Page 43 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)
The next morning, after another sleepless night, Viv forced her feet back toward the Wynchester home. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held such conflicted feelings about anything or anyone.
Usually her convictions were strong and sure. Giving advice was easy. She wished Parliament would listen to her counsel. The world could be a better place in the blink of an eye.
But right now, Viv’s personal and professional worlds were upside-down. Jacob’s unexpected meddling had made her dream come true in the most galling way. She was furious with him and indebted to him and in a panic about how to make the most of what paltry attention might come her way.
If she hadn’t gone to the Wynchesters, she wouldn’t have met Jacob. If she never met him, she wouldn’t have broken her rule about kissing. If she hadn’t kissed him, maybe he wouldn’t have bypassed her express desires and tried to arrange her career himself.
But she couldn’t wish him to Hades. If she hadn’t broken half a dozen other rules and joined the previously disdained Wynchester crew on their justice-seeking missions… she wouldn’t have the least idea what had happened to her kidnapped cousin, or the remotest chance of rescuing him.
Somehow, over the past few weeks, keeping life divided in easy boxes of Good and Bad, Right and Wrong, had become exponentially harder.
By the time she reached the Wynchesters’ front door, she still hadn’t managed to sort things out. But she flashed their kind-eyed butler her best smile. Mr. Randall had let her in when she’d had nowhere else to turn. Unfortunately, her troubles had only increased since then.
Viv would decide how to handle what was left of her career on her own, but her best hope for Quentin’s safe return still lay with the team in this house.
She girded her loins and strode into the sibling sitting room. Today, only Jacob, Graham, and Marjorie were present.
Upon her arrival, Jacob leaped up from a sofa filled with kittens. “We have every place the Marquess of Leisterdale owns or goes in England under constant surveillance. The moment there’s any sign of Quentin or other suspicious activity, we’ll know about it.”
“We also acquired samples of Leisterdale’s handwriting,” added Graham. “The hand he uses to draft bills in Parliament doesn’t match the letters sent to us or to Olivebury.”
“Unsurprising,” Viv pointed out. “Anyone with half a brain would disguise his handwriting.”
“Or have an accomplice do the writing,” Jacob agreed. “Such as whomever Leisterdale has hired to watch over Quentin.”
“Probably yet another haughty, entitled extremist who views Black people and commoners as expendable,” Philippa said. “Leisterdale boasts about his vast collection of slaves on his sugar plantations, and argues vehemently any time abolition is mentioned in Parliament.”
Jacob nodded. “And someone who thinks of other humans as disposable tools would not hesitate to kidnap one, if it furthered his own aims.”
“Like many English peers with lucrative ‘investments’ in the Caribbean, Leisterdale quite openly delights in abducting innocents,” Viv said, her voice shaking. “No one volunteers to become his chattel.”
Philippa expression was grave. “Most lords openly oppose abolition. The few willing to hear Faircliffe’s views on the subject would only consider relinquishing slavery if paid handsomely for the loss of their so-called property.”
“And how much would the recently freed slaves receive?” Jacob asked sardonically.
“Nothing,” Philippa replied softly. “When suggested, the topic is dismissed altogether.”
“Of course the hostages performing all the work would receive nothing.” Fury spread through Viv’s veins. “Those lords are our ‘betters.’ Just ask them.”
Graham handed Viv a newspaper. “According to the gossip columns, there was a public row last night at Leisterdale’s club. He engaged in a screaming match about the evils of suffrage, and threatened a powerful marquess to his face if the marquess didn’t vote to protect lords’ rights.”
“Lords’ rights,” she muttered in disgust. “He has the right to bend over and receive my boot up his arse.”
Marjorie leaned forward. “The question is, how do we unmask him?”
“No,” said Jacob. “The question is, how do we rescue Vivian’s cousin?”
Viv thought it over. “No new demands means there’s nothing we can currently do to encourage Leisterdale to release Quentin on his own. Blackmail, not kidnapping, was the original goal. Quentin must have witnessed a robbery.”
“That would do it,” Marjorie agreed. “Leisterdale must believe he can easily sway the House of Lords. What he needs is for Olivebury to convince the House of Commons to vote against suffrage.”
Jacob nodded. “Chloe and Faircliffe spend every spare moment preparing speeches and arguments, so it’s reasonable to assume poor Olivebury would need to do the same—particularly if he’s expected to argue against his own belief system.
No matter how fanatical Leisterdale is about whatever nonsensical way he believes wealthy white aristocrats are oppressed, he must realize this task won’t be easy for Olivebury. ”
Graham nodded. “Abducting the baron was likely an impulsive act. Leisterdale needed to ensure his blackmail had enough time to generate the desired results. Kidnapping your cousin was an unintended side effect in an attempt to control us .”
Jacob turned to Viv, his eyes tortured. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’re all sorry,” said Marjorie. “More than words can say.”
In unison, all three Wynchesters touched their fingers to their chests and lifted their palms to the sky.
Viv let out a long breath. It was past time to stop holding them responsible for everything.
As much as she’d—rightfully—feared that Quentin copying the rule-breaking Wynchesters would lead straight to misery, her cousin’s decisions weren’t anyone’s fault but his own.
She could not continue to blame Jacob and his siblings.
“Leisterdale wouldn’t have captured a fictional Wynchester if Quentin hadn’t been running around pretending to be a man that doesn’t exist,” she admitted. “I guess this is what it took for him to learn his lesson about lying, spying, and bending rules.”
“I love lying, spying, and bending rules,” Marjorie said with a happy sigh. “If it helps others.”
Viv looked at her sharply. “You wouldn’t love it if such behavior got you abducted by a scoundrel.”
“Precisely how I met my husband.” Marjorie’s mouth fell open and she clapped her hands with glee. “Maybe Quentin will return home with a betrothed at his side.”
“Sorry,” Jacob whispered again, as purring kittens crawled over his lap. “She never stops matchmaking.”
“Is that what you want?” Philippa asked. “For Quentin to view our family as dangerous scoundrels of poor character?”
Viv had used those exact words any number of times when referring to the Wynchesters. Gallingly, Quentin was right: coming to know them had caused her to readjust her opinions.
Her fears about na?ve young people copying the Wynchesters’ antics willy-nilly had clearly not been unwarranted. They were reckless. They were unattainably privileged.
And they did make an irreplaceable difference in the lives of ordinary citizens, who would have no recourse or hope if it weren’t for this one-of-a-kind family.
“I want Quentin to think before he acts,” she said at last. “Actions have consequences.”
Marjorie nodded. “For example, he set out to impersonate a Wynchester, which resulted in… successfully impersonating a Wynchester.”
Viv shot her a dark look. Quentin was exactly the sort of high-spirited young lad who was probably cackling to himself over the stories he would be able to tell about the time he was held hostage after being mistaken for a Wynchester.
He’d trot this tale out to anyone who would listen, until they all had it memorized.
Other than fainting at the sight of his own blood, the bounder was likely having the adventure of a lifetime.
As long as his captors were treating him like a Balcovian baron, and not the orphaned bastard of a Black mistress.
“He’s fine,” Jacob said quickly, as though he could read the emotions crossing Viv’s face.
“You don’t know that,” she replied, as evenly as she could.
“Leisterdale’s original plan was to be a thief, not a hotel,” Philippa said. “Unless your script included detailed instructions on how to manage a long-term abduction, Leisterdale may be at a loss as to what to do with your cousin.”
Oh, Lord. Viv covered her face with her hands. She’d forgotten that it was her own damn plays that had spelled out how to steal and blackmail and kidnap in the first place.
Leisterdale wasn’t the mastermind. She was.
“The prisoner in my play was well treated,” she said in relief. “The kidnapper sent proof of captivity, and the grieving parents fell right in line.”
Marjorie lowered her plate of cakes. “You wrote a play about abducting children?”
“Children are taken all the time,” Viv said defensively. “ I give them a happy ending. The kidnapper goes to prison, and the children return home to their parents. Besides, that script was a private exercise written for my own entertainment, not as a manual for malefactors.”
“No one is to blame for this but Leisterdale,” Jacob assured her.
“And the corrupt hierarchy that grants him immunity for his crimes,” Viv muttered.
“Privilege of peerage isn’t immunity,” Graham corrected her. “At least, not completely. Peers cannot be arrested in civil suits, but they can face trial for criminal charges.”
“Judged by a jury of his fellow House of Lords, who are singularly unlikely to condemn one of their own. Particularly if they agree with Leisterdale’s motivation.
” Viv snorted in disgust. “Few peers lose a single day of freedom for their crimes. Whereas commoners can be executed for stealing a sheep, or pickpocketing a single shilling.”
“Trust me,” said Graham. “Chloe is planning to reform that next. She and Faircliffe have a list of—”
“Talking about us?” asked a female voice.