If his presence kept Esmee’s spiteful tongue from lashing out at his sisters, then his discomfiture was worth it. It was suspicious he did not notice the woman’s many flaws during their brief courtship—he was too overcome by his lust to see that Esmee was not the graceful, adventurous lady he’d thought, but a cunning, manipulative viper.
Triston saw that now—it was all he saw when he looked at the woman.
When they arrived at the most fashionable time to be seen, the park was near to bursting with carriages, horses, vendors, and people walking along the paths. The shouts from orange vendors ripped through the air at the park’s gates, and the sound of carriage wheels created a din that echoed through Triston’s head.
A bit of his sisters’ joy returned as they waved to a friend and then greeted a gentleman who sidled up on his horse. Both girls tittered into their muffs when the lord complimented their upswept hair. However, Esmee cut their conversation short and pushed the carriage onward and away from the lord, who only gave notice to Pru and Chastity.
Triston slowed his horse and fell in line behind the carriage, wanting to keep watch over the girls, but not draw untoward attention to himself. People still openly gawked when he and his stepmother found themselves in the same room—as if the ton thought they’d fall back into one another’s arms even though his father, the marquis, had solidly won her hand in marriage.
Either that or they thought the Marquis of Downshire would seek to avenge his wife’s honor by challenging his son.
Triston would admit to anyone who would listen that his father had done him a grand favor—a boon of epic proportions—by stealing Esmee as he had. If anything, Triston now held a measure of pity for his father to be tied to the she-devil.
The beau monde were just as senseless as Lady Downshire if they thought Triston still held a candle of hope for the one he’d once thought himself in love with.
Betrayal had a way of clearing one’s muddled eyesight.
And so, Triston tried to remain unnoticed and yet fulfill his obligations to his siblings.
Lady Downshire waved to a cluster of gentlemen standing alongside the carriage path and called to her driver to halt. The gathering of men slowly made their way over to the Downshire carriage, each offering a greeting to Esmee before turning to be introduced to Pru and Chastity. He recognized three of the men, friends of his father, and all as old as his sire.
What was the woman up to? She was supposed to be securing favorable matches for the girls, but she only seemed interested in settling them with older men who were not up to snuff.
The gentlemen said their farewells when Pru and Chastity refused to converse with them, and the carriage started off once more.
Triston kicked his horse into action and rode up alongside the carriage. He was exhausted, he was bored to tears, and this ride in the park had nothing to do with making certain his siblings met men of high caliber. No, this was another performance for Esmee—a way to show all of London how far she’d risen, and that she would never allow Pru or Chastity to wed above her.
“Lord Gaston may only be a baron, but let me be frank, girls, you will likely not do any better,” Esmee lectured. “And it would be in your best interest to take your Season seriously. Once I am with child, I will be unable to flit about London with the pair of you, and your father has agreed some time in the country will suit us all until the little lord is born.”
The woman’s prattling on and on about giving the marquis another child had grown tiresome over the last few months, and Triston could not trust himself to steel a disparaging retort for much longer.
Triston caught Pru’s eye and shook his head. “Ladies, I fear the day has gotten away from me, and I have another engagement to attend to. I bid you all good afternoon.”
“It was lovely to see you, brother,” Pru called with a wave.
“Thank you for accompanying us,” Chastity said.
“I will be around again soon.” He winked at his sisters, hoping they understood he’d never allow them to be married off to an impoverished baron, nor be relegated to a future confined to their father’s country manor. “Enjoy the rest of your ride.”
When Pru nodded, Triston knew he was cleared to depart. His siblings understood the restraint it took for him to be around Esmee for any length of time, and they did not take offense to his less than regular attendance.
Chapter 6
The wind cascaded across her face, a welcome respite helping to banish the negativity that had come to fill her life of late. She pushed her filly to a trot as the fresh breeze lifted her loose, golden locks. The wind tangled in her tresses, tossing them to and fro, but Edith could care less about the knots she’d have to endure later when her lady’s maid put a brush to them.
If it wasn’t Luci demanding they more diligently pursue Abercorn to expose his misdeed, then it was Ophelia reminding Edith they only had two days before another article was due. If they did not keep up with their pieces, the Gazette would find another gossip columnist to take the place of Mayfair Confidential—and that would mean dire consequences for many young, unsuspecting women who thought themselves smitten with a nobleman, only to learn far too late he kept secrets.
Edith slowed her horse’s pace, allowing her mother and father to gain some distance as she surveyed them. They rode close, their horses almost rubbing against one another, keeping their hands clasped between them the entire time.
They were in love.
Held a deep, undying commitment to one another.
Shared a life unrestricted by lies, secrets, and betrayal.
They told one another everything, traveled everywhere together, and the only thing they cherished more than Edith was each other—and their mutual adoration.
It was something Luci refused to admit existed, and Ophelia was openly skeptical of.
It was the sole reason Edith would not circulate or back a piece not rooted in solid fact.
Edith could not deny what had been in front of her, her entire life.
Love existed. Commitment was not an elusive trait. And with continued communication and openness, a relationship could flourish and last a lifetime.
Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Shaftesbury, were solid, irrefutable proof.
They gave her hope that one day she, too, would meet a gentleman worthy of her affection and trust. Yet, she hadn’t been able to convince Lucianna or Ophelia that every lord was not a cruel, vile man with vices and secrets. If they dedicated a fraction of their time to finding honorable men, then maybe there was hope for all of them.
In the end, Edith was uncertain of Abercorn’s role in Tilda’s death. Until she was certain, either way, she would continue to help her friends find the answers they sought.
The answers, Edith grudgingly admitted, they all desperately needed.
If she turned her back on their mission, she would not only be turning away from her friends, but she’d also be casting shame on Tilda’s memory. They owed it to the girl to find out what had happened to her.
Wherever the facts should lead.
Her head ached at the daunting undertaking she’d agreed to assist Luci and Ophelia with. Her heart hurt for what Luci claimed to have seen; however, her senses demanded they make certain before ruining a man’s life. Tilda dying was tragedy enough. There was no need to further compound things by shouting Abercorn’s name to all who would listen.
Edith followed her parents as the trail they traveled ended, depositing them back on the main carriage path, still cluttered with fancily garbed men and women in pursuit of social endeavors.
A group of finely dressed men in riding boots galloped across the far grass and around the pond toward Kensington Gardens. And a pair of women hopped out of the way in surprise as the men nodded but continued on. On the trail before her, Edith’s parents chatted and laughed, drawing their horses apart to avoid colliding with another horseman. No matter how many times another got in their way, they always drew close once more, their le
gs almost touching as they rode side by side. They continued on, passing carriage after carriage, but Lord and Lady Shaftesbury never paused to speak with anyone.
Up ahead, a familiar set of brown curls came into view, ensconced in a luxurious open-air carriage with forest green material covering the interior. Edith moved her mare a bit to the right to gain a better view of the conveyance and its occupants.
Why she cared she did not know, but she nudged her horse to quicken her pace as the carriage neared. The broad shoulders and chiseled jawline she’d expected to see across from the two women was not present; instead, Edith was greeted with the back of a midnight-haired woman with a white hat on her head. Over the rear of the carriage, she noted the woman’s cloak was also white—a clear contrast to the brown jackets over puce gowns of the women nestled on the seat across from her. The woman in white looked one way, but the other females were focused on something in the opposite direction.
Edith followed their stares, her eyes settling on the figure she’d hoped—did she truly long to see the man again?—to see in the carriage. He sat tall upon his horse with his chin raised in confidence. He was certainly a horseman with the way he deftly held the reins.
Her stomach fluttered. If she’d been standing, and not astride, her knees would have crumbled beneath her.
Lord Torrington’s shoulders were every bit as wide as his horse’s hindquarters. It seemed impossible a horse as large as the man existed, yet, Edith could not deny they were a perfectly matched set. The mount was eighteen hands tall if he were one.
If she’d thought Torrington dashing and powerful in evening garb, he was pure strength and dominance astride in riding attire. It was easy to picture the man and his horse charging into battle to fight off opposing soldiers, never pulling back in fear or hesitation.
With a quick wink to the women, Torrington tugged the reins and spurred his mount into a gallop toward the park exit with nary a look for the raven-haired woman.
Edith glanced toward her parents and back at Torrington’s retreating frame.
She’d promised her friends a new story—which meant Edith needed to find that new story.
Lord Torrington was most certainly the man to give her one. She had no doubt he kept a secret…and she would uncover it.
He was dashingly handsome, obviously wealthy, and born into the grandest circle of society; yet he was unwed. Why was that?
Edith suspected this was where his secret began—and possibly ended.
“Mother!” she shouted above the noise of slow-moving carriage wheels and horse clopping. When her parents turned toward her, Edith continued, “Lady Ophelia and Lucianna have arrived.” She pointed to a cluster of horses, carriages, and people all fighting for entrance and departure from the park. “May I continue on with them? They will see me home after.”
Edith had never made a habit of lying to her parents—in fact, they rarely gave her an excuse to have to lie.
Her father glanced toward the exit, trying to spot his daughter’s friends.
“Please, Father?” she begged. “If I hurry, I can catch them.”
She could catch him. Lord Torrington was nearly at the gate. If he managed to slip past the crowd and out into London traffic, she’d never find him.
“Edward.” Her mother smiled, setting her free hand on her husband’s arm. “Allow her to go. It is only a ride in the park, not a night at the opera.”
When her father nodded in agreement, Edith called her thanks before sharply pulling her reins and spurring her mare into a fast trot. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her parents had continued their ride, their attention safely on one another. Edith kicked her mount into a gallop until she reached the exit, desperately trying to keep Torrington’s brown hair in sight. It proved rather easy as his mount stood taller than most carriages—and with his added height, the man was in no way inconspicuous. However, Edith needed to be far more subtle in her pursuit if she hoped to follow him unnoticed.
The man would not reveal his secrets if he suspected he was being followed.
As she navigated the crowd, Edith felt for her journal and nub, both securely in the pocket of her gown. Today would be the day she gained some truly worthwhile information to share with Ophelia and Lucianna. It had been nearly a week since she’d discovered the clandestine meeting between the duke, Montrose, and his fair-haired nymph alone in his opera box. It did not appear so scandalous upon first glance until one noticed the woman’s bosom was exposed—and Montrose was set to wed Lady Cavendish in a short three weeks.
She only hoped anything she could find about Torrington was enough to keep her friends occupied and away from Abercorn.
Edith continued to follow Torrington down endless London streets. Her only moment of hesitation was when he crossed the river toward Vauxhall—and ventured into an area known for its crime, poverty, and unsavory entertainments. The notion of turning around and admitting yet another failure was not an option.
As she expected him to keep going—maybe he suspected he was being followed, taking them both on a wild chase—Lord Torrington turned down a narrow lane and slowed his horse to a walk as he maneuvered around a cart loaded with textiles ready for market.
She paused at the end of the lane. There was no conceivable way she could follow him down the narrow path without him noticing her. He must be close to his final destination because it did not appear the lane, truly no more than an alley, led anywhere beyond.
Torrington dismounted his horse about half a block down and flipped the reins to a waiting footman. Why would a servant be waiting outside a building in this part of town?
Once he entered, Edith determined it safe to journey into the alley.
A sign painted on the front of the building Lord Torrington had entered gave the name of the establishment as Langworth Inn. The exterior was well kept, the entrance cleared of filth and rubbish. Windows lining the second and third floor were polished clean with their draperies pulled tight. It was in stark contrast to the neighboring buildings, one with not a solid windowpane and another missing its door. The livery who’d taken Torrington’s horse had disappeared down an even narrower alley to the side of the inn.
“Ye lost, miss?” A woman pulling a cart of textiles looked up at Edith, her brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t be think’n this be the place for ye.”
Edith looked back to the inn Torrington had entered—she certainly did not belong here. It only begged the question: what was Lord Torrington, a viscount, doing in this part of London?
He might very well be inside for an afternoon tryst, maybe with a ladybird from Vauxhall. She’d learned recently gentlemen of all ages enjoyed an afternoon with a lovely woman. Imagines of Abercorn and the dark-haired woman sprang to mind, the way her bare rump had been pressed to the windowpane, the devious smile upon her lips, and the laughter she saw brim from the duke. Was that what Torrington was doing at this very moment, enjoying a few brief hours wrapped in a woman’s arms? Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears, and her vision clouded for an instant. Edith filled with the urge to kick something.
It was also possible his presence here had nothing to do with a woman and everything to do with business, more accurately, a sham business dealing.
From the appearance of the building, the owner did not lack funds for upkeep, but how could an inn this deep into London remain a profitable endeavor? The lane did not see a heavy flow of traffic, nor was it close to the docks. Could it be the house of an opium den? She’d never seen one, but the Gazette had published a story about the insurgence of opiates and those who found pleasure in smoking the nefarious substance. Torrington didn’t appear a gentleman who partook in anything stronger than a tumbler of scotch or a pint of ale.
However, there was only one way to find out…she would follow him into the inn.
But first, Edith had to decide if she truly wanted to know Torrington’s secrets.
With a nod, she glanced back at the woman with the cart, still paused before her
. “I am not lost, but thank you all the same for your kindness in asking.” She gave the woman a reassuring smile. “I am waiting for the servant to take my horse, and then I will be going into the Langworth Inn.”
Edith wasn’t sure if the words were meant to convince her nothing untoward would happen to her if she dared dismount her horse, or if it was to appease the woman’s curiosity.
“Very well, miss,” she replied before taking hold of the cart handles. “Ye be careful.”
“Thank you.” Edith watched the woman pull the heavy cart down the lane before dismounting and peering about. The servant hadn’t returned, and she doubted she would be inside long. The street was deserted except for the woman headed to the market.
Edith quickly dismounted her mare and tied the reins to the post outside the inn, knowing full well she could be without a horse when she returned, but she’d promised her friends new information for Ophelia to write about—and she was desperately close to getting it.
There was no turning back now.
The entrance of the inn was as deserted as the street outside. No proprietor waited to greet new customers. No sounds traveled toward Edith from deeper inside the inn. The place certainly was not seeking people looking for accommodations. Highly odd for a place labeled an inn.
A bark of laughter came from the door bordering the stairwell leading to the floors above. Edith inched toward the partially open door, careful to keep her footfalls quiet, and then she peeked into the room. Circular tables were arranged about the space with four stools at each. On the far side was a long bar with an assortment of clear decanters behind it.
A taproom. Edith had never seen an actual taproom before, let alone entered one.
And today was not the day to explore—she was here for a purpose, and neither of the two men in the room were her objective. One was an older gentleman with his sleeves rolled past his elbows as he poured a pint of ale for a lanky, blond young man who sat on a stool at the long bar.
The Disappearance of Lady Edith (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 1) Page 5
