A Poisoned Season

4

After penning a hasty reply to Mrs. Francis, I changed into a well-cut riding habit and made my way to Rotten Row, needing desperately to clear my head. It was late in the afternoon, so most people were parading in their carriages, but I wanted my horse. The exercise was refreshing but did little to rid me of the searing feeling that I was responsible for having brought Mr. Francis to the attention of his murderer. I did my best to rally my spirits when I came upon my dearest childhood friend, Ivy, who was in her carriage with her husband and Lord Fortescue, a gentleman whom I avoided whenever possible. Our contrary views on seemingly every topic made conversation uncomfortable at best.

"I'm so glad to see you!" Ivy said, smiling brightly at me before turning to her companions. "Emily has been keeping herself hidden far too much lately."

"Strange time of day to be riding, Lady Ashton." Lord Fortescue looked at me closely, making no attempt to hide the fact that he found fault only with my behavior, not my ensemble, with its smart, double-breasted jacket and red vest.

"I've adopted a strictly self-indulgent approach to the Season.

Why should one be limited to riding in the morning?" Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and I realized that this was not, perhaps, a wise thing to have said in front of Lord Fortescue.

Poor Ivy! Ever since her husband had determined to enter politics, she had found herself much in the company of Lord Fortescue. He had the queen's ear and was considered to be the most powerful man in the government, although he occupied no formal position beyond the seat in the House of Lords that his title brought him. All aspiring politicians were at his mercy, and he delighted in exercising any control he could over them.

"What drivel," Lord Fortescue said. "Shouldn't want any wife of mine to think like that." It was all I could do to keep from wondering aloud if he would want any wife of his to think at all. "Which reminds me, Lady Ashton, that Aloysius Bingham tells me you've been harassing him over some gaudy bowl. Leave him alone. It's no business of yours if he wants to keep the thing for himself. This rot you've been spewing to him about it belonging in the museum suggests to me that you are in desperate need of a husband with a very firm hand." The sound of a horse stopping next to mine saved me from having to respond to this inane comment, and I turned to see Charles Berry tipping his hat.

"Ah! Berry! Still enjoying London?" Lord Fortescue asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. "I've been meaning to have someone throw a party for you. I'm sure Mrs. Brandon is up to the task. What do you say? Will you give a ball? Thursday next would be convenient, I think."

"I — " Ivy hesitated. She would barely have time to come up with a menu, let alone arrange for an orchestra, flowers, and all the rest of the planning a ball required. Robert stepped in.

"Give her more time, Lord Fortescue, and she'll prepare the greatest masquerade ball London has ever seen."

"Very well, then. I will count on you, Mrs. Brandon." Ivy managed a weak smile. "Send me your guest list. I want to make sure you haven't forgot anyone."

Lord Fortescue was a clear example of why no man should have too much power. Small things, like checking over a guest list, were meant to remind a gentleman in Robert's position where his allegiance had better lie. Mr. Berry showed little interest in any of this. He was looking me over very carefully, evidently pleased with what he saw.

"I want to ride with you, Lady Ashton. Will you join me?" I quickly assessed the situation and decided that, of the two, Mr. Berry was preferable to Lord Fortescue. We walked our horses slowly and had not gone more than a hundred feet before I began to regret my choice.

"There is something about you that brings to mind Madame de Pompadour," he said. "I find myself most drawn to you."

"I warn you, Mr. Berry, that I am not susceptible to flattery." I pushed a stray curl back up into my hat.

"Your modesty does not fool me. Do you know that I may have a court of my own before long?"

"In England?" I wondered how he could afford such a thing. From what I understood, he had very little fortune.

"Initially, yes. But later — " He stopped. "I say too much. Suffice it to say that I shall count on your coming to me there. I don't think you will be disappointed."

I wondered if I ought to be affronted that he never dangled the queenship in front of me, the way he did with so many other young ladies. He had suggested even to Margaret that she might find herself in the happy position of wearing a crown. Perhaps he was familiar with my views on marriage. This thought made me smile.

"Lady Ashton! Mr. Berry!" Lady Elinor called. "What a surprise to find you here together!" Our horses, whose speed had increased gradually during our conversation, were about to overtake the carriage she shared with her daughter. She immediately focused on Mr. Berry and, good mother that she was, did all she could to draw him into conversation with Isabelle. The girl gave him a halfhearted smile, then sat quietly, scanning the park.

"Where is Mr. Hargreaves this afternoon?" Lady Elinor asked. "You remember Mr. Hargreaves, of course, Mr. Berry? Such an excellent gentleman! And quite devoted to our Lady Ashton."

"Hargreaves is a capital fellow. I was out far too late with him last night," Mr. Berry said, and I wondered what they had been doing. "It's easy to see why he's taken with my riding companion." Lady Elinor was quick to move the discussion in another direction, and once she had succeeded in commanding Mr. Berry's attention, I excused myself, hoping that Isabelle hadn't been searching the park for another gentleman. Her mother's intentions for her were all too clear.

I saw Isabelle again two days later. Cécile and I were in the library, waiting for Margaret to join us, when the girl appeared, making no attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying. Given the amount of time our families had spent together over the years, it did not surprise me that she would come to me when she was upset. Before her father's death, her parents had traveled a great deal, and Isabelle often stayed with us while they were gone. The difference in our ages, which had seemed so great just a few years ago, was less noticeable now, but I still pictured her as a little girl, butting in when Ivy and I wanted to trade private observations regarding the gentlemen of our acquaintance. Nonetheless, I had no desire to shun her when she was so distressed; if anything, this was an opportunity to make up for all the times when I'd shooed her away. I sat her next to Cécile on the settee and gave her a glass of port, figuring that I might as well take the opportunity to convert her to my view that the beverage should not be reserved for gentlemen alone.

"What is troubling you?" I asked. She took a sip of her drink before answering.

"Oh! That's quite good!" she exclaimed. She paused for a moment, as if trying to gather her courage. "I'm being forced to marry Mr. Berry." The tears began to flow again. "Mother has agreed to all the details, and I've nothing to say in the matter. She won't even let me tell Tommy myself."

"Tommy?" I asked gently.

"Lord Pembroke." More sobs. "She has sent him a letter."

"Did you have an understanding with him?"

"Nothing official, of course. But I love him so dearly." As eldest son of the Earl of Westbrook, Pembroke stood to inherit one of the finest estates in the north of England as well as a respectable fortune. He was the sort of man mothers ordinarily longed for their daughters to catch.

"Je suis très désolée, chérie," Cécile said, putting her arm around Isabelle's heaving shoulders.

"Does your mother know that you're here?" I asked.

"No." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "You were always kind to me when I was little, though I know I was a terrible bother. I so admire you, Emily. I know we haven't seen each other much since your marriage and...well...since the viscount died. I'm sorry." She sobbed again. "I'm making a dreadful mess of this. Everyone says that you believe ladies shouldn't be forced to marry against their wishes. My friend Clara wasn't allowed to go to Mrs. Brandon's luncheon last week because you were to be there. Her parents were afraid you'd convince her to break her engagement."

I had no idea who Clara was, or why she would want to break her engagement, but I hated to think that someone had refused an invitation of Ivy's simply to avoid me. "I shall write your mother a brief note, telling her that you are with me. You may stay here tonight if you wish. But then — " I stopped, knowing that there was little more I could do for her. Davis sent one of the footmen to deliver the note and wait for a reply. Lady Elinor was relieved to learn where her daughter was, but her words revealed little sympathy for the girl:

I will send a carriage for her in the morning and expect to find that she is willing to accept the arrangements that I have made for her.

Margaret, who had arrived in the midst of all the excitement, was outraged. "I can't believe you would entertain the notion of supporting her mother in this," she said, pulling me to a quiet corner of the room.

"What can I do, Margaret?"

"Send for Pembroke."

"And then what?"

"They could go to Scotland."

"You can't be serious," I said. "I have no idea what Lord Pembroke's intentions are."

Although she had not heard us, Isabelle echoed Margaret's request. "Emily, I must see Tommy. Can you help me?"

Much as I hated to see her forced into a marriage, especially to Charles Berry, I did not want to be party to her ruin. How unfair of her mother not to let her tell Lord Pembroke herself, to say good-bye to him. I thought how incensed I would be if my own mother had done such a thing. Then I thought of Colin. If someone forced me away from him I would want — need — to see him one last time.

"All right, Isabelle," I said with a sigh. "We will bring Lord Pembroke to you, but you will have to be patient while I arrange it." I sent a maid to draw a hot bath while Cécile led Isabelle upstairs.

"What will you do?" Margaret asked. "Can Colin help?"

"He's at his brother's in Richmond. We'll send for Jeremy instead and ask him to collect Lord Pembroke. You should write to him, Margaret. No one will think anything of his receiving a summons from you, and it will add nicely to the rumor of your growing attachment to each other. Don't say anything specific about why you want to see him. It will be best to have as little of this as possible in writing."

Davis dispatched the footman again, and in short order Jeremy was standing before us. "Brilliant!" he said when I told him our plan. "Pembroke will be eternally grateful. He's quite taken with the girl, you know."

After Jeremy departed to collect Lord Pembroke, Isabelle and Cécile returned to the library. Isabelle, dressed in one of my lacy tea gowns, looked much better composed after her bath and could hardly stop talking about the merits of the man she loved. Soon after we had eaten a light supper, the gentlemen arrived. Isabelle rushed to Lord Pembroke, who looked pleased, though a bit embarrassed, at this public display.

"Em," Jeremy began, taking my arm. "I understand you have a collection of Greek vases in your library. Would you be so good as to show them to me?"

"I suppose so," I said, noting that Cécile and Margaret had already fled the room and feeling not altogether comfortable with the notion of leaving the couple entirely alone. Jeremy gave Pembroke a jaunty salute and pulled me out the door.

"Having second thoughts about your role in the corruption of the youth of England?"

"Not exactly. I just don't want to leave her in a situation that could cause her more harm than good."

"Don't worry, darling. Pembroke's half-terrified and is not about to do anything improper. They'll have a kiss, and a good cry and all will be forgotten in the morning."

"Is he quite in love with her?" I asked.

"As much as any gentleman might be."

"Will he ask her to go to Gretna Green?"

"I don't think so. He made it clear to me that he's not interested in courting scandal."

"Then perhaps Isabelle is better off marrying Charles Berry. Pembroke can't be much devoted to her if he's willing to stand by and watch her marry another man."

"You are a romantic, aren't you?" He paused before the door to the library. "It's quite fetching." We entered the room, where Margaret and Cécile were in the thick of a game of chess. Jeremy sat beside Margaret, commenting on her every move. I pulled She by H. Rider Haggard off a shelf. With effort, I forced myself to follow the adventures of Ludwig Horace Holly and the exotic queen, Ayesha, She Who Must Be Obeyed, though all the while I was wondering if Lord Pembroke loved Isabelle enough to take her to Scotland. When an hour had passed, I put down the book, marched back to the drawing room and knocked loudly on the door, waiting a few moments before opening it. Pembroke, who looked very rumpled, was pacing furiously in front of the fireplace. Isabelle was crying harder than ever.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but I think that it's best if — "

I did not need to finish my sentence. Pembroke grabbed Isabelle's hand, kissed it with great emotion, and ran from the room. Isabelle looked as if her heart was shattered. She buried her face in a pillow she found on the settee and continued to sob. I sat next to her, gently rubbing her back. Cécile came in and said nothing for several minutes. At last, she pulled Isabelle from her supine position and began to speak in a very serious tone.

"What did Lord Pembroke say to you?"

"He told me I should marry Mr. Berry. I thought he loved me. How could he ask me to marry someone else?"

"He wants to protect you from scandal," I said, knowing full well that he was at least as concerned for himself as he was for her.

"I feel like such a fool. I thought he would beg me to go to Gretna Green."

"And would you have?"

"Of course I would." She stopped crying. "So Mr. Berry is forced upon me, and dreadful though that is, I know there is only worse to come, for someday my dear Tommy will have to marry, too. Would that I might die before having to see that." The tears began to flow again.

"It may not be for some time," I said, trying to encourage her. "Young gentlemen are rarely eager to settle down. When at last it happens, you may find that you've quite forgotten Lord Pembroke."

"I shall never forget him, and for that my husband will suffer. He will never have my affection."

"There are many such marriages, Isabelle," Cécile said. "You do not have to let yourself be miserable. Give yourself over to grief tonight, but no longer. After that, you will have to make your own happiness." I remembered Jeremy's comment about us being able to reach a mutually agreeable understanding. What a dreadful way that would be to live.