“I remember.”
“I admired what he had endured, what he had built, and his ability to increase his fortune and his family after his marriage to you. His father and older brother were not entirely wastrels, but they were distinctly inefficient managers. Your husband turned that estate around through wisdom and care, building a rather impressive legacy. I would hate to see any of that tarnished because of foolish mistakes.”
Judith stepped out from behind the tree to face Blackwell directly. “Apparently theon dithas been rather extensive.”
He gave a single nod. “Apparently. Andyouare not being given the entire tale.”
Judith’s eyes narrowed as she spotted her next dance partner approaching from the far corner of the room. “How so?”
Lord Blackwell lowered his chin, speaking a bit more intimately. “You are an intimidating woman, my dear. It is one reason our Edmund cherished you so completely by the end. He trusted your cleverness and your competence. He knew you could manage the estate after his death. But there are those who fear your wrath—and your extraordinary ability to manage your own affairs—should you know all the gruesome details of what has transpired with your estate. This includes your pusillanimous stepson. So you are being misled.” He glanced at Rydell. “I know you love the young Edmund but look deeper before you make any accusations elsewhere.”
Judith scowled. “How do you know?”
The elder gentlemen smiled kindly. “You are hardly a stoic, my dear. And out of respect for my friendship with your late husband, I would like to see you resolve the issues his heir has stumbled into. For your sake, the sake of your family, and the health of theton. We have always had rats and mice—minor vermin—in our midst. It does no one a fair turn to invite the weasels to our tables as well.”
Her next partner had almost reached them. “So who should I look to?”
He cut his gaze toward Rydell again. “Despite what the man has claimed, he did not go into the Rookeries merely looking for a row following his disagreement with Miss Ashley. That he took to a boxing ring. But it was at that boxing ring that he discovered information about your stepson that sent him excavating for more information. He has some of the missing pieces you need. Also, I suspect he would enjoy chatting with someone other than his mother this evening.” With that, Lord Blackwell bowed slightly and slipped away.
Judith watched him saunter toward his wife, even as she barely acknowledged her latest partner, a young baronet who had received his title only this past New Year’s. The naïve gentleman, a kind sort who still often stumbled on his way to finding his place among theton,waited patiently. Judith did not keep him waiting long, despite the turmoil churning within her, a miasma of emotions that tamped and fueled her anger at the same time. She knew now that her stepson would definitely lie to her without remorse or hesitation. Something Judith would make sure he would come to regret.
*
Mark watched LordBlackwell ease his way through the crush of dancers moving onto the floor, gathering for a quadrille. The statesman had been sequestered with Judith near a potted tree long enough for her face to move through a dozen expressions—surprise, annoyance, suspicion, and curiosity, among others—even as she had repeatedly glanced in Mark’s direction. She had taken the arm of her newest partner with a continued look of anger, however, and Mark found his gaze slipping from Judith to Blackwell more than once as he studied them both.
Lord Anthony Blackwell had been a privy advisor for King George III and an important voice in Parliament—and he still had the ear of the Prince Regent. Although well past sixty, his posture remained perfectly straight, his frame trim, and his eyes bright and clear, like an old general with a military bearing and discipline. The ball he and his wife would host later in the season remained one of the most desired invitations, and the man could squire even the liveliest young women about the floor with ease. Yet he had not danced with Judith. Instead he had engaged her in a private conversation of obvious import, much has he would a fellow peer on a matter of political significance.
Why?
The unexpected feelings of jealousy that swirled through Mark’s gut as he had watched Judith move from one handsome—and usuallyyoung—partner to the next throughout the evening had been eased by her conversation with Blackwell. Her presence at a Society ball normally meant a light, fun experience on the floor. But tonight she had danced with a fierce enthusiasm, intimidating most of the men. Even some of the Society mavens had noticed, dragons who watched her from behind flipping fans, their gazes following her through each set.
What are you up to, dear Judith?
“What are you plotting?” His mother’s low demand came from behind her own fan.
He sniffed. “In case you had not noticed, I am rather incapable of plotting anything at the moment.” He shifted on his chair, trying to give his aching ribs a bit more room. He felt stronger, more able to move about, but the lingering aches were sharper at times than others.
“You do not need to move to plot, and you have done so since you were a child. Observing your brothers and devising some prank or other to embarrass or humiliate them.”
“They should not be so easily embarrassed.”
“They were children. Some still are.”
“So was I.”
“You were never truly a child. I swear you arrived on the planet with a plot and a prank in mind, even as you had a thumb in your mouth.”
“Timothy will reach his majority in six months, and he has been at school since he turned twelve. He is hardly a child.”
“Scarcely my point—”
“You reared my brothers.”
Phyllida gave a low growl. “My point is that your mind never ceases plotting about something. You watch and you plot.”
Mark glanced at his mother. “Apparently, I am not the only one who watches and plots.”
“I am a matron of theton.That is my right.”
