by Merry Farmer
Basil’s face went so hot he was sure he looked like a lobster that had been left in the pot to boil for too long. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.
Elizabeth laughed. “Of course you don’t.” She turned to look at the crowd and the activity near the dais, where Turpin looked ready to begin. “You never did see what was right in front of your face.”
Basil stared at her without any attempt to hide his confusion.
Elizabeth shook her head and let out a wistful laugh. “Why did you leave London?” she asked instead of enlightening him.
Basil swallowed, his shoulders dropping. “Because I couldn’t face it anymore.”
“Couldn’t face what? Me?”
“No, no,” he reassured her, even though she had been a part of his decision. “The life I was living. I never asked to be born into this life. It never suited me. I wanted something else.”
“You wanted a sweet, loving wife and a house full of children,” she said. The confidence of her answer gave Basil chills. “Every woman in London knew that, and yet you kept choosing the least suitable women for that job. That’s also why you rushed to find me the moment you heard a rumor I was in the family way.”
“I….” Basil pressed his mouth shut and let out a tense breath. His actions two years ago felt like those of another man in another lifetime. The only part of his world that seemed real now was Elaine. “I am deeply sorry that I embarrassed the both of us based on a false report,” he said, frowning at the line of trees at the other end of the park.
To his surprise, Elizabeth laughed. “I would have found your eagerness flattering. If you hadn’t made such a scene about it. In Hyde Park, no less.” She clicked her tongue. “Oh, Basil.”
He deflated. “I’m sorry. It was rash and unforgivable.”
“I remember,” she said. “I gave you exactly the tongue-lashing you deserved. If Robert hadn’t been there, my reputation would have been in tatters.” Her expression pinched with sudden distress. But it quickly reverted to a smile. “In the end, everything turned out for the best. I’m very happy with Robert.”
“I’m glad.” Basil smiled, awkwardness rippling down his back. “You would have chosen him anyhow.”
“No,” she said, glancing to him in surprise. “I wouldn’t have. I would have chosen you.”
Basil froze. He frowned at her in confusion. “Surely not.”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “It might not have been the right choice, but I would have picked you. If you’d made the slightest bit of effort to keep me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Elizabeth let out an impatient breath, as though she were explaining the obvious, and turned to him once more. “You didn’t fight for me, Basil. You let me slip away. Just like you let everyone else slip away, or so I’ve been told.”
“But…you were ready to move on. You wanted something else. I was just an amusement for you anyhow, all of you.”
She shook her head. “You need to give yourself more credit. And you need to stop standing back and letting the world pass you by. You have to fight for what you want in this life or you’re never going to get it.”
A sudden, ice-cold flash of memory shot through Basil’s blood. Elaine had said the exact same thing only a few weeks ago, at the political rally in Brynthwaite. He’d dragged her off the dais in an attempt to rescue her, and she’d taken him to task.
He blinked, raising his eyes to meet Elizabeth’s. She was right, he’d let her go. As much as he thought he’d wanted her, at the first sign of a challenge, he’d turned tail and run. His mind swarmed with his other romantic embarrassments. Each one of them had fallen apart because they’d suddenly become too difficult. His heart had swelled with affection, feelings he’d mistaken for love, but the moment those relationships had felt like work, he’d pulled away, feeling hurt, defeated. He’d failed to fight.
“You deserve to be happy,” Elizabeth went on, discreetly placing a hand on his arm.
The touch brought Basil back to his senses. “If you truly thought that, then why did you invite Miss Bond to your gathering in a manner that will most certainly result in her humiliation?”
Elizabeth flinched, staring at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The gathering you are on your way to attending. You sent Miss Bond an invitation on behalf of the May Flowers.”
“I did no such thing.” Elizabeth blinked rapidly. “Though if it would make you happy, I’d be glad to have her as part of our group.”
“But—” Basil stopped, panic creeping up on him. “If you didn’t invite her….”
His question faded as he glanced across the crowd to where Turpin was standing. A young lady was speaking to him. Her parasol hid her face, but she was standing close, And Turpin seemed delighted by what she was saying.
“What in heaven’s name is Viola doing here?” Elizabeth asked.
The woman speaking to Turpin turned to the side. Her parasol moved, revealing her to be Lady Denbigh.
“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth gasped. She turned desperately to Basil. “Did you say your Miss Bond received an invitation to our gathering this morning, and that it came from me?”
“Yes.”
Lady Denbigh and Turpin glanced in Basil and Elizabeth’s direction. Lady Denbigh’s expression looked shocked and guilty.
“I was afraid of this,” Elizabeth said, moving toward her carriage and taking Basil with her. “Not all of the May Flowers find Miss Bond as charming as I do. It’s caused something of a rift. I fear Lady Denbigh may had sent an invitation in my name as a way to settle the matter of whether Miss Bond should be accepted.”
“And Turpin must be in on it,” Basil finished the thought. “But why?”
“Lord Denbigh is a notorious Disraeli man,” Elizabeth said as they reached her carriage.
“And a friend of Shayles.” Basil put the final pieces together. His pulse pounded as he helped Elizabeth into her carriage.
“If we hurry, we can get there before any harm is done,” Elizabeth said, making space for him on the seat beside her.
Basil shook his head. “There’s no time. I can get to Spencer House faster if I run.”
“Then go,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Basil nodded to her, then took off down the street with undignified speed.
She’s been set up. The moment Elaine alighted from her uncle’s carriage, dressed in her favorite of the artistic dresses she’d brought with her, her hair loose down her back, and a lisianthus pinned to her bodice, she knew she’d been lured into making a fool of herself. It was in the way the grand ladies present at Spencer House stared at her, tittering behind their gloved hands. It was in the way her aunt walked a few steps behind, a cautious, gloating grin on her face. It was in the fact that she was not instantly thrown out or that the police were not called to drag her away. But more than anything, it was in the way the rest of the May Flowers were wearing white roses, not lisianthus. She was there to be made fun of, there to make herself a laughing stock.
The ballroom of Spencer House was magnificently decorated. Urns of flowers stood between huge windows draped with feather-light chiffon swags. Gilded chairs tied with silk bows had been set up, facing a small stage. The stage itself held a grand piano and music stands. Every woman in attendance was dressed in the height of fashion.
And she was wearing a medieval costume.
“Aunt Abigail, what—” she began, turning to question her aunt about protocol for such events as a way to confirm her suspicions. But her aunt was nowhere to be seen. She’d abandoned Elaine while she was taking in the grandeur of the room. Yet another sign that no good was meant to come from her presence there.
Then again, Lady Royston had invited her. Surely there had to be some positive point to her inclusion. She might have been Basil’s former lover, but she wasn’t a witch. If only she could find Lady Royston, or even Lady Tavistock. They might know what was going on.
Elaine’s heart shot to her throat, and she dipped into a curtsy in imitation of everyone else in the room. She couldn’t keep her eyes downcast, though, not with the queen in the room. What surprised Elaine was how short the queen was, and how plump. Dressed in black as she was, a frilly cap on her thinning hair, she looked like one of the mangled gingerbread men June Lakes had burned the Christmas before. And yet, the queen had a definite sense of power about her. She walked with confidence, head held high, as though no one could match her. Elaine adored her at once.
“Good morning, your majesty,” a grey-haired woman wearing a pale blue gown said, taking to the stage. “Welcome to our humble home.” She turned her attention to the rest of the audience. “Welcome to you all. My son, Earl Spencer, and I are pleased to have you here for today’s entertainment. We are delighted that the incomparable Adelina Patti has agreed to sing for us today. Her voice has graced the concert halls of Italy, France, Spain, and Britain. Her talent is second to none.”
A smattering of applause and ripples of excitement passed through the crowd. Elaine glanced out over the sea of fine ladies to see if she could spot her aunt.
“But before Miss Patti sings for us, I have been given to understand that we have an entertainment of a different sort for you first,” the countess went on, her brow knitting in confusion. “It is a bit last minute, but let us all welcome Miss Elaine Bond.”
Elaine’s eyes popped wide as applause followed her name. She gave up searching for her aunt as half the audience turned and began to search for her. Not that they would know who she was or why she was there. She hadn’t been in London long enough to know even a fraction of the attendees of the queen’s recital, although she feared most of London society had heard her name in connection with Basil’s.
The applause quickly turned to whispers of confusion. Elaine’s gut tightened into a nervous ball of snakes. If this was what her uncle had planned, then he was a strange man indeed. What benefit could it possibly gain him to draw so much attention to her? Unless it was to make sure that the highest of London high society saw her and laughed at her. They would laugh and she would…flee back to Brynthwaite, forgetting any feelings she had for Basil and leaving her uncle to win his election?
There was no chance of that. Elaine stiffened her resolve, stood straighter, head held as high as the queen’s, and made her way to the front of the room. The gasps and whispers that followed as the high and mighty saw the way she was dressed, saw her hair and her boldness, was no different from the stares and whispers of the people of Brynthwaite. They wouldn’t stop her from being proud of herself, proud of her opinions. However important the women in that room were, they couldn’t stand in the way of the love she felt for Basil.
She reached the stage and stepped boldly onto it, turning to address the full assembly. Her nerve wavered for a moment when she saw the queen frowning at her, her expression utterly disapproving. Elaine made a quick and clumsy curtsy to her majesty, having no idea if it was the correct way to take a stage when a queen was sitting mere yards away.
She drew in a breath as she straightened, fighting not to press a hand to her stomach to still the butterflies there. Disaster loomed. Nothing good could come out of what she was about to do. She’d likely be thrown into Bedlam, or maybe the Tower. But she couldn’t just stand there and let her uncle and every man like him win.
“Your majesty,” she began, nodding to the queen once more. “Ladies and…well, just ladies, I suppose. My name is Elaine Bond, and I am here to speak to you today about the rights of women…and how we are forced to dress.”
Chapter 18
Basil’s lungs burned and his legs felt as though they might give out as he charged up the stairs of Spencer House. He needed to find Elaine as quickly as possible, explain the heart of Turpin’s and Lady Denbigh’s duplicity, and take her away to where they could live out the rest of their lives in peace.
But as he reached the front door, the liveried guards standing on either side stopped him from entering.
“I have to get in there,” Basil demanded, glaring at the guards.
“Her majesty, the queen, is in attendance,” one of the guards said, as though that were the only explanation needed.
“I know,” Basil growled. “And do you know who I am?” He hated brandishing his title like a sword, but some things were necessary. When the guards stared blankly at each other, he went on with, “I am the Earl of Waltham.”
Recognition dawned on one of the guard’s faces. “The missing Earl of Waltham?” He broke into a grin. “A likely story. He’s missing.”
The other guard looked more circumspect. “No, Reg, he came back.” The man glanced anxiously to Basil. “If you are him, m’lord, can you prove it?”
Basil let out an impatient breath and wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t need to prove who I am to the likes of you.” And there wasn’t any way he could prove it without someone he knew to vouch for him. “There’s a young woman in there who is about to do something very foolish,” he tried another tack, appealing to them with honest emotions that he would never have revealed in public if things were any less dire. “All I want to do is stop her from committing social suicide.”
The guards exchanged another, surprised look. “I don’t know,” the first one said. “We’ll need to ask—”
“What seems to be the trouble here?” a female voice sounded from deeper inside the house.
Basil glanced past the guards to see Lady Adelaide Spencer, the dowager countess, hurrying toward the door, her face pale and panicked. “Lady Adelaide.” He bowed to her, relieved that someone would recognize him at last. “If you would be so kind as to—”
“Hurry, hurry,” Lady Adelaide said, gesturing for him to come into the house. “There’s no time to lose. It’s a disaster.”
The guards and butler stepped aside and Basil raced into the house, his heartrate shooting up once again. He wasn’t more than a half dozen steps into the front hall when the sound of Elaine’s raised voice hit him.
“…shouldn’t merely stand aside and let our lives be ruled this way,” she said, clearly impassioned.
“Nobody knows what to do,” Lady Adelaide said, her voice shaking. “She’s been carrying on for nearly five minutes now. Her majesty appears to be livid, but she hasn’t sought to stop Miss Bond, and so no one else has either.”
The bottom dropped out of Basil’s stomach. He was too late.
Lady Adelaide rushed him through the hall to the back of a ballroom, set up for the recital. Elaine stood on the stage at the front of the room, resplendent in her finest artistic costume. Her hair fell around her shoulders like a silken veil. Her color was high, and she gestured wildly as she spoke, pounding her fist in her hand.
“Women are not property, to be owned and managed by their husbands, fathers, or brothers. We have our own thoughts and emotions, do we not? We should therefore be entitled to political rights under the law when it comes to our lives and our bodies.”
Gasps and whispers flittered through the audience of women. There were at least a hundred of London society’s finest ladies in attendance, half of them wearing a white rose pinned to their bodices. And, lord help them all, the queen was indeed sitting at the front of the assembly, mere yards away from Elaine.
“She’s your…friend,” Lady Adelaide said, sending Basil a wary look. Lady Adelaide was too experienced to be shocked by the rumors around London about Elaine’s connection to him, but worry clouded her expression all the same.
“She is mine in every way,” Basil said, gazing across the room at E
laine.
His heart swelled at the sight of her. Even in the midst of ruining any possibility of being able to show her face in society again, she was amazing. She showed no fear at all as she lectured the room full of startled women about the things that he and his friends routinely argued about in both houses of Parliament. And why should she suffer social annihilation by saying the same things that made Alexander Croydon a well-respected orator or which had gained Basil himself a reputation so sterling that Malcolm had interrupted his life simply so that he could influence an election?
“And furthermore,” Elaine went on, shifting from one foot to the other as she launched into a new topic, “I find it scandalous that women should be kept from information about their own bodies. Why, last summer, I read the most fascinating work advocating the natural control of childbirth called Fruits of Philosophy—”
The end of Elaine’s sentence was cut off as her audience burst into a scandalized uproar of whispers and turmoil.
“Someone must call the police this instant,” a woman in the back row demanded in a stage whisper.
“Why does the queen not demand she stop?” another woman hissed.
“Perhaps she agrees with Miss Bond?” yet another woman said.
“She couldn’t possibly. Look at her expression.”
Basil craned his neck to look as well. The queen sat, stiff as a board, staring at Elaine with a look that could only be described as fury. Whatever reason her majesty had for letting Elaine go on and on, it was evident that once Elaine stopped, the full force of royal anger would rain down on her.
“You must do something, Lord Waltham,” Lady Adelaide urged him.
She was right. He had to do something. He had to fight for Elaine, whether it meant the obliteration of his own reputation or not.
At that moment, further motivation to move appeared in the doorway of Spencer House. Elizabeth had arrived, but hard on her heels were Lady Denbigh and Turpin. Lady Denbigh blushed as though worried her joke had gone awry, but Turpin wore the expression of a man who had come to witness a bear-baiting. Basil couldn’t let the blackguard win.
