by Tessa Candle
“No, Mills, I shall go home now and read it on the way.”
“But we were not finished our conversation. We have not yet had tea. Surely you are not leaving.”
“Ah, but I am. I shall see you at the ball.” He took his leave.
He had warned her of Essington's return. His duty was discharged. If she insisted on wearing blinders and ignoring the problem, that was all a piece to him.
He did not open the letter until he was in the carriage. It was written in French, and rather ill—the explanation given was that it had been composed while inside a fast-paced carriage, in anticipation of posting it at the next stop. He thought, however, that the poor quality of the hand appeared more the product of a determined effort than a jouncing carriage.
A man, who claimed to work for Aldley's solicitor in Paris, would be arriving in London within a few days, bringing with him the infant child of Solange Dupres. The author asserted that the child, though previously thought dead, was still alive.
“How is this possible?!” He read on to find no additional explanation. But he was to expect further contact as soon as the author, an M. Boulanger, arrived in town. The man also assured his discretion.
Aldley had never heard of this Boulanger fellow. At least the letter was written in fluent French—that much appeared authentic. Still, it must be some scheme to extort money from him, otherwise his lawyer would have sent word and vouched for this stranger. He would have to look into the matter.
If it were a fabrication designed to extract money, he would bring the full force of the law to bear on the perpetrator. Aldley had had quite enough of bad characters and underhanded scheming in the past several days, and these plotting frauds would feel the consequences of it.
Chapter 32
Lydia sat in Tilly's spacious coach and inhaled the scent of cinnamon and cloves. She laughed in disbelief. “I am not sure why my mother is so quick to trust you. I am sure if I had told her we were just going down to the shops to look for a new bonnet, she would never have believed me.”
They were safely back in London, and there was a whole day free before Lydia had to think of such things as balls and hair and dresses. She certainly would not choose to waste her time shopping for clothing, and it was astounding that her mother would believe such a story.
For that matter, she would not have wasted the money on any frivolous purchase. She had plans for all her saved up pin money.
She had just been lamenting the visible reminders of her family's current financial situation—the disappearance of most of the furniture in the north parlour, about a third of the paintings in the house, and worse, half of the books in the library.
She knew that the official story was that they were simply redecorating, but she wondered how long they could keep up the pretence.
“Oh be assured, my friend,” Tilly straightened her skirts, “in this case she would have believed you. And anyway, it is quite natural for a young girl in love for the first time to have an insatiable need for new bonnets. Or so I am told.”
“What do you mean in this case?”
“Ah. That. You see, I learned a few things while I was at Nesterling—in particular, that your mother always consults this Floren woman for her fortunes, and such.”
“True. It has been so since I was a child.” Lydia sighed.
“Indeed? A long standing arrangement, then. So, I went to visit Floren, myself. She is delightfully practical for being such a magical person, and accepted a small token of my appreciation in exchange for giving your mother some opportune advice.”
“You bribed my mother's medium to lie to her?” Lydia did not approve, but could not be entirely surprised.
“She is not exactly a medium, and I should never call it a bribe.” Tilly tapped her fingertips together. “I merely gave her some hints on what the mystical voices might wish to tell your mother. That you should spend more time with me, for example, and that a new bonnet would be a good omen for an auspicious marriage proposal.”
Lydia shook her head.
“Oh do not look at me like that.” Tilly wagged a finger theatrically. “It is not as though you have never told your mother a fib to get out of the house. And if you have such a bad conscience about it, we can go back and say you changed your mind.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Using her own soothsayer to deceive her is going a little far.”
“I truly do not see the difference between telling your mother a little white lie, and getting someone else to tell her a little white lie.” Tilly waved Lydia's scruples away with her gloved hand. “You are safe enough now, with Delacroix gone. Anyway, here is your new bonnet, so it is not even a lie.” She handed Lydia a hat box from the carriage seat, beside her.
“Thank you,” Lydia said, without much enthusiasm.
“Please do not mention it. Now, let us waste no more time on guilty consciences and such stuff. We have more important matters to attend to.”
“Such as?”
“I have arranged a meeting with your new lawyer, again, as you requested.” Tilly squeezed one of the scent sachets to release more of the spicy aroma into the carriage. “I hope you will tell me why. But of more immediate concern to me is Miss Delacroix. She has been acting almost as desperate as her brother.”
“I admit, I was incensed at her so-called carriage accident.” Lydia scowled. “And to hear you say that she has had Marie spying on us—it is beyond intolerable. I am persuaded that she assisted her brother. I do not see what we can do about it now, however.”
“We shall see about that. But I do not believe her schemes are finished, yet.”
“What more can she do?”
“A great deal more than you might think. Honestly, although it is very vexing that she is clearly trying to ensnare your future husband—”
“We should not presume that he is my future anything.” Lydia was quick to correct her friend.
“Hmm. But as I was saying, however vexing her schemes are, I must admit I find her so much more interesting now. I thought her spoiled, conceited and a little ill-bred, but otherwise rather boring. I had no idea she was this devious and audacious. I am quite diverted. It almost makes me like her better.”
“You are diverted by bad character.” Lydia stared at Tilly, then shook her head.
“Most certainly—so long as it is of an interesting variety.” Tilly chuckled.
“There is no cause for you to be proud of the fact, you know.”
“I do not try to hide it from my true friends, but it is not something I am proud of, exactly. There is no point in being proud of things that are no accomplishments of our own. This character trait comes quite naturally, I assure you. I cannot take credit for it, so taking pride in it would be absurd—though no more absurd than ladies taking pride in their beauty, birth or wealth, I suppose.”
“You are very philosophical. But I admit that I am also diverted by your vices, so I shall not attempt remove the mote from thine eye.”
“It is amazing how virtuous you are.” Tilly rewarded her pious friend with a sideways smile. “It would be tiresome if it were not so novel. Very few of your fellow Christians would hesitate to remove the mote from mine eye, I assure you—though their own eyes were veritable lumber yards. So I suppose I find virtue somewhat diverting, as well.”
“What do you suggest we do about Miss Delacroix?”
“I do not think there is much to do, exactly. Not until we know precisely what she is up to. And believe me, I shall work on finding out. I have a guess that she still has designs on Lord Aldley. Perhaps she plans to take a page from her brother's book and sneak into the Aldley ball.”
“I should think that would be a little harder for a lady to do.” Lydia's brows furrowed.
“I do not see why it should be—so long as the lady is resourceful and a little ruthless, which she gives every appearance of being. Or should I say ruthless and a little resourceful? I wonder if someone should warn Lady Aldley.”
“I
should not like to have that task. And all we have are suspicions.”
“True. And Miss Delacroix is the daughter of a viscount, whereas we are only filthy nouveau riches. Let me think on it. Speaking of Lady Aldley, I have made a discovery about your future mother-in-law—yes, yes, I know you will object. Very well, the Dowager Countess Aldley.” She gave Lydia a knowing look.
“Oh? What can you have discovered?”
“Do you remember at the Delacroix dinner party, how she seemed to be disturbed by the mention of a certain acquaintance with the Wurtherly family in Warwick, when Delacroix—accursed little brute— mentioned it?”
“Yes. I remember we puzzled about that a bit. What have you discovered? Is there a shadow on that fine lady's past?” Lydia could not help being curious.
“Only look how quickly you have become a gossip monger! We shall make you into fine ton material yet.”
“You needn't crow over your success in corrupting me. What have you to report?”
“It seems as though her ladyship was once an impressionable young lass, if you can imagine it. She fell in love with, and was abducted by—or perhaps it was a failed elopement—a certain handsome young rake in the neighbourhood by the name of Beauchamps. Although this man had neither rank nor fortune, he had some good connections. He was, indeed, a cousin to Lady Aldley's childhood friend, Helen Wurtherly (nee Beauchamps). There is the connection to the name, you see.”
Lydia's brows rose with realization. “Ah yes. That is why she became so bilious when Delacroix mentioned Beauchamps.”
Tilly continued, “It seems Mr. Beauchamps had the audacity to aspire to Lady Aldley's hand—or to Elizabeth Halton's, as was then her name. Her parents did not approve. Fortunately her father caught up with them before they could marry, extracted his daughter, and hushed the whole matter up.”
Lydia was amazed. “You would never guess by talking to her now that there could be any such blight on her past.”
Tilly nodded and tapped her head “You see? Once again hypocrisy saves the day.”
She assumed a more serious pose and continued, “Her family contrived to relocate to London. The next year, she was safely married off to the late Lord Aldley. Beauchamps, by and by, became a lawyer, came into some inheritance, made a small fortune in some very lucky investments, and was later knighted.”
“How did you discover all this?” Lydia looked inquisitively at her friend.
“I made some enquiries. You should know by now that I have considerable resources. But I never reveal my informants.” Tilly's eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Well, all this is quite fascinating,” Lydia shook her head. “But I do not think we should repeat any of it.”
“Certainly not. But I found it very interesting to discover that Beauchamps—shall we call him Sir Gerard? Is currently living in London. Apparently also a widower.” Tilly's nose twitched.
“I wonder if Lady Aldley would be a kinder, less grand person if she had married Beauchamps.”
“I suppose we shall never know how the turn of history affected their personalities, but it seems to me that the separation of the two proved of great advantage to both, viewed prudentially. For she went on to marry an earl, and I rather doubt that her former beau could have attained his fortune and knighthood so easily with a wife and family in tow and more than a whiff of scandal about his person.”
“Probably true.”
Tilly was silent for a moment, then went on to a fresh topic. “So, now will you tell me what you wish to discuss with your lawyer, or is it to be all a hugger-mugger, even from me?”
“I am sure you have many secrets from me, so it would serve you right.” Lydia gave Tilly an arch look.
Tilly wiggled her eyebrows at her. “So you keep saying, but it is only for your own good. And anyway, I know you want to tell me all about it, or I should not have asked.”
“You are so all-knowing. Perhaps you should set up shop in Floren's line of work.”
“I should never repay her assistance by such a bad turn as going into competition.” Tilly held a hand up to ward off such an unthinkable suggestion. “That my friend appreciates my gift of otherworldly vision must be enough for me. Now do not make me resort to reading your tea leaves. Tell me all.”
“I know that I must maintain a discrete distance, however I am contemplating an investment in the talents of Miss Grey.”
“Miss Grey?”
“She is not just a veritable magician with hair, she also makes her own pomades and treatments. And she is most sought after—all the ladies know of her skill. But, she can only dress so many heads of hair. On the other hand, if she could make her hair products in quantity, I believe they would fetch a fair price.” Lydia looked apprehensively at her friend, unsure what her reaction might be.
“I think it is a wondrous scheme!” Tilly clapped her hands. “Have you discussed it with Miss Grey?”
Lydia gave a little smile of relief. “No. With everything that has transpired recently, I have not yet had the chance.”
“Well, her involvement is crucial. The products have to bear her name. And they must be exquisite in appearance. Fortunately for you, I have an acquaintance in the glassware business, who makes some of the most sought after crystal jars. The sort of thing a lady would love to have upon her toilette.”
“Of course you do. But will not that drive the price up rather high?”
Tilly huffed at such a trifling consideration. “You will be selling to ladies who want to display their status and superior style. It must be the most expensive hair pomade in England.”
“I am not sure I have the capital to support such a high cost, initially.”
“But I think you do. Or if you do not, I can arrange more financing.”
“I thought it might be better to start small.” Lydia needed the venture to make money, not create debt—especially not to a friend who was to know nothing of her father's straightened circumstances.
“Believe me, if you want to sell to the bon ton you must be the best, and give every appearance of being expensive and exclusive. You may start small in number, but not in stature.”
Tilly's blue eyes lit up so intensely that she looked a bit mad, as she paused to think. “Yes. Better to sell a dozen pomades in pots made of diamonds, and leave every débutante’s mother frothing at the mouth because she cannot get one, than to sell one hundred pots at a reasonable price.”
“I think we may rule out diamond pots.” Lydia laughed nervously. “I know I do not have capital for that.”
“It is merely a figure of speech. You needn't be so literal. Anyway, I see we have arrived.” Tilly let the servant hand her out of the carriage. “Let us see what Mr. Fromme has to say about your plan.”
Chapter 33
The sun streamed through the window, framed by sage green curtains, and lit up the spines of books on a small shelf in Aldley's office. He sat at a pedestal desk of black walnut, sprinkling powder over his freshly written missive.
He sealed the letter and hailed his servant to post it. His solicitor in Paris could testify to the facts surrounding Solange Dupres, should the fraudster reveal himself.
“This must be posted without delay.”
When the servant left, Aldley turned his mind to Miss Norwood—Lydia. He wished they might call each other by first names. He hated the formality between them. She had only ever called him my lord. It was quite proper, as his mother would remind him, but entirely unsatisfying.
She should speak to him in the most intimate terms. When they were not speaking, they should exchange knowing glances and smiles, as he had seen her do with her father and Miss Ravelsham.
When they were not around other people, he wanted to extend that intimacy, to explore the wildness that he had seen in her. Climbing trees and galloping about astride great horses—how might she perform in the bedroom?
“Pardon me, my lord.”
He almost knocked over his chair, he made to stand up so abruptly. But
then he as quickly decided to sit down again. “What is it, Brown?”
“There was a person here, just now. She left a note.”
“Was it a young lady?”
“Yes. Well, not a lady, my lord.”
“A young woman then. Was it Miss Norwood?”
The man looked puzzled. “My lord?”
Aldley huffed in exasperation that the stupid man should not know the name of his goddess. “A beautiful girl, with red hair?”
“No, my lord. I reckon she was a servant.”
“Well, I suppose I might as well read it.” He sighed and took the missive. It was certain to be more of the recent intrigue concerning Solange's child. But it was too soon to start demanding money. He read it over hastily.
I write to you because I believe you are on the point of making a most disadvantageous match. I thought someone should warn you that the young woman you have fixed upon is highly unsuitable.
Not only has she recently been the object of an abduction which should have destroyed her reputation, had her family not hushed it up, but her father is also on the verge of bankruptcy.
She will very soon be without a dowry or any good reputation, particularly if she does not marry the man she has been in constant, unsupervised contact with at her family estate in the country.
In every way her conduct and situation in life court scandal and ruin.
I know you must be unaware of her true character and circumstances. Although I am sure this is a blow, I believe in time you will be grateful for the intelligence which must spare you a great deal of unpleasantness and embarrassment.
Sincerely,
Anon.
He leaned back in his chair. In the very first instant, he considered that it might be written by his mother, but he soon discarded the idea. It was not her way to write him notes, and she would have had to disguise her handwriting.
She also had too good an opinion of her importance and influence to try to pretend to be an impartial source. If she knew of Delacroix's abduction scheme, she would have spoken to him of it directly when he called upon her, and would have been most adamant that he should sever all connections with Miss Norwood.
