Page 48 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

48

Julia rubbed her hands together and walked to the hearth, although she could not be cold within the warmth of the drawing room. She took the iron poker from its stand and dug into the flames, where Brummell’s note had burned.

“Well,” she said. “That was rather unexpected.”

I watched her as she placed the poker back into its slot and walked to the window, twitching a perfect curtain pleat into further perfection.

“You are perturbed,” I said.

“Of course I am. Are not you?”

“Yes, indeed.”

She shook her head. “I think we differ in our agitation, Gus. You crave this type of thrill, but I do not.”

I opened my mouth to protest but shut it again. Perhaps it was a fair observation.

She placed her hands upon the windowsill, her head bowed. “I get so frightened. When you went into the forest, I could barely breathe the entire time for fear that you might never return. And when Mr. Kent was taken—”

“I get frightened too,” I said.

How many times had I blinked past the image of Mulholland’s leering face in that circle of men or the sensation of his grabbing hands?

“But it is not only that,” Julia said. “I may have stopped taking the blue mass pills, but I am still fatigued, still not well.”

I bit my lip, stopping myself from commenting upon that happy decision.

“And we are at war with France, Gus,” she continued. “We are not trained for such things. Moreover, we would be in the company of men to whom we are not married, whom we have no real claim upon.”

“Except love.”

She eyed me for a moment, silently conceding that claim. “Even so, it is just not done. We are Lady Augusta and Lady Julia. We do not sully ourselves with the matters and work of men. Especially such sordid work as the Alien Office. We would be two unmarried women in the company of two unmarried men, neither of them acceptable to our family or our social sphere. If it was discovered, we would be ruined. Beyond contempt. Or thought mad and pitied.”

I had not thought of that aspect of the mission. Traveling with Evan in another country, in the guise of another woman. Another life and another set of rules without the eyes of English society upon me. An interesting prospect. Still, that was not Julia’s point.

“You are right. It would certainly be unconventional,” I said.

“Unconventional?” Julia gave a small laugh. “That is an understatement. The truth is, Gus, I am a conventional woman. Unlike you, I do not wish to flout society.”

“By loving Mr. Kent, I think you already do.”

She pressed her fingertips to her face and shook her head. “No, I have not stepped boldly into society with Mr. Kent. I have not shown my attachment to the world. I—” She stopped, turning to look out the window at some commotion below. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” I crossed to the window.

A town carriage stood at our door. Duffy and Harriet had clearly just alighted, for their footman was folding up the step and closing the carriage door behind them. I grabbed Julia’s arm to pull her away from sight. Damn, too slow: Harriet looked up and saw us at the window, raising a hand in greeting. We could not send Weatherly down to claim we were not at home.

“I suppose this visit was inevitable,” Julia said.

“Inevitably irritating,” I muttered.

My sister cast a critical look around the drawing room, then walked over to the sofa where Mr. Whitmore had sat. “Is that a mark? Harriet is always so…observant.”

“No, there is nothing there,” I said.

She eyed it suspiciously but accepted my verdict. A quick circuit of the room adjusted the position of a vase, tidied Julia’s pen back into its holder, and wiped a speck of dust from the side table. Then Weatherly’s knock upon the door sent us both to stand before our armchairs.

“Come,” I said.

The door opened and Weatherly announced, “Lord Duffield and Lady Duffield, my ladies.”

Harriet trod daintily into the room—again wearing her blue wool and ermine-trimmed pelisse but without the bonnet—followed by our brother in his customary Weston. His hat and cane had been handed over downstairs, but he still wore his caped greatcoat. All good omens of a short visit.

“Good morning, sisters,” Harriet said, pausing ever so slightly for us to curtsy first. We obliged, then received her curtsy and Duffy’s bow.

“Good morning, Harriet,” Julia said with an almost genuine smile. It was more than I could conjure. “Good morning, Duffy. Shall I send for tea?”

“Oh no, not for me,” Harriet said, casting a coy look at Duffy.

“Nor for me, Julia.” He offered his arm to his wife and escorted her to the sofa. Harriet sat, but Duffy continued on to his usual position standing at the mantel. “We do not stay long.”

I refrained from murmuring “amen” and took my seat, Julia claiming her own armchair beside me.

“You no doubt know why we are here.”

“Absolutely not,” I said, finally managing a smile through my teeth.

Duffy sighed. “You are going to be difficult, I see.” He glanced at Harriet, who gave him an encouraging nod, her tightly tonged curls bobbing at either side of her face. “I am here because of the events at Davenport Hall. I can barely believe the behavior I witnessed, from both of you. Interfering in Lord Deele’s affairs, taking advantage of Lord Davenport, and worst of all, associating—nay, worse than that—actively helping and consorting with a criminal and a man claiming to be a Bow Street Runner. It does not bear thinking about.”

“You seem to have done quite a great deal of thinking about it,” I said. “Although I wonder how you reconcile your part in the evening. Or should I say your lack of part.”

Duffy glared at me. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you failed to help either Julia or myself. I asked you for your sword and you refused, and the least you could have done was to stay on the road with Julia. But no, you turned tail and ran.”

Duffy drew himself up. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“That is your word, not mine,” I said.

“Duffield did exactly as his duty required, Augusta,” Harriet said, small mouth pursed. “He is a magistrate. Besides, he had more important obligations than to pull you out of your ridiculous situations. Duffield, tell them.”

Duffy tugged at his waistcoat hem, regaining some composure. “Harriet has told me that it is highly probable she is enceinte with the Duffield heir.”

I looked at Harriet, who smiled smugly up at Duffy. I had to admit I did not know much about childbearing, but Charlotte had told me the way one knew one was with child. If my quick calculation was correct—barely four weeks had passed since the wedding—then that was very fast indeed.

“How wonderful,” Julia said. “Congratulations.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, perhaps a little too baldly.

“Gus!” Julia hissed beneath her breath.

“It is, indeed, early to be sure,” Harriet acknowledged, some color mounting her cheeks, “but I am fairly certain it is so, and the situation, we thought, called for the announcement.”

“Indeed,” Duffy said. “We only tell you at this early point in our expectation because there can be no more of your foolish behavior. The Duffield heir must be born into a family of spotless reputation. There can be no more unnatural infatuations with criminals and the lower orders. No more careering around the countryside, brandishing weapons and lying to all you meet. You have already brought infamy upon the family, and frankly, I cannot see a way to fully contain what you have done. Not when Ellis-Brant and his awful wife—the worst gossip in England—witnessed it too. They saw you drive off with those men. Both of you, by yourselves, into the night. And you, Augusta, returning”—he gestured to my face—“beaten like some whore.”

“Duffield!” Harriet protested primly.

“Apologies, my dear,” Duffy said.

“Your concern for my well-being warms my heart, brother,” I said.

“You have only yourself to blame, Augusta. As it stands, we must prepare ourselves for some scandal. Harriet and I, however, have determined a course of action that should preserve our family name and your reputations.”

I looked across at Julia: They have a course of action.

Julia pressed her lips together: We should listen.

I narrowed my eyes: Really?

Apparently it was a list of things, for Duffy counted the first one off with a touch of one forefinger upon the other. “To begin, you must cut all ties with those two men. All ties. It makes me sick to think you have been in their company alone, especially you, Julia. I thought you, at least, understood your own worth, even if Augusta does not.”

Julia shifted on her seat.

“Secondly, I have ordered the dower house at Duffield to be opened. We think it is best that you quit this house and London and live there from now on. You are well past the age to retire from society, anyway, and I am sure you will find enough families of good repute in the area for your social requirements. Finally, you must write letters of apology to Lord Deele for your interference in his affairs, and to Lord Davenport for the masquerade you enacted upon him and his guests. I have already written to him to say these events were prompted by mid-age megrims, and you should lean upon that explanation. Perhaps that will go some way to ameliorating the scandal.”

“And if we do not?” I asked. I was rather proud that I spoke the words rather than shouted them.

“You have no choice, Augusta,” Harriet said. “Duffield and I feel that our child must have aunts of impeccable reputation. If you do not follow our advice, we cannot allow you to be part of our child’s life.” She turned to Julia, a kind smile upon her face. “I am sure you do not wish to miss out upon the joys of being an aunt, Julia. I know you are fond of children.”

We had all somehow ended up looking at Julia.

She took a breath—a quiver within it, for she did not like such confrontation—and stood. “Duffy, Harriet, thank you for coming today. I am so pleased to hear your good news.” She lifted her chin. “However, Augusta and I will not be quitting our home and taking up residence in the dower house. We will not be writing letters of apology. And we will certainly not be cutting all ties with the men that we love. Quite the opposite. I will not be told where to live or how to conduct my life. And I will especially not be told whom I can love. Nor will Augusta.” She turned to Harriet. “And shame upon you, sister, for using your unborn child as blackmail to force us into the lives that you want us to live for your own convenience. Shame on you.”

Harriet gasped. “Duffield, surely you will not allow her to speak to me in such a way.”

Duffy’s face darkened. “Julia, Harriet is the senior in rank here. You must show her the respect she deserves. I thought you understood the importance of position and family.”

“I do, Duffy. But I fear you do not.”

“Julia, be sensible. If you do not do as we ask, I will be forced to disown you. I cannot have you and Augusta bringing more shame upon yourselves and our family. I will disown you! What do you say to that?”

Julia picked up the small bell on the table between us and rang it. Our footman promptly opened the door and bowed. “Samuel, please show Lord and Lady Duffield out.”

Duffy drew himself up to the very top of his very average height. “I cannot believe you are choosing a life of scandal and degradation over your own family’s wishes.” He rounded upon me. “It is not like you to let Julia take the lead, Augusta. For once, you must pull her back from this precipice on which you both stand.”

“In this instance, brother, Julia speaks for both of us,” I said.

Harriet rose from her seat. “Duffield, they are beyond reason. Let us go.”

Our brother drew in a long breath through pinched nostrils and stalked over to his wife. He offered his arm. She rose with great dignity and together they walked from the room, without looking back and without any farewell or courtesies.

I waited until Samuel had closed the door, then turned to my sister. I knew such a confrontation would have taken a toll upon her nerves.

“That was very brave,” I said.

“I feel quite sick.” She pressed her fingertips against her lips.

“Do you need something?” I started toward the brandy decanter.

“No, I will be quite well in a moment or so.” A few steps took her to the writing table. She sat and slid a new piece of paper across the desk. “I think we should pack only those gowns that we commissioned from Madame Alisette: the ones fashioned in the French mode, and in the French silk. All our other clothes are far too English in style and will give us away.” She picked up her pen. “I shall start making a list.”

“You are coming to France?” I clapped in elation. “Even against Mr. Kent’s advice?”

“I will not allow anyone to tell me how to live my life,” she said. “I am going because I have discovered that I do not wish to be parted from my true family.” She put down the pen again and held out her hand for me. I closed the distance between us and clasped her still trembling fingers. “Mr. Whitmore is right,” she added. “Together we are formidable.”

“And on occasion, ill-mannered too,” I said, smiling.

“On occasion,” my sister conceded. “But only under provocation.”