by Lynn Kerstan
“Oh no. Believe me, even my imagination could not outpace what some people will come up with. That ’un’s been dead these fifty years, but his father was just as bad, and his son even worse. We’ll have an entire chapter for the Marquesses of Fallon. Perhaps two or three.”
We? Jane thought with a thrill of excitement. Did that mean—?
“You have the job,” Lady Swann told her. “Assuming you still want it. I’ll decide your salary later, when I determine what you are worth. You wish to move in immediately, I take it.”
Jane slipped by habit into the demeanor expected of a servant. “If you please, ma’am.”
“Very well. Felicia will show you to your room. We dine at eight o’clock, at which time you will begin to call me Eudora.” She raised her lorgnette. “And I shall begin to discover exactly who and what you are, Jane Ryder.”
Chapter 1
LADY EUDORA SWANN slouched in her Bath chair, chin buried in the folds of lace at her throat, her soft snore rumbling like the purr of a cat.
She slept more often during these long winter days, Jane had noticed. But here in this overheated parlor, its windows tightly sealed against the shrill December wind, her own eyes had a lamentable tendency to drift shut.
How easily a body got used to being warm and well fed. She had gained nearly two stone in the past year and had filled out enough above her waist to draw lingering glances from the gentlemen who came to call on Eudora.
But her time in this unique household would soon come to an end, she knew. Before the first spring crocus, Scandalbroth would be in the hands of the publisher, who fully expected the book to make him a wealthy man. Mr. Crumb paid frequent visits to check on its progress. Eudora’s less controversial project, The Swann History of Eighteenth-Century British Aristocracy, was to be locked in the Bank of England and opened at the turn of the next century.
Jane rarely allowed herself to contemplate her departure and had made no plans for the future. Eudora paid her extremely well, and with few personal expenses, she had invested nearly all her salary and generous bonuses on the ’Change. For the first time in her life, she could confront the next stage of it without worrying about money for at least a year, perhaps two if she was frugal.
Rubbing the back of her neck, she studied the papers spread over the enormous desk Eudora had purchased for her use. Because Eudora did not like being alone, Jane did most of her work in the makeshift office created for her by the largest window, where she could look out over Upper Brook Street.
A militant banging at the door shot Eudora awake with a start. Moments later Felicia tottered into the room, followed by a tall, imposing gentleman wearing a caped greatcoat and high beaver hat. His sharp gaze swept the parlor, passing over Jane as if she were a footstool, and came to rest on Eudora.
“Lady Swann, I presume.” He bowed curtly. “Pardon me for disregarding your”—he gestured in Felicia’s direction—“footwoman. She informed me that you are not receiving, but this is a matter of some urgency.”
Eudora waved a hand. “Company is always welcome, young man, so long as it minds its manners. Felicia, you may return to your nap.”
The man stripped off his gloves, slapping them impatiently in the palm of one hand while waiting for Felicia to make her ponderous way to the door.
Jane wondered if she ought to take her leave, too, but Eudora said nothing, and it soon became apparent the man was unaware of her presence. Like a raptor shadowing prey, his attention was directed entirely at the tiny woman in the Bath chair.
“I am Fallon,” he said. “Doubtless you have been expecting me.”
“So I have,” Eudora replied easily. “But you arrived in London all of nine weeks ago. What kept you?”
“None of your da—” He fisted his gloves in one hand. “I have been otherwise occupied, Lady Swann. It was only yesterday that I heard of your abominable book.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” Eudora said with a dramatic sigh. “And like all the others carping at me, you have yet to read a word of it.”
“I am here,” he told her stonily, “to make certain that no one ever reads it. At the least, I insist you delete any and all references to my family.”
“But I am writing an exposé of aristocratic scandals, sir. Should I excise the scurrilous doings of the Fallon clan from my book, only the merest pamphlet would remain.” She clicked her tongue. “Do remove your hat, boy. With it on, you take up far too much space in this room.”
So he did, Jane thought as Fallon tossed his curly-brimmed beaver onto a table. True, the wide greatcoat exaggerated the considerable width of his shoulders, but even stripped to the skin, this man would occupy more than his fair share of any room. It was less a matter of size than the assertive way he carried himself. He was in constant motion, claiming territory with his fingertips as they brushed along the back of a sofa or picked up a trinket and put it down again.
A restless man, she decided, and one who found it difficult to restrain his natural vitality. Now and again he paused, clearly willing his body into the pose of a disdainful aristocrat, but moments later he was on the prowl again.
Jane thought him fascinating. A man at war with himself, she suspected, watching as he forcibly stilled himself in front of Eudora’s chair.
“Let us come to the point,” he said irritably. “What will it cost me to buy the Fallons out of your book?”
“Buy?” Eudora snorted. “You imagine I am set on blackmail? Good Lord, I am six-and-eighty, young man. What’s more, I was heir to my late husbands’ fortunes—all six of ’em. What need have I for money?” She fluttered her kohl-blackened lashes. “On the other hand, you appear to be a remarkably healthy, energetic fellow, and well-looking in a rough-cut sort of way. Perhaps we can come to terms after all.” She winked in Jane’s direction. “What think you?”
He looked thoroughly bewildered.
“Well, you mull it over,” Eudora said kindly. “But if there are to be negotiations, they will be conducted in my boudoir.”
Jane pressed her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. The situation was all the more remarkable because Eudora’s offer was quite serious. For a tumble with this virile young aristocrat, she would cheerfully consign the Fallon chapters to the fire.
When he finally twigged her meaning, his lordship was not amused. Stalking forward, he loomed over Eudora with clear menace. “I am, to my knowledge, the sole remaining Fallon, and it is therefore my duty to carry on the name. Such as it is,” he added woodenly. “What my forebears have done should be permitted to rest in their graves with them, Lady Swann. Your book will make it impossible for me to restore the reputation they abandoned centuries ago.”
“I expect that would be impossible in any case,” Eudora advised him. “As it is, I reveal nothing in my book that is not generally known. Whatever the Fallon men did, they did openly. There was no scuttling about in dark corners, sinning in private and painting themselves virtuous in public. Well, I daresay they concealed a great many depravities, but nothing I have written about them has ever been a secret.”
“To you, perhaps, and a few equally ghoulish vultures who feed on other people’s lives. The scandals would be mostly forgot if you didn’t put them up for sale in every bookstall from here to the Orkneys.” His voice grew dangerously soft. “I had hoped you would be reasonable, Lady Swann. But if you persist with this reprehensible plan, I shall haul you into court on charges of slander and libel.”
“Excellent!” Eudora rubbed her hands together. “More publicity for Scandalbroth. But you will need to prove malice on my part, and that will not be possible. For more years than you have been alive, boy, I have disseminated gossip with an even hand. I can summon scores, even hundreds, of witnesses to testify on my behalf. I am, in fact, a legend, while you are merely a Fallon. But sue away if you must. Should I live long enough for
the courts to work their way through all the briefs and come to trial, you will unquestionably lose.”
Jane knew instinctively that this man was unaccustomed to losing. She observed him closely, and when he raised his eyes to the window directly behind her, she was able to discern their uncommon color. Like clear dark amber, she thought, the irises rimmed with black. She saw, too, the anger that lit them from behind, as if a fire raged inside him.
“I see,” he said to Eudora. “With this book, you crown your pernicious career as a scandalmonger. You indulge yourself with one last triumph before sliding into the grave.”
“I might be offended,” Eudora said with amusement, “if I gave a straw for your opinion. But as I do not, you may take your leave now. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?” Fallon visibly dug in his heels. “And no more rubbish about negotiations in a bedchamber.”
“Do you know,” she replied thoughtfully, “a smart man would be flattering me about now. But then, you are a true-bred Fallon, and no Fallon ever used his wits to advantage.”
The marquess swept his hat from the table. “I am in residence at the Pulteney Hotel, Lady Swann. Contact me when you have a proposition of merit to offer. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court.”
From the door, obviously as an afterthought, he remembered to bow. Again Jane had the impression of a man resolved to do the proper thing, even when it went against his every inclination. And then he was gone in a sweep of greatcoat and a clatter of boot heels against marble tiles in the entrance hall.
“Well!” Eudora exclaimed, looking ominously self-satisfied. “Who would have thought the Fallons capable of breeding such a promising young buck? Proud to his toenails, the new marquess. And handsome, although I expect he’s been in more than one fight, what with that scar on his cheek and the off-kilter nose.”
Jane hadn’t noticed the scar or the broken nose, being more focused on a pair of oddly colored, beautiful eyes and his seething, barely contained energy. It had all but set the floorboards on fire. “Can he make trouble for you?” she asked.
“Oh, he can try. But I expect he’ll soon realize that publicity from a lawsuit is the very last thing he wants. What will he try next, I wonder? It’s certain he’ll not give up so easily.”
Jane began to sort the papers on her desk into piles. She had always thought publication of Scandalbroth a terrible idea, and sometimes felt that Eudora agreed. But enclosed in this house as she was, Eudora required excitement to keep her mind lively and her spirits high. While working on the book, she had revisited long-dead acquaintances and relived the pleasures of her youth.
All along, Jane had hoped she would settle for the achievement of writing the book and stop short of actually sending it to press. But she seemed determined to do so, if only because the scandal would draw more visitors to her door. Eudora thrived on company.
Jane suddenly remembered the hook Eudora had briefly dangled. “You never answered his lordship’s question,” she said. “Unless what?”
“Ah, yes.” Eudora’s eyes glittered. “Come sit here by me, my dear.”
Jane added another log to the fire and pulled up a chair. “You have a devious scheme in mind, Eudora. I can all but taste it.”
“We shall see. It’s true that I am of a mind to stir the pot, but it is far too soon for explanations. What is your opinion of the young gentleman, Jane? And pray, don’t be missish.”
He never noticed me, she thought immediately. He looked right past me, as if I were of no consequence whatever. That rankled more than she was willing to admit, even to Eudora. “His skin is very dark,” she said slowly. “I would guess he has spent the past few years under a hot sun. He is used to being active. A small room, like this one, makes him feel trapped.”
“Precisely. Go on, my dear.”
She closed her eyes, recapturing him in her mind. “He was angry with you, of course, but even angrier with himself for letting it show. He put me in mind of an actor badly miscast in a role but determined to play it out.”
“My impression exactly,” Eudora said with approval. “He is a Fallon to the core, knows it, and cannot brook the idea.”
“Do you mean licentious and corrupt, like his father?”
“No, indeed. But that incredible energy and impatience must be directed somewhere. His predecessor wore himself into the grave with gaming and whoring, and this one may well follow suit. But I suspect otherwise. It is my guess that he is resolved to become as virtuous as they were monstrous. A pity, that.”
“However so? You would have him follow in their footsteps only to provide a new round of Fallon scandals for you to write about?”
“No, no, my dear.” Eudora toyed with the fringe on her lap robe. “But nothing is more repellent than an aspiring saint who takes himself too seriously. A man requires a liberal seasoning of flaws, else he is like to grow critical and self-righteous. Besides, pattern cards make demmed poor company.”
Jane laughed. “Not everyone maintains your exceptionally low standards, Eudora. If the marquess is bent on sanctity, I expect nothing will stand between him and canonization.”
“He will not easily be deflected, that is certain.”
Jane regarded her with foreboding. Eudora had got that febrile look in her eyes, the one that signaled trouble ahead. “I believe,” she said carefully, “that his lordship is best left to make his way however he wishes. Will you consider removing the Fallons from your book?”
“Not at present. Should I yield to one such demand, I must, in all fairness, do the same for others who approach me with a similar request. Very soon, my dear, I’d be left with no book at all.”
And a good thing, too, Jane thought. The history would be of interest, and perhaps of genuine importance, a century from now. But Scandalbroth? She couldn’t fathom why Eudora had chosen to put the book in print. The notorious Lady Swann was already known to everyone of importance, and she cared nothing for public acclaim.
Nor, as she had told Fallon, was money a factor. She had more than she could spend if she lived another six-and-eighty years. Routinely she sent hefty donations to a score of charitable enterprises, and the enormous bequests in her will would endow more than one orphanage.
She had a good heart, Eudora, although she feigned otherwise. Jane had learned of her considerable generosity quite by accident and knew better than to speak of it. But why would a woman who helped so many people have set herself to injure so many others with her book?
Eudora had lusty appetites, a razor-edged tongue, and a shameless fondness for gossip, but an otherwise sterling character. Nobody is perfect, Jane reflected with a gulp. How well she knew!
She glanced up at Eudora, who seemed lost in her own thoughts—or, more likely, in some deplorable plot relating to the Marquess of Fallon. She often boasted that in all her years, after marrying and burying a half-dozen husbands, she had never met the man who could best her. Jane rather thought she’d not given up looking for one, if only for the excitement of vying with a will and intelligence that equalled hers.
Of course, since that was Jane’s own secret longing, she was probably reading too much into Eudora’s intentions.
“I mean to toy a bit with the toplofty Marquess of Fallon,” Eudora announced into the silence.
Oh dear.
“It will do him good,” she continued reflectively. “And since the book is all but completed, I am in need of diversion. Unfortunately, he is too much the fool to let me seduce him, although one night in my bed would be the making of the man.”
Jane chuckled under her breath. In early days she had assumed that Eudora was jesting about her lovers, until the night she cracked her door open and watched an eager-looking gentleman about fifty years of age creep down the passageway to Eudora’s bedchamber. Later a maidservant explained that the gentlemen were compelled to sneak in and o
ut of the house to spare Felicia’s delicate sensibilities. The ancient, loyal companion would pack up and leave if she knew of such goings-on right under her virginal nose.
“But I need to think on this scheme awhile longer.” Eudora leaned forward in her chair to pat Jane’s arm. “It may well be my greatest triumph, if I can put all the ducks in order. By Twelfth Night, Fallon will be dancing to my tune. See if he isn’t!”
“Eudora, sometimes you positively terrify me.” Jane stood, bent over to kiss a papery cheek, and went back to her desk. “Whatever you are up to, please don’t tell me about it.”
“Of course I will not,” Eudora assured her. “That would spoil all the fun.”
Chapter 2
HER ARMS overflowing with parcels, Jane smiled gratefully at the young man who hurried ahead of her to open the shop door. Sweeping his hat from his head, he gave her an exaggerated bow that set her to laughing as she stepped into the bright, cold afternoon.
All London brimmed with Christmas spirit, although it was only the middle of December. Clerks had chatted jovially as they tied string around her packages, fellow shoppers asked her opinion of a length of ribbon or a child’s toy, and passers-by nodded greetings as they dodged one another on the crowded pavement.
Jane caught the eye of a hackney driver, who pulled to the curb where she stood, and was delighted when a tradesman stopped to open the carriage door and let down the steps. Such attention and kindness, she thought as the cab rumbled slowly along the crowded street. This must be everyone’s favorite time of the year.
The closed compartment soon grew redolent with a heady mixture of spicy fragrances. She’d bought packets of ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, raisins, and candied fruits, along with a book of receipts that she was eager to try. Cook surely would not object, so long as she used the kitchen only at odd hours of the day. She meant to have a go at a Christmas pudding, Portugal cakes, and gingerbread men.
