Provocative in Pearls (21 page)

Hawkeswell gestured for Summerhays to stand down. “Did you wake early and refuse to imbibe all day just to be able to appear civilized when you asked me that question? Is your life so bereft of purpose that contemplating this meeting amused you for days now?”

Castleford smiled slowly. “Yes. To both questions. Two days ago, upon hearing the news, I snapped sober at once. Zeus, there is a good story here, I said to myself. Perhaps the making of a comic opera.” He sipped some wine. “I have been trying to meet you accidentally ever since.”

“If you wanted to find him, you could have called at his house,” Summerhays said.

Castleford reacted as if that were a peculiar idea. He returned his attention to his quarry. “You should tell me the truth. The rumors that are raging do you no credit. I can hardly defend you if I do not know they are rumors in fact.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“You have not told him?” Castleford asked Summerhays.

“Hawkeswell, you do not need to listen to this,” Summerhays said. “He is more besotted than he appears.”

“
What. Kind. Of. Rumors?
”

Castleford sat forward, to speak confidentially. “You will be happy to know that I have taken note of who said what, in case you want to call anyone out.”

“How good of you.”

“That is what friends are for, is it not?”

“No,”
Summerhays said with exasperation. “Friends do not pour oil on fires just to amuse themselves. Damnation, if he does call someone out, you are going to regret this game.”

“Summerhays still fears my temper, but the truth is I have been a citadel of calm for the last five years at least. I am not going to call anyone out. Now, what kind of rumors?”

Castleford had more wine poured. “First, there is the gossip that she ran away out of girlish fear of the wedding bed. That story isn’t interesting at all. Much more colorful is the one that says she ran away
after
her experience in the wedding bed, because you bungled it to the point of horror.” Castleford offered a man-to-man gaze. “You will be happy to know that I offered to line up twenty women who would publicly testify on your behalf on the matter.”

“No one would believe such nonsense,” Hawkeswell said. “The fool saying that will be known by his own stupidity.”

“Exactly. Then there was the man who confided to me that he had it on good authority that she had been with her lover all that time. That is, I fear, a commonly held assumption, and the most popular
on dit
. That you were cuckolded even before the ink dried on the license.”

The gossip had turned to impugning Verity. That Hawkeswell had suspected the same thing did not matter. He had a right to wonder, but others did not have a right to speak the lie as if it were fact.

His temper began casting off the bonds. Like a sleeping dragon prodded awake, it strained against chains until they snapped, slowly, one by one.

“Who confided this last bit to you?”

“
Do not
tell him,” Summerhays warned.

“If you are going to duel with someone, that is not the man who needs it,” Castleford said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, as I said, that is on everyone’s lips, and you can’t kill them all. No, the one you want to kill is the one who told me that your wife has been in Shrewsbury, where she established herself as an abbess of a brothel of some renown among the radical elements of society.”

The dragon burst free and roared fire. “What was this damned liar’s name?”

“Bloody hell,” Summerhays said. “Castleford, do not give him that name.”

“There is no need to, because he is not available for killing. I advised the rogue to make himself scarce because he was a dead man once Hawkeswell learned of it, and I would make certain he did. I heard this morning that he hopped the packet to France.”

“Then why have you done this?
Look
at him.” Summerhays swung out his arm in Hawkeswell’s direction.

Hawkeswell was sure that Sebastian appeared far more agitated than he. He drank some wine and contemplated taking a packet to France himself, and drawing and quartering this man who had insulted Verity.

Castleford scowled at Summerhays. “Would you have remained silent if
you
heard his wife so dishonored? Would you have wanted me to remain silent if I had heard
your
wife spoken of thus? He needs to know it has been said, and he needs to call out the next person who repeats it.”

“It was good of you to inform me,” Hawkeswell said. “And at such inconvenience to yourself too. I trust that you will send me word if you hear it again, so I can do what I must.”

“Of course. However, I have had some time to think. A solid two days of abstinence permits that. I have devised a plan to divert attention from Lady Hawkeswell’s ill-timed marital interlude.”

Hawkeswell caught Summerhays’s eye. Castleford appeared very pleased with himself. He assumed his plan was brilliant, which was normal. What was peculiar was that he had concocted a plan to begin with.

“A plan?” Summerhays ventured.

“A very good plan. Trust me, Hawkeswell, in a little over a month’s time no one will be whispering about your wife’s disappearance because they will be whispering about something more interesting instead. I will call on her this Tuesday, to set everything in motion.”

“Your plan requires you to call on her?”

“I need to see if she is worthy. That glimpse at your wedding hardly sufficed. If I am going to include her in my circle of friends, I should at least chat with her for a few minutes first.”

Hawkeswell caught Summerhays’s eye again. Neither of them liked the sound of this.

“When you say your circle of friends, you mean your Tuesday friends, I trust,” Hawkeswell said.

“Initially, yes.”

Hawkeswell had images of Verity lured into orgies and debauches. That he had enjoyed such things in his time did not mean he was going to allow his wife to.

The dragon had begun dozing, but now it breathed fire again.

Castleford became distracted by some men nearby who loudly argued politics. Hawkeswell tried to call his attention back. “Castleford . . . Tristan . . .
Your Grace
.”

“Mmm?”

“You can of course call on my wife tomorrow, while I am there. Or any other time, while I am there. But, I warn you now, never call on her when I am not there.”

He thought that very funny. “Don’t be an ass, Hawkeswell.”

“Hear me out. If your plan is benign, I thank you. However, if you think to end speculation about her absence by providing society with a better scandal about her behavior in your circle, do not even try it. And God forbid your pickled mind has decided to encourage speculation regarding an affair with you—”

“You barely said the vows and she left you for two years, my friend, and that is the hard truth of it. I doubt she needs all this protection you now give her with such a heavy hand. However, I do not seduce the wives of friends, and while you and Summerhays have become boring, I still count you as one. My plan is simply a dinner party, with the very best of society. That is all.”

“You do not give dinner parties for the best of society.”

“No, I do not. They are tedious. However, in a fit of nostalgia for our old friendship that emerged from who knows where, I have decided to host one to which you and your wife will be invited.” He stood, annoyed by the suspicions expressed, although he knew damned well he had no right to be. “A month from this Tuesday. Expect invitations, both of you.”

Before he could leave, Summerhays raised a finger to announce one more point. “Castleford, the best people will not attend your dinner party. You have offended almost all of them.”

“That is true, but I said the very best, not the best. And the very best will come.”

E
very morning Verity ate breakfast in the morning room prior to going out to the garden. She always had tea, as a little indulgence to remind herself that being a countess had its benefits.

The mail would arrive while she was there, and a few letters were always for her. Colleen would write to invite her to call on one of her friends who remained in town. Daphne or Celia would write to describe the progress on the new hothouse that they had decided to add at The Rarest Blooms. Audrianna would jot a note to arrange an outing.

She recognized all the hands, so when a letter arrived that bore a different penmanship, it all but jumped out of the stack. She recognized this hand too. Nancy Thompson, Bertram’s wife, had sent a letter.

Verity considered not opening it, but knew she must.

Nancy addressed her by her title, then expressed excessive relief at her good health. She finally indicated that she and Bertram had taken lodging at Mivert’s Hotel, and asked for permission to call.

The temptation to be very much the countess almost overwhelmed her. Cutting responses strolled through her mind, each one designed to sever any ties with her cousin and his wife. She might have used one if she thought it either possible or wise to create a permanent estrangement with the man whose business decisions would directly affect her fortune. Instead she went to the library, sat at a writing table, and suggested in a brief response that they all meet in Hyde Park this afternoon.

She then jotted another note, to her husband, informing him of the appointment, and sent it above to await his wakening.

 

 

H
awkeswell thought Verity appeared splendid as they alighted from the carriage in Hyde Park. She wore a hat that framed her delicate face with fair blue crepe and white plumes, and a promenade dress that emphasized her willowy form. She popped open a white parasol to protect her from the low sun, and together they entered the flow of people enjoying the fashionable hour.

It was not crowded compared to the season, and so he spied Bertram Thompson from some distance away. Bertram’s needle-straight brown hair and middling, wiry form did not herald his arrival so much as his very fair skin and sleepy eyes. Always at half-mast, those lids looked either haughty or bored no matter what Bertram’s actual mood.

The woman at his side had taken as much care with her appearance as Verity had. The angled brim of Nancy Thompson’s hat ensured that her golden hair could be admired, and she held her parasol so the world could appreciate her proud expression, severely handsome face, and large green eyes.

What had he thought when Colleen first introduced them? Graspers. Climbers hoping to grapple up faster than others by means of this marriage. He did not hold it against them. Having been born at the top of the heap, he understood why others would strain hard to clamber out of the lower parts.

Except Verity, of course.

The Thompsons came into clear view. Nancy paused when she saw Verity, then rushed forward with her arms open. Passersby noticed, as she had intended they would.

“Lady Hawkeswell,” she exclaimed, forcing an embrace on a very stiff Verity. “My dear girl.”

Bertram managed an awkward kiss on Verity’s cheek. “We are relieved and gratified that you have returned to us, and that you are well.”

Hawkeswell hoped Verity never looked at him the way she looked at Bertram then. Although her cool fury was for him too, if one got down to it. All of her resentment about this marriage was in her eyes. Even if the gaze of blame focused on Bertram, the other two people present had been his accomplices.

“I am glad to see both of you as well. That is a very lovely ensemble, Mrs. Thompson. That silvery gray suits you.”

Neither relative missed the address, or its significance. The Countess of Hawkeswell had just signaled that henceforth formalities would be maintained.

“Shall we all continue our walk?” Hawkeswell suggested. “We are creating an unwelcomed island in the river.”

They paced together. Bertram muttered pleasantries and Hawkeswell muttered some back. The ladies carried the conversation, such as it was.

“Is all well in Oldbury?” Verity asked. “I obtained county papers whenever I could, but I know that I missed most of the news about the people there these last two years.”

“There is so much news that I can hardly give it all now. I will write to you with what I remember, however,” Nancy said.

“Is Mr. Travis still with the mill?”

“Of course.” Nancy’s voice fell into minor key.
We have no choice on that, do we?

“And the vicar, Mr. Toynby—Is he still putting his sheep to sleep every Sunday?”

“Mr. Toynby left us over a year ago. There is a new vicar now.”

Verity’s profile firmed. “And Katy Bowman’s son, Michael. What finally became of him, Mrs. Thompson?”

Both husband and wife reacted strongly to the question, but not in similar ways. Nancy flushed red and cast Verity a cautious glance. Bertram flushed with anger.

“Gone a good while now, he is,” Bertram snapped. “Good riddance, I say. Nothing but trouble, the ungrateful scoundrel.”

“Gone where?” Verity pressed.

“Who knows? To town, perhaps. To join his revolutionary friends. Wherever, it is fine with me, so long as he is far gone from my county and my works.”

Nancy remained silent. Verity kept looking at her, as if she found that silence interesting in itself.

“Your works, Thompson?” Hawkeswell felt obliged to say. “Your devotion to the family concern is admirable, but you misspoke.”

“Yes, you did misspeak. Thank you, Hawkeswell, for saying so. It spared me the necessity of reminding my cousin myself.” Verity looked over at Bertram expectantly.

Thompson flushed more deeply. “I stand corrected.
Our
works, Lady Hawkeswell.”

This meeting had not begun well, and it was turning worse fast. Hawkeswell decided to end everyone’s misery. He took Verity’s arm. “It was good to see both of you. It has been too long. Thompson, I will write to you with some questions that I have about that business. Come along, my dear. We have a full night ahead.”