Page 18

But what a weak barrier is truth when it stands in the way of an hypothesis!

—Mary Wollstonecraft

The scene in the Lord Mayor of the City of London’s private parlor could have been reflective of a refined, sedate social call in the middle of Mayfair, though the tensions ran dangerously hot beneath all the forced politesse. It was because of the arrival of my father, I knew. The duke’s authority made spines snap tight and chins lower in deference, but it was the presence of the deceptively reserved Duchess of Harbridge at his side that made dispositions instantly be checked.

Pride sluiced through me. My mother was a force to be reckoned with, and everyone in this room knew it, even the Lord Mayor himself, whose admiration was evident. If there was a woman who held more sway in her little finger over any man than a queen of England, it was my mother. Together, my parents were formidable, but would that might and influence be enough if the truth somehow came out?

That their daughter was nothing but a lowly thief, no matter her motivations?

My stomach roiled, and I could taste the bile in the back of my throat.

Our family barrister and Nori’s father, Mr. Kaneko, took his place beside my parents, and the temperature cooled further. I gulped and clasped my hands in front of me, lest I reach for Rafi again in front of others who would not be as discreet as Keston and Ela. I focused on the Perkins sisters, who sat on a sofa in a neat row at the other end. The older sisters looked like mirror images of each other, with pinched lips and wan complexions. Miss Perkins, however, still wore her usual calm expression, eyes twinkling with wit and intelligence. She did not seem put out to be here, but I still felt a frisson of guilt.

The duke cleared his throat. “Explain,” he commanded in a stern tone to Viscount Hollis. The distaste on my father’s face for the man was well hidden, but I still saw it.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Atkins interjected, finding his voice and perhaps being insulted that he hadn’t been asked to explain the situation in his own chambers. “The viscount brings grave accusations against the Welton House School for Elegant Young Ladies, ahem”—a pompous sneer distorted his lips—“for spreading the malady of hysteria.”

Instantly, my dislike for the man tripled, both for the sneer, as if it were a crime to have women make a foothold for themselves in a male-dominated world, as well as his accusatory and unfounded words that would no doubt get the attention they sought. Gasps of horror filled the room. There was nothing like the word hysteria to provoke fear in the hearts of weak-minded men. Or women, I amended, as my gaze landed on the two older Perkins sisters.

“We’ve done no such thing!” the eldest protested. “We provide education in gentility, manners, needlework, drawing, music, and religion. I assure you, sirs, our students are pious, proper young ladies.”

I took the temperature of the room. The men were frowning, their expressions hard and dour. Any misstep in duties, behavior, or modesty by a female in their eyes was a sign of a mental condition that could see a woman locked in an asylum without much cause. Being emotional was a violation. Having an opinion was an offense. Seeking equal treatment was a downright crime. But all of that was blamed upon a woman’s courses and her biological susceptibilities. Hysteria was also known as the “daughter’s disease.” As if intelligence or self-esteem were an illness. A snort left me, and my father’s glacial blue eyes rested upon me for a moment.

“That school is a disgrace and should be shut down at once,” Viscount Hollis said loudly. “These women must be questioned and charged for taking such risks with our daughters.”

Several of the men including the Lord Mayor and the sheriff had daughters. Presumably ones attending finishing school. Sure enough, their faces reflected their disdain.

“Do you have any proof of this other than hearsay?” my mother asked calmly. The viscount’s beady gaze slid to her as if she were a gnat who shouldn’t have spoken—his biases were very clear in that one look—but he would not dare offend my father.

“My own fair judgment is proof enough, Your Grace,” he said in an oily voice. “As an upstanding member of society, it’s my duty to call out a danger to our precious children.”

I wanted to vomit at his supercilious tone. “Because you attended Welton or have a daughter who is a student there?” I remarked, drawing attention from all corners that I suddenly wished I hadn’t.

“Are you condoning such behavior, Lady Zenobia?” Viscount Hollis asked like a cobra about to strike. The tone of his voice suggested that I had some vested interest here, or perhaps I carried some guilt myself—which I did, but my deepest secrets did not have anything to do with his witch hunt. I would do whatever it took to protect my friends, should anything come to light about our now-regrettable activities. “Don’t you attend Welton? It is rather…curious that you’re here. As if you might have something to hide. Some involvement perhaps? It could be that you, too, have been caught by hysteria.”

“Have a care, sir,” my father said, his voice like pure ice. “Your accusations are in execrable taste, and I’ll caution you to mind your tongue. My daughter does not attend Welton as a student. She’s interested in particular lessons.”

“And what are those, might I ask?” That question came from Mr. Atkins. It was a clever one, if Viscount Hollis’s expression was any signal. I could see the interest swirling through their gazes. What kind of instruction would the daughter of a duke require at a finishing school? Unquestionably, she would have had her own tutors and governesses. I was already accomplished, having already come out to society.

“Music. And literature,” Miss Perkins answered.

Mr. Atkins pounced. “What kind of literature?”

She hiked her chin, and for once, I wished my teacher wasn’t so outspoken. With men like these, prodding their thin-skinned pride was a disaster in the making, but I knew without a doubt that it was what she would do. “Shakespeare. Austen. Wollstonecraft.”

“You see?” Hollis roared triumphantly.

The Lord Mayor sputtered. “ Wollstonecraft? That woman is a vicious harpy with unconventional, dangerous views that go against our great institution. And her daughter is no better with the company that she keeps.”

“Poets like Byron?” Miss Perkins replied.

“Political activists!” he said and slammed his hand down on the table before staring at the other two sisters. “What kind of school are you running here?”

“I beg your pardon, Lord Mayor, we had no idea…,” the eldest Perkins spluttered in outrage, turning to glare at her youngest sister.

“I was right,” Viscount Hollis finished in satisfaction. “Did you know about this, Harbridge? That they’re purposefully infecting their young minds with such devilish propaganda?”

My mother lifted a cool hand. “Exactly what is the crime being discussed here?” she asked. “One of reading? Regardless of whether those writers are political, surely we can judge for ourselves what is right and what is wrong. On that note, Mr. Atkins, we all do questionable things from time to time, don’t we? When it comes to the matter of opinions, integrity, and even property, one could say. You, as well, Viscount Hollis.”

Damn. I grinned. My mother was literally a take-no-prisoners goddess. She might have been vague, but everyone here knew what she was alluding to. They were all hypocrites, comfortable on their high horses and with their protected positions, and yet they saw no issue with dehumanizing actual people. Then again, these men viewed their wives as property.

“I beg your pardon?” the viscount demanded, his expression sour as though he’d sucked a particularly bitter lemon.

The duchess smiled gently…though anyone with eyes could see that that soft smile had teeth. “I’m simply stating that no one is free of judgment, are we? And we all strive for the best versions of ourselves, or at least, I hope we do. But I digress. If anyone should have a problem with the literature our children consume, it should be the duke and myself. Not you, Parliament, or anyone here. Or are you insinuating that we are incapable of minding our own house?”

Mr. Atkins went beet red. “Of course not, Your Grace, but we must be diligent. In truth, we have already received a serious complaint about this school and the materials discussed.”

Here it was. My heart wavered in my chest. Who would—

“A Mr. and Mrs. Peabody have withdrawn their daughter from Welton House on the grounds of discussion about a gothic horror being unsuitable for their daughter’s gentle nature.”

My jaw ached from grinding it. I knew it had to be her!

“What book are you referring to?” my father demanded.

“Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus,” Mr. Atkins read off a sheet on the table. “An absolutely reprehensible piece of claptrap. Viscount Hollis is correct to be concerned. We can all see what’s happening here. Hysteria is the least of our fears if our young women’s good virtues are exposed to such violent delusions.” I almost snorted. What did reading a gothic novel have to do with a girl’s virtue? The two were hardly related, and yet, these men were all nodding like they’d solved the worst kind of crime. He scowled at the Perkins sisters. “Have you anything to say for yourselves?”

“We had no knowledge of this, Mr. Atkins,” Mrs. Perkins said with pursed lips. The sisters stood and sneered down at the youngest Perkins. “I assure you we are as horrified as you are. Our sister is a disgrace, and we shall cast her out at once. We implore you to charge her with whatever punishment you deem fit.”

“No!” I shouted. “It’s not her fault. I do not suffer from any such affliction, nor am I in danger of losing my virtue. Miss Perkins deserves no punishment.”

“Zia,” Rafi warned quietly.

“Ah, yes, the prodigal daughter speaks again,” the odious viscount drawled. “One who frequents gambling hells in secret.”

What? How did he know that? My brain was racing. Both my parents’ eyes were fastened to me, and I could feel the shock in my father’s gaze. He might not care what I read, but he would certainly care about my whereabouts, especially to a gambling den.

“Zenobia?” he asked.

Lie, Zia, lie.

But when I opened my mouth, a heartfelt denial wasn’t the thing to emerge. The cocktail of emotions that barreled through me left no room for anything but truth, the words emerging like acid. “Papa, I can explain.”

The room erupted with exclamations of “See! It’s hysteria! Without a doubt!” “The daughter of a duke being so scandalous!” “A diamond of the season? More like a lump of coal.”

Viscount Hollis bared his teeth in triumph. “Nephew, you were at Danforth’s. Tell me, do you recognize the girl who stands beside you? I do recall being fleeced of my belongings that evening. And didn’t you say you lost your ring as well?”

Rafi bristled beside me, but his voice was mild. “We both know that you were in your cups, Uncle. As was I, admittedly, after a rowdy night at the tables. As far as my ring”—he lifted his palm and removed his glove—“it is quite safe on my finger. I won’t lie to support whatever vendetta you wish to pursue here.”

“You sodding ingrate!” the viscount spat. “How dare you?”

Ignoring his relative, Rafi turned to the Lord Mayor and to my parents. “Mr. Atkins, Your Graces, it is true that Lady Zia was at Danforth’s.”

My heart sank as my father’s eyes went glacial, and the disappointment in my mother’s was too much to bear. What was Rafi doing, outing me like this? Had I imagined that he’d even cared about me, or had that been a lie all along?

“What the hell were you thinking?” Keston hissed.

Rafi canted his head, his gaze sliding to my brother’s for a brief but meaningful second. “Regrettably, it was all part of a dare, tasteless though it might have been in hindsight.”

“You took my daughter to a gaming hell?” my father seethed.

My mouth dried as my gaze flew up to Rafi’s, but the only sign of emotion was the muscle that flexed in his jaw.

He nodded.

“This is what I was worried about, Zia. My friend doesn’t know when to take life seriously,” Keston seethed, his expression hard.

Rafi stiffened, but this was my mess. But before I could open my mouth to tell the truth, Mr. Atkins rapped his knuckles on the table. “That is all well and good. But aside from the secret book club, let’s discuss this other secret society. What are they called? Yes, these Lady Knights. Are they a vigilante group started at that school by that very so-called teacher? What say you, Miss Perkins? Do you deny encouraging these impressionable young girls to act out?”

Oh, dear God.

My blood chilled to ice in my veins as every eye in the room converged on Miss Perkins, including those of her own sisters, who had already cast her aside like she was the plague. This was going to be a bloodbath with my poor teacher sacrificed for the sake of these men’s ruffled pride, misplaced sense of propriety, and greed.

Miss Perkins stood, head high. “I would not call it acting out, Mr. Atkins. I simply advocate a way for them to express themselves within a society that tells women that we cannot do anything but simper and sigh or wait to be plucked from boredom by a handsome suitor…or left to wither on the vine like unproductive fruit. I am proud of my girls for being so daring.”

Viscount Hollis’s eyes narrowed. “So, you admit it, then? That you purposefully coerced your charges with your political indoctrination? You wanted them to be… productive ?”

I blinked. He made the last word sound like it was something inherently evil…as though she were shaping us to be disruptors. No, Miss Perkins only wanted us to think for ourselves, to step outside the box meant to cage us in. To live authentically. But now the pitchforks were out, and a scapegoat was in sight. Someone had to pay for being so bold as to challenge the status quo.

“Learning is political, my lord,” Miss Perkins said firmly, unaffected by the viscount’s tirade. I could see my mother’s interest sharpen as she studied the other woman as though her unflappable courage was admirable. Would my mother intervene? Stop the viscount from whatever personal vendetta he seemed to be on? Nip this whole thing in the bud before any attempt at weeding out the truth became lost in scandal and hearsay?

“Zenobia,” my father demanded. “Is this true? Were you involved in these Lady Knights?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think” escaped my lips before I could kick myself for sounding like an imbecile and compounding my own guilt in seven heedless words. Explain what? That the Lady Knights were indeed a proud product of Welton? That I had robbed people, including the viscount, his nephew, and my own brother? That I should be on the other side of this parlor wall being tried like a lowly criminal in the courtroom? I swallowed, my throat thickening.

“Zia?” my mother said, but her expression was not condemnatory.

“We…no, I mean, it was just me…nobody else. I wanted change,” I stammered. “The church couldn’t pay their lease, and there was an orphanage that needed money for clothes and food. It wasn’t all bad, because we only needed to get to three hundred pounds to pay off that debt, and we managed it. Welton is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I glanced at my teacher. “Or at least Miss Perkins was.”

But my redirection was too late as astonishment bled through the room. Oh, dear God, I was bungling this completely. That was the thing when something became more interesting than the truth. Highborn girls gone wild with hysteria was far more provocative than any precious orphanage in need of saving.

My father appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “You are saying you were part of this gang ? And don’t try to convince me that you acted alone.”

“Papa, I…” But there was nothing I could say to stop the hurt and betrayal from blooming over his face. I wasn’t only part of the Lady Knights. I had led them into this, and now here we were. I deserved whatever would come my way.

“It’s not a gang, Your Grace,” a familiar voice said softly from behind us.

Footsteps echoed through the large but already crowded parlor. With effort, I turned in slow motion, my mouth dropping open in surprise. Why had Greer come? She and the others should not be in this room. I would take the fall, not them. “Greer, no.”

“Hysteria!” Viscount Hollis sneered.

“No, my lord. Not at all,” Greer said, pulling herself to her full height as Nori, Blythe, and Lalita joined her, the last trying and failing to seem brave. Nori met her father’s eyes with her head held high. “Quite the contrary. We were all of perfectly sound mind.” Her proud, fierce gaze flicked to me. “But we cannot let an innocent person be blamed and castigated for our choices; not our teacher…and certainly not our friend.”

I felt my eyes well with tears. God, I was so lucky to have her— them —in my corner. They didn’t have to do this. They had so much more to lose than me, and yet they had shown up.

“Miss Perkins is not at fault here,” I said, turning my beseeching stare to my father. “The whole thing was my idea. She’s innocent.”

“Innocent?” The viscount let out an actual growl. “No matter how much you try to sugarcoat it, she is the source of the corruption. The school must be shut down at once!”

“Actions must be taken,” the sheriff burst out as everyone stared at the teacher in question. “Someone must be held accountable. We cannot have our young women running around willy-nilly and being encouraged to do God knows what. Vigilantes, you say? Preposterous!” He shook his head in abject disgust.

“It’s not like that,” I protested, but they did not want to hear any more, the noise in the room rising as they bellowed, poor Miss Perkins firmly in their vicious sights. It would be seconds before the bailiff would be called at this rate. And it would be Miss Perkins in that trial room, fighting for her life. “You can’t do this! She has not done what you’re accusing her of!” But my voice went unheard in the melee. Even her sisters threw their own flesh and blood to the wolves, desperate to extricate themselves from blame.

My mother clapped her hands loudly, commanding attention, her mouth pulled into a tight line. “I have heard enough, and so has our family barrister, the Right Honorable Mr. Kaneko. We are leaving, and Miss Perkins will accompany us.”

“Your Grace,” a purple-faced Mr. Atkins sputtered. “This is highly untoward. This woman has been accused of causing controversy.”

Mr. Kaneko stepped forward. “Unless you have empirical evidence that Miss Perkins or these girls were involved in a crime against the viscount’s person, or you are certain beyond a shade of any doubt that she is the instigator of an unqualified diagnosis of hysteria, I’m afraid you have nothing but conjecture.” He smiled at Nori before he turned to a seething Viscount Hollis. “You may certainly file your grievances, but it will not be this evening, sir.”

“This is absurd!” the viscount fumed.

My mother sniffed. “Absurd or not, Viscount Hollis, you may take your accusations up another day, but right now I am taking my family home.” The words alone were harmless, but the underlying meaning was not. The Duchess of Harbridge was not a woman to be crossed. She could ruin lives with a cut direct. One word in aristocratic circles, and he would be persona non grata and ousted from high society.

“Nephew, with me,” Viscount Hollis said with a sharp jerk of his head.

Rafi’s spine locked, and he deliberately reached for my hand in front of everyone present. “No, Uncle. I’m with her.”

The viscount sneered, gaze sliding to me. “You’re siding with this scapegrace and her mouthy mother?”

My father let out a growl, body practically vibrating with rage. “Be very careful, Hollis. That is my wife and daughter you’re denigrating. I might be a duke, but I’m not above planting a facer.” He turned his acerbic stare to Rafi, his gaze droppingto our linked palms, fire flashing in his gaze. “And you. Gaming hells? What’s next? Brothels? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay a far step from my daughter.”

I gasped as Rafi went rigid. “Papa, wait. You can’t!”

My father’s jaw locked. “I can, and I will.”