Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (27 page)

When they arrived at the drawing room, Athena was already there and ready to be amused. She adored guests. Ellie often absented herself, as now. Claris didn’t think it was a matter of social standing but that Ellie had considered the party and decided they would be boring. She was probably continuing to sort linen, and Claris wished she were with her.

She introduced Athena. Miss Youngman was pleasant, but the other two ladies showed no interest in an elderly Mallow. Claris disliked them already, but she set to be polite, asking about Esham Court and Lady Bigelow’s family.

“I have a son,” Lady Bigelow said, showing at least one positive emotion—smug satisfaction. Her mouth drooped again. “But I’m now with child again, much to my inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience?” Claris asked, relieved that the tea makings were being brought in. The sooner they’d drunk, the sooner they’d leave.

“Of course I’m delighted to be able to present my husband with another little gem, but he is insisting I remain in the countryside throughout!”

“Positively barbarous,” said Mistress Foxell-Smith. “I’ve come to keep Anabelle company for a little while, but already I pine for Town.”

Claris poured boiling water on the tea leaves. “And you, Miss Youngman? Do you dislike country life?”

“Not when the weather’s fine. London was dreadful in the summer heat.”

Mistress Foxell-Smith tittered, but from all Claris knew, Miss Youngman was correct. It had been a shockingly hot summer, and that had spread contagion in the city.

“I’m surprised you put up with such barbarity,” Athena said to Lady Bigelow. “A husband should not be a dictator.”

“Alas, he has every right, ma’am, as you know. I assure you that no argument, no plea, no tears, will move him. I have tried. After all, did not the queen remove from Richmond to London for her confinement?”

Claris said, “I’m surprised that makes no point with your husband, ma’am.”

“He is obdurate. I even pointed out to him that country living had not served the ladies of Perriam Manor well. To no avail.”

Miss Youngman looked uncomfortable at that, but Anabelle Bigelow was oblivious.

“Bigelow is a brute!” Mistress Foxell-Smith exclaimed. “Only think, poor Anabelle’s babe will arrive in January. January in the wilderness!” She gave an exaggerated shudder.

“This is not exactly a wilderness,” Claris objected.

Another titter from Foxell-Smith. “My dear! Clearly you have nothing with which to compare it. All countryside is barbaric, especially in winter.”

Miss Youngman spoke up. “It’s not so bad as that, especially at Christmas.”

The Fox, as Claris was calling her in her mind, looked down her thin nose. “We were speaking of January, my dear. Perhaps even February.” Another shudder. “Roads so hard with ice that travel is torture, even between estates. Houses impossible to keep warm. I assure you, Mistress Perriam, that even a modest house such as this will have icicles inside.”

Claris ignored that exaggeration and poured the tea, summoning the maid to pass around the cups. Duty done, she attacked.

“Lady Ashart said much the same, ma’am, but the Asharts enjoy winter at Cheynings because they have created small private rooms for cold weather. Fortunately, some of the rooms here are quite small so will serve that same purpose.”

Possibly Lady Bigelow and her sister didn’t catch the reference, but the Fox did. Her eyes narrowed. “You are intimately acquainted with the marquess and his wife?”

Claris sipped her tea. “Not intimately, no, but my husband is well acquainted with them and I visited Cheynings recently. In fact, my wedding took place from there.”

The Fox was taken aback but rallied. “Instead of from your own home, ma’am?”

Claris saw she’d created a trap for herself.

“My parents are dead. It was thought more suitable.” She turned to Lady Bigelow. “Were you married in Town, ma’am, or from a country home?”

“In Town. My family lives in Town.”

A flush showed Claris that she’d made another misstep. A family who lived permanently in Town was not of the upper class.

“I hope to visit Town,” she said brightly. “I’ve heard much of its delights.”

“Including your husband,” said the Fox, “though I gather he hasn’t changed his residence.”

Claris knew that was another trap—why was the Fox so hostile?—but she didn’t understand how. For a fatal moment, she couldn’t think what to say or do, and the Fox filled the silence.

“You must know that Perriam lives in the Knaves’ Palace. Perhaps you only know it by its correct name, the Lyceum. An exclusive and elegant establishment of bachelor rooms. You must know the rules?”

Claris’s temper simmered. “Clearly I don’t, ma’am. Please enlighten me.”

The tone took the woman aback, but not for long. “No women are allowed, ma’am. None at all. Not maid or female cook, and certainly not wife.”

“No mistresses either?” asked Athena.

The Fox flushed at the lewd reference. “No mistresses either.”

“There are always other places for that,” said Athena. “And you, ma’am, do you have a country house?”

Claris saw the glint in her grandmother’s eye.

At daggers drawn.

Why?

The Fox’s nose pinched. “I had. When my husband died it went to his brother. I content myself with a small house in Town and can only visit the country by the kindness of friends.”

“My condolences, ma’am,” Claris said and offered more tea to everyone.

They all took some, alas. She couldn’t tell what Lady Bigelow was thinking, but Miss Youngman’s eyes met hers brightly. All very well for her to be enjoying the sparks.

The Fox took aim at Athena. “And you, ma’am? You are also a widow, I assume?”

Did she know Athena’s story, or was that a shot at random?

Athena smiled and sipped her tea. “I separated from my husband so long ago, ma’am, that to claim widowhood might be improper.”

“Separated!” gasped Lady Bigelow. “How can that be?”

“Very simply. A wife merely needs to prove severe cruelty for the courts to take pity on her.”

“Severe cruelty?” Lady Bigelow repeated, her cup actually rattling. “What could that be?”

“The details would be distasteful to you,” Athena said, though it was clear that all the ladies would be willing to tolerate that. “However, being obliged to live in the country during your pregnancy would not count.”

“I . . . You . . .” Lady Bigelow ceased spluttering, put down her cup and saucer, and rose. “Thank you, Mistress Perriam,” she said and swept out.

Wide-eyed, Miss Youngman dipped a curtsy and gave her thanks before hurrying after.

The Fox took her time. “Well routed, ma’am, if that was your intent.”

Athena said, “I generally intend what I do, as I’m sure do you.”

The woman turned her gaze on Claris. “You’re an odd wife for Perry Perriam. But then, I understand you were the requirement of a will.”

Claris was shocked by such overt discourtesy but answered calmly. “I was, ma’am.”

Her admission disappointed the woman.

“He dislikes the countryside, you know.”

“He seemed to enjoy it well enough whilst here.”

The Fox tittered again. “He does have exquisite manners.”

“Yes, he mingled very well with the local people,” Claris fired back. “He even climbed a ladder to help with the removal of the ivy.”

“You were able to compel him to that?” The woman drawled the words, but her narrowed eyes showed a hit.

“Not at all. He was eager. Perhaps he has more facets than you are familiar with.”

Mistress Foxell-Smith chuckled. “I very much doubt that, Mistress Perriam. Very much.”

She swept out, and Claris felt obliged to follow to see her guests out. It was as well she didn’t have a pistol to hand. The woman’s silken back was a very tempting target.

As soon as the door closed, she marched back to the drawing room. “What was all that about?” she demanded of Athena.

“My dear girl, that woman had hopes of Perriam. She foisted herself on the silly Bigelow to have an excuse to verify the stories and to see the woman who’d stolen him.”

“I didn’t steal anyone! What’s more, I can’t imagine him admiring a woman like that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I strongly suspect she’s been his mistress, to put the polite word on it.”

“His . . . ?”

“You can’t expect that he’s been celibate.”

“I . . .”

Claris had never thought about that, but of course he hadn’t.

Athena raised her brows. “Have I upset you? I forget how naive you are.”

“No, I didn’t think he’d been celibate. But that woman . . .”

“Is beautiful beneath the ornamentation, and many would admire the ornamentation itself, especially in his world.”

“He did enjoy himself here,” Claris protested. “With the ivy, with the twins . . .”

“He has many facets, as you said, but most are fleeting. Don’t imagine you know him, Claris, or he’ll break your heart.”

“I—”

“The Foxell-Smith woman is exactly the sort he’d dally with. A sophisticated, expert lover who wouldn’t be too demanding. Unlike your namesake.”

“Aunt Clarrie? How does she come into this? She believed she was married.”

“Perhaps there was some ceremony, a Fleet marriage or such, but one way or another, Giles Perriam cheated her, doubtless with Henry’s connivance.”

“Father’s great sin,” Claris said, finally understanding. No wonder he’d been in anguish when the victim had killed herself. “How shocking.”

“Such stories were two a penny before the law was reformed, and your aunt was a fool to believe that a man like Giles Perriam would marry beneath him. Open your eyes, Claris. The world is not kind to foolish women.”

“Which includes Mistress Foxell-Smith, it would seem, as you think she had hopes.”

“I grant you that point. Is there a sensible woman in the world when it comes to men?”

“You, it would seem.”

“Oh, child, I’ve had my follies. Perhaps I’m a fool to try to teach you how to go on.”

“I appreciate your advice.”

“No, you don’t. You’d prefer to drift in pleasant unrealities, but you’re part of the wider world now. Even if you hide here, the world will come to you, as you have seen. Learn to live well in it, or it will destroy you.”

Athena then put on her spectacles, picked up her book, opened it, and settled to read.

Claris left, stung by her grandmother’s words and still disturbed by her father’s wickedness. How could he have played a part in a woman’s ruin? Yet it must have been so. It explained so much.

That was in the past, however, and Mistress Foxell-Smith was very much in the present. She was from Perry’s world—that of the beau monde, the royal court, and wicked, glittering Town. Even in the countryside, simply dressed and enjoying country pastimes, he’d carried that aura with him.

At this very moment, he was probably dressed in silk and lace and dallying with Fox-like ladies in a royal park or an elegant salon. He’d have no thought in his head for his country wife or the country estate he’d never wanted, and which he’d given over to her entirely without regret.

She was tempted to take refuge in her room, but that would be far too revealing, so she headed back to the linen cupboard. Ripping things would suit her mood.

There was one good aspect. Whatever the sleekly vicious Fox had been to her husband, Perry was now married to her.

Two good aspects. He was in London and the Fox was here.

She took comfort from that until she realized that Town must be full of wicked women. Her husband had certainly not been celibate before their marriage. Would he see any reason to be so now?

P
erry wa
s with Cyn in Malloren House, reviewing progress thus far. Cyn’s wife, Chastity, had been with him when Perry had arrived but had discreetly left them in private.

Progress was slow, even after three weeks.

They’d reduced their suspects to four—Farringay and Pierrepoint in the Admiralty, and Browne and Ryder at Horse Guards.

Lieutenant Farringay was a war hero who’d lost the use of his left arm in battle, but he was also a rake with too much fondness for drink and dice. Debt might have driven him to treason, and he seemed suspicious of Perry’s frequent visits to the Admiralty.

Pierrepoint was Farringay’s opposite. His nerve had broken during his first naval encounter and he’d been found a desk job by influential friends. Perry couldn’t believe he’d the guts for treason, but he could be a dupe. The main count against him was his behavior. He jumped at his own shadow.

Captain Browne, late of the infantry, was an older man, in his forties, frustrated by lack of advancement. He hadn’t the money to buy a higher rank, so he’d married a wealthy wife. She, however, hadn’t wanted him posted abroad, and her family had desk-tied him at Horse Guards, procuring uniforms. His surly anger over that marked him a suspect. By selling secrets he could earn the money to buy advancement.

Abraham Ryder was the least likely suspect. He was a stiff-rumped civilian clerk of the strictest moral principles. However, he, like Pierrepoint, was marked by anxiety and dread. In his case it took the form of deep gloom and occasional mutterings about damnation, but it was as powerful.

Perry and Cyn had each tried to spend time with their two in order to learn more about them. Perry had found it easy, though unpleasant, to join Farringay in his haunts but had learned nothing new from it. Pierrepoint had oscillated between gratification at Perry’s interest and terror of every encounter made.

Cyn had the greatest challenge because Browne was so much older and Ryder so very moral. He’d hardly managed to spend time with them at all.

They needed to make progress. Thus far the leaked information had been on minor matters, but that could change. However, the powers that be didn’t want only the culprits but the means, and if possible proof that the Comte de Guerchy, the French ambassador, was behind it all. It would, apparently, suit both the kings of Britain and France to have him disgraced and removed. Perry and Cyn had twice been summoned to St. James’s Palace to make a further report on their progress.

Last night they’d tried a new device—a gentlemen’s card party in Perry’s rooms. Get the suspects relaxed and drunk, and who knew what might be revealed.

Not enough, they now agreed.

Ryder hadn’t attended, but they’d expected that.

“Cards being tools of the devil,” Cyn said. “But he’s the least likely. His fear of damnation is probably because he looked at a woman’s ankles.”

“I thought he was to wed.”

“He is, but he’s probably not looked at her ankles yet. Will he ever? I ask.”

“The mating habits of the Puritan species are of no interest here.” Perry shifted papers to find the report on Ryder prepared by Rothgar’s people. “Nephew to Lord Rothermere, who got him the post. That whole family’s never moved far from Puritan times. What could push him into sinful treason?”

“Hard to come up with,” Cyn admitted. “What of Farringay? He held his drink well but was far enough under the hatches to become indiscreet. He joked about the risk of a sponging house, but it probably wasn’t a joke.”

“He’s living hand to mouth and he’s a rascal, but is he a villain? He was a true hero and his hatred of the French rang true.”

“Clever of you to steer the conversation that way. But I didn’t detect any shilly-shallying on that from any of them.”

“I didn’t expect any, but I hoped to detect insincerity or ambivalence. Pierrepoint was uncomfortable with the topic, but he’s constantly in a twitch over everything, poor man.”

“Poor man? He’s an outright coward.”

“Not everyone can be brave. I’ve never been tested under fire.”

“You’d do your duty.”

“I hope so, but even if it seems cowardly, I hope never to have to.”

“Are we no further forward?” Cyn asked impatiently. “You rule out both Farringay and Pierrepoint?”

“No. It has to be one or the other. I pick Pierrepoint. Farringay’s shiftiness is explained by the extent of his debt, but we’ve uncovered no reason for Pierrepoint to be in such a state. I’ve talked to men who’ve known him a while and he’s definitely worse now. Which do you pick?”

“Damned if I know. I was surprised Browne attended, but I suppose he was pleased to escape his wife for an evening. He didn’t reveal anything new that I could tell.” He looked a question at Perry.

“Nor I. Surly by nature and miserable by circumstances. To go from there to treason is a giant step, and would he earn enough to buy advancement?”

“Not quickly, but
Ryder
? He drinks only tea and small beer and calls God to witness every second word. I’d have thought he’d go to the lions before committing a sin.”

Perry considered the matter. “What if he saw his actions as supporting a godly cause?”

“But what? A plot to return to a Puritan commonwealth? There was an insane sect in Yorkshire called the Cotterites. . . .”

“Thoroughly dispersed, and who, by Zeus, would think the French more godly than us?”

“That would need insanity. Perhaps that’s it. Both men are mad.”

“But then they wouldn’t be sick over what they’ve done, what they are still doing. Pierrepoint is.”

“Ryder too. Very well, I pick him, but I hope to learn what instrument of torture has driven him to act so completely against his conscience.”

“As do I. There’s something deviously unpleasant beneath this affair.” Perry tossed down his papers. “We’ll have Ryder and Pierrepoint followed and hope to catch them in contact.”

“It will only be with a minion,” Cyn said.

“With luck, a minion who’ll tell all under pressure. Guerchy’s notorious for underpaying and underappreciating those who work for him. That’s how his attempt to murder a rival with poison came out.”

“The devil he did!”

“Opium in wine. Almost dragged into court over it. The point is, if we can catch his underling, we might have the proof that’s required.”

“And two men go to the gallows,” Cyn said. “They’re traitors, but I could feel pity for Ryder. And his family.”

“And I for Pierrepoint. A damnably unpleasant business.”

“Give me direct action and a clear enemy anytime.”

“I’m not averse to direct action myself,” Perry said, “but opportunity rarely comes my way. Which brings to mind . . . would you care for a bout at the new fencing academy nearby? Francesco’s.”

“You’re skilled with the sword?” Cyn asked.

“Tolerably.”

“Then yes, but why now? You expect danger?”

“From Ryder and Pierrepoint?” Perry laughed. “I merely want stimulating exercise to clear the dregs from my mind.”

“Then by all means let me stimulate you.”

“You’re too confident, my friend.
En avant.
”

As they left Malloren House, Perry realized that Tom and Peter should have some training with a sword. What would Claris think about that? She hadn’t minded them having toy swords, but she’d not wanted them near real weapons. Wise, but they must be prepared for the world.

How was she? She’d written to thank him for the chair and fire irons, and in other letters she’d described some outings to visit neighbors. She seemed satisfied with Lovell and his way with the twins. The twins had each written to him, most recently in Greek, which must have been at their tutor’s insistence. They’d reported on their progress with the ponies and described their angling successes.

Peter’s Greek was good, but Tom’s still needed work.

He worried about their differing abilities. They were deeply attached, but their lives might not flow evenly together. How would they handle that? Claris must have the same concerns. He could discuss it with her when he found time to put in some of his obligatory days at Perriam Manor.

Where was she now?

Hoeing vegetables?

That made him smile, but he knew it was unlikely. Her letters showed she was engaged in learning to be mistress of her new property.

Which, by the will he’d signed, would pass on his death to his oldest brother. He’d made that amendment because his brother would be more kindhearted than his father. To be sure, he’d made Pranks promise that she be allowed to live out her life at Perriam Manor. Even so, it wouldn’t be hers, and it wouldn’t pass to their child, if there was one. He could regret that too, but there was no way around it. Perhaps he could accumulate enough wealth to buy some other estate.

Was Claris with child?

If she wasn’t . . .

“Penny for them?” Cyn said.

Perry realized they were already crossing Marlborough Square. He came up with an excuse for his abstraction.

“I was considering my wife’s brothers. Twins, nearly twelve. It’s time they learned sword work.”

“Indeed. Rothgar had us all trained to the highest standard. He said he wouldn’t lose us to a bullying swordsman.”

“A wise decision. If my sister’s husband had been trained that way, he wouldn’t have been murdered in a duel.”

“I heard the tale. A man paid to call him out and kill him. How is the lady now?”

“In a new marriage, which is apparently happy, despite immuring her in muddy Devon.”

“It can’t always be muddy!” Cyn said with a laugh.

“My mother’s account of visiting there is vivid. Georgia was such a Town butterfly.”

“You worry about her. It’s the way with families. I worry about my twin, even though she seems happy. And she worries about me.”

“I’d forgotten you’re a twin. I’d ask advice, but male and female twins must be different to two boys, and identical at that.”

“When we were young we didn’t allow the differences to rule us, but in time we were each pushed onto a different path. I didn’t mind, but Elf did, a lady’s path being much less adventurous. It was hard for her when I joined the army.”

“Envy or worry?” Perry asked.

“Both, but mostly the latter. She’d have had me in a drawing room stitching samplers.”

“It’s not unreasonable to worry about a soldier.”

“That’s what she says. I tell her it comes down to luck, but that never seems to reassure her.”

“She wishes to control destiny, as do I.”

“A fool’s game,” Cyn said. “Life’s too chancy.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Then why are you married?”

“A point, damn you, but the marriage was caused by Cousin Giles’s malice, not chance.”

“Unless the curse was behind it.”

“I don’t believe in curses,” Perry said, but he knew that deep inside that curse still worried him. He wished there was a way to prove it to be nonsense.

“One’s shaped your life, even so. And your wife’s life, with less blame on her side.”

“I carry no blame for Giles Perriam’s sins.”

“It came through your blood.”

“I’ll be damned if I accept blame for everything a Perriam’s done through the ages. Do you accept every Malloren sin?”

“No, but I don’t believe we can control life. We can only do the best with what comes and pray for good fortune when the balls whistle around our heads.”

They had reached the fencing academy and paused by the steps.

“Shall we fight on the point?” Perry said. “Can life be steered aright with enough sense and application, or are we feathers on the wind of fate?”

“Agreed,” Cyn said, and they went in.

When a long hour of fencing resulted in a draw, Perry found that rather ominous.