Jack eased back two steps, hoping to disappear into the crowd unnoticed, but Lord Enwick turned to him.
“Am I right, sir?”
Jack shrugged. “She seemed a little unbalanced.”
“Unbalanced!” Lord Enwick bellowed. “She is gripped by hysteria. She belongs in the likes of Bedlam!”
“I am terribly sorry.” Monsieur Baudelaire shifted his focus from Lord Enwick to Jack. “She has not been herself since we left France.” He gave a helpless shrug. “It is as though a demon has taken possession of her in this country. I must remove her from England at once and take her back to her homeland.”
Excellent idea, Jack thought.
“I should think so!” Lord Enwick barked. “If I so much as encounter your wife across the street, I will see to it she is locked away.”
“No need for extreme measures!” Monsieur Baudelaire held up his fleshy hands in a defensive gesture. “We have excellent doctors in Paris.”
Lord Enwick snorted his disapproval and turned back to comfort his wife.
Monsieur Baudelaire turned to his guests with a forced smile. “Please, continue. I am sorry for the interruption.” He looked toward the band. “Play on!” He gestured wildly with his hands. “Play on!”
The band resumed its playing, but the onlookers failed to dissipate.
Jack inched back, hoping to finally make his escape. Instead, hands rested on each of his shoulders and a voice murmured in his ear, “What would Monsieur Baudelaire say if he knew the name of his wife’s demon?”
Jack smiled. He didn’t have to turn around to know the voice belonged to his friend, Lord Hudsyn.
“You are slipping, Bastin,” Hudsyn said, stepping forward to face Jack. “This little liaison has gotten out of control. And now it seems you have your very own Lady Caroline Lamb to contend with. Gentlemen will start keeping a sharp eye on their wives when you’re about.”
“I can see that.” Jack glanced around the room, now a wall of bent heads and low whispers, punctuated only by furtive glances in his direction. “I think it is time for me to leave.”
“Let’s give it a few minutes, so it doesn’t look like you’re a guilty man slinking away to hide. Then, at the risk of my reputation, I’ll walk you out,” Hudsyn offered.
Chapter Two
My days of love are over; me nomore
The charms of maid, wife, and still less ofwidow,
Can make the fool of which they madebefore—
In short, I must not lead the life I diddo
—Byron,“Don Juan”, Canto1
“Shameful!” Lady Hudsynrepeated the sentiment for the tenth time as if shock had stripped her of her vocabulary. She, like the rest of the spectators, seemed rooted to the spot, unable to carry on with the evening’s festivities despite the drama ending and the music resuming.
“I quite agree,” Lady Witley chimed as she scooted in next to Lady Hudsyn. “It is disgraceful, indeed. Never in all my life have I seen such a despicable public display of emotions. An English Lady would die before engaging in such antics.”
“I feel sorry for her.” Miss Clara Witley popped up next to Ottilie and interrupted her mother’s tirade. “It is rumored that Mr. Bastin—” she paused and lowered her voice before continuing—“seduced Madame Baudelaire and made her fall in love with him.”
Lady Hudsyn inhaled sharply.
“Do not speak of such sordid things. I forbid it!” Lady Witley admonished her daughter.
“Everyone is talking about it, Mama!”
“They certainly are not! And neither shall you.” Lady Witley opened her pocket fan and cooled her beet-red face.
“It’s true!” Miss Witley turned to Ottilie for support. “You’ve heard the talk, haven’t you, Miss Hamilton?”
