Page 25 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

25

“What on earth are you doing in here, Lady Augusta?” the Ermine asked with an arch laugh in her voice. She peered into the shed.

Good question. I scrabbled through my hot daze for an answer.

“I was getting some apples for the change horses. They did such good work getting us here.” I paused a beat. Two can play this game. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Ellis-Brant?”

“I saw you go to the stables, and since I wished to speak to you privately, I thought this might be the chance.”

“I see.” Had she seen me go in here with Evan? And what could she have to say to me that had to be beyond the walls of the hall? “Well, I am on my way back to the house. Perhaps we could go together,” I said, moving toward the door. I kept my pace sedate, although I wanted to hustle her out of the doorway as fast as possible.

“What about the apples?” she asked.

She did not miss much. “You are far more important than change horses,” I said just as archly. “John can see to them.”

I sent him a glance of gratitude: for the warning and the apples. My coachman touched his hat.

At the doorway, I took the Ermine’s arm and used all my resolve not to look back at the tall stack of hay bales.

Mrs. Ellis-Brant walked in silence beside me until we had left the stable yard behind and were crunching our way across the large gravel driveway in front of the hall.

“Will you walk with me to the ha-ha?” She waved toward the steep grassy step at the end of the front lawn that dropped down to the beautiful Capability Brown gardens. “I would not wish to be overheard.”

“Of course,” I said.

We changed direction to walk across the wet grass, our backs now to the hall and anyone looking out a window. Although it was barely four o’clock, the night chill had already arrived and the gray daylight was giving way to impending dusk. If we were to traipse across the landscape, I wished I had thrown on more than a shawl.

“This is a rather delicate subject,” the Ermine said, glancing up at me. “I know you are very good friends with dear Charlotte. Perhaps I should start by asking if you are aware of a man by the name of Edward Harley.”

I could not help a jolt of surprise. Harley had been Charlotte’s lover; he had stolen her letters and, in a way, started this whole adventure.

“Ah, I see you are,” the Ermine murmured. “Then perhaps you also know that he was her paramour?”

“Did she tell you about him?” I asked. I could not conceive of Charlotte telling Emelia Ellis-Brant about anything, let alone her dalliances.

“Lud, no. But I have eyes in my head, Lady Augusta. I could see what was going on.” She paused for my comment, but since I had none, she continued. “I told him he was a cur and should take himself off, and I think my words had an effect, for he retreated to Bath soon after.”

“I see,” I said, biting my lip. I rather thought the rock I had slammed into his nethers had effected his hasty retreat a good deal more than her censure.

“I know Charlotte is a great lady, and such sordid associations are not uncommon among the—” She stopped, realizing she was about to criticize my own rank. “Anyway, she does not seem to have learned her lesson. I think she has installed another of her inappropriate associations here, at the hall.”

“Really? Who?”

“Mr. Talbot, of course.”

I stopped walking, my arm dropping from her hold. “You think Mr. Talbot is Charlotte’s lover?”

“ Lover —dear me, you do not mince words, Lady Augusta. Yes, I do. I have seen them in close conference together. He is clearly not here to study rare books; just look at the man, all brawn and muscle and too charming by far. Besides, there is something inherently untrustworthy about him. Do you not agree? Mr. Harley had the same slippery charm. She must be attracted to such dangerous jackanapeses.”

I stared at her, trying not to bristle at the comparison between Evan and the detestable Mr. Harley. “You think Mr. Talbot is untrustworthy?”

“I do, indeed. He may be a gentleman, but he is not being truthful. And neither is Charlotte.”

Well, she was right about that.

“I see. But why are you telling me this?”

“I believe we must intervene, for her own sake. She is keeping him right under dear Porty’s nose. You know I cannot abide such subterfuge, especially this kind of deceit.”

“Indeed,” I murmured, battling to keep the irony from my tone. Beyond the absurdity of the situation, I could see an inkling of opportunity. A rather splendid opportunity. “In what way do you think we should intervene?”

“Perhaps you could speak to her?”

I pretended to consider the proposition.

“No, I do not believe I can do so. It is not the manner of our friendship,” I said, my mind conjuring an image of Charlotte when I reported this conversation. It was entirely possible she would wet herself from laughter. I sighed gustily, as if thinking further upon the problem. “Perhaps we should keep them apart as much as possible,” I ventured. “I could suggest Mr. Talbot and I ride out tomorrow. For the day.”

“Yes, that is perfect,” the Ermine said gleefully. “We will keep them apart. I knew I could count upon you, Lady Augusta. God’s law is God’s law, after all, and if Charlotte is too weak to guard her marriage and her soul, then we, as her friends, must take action on her account.”

Too weak? The woman’s presumption—and her obtuseness—was astonishing.

“We are at the ha-ha,” I said, in lieu of my true thoughts. We both looked down the steep step. The impulse to push her off was fleeting but strong. “Shall we go back?”

We turned around, the Ermine taking my arm again. “I am so glad I spoke up, Lady Augusta. Together we will ensure Charlotte does not stray into another unfortunate liaison. Now, let me tell you something I heard about the vicar of this parish. You will be astonished, I assure you.”

···

In the end, I was the only one of our party to go down to dinner. Hester and Miss Grant had arranged to have trays in their rooms, and my poor Julia had succumbed to the migraine. Even so, when I returned upstairs to dress, she insisted on knowing what had happened. I gave her a quick summary of my meetings with Evan and Emelia—my interview with the Ermine raising a wan smile upon her face—then left her in her darkened room under the tender care of her maid, who knew how to manage her headaches. It occurred to me as I changed my gown that my sister was lately suffering far more of these attacks, and in greater violence. Together with her agitations, it was a worrying progression.

I called in on Charlotte in her boudoir on my way down to the drawing room and gave my report once again, this time to peals of laughter.

“Good Lord,” Charlotte said, wiping her eyes with a manicured fingertip. “The woman is insufferable. Did she really say she warned off Harley?”

“She did. But her interference will work in our favor this time,” I said, and outlined the plan.

“Well, I shall enjoy playing the frustrated lover, and it will have the added benefit of diverting Emelia’s attention away from Mrs. Carter and Miss Dashwood,” Charlotte said. She picked up the gown her maid had laid out for her to wear—a green silk column with pleating at the bust—and raised a droll eyebrow. “Considering my new role, perhaps I should choose something with more décolletage.”

I considered the green silk. “Any more and you may as well forgo the dress completely.”

Charlotte snorted. “I am no Caro Lamb. Did you hear about that?”

“I did.” Lady Caroline Lamb had literally served herself naked upon a platter at a party to celebrate the birthday of Lord Byron, her lover. Dear Caro had no concept of discretion. I felt sorry for her husband, but one had to admit to a small amount of admiration for her total disregard for convention.

Thinking of flouted husbands, I asked, “What about Porty? It is a poor trick to play upon him. What if he takes exception?”

“My husband is not one for recognizing undercurrents or indeed any kind of emotional nuance,” Charlotte said dryly. “Besides, we have an arrangement. I will inform Lord Evan of our liaison before dinner. I am sure he will be interested to know of our affair.”

As it happened—or perhaps it was a swift change made by Charlotte—I was seated next to Evan at the dining table. Porty, of course, sat at the head, Charlotte opposite her husband at the other end, and Mr. and Mrs. Ellis-Brant on the other side of the table. A small gathering in such a huge dining room. Due to the party’s size, Charlotte declared we were to dine en famille: instead of only conversing to the person beside us as was custom, we could converse across the table too. Although I was not sure that would be to our advantage.

“May I serve you soup, Lady Augusta?” Evan asked as the footman positioned the tureen upon the table.

Charlotte had ordered a fine repast: the first remove consisted of soup à l’oignon, duck rillettes, a casserole of rabbit, a cheese tart, green beans, fricassee of mushrooms, salmon vol-au-vents, and a turbot awaiting its place once the tureen had been withdrawn.

“Yes, please.” I tried to keep the warmth from my voice. I was, after all, playing the part of Charlotte’s judgmental friend.

Evan took my bowl and ladled out the rich broth, placing it in front of me. “And for you, Lady Davenport?”

“Thank you, yes, Mr. Talbot,” Charlotte said, managing an excellent simper. I stared down at my bowl, pressing back a snort of laughter; I had never seen my friend simper before. A glorious sight.

Evan smiled back at his alleged lover and ladled a bowl, placing it in front of her with a small, gallant bow.

The Ermine observed the interplay with narrowed eyes.

“I have had a letter back from Lord Alvanley today,” Porty said, his voice overloud in the scarcely populated room. The man did tend to shout rather than talk. “He and Mr. Brummell are presently visiting the Ladies of Llangollen.”

Of course; the Ladies of Llangollen were close by in Wales. Only hours away. If things were not so fraught, I would suggest Julia and I visit her friend Miss Ponsonby.

“They are on their way to Alvanley’s estate,” Porty continued, “so I have invited them to join our party at the end of the week for a few days.”

Charlotte looked at me, her face under control, but I could tell she was alarmed. As I was, and no doubt Evan beside me, but I dared not glance at him. Lord Alvanley was as close to the Regent as Mr. Brummell was, and both were leaders of society. They knew everyone and everyone knew them. George, of course, knew about Hester and Deele and had already shown his alliance. Or perhaps his indifference. But the same could not be said for Alvanley. There was every chance he had met Hester before she was incarcerated and I did not have the same leverage of friendship with Alvanley as I did with George to ensure his discretion.

“At the end of the week, you say, Porty?” Charlotte asked, her tone overly blithe.

Porty grunted. “Most likely. He says they will stay until Sunday.” He glanced at Mr. Ellis-Brant and Evan. “It is well into the season, but we could get in a shoot. There may be some birds left.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Ellis-Brant said heartily.

“Indeed,” Evan said, and I almost believed his enthusiasm.

“Are you a shooter, too, Mr. Talbot?” Mr. Ellis-Brant asked, clearly surprised. “I thought you bookish types didn’t go for sport.”

The Ermine’s husband was a big, genial man with an infectious laugh and an easy manner; I could see why Lord Davenport favored his company. I did wonder, though, how he rubbed along so well with Emelia. Perhaps his congeniality compensated for her uncharitable outlook on life.

“I enjoy all sports, Mr. Ellis-Brant. Shooting, riding, boxing. As well as my books.”

“Well, you’re in luck if you want to ride,” Mr. Ellis-Brant said. “The stables here are exceptional.”

“I agree,” Evan said. “Lady Davenport and I have already ridden the perimeter.” He took another spoonful of soup, sending a swift amorous glance at Charlotte.

The Ermine was not going to let that pass. “Did you know that Lady Augusta is an excellent horsewoman, too, Mr. Talbot?”

He glanced at me, soup spoon poised again. “I did not.”

“You do enjoy riding out, Lady Augusta; is that not so?” the Ermine prompted. She was working hard.

“Yes, there is nothing better than a day’s riding,” I said. “Perhaps we could venture out tomorrow if that suits you, Mr. Talbot.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Evan said politely.

“A marvelous idea. I shall enjoy that enormously,” Charlotte said.

“But, my dear, you promised to take me to visit your tenants tomorrow morning with charity baskets,” the Ermine said silkily. “I was so looking forward to it.”

“Did I? Oh yes, of course,” Charlotte said. “But you must go riding, Lady Augusta. I would not wish you to forfeit any pleasure.” She allowed a nicely judged instant of irritation and disappointment to cross her face. A performance worthy of the great Sarah Siddons herself.

“Well, that is settled to everyone’s satisfaction, then,” the Ermine said, glancing at me with a smug smile.

I returned my own smug smile.

To everyone’s satisfaction, indeed.