A Study in Darkness (13 page)

THE REST OF THE CARRIAGE RIDE WAS TAKEN UP WITH AN
exchange of information. Evelina told Imogen about the explosion, although she said nothing about the Schoolmaster or the identity of Elias Jones; those were details her uncle had asked her to keep to herself. And she said nothing about Tobias’s detonator—she could at least spare Imogen that for now.

In turn, Imogen told her about the conversation she’d overheard, and Evelina was so engrossed in the story that she barely noticed Maggor’s Close until they were rolling up the drive.

The main house had probably started out as a monastery once upon a time. Gray stone towers flanked the main facade of the house, and the huge arched doorway begged for a portcullis, or perhaps a ghostly guard to ward off unwanted visitors. Jasper Keating had definitely bought himself a Gothic pile.

They’d barely set foot in the house when a tall man Evelina had never met before emerged into the front hall. Somewhere in his forties, he had curling black hair, startling blue eyes, and the kind of roguish dimples that set female hearts aflutter. Fit and smartly dressed in a sports jacket and riding breeches, he wore a startling red waistcoat of figured silk. Evelina would have thought the color flashy to the point of being vulgar—the fashion these days was for sober colors in men’s attire—but he wore it so comfortably that it was impossible to object.

“Mr. Reading,” Imogen said with a slight tensing of her shoulders.

“Ladies,” the man said, his voice deep and pleasant as he lifted his hat. But his eyes were less well mannered; his gaze lingered on Imogen a long moment before it swept over Evelina, beginning at her feet and working leisurely upward. “I see that we have a new arrival to our party.”

“Yes, we do. Evelina, may I present Mr. William Reading, of Reading and Bartelsman?”

Dear heavens, it’s the Scarlet King!
Scarlet was one of the lesser members of the Steam Council, but he still held sizeable interests in London and abroad. Uncle Sherlock had run afoul of the man when he had taken a case last spring in Bohemia.

“Mr. Reading,” Imogen went on, “this is Miss Evelina Cooper.”

What is he doing at the Gold King’s country house?
The steam barons weren’t enemies—at least not openly—but everyone knew that they were hardly friends. Uncle Sherlock would certainly want to know about Reading’s presence here. Tingling with curiosity, she held out her gloved hand, keeping her thoughts hidden and her expression cheerful. Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies had drilled its charges for just such emergencies as this.

She could feel her heart pounding as the tall man bent over her hand. The movement was carefully measured, but spoke of strength and energy. This was no dusty boardroom general, but a man at the height of his physical powers.

“I take it you are here for the grouse?” she asked.

“Indeed I am. I was detained this morning, but now I’m off to catch up to the other gentlemen.” He looked up from under his brows, giving her the full force of his blue eyes before he straightened.

He’s certainly here to pluck more than the grouse, I think
.

He turned to Imogen, repeating the bow. “Though now I am wishing away the hours until we meet again.” Then he smiled, showing off healthy white teeth.

“Indeed, Mr. Reading. Until then.” Imogen stepped aside so that he had a clear path to the door. “Good hunting.”

Perhaps she dismissed him too quickly, because there was a beat of uncomfortable silence. But then, with a polite nod,
the Scarlet King gave a final lift of his hat. “I pride myself on always bagging my bird, Miss Roth.” And with that, he made his exit.

Evelina turned to Imogen. “You said he was Mr. Keating’s guest, but I don’t think I fully believed it until I saw him here with my own eyes. Is it open knowledge that they are working together?”

“Not the specifics, but everyone knows there is some desire to forge an alliance between Gold and Scarlet. Ergo, gunpowder and champagne dinners are the order of the day.” Imogen bent her head close to Evelina’s ear. “He has rather an eye for the ladies, so be careful not to wander off alone. Evidently no female is safe, nor his bed ever empty.”

Evelina raised her eyebrows. “I trust he only dallies with the willing?”

Her friend gave her a look.

“You’re about to be Keating’s relation by marriage,” Evelina objected. “Surely Reading wouldn’t risk insulting you like that?”

Imogen smiled, but it was rueful. “There is an alliance to be made, and whatever the Scarlet King wants, for now he gets it. At any rate, I’m doing my best to stay invisible, just in case he thinks I’m on the menu.”

Imogen was almost certainly exaggerating, but probably not as much as Evelina would have liked. Worse, she’d heard rumors that the Scarlet King had a fondness for exotic poisons—perhaps that was just savage gossip, but it provided one more reason to be on their guard. She took her friend’s arm, suddenly very glad she came. “We’ll look after each other.”

“Like always,” Imogen agreed. “Thank you so much for coming, Evelina.”

She gave a determined smile. “Well, the men are out killing birds for now. Take me to your tea trolley. I’m famished.”

TEA CAME AT
a price.

Evelina watched in numb horror as Lady Bancroft produced yet another fashion paper filled with designs for Alice’s
trousseau. They had been poring over sketches for the last hour. An older, quieter version of Imogen, Lady B had taken on the role of mentor with uncharacteristic zest. Alice had no mother of her own, and Lady B cossetted her as thoroughly as any chick in need of a wing. Even if there was the suggestion of scandal attached to the match, the viscountess seemed to adore her future daughter.

Alice was more reserved, although she clearly returned Lady Bancroft’s affection, sitting next to her on the divan in the main parlor of the mansion. Blue-eyed and copper-haired, Alice was dressed in a bright green gown trimmed in looping black braid. She was perhaps the most colorful thing in the room.

Other women were scattered here and there, writing letters, playing cards, or gossiping to while away the time until the shooting party returned for dinner. Imogen had introduced the ladies, but she and Evelina had settled with Alice—who was technically their hostess—and Lady Bancroft. As a newly arrived guest, Evelina was expected to pay her respects. Unfortunately, all the talk was about the wedding.

“If we are to go to Italy,” Alice said, “I will need gowns for a warmer climate. I’m thinking of this one.” She held up the latest edition of
Godey’s Lady’s Book
, freshly arrived from Philadelphia, to display a hand-tinted fashion plate of the latest style.

“That’s lovely my dear, but what do you think of this one?” Lady B said, holding up one of the Paris fashion papers. “It is very elegant.”

Alice looked unconvinced. “Of course you are quite right, but I am not sure about the color. White is difficult for me to wear. It makes me look pink unless I wear face powder—and you know how people are.” Respectable women weren’t supposed to wear cosmetics.

“Piffle,” stated Lady B. “Everyone does it. Find me a single woman in London who doesn’t own a pot of rouge.”

“Mama, you’re in danger of corrupting all the virtues that Wollaston Academy instilled in us,” Imogen teased.

Lady B ignored that and pointed to the Paris fashion
paper again. “I know it’s not your first choice, Alice, but it is quite the latest thing.”

At that point, a maid guided a steam-powered trolley into the room. The scent of Assam tea reached Evelina, and she turned hopefully in its direction. Thank heavens, there were sandwiches! She took several of the little triangles when the plate came her way, sacrificing gentility in the name of hunger.

“A pity the train was so late. You missed a splendid lunch,” Lady B said with a smile to Evelina. “I particularly enjoyed the aspic.”

“I shall ask the cook to include it again on the morrow,” said Alice, clearly eager to please. “Though I’m not sure I agree with this practice of hauling a movable feast out onto the moors just so that the men can keep on blasting away until it’s time to eat. It seems less than civilized. Truth be told, the whole shooting business makes me squirm.”

Evelina agreed. Hunting for food made sense; killing hundreds of birds a day for sport was grotesque.

Lady Bancroft put a slender hand on Alice’s arm. “That’s the done thing, my dear, so there’s no point in complaining about it.”

Alice parted her lips, then closed them with an obedient smile. She had always been overly prone to speaking her mind, but was apparently trying to mend her ways. “Of course.”

But Evelina saw the slight flicker of mutiny beneath that demure response, and remembered why she’d liked the red-haired girl when they first met. A generous impulse overtook her, and she took the fashion paper from Lady Bancroft and scrutinized the gown. “I’m sorry, Lady Bancroft, but I don’t agree about this dress. I think Alice’s choice is correct. The cut is more flattering.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Alice replied, chewing her lip. “Though now I’ve agreed with both sides of the argument.”

Imogen, who had been through the litany of dresses thrice before, waved the topic away. “Of course Evelina is correct. She agrees with me, after all.”

“Don’t be a pest,” scolded her mother.

Evelina couldn’t help a smile. Despite everything, it was
good to be with Imogen and her family again, almost like coming home. Almost, because Alice was the new favorite, sitting in the chair between Lady B and Imogen.
That used to be my seat
.

She forced her thoughts away, refusing to allow herself to dwell on it. “Where’s Poppy?” she asked, referring to Imogen’s little sister.

“Still with her grandparents,” Lady Bancroft replied. “The last thing we needed was to have her daydreaming in the woods while the men were out shooting.”

“Is she still infatuated with knights in shining armor? I brought a book she might like.”

Imogen made a face. “Not another one of Scott’s poems, I hope. I’ll break into a rash if I hear about lovelorn lairds one more time.”

“She’s fourteen,” Evelina scolded. “She’s the right age for romances.”

“And you are too old and jaded?” Lady Bancroft asked Evelina with a sly smile. “There’s no one on your horizon?”

Evelina quickly turned her attention to her teacup. The hurt inside welled up, threatening to engulf her. She couldn’t let it out—
wouldn’t
—because showing that weakness would admit that Tobias had the power to destroy her with his fallen-angel smile. She forced her pain and anger down, willing her heart to freeze to a compact ball of ice. “My plans lie in other directions. It’s my ambition to attend the Ladies’ College of London.”

Alice looked at her enviously. “How marvelous! How lucky you are to have such choices.”

Evelina nearly choked on her tea.

“No doubt it’s time to dress for dinner,” Lady Bancroft replied rather suddenly. “It’s important to keep up one’s tone when in the country. It’s far too easy to forget what’s proper.”

“
ALICE IS RIGHT
. You are so lucky to be bound for an education,” Imogen said to Evelina a half hour later. Finally, they were alone in Imogen’s room and able to talk in peace, Evelina sitting on the edge of the bed, her friend at the dressing
table. “I envy you the freedom to learn everything you can and not have to worry about a husband.”

Evelina didn’t reply. Now that she was back among friends, the whole college adventure felt a trifle lonely. She’d missed Imogen every bit as much as she thought and more. She hadn’t talked like this for months.

Mouse and Bird gamboled on the dressing table. They adored Imogen as much as she did, and showed it by playing in her hair ribbons and making a mess of her perfumes.

“Come now, you’ll be brilliant.” Her friend broke the silence with a smile. She stroked Bird’s head, and it preened and bumped against her fingers like an affectionate cat. “I know you will. You’ll be inventing new formulae and calculating the distance to Mars while I’m taking tea and playing whist.”

“Perhaps I shall fall in love with a professor,” Evelina suggested lightly. “That seems to be the fashion in all the novels.”

“But they all have mad wives locked up somewhere. That seems a bit of a nuisance to me.”

“I think you’re mixing up your stories.”

“Bah, I know you. You’d prefer Heathcliff in all his doomed glory.” Imogen rescued Mouse from the powder box, but he burrowed under her puff again the moment she’d blown him clean.

The statement was innocently meant, but it brought back all the painful feelings Evelina had forced away during their tea with Alice and Lady Bancroft. “Do you think Tobias will ever be happy with Alice?” Evelina asked. “I mean, since we’re speaking of doomed love.”

“I don’t think he dislikes her.” Imogen fastened a pearl drop onto one earlobe and studied the effect in the mirror. “She’s clever and pretty and nice. For most men, that’s more than adequate. And she seems to like him.”

“Oh, Tobias.” Her throat aching, Evelina picked up the hairbrush sitting on the nightstand, turning it over in her hands. The simple movement helped her to focus.
I will not weep
. “You said he was making the best of things.”

“I’m sorry,” Imogen said softly. “I know there was something between you.”

“Not enough to matter.” Evelina cleared her throat. “And I can’t afford to dwell on it. That won’t help anyone.”

“Well, don’t think any of this happened because he didn’t care for you,” Imogen said firmly. “Tobias agreed to work for Keating if he’d forget the unpleasantness about the forgeries, and I think once Keating saw just how much Tobias could do, the marriage was the best way to ensure he stayed with the business. Besides, my brother might not be a duke, but he has a title. That matters to people like the Gold King. His grandson will be a lord.”

Evelina nodded, thinking just how quickly that grandchild was going to arrive. Tobias might have wanted Evelina, but clearly not the same way she’d wanted him.

“Whatever happened,” Imogen went on, “Father pushed Tobias into sealing a dynastic alliance with the Gold King. He pretends not to care that Keating’s money is the only thing preventing the abbreviated engagement from starting a scandal, but I know better.”