Eliza stared at her. “But that’s ridiculous, Averil wasn’t mad. She was a cheap harlot. I knew Father shouldn’t wed with a lady so much younger than he, but—oh.”
“Eliza, yes, good, you understand. Now, it doesn’t matter what she was—is. What is important is the poor woman is on her way back to northern England to live in the bosom of her remaining family, and they will tend to her and keep her madness inside the family.”
“Bu-but how?”
“Father spent the evening at White’s, let his friends convince him to tell them what worried him so profoundly. Father finally gave in and told his closest friends at White’s about his wife’s madness, hidden from him while he courted her, but he saw her slowly change, saw the episodes ofscreaming, of deep melancholia.” Cam gave her a huge grin. “Father told me he’d practiced before he went. Everyone believed him. He told me he was now an accomplished liar, and it felt very good.”
Cam rose, studied her sister’s face. “Now do you understand? All will commiserate with us because, as you know, there’s been so much inbreeding in Society for so very long, many noble families have a relative who is quite mad. And what does one do with a mad relative? It’s the attic or a small house with a caretaker somewhere in the country, or a family willing to take the relative, like dear Averil.” Cam dusted her hands, gave her sister a big smile. “Be prepared to look sad if anyone in Society offers you sympathy for our family’s dreadful travails, that is, if they’re not too reticent to remark upon it. Do you now understand we’ll be pitied, not laughed at? Our father will not be mocked. All will shake their heads. All will be well. Now, I expect you to order Claudine to keep her mouth shut on pain of dismissal or being sent to the guillotine.”
Eliza said, eyes cold, “Oh yes, I’ll order her to keep quiet, she’ll obey me—oh dear, all the servants, you know they all gossip, it’s—” And she wailed, actually wailed.
Be patient, be patient. “Eliza, none of our people will ever say a word. You know they are completely loyal to Father. Osbourne assures us they will guard this secret to their dying days. Now, it is up to you to make sure Claudine keeps her mouth shut.” Pause. She watched her sister take in everything she’d said. She could practically see her mind working it all out, to her advantage. She slowly nodded. “I will tell Claudine if she ever says anything to anyone, even her mother, I will find out and I will see to it she never gets another post, I will hound her to the ends of England, I will—hmm, I wonder if I will ever tell Winstead the truth.”
“Perhaps in ten years, you could tell him. All right, Eliza? Are you all right now? Set on an excellent new path?”
Eliza said slowly, “All was lost and then you came home when you weren’t supposed to and everything changed. It was you, wasn’t it, Cam? You told Father what we would do to escape being ostracized and laughed at. And you know Winstead would have left me, he—”
“No, he never would have left you. And now, Winstead will come, he will commiserate with you. He will vow eternal devotion to you if only you will smile at him, assure him Averil’s madness has nothing to do with us. We do not share her blood.
“Now, I must change. It has been a very long day. Cilly and I very much enjoyed riding the train. It took only eight hours to get to London. It’s magic, Eliza.” She paused, her eyes narrowed. “Now, speak to Claudine.” She walked to the door, turned. “Osbourne told me Winstead is coming to dinner tomorrow night. You will be downcast and will tell him of Averil’s madness, which I’m sure he’s already heard about from many sources. Perhaps you can embellish a bit, talk about how she would fall silent, or walk from room to room muttering to herself. You can do it. Who knows, perhaps he will bring it up. If he doesn’t, then you will. You will sob, if you wish, produce some tears if you can. Winstead will commiserate. He will clasp you to his manly bosom and assure you he loves you and will always take care of you.”
Eliza pondered this. “Yes, actually you’re exactly right. He will be perfectly understanding of my pain and reassure me.”
“Excellent, threaten Claudine with bread and water in the attic, and all is done. Oh yes, one more thing—I’m going to marry Alex Ivanov who is really Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone, heir to Earl St. Lucy.”
She left Eliza’s bedroom, nearly dancing down the hallway when she heard Eliza shriek.
CHAPTER 41
Whitsonby House
Ormond Square
Two and a half weeks later
Lady Marguerite, Aunt Deveraux, said placidly to her bosom beau of many decades in the privacy of her bedchamber two hours before the wedding, “ALL HAS WORKED OUT JUST AS I IMAGINED, LUCILLA. MY PRECIOUS LITTLECAM IS WEDDING A VISCOUNT, WHO, WHEN HIS FATHER PASSES TO THE OTHER SIDE, WILL BECOMEEARLST. LUCY.”And she preened, fingering the lovely Brussels lace at her bony wrists.
Lucilla Bentworth, Lady Hawson, who’d stuffed cotton balls in her ears beginning the decades before when in her friend’s company, said in a loud, slow voice, right in her friend’s face, “What an amazing surprise when I received your missive, Marguerite. Such a pleasure, our little Cam getting married here in her father’s house with only the closest family and friends to attend. I am very pleased you invited me.”
Lady Deveraux said, “SINCE I’VE JUST ARRIVED FROMBATH,TELL ME WHAT IS SAID ABOUT THIS DISTRESSING SITUATION, LUCILLA.”
Lucilla patted Marguerite’s hand in its lovely white glove. “It is quite remarkable given Society’s love of fresh meat, but everyone is solicitous, and all agree a wedding at St. Paul’s this soon after the appalling situation of Lady Whitsonby’s unfortunate madness wouldn’t be the thing to do. Yes, and all agree it is wise for the young people to wed quickly and leave London.” She paused a moment, sighed. “Poor Whit, he must be strongly affected.”
“MY BROTHER IS MADE OF STERN STUFF, LUCILLA, BUT YES, OF A CERTAINTY HE IS SADDENED BY HIS YOUNG WIFE’S MADNESS AND HAVING NO RECOURSE BUT TO SEND HER BACK UP NORTH TO HER FAMILY. COME, TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE HEARD SAID, LUCILLA.”
“Everyone I have visited with has spoken of poor Averil’s madness, all very privately, of course. All appear to feel very sorry for Whit and the family and bemoan the fact poor Camilla must wed privately, not present herself at St. Paul’s in full regalia as would befit her station and that of her fiancé, Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone. All agree the wedding is best done privately and quickly. I must say, though, most ladies were surprised at the sudden wedding as none had known about their close rapport, but given all the smiles, I have to say most found it vastly romantic. Many have actually seen Lord Graham, an incredibly splendid young man, so handsome he is—Lady Anson even remarked it was a case of unquenchable lust, er, love and her eyes shone with wickedness. Of course Lady Anson is still young enough to understand the power of lust. She then drank down two glasses of champagne, and none doubted she giggled her way back home to her husband.
“I did hear one old bat remark Averil’s madness wasn’t all a sad thing since she thought poor Whit was near to expiringwhat with all the intimate sport he was having to endure with such a much younger, lusty young wife.”
Lady Deveraux laughed, a boom that rattled her teacup.“INTIMATE SPORT—SO MANY DECADES HAVE PASSED SINCE I DISPORTED MYSELF INTIMATELY WITH A SUPERB SPECIMEN OF MANHOOD. BUT THANKFULLY ALL MY MEMORIES ARE CLEAR AND QUITE DETAILED. IAM ALWAYS TELLING DEARFINCH—HE IS MY BUTLER AND CONFIDANTE, YOU KNOW—ALL ABOUT MY EARLIER EXPLOITS.”
Lucilla patted her hand, took a sip of tea and said slowly in her face, “Dear Finch, such a lovely young man and so very devoted to you.” She didn’t add Finch had suggested she also speak slowly and distinctly, right in her precious ladyship’s powdered face. “Ah, Marguerite, I fear when I try to call up a pleasant intimate memory, all I hear is dear Fossen’s grunts, like a foghorn on the Thames.”
Marguerite remembered dear Fossen very clearly, a very rich, very pompous little man, who had demanded an heir, and fortunately for Lucilla, she’d birthed three sons.
Lucilla added, “Of course there was charming Armand, my very brief lover, but he was gone so very quickly, I only remember his breath.” She shuddered. “Garlic, surely not conducive to passion in the morning.”
“WELL, HE WAS FRENCH, LUCILLA, ONLY TO BE EXPECTED.”
