“You cannot expect to keep them hidden! Everyone will be interested in your father’s doings, now that he is Payne,” his aunt cried. “Pray do not pretend to be so naïve, Jeremiah. You should have left them where they were. They are better off in the place they were born, in the circumstances in which they were being raised?—”
“Those circumstances are intolerable to me and to any person of the smallest moral fiber.” Jem shot to his feet. “If it takes me a lifetime to correct my father’s errors—and it probably will—I intend at the least to exhaust myself in the attempt.” He reached for his walking stick, looking away from Bertie’s pale, stricken face.
Aunt laid her embroidery in her lap and fixed him with a fierce glare. “You might also consider thatweare your family, Jeremiah, and have a share in any shame you choose to bring upon yourself. How I could hold up my head it if became known?—”
“Ifwhatbecame known, Aunt?” Jem demanded. “That I am making an effort to provide for my siblings in the manner I deem best?”
“Youmay not care for it,” his aunt said in a freezing voice, “but the Falstead name is a respectable one. Why your father chose to bestow it upon someone like your mother, I’ll never know. At the least you have the conscience to pity Judith, who cannot possibly pass in this world. But you so debase the honor and standing of this family by acknowledging your father’s poor judgment— It is as if you truly have no concept of the breeding and nicety that is expected of the heir to a marquess. But then, how could you, raised as you were?”
It took everything in him to execute the briefest bow to his aunt and offer a stiff nod to Bertie. He would prove he could pass as a gentleman if it killed him. “Good day.”
Jem gave up the thought of making calls or doing anything that might bring him in contact with the so-called Polite World. He couldn’t stand it, not today. Not when his own aunt was their vile mouthpiece.
He spent the day at one of his warehouses, inspecting a shipment of new fabrics and double-checking the books. The costly chintz from India had survived its travels, the glazed fabric stiff to his hand and the intricate, hand-painted patterns gleaming with color that had held fast. There was a lustrous worsted from Norwich and bolts of sturdy broadcloth from his suppliers in Devon, along with an exquisite cassimere made of Spanish Merino wool.
He imagined the last making a shawl for Lucasta Lithwick, draping her bold shoulders and teasing the delicate skin above her bosom. He put a length aside for her, for when she called at his Pall Mall shop.
In Cheapside, the new apprentices were getting on, despite the warnings that boys from the workhouse or the lower echelons of society would make shifty employees. The Irish linen was selling well, and the cotton from the Manchester mill was increasingly popular. He found a russet-colored linen that would flatter Lucasta Lithwick’s skin and a dark blue wool woven to a shine that would make a fine riding habit, if indeed she rode.
He was making no plans, of course. He knew how capricious were the whims of aristocrats, and there was no predicting what a young lady might do who learned she was coming into a fortune. But Jem whistled a popular drinking tune as he entered his dressing room to find Church laying out a new suit of fine purple broadcloth he had recently acquired and meant to advertise, along with a very fine Valenciennes lace.
While Church powdered his hair, Jem admired the lavish embroidery along the cuffs, neck, and hem of the coat and the echoing pattern in the breeches and waistcoat. His silk stockings were white as bone and his evening slippers polished to a shine. He would make the rounds this evening and with luck his ensemble would bring at least one curious gentleman or interested lady to his shop, hoping to look quite as well.
He looked forward to the Skylar rout as he had not looked forward to a society event in months, if ever. It would be amusing to cross wits with Miss Lithwick again. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him laugh.
She would no doubt wear something appalling. Perhaps he would drop her a hint or two about improving her style of dress. As Church arranged his cravat in a stylishly simple set of folds,Jem’s hands tingled, remembering the feel of Lucasta Lithwick in his arms.
Lucasta Lithwick thought him a burden. Useless. Not someone who contributed to the world, but a parasite that fed upon it. But she had also told him he underestimated the power of his words and actions.
She was right. He had an ability, the alchemical magic to spin straw into gold. And if he could make a fortune from it, he could protect the future of Judith and the others. Protect them from the slurs on their parentage that dogged him. Shield them from the many ways they would be cut, fenced, turned away, forbidden to trespass on ground that belonged to them by right. Perhaps he could even satisfy his grim Aunt Payne and win the future she desired for Bertie.
Lucasta Lithwick had thrown down the gauntlet, and he would take it up. Jem would show them all what he could do, and he would begin with her.
CHAPTER SIX
She wasn’t at the Skylar rout. Miss Pevensey was, and her eyes widened when Jem appeared, but she had replaced her distinctive cousin with her mama for chaperone. Lady Pevensey strained to catch Jem’s eye, but he did not oblige.
None of the Gorgons were in attendance, and Jem felt the lack. Lady Clara had called it oddness, but it was some other, ineffable essence that attended those four distinct young ladies. They added interest to a room. Jem would like to outfit them all and have it known they patronized his shop.
She was not at Lady Cranbury’s card party, and neither was she at Lady Hillsborough’sconverzatione. Clara Bellwether was, and she could confirm that neither Lucasta Lithwick nor any of the Gorgons were attending the other three parties she had looked in on that evening. Clara met Jem’s inquiry with a sly smile, and he cursed himself for being obvious. By tomorrow, it wouldn’t simply be hinted that his head had been turned; the gossips would have him in full pursuit.
He was furious again—he, who was generally slow to anger. But why, he couldn’t say. Only that not being able to run her to ground felt like Lucasta Lithwick was changing the rules of engagement. She was supposed to be at the Skylar rout so hecould single her out for his attentions, elevate her as the topic of discussion on every tongue in thebeau monde,and then watch what she did with the sudden marks of favor.
How was he supposed to make her fashionable when she was not at any of the society ’dos, waiting breathlessly for his notice?
“Could go back to the club and have a drink,” Plimpton observed, having attached himself to Jem as a welcome excuse to leave Lady Cranbury’s card party, where he had been diving rather deeply into his pockets and into drink.
“Wouldn’t you rather one of the theatres?” Ashley, who gratefully traded Lady Hillsborough’s guests for Jem and Plimpton’s company, gave Plimpton a jab in the side as they hailed a hack on the sidewalk outside Hillsborough House. “Seems to me you need a chorus girl to console you after your latest rebuff.”
“New opera at the Haymarket tonight.” Plimpton revived at this recollection. “Some doleful Italian bit, but an opera means opera dancers. Up for some fun, Rudyard?”
“Why not?” Jem shrugged, though he did not make a habit of getting up intrigues with chorus girls or keeping a mistress the way Ashley and other youngbloods did. For one thing, mistresses were expensive. But he was also fastidious about his sexual habits, another aspect of being raised a tradesman’s son. He liked for a woman to be partial to him and not simply on the hunt for a keeper.
Nevertheless he joined his friends inside the hired coach, which smelled strongly of the last tenant’s cologne, and the body odor the cologne had been intended to disguise. If the night was to be counted a loss in terms of his revenge, Jem would rather pass it watching actors shriek and fuss upon a stage than stand in a drawing room fielding speculation about his interest in Lucasta Lithwick.
His grandfather the marquess held a box at the King’s Theatre, which was to Jem’s advantage, since Plimpton was pockets-to-let again and Ashley had lost his purse on some stupid bet. They strolled late into the cavernous performance hall, with its massive interior space that swallowed sound.
He spotted her at once. There, crowding the stage below one of the enormous Gainsborough paintings, wearing a gown of lurid clashing stripes and a look of complete and utter captivation, stood Miss Lucasta Lithwick, her Gorgon sisters with her.
