan.”
“We have no choice but to make the call, Mr. Ramsey.” Hyacinth winced when her voice emerged in a timid squeak. Dash it, how could she sound so confident in her own head, but just like a mouse with a boot crushing its tail once the words left her lips?
Lachlan’s dark gaze narrowed on her face, but whatever he saw there didn’t seem to interest him, because his eyes flicked away again at once. “We should wait until Lady Huntington can do it.”
Was that disdain curling his lower lip?
“Even Lady Chase might be a better choice,” he muttered.
Not quietly enough, however, because Hyacinth heard him, and anger began to churn in her stomach. “My grandmother wouldn’t make it past the butler, Mr. Ramsey. She and Lady Bagshot despise each other, and have for years.”
“One of your sisters, then. They’re both calm, steady sorts.”
By that, Hyacinth supposed she was meant to infer she was hysterical and unsteady. But then Lachlan Ramsey certainly had reason to think so, didn’t he? That pricked at her far more than it should, and for reasons she didn’t understand. It wasn’t, after all, as if everyone in London didn’t share his opinion. Even she shared it, but somehow it niggled at her that he should find her lacking.
Well then, give him a reason to think otherwise.
She drew in a quick breath, and then turned away from the window to face him. “My family asked me to make this call for a reason, Mr. Ramsey. I’m her ladyship’s favorite, and more likely than anyone else to be received by her.”
He shrugged. “That makes sense. An arrogant countess like Lady Bagshot is far more likely to favor a quiet, accommodating young lady like yourself.”
Hyacinth’s teeth clenched. “I didn’t become Lady Bagshot’s favorite by being quiet and accommodating. I became her favorite because I know how to manage her. That’s one advantage to being quiet, Mr. Ramsey. I’m not so preoccupied telling everyone else how to behave that I’m too busy to listen.”
Isla laughed. “Bravo, Hyacinth! Well said.”
Hyacinth smiled at her, then darted a look at Lachlan Ramsey to see how he’d taken this set down. She was rather proud of it, really. It wasn’t every day she managed to put a short-tempered giant in his place.
His dark brows lowered, and the scowl his brow had only hinted at earlier had crept over the rest of his face. He might have looked menacing, indeed, but for the hint of appreciation in his eyes.
“Very well said. We’ll see soon enough if your managing skills are as sharp as your tongue.”
Hyacinth only raised her chin in reply, but underneath her cloak, she crossed her fingers.
* * * *
“Her ladyship isn’t receiving calls today, Miss Somerset.”
Lady Bagshot’s butler, Forbes, peered down his long nose at Hyacinth without a flicker of recognition on his face, despite the fact she’d faithfully called on Lady Bagshot once a week since last spring.
“Not at home?” It was nonsense, of course. Lady Bagshot was always at home. The ton brought the choicest gossip to her doorstep every day during calling hours. There wasn’t a chance her ladyship would risk missing a single morsel.
Forbes shoved the silver tray under their noses. “As I said, Miss Somerset. Would you care to leave your cards?”
Hyacinth pressed her lips together to smother a sharp retort. Lady Bagshot was at home. Even now, the bothersome old thing was likely listening to this very conversation through a crack in her drawing room door.
Hyacinth tried to force a reassuring smile for Isla’s sake, but this didn’t look at all promising. Lady Bagshot had never before refused to receive her. That she would do so now could only mean one thing.
She’d already made up her mind about the scandal, the Ramseys, and Hyacinth herself, and her friends would follow her ladyship’s lead, just as they always did. Once Lady Bagshot condemned you, social ruin was the inevitable result, and her ladyship never offered second chances, not unless…
Not unless the gossip was so delicious she simply couldn’t resist.
Hyacinth’s heart started to pound as a terribly foolish, but undeniably ingenious idea began to take root in her mind.
No, it was far too risky. She’d never pull it off. It would backfire and explode right in her face, and she wasn’t a lady who enjoyed explosions.
Or risk.
Then again, after that speech she’d made about her grandmother never getting past Lady Bagshot’s butler, did she really want to slink back to the carriage and admit to Lachlan Ramsey she couldn’t get past Lady Bagshot’s butler, either?
No. Almost anything was preferable to that.
The idea began to sound more and more plausible as she allowed it to take up space in her head, and really, what other choice did they have at this point? She could tackle Forbes about the knees and storm Lady Bagshot’s drawing room, or she could offer up the tastiest morsel of gossip in London to her ladyship, and see if that wouldn’t get them through the door.
How fortunate the tastiest morsel in London just happened to be waiting in their carriage.
“No, we won’t leave our cards. Thank you, Forbes. Come, Miss Ramsey.” Hyacinth gave the butler a pleasant smile, then drew Isla’s hand through her elbow and led her down the steps.
“Oh, dear. I don’t suppose that was a good sign, was it?” Isla glanced back at Lady Bagshot’s door with a forlorn sigh. “Well, perhaps Lord and Lady Huntington will have better success with the Hayhurst’s.”
“Oh, no worries there. They’ll have success. Iris and Lady Hayhurst have been friends since we came to London. But I’m not quite ready to give up on Lady Bagshot yet.” They’d reached the street, but Hyacinth motioned for the driver to remain on the box, and opened the door to the carriage. “Mr. Ramsey. We’ll need you to come with us to call on Lady Bagshot.”
Both Lachlan and Isla looked at her as if she’d lost her wits.
“Have you gone mad? Lachlan can’t pay calls, he’s…well, everyone thinks he’s…” Isla darted a look at Hyacinth, bit her lip, and trailed off into silence.
“Everyone in London think I’m a
murderer,” Lachlan said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Or have you forgotten?”
Hyacinth’s face heated at the reminder. “No, and I’m not likely to, but Mr. Ramsey’s reputation for, um…lawlessness is precisely what will get us through the door.”
Lachlan pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, as if she were giving him a headache. “Does Lady Bagshot regularly welcome murderers into her drawing room?”
“No, but only because no murderers ever call on her. Don’t you see? It’s easy enough for Lady Bagshot to turn Isla and me away, but she’ll never be able to resist the chance to entertain you, Mr. Ramsey. Why, you’re London’s most notorious gentleman at the moment.”
“Not by choice.”
“Well, no,” Hyacinth admitted. “But that’s neither here nor there. Perhaps you need to know Lady Bagshot as I do to understand, but you may trust me when I say she loves gossip above all things. Do you suppose she’ll give up the chance to be the first lady in London to get the story from the so-called murderer’s own lips? She’ll be crowing about it in every drawing room in London.”
Lachlan gave her a long, hard look, as if he’d never seen her before now. “That’s diabolical, Miss Somerset. I wouldn’t have guessed you had such a fiendish side. What other surprises are you hiding under that angelic face?”
If he’d said the word “angelic” with even a hint of admiration it likely would have tied Hyacinth’s tongue for a week, but he sounded more suspicious than appreciative, and since she wasn’t certain if it were an accusation or a compliment, she decided to ignore it. “Will you come?”
“Arrogant countesses, gossip, ball invitations.” He slid across the seat with a sigh, stepped onto the street, and closed the carriage door behind him. “It’s tedious, being a murderer.”
Hyacinth’s lips quirked. “If all goes well, you won’t have to be one for much longer.”
As they made their way back down the street toward Lady Bagshot’s townhouse, Hyacinth couldn’t help but think he looked…oh, not like a murderer, of course, but his was an intimidating figure. He was so large and broad, and everything about him spoke of barely leashed power. His enormous hand on the head of his walking stick, the way he strode down the street—even his dark cloak billowed behind him with authority.
Lachlan Ramsey wasn’t a murderer, but Lady Bagshot’s butler, Forbes didn’t know that, and when he opened the door to them the second time and got a look at Mr. Ramsey, he blanched.
“Good afternoon, Forbes.” Hyacinth gave no indication she and Isla had been here not five minutes earlier, but offered only a bland smile. “Miss Somerset, Miss Ramsey, and Mr. Lachlan Ramsey to see Lady Bagshot.”
There was no sign of the silver tray this time. Forbes scurried off down the hallway toward the drawing room as if Prinny himself were standing at the door.
Forbes was gone for quite a while, and Hyacinth held her breath and crossed her fingers the entire time. If this didn’t work—if Lady Bagshot refused to see them—then there was an end to Isla’s season. If her chances should be ruined, it would be Hyacinth’s fault, and—
“Lady Bagshot is pleased to see you.”
Oh, bless you, Lady Bagshot, you incorrigible gossip!
As Forbes took their wraps and led them down the hall, Hyacinth released the breath she’d been holding in a silent sigh. They’d made it as far as the drawing room, but that was only the outermost circle of these particular circles of hell. Limbo, as it were. She’d have to handle the situation with the utmost care if she intended to get any further—
“Miss Somerset. How delightful to see you. Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look so well.”
Hyacinth resisted the urge to point out Lady Bagshot wasn’t looking at her at all, but at Lachlan Ramsey, her beady eyes wide open with horrified relish. Instead, Hyacinth bit her tongue, and offered her ladyship a polite smile. “Good afternoon, my lady. How kind you are.”
Lady Bagshot dragged her gaze to Hyacinth’s face with an effort. “Yes, well, I was terribly concerned for you, after that unfortunate incident at Lord and Lady Huntington’s ball. Such a dreadful business! Why, I can’t imagine what it all meant, but you’re very kind, my dear, to come and tell me all about it, and reassure me.”
Hyacinth’s smile remained fixed to her face, but she felt it growing a bit brittle around the edges. Lady Bagshot intended to have the whole story before they left her drawing room, no matter how unsubtle she had to be to get it. That was how the ton worked. Lady Bagshot had permitted them to enter, and now it was Hyacinth’s turn to uphold her end of the bargain.
“But then you’ve always been a favorite of mine, as you well know, dear,” Lady Bagshot added, her avid gaze darting between Isla and Lachlan.
“You’ve always paid me that compliment, my lady, and that’s why I’ve come straight to you. I haven’t called on a single soul since that ball, because I knew I could trust no one but you with the true story.”
Hyacinth hid her smile as Lady Bagshot let out a delighted little gasp. Yes, that was very good. Flattery, followed at once by the promise of exclusive gossip. Unless she missed her mark, it was the perfect approach to take with Lady Bagshot.
She hadn’t missed her mark. Her ladyship’s eyes were already gleaming with greedy anticipation.
“Oh my, yes, my dear,” Lady Bagshot breathed. “I won’t repeat a word of it to anyone. As you know, I’m the very soul of discretion.”
“I do know that, my lady. May I present my friends? But oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve…well, perhaps I’ve mislead you, because they’re really not my friends at all. They’re much more than that. They’re my family.”
Hyacinth lowered her eyes with becoming confusion, but she peeked through her lashes at Lady Bagshot, and saw the final word of that sentence had had just the effect she wished for.
Lady Bagshot’s eyes and mouth went wide, and she patted her fingertips rapidly against her chest. “Family? My dear Miss Somerset, did you say family?”
“I did, indeed. That is, they’re not my direct family, but my brother-in-law, Lord Huntington’s family. Lady Bagshot, may I present Miss Ramsey, and Mr. Lachlan Ramsey, Lord Huntington’s sister and brother? They’ve another brother, as well—Mr. Ciaran Ramsey—but he and Lord and Lady Huntington are calling on Lady Hayhurst this afternoon.”
“Sister and…” Lady Bagshot clutched at the arms of her chair, breathless with ecstasy. And no wonder. This was far better than just a plain murderer. A brother and sister, popping up out of nowhere? The brother and sister of the Marquess of Huntington, no less? Why, there were bound to be all sorts unsavory details tied up in this business. Secrets, lies, adultery, and—if London was lucky—the stain of illegitimacy.
“Brother, my lady. I’m Lord Huntington’s younger brother.”
Lachlan stepped forward and bowed with surprising smoothness over Lady Bagshot’s hand. His mouth was tight, and Hyacinth could see he was disgusted by the whole business, but he held himself carefully in check, and Lady Bagshot didn’t seem to notice.
“Mr. Ramsey. My goodness.” Lady Bagshot gaped up at Lachlan as if she’d never seen anything like him before. “That is, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ramsey, and Miss Ramsey.” Lady Bagshot nodded at Isla. “Well. Lord Huntington’s brother and sister. Well, my heavens, how extraordinary. Was Lord Huntington expecting your arrival in London?”
“He was not,” Hyacinth said, before Lachlan or Isla could say a word. “It’s all been quite a surprise, but Lord Huntington couldn’t be more pleased by it, and of course Lady Chase, and Lord and Lady Dare and I are equally delighted to welcome the Ramseys into our family.”
Hyacinth paused to let Lady Bagshot absorb her meaning.
My entire family intends to support the Ramseys.
“I see. Well, how…wonderful for you all.”
Hyacinth allowed herself
just the tiniest breath then—just a small sip of oxygen to calm her pounding heart.
There. That part was done.
When Lady Bagshot carried this tale into the next drawing room, she’d be certain to make it clear the Ramseys were not without friends in London. If the ton intended to cut the Ramseys, they’d also have to cut the Huntingtons, the Dares, Lady Chase, and all their friends, as well.
“But there’s something I still don’t understand, Miss Somerset.” Lady Bagshot arched an eyebrow at Hyacinth. “Surely Lord Huntington’s own brother isn’t a murderer?”
Hyacinth hid her hands in her skirts to cover their trembling. This part was a trifle more difficult to explain. “Mr. Ramsey, a murderer? Oh, no, my lady. Of course not. That was an unfortunate—”
“Because I distinctly recall you accusing him of that crime, my dear. I was sitting right next to Lady Chase when Mr. Ramsey approached you, and I heard every word that passed between you. I hope you don’t mean to say I can’t trust the evidence of my own ears?”
Hyacinth glanced at Lachlan Ramsey, but he simply raised one dark eyebrow at her, as if he were as curious as Lady Bagshot to hear her explanation.
“N-no. As I-I said, it was an unfortunate m-m-mistake on m-my part—”
“Mistake? My dear Miss Somerset, how in the world could you possibly mistake an innocent man for a murderer?” Lady Bagshot sat back, her lips curling with satisfaction.
Once again, Hyacinth caught herself glancing at the Ramseys. Isla slid to the edge of her seat, her expression anxious, and Lachlan…
He’d thrown an arm over the back of the settee, crossed one leg over his knee, and was casually examining the tip of his boot, but his jaw was tense, and Hyacinth knew he was listening intently to every word.
“A c-curious series of events led to my m-mistake. A few nights before the ball, I happened to witness a…well, I beg your pardon, Lady Bagshot, but there’s no other way to say this. I witnessed a violent brawl at an inn on the way back to London from Huntington Lodge. One of the men was badly beaten.”
