And so there was no more hissing and whispering when she danced with Lord Thornfalcon, and though she still attracted glares, there were far fewer of them, and they could be ignored. Though Miss Muswell and Miss Archer still scowled at her, Miss Lancaster actually went so far as to smile feebly at her, and pass a remark about the fine weather.
If there were still any whispers at all about her reputation, she did not hear them, and the men who had previously made her life miserable by their unwelcome attentions no longer bothered her in the least. It was ironic, she thought, that her plan had essentially worked exactly as she had hoped, and yet she was thoroughly miserable in a manner she could not have anticipated.
She saw Marcus, of course, but always in company, and when they danced together or drove together in his phaeton, they were always surrounded by people, and had no sort of private conversation. She could not doubt that he was avoiding her on purpose; his expression was as closed to her as it had been when they had first met. The conviction grew upon her that he was waiting for her to tell him that she must break off their engagement, as she had always planned to do. He might be impatient for such an event, impatient to move on with his life – but naturally, he would never betray as much to her.
She ought to do it. The intimacy between them – the dances, the drives, the fact that she was acknowledged by all the world as his prospective bride – would end then, but it was illusory in any case. It must be, if they never spoke in private nor shared any part of their private thoughts, as once, briefly, it had seemed that they might. A kiss and a… whatever their second moment of physical connection had been, they counted for very little, and she must not dwell on them. She needed to find strength enough to end this once and for all.
But still she hesitated. She might tell herself that it would be better to wait till the Season came to an end – that there’d be less gossip that way, which would be better for both of them and for their families. She might even think that she simply could not bear being the subject of rumour and conjecture so soon, and that she could surely be permitted a little respite from it. But neither of these reasons for staying silent were genuine. The sad fact was, once she told him it was over, and once all the world knew it too, she would no longer see him. Not really. He might be glimpsed in the distance, like any stranger, or acknowledged with a slight, awkward smile at some social event. But they would not speak, or dance, or ever be together again even in the unsatisfactory ways they were now. And sometimes, it seemed to her that she couldn’t bear it. All the colour would go out of her world, she thought, if he was no longer a part of it. She realised how foolish that was – she barely knew him, and their betrothal had never been real. But it was what she felt, even as she despised herself for the weakness of it.
It was in this mood of despondency that Amelia received a note early one afternoon. It was a mysterious missive, left by some errand boy who had, she was told, impressed upon the maid who received it that it must be passed to its recipient only when she was alone. Presumably, money had changed hands to ensure that this would be so, but once she opened it, all such rational thoughts were driven from her head.
My lady, you must attend the Opera House Masquerade tonight! Come alone, tell no one, burn this.
Lord Thornfalcon is in the greatest peril – his life as well as his reputation – and only you can save him. Wear a dark-red domino and arrive at ten o’clock. I will be watching out for you. Do not fail.
A well-wisher
Amelia stared at the extraordinary words until they swam in front of her eyes. At first glance, they appeared preposterous – what peril could he possibly be in that she could save him from by attending a dubious masquerade in a place respectable young ladies certainly never went alone? It might as well have hadTHIS IS A TRAPinscribed upon it in red ink capitals. But she thought she knew who had sent the letter – she thought it must be Lavinia Thornfalcon. And that changed everything. It might easily still be a trap, meant to damage her, but perhaps that didn’t matter.
There were not many people who knew the disreputable secret – supposing it was true – that Lavinia and Marcus shared. The secret of the child’s birth. It wasn’t important whether it was true or not, after all. If Lavinia was truly desperate, she might reveal it, and that would be terrible. It was like a loaded gun pointed at his head, and none of the gossip any of them had ever suffered would be as much as a drop in the ocean compared to that. If it were ever revealed that he had lain with his brother’s wife – she had not been his wife at the time, but nobody would care for that – his reputation would be utterly ruined. He wasnota rake, and did not deserve to be seen as one by the world. Lavinia’s good name would be destroyed too, and so would her daughter’s, but perhaps she did not care for that if she was desperate.
But if Amelia made it plain that she had no intention of marrying him, if she swore to break off the engagement directly and kept her promise, perhaps Lavinia would grow calmer. Amelia did not know if Marcus would ever marry Lavinia, assuming he were free to do so; she thought not, since he appeared rather to dislike and distrust her than to love her. But that was not within her control; all she could do was end this farce and set him free. Which meant that she would go to the Opera House, no matter the risk to herself, and tell Lavinia so to her face.
34
It was all surprisingly straightforward. If Sophie had been present, Amelia might have told her where she was going, as a form of insurance against any mishap, but she was not – she and Rafe had taken little Louis out of London for a night or two, to visit Rafe’s mother’s family in Essex. The Marquess had had very little contact with any of his maternal relatives in the past, but one of his cousins had recently reached out to him to mend fences, and, as Lord Wyverne had said drily, they had few enough presentable connections to be glad of it, and to accept the unexpected invitation. Amelia and Charlie had no blood ties to these people, and as a result had not been included. They dined alone, chatting over indifferent topics, and soon after dinner, she pleaded the headache and went up to bed; nothing could be easier. Charlie, bless the boy, was the least suspicious person in nature.
* * *
The hands of the silver clock in her bedchamber moved agonisingly slowly as she paced the room, but at last it was time to make her way very carefully and quietly down the back stairs. Her maid had been bribed again, this time by her, and was waiting for her by the entrance to the area, holding the dark-red domino. Amelia had worn this once before, to a ball a few weeks ago, and could only assume that Lavinia – it must be Lavinia – had been paying attention. Perhaps she even knew through her spying of Sophie’s absence, which was an uncomfortable thought.
The abigail had called up a hackney carriage, as they had arranged, and assured her mistress that it was waiting a little way down the street. The girl didn’t appear to be nervous – she seemed quite astonishingly practised at clandestine behaviour, which she had certainly not learned in Amelia’s employ.I could have been meeting secretly with Marcus all this time, she thought dully.We could have been spending time together.But probably, he would not have wanted to – he showed no signs of it. And it is too late now.
Amelia made her way up the steps and along the pavement to the vehicle, and climbed swiftly in, feeling enormously conspicuous. But nobody spoke to her or tried to stop her, and soon they were rattling away over the cobbles towards Covent Garden. She had no idea how she’d get home from such a highly unsafe area for a woman alone, even in daylight, but she could not allow that to deter her. She had a mask clutched tightly in her hand – a plain black loo mask – and she put it on, fumbling with the strings. How was it possible to feel horribly nervous and perfectly ridiculous at the same time?
She had some money in her purse. She realised now that she didn’t know if one was supposed to obtain tickets for the masquerade in advance – how could she know this sort of detail, when she had never been? But surely, if someone urgently wanted her there, they would have thought of that, and perhaps paid for her to enter. And it seemed they had, for when she reached the impressive building, just on the appointed hour, she was admitted by a burly attendant, who shot her a penetrating glance and waved her in without question.
There was no point scanning the throng for slim women of medium height who were also masked and wearing dominoes; that description would cover a large proportion of the people present, any one of whom could be Lavinia Thornfalcon in disguise. The note had said that her correspondent would find her –very well, let her do so.Amelia stood to one side in the entrance hall and waited. What else could she do?
It was a busy, lively crowd. Those who did not sport dominoes were elaborately costumed in all manner of inventive and colourful ways, and people were laughing and calling to each other in a manner that would be considered not at all the thing at a gathering of the haut ton, where aristocratic indifference generally prevailed. Perhaps such open enjoyment was vulgar – Amelia could very easily imagine what her Aunt Keswick would have to say about it all, and her face while she said it – but it also looked to be enormous fun, at least at this early stage of the evening. No doubt, like an event at Vauxhall Gardens, it would be unsafe and rowdy later, and one would need protection from unwelcome advances. Amelia had thought of this while dressing, and had worn her sturdy shoes and once more concealed pins about her person, including the long, wickedly sharp ones in her hair. It had been a long time since she’d felt the need to equip herself thus, and she’d wondered if, after all her scheming, she would be obliged to do so again, forever, once she was no longer betrothed. But that was a pointless reflection, and she had done her best to banish it. It would be a sad thing indeed if these weeks as Marcus’s false fiancée had served only to make her less brave than she had been before she met him.
A voice said in her ear, making her start, ‘I am glad to see you took the note you received seriously, Lady Amelia.’
She turned swiftly, a sudden lurch in her stomach assailing her. She knew, even before she saw the tall, statuesque woman who stood beside her, smiling down at her with painted lips, that that rich, melodious voice did not belong to Lavinia Thornfalcon. It was a complete stranger who had accosted her and who somehow knew her identity.
They regarded each other in tense silence for a moment. The woman had a black domino thrown back a little over her shoulders to display a fiery red, shockingly low-cut gown and a barely covered, magnificent bosom. Her hood was up, but still gave a glimpse of rich blonde curls at her brow. She was beautiful – the mask did not conceal this – and not young, perhaps in her forties or fifties, her face skilfully painted. Amelia was sure she had never laid eyes on her before, and yet…
‘I would offer to unmask,’ the stranger said, ‘but there would be little point, because I’ve realised you don’t know me from Eve. And that’s a shocking thing, isn’t it, my dear, when you consider that I’m your own stepmama?’
‘Lady Wyverne!’ Amelia gasped. And then she asked in puzzlement, ‘Was it you who wrote to me, then? I had thought it was another.’
‘Oh, it was,’ Rosanna said, still smiling rather maliciously. ‘I have a nickname for her, which perhaps I won’t share with you, but you know her as Lady Thornfalcon. Lavinia. And I must tell you that she brought you here tonight on purpose to ruin you.’
‘I thought she might have done,’ said Amelia steadily, since this was not news to her, but merely confirmation of her suspicions. ‘But I don’t know what you’re doing here, and why you seem to know all about her plan – unless you’re her accomplice? Do you intend to participate in my ruin?’ A few weeks ago, this fresh disaster would have horrified her; now she was just vaguely interested.
‘She thinks I am to be the instrument of it,’ Rosanna Wyverne replied, her fine eyes sparkling behind the mask. ‘She came to me because she understood that I might well want revenge on your family for the way I have been treated.’
‘Have you been treated badly? I am sorry if this is so. I know I have never harmed you, though perhaps I have spoken carelessly of you in private – not in public – when I should not have done, since I don’t know you. I’ve fast been learning how pernicious gossip is – all gossip. But as far as Rafe is concerned, I think he showed you a fair amount of forbearance, and you might acknowledge it. After all, you spread a shocking story about him that was untrue, and that damaged him greatly. To be thought the lover of his stepmother when he was little more than a boy was dreadful for him.’
