Page 9 of The Wrath of the Wallflower (Revenge of the Wallflowers)

A week later

Alice grabbed the basket on the seat next to her and dragged the precious cargo into her lap. The coach hit yet another rut and nearly bounced Olivia off the seat across from her. Somehow the idea to have Dickie and Seamus drive them along the narrow mews lanes between Goodrum’s House of Pleasure and the Dowager Countess of Stanton’s Grosvenor Square townhouse seemed a poor choice at the moment. Olivia had suggested they do so as a way to involve as few people as possible in their plot. Not to mention the laundress had threatened both lads with a painful death if they breathed a word to anyone, including Lady Camilla and especially Sinjin.

“Why do you keep going over those instructions?” she asked Olivia. “You followed every step Sinjin listed.” She patted the basket where three carefully sealed earthenware crocks were nestled on a bed of wool fleece under a heavy cotton cloth. “The mixtures are correct. You don’t make mistakes.”

Olivia snorted and handed the page Alice had torn from Sinjin’s journal back to her. Alice folded the worn wrinkled paper and slipped it into her black velvet reticule. She did her best to ignore the sharp pang in her breast every time she remembered how she’d acquired the means of this final plan of revenge. She told herself because she wasn’t using the mixtures he’d formulated on Stanton, Weatherly, or Earden, she wasn’t truly going against his wishes. She had yet to convince herself.

“You are certain they will attend Lady Stanton’s at-home?” Olivia asked. “This is all for nothing if they don’t show up.”

“They’ll be there. Lady Camilla mentioned that Millicent has set her cap at Lord Stanton and Millicent never goes anywhere without her loyal acolytes to sing her praises to one and all. You’re certain about the room under the stairs?”

“Absolutely. I’ve watched from the foyer and from the hallway to the kitchens many times. When people hand their hats and coats to the footmen or that toplofty butler of hers, those things end up on shelves and hooks in the little room under the stairs. I’ve delivered clothes there many times.” Olivia’s role as London’s most sought-after laundress gave her access to parts of Mayfair’s homes Alice had never had occasion to see.

“Perfect. All we have to do is wait for everyone to arrive, sneak into that room, paint Millicent, Ophelia, and Margaret’s bonnets with Sinjin’s magical mixtures, and make good our escape.” Alice sat back as the carriage slowed behind the dowager countess’s mews. Lady Stanton had her own establishment as her son tended to hold notoriously debauched entertainments in the earl’s residence. This information came as no surprise to either Alice or Olivia. The carriage lurched to a halt.

“We’re here,” Seamus announced as he opened the door and let down the steps. “Dickie says go through that gate and follow the path. There’s a door that leads right into the servants’ passage behind the kitchens. You won’t run into anyone as they’ll all be scrambling to put on the feed for the countess’s guests.”

“How does Dickie know this?” Alice asked as she pulled the hood of her cloak up and hung the basket on one arm and her reticule on the other.

“Don’t ask,” Olivia said, and pulled up the hood of her cloak as well. She stepped to the front of the battered, borrowed carriage where Dickie sat on the driver’s bench. “Keep a sharp eye. You two be quiet and don’t cause trouble. We’ll be wanting to leave here in a hurry.”

Dickie rolled his eyes at his sister. “Don’t have to tell me how to make myself scarce. You two do what you came to do and…” He narrowed his eyes and looked from Olivia to Alice. “What did you come to do?”

“Don’t want to know,” Seamus sang quietly.

“Precisely,” Alice said, as she patted Seamus on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Olivia.”

They trod as softly as they could through the kitchen gardens towards the back of the townhouse. The scent of the various herbs, some already in full growth and others sprouting up through the damp earth, filled the air around them. Rain hung in the air, and London would likely see another storm before the afternoon was done.

Once they reached the door in Dickie’s instructions, Olivia lifted the latch and opened the old wooden portal just enough for her and Alice to slip in one by one. Fortunately, a few small lamps lit the way down the dark, narrow corridor. Drops of moisture slid down the walls and dropped onto their cloaks from the rounded roof mere inches above their heads. Alice held the basket close to her chest so as not to jostle the crocks of the formulas Olivia had mixed that morning. Whether because of the thought of what they were about to do or the close confines of the passageway, she suddenly could not catch her breath.

“Wait here,” Olivia ordered. She opened a door that let in both light and air, and Alice gulped in several breaths. Her nerves steadied, she took a few steps closer to the open door. She was at the very end of the corridor that ran alongside the front staircase and led to the kitchens. Olivia stood farther up the corridor. She glanced back and waved Alice forward. By the time Alice scurried up to join her, Olivia had the door to the little room they needed open and waiting.

“Thank goodness,” Alice sighed. “I don’t think anyone saw us.”

“Shhh.” Olivia clutched her arm and dragged her into a corner that would be hidden when the door was opened.

“How will we know when the guests have arrived?” Alice whispered.

“Here.” Olivia turned around and pointed to a narrow gap in the wall behind them. The slit was wide enough to see out into the foyer, but not wide enough for anyone to notice. “You watch. I’ll need you to tell me which bonnets belong to those three scurrilous harpies.”

“Right.” Alice peered out into the foyer. In mere moments the guest began to arrive and the noise of the chattering women echoed off the domed ceiling of Lady Stanton’s entrance hall. She and Olivia froze when the tap of a footman’s steps grew closer. The door opened and trapped them in complete darkness. Alice held her breath. Olivia tapped her shoulder to remind her to watch the foyer. During what seemed like an eternity of footmen coming back and forth, Alice mulled over her decision to go through with this last act of revenge.

Perhaps Sinjin was right. She had so much hope for her life now because of him. He was everything she’d ever wanted or needed. She loved him, and despite his inability to say the words she suspected he loved her too. If only—

Olivia gasped. An all too familiar voice rang out in the foyer. Alice checked the gap in the wall to be certain. Millicent, Ophelia, and Margaret had arrived, causing their usual stir. Other young ladies flocked around them like barnyard fowl, clucking and squawking and admiring their gowns and bonnets. Each was a perfect English rose with porcelain skin, bright blue eyes and shimmering blonde hair, perfectly styled to accent their cheekbones and foreheads. Seeing them mincing about and being personally greeted by the dowager countess set Alice’s teeth on edge.

“They say he is a bit of a dullard, you know, or perhaps a bit mad?”

Oh no, they deserved what she and Olivia had planned for them. The footman’s steps sounded like thunder as he crossed the marble floor and came into the little room. He placed Millicent, Ophelia, and Margaret’s bonnets on the table in the middle of the room. They were the same millinery creations the three women had worn to Gunter’s. After the footman hurried out and closed the door, Alice released the breath she’d been holding and pointed out the hats to Olivia. Her friend’s answering smile was absolutely terrifying. They waited in silence until the foyer grew silent and the last of the footman passed by the closed door on the way to the kitchens.

Olivia peeked out the gap in the wall. “All clear. They’ve closed the drawing room doors. Hurry.” She took the basket from Alice and set the three crocks onto the table next to the bonnets. Whilst Alice opened the crocks Olivia retrieved to paintbrushes from the bottom of the basket. They turned the bonnets upside down and stared at the insides of each.

“How should we do this?” Alice asked.

“I say we put some of each in each bonnet.” Olivia grinned. “Their hair will look like a crofter’s wife’s quilt. Quickly. We need to finish and slip out before anyone comes back.”

They worked quickly and quietly. Each mixture was used to dye hair a different color based on the ingredients added to a base mixture. Alice never would have dreamed Sinjin would know the properties of various barks and berries needed to produce hair black as night, hair red as blood, and hair a mousy brown color. Apparently, these combinations had been used since the time of the Egyptians.

As Olivia used all sorts of natural items to achieve the sort of success as a laundress that had every family in London clamoring for her services, she had contacts everywhere from Chinese apothecaries in Limehouse to French hairdressers in Spitalfields who had escaped the revolution in France. From the dried green shells of walnuts to pomegranate seeds to myrtle leaves to red beet seeds, Olivia had gathered the necessary supplies and followed Sinjin’s recipes. And now she and Alice were painting the insides of the three horrible ladies’ bonnets with a combination of these formulas. The dyes would not last forever, but they would suffice to embarrass Millicent, Ophelia, and Margaret for a few weeks.

“Finished?” Olivia asked. She wrapped her paintbrush in an old serviette they’d brought and placed it in the basket. Alice could only nod. The audacity of what’d they’d done began to sink in, and she knew she needed to leave before she changed her mind. She handed Olivia her brush and hurriedly fastened the lids on the three crocks. In her haste to place them in the basket she knocked her reticule off the table. Olivia froze and put her finger to her lips. Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Alice bent down and felt around for her reticule. She grabbed the little velvet bag and stuffed it into the basket. Olivia covered everything with the cotton cloth. The footsteps faded in the direction of the drawing room.

“Time to bloody go,” Olivia muttered. She went to the door, opened it, and peeked up and down the corridor. “Now.”

They ran on light feet down the corridor and ducked into the servants’ passage. Once at the end of the passage they scampered across the kitchen guardian and all but threw themselves into the carriage behind the mews. They were thrown from their seats into the floor when Dickie sprung the horses into a quick canter. By the time they reached Grosvenor Street they were back on the carriage benches laughing helplessly.

“I wish we could be there when those three take off their bonnets the next time,” Olivia said once they’d stopped laughing.

“We won’t need to be there. We’ll likely hear Millicent no matter where we are,” Alice replied. However, once Dickie set Alice down around the corner from her Berkeley Square home and went to take Olivia back to Goodrum’s, before he returned the carriage he’d borrowed from a hack driver, Alice had a cold chill run through her that had nothing to do with the weather. The sky turned suddenly dark, and she hurried into Uncle Percy’s house wondering if she’d gone too far.

Sinjin tugged at his neckcloth and straightened his waistcoat for the hundredth time since he’d wandered into the Duke of Chelmsford’s library. A family dinner in the home of one of England’s most powerful dukes was not something he ever imagined he’d be attending this Season. He had not seen Alice in a few days and even then, they had not been alone enough for any meaningful conversation. When the invitation arrived to dine with the duke and duchess and a few friends he’d steeled himself and accepted. He’d received a good deal of teasing from Reggie and Frederick for his trouble, but they’d let him borrow some of their clothes so that he might make a good impression.

Nothing had prepared him for the all-consuming need he had for Alice. His nights had been plagued by dreams of their joining in his conservatory. He could not concentrate. He sat at his work table and stared off into the miasma of plants and trees without a single thought in his head save Alice and the touch of her skin, the perfection of her breasts, the taste of her and the feel of her as she shuddered to completion around him. He suspected he’d run mad, but if he wasn’t mad then he was in love, and he had to tell her.

“Sinjin, there you are.” Alice glided into the room and his heart stuttered. She wore a gown of rich, bright, blue silk. The heart-shaped bodice bared her shoulders and a tempting expanse of her ivory skin to the crests of her breasts. Tiny pearls were sewn in swirling patterns across the skirts of the gown and seemed to warm the glow of her skin. “Everyone else is in the drawing room. We’re going in to dinner now.” She crossed the room and took his arm. “Will you escort me to the table?”

“I…I’ve missed you. Alice…” He was a grown man, an educated man, and here he stood unable to string three words together.

“Yes?” She looked up at him, her eyes bright and so full of life and something more, something he’d never seen before this moment. He kicked the library door closed and backed her up against the dark, smooth wood. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he crashed his lips down on hers. She pushed back kissing him with the fierce feminine fire he’d always felt in her. Their tongues tangled and she gasped into his mouth. She tasted of sherry and Alice, only Alice. He kissed her until he thought they might burst into flame, until neither of them could breathe, and finally stopped to rest his forehead against hers.

“You are going to marry me, aren’t you?” He opened his eyes wide, stunned by what he’d said. She was as surprised as he if her expression was any indication.

“Sinjin, I…goodness.” His heart began to sink. He’d misread her, perhaps?

“Alice? Mister Perriton?” The Duchess of Chelmsford’s voice called from down the corridor. Alice fumbled with the door latch, opened the door, and leaned out to answer her.

“On our way, Aunt Eleanor.” She dragged Sinjin out of the library and took his arm as they made their way to the dining room. “We’ll talk about this later,” she whispered, as they went to their places at the table. Sinjin shook his head to clear himself of the sensation he’d been struck by Gentleman Jackson in the boxing ring.

Alice was seated across from him. The duke was at one end of the table and the duchess at the other. Lady Camilla was to his right and his sister, Cordelia, was to his left. His brother-in-law, Lord Daedalus Whitcombe, brother to the duke, was seated across from Lady Camilla, and Mister Lionel Carrington-Bowles was seated across from Cordelia. As this was a somewhat informal family dinner, the food was served a la francaise, and the conversation was lively. This allowed Sinjin to study Alice and try to understand how she might eventually respond to his somewhat haphazard proposal. He had to stop thinking about it as he winced every time he did.

The food was delicious since Mister Carrington-Bowles’s friend, Nathaniel Charpentier, had catered the meal for the duke and duchess. Sinjin was not terribly fussy or knowledgeable when it came to appropriate dinner fare. However, the roast lamb was cooked in some sort of lemon and orange sauce. The potatoes were seasoned with a variety of herbs which definitely piqued his interest.

“Do you know if Mister Charpentier grows his own herbs?” Sinjin asked during a lull in the conversation. He realized he hadn’t spoken a great deal as they all stared at him for a moment, except Alice. She smiled encouragingly and winked.

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Mister Carrington-Bowles said. “Aunt Camilla has an extensive glass house here in London and an even larger one at Willow Place, our country home. Why do you ask?”

“Not many households have access to the sort of herbs and spices I am tasting in these potatoes,” Sinjin mused.

“Mister Perriton is an avid botanist,” the duchess said. “I am not surprised at the sensitivity of your palate, sir.” Alice fairly beamed at her aunt’s praise of him, which lifted Sinjin’s spirits considerably. A silly idea, but there it was.

“You should speak with Nathaniel,” Mister Carrington-Bowles said. “He is always researching combinations of herbs, berries, and even flowers to flavor his dishes. His approach to cooking is very scientific as well as artistic.”

“I think that would be wonderful,” Alice said. “Sinjin is always coming up with formulas and ways to use plants.”

“Perhaps Nathaniel and Mister Perriton could lend their expertise to solve the scandal that came of the Dowager Countess of Stanton’s at-home the day before yesterday,” Lady Camilla said.

“Oh! Damn! I mean…Forgive me, Uncle.” Alice picked up the wine glass she’d knocked over as one of the footmen blotted the stain spreading across the pristine white tablecloth.

“No harm done, my dear.” A slight smile played about the duke’s lips.

“What scandal?” Cordelia asked.

“Apparently Miss Millicent Rutherford and two other young ladies attended the countess’s at-home. After which they spent the afternoon at a garden party thrown by that dreadful Villiers woman. When they arrived home, they removed their bonnets and their hair was dyed three different colors—black, red, and brown.”

Sinjin’s blood ran cold. A round of laughter and exclamations made their way around the table. He glanced at Alice who immediately looked away. She couldn’t have!

“What would Sinjin and Nathaniel know about something like that?” Lord Daedalus asked. He forked a piece of lamb off Cordelia’s plate and she slapped his hand.

“Well, apparently,” Lady Camilla said eagerly, in the fashion of all grande dames imparting gossip. “A page containing some sort of formulas containing berries, roots, and such was found at Lady Stanton’s. Her lady’s maid is French and seems to think the formulas were some sort of recipes for hair dyes. She thinks the bonnets were somehow infused with these dyes, and now three young ladies are sporting very…singular hair. It is said Miss Rutherford’s screams could be heard in the street. Poor girl.”

“You would recognize something like that if you saw it, wouldn’t you, Mister Perriton?” the duchess asked Sinjin, though she had turned her attention to Alice.

“Perhaps,” Sinjin said softly. Across from him Alice closed her eyes as if in pain. “I do not study the cosmetic uses of plants as much as I do the medicinal purposes.”

“I doubt if Nathaniel would know anything about that sort of thing either,” Mister Carrington-Bowles observed as he helped himself to some more of the spring peas cooked with onions. “However, I would be interested in some of the medicinal uses of herbs and plants you have discovered, Mister Perriton.”

“You are welcome to come by my conservatory anytime you wish. I have heard of your dispensary in Seven Dials, and I would be very interested in helping you with your work.” Sinjin continued to study Alice even as he spoke with the other guests at the table. She, however, looked everywhere save at him. Which gave him his answer, of course. She’d somehow used his concoctions to perform one more act of revenge. His hope was that vengeance was now out of her system, and so long as no one discovered who had come up with those dyes the two of them might move on with their lives.

As to her going behind his back and how she acquired his formulas, that was yet another thing they would discuss later.

“Sinjin, dear,” Cordelia said and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you out of your conservatory. I cannot help but think Alice has been a good influence on you. Even your wardrobe has improved.”

“As I knew you and Daedalus would be here this evening, and that you would report my every move back to Mama, I had little choice. However, I will say Lady Alice has encouraged me to venture out into society more, so long as she is there to keep me safe.”

“A wise choice on your part,” the duchess said and raised her glass to him. A ripple of laughter ensued. Alice finally looked at him and smiled. A din of loud voices and running footsteps approached the dining room.

“What the devil?” the duke stood so abruptly his chair fell backwards. The doors burst open and Seamus stumbled into the room with the duke’s butler close on his heels.

Sinjin slowly pushed to his feet. “Seamus?”

“Come quick, sir,” the boy gasped, his hands on his knees. His face was smeared with dirt and he had a cut above one eye. “They’ve done summat terrible to the glass house. Missus Beatty hit one with a coal skuttle. I think she’s killed him. You have to come.”