Page 82

When the instrument fell silent, he leapt to his feet and bowed. “What can I say, other than thank you?”

Regina rose and moved to stand just before him, her eyes glinting. “You can thank me properly, Major.”

Without waiting for a reply, she threw herself at him, sticking her tongue in his mouth and moving it in a circle like a cook stirring a pot of soup.

Horrified, he froze; Regina promptly wound her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. Just as he put his hands to her shoulders to push her away, the door opened behind her back.

Since Joshua’s eyes were wide open, he saw his brother Frederick’s satisfied expression turn to horror. Behind him, stepping forward into the room, was a man whose hair rose above his forehead like a wave.

The Earl of Winchester.

Regina’s fiancé.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

IN WHICH LIVIE LEARNS OF LADY REGINA’S TRIUMPH

MEETING OF THE SPECIAL COMMISSION

HOUSE OF LORDS,

PALACE OF WESTMINSTER

Heart thumping in her ears, Livie followed Lady Wharton into the Pugin Room, where the Special Commission meeting would take place. No matter how often she reminded herself that her “father” was not a blood relative, she couldn’t bring herself to accept the fact that Captain Sir Tyron might face execution.

The heaviness in her chest was partly due to terror, and partly due to crying all night over Joshua. The moment he left, she longed for him to come back and try to change her mind. All he would have had to do was kiss her, and her silly argument would have crumpled.

Yet aside from a message affirming that he had paid a visit to Lady Regina, she had heard nothing from him. Her letter asking whether he had spoken to Bernadette had gone unanswered.

The Pugin Room was empty; Lady Wharton and Livie were the first to arrive. “Are you absolutely certain that I am allowed to attend this meeting?” Livie whispered, glancing around. The walls were hung with crimson flock paper and the ceiling decorated with patterns of roses. Huge portraits of august men hung on the wall, one of whom was presumably Joshua’s father.

“I was assured that family is welcome. Moreover, you are here as a witness to the coded letters,” her aunt replied.

“Yes, but Frederick—”

“I would advise you not to refer to a future earl so informally,” her aunt said with a frown. “Lord FitzRoy-Paget will presumably attend, but since he is often inebriated and thus unreliable, your father’s solicitor judged that you may be asked to provide a coherent account of the discovery. Moreover, given that his lordship is the Lord High Steward’s son, we wish to avoid any suspicion of favoritism.”

Lady Wharton removed her cloak and handed it to their groom, gesturing for him to wait in the corridor. “We have a half hour before the company is bid to assemble,” she said to Livie. “I felt the need to gather my thoughts. When I visited the captain yesterday, I became concerned that my brother will not aid his own defense.”

“I don’t think Captain Sir Tyron realizes the gravity of his danger,” Livie said. “When I visited him, he became so angry that …” Her voice trailed off. She had been agonizing about whether to tell Lady Wharton what her father had revealed about her parentage, but so far she had held her tongue. Her aunt had embraced her with such affection when she returned from the country that it seemed indelicate to raise the question of her mother’s virtue or lack thereof.

“Come, Livie,” Lady Wharton announced, leading the way to the end of a row of chairs lined up before a niche created by a bay window. The chair positioned in the niche wasn’t precisely a throne, but it certainly evoked one: the back was enormously tall, and it was adorned with a crimson cushion. Two standing candelabras, easily twice Livie’s height, were positioned on either side of the chair.

Once they were seated, Lady Wharton reached over and grasped Livie’s hand. “Whatever happens, your uncle and I will never forsake you.” She paused. “My brother’s behavior has been remarkably foolish. In my opinion, he has rarely shown good judgment, but more recently he has been extraordinarily irrational, even for him. Still, idiocy is not synonymous with treachery.”

Livie’s eyes rounded. She had never heard her aunt say a disparaging word about her brother.

“You are old enough to judge the evidence yourself,” her aunt continued. “Take into account the unkind letters he has consistently sent you, his cruelty toward his estranged wife, his devotion to a man who is as unprepossessing as dislikable. The captain had the effrontery to inform me that he planned to give your hand in marriage to this Cassio.”

Lady Wharton’s bosom swelled with indignation. “I consider you my own daughter. You will never marry below the gentry. Moreover, my brother informed me that he has shared with you his foolish surmise regarding your birth.”

Livie felt herself turning pale. She bowed her head. “Yes, he told me of my—my shame.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Wharton snarled. “You were born within the holy bounds of matrimony. I informed your father that if he told a soul about that wretched idea, I would never speak to him again, and I would withdraw Lord Wharton’s support as well. We have great influence in His Majesty’s Navy, given that my husband is close friends with Captain Sir Parker, the Chief of Naval Staff. The captain dares not disobey me.”

Livie’s mind whirled. Was her aunt saying that Livie wasn’t illegitimate? “So you think I might marry a gentleman?” she whispered. She felt a bitter-sweet twinge of hope. Perhaps … just perhaps … she could write to Joshua, one last time.

Lady Wharton glanced at her. “Please tell me that you have not taken an interest in Lord Devin.”