What a Spinster Wants Page 7

  She snorted in derision as she allowed him to lead her from her hiding space, staying almost improperly close to him out of instinct. “Not likely, my lord.”

  He gave her a look, then pulled her closer, setting his arm around her waist and tucking her into his side as others started to approach. “I can be a peacock if I need to be.”

  It took Edith a moment to realize it, but by his pulling her closer as he did, he ensured that the side of her face that had been struck remained hidden against his side. Further, in keeping her in conversation with him, he also ensured that she would not meet the eyes of anyone else.

  Quite clever, she would freely admit.

  She had to smile at him for that, though it pained her face to do so.

  “I cannot see you being a peacock, sir.”

  He grunted an almost laugh, his mouth quirking.

  “Use your imagination, madam. It does not happen often, but it is quite the sight when it does.”

  Edith giggled and covered her mouth with a hand, unintentionally turning her face more against him.

  “That’s better,” he said gruffly. “No one looks so upset at the theatre, besides myself, unless Madame LeFonte is singing. Now you blend perfectly well.”

  Pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth, Edith shook her head gently. “I forgot to thank you, my lord, for saving me at the ball.” She swallowed hard. “And as for tonight…”

  “It’s nothing,” he said simply, steering her out of the way of some others.

  “If you ken my situation, my lord, ye’d not think it to be nothing at all,” Edith managed hoarsely. “And for me to force you into a waltz when you do not care for dancing…”

  Lord Radcliffe gave her a hard look. “You did not force me, Lady Edith,” he said firmly, his dark eyes suddenly darker. “I had every choice I needed at that time. I do not need to know your situation, nor do you need to bear guilt. I do hate to dance, but not as much as I hate troublemakers like the weasel. Who is he?”

  Edith shivered, and his hold on her tightened in response.

  “My nightmare,” she murmured.

  He was going to ask more, she could see, but they had returned to the box, and Lieutenant Henshaw, Camden, and Aubrey were outside of it.

  “There you are!” Cam said, his relief evident. Then his eyes took her in.

  “Edith…”

  “Lady Edith will need to be tended to discreetly, and perhaps taken home before the show is ended.” Lord Radcliffe spoke in low tones, his voice calm.

  Aubrey nodded once, his eyes on Edith.

  “I’m going to venture a guess, Edith, if you will confirm it. Sir Reginald?” he asked in clipped tones.

  Edith nodded, her tears starting to well up again as she swayed a little into Lord Radcliffe.

  He bolstered her up at once even as Lieutenant Henshaw swore, and started away.

  “Not here,” Edith begged, grabbing his sleeve. “Not now.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “Very well, Edith. But soon.”

  There was no questioning him, so Edith only nodded once more.

  “Lady Edith, perhaps now formally I should introduce you to Lord Radcliffe? As it appears he is now caught up in this, as well.” Aubrey gestured to him. “Radcliffe, Lady Edith Leveson.”

  Lord Radcliffe looked at Edith, and there was a small hint of a smile on his face.

  “Charmed,” he said in a droll tone, giving her a nod.

  “You’re a hero, Lord Radcliffe,” she told him, bobbing a makeshift curtsey. “Twice now.”

  He removed his hand from her waist and took her hand in his. “I told you before, madam, I am no hero.” He pressed a polite kiss to her glove, though the sensation of it raced up her arm as if to soothe the pain Sir Reginald had caused there. “But a third time may change my mind.”

  “I know how you hate heroics, so I shall venture not to require you.” She tried for a cheeky smile, praying he would take the show of levity for what it was.

  His eyes showed a bit of amusement, though his face did not. “I would be most appreciative.” He bowed, and made eye contact with Aubrey, apparently communicating some message as both men nodded. Then, with a final nod to Edith, he left the group.

  Without another word, Edith was ushered into the box, and seated out of sight of any other guests of the theatre while Grace and Prue descended upon her.

  “Darling, what happened?” Grace pleaded, her fingers tracing the damage of her gown.

  “Edith, a-are y-you q-q-q…?” Prue’s distress returned her stammer to its former notoriety, and she bit her lip to keep herself from stammering further as she took Edith’s hand in her own.

  “Dinna fash,” Edith soothed as much as she was able, though she felt her body tremble in earnest now that she was fully removed from the situation. “I’m well enough.”

  Grace’s fair brow creased at that. “But what…?”

  “My love,” Aubrey said firmly, cutting her off as he settled a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Now is not the time, and this is not the place.”

  “No, indeed,” Cam agreed as he gestured for his wife to come to him.

  She did so, and he rubbed soothing circles on her back, whispering to her, no doubt to calm her anxieties and set her to rights. He was so good at that, and just what Prue needed.

  If only someone could set Edith and her life to rights. That would solve everything.

  “But,” Aubrey went on, his tone very serious indeed, “may I suggest that we leave before the second act has concluded, and that we continue this conversation at our home immediately after our departure? I don’t think we can waste another moment, quite frankly; nor do I think we ought to.”

  “Agreed,” Lieutenant Henshaw intoned gravely, one hand resting on the scabbard he still wore at his side, not nearly as decorative as the rest of his regimental uniform.

  Edith swallowed hard. She couldn’t bear this, couldn’t tell them, couldn’t reveal…

  “Edith?”

  Grace’s soft, kind, loving voice broke through her resistance, and Edith felt herself slump in her chair, her head lowering as the tears once more began to fall.

  “Aye,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Aye, I’ll tell ye all of it.”

  Chapter Six

  A little investment can get a body in a great deal of trouble. One ought to take care to only take an interest in matters that concern them, and in which they will not mind devoting their attention. Once you are in, it is very, very difficult to get back out again.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 17 February 1817

  This was a mistake.

  Graham wasn’t sure how he knew that, but know it, he did. How else could he explain the overwhelming feeling of dread encompassing him in the carriage as he rattled his way towards the Ingrams’ home? His stomach clenched in apprehension, wondering faintly if he shouldn’t have remained at the theatre with Tyrone and the Sterlings.

  But if he had, he wouldn’t know what was going on in the life of Lady Edith Leveson.

  Coming to the aid of Lady Edith hadn’t been part of his plans that night, nor had he intended the action to bring him into her confidence, or that of anyone else in her circle. But he would not deny that he was growing more and more intrigued with the woman, and equally concerned with the weasel that seemed incapable of leaving her alone.

  When he’d found her at the theatre, tucked away just around a column, he’d been torn between pursuing the weasel and seeing to her aid. As he had no context for the situation, he’d opted to stay with her, and the combination of strength and weakness within her was startling. Whatever had occurred between the weasel and Lady Edith, it had worn on her, made her quiver and retreat, and one look in her eyes had shown Graham just how tired the woman was from whatever her life was doing to her.

  Yet behind and beneath all that, there seemed to be a will of iron and a spine of steel within her. The grip she’d had on him as they’d walked back had been strong, and somethi
ng about the set of her jaw made him want to smile. She wasn’t the weak and retreating type, he suspected, and his finding her in such a distressed state was likely something she would feel ashamed of upon recollection.

  No matter what he said to dismiss such feelings, she would have them. Pride would dictate this for her, and it would be all she could do even to meet his gaze in the future.

  He could understand that. He didn’t agree with it, in her case, but he understood it. He’d have felt the same way, were the roles reversed.

  Strangely, he didn’t mind that he had come to the aid of Lady Edith twice now, in her estimation. She was smart, witty, fascinating, and beautiful; she wasn’t the silly type who would make something out of nothing, and he had yet to see anything regarding dramatics from her. There was something about the brogue he’d been hearing from her that made him want to keep her talking.

  For someone who frequently wished people would do anything other than talk with him, this was new and untrodden territory.

  Graham glanced out of the window as the coach rolled on, and he exhaled slowly. He hadn’t meant to get roped into the fallout from his role in the situation. He was only supposed to deposit Lady Edith into her friends’ care and return to his evening, dull as it had been. Yet when exchanging looks with Lord Ingram, Graham had seen the silent invitation there and agreed to it.

  A note delivered to him during the second act confirmed the invitation, as well as gave him a time and destination. Which was why he was where he was now, and he hadn’t even begun to think about the possibilities that would render such a meeting to take place so suddenly.

  He was tied into things now, like it or not, and even the weasel would know it, or soon would. He had seen them waltzing, even if he hadn’t seen them tonight.

  Whatever the third incident would be, should there be a third, Graham could hardly expect to remain anonymous after it. Somehow, he knew there would be a third. If not a fourth, fifth, and sixth. Why else would they be cutting their evening short and inviting him to the Ingrams’? Something was happening, or about to happen, and he was now involved.

  But was he part of the problem or part of the solution? Or was he simply a bystander being permitted further information?

  Time alone would tell.

  He’d already chosen his side, he supposed. Made a judgment based on observations. Knew his course of action, come what may. All he lacked was the context behind that course, the meaning behind those observations, and the risks of being on the side he had chosen.

  What was Lady Edith involved in, and how had she gotten there?

  Quickly, Graham ran through what he knew about her, which wasn’t much at all. Lady Edith Leveson wasn’t notorious or infamous, wasn’t even popular, let alone well known. Her late husband, however, had done little to keep his name out of scandal sheets or gaming halls, and he frequently seemed to keep his name there intentionally. Sir Archibald Leveson had been familiar with each of the seven deadly sins, though gluttony for excesses he reserved for the other sins rather than in food.

  Everyone had been surprised that Sir Archibald had married, as no well-bred family would wish to link their daughter to him, no matter how vast his fortune was reputed to be. His status was certainly not as enviable as some, being merely a knight, and his fluctuating financial situation would be too great a risk to take on.

  How in the world had Lady Edith’s family agreed to the match?

  Sir Archibald hadn’t been in the match long, dying after a drunken ride on his horse shortly after his wedding. The details of the thing weren’t all that clear to the public, and he suspected only Lady Edith and the local magistrate in York knew the full truth. In many respects, life should have improved for Lady Edith with her new bridegroom gone.

  By present accounts, however, that was not the case.

  This was going to be complicated, and it would, undoubtedly, be a mistake.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the London home of the Ingrams, prompting a rough exhale from Graham as he eyed the façade.

  Too late now.

  He rose and pushed out of the carriage, not bothering to pause before striding up the few steps to the door. He rapped his knuckles on the surface twice and was let in before he could go for a third.

  Clearly, he was expected.

  Graham nodded at the butler as he handed his cloak and gloves to a footman nearby. “Am I the last to arrive?”

  “You are, sir,” the older man confirmed. “Word has been sent to some others, but I understand they are not expected this evening.”

  Interesting. Unless Graham was mistaken, nothing Lady Edith had suffered at the hands of the weasel would require a meeting of such urgency that others would need to be roused from their beds. But perhaps whatever evils that were afoot had been going on for such a length of time that enough was enough.

  One instance would have been enough, surely.

  But he was not here to judge; he was here to learn.

  Silently, he was led down the corridor by the butler, taking fleeting notice of the details of the Ingram home. Nothing overly ostentatious, but perhaps more embellishments to the simple structure of the place than Graham would have made. Tastefully done, though, and fairly refined.

  He would chalk that up to the tastes of Lady Ingram and think all the better of her for it. She was from one of the more prominent families in Society, though hardly the wealthiest, and in Graham’s limited experience, the more prominent families had peculiar, if exorbitant, tendencies. He hadn’t known much of Lady Ingram before her marriage to Lord Ingram, so he couldn’t have said prior to this if she followed suit.

  It seemed the Ingrams were not of that sort.

  A soft clearing of the throat brought Graham’s attention up, and he felt a faint level of heat enter his cheeks. It was rare that he was caught gaping at anyone or anything, but to do so at this moment seemed somehow worst of all. He knew that some butlers doubled as spies for their masters, and the inference that Graham was somehow in awe of the Ingrams was not something he would be pleased to have spread about.

  The butler moved to a nearby doorway and stood at attention.

  “Lord Radcliffe.”

  Graham raised a brow. Formality? At this time of night? He mentally shook his head as he strode forward and bowed to the general room without pausing to look at anyone within.

  “What’s he doing here?” Lady Edith cried, her rich Scottish brogue ringing out prominently. “Aubrey!”

  “Thank you, Locke,” Ingram replied mildly, unruffled by the protests to Graham’s presence. “Radcliffe, please come in.”

  Graham nodded once, finally looking around as he stepped into the room. The same individuals from their group at the theatre were present now, and, but for the pale look of sheer horror on the face of Lady Edith, all appeared the same as before. Interestingly, he did note that all held small plates in their laps or near them, bearing parts or crumbs of an evening repast.

  Perhaps they should have met in a dining room, instead.

  “Would you care for some refreshment, my lord?” Lady Ingram asked, gesturing to the spread atop the sideboard in the room.

  Not really, no, but if everyone else was…

  “Thank you,” he murmured as he nodded to her, moving to the food.

  “I ask again, wha’ in the devil’s wee pockets is he doing here?” Lady Edith demanded.

  “I don’t recall hearing that one the first time,” Mr. Vale mused aloud, shifting his weight as he stood behind the couch his wife sat upon. “I think I would have remembered it.”

  Mrs. Vale reached up to cover his hand on her shoulder with a slender hand of her own, no doubt silently shushing him.

  Graham hid a smile as he saw the look Lady Edith gave Vale for his comment, and it was clear that Mrs. Vale’s gentle warning wouldn’t help the situation.

  “I ken you’re no idiot, Cam, so dinna patronize me,” she snapped.

  “Not patronizing,” he shot back, som
ehow avoiding injecting any irritation into his tone. “Just trying to make light.”

  Graham made quick work of gathering bits of food, not particularly paying attention to what he was grabbing, and caring even less. The interaction among this group was fascinating, and if he took nothing else away from this night, increased exposure would be worth it.

  Unless he would be expected to participate.

  He nearly choked on a bite of warm bread at the thought. Social interaction made him break out into a rash of sorts, and that was with preparation. Impulsive and unforeseen conversation would be worse than pulling teeth or being bled. He’d never had a tooth pulled, but he had been bled a time or two, and he took great pains to avoid it.

  “Radcliffe,” Ingram began, leaning back on the couch where he sat and draping an arm casually around his wife’s shoulder, “are you acquainted with all present?”

  Graham swallowed his bread quickly. “Indirectly,” he grunted, “and not well.”

  “Thought not.” Ingram made quick reintroductions before loosening his cravat, making Graham instantly envious, his own linen noose still troubling him.

  “Now that we’ve dallied around with names,” Lady Edith huffed, her fingers clenching together in her lap, “will ye kindly explain yerself, Aubrey?”

  Ingram raised a brow. “About what, lass?”

  Lady Edith rolled her eyes and gave Lady Ingram a look of pure exasperation. “How the devil do ye bear him, Grace?”

  Lady Ingram smiled, patting her husband on the knee. “He has his moments.” She followed this up with a scolding look to the man beside her. “For pity’s sake, Aubrey, she’s all wrung out.”

  Ingram instantly softened and looked at Lady Edith with something akin to tenderness. “I have no intention of embarrassing you, Edith, nor of making this more uncomfortable than it needs to be. Lord Radcliffe has had run-ins with you twice in a short period of time under unusual circumstances. Knowing him to be a man of good character and sound judgment, I saw no reason to exclude him from a conversation that he is becoming increasingly involved in.”