It is certainly time the recent crime wave was taken seriously. If a man like Mr. Avondale can be murdered in cold blood, truly no one is safe.
Lydia’s mother was waiting for her in the townhouse’s front entryway when Officer Barnaby bid her good day. Lydia had been thinking about how Officer Barnaby had been an enjoyable escort. He was chatty and prone to blushing.
She was still smiling about his unexpected kindness when she’d quietly unlocked and opened the door. She’d intended to make herself some tea and toast in the kitchen, bathe, then sleep the day away.
But her mother’s appearance surprised her.
“Lydia, at last you have returned.”
Alarmed, Lydia rushed forward. “Mother, it is very early. Is something wrong?”
“I could ask the same thing of you.”
Concerned and confused, Lydia examined her mother. But, as she noticed there was color in her mother’s cheeks and she was wearing one of her better day dresses, her concern faded. It was abruptly replaced with curiosity. “You look well. How did you manage to sweep up your hair into a chignon so neatly?”
“I didn’t do my hair. Charlotte Williams stopped by almost an hour ago. She brought along her ladies’ maid. Baker styled my hair.”
“So early?”
“Indeed, far too early to receive guests.” Her mother looked down her nose at Lydia. “Which was why when Charlotte arrived at our doorstop, I knew something highly irregular must have happened.”
Lydia bit back a comment. Charlotte Williams was known throughout her mother’s circle of friends to be a gossip. “Has something happened?”
“Indeed.”
“Oh?” She was beginning to hate the turn of conversation. In addition, her mother’s very-well-put-together self was in stark contrast to Lydia’s disheveled appearance. As each second passed, she began to feel even more bedraggled. She ached to bathe and slip on a fresh gown. “What trouble is that? I hope no one in her family is ill.”
“She came here to speak to me about you. It seems that you have been taking advantage of my infirmity.”
“Mother, there is nothing wrong with you besides an inability to choose to cope with our present financial circumstances.”
As Lydia had expected, her mother took no responsibility for her behavior. Instead, she turned the tables. “You have been keeping secrets from me.”
Of course she had. To tell her mother everything meant subjecting herself to endless hours of criticism.
But even though she was right, there was no reason to admit to anything. “What secrets are you referring to?”
“For one, you are responsible for your broken engagement. You angered Jason Avondale in a public place.”
“I didn’t want to shock you with the details about Jason’s behavior, Mother. I promise breaking it off was for the best.” Especially since he was, well, dead.
“He was a gentleman.”
“He owed a lot of money to disreputable people.”
“Mere rumors.”
“In addition, Jason had imagined Daddy left us a significant inheritance. He wasn’t pleased when he discovered that was not the case.”
“Still . . .”
“Plus we didn’t suit.”
“You could have made it work.” Staring at her intently, her mother added, “Women cannot break off engagements, Lydia.”
“Mother, he hurt my wrist.” He had hurt more than her wrist, of course. He’d frightened her and had made her wonder what kind of life they would have together.
“Men have tempers, Lydia. Furthermore, they never know their strength. It’s to be expected.”
Lydia wasn’t so sure about that. Sebastian was far more muscular than Jason had been. When she’d watched him walk down Camp Creek Alley, she’d realized that he held himself tightly in check for her benefit. Not because he couldn’t help himself, but because of the very opposite. He knew his strengths and weaknesses and knew what he was capable of doing.
She’d also witnessed his reactions in several situations and was fairly certain that he didn’t do anything without weighing the consequences. He did not “lose” his temper. If he was angry, it was because he intended to let loose his wrath on his victim.
He also had never shown her anything but kindness and respect.
Her mother’s sharp tone invaded her thoughts. “Lydia, you need to discover what event he will be attending next and obtain an invitation. Then you may apologize to him in person.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Of course there is.”
“Actually—” Lydia stopped herself just in time. How could she tell her mother that Jason had been murdered without giving away that she had been in the building next to where his body had been found?
“Never mind. Mother, I hate to point out the obvious, but my matrimonial status—or lack of the fact—is no concern of Mrs. Charlotte Williams.”
“There is more you need to hear.”
Lydia wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Walking across their entryway, she took a seat in the receiving room. “I am growing bored with listening to gossip about myself.”
“This is not gossip.” Taking a chair next to her, she said, “Charlotte told me everyone knows you spent last evening in a house of ill repute.”
If Lydia had been sipping the hot tea she so desperately wanted, she would have choked. Redirecting the conversation, she stared. “How could she know that? How does she even know where those houses are?” A new thought occurred to her. “And Mother, how do you even know about such places?”
“Never mind how I know. I do.” Leaning forward slightly, she said, “I believe this establishment is called the Silver Grotto?”
Lydia was so stunned, she didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “How did she know I was there?” she whispered.
“She didn’t tell me, but if she knows—especially so early in the morning—most of Chicago probably knows or soon will.” Her tone turned impatient. “Did you really imagine you could frequent such a place and not be noticed?”
Had she? Had she really been so naïve just twenty-four hours ago? “I am not sure.”
“That is no answer. Did you or did you not spend the night in that infamous gambling club?”
“I did.”
“Is it also true that you were in the arms of Sebastian Marks?”
“How does Mrs. Williams know all this?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or was she there at the Silver Grotto, and I neglected to see her?”
“People saw you walking with him into that seedy part of town.”
“I was not in his arms.” She didn’t bother pointing out that she had slept on his couch. Somehow she was pretty sure it wouldn’t go over very well. “Mother, I might have been somewhere I shouldn’t have been last night, but even you can admit that it was the first time I’ve ever done anything improper.” She attempted to smile. “Why, given my age, it’s a wonder I didn’t do anything worse!”
“You did enough. More than enough. Scandalous news travels fast, which is something you do not need me to tell you.” Rather dramatically, her mother pressed her hands to her temples and rubbed them, as if she was fighting off an approaching headache.
“I am beyond disappointed with you, Lydia. You have effectively ruined yourself unless, of course, Jason will accept an apology.”
“You are blowing things out of proportion. It is becoming tiresome. I am not going to discuss this with you.”
“I think you had better. You and I had only one way to make things better, Lydia, and that was for you to marry well. Instead of doing that, you have thrown yourself off the cliff of anything even resembling good behavior. If Mr. Avondale won’t take you back, no one will have you. I doubt even my friends will wish to acknowledge me soon. You have ruined both of us.” Her face crumbled into tears. “How can you have done this to me?”
Two raps on the front door saved Lydia from answering.
She rushed to the door and threw i
t open before checking to see who had arrived. She was fairly sure any visitor would be a welcome diversion.
“Oh,” she said in surprise. Quite stupidly, too, for someone who had always prided herself on a substantial vocabulary. “It’s you.”
There stood Mr. Marks. Sebastian. His pensive expression deepened as he scanned her face. “Lydia, what is wrong?”
She would liked to have shielded him from her mother’s stories of gossip, but she had no choice. He needed to know what was brewing in their social circles so he could protect himself.
“Everything, it seems,” she said. “My mother was just now telling me she heard about my visit to the Silver Grotto last night.” She lowered her voice. “She knows I was with you, but she does not seem to know Jason was killed.”
But instead of looking troubled or stunned, Sebastian looked her over carefully. She felt his gaze flit across her eyes and cheeks. Pause on her lips. Carefully continue down to her neck and shoulders.
Obviously searching for some sign of distress. “I see,” he said at last as he turned to close the door behind him. “Where is she?”
She pointed to the drawing room. “There.” Raising her voice, she prepared herself for the inevitable drama that was about to ensue. “Mother, Mr. Marks is here.”
Her mother didn’t say a word, but Lydia was sure she could feel her disapproval from across the room.
After several seconds passed, Sebastian reached for her hand. “Would you like to go upstairs, dear?” he asked. “Or perhaps you would prefer to go to the kitchen? You look like you might welcome a cup of tea.”
Dear? Brew tea? Unable to help herself, she pulled her hand from his and pressed it firmly in the middle of his chest. “Sebastian, you may not understand, but I am in the midst of a scandal.”
“I understand completely, Lydia. And it would be we, not I.”
“Pardon?”
“We are in the midst of a scandal.”
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “You already frequent the Silver Grotto. Your reputation is not in question.”
“Everything will be all right. I will make it so.” His eyes flickered over her, resting on her eyes before he turned away and walked to where her mother waited.
Feeling a bit like a pet spaniel, she hastily followed after him.
“Mrs. Bancroft. Good morning,” he said as he leisurely walked into their modest receiving room, somehow managing to look as if he found their surroundings as attractive as one of the interiors of the fair’s white palaces. “I do not believe we have officially met. My name is Sebastian Marks.”
Her mother sniffed. “Lydia, please escort this man out immediately.”
She was eager to do just that. Not for her mother’s sake, but for Sebastian’s. Her mother was not going to change her mind about him. Lydia curved a hand around his arm. “Sebastian, I think it would be best if we spoke another time.”
“Chin up, dear. It will be okay. I promise.”
She tried again. “Mr. Marks, please come with me.”
Ignoring her, Sebastian walked to stand directly in front of her lounging mother. “It has become obvious that we need to talk.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
“I would suggest you rethink that decision, ma’am. We definitely do need to speak, and I do have a lot to say to you. I promise my remarks will be in the best interests of both you and your daughter.”
Lydia was appalled. “Sebastian, that is not necessary.”
“Allow me to visit with your mother privately, Lydia. Afterward, you and I will need to have a word as well.”
“Sebastian—”
Her mother had sat up and was now eyeing Mr. Marks like he was a new mink stole. Or perhaps as if he were the whole fur salon. “Listen to him, Lydia. He is right. I suspect we do have several things to discuss. Leave us.”
Lydia was shocked and dismayed and confused.
But she gave up and walked to the kitchen to heat a kettle for tea. She doubted a soothing cup of the hot drink would help, but at least it might make her wait more bearable.
CHAPTER 24
For a small, housebound woman, Felicia Bancroft could certainly bargain with the best of them, Sebastian reflected as he walked toward the kitchen in search of Lydia.
He’d first arrived at the Bancroft residence because he’d been concerned about Lydia—hoping to catch her before she slept. The previous evening’s events had been highly irregular and, he feared, undoubtedly frightening for a sheltered woman like Lydia. Though he had pretended he understood Captain Ryan’s caution, however, he hadn’t really thought much about her reputation—or her mother’s distress when she heard of how that reputation had been damaged in his establishment.
Instead, all he’d cared about was making sure that Lydia was not suffering any undue stress from her eventful night.
All of this, of course, was why he was never going to be good enough for a woman like her. He obviously had no real understanding of what society’s expectations were for young ladies.
It constituted a serious gap in his education.
The moment he realized the damage that had been done to Lydia’s reputation, he’d known he needed to do whatever he must in order to make things right.
And that, of course, meant his proposal of marriage.
His ensuing conversation with Mrs. Bancroft had been satisfactory. She turned out not to be unreasonable. In fact, it seemed she was focused only on making sure Lydia would never have to worry about her future again.
Sebastian knew it was best to take care of matters as efficiently as possible. Because of this, he nodded and gave in to every one of Felicia’s demands, including her request that she stay in the townhouse—refurbished, of course—and that Lydia live in a home grand enough to reflect her new position in Chicago.
Lydia’s head turned his way when he walked into the cramped kitchen. She was leaning against one of the counters. Her eyes were wide, and the blue eyes he enjoyed looking into so much were cloudy with worry underneath her spectacles. “Is it over?”
“It is.” He paused, unsure of how to proceed. Was he really considering proposing marriage to her in the middle of this drab kitchen?
Looking panic-stricken, she rushed toward him. “What happened? Was she terrible to you?”
“Are you worried about my welfare?” He really wasn’t sure how to react to that.
“I’m not worried about your welfare, per se . . .” She hedged. “But yes. I suppose I am.”
He lifted his arms. “As you can see, I am unmarred.”
“Don’t tease.”
Another rush of warmth seeped into his heart. Was he so taken by her that everything she said had sweet meaning? Or was it her kindness to him in the face of financial ruin, a broken engagement, a murder, and a marred reputation that moved him so?
“I was thinking a walk might do us both some good, but perhaps it would be best if we merely sat back down here, Miss Bancroft.”
“Here?” She looked around and frowned. “Mr. Marks—”
“This is fine.” He lifted the corners of his lips. “Besides, it seems we have much to say.”
“Oh?” She slid into one of the chairs and looked at him closely as he took the one beside her. While she waited, she clasped her hands in a tight knot on the surface of the table. They almost knocked over the cup of tea she had left there.
He reached for it and planted it securely out of her reach. “Careful now. We can’t have you getting scalded again.”
“Oh, we both know that was Jason’s fault.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead.”
“I certainly don’t intend to adhere to that rule. Jason Avondale was no saint.”
“He didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
“Of course not. But there is a broad expanse between deserving to be murdered and being saintly.”
He shifted in his chair, attempting t
o put his rather large build on the rickety surface. “May we discuss something else? I did not come in here to dwell upon your former fiancé.”
She softened under his regard. “By all means. Forgive me.”
“Always,” he murmured.
As he stared at her, he honestly couldn’t ever remember sitting at a kitchen table. His mother certainly had never had one, and the moment he could afford it, he had hired a cook to serve him in a dining room at the club.
Now he ate in his suite.
But all of that was about to change.
“Lydia, are you all right? Beyond the shock of Avondale’s murder, are you still traumatized by the events of last night?”
Instead of answering him immediately, she paused to reflect on it. Which was her want, of course.
Finally she shrugged. “I am not sure if I am all right or not. I suppose I am, though I feel more than a little numb. Almost as if I had a head cold. I feel as though I am in a fog.” She peered at him through her lenses. “Is that how you feel?”
“I don’t feel like I have a head cold.”
“But do you feel foggy?”
“I do not.” He felt relieved that he wasn’t sitting in a cell. He would soon visit his lawyer’s office and anticipated it to be one of many meetings.
“Oh.” She looked strangely disappointed.
Then he realized she was struggling with how she should be feeling. That was what had been occupying her brain. “Anything you feel is acceptable,” he stated. Just as if he were the authority on feelings and emotions. “There is no right or wrong way to feel.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I am.”
Exhaling a ragged sigh, she nodded, looking a bit more relieved. “So is all of that what you discussed with my mother? Did you tell her Jason died? Was she heartbroken?”
“No. I did not mention Avondale. Or his passing.”
“Oh.” She looked at him curiously. “Well, if you did not speak about Jason’s demise, um, what did you discuss?”
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