Lady Vice (12 page)

She went down on her knees by the fire grate and rubbed her hands in the dark gray dust. She wiped her palms over her cheeks. She rose and looked again to the mirror. An ashen face with frightened eyes stared back.

Show no fear.

The crowd would seize fear and twist it into guilt. She must show grief instead. Could she? Was she a grieving widow? Did she mourn Vaile?

She had hated him. She still hated him.

Could she mourn him, though? She thought of his face, not as it had been when twisted by loathing or malice, but as he had appeared when he’d taken possession of a new piece for his collection. His eyes would wrinkle and he’d quite literally leap: boyish, thrilled. He’d been such a child…a spoiled, selfish child.

Who could he have been, if Monte had not always been by his side? If his father had not been consumed with his poetry or his uncle, the marquess, with his Methodism?

Who could he have been if, in short, he’d learned courage?

Yes, his death brought her a measure of relief. Still, a life cut short left a melancholy wake—
any
life cut short. Her heart pinched with pity for the man he could have been.

She closed her eyes and thought of the phrases he so often used: boring mediocrity, plebeian morality. What had he been seeking? She had never understood.

In truth, she’d never tried.

She sighed. She could not summon true grief. As Thea often said, reasons for a person’s faults do not excuse a failure of character. But they’d both been young. If she made it through this day, she would have the chance to become a better person.

Vaile would not.

She turned away from the mantle. Pity and sadness would have to pass for the grief she could not summon.

One last hesitation stood in her way.
Max.
If the worst happened, would he understand why she placed herself in danger? Even though there was no way for them to be together, would he understand that he did hold—and always had held—her heart?

He had told her she cared little for herself. He wasn’t exactly right. She was afraid with a bone-deep fear, but she wanted to live. She wanted beauty and meaning and love. She wanted them for herself, for Sophia, and for Thea, and she wanted them enough to fight this battle and win.

He will understand.

She marched to the door, lowered her chin, and yanked.

The sun momentarily blinded her. The crowd hushed as she raised her hand to shade her eyes. The mass strained against the iron fence, forcing those in front against the pointed metal balusters. Her knees wobbled.

“I am Lady Vaile.”
God give me strength.

Chapter Fourteen

One by one, Lavinia met the eyes of the people standing at the fore.

“There are women within this home—frightened women who do not deserve to be subjected to your taunts.” Her voice was deep and angry but even. “It is I who stirs your anger, not them. But for their sake, I ask for the chance to speak.” She took a deep breath and continued. “You have seen a print that suggests I murdered my husband. You believe I expect to rise above the law.”

A murmur swelled in the crowd.

She held up her other hand in a plea for silence. She set back her shoulders. “I did
not
kill my husband.”

She glanced down. A young woman about her age leaned over the iron fence. The woman’s eyes burned with hatred and distrust. Lavinia’s throat dried.

Truth, truth, they need truth.

“I did not
like
my husband.”

“Who does?” A woman from the middle of the swarm yelled.

Snickers rippled as Lavinia continued, “However, God and law bound me to him. I would not have taken his life.”

“Why should we believe you?” a man asked in a yell.

An expectant hush settled over the people.

Convince them.

Lavinia licked her upper lip and inhaled. “Lord Vaile was a young man who loved”—her voice genuinely cracked—“beauty and art. He should have lived for many years. Someone has cut short his time. That someone should be brought to justice. Only, that someone is not me.”

“She’s a lyin’ nob,” another man yelled.

The young woman hanging over the iron fence looked directly at Lavinia. “She thinks she can get away without paying a price. They all do!”

Faint murmurs of agreement set her pulse to race.

Do not show fear.

She looked deep into the eyes of the young woman and said, “I was born in Thistleton-on-Thames. I am the daughter of a brewer.”

Her heart seared with pain as the image of her father’s laughing eyes sprang into her mind—eyes she’d never see again, but whose certainty, with faith and proper effort, she could muster. She clenched her fist as if pumping strength in her arms could bolster courage.

“In business and in life, my father was a fair and just man. He was not born to privilege and he never expected privilege. Neither does his daughter.”

As the woman at the fence pursed her lips, considering, Lavinia’s eyes caught a flash at the edge of the crowd. A boy, no more than fourteen, held a lighted oil lamp above his head.

They set the house on fire
, Thea had said.

She raised her skirts and pushed through the jeering horde, determinedly forcing her way to the boy. As she passed through the throng, the boldest people fingered her hair and pulled at her sleeves. She forged ahead, her heart beating jagged and raw. Her cheeks burned from the fire behind her resolve.

Breathing heavy, she crouched to eye level with the boy. “Throw that and you will start a fire.” She did not dare touch him, but she leaned very close. “Do you understand that people could be killed?”

The boy blinked. “You deserve to burn. You killed your man.”

“I just told you, I did not.”

“Why should we believe you?” The shout came from somewhere behind her.

Lavinia’s confidence wavered. She kept her eyes locked with the boy’s.

“Over my door is a hatchment. Vaile’s coat of arms appears above mine.” Her voice wavered. “Mine is a fiction, created by my father. I was not born to the gentry. I do not expect privilege. Look closely, the hops and the barley represent his brewery.”

Vaile had used that truth to shame her, but she felt no shame now. She covered her heart with one hand and, with the other, she reached out to the boy.

“Give me that lamp, child.”

“What she says don’t matter now. She’s a lady. Even if they charge her, she will go free.”

Lavinia recognized the voice of the woman from the fence.

“That’s right. She will be tried in Lords—what a laugh,” someone yelled.

Lavinia wrinkled her brow—
turn your attention to the minds you can change
.

She did have a right to trial in the House of Lords, but only by virtue of her marriage. There had been only two such trials. One lord had been convicted and hung, however, his cruelty and madness had been legendary. The other lord had been convicted of a lesser charge—manslaughter—and had pled privilege, walking away without even the brand a commoner would have had burned into his skin.

She bit her lip. There was only one way she could think of to convince these people of her sincerity.

“I did not kill my husband.” She spoke loud enough for all to hear, but kept looking into the boy’s eyes. “Hand me that lamp and I will make you a promise. If they charge me, I will insist on being treated like the commoner I am.”

Another murmur rose from the gathered people.

“Should I be arrested, I will ask to be taken to Newgate. I will relinquish my right to trial by the House of Lords.”

“Like we believe that!”

Someone spit, and it hit her shoulder. She flinched, but knew she could show no rage.

Resolve, only resolve.

“Let her have her trial and be convicted!”

“She cannot choose to give up her privilege. Bring her to justice now.”

“Innocent people are inside,” she repeated. “Please. For them, if not for me.”

The boy lowered his lamp and frowned. His expression grew pained. He blew out the flame.

“You ain’t the bitch he said you were,” the boy said.

“Who?” She asked, blinking.
Montechurch could have hired people to rouse anger.

Pain exploded as a small rock hit her right temple. She cried out and covered her face. Arguments broke out through the crowd, too numerous to make sense. Some defended, some condemned. She tried to remember the direction of home, but the side of her head throbbed and the earth started to spin.

“Enough! Let me get to the lady.” Lavinia did not recognize the voice that boomed over the melee. “A militia is on its way, I tell you! Those who do not want trouble should go.”

Lavinia took her hands from her face. Her head pounded, and the light was so bright. A very large man stepped between her and the sun and grabbed hold of her arm.

“I will take you back inside.”

Lavinia looked for the boy with the lamp and saw him disappearing toward the far end of the square. She squinted. The rock must have rattled her vision, because he appeared to be climbing into a crested carriage.

The man swung her up into his massive arms. “You cannot linger. You must go back.”

She gazed up. “Do I know you?”

He glanced down as he carried her toward the door, but he did not answer. Still, he had met her eyes long enough for her to feel the shock of recognition. “You—you took me to Vauxhall last night.”

“Sullivan, ma’am. The name is Sullivan.”

Sullivan’s head snapped to the side as something hit his face, but he did not stop moving. He tightened his grip and hunched his shoulders, protecting her as best he could. He ascended the steps backward, eyes on the remaining crowd.

A rock hit his shoulder as he placed her on her feet. “Inside, now.”

Lavinia dared not disobey. She had weakened the crowd’s strength, and they had further dispersed on Sullivan’s warning. The angriest, however, remained in the square, and they were determined that chaos would reign.

She unlatched the door. “Come, too,” she panted.

“No.” Sullivan faced what remained of the crowd and folded his arms. “If you want to get to the lady, you must get through me.”

What could Lavinia do to protect a man twice her size? She frowned.
Get out of his way.
She stumbled into the house and closed the door.

Sophia stood within the hall, arms wide.

“Foolish, foolish girl,” Sophia scolded as she clasped Lavinia. “Brave and foolish girl. We’d sent Maggie for help. What were you thinking?”

“They were angry with me, not you,” Lavinia said. “I could not let you suffer, not when you have done so much for me.”

Sophia pushed Lavinia to arms’ length and shook her head.

“I only wished to calm the crowd,” Lavinia said. “I was the cause of Thea’s distress.”

Sophia wiped her eyes. “You worry overmuch about the duchess. As for me—”

A thunderous boom split the air.

“Oh God, did someone shoot Sullivan?” Lavinia asked.

Sophia rushed into the sitting room. “No,” she called. “A carriage has come. Gentlemen with muskets hang off both sides, and two armed footman stand on the rail. People are scattering.”

Thea appeared at the top of the stair, pale but standing. Lavinia and Thea gazed at each other in silence as they listened to a voice filter brokenly through the windows.

“We…come…ladyship.”

Lavinia strained but could not make out the words. Thea took a deep breath and walked down the stairs like a condemned queen. Lavinia followed the duchess into the sitting room.

“Who is it?” Lavinia asked.

“I am not certain,” Sophia replied, “He looks like—”

“The militia has not come,” Thea interrupted, “though he’s saying they are near.”

Lavinia frowned. “How can you tell?”

“I would recognize my husband’s voice anywhere.”

As Sophia returned, Thea shoved through the door of the dining room.

“Could it be Wynchester?” Lavinia asked Sophia.

Sophia shrugged. “I cannot fathom why he would come, but if your Mr. Harrison has brought Wynchester to Thea’s side, I am very impressed.”

Lavinia pressed her hand to the side of her temple, over the growing lump where the rock had hit.

“All will be well, Lavinia, you will see,” Sophia said. “I was not certain before, but I am now.” Her shoulders eased down. “Let me look at your injury.”

Lavinia turned her face and allowed Sophia to examine the spot where the rock had landed.

“Do you need to sit?” Sophia asked.

“It throbs. I was dizzy at first, but the pain has mellowed to a mere ache.”

“The lump does not look pretty.” Sophia frowned. “Your wounds could have been much worse.”

Lavinia lifted her brows and then winced when a sharp sting followed.

Sophia patted her shoulder. “I think, dearest, that you should try to maintain ennui while that heals, unless you feel expressiveness trumps pain.” A knocker sounded. “You seem to be without servants. I will answer. Check on Thea, would you?”

“Thea,” Lavinia called as she entered the dining room. “Do you wish to leave through the mews? The back should be clear enough by now.”

Thea opened shutters she had closed. “I will not run from my husband. I am not that much of a ninny. Ah look, the militia is filling in the square.”

“I am concerned about you, Thea.”

She bit her lip. “I apologize if I seemed overwrought. Crowds make me lose sense.”

“What happened?”

Thea’s gaze lost focus. “Telling you now would do me more harm than good.” She roused herself, shook out her skirts, and stiffened her back. “As fate would have it, I did not dress to see the duke.”

“Come.” Lavinia slipped her hand through the slit in the side of her skirt and worked her fingers into the pocket tied around her waist. She pulled out a lace handkerchief.

The duchess was taller than Lavinia by a few inches. Lavinia had to reach up in order to brush her handkerchief across Thea’s brow and down her cheeks. “Do not worry, Thea, you are still stunning—even when perspiring.”

Thea snorted.

“You
are
stunning,” Lavinia said.

She smiled halfheartedly. “A duchess does not sweat, Lavinia. She glows.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit,” Lavinia said, curving her lips into something resembling a smile.

“I suppose you would like to look your best for your Mr. Harrison, riotous crowds notwithstanding.” The duchess rolled her eyes and plucked the cloth from Lavinia’s hand. “Black streaks do not emphasize your best features.” Thea rubbed at Lavinia’s cheeks, careful not to disturb Lavinia’s wound. She shook her head. “Coal ash was inspired. Theatrical, perhaps, but inspired.”

A giggle bubbled up. “I had forgotten about the ash. I wanted to shock the crowd to silence and seem sincere in my grief.”

“Sincere? Mad, more like.” Thea held one side of Lavinia’s face and concentrated on removing the soot. “Thank you.” She did not look into Lavinia’s eyes. “When you faced that crowd, I know you were thinking of me.”

Lavinia smiled, with love for Thea glowing in her chest. “You would have done no less for me.”

Thea swallowed. “Despite what Sophia said, I am not jealous of Mr. Harrison, just cautious. I wish for your happiness.”

“I know, Thea, I know,” Lavinia said, wishing she could also know what would bring Thea happiness.

“Do you love him?”

Lavinia stopped breathing. She’d been infatuated with Max the boy—and the boy had brought her heartache by leaving. Max the man was a more complex puzzle. Again and again he’d placed himself between her and danger, even as she did her best to push him away. His trust in her was fragile, as was hers in him. And yet—

He was breath. He was sunlight. He was
essential
.

“Yes, I love him. The heart does not listen to reason.” Nor did the heart wait for the resolution of unanswered questions.

Thea nodded thoughtfully.

Sophia leaned through the door. “There’s a scuffle in the hall. Your housekeeper has returned and will not allow Maggie through. She demands to speak with you.”

Lavinia smiled with anticipation. Her house. Her staff. Her life.

“I will go.” She headed for the door.

“Oh yes,” Sophia called, “Mr. Harrison is on the steps with Maggie.”