Page 23 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

21

The following day, Effie presented herself at the Comptons’ house in Grosvenor Square, armed with a renewed sense of purpose.

Miss Compton was, as ever, the likeliest means of gaining access to the Comptons’ residences in London and Hampshire. If Effie had any hope of searching those places, she would need to maintain favorable relations with the girl.

Last night’s events had been an unfortunate setback. Miss Compton would almost certainly have heard by now that Lord Mannering had escorted Effie home. It was precisely why Effie had wasted no time in coming to pay her respects.

Parker admitted Effie into the marble-tiled hall. “Lady Compton is out this afternoon,” he informed her. “Miss Compton is receiving.”

“How fortunate,” Effie said. “It is Miss Compton I have come to see.” She waited for Parker to take her up, but the butler didn’t move. Not immediately. He lingered a moment in the hall, regarding her with a troubled frown.

Effie had worn a violet-sprigged white organdy day dress with a ruched bodice and dainty pearl buttons. It was as unlike the black mourning garb she’d donned in Ellis Street as day was to night. She nevertheless felt a quiver of anxiety, fearing Parker might recognize her. “Is anything the matter?” she asked.

“No, miss,” he said. But his troubled aspect remained as he escorted Effie to the drawing room. He glanced at her several times as they ascended the stairs, eyes lingering on her face and figure as though struggling to recall a fact just out of his reach.

Effie prayed he wouldn’t make the connection between her and the veiled widow he’d observed outside Mrs.Naismith’s house. If he did…

But there was no point anticipating trouble. Not when Effie had trouble enough already.

Bringing her to the door of the drawing room, Parker announced her name in dour tones: “Miss Flite.”

Miss Compton sat on a lavish sofa upholstered in crane-and-pagoda-embroidered Japanese silk. She wasn’t alone. Ruth Mannering was seated across from her. She was still in her bonnet and gloves, a brown cloth paletot buttoned over her modest gown. She rose as Effie entered.

“Euphemia,” she said. “I was just taking my leave. You were to be my next stop.”

Effie exchanged curtsies with her before warmly taking her hand. “And you were to be mine.”

Ruth scanned her face with concern. “How are you faring after last night’s events?”

Effie was conscious of her appearance. She’d cried too much yesterday, and this morning, when she’d risen from bed, her looking glass had showed the proof of it. There were dark smudges under her eyes and a certain paleness beneath her golden ivory complexion.

It wasn’t only on account of the tragedy. It was owing to Gabriel. He hadn’t yet sent the old woman’s direction. Effie had found herself anticipating his message far too much. And not just because of the implications about her mother, but because of her feelings for him. Try as she might, she couldn’t simply shut them off like a water tap.

“I slept very ill,” she admitted. “And you?”

“I’m bearing up.” Ruth gave Effie’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Would that I could say the same for Miss Compton.”

Miss Compton remained seated, a look of displeasure on her beautiful face. The folds of her ruffle- and lace-trimmed day dress billowed around her in a cloud of lustrous pink silk.

Effie went to her with a show of concern. She took her hand, just as she’d taken Ruth’s. “You poor thing. I heard that you’d fainted.”

Miss Compton’s hand remained limp in Effie’s. She tugged it away at the first opportunity. “Any lady of refinement would have been similarly affected.”

“Many women fainted,” Ruth said. “According to this morning’s paper, some were so much afflicted they had to be conveyed to St. George’s Hospital. And that is not all.” She lowered her voice. “Mr.Galezzo expired last night, not long after he was removed from the Gardens.”

Effie had seen the report in this morning’s edition of the Courant . It had said the man had been conveyed to his home in Chelsea, where he had lingered for hours in an unconscious state before finally succumbing to his injuries.

“A tragedy, to be sure,” Effie said. “He was so young and so very talented.”

“Must the two of you speak of it in front of me?” Miss Compton whisked open her painted fan. She wafted it rapidly in a burst of pique. “It’s a miracle I’m not still confined to my bed after what transpired. I shouldn’t have bothered to come down at all if not for so many people calling to ask after my welfare.” She gave a petulant sniff in Ruth’s direction. “Though some have been markedly absent, I must say.”

Ruth’s sober expression took on a consoling air, even as her eyes glinted with impatience at Miss Compton’s affected invalidism. “My brother sent me in his stead. He meant no offense. Indeed, I thought it showed uncommon delicacy on his part. He had no desire to remind you of the events of last night.”

“As if any lady could forget!” Miss Compton turned her hostile glare on Effie. “I notice that you seem to have recovered with remarkable ease, Miss Flite.”

“Not at all,” Effie said. “I’m sure I shall be having nightmares for weeks.”

“I feel the same,” Ruth said. “One must soldier on, of course, but…I find myself in need of peace and quiet after yesterday’s events. My brother is escorting me home to Luxford Place for a brief respite. He’s making the arrangements as we speak.”

Miss Compton ceased fluttering her fan. “Lord Mannering is leaving London?” She sat up straight in her seat. “For how long?”

“We shall be back Wednesday afternoon.” Ruth turned to Effie. “Regrettably, it means I must miss that morning’s lecture at Lady Bartlett’s house.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Effie said. “I was looking forward to attending.”

“You needn’t forgo the pleasure on my account. Her ladyship welcomes all comers. You have only to show your face and her butler will admit you. Bring a friend, if you like.”

“Are you quite sure Lord Mannering will be coming back?” Miss Compton asked.

“Of a certainty,” Ruth said. “He is intent on attending Mr.Chapin’s balloon ascent at Cremorne Gardens. It’s set for two o’clock if the weather is fine. Philip is confident we can make it if we depart Luxford Place by ten. I’d have thought, after last evening, he would have lost the taste for such spectacle, but he claims balloons are in a different category from high wires.”

Effie smiled. “I admire his sagacity.”

“That’s one word for it,” Ruth said. Curtsying to them both, she took her leave, promising to call again on her return to London.

Effie was left standing alone in front of Miss Compton, like a wayward schoolgirl in anticipation of a dressing-down. There appeared little hope of being invited to sit.

It wasn’t the time to show weakness. One could be amenable—conciliatory, even—and still be decisive.

Effie helped herself to a seat beside Miss Compton on the Japanese sofa. Their skirts bunched against each other. “I gather you’re upset that Lord Mannering escorted me home,” she said, unprompted. “Pray, don’t be. He only exerted himself because he sincerely promised Lady Belwood he’d guarantee my welfare. Had he lost me in the Gardens—”

The entirety of Miss Compton’s body stiffened. “But you weren’t lost, were you? You were with that Royce fellow. Lord Powell said the man carried you away. Meanwhile, I was on the grass, in fear for my life, with no one to attend me.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Effie said gently. “Lord Mannering didn’t leave your side until he was assured you were safe in the carriage with his sister and Lord Powell. Indeed, anyone would say he showed more care for your welfare than he did for mine. I was but an afterthought to him.”

A pucker formed in Miss Compton’s brow. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“That’s understandable. You were distraught. So were we all.”

“It was a dreadful spectacle,” Miss Compton said. “I shall never forget the gruesomeness of all that blood.”

Effie couldn’t forget it, either. Mr.Galezzo had been performing for them. Risking life and limb for their coin, and their amusement. Yet, now he was gone, people like Miss Compton were more concerned with the harm they’d suffered in witnessing the tragedy of his death than they were with Mr.Galezzo actually having died.

Was it any wonder Ruth required a respite in the country?

In that moment, Effie wished she might follow her example. She was tired of fashionable London. Tired of pretending to be something she wasn’t.

But there would be no withdrawing from the field—and no money with which to do it—until her job was finished.

“Poor thing,” Effie murmured again, far more sympathetically than she felt. “You must give it time. The memory is still very fresh.”

“Everyone else has had the grace to call and offer their consolation,” Miss Compton said. “Lady Lavinia, Miss Whitbread, even Lord Powell. But not Lord Mannering. Oh no, not him.”

“He did send his sister,” Effie reminded her.

“A likely story! He should have called on me himself. He should have known what was due to me.” Miss Compton’s eyes glimmered with angry vulnerability. “That I must be left to wait upon him, never knowing if he’ll grace me with his presence or if he’ll slight me—” She stopped short, fingers clenching the sticks of her fan. “He never used to be so cruel.”

Effie studied her face. Reluctant compassion stirred at the genuine torment she saw there. “If the acquaintance pains you so, why do you put up with it?”

“It wasn’t always so. He was exceedingly attentive to me at Christmas. We spent two weeks in each other’s company at Orleigh Park with Lady Lavinia’s family in Devonshire.” Miss Compton fidgeted with her fan. “She claims we were too much in each other’s company. She says that, perchance, his lordship has grown tired of me.”

“Perhaps he’s merely recognized you’re ill-suited,” Effie suggested.

Miss Compton’s eyes flashed to hers. “Has he said so?”

“Not to me. But once a gentleman’s affections turn cool…” Effie hesitated.

She was meant to be using Miss Compton, not offering the girl heartfelt advice. The two of them weren’t friends, nor anything approaching that state. Indeed, they didn’t even like each other. Still…

The indelible bonds of sisterhood compelled Effie to speak honestly.

“You don’t want to wed a man who isn’t besotted with you,” she said. “Distance can only grow after marriage. If that union begins with coldness and disregard, what do you imagine will come in the years that follow? It can only lead to unhappiness.”

Miss Compton stared at her. “You would advise me to give him up? After I have been secretly attached to him for nearly a year?”

“Count yourself lucky that is all it’s been. You’re still very young. In time, you’ll find someone you like better.”

“There is no one I will ever like better,” Miss Compton declared.

Effie’s heart thumped in bitter accord with the assertion. She thought of Gabriel. Of the pain that came when one’s tender feelings were so drastically at odds with the realities of life. “You feel that now, I don’t doubt it. But it doesn’t change the fact that you deserve a gentleman who will put you first. All women deserve it—if it’s a gentleman they want at all.”

“What else should they want?” Miss Compton asked, perplexed. “The alternative to marriage is… spinsterhood .”

The thread of disdain in her voice as she uttered the word provoked a faint smile from Effie.

How ignorant some women could be about their own source of power!

“Spinsterhood is a contradictory state,” Effie said. “Both most maligned and most desirable. In the absence of marriage, a woman retains her freedom, in law as well as in fact. She can do as she likes.”

Rather than intrigued, Miss Compton appeared appalled by the idea. “What is there worth doing without the protection of a gentleman?”

“Women don’t require a gentleman’s protection. They’re perfectly capable of protecting themselves. All they lack is the knowledge to do it.” Effie gave her a curious look. “Hadn’t you a governess to tell you so?”

“If that is what your governess taught you,” Miss Compton said repressively, “she was a very different breed from mine.”

Effie’s mouth curved with bittersweet memory, recalling Miss Corvus’s strident lectures on feminine independence. An Academy girl must be armed for the battle of life. She must know how to read and to think. She must be equipped to defend herself.

“When all the world deserts you, you will have no friend but yourself to rely on,” Miss Corvus had told them. “See that you are a fierce and competent friend. A friend to be reckoned with.”

“Yes,” Effie agreed quietly. “She was, rather.”

“My governess believed young ladies should be educated only so far as required to be a suitable helpmeet to their husbands,” Miss Compton said. “My father believes the same. It is the common way of things among girls of my class.”

My class, not our class.

Effie didn’t fail to note the distinction. Even at her most defenseless, Miss Compton was still in possession of as many barbs as a hedgehog. “Then you must educate yourself,” Effie said. “There’s no good reason why learning should stop at the schoolroom. Not when there are books, and women’s salons, and—”

“Really, Miss Flite. After last night, education is the last thing on my mind.”

“Quite so,” Effie said, undeterred. “You require diversion.” She paused to consider. “Perhaps you might accompany me to the lecture at Lady Bartlett’s on Wednesday?”

Miss Compton blinked. “To hear some frumpy bluestocking talk radical nonsense?”

“Miss Mannering doesn’t consider it nonsense. If you intend a long-term association with the family, I should think it well to cultivate those interests that—”

“Yes, I see.” Miss Compton gave a thoughtful flutter of her fan. “I suppose I might make an effort, even though I find such radicalism to be—”

“What’s this about radicalism?” Lord Compton’s voice sounded from the entrance of the drawing room.

Effie’s gaze jolted to the doorway. Her pulse quickened on a rush of trepidation. She hadn’t anticipated encountering his lordship today. And certainly not like this.

He was dressed for home in a pair of charcoal gray trousers and a burgundy smoking jacket with a velvet shawl collar. A disconcerting sight. Effie had never seen him so casually attired.

She stood as he entered, offering a flawless curtsy. “My lord.”

“Miss Flite.” He bowed to her, smiling suavely. “You are not, it is to be hoped, corrupting my daughter.”

Effie summoned a smile in return as she resumed her seat. He was teasing her, she could tell. The fine hairs on the back of her neck nevertheless lifted in warning. “Impossible, sir. You must know your daughter is incorruptible.”

“I should hope so.” He bent to press a kiss to Miss Compton’s cheek. “How is the invalid today? Not overexerting herself, I hope?”

Miss Compton dutifully accepted her father’s tribute. “Mama said it was better I should receive callers than languish alone in my rooms.”

Lord Compton straightened. “Your mother is still out?”

“She’s visiting her dressmaker.” Miss Compton settled back on the sofa. “Miss Flite has asked me to accompany her to one of Lady Bartlett’s meetings.”

“I see.” Lord’s Compton’s attention returned to Effie. His gaze held the same gleam of simmering interest he’d betrayed on the previous occasions they had met. “Tell me, how has a lovely young lady like you found herself caught up in Lady Bartlett’s toils?”

“Miss Mannering invited her,” Miss Compton replied before Effie could answer.

Lord Compton cast a repressive look at his daughter. “Miss Mannering would do better to direct her attentions closer to home.”

Miss Compton flushed deeply.

Effie recalled Miss Compton having said that her father disapproved of Lord Mannering’s gambling habits. Doubtless he knew Mannering was indebted to Gabriel. “Is Lady Bartlett an objectionable person?” Effie asked.

“She meddles in the affairs of men,” he replied.

“The education of British girls?”

“Quite so. The subject is best left to the children’s parents.”

“Not every girl is fortunate enough to have parents,” Effie pointed out.

“In which case her learning must be guided by her betters,” Lord Compton said. “I have several gentlemen acquaintances who sit on the boards of charity schools. The girls within are brought up in accordance with their prospects.”

“While girls of good family—”

“Must be trained to be good wives and pleasant companions. It is a husband’s privilege to manage the other aspects of their lives.”

“Finances and so forth?” Effie queried, thinking of Miss Corvus.

“Among other things.” Lord Compton smiled at Effie again with fatherly condescension. It was an expression at odds with the one that continued to glimmer at the back of his eyes. “I despair of seeing genteel young ladies trouble their heads with such matters. Pray don’t tell me you are one of them, Miss Flite?”

“Miss Flite is a bookish sort of person,” Miss Compton said. “She has a great interest in your library.”

“Ah yes. My daughter informed me that you perused one of my medieval texts the night of our musicale. I trust you found it sufficiently enlightening?”

Effie wondered if Miss Compton had shared everything about that night with her father. If she had…

It would mean that Lord Compton knew about Effie’s lost hairpin. That he knew about her disappearing upstairs during the performances.

Despite his outward civility, despite his fatherly air, she would be a fool to underestimate him.

This was the man who had bested Miss Corvus. If Effie was going to take him on, she’d have to remain on her guard.

“I did, sir,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Regrettably, I only had but a few moments to admire your collection. I have been anxious to see it again ever since.”

“I would be pleased to show it to you now,” Lord Compton said. “If you can spare the time.”

Effie’s senses trembled a warning. She had eagerly anticipated perusing the viscount’s library again, but not with the villain himself as her guide. Still…

The opportunity of being in company with the man was too great to refuse.

“I would like that very much,” she said. “Thank you, my lord.”

Miss Compton moved to rise.

“No need, my dear,” her father told her. “You must rest from your ordeal. I shall take charge of your charming guest.” He gestured to the door of the drawing room. “After you, Miss Flite.”