A Fatal Waltz

Chapter 2

I was delighted to find that Margaret had sent me a note. The reading and writing of correspondence were some of the few activities available to ladies at a shooting party, and as we were only to be at Beaumont Towers for a short time, I had not expected to receive any letters. In the year we had known each other, Margaret and I had become closer than most friends after a lifetime. A mutual interest in the study of classics brought us together initially, but we soon discovered that our common ground was not limited to the intellectual. Her parents preferred to keep her at their home in New York—so far as I could tell, her father owned nearly every railroad in America—but she had convinced them to let her go to Oxford after finishing a degree at Bryn Mawr.

I folded her letter and paused. After the gentlemen, clad in tweed jackets and trousers, had gone outside to shoot, we ladies and the count had retired to the morning room, an oppressively gorgeous space. As with the drawing room, every object was of the best quality. The wallpaper was navy, its darkness relieved by a pattern of gold, but one did not see much of the walls, as a fine collection of old masters covered nearly every inch of them. The details of the paintings were lost against the midnight background, and the overall effect was claustrophobic. Palm trees, brought in from the sprawling winter garden, stood in three of the corners, and the amount of silk used to upholster couches and chairs made me wonder if any was left in China.

The count was doing an admirable job trying to keep the ladies occupied, and he proved a charming companion. He made a point of dividing his time as equally as possible among the ladies—although I noticed that he paid very little attention to his wife. While he, Flora, and Ivy looked at old stereoscope pictures of scenes of the English countryside, I wrote back to Margaret. The countess was reading a book whose title she kept hidden, and Lady Fortescue, who stayed so quiet that I’d nearly forgotten she was with us, was embroidering in the corner farthest from the fireplace, above which hung an enormous portrait of her husband.

It would have been difficult to find a woman more meek and unassuming—gray, really, despite her youth—than the new Lady Fortescue. She jumped, startled, whenever she was spoken to, not so much because she was shy as because she had grown accustomed to being ignored. Her husband was not openly cruel to her; that would have reflected badly on him. Instead, he treated her with an easy indifference, as if she were little more than a favored servant or a trinket he had received as a gift, but had never really wanted.

Ivy, who had grown tired of the stereoscope, came to me, leaning on the gilded table at which I sat. “I don’t understand why he married her,” she said, keeping her voice low enough that she would not be overheard.

“She does seem an unlikely choice for such a man,” I said. “I should have thought he would want either a stunning beauty or someone with a significant fortune. And it’s certainly safe to assume his motive wasn’t love.”

“She’s practically penniless.”

“All of society raved about how generous it was of him to marry her and bring her back to her ancestral home.”

Poor Mary Fortescue. Her mother and father had died when she was very young, leaving her under the care of her elder brother, Albert Sanburne, who did not long survive his parents. After his death less than a year later there was no one left to inherit, and his barony, along with Beaumont Towers, the estate on which the girl had been raised, reverted back to the Crown. The queen, exercising her right to grant the title to someone else, bestowed it some years later upon her favorite political adviser, Lord Fortescue. Until his proposal, everyone assumed that Mary, who for ten years had been passed from distant relative to distant relative, would be forced to take a position as a governess. By marrying her, her husband appeared—for the first time in his life—a kindhearted, considerate, and selfless gentleman.

The engagement had enhanced his standing in society; for while he was a man to be feared, obeyed, perhaps even begrudgingly respected, it could not be said that Lord Fortescue was admired on a personal level by any but his staunchest supporters. I, for one, questioned even their sincerity. He was too powerful to be much concerned with being well liked, but if choosing the right bride might improve his reputation, he certainly didn’t object to being lauded by the matrons of London.

“I thought the wedding was a bit ostentatious,” Ivy said. “It was his third, after all. And she had seven bridesmaids.”

“It’s her first marriage,” I said.

“You’re right, of course. She ought to have had the sort of celebration she wanted to.” Ivy’s eyebrows shot together. “But I can’t imagine it, can you? Being someone’s third wife? Knowing that he’d adored two others before you?”

“You make the mistake of assuming that Lord Fortescue adored any of his wives.”

“Still, I shouldn’t like to think that my husband loved someone before me. It’s…unseemly.”

I knew not how to reply to this. I had loved my first husband before I loved Colin, and Colin obviously had been entangled with the countess before he’d met me. “It’s…” I hesitated, not wanting to use the word “naïve.” “It’s lovely to think that one’s first love will be one’s last, but that’s not always possible.”

“Oh, Emily, I didn’t mean—” She stopped at the sound of a commotion in the hallway that announced the return of the gentlemen, still dressed in tweeds from their afternoon activities. Kristiana watched, her eyes narrowing, as Colin crossed to me the moment he entered the room. Robert kissed Ivy’s hand, and she leapt to his side, leaving me to my fiancé.

“Finished with your letter?” Colin looked over my shoulder.

“I’ve hardly begun,” I said. “But I’ll happily stop.” I blotted the still wet ink before folding the paper in half.

“Come.” He led me to a settee with a high, curved back, where we could sit close enough together that he could touch my hand without drawing anyone’s attention. “This is absurd, you know. We’re all but married, and I’m hardly allowed to touch you.”

“This party would be much easier to bear if we were married,” I said.

“If we were married, we wouldn’t be at this party. We’d be in Greece.” My late husband had left me a spectacular villa perched on a cliff on the Greek island Santorini, and it was there that I retreated whenever possible, there that Colin had twice proposed to me.

“Or Ephesus,” I said, remembering a conversation we’d had in Paris about the Roman ruins found in Turkey.

“Egypt?”

“Anywhere.” I smiled, and he rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand. It was all I could do not to sigh with delighted pleasure.

“I’m more sorry than I can say for having to postpone the wedding,” he said.

“I’ve told you before, there’s no need to apologize. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Now that my work’s finished, there’s no need for further delay. I see no reason why we couldn’t be married within the next month.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me,” I said. He squeezed my hand, and I wished I could fall into his arms. Our eyes met, full of longing, and we both knew that it would be best to change the direction of our conversation. I glanced around the room, my gaze resting on Sir Julian Knowles, owner of one of London’s newspapers. “Why did Lord Fortescue invite Sir Julian? I shouldn’t think he’d want the details of a political meeting exposed by the press.”

“Lord Fortescue never does anything without a precise plan. There must be something he wants publicly known.” He paused. “Hard to imagine, though, given the sensitivity of the issues we’re discussing. He’s been quite direct in insisting that this all remain quiet.”

“Who opposes him on whatever this mysterious issue is? Could that person’s position be undermined by some well-timed bad publicity? Scandals in the country aren’t limited to the political, you know. Is anyone here on the brink of a personal disaster?”

“A very interesting idea, Emily,” he said. We both turned at the sound of Sir Julian’s voice booming with laughter. The newspaper man was sitting next to Lady Fortescue, close enough to Colin and me that it was impossible not to hear his words, spoken too loudly.

“Ah, there was something new every day then! Scandals enough to delight us all.”

Lady Fortescue winced, her face pale, and rushed from the room. Her husband did not follow her; I don’t think her absence registered with him in the least, particularly as he was sitting with Flora, who was glowing at his attention.

“She looks unwell. I should go to her,” I said, removing my hand from Colin’s and following her into the main hall. She was standing at the foot of the staircase, her knuckles white as she gripped an elaborately carved rail. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, Lady Ashton, just a slight headache,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s awfully warm in the morning room.”

“Warm?” I asked. The fire had been so low it was in danger of going out. I touched her hand. It was ice cold.

“I see my husband coming. Will you excuse me?”

He was already upon us. “Thank you, Lady Ashton. That will be quite enough.” He stood some distance from his spouse, hardly looking at her. “In the future, I would be much obliged if you would refrain from speaking to my wife unless absolutely necessary.”

“I’m sure your wife is perfectly capable of deciding with whom she would like to speak.”

“I will not have you take such a tone with me,” he said. “It is intolerable. Any fool could see that she does not wish to talk to you.”

“And I, sir, will not tolerate you speaking to me in such a manner. Perhaps it was a mistake to include me in this party if you feel that I’m an inappropriate companion for your wife.”

“I do not make mistakes. I know you, Lady Ashton, and I know your kind. The best way to put a stop to your aspirations for marriage is to give you enough rope to hang yourself.”

“What a thoroughly unoriginal thought, Lord Fortescue. I should have thought a man so well versed in vitriol could come up with something a bit more fresh. I’m rather disappointed.”

“Learn to live with it, Lady Ashton. It’s an emotion with which you will be spending a great deal of time in the future.”

Seeing no point in replying to this sort of inanity, I started back to the morning room. I stopped when I heard Lord Fortescue burst into laughter, and could not help looking back at him. He had put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and looked as if he were about to embrace her. Surprised and embarrassed, I turned away.

“Terrible man, Fortescue, don’t you think?” Mr. Harrison stepped out from behind one of the pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling of the corridor that surrounded the hall. “I can’t think of anyone worse.” I wanted to agree, but something in his eyes—a coldness that was frightening in its lack of ambiguity—made me hesitate. “It’s obvious that you don’t care for him.”

“I’m sure my feelings haven’t the slightest impact on him,” I said, quickening my pace. He caught up to me at once and put out a hand to stop me.

“He’s never going to get along with you if you stay with Hargreaves.”

“I’m well aware of his feelings on the subject. Fortunately, I’ve no desire to befriend him, and I certainly don’t need his approval—especially as it pertains to my marriage plans.”

“One of his daughters—Clara—has got it in her head that she should marry Hargreaves. They danced at a party some months ago, and she was enchanted by him. Hasn’t stopped talking about him since. Fortescue will make sure she gets what she wants.”

“I’m sure Mr. Hargreaves is perfectly capable of handling the situation. It is he, after all, who will decide whom he marries.”

“Forgive me, Lady Ashton. I only meant to warn you. If Fortescue decides to put a stop to your wedding—” He stepped closer to me and placed a gentle hand on my arm. “It’s not simply your wedding. He’s an unsteady man. He puts us all at risk.”

“I’ve not the slightest idea to what you are referring,” I said, feeling a familiar swell of curiosity.

“I suppose you wouldn’t, and that’s unfortunate. A woman of your intelligence—” He stopped and squinted as he looked at me, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. “May I speak freely?”

“I hope you will,” I said.

“The manner in which you interact with Lord Fortescue has impressed me. You have the courage to push back when he tries to manipulate you. That takes a strength most men in England are lacking, and it makes me think you could assist me in a most vital matter.”

“How?”

He stepped closer to me and continued in a low, gravelly voice. “I should like to continue this conversation in private. Will you follow me?”

I walked with him to a small chamber that could only be reached through the billiard room and appeared to have been commandeered for political purposes. A heavy table that must have dated from the medieval period filled much of the space, neatly stacked piles of paper sitting at each place. A map of continental Europe was pinned to the wall, and the air hung heavy with the lingering odor of cigars.

“How much do you know about why Fortescue has gathered us here?” he asked after he’d pulled the door partially closed behind us.

“Virtually nothing,” I said.

“We haven’t much time, so I can’t give you full details at the moment. Fortescue is in possession of some papers that are crucial to my cause. I need you to engage him in conversation and keep him occupied long enough that I can locate them in his room.”

“What sort of papers?”

“Ah, I can’t share that,” he said. “They are highly sensitive and political in nature…” He let his voice trail to silence. I waited for a moment, but he said nothing further, preferring, I suppose, to leave the rest to my imagination.

“Won’t he notice if they are missing?” I asked.

“Eventually, yes. He keeps two copies of everything, storing the duplicates in a file somewhere in his dressing room, but they’re just records. He doesn’t use them, if that makes sense. The primary copy of the documents in question is in the sheath of papers he’s refused to part with since we arrived here.”

“And what is this cause you speak of?” I asked.

“To preserve the empire.”

“Isn’t that Lord Fortescue’s cause as well?”

“Theoretically, yes. But I can’t always agree with the strategies he uses to achieve that goal. There’s a threat that has materialized in the past few weeks—a threat more nefarious than any you can conceive—and Fortescue has refused out of hand to take action against it.”

“He must have his reasons,” I said.

“Tell me, Lady Ashton, do you trust Fortescue? Do you think he’s the best man to protect all that is dear to you? Have you faith in him?”

“Well.” I paused. “Faith, Mr. Harrison, is a strong word.” I tried to squelch my smile, but was unsuccessful.

“I’ve already complimented your intelligence. Can we agree that Lord Fortescue’s is lacking?”

“I’m no supporter of his,” I said.

“I suspected as much.” He leaned against the table. “Your fiancé’s work is dangerous. Fortescue’s policies make it even more so. I’m asking a very small thing of you. A simple after-dinner conversation.” Now he smiled. “Although I perhaps ought to acknowledge that the mere act of speaking to him is a dreadful chore.”

“Yes, it is.” Our eyes met, and I tried to hold back my laughter. It was more than a bit tempting to meddle with Lord Fortescue, particularly in a situation that didn’t seem like much of a risk. Providing a distraction would be easy enough, and even if the rest of the plan imploded, no one would connect me to it. Furthermore, if Mr. Harrison was correct, I’d be helping Colin. “I suppose there’s no harm in it. My part, at least. Any trouble you find is your own.”

“Of course,” he said. “You won’t regret it, Lady Ashton.”

“I don’t do things I’ll regret.”

“I guessed as much. I have a great admiration for people who act with decisive purpose.” He stared at me hard for a moment before continuing. “The timing of this is critical. I need the papers before the political discussions at this party begin in earnest.”

“Tonight, then?”

“Yes. I think, Lady Ashton, that you and I could be very useful to one another.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but then he grew serious. “I’ll need at least half an hour, after dinner. I’ll watch for you to engage him, and once it appears he’s ensnared, I’ll leave the room. Understand?”

I nodded.

“I’m beginning to trust you,” he said.

“You would ask for my assistance without trusting me?”

“In my line of work, one is sometimes forced to make do with unfortunate circumstances. I’m sure your fiancé could enlighten you further.” He pushed his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “But I have to ask that you not tell him what we’re planning. Not quite yet.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Secrecy is essential. Telling one person, even someone you trust implicitly, can lead to unimagined troubles.”

“But—” I hesitated.

“He’ll know everything soon enough. I’m going to show him the papers in the morning. In fact”—he looked at me, a calculated smile on his weathered face—“why don’t you join us? I believe this will not be the last time we can be of use to one another. Come to the library after breakfast.”

“I look forward to it.” I stood in front of him, awkward, feeling as if we ought to do something to acknowledge our agreement. I held out my hand in the manner of a gentleman, assuming he would shake it. Instead, he raised it to his lips.

“Very good, Lady Ashton. Until then, we shall not speak any further on the subject. Come now. Pretend we’ve been discussing antiquities.”

We left the room, closing the door firmly behind us, and headed back towards the morning room, running into Colin, who was walking across the main hall as we crossed it.

“There you are, Emily,” he said, taking my arm. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Your fiancée has a staggering knowledge of red figure vase painting,” Mr. Harrison said, relinquishing my arm to my fiancé. This comment took me aback. How did he know I had a particular interest in Greek vases? It was no secret, certainly, but it struck me as odd that he’d picked up on it. Especially the red figure painting.

“How did you—” I stopped as Mr. Harrison turned and without a word walked away from us, disappearing down the corridor.

“Good of him to leave us alone.” Colin stepped closer to me and touched my face. “Not that I wouldn’t stand, rapt, for hours listening to you rhapsodize about ancient art. But aside from our inspiring encounter on the balcony, I’ve hardly seen you since you arrived.”

“The countess seems to depend upon you for amusement.”

“Apologies.” He twined his fingers through mine. “I’ve known her for some time.”

“So I’ve gathered. Lord Fortescue couldn’t wait to let me know.”

“He’s a beast. I’m sorry. I would have rather told you myself.”

“Told me what, precisely? He was a bit vague on details.”

“Kristiana and I were…close…for some time, but that ended the moment I knew I loved you.” His eyes held mine. “I wrote to her the night I escorted you back to the Meurice from Café Anglais in Paris last year. We talked on the Pont Neuf. Do you remember?”

“Very well,” I said. “Although it was our subsequent encounter on the Pont Neuf that made more of an impression on me.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you then.”

“I’m glad you did.” I should have been content standing there with him, but thoughts of the countess wouldn’t stop tugging at me. “I never thought you were the sort to fall for a married woman.”

“She wasn’t married when we met.”

“And after she was married?”

“Emily, I’m not going to impugn her reputation, even to you. It wouldn’t be right. There’s nothing between us any longer, and that is all that matters.” Part of me admired his principles; the other part was rather too eager to hear anything that would portray the countess in a less-than-flattering light. “That’s quite a wicked smile. I’m afraid to ask what you’re thinking.”

“Nothing that does me credit,” I said.

“Then I shall have to redirect your imagination in a more acceptable direction.” He started to kiss me, but pulled back at the sound of footsteps.

“You should be more careful with your fiancée’s reputation, Colin,” Kristiana said, her voice low and rich, seductive. “What would people say if they knew you two were skulking about hallways in country estates?”

“Very little, I’m sure,” I said, meeting her stare. She smiled, the most dazzling, patronizing smile I had ever seen, and laid an elegant hand on Colin’s arm.

“Enchanting, an enchanting little darling. I’m so glad you’ve found her. You really ought to bring her to Vienna sometime. The count is already excessively fond of her.”

5 December 1891

Darnley House, Kent

My dear daughter,

News as good as that which I have is worth sending express.

Your father and I have just returned from spending several days at Balmoral with Her Majesty, and she has decided to bestow upon you and Mr. Hargreaves a great honor. She graciously offered to allow you to be married from St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Palace. I, as you well know, was instrumental in facilitating the engagement between Prince Eddy and May of Teck, and the queen wishes to thank me for my service by taking particular note of your wedding.

I told Her Majesty I think it best that the wedding take place during the Season, perhaps in June. This gives you plenty of time to make arrangements and organize your trousseau. The queen went so far as to suggest fireworks for the night before.

Before I forget, I must mention that Lady Londonderry tells me you’ve written to ask her if you may catalog the art and antiquities at her husband’s estate. Surely you know this is not the sort of activity in which you should be involved. I have no intention of addressing the issue again.

I shall keep you abreast of plans for the wedding as they are made.

Your very affectionate mother,

C. Bromley