“From what I’ve heard, Clara Beauchamp was a sweet little thing, but rather insipid, and of course, her family was in trade. She wasn’t the sort of young lady to attract the notice of an aristocrat.” Lady Wylde gave Miss Harley a condescending smile. “She had a tidy little fortune, but not enough to make up for the deficiencies in her pedigree, you understand.”
Miss Harley gave her a blank stare. “Not really, no.”
Lady Wylde settled her ruffles with a disdainful sniff. “It’s the way of things, my dear. Miss Beauchamp didn’t, to my knowledge, ever become a viscountess. She disappeared soon after that rumor started, and there hasn’t been a whisper about her since.”
Miss Harley didn’t seem to realize a lady of inferior rank such as herself was meant to plead humbly for Lady Wylde’s exalted attention. “People don’t simply vanish into the air like so much mist, Lady Wylde. Someone must have seensomething.”
“Of course, someone knows something about it, but I shouldn’t hold my breath waiting for them to speak up. They’ve remained quiet for this long, haven’t they? Clara Beauchamp is likely dead by now. But that’s what comes of young ladies getting above themselves.” Lady Wylde’s lip curled. “The Beauchamps were common, and Lord and Lady Draven are among the most elegant members of London society.”
“Ah, well, what’s a kidnapping in comparison to aristocratic patronage?” Miss Harley’s voice was bright, but her face had gone hard. “As long as Miss Beauchamp was fortunate enough to enjoy the attentions ofthe most elegant members of London society, I suppose she has nothing to complainof, does she?”
Darlington stifled a cough, and Lady Darlington raised a hand to her mouth to hide a smirk, but Lady Wylde only replied without a shred of irony, “Indeed, she doesn’t. But I must say, I don’t understand this sudden fuss over Clara Beauchamp. Lord Draven, of all people was asking about her justthe other day.”
“That is curious,” Lord Harrington drawled. “But as we learned this week, Draven has a great many secrets. The Duchess of Kenilworth, for one.”
Harrington’s sneering tone made Benedict’s fists clench. Bloody traitor. He had half a mind to callHarrington out—
“The Duchess of Kenilworth?” Miss Harley repeated. “What does the duchess have to do with Lord Draven?”
“My dear Miss Harley, whatdoesn’tshe have to do with him?” Harrington smirked. “If the gossips are to be believed, the duchess and Lord Draven are…intimatefriends.”
Miss Harley looked Harrington up and down as if he were a bit of muck she’d found on the sole of her slippers. “Are gossipseverto be believed, Lord Harrington?”
Harrington’s face reddened, but he glared down his nose at her. “You’re not out much in society, are you, Miss Harley? If you were, you’d know this isn’t the first rumor that’s circulated about Draven and the duchess.”
Lady Wylde tittered. “Indeed. Given their past escapades, it’s not so surprising the duchess and Lord Draven should have fallen into each other’s arms again.”
“When did they fall into each other’s arms the first—”
“Forgive me, but I must see to my other guests. I beg you will excuse me, Lord and Lady Darlington.” Lady Wylde offered them each a curtsy, then swept off in a whirl of scarlet skirts without another glance at Miss Harley.
Benedict had heard enough. He backed into the hallway, leaving the ballroom behind. Once he’d rounded the corner, he tore the masque from his face, an uneasy knot in his stomach. He felt rather foolish, creeping about like a spy, but secrets led to spying, and it was beginning to dawn on him his sister might have more secrets that he’dever suspected.
What did Lady Wylde mean bypast escapades?
Janehadbeen acting peculiar lately. She’d spent far more time at his country estate this past winter than usual. Benedict had wondered at it, but he’d assumed Jane would confide in him if something was amiss. At eight years her senior, he’d been as much a parent as a brother to Jane. She’d been hardly more than a child when their mother passed, and they’d only grown closer since their father’s death threeyears earlier.
So he hadn’t pressed her for an explanation. He’d let it go and simply enjoyed hers and his nephew Freddy’s company. But Jane’s silence had continued. As the season drew near, she’d grown unaccountably anxious about Benedict’s return to London, and encouraged him to remain in Surrey without offering any explanation why.
But an affair, with Lord Draven? Impossible. Jane wouldneverbetray her husband. It simply wasn’t in her character to do something so lowand dishonest.
As for this Clara Beauchamp, Benedict had never heard her name before, but she was somehow connected to Lord Draven’s family, and Lord Draven was, according to the gossips, somehow connected to Jane.
The whole business was as murky as the Thames, but all hope wasn’t yet lost. Draven hadn’t put in an appearance, but there was one other person who’d come here tonight to stick her pert little nose into this mysterious business.
Of course, there was no reason to think Miss Harley had turned up here, in the last place one would expect her to be, because of the rumors about Jane and Draven. She might be after something else entirely. God knew there were enough sinners gathered in this ballroom tonight to keep Lady Clifford busy for an eternity.
But Darlington hadn’t come tonight because he’d had a sudden yearning for Lady Wylde’s company. No, he and Lady Darlington had come as a favor to Miss Harley. Benedict was certain of it. If shewashere to poke about in Jane’s business, who’d puther up to it?
Draven, perhaps, or the Dukeof Kenilworth?
There was only one way to find out.
Benedict stuffed his masque into his pocket and made his way to the entrance hall. He collected his hat and walking stick from Lady Wylde’s butler and strolled out into the night. A moment later his carriage appeared, and he climbed inside.
“The Clifford School, Grigg,” Benedict ordered his coachman as he pulled the door closed behind him. “No. 26Maddox Street.”
It was time he paid a visit to Georgiana Harley.
