Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

Conspirators…

A strid, Lady Crowden, huddled inside her carriage, shrouded in a heavy cloak. The missive she’d received earlier had indicated that she should be parked near the edge of St. James Park at midnight. It had not been signed by name. Not that a signature had been required. The handwriting had been quite familiar to her.

“My lady, there’s a gentleman approaching,” the driver called out.

“He’s expected, Tyson. It’s fine.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Moments later, the carriage door opened and a man wearing a dark, heavy coat with his hat pulled low over his face, hoisted himself up into the vehicle. He was silent, not readily identifying himself, not that it mattered. To that end, Astrid kept her own counsel as well. Silence could have power if one was willing to tolerate the discomfort it could create. Let him be the first to speak.

“Astrid,” he said.

“Stanford,” she acknowledged coldly.

He removed his hat. “It’s good to see you… privately.”

Astrid could have crowed with delight. She’d seen him at the ball, of course, though they hadn’t spoken privately that night. She’d had her sights set on another then. Of course, she’d not entertain Stanford Williams again, not after he’d made a fool of her. After Marina Ashton jilted him, he’d married the sickly daughter of some cit and hauled her off to the countryside. Now he’d returned, conveniently a widower. And he hadn’t sought her out. Not since his return. He’d wounded both her pride and vanity. An unpardonable sin, to her mind, just like the Earl of St. Aiden and his clear preference for Miss Ashton.

Now he was squiring her about town, as devoted as any lap dog. Apparently, he and Miss Ashton had taken to their roles as a betrothed couple with undue enthusiasm. No doubt the presence of her former betrothed would be a thorn in their side. “Mr. Williams! How delightful to see you back in society.”

“Mr. Williams, is it?” he asked with bemusement. “At one time, you spoke to me much more familiarly than that. You once cried my name very sweetly, Astrid. Of course, then you chose to bandy it about like the vicious gossip you are. What was it you said to Lady Penmore? I believe you stated that Miss Marina Ashton would surely never have waited so late to cry off without significant and sound reason to do so.”

Astrid shrugged. “It is the way of society, Mr. Williams, as well you know. Partaking of and sharing in gossip is how we maintain power. And I was rather piqued with you.”

“Because I married another?”

“Because you lied,” she snapped. “Because your professions of love for me were as false as those you’d espoused for Marina Ashton. I was nothing but a dupe for you.”

He was silent for a moment and when he did finally speak, his voice was soft but it was not gentle. “We are not unalike, Astrid. You never loved me either. I was convenient for you; I kept your secrets, and you kept mine. Now, we have other uses for one another. It irks you that the earl was so obviously ready and willing to betroth himself to Marina… you fancied him for yourself.”

“What do you care?”

He leaned forward. “I care because you can get even with him for that… and with her. You simply have to aid me in my cause.”

“And that is?” Astrid queried.

“I want her to know the same humiliation that she visited upon me. Despite my efforts to paint her as the villain, many people remained sympathetic to her and it was my reputation which suffered the most due to her unseemly behavior,” he explained. “So I want her betrothed. I want her eager to wed, and I want, when she arrives at that church, for there to be no groom waiting for her. And you’re going to help me.”

She was silent, considering his offer, if it was an offer in fact. The idea of helping him with anything was unappealing on principle, except that it would entail humiliating Marina Ashton and thwarting the Earl of St. Aiden. Perhaps it was that his slight was so recent, but it stung even more than Stanford’s had. She understood Stanford. They might have said they loved one another, they might have carried on as if they meant it, but the truth was that neither of them was really capable of such a fine emotion—not in any lasting way. It was the chase for them, and the usefulness of whomever they happened to be bedding at that time.

“Very well,” she agreed. “But when it’s all done, I want you back in my bed. At my beck and call.”

“You can have me in your bed now,” he replied. “So long as it doesn’t interfere with my courtship of Miss Elizabeth Whitmore.”

Astrid laughed in disbelief. “Miss Whitmore? Dear lord, Stanford, have you sunk so low?”

“She’s useful to me,” he said dismissively. “She despises Marina Ashton more than I do, if such a thing is possible. Her fortune is more than adequate… and above all, she’s respectable. Beyond her own impending spinsterhood, no scandal has ever touched her family.”

Astrid smirked then. “So your sickly middle-class wife has shuffled off the mortal coil.”

He nodded. “Indeed, she has.”

“Naturally? Or did you aid her along in her journey to the afterworld?”

He arched one brow at her in the dim interior of the carriage. “Does that matter?”

“Not in the least,” she replied. “I presume Miss Whitmore will meet a similar fate when she is no longer of use to you?”

Stanford shrugged. “I suppose that will depend on how irritating I find her.”

Astrid sighed. “What is it that you want me to do, Stanford?”

“My late wife’s family had a great deal of money but when she died without issue, they elected not to transfer the second allotment of her marriage portion to me. So I need to marry Miss Whitmore. I can’t do that until Marina Ashton is entirely disgraced. I need all of society to shun her. In short, I need them all to think that she was the problem all along and not I.”

“They already think that,” Astrid replied. “This debacle with the Earl of St. Aiden aside, she’d never have received a decent offer. The few serious suitors she had were spurned and not exactly sporting about it. I imagine you are responsible for her unwillingness to shackle herself to a man… Though recent events seem to have superseded that inclination.”

“They cannot marry,” he insisted. “I cannot afford for her to go from being a mere miss to being a countess… not if I am to move freely in society again. She has the power to ruin me. And I will not go quietly or alone. If I must be dragged down, I will take you with me. Once she is married, there will be no reason for her not to tell the tale of how it came to be… the truth, Lady Crowden, will be spread far and wide. Your husband may be understanding about your infidelity, but only if it’s discreet. He’ll not take kindly to being publicly cuckolded in his own home.”

Astrid felt a frisson of fear at his words. It was quite true that Nigel didn’t care one whit whom she took to her bed, so long as she was discreet. If it were put around that Miss Ashton had interrupted her ill-fated rendezvous with the earl rather than being caught in her own—well, he might make good on his promise to banish her to the countryside. Frankly, she couldn’t think of a worse punishment. It was tantamount to Hell on earth for her.

“Fine. What would you have me do?”

“I will deal with Miss Ashton,” he said. “Your primary objective is to be certain he never arrives at the church on the appointed date.”

“And how am I supposed to know when that is? I would hardly be invited after everything that has occurred!” Astrid snapped.

“I will keep you apprised of any developments. I have people watching them even as we speak. I will know their every move.”

*

Stanford climbed down from the coach and watched it vanish into the night. Only when it had gone did he return to his own carriage. He had more business to attend to that night. Jacob Danvers needed to be given his orders and then he would have his second clandestine meeting with a lady for the evening.

Elizabeth Whitmore was more gullible than even Marina had been. She was willfully blinded by her own pettiness and spite. A fact he was not above exploiting for his own needs. And since his return to town, he’d been spending a not insignificant amount of time with her. He’d balanced account books more exciting than she was, but her hatred for Marina was proving very useful. The wager she’d made had been his idea, after all. He’d told her that before the Season was out, they would wed, that he would be in a position then to proudly ask for her hand. And he might. Assuming he didn’t find anyone else better before then. Her position was adequate though hardly exalted, but her fortune was substantial. She was terribly average, he thought. Respectable and still considered a beauty despite her rather nasty turn of character. It was her third Season, as well. She was still “eligible” but only just. In short, she would do.

Danvers was waiting for him at one of the more questionable gaming hells. The moment he entered, he found the man deep in play and losing funds he certainly did not have. “You’ll not get another loan from me,” he warned him.

“I won’t need one,” Danvers replied. “Not when all is said and done… I assume you’ve come for an update?”

“I have.”

“He’s presented an offer to Deveril and it has been accepted. This evening, the whole lot of them went to the theater,” the other man said with a sneer. “I was not invited. Caleb is set on his course of marrying this girl. The betrothal is not simply a sham to salvage her reputation. Not that I thought it would be when he needs to wed. And as of this evening, she’ll have a sapphire on her hand the size of a bloody robin’s egg.”

“Do you know when they mean to marry?”

“No… he means to have the banns read this Sunday. So a matter of weeks? Although there was an incident earlier today… a near mishap with a carriage that very nearly did them in. He’s convinced it wasn’t an accident and that someone intentionally set out to harm Miss Ashton. That could hasten their rush to the altar.”

Stanford considered that. He’d seen it. After all, he’d been following her discreetly all day. Allowing her to see him after that incident had been nothing but a mind game. Let her think he was responsible. Let her live with a bit of fear. She deserved it after all he’d been put through. But if it rushed them to the altar before everything was in place, that could be disastrous.

It hadn’t taken a great deal of thought to discern why she’d broken their engagement. He’d been careless, speaking to his lover—to Astrid—at the time. Of course, he’d been lying to her, as well. Women, for Stanford, were simply a means to an end. A vehicle for transferring funds from one family’s coffers to another. Oh, they had other uses and fulfilled other needs, but those required less discretion and strategy than acquiring wealth through marriage.

As for the attempt on her life—and it had been that—he didn’t know who was behind it. For himself, he didn’t want Marina dead. Or at least he didn’t if it would not benefit him. He didn’t necessarily mind if she died, but she was more useful to him alive and in disgrace than moldering in her grave—an object of pity with her many tragic tales. “Watch them. Closely. They cannot wed, but that needs to appear as if by his choice rather than because the cold hand of death intervened. She’ll not get off that easily.”

“Why did she abandon you at that altar?” Danvers asked.

Stanford shrugged. He knew the answer but did not feel compelled to share. “Who knows the vagaries of a woman’s mind? Regardless of her reasons, there have been steep consequences, and I have paid the brunt of them. It’s time for that to change… do your job, and your debt to me will be discharged.” With that, he turned on his heel and vacated the club. Miss Whitmore with her dull company and insipid kisses awaited him.