Mark stared at the wine, his fingers caressing the stem. “I doubt—”
“I know who he is. What he does. With that degenerate establishment of his.”
“If you plan to meet with her this afternoon, why do you not ask her?”
“I absolutely will.”
“I would not think otherwise.”
Phyllida paused as she cut into the lamb and took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I suspect that Lady Sculthorpe and I do have one thing in common.”
“And what is that?”
“We would do almost anything to protect our families.” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her serviette. “I have been a duchess for a great many years. She a countess. It would be unwise for anyone—anyone—to challenge that.”
A truer statement Mark had never heard.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday, 1 August 1814
Sculthorpe Manor
Quarter past four in the afternoon
Judith stood bythe fireplace of the receiving room, relishing the warmth from the low fire in the grate. The unusually cool temperatures, which had started with a winter so frigid the Thames had frozen over, had continued, even into August, and this Monday had turned surly, with a harsh breeze bringing in low clouds and a chilled mist off the river.
Yet Lady Embleton, Phyllida Rydell, now the dowager duchess following her son Matthew’s recent marriage, had accepted Judith’s invitation, arriving a few minutes after four in a snug linen-and-wool afternoon gown, the deep-purple color accented by a black collar, black stripes on the sleeves, and embroidered black spirals around the hem. A small black bonnet topped her gray-and-blonde coiffure, and curls of black and purple ribbons circled it and flowed down the back of her gown. Black turned most women pale and wan, but it seemed to highlight the rosy glow in Lady Embleton’s cheeks and emphasize the pure blue of her eyes.
So like her son’s.
As the butler announced her, Lady Embleton swept into the room, her hem weighted with moisture. Judith greeted her, then motioned toward an armchair near the fire. “You might be morecomfortable here. This room seems to have held a chill most of the year.” She looked at the butler. “Please bring tea for Lady Embleton.”
He nodded and left as the dowager duchess settled in the armchair, snuggling her reticule in her lap. “Thank you.”
Judith sat in a matching armchair on the other side of the grate. “I appreciate you accepting my invitation.”
Lady Embleton gave a slight wave of her fingers. “Lady Sculthorpe, if my son’s descriptions of you are accurate, then I suspect we share a disdain for the trivial niceties of Society conversations. So let us speak plainly. Why am I here?”
Judith repressed a burst of laughter. “Indeed. I suspect you are correct. I have invited you here because I need an ally and advice, and of all the women I know or know about, I believe you would be the most helpful, if you are willing.”
“I will not help you with that vulgar bet concerning you and my son.”
Judith’s eyebrows arched, her chin lowering. “Nor would I ask you to.”
“Then what are we discussing?”
“Mr. Vincent Atkinson’s attempts to ruin my family—and those of at least two other men. I believe he has declared himself to be at war with the Beau Monde and is in the process of using our own foolish natures as ammunition against us. He is, in particular, mired in competition with your son’s new venture, and he hopes to further his own ambitions by smearing Lord Mark’s name as well as that of the others.”
“And what do you wish to do?”
“I think thetonshould fight back. More precisely, I think you and I should fight back. These men are our family and find themselves unable to combat Atkinson on their own. But they are men. I believe you and I have other resources at our disposal.”
Lady Embleton sat completely still, her gaze wavering from Judith’s face only when the tea arrived. Both women remained silent as the butler prepared and served it. Lady Embleton sipped, still watching Judith, as the butler left the room, pulling the door closed.
“You have a plan.” It was not a question.
Judith nodded. “I do.”
