The Sinner (11 page)

chapter
10

H
ugh Siddel moved through the knot of buyers as a bay gelding stood on display at Tattersall’s. Bids bounced off the timber roof of the open-air shelter as the auction began.

Hugh made his way to a man standing on the edge of the little crowd. The man’s dress and demeanor marked him as a gentleman. Carefully styled blond hair showed beneath his hat, and a small, womanish mouth pursed in his long, bland face. When he saw Hugh approach he stepped back a few more feet.

“All is in hand,” Hugh said, looking at the gelding and not his companion. “I met with her two days ago. Our plans remain private, and she understands the need for secrecy to continue. She has told her husband nothing, nor will she until all is arranged.”

Since all would never be arranged, that was no problem.

“An odd promise from a new bride.”

“Isn’t it.” Hugh had been surprised and delighted by how easy it had been to extract that promise. It had opened possibilities about all kinds of other deceptions.

“And the delay?”

“She understands that such things take time.” The news of Fleur’s marriage had badly displeased this particular partner. It would not do to admit Fleur’s impatience.

He thought about the meeting at St. Martin’s, and how pretty her eyes had looked as they peered out from under the lowered edge of her hood. The poor thing had married Duclairc to avoid scandal. She obviously held no real affection for him.

If Farthingstone had not been such a coward—well, there was no profit in dwelling on that. In the least, however, Farthingstone should have gone to that cottage at once and taken her back. But no, Farthingstone had sent word to London and then waited for the bailiffs, and now look where Fleur was.

He struggled to block out images of Fleur in Duclairc’s bed, but they snuck into his head anyway, inciting the livid anger that they always brought. It was infuriating that she was tied to that wastrel forever.

Or until Duclairc died, at least.

“What about Farthingstone?” his companion asked.

“He remains ignorant and useful. He knows nothing of my relationship with her on this matter, nor of mine with you.”

“I do not want them reconciling. If they do and she grows impatient, she may turn to him. He can effect in a month what she wants. Thank God she did not go to him to begin with.”

“Rest assured that he does not want that land sold either. Farthingstone represents no challenge or danger. He seeks control of her and that land for his own reasons. If he succeeds at Chancery, we are safe. If he doesn’t, we go on as we are. She relies on me on this matter, Cavanaugh. I can keep her dangling indefinitely.”

“Assuming that Duclairc doesn’t get suspicious.”

“He also represents no challenge or danger.”

Cavanaugh angled his head and caught Siddel’s eye. Hugh turned his attention from the bidding when he saw the subtle smirk on the face examining him.

“I would not dismiss the man, Siddel. He and I were at university together. Duclairc was a lot of fun, always in trouble, good humored and devil-may-care.”

“It appears nothing has changed.”

“Yes, well, the thing is, when it was all over it turned out he had done very well in his studies. He was the best mathematics scholar while I was there.”

“So, he can add. Your point is?”

“My point is that he is far from stupid. Also, it appears that when he sets his mind to do something, he accomplishes it.”

“So long as he does not turn his mind to interfering with us, what do you care?”

“As it happens, I wonder if he
has
turned his mind to that.”

The suggestion startled Hugh. “What makes you say that?”

“He is a member of the Union Club, but rarely comes. I do not think I have seen him there in years. Imagine my surprise, then, to find him sitting down with me last night.”

“He is friends with St. John and some others who frequent the club. No doubt he was meeting them and paused to speak with you because of your old acquaintance.”

“Possibly. Mostly we spoke of the usual things, politics and horses and whatever. However, toward the end, he cleverly moved me to another topic.”

“What topic was that?”

“You.”

Hugh forced a bland, bored expression, although this revelation annoyed him. “He lost a large amount to me some weeks ago, and then he and I had an argument last week. If he is curious about me, it is a personal matter, and not related in any way to my business with you.”

“I see that you still wear the remnants of that argument on your face. I hope that you are correct. I am out on a limb with you, and we are both now indebted to powerful men. You will receive no more payments if I think that you have lost control of the matter. Furthermore, I will have to consider other solutions if yours falls apart.”

“It will not fall apart. She trusts me.”

She did not trust him. Fleur admitted that to herself after several days of ruminating on her meeting with Hugh Siddel.

He had distracted her by raising those concerns about her marriage. She should have pressed him for the names of the investors before they parted. If she knew their identities, she could use their reputations to find the rest of the participants herself. It vexed her that they were so close but that Mr. Siddel expected her to simply wait while he did things in his slow, plodding way.

She could not leave it all to him, that was clear. She needed to learn who had thrown in already and do a little wooing herself. She was not without wealthy associates. Even some of the Friends had invested in such partnerships in the past. . . .

A feminine hand moved in front of her face, turning a colored fashion plate. The gesture jolted her out of a trance of contemplation on the problem.

“Now I know why mothers so enjoy it when their daughters come out,” Charlotte said as she pushed an image of a gown in front of Fleur’s nose. “Helping someone else buy a whole new wardrobe is almost as wonderful as purchasing it for oneself. This is even better than doing it for a daughter, since I won’t have to face the bills of exchange.”

Large bills, and getting bigger, Fleur thought. She sat across a table from Charlotte under the expectant eyes of the third modiste whom they had visited, choosing designs for new gowns. The day clothes had been expensive enough, but Madame Tissot had just convinced her to order three evening designs that would prove exorbitant.

She had always loved beautiful clothes, but it had been years since she had indulged in this feminine pastime. She was out of practice in defending her purse against the seduction of the colors and textures.

All of the modistes had smelled her vulnerability. One glance at her simple dress had also informed them of the work to be done. They had shown no mercy.

“That gown is perfect,” Charlotte said. She had accepted the mission to relaunch Fleur in society with enthusiasm, and had planned the shopping excursions with meticulous care. “You must choose it.”

She studied the plate that Charlotte favored. It showed a lusciously deep-violet ball gown. Madame Tissot cocked her tawny-haired head in question. Fleur held the plate up. Extravagant. Excessive. Gorgeous. “Yes, this one, I think.”

“
Bon
, madame. A superb choice. Four ensembles of unsurpassed loveliness you have chosen. Now, perhaps you would like to see the plates for garments more intimate? The most important gowns are the ones worn in privacy with a husband,
n’est pas
?”

The modiste walked to the shelf, holding the plates.

“I think that I am quite done, thank you.”

“Oh, you have to see them,” Charlotte whispered. “Some are quite shocking, but in the most elegant way. I always ordered one when I had exceeded my allowance. I would wear it the same night I confessed to Mardenford that I had overdone it. It made for a very short scold.”

Fleur envied the way Charlotte spoke of her late husband, Lord Mardenford. They had been young when they married, and everyone could tell they were much in love. After three happy years, however, the young baron succumbed to a fever. Charlotte had grieved intensely and then gotten on with her life. She always spoke of him freely as she did now, and one never felt that his memory was painful to her.

Three perfect years. Three years of consummate love and unity. Charlotte acted as if they had been enough to sustain her for a lifetime.

“I am suddenly exhausted and could not face another stack of plates. As it is, I wonder that I will have the presence of mind to choose fabrics.”

The modiste regretfully returned the designs to their shelf. “Perhaps another day, when you come for your fittings.”

“Perhaps.”

Fleur scheduled those fittings, then she and Charlotte walked down to Oxford Street. After an hour at a draper, choosing fabrics, most of the afternoon was spent.

“If you are tired, we should visit that last warehouse another day,” Charlotte said. “Let us go to Gunter’s for an ice and check our list to see where things stand.”

Charlotte’s coach took them to Berkeley Square, and her footman went into the confectionery to find a server. Soon two ices arrived at the carriage for their refreshment.

“Diane St. John told me all about the brawl,” Charl confided after she had enjoyed a few spoonfuls. “Well, not really a brawl, since Siddel didn’t have a chance to land a blow. St. John heard about it at his club and told Diane the next morning. I am proud of my brother for thrashing Siddel after the man cast aspersions on your marriage. Very dashing, I say.”

Fleur had not realized that the fight with Mr. Siddel had anything to do with her.

Charlotte handed her empty dish and spoon out to the footman, then pulled out the paper that listed the wardrobe she had decided Fleur needed. Together they ticked off the numerous purchases made the last few days. Gowns and dresses and gloves and wraps and bonnets and petticoats and shoes.

“I think that we overdid it,” Fleur said.

“Nonsense. Your restraint was annoying. If self-denial has become ingrained, tell yourself that you do it for my brother. It would reflect on him if you looked unfashionable.”

Charlotte stuck her nose to the list again. “Are your feelings hurt because he has been going out every night?” She asked it very casually.

“You know about that too?”

Charl glanced up with chagrin. And sympathy.

Fleur swallowed her embarrassment. She would have to learn to ignore looks like that. She must never let anyone know that her heart broke every night when Dante walked out the door. The familiar hollowness crept through her, ruining her mood.

“It is very normal, Charlotte. I am sure that Mardenford went out in the evening too.”

Charl’s expression said it all. That of course Mardenford had done so, but that a man’s visit to his club or the theater was one thing, and Dante’s long hours on the town were another. That Mardenford’s company had changed with marriage, but that Dante’s had not. That Dante was undoubtedly up to things that a wife might not be expected to suffer stoically.

Unless she had a special understanding with him, that is.

She wondered if Charlotte had heard some specifics, such as whether her brother had already taken another mistress or lover. She may even know the woman’s name.

Fleur hoped she would be spared confidences on that. Casual indulgence with anonymous women would be bearable. An ongoing liaison with a particular woman would be torturous to know about. Just admitting the possibility provoked a desolate sadness.

“That is very understanding of you,” Charlotte said through pursed lips. “I had rather hoped—”

“Do not distress yourself on my account.”

“Well, he had better be discreet or I will give him a good scolding. And when Vergil returns, he will do more than that, I daresay.”

Vergil. Fleur had been trying not to think about the Viscount Laclere’s inevitable return.

“He is expected soon?”

“They will be delayed a week or so. I received a letter yesterday. Penelope took ill, and they will stay in Naples until she is well. Vergil wrote that we are not to worry. It is not serious, but they did not want to risk her on a sea voyage. When they get back, they are in for a wonderful surprise, because Dante asked that I not write and tell them about your wedding.”

“Breaking the news in a letter may be the wiser choice.”

“You do not expect him to disapprove, do you? Surely not.” Charlotte patted her hand. “That is long in the past, and he and you remained good friends. He will be happy that Dante found someone as good as you.”

Approval and happiness were not the emotions that Fleur anticipated seeing in Laclere when the time came to face him. He, and he alone, would suspect immediately just how thoroughly the marriage was a fraud.

“Now,” Charl said. “Tell me about your jewels so we can decide if you need to buy or hire some more.”

chapter
11

T
he meeting to plan the boys’ school ended at two o’clock. Fleur escorted her ten guests to the door in order to have a few private words with some of them.

They took their leave with the same blank-eyed graciousness that had marked their behavior since they arrived. Everyone was pretending not to notice that Fleur’s dress today contrasted starkly with her normal ensembles.

No one had commented upon the fact that her blush, wide-skirted muslin set her apart from their own practical dark hues. The women had refrained from asking what had brought about this change in her.

That was because they didn’t need to. As they filed down to the street, the reason drove up in a handsome open landau. Their critical eyes took in the elegant carriage and the dashing, beautiful man holding the reins.

Fleur read their minds. The unspoken consensus in this circle of society was obvious. Dante Duclairc, the wastrel and libertine, had turned Fleur Monley’s head and was in the process of ruining her completely. The implications for her charitable work had coerced them to develop a schedule for building the school. They wanted it done before Dante spent all the money.

Fleur welcomed the new determination on the school. Unfortunately, it had been over a week since her meeting with Mr. Siddel, and she had received no indication that he had yet found the two additional partners. Her mind considered her options while she sent off her guests.

Dante hopped down and greeted the departing Friends and vicars and reform ladies.

“You move in elevated circles in your charitable work, Fleur,” he said when they were gone. “I did not know that you counted the famous Mrs. Fry among your conspirators.”

“Her judgment is respected, and I have never had reason to regret supporting her causes. She was kind enough to agree to be a trustee of the school.”

“The members of Parliament whom she petitions on her reform projects think that she is an eccentric nuisance.”

“No more than I am, Dante.”

He laughed, and turned her toward the carriage. “What do you think of it? Old Timothy over in the borough got it, along with the matched pair. Brought it in from Hastings two days ago, and it is as fine as he promised. The horses are better than I expected, and two more are coming. They will do for the coach when it is finished too.”

The carriage and its brass fittings had been scrubbed and polished until it looked like new. Two strong young chestnuts glistened in front.

A young man, no more than eighteen, held the horses. He had come in the landau with Dante and now surveyed the house with naked curiosity. He had a half-starved look to him. An old brown livery coat hung on his skinny frame. Wisps of straw hair poked out from beneath a shapeless, low-crowned felt hat.

“That is Luke,” Dante explained quietly. “He loiters about Timothy’s yard, picking up odd hires. He followed me all around town the last few days once he learned that I was buying a carriage. He offered to serve as coachman and groom for a chamber and meals.”

“Are you sure he can manage it? He appears almost frail.”

“He is stronger than he looks. He worked in the pits up north as a lad. I have decided to try him for a few weeks, while we decide if we want more servants for the equipage. He will look presentable once I clean him up.”

Luke noticed her examining him and looked away. He tried to appear as if he did not care what she decided, but his drawn, pinch-featured face and cautious eyes betrayed his desperation.

It touched her that Dante had taken pity on the young man. “He can live in the room atop the carriage house, of course. However, we should pay wages even if he is young and inexperienced.”

“More experienced than you would think. He has been dawdling around stables all his life. He has a natural hand with the animals and has handled a pair before. Get in and we’ll see how he does. He can drive us.”

He called to Luke and then handed her into the carriage.

“Where are we going?” she asked while Luke moved the horses to a slow walk.

“I thought that we’d take a turn in the park first, then go to the city. Hampton wants a meeting, and I sent word that we would visit him in his chambers.”

Luke drove through the narrow streets very cautiously. He took the first corner too broadly and refused to permit the horses more than a funereal pace.

Dante sat beside her, keeping one eye on the new coachman’s progress. When they got to the park he instructed Luke to bring the pair to a trot.

The horses took the signal with gusto. An unexpected swerve to the left sent Fleur sliding up against Dante.

He moved his arm around her and calmly gave his new coachman some pointers.

“He has never handled a landau before, has he?” she asked.

“He is doing fairly well. Don’t worry. If he loses control, I will take over.” He took her hand in reassurance. “I will not let you come to harm. Take the path on the left, Luke, and keep them on it. Watch the right horse. He is the one who tries to break stride.”

Getting on the path squashed Fleur closer to Dante. His embrace tightened. It felt very snug and secure in his arm and she did not try to move away. He continued giving Luke instructions.

“Your day has been pleasant?” he asked blandly, as if every curve on the path did not mold them closer together. The proximity, even for safety’s sake, had started a silly tingling all through her. He began absently caressing her inner wrist with his thumb, in a slow manner that suggested he was not even aware of his action.

She
was. A significant portion of her was aware of nothing else. The slow, velvety strokes mesmerized her.

She struggled to find her voice. “The meeting was most productive. Normally we talk for hours and accomplish little, but today everyone seemed intent on moving forward. If we are going to keep to the schedule that we set for opening the school, I will have to transfer that land to the trustees and also sell some property in the next few months to pay for the building.”

“Perhaps you should mention that to Hampton when we see him. He could help.”

Up and down, circling, circling—the touch on her wrist sent shivers up her arm, into her body. “I need to decide which land first. I ultimately intend to sell those farms around the school itself, but for now I think the ones in Surrey that my father left me would be easier. What do you think?”

“I am incapable of giving advice, since I was not aware that you hold land in Surrey and know nothing about its quality or income. Unlike most new husbands, I never received an accounting of your property and worth.”

“That was an oversight. Things happened so quickly. I apologize. Of course you have a right to know.”

“Not really. It is yours to control. One more way in which our union is out of the ordinary, and I assure you that I do not mind.” Something in his tone suggested that he did mind, a little.

The wandering caress had her thoroughly flustered now. She was sure her face was flushing. She should extricate her wrist from this tiny assault, but she could barely move. Nor did she really want it to end.

She tried to distract herself. “You will be happy to learn that you were correct about Charlotte’s help. Two days ago I accompanied her on a call on Lady Rossmore and she indicated that she would invite us to her ball two weeks hence. Do you think I should accept?”

“Certainly. You will attend looking beautiful and heavenly and completely unaddled. It will show Farthingstone’s claims for the nonsense they are.”

She thought about entering a ballroom for the first time in ten years and facing those curious eyes. They would have all heard Gregory’s stories. Her stepfather might even be there. Her appearance, her manner, even her conversation would be scrutinized.

She instinctively cowered a little nearer to Dante. He had been occupied with giving Luke directions to the streets, but he turned into the subtle movement and looked down at her.

His face, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek, blotted out her sense of everything else. His sensual vitality slid around her as if he wrapped them both in one cape.

She swallowed hard, very conscious of his arm surrounding her. And the hard body pressed along her side, snug against the side of her breast. And the light, delicious touch on her wrist.

Gentle amusement sparkled in his eyes, as if he recognized her foolish, feminine reaction. Of course he did. He had seen it often enough in his life.

She saw something else in his long gaze, however. A dangerous, calculating light. Like a casual test of his effect, he had deliberately released his masculine power. She could only look at him, as stunned as a deer mesmerized by a bright torch.

He lifted her hand and gently kissed her inner wrist. It sent a shock through her whole body. “You will attend looking beautiful and I will come with you. You will not face it alone. We are in this together, Fleur.”

He kissed her lips, and lingered a long moment. His power quivered into her through the connection and spread mercilessly, making her tremble. It was all she could do not to go limp.

She stared at him when he finally released her mouth and retreated.

“You do not have to look so horrified. We agreed that I am permitted the occasional chaste kiss.” His smoldering eyes revealed that he knew the kiss had not been very chaste, nor her reaction especially horrified. The latter darkly pleased him, for reasons she could not fathom.

His embrace relaxed slightly, like a signal that she could pull away if she chose.

She shifted so they were not pressed to each other. Although every instinct shouted for her to get away, she refused to scoot to the refuge of the landau’s far corner like some frightened goose. She didn’t really want to. Her womanhood had relished the closeness, and the touch and kiss, even though he cruelly played with her.

“It is unfolding just as I expected,” Mr. Hampton said. “No one has any idea what to do, so a hearing on your wife’s ability to make sound judgments is indefinitely delayed.”

“And Farthingstone?” Dante asked. He stood behind Fleur’s chair in Hampton’s inner chamber at Lincoln’s Inn. The solicitor sat on the other side of the desk, playing with the feather of a quill.

“Your wife’s stepfather had such a violent reaction to Brougham’s announcement that we feared he would suffer apoplexy.”

“Only he didn’t. That would strike him dumb, and he has hardly stopped talking. However, by my question I was asking whether he will give up now.”

“I doubt that. I make a handsome living because most men refuse to back down. His intention, I am sure, is to first establish your wife’s incapacity to make contracts, and then take that to the Church to request an annulment of the marriage.”

“Might he succeed?” Fleur asked.

“Possibly. Eventually. Slowly.”

“How slowly?”

“I will explain how things stand. The hearing has been delayed so that the jurisdictional confusion can be untangled. The court needs to decide if Farthingstone has standing at all and whether this should go to the Church at once. Normally, with you married, he wouldn’t and it should, but since he is claiming you could not reasonably enter into such a contract—well, you see the wedge he is using. There will be a search for precedents, etcetera, etcetera. Short of your doing something outrageous, something that makes your lack of judgment explicit, I expect everyone will take a good while to deliberate this situation.”

“So the argument that the marriage itself is proof of a lack of judgment will not stand?” she asked.

“I doubt that will signify much.” Hampton fixed his gaze to her. “It would help if you did nothing to provoke Farthingstone’s concerns. We do not want him pestering Chancery to the point that they actually do something just to get rid of the nuisance. You should behave very sensibly.”

“Dante thinks that it would help if I reestablish myself in society. Then everyone can see how normal I am.”

“That is the very advice I intended to give you today. With Farthingstone spreading tales, you need to be present among those who matter to counter the effect of the rumors. Furthermore, you should curb your gifts to charity. Pull back on the largesse for a while.”

“That will not be possible. I am committed to build a school. In fact, I will want your advice regarding the sale of property—”

“Would this be the Durham property that we discussed? Your buyer is ready to move?”

She did not like the sharp look he gave her along with the question. Mr. Hampton had been very suspicious of that sale when they spoke of it while Dante was in gaol. She did not want his curiosity infecting Dante. “I am referring to other property.”

“Yet more sales of land? I do not advise it. Not now. If there is another significant disposition of land it will only give Farthingstone dangerous ammunition.”

“But the plans for the school are set.”

“I cannot stop you, madame, but it is my advice to put it off for a spell.” This time the sharp look went past her, to Dante.
She is your wife. You must make sure she listens to reason,
that look said.