by Merry Farmer
“So, she didn’t….” He stopped, clearing his throat, embarrassed enough to sink into the ground. Almost embarrassed enough to pack everything and flee for the farthest spot he could imagine. Again.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Lord Waltham?” Elaine asked, clipping each syllable.
“Yes,” he mumbled. “There is a great deal I should probably tell you at this point. But not right now.”
“When, then?” Elaine asked, arching a brow. “Two years from now?”
He let out a breath, shoulders drooping. The only thing he could do was admit complete and utter defeat. “Could we arrange a time to meet so that I can explain?”
“Yes,” Elaine said with almost painful formality. “Feel free to send correspondence to my uncle’s house, and when I have time between paying calls on May Flowers, I shall answer it and make arrangements. But if you will excuse me, I have committed my time to Lady Lavinia, and I see her coming back this way.” Elaine stepped to the side and grabbed Lady Lavinia’s arm as she joined her.
“Of course.” Basil nodded to them, even though his gut burned with the knowledge that he’d just made an ass of himself. “But, Miss Bond,” he said as she started to walk away. She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Elaine, my heart is now and will forever more be yours and yours alone.”
It was a stupidly maudlin thing to say, but it brought the smile to Elaine’s face that he needed right then. He was forgiven. Not completely. She still needed time to be frustrated with him, and would demand answers and likely tear him limb from limb once she got them, but she would forgive him.
He watched her leave, watched Lady Lavinia whisper something to her in awe. It wasn’t until Katya strolled up to his side that he looked away.
“I take it I was right?” Katya said, one eyebrow raised over her sly eyes.
“You are always right in matters of the heart, Lady Stanhope,” Basil conceded, his face still hot with embarrassment.
Katya laughed, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm. “You need to listen to me more often.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Now.” Katya took a breath. “Let’s talk about how we are going to convince your lady love to abandon the bosom of her family to take shelter with those of us who do not have the personalities and morals of vipers.”
Chapter 15
The only thing that Elaine hated more than the heavy, restrictive clothing she was forced to wear in London, was the calculating way her uncle looked at her across the dinner table, or when they were enjoying family time in the evenings, or when he brought her along to political events, and the way her aunt continued to look at her as though she was country vermin, and the openly lascivious way her uncle’s friends studied her, and the….
Elaine signed in the middle of the mental list that grew longer and longer as she waited impatiently for her aunt’s maid to finish styling her hair. She hated too many things about London. The thing that loomed largest in her list of things she hated was being surprised by information about Basil that she would rather have learned directly from him.
“Does all of London know the checkered past of Lord Waltham?” she asked the maid as she impatiently joggled her leg, tapping her heel against the carpet.
“I couldn’t say, miss,” the maid answered in a mumble, glancing down.
“Lady Royston’s guests kept trying to get me to talk about him yesterday when I called,” she sighed. “Surely, if the grand ladies of society know all about his deeds and misdeeds, the servants would know more.”
“I don’t know, miss.” The maid’s face flushed red.
Elaine sent her a surly look through the mirror that the girl didn’t see. One more thing to add to her list of things she hated about London. The divide between those who were lofty and those who were lowly was wide. And if she were honest, Elaine didn’t know which side of the chasm she belonged on.
She sighed, drawing a slight frown from the maid as her head moved, messing up the style the maid was diligently forming. One thing she didn’t dislike was Lady Royston, which surprised her to no end, all things considered. But the brief exchange between her and Basil had left Elaine frustrated with him. It was obvious that when Lady Royston had mentioned her child, Basil had worried he was the father. Which would have been a romantic embarrassment indeed. And if he truly had endured a string of romantic embarrassments, how many children were running around England bearing Basil’s face and lineage?
Or perhaps she was only out of joint about the possibility because she was not carrying his child. Her monthly visitor had come and gone shortly after her arrival in London, proving that the night she and Basil had spent together was just that, one night.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but I do need you to sit still,” the frazzled maid said.
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” Elaine huffed. “I don’t like having my hair styled. I usually leave it long when I’m at home.”
The maid’s eyes widened in shock, but that wasn’t what transformed Elaine’s anxious energy into a dull ache. Home. Brynthwaite. She would have given anything to be there right now. With Basil. And without the myriad revelations that made her feel more and more distant from him.
“If you please, miss, it’s done,” the maid said at last, looking as grateful to take a step back as Elaine was to finally be free.
“Thank you so much, Mary.” Elaine tried to smile as she stood from the vanity in the corner of her room. “I’m grateful.”
“Yes, miss.” Mary curtsied, eyes downcast.
Elaine wanted to roll her eyes at the subservience. She wanted to roll her eyes and throw up her hands at the whole thing. London was not for her. But at least there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon.
She swept up the reticule that rested on the corner of the vanity’s table. In it was a short letter, an invitation, in an unfamiliar hand. It was a request for her presence at tea from the inimitable Lady Stanhope, complete with directions for how to get to her flat in Belgravia. The invitation had come couched in her daily letter from Lavinia so as not to raise suspicion with Aunt Abigail. Aunt Abigail most certainly did not approve of Lady Stanhope and reminded Elaine of the fact at every opportunity. But from the little Elaine had seen of Lady Stanhope, and based on the praise Lavinia had heaped on the woman, she was someone Elaine most definitely wanted to know. And she was a friend of Basil’s.
Stealing away to Lady Stanhope’s house for tea on her own was another matter entirely. Elaine checked her appearance in the mirror, clicking her tongue and shaking her head at what she saw. She looked fine, all things considered, but not one bit like herself. Before leaving her room, she took up her hat, then charged out into the hall and down the stairs. The secret, as she saw it, to slipping out under her aunt’s nose was to march boldly out the front door as though nothing were out of the ordinary, as if she had every right to go waltzing through London on her own.
“But it’s getting away from us.” She heard her uncle’s voice coming from his study as she strode down the hall. It was enough to make her stop and tread carefully, loath to be seen after all. “She’s turned out to be an unmitigated disaster, hurting my cause instead of helping it. The whole thing is on the verge of blowing up in our faces.”
“It will not blow up anywhere,” a deeper, more languid voice answered him. “We have means to ensure that it doesn’t.”
Elaine stopped entirely, pressing her back against the wall beside the study door. She recognized the voice as that of her uncle’s friend, Lord Shayles. They’d been introduced the night of the Margate ball. The way Lord Shayles had stared at her then—and every time they’d had the misfortune to meet since then—filled Elaine with revulsion.
“I don’t want to go with Denbigh’s plan if we don’t have to,” Uncle Daniel said.
Elaine held her breath, her blood rushing faster in her veins. She loved a good plot, and her uncle’s words were most certainly plot-like.
“At this point,
old boy, you’re going to have to,” Lord Shayles said. “The May Flowers are a fickle and insipid bouquet of shite. Denbigh’s wife has done her best, but she’s losing ground. The chits have their heads turned by Waltham’s flattery, and probably his tiny, shriveled cock too.”
“The man always was insatiable,” Uncle Daniel chuckled.
Anger flared like a volcano in Elaine’s chest, but with it came a surprising burst of jealousy. The night she and Basil were together, he’d warned her he was insatiable. What had given her a thrill then made her feel sick now.
“Regardless,” Lord Shayles went on, “Waltham has been an effective campaign tool. The Liberal Party is ahead in the polls now.”
“We don’t know that Waltham is responsible for that,” Uncle Daniel said.
“Does it matter?” Lord Shayles asked. “Whether Waltham still has the energy to seduce a hundred votes or none, the vote does not appear to be going in our favor. It’s time for drastic measures.”
“Yes, but stuffing the ballot-box is not the way I want to go.”
“At this point, you don’t have a choice.” There was a creak that suggested Lord Shayles had taken a seat. “Now, Denbigh has a whole army of lackeys who are prepared to alter the vote in your home district and five others for fifty thousand pounds.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“It’s the price of victory,” Lord Shayles said. “But if it makes you feel any better, Denbigh’s wife has one last trick up her sleeve to turn the female tide. It seems there could be a schism in the May Flowers.”
“What do I care about some petty cat fight?”
“It involves a certain newcomer in town, one you know well.”
“So?” Uncle Daniel asked in a grumble.
“So,” Lord Shayles went on in a teasing tone. “Lady Denbigh’s scheme solves both of your thorniest problems.”
“Tell me more.”
“Oh, Miss Elaine. You forgot this,” Mary said, scurrying up the hall with a completely unnecessary parasol.
Seconds later, Uncle Daniel stepped out into the hallway, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Hello, Uncle Daniel,” Elaine said, employing every last bit of acting talent she possessed to appear completely at ease. “I was just about to go out for a walk.”
She took a few steps toward the door, glancing into the study as she passed. Lord Shayles, sat on the sofa, legs extended and one arm stretched across the sofa’s back in a leonine pose. His grin gave Elaine a chill as he swept her with a hungry glance. Aside from Lord Shayles, Lord Gatwick sat, stiff as the overstuffed chair itself, near the fireplace. The man had been so silent during the previous exchange that Elaine never would have known he was there. Lord Gatwick was the opposite of Lord Shayles in every way. He was stony and proper, with a pale face, pinched lips, and light brown hair brushed severely back from his face. He didn’t look at her at all. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything. He had the appearance of a man who would rather have been anywhere else.
“Ah, my dear.” Uncle Daniel said. “I was hoping you’d happen by.”
“Well, Uncle, I was just on my way out,” Elaine said, gesturing over her shoulder toward the door.
“She’s an original, I’ll give you that much,” Lord Shayles said, then bit his lip.
A shiver went down Elaine’s spine. Her uncle didn’t seem to notice his friend’s inappropriate gesture. She glanced to Lord Gatwick, who averted his eyes as if he didn’t care.
“Lord Shayles was just telling me about how impressed he is with you,” Uncle Daniel went on.
“Was he?” Elaine tried to keep the displeasure out of her voice at the lie. The smile she sent Lord Shayles’s way was more of a grimace.
“Yes, I was.” Lord Shayles rose and approached her with slow, predatory steps. “I was telling your dear uncle that you are precisely the kind of enterprising young woman I can see making a dazzling name for herself.”
The compliment didn’t sit right with Elaine. It reminded her too much of the police officer at Euston Station who had assumed she was a prostitute and who had said he would find her later. “Thank you, my lord.” She nodded to him all the same, darting a glance to the door, desperate to get out for more than one reason.
“Your uncle also tells me that you’ve been quite active in politics during this exciting election,” Lord Shayles went on. “That you’ve achieved the outstanding coup of befriending members of the May Flowers.”
“I have, my lord. I feel passionately about certain causes and….” She remembered a moment too late that her causes were not her uncles and sent a cautious glance his way. But Uncle Daniel didn’t seem to care what she was saying. His smile was more for Lord Shayles than for her.
“I’ve heard that about you,” Lord Shayles said, a purr in his voice. “That you’re passionate,” he finished when Elaine blinked at him.
Elaine’s cheeks burned. “I don’t know where you could have heard that, my lord.”
“It’s all about town. Everyone who was at Margate’s ball is talking about you.”
“I hope it is for the right reasons,” Elaine murmured, knowing it wasn’t. She was regretting going to that ball more and more as each day passed.
Lord Shayles inched closer to her. “I’ve had more than a few inquiries about you.”
“About me, my lord?” Elaine frowned at him.
“Yes. More than a few.” He grinned at her, making Elaine wonder how a man who was so outwardly handsome could be so repulsive. “When Waltham is finished with you—and we all know how fickle and fleeting his tastes are—I may be able to help you.” He reached into his jacket and took out a card. It was black, printed with silver script, and bore the name The Black Strap Club.
Elaine took the card, sending her uncle a questioning glance. He continued to smile at Lord Shayles in a way Elaine could only describe as toadying. She risked a peek at Lord Gatwick, but he was still fixed to his spot in the chair, staring out the window with a vaguely miserable look, utterly disengaged.
“Thank you, my lord,” Elaine said, not knowing what else would be appropriate. She nodded to him and her uncle. “If you will excuse me.”
She turned to go without waiting to be dismissed. There was nothing she liked about Lord Shayles, and if behaving badly meant her uncle threw her out of his house, perhaps that would be better for everyone. He was turning out to be every bit of the blackguard that people had implied he was, and if he was planning on tampering with his own election, well, she would have to tell someone.
She only made it three steps toward the door before Aunt Abigail caught her as she came out of her morning room. “Elaine, where on earth are you going?”
Elaine clenched her jaw, crushing the brim of her hat in her fist. She then put on a smile before turning to her aunt. “I was just going out for a walk,” she lied. Far too easily.
“A walk?” Aunt Abigail balked. “On your own? At this time of day?”
“It’s a lovely day for a walk,” Elaine insisted.
Aunt Abigail frowned. “It is about to rain.”
“I used to walk in the rain all the time in Brynthwaite,” Elaine said, wishing she were about to do it again.
“You cannot go out unaccompanied,” Aunt Abigail insisted. “Whether it is about to rain or not.”
“Not even if I stay close by?” Not that she had plans to do such a thing.
“No. Now go upstairs and change into something more suitable. We are at home this afternoon.”
Elaine fought not to roll her eyes. In the scant week she’d been in London, she’d become all too familiar with the tedium of calling on Aunt Abigail’s friends and being called on in return. And without Lavinia there to relieve the boredom, it would be even more hellish.
“Yes, Aunt Abigail,” she said, faking an innocent smile. “Only, let me just take a quick turn in the park across the street. I promise, I’ll come right back inside.”
Aunt Abigail narrowed her eyes. “I shall fetch my hat
and join you.”
“That would be delightful.” Elaine’s smile turned brittle.
Aunt Abigail continued to stare at her for a moment before turning and marching off, presumably to fetch whatever of her army of hats matched her current outfit. As soon as she was gone, Elaine bolted. She didn’t even wait for the butler to open the door. She wrenched the heavy thing open herself, darted outside, then closed it as carefully as she could.
As soon as she made it to the street, she broke into a run. Or at least, a swift walk. The blasted corset and pounds of skirts and crinolines she wore made running impossible. It was no wonder fine, London ladies were constantly swooning and never had the energy for any real physical or mental activity. The sooner she was able to don her artistic dress again the better.
She dashed around the first corner she came to, then hurried on, turning a few more corners in case her aunt decided to come after her. Once she was certain she was out of danger, she had a passing gentleman hail a cab for her. Once that was done and the driver was given Lady Stanhope’s address, all Elaine had to do was sit back and wait until they reached their destination.
“You came all this way in a hired cab?” Lady Stanhope asked her, incredulous, as she greeted Elaine and invited her into her richly-appointed flat in Belgravia.
Elaine must have been in London too long. She found the question surprisingly blunt for a woman she didn’t truly know yet. “Yes, I had a bit of money left to pay for it. Is there a problem with that?”
Lady Stanhope laughed as she shut the door and invited Elaine to sit on a red upholstered sofa in the front room. “Only that you could have been robbed or ravaged or worse.”
“No,” Elaine said in disbelief, then, “Really?”
Lady Stanhope sat on the other side of the sofa from Elaine, studying her with wise, blue eyes. “Basil certainly doesn’t love you for your prudence.”
