by Sally Orr
A moment of uneasy silence followed. Finally, he straightened and burst out in laughter.
The three women joined him, and they all laughed together.
After regaining his composure, he shook his head and bent over to pick up the small collection of items on the pavement. He then gracefully handed each piece to the correct owner, followed by a deep bow.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss…”
“Goddess,” she said, looking entirely pleased with herself.
“And I’m Miss Widow,” her companion added.
Her friend nudged her arm. “Miss Widow Maker, dear.”
“Yes, I make widows.”
He chuckled and doffed his hat. “Ladies.” Once on his way again, he heaved a sigh of relief. Thankfully, he acknowledged his anger did not apply to all women—just one.
Before he reached Broadsham House, he spent an additional twenty minutes to formulate what he would say, so his anger had returned to its earlier levels. All he had to do was enter, give the woman a big piece of his mind, and leave. That thought gave him a sense of utter satisfaction.
Two minutes later, he stood in the drawing room as Mrs. Russell greeted him cheerfully. “Well, madam, what do you have to say for yourself?”
The wide-eyed, alluring rabbit expression entered her eyes. “Pardon?”
“You and those…those Learned Ladies friends of yours,” he spat out in a near snarl. “Did you set out to ruin me for the fun of it? Or did you plan to put an end to my promotion for some perverse female reason?”
This time she hopped backward, at least one step. “I have no idea of what you are going on about. Please, take a seat and explain yourself.”
An oath escaped his lips. He said it in a low voice, but she winced, so she must have caught it. They sat in opposing chairs. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out Mrs. Smith’s copy of the field guide. Then he tossed the tome into her lap. “Tell me with a straight face that you had no hand in this.”
She took up the book and opened it. Within seconds of reading a few words, the color drained from her cheeks. “I-I—”
“Let me guess. You and your friends recognized you were up to no good. Your only regret is that I heard about it. Tell me, before I take my leave of you, why? Why did you decide to involve me in a scandal, stop any chance I had at promotion, and ruin my career?”
Her mouth hung open and tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes.
“Try using words, if you please.”
She hung her head and focused on the book in her lap.
“I see,” he said, his tone sharp. “You can’t even look me in the face and give me a decent explanation. Needless to say I regret my association with you, regret trusting you, and regret introducing you to my family. In the future, you will not visit my house under any pretense. You must also warn young Fitzhenry to stay away. At least until the time I can address him without feeling blind rage for his sister.”
Her head whipped up. “I did nothing. I did not even know about the Learned Ladies’ plans to publish such a book. I confess that I heard about it only a day ago. We are having a regular meeting of the members soon, so I plan to ask them how they could do such a thing. You must believe me.”
“I don’t.” He had to gulp air. “It has been obvious, since the day we met, that you like to muddle in other people’s business. You and your messy female emotional flummery.”
“Very well, but you cannot let your hatred for me affect Fitzy. Please, I beg you, for his sake.”
“Right.” He inhaled swiftly. “Tell him to keep to the tunnel site for the time being. Make whatever excuse you deem necessary to keep him from the company of either me or my parents for at least a month.” His firm words pleased him and relief flooded through his veins. He stood, snatched the book from her hands, and headed for the front door.
She followed, still wearing a stricken expression. “I have never read the ladies’ field guide, so I don’t fully understand the problem. Why are you so angry? Are your initials in—”
“Ask those learned friends of yours to explain the passage about the stud.”
“Pardon?”
“The authoresses, madam, they know. And a brief hint—it does not refer to horses.”
“Please stay. Let’s discuss this once I have been given a chance to read the book.”
“Our acquaintance is over.” Before he reached the front door, he turned. “There is something I wish to say, but a gentleman never insults a lady.”
Sixteen
Would she ever see George again?
Meta sat in the drawing room, staring at the clock, waiting for her siblings to come down to breakfast. She still struggled with the question that kept her awake all night. Refusing to believe she would never see him again, she couldn’t put a finger on the type of relationship she wanted—friend, lover? But a complete separation from his company forever was unthinkable. She could not deny her desire to see him again. Refusing to analyze exactly why she felt this way, she racked her brain trying to discover a way to help him out of the tight spot she had inadvertently caused.
Beads of perspiration formed on her brow and trickled down her cheek. The large morning fire had done its trick and vanquished the evening’s chill, but now the room felt like standing in the middle of an iron foundry. She moved to open the window facing the street. The fouls smells and various sounds of London coming alive on a new day entered the room.
“What are you doing?” Lily asked, stepping up to stand beside her sister. “Is there someone we know strolling down the street?”
“No,” Meta said, “the room became unbearably hot.”
“Really, it feels fine to me. But then my bedroom was unusually cold last night. I had to add to the fire at three in the morning, or else I would never have gotten to sleep.”
“What were you doing awake at three in the morning?”
Lily froze and cleared her throat. “Just thinking about my future. How my life has taken a terrible turn for the worse.” She paused, her lips pulled into a tight line. Grabbing a damask sofa pillow, she threw it to the sofa’s corner and sat.
Meta had no intention of delving into Lily’s lost hopes and expectations, at least not for another month or two. Until then, her siblings would have to wait. She planned to do everything in her power to restore her relationship with George—if it could be restored. Today she would take the first step of returning their relationship to the closeness they gained in a small inn on a rainy day. She’d pose her questions about the ladies’ field guide during a regular meeting of the Learned Ladies Society. She exhaled a deep sigh, caused by events she could not control.
“Maybe you could speak to James again?” Lily said, the tone of her voice carrying her expectations and her eyes brightening.
Meta met her sister’s eye. “No.”
“But—”
“I recommend the obvious. You go and speak with James. Put your fears behind you and suggest a reconciliation. Yes, he may refuse you. But since you refused him after he reconsidered his hasty decision to call off, you have no right to any expectation that he will agree to resume his addresses. In fact, Lily, I do not want to hear another word from you on the subject again.” She fanned her over-warm face with her hand. “For three months, at least, I have done my part to help you. Now it is time for you to do yours.”
Lily looked like she had just seen a ghost.
“Come,” Meta said, “we don’t want to be late for breakfast.” As soon as those words escaped her, they heard Tom bound down the staircase like a racehorse in full gallop. One foot slid as he turned the corner into the drawing room. Then under a full run, he started across the room toward the breakfast parlor.
Meta heard a deep rumble coming from upstairs. The second she looked up to the ceiling, she saw the great chandelier pull away from its plaster roundel and fall.
One long arm of the chandelier clipped Tom in the heels as he dove in an effort to escape.<
br />
The chandelier crashed to the floor.
The explosion radiated outward in a shower of debris full of plaster, broken glass, and bits of candles.
She hid her face into the crook of her arm until the danger of flying objects passed. Once she glanced up, a cloud of dust still lingered in the air. “I thought the noises in the ceiling had been looked after?”
Fitzy stood in the doorway, helping Tom to his feet. “Clearly not.”
Lily burst into tears. “Mother’s. Chandelier. She said it would always. Light.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Up. Our. Lives.”
Susanna gingerly stepped forward to examine the remnants.
“Don’t,” Meta shouted. “Come back. Look at the ceiling above you. More plaster may fall. It’s too dangerous at the moment to even be in this room.”
Susanna hastily glanced up, then walked back to the doorway in a careful, hunched manner.
Lily cried even harder; she covered her eyes.
Meta had no intention of cajoling her sister out of her fit of tears. Let her have a cry. Actually, despite the loss of a sentimental chandelier, Meta was surprised she had no desire to cry. She examined Tom and asked if everyone was all right.
Tom nodded slowly, his eyes wider than saucers.
Meta bellowed instructions to Fitzy. “I have business that must be attended to this afternoon with the Learned Ladies. I have no time to sort all of this out. You are almost a grown gentleman now, and one day soon you will run your own household. I want you to attend to this matter immediately. You understand me, Fitzy?”
He leaned over to brush dust off his bottle green wool trousers. “I’ve never been in charge of a household matter before. What do I do?”
“First you make sure everyone in the house is warned of the danger. Then put up signs and arrange furniture, so nobody accidentally goes near the center of the ceiling, or even comes anywhere near those hanging bits of plaster and wood. After that, you will see to the repairs.”
“How?”
She brushed plaster off her skirt, then stood with both fists resting on her hips. “The man of the house figures it out. They would ask other men. I assume you will do the same.”
He hesitated for a moment before he straightened his shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll pop over and ask George then.”
“No! No, you will not bother Mr. Drexel. Is that understood?”
He stood unmoving, eyes wide and mouth open.
“You will not speak to him under any circumstances for at least a month. It’s a personal matter that does not relate to you. Do you hear me?”
This time her brother nodded. “I don’t understand. I thought we all were the best of friends.”
“Mr. Drexel and I have recently argued over a matter that is none of your business. For that reason, I request you keep to your job at the tunnel and do not bother him or his family. Understood?”
He huffed. “If he is mad at you, I don’t see why I cannot pay a call upon the family. Both Drexels have provided me with support in ways I cannot begin to describe.”
“No!” This time the expediency of her tone and earnest stare got her point across.
His mulish expression vanished. “All right,” he said, “you don’t have to behave like a parent, you know.”
“You’re right. I am not your parent. Since your parents are unavailable, you will have to gain guidance from wherever you can. I suggest James would be a good gentleman to ask about whom to call to mend a chandelier. He is now living in rooms in Fenton’s Hotel.”
Lily faced both of them. “Meta, you are being horrible. Come on, Fitzy. You can call upon James today after breakfast. I’ll wager you can put the chandelier to rights better than Meta ever could.”
Meta wiped her hands and skirt to remove more plaster dust. “Excellent. It’s about time the two of you take some of the burden running the household. Now let’s not keep Cook waiting. It’s time for breakfast.”
Two hours later, Meta walked to Lady Sarah’s London town house. If there was one thing she believed in, it was efficiency. The best way for her to get her grievances across to her friends would be to stand in front of everyone and point to the metaphorical knife stabbed in her back.
Before she rang the bell, she paused on the doorstep and experienced the guilt of an unkind thought. After all, she firmly believed that you could never fully understand a person’s motive for their actions, so granting tolerance and the benefit of the doubt should be her first course of action. Perhaps she should wait until the appropriate moment to ask the ladies why they penned the field guide and why they decided to hide the publication from her. Then she’d do her best to listen carefully before she made a judgment. Still, that knife hurt.
About a dozen ladies mingled in the pretty yellow room when Meta entered. She greeted everyone, but to her dismay, her felicitations sounded perfunctory to her ears. Thankfully, the meeting began soon after her arrival.
Lady Sarah stood first, resplendent in a green silk gown with white bobbin lace sleeves. She opened the meeting. “I officially declare this meeting of the Learned Ladies Society open. Our agenda today will be as follows. First, we shall introduce any guests to our members. Then in open forum, the informal part of this meeting, any member may speak about any subject—even give us the latest on dit. Afterwards, we will hear a report by our treasurer on the current state of our funds. This will be followed by a progress report about our current governesses. We will then close the meeting after a discussion of the books we are reading. One person will be chosen to present her views upon a factual book and one will start the discussion on the latest novel. So without further ado, are there any guests present today?” She took her seat at the head of the table.
Clara stood and motioned for a young woman, who could have been mistaken for her twin, to rise. “This is my niece, newly married, Mrs. Underwood. Her husband is a prominent person in the Navy. We share many of the same favorites when it comes to books, so I believe she will be a natural and welcome addition to our group.”
Mrs. Underwood stood and everyone gave her a warm welcome.
“Any other guests?” Lady Sarah lifted her brows. “Right then, we now enter open forum. So what are the latest on dits, tittle-tattle, or popular jests? Even better, anyone have happy news?”
Lady Sarah’s gaze swept the room and fell upon Meta.
Meta ignored the veiled reference that she may have happy news of the matrimonial variety and considered whether or not to air her grievances immediately. However, the meeting had yet to begin, so this was not the appropriate time to address the ladies, especially since any ill feelings might end the meeting prematurely. Perhaps during tea she could informally ask the group about their field guide.
Grizel, her black curls set off today by a white muslin gown covered in an overdress of machine-made orange net, held up her hand.
Lady Sarah gave her a nod.
Grizel grinned. “I heard a jest yesterday. Two gentlemen whispered like they were in a vestry.” She blushed, a rare occurrence. “I overheard it by mistake, of course. It is very vulgar, you understand, but quite clever.”
“How vulgar?” Clara asked.
“Some might say”—Grizel lowered her voice—“this jest is offensive to modesty and decency—obscene, even.”
Mrs. Underwood turned to her aunt Clara. “I’ve never heard an obscene jest before. This will be my first.”
Lady Sarah stood to draw everyone’s attention. “Just weeks ago, the majority of us agreed that if we could not present a jest appropriate for ladies, we would eliminate all jests from the open forum part of the meeting, remember?”
“Such a shame. May I ask why?” Mrs. Underwood said.
Daphne, the young lady sitting next to her, explained. “It seemed that the only jests our members knew were vulgar ones. For example, there was a pun about some lady sitting in the gallery of the House of Commons, which everyone deemed only right because she allowed”—she lowered her voice—“
members into her House of Commons. Get it—members?”
“Oh my,” exclaimed Mrs. Underwood, a small grin lingering on the corner of her mouth. “I understand now, any mention of the…gentleman part should be avoided at all times and is considered very indelicate indeed.”
The ladies furtively glanced at each other, amusement still shining on several of their faces and snickers mixed with giggles.
Clara raised her hand. “I recently heard some tittle-tattle that will amaze you all. It seems Mrs. Puckle has left her lover of ten years, at last. I saw her yesterday and she didn’t seem affected in any way. She even mentioned her new spaniel.”
“She gave up a lover for a spaniel?” Bethia asked.
Clara answered. “Spaniels are much better than a lover.” She blushed. “I mean in providing good company. Besides, they are so adorable with those soft hairy ears…furry ears.”
“Ladies, please stop.” Lady Sarah stood. “It always amazes me that the conversation of an intelligent group of women can turn so indelicate at the wink of an eye.”
The members grinned and exchanged glances.
“How about a jest with cats? Everyone loves cats, and animal jokes can never be vulgar,” Sybella said.
Grizel turned to her. “I know one about a game cock.”
They all burst into snickers.
Lady Sarah’s voice boomed over the crowd. “The open forum is officially ended. Let us continue on with the reports.”
Once they finished the business part of the meeting, the group moved their chairs around another large table for tea.
Meta inhaled deeply, gathered her courage, and stood before them. “Ladies, may I take a minute of your time to ask a question?”
“Of course, Meta dear. You don’t have to ask,” Lady Sarah said, stirring her tea with a petite spoon.
Meta waited until the polite clanging of spoons hitting fine porcelain came to an end. As she did so, she searched their faces to discover if her friends already knew what she was about to say. A few looked guilty, but she could not really tell. “It has come to my attention that some of you”—she glanced around the table—“have written and published a book titled: The Ladies’ Field Guide to London’s Rakes. Is this true?” She failed to see surprise or even regret written on a single face.
