Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  "Yes, of course." She popped a prawn into her mouth, then selected one for Puggy. "And what of Brisbane? Shall you see him again when all this is finished?"

  I shook my head and immediately regretted it. Champagne always left me dangerously light-headed. "I do not see why I should. I mean, I think it highly unlikely. I would have no need of him in a professional capacity, and socially…"

  I let the thought hang there unfinished. It was provocative, really, the notion of meeting Brisbane in a social setting, with none of the complications of an investigation. "No, I think our paths will not cross again."

  "Pity. I think you rather like him."

  My first instinct was to deny, but I realized the futility before I even said the words. Ever the elder sister, Portia liked to think that she understood me better than I knew myself. I merely smiled at her.

  "What if I did? I have found him enigmatic and tempestuous. You yourself said he was too much of an adventure for the likes of me."

  Portia snorted. On any other woman, it would have been vulgar. On her, it was roguishly charming.

  "Too much for the little mouse you were then, creeping about in your blacks and greys. Look at you now," she said with a sweep of her hand toward my vivid violet gown and its daring neckline. "You've come quite a long way since then, my pet. All bold colours and alabaster décolletage. Too delicious. And as for Brisbane being enigmatic and—what was the other?"

  "Tempestuous," I supplied, thinking of the faint black-plum bruise on my back, a bruise just the shape of his hand.

  "Tempestuous. Most interesting qualities, Julia, and you would call them liabilities. Tell me, what did he look like at the Gypsy camp? Was he really naked to the waist?"

  She leered at me over the top of her glass and I could hardly speak for laughing.

  "Ninny. He looked like a man, what do you expect?"

  "Descriptive details, please! It's been ages since I saw one, and I likely never will again, at least if Jane has anything to say in the matter. Now, reveal all!"

  I settled back against the cushions and described in lurid detail.

  "Goodness," she said when I had finished. "Are you certain you are not embellishing? You always were prone to exaggeration as a child."

  I shrugged. "It is all in the eye of the beholder, is it not?"

  She was thoughtful as she reached for a raspberry tart. There was a scratching sound at the door then and we exchanged looks of surprise.

  "Another bottle already? Aquinas is a gem, Julia. Whatever you are paying him, double it instantly."

  I rose. "It is not Aquinas. There would have been footsteps." I opened the door cautiously. No one. I stepped back and there was an odd ruffly sound from the floor.

  "Ah, thought you would invite yourself to the party, did you?"

  The raven made a whirring noise in his throat and toddled past me, grave as a judge in his little black robe.

  Portia gave a little cry. "What the devil is that?"

  I closed the door and resumed my seat. "A raven, and not just any raven, my dear. This gentleman happens to be one of Her Majesty's own."

  Portia's eyes were enormous. She reached for Puggy protectively. "You don't mean it! Not a Tower raven…what on earth is he doing here? How?"

  The bird was pecking comfortably at the lace-edged hem of her gown. I distracted him with a tart, waving it in front of his bright black eyes. "Val. He won him off of Reddy Phillips on a lucky hand at cards."

  Portia, clutching Puggy to her bosom, leaned over and watched the raven, tearing daintily at the tart.

  "He's rather handsome, but something of a macabre sort of pet, don't you think? Especially with a dying man in the house?"

  "Don't be ghoulish," I said sharply. "Simon has not seen him, nor will he. It might upset him in his present circumstances."

  Portia agreed, then tossed another tart to the bird.

  "That's for me," he said pleasantly.

  Portia's eyes rounded even more. "He speaks?"

  I nodded. "Apparently Reddy took him for a jape, substituting another bird in its place. No one at the Tower seems to have noticed, which I find ridiculous. I mean, one would think that if one's job is the care and well-being of these creatures, one could have the diligence to tell them apart."

  "One would," she agreed. "Do you mean to keep him, then?"

  "I mean to give him back, only I don't quite know how. Reddy plagued us for a while, but I did not want to turn the bird over to him."

  "Why ever not?" Portia's voice rose in exasperation, the perquisite of an older sister. "You want to be rid of him, who better to take him off your hands than the little half-wit who stole him in the first place?"

  "I cannot explain it, except to say that I do not like Reddy Phillips. I did not wish to make it so easy for him."

  Portia regarded the raven a moment longer. He had finished his little treat and was sitting, looking from one of us to the other, as if he understood each word perfectly.

  "You know, I am not surprised Reddy has business with ravens," she said thoughtfully. "His elder brother was quite obsessed with them."

  "Was he?" I was keeping a wary eye on the bird. He was eyeing Puggy a little too intently for my liking.

  "Yes, you must remember Roland. I was obliged to dance with him sometimes during my Season thanks to Auntie."

  We grimaced at each other. Aunt Hermia's rule that one must dance with any gentleman who asked was ironclad. She made exceptions only for the most outrageous cads. She had some notion that it would give us an opportunity to widen our acquaintance, but as we always tried and failed to make her understand, there was a reason we were not acquainted with such people in the first place.

  "I remember him vaguely. Whatever became of him?"

  "Dead. Married some thin, weedy girl from the Duke of Porthchester's family. She was only sixteen, if memory serves. Piles of money on his side, a lineage to the Norman Conquest on hers. Unhappy marriage, by all accounts." As always, I was deeply impressed with Portia's ability to remember the minutest details of other families' misfortunes. She was a walking catalog of gossip, and although I deplored it, secretly I was rather glad. It saved me the trouble of talking to people. "Roland was quite apparently indiscreet with his affairs. He was actually on his way to an assignation when there was an accident. Train, boat, carriage, I can't recall. Something to do with transportation. Anyway, I don't think the child-bride mourned him very long. She married some Continental, a count or some such creature, the next year. Not a farthing between them except for her jointure from Roland, but they seem quite happy."

  I sipped at my champagne, wondering how differently my life might have turned out if Edward had left me a widow years earlier. Might I have found a Continental count to ease my widowhood? Portia was still talking, reminiscing about the Phillipses.

  "He was a member of that awful club, do you remember? They formed it the year you made your debut. Fashioned themselves after Cousin Francis' Hellfire Club."

  I preferred not to remember. Sir Francis Dashwood, a cousin on our father's side, had been the founder of the infamous Medmenham Club, often referred to by its more descriptive—and accurate—sobriquet, the Hellfire Club. The members had been notorious for their exploits, both in the bedchamber and in the chapels of the occult. In the years since its dissolution, a number of other reprobate youths had attempted to revive it, with varying success.

  Portia was musing aloud. "What did they call themselves? Something very like it…Brimstone! Yes, that was it. The Brimstone Club. They had all of these nasty little rituals, deflowering virgins together, that sort of thing. And all of that superstitious nonsense! They used to drink out of virgins' skulls to cure diseases and things. You must remember—it was all the talk for the entire Season. Such speculation about who might belong. They were so secretive about their membership, no one ever knew for certain. Except for Roland Phillips—he went on and on about it. Of course, that family has never been one for discretion. Roland talked a
bout how they always had ravens when they met, for effect, I suppose. His father bought that estate the other side of Basingstoke. They used the old folly there as a meeting place for the club, almost a ruin, I think it was. Very atmospheric and eerie. Tried to conjure the dead, I think."

  I stared at her. "You are making all of that up. You are quite drunk. Give me the champagne."

  She snatched up the bottle and held it out of my grasp. "I am not making it up. It was most entertaining. And profitable," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. "I managed to blackmail Bellmont into giving me a tidy little sum of money by threatening to tell Adelaide he was a member."

  "Never!" I did not imagine that Portia would scruple at a little good-natured extortion within the family. What shocked me was the idea that our eldest brother might actually have done something worth concealing.

  "Do not let me shatter your illusions, dearest. Monty is lily-white, I promise. But you know what a Polly Puritan Adelaide is. If there had been a breath of scandal touching Monty she never would have married him. I thought it might be amusing to touch him for a little pocket money. Fool that he was, he paid me."

  "Portia, that is disgraceful. How much?"

  She flashed me a smile. "I shall never tell. Suffice it to say that my domination over him came to an end when he discovered me in a compromising position with Daphne Pascoe."

  "No! I thought that Jane was…that is to say, I did not realize…" I struggled to find the proper vocabulary. My attempts at tact sent Portia off into gales of laughter.

  "My poor sweet, my life does not fit very easily into the proper pattern, does it?"

  I shook my head. "No. But then none of ours has."

  She shifted Puggy comfortably on her lap. "Oh, I don't know about that. You did what we were supposed to. You married your childhood sweetheart, lived in a quiet house in a quiet street, going to quiet parties, wearing—"

  "Yes, I have got that. Quiet clothes. How depressing you make it all sound. Well, I mean to make a proper scandal of myself just as soon as I have the chance. In fact, I may have already begun. I was quite thoroughly rude to Doctor Griggs this week."

  Portia gave me a pitying look. "My precious pet, you must do considerably more than snub that old fusspot to atone for a decade of normalcy."

  "It is a beginning," I replied mildly, thinking of all I had not told her. "At least it is a beginning."

  THE THIRTY-THIRD CHAPTER

  The proclamation made for May, And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

  —Robert Herrick

  "Corinna's Going A-Maying"

  The next day Morag brought the early post with my tea. Propped against the silver teapot was an envelope, thick and creamy, covered with a deep black scroll of now-familiar handwriting. I slit the seal with my butter knife.My lady,

  I have met with the proprietress of the establishment in question. This lady, Miss Sally Simms, declined to offer any useful information on the grounds of client confidentiality. I was only able to confirm that the box had been in her possession at one time, and that items of that type are usually given as tokens of esteem to clients of note. She declined to say whether this touched Sir Edward, and suggested that it was possible that the box passed through many hands before coming into his possession through quite innocent means. I will pursue this matter further, but at present I am obliged to leave for Paris on a matter of business. I shall write again upon my return, which I anticipate will be in five or six days—certainly less than a week. In the meantime, I must emphasize that you are not to involve yourself in this investigation in any capacity.

  Yours sincerely,

  Nicholas Brisbane

  Morag was bustling about the room, humming to herself. I resisted the urge to crumple up the letter and throw it at her. If I did not know his hand so well, I would have hardly believed him the author of this missive. It was cool and arrogant and pedantic—very like his manner when we first met, but I had thought, hoped, that we had progressed beyond this. I was thoroughly annoyed with him, not least for scampering off to Paris when we clearly had unfinished business in London. Sally Simms, indeed!

  Pouting, I munched a piece of toast and considered my course of action. I could maunder about the house as I had been doing, or I could get out into the town and pay a few calls, refreshing myself and keeping well out of trouble until Brisbane's return. Irritated as I might be, I had no desire to call down that temper on my head. I would wait patiently until his return, then call upon him and sweetly press my case. I had little doubt that his abrupt departure for Paris was due in large part to his vexation with me. So be it. I would win back his good favor by following his instructions, much as they chafed, and clearing up a few little mysteries of my own. I would confront Valerius at dinner and force him to tell me the truth about his antics. And in the meantime, I would find out what was in Madame de Bellefleur's mysterious, luscious rose salve.…

  She received me with all the warmth and charm I had come to expect, throwing open her arms and enfolding me like an old friend.

  "What a delicious surprise! I was perishing of loneliness, and here you are, an angel of mercy," she said, tucking her arm through mine. She took me into the little parlor with its lovely bee-strewn upholstery. She rang for Therese to bring cakes and a delicately scented citrus drink that was lusciously cool, perfect for the sultry warmth of the morning.

  "What weather we are having," she commented as she handed me a plate stacked with tiny orange cakes. There was a candied violet sitting prettily on the top. "I was just telling Therese this morning how lovely it was going to be. Such heat for May Day!"

  I looked at her, startled. "Is it May Day? How extraordinary. I had no idea."

  She smiled at me. "It is much celebrated in the country, is it not? With ribbon poles and queens of the May?"

  "Oh, yes. There are festivals and flowers—it is quite something. Somehow one loses track of that in town. I wish I had remembered, I would have brought you a basket of sweet peas. It is traditional to hang them on someone's doorknob and run away before they see you."

  Her eyes were dancing. "How charming! Tell me more."

  I did. I told her about bringing home hawthorn branches, and the morris dancers, and cricket matches, and found myself growing terribly homesick for the countryside. Abruptly I changed the subject.

  "This drink is quite delicious, Madame. You must tell me how it is made."

  She wagged an elegant finger at me. "It was Fleur, do you not remember? The drink is very simple. I will write it out for you later. One of my little receipts."

  I fetched the little pot from my reticule. "This is all I have left of the last concoction you shared with me. My maid attempted to re-create it, but I am afraid she lacks your skill. The most she managed was a pale pink syrup."

  Fleur laughed and clasped her hands together. "Then you shall have more. I am always so happy to share."

  And I believed she was. I could see the genuine pleasure she got from giving to me, and I wondered if it was because she had rather made a living out of receiving. Accepting the jewels and bibelots and money of her admirers must be rather tiring after a while, I reflected. It must satisfy some primitive, nurturing side of her to be able to give something instead.

  "You are pensive," she said suddenly. "Forgive me for prying, but I think you are thinking too much."

  I smiled at her. "Yes, I am thinking rather too much. I wondered if you had heard from Brisbane."

  She nodded, her sleek dark head barely touched with silver in the strong morning light. "Yes, he goes to Paris today. I am very wicked. I know he goes on business, but I still say to him, 'Nicky, please go to Guerlain and get my favorite perfume, and then I must have some chocolate and ribbons and fans and stockings…'" She trailed off with a laugh. "I am too awful to him, but he is very good to me, and I do so love my little treasures from my home."

  I hesitated, taking another sip of the citrus drink to smooth the w
ay. "Fleur, I know about his past. About his being Gypsy, I mean."

  She lifted a delicately plucked brow. "Indeed? Did he tell you?"

  "Not precisely." I thought it likely he had told Fleur himself. I could picture him, sleepy and warm, tangled with her in a twist of heavy, crested linen sheets, murmuring confidences he would never share with me. Ruthlessly, I dragged my imagination back to its proper place. "You see, I followed him—it was during the course of the investigation," I said hurriedly. "No, don't look at me like that. I did not mean to pry, truly I did not. I thought he was in danger, but then…"

  She smiled, the brief shadow of disapproval dispelled.

  "I understand. He is very stubborn, you know, stupidly so. I imagine he did not take it very well when you learned his secret."

  I pushed away the memory of the rough tree bark digging into my back, his fingers twisting into my hair…it had been a worthy distraction. Had it been a tactic, a stratagem to lure me from the discovery I had just made?

  I wrenched my mind back to Fleur and the question she had put to me.

  "No. He was quite angry at the time. We made it up after a fashion, but I know he is still put out with me."

  She shrugged. "Men are prideful creatures and Nicholas is prouder than most. He will forgive you before he forgives himself."

  "Perhaps. I tried to make him understand that it does not matter, not a bit, but I know he thinks that it does."

  Fleur leaned forward, focusing her eyes so intently on mine that I began to wonder if she practiced mesmerism.

  "But it does matter. Not to me, and not to you, but we are enlightened women, my dear. We judge him by the man he has become, not the child he was, and not the blood he bears. But there will always be those…" She paused, shivering slightly. "I remember one time, in Buda-Pesth, it was quite horrible, my dear. I truly thought he was going to be killed. He made the mistake of saying something in Romany to the wrong person, a powerful person with friends, and with a grudge against his kind. I do not think Nicky would have told me about himself if it were not for this man. But he needed help to get out of the city. He turned to me, I turned to my husband, and together we managed to smuggle him to safety."