Tonight, she had foregone the wig she must have been wearing last night. Her short-cropped brown hair was fetchingly adorned with a confection of lace, ribbons, and flowers in colors that matched her gown.
The bodice of the gown was even lower than the one she wore last night, when he’d spent all the time in her company disciplining his eyes not to stay riveted on her breasts. She wore a locket on a chain that made things worse, dropping to nestle between the soft mounds.
Allan was grateful when she covered herself in a warm cloak. He offered his arm as if they were going for a walk, and insisted on going ahead of her on the steps down to the tunnel.
Baldwin had spent part of the afternoon reiterating the likely places for an ambush, if Mrs. Blackmore had betrayed them and the marquess’s men were waiting. At the foot of the steps. Where each side tunnel met the main tunnel. On the riverbank after they emerged. At the docks on the other side of the river. Outside the club.
They saw nothing but the usual traffic along the river and the streets beyond; heard nothing but the sounds of London, the Thames, and then Southwark at night.
Inside the club was another possibility. Madam Hera was powerful, but the marquess’s reach might stretch even here. However, they entered by the kitchen door, as usual, and went together up to the parlor, as usual.
“I shall speak to Madam Hera about using her private parlor for our meeting with Lady Opora,” Allan said, and went to find the club’s proprietor.
Baldwin continued to hover. He was the brother most suspicious of Mrs. Blackmore’s motives and loyalties, and refused to leave her unescorted except by Allan. “You are half in love with her,” he accused. “You want to see the good in her. I won’t trust her until she proves herself.”
“Which is fair enough,” said Mrs. Blackmore. “I would be the same in your shoes.”
Even after the arrival of Lady Melissae, Baldwin’s usual client, he wouldn’t leave, and they stood in an uncomfortable foursome, making awkward conversation, until Mrs. Blackmore happened to mention she was a widow, and then the two ladies were comparing notes on widowhood and difficult marriages, leaving the brothers with nothing to say.
One by one, the other ladies arrived. Lady Andromeda and Lady Thisbe first. They came straight to greet Mrs. Blackmore, who introduced them to Lady Melissae.
“Have you known this lady long?” Allan asked Lady Andromeda, just as Frank and Hudson joined the group.
“Since we were girls,” said the lady. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. Of course, the pair of us were only children when Mrs. Bl… I mean, when Lady Mnema married our neighbor, but she was always very kind to us. And recently, we have becomereacquainted, have we not, Mel? May I tell them about how we met again?”
“Go ahead,” said Mrs. Blackmore.
“Someone in my father’s family was embezzling. Mel came to work for us, to find out who it was. She pretended to be a seamstress—she is very good with her needle. When I recognized her, she took me into her confidence, and I helped her discover the villain, and we saved my father and my family name. Since then, she has been the big sister I never had. Par… that is, Lady Thisbe and I look up to her so much.”
“She taught us how to shoot so we could defend ourselves,” said Lady Thisbe. “And where to hit if we are assaulted, so we can lay them low and get away.” Lady Thisbe’s soft voice was nonetheless infused with relish as she conveyed the bloodthirsty sentiments.
Allan raised an eyebrow in Baldwin’s direction, even as Lady Melissae expressed awe and envy. “I wish I might learn,” she said. “A widow, especially one with money, is always a target.”
Baldwin patted the lady’s hand, which was tucked in his arm. “You need a man to protect you.”
“Unfortunately, it is often the men in our families, those who should protect us, who are the ones doing us harm,” Mrs. Blackmore said, and all the ladies nodded.
Given what the marquess had done to his wives and others, Allan could only agree.
Ah! Here was Cornelius, beckoning him and Mrs. Blackmore. “Lady Mnema,” he said to her. “We have a meeting. Ladies, brothers, if you would excuse us.”
Any lingering doubts disappeared when they entered Madam Hera’s private parlor, and Thomasina said, “Melody!” and cast herself into Mrs. Blackmore’s arms.
“Thommie, I have been so worried about you!” said Mrs. Blackmore. “You just disappeared. At first, I wondered if yourhusband had killed you, but apparently you still like him, so that wasn’t it.”
“It was the marquess, Mel,” Thomasina explained. “He tried to have his way with me. He has no shame, the horrid man. Cornelius helped me to get away, and said he would come for me when Jerome reached twenty-one. I have been in hiding ever since, but Jerome will reach his majority soon, so I came to London to be ready when Cornelius was free.”
She reached a hand to Cornelius without looking at him, and his was there to clasp it against his heart.
“But where have you been?” Mrs. Blackmore asked. “I could find no trace of you.”
“In France,” said Thomasina. “We have a home there, Cornelius and I.”
Mrs. Blackmore beamed. “On the vineyards of your mother’s family! I wondered. But nobody with whom I spoke had any idea where in France I could find your family estates! They still belong to your family?”
“To my three French aunts. My only remaining relatives. They are widows, all three, and lost brothers, husbands, and sons to the war, but they welcomed me, although I was half-English.” She leaned back against Cornelius, and smiled up at him. “And they shall welcome Cornelius, too. The estate shall be ours, in time. And our son’s after us.”
“Thommie!” Mrs. Blackmore exclaimed. “You have a son?”
