“Your mourning is over, is it not, Rudyard?” Clara speculated. “High time you brought Judith out, I should say. Shemust be of age, and I can’t think why you’ve hidden her from us all this time. Unless—I had heard there is some affliction?”
Jem stiffened his back. His cravat strangled. He would have a word with his valet about binding him up so tightly.
“Judith is in perfect health, thank you.” He’d never mentioned his sister’s name to Clara.
Ashley and Plimpton both stared, wide-eyed and ears perked. Jem never talked about his family to them, either.
“And your father—will he stay in the West Indies?” Clara lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “I should suppose the new Earl Payne would be happy to return to London and his old larks. He cuts quite a figure, doesn’t he?”
Jim swallowed the bile that rose every time he thought of his father. “I expect my father will continue at his post. My grandfather has competent stewards, and my father has never been interested in estate management.”
Gerald Falstead had never been interested in anything but his own amusement. Not the business he’d married into; not the wife who brought him wealth; and certainly not his children, whom he considered his wife’s charge.
When two of those children grew ill and died of fever, their father hadn’t been there to console his wife or his remaining progeny. He’d sent regrets from the house party where he was staying for some fine shooting and, it was rumored, his latest mistress.
There were many things for which Jem would never forgive his father, but that was the first betrayal. That was the lesson that taught young Jem to have no faith that anyone else would look after him. He’d seen what little he could do to protect his darling mother, who knew what her husband was and carried on with her head held high to the end of her life. After that, Jem had no one to depend on but himself.
And he’d learned to let nothing of his vulnerabilities show to the world. Ever.
“Hmm.” Lady Clara sipped from her glass. “Well, I don’t doubt there is much in the Caribbean to amuse.” A smile creased her rouged cheeks. “A returning ship captain, I can’t remember who it was now—oh! a certain Captain Noble—he said, from what he observed, your father was enjoying the many accommodations of the island.” She gave Jem a saucy wink. “Veryaccommodating.”
Ashley laughed. “Some of the most beautiful women in the world, so they say.” He raised his glass to the absent Falstead sire.
Jem’s scalp prickled with an uncomfortable combination of pomade and powder. How much did Clara know? Jem had paid Captain Noble handsomely, along with the owner of theBrook, to convey certain passengers from the West Indies to Liverpool without any discussion of their origin, destination, or identities. Had Noble talked?
Or perhaps, as Aunt Payne had threatened, it truly would be impossible for Jem to keep the extent of his father’s peccadillos from the prying eyes of London’s gossips. She had warned him that bringing the children to London would ensure they were exposed, and she had assured Jem she would never survive the shame.
Jem downed the rest of his champagne with a quick jerk of his wrist. If the trap was about to spring around Judith and the rest of them, then he had no time to lose. He couldn’t afford to be mocked or sow rancor among the higher echelons. He might be the grandson of a marquess, but his courtesy title was not enough to shield his siblings from the sneers and judgments that would surely follow their exposure to the so-called Polite World.
But if he had real power, he could protect them. The kind of power afforded by immense wealth. The slings and arrows of thenarrow-minded could bruise, but as long as he had a livelihood, he could keep them from material want. The richer he was, the better chance they would be accepted, for what was reviled in the middle class was turned a blind eye in the upper.
Look at how the royal princes behaved, and no one dared cut them.
They’d dare cut any bastard children the princes sired, however.
“My thanks, Lady Clara. You’ve been scintillating, as usual.” Jem took her empty glass and, with his, checked a passing footman to plant both flutes on his tray. The man’s eyes widened as he felt the vehemence in the gesture, but he said nothing.
Jem glanced again toward the Gorgons, standing beneath an enormous portrait of the late Sir Egbert Bellwether’s favorite horse.
Lucasta Lithwick. Orphaned daughter of an obscure vicar, the embarrassing fringe of an important family. Whose only weapons in this world were her wits and her tongue. And who stood, whether she knew it or not, in the path of a fortune.
She must not know, or she could never turn herself out in that awful sack gown, with its mutilating accents of burnt orange against a green that had turned sickly in the decades since it had gone out of style. Her hair was handsomely arranged in a tower of powdered curls, and she held herself well, an arrogant thrust to that pointed chin. He watched her lips curve, her eyes light as she whispered and laughed with her friends.
No doubt doling out more insults for their amusement. Jem shook off the moment of fascination and set his teeth. It was time to end this silly feud that had escalated between his friends and hers. Ashley might nurse a grudge for years if the Luneburg disparaged him, but Jem couldn’t afford petty quarrels. He had been thrust unwilling into this world, but he would fight its snares as long as he could.
This world had spoiled his father and killed his mother. It would ravage Judith bit by bit until there was nothing left of her kind, sweet spirit. Unless Jem could protect her.
He skimmed a hand over his cravat, checking to ensure its precision. He might hate the name Smart Jeremy, aware of the taunt that lay within the supposedly admiring epithet. But there was a power, too, in having his every word tattled to the gossip circles and society papers. Oracles, after all, could prophesy great success or great doom. He was curious to see just how much power Smart Jeremy wielded.
“Where are you charging off to, old boy?” Plimpton called as Jem strode away from them with the briefest of bows.
“To settle a score,” Jem called over his shoulder. “If the Medusa is to insult me, I want her to say it to my face.”
CHAPTER THREE
It appeared Lord Rudyard, if he had heard Lucasta’s remark, did not intend to acknowledge it.
He did, however, intercept Major Mallory as he escorted Cici from the floor. Even from a distance, Lucasta detected the light in Cici’s eyes as Smart Jeremy addressed her.
