by Gaelen Foley
Beau said nothing but excused himself from her company briefly with a light touch on her elbow, then he stepped aside to speak privately with their unpleasant caller.
Carissa stepped back into the threshold of the doorway while Beau went toward the waiting carriages with Mr. Green. Pretending to search in her reticule for something, she strained her ears for all she was worth to listen in on their low-toned exchange.
“Don’t assume getting married is going to make you look any more respectable to the committee, Lord Beauchamp. I’m happy for you, of course, but we are not so easily fooled.”
“What do you want?” Beau replied tersely. “Why are you here? My next appearance before the panel is a week hence.”
Green’s belligerent stance eased somewhat at Beau’s refusal to flinch. He stepped back a little and adjusted his coat with a nervous tug. “I have a question for you regarding one of Warrington’s missions.”
Kate’s husband!
“What is it?” Beau asked darkly.
“You’ll recall how one of the King of Naples’ favorite courtiers ended up dead. If the Order gave the duke clearance for this killing, I have no record of it.”
Beau scoffed, looked at the sky, and folded his arms across his chest. “You think he just did it for fun?”
Green’s anger flashed. “Do you really want to know what I think, Lord Beauchamp?”
“By all means.”
“I think that you fine gentlemen of the Inferno Club are so drunk with your own power and your own dubious talents that you feel entitled to go running around Europe doing whatever you please, including cutting down anyone who stands in your way. And why shouldn’t you? There are never any consequences. The Crown has given you carte blanche.”
“Everything we do is in service to the Crown,” he bit back.
“Is it? I am not yet entirely convinced. You claim that is the case, and so the Order’s long, august tradition would have us believe. But now that we understand how much latitude Virgil Banks let you have, who knows what you might have been doing out there on your own? Or what you might be planning next?”
“Oh, now we are the conspirators? The Prometheans are the threat, Green.”
“If they really exist.”
“Would you like to see the scars that prove they do?”
“Of course not.” Green flicked a distasteful glance over him.
“No? Shall I not offer up my body to the panel, too? You noble inquisitors want to probe everything else about our agents’ bloody lives—”
“Just get me the proper documents that show who authorized Warrington to kill the Italian. I want to see the chain of command.”
“At your service, sir. It’ll take a few days.”
“Very well. But don’t tempt me, Beauchamp. I’m sure you feel the Order is quite innocent in all things, but that is part of the problem. You don’t even see the threat you pose. It’s time you all were held to account, and if the Crown won’t do it, the House of Commons will, and the Home Office. We are no longer living in medieval days, if you haven’t noticed, yet you and your kind still seem to think you are a law unto yourselves.”
Beau just looked at him. “Careful, Mr. Green. You are starting to sound like your old mentor.”
Green narrowed his eyes and decidedly backed down.
He flicked his gaze toward her. “Felicitations once again on your marriage, my lord. She’s very pretty.”
How dare you comment on my wife? Beau’s glare seemed to say, but to Carissa’s relief, he kept his aristocratic indignation to himself.
When the haughty MP had driven away, Beau remained by himself a moment longer, bringing his anger under control. Carissa watched her husband worriedly.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pivoted toward the house. Marching toward her, he sent her a distracted smile intended to reassure. “I have to go and put these papers in the vault. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, but waiting for him, she was unsettled by all she had overheard. It sounded like little Mr. Green was out for their blood, especially Warrington’s. Poor Kate!
She wondered if Daphne and the others knew about this Home Office investigation . . .
When Beau returned, Carissa took his arm.
He laid his hand over hers and gave her a trusty smile. “Come, let’s take your new equipage out for a drive,” he said lightly, but she saw the worry in his eyes.
The sunshine glittered off its polished brass fittings, and the horses pawed the ground prettily, as though eager to show off their paces, but Carissa pulled her husband closer. “Are you all right?”
“Of course. Why?”
She eyed him dubiously, feeling very protective. “I take it that unpleasant little lizard man is with the investigation.”
“He’s in charge of it,” he admitted with a glum look askance. “Some people should never be given power. They enjoy it far too much.”
“I noticed.”
“Ah, don’t fret, my dear. All will be well. I just have to dance to their tune for a while until they’re satisfied.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help you with him—”
“No.”
“Perhaps we could charm him? Invite him to dinner. Expose him to good Society? Make a generous contribution to his next campaign?”
“Er, darling, that’s what they call corruption.”
“Really?” she exclaimed. “I was only being polite!”
He let out a chuckle and, to her relief, began to relax. “No, it’s all right. Don’t worry about the ‘lizard man.’ I’ve got him well in hand.”
“Are you sure? It sounded like he’s out for Warrington’s blood.”
“So, you were eavesdropping again. I should’ve known. And which of us is the spy here?”
“I couldn’t help it! Does Kate know?”
Beau heaved a sigh. “It’s not just Warrington they want. The truth is, they’re after all of us. It’ll be fine,” he said, but it didn’t sound fine to her. “Territorial squabbles between the Order and various branches of the government have been going on for eons. This is just the latest round.”
“Is there anything at all that I can do?”
“Just hold your tongue about it. I mean it, wife,” he warned her sternly. “Under no circumstances are you to speak of this with anyone. Not even the other wives. The ladies already have enough to worry about, knowing their men are off on a dangerous mission abroad. The threat was rather severe, which was why we had to spirit them out of London so quickly to stay for a while at one of the Order’s secure country estates. It’s a beautiful villa, where they are both comfortable and safe, being guarded round the clock by some of our best men. But there is no need to disturb them with all this. Especially now that Lady Falconridge is with child, I don’t want her getting a shock.”
Carissa nodded soberly, absorbing this.
“I promised Rotherstone and the others that I would look after their ladies. Frankly, I don’t want them bothered with any of this until everything’s been cleared.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He lifted her hand and gave it a kiss.
She was silent for a moment, racking her brain for some way she could be of assistance, nonetheless. “Maybe my uncle could help you. I know he’d be willing. He likes you.”
“In spite of himself?” Beau flashed a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I just have to be patient, answer their questions, and put up with Green a little while longer. I’m sure the Regent will call an end to this nonsense soon. And—when it’s over—I’m taking you on a proper honeymoon trip.”
“Are you, indeed?”
“Oh, yes. You’d better start thinking about where you want to go. I have to be back for the next round of interrogation in about a week. But it will be nice to escape with you for a few days in the meanwhile.”
She leaned against him, rested her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him. “Beau? Who is Mr. Green’s mentor?”
“Ah, you heard that, too?”
She nodded.
“While Green was at Cambridge, it seems he was part of a coterie of students devoted to a charismatic don, Professor Blake Culvert. Bit of a firebrand, known as The Prophet. Culvert was already infamous for his Radical screeds, but when he publicly declared his atheism, the university sent him packing. Understandably so,” he added with a shrug, “since most of the colleges at Cambridge are supposed to be turning out young clergymen.”
She nodded. “Atheism goes against the school policy at Oxford, too, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but Culvert’s followers among the students rioted when their hero was sacked. Not that their disgraced professor has fared too badly since then without his teaching post. Culvert has gone on to write a number of books—outlawed in France, by the way, after what they’ve been through over there. But I understand his writings and public speeches make him a decent living in England. His occasional arrests on charges of sedition or whatever mischief only seem to help his sales.”
She snorted.
“Of all the times he’s been arrested, none of the charges against Professor Culvert have ever stuck. He always walks free, but perhaps that has something to do with the fact that so many of his former disciples are now liberally peppered throughout the government.”
He said it casually, but Carissa was taken aback as she began to see the scope of what Beau was up against.
“I’ve heard that Culvert also receives grants and pensions from unnamed wealthy patrons sympathetic to his views. Which is rather disconcerting,” he conceded in a sardonic tone. “Who they might be . . .”
“Is Mr. Green one of his patrons?” she murmured.
“No. That would be too dangerous for his political career. Green cut off all ties with his former idol when he went into politics. At least, publicly.”
“Ah,” she said.
Beau sent her a rueful glance. “I heard that in the election that won Green his seat, his opponent accused him of still sharing Culvert’s extreme views. Green disavowed the old man repeatedly and presented himself to the voters as a moderate Whig.”
“The people must have believed him.”
“Perhaps. He’s also very good at the art of slander and character assassination, which is mainly how he defeated his rival, from what I hear. Dirty game, politics.”
She absorbed all this with a chill down her spine. “So this horrid little power-crazed bureaucrat that you have to answer to might still be harboring Radical sympathies that he’s taking out on the Order?”
Beau sighed. “I have no doubt that is the case.”
“My God, doesn’t that worry you? He’s not even being honest about his real motives!”
He shrugged. “What am I to do?”
“But it’s a conflict of interest!”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said rather vehemently. “He’s not going to destroy the Order. Not while I’m there. He can try, but we’ve been around a hell of a lot longer than these ‘modern men of progress’ and their shiny new ideas.”
“What kinds of ideas?”
“Dissolve the monarchy. Disband the aristocracy. Marriage also is outdated in their circles. Free love is all the mode.”
She gave him a sardonic look.
“What?”
“Sounds like what the ton espouses.”
“No, no, there is a big difference between the time-honored tradition of adultery in the aristocracy and the Radical notion of free love, my dear. One abuses the sanctity of marriage with idle gallantry; the other rejects it from the outset, along with any notion of chivalry.”
“They don’t believe in chivalry?” she exclaimed.
“I should think not. They see it as an insult.”
“How?”
“In their world, women are the same as men, and neither want nor require any sort of male protection or deference.”
Carissa struggled to comprehend such a world. “But if there’s no marriage . . . and ladies are the same as gentlemen . . . then what about the children? And who takes care of the old people? What becomes of the families?”
“Oh, my dear, you are woefully provincial. Haven’t you heard? The family is an artificial system of oppression,” he replied. “They’ve got no more use for it than for the Church. Haven’t you read the inimitable Godwins, or noticed how poets like Shelley or Blake are always making up their own religions?”
“No one can simply invent right and wrong.”
“You can try, if you’re arrogant enough. Up is down, right is wrong, women are men, and before you know it, no one needs anyone anymore. Forget civility—the human race will then be free to descend into ‘the perpetual war of every man against his neighbor’ that Hobbes described two hundred years ago.”
“Sounds hellish.”
“I know. Yet they think they are building utopia. Bloody do-gooders.”
“Lud.” Carissa shook her head at his rant, but when the coach rolled to a halt before an elegant terrace, she turned to Beau in surprise. “I thought your mother lives in Lockwood House!”
“Well, that would make it rather awkward when her lovers come to visit, don’t you think?”
She winced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was quite that bad.”
He sighed and climbed out of the carriage, then turned back to assist her. “My parents came as close as they could to divorcing without actually going through all the scandal and inconvenience of formal proceedings.”
“So, they hate each other now?”
“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I always wonder if they could have reconciled their problems years ago if both of them weren’t so proud.” He avoided her gaze as he shut the carriage door behind her. “If she had tried just going to my father and talking to him, telling him why she was so unhappy, I know he would’ve listened. He is a reasonable man.”
He eyed her meaningfully; Carissa was not sure what sort of hint he was dropping her, or if it was just her guilty imagination.
“If my father ever had the chance to hear her side of the story, if she would’ve trusted him enough to explain, then who knows how things might have turned out for them? If only she had tried being honest.”
He gave her a pensive look, then walked ahead of her to the door.
Carissa’s heart was pounding.
Then they went in to see the countess.
Chapter 12
Lady Lockwood’s butler opened the door before they reached it, sweeping them into the entrance hall with a polite gesture of welcome. “Congratulations, sir,” the butler said to Beau in a hushed tone.
“Thank you, Franklin.”
“Lady Beauchamp, if I may, I wish you much joy.”
“Thank you so much,” she said warmly, blushing a bit.
“Franklin’s been an installment here since I was a boy,” Beau informed her. “Helps look after the old gel.”
“Sir,” Franklin chided, fighting a disapproving smile. “May I take your coat, my lady?”
“Perhaps you’d better not,” Beau interrupted in a low tone. “Let’s not settle in until we see what sort of reception we are going to get.”
Franklin gave the viscount a subtle nod. “If you’ll wait here, sir, I’ll go and see if she’ll receive you.”
“Here’s hoping,” he mumbled.
Franklin bowed, then ascended the stairs to inform Her Ladyship they had arrived. Beau put his hands in his pockets and paced across the entrance hall as they waited. Carissa checked her reflection in the pier glass. She turned to him. “Do I look all right?”
“You are always beautiful,” he said. “But you should’ve worn the hat I gave you.”
She grinned.
Franklin returned with a look of relief. “Her Ladyship will see you now.”
“Huzzah,” Beau said under his breath.
Carissa shot him a look as they climbed the curving staircase, trailing Lady Lockwood’s stately butler.
When they reached the drawing r
oom, Carissa hung back a little, letting him go first. Beau swept off his hat with a gallant air as he breezed into his mother’s drawing room. “Good morning, Barbara!”
The beautiful blond woman sitting by the fireplace did not smile back. “Well, if it isn’t my traitorous son.”
“Pleasure to see you, too,” he said brightly. “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”
“By all means.” As the bristling countess stared at her, Carissa searched her brain for every lesson Aunt Jo had taught her about standing up for herself before the haughty denizens of Society.
Though her knees felt like rubber, somehow she kept her face serene, reminding herself she had every right to marry Beauchamp. It was not she who had sought the match, after all. He was the one who had insisted.
“Mother,” Beau introduced her softly, “this is my wife, Carissa.”
Carissa gave her new mother-in-law a most respectful curtsy. “My lady.” Having made this show of deference, she cautiously lifted her gaze.
The countess rose slowly from her chair. Heart pounding, Carissa felt like she was watching some sort of glacier-dwelling dragon rising to devour her. At that moment, it was easy to envision the disruption this grand, terrifying lady would have likely brought to their wedding day. On the other hand, she certainly saw where Beauchamp got his looks. “Barbara” was as blond and beautiful as he.
Lady Lockwood regarded them with a haughty lift of her eyebrows. “So, the two of you have come to apologize? You humiliated me in front of Society,” she accused her son. “And you let him do it, whoever you are,” she added with a frosty glance at her new daughter-in-law.
Taken aback, Carissa glanced at Beau.
“Mother,” he chided, a soft edge of warning to his voice. “You know precisely why it had to be this way. You are proving it now, confirming my expectations.”
She huffed. “You grow more like your father every day. No consideration for anyone but yourself! I hope you know what you’re in for, dear,” she said to Carissa. “The Walker men are infamously selfish.”
“Please do not abuse my father’s name in my hearing, Mother. The fact is, I was not going to let the two of you ruin our wedding day.”
