The Duke's Night of Sin (23 page)

A raucous cacophony of shouts and taunts filled Sebastian’s ears. There were too many of them. If violence erupted, he and the constables didn’t stand a chance of survival.

Sebastian had to act immediately, before it was too late. He climbed atop a wooden crate. “Hear me!” A quiet pulled through the crowd like an ebbing tide. “Rioting and seeking to overthrow the government will not solve our problems—it will only make them worse. We need to work together as one people to devise a plan.”

The crowd murmured and began to stir. A few at first drew closer to listen, while others hung back, as if fearful of becoming caught between the constables and mob should emotions become stoked to a roaring blaze.

Sebastian raised his hands and pointed at the
crowd. “I call upon
you
to send forth your wisest leaders to meet with the Lord Mayor and his committee dedicated to solving this problem for the good of England! Be part of the solution!”

“Why should we believe you? How many of us have been made promises by the government, only to learn that they were lies?” Sebastian peered out at the crowd. He knew that voice.

“Who said that?” Sebastian rose up on his boot toes, but the crowd was too large to discern where the voice had even come from. “Step forward and we will address your comment. I will tell you why things will be different this time—because you will be helping to craft the plan to pull England from this crisis!”

The constables spread out behind the Duke of Exeter, unsure what the response to his offer would be.

Four men stepped forward and crossed the land between them and the constables. Sebastian leaped down from the crate and offered his hand to each of them.

The Spenceans’ leaders called out to their followers to go home this night and let them speak with the government to learn if what this man claimed was true—that a peaceful solution could be found. A solution to the shortages must be found.

Gradually, the crowd dispersed from the fields.

True to his word, the Duke of Exeter returned to Mansion House with the four Spenceans, who were ushered into chambers with the Lord Mayor at once.

The next morning,
The Times
proclaimed the Duke of Exeter a statesman of the first rank for his skill in averting a riot at Spa Fields and working with the Lord Mayor to achieve a solution supported by all.

He hadn’t slept in nearly two days, but it had all been worth it. Sebastian leaned back in his carriage and closed his eyes. Disaster had been averted this Friday.

Friday?

Bloody hell! His eyes snapped open, and he sat straight up on the bench. Disaster hadn’t been averted—because he had agreed to meet with Miss Aster in Hyde Park yesterday at noon!

Her threat had been clear enough. She’d make him regret it if he failed to arrive at the appointed time. She would confess what happened in the library to her father, the powerful Lord Aster.

And Sebastian and his family name would be ruined. His grandmother would be devastated. She had placed so much trust in him. To what end?

Sebastian decided his only option at that early
hour was to send Miss Aster his card that afternoon, explaining his absence. He would bank on the notion that she would have seen the newspaper—realized his absence was unavoidable, a matter of vital importance to England, else he would have met with her.

Sebastian slumped back against the squab, defeated. It did not truly matter if he had met Miss Aster in Hyde Park anyway. He was no closer to coming up with a solution to his own problem than Parliament was to solving the crisis of shortages.

He scrubbed his face with his palms.

And there was still the task of finding Siusan and telling her about Lord Aster’s daughter. What could he possibly say to her? He’d told her outside the theater that he loved her. Damn it all.

How did one tell the woman he loved that he might be required to marry another, for the sake of honor?

Honor he did not possess.

P
riscilla looked as pale as the soft-boiled egg Mrs. Wimpole had just set before her for breakfast. Siusan sat down across from her sister at the dining table. She could tell from her expression something was amiss.

“How did you sleep, Siusan?” Priscilla was trying to appear bright, but her brow was drawn, and she was clearly biting the inside of her cheek as she awaited a reply.

“Not well, given that I must decide between my family and honor.” She leaned over the table closer to her sister. “Though my worries ought not stop you from telling me what is gnawing at you this morning.”

Flattening her palm atop the newspaper, Priscilla slid it across the table to Siusan. “Your column was replaced this morning … by something else.”

“Replaced my lesson? By what?” Siusan wrinkled her nose in annoyance and snatched the newspaper up.

“With an article, special to the
Times
… about you.”

Siusan wrenched her head up and peered at her sister, expecting her opinion on the article. She always had an opinion. “Well, what say you, Priscilla? Will I burst into tears the moment I read it? Will I be required to leave town? Drop to my knees and confess my sins to all of London? Will I dance on this table in joy? What?”

Priscilla merely shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly do not know what to make of this article though I can understand its relevance and interest to readers of your ladies lessons column.” She flicked her fingers at the newspaper. “Go ahead. Read it.”

Siusan set the newspaper on the table and thrummed her fingers atop it. “Quite interesting, indeed.” There was no doubt in her mind that the article was written by Mr. Hercule Lestrange, the curious
on-dit
columnist who had come to interview her at the school. But why, when his usual
on-dit
columns spared no blood, was he so kind and complimentary of her, painting her as a respectable lady and genuine heroine?

“But the article is not all. Because it was first published in the
Bath Times
last month, the publisher forwarded along a packet of letters from its readers. The packet arrived this very morning.
Priscilla rose and picked up a silver salver stacked with letters from the hunt board. “Astonishing, really. They are all for you.”

Siusan tore open the first letter and scanned it. “It is from the headmistress of a school in Aberdeen, wishing that, if I ever return to teaching, she would be greatly honored if I accepted a position at The Northern School for Young Ladies.” She opened another. “This one is from a publisher in Bristol requesting that the press be considered for the second book in my continuing series of lessons for ladies.” She turned to Priscilla.
“Another
manual, what an interesting idea. Perhaps I will focus the next manual entirely on creating a fashionable home for pennies.”

Priscilla handed her a letter she held back from the pile. “And there is one other—different from the others.”

Siusan was so awed by the letters she was reading she barely heard her sister. “What was that, Priscilla?”

“There is another you should read next.” Priscilla held the letter out. When, after several moments, Siusan did not respond, Priscilla snatched away the letter her sister was reading and replaced with another letter.

The instant she saw the heavy-handed script,
she trembled. It was from her father, and somehow she knew this letter would not be as complimentary as the last. Had he discovered why she’d fled London for Bath? Too many horrid possibilities for his letter swirled in her mind. “I-I cannot read it.” She shoved it back into her sister’s hand. “Please, Priscilla, will you read it and tell me what it says?”

“Very well.” Priscilla broke the wafer and shook the letter from its folds. “If you are sure.”

“I am.” Siusan was growing ever more agitated. “Please, do not delay. Read it!”

The letter was short, Siusan could tell that much through the ink darkening the foolscap, though Priscilla spent an inordinate amount of time studying it.

“Aloud, please. Lud, say
something.”
Siusan imagined all manner of hurtful words scrawled on the paper.
You have disappointed me more so than any of my children.
Ivy had received that.
Ye will be cast from the house with nary a penny to yer name, Sterling.

It was interesting, though, how a focused threat from their father seemed to motivate rapid and dramatic changes in both her sister and her brother. Positive changes, for after surviving their ordeals, both had been welcomed back to Edinburgh
and into their father’s good graces once more.

She only hoped someday, he would forgive her for disgracing the family.

And so, Siusan held her breath and waited for his dire words of warning.

Priscilla looked genuinely confused. “It is as I said before. He has never been more proud of one of his children for showing responsibility than you, Su.” Priscilla tossed the letter across the table to her. “See, here. Nothing to fear. Only praise … and, that he will be in London on the first of December, to be with you when your book is published.”

“But … that is less than two weeks!” Siusan leaped up from the table and began to pace. “He cannot come now. I haven’t decided what I am going to do.”

The hourglass had been turned. Now she had less than a fortnight’s time to make a decision that would change her life … or Sebastian’s forever.

It was very late when Sebastian finally returned to Blackwood Hall after two days of meetings with the committee and the Home Office. Reports about the England Question were conflicting, and yet one bit of intelligence remained sound from every source. There would be another riot, soon.

A lone candle burned in the parlor when Sebastian entered and walked toward it to pour himself a glass of brandy to calm his worried thoughts.

“At last, you have returned.” He turned to see his grandmother sitting in the chair behind him. “Where were you for so long? Visiting
her?”

Sebastian stilled. Did she know about his issue with Miss Aster? “I beg your pardon, Grandmother. I do not know to whom you are referring.” Sebastian squinted in the dimness to better see her.

His grandmother’s voice was strained, almost as though she’d been crying. “Lady Siusan Sinclair.” There was a harshness to her tone as she practically spat Siusan’s name.

While he felt somewhat relieved that she was not referring to Miss Aster, Sebastian did not care for, nor understand the venom in her tone.

“Do you know who she is, dear boy? Who that hoyden truly is?”

Sebastian stared through the dimness at his grandmother. She was acting very strange and uncharacteristically cruel.

“No? Well, I shall tell you, my dear. Do not believe that drivel in the newspaper. She is not a respectable woman, and you cannot be connected with her in any way.”

“How can you say that about her? You know I would have died had she not risked her life to save mine!” Sebastian crossed the room and stood before his grandmother, his fists clenching reflexively. Her lids were heavy and an empty glass sat beside her.

“She is a Sinclair, one of the Seven Deadly Sins you may have heard wicked tales about since you have been in London. Seven brothers and sisters so uncontrollable, so wild and wanton that their own father cast them from his home until each of them redeemed himself or herself and restored honor to the Sinclair name. Your Siusan has not done so.”

“I do not give a fig about the tales told amongst the gossipers of the
ton.
And I thought you above such baseness as well, Grandmother.” She flinched at that. “I know Siusan a damned sight better than you or anyone else in Society. And I tell you, Grandmother, she is a good, courageous, and kind woman—”

He paused then, suddenly sure of the future he saw for himself. Sure of the woman he most desired to share that future with him. Siusan.

“If Lady Siusan Sinclair will accept me, I fully intend to marry her!”

His grandmother’s lids snapped wide. How
ironic that only a few days ago she was urging him to marry someone exactly like Siusan, and now she was fretful that he would do just that.