My Unfair Lady (34 page)

   The lady took it as if it were a bug. "I'm surprised that my dear brother-in-law chose not to attend this evening."

   "Oh," replied Summer, her heart plummeting, all the glamour of the evening fading at Lady Karlton's words. She twisted her hand slightly so that Lord Karlton's slobber stained his wife's gloves as well.

   "I'm sure he's still at Cliffs Castle," interrupted Lady Banfour. "To prepare his home for our wedding."

   Lady Karlton raised her brows, and the two women assessed each other with malicious eyes.

   "I didn't credit the rumors," said Lady Karlton.

   "Well, we've made no formal announcement, but one will be forthcoming very soon."

   "Will it?" replied Lady Karlton, the tone of her voice suggesting the improbability of such an event.

   Summer's brown eyes widened as she watched the interplay between the two women. It reminded her of two coyotes fighting over a dead carcass.

   "Most assuredly," said Lady Banfour before she sailed away in her pink skirts. Summer started to follow her when a grip like talons curled over her arm.

   Lady Karlton bent over to hiss into her ear. "Before you came, he was quite content to remain a bachelor. I'd return to New York at the earliest opportunity, if I were you."

   Summer bridled. How dare she threaten her, and for no reason that she could see! But a true lady wouldn't respond to such a comment, nor would she use an Apache maneuver to use the woman's grip to toss her across the floor. With an inner sigh of remorse, she stared at the other woman's hand until she let her go, then sailed after Lady Banfour, swirling her coral skirts exactly as her companion had done.

   Being a lady was killing her.

   Summer smiled throughout the evening, danced with the men Lady Banfour pronounced suitable, and tried not to succumb to sheer boredom. She managed a bit of excitement when she encountered John Strolm, and lingered near his group to overhear their conversation, hoping to see if he mentioned the duke and if his feelings were still volatile toward His Grace.

   But their heated discussion involved gaming wagers, so she drifted off to beg Lady Banfour to retire early.

   "But you are such a success this evening, surely you don't want to cut it short."

   Summer scowled.

   "Then on the other hand," continued Lady Banfour, "we don't want to tempt the Fates, now, do we?"

   Summer grinned and followed her out to the carriage, nodding at the sad regrets of the ladies and gentlemen at their early departure. Lady Banfour had spoken truly, for she'd been a great success. Summer remembered the ball she'd attended in New York, when Monte had attempted to introduce her to his family. How they'd looked down their noses at her, stepped on the hem of her dress, turned their backs whenever she approached.

   But now, when she returned to America after being presented to the Queen, all of New York society would throw open their doors to her. She could imagine the apologies of those who had slighted her, and how she'd maybe let them squirm a little before she finally accepted their forgiveness. And how Monte would then be proud to walk with her on his arm, instead of always meeting her in out-of-the-way places so he wouldn't have to explain her to his cousins, the Astors.

   As the carriage rumbled over the cobblestones to return to her rented town house, Summer felt herself deflate like an empty sack of horse feed. Why didn't she feel triumphant? Nervous about her presentation tomorrow, yes, but not giddy with longing.

   "Gracious," snapped Lady Banfour as they reached their front door. "Whatever is that on the steps?"

   Summer gave a cry and sprang from the carriage, pulling what appeared to be a shivering bundle of clothing into her arms. "Lionel, what are you doing here?"

   The boy looked up at her, his eyelids swollen and red, his teeth chattering from the evening chill. "D-didn't know where else to go."

   Summer nodded, to let him know he'd done the right thing. "Lady Banfour, ring the bell quickly; we need to get him to the fire."

   "Who is it?"

   "The duke's son—please hurry."

   Lady Banfour sniffed but rang the bell, and as soon as the footman opened it, Summer ushered the boy inside, taking him to the nearest hearth that had a fire burning. She ordered tea and scanned Lionel from head to toe. He appeared uninjured, except for the terrified look in his eyes.

   "I didn't know that you were in London, much less that you knew where I lived," said Summer.

   He shook his head, but his teeth still chattered so that he spoke in spurts. "Father. Drives by h-here. Every day. Some… sometimes more."

   Summer felt her heart lift until she heard Lady Banfour's remark. "I'm sure he comes by in hopes of seeing his
intended
." She stressed the last word.

   Summer had done an exceptional job of containing her jealousy for this woman, especially given that the woman had to mention at least forty times a day the fact that she and the duke would soon wed. But even though they'd become reluctant allies, the smug assumption snapped Summer's resolve to appear indifferent.

   "You told Lady Karlton that you thought he was still at Cliffs Castle. You didn't even know he was in London."

   Lady Banfour curled her lips in a semblance of a smile. "But of course, my dear, he couldn't have knocked on your door and started up those nasty rumors again. It must be torture for him that he can't even visit me here."

   Summer ignored her, turning back to what was important. Lionel. She held the hot tea to his mouth, and a few swallows did wonders to thaw him out the rest of the way.

   "Where's your coat?" she asked him.

   He shrugged. "Didn't remember to put it on. Didn't know I'd have to wait all night before you came home."

   Summer felt guilty for no reason whatsoever. "Why are you here, Lionel? What's happened?" She couldn't imagine what had brought the boy to her door. Did he and Byron have a fight? After being instrumental in bringing them together, Summer felt responsible for their relationship.

   "Father's gone," he replied, his voice still trembling from something other than the cold.

   "Gone? Do you mean he left you alone? Where on earth did he go?"

   The boy shrugged again, and for the first time Summer felt annoyance at the gesture. "I thought… I thought he might be with you."

   Lady Banfour gasped, but Summer ignored her. "Why would you think such a thing?"

   "Because he said he was going to this ball that his family was giving. He was going to introduce me to them, right there in front of everyone. He bought me a new suit." And he looked down at a dapper suit, slightly soiled now. "And just as we were about to leave, somebody came to the door and handed him a note. He looked surprised. Then he said he had to go somewhere, without me. That it was important, and that I'd meet his family some other time. That made me mad, because I thought he made an excuse… because he was ashamed of me."

   Summer knew it would take a while for the boy to get over that feeling, and she wished she could help him. But not now. She still couldn't understand why he'd shown up on her doorstep. "Did you see what the note said, Lionel?"

   "Not all of it, he said it was private." His eyes blazed. "But I snatched at it, and the bottom tore off." He dug into his new coat pocket and produced a ragged scrap of paper.

   "It has your name on it, Summer. But it's not your writing, and I don't think Father's ever seen your writing before, or he would've known it was a fake."

   Summer could hear Lady Banfour collapse on the settee, the whoosh of her skirts and the grunt of the cushions, while she read the bottom part of the message:

   
I will be waiting for you there, my love. Come to me now.
Your adoring American, Summer Lee.

   Summer wrote in a childish scrawl, for she'd never had much practice at it. This hand wrote with flourishes that she'd never managed to accomplish. She thought back and realized that Byron had never seen her writing, although Lionel had, when she'd given him the letters that she'd written to Maria to take to the village.

   "I tried to tell him that you didn't write that." Fat tears ran down his flushed cheeks. "But he wasn't listening; he just ran out of the house like his pants were on fire. Why would someone pretend to send a letter from you?"

   "I don't know, Lionel." Summer put her arms around him and gently squeezed. "But you did the right thing, coming to me, and none of this is your fault, all right?"

   He nodded.

   "You stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

   Lady Banfour roused herself. "And just where do you think you're going? What was in that note, anyway?"

   "I'm going to Scotland Yard. Someone imperson ated me to get Byron to go… somewhere."

   "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

   Summer ran for the door, sighed with relief when she saw the carriage still out front, the driver flirting with one of the maids. "Take me to Scotland Yard. And be quick about it!"

   She opened the door herself, lady's manners be hanged, and jumped through the carriage door without the aid of any steps. Summer felt a push from behind and turned an astonished gaze on Lady Banfour.

   "I demand an explanation," she huffed while settling into a seat.

   Summer tried not to grin at the picture of the elegant lady hiking her skirts into a carriage unassisted.

   They both lurched when the carriage started to move, the coachman obviously following Summer's demands with serious intent. "I couldn't tell you in front of Lionel," she explained. "But Byron's life has been threatened before… Don't you remember the saddle incident at Sandringham?"

   Lady Banfour waved a hand. "Everybody said it was some kind of joke."

   "A joke doesn't get people killed. And there have been other attempts as well. And now this note… I just have a bad feeling about this."

   "But what can we do?" Lady Banfour's lavender eyes looked black in the darkness of the carriage. "Ladies can't just go marching into Scotland Yard without an escort."

   "Watch me."

   But when they arrived Lady Banfour accompa nied Summer, stating it would be better than her going in alone, insisting the whole time that there had to be a rational explanation for the note. That ladies didn't just go charging about London because of a bad feeling.

   Summer ignored her, her footsteps never faltering as she marched through the paved alley, into the courtyard, past the policemen in helmets and great coats, and into the official-looking room, right up to the desk of a sergeant. She demanded to talk to an inspector. Within minutes, she'd told her story, showed them the note, and they politely tried to show her the door.

   "Wait a minute," spat Summer. "Aren't you going to look for him now?"

   The inspector yawned and scratched his stubble. "Wouldn't do no good, Miss. The note don't say where he was supposed to meet you—uh, I mean, whoever wrote it. Best we can do is notify all policemen to be on the lookout for him."

   "No, that's not the best you can do. You need to start looking for him now, before the trail grows cold."

   The inspector and the desk sergeant looked at each other with raised brows.

   "Trail, ma'am? What possible trail could there be on cobbled streets?"

   "They're dirty streets," snapped Summer, completely out of patience and no longer even trying to pretend to be a soft-spoken lady. "His carriage would leave tracks; they could be followed…"

   The men looked even more astonished.

   "She's American," interjected the Lady Banfour.

   "Aaah," they sighed in unison.

   Summer knew she'd lost after that and threw the lady a look of pure disgust.

   "I told you," said Lady Banfour, practically pushing her out the door. "They won't take women seriously."

   "But they remembered the duke coming to them; they knew that someone was trying to kill him."

   "And they said they will look for him tomorrow. I still think there must be some other explanation, and I'm exhausted." Lady Banfour shook her head and ducked into the carriage, rapping the door smartly to awaken the sleeping coachman. "Home, Jeffries."

   "No, Jeffries. To the house of the Dowager Duchess of Monchester."

   Lady Banfour fluttered her hands. "Are you a fool? You can't go intruding on them at this time of night."

   "Not even when it involves the safety of a family member?"

   Lady Banfour huffed and sat back. "They're going to think you're mad."

   "Then just remind them that I'm an American."

With her hair covered in an old-fashioned cap and her spectacles perched on the end of her nose, the dowager duchess blinked groggily at Summer. Lady and Lord Karlton could barely hold their eyes open and peered at Summer through slitted lids. Whenever she raised her voice, they both winced, so she surmised they'd had a bit too much to drink at the ball.