Undesirable Liaison (15 page)

‘What do you
mean to do?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Do?’ Jerome
eyed him uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean, do? What the devil
should I do?’

Theo’s gaze
shifted, falling to contemplation of the ruby liquid in his glass.
He held it up to the candlelight.

‘Your Aunt
Painscastle seems set on your doing something.’

The tone was
careful, but Jerome was not deceived.

‘Does she
indeed?’

A little laugh
came. ‘I rather think she expects you to hurl yourself into the
marriage mart, old fellow.’

‘Have no fear.
I have no immediate intention of re-entering the married
state.’

‘Oh, I didn’t
imagine you had,’ returned the other a shade too quickly. ‘Had that
thought weighed with you, I would have expected you to pursue your
freedom through the courts long since.’

Jerome eyed his
profile, unable to help the rise of contempt. He curbed his tongue
upon the stinging words hovering there. After all, who could blame
Theo? The elder Mr Sheinton, himself a Member of Parliament prior
to an untimely death, had been set upon his son following him into
politics and had found him a secretarial post with one of the more
active members of the House of Lords. These not very arduous duties
Theo intensely disliked, although they permitted him to spend days
at a time either in town or visiting the country houses of various
friends and acquaintances. One could see that a young man lacking
political ambition chose instead to rely more and more upon a
chancy inheritance. The direct male line of the Langrivilles ending
at present with Jerome, the title would next fall upon the Sheinton
cousin descended from his great-uncle—to whit, Theo.

It was, he
supposed, remiss of him to have done nothing to curb Theo’s growing
assumption that he would never remarry while Letty lived. If Jerome
had not anticipated her death, it must have come as a severe shock
to Theo, shaking the foundation of his assumed security.

There was
nothing of it in his demeanour, however, and he turned back with
one of those smiles that had beguiled many a young lady into
flirtation.

‘Dare I hope
your presence here indicates an abandonment of this reclusive life
you lead? And pray don’t recite to me the excitements of
neighbourly visits at Bedfont, for I know well you only indulge
them out of duty.’

‘If you mean to
ask whether I intend to take up my residence in London for the
Season, certainly not. This affair has thrown a good deal of
business in my way, that is all.’

To his secret
annoyance, Sheinton became sceptical. ‘For three weeks? Come now,
old fellow. You will never persuade me there is anything much to be
done that Frizington could not well deal with. No, no, I am not to
be gulled. Why, you must be pricked to death by curious looks and
guarded questions. There must be a strong motive to keep you here,
but I’m damned if I see what it is.’

Jerome did not
enlighten him. Truth to tell, he could not have done so had he
wished to. He had no notion why he dallied here. There was not even
the excuse of waiting for black toggery, for his tailor, having
checked the slight alterations in his measurements over the years,
had delivered the new suit—now his habitual wear—in four days.
Having no wish to prevaricate, he changed the subject.

‘I am told
Letty died of an inflammation of the lung. She was here at the
time.’

Shock came into
Theo’s eyes. ‘In London? I thought she was fixed in Europe.’

‘I understand
Paris became too hot for her—or for the fellow she was then
with.’

The bitterness
was in his voice, he knew, but he could not help it. Too bad if it
made his cousin uncomfortable.

‘Frizington is
of the opinion it explains why he lost track of her. Paris had
become chaotic—even now, it is difficult to get letters through, he
says, or to know precisely what is happening at any time—and his
contacts there were unable to say where Letty might have gone.’

Theo gave a
cough. For all his vaunted desire to be of service, he was clearly
embarrassed by the turn of the conversation. ‘Was he—I mean, was it
not the same man?’

‘Bodicote?’
Jerome uttered a harsh laugh. ‘It had not been Bodicote for several
years, from what Pinxton told me.’

‘My dear
fellow, are you so eager for scraps as to depend upon the gossip of
a servant?’

The disdain
irked Jerome and moved him to further disclosure. ‘She is not
precisely free tongued, except to Frizington, to whom she has
revealed a sad tale of Letty’s deprivations—in the hope, I dare
say, that it might induce me to increase the amount of her
pension.’

‘Pension? Good
God, Jerome, are you mad? You cannot be proposing to pay that woman
a pension.’

Jerome sipped
at his glass, curiously satisfied with having pricked his cousin’s
social veneer. He shrugged in a nonchalant fashion.

‘Why not? She
stuck by Letty, and she’s in want.’

‘In want? I
dare say she may be, but that is not your affair.’

Jerome eyed him
with a resurgence of contempt. ‘I dare say you might say the same
of Letty had she sued to me for help. She was still my wife,
Theo.’

‘In name only.
And she had besmirched that.’

‘I am
aware.’

Theo reddened.
He had recourse to his own glass, drinking deeply of the ruby
liquid. When he laid it down, he had recovered his armour, offering
a tentative smile.

‘I did not mean
to rub your nose in it, old fellow. She hurt you very badly, I
know, and I can’t help but be angry on your behalf.’

This was too
disingenuous to be endured. ‘Gammon. She did you a favour,
Theo.’

Too much to
expect him to admit to that. His tone was injured.

‘How can you
say so? I have felt for you all these years. Besides, I fully
expected you would divorce her. It’s what I would have done.’

‘You don’t know
what you would have done, given the same circumstances,’ argued
Jerome. ‘At the start, I wanted to do just that. As time went
on…’

He faded out,
but Theo was quick to finish the thought for him. ‘You hoped she
would return to you. Though you knew well she could not have
resumed her place as Lady Langriville.’

Jerome took
refuge in drinking his port. He had not imagined Sheinton to have
read him as accurately as this. His cousin was shrewder than he had
supposed. But the accusatory tone was immediately dropped.

‘Don’t let us
argue over what is past and cannot be mended,’ smiled Theo. ‘Tell
me rather about this female who was instrumental in bringing the
news.’

The image of
Florence Petrie leaped into Jerome’s mind. He could see the almond
eyes of deep blue, bright with defiance in that odd-complexioned
face. The legacy of that Italian father, who might be dead or
alive, for all she knew. An intensity of interest gripped him. What
was there in Miss Petrie’s secretive mind? From what was she
running? Or was it from whom?

‘Jerome?’

He came to with
a start, unaware of falling into reverie.

‘What is
it?’

Theo was eyeing
him curiously. ‘You were going to tell me how it was you came to
hear of Letty’s demise.’

He was not, in
truth. But the question had been asked. There was no reason not to
tell the tale, merely disinclination—which made no sense. Why
should he hesitate? Sheinton was bound to find it out.

Mentally
expurgating details as he went, Jerome related the story in the
simplest possible form. But when it came to the point of taking the
Petrie girl, not to mention her outspoken younger sister, into his
employ, he could find no words to explain it.

But his attempt
to avoid all mention of the subject was frustrated, as he might
have guessed it would be, by his cousin.

‘A singularly
unusual female,’ he commented, his tone sceptical, ‘to come all the
way to Bedfont to find you, and with no thought of self.’

‘She is
singularly unusual,’ said Jerome before he could stop himself. ‘At
least, she is honest, which amounts to the same thing.’

‘Or had she the
expectation of a handsome reward?’

‘Handsomer than
the better part of a thousand pounds? I hardly think so.’

‘What have you
done with the ruby, by the way?’

‘Frizington has
it.’

‘You mean him
to sell it?’

Jerome nodded.
‘It should fetch enough to cover the present expenses, I imagine.’
He wondered if his cousin had an eye to the proceeds himself. It
would not be the first time Jerome had assisted him
financially.

But Theo’s
faint smile and pitying look had another cause. ‘That’s one way of
ridding yourself of the whole distasteful business.’

‘Quite so.’
Jerome knew his tone was repressive.

‘At least you
didn’t throw it away on this female who gave you the news.’

Jerome eyed
him. ‘I had thought of it. She deserved a reward.’

‘A trifle
over-generous, coz. But you gave her something for her trouble, I
expect.’

Jerome
hesitated. The truth must involve him in further explanation and he
had none. At least, none that would satisfy Theo. He found it
damnably difficult to satisfy himself.

What madness
had possessed him, he could not think. To take into his employ a
female with an unguarded tongue to whom he had vouchsafed those
secret thoughts he had never spoken to anyone before. Not that he
supposed she would mention them to anyone else. But she was in his
house. It would be impossible to avoid all contact with her. And he
could scarcely be upon terms of ease with his mother’s companion.
Damnation, he had almost said terms of
intimacy
! Where had
that come from?

‘Jerome, old
fellow, are you feeling the thing?’

He started,
once again caught out by his hurrying thoughts. He shook his head a
little, trying to dismiss them. But this time Florence Petrie
refused to be dislodged from his mind. She wafted in a corner, like
a nagging itch that would not go away. Jerome opted for drastic
action. He stood up.

‘I believe you
may be right, Theo.’

His cousin gave
a puzzled laugh. ‘About what, pray?’

‘It is time I
re-entered Society. Have you any notion where we may look for
convivial company with whom to while away the evening?’

He had struck
the right note. If there was one thing more certain than another,
it was that Theo Sheinton would know of at least a dozen such.
Rejecting the notion of appearing at some party or other to which
he had not been invited, Jerome opted for one of the venues on
offer at which the gathering would be exclusively male. That it
would also involve imbibing a considerable quantity of liquor he
did not allow to weigh with him. He was in the right mood for the
indulgence.

Chapter
Six

The commotion
woke Florence, seeping into her dream at first as if it partook of
her mind’s unplanned wanderings. But as she blinked into the
darkness, it dawned on her that the jumble of voices and muffled
thumps continued. Flo sat up with a bang, tugging a gap into the
bed-curtains and listening intently.

The noises were
emanating from below. She tried to orient herself. The corridor
immediately adjacent to her room led through an anteroom to the
open stairwell of the main staircase. Were the unusual sounds
filtering through from the hall? It was not her business to be
enquiring into the matter, but her curiosity was aroused, along
with a faint feeling of apprehension.

The night must
be far advanced, for the faintest glimmer of grey came in at the
chink between the drapes at the window. Lord, was it dawn already?
But the sounds betokened other than the early hum of an arousing
household.

A gleam of
suspicion shot into her mind, and was productive of an instant
disturbance in her heartbeat. Florence tried to dismiss the growing
urge to get up and sneak along the passage to check. What concern
was it of hers if the viscount chose to arrive home in the middle
of the night?

Only half
realising what she did, Flo slipped out of bed, reaching for the
dressing robe she had left on the chest. She could just make out
the door as she headed barefoot towards it, slipping the dressing
gown on over her nightshift and tying the belt. The corridor was
little illuminated, but the light strengthened as she reached the
anteroom, coming as it did from the high windows in the hall. Flo
padded to the banister and looked over. The voices sharpened
below.

‘But, my lord,
it is barely five of the clock, and—’

Was that squat
figure of Mrs Brumby?

‘I don’t care
what time it is. Fetch her down here at once!’

There was no
mistaking the irate voice. Flo’s chest pumped harder. Lord
Langriville was home at last. And in a rage, by the sound of
it.

Another thump
and a muttered oath brought her hurrying to the upper stairs. On
reaching the gallery of the first floor, she again peered over the
carved wooden rail. Candlelight from two sources threw shadows into
the hall and dimmed the light from the windows. But Flo was able to
discover that his lordship had cannoned into the porter’s chair.
Two men, one of them the butler, were attempting to set him upright
again, while the housekeeper hovered beside them, clutching her
candle and tutting ineffectually.

‘My lord, might
I suggest you take to your bed?’ came from Fewston. He had
evidently been caught abed himself, for he was half-clad, with his
coat and breeches dragged on over a nightshirt.

No answer was
forthcoming, for Lord Langriville seemed to have his attention on
keeping his feet. What in the world was the matter with him?

‘Brumby, are
you deaf?’ he demanded, once satisfied of his own stability.