A Fatal Waltz lem-3

by Tasha Alexander

  I rose from my chair and saw the countess smiling at me. “What a disappointment,” she said. “I thought Lady Ashton was quite opposed to ladies being excluded from port. I shall have to soldier on without her, as I have no intention of being exiled to coffee in the sitting room.”

  My face grew hot. I stammered, trying and failing to form a pithy reply. Ivy took my arm. “Lady Ashton is kind enough to accompany me because she knows I cannot do without her.”

  “She is quick, then, to abandon her principles. Perhaps they only hold when she is in the familiar surroundings of her own home. But if one is to be an iconoclast, one must expect to live with some measure of discomfort.”

  “It is an admirable thing to put the needs of a friend before one’s own personal agenda,” Colin said, his gaze fixed on me.

  “I find, Countess, that there are some things more important than blindly following one’s principles. There are situations where the concerns of others ought to take precedence,” I said.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” She looked at Colin as she said this. Before I could reply, Ivy steered me through the door.

  “I can’t believe he ever cared for her,” she whispered as we left. I did not reply, and instead silently wondered how deep his feelings for her had run.

  We entered the great parlor, a room the family used only after dinner and, to my mind, the loveliest in the house. Somehow having escaped Mrs. Reynold-Plympton’s attentions, it had been left in the style of the seventeenth century, curved wood beams crossing the ceiling, and white plaster on the walls at two ends. In the center of the roof was a charming frieze depicting the tragic story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The walls were lined with display cases of beautifully simple blue-and-white china. A soft Oriental carpet covered part of the wide, polished planks of the floor, and chandeliers emitted a soft, flattering light. The only failing was that the room was so cold I wondered if a window had inadvertently been left open. Many country estates are notorious for being drafty, but Beaumont Towers elevated what might have been a failing of architecture to the level of political statement.

  An obliging footman had left on a table the stack of books I’d chosen from the library. I selected one of them and sat on a couch tucked into the inglenook, eager to be as close to the small fire as possible. Soon I was fully distracted by the wit of Aristophanes. I’d brought along my copy of Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s The Doctor’s Wife for Ivy. She sat opposite me, engrossed in the story of Isabel Gilbert, who, by marrying too early, missed having for her husband a man sprung from her dreams—dreams that had been fueled by novels. Robert, no fan of popular fiction, would have found both the premise and the execution unconscionable. A quarter of an hour passed in relative silence. Then another. Then, a commotion in the hall: raised voices—one obviously Lord Fortescue, the other more difficult to identify—the sound of someone striking the wall, and a door slamming.

  Curious, I darted into the hallway, hoping to see who was the object of our host’s ire, but there was no one there. I went back into the parlor, where I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on Aristophanes.

  Ten minutes later the gentlemen finally joined us. The countess entered with Lord Fortescue, who was all smiles. Apparently not all strong-willed women troubled him; his displeasure was selective. Mr. Harrison stood by himself in a corner; Colin was nowhere to be found.

  “Have you settled on a scene?” the countess asked, looking over my shoulder at the book I was holding. The room had lit up around her, her evening gown fashioned from an iridescent silk that clung to the curves of her perfect hips.

  “I think something from The Frogs.”

  “Greek, of course. You’re like an eager schoolgirl. It’s so sweet. But I think you should choose something more modern.” The emerald choker around her neck drew out the green of her eyes.

  “Funny you should suggest that. Do you know the story of The Frogs? The god Dionysus, the patron of theaters, has grown utterly disgusted with the current crop of tragedies being produced in Athens. He decides there’s no hope for modern plays, and that the only thing to do is to go to Hades and bring back to earth one of the great playwrights from what he considers the golden days.”

  “And this is meant to be amusing?” the countess asked, idly twirling one of the dark curls that framed her face. Her hair shone like satin.

  “It’s vastly amusing. When he gets to Hades he sets up a competition between Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. They battle for the title of best tragedian. First—”

  “Oh, please don’t tell me, Lady Ashton. It will make it all the more difficult to sit and watch if I already know what is to happen.”

  “Watch? I’m counting on you to take part. I’d hoped you’d play Euripides,” I said. Being this near to her, I felt utterly inadequate, washed out in the face of her brightness—too thin where she was curvy, my youth and inexperience paling next to her sophisticated wisdom.

  “Is that so?” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Well, perhaps I’ve misjudged you. Even I know that Euripides is the greatest of the tragedians.”

  This brought a smile to my face. It was all I could do to resist pointing out that Euripides, in rather spectacular fashion, lost the contest. Feeling more than a little smug, I excused myself from her and crossed the room to Lord Fortescue, ready to embark on the task given to me by Mr. Harrison.

  “Lovely dinner, didn’t you think?” I asked. “Your wife has quite a flair for selecting menus. The venison was spectacular.” He did not reply. “I’ve given a great deal of thought to what you said to me about marrying Colin.”

  “Have you?” he asked. I stepped towards him, forcing him to back into a corner, blocked from exiting unless I walked away. Mr. Harrison watched us for a moment, then left the room.

  “I’ve heard it said that your daughter aspires to being his wife. If that’s your motivation for trying to separate me from Colin, you should come straight out and say it rather than acting as if it’s a matter of state security.”

  “You’ll do well to keep out of Clara’s business.”

  So Mr. Harrison was telling the truth. I should have known. It was unlikely that he’d conjured up by coincidence the correct name of one of Lord Fortescue’s eight daughters. “And you’d do well to keep out of mine.”

  “Have you considered what I could do to Hargreaves if you continue to insist on marrying him?”

  “I’ve heard it said that blackmail is your preferred method of controlling people. Colin is not the sort of man whose past is rife with fodder for that.”

  “You don’t know him so well as you think. And don’t forget about yourself. Imagine what I might do to you, and what seeing you destroyed would do to him.”

  “I know my own past well enough to feel certain that there is nothing you can hold over me.”

  “It’s not your past that should concern you, but your present. You’re very easily manipulated. Choosing to release Hargreaves from your engagement will be much less painful than the alternative.”

  “Do you mean to frighten me, Lord Fortescue? If so, I must tell you that you’re failing dreadfully.”

  A menacing sound lurched from his throat. I only realized it was laughter when I saw the smile on his face. “You should be frightened,” he said. “I can bring irreparable harm to you and those you care about. Your callous disregard for my power is dangerous.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” I said, more glad than ever that I’d agreed to help Mr. Harrison. Still, I stepped back, uneasy at being so close to this loathsome man.

  “I don’t like your kind, Lady Ashton,” Lord Fortescue said. “You’re too forward, don’t know your place, and refuse to behave like a decent woman. All the talk of modern women that circulates these days disgusts me, and I will do what I can to ensure that people like you do not get what they want. Furthermore, I won’t have you distracting him from his work.”

  “Diplomats’ wives are often as valuable as their husbands. Think of Lady
Elgin—”

  “Hargreaves is not a diplomat. Have you any idea what he does?”

  “Of course I do. Not precise details, but I know that he—”

  “You know nothing. His assignments require things of which a wife might not approve. Close relationships with female counterparts, for example.” Fleshy lips pulled taut across his uneven teeth as he smiled.

  “You mean the countess?” I laughed, but knew it sounded forced. “I’m not jealous, Lord Fortescue. I trust him implicitly.”

  “Do you?” His eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, no small feat given how far the latter had receded. “Then perhaps you are naïve enough to play wife for him.”

  “I can only wonder, Lord Fortescue, if that’s what you think of him, why you would want your daughter to marry him.”

  “That’s quite enough, Lady Ashton. Just keep in mind that you are not safe with me. I know exactly how to deal with you.” He kept talking, but I was hardly listening any longer, remembering instead his earlier comment that I was easily manipulated. Was I being manipulated now? Even though I knew I was doing nothing empirically wrong and that it was my partner in this scheme who had put himself in danger, I could not shake a nagging feeling that there was something I’d overlooked when I’d agreed to this task.

  Air rushed into my lungs the moment my maid loosened my corset. “I don’t know why I let you convince me to be laced so tightly,” I said, drawing a much-needed deep breath.

  “Because you know how lovely that gown looks, madam,” Meg replied. “And it would never fit if you weren’t tightly laced.”

  “Vanity is a terrible thing.” I sighed. But who was I to resist such a delicious concoction of Mr. Worth’s? The narrow silk taffeta skirt was a creamy ivory, the color deep enough to emanate an unmistakable warmth. A layer of the finest lace hung asymmetrically over it, forming a short train in the back. The low-cut neckline was draped with the same lace, topping off a bodice that required a tiny waist. The result was stunning, and further enhanced by a glittering diamond and sapphire necklace. I pulled the matching earrings off and handed them to Meg. “What an evening. How are things belowstairs? Any interesting gossip?”

  “Well…” Meg always liked a dramatic pause before launching into details. “Lord Fortescue and his wife have separate rooms on separate floors. He’s put Mrs. Clavell in the room directly across from his. Ordinarily, she and her husband share, but this time she asked for one of her own. She’s afraid she’s coming down with a cold and didn’t want Mr. Clavell to catch it.”

  “Is that so? She seemed a picture of health all day.” I couldn’t help but smile at the serious look on Meg’s face.

  “You’re across from the Count von Lange, another person who prefers a separate bedroom.”

  “Where’s his wife?”

  “Up on the second floor. The count’s valet, Rolf, says their house in Vienna is in constant upheaval, what with all their lovers coming and going. Morally bankrupt, the Viennese, if you ask me. But Rolf is a very friendly sort of man. Gentlemanlike. Right handsome too.”

  “Where is Mr. Hargreaves?”

  “He’s up a floor, across from the countess.” I raised my arms so Meg could drop a lacy nightgown over my head. “Do you need anything else tonight, madam? Some warm milk to help you sleep?”

  “No, Meg, thank you. Get to bed yourself. Lord Fortescue expects us all to be up early in the morning.”

  After she left, I sat at the dressing table, brushing my hair. My mother insisted on a hundred strokes every night, and although I rebelled whenever possible against most of her rules, this was one over which we never argued. Not because I agreed with her firm belief that I should do everything in my power to enhance my appearance, but because I found the ritual relaxing, an effortless sort of activity that allowed my mind to wander. Tonight, however, I was agitated. Between the countess’s sniping and Lord Fortescue’s attacks, I was beginning to wish I’d stayed home, though I knew I couldn’t have left Ivy to suffer through the weekend alone. Tomorrow offered little hope of improvement. The men would shoot all morning and then begin their political meetings late in the afternoon. I was wondering what I could do to best avoid the countess when I heard a soft tap at the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling a robe over my nightgown and opening the door only a few inches. Colin was still in his evening kit.

  “Are you going to let me in? Or am I to stand here in the hall waiting to be caught?”

  Who was I to resist such temptation? I stepped aside so that he could slip into the room. “You’re terrible to come here like this.”

  “I know.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me, then buried his head in my neck. “I can’t stay long. In another quarter of an hour the great room-swapping will begin, and it wouldn’t do for me to be found coming out of here. But I couldn’t resist seeing you, just for a moment.” Another kiss, then he left me, dizzy, exhilarated, and quite unable to sleep.

  Morpheus eluded me for nearly the entire night, and I was exhausted the next morning, barely registering the change in light when Meg tugged at the heavy dark curtains that covered the windows, letting the sun fill the room. With effort, I raised myself to my elbows, squinting as I opened my eyes. Meg lifted the pillows behind me and I leaned back, accepting from her a steaming cup of tea.

  “Lord Fortescue was awful disappointed by the ladies this morning,” she said, brushing the dress she’d laid out for me to wear. “Mrs. Clavell was the only one of you to come down for breakfast.”

  “What time is it?” I asked. “Have the gentlemen already left to shoot?”

  “They were getting ready to leave when I came upstairs. It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

  “Help me get dressed, quickly.”

  Less than half an hour later I was rushing towards the library, where I hoped Mr. Harrison and Colin would still be waiting for me. The sight that greeted me when I opened the door took me aback, and I slowed my pace as I entered the room.

  “Good morning, Lady Ashton,” Lord Fortescue said. “Did you sleep well? A guilty conscience often makes peaceful rest difficult.”

  “I’ve no doubt you speak from experience,” I said.

  “I’ve had quite enough of your insolence. What were you doing in my room last night?”

  “I wasn’t in your room last night.”

  “It would be best if you didn’t lie.”

  “I’ve no need to lie. Your room is the last place I would ever go.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “You are not good at this, Lady Ashton. How did this make its way to the floor by my bed?” He held up a bracelet: a simple gold bangle that I’d worn the day before.

  “I don’t know. It must have fallen off my wrist.”

  “While you were in my room.”

  “No—” The door opened, and Colin and Mr. Harrison entered the room.

  “What did you find?” Lord Fortescue asked.

  “All of them,” Mr. Harrison said, holding up a neat stack of papers. “They were in her room underneath a copy of the collected works of Aristophanes.”

  “This is outrageous,” I said. “I—”

  Colin raised a hand to stop me, his eyes on Lord Fortescue. “This is nothing but the barest sort of circumstantial evidence. Anyone could have put that bracelet on your floor, and anyone could have put the papers in her room.”

  “Perhaps, but I think the police would believe my version of the story. And I’m certain I could come up with at least one witness who saw her leaving my chamber. I wonder what Sir Julian would make of all this? I’m certain he’d want to run something about it in his paper.”

  “You’ve no more interest in involving the police or the newspapers than I do,” Colin said.

  “Quite right, as always, Hargreaves. Do you think Her Majesty would be interested in hearing my story? Would it cause her to lose faith in her favorite agent?”

  “It’s more likely to shake her faith in her favorite political advi
sor. The papers were in your possession. You should have seen to it that they were in a secure location.”

  “The queen would not approve of your marrying a woman suspected of theft.”

  “It does not become a man of your position to attack a lady. Save your venom for some other adversary,” Colin said. Through all this, Mr. Harrison had remained silent, leaning against a bookshelf, inspecting his fingernails. His jacket hung open, and I saw that he was carrying a pistol under it.

  “Ah.” Lord Fortescue laughed. “So you don’t view her as an equal, just as a mere lady? Can’t imagine she’ll be happy to hear that.”

  “She’s my equal, but your superior. You degrade yourself by trying to insult her.”

  “A devastating observation. Think on it, though, Hargreaves. Can you afford a wife whose integrity is so easily compromised?”

  “I’ve done nothing to compromise my integrity,” I said, my voice strong. “Other than having the poor judgment to converse with you after dinner.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re using the rope I’ve so generously left for you. You’ve let us all witness the danger of women trying to think for themselves. I’ve nothing further to say on this subject for now. But remember, Lady Ashton, that regardless of the opinion of your fiancé, I could use this incident against you. Do not try to cross me again. And when I need something from you, don’t forget that this will become public should you refuse me.” With that, he stalked out of the room, Mr. Harrison following close behind, a cold smile on his face.

  I turned to Colin at once. “I’m so sorry,” I said, and told him the details of my arrangement with Mr. Harrison.

  “A clumsier plan than I would expect from Fortescue.” He frowned and took my hand. “You must be more careful, though. What made you trust Harrison?”

  “His story seemed reasonable; what he was asking of me, nominal.”

  “But what made you think he was trustworthy? It’s simple to tell a reasonable story that is full of lies. Consider a man’s character before you decide to believe him.”