Recipe for Treason (14 page)

“Well, I do hope that I shall have a chance to get to know both of them better. I find his sister very bright and interesting to talk to, so if you will excuse me . . .”

His smile seemed to tighten ever so slightly, and yet Lawrance fell in step beside her.

Quelling her irritation, Arianna approached the siblings with a cheerful greeting. “Lady Urania, Lord Canaday, how lovely to encounter you again.”

“Ah, Mrs. Greeley.” The viscount turned and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “How are you enjoying London?”

“Very much,” she replied. “Though I confess, I have spent a good deal of time in frivolous amusements like visiting the Tower Zoo and taking in a performance of the acrobats at Astley’s Amphitheatre.”

“Work must be balanced by play,” replied Canaday, a mischievous twinkle flashing in his eyes. “Astley’s is an experience no visitor to our fair city should miss.”

“It was most impressive. But on the whole, I do prefer more serious entertainments.”

“Then you must be sure to attend the next meeting of the Mayfair Scientific Society,” said Lady Urania. “We have a special lecturer visiting from Scotland. I am hosting it at Mortley House, as Professor McClellan will be staying with us during his visit.”

Arianna’s ears pricked up at the mention of Scotland. “What is the subject of the professor’s talk?”

“Metallurgy,” said Lady Urania. “I believe he has been analyzing some of the ancient iron found in Viking burial mounds and has some very interesting discoveries to recount.”

“I will be sure to attend,” she said. “I just heard Willoughby discussing the topic of his next lecture, and it, too, sounds fascinating. It is very impressive how active the London scientific community is.”

“Which reminds me . . .” Canaday gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid we have another event to attend.” He glanced at his sister. “Are you ready to leave, Rainnie?”

“I . . .” Lady Urania drew a ragged breath and to Arianna it appeared that her eyes had an unnatural brightness—a febrile glow matched by two hot spots of color ridging her cheekbones. “I fear that I may have to let you go on without me.”

“Are you feeling ill?” Canaday sounded a little alarmed.

“No, just a bit tired is all.”

“Good heavens, why didn’t you say so? I would have taken you home earlier,” said her brother tightly.

“I do not always wish to ruin your evenings with my weaknesses.” For all her fragility, Lady Urania managed to muster a note of command. “I insist you go about your evening as planned, Theus. You may drop me at Mortley House on your way to Lord Taft’s gathering.”

He reached down to rearrange her shawl. “I shall be happy to stay at home and read to you,” he murmured.

“I won’t hear of it,” insisted his sister.

Canaday fixed Arianna with a rueful grimace. “What is your opinion, Mrs. Greeley? Am I a selfish sybarite to abandon her at home and go dashing off to another entertainment?”

“I think,” said Arianna slowly, “you would be wise to respect your sister’s wishes. She is not a child—and besides, it seems to me that she is stronger than she looks.”

“There, you see!” said Lady Urania triumphantly. “Thank you for your stalwart support, Mrs. Greeley.”

“Ah, I see I shall have to bow to feminine logic.” As the viscount looked up, he flashed a wink from beneath his golden lashes. “Or feminine wiles.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Like most men, I find it impossible to ignore the request of a beautiful woman.”

“You are a true gentleman,” said Arianna with a smile. “And a kind brother.”

“Dare I hope that you will reward me with a waltz at Lady Brodhead’s ball?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend the event, as I have a previous commitment.”
To appear there as the Countess of Saybrook.

“Perhaps some other time.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “Though to be honest, I am not very fond of dancing.”
I am required to spin through enough fancy footwork as it is.

Lawrance watched the twins move away through the archway and into the shadows of the corridor before quaffing the rest of his champagne punch in one quick swallow. “What a charming fellow, eh? I daresay he puts the rest of us gentlemen to blush with his sensitive nature and soulful smiles.”

“Indeed. A female appreciates it greatly when her opinion is solicited and then given proper respect.” She smiled sweetly. “It happens so rarely.”

At long last Lawrance seemed to get the hint, for when she turned a few moments later to leave, he did not follow.

* * *

“We saved you some chocolate and hazelnut confections, Lady S.” Henning lifted his whisky glass in salute as she entered the library. “Though perhaps you are not hungry. Scientific soirees usually feature a great deal of food, as scholars tend to get lost in their work and forget to eat during the day.”

Still clad in her urchin garb, Arianna moved to the hearth and warmed her hands over the dancing flames. “In truth I am famished. The refreshments were unpalatable—dry cheese, bland ham, stale cakes.” She rubbed at a crick in her neck. “But the company provided much food for thought.”

Saybrook poured her a glass of port and set out a plate of salted Marcona almonds on the side table by her favorite armchair. “Sit down and have some sustenance before you tell us what you learned.”

“Thank you.” She sank gratefully into the soft leather and heaved a sigh. “I must be getting old. This constant changing of personas is proving a trifle fatiguing.” A wiggle of her toes sent up tiny puffs of steam from her wet boots. “Ouch—Mrs. Greeley’s evening shoes are one size too small.”

The surgeon stifled a snort. “When you get to be
my
age, then you may grouse about sore feet or stiff necks. At the moment I have precious little sympathy.”

“Wretch,” she responded. “Speaking of which, how is your shoulder?”

Henning lifted his arm and waggled it back and forth. “Nearly good as new,” he said, carefully masking a grimace.

“You are nearly as good an actor as I am,” she said dryly.

Her husband perched a hip on the arm of her chair and helped himself to a handful of the nuts. “Your recovery would no doubt progress more quickly if you would stay here for a while longer. God only knows what noxious forms of molds and lichens are growing in your living quarters.”

“I don’t charge them rent, so they have agreed to leave me in peace,” retorted Henning. “And remember, the ancient Greeks believed that a healthy body required a healthy mind—”

“Actually, it was the other way around,” murmured Saybrook. “But I take your point.”

“My point is that my patients need me, and keeping busy will prevent other things from festering.” The surgeon reached for a pastry. “Though I will miss your chocolate creations.”

“I shall make sure you don’t starve,” said Arianna.

Her husband crunched an almond. “Whenever you are ready, I wouldn’t mind being fed some information.”

She took a last sip of port and then set it aside. “I’ve a plateful to offer. To begin with, what do you know of a Mr. Henry Lawrance?”

Saybrook drew his brows together. “Nothing to speak of.”

“He’s tall and a bit of a macaroni, with well-tailored clothing that whispers of money,” she went on. “I first met him at the institution reception, and he was there tonight—and I couldn’t seem to shake him from my skirts. It was . . . suspicious.”

“There are reasons other than espionage that a gentleman might want to attach himself to you,” pointed out the earl dryly. “Especially as Mrs. Greeley pads her already considerable charms.”

“That may be. But when that same gentleman is approached by a balloon expert and told that the research he requested on lighter-than-air gases is ready to be picked up, one tends to think that amorous activities are not his primary reason for being at the gathering.”

“You are sure?” asked her husband.

“Quite. And he seemed a little unhappy that I overheard the exchange,” replied Arianna. “Another thing—I was introduced to him by Miss Kirtland, and my impression was that they knew each other.”

Saybrook’s frown deepened. “I shall pay her a visit in the morning to ask about—”

She cut him off. “I think it would be more efficient for the investigation if you pursue information through your other sources while I speak with Miss Kirtland about Lawrance. She and I are, after all, trying to learn to work together.”

He rose and went to refill his glass with Spanish brandy. “Very well. That makes some sense.”

Was she only imagining the note of reluctance in his voice? Fatigue—along with the faint hiss of the coals—was muddling her judgment. “That’s not all,” she hurried on. “The balloon expert, a man by the name of Brynn-Smith, mentioned that the aeronauts from the Artillery Grounds have taken to gathering at a new tea shop on Montague Street that serves up special coffee and chocolate drinks. Its proprietor is a Spanish woman.”

“Interesting,” mused her husband. “It certainly sounds worth a visit.”

“Aye,” said Henning. “But will it stir suspicion if ye are seen sniffing around men who are involved in flight?”

“My interest in chocolate is no secret,” said the earl.

“Still, Renard is a cunning varlet, and the coincidence may be too great,” insisted the surgeon.

“Basil raises a good point,” said Arianna. “But what about me? I could strike up a friendship with the proprietor over chocolate recipes. Two females discussing cooking would draw far less attention. For all of Renard’s cleverness, he can’t know about my exploits in our first two investigations, so he’s likely to underestimate a woman.”

“I take it you are suggesting the Countess of Saybrook become a regular visitor to the shop.”

Arianna let out a chuckle. “Despite my skills at deception, even I would be hard-pressed to carry off a third persona.”

“Thank God,” quipped her husband. “Two of you are already causing me twice my usual worries.”

“Don’t fret about me. I shall simply be sitting in a snug little shop, enjoying hot chocolate and pastries while trying to pick up any useful morsels of information,” she retorted. “Leaving you free to find the most important piece to this puzzle. It seems to me that it’s imperative for you to locate Sir George Cayley.” No one in London seemed to know the baronet’s present whereabouts. “Any further luck in trying to track him down?”

The earl shook his head. “Not yet. But I have a meeting tomorrow evening with another source that may prove helpful.”

“While I am attending a ball with Constantina and Miss Kirtland,” said Arianna, “in order to learn more about Lord Reginald’s family.”

Henning levered to his feet. “I’ll make a few inquiries among my friends,” he said vaguely.

“We would rather you rest and recover,” said Arianna. “Sandro and I can manage.”

The surgeon waved off the suggestion. “I’m not about to desert the field of battle because a bit of my blood has been shed.”

Arianna watched the lamplight flicker over his gaunt face. It wasn’t Henning’s physical wound that was cause for concern, she thought. Since coming back from Scotland he had been . . . different.
Distant. Detached.
As if his nephew’s death had cut a chasm between him and Saybrook, no matter their years of friendship.

“No one questions your courage or your resolve, Baz. But keep in mind that victory is rarely achieved by a commander who takes the fight personally,” counseled Saybrook.

“I don’t need a lecture on tactics, laddie,” replied Henning. “If you want to win the war against a cunning enemy general, ye’ll need to destroy not only him but all his field officers. So while you concentrate on Renard, I’ll do some reconnoitering of my own.”

13

F
rom Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Intense Chocolate Mousse Cake

10 ounces bittersweet chocolate

9 tablespoons unsalted butter

6 large eggs, separated

Pinch of salt

³
/
₄
cup granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brandy

1 teaspoon confectioners’ sugar

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Cover the outside of a 9-inch springform pan with a double layer of foil. Using a microwave oven or double boiler, melt the chocolate and butter together; set aside to cool.

2. Using an electric mixer, whisk the egg whites and salt until thick. Add
¹
/
₄
cup of the granulated sugar, and continue to whisk until stiff and shiny but not dry. Set aside. In another bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and remaining
¹
/
₂
cup granulated sugar until pale, frothy and increased in volume. Whisk in the brandy. Fold in the cooled chocolate mixture.

3. Place a kettle of water over heat, and bring it to a boil. Fold about
¹
/
₂
cup of the whisked egg whites into the chocolate mixture to lighten it. Gently fold in the remaining whites, being careful not to let the mixture deflate. Pour the mixture into the prepared springform pan, and place the springform pan in a roasting pan. Add boiling water to the roasting pan to come halfway up the side of the springform pan. Bake for 45 minutes; the top of the cake will be hard and the inside will be gooey.

4. Remove the cake pan from the water, and place on a rack to cool completely. Unwrap the foil and remove the side of the springform pan. Place the cake on a serving platter. Just before serving, dust the top with confectioners’ sugar passed through a sieve.

“W
ell, this is
quite
a crush.” Lowering her quizzing glass, Constantina gave a tiny nod of satisfaction at the crowd funneling into the ballroom. They had taken momentary refuge in one of the shallow alcoves created by the decorative colonnading that ran along one of the walls. “As I suspected, no one wanted to miss the festivities. Lord and Lady Brodhead are known for serving sumptuous suppers and superb wines.”

Arianna drew in a lungful of air, its warmth already sticky with the lush scents of hothouse flowers and expensive perfumes. “I have never understood why the word ‘crush’ is considered such an accolade by Society.”

“Kindly refrain from any further sarcasm tonight.” Constantina waggled a warning brow. “I know your opinion of the
ton
, but remember, if you wish to begin cultivating friends and allies to help with Antonia’s come-out, it’s best to use honey, not vinegar.”

“Don’t worry. I can ooze sweetness when I choose.” Arianna flashed her great-aunt by marriage a conspiratorial wink. “After all, I got your nephew to bite.”

Constantina stifled a snort of amusement. “He prefers tartness to a mouthful of sugar.”

“I trust you are not implying that I am a
tart
.”

Another laugh. “I have no doubt that a good many interesting nouns apply to your former life. But be that as it may, tonight you are a countess.” The dowager’s gaze lingered for a moment on Arianna’s stylish ball gown, fashioned in a subtle shade of smoke-tinged emerald silk. “A lady of supreme elegance and refinement.”

The teasing was helping to unknot her nerves. She had avoided going out in Society, so the glittering opulence of the occasion was a little intimidating. “Never fear. If I can play the role of a street urchin, I can play the role of an aristocrat.” Lifting her chin a notch, Arianna assumed a pose of regal hauteur. “Though I admit that I feel a little out of place in such gilded grandeur.”

“As do I,” muttered Sophia.

A wink of light sparked within the recessed niche of the colonnading as the dowager once again raised her gold-rimmed quizzing glass. Magnified by the faceted lens, the pale gray eye took on an accentuated clarity.

Age had not diminished its sharpness, thought Arianna, as the orb subjected the earl’s friend to a thorough scrutiny. “Remind me again why you are accompanying us tonight, Miss Kirtland?”

“Moral support,” said Arianna quickly, before Sophia could answer. “We have become friends through Sandro—Miss Kirtland is a very accomplished scientist. So he thought I would be more at ease if I had the company of a kindred soul.”

“Hmmph.” The jeweled walking stick tap-tapped on the polished parquet. “An odd choice.” The dowager took another moment to study Sophia. “You are the Duchess of Brentford’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You remind me of your grandmother, gel—you’ve got her strong bones and lively eyes. And from what I hear, your intelligence is not lacking. So it surprises me that you’ve spent years holed up in your little lair, afraid—”

“I’m
not
afraid,” said Sophia tightly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I loathe the artifice and snobbery of Polite Society and choose to show my disdain by avoiding it.”

“Well, if you really care about changing its prejudices, you’re going about it all wrong,” said the dowager bluntly. “You ought to come out occasionally with your head held high. Show your disdain by being yourself and forcing the tabbies to accept you.”

Sophia inhaled sharply, the short, staccato rasp echoing off the fluted marble.

“It’s not easy, I know. If you feel a little shaky, simply imagine whoever you are looking at naked—that usually strips away all pretenses.” A glint of mischief hung on Constantina’s silvery lashes. “Just don’t look at the Prince Regent—the thought of seeing his pizzle would make anyone fall into a dead faint.”

Biting her lips to keep from laughing, Arianna slanted a look at her companion. If one wasn’t used to the dowager’s rapier tongue . . .

To her credit, Sophia showed some mettle. “I doubt one could catch a glimpse of his pizzle beneath all those rolls of fat. Unless, of course, he were allowed to retain his corset. Still, not a pretty picture.”

“That’s the spirit,” murmured the dowager with a flourish of her walking stick. “Now, I don’t know what you two are up to, but I wager it’s something interesting. What a pity that I’m not allowed to know the details.”

“Aunt Constantina—” began Arianna.

“Oh pish, I understand. Sandro is probably quaking in his high-top Hessians, fearing that I would get myself into trouble.”
Tap, tap.
“When he gets to be my age, he will understand that the prospect of trouble is rather exciting.”

“I’ll explain as much as I can, but . . .”

The music started, and Arianna paused for a moment to watch the gentlemen and ladies spin by, the swirl of jewel-tone silks and glittering gems a colorful contrast to the coal black evening coats and starched white cravats.

Pomp and privilege dancing with treachery and treason.

“But I, too, am concerned,” she finished softly. “So you must allow me to go slowly.”

“Fair enough.” The dowager fingered the rope of pearls looped around her neck. “Is there anyone in particular you wish to meet?”

Arianna hesitated. “Whoever knows the social connections of the
ton
’s leading families and likes to gossip.”

“Hmmph.” Turning a basilisk stare on the crowd, Constantina tapped her stick in time to the music. “Very well, I have some ideas. Now, both of you square your shoulders and come along. We have work to do.”

Moving along the perimeter of the dance floor, the dowager stopped every few steps to exchange greetings with the other guests.

“Lady Sterling seems to know
everyone
here,” murmured Sophia, observing yet another gentleman insist on dipping a courtly bow over the dowager’s hand. “But I’m not sure this experiment of bringing me along is going to work. I don’t think anyone knows me from Adam.” A pause. “Or Eve.”

Despite her sardonic words, the earl’s scholarly friend did not go unrecognized, noted Arianna. The flicker of surreptitious glances and low whispers followed their progress through the milling crowd.

“Miss Kirtland?” A sandy-haired gentleman with a saber scar cutting across his left cheek flashed a hesitant smile. “Good heavens, it
is
you! How nice to see you.”

Sophia looked a little surprised at the warm greeting. “M-Mr. Bellis,” she stammered, inclining her head a fraction. “H-how are you?”

“Oh, a little worse for wear,” he said wryly, touching the puckered red slash. “But quite happy to have exchanged my sword for a plow. Father shuffled off his mortal coil last year, so I am now running the estate.”

Recalling her manners, Sophia quickly made the introductions. “Lady Saybrook, this is Michael Bellis, a childhood friend from Somerset.”

“I heard quite a lot about your husband during the Peninsular campaign, milady,” said Bellis politely. “He was quite the hero.”

“And so, it appears, were you,” said Arianna, eyeing his scar.

Bellis colored. “Oh, no, not at all. I simply stumbled into the path of flying steel.” Looking uncomfortable, he quickly changed the subject. “Might I engage you for the next set of dances, Miss Kirtland? George and Charles would be delighted to make their greetings, and you remember my cousin Suzanna . . .”

Arianna gave Sophia a discreet nudge to remind her of the reason they were both here.

Friend and foe—we must find a way to discern who was whom.

“Do go on,” she urged. “I see Constantina waving her walking stick at me. No doubt there is another distant relative I must meet. We shall meet up again later.”

The dowager was indeed tapping a summons, and for the next hour, Arianna found herself marched around the room and introduced to a select group of Society gossips.

Apparently males gabbled just as much as females, reflected Arianna, for several gentlemen were included. After dutifully dancing with several partners, she finally managed to rejoin the dowager and catch her breath.

“Lord Bertram is even a worse dancer than I am. I have several squashed toes to prove it.”

“My feet are aching a bit too,” replied Constantina. “So if you will excuse me, I think I will go have a seat with the Dragons . . .” She gestured to a group of turbaned matrons sitting next to a large marble urn festooned with flowers. “And catch up on the latest
on-dits
.”

“By all means,” replied Arianna. “I shall make my way to the refreshment table. My throat is parched from so much talking.” The blaze of the chandeliers, the clink of crystal, the trill of laughter, the kaleidoscope of colors—all her senses were feeling a bit overworked.

How people spin through this night after night is a mystery to me—the superficiality would soon squeeze the life out of me.

“Ah, but I’ve a far more pressing mystery to solve,” she said under her breath. She stilled her steps for a moment to watch the dancers twirl into a waltz. More and more of the faces were looking familiar . . .

A flash of scarlet caught her eye but just as quickly disappeared in a swirl of blues and greens. Shifting her gaze, she saw Sophia at the far end of the dance floor, partnered by Henry Lawrance.

Ha.

With an inward smile, Arianna edged through the crowd and positioned herself to intercept the couple as soon as the music ended.

Two can tiptoe through a dance of deception, Mr. Lawrance.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Kirtland.” Arianna waited for the last trilling of the violins to fade before feigning a note of surprise. “I was hoping that I might find you.”

“Lady Saybrook,” acknowledged Sophia. Maintaining a mask of bland politeness, she asked, “Are you acquainted with my partner, Mr. Lawrance?”

“I don’t believe we have been introduced,” murmured Arianna.

“Mr. Lawrance, allow me to present the Countess of Saybrook.”

“Charmed, madam.” Lawrance stared for a moment before bowing to brush his lips to her hand.

Over his tousled curls, Sophia quirked an inquiring brow.

In silent answer Arianna gave a tiny nod at a shadowy recess behind an arrangement of potted palms.

“How odd that our paths have not crossed before, Lady Saybrook,” he said on rising. “Being the frivolous fellow that I am, I rarely miss a party here in Mayfair, and yet I’ve never seen you among the guests.”

“How can you be so sure?” she countered, deciding to test his
sangfroid
.

Lawrance leaned in a little closer. “Because I don’t easily forget a beautiful lady.”

“A very disarming answer.” Arianna slid back a step. “Are you always so clever?”

“How should I answer that?” he asked. “If I say yes, then I appear a pompous ass. And if I say no, then I appear a witless fool.”

“Then perhaps it is wise to remain silent,” answered Arianna coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to speak with Miss Kirtland.”

Lawrance smiled but didn’t budge. “Not at all.”

“In private,” she added, batting her lashes. “We have some feminine matters to discuss.”

At that, he had no choice but to gracefully withdraw.

“Tell me, how well do you him?” asked Arianna, drawing Sophia behind the screen of swaying fronds.