The Rake and the Wallflower (21 page)

“Men. Why do they risk what they cannot afford to lose?” murmured Mary.

“Men are not the only ones who take absurd risks. Your sister is another. She also risked everything last evening — and lost. Like all gamesters, she did not expect to lose, so she ignored potential consequences.” Lady Beatrice shook her head. “Now what can I do for you, child? I do not flatter myself that you seek idle gossip.”

“Not idle,” Mary admitted. She drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I had t-two purposes, my lady. The first was to ask you not to blame Rockhurst for Laura’s behavior. I know he sponsored her, but he did not realize the extent of her willfulness. None of us did.”

“You flatter her. Last night surpassed willful,” said Lady Beatrice sternly.

“I know.” Mary twisted a handkerchief between her fingers. “She deserves rebuke, but not Rockhurst. And even Laura does not deserve to be p-permanently ruined. Perhaps you can someday forgive her.”

“Perhaps. It will depend on her future conduct. Personally, I doubt she will warrant redemption. Nor will she thank you for intervening. I have seen many girls make their bows to society — from kind to cunning, naïve to scandalous. She is the sort who will blame all her troubles on others. And because she never admits fault, she will not change her ways.”

“I know. But I hate to see others pay for her indiscretions.”

“They won’t. Now you told my butler that you needed information.”

Mary nodded, speaking slowly to control her tongue. “I know Grayson well enough to know he is not the blackguard rumor paints him, particularly with Miss Turner. Her condition existed before she arrived in town.”

“Quite true,” agreed Lady Beatrice. “She was nearly four months with child when she died.”

“Thank you. I was sure it must have been that advanced. So why did everyone assume Grayson had seduced her?”

Lady Beatrice examined Mary’s face closely, then nodded. “She paid little attention to gentlemen that year. When Grayson finally returned, he immediately sought her out. She welcomed him with the fervor of a lover. But after a walk in the garden, his attitude changed. He cut her quite cruelly and left. That must have been when she revealed her condition. I cannot abide a man who ignores his by-blows. Even worse is one who seduces a lady of quality.”

“I agree with both points.” Mary braced to challenge the formidable dowager, fingering Gray’s ring to keep up her courage. “But Grayson describes the evening quite differently. He had just returned to town for the Season and noticed a girl sitting apart, shy and without a chaperon to supply her with dancing partners. Hoping to ease her fears at what he thought was her first ball, he shared a set with her, then moved on to talk to friends. To his surprise and consternation, she threw herself at him, clinging to his side and even following him onto the terrace. He told her to mind her manners, then left, but she persisted, finally driving him from town.”

Lady Beatrice sighed, but said nothing.

“I believe him,” continued Mary. “He had barely returned to London when they met. She had been in town for weeks and in Yorkshire before that. So how could he have seduced her? His feud with Rothmoor has kept him from Yorkshire since he left school.”

Lady Beatrice’s eyes sharpened. “An astute observation, my child. Would you care to elaborate?”

Mary sagged in relief. “I rarely indulge in gossip, but I hear a great many things because people seldom notice me. Grayson has been a frequent topic of conversation since he returned to town. Many know he divides his time between his Sussex estate and his import business. I doubt he has been ten miles north of London since founding that business, let alone two hundred.”

Lady Beatrice nodded.

“I’ve heard condemnation of Miss Turner’s half brother, who allowed her to run wild for years with limited supervision. I know that her Season in London was the first time she’d left Yorkshire in her life, for she did not even attend a school for gently bred girls. So who fathered her child?”

“Hmmm. Have you an answer?”

“Not yet, which is why I am here. As you noted, she paid little attention to potential suitors. That tells me that she considered herself betrothed. I believe that shortly before Grayson’s return, she learned that her paramour had no intention of wedding her. Imagine her shock and desperation. She could not hide her condition much longer. So she had to find a husband immediately. Grayson had the misfortune to approach her soon afterward. His reputation made him a good target, for people believe anything of a rake. His ties to Yorkshire made him seem perfect. So she made up tales of clandestine meetings and passionate trysts, hoping that pressure would force an offer. But it was fantasy from start to finish. He never encouraged her. Now I must prove it.”

“Because you don’t want a husband of questionable reputation?” Her voice had hardened.

“Not at all. I believe him innocent, which is all that matters on my own account. But he deserves better, especially now that Miss Turner’s brother has arrived. Mr. Turner was so furious when Rockhurst announced our betrothal last night that I thought he would call Grayson out. I fear he will not allow the man he blames for his sister’s death to find happiness.”

“A grave charge.”

“And perhaps unfounded,” she lied. “But I cannot bear to see Grayson hurt. The best way to avoid trouble is to discover the truth. To that end, I hope you remember who Miss Turner’s particular friends were. I know they would have spoken up if they could name her lover, but it is possible that they might recall clues to his identity.”

“I am pleased at your loyalty,” said Lady Beatrice slowly. “And this explains your sister’s pique. Beauties take offense when those whom they deride make brilliant matches, particularly love matches.”

Gray would be relieved that Lady Beatrice accepted their story. And if she thought Laura had acted from envy, the scandal would fade sooner.

Lady Beatrice frowned for a moment. “Perhaps we wronged Grayson. I know he was innocent of the imbroglio with Miss Irwin. Her father was a scoundrel who schemed to attach a wealthy son-in-law from the moment he set foot in town. She was more than willing to help. In the end, she actually believed her own lies. Irwin would not have backed down unless Grayson could prove their claims false, so the incident was no more than a nine-days wonder. But the Turner case was different. Grayson’s denials carried little weight against the note blaming him for her condition.”

“It actually named him?”

Again she frowned. “I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was something like,
Grayson refuses to offer
.
How could I have thought him honorable?
She went on to describe his flight from London. Then she said,
He has utterly ruined me, leaving me no choice but death. My only request is that someone avenge my honor
. It seemed quite clear.”

“Not rambling in any way?”

“Most such notes ramble. Those with clear minds rarely choose to end their lives.”

“Then she undoubtedly wrote only part of her thoughts.” Mary stiffened her back, meeting Lady Beatrice’s eyes. “She probably spent hours on that farewell. Her emotions would have progressed from yearning to anger to despair. Grayson had fled town, leaving her plot in shambles. It was too late to find another beau. She could no longer hide her condition. After decrying her untenable situation, for which she blamed Gray — like Miss Irwin, she had described their fictitious courtship so often, she may have come to believe it — her thoughts probably turned to her seducer. She still loved him, perhaps possessively. Yet he had ruined her. She faced expulsion from society and the fury of a half-brother who bore her no love. He would hate having her on his hands forever and might even repudiate her, casting her into the workhouse. Death would save her from such disgrace, but she also wanted revenge against the man responsible for her troubles. Unfortunately, in her distress, she didn’t name him.”

“That is possible,” admitted Lady Beatrice. “But few will accept the theory without strong evidence. The other tale is too entrenched. And some would explain away the discrepancies — a secret trip home to beg forgiveness from Rothmoor, a new argument, a drunken revenge in which he forced himself on a girl he thought was Rothmoor’s tenant…”

“I can hear Lady Horseley propound that very theory,” agreed Mary wearily. “But to find evidence, I must have a starting place. And that means identifying Miss Turner’s friends.”

“Very well. She was not well liked, for she remained by herself much of the time, and though her father was a baron, no one knew anything about her mother. However, two girls spoke with her most evenings and even accompanied her shopping once or twice. Elizabeth Cunningham was the friendliest. She married Sir Harold Twickham and remains on his estate awaiting childbed. Their second.”

“I will write. Where is Sir Harold’s estate?”

“Cumberland. Even if she replies instantly, it will take two weeks to receive an answer. So speak with Penelope Osham first, now Lady Sheffield. She is in town this Season and would recall Miss Turner. And I believe Miss Turner’s maid now serves Miss Derrick.”

Mary hoped she would not have to speak with the maid. If the girl was anything like Frannie, she would remain loyal to Miss Turner and resent any questions. Lady Sheffield was another question mark. She made a point of speaking graciously to everyone, no matter how shy. But that did not mean she exchanged confidences with society’s misfits.

Thanking Lady Beatrice for her assistance, she headed for Sheffield House.

Lady Sheffield was at home and was not entertaining — a surprise, for the lady was reputed to hate solitude, welcoming friends even before formal calling hours. After again explaining her mission, Mary plunged into her questions. “Did you ever see Lord Grayson encourage Miss Turner?”

“No. Several people commented on that. The consensus was that she was clinging to an earlier courtship he wished to abandon. Few approved her behavior until her reasons became clear. Of course, by then it was too late.” She sighed. “I cannot blame her for exaggerating their liaisons. She was desperate for him to do the right thing. I know he acknowledges your betrothal, but you must be careful that you do not end like Constance.”

“There is no danger of that. Did she ever mention other men?” asked Mary.

“No. The only name that crossed her lips was Grayson’s.”

“You say she exaggerated. How?”

“Several ways. Despite her claims, anyone could see that he felt only anger and disdain, not love. She followed him like a persistent puppy, hanging on his arm and intruding into conversations. Each time he cut her, she would laugh, claiming a lover’s spat. And she described a tryst in the gardens at Marchgate House on the fifteenth of May that could not have occurred. Grayson won five hundred guineas from Sheffield at Watier’s that evening. I am sure of the date because Sheffield had arranged to speak to my father the next day. I was furious that he had risked so much. His fortune was not large, and the tale made Father doubt his suitability. We had to plead for days before he finally granted permission to wed, and even then he tied up my dowry in a trust for our children.” Anger snapped in her eyes.

“Lady Beatrice claims Miss Turner was four months with child when she died, meaning someone seduced her before she came to town. But Grayson has not set foot in Yorkshire in ten years.”

“Four months?” Lady Sheffield frowned. “That might explain that swoon, but I was sure she’d been seduced here. Grayson often comes to London on business without attending social events.”

“Lady Debenham’s ball was the first time he’d seen her. What swoon?”

“It was at Lady Plodham’s at-home — about a month before Miss Turner died. She was quiet, as usual, but she seemed relaxed until Lord Roger Duncan arrived.”

“I haven’t met him. Is he in town this Season?”

“He lives here but is unwelcome in society, which is why his appearance was such a shock. Horrible man. Quite unscrupulous, but he is Lady Plodham’s cousin, so she still receives him.”

“What has he done?”

Lady Sheffield shrugged. “Just about everything. His raking puts Devereaux to shame. One of his lesser scandals found him in Lady Torson’s bed before she’d produced an heir. On another occasion, a seventeen-year-old innocent found him coupling with a rather dashing widow in the ladies’ retiring room at Almack’s.”

“Good Lord!”

“That incident lost him entrée to society. He is credited with eight duels against outraged husbands and fathers. Darker rumors hint that he enjoys force, particularly against young ladies, and that he will do anything on a lark, including treason.”

“Yet he walked into Lady Plodham’s drawing room during calling hours.”

“She wasn’t pleased. Not with a room full of respectable ladies. Nor were others. Lady Cunningham left in outrage lest Elizabeth be tainted. Three others followed. Those remaining hurled vulgar charges at Lord Roger. Quite graphic, really. Lady Wharburton was so furious she forgot that innocents remained in the room and described the incident that had banned him from the courtesan balls a few months earlier. That raised Lady Wilkins’s ire — she always had a soft spot for Lord Roger. I suspect they were lovers at one time.”

“I suppose she defended him.” Mary shook her head. Lady Wilkins usually did the opposite of what people expected. She only remained welcome because her husband was a powerful figure in society, and she managed her own liaisons with reasonable discretion.

“Of course. She reminded everyone that his life had been ruined by a scheming fortune hunter who tricked him into marriage at the tender age of twenty. He banished her to Scotland the moment she produced an heir.”

“Hardly an excuse to harm others,” snapped Mary.

“I agree. As I said, Lady Wilkins has always defended him. One of Lord Roger’s pleasures is inciting scandal. His visit that day was no accident. He never calls on Lady Plodham when she is alone — but I’ve drifted from my point. The room was full of shouts, curses, and even fear. The uproar overset Constance, who fainted dead away. Afterward, she blamed the heat — it was quite warm that day. We wondered why she had to justify the swoon, for most of us felt giddy to some degree. But if she was already in a delicate condition, I can understand it. She feared we would ask questions.”