The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares

“To Thorny or to me?”

“Not you, certainly. Thorndyke hasn’t gotten used to having me about as yet, but you should know better,” she explained absently, eyeing the missive as if it could possibly turn into a writhing snake at any moment. She slid her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the sheet, her eyes going immediately to the bottom of the page. “It’s from Felicity Urban.”

“Our invitation?” Gideon asked, rising from his chair, in order to stand behind her as she read. “Hmm, obviously not the invitation we were told to expect.”

Jessica read the note aloud. “‘I know what you and the earl are about. Help me and I’ll help you. Four o’clock today, Le Bon Modiste, Bond Street. Ask for Fontine. I will need five thousand pounds, and safe transport.’” She tilted her head back to look up at Gideon. “So much for my belief I was subtle last evening, I suppose. I told you she was looking at me curiously, as if measuring me or some such thing. She says she can help us? Honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this than I am.”

“You got results, and that’s what’s most important. But if it’s any comfort to you, I didn’t do much better at subtlety. She knows what I’m about? It has to be that damn rose. I only wore it for a few days, but obviously Felicity Urban took notice.”

Jessica was looking at the note again. “But didn’t mention it to her husband?”

“Yes, I’ll have to ask her about that when I meet with her, won’t I?”

Gideon Redgrave—and Thorndyke, for that matter—had a lot to learn about what it meant to be married to Jessica, but there wasn’t much he didn’t know about women in general. Or at least he prided himself on learning quickly.

“When we meet with her,” he corrected almost before Jessica could take in a breath in order to disabuse him of his former statement.

After all, Trixie may have thrown a candlestick, but there were knives on the dining table, for God’s sake… .

LE BON MODISTE WAS A small shop in a tall, narrow building. Gideon had insisted they make a business of visiting several shops as they strolled along the block and even convinced Jessica to purchase a new bonnet in one of them. They walked arm-in-arm, stopping to peer into store windows. They nodded to passersby, even stopped so that Gideon could chat with a rather florid-faced matron who begged permission to be introduced to the new countess and invited them both to a delightful musical evening the following Thursday.

Gideon had promised he would do his best, but it was possible they would be adjourning to the country prior to that date.

“I never said I’d go,” Jessica had pointed out once the lady had taken her leave and they were walking on once more.

“You never mentioned a burning desire to submit to a session with the thumbscrews, either, but that would be an almost enjoyable experience when compared to listening to Hetty Frampton’s offspring—and there are an even half dozen of them—as they attack your ears with song and defile every musical instrument known to man.”

“Oh,” Jessica said quietly. “I mistook your motive. I’m sorry.”

His smile melted her knees, which he had to know. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find some way to make it up to me. Now, are you ready? I believe, rank amateurs that we are, we’ve been suitably clandestine about our approach to Le Bon Modiste.”

“In case anyone is following us? Who would be following us?”

“Other than Richard, who is prudently keeping out of sight as he watches for the Marquis of Singleton, you mean? I believe that would be Max, who returned to London late last evening.”

“Your brother? Really?” Jessica made to turn around, but a short, sharp tug on her arm reminded her that spies, or whatever it was they were playing at, didn’t stop dead on the flagway and turn about to peer into the distance, now did they?

“I begin to see the logic in banishing me to the country,” she admitted on a sigh as they turned in to the narrow shop.

“That argument sounds familiar. However, I believe it was my brother saying something of that nature concerning me. I would have taken umbrage, but he’s probably correct.”

“He actually said you’re not up to the task? That wasn’t very nice of him.”

Gideon’s smile took her by surprise. “But probably true. He reminded me I am a newly married man, and my concentration perhaps isn’t as focused as it might otherwise be.”

“Oh? So he’s blaming not you, but me?”

“He blames the marital state in general, actually. According to Max, a man who goes into battle with a woman on his mind is a danger to himself and everyone around him.”

Jessica fought a sudden urge to preen. “And you’ve a woman on your mind?”

“And plans for that woman and myself for later tonight, yes, which probably proves Max’s point. Now why don’t you go admire the pretty ribbons on that table to your left, please, while I seek out this Fontine person, all right? Discreetly, of course, and I assign that description to us both.”

Jessica looked at the displayed ribbons without really seeing them while Gideon spoke to a young blond clerk behind the counter. Her heart was pounding in a most disconcerting way as she wondered if they had just walked into some sort of trap. Villains laid traps, didn’t they? It was basically their stock in trade.

She kept her back turned, said back feeling quite vulnerable, while the blond-haired clerk came out from behind the counter and crossed to the door, lowering the shade and then turning a key in the lock.

Which, Jessica realized with a start, effectively put Richard and Gideon’s brother Max firmly on the other side of that door.

“This way, madame,” the woman said as she walked back to where Gideon was now holding wide a beaded curtain that led to the rear of the shop.

Jessica slid her hand into Gideon’s, and they followed the clerk up a narrow flight of stairs that opened into a small sitting room, the shades of both front windows pulled down, the only light coming through the dirty panes of a window to the rear.

Felicity Urban was seated on a shabby couch, a bandbox at her feet. She was so nervous her knees were visibly shaking. Gone was the hard woman from last night. In her place, a clearly terrified creature. She did not rise to greet her invited guests.

“Mrs. Urban,” Gideon said, bowing.

“My Lord Saltwood,” she replied tightly. “You have the money? And the transport? I say nothing until I’ve seen both.”

Gideon turned to Jessica. “So much for any offer of refreshments, hmm?” He directed her to a straightbacked chair and then walked over to the couch and pulled a thick envelope from a pocket inside his coat. He slid the packet back inside his coat. “Five thousand pounds. You may count it later, as to insist on doing it now would quite injure my sensibilities,” he said affably. “If you would care to look out that window behind us, you would see a plain black traveling coach and a coachman awaiting orders. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” the woman said as she extracted a small dark brown bottle from her reticule, uncorked it with trembling fingers and lifted it to her lips. She then recorked the bottle but did not replace it in her reticule. “Opiates, the true refuge of cowards. Yet all that keeps me sane, you understand. Ah, yes, that’s better. It was Archie’s idea. He keeps me generously supplied, but that won’t be for much longer. I’m very careful, you see. I drink half, and hide the rest away, watering what is left. He wants me insensible, but I’ve fooled him there. I don’t need this,” she said, holding up the bottle. “But I know I’m needing it more. I heard him speak of Ringmer last week, with his valet. You know of the place?”

Jessica looked to Gideon.

“A discreet asylum for those of weak minds, yes.”

“You’re too kind, my lord. A discreet dumping ground for those with enough money to rid themselves of their problems,” Felicity countered, seeming to gain courage. “Problems such as wives who no longer suit their needs. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t follow his good friend Lord Charles’s lead. But, then, there are no soggy cliffs on our property to break away whilst I’m out for a solitary stroll.”

Again, Jessica snapped her head round to look to Gideon, who merely shook his slightly, as if warning her to remain silent.

Felicity shrugged and slipped the bottle back into her reticule. “You were wearing the rose. Was I wrong to believe it was because you wanted to make contact with the Society?”

“No, you were correct.”

She nodded. “I thought as much. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. You’ve been discussed, my lord, and let that be a warning to you. They’re watching. And then you sent your wife to us last night. You really should be more careful, my lord. You and your bride both, her being who she is. What did you think to gain? You wanted, perhaps, to learn more about Your father? I can tell you all you need to know, for I’ve heard the stories. Your father was a terrible man, a monster. Your mother was right to shoot him, put him down for the animal he was.” She shook her head. “But he wasn’t a patch on what’s happening now. Oh, no. Not a patch. None of them were.”

“Is that why they’re dead? The members who date from my father’s time, or soon after? In order to make room for members more in agreement with whatever in hell they’re doing now?”

The woman looked up at Gideon, her mouth gone hard. “That’s not why they’re dead, and you somehow know it, or else your wife here wouldn’t have come to us last night, asking such obvious questions, and we wouldn’t be here now, talking. But, yes, that is what happened. I’m afraid we began something without considering the possibility we were aiding the Society, giving them a chance to finish building a thirteen more suited to their purpose. We thought we were so clever, just as your mother was so smart, so wise to see there was only the one answer for her, and damn anything else.”

Only the one answer for her. Jessica felt a shiver climbing her spine. How often had she sat at night, watching James Linden sleep, and thought there’s only one way I can be truly free of him. What was this woman saying, really saying? Could it be…?

Gideon sat down on the edge of the low table in front of the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m don’t understand. What does my mother have to do with any of this?”

“You understand. You just want me to keep talking, don’t you? But I’ve seen the packet, I believe the coach, so you might as well hear it all, the both of you.”

Felicity sat back against the thin cushions. “They use only prostitutes now for the most part. None of the newer members include their wives, save for Lord Charles, who finds it amusing. For their games, you understand. Wives were more convenient over the years, less prone to carry tales. But wives grow long in the tooth, or they cry, or they kill themselves. The thirteen never cared. They have their games, just as I have my little brown bottle. But they can’t give them up, they don’t want to give them up. Devil worship. Ha! It’s all a hum, you know, an excuse.”