A Poisoned Season

by Tasha Alexander

  “Tommy?” I asked gently.

  “Lord Pembroke.” More sobs. “She has sent him a letter.”

  “Did you have an understanding with him?”

  “Nothing official, of course. But I love him so dearly.” As eldest son of the Earl of Westbrook, Pembroke stood to inherit one of the finest estates in the north of England as well as a respectable fortune. He was the sort of man mothers ordinarily longed for their daughters to catch.

  “Je suis très désolée, chérie,” Cécile said, putting her arm around Isabelle’s heaving shoulders.

  “Does your mother know that you’re here?” I asked.

  “No.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You were always kind to me when I was little, though I know I was a terrible bother. I so admire you, Emily. I know we haven’t seen each other much since your marriage and…well…since the viscount died. I’m sorry.” She sobbed again. “I’m making a dreadful mess of this. Everyone says that you believe ladies shouldn’t be forced to marry against their wishes. My friend Clara wasn’t allowed to go to Mrs. Brandon’s luncheon last week because you were to be there. Her parents were afraid you’d convince her to break her engagement.”

  I had no idea who Clara was, or why she would want to break her engagement, but I hated to think that someone had refused an invitation of Ivy’s simply to avoid me. “I shall write your mother a brief note, telling her that you are with me. You may stay here tonight if you wish. But then—” I stopped, knowing that there was little more I could do for her. Davis sent one of the footmen to deliver the note and wait for a reply. Lady Elinor was relieved to learn where her daughter was, but her words revealed little sympathy for the girl:

  I will send a carriage for her in the morning and expect to find that she is willing to accept the arrangements that I have made for her.

  Margaret, who had arrived in the midst of all the excitement, was outraged. “I can’t believe you would entertain the notion of supporting her mother in this,” she said, pulling me to a quiet corner of the room.

  “What can I do, Margaret?”

  “Send for Pembroke.”

  “And then what?”

  “They could go to Scotland.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “I have no idea what Lord Pembroke’s intentions are.”

  Although she had not heard us, Isabelle echoed Margaret’s request. “Emily, I must see Tommy. Can you help me?”

  Much as I hated to see her forced into a marriage, especially to Charles Berry, I did not want to be party to her ruin. How unfair of her mother not to let her tell Lord Pembroke herself, to say good-bye to him. I thought how incensed I would be if my own mother had done such a thing. Then I thought of Colin. If someone forced me away from him I would want—need—to see him one last time.

  “All right, Isabelle,” I said with a sigh. “We will bring Lord Pembroke to you, but you will have to be patient while I arrange it.” I sent a maid to draw a hot bath while Cécile led Isabelle upstairs.

  “What will you do?” Margaret asked. “Can Colin help?”

  “He’s at his brother’s in Richmond. We’ll send for Jeremy instead and ask him to collect Lord Pembroke. You should write to him, Margaret. No one will think anything of his receiving a summons from you, and it will add nicely to the rumor of your growing attachment to each other. Don’t say anything specific about why you want to see him. It will be best to have as little of this as possible in writing.”

  Davis dispatched the footman again, and in short order Jeremy was standing before us. “Brilliant!” he said when I told him our plan. “Pembroke will be eternally grateful. He’s quite taken with the girl, you know.”

  After Jeremy departed to collect Lord Pembroke, Isabelle and Cécile returned to the library. Isabelle, dressed in one of my lacy tea gowns, looked much better composed after her bath and could hardly stop talking about the merits of the man she loved. Soon after we had eaten a light supper, the gentlemen arrived. Isabelle rushed to Lord Pembroke, who looked pleased, though a bit embarrassed, at this public display.

  “Em,” Jeremy began, taking my arm. “I understand you have a collection of Greek vases in your library. Would you be so good as to show them to me?”

  “I suppose so,” I said, noting that Cécile and Margaret had already fled the room and feeling not altogether comfortable with the notion of leaving the couple entirely alone. Jeremy gave Pembroke a jaunty salute and pulled me out the door.

  “Having second thoughts about your role in the corruption of the youth of England?”

  “Not exactly. I just don’t want to leave her in a situation that could cause her more harm than good.”

  “Don’t worry, darling. Pembroke’s half-terrified and is not about to do anything improper. They’ll have a kiss, and a good cry and all will be forgotten in the morning.”

  “Is he quite in love with her?” I asked.

  “As much as any gentleman might be.”

  “Will he ask her to go to Gretna Green?”

  “I don’t think so. He made it clear to me that he’s not interested in courting scandal.”

  “Then perhaps Isabelle is better off marrying Charles Berry. Pembroke can’t be much devoted to her if he’s willing to stand by and watch her marry another man.”

  “You are a romantic, aren’t you?” He paused before the door to the library. “It’s quite fetching.” We entered the room, where Margaret and Cécile were in the thick of a game of chess. Jeremy sat beside Margaret, commenting on her every move. I pulled She by H. Rider Haggard off a shelf. With effort, I forced myself to follow the adventures of Ludwig Horace Holly and the exotic queen, Ayesha, She Who Must Be Obeyed, though all the while I was wondering if Lord Pembroke loved Isabelle enough to take her to Scotland. When an hour had passed, I put down the book, marched back to the drawing room and knocked loudly on the door, waiting a few moments before opening it. Pembroke, who looked very rumpled, was pacing furiously in front of the fireplace. Isabelle was crying harder than ever.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but I think that it’s best if—”

  I did not need to finish my sentence. Pembroke grabbed Isabelle’s hand, kissed it with great emotion, and ran from the room. Isabelle looked as if her heart was shattered. She buried her face in a pillow she found on the settee and continued to sob. I sat next to her, gently rubbing her back. Cécile came in and said nothing for several minutes. At last, she pulled Isabelle from her supine position and began to speak in a very serious tone.

  “What did Lord Pembroke say to you?”

  “He told me I should marry Mr. Berry. I thought he loved me. How could he ask me to marry someone else?”

  “He wants to protect you from scandal,” I said, knowing full well that he was at least as concerned for himself as he was for her.

  “I feel like such a fool. I thought he would beg me to go to Gretna Green.”

  “And would you have?”

  “Of course I would.” She stopped crying. “So Mr. Berry is forced upon me, and dreadful though that is, I know there is only worse to come, for someday my dear Tommy will have to marry, too. Would that I might die before having to see that.” The tears began to flow again.

  “It may not be for some time,” I said, trying to encourage her. “Young gentlemen are rarely eager to settle down. When at last it happens, you may find that you’ve quite forgotten Lord Pembroke.”

  “I shall never forget him, and for that my husband will suffer. He will never have my affection.”

  “There are many such marriages, Isabelle,” Cécile said. “You do not have to let yourself be miserable. Give yourself over to grief tonight, but no longer. After that, you will have to make your own happiness.” I remembered Jeremy’s comment about us being able to reach a mutually agreeable understanding. What a dreadful way that would be to live.

  5

  I’M SO SORRY, MADAM,” THE MAID SAID, WIPING UP THE TEA SHE HAD spilled on the table.

  “Don’t
think on it another moment, Lizzie.” The girl, newly hired by my housekeeper, seemed a bit nervous at finding herself part of such a large household. “I spill it myself more often than not and wonder why people insist upon serving hot tea in a heavy silver pot. It seems to me that whoever pours is doomed to fail.” Ivy watched the maid, waiting to speak until she had left us alone.

  “You are far too nice to your servants,” she said.

  “Lizzie’s only been here a week or so. She’s constantly going to the wrong rooms, showing up where she’s not wanted, bringing me things that I haven’t asked for, pouring tea when I ought to do it myself. I haven’t the heart to scold her, though. She’s so very young, and Mrs. Ockley is convinced that she’ll do well once she’s settled.”

  “She must learn to be competent as quickly as possible,” Ivy said as she fiddled with the cup in front of her. She raised it to her lips, then returned it to the saucer without taking a sip. “I hardly know how to bring this up. Of course it is only a false rumor, but I fear…” Her pretty cheeks flushed pink when her eyes met mine.

  “Oh, dear. What have I done now?”

  “Have you and Colin quarreled?”

  “Of course not. If we had, I would have ranted to you about it immediately. You know that.”

  “Well…Lady Elliott told my mother she has heard that you and Jeremy have been spending a considerable amount of time together.”

  “Jeremy is here quite often, but only to give the appearance of courting Margaret.”

  “Rumor has it that their relationship is intended only to hide that which he has with you.”

  “That is ridiculous,” I said.

  “I know it is. But several people have noticed that Colin has not been seen with you often lately, something that seems to add veracity to the story.”

  “Colin is immersed in his work. Furthermore—”

  “Yes, but Emily, you are gaining a reputation as an eccentric who would prefer to spend her time buried in the library instead of on more…er…feminine pursuits.”

  “Excellent. I long to be eccentric.”

  “You know that I fully support your studies, but I do wish you would, perhaps, temper your approach to the Season. Would it be so awful to play the society game, just for a few months?”

  “I never thought I would hear such criticism from you,” I said. Ivy looked as if she would crumple. “Don’t be upset, dear. I’m not angry.” I was unable to continue, as Davis opened the door and announced Jeremy.

  “I’m to meet Margaret here,” he said, dropping into a chair after greeting the two of us with perfect politeness. “It’s exhausting arranging these clandestine meetings for public consumption.”

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” I said. “I saw the two of you riding yesterday.”

  “Capital girl, Margaret. Loads of fun.” He rested his chin on the gold handle of his walking stick. “I can think of plenty worse ways to spend a Season.”

  Ivy frowned but did not comment. The door opened and Davis reappeared, this time bringing Colin with him.

  “What did you think of that dinner last night, Hargreaves?” Jeremy asked as I handed Colin a cup of tea. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such awful soup.”

  Colin laughed. “Lady Cranley would be horrified to hear you say that.”

  “Fear not. I told her that I’d never had its equal, and she took it as a compliment.”

  “You men are dreadful,” Ivy said. “I hate to abandon you to them, Emily, but I must go see to the invitations for my ball.”

  “When do you expect Margaret?” I asked Jeremy when Ivy had left.

  “I thought she’d be here by now,” he replied, refusing another cup of tea.

  “It’s not like her to be late,” I said. “I wish I had known she was meeting you here. I would have asked her to come early so that she could help me with my Greek.”

  “Ah, Emily and her Greek,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I’m glad someone can be entertained by such pursuits.”

  “I adore it and will not tolerate your teasing me about it.”

  “I’m not teasing,” he protested. “You know that I have been one of your greatest admirers ever since you proved you could run faster than me.”

  “It was a necessary skill, or I wouldn’t have been able to escape you when you chased me with—what was it—frogs?”

  “Mmmm, yes, frogs. Not one of my finer moments.”

  “I suppose I can forgive you your youthful exuberance.”

  “You are as generous now as you were when you were five,” Jeremy said.

  “What is troubling you with your Greek, Emily?” Colin asked, giving Jeremy a brief but pointed look. “Perhaps I can be of some use.”

  “Beware, Em. A Cambridge man is rarely of any use,” Jeremy said.

  “Mr. Moore has left me with a difficult passage, and I don’t quite understand the grammar,” I said.

  “Why don’t you show me?” Colin asked. I walked to my desk and pulled out a pile of papers and books.

  “Oh, dear,” Jeremy said. “Not the lexicon. That’s my cue to leave.”

  “But what about Margaret?” I asked.

  “She can’t expect me to wait all afternoon,” he said. “Tell her that she has wounded my heart and that I am unlikely to recover.”

  “I’ll pass along the message,” I said with a laugh, giving him my hand to kiss before he departed.

  “Margaret was never going to come,” Colin said when we were alone. “He’s using her as an excuse to see you.”

  “What gives you that idea? Have you been listening to idle gossip?”

  “Gossip? It takes nothing beyond ordinary powers of observation to notice that Bainbridge is captivated by you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s more expert at avoiding romantic entanglements than even I am.”

  “You’re not back to avoiding romantic entanglements, are you?” he asked.

  “Not when they involve you.” How easy it was to lose myself in his eyes.

  “Show me your Greek,” he said. We bent over the text, and Colin carefully explained the grammar to me. His arm brushed against mine, and my heart quickened. He squeezed my hand and returned to the book before us. “The Greek Anthology is marvelous. One can find a passage appropriate for nearly any situation in it. This is one of my favorites.” He flipped through the pages and then read aloud, first in English, then in Greek. “‘I know that I am mortal and ephemeral; but when I scan the multitudinous circling spirals of the stars, no longer do I touch earth with my feet, but sit with Zeus himself, and take my fill of the ambrosial food of gods.’” The rhythmic sound of the ancient language always moved me, and I watched him closely as he spoke. When he finished he gently touched my face. “I think, Emily, that you are my ambrosia,” he said, almost in a whisper. I dropped my pencil.

  “I could grow rather fond of this method of study. Perhaps we should make a habit of it,” I said.

  “What would Mr. Moore say?”

  “If you would tutor me yourself, I’d have no need for Mr. Moore.”

  “There is much I long to teach you,” he murmured against my neck. “But I fear we are far too easily distracted for you to learn much Greek with me as your guide.”

  “Such is my misfortune,” I said, turning my head towards him. Before I could bring my lips to his, he pulled away, straightened his jacket, and brushed his hair back from his forehead.

  “You’ll notice that Margaret has never arrived,” he said, tugging at a curl that had escaped from my pompadour. “Watch out for Bainbridge.”

  I stayed home that night, happy for a quiet evening with Homer. Cécile was at a ball, and knowing that she would be out extremely late, I took my book to bed and soon fell asleep reading. Once again, something disturbed me while I slept, and I awoke around four in the morning, stunned by what I saw. My copy of the Odyssey still lay on my bed, but in it had been placed a single long-stemmed pink rose. Resting on top of the book was a small package and a not
e. I felt a strong breeze and watched the curtains, which I’d replaced since the burglary, billow. The window had been locked when I went to bed; now it was open.

  All at once the darkness of my room was terrifying. Was I alone? Or was the intruder hiding, watching me? Summoning all the courage I could, I lit the lamp beside my bed. The light revealed nothing immediately, and I was too afraid to do a thorough search. I tapped on Cécile’s door, but she did not answer. She had not yet returned home. I started to reach for the bell but did not want to wait alone for my maid. Rushing upstairs to the servants’ quarters, I pounded on Davis’s door.

  “Get Mr. Hargreaves at once,” I commanded. My butler did not hesitate, closed the door so he could dress, and was ready to leave the house in fewer than three minutes. My appearance in the servants’ hall had caused quite a commotion. Lizzie poked her head out her door and shrieked when she saw me; soon the entire household was awake. I followed Davis downstairs where I sat on the staircase, clutching my knees to my chest, my back pressed hard against the railing as I accepted, but did not drink, the glass of brandy my maid had handed me. Meg was at least as upset as I was, and I considered offering her some brandy of her own.

  Sooner than I could have hoped, Colin burst through the door, Davis right behind him. “What has happened? Where is Cécile?” The moment I’d explained the situation to him, he raced up the stairs, two at a time. Davis organized the footmen, who began to methodically search the house. I knew they would find nothing; the intruder was sure to be long gone. I returned to my bedroom, where I found Colin staring at the note, the rose flung carelessly on the bed.

  “Have you read it?” he asked.

  “No.” I glanced at the text as he read:

  “Would I were a pink rose, that fastening me with thine hands thou mightest grant me grace of thy snowy breast. Bloody hell.” He looked at me. “Forgive me.”