The Hourglass (16 page)

He shook his head. “I am neither physician nor surgeon. And what few medical men were there were sorely overworked. They could not have cared for everyone in time, not if their numbers were trebled.”

“Jamie said that, too. But you stayed with the men and saved scores of them, he told me. You helped the ones the surgeons had given up on, the worst wounded. He called your work miraculous. He wanted to thank you, but you left Brussels before he could.”

“I did nothing any other gentleman with the necessary skills would not do.”

“None did. None tried. I think my son would have been
more distraught over those deaths—not the ones in battle, but the ones of neglect and bad doctoring. He came home with a limp, but also scars on the inside. He suffers nightmares, and a disdain for those in charge and those who sent so many to die without going themselves.”

“He sounds like a sensible sort. And he must have been an excellent officer, one whose men admired and fought harder for.”

“He was. They are giving him a commendation tonight. I had to beg him to come accept the honor. He came, but only in hopes of meeting the one nobleman who acted nobly. The newspapers said you would be here.”

“It was my duty. Not to come tonight, but to help the soldiers in need.”

“As it is my duty to thank you for giving me back my son. And to thank you for those other mothers whose sons you saved. We all owe you. The government will not offer you a medal, I am sure, nor elevate your title.”

“Neither would matter to me.”

“I thought not. But someone ought to acknowledge the debt. What can I do to repay you for such a gift to all the wives and mothers and daughters and sisters?”

Ardeth looked at the punch bowl, and then he looked at the love shining from a mother’s eyes. Then he looked across the vast room to an empty area where one occupied chair sat in Coventry.

“You can befriend my wife,” he said.

Lady Vinross colored. “I, ah—”

“She was at my side most of the time. She could have been with the officers’ ladies, winding bandages or whatever they did, but no, she was in the hellhole of an army hospital, holding hands, wiping brows, listening to prayers. And when I asked for her aid, she came forward, helping me perform what you call miracles on the poor lads we could save, bringing ease and comfort to those we could not. If your son saw me, he saw a reddish-haired angel at my side. She deserves your thanks, too. Perhaps more, for I could not have accomplished as much without her hands to help.”

“Yes, but—”

“Imogene Macklin gave willingly, despite having lost so much herself. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive what sins of social misbehavior transpired and look to the good she did, the kind and gentle woman she is?”

“A good woman is worth more than rubies, eh? I saw the one around her neck.”

“She is worth far more.”

Lady Vinross took off her spectacles to wipe them with her handkerchief. “I heard her husband was a cad.”

“Her first husband.”

She smiled. “Of course. They say he lied to everyone.”

“Including Imogene.”

“No one likes to be hoodwinked, especially ladies of a certain social standing.”

“Snobs, you mean. But of course no one likes being taken in. Resent Elgin Macklin, then, but not his unfortunate wife. She was more victim than anyone.”

“Rumor has it that they were never wed.”

“I have seen the marriage lines with my own eyes.”

“He never claimed her as his spouse.”

“He was a fool and a bounder. I claim her, and I claim her as a woman of value, to be cherished.”

Lady Vinross settled her glasses back on her nose and looked hard at Ardeth, then said, “As should we all, it seems. So yes, I will do what you ask.”

Before Ardeth could thank her, or carry her over to Genie’s lonely chair, she said, “I heard that Alice Hadley has joined your household.”

Ardeth was not sure what Miss Hadley had to do with the conversation, but he nodded. “Yes, the lady was hired as companion and secretary to my wife, but they have become fast friends.”

“Miss Hadley has a good head on her shoulders, despite her unfortunate upbringing. I have known her all her life and I’d swear she would not be taking part in anything havey-cavey. If she is friends with your wife, all to the good, and all the easier our job will be. I am not without influence, my lord, so take me to the young lady and we shall see what can be done to persuade those other ninnyhammers who rule.”

“The prince has already acknowledged my countess.”

The lady made a rude noise. “The ones who truly rule, my lord. Not our extravagant prince or our politicians. I mean the patronesses of polite society.”

There was no way of telling if the change in attitude was due to Lady Vinross’s words or the punch. Perhaps enough punch would have soothed ruffled feathers or dulled harsh memories without Ardeth’s help. Or perhaps Lady Vinross had enough social clout without any outside assistance. She located her son, who vowed to do his part with the younger ladies, and set to work with the matrons.

When Ardeth returned with a glass of punch instead of the lemonade she’d requested, Genie was ready to beg to go home. She’d sat with no one but the distant Sir Kelvin, and watched women fawn over her husband. Only one castaway colonel approached her the entire time. “Please, Ardeth. Coryn. Admit you were wrong. I can live happily in the country.”

“Knowing you were humiliated in London? Never able to return? Your family left to ignore your existence? I cannot live with that. Wait.”

So she waited, sipping the punch, which did settle her stomach and her nerves. Then she looked up…and understood how the Egyptians must have felt when they saw the Red Sea parting, only in reverse. A flood of smiling women was heading in her direction, almost shoving one another in their hurry to be introduced, not to the earl, but to his heroic wife. She was the angel of mercy who had written to Lady Kincaid for her nephew, had wiped Lady Nevelson’s youngest son’s brow, had changed the bandage of Lady Haverhill’s maid’s brother, had taken in poor homeless Miss Hadley.

So she had made an expeditious marriage. Which one among them had not? Which would not have accepted the earl’s offer for her own daughter’s hand, sight unseen? Now Imogene Hopewell Macklin Ardsley was assisting her husband in good works. She was a countess, with a fortune not to be despised. And she had the prince’s approval, for what that was worth, since any pretty female could win his smile. Besides, this was a night for peace, wasn’t it? With all the allies celebrating, how could the women of London not welcome one who had done her part in the victory?

Sir Kelvin proved not entirely useless, making note of names for her, invitations, and at-home days. She had more engagements for the following two weeks than she’d had in the past two years. Depending, of course, on her lord’s desires about traveling to the country. She was even promised vouchers to Almack’s, that hallowed hall of propriety and elitism, for whenever she returned to town. The baby was not mentioned, nor her own family.

Ardeth was actually grinning. When there was a lull in the onslaught, he said, “Now who has to admit she was wrong?”

“What did you do?”

He touched his chest. “I? What could I do?”

“Magic. I have no idea what you are capable of, magic being the least I suspect. You said yourself you knew parlor tricks.”

“I believe the ladies simply saw reason, with Lady Vinross’s assistance.”

Genie raised one eyebrow in imitation of his own superior gesture.

“Or they might have been overcome with an excess of good spirits. The celebration, the punch. You drank all of yours, I see.”

“I needed it, against the heat in here.”

“Oh, is it warm?”

Now Genie narrowed her eyes. “Do you swear there were no tricks?”

“What, to fool all of these women? Even I would not be brave enough to take on so many self-important harpies at once.”

Genie did not believe the punch or one lady’s gratitude could have made such a difference. “Then it was a miracle.”

“Damme, wife, you don’t think I can perform miracles, too, do you?”

“I think I have seen one tonight.”

She was about to see one more.

Chapter Twelve

Princess Hedwig of Ziftsweig, Austria, was awesome on her own. When she was joined by two of her sisters, they were an Austrian armada, with artificially bright auburn hair. They were each tall and broad and big-bosomed, like the prow of a ship. Their jewels would have made a dragon drool. If this were not the prince’s residence, one might think it was a high-class bordello with ripe triplets as the main attraction, so similar were the sisters in appearance and seeming availability. If not for Princess Hedwig’s turquoise and gold gown and the peacock feathers, Genie would not know which sister she had met. She curtsied to all of them when they sailed toward her and Ardeth. The other ladies, Genie’s new circle of would-be friends, backed away in the presence of royalty…or vulgarity. Genie wished she could, too, dragging Ardeth with her. The princesses were so blatantly set on seduction that no man was safe, not even a recently married one.

This time the Hafkesprinke heiresses were not husband hunting, neither for one of their own nor someone else’s. They wanted to talk to Genie, so shooed Ardeth away to fetch more of the delicious punch. He considered for a moment, as if weighing Genie’s chances against the flotilla of foreign damsels, then took Sir Kelvin, the baronet’s eyes nearly popping out of his head and his tongue lolling to the side, along to help carry. His wife could hold her own, and he’d have the Austrians’ heads, peacock feathers and all, if she was harmed. They all knew it.

“You wanted to speak to me,” Genie said in disbelief, facing a wall of wealthy, wanton women. She had less in common with the Rubenesque royals than she had with the chair behind her. Yet she’d managed the grandes dames of the ton tonight, and Ardeth had left her alone with the sisters. Those two facts gave her the confidence to ask, “Why?”

“Why? Because we hear much of you,
Fraulein. Yah
. We hear from your prince and we hear from your brave officers, much that is good. We hear stories from women when they are in the privy. Not so good. Still, you became a grand lady overnight. We want to know why.”

“We have too much curiosity, our brother the crown prince says. But we made him good spies in the war, didn’t we, sisters?”

Princess Hedwig scowled at her sibling. “Some of us have too much punch, I think. But, yes, we wonder. Such a man, your husband. He takes no—what do you English say?—no soiled dove. So we ask the one who should know. And get no answers.”

Genie still had no idea what they were speaking about, or why.

“We came to tell you that sisters are important.”

Ardeth was coming back, thank goodness, followed by a waiter with a tray full of glasses. Maybe he could make sense of the words, even if they were not speaking a foreign language. “Why, yes, I can see that you are a close family.”

“Not good to be alone,” the sister in puce said.

“We do not believe in feuds.” The third princess, the one who admitted to being a spy, was wearing blue, with a walnut-sized sapphire at her throat.

“We might steal a man from one another.”

“Or borrow a necklace.”

“Without returning it,” Princess Hedwig snapped, eyeing the sapphire.

“But we are sisters.”

“Sisters,” the other repeated.

“Yes, I, ah, see. You are very lucky. And how lucky we all are. Here is Ardeth, with the punch.”

The Austrians stepped apart. Genie thought it was to make a corridor for her husband and the servant. Instead they made room for a couple standing behind them: Genie’s sister, Lorraine, and her husband, Elgin Macklin’s brother, Roger, the current Baron Cormack.

If the chair were not at her back, Genie might have fallen. Then Ardeth was at her side and she felt her heart rate return to almost normal. Princess Hedwig made the introductions, thank goodness, while Genie studied the sister she had not seen in four years.

Lorraine had always been the beauty of the family, their parents’ favorite. Older than Genie by five years, she’d had golden hair and blue eyes, a willowy figure, and a porcelain complexion that made her the belle of all the country assemblies. Now, closer to her thirtieth birthday than she would admit, Lorraine’s beauty had dimmed. Her hair was merely pale blond, and her blue eyes looked faded and tired. Her cheeks were wan, and her eyes and mouth had the beginnings of wrinkles and shadows. Instead of being lithesome, she was all angles, appearing stick thin next to the substantial Austrians. And she would not meet Genie’s eyes.

Genie turned to Roger, a man she hardly knew. The Hopewells and the Macklins were neighbors in Derby, but the age difference, his schooling, his London living, made them mere acquaintances. She could see a great deal of Elgin in his older brother: the sandy hair, the brown eyes, the wide nose. Roger—Lord Cormack, as she must get used to calling him—had none of Elgin’s boyishness, no easy grin, no smattering of freckles, no rounded cheeks. He appeared older than Ardeth, with the weight of a barony on his shoulders.

The introductions must have been completed and they were all looking toward Genie, as if it was her turn to speak. Her mind was blank. Was she supposed to greet with affection the woman who had plotted her ruination? Who never answered her desperate pleas? Or was Genie supposed to ask about the parents who had turned their backs on her, struck her name from the family Bible, believing the firstborn, the favorite?