Page 2 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

2

By the time I trotted Leonardo into the mews behind our new Grosvenor Square home, my thoughts had shifted back to the mare I had bought and how I was going to justify the price to my sister. Perhaps if I asked Julia to name the horse, she would overlook the fact that I had paid three times the market price for a broken-down mare that we now had to stable in London at exorbitant cost.

John Driver, my coachman, emerged from the tack room.

“How was he moving today, my lady?” he asked, taking Leonardo’s bridle and receiving a muzzle nudge in the ribs for his pains.

“Very well, as you can see,” I said. “No more hint of that stiffness.”

“Good,” John said gruffly as he rubbed Leonardo’s forehead, then led him to stand beside the mounting block. “We were lucky on that score. Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but I don’t know what Lord Duffield was thinking, selling him like that to a man who rode heavy.”

I knew exactly what my brother had been thinking: How can I cause Augusta as much pain as possible? He had managed to do so, too, by selling the horse that had been my last precious gift from our late father. By God, I had been furious, and in truth I still could not forgive Duffy for such high-handedness. At least his perfidy, in the end, had not denied me my horse. Leonardo had been mysteriously delivered back to me. A gift—in absentia—from Lord Evan. Now my beautiful hunter was doubly dear to me: a gift from my father and my beloved.

“Have you had a chance to look over the gray?” I asked as I dismounted onto the block.

“I have,” John said. “Thomas told me what happened. It’s going to take some time to bring her back. She has a sweet nature, though.”

“Will she be sound again?”

“Aye. Although no thanks to the fool who nearly rode her into the ground.”

At the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas leading the limping gray toward the stables and, beyond him, two other figures, both female: one tall, bone thin, and swathed in shawls, the other smaller and in a print dress too fine for a maid. Good God, was that Lady Hester and Miss Grant? I gathered my habit skirts and hurriedly stepped down onto the flags.

What was Miss Grant thinking, bringing Lady Hester outside?

Over the last three weeks it had slowly transpired that Miss Grant was not only devoted to Lady Hester but also exceptionally stubborn, making our cohabitation increasingly strained. As I said to Julia more than once, if Miss Grant would just do as I asked instead of questioning me at every turn, then we would all be much happier. Julia had laughed and said that looking into a mirror could often be a discomfiting experience.

Miss Grant saw me crossing the flags and, with a reassuring touch to her beloved’s emaciated hand, hurried to meet me.

“What are you doing out here?” I demanded. “It is too dangerous for you to be wandering around. What if you are seen?”

Miss Grant bobbed into a curtsy but lifted her decided chin. “We are being careful, Lady Augusta. She just needed some air.” She looked back at Lady Hester leaning against the stable wall—sunken eyes closed, thin chest rising and falling in deep breaths—and lowered her voice. “In truth, now that she is strong enough to walk, she cannot abide being shut in a room too long. I think it brings back too much of the horror of her incarceration.”

I could readily believe it. I had seen her shackled to the asylum bed. Yet George Brummell’s revelations were still loud in my ears. And perhaps a little too sharp upon my tongue.

“I understand, but it is dangerous to be out here. You must return. My sister and I are doing everything we can to keep Lady Hester safe, but you must do your part.”

Miss Grant drew herself up to her full five foot five inches. Still a good four inches below my own height, yet it felt as if we were standing eye to eye. “That is unfair,” she said. “It is a half hour past dawn and I made sure only your servants were about. Or would you prefer Hester to stay in her room and scream with the horror of her memories?”

“Of course I do not want that,” I said. “Even so, you and Lady Hester are now our responsibility, and it is hard enough to keep your presence a secret without you wandering around outside.” I paused. Should I mention what George had told me, to drive home my point? No, she would tell Lady Hester, and the last thing that poor woman needed was more anxiety. I would not let any harm come to Evan’s beloved sister while she was under my protection. And that included bad news. “Please, come back inside now. Both of you.”

I ushered her toward Lady Hester, but she resisted, boots firmly planted on the ground.

“We are, of course, eternally grateful for your assistance,” she said. “But we are not your responsibility. When Hester has recovered some more strength, we will be on our way. I have every belief that Lord Evan—now that he has elected to stay in England for Hester’s sake—will help us find sanctuary. We do not wish to impose upon your and your sister’s hospitality or goodwill.”

“You are in no way imposing, nor do we want you to go,” I said hurriedly. Julia would not be pleased if our guests left prematurely on my account. And perhaps more selfishly, I did not want Evan to leave the country on their account, for I could see no possible sanctuary other than outside England.

“Thank you. However, when I have a plan for our safety, we will take our leave.”

I knew from experience that keeping loved ones safe was no easy task, but I refrained from airing my wisdom. Instead, I extended an encouraging hand toward the house. “Shall we?”

Miss Grant gave a stiff bow. “In a few minutes.”

I watched her walk back toward Lady Hester, the unease I felt at the Row now a definite sense of foreboding.

···

Two hours later, after regaining my composure and changing into a new blue gown, I went down to breakfast. I had, in fact, spent more time than usual choosing my ensemble. Later in the day we were expecting a call from Colonel Drysan, who had been present, twenty years ago, at the duel between Lord Evan and Mr. Sanderson that had sent Evan to the penal colony for murder.

I had organized this meeting with the colonel three weeks ago, but he had been forced to cry off due to an attack of gout. Well, that was the excuse he had alluded to in his note of apology, but I could not help wondering if he had, in fact, been avoiding the visit for some other reason. Whatever the case, I had reissued the invitation twice and he had finally agreed to make his call today.

I had high hopes for the visit. All accounts of the duel, including Evan’s own, reported that Mr. Sanderson had been fatally caught across the chest by the tip of Evan’s sword. Even so, I was not convinced that he had killed Sanderson. If there was any justice in the world, Colonel Drysan would provide some clue as to what had really happened and so set us upon the path to clear Evan’s name.

Julia was already installed at the breakfast table and intently reading a letter as she sipped her tea. She had, it seemed, dressed for the impending interview, too, for she wore a new white lace cap and a white gown with a dusky rose over-tunic—a heartening departure from the sorrow-drenched grays and purples she usually wore in memory of Robert, her late betrothed.

I was glad of the change, but I could not help noting that it had occurred after Mr. Kent, the Bow Street Runner, had visited us. Admittedly, the man had risked his policing career by obscuring the facts about Lady Hester’s rescue, and then compounded that risk by coming to warn us that the thieftaker Mulholland was now pursuing Lord Evan. Even so, it was clear the real reason he had called upon us was to see Julia. There was no doubt he was a charming man, but, as I reminded my sister, he was also a Runner who would have no compunction about arresting Lord Evan if given the chance. A rather awkward situation, all round.

Julia looked up from her letter and smiled as I took my seat. “Oh, you do look nice,” she said, then lifted the thick packet she was perusing. “I have received a letter from Miss Sarah Ponsonby.”

“Sarah Ponsonby? One of the Ladies of Llangollen?” The surprise of my sister’s correspondent temporarily overtook my own news. When we were very young, the Ladies of Llangollen were still one of the biggest scandals in society—two ladies of quality who had run away together to live in Wales. Time, however, had taken them from scandal to oddity, and their singular arrangement was now more or less accepted by the bon ton. “I did not know you wrote to Miss Ponsonby.”

“You do not know everything about me,” Julia said.

I refrained from answering. We used to share everything, but lately something had changed, creating a greater distance between us. Perhaps it was the advent of Mr. Kent. Or maybe it was our disagreement about the best treatment for the tumor in her breast. She firmly claimed faith in her doctor and her God. Whereas I had faith in neither.

“Miss Ponsonby and I have been writing—on and off—since the year of the French truce,” Julia added. “We met at that dinner Lord and Lady Davenport hosted at their estate. Do you remember? The two little ladies in the somber gowns with white ruff collars?”

I did not. It was, after all, ten years ago, and I had not been gifted with the same phenomenal memory as my twin.

“Anyway,” Julia continued, “since Miss Ponsonby and Lady Butler have gone against all convention and the wishes of their families to live together as close companions, I thought maybe she would have some wisdom to share in regard to Lady Hester and Miss Grant.”

“Good God, Julia, you did not tell Miss Ponsonby about Lady Hester, did you?” I asked. “All of society visits them in Wales on their way north. They know everyone. If they mention us and Lady Hester in the same breath, it will get back to Lord Deele. I wish you had consulted me before you did such a thing.”

“Of course I did not tell her. I am not a fool,” Julia said, frowning over the top of the letter. “You are not the only one in this house who can think strategically.”

“Well, what did you write, then?” I asked, somewhat ungraciously.

“I described, in only the vaguest terms, two ladies of our acquaintance who wished to set up a home together against the wishes of their families. Miss Ponsonby’s reply is quite touching, Gus. She says that it will be hard for the ladies to withstand the coaxing and coercion of family and friends, not to mention the scorn of society, but if it is truly what they wish, then to stand firm. I can only imagine what she and Lady Butler went through to find their happiness.”

At least Julia’s letter seemed vague enough not to have raised any singular interest. And we had never been socially linked to Lady Hester before she had been incarcerated. Perhaps no harm had been done, after all.

Biting back further remonstrance, I said, “Lady Hester and Miss Grant do not need any advice to stand firm. It is all they have done for the past three years.” I looked across at the empty chair opposite. “I see Miss Grant is not yet down for breakfast.”

Was she avoiding me after our confrontation?

“She is taking a tray with Lady Hester,” Julia said. “She seems somewhat out of sorts.”

So, that was a resounding yes.

I waited until Weatherly, our butler, had finished pouring my cup of coffee, then shifted a small vase of sad-looking Michaelmas daisies out of the way of the imminent sweep of my newspaper. Ever since we had moved in, Julia had made a point of sending one of our maids out every morning to buy a posy from the old flower woman who sat at the gates of the square’s central garden. According to our neighbors, the old woman had been there nigh on thirty years, scraping a living. Julia was now on a campaign to make every house in the square buy a daily posy. A challenge, since our neighbors were not generous and the flowers not particularly well-kept.

Julia put down the letter from Miss Ponsonby and opened her gold pillbox, choosing one of the blue mass pills prescribed by Dr. Thorgood for the breast tumor. She took one every day, as instructed, but frankly I could see no benefit from them. In my view it was well past time for a second opinion.

“Oh, and I have asked Cook to make a pound cake and a selection of biscuits for Colonel Drysan’s call today,” she added.

“A good thought. Cook’s baking does seem to put our male guests into good humor,” I said in a bland voice. Mr. Kent was particularly fond of Cook’s almond macaroons.

Julia placed the pill in her mouth and took a sip of tea, a toss of her head doing service both to wash down the medicine and to answer my jibe.

“Do not expect too much from Colonel Drysan, Gus,” she said, snapping shut her pillbox. “Twenty years is a long time. He may not remember anything.”

True, but I could not help hoping for some revelation. Julia picked up the next letter on the small stack, made a small sound of surprise, then broke open the wax with a flick of her thumb. I caught sight of the direction on the packet: written in Duffy’s impatient scrawl. What did our dear brother want now? Well, he would have to wait; I had a confession to make, as well as Brummell’s troubling news to impart.

“I rode the Row this morning, at dawn,” I said into the silence.

Julia looked up from the letter. “You rode with the grooms? Oh, Gus, really? At least tell me you took Thomas for propriety.”

“I did. It was exactly what I needed, my dear. A good gallop.” She opened her mouth to continue her protest, but I hurried on to the meat of the matter. “I came across Lord Milroy. He was with a Mr. Rampling, who was riding a lovely gray mare. The thing is, Julia, he was riding her lame, and even when I told him, he would not dismount. So I rather saw red and ended up buying her.”

“You bought her?” Julia echoed. “Gus, you cannot save everything in the world. Last week it was that cat with one ear, and now a horse? We have enough on our plates at the moment dealing with our new friends.” She glanced upward to the next floor, where Lady Hester and Miss Grant were situated. Although considering Miss Grant’s recently aired thoughts, perhaps they were not.

“The fool was going to damage her just because he did not want to walk, Julia. I could not bear it. John Driver says she will come good. You would have done the same.”

“I doubt it,” Julia said dryly. “You are rather formidable when you ‘see red.’?” She eyed me with resignation. “Perhaps we can use her for the servants’ gig.”

“A good thought,” I said with conciliatory enthusiasm, although the mare would be the most expensive gig horse in history. Before Julia thought to ask what I had paid, I added, “You will never guess who else I met there. George Brummell. And he had some rather disquieting news.”

With a glance, I gathered Weatherly into the conversation. He had accompanied us on all our missions of rescue and had proved himself as capable with his fists as he was with a wine inventory. I suspected he enjoyed an adventure as much as I did.

They both listened intently as I reported my conversation with Mr. Brummell, including his odd warning at the end.

“You trust Mr. Brummell’s information, my lady?” Weatherly asked when I had finished.

“I do. If anyone would know what is happening within society, it is the Beau. I think we will have only a matter of a week or two before Deele discovers his sister is in London and takes action.”

Julia sighed. “I do not know what is to be done with Lady Hester. She is still far too fragile to be moved. Besides, where would we move her to?”

“She may be fragile, but at least she is up and walking now. I saw her and Miss Grant in the stables.” I paused, letting that information settle. “I spoke to Miss Grant and she is adamant that once Lady Hester is recovered, they will be on their way.”

Julia frowned. “They were in the stables?”

“Indeed. Miss Grant told me Lady Hester cannot abide being shut in a room for too long. It brings back the horror of the asylum. Even so, it was very reckless. Particularly since I think the Runners may still be watching us.”

Or someone worse, but I had no evidence of that other than my own fear.

Julia shook her head. “I cannot imagine what she went through. We must work out a way for her to be more comfortable while she is here. Did you tell them about Mr. Brummell’s warning?”

“No.”

“Whyever not?”

“For Hester’s sake; she does not need that burden upon her recovery. And I rather think it would propel them into premature action.”

Weatherly offered me the bakery basket. I chose a dark baked roll and nodded my thanks.

“If I may say,” he said, “I concur with you, Lady Augusta. If you wish it, I could arrange for myself and the footmen to ensure they do not go outside. Politely, of course.”

“Absolutely not!” Julia said. “They have suffered enough anguish over Lady Hester’s incarceration. We must not add to their distress by incarcerating them here in our home, even in a polite manner.”

Although it worried me that someone might happen upon them outside, my sister was right. I nodded my agreement.

“That is a relief,” Weatherly said. “I thought I should offer the obvious solution, but I would not be easy with the task.”

I saw the memory of the asylum and its pitiful inhabitants in his face. He and Julia had not seen the worst of it, but there had been enough anguish in that experience for us all. Moreover, the mistreatment of the women must have brought back memories of his own early, brutalized years, before he was a free man. He had not told me much about his youth, but I had read Mr. Wilberforce’s abolitionist reports.

“We would never want to place you in a position that compromised your principles, Weatherly,” I said firmly. Although considering the last few months, that was rather a grand promise.

“Goodness no,” Julia added vehemently. “But as it stands, we must come up with a plan to find a safe haven for them that is close enough that the journey will not harm Hester’s recovery.”

“It will not be easy.” I tilted my chin at the letter on the table. “What is the news there? If Duffy and Harriet are still on their honeymoon, perhaps we could tuck Lady Hester and Miss Grant at Duffield House for a week or two.”

Julia picked up the letter again. “Alas, they have already returned, somewhat prematurely, it seems, due to…well, you will hear their reasons.”

She read from the letter.

We were disappointed in the Peak District and Harriet cannot conceive why it is lauded so much. Nor did we find the Lake District to our liking—the environs cold and the society disappointing. We do so dislike the accents in those parts—Harriet declares she cannot understand a word anyone says and believes that they speak so on purpose. Not to mention the boorish manners. We considered traveling to Scotland, but in truth it held no lure and, since I have given up the Bath let as the city no longer appeals to Harriet, we have returned to Hanover Square to settle in properly. We will then repair to Duffield House for Christmas.

“How could they not be pleased by the Lake District?” I demanded, ignoring the fact that Duffy had ceased letting the house in Bath, a residence our father had taken for our health and enjoyment. I also did not remark upon the fact that he and Harriet were now in London but not inclined to relate their adventures—or, rather, lack of adventures—to us in person. Purely, I knew, to snub me. I had figured I would be persona non grata with Duffy after I absconded from his wedding, and to be perfectly honest, it did not sting as it probably should have. However, I would sorely miss the Bath residence.

“I rather think Duffy and Harriet are incapable of being pleased by anything,” Julia said, uncharacteristically tart. She tapped the letter. “Duffy goes on to invite me to Christmas at Duffield, but…” She trailed off and I could read the next in her face.

“Does not invite me.” I crossed my arms. “I suppose it is to be expected.”

It did hurt to be barred from Duffield House at Christmas too. A lifelong tradition ripped away.

“I will not go either,” my twin said staunchly.

“Thank you, my dear, but I rather think you must. I do not wish to drive a wedge between you and our only remaining family.” I saw Julia about to resist and added, “One thing is certain: I would not trust Duffy to keep Lady Hester safe. He would more likely hand her over to Deele.”

“Sadly, that is true,” Julia said. “Let us think on the problem. In the meantime, I will speak to Miss Grant and apprise her of Mr. Brummell’s warning.”

“Do you really think that is wise?” I asked. Behind her, Weatherly’s face held the same dubious expression as my own.

“I think it is right,” Julia said.

Wise and right were not always the same, but I did not voice the thought. Instead, I broke open my bread roll and settled in to eat and wait—impatiently—for Colonel Drysan to make his call. Maybe he would impart something useful, or incriminating, that might hold the key to my beloved’s exoneration. And that restoration of Evan’s good name might, in turn, provide Lady Hester with a brother-guardian who did not seek to rip her from the arms of Miss Grant and incarcerate her in an asylum again.

A lot to place upon a polite interrogation held over tea and pound cake.