by Rose Lerner
That stung. She’d wanted so much to protect Helen from scandal, and all Helen had seen was that she was afraid of scandal herself. She’d organized Helen’s life according to the same stupid rules that governed Improving Tales.
Once, Phoebe had believed in progress and possibilities and risks. She meant to believe in them again. “What about you, Ships?”
Helen put a hand on her stomach. “I could always go somewhere else, if I had to.” She was so young. She couldn’t go off somewhere by herself and raise a child.
Phoebe would deal with that when she came to it. It was terrifying, but maybe it was time to let Helen reach for a real happy ending. “It’s up to you,” she repeated. “I’ll stand by you no matter what you choose.”
Helen straightened her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”
Phoebe nodded, unpinning her rosette and dropping it on the floor. Helen set her heel on it and ground it into the stone floor, looking more cheerful and sure of herself than she had in weeks.
“What about Mama?” Phoebe asked. “Do you want to tell her?”
Helen faltered. “Do you think I should?”
“People in this town care what she thinks,” Phoebe said. “If she leaves, it might sway a vote or two. It might not, and I don’t think we can be sure she’ll keep it to herself. And then there’s Jack. The same goes for him. What do you want to do?” Don’t tell them, she thought. Don’t tell them. It isn’t safe.
“I don’t want Jack to vote for him,” Helen said, in almost a pleading tone.
“I don’t either.” She had to make sure Helen understood the risks. “But he could make a scene. Or he could tell his wife. She’s a Tory. This is valuable information that could change the course of the election. It’s up to you, sweetheart. If you want to tell them, I’ll be right there with you. Just remember, it isn’t cowardice to protect yourself.”
Helen laughed. “You don’t want me to tell them, do you?”
No. “I want you to think about what you want.”
Helen’s lips twisted. “If I’d done that earlier, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess. But I was thinking about what he’d want, and whether he’d be angry. I’m so frightened, Phoebe. I’ve been so frightened.”
“I know, Ships. And if you want to just slip away, now—”
“You don’t understand,” Helen said. “I can’t go on like this. I have to feel strong again.”
“Nick, that piece you wrote for the Intelligencer was wonderful,” Lady Tassell said.
“Thank you.” He ought to be pleased that his mother was proud. But he couldn’t feel anything but annoyed and self-conscious that she’d read his article. He didn’t mind it being in the paper for half the county to see, but the idea of his mother reading it still made him squirm.
She turned to Tony. “Maybe he should have written your speech.” Tony stiffened, shooting Nick a resentful look.
“Mother, Tony is quite capable of writing his own speech.”
Lady Tassell gave a dissatisfied frown. “It lacks conviction.”
“So does Tony,” Ada muttered.
“He can’t possibly lack conviction as much as I do,” Nick said lightly.
His mother regarded him thoughtfully. “So I would have said. But that article— Where did they go?”
Nick, grateful her attention had been distracted, went back to seeing how many shop signs he could read at this distance.
She swept forward and leaned out over the low wooden wall that separated their part of the platform from the voters’, gaze searching the crowd. “I made a deal with her, and she and her pretty sister disappear just as Tony is about to give his speech? I don’t think so.”
Nick froze.
Tony took her elbow. “Mama, just let them go. It doesn’t matter.”
“Tony, they have influence with the voters in this town,” Lady Tassell said severely. “And look, there go her mother and Mr. Sparks, who have more. With his Tory wife—oh Lord, and Dromgoole’s election agent. This is a disaster. Where are they going?”
Nick could have told her that Phoebe and Miss Knight had gone into the church five minutes ago, but he didn’t. “Let them alone.”
“Let them alone?” Lady Tassell was incensed. “Wait here, Tony. I’ll take care of this.” She started down the wooden steps.
“Mama, no!” Tony hastened after her, with a last vicious glance over his shoulder at Nick. “This is all your fault.”
What did Tony mean by that? It doesn’t matter. Phoebe’s not your concern anymore. But even after ten full verses of Childe Harold, he hadn’t pulled back or distanced himself in the slightest. He went after them.
In a crowd, no one noticed his limp or made allowances. He made his way as best he could, not doing so badly until a matron in an enormous orange-and-purple bonnet turned unexpectedly, jostling him so hard he fell. Pain shot through his leg.
Gritting his teeth, he stood and dragged himself the final ten feet. Bracing himself to pull the heavy door open hurt.
“Phoebe, what happened to your rosette?” Mrs. Knight was asking when he got inside. “Honestly, you wouldn’t lose things so often if you’d only pay attention.”
“I took it off,” Phoebe said. “Lady Tassell, I’m giving you your money back. All except fifty pounds. I already gave it to Mr. Moon, for the freedom of the city. You would have bought him that anyway.”
She’d given away fifty pounds. And she was giving back the rest. Why? His heart pounded. Had she changed her mind? Did she want to marry him after all?
Lady Tassell gave her a strained smile. “This isn’t about the money. Or the other things I promised you. Your party needs your support. Please, come back outside.”
“I don’t need the other things, either, now.” Phoebe took a deep breath. “And we won’t be coming back outside.” Miss Knight was deathly pale, clinging to her sister’s arm as he’d never seen her do, but her face was resolute. What the devil was going on?
“I don’t know what the Tories have promised you, Mrs. Sparks, but you cannot rely—”
“Mama,” Tony hissed. “Come away.” He threw a desperate look at Phoebe and her sister. “Please. We needn’t lower ourselves by haggling with these people—”
“Tony! Where are your manners?” Lady Tassell snapped. Tony actually took her by the arm and tried to drag her away, but she yanked free.
The fox-faced Tory agent looked entertained but confused. Miss Knight was trembling, her wide eyes fixed on Tony. And Phoebe—Phoebe alternated between watching her sister and shooting Tony glances of such vitriolic hatred they rocked Nick back on his heels.
Oh, God.
“Tony,” he said harshly. “Tony, tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Lady Tassell asked. “Will one of you boys kindly tell me what is going on here?”
“Shut up, Nick.” Tony’s voice was low and intent.
Nick felt sick. His brother—his little brother—he couldn’t wrap his mind around the enormity of it. Lady Tassell, evidently, could. Her jaw dropped.
“Edward Anthony Fitzhugh Dymond,” she began, drawing a deep breath.
Nick looked at Mr. Sparks and his new wife, unabashedly confused and curious. Mrs. Knight and the Tory obviously didn’t know, either.
“A little discretion, if you please, Mother,” he rapped out in his officer voice. Phoebe shot him a grateful look. He felt the beginnings of an emotion coiling in his chest. He wasn’t sure yet which one.
Lady Tassell actually subsided, nodding. “Tony, we’ll discuss this later,” she said through her teeth. Tony blanched. “Your brother, at least, is a gentleman.”
Enlightenment dawned on Gilchrist’s face. The Tory agent glanced between Tony and Miss Knight, eyes widening as he realized what this could mean for his party. Phoebe, seeing it, looked devastated. Damn it all to hell.
“Miss Knight,” Lady Tassell said, “I would love for us to become better acquainted. May I call upon you tomorrow? And Mr. Gilchrist, if I mig
ht speak with you—”
To Nick’s surprise, the young man stepped forward and put his arm around Miss Knight’s shoulders. “This young lady is my future wife,” he said. “Please don’t call; I don’t much care for her consorting with the Whig leadership.” Miss Knight stiffened, and Lady Tassell raised her eyebrows as if to say, Too late for that. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how rude his mother was. Gilchrist screwed his face up and squeezed Miss Knight’s shoulders in apology for his poor choice of words.
“Then you have no plans to make this public?” Lady Tassell said.
“None,” Gilchrist said firmly. Miss Knight leaned against him, just a little.
“Splendid,” Lady Tassell said. “I will, of course, be happy to contribute to the infant’s—”
Gilchrist smiled blandly. “No. You won’t.”
Lady Tassell shrugged. “Congratulations, my dear,” she said to Miss Knight. “I’m glad things have worked out well. I’ll still call on you before I leave town, if your overbearing young man will allow it.” She turned and swept from the room. Before following her, Tony shot a warning glance at Miss Knight, who shrank back fearfully.
Nick saw red. He barely waited until they were outside to grab Tony, turn him round, and slam him against the wall hard enough that his head cracked against the stone. He recognized the feeling in his chest now. It was rage. At every single damn person in his life, including himself.
Chapter Thirty
“Helen, has this Tory coxcomb been letting you dangle all this time?” Jack demanded. “I don’t think much of a man who—”
“He isn’t the father,” Helen said softly.
Mr. Gilchrist shrugged. “If we’re married when it’s born, I will be.”
Mrs. Knight had taken all this time to absorb what was happening. Now she crossed her arms, giving Mr. Gilchrist a watery glower. “Preening Tory peacock. How do you even know this man, Helen?”
Helen gave her a pleading look. “Mama, I can keep the baby.”
Phoebe couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Knight had treated her like a criminal, and here she was, crawling back for approval.
Mrs. Knight was silent for long moments. “He isn’t—well, men set store by such things, you know.”
“My aunt raised me, myself,” Mr. Gilchrist said. “I’ve always thought she loves me as much as her own children. Babies, don’t you know—God must have designed them express. If they weren’t so infernally sweet-looking, they’d have a hard time getting food. And then, if it were mine, we’d have to worry about it having a terrible pointy chin.” He watched Helen, trying to look confident.
Helen glowed. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. I—I never thought I’d be this happy again.”
Mr. Gilchrist lightly ran his fingers over the orange and purple ribbons in her braided hair. “I’d like to get these out.” But he didn’t muss her hair, Phoebe noticed.
“Does he have a name?” Mrs. Knight asked.
“Reginald Gilchrist at your service, madam.”
Mrs. Knight held out her hand, and Mr. Gilchrist bowed low over it, kissing the air an inch above her glove like an old-fashioned courtier. Mrs. Knight eyed him suspiciously—but Phoebe could see her softening. “Helen, he’s a Tory.”
“I noticed, Mama,” Helen said with a small smile, running her finger along the inch of Mr. Gilchrist’s bright pink-and-white waistcoat that showed below his coat. “Don’t worry, you can give our children as many pamphlets as you like.”
Mrs. Knight’s eyes brightened with tears. “Oh, my baby girl, getting married!” She pounced on Helen in exactly the way Helen hated, squashing the carefully arranged linen fall of her fichu. Helen let her.
“So who is the father?” Jack demanded.
“How could you?” Nick’s fists tightened in Tony’s coat. “You knew all this time? You abandoned her?”
Tony’s eyes flew to their mother, over Nick’s shoulder. Nick slammed him against the wall again. “Look at me.”
“Nick, that is quite enough,” Lady Tassell said furiously. “The pair of you are about to lose us this election. Tony, I had credited you with some judgment. Evidently I was too generous.”
“Judgment?” Nick said incredulously. “Judgment? The pair of us? He—he—” People were watching. He couldn’t say aloud what Tony had done. Tony had known their mother would help Helen, and he’d obviously threatened her to keep her quiet. “He sacrificed decency for your good opinion. That’s not ill judgment. That family has been going through hell, you selfish, despicable—”
“She seduced me,” Tony said desperately, still looking past Nick to Lady Tassell. “Who knows if the child is even mine?”
Nick was suddenly afraid of what he would do. He forced his fingers to unclench from Tony’s coat and leaned against the church wall, trying to breathe through the fury filling his lungs. He’s your little brother, he reminded himself, but at the moment he couldn’t quite remember why that mattered.
“Mama, you have to believe me. I doubt I was even her first—”
Jack Sparks erupted from the church just in time to hear those words. He called Tony a truly impressive name and hit him square in the jaw with one of his enormous fists. Another massive swing sent him crashing to the ground, where Sparks straddled him and dealt a few more heavy blows. “I’ll kill you,” he growled, the ring of sincerity in his voice. Tony struggled, landing a punch or two, but he was obviously outmatched. Nick tried not to feel deeply satisfied by that.
Helen Knight burst through the door, sobbing and holding her fist to her mouth. “Jack, please!” Behind her tumbled Gilchrist, Mrs. Knight, and last of all Phoebe, trying to maneuver the heavy door and the new Mrs. Sparks’s wheelchair. Nick inched his way along the wall and held the door for her, setting his jaw against the pain in his leg. She shot him another grateful look. He turned away.
“Stop it, Jack,” she called. “You’ll be jailed for assault. Think of the fines!”
“Jack, please,” his wife added sharply.
It had absolutely no effect. Sparks roared and hit Tony in the face again. Everyone in a ten-foot radius was watching now. Miss Knight looked petrified, her eyes darting wildly around the crowd.
Nick put his fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. “Gentlemen,” he roared in his best officer voice. “Desist at once. You are making a spectacle of the ladies.”
Sparks froze, turning his head to glare at Nick. It was a somewhat frightening glare, but at least he was distracted from Tony. Nick met his eyes coolly. The key was looking absolutely certain you’d be obeyed. “Hand me my stick, will you? Then get in the church. Now.” He jerked his head imperiously.
Sparks reluctantly climbed off of Nick’s little brother. Tony gave a feeble moan, and Lady Tassell rushed forward to feel his jaw and nose. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think anything’s broken. You’ll just give your speech, and then we’ll go home and put a steak on your face and—”
Ada broke through the first row of spectators. “What—? Tony?”
“Church.” Nick snatched his stick from Sparks’s hand, put an arm around Ada’s waist, and hustled her into the church himself. Inside, she looked around—at Tony’s battered face, Jack’s scraped hands, and sobbing Miss Knight. Ada was no fool.
“You son-of-a-bitch.” She slapped Tony across his bruised face. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Lady Tassell, I didn’t mean you,” she added with angry insincerity.
“Me?” Tony demanded, reaching into his mouth to feel a tooth. “He attacked me. I ought to call the constable.”
“I knew you had a mistress in this town,” Ada said, her voice choked. “I just didn’t think it would be a respectable virgin. I didn’t think you’d make a scene at the hustings. You’re determined to humiliate me. It’s not my fault you asked me to marry you, Tony.”
“It’s not my fault you said yes!”
Nick’s eyes instinctively went to Phoebe. Her face was suffused with incandescent anger; she was clearly about to boil over.
“What did you tell her to get her in bed, I wonder?” Tears slid down Ada’s flushed cheeks. “I doubt you said she was too plain to keep a man’s interest any other way.”
Gilchrist took Miss Knight’s hand. “You are all laboring under an insulting misapprehension. I must ask you to immediately cease speaking in such terms of my fiancée.”
But Miss Knight stepped forward, her eyes on Ada. “He told me not to be a spoilsport. He said I ought to know what a temptation my looks presented. I think—I think you’re very pretty.”
Bile rose in Nick’s throat.
The fox-faced little Tory drew himself up. He wasn’t very tall, but it was with a great deal of dignity that he said, “Name your friends, Mr. Anthony.”
Lady Tassell dropped her son like a hot potato. Tony stumbled and almost fell, but Lady Tassell was already sweeping over to Helen. “You poor girl. Why didn’t you come to me? Apologize at once, Tony.”
“Because he said if she did, he’d ruin her reputation,” Phoebe burst out, and rounded on Tony. “You selfish, vicious, weak…” Even though Nick had known it was coming, it still turned his stomach. “You don’t deserve to live, let alone sit in Parliament!” She trembled, her face gone all blotchy.
“Name your friends,” Mr. Gilchrist repeated.
“Mr. Gilchrist,” Miss Knight said. “Don’t, please.”
“There’s no need,” Lady Tassell said. “Tony will apologize.” She turned and looked at Tony.
Tony wobbled where he stood. His eyes were bright and desperate, and his skin, where it was not already beginning to bruise, was very pale. He looked to Nick for support. Nick couldn’t move. “I’m sorry,” Tony said, sounding terribly remorseful. “Miss Knight, I didn’t mean to—”
“Is that supposed to be good enough?” Phoebe demanded.
“Phoebe, keep your voice down,” Mrs. Knight interjected.
“Don’t tell me to keep my voice down! None of us will ever vote Orange-and-Purple as long as you’re running,” she told Tony.
Gilchrist led Miss Knight away into one of the pews and sat beside her, her hands in his, talking quietly.
