Lady Vice (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Lavinia frowned as Sophia closed the library door. “Is Max gone?”

“Of course he is.” Thea examined her fingernails. “Did you think he’d stay?”

“Oh Thea, do stop,” Sophia scolded.

“Well, I find his air repugnant.” Thea tilted up her chin.

“You mean to say he did not spare you a second look,” Sophia rejoined.

Thea glared. “Honestly, Sophia.”

“I was teasing, though perhaps I should not jest,” Sophia said. “I do apologize, darling Decadence, however, your hostility toward the man is excessive. He enjoys your husband’s patronage. Could that be the cause, I wonder?”

Thea scowled and looked away. Sophia covered Lavinia’s hand with hers.

“Lavinia, Mr. Harrison had to leave in order to show the magistrate he wasn’t waiting around to sample your charms.”

Of course.
Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“And by leaving he accomplished this aim?” Thea huffed. “Mr. Harrison drooled after Lavinia like a hungry infant eyeing a shiny spoon. Montechurch was jumping with jealousy.”

“One requires a heart to feel jealous,” Lavinia said, shivering. “Monte has none, and now, he believes I am to blame for his cousin’s death.”

“He is powerless without witnesses,” Sophia said. “We will have to satisfy him by finding the real killer.”

“Monte is never powerless.” She rubbed her cheek where he had placed his finger. “Did you hear him? He talked to me as if I were his doxy—his terribly slow doxy!”

“Mr. Harrison put an end to Montechurch’s foolishness, did he not?” Sophia patted Lavinia’s shoulder, smiling like a cat with cream. “He is just the man to see you through this.”

Such certainty eluded Lavinia.

She drew her fingers lightly across her lips in a pale pantomime of Max’s kiss. How could he be at once familiar and completely strange? How could he inspire both yearning and dread? Was he a man she could trust, or a man she should fear?

“The magistrate knew him by reputation,” Thea said, “so I grant that he may have exceptional legal knowledge. I do not, however, see what you see in that man, Lavinia. He is nothing like the youthful things you usually entertain.”

“I entertain the ‘youthful things’ because Sophia is so often sparring with Randolph, because they haven’t the coin to meet your stakes, and because they are too in awe of me to make advances. But Max—” she paused.

But Max, what?
Once, he’d chosen opportunity and power over her love. She’d seen too much of men to believe he’d choose differently this time.

“I acknowledge your disapproval, Thea,” she said.

Sophia squeezed Lavinia’s shoulder before sitting. “Mr. Harrison was magnificently protective. So lovely and male. You know I have a keen appreciation of the sex in general.”

Thea snorted. “One in particular.”

“If you mean Lord Randolph, then not in the least.” Sophia lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Bedeviling a devil is the truest form of entertainment.”

Thea mimicked Sophia’s shrug. “Ah, sweet Scandal, tell yourself what you wish.”

“What did you say to Max?” Lavinia asked, deftly heading off the good-natured row.

Sophia grinned. “I told him he would have me to answer to, if he did not see you through this.”

“Oh dear.” Lavinia covered her eyes with both hands and shook her head. “Enough, both of you.”

“You cannot mean to silence me,” Sophia said. “I have news.”

Lavinia parted her fingers and peeked. “What kind of news?”

“Good news.” Sophia exchanged glances with Thea. “We had our best night yet.”

“Well, that
is
good news.” Gold was a faithful friend.

“While the men were leaving and you were…” Sophia raised her brows, “changing, I separated out the coins from the bank notes and other memorandums of understanding.”

“Sophia,” Lavinia said in a warning tone, “I
was
changing. Nothing happened while Max was in my rooms.”

“With no one to witness save our discreet staff? What a waste.” Sophia kissed the top of Lavinia’s head. “We women,” her sympathetic tone stripped Lavinia of protection, “can heal from any inflicted hurt.”

Lavinia dropped her lids, unready to reveal the secrets Sophia perceived.

Sophia untied a pocket from her skirts and handed Lavinia a pouch. “Your portion is here.”

Lavinia bounced the comforting weight in her palm. The pouch contained coins enough to make the duchess of Devonshire slaver—enough, even to pay extra to Vaile’s procuress,
if
she would swear to stay clear of the inquest.

“Now,” Sophia said, “we plan. Thea and I have decided not to host another salon while you observe mourning. When we resume, our invitations will be all the more coveted.”

“But the two of you—”

“Do not worry about us,” Thea broke in, “
you
must begin to play the part of a grieving widow.”

“Yes,” Sophia agreed. “You’ve been playing the role of the ruthless Lady Vice. That must change.”

Thea cleared her throat and pressed her fingers to her lips. In a performance complete with shaking voice and tearing eyes she said, “True, we were estranged, but one always feels there is time.”

“Oooh, very good, Thea,” Sophia said. “Elmbrooke may have claimed Vaile’s body, but you must claim your right to mourn. We will have rings of remembrance made. And we will place a hatchment in the window of Vaile House—your coat of arms on white, the Vaile coat of arms on black.”

“I had not considered a hatchment,” Lavinia said.

“Of course you should have one,” Sophia replied. “When my husband died, the earl took care of it immediately.”

As always, Sophia’s cheeks darkened when she mentioned her father. Why she only referred to him as the earl, Lavinia did not know. Sophia, too, kept her past private.

“I suppose the earl wished to remind everyone of my husband’s more modest origins. In your case, the dual coat of arms will remind passersby of your grief.”

Lavinia glanced between her friends. “The thought of going to Vaile House makes me ill.”

“Do not worry.” Sophia placed a hand on her shoulder. “We will come with you.”

Lavinia glanced up warily. She’d never told Sophia or Thea exactly why she’d left—only how. If they knew all, what would they say?

“Bring Maggie and we will pack up the things you want,” Thea said. “I wish I could have taken more from Wynchester house. There must be things you miss.”

“I am not certain the house and its contents are mine.”

“Your marriage portion paid for the home, yes?” Thea asked.

“Yes, but I am unclear concerning the deed. If the house wasn’t specifically protected, Vaile would have willed it elsewhere.” She rubbed her forehead. “My trust will revert to me—or at least to me through a trustee. I suppose I need to appoint a new trustee to replace Vaile. I do not know how long the transition will take.”

Sophia tilted her head. “I will arrange for you to meet with my solicitor. He will know. I was able to appoint a new trustee quite quickly after my husband’s death.”

Thea leaned forward. “Who did you appoint, Sophia?”

“Someone who has served me well.” Her clipped response closed the door to further questions. “Now, Lavinia, we tried to make Mr. Harrison believe you were with Thea earlier this evening, but if he did not believe us, why should the court?” Sophia hesitated. “Can you tell us where you were?”

“I was meeting someone at Vauxhall—someone I would rather not reveal.” She rubbed her forehead. “They never came.”

Sophia examined her with a calculating expression. “Randolph was at Vauxhall earlier.”

“I wasn’t meeting Randolph,” Lavinia said, insulted that Sophia could think she’d intrude.

Sophia laughed. “I know. But perhaps he saw you and will swear it to the court. They would never question a peer.”

“He couldn’t have seen me. I was disguised.” Lavinia rubbed her eyes, thinking of Max’s falsehood. “I appreciate the thought, but I will not allow anyone to lie for me.”
Again.

“Well, asking Randolph couldn’t hurt. He is quite observant. He often rattles off our guests’ names when I, who wrote the invitations, cannot recall who was invited without consulting the roster. Maybe he saw you in truth.”

“Just say he does
remember…
” Thea’s eyes narrowed. “…how will you convince him to speak to the court, Sophia?”

“That’s between him and me.” Sophia inhaled as if sucking in courage. “Be assured, if he did see you, I will have him at the court before the day is finished. And tomorrow, we will meet at Vaile House, inspect the hatchment and decide how to proceed from there. I am certain of a Fury victory.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Thea asked.

…

Stubble scratched Max’s palms as he rubbed his hand over his cheek. The journey up the staircase connecting the mews to his study had never seemed so long. Then again, he’d accomplished much since dawn.

After leaving Sophia’s, he had arranged for a surgeon to view Vaile’s body—and what a grisly mess they’d found. Vaile’s mattress was soaked in so much blood, he’d almost pitied the man.
Almost
.

Next, he’d paid a visit to his old friend Sullivan, who now spent his days as a hackney jarvey. A poor Irish soldier and a wellborn court officer may never have crossed paths in England, but in the merciless world of a madman’s cell, they had become brothers. Nothing could break the bond they had forged during their months of imprisonment.

Sullivan had agreed to keep a discreet eye on Lavinia’s coming and goings—an arrangement that had caused Max guilt until Max had attended the start of the coroner’s court’s first session.

The coroner himself, thank God, seemed an upstanding man who would be unlikely to accept a bribe. First, the housekeeper had testified about how she had heard a shot and then found the body. Next, Lord Montechurch had testified that he believed he saw Lavinia rushing from the house. He said he knew the exact time because he’d stopped his pocket watch as a gesture of grief and remembrance.

Surprisingly, the infamously indolent Lord Randolph had testified that Lavinia had been at Vauxhall at that very time.

Max rested his back against the wall.

An alibi for Lavinia should have brought him relief, but things too good to be true usually were. And, judging by Montechurch’s angry reaction to Randolph’s testimony, he wouldn’t be surprised if Monte found more “witnesses” to come forward who would challenge Randolph’s claim.

Max had wanted to discuss the strength of the alibi with Randolph, but Randolph had slipped out the back of the Red Lion Inn after giving testimony and, despite an exhaustive search, Max could not locate the man.

Now, he needed a drink.

He shrugged off his greatcoat and shook out the dust. Immediately, the telltale click of the butler’s shoes echoed through the hall.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harrison,” Geste said. The older man’s jowls jiggled as he reached for Max’s coat. The butler found his habit of entering through the back eccentric.

“I wish to work in my study. Is it lit?”

“I lit a fire in the
duke’s
study, sir.”

“Thank you, Geste.”

Much like the ancient furniture, Geste had come with the townhome and he never let Max forget the house had always belonged to the dukes of Wynchester. The butler’s manner had never rankled before, but Max’s position had become precarious. When Wynchester found out about Max’s pledge to protect a murdering countess who also happened to be a friend to his estranged duchess, he would evict Max without question.

Max strode into his study and shoved the door closed. He wrestled with the knot of his cravat and then cast off his neckcloth. He leaned over the mess of books and parchment and ink.

Damnation.
If
Lavinia had gone to Vauxhall as Lord Randolph had testified, why hadn’t she said so?

A stinging anger he feared was actually jealousy-in-disguise rippled through his gut. Another tether holding the beast snapped.

Sophia had implied Lavinia feared men, but rumor suggested otherwise. Could Randolph be Lavinia’s lover? And what of Lord Montechurch? Montechurch had touched her as if accustomed to doing so.

No—he shook off the thought—Lavinia had been afraid of Montechurch. And, from what Max had learned today, Randolph was widely acknowledged to be smitten with Sophia.

Still, the whole business stank worse than Rats’ Castle Rookery on a sweltering August Sunday. If saving Lavinia meant he must play by both fair means and foul, could he stay in the game?

Sophia had told him this was his hand to lose. Yes, his hand, his savings, his home, his life. He’d offered to run away with Lavinia, for God’s sake. If she had accepted, to whom would his mother—and hers—have turned?

He closed his lids, soothing his smarting eyes.

He could no longer use the excuse that Lavinia had betrayed him by marrying Vaile. She had been innocent and he had refused to face the truth. He wanted to believe her innocent now. But could he be sure Vaile had not made her desperate enough to do the worst?

People made terrible decisions to save themselves. Somewhere in India a group of Englishmen wandered, dressed in the clothes of another culture and speaking a tongue not their own. He wondered if the mercenaries were haunted. How could a man betray his country and live with himself?

If he chose to walk away, he’d save his position and lose the honor on which he’d come to depend. He could not live with himself if he left his one-time love to the machinations of a viper like Montechurch.

Propriety be damned, he intended to pay another visit to Lavinia soon. He’d convince her to confide in him, by any means necessary.

He braced himself against the wooden cabinet and pulled open the glass door. He reached for a crystal decanter of port, but hesitated. Tonight, if any, must qualify as a special occasion. Gently, he slid the decanter aside and pulled out a smaller globe.

He uncorked the bottle and inhaled.

His one indulgence. Armagnac, and not the brandy-diluted version the Dutch traded, either. His was the real thing, a cask straight from the Maniban family in France, a liquid gold delicacy not well-known in England.