by Jo Goodman
Sophie's glance shifted sideways, and she saw no censure in his regard, no hurt or regret. "You cannot know how I wish I had arrived at this pass a fortnight ago," she said quietly. "If you mean to stand against the Bishops, I should not have made you stand against me as well."
"Never doubt that you are the more formidable opponent."
"You do not mean that."
"I do."
Sophie was silent a moment. It was because he had cared so fiercely about the outcome that he could say such a thing; it still had the capacity to make her heartbeat trip over itself. "You love me so much?"
"Sophie." East's smile was gentle. "Is it so difficult to believe?"
"Sometimes." Her eyes darted toward the fireplace where the flames curled and flickered in slender ribbons of yellow and orange. "It is not for you to convince me, I think, but for me to convince myself. I cannot quite trust my good fortune." She placed her hand on her abdomen. There was barely any roundness yet, but the flesh was firm, and the cup of her palm exaggerated the curve that would come to her belly soon enough. "It is not only because of the child?"
"No." East put down his drink and moved from his chair to kneel on the floor beside Sophie's bench. He placed his hand over hers. "Do you think I cannot love you for your own sake?"
Her smile wobbled a bit. "I am stubborn," she said. "And too serious by half. It is not so easy for me to laugh at myself or admit when I am in the wrong. I would rather be at home with a book than attend any affair with more than ten people present. I am impatient. Of late I have been a waterworks, and I do not expect it to pass until I am delivered of our child, perhaps not even then. I am confounded by mean-spiritedness, and I do not suffer fools."
"God's truth," Eastlyn said. "You are no saint."
"I am serious, East."
"I know."
Sophie was not proof against the amusement in his eyes. "You shall make me laugh at myself after all. I think you must be very good for me."
"I am."
She lifted her hand from under his so that he could lay his palm against her belly. "It will not be so very long before my state will be obvious. Can you feel how I've swollen?"
East thought she sounded more hopeful than certain. "Your belly will soon precede your feet into a room," he said. He raised himself to the bench and sat beside her. "Will you like that?"
Sophie nodded. "Yes. I expect I shall." Her smile faded as she considered what her obviously pregnant state would mean. "Have you considered what you intend to do about my cousins?"
"Oh, yes."
She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. "You will not get yourself shot, will you? Do not think I will accept it with the same aplomb as Lady Northam."
"I have no intention of getting shot."
Which was not the same as saying he wouldn't, Sophie thought. "When I was with Colonel Blackwood today..." She glanced at East, a frown puckering her brow. "You knew that, didn't you? Did he explain it in his note?"
"He did. Go on."
"He told me a surprising thing that you have never once mentioned to me. I do not think it can be because you have forgotten it." At East's puzzlement, Sophie explained, "The refreshment I served you in the garden at Bowden Street... I understand it was something rather more than it should have been."
"Ah, yes." His expression cleared. He should have known the colonel would press this point with Sophie. "Laudanum and lemonade."
"Why did you never tell me?"
East shrugged. "At first I believed the colonel was mistaken. It seemed to me that I should have been able to taste something. I have since learned, depending on the amount of laudanum and the tartness of the drink, that it is not necessarily so."
"You have experimented?"
"The way you are regarding me now is precisely why I've never mentioned it. It was not recklessly done, Sophie. I had a chemist prepare each dose of the laudenade."
"Laudenade?" she asked weakly. "You are quite mad, East. I have always wondered, but now I am certain of it."
He merely grinned as if a compliment had been paid. "I did not suspect for even a moment that you were responsible. It made no sense. I had already proposed when you went inside to request the refreshment, and you knew then that you meant to refuse my offer."
"Colonel Blackwood is not so certain."
"He has a suspicious nature, and I could not recall whether you had taken any of the lemonade for yourself."
"I did not."
"It is just as well that I did not remember that aspect. It would have raised the colonel's sensitive hackles. You will have noted that he is considerably protective. He wanted to make immediate inquiries about your health that evening. I would not allow him. As far as I was concerned, whether or not you had been unwell proved nothing, and I did not want the colonel wading too deeply into my personal affairs."
"Thank you for that."
"He was not entirely accepting of my decision, Sophie. After you left for Tremont Park, Blackwood arranged for the new governess at Bowden Street to provide him with certain intelligence."
She nodded slowly, worrying her lower lip as she considered this. "That is how you learned that Abigail depended upon her laudanum."
"Yes. And that led me to the rather vague notion that perhaps the lemonade that was served was not meant for us."
"That occurred to me also, but only this afternoon."
"It appears that Lady Dunsmore was taking more laudanum than even you suspected. It begs the question: was she doing so on purpose?" East watched Sophie's hands for the answer and found it in the white-knuckled fists she made in her lap. "I thought that might not be the case. You suspect that it was something being done to her."
Sophie closed her eyes briefly and answered on a thread of sound. "God help me, but I do."
Eastlyn took one of her hands in his and eased her fingers open. In spite of the proximity of the fire, her skin was cold to the touch. "I believe we can acquit the children," he said quietly. "And the servants—unless you tell me that Lady Dunsmore was a tyrant nonpareil. Was she?"
"No." Sophie's gaze remained focused on the flames. "Demanding. Peckish. Often unreasonable. But she was no tyrant. She hadn't the strength of will to be."
"Then there is only one person remaining. Perhaps the idea had not fully formed in your mind until today, but I think you have had some inkling of it for weeks."
"I don't know what you mean."
"When we yet were in Clovelly I told you that Mrs. Sawyer had accepted your cousin's protection. You asked me if she had designs for a marriage with Dunsmore, and I reminded you, rather naively as it turns out, that Dunsmore was already married. Do you recall your response then, Sophie? It cannot have been far from the front of your mind for all this time."
It was not. Each time she thought she had pushed it back there were reminders that moved her suspicions front and center. "I told you that I have learned that when people decide what they want, there are any number of ways they might achieve their ends."
He nodded. "You were referring to your father's death," he said, "but perhaps not only that. Lady Dunsmore's habit of taking daily doses of laudanum must have stirred all manner of memories for you."
Sophie's gaze fell to her lap. She looked at Eastlyn's fingers threaded through hers and felt the strength and warmth of his clasp finally penetrate. "I did not believe he would attempt to kill her. Not really. I hate him for the part he took in my father's death, but his actions made some sense to me. As vile as they were, I could understand that it is sometimes in the nature of men—and women—to covet what another has. If Mrs. Sawyer was trying to poison Abigail, that would at least be understandable, but this began long before she was in any way part of Harold's life."
"How long before?"
Sophie carefully considered the question before she spoke. "It would have to have been after Esme was born. I cannot recall her complaining of headaches or using any powders before that time, but then you must remember that I was only
infrequently in her company. Still, I think she was not suffering then."
"Esme is four?"
"Yes."
"Then she was born not long before your father died."
"Seven months." She frowned slightly. "What are you thinking, East?"
He did not answer immediately, letting the idea take shape first in his own mind. His fingers squeezed Sophie's gently, imparting his warmth again to flesh that had suddenly grown cold. "I am thinking that perhaps Lady Dunsmore has certain knowledge of things you and I have only suspected."
"She was not at Tremont Park when my father was shot."
"She did not have to witness the shooting to learn what happened there. Someone could have told her directly, though that is unlikely, or she might have overheard a conversation she was not meant to. It has been your own experience to hear Tremont practicing his speeches from the other side of a door."
Sophie could very easily imagine Abigail coming upon a discussion between Harold and Tremont that she should not have paused to listen to. "She might know a good deal more than the truth about the shooting." Her eyes strayed to the ledgers. "It is possible she has some understanding of what those mean."
East nodded. "I think that's likely."
"Do you suppose she confronted Harold? He must be aware that she knows something, else he would have no reason to harm her."
It was a question in his mind and yet another for which he did not have an answer. He had not considered the possibility that his plans for Dunsmore and the Society of Bishops might place the viscountess at risk. Her life would be forever changed by what he intended, but his concern had been only that she should survive the scandal. Now it seemed he must assure that she survived. He would have to remove her and the children from Bowden Street before he could challenge Dunsmore or the Society.
East removed his hand from Sophie's and stood. He retrieved the stack of ledgers and placed them on the floor beside the bench. He chose the one on top to give to Sophie and took the second for himself. "You have reviewed them all?"
"Yes."
"And what is your answer to the question I put to you? Is Dunsmore part of the Society's circle or apart from it?"
"Your question is a trick one. He is both those things at once."
"Tell me."
"Harold does not stand with the others to form the circle, so he is not part of it in that way, yet they all look to him because he is at the center of it."
Eastlyn nodded approvingly. "How did you determine that?"
"I arrived at it slowly," she admitted, "because even with your parting words in my head, I could not get my mind past the idea that the Society of Bishops was in the service of Tremont. Then I considered that mayhap it was Helmsley who led them around by the nose. He has had a long political career, and his position in government is more powerful than any of the others. When I could not make sense of it, I looked carefully at Barlough's ledger because you told me that he had been an archbishop as well. It was then that I chose Harold's book and finally saw the pattern of withdrawals and payments."
"You came to the thing more quickly than I," he told her. "Dunsmore's book was the first one I had in my possession. By the time I looked at all the others I no longer had a good grasp of what had been in his."
"But you came to the same conclusion."
"Yes."
"Harold is demanding money from all of them."
Eastlyn nodded. "It is blackmail, Sophie. It serves no purpose to shy from the word. Dunsmore is blackmailing all of them, including his own father." He pointed to an entry at random on the open ledger in her lap. "One hundred pounds to Gilhead." He found a similar entry in the book he held open. "One hundred fifty pounds invested in the same ship the following day. I have Harte's ledger. Whose do you have?"
"This is Tremont's."
Eastlyn used the toe of his boot to topple the stack of accounts on the floor. He found Dunsmore's book at the bottom and picked it up. It required only a few moments for him to find the pertinent entries. "Here is a record of one hundred pounds deposited. T. Gilhead. And another for one hundred fifty pounds marked H. A. Gilhead. I think we can assume that H. A. is so that Dunsmore could distinguish between payments made by Harte and those made by Helmsley."
"Why Gilhead?" she asked.
"It's a ship trading in goods to India. Many of the entries refer to merchant vessels. It is merely a way for Dunsmore to keep an accurate record of what he is being paid. It provides a reference for the others in dealing with him. Some of the investments made by the Society are in reality just that, but I believe they were expected to share some fraction of their profits with your cousin. He made the same investments, so he knew which voyages were successful and which were not."
"Some of the ships transport slaves?"
"Yes." East thumbed through several pages of Harte's ledger. "Here. Crusader and Valencia. Their captains are known slavers. It appears the Society made investments to both and later paid Dunsmore with some of the profits."
"Bloody hell," Sophie whispered. She closed the ledger and looked up, catching Eastlyn's surprise before he could mask it. "You say it often enough. I cannot think of a single reason it should be the exclusive province of the male gender." Sophie's eyes were a shade defiant. "Bloody, bloody hell."
East did not take issue with the vulgarity, choosing to kiss her delicious mouth instead. It was a brief kiss, but the swiftness of it was part of what set Sophie so nicely off balance.
"What was that in aid of?" Her tone was not as sharp as she wished it might be. When Eastlyn merely grinned at her, she found her bearings. She lightly jabbed one corner of the ledger she held at his ribs and then dropped it hard on top of the others in his lap.
"Bloody hell, Sophie." He moved the books so they were out of her easy reach, including pushing those on the floor aside. "God's truth, but you are dangerous."
"Apparently it is a family trait," she said, more serious than not. It was sufficient to sober them both. "What is it that Harold holds over all of their heads? Is it really my father's shooting?"
"I suspect it began there. It is impossible to know the particulars without having been a member of the hunting party, but perhaps Harold was not meant to know the shooting was deliberate. It might be that he observed the whole of it but had nothing to do with its planning."
"He became part of it when he kept his silence."
"I agree. He is no less culpable in my eyes, though his guilt is not so clear as a matter of law. I think that while it began with your father, it did not end there. His leverage with them has increased over the years. The more they paid, the more they had to pay. He used their money to learn about their business, their perversions, their secrets. It is possible that Dunsmore knows more about the Society of Bishops than any other person outside of it."
"I don't understand why they haven't killed him."
"I have considered that. If I were in Dunsmore's position, I would put a detailed account of all that I knew in a safe place."
Sophie shook her head and gestured to the stolen ledgers. "I have learned that such a thing does not exist. You came by all of these easily enough."
East did not disabuse her of the notion that it had been a simple thing. She would not want to know how often the colonel's work had engaged him in similar activities. Neither would it ease her mind for him to confirm that none of it was without considerable risk. "Private things are rarely kept safely in one's own home," he said. "A better solution is to give them to someone else. In Dunsmore's place I would give my documents to a solicitor, with instructions to make them public upon my death—in the event that it was untimely. Because this is the Society, and one can never be certain who may be counted among their members, I might give copies of the documents to several solicitors."
"I am not certain Harold is so clever. Does he seem so to you?"
"He is alive, Sophie. His solution to the problem may be different than mine, but the fact that he is still blackmailing members of
the Society is proof enough that he has given the matter thought and arrived at some plan."
"They all know their ledgers are missing, East. Why has no one come for them?"
"Because they do not know all the ledgers are missing. I doubt that they have spoken to one another about it. Would you? You must keep in mind that Dunsmore's book is the key to all the others. Without it, their accounts are harmless enough. Some of them may not be overly concerned. Pendrake kept his ledger quite openly with the household accounts. He was not worried that someone would understand the import of it. And no one save for your cousins has any reason to suspect that I might have taken their books."
Sophie could no longer remain seated. She rose and crossed to the fireplace, choosing to stab at the fire with a poker rather than do nothing at all. "I cannot reconcile that it is Harold, and not his father, who is the puppeteer. It seems to me that he is always in Tremont's shadow."
"Perhaps because it is a good place to hide."
Sophie smiled faintly. "I had not considered that." She glanced over her shoulder at East. "I better understand Tremont's desperation to have me make a good marriage. He must have wondered how he would secure the funds to keep paying his own son."
"I am certain that is so. Dunsmore put none of his money into the estate."
"How that must have galled Tremont. After all, he shot my father with an eye toward not only acquiring the title and estate for himself, but an inheritance for his son." Sophie replaced the poker and stepped to the edge of the marble apron. "Do you suppose Tremont knows what Harold is doing to Abigail?"
"It's more likely that he believes as we did, that Lady Dunsmore is doing the thing to herself."
"What will happen to her, East? And the children? If you expose Harold, he could very well believe that it was Abigail who betrayed him. Whatever he might do to her, I do not want it on my conscience."
