by Julia Kelly
She’d refused. She was a grown woman, widowed once, and she wasn’t going to pretend that her body hadn’t reacted the way it had. Whether what they’d done had been ill-advised was another question entirely.
The carriage shuddered to a stop, and Lavinia parted the leather curtains to peer up at Wark’s home. She’d been there so many times before, but it looked different at night. Candles blazed in every window—a shocking expense that must have been for the benefit of those attending the dinner party—and the whole house glowed with a soft yellow light. It looked deceptively inviting—romantic, even—but she had to remember that beyond the black front door lay a group of people looking to harm. It was her job to do everything she could to stop them.
Lavinia accepted a particularly tall footman’s help down the short steps of the carriage. At the door, Mr. Donaldson, the Warks’ butler, bowed to her and intoned a respectful “Good evening, Mrs. Parkem.” If the man thought anything of greeting his mistress’s dressmaker as a guest, he gave nothing away.
There was a moment of slight embarrassment when a footman, rather than a maid, took her things with fumbling hands and nearly dropped her coat. She could’ve sworn she heard Mr. Donaldson hiss softly through his teeth, but when she glanced at him he was all decorum.
“You are expected in the drawing room. If you’ll follow me,” said the butler.
But before they could turn, Wark marched into the entryway. “I’ll take things from here, Donaldson.”
Wark held out his hands to Lavinia, and as she took them, she was infinitely glad that convention dictated she wear gloves. The last thing she wanted was to touch this man’s clammy skin again, but she buried those thoughts under the force of her brightest smile.
“You found the carriage, I see,” said Wark.
“It was an unexpected treat,” she forced herself to lie.
He threaded her hand through his arm and patted it. “If I had my way, you’d never walk anywhere again.”
Tempted though she was to roll her eyes, she managed to make a sound that probably passed for delight. Either way, Wark seemed pleased.
“Come,” he said, steering her into the drawing room. “I want you to meet my guests.”
Andrew needn’t have been worried that one of her clients might be in attendance that evening. True to Wark’s word, other than his mother, the entire room was filled with gentlemen—five, to be exact. They all turned when Lavinia entered, and she had to fight not to squirm under their scrutiny.
“You know Mr. Douglas,” said Wark with the briefest of nods to his mother’s admirer.
“Mrs. Parkem, you are as radiant as a summer’s day,” said Douglas, clasping her hand and dropping a kiss on it.
Lavinia couldn’t miss the flash of annoyance in Mrs. Wark’s eyes, but after administering to her, the man dutifully went back to the older woman’s side.
“Mrs. Parkem, may I have the pleasure of introducing Mr. Arthur Rothesman, Mr. Callum McDonough, Mr. Dylan Parris, and Mr. Alan Harrison,” Wark said, steering her away from his mother with a touch on the small of her back.
She dipped into a deep curtsy, which had the added benefit of knocking Wark’s hand away. “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure.”
Mr. Harrison stepped forward to bend a bow over Lavinia’s hand. “It was a pleasant surprise when Wark told us we were to be joined by a lady other than his distinguished mother tonight, but we weren’t expecting anyone as lovely as you.”
Our of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Wark’s mouth tighten at this little speech.
“I hope I’m not interrupting any important business,” she said, looking from man to man. All but Parris smiled back at her.
“Not at all, Mrs. Parkem,” said McDonough, his accent thick with an Inverness burr.
“Mr. Wark said you were all business associates?” she asked.
“And now the beneficiaries of Wark’s good nature,” said Rothesman, with a slight smile.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Wark here’s secured all of us invitations to the ball in honor of the Prince of Wales’s visit,” said Rothesman.
“One of the benefits of his committee work,” said Harrison with a laugh.
Parris threw the man a hard glare. “It’s certainly an honor.”
Every nerve in her body tingled. The prince’s ball. If all these men were Wark’s closest associates and they were all attending the ball, certainly that would be the best plan for them to unfold their plot—whatever it was.
She swallowed and fought to keep her chin up. “What a happy coincidence. Mr. Wark informed me just last week that he had been selected for the committee after another man was unable to fulfill his duties.”
Rothesman and Harrison exchanged glances.
“Yes, it was unfortunate the man fell ill so suddenly,” said McDonough shortly.
She was certain now that the former committee member had been removed by Wark and his associates. The only problem was that she didn’t know how to get at any more information without out and out asking, and she could imagine how that conversation would go.
“Mr. Harrison, are you planning to do something rather destructive and altogether illegal around the time that the Prince of Wales will grace the city with his presence?”
“Why yes, Mrs. Parkem. However did you know?”
“Just womanly instinct. If you could please detail what dastardly deeds you plan to do and how, that would be a great help.”
She wished Andrew were here. It was impossible, but it would’ve been a great comfort to be accompanied by someone who’d done this sort of spy work before.
He and Gillie had prepared her, coming to her workshop, sorting buttons, cutting lengths of trimming, and winding bobbins while quizzing her on Wark’s associates. Yesterday night, when he was leaving, she’d thought Andrew might try to kiss her once again. When he hadn’t, the tension holding her shoulders taut had released. She’d told herself it was a relief when instead he’d simply paused at the bottom of the stairs to bid her be careful at the dinner. He’d reminded her that her role was just to find out who it was that Wark associated with, but in this house, surrounded by these men, she felt certain she could do more.
She wanted to get into Wark’s personal papers. A man like him would have a study, probably some grand, leather-filled affair from which he ran his empire of woolen mills and rental properties. She suspected he’d have a safe but that he’d also have a desk where he locked away all of his most important things, because a man of his arrogance would never believe a business rival would ever be able to storm the innermost sanctuary of his kingdom. But he wasn’t expecting a woman like her.
If she could just find a few minutes alone, she could do a great deal more damage than by just watching and listening. Of course, finding a way to steal away in the middle of a dinner would be nearly impossible, but nothing worth doing was ever truly easy.
“I would love to hear more about this committee,” she said, catching Wark’s gaze. “I know a schedule has been published in the newspapers, but it must be exciting to know before anyone else does what exactly the celebrations will entail.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you, Mrs. Parkem,” Douglas jumped in.
“Are you also on the committee?” she asked.
“Mr. Douglas is an acquaintance of the Duke of Livingston, one of the prince’s personal friends,” said Mrs. Wark, as her son pouted at being upstaged.
“His grace insisted that it was my metal that be used for the hull of his new steamer yacht, and we discovered a mutual admiration of hunting and arms,” said Douglas.
The butler reappeared to announce that dinner was ready to be served. The men looked to their hostess for guidance.
“Gentlemen, we rarely stand on ceremony in this household, so I hope you won’t mind if my son shows you in to dinner. I’d just like to have a little word with Mrs. Parkem,” said Mrs. Wark.
“Is anything the mat
ter, Mother?” asked Wark rather sharply.
The older woman waved her hand before her. “It’s nothing more than a question about my dress for the prince’s ball. Mrs. Parkem is making it, you know.”
Harrison glanced at her again with new questions in his eyes. Lavinia knew that Mrs. Wark had made mention of her profession to try to embarrass her, but she refused to be cowed. She was a dressmaker. There was no embarrassment in that.
“Of course,” said Wark, before nodding toward the door. “You all remember the way.”
The men shuffled out, leaving Lavinia alone with her client and now hostess.
When the door was shut, Mrs. Wark arched a brow and addressed her. “What are you about, Mrs. Parkem?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Why are you here tonight?”
“Your son kindly invited me.”
“I know,” said the lady, her voice cold. “I thought it was quite extraordinary when he asked for an invitation to be sent to Victoria Street. I was so surprised, I checked with him that he hadn’t meant for me to send one of your dressmaking bills on. He assured me it was no mistake.”
“I’m so glad,” said Lavinia.
Mrs. Wark walked over to a gold metal cart on which sat a decanter filled with whiskey and a few glasses. She removed the crystal stopper and lifted the vessel before pouring out a measure. Glancing over her shoulder at Lavinia, the woman asked, “Will you join me?”
She nodded.
“I don’t make a habit of drinking whiskey in front of my son,” said Mrs. Wark as she poured. “He doesn’t approve of a woman drinking spirits—even a Scotswoman.”
“If his opinion matters so much, then why do it?” she asked when Mrs. Wark handed the glass to her.
“Because sometimes it’s easier to give a man his way rather than argue with him. Tonight, for instance,” said Mrs. Wark as she poured another measure. “It was easier to agree with Harold and invite you here rather than try to defy him. Do you know why?”
“No,” she said, taking a burning sip.
Mrs. Wark threw back her whiskey in one gulp. “Because men are rather like children with toys. If you want them to stop playing, you can’t take the toy away from them. That only makes them want it more. But let them play as long as they wish, and they’ll soon discard it for something newer.”
The slight was clear as could be, but rather than anger a cool calm fell over Lavinia. “Mrs. Wark, it was not my intention to insult you by coming here tonight, but I can see that you have every intention of insulting me. I would caution you against such a rash action.”
“Rash?” Mrs. Wark laughed. “You’re just a trumped-up dressmaker and you wish to caution me?”
Lavinia set her whiskey down carefully on a sideboard. “I may just be a dressmaker, but I seem to have your son’s ear. It may only be for a moment but that is long enough.”
“You think you could divide my son and me?” the woman asked.
She shrugged. “Perhaps I could, perhaps I could not. Is that really a question you want to test?”
“Harold is devoted to me, and my good opinion matters. While he may be diverted by you for a time, he would never stoop so low as to form any kind of understanding with a woman such as yourself. He has higher standards than that.”
As though paying Lavinia attention was equivalent to slumming. The gall of the woman.
“If that’s the case, why invite me to this dinner to meet his associates?” she asked.
Mrs. Wark sniffed. “Clearly you preyed on my son’s goodwill and wheedled your way into an invitation.”
“At one time his intention may have been for a mere bit of fun, but recently he’s been hinting at a more long-term arrangement without any encouragement from me. If I were to show some modicum of interest, I have no doubt I could be Mrs. Wark in the space of mere months.”
Lavinia had no idea if there was any truth behind the lie, but it was enough.
“You wouldn’t. You couldn’t,” said Mrs. Wark, her horror clear on her face.
Lavinia shrugged again. “Who knows what I would do? As you so astutely pointed out, I’m just a trumped-up dressmaker. Now, I believe we’re being missed at your dinner table.”
When she was at her hostess’s shoulder, Lavinia stopped as though a thought had just struck her. “Oh, and Mrs. Wark, if you threaten me again, not only can I promise you that every dress you have on order including your ball gown will suffer from a set of unfortunate delays, but no dressmaker in Edinburgh will outfit you again. I would be surprised if your son allowed you to continue your current volume of buying if you had to travel to London for your gowns. Shall we join the gentlemen?”
It was a petty threat, but an effective one, for Mrs. Wark blanched and then silently followed her.
Lavinia had her first victory of the night.
Chapter Eleven
BETWEEN THE SOUP and fish courses, Lavinia struck on a plan. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was a plan nonetheless, and she’d take inspiration as it came. The conversation at the table centered mostly around the rising price of coal and the difficulties the three mill owners present—Wark, Parris, and Rothesman—were having with a group of reformers who dared to suggest that their workers might be healthier if they had a shortened working day. Douglas joined in from time to time, but he spent most of the dinner making quiet asides to Mrs. Wark. No one seemed to expect Lavinia to contribute much. Normally this might’ve bothered her, but that left her to do what she suspected Andrew would’ve done if he was in her situation and play out various scenarios in her head, trying to predict the outcomes should they arise. Really, though, what she needed was decent timing and the reliability of human behavior to make this plan work.
After a pair of footmen cleared the mutton away, nearly crashing into one another as they worked, Mrs. Wark instructed that the next course, pheasant, be brought in. Lavinia drew in a deep breath. This was her best chance, while there were still enough courses to come that the dinner would continue on for some time. If she was going to act, it was going to have to be now.
She reached for her wineglass and took a sip. Then, making her hand tremble, she struggled to set it back on the table. Douglas noticed immediately.
“Mrs. Parkem, are you well?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said shakily. “I just— Forgive me.”
She made as though to stand, pushing her chair back from the table. The men all jumped to their feet as she collapsed, sweeping her remaining knives to the floor as she went.
She fell harder than she’d expected, hitting her head on the rounded edge of the table. It throbbed something fierce, but she kept her eyes screwed shut and forced her body to go limp. If this was going to work, she needed them to take her off to a quiet part of the house. She needed them to believe that she’d fainted dead away.
“Mrs. Parkem!” she heard Wark shout amid a great scraping of chairs and clattering of men’s shoes against the floor. In a rather dispassionate voice, Mrs. Wark told the butler to send a footman for a doctor while someone crouched next to her.
A hand—Wark’s, if she had to lay money on it—rested on her shoulder and she was shaken gently. The motion ground one of the steel bones of her corset into her hip and nearly made her gasp.
“Mrs. Parkem,” said Wark, trying to rouse her.
“Best to give her some space,” said a man she thought was probably Harrison.
“He’s right, my dear,” said Mrs. Wark, her tone still dry. “You don’t want to crowd the woman when she’s fainted.”
“We should get her up off the floor though,” said Douglas. “Is there a sofa she can rest on?”
“The yellow bedroom,” said Wark immediately. “Take her there.”
“Really, Harold, she’ll be just fine in the drawing room. The yellow bedroom hasn’t been aired for guests,” said Mrs. Wark.
But her son either didn’t hear her or didn’t care to pay her any heed. “Donaldson, tell the maids
to bring water and cloths for the cut on Mrs. Parkem’s head.”
So that was why her head hurt so badly, she thought as she felt herself being lifted up into the air. She kept her body slack so that her head lolled away from the man’s chest and her arms fell away.
“Mother, perhaps you would like to assist me in attending to Mrs. Parkem,” said Wark.
There was a hesitation, but at last she heard the scrape of a chair against the parquet wood floor. “Of course. If you gentlemen will excuse me.”
Lavinia bumped along as she was carried through the house and up a flight of stairs. She heard a door open and a rush of cool air hit her.
“Why isn’t there a fire in this room?” Wark barked.
“Because I told you, it hasn’t been opened for guests. No one is supposed to be using it, Harold. Really,” said his mother.
“When I announced that we would use the yellow bedroom, I expected that someone would have gotten it into his bloody skull to jump to it and prepare it. What is the point of employing so many footmen if not a one is trained to do his job?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Footmen do not lay fires or air bedrooms.”
“The only thing ridiculous is that we keep four of them. Not even your Mr. Douglas’s Duke of Livingston has so many regularly employed. And not a one is any use right now when Mrs. Parkem has fallen ill.”
“She’s just fainted,” said Mrs. Wark. “She probably laced herself too tightly. Who knows when the last time she wore an evening gown was.”
If she hadn’t still been pretending to be unconscious, Lavinia might have arched a brow at that, true though it was.
She was just being laid out on a soft surface she could only assume was a bed when Donaldson’s voice came from a few feet away. “Here are the water and towels that you requested, sir. The doctor has been sent for.”
The sound of enamel clicking against wood and the slosh of water was followed by Mrs. Wark. “There. You’ve done more than enough. You can go back to your guests now.”
“No,” said Wark. “Her wound needs to be attended to. And build up that fire.”
