Despite her sardonic words, the earl’s scholarly friend did not go unrecognized, noted Arianna. The flicker of surreptitious glances and low whispers followed their progress through the milling crowd.
“Miss Kirtland?” A sandy-haired gentleman with a saber scar cutting across his left cheek flashed a hesitant smile. “Good heavens, it is you! How nice to see you.”
Sophia looked a little surprised at the warm greeting. “M-Mr. Bellis,” she stammered, inclining her head a fraction. “H-how are you?”
“Oh, a little worse for wear,” he said wryly, touching the puckered red slash. “But quite happy to have exchanged my sword for a plow. Father shuffled off his mortal coil last year, so I am now running the estate.”
Recalling her manners, Sophia quickly made the introductions. “Lady Saybrook, this is Michael Bellis, a childhood friend from Somerset.”
“I heard quite a lot about your husband during the Peninsular campaign, milady,” said Bellis politely. “He was quite the hero.”
“And so, it appears, were you,” said Arianna, eyeing his scar.
Bellis colored. “Oh, no, not at all. I simply stumbled into the path of flying steel.” Looking uncomfortable, he quickly changed the subject. “Might I engage you for the next set of dances, Miss Kirtland? George and Charles would be delighted to make their greetings, and you remember my cousin Suzanna . . .”
Arianna gave Sophia a discreet nudge to remind her of the reason they were both here.
Friend and foe—we must find a way to discern who was whom.
“Do go on,” she urged. “I see Constantina waving her walking stick at me. No doubt there is another distant relative I must meet. We shall meet up again later.”
The dowager was indeed tapping a summons, and for the next hour, Arianna found herself marched around the room and introduced to a select group of Society gossips.
Apparently males gabbled just as much as females, reflected Arianna, for several gentlemen were included. After dutifully dancing with several partners, she finally managed to rejoin the dowager and catch her breath.
“Lord Bertram is even a worse dancer than I am. I have several squashed toes to prove it.”
“My feet are aching a bit too,” replied Constantina. “So if you will excuse me, I think I will go have a seat with the Dragons . . .” She gestured to a group of turbaned matrons sitting next to a large marble urn festooned with flowers. “And catch up on the latest on-dits.”
“By all means,” replied Arianna. “I shall make my way to the refreshment table. My throat is parched from so much talking.” The blaze of the chandeliers, the clink of crystal, the trill of laughter, the kaleidoscope of colors—all her senses were feeling a bit overworked.
How people spin through this night after night is a mystery to me—the superficiality would soon squeeze the life out of me.
“Ah, but I’ve a far more pressing mystery to solve,” she said under her breath. She stilled her steps for a moment to watch the dancers twirl into a waltz. More and more of the faces were looking familiar . . .
A flash of scarlet caught her eye but just as quickly disappeared in a swirl of blues and greens. Shifting her gaze, she saw Sophia at the far end of the dance floor, partnered by Henry Lawrance.
Ha.
With an inward smile, Arianna edged through the crowd and positioned herself to intercept the couple as soon as the music ended.
Two can tiptoe through a dance of deception, Mr. Lawrance.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Kirtland.” Arianna waited for the last trilling of the violins to fade before feigning a note of surprise. “I was hoping that I might find you.”
“Lady Saybrook,” acknowledged Sophia. Maintaining a mask of bland politeness, she asked, “Are you acquainted with my partner, Mr. Lawrance?”
“I don’t believe we have been introduced,” murmured Arianna.
“Mr. Lawrance, allow me to present the Countess of Saybrook.”
“Charmed, madam.” Lawrance stared for a moment before bowing to brush his lips to her hand.
Over his tousled curls, Sophia quirked an inquiring brow.
In silent answer Arianna gave a tiny nod at a shadowy recess behind an arrangement of potted palms.
“How odd that our paths have not crossed before, Lady Saybrook,” he said on rising. “Being the frivolous fellow that I am, I rarely miss a party here in Mayfair, and yet I’ve never seen you among the guests.”
“How can you be so sure?” she countered, deciding to test his sangfroid.
Lawrance leaned in a little closer. “Because I don’t easily forget a beautiful lady.”
“A very disarming answer.” Arianna slid back a step. “Are you always so clever?”
“How should I answer that?” he asked. “If I say yes, then I appear a pompous ass. And if I say no, then I appear a witless fool.”
“Then perhaps it is wise to remain silent,” answered Arianna coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to speak with Miss Kirtland.”
Lawrance smiled but didn’t budge. “Not at all.”
“In private,” she added, batting her lashes. “We have some feminine matters to discuss.”
At that, he had no choice but to gracefully withdraw.
“Tell me, how well do you him?” asked Arianna, drawing Sophia behind the screen of swaying fronds.
“Lawrance? I’ve known him since we were adolescents, riding neck and leather over the hills of Somerset.” Her face screwed in thought as she considered the question more carefully. “As you see, he has an easy manner and tends to play the role of careless fribble. But beneath the bon mots and bantering flirtations, I think he is a good deal sharper than he lets on.” The slivered shapes of the leafy shadows made her eyes appear to narrow. “Why do you ask?”
Arianna quickly explained about the encounter at Chittenden’s soiree, and her chance discovery of Lawrence’s interest in aeronautics.
“You think he may be Renard?”
“I am not leaping to any conclusions yet,” she replied. “However, I do think he merits careful scrutiny. Sandro is making inquiries through his contacts. Now that you are aware of our concerns, it would be helpful if you could see what information you can tease out of him.”
Was that a frown flitting across Miss Kirtland’s face? The uncertain light was making it difficult to gauge her reactions.
“Lawrance seems to like you,” went on Arianna, “so he may be coaxed into making a slip of the tongue.”
Sophia looked away. “Nonsense. We are simply familiar with each other; that is all.”
“It’s more than that,” she pressed. “I am used to reading the subtle shifts of expressions on a man’s face—at times I depended on that ability to save my life. Lawrance admires you. And though you may think me callous or conniving to suggest it, that is something a female may turn to her advantage.”
“Y-you may possess that skill,” said Sophia in a halting voice. “I certainly don’t.”
“Trust me, you have far more power than you imagine, Miss Kirtland.”
“I doubt—” Sophia suddenly broke off in midsentence, the shadows accentuating the fact that in the space of a heartbeat, her face had gone as pale as ashes.
“What is it?” Arianna turned to see what had caught Sophia’s eye.
A tall, broad-shouldered officer in a scarlet tunic dripping with gold braid had just joined a trio of ladies standing at the edge of the dance floor, and his elaborate greeting set off a flutter of fans and a tittering of giggles.
Clearly enjoying the attention, he threw back his head and joined in the laughter.
Bloody hell. Arianna sucked in her breath.
It was Sophia who whispered the name. “Stoughton.”
“You know him?” asked Arianna.
Her companion continued to stare straight ahead in unblinking silence.
“Miss Kirtland . . . Sophia.”
Sophia finally turned her head, but a glassy look still glazed her eyes.
Shaking off her own shock, Arianna took Sophia’s arm and drew her back through the archway and past the card room.
“This way,” she ordered, turning down a dimly lit corridor. “Let us find the withdrawing room and splash some water on your face.”
Sophia stumbled along unresisting, as if in a daze.
Spotting a half-opened door, Arianna stopped to peek inside. It appeared to be some sort of game room—there were several backgammon boards stacked atop a storage chest, and a chess set was arrayed on a black-and-white checkered table, waiting for someone to come along and make the first move.
“In here,” she ordered, pulling the door shut behind them and turning the key in the lock.
“W-what . . .” The fog seemed to be clearing from her companion’s head.
Arianna shoved her down into one of the leather armchairs and rushed to the sideboard, where she quickly poured a large measure of brandy.
“Drink!” she ordered.
Sophia obediently gulped down a long swallow. “Arrgh!” The color came rushing back to her face as she sputtered a choked cough. “Good God, that is ghastly stuff.”
“Yes, but it clears the cobwebs from your head.” Picking up a poker, Arianna stirred the banked fire to life. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, much.” Sophia took a tiny sip this time, and it seemed to go down more smoothly. “Thank you.”
“De nada,” she murmured in Spanish, then added an unladylike oath in the same language. “Whenever you are ready, would you kindly explain what the devil that was all about?”
* * *
Getting no answer to his soft knock, Saybrook eased the latch open and let himself inside the surgery. All was still inside, save for the usual creaking of the ancient beams and the scurrying of mice within the woodwork. The silence seemed to indicate that Henning was asleep. And yet, on approaching the building, he had seen the hint of a candle burning behind the window draperies, which stirred a flicker of unease. An untended flame could so easily tip over in the breeze, and with the assortment of chemicals lying around . . .
He moved quietly over the stone tiles of the entrance hall and down the short passageway to the private parlor. Sure enough, there was a faint spill of light showing from beneath the closed door. Pressing his hand to the rough planking, he gave a small push.
“Sandro!” Henning spun around in his chair, a look oddly akin to guilt spasming across his features. “I didna hear you come in.”
“I should have knocked louder,” said Saybrook. “But I didn’t wish to wake you if you were sleeping.” He glanced at the other man half-hidden in the surgeon’s shadow. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I’ll come back another time.”
“Nay, nay.” Henning gave an airy wave. “William was just leaving.”
The earl couldn’t help but notice that with the other hand, the surgeon was surreptitiously sliding some papers from his blotter into his desk drawer.
“Gud night te ye, Major.” The man gave a ragged salute as he sidled by and melted into the darkness.
“One of the riflemen from the Third Regiment of Foot Guards,” explained Henning with a smile that seemed a trifle forced. “Needed a salve for a boil on his leg. Nasty things, boils are, especially if left untreated.”
The floorboards groaned as the earl shifted his stance. “Indeed,” he answered blandly, taking a packet from his coat pocket. “I, too, have medicines to dispense. Arianna sends an assortment of chocolate wafers and almond confections. She and Bianca are concerned that you don’t starve during your convalescence.”
“Tell Lady S that I—and my bread box—are always happy to receive her prescriptions.” The surgeon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “But I would guess ye didna come here at this hour simply to deliver chocolate.”
“Correct,” said Saybrook. “I thought you might be interested in accompanying me on a late-night visit to a man of science.” He dropped the packet on the desk. “But never mind. I can see that you have other concerns on your plate.”
“Hold yer water, laddie.” The surgeon rose and hastily tugged his rumpled coat into place. “As if a bloody scratch would keep me from lending ye a hand.”
“I don’t want to tax your strength, Baz.”
Henning dropped his gaze and began rooting through the pasteboard boxes piled on his desk. “Auch, I’m tough as nails.” A coil of string and a small scalpel went into his pockets, followed by a pocket pistol and an extra charge of powder and bullets. “There—best to be prepared for trouble whenever I venture out with you.”
The earl didn’t smile at the jest. “On second thought, it might be best if I went alone.”
Their eyes met.
“I’ve drawn you into enough trouble,” Saybrook added softly. “I need to pursue this lead, for it may bring me closer to Renard. But be assured I haven’t forgotten your nephew or the fact that his death is a mystery that needs to be resolved.”
A gruff exhale stirred the air between them. “Trouble is rarely simple, laddie, or rarely black-and-white. It wasn’t your fault Angus made decisions that put him into danger. Ye must, in good conscience, do yer job. As must I.”
“I trust that those two things are one and the same, Baz. And that we will do them together.”
Henning remained silent.
“Patience, Baz,” counseled Saybrook. “As for tonight, I don’t expect trouble—”
“Aye, but ye never know when it will creep up and try to bite ye on the arse,” replied his friend. “So ye need someone ye can trust to be watching yer back.”
Saybrook lifted a dark brow.
Ignoring the implied question, Henning added a narrow roll of linen to the other items, then blew out the candle. “Let’s be off.”
The scuff of their steps was quickly lost in the scrabbling sounds of the back alleyways. The earl led the way through a series of narrow streets to a small square of shabby but respectable buildings grouped around a small, unpruned garden.
“Who are we here to see?” asked Henning, gazing around at the darkened windows.
“A chemist by the name of Brynn-Smith. He works on gases used to propel the big balloons used for manned flight.”
The surgeon chafed his hands together as a frigid gust swirled through the night. “Is he working with Cayley?”
“That,” answered Saybrook, “is what I intend to find out.”
14
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Coffee Crunch Bars
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
11/4 cups firmly packed dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons instant espresso powder
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl to blend.
2. Using an electric mixer, beat the butter and sugar in another medium bowl until blended, about 2 minutes. Add the espresso powder and almond extract; beat 1 minute.
3. Stir in the flour mixture in 3 additions, mixing until just absorbed after each addition. Stir in the chocolate chips and almonds (dough will be thick).
4. Turn the dough out onto an ungreased, rimmed baking sheet. Using your hands, press the dough into a 12-inch square. Pierce all over with a fork at 1-inch intervals.
5. Bake until the edges are lightly browned and be
ginning to crisp, 45 to 50 minutes. Cool on the baking sheet for 1 minute. Cut into 48 bars. Immediately transfer to a rack to cool. The bars will crisp as they cool.
“Devil,” repeated Sophia. She swallowed hard. “That is an apt word for such a . . . creature from Hell.”
Arianna remained silent, waiting for her to go on at her own pace.
“Though perhaps I am maligning Lucifer.” Sophia gave a sardonic grimace. “For the Devil makes no bones about who he is, while Stoughton cloaks his evil behind an array of gaudy medals and gold braid.”
“Would you like some more brandy?” Arianna asked, for in the guttering light of the candelabra, it seemed that her companion’s face had once again gone as cold and white as Carrara marble.
“No.” A sigh. “I—I have never talked about this with anyone.”
“If you would rather not . . .”
“You did say it was important to know each other’s vulnerabilities.” Sophia’s mouth quirked. “On second thought, perhaps I do need another small splash of brandy to loosen my tongue.”
Arianna wordlessly refilled her glass.
Lifting it to the red-gold flames, Sophia slowly spun it between her fingers, watching the slivered shades of amber dance across the darkened wall. “Oh, it is hard to know where to begin. I was a fool, I suppose.”
“Aren’t we all at times?” said Arianna. “If it makes you feel any better, I have done more than a few things that would make your cockles curl.”
Sophia flashed a wry smile. “Do females have cockles?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Arianna grinned back at her. “Look, why not just spit it out? Whatever it is, I promise you that I won’t fall into a fit of megrims.”
“Very well.” Another sigh, another swallow of spirits.
Arianna was beginning to wonder whether she might have to find a footman to help carry her companion out to the carriage.
“To make a long story short, when I was seventeen I fell in love,” began Sophia, “with a young man my father deemed beneath our family’s notice. He wanted me to marry money, a title—all the trappings that would give him the power and prestige he thought he deserved. You see, he had squandered his own inheritance, and my grandfather refused to go on paying for his profligate spending. Younger sons were expected to make their own way in the world, but my father thought that grossly unfair.”
Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) Page 18
