I Thee Wed

  Edison raised his brows. “Your point?”

  “My point is that if she is not a murderess, if she was indeed with you at the time Crane died, then it is obvious that she was in your bed. That means she is no better than any other round-heeled lightskirt. You are under no obligation to protect her.”

  “Neither you nor anyone else,” Edison said through his teeth, “is allowed to refer to my fiancée as a lightskirt.”

  Victoria stared at him. “She can have been nothing more than a brief fling for you.”

  “She is my future wife.” Edison removed his watch and flipped open the case. “I regret to say that it grows late.” He dropped the watch back into his pocket. “As much as I hate to cut short this charming conversation, I fear I must bid you good day, madam.”

  “If you are actually contemplating marriage to this Miss Greyson,” Victoria said, “then it can only be because there is some profit in it for you.”

  “Profit?”

  “Your success in matters of business is legendary. You would not make a move as significant as this unless you expected to reap some great financial rewards. Have you discovered that Miss Greyson is about to come into a fortune?”

  “Miss Greyson is, so far as I know, as poor as a church mouse. She apparently lost what little she possessed in an ill-fated investment scheme.” Edison paused long enough at the door to incline his head in a barely civil gesture of farewell. “But it is always illuminating to learn exactly what you think of me, Lady Exbridge. It is obvious that as the years go by, in your eyes I continue to fall far short of the illustrious example set by my noble sire.”

  A short time later Edison sank down into the second of two well-padded chairs that flanked the hearth in his club. He absorbed the comforting drone of low voices, rustling newspapers, and gently clinking coffee cups. The small, civil sounds would provide privacy for the conversation he was about to have.

  He picked up the coffee cup that had just been set on the table beside him.

  Ignatius Lorring was already seated in the opposite chair. Edison was heartened to know that his old friend still felt up to a visit to his club.

  Ignatius looked paler than ever, however, and Edison noticed that his chair was set even closer to the fire than it had been on the previous occasion when they had spoken in this room.

  Nevertheless, when Ignatius put down his copy of The Times and smiled at Edison, there was a flash of the old, familiar brightness in his eyes.

  “You look as though you are more in need of a glass of brandy than a cup of coffee, Edison.”

  “You have the right of it, by God.” Edison took a swallow of the coffee. “I have just come from paying a visit to my grandmother.”

  “Ah, that explains it, of course. I suspect she wanted to hear the details of your recent engagement. Perfectly natural.”

  “There is nothing natural about Lady Exbridge.” Edison put down the cup. “But there is nothing new in that, so we may as well turn to the reason I asked you to meet me here this afternoon.”

  Ignatius steepled his birdlike hands. “If you are hoping for information concerning Lady Ames, I fear I must disappoint you. I have had no more luck than you did. The woman appears to have sprung into existence like Athena from the head of Zeus, fully armed and gowned for the Season.”

  “Her finances are a mystery also,” Edison admitted. “I have been unable to discover the sources of her income. Nevertheless, my assistant happened across some information that will allow us to reach a little further into her past.”

  “I am eager to hear it.”

  Edison leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and contemplated the fire. “We have reason to believe that Lady Ames may have once trod the boards under the name Fanny Clifton.”

  “She is a former actress? That would explain a great deal.” Ignatius pondered that briefly and then shook his head. “But I have attended the London theater quite faithfully for years. Indeed, it is one of my passions, as you well know.”

  Edison smiled. “I am well aware of your love of the theater.”

  “Ah, yes. Had I been born in other circumstances, I believe I would have taken quite happily to a life on the stage.” Ignatius sighed. “But then I would never have discovered Vanzagara and the philosophy of Vanza, which has given me so much pleasure and satisfaction. In any event, I can assure you that I have never heard of this Fanny Clifton.”

  “Very likely because she never rose above the level of a player in a small traveling company that performed mostly in the North. And her career may well have been quite short.”

  “I see.” Ignatius bobbed his head in a robinlike motion. “That would explain why I am unfamiliar with her. Very interesting. It will certainly give us a new direction in which to search.”

  “If we can find a link to Italy and Farrell Blue, we would at least have some notion of how she might have got her hands on the recipe. In the meantime, something else has come up.”

  Ignatius cocked his head. “Indeed?”

  “Before I explain, I must ask you a question, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, what is it?”

  Edison looked at him. “I had an encounter with a practitioner of the art of Vanza last night. He was quite good. And, I think, quite young.”

  Ignatius’s brows rose suddenly. “Are you saying you were attacked? By a student of Vanza?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right here in London?” Ignatius looked flabbergasted. “But that is astonishing. Absolutely astonishing. And, I would have said, quite impossible. I am the only Grand Master in London at the moment. As you well know, I ceased taking on new students some years ago.”

  “Can I assume from your reaction that he was not in your employ?”

  Ignatius snorted. “He most certainly was not. What the devil led you to believe that he was?”

  Edison smiled slightly. “The fact that, as you just pointed out, you are the only Grand Master of Vanza in London. I was merely trying to eliminate all obvious possibilities. It did occur to me that you might have set someone to watch Lady Ames’s house and that he might not have realized that I was also involved in the matter on your behalf.”

  “Had I done so, I would have informed you.”

  “Then,” Edison said quietly, “we must assume that this young student of Vanza is working for someone else who is seeking either the recipe or the Book of Secrets. Or both.”

  “You did not question him?”

  “Our association was brief, to say the least.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He quit the contest shortly after he learned that I, also, had studied the arts.”

  “Hmm.” Ignatius blinked as he considered. “You do realize what you are implying?”

  “That someone else is searching for the book? Yes. I know what that means.”

  Ignatius stirred, as though uncomfortable in his chair. He gave Edison an uneasy glance. “We must assume that whoever he is, he is not after the recipe or the book for altruistic reasons. If he had sent a student or come to Town himself for an honest purpose, he would have contacted me immediately. He would have informed me that he wished to participate in the search for the volume.”

  “Yes.”

  “The fact that he has not done so can mean only one thing,” Ignatius said softly. “Whoever he is, he is one who no longer honors the true traditions of Vanza. If he exists and if he wishes to conceal his identity, he will not be easy to locate.”

  Edison smiled wryly. “I agree that it will not be simple to find a rogue practitioner of the art who wishes to remain hidden. His young student, however, is a different matter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Edison set down his empty coffee cup and pushed himself up out of the chair. “There cannot be many eager, young Vanza fighters flitting about London. It won’t be difficult to find him. When I have him, it should be possible to discover the identity of whoever sent him after the book.”

  “Bah. Do not waste your
time, Edison. We cannot afford to get distracted from our main purpose. The important thing now is to locate the volume before this rogue does.” Ignatius tapped his fingertips together. “If we fail, then I will have failed in my last act of true Vanza.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tell me, Miss Greyson, have you met the Exbridge Dragon yet?” Basil Ware smiled as he took the dainty blue velvet cushioned chair next to Emma.

  He had to lean close to make himself heard above the rumble of laughter and conversation. The theater box was crowded at the moment. Letty was holding court. Several aging admirers had appeared during intermission to pay their respects. Each had arrived with a glass of champagne for Letty. They were crowded around her ample bosom, which tonight was framed in scarlet satin.

  Emma’s own, more discreet bosom was set off by yet another low-cut green gown. This one was trimmed with a great quantity of gold ribbons, several of which were strategically placed to hide her nipples. When she had inquired about the possibility of filling in the neck with a bit of lace, she had been assured by both Letty and the modiste that the style was all the crack.

  Emma had put her doubts aside. After all, what did she know about such matters? she thought. She was a former paid companion, not a lady of fashion.

  Basil Ware’s appearance in the theater box a moment ago had surprised her. When he had arrived she had been occupied watching the scene unfolding in Miranda’s box, which was located directly across the theater.

  “Dragon? What dragon?” Emma peered through her opera glass and frowned at the sight of Edison bending a bit too gallantly over Miranda’s gloved hand.

  The notion had seemed quite clever when they had discussed it earlier. Between acts, Edison would visit with Miranda in her box and engage her in conversation in an attempt to draw her out on the subject of her past.

  It was all going according to plan, but Emma discovered that she did not care for the way Edison was hovering over Miranda. There was no need for him to sit so close that Lady Ames was able to brush her fingers lightly across his thigh. It was a seemingly careless gesture but Emma sensed that there had been nothing accidental about that little caress. Miranda was trying to spin one of her webs.

  “I was referring to Victoria, Lady Exbridge.” Basil sounded amused. “Your fiancé’s grandmother. She is here tonight. Presumably you are the reason.”

  Startled, Emma lowered her glass and turned to stare at Basil. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  “She is sitting in the third tier of boxes across the way.” Basil angled his head slightly to indicate the direction. “Fourth one from the left. You cannot miss her. She is the lady in pale lavender who has her opera glass trained on you.”

  “Half the theater seems to have their glasses aimed at me,” Emma muttered. And the other half were looking at Edison and Miranda, she thought.

  Nevertheless, she looked at the third tier of boxes and counted four from the left. She saw the small but extremely formidable-looking woman in the expensive lavender gown and matching gloves. Lady Exbridge did, indeed, have her opera glass focused in Emma’s direction.

  “The on dit,” Basil murmured, “is that she and Stokes despise each other. Unfortunately, after her son died, Lady Exbridge was left with no one except her bastard grandson for a relative.”

  “And he has no one but her,” Emma murmured to herself.

  “They have been engaged in a state of war ever since your fiancé stepped in to save the family estates from bankruptcy.”

  “I am aware that there is some strain in the family relationship,” she said cautiously.

  “That is putting it mildly.” Basil quirked a brow. “Stokes’s father was’ not much interested in financial matters or his estates. In fact, Wesley Stokes succeeding in gambling away his entire inheritance. And then he went and broke his neck in a riding accident.”

  “Yes, of course, I know the history,” Emma said crisply. “I think it was very noble of my, uh, fiancé to rescue the family fortunes after his father’s death.”

  Basil chuckled. “It was hardly an act of virtuous generosity or family feeling. The general consensus of opinion is that he did it to humiliate Lady Exbridge.”

  “Humiliate her? How on earth could such a gesture accomplish that?”

  “I am told that he hoped to force her to acknowledge him in Polite Circles. It was the very last thing she wished to do, of course. After all, he is an embarrassment to her. She chose to withdraw from the social world rather than to be put into the position of having to pretend that she was pleased with the family connection between them.”

  “How terrible.”

  “They say that Stokes is the living image of his parent. Every time Victoria sees him, she no doubt sees Wesley and what her son could have been had he been possessed of a different nature. It surely galls her no end.”

  “How very sad for both of them.”

  Basil laughed. “Come now, my dear Miss Greyson. You are much too softhearted. You do not understand how these things work in Society. I assure you that neither Stokes nor Lady Exbridge wastes any time feeling sad. They are too busy enjoying the combat.”

  Emma watched Lady Exbridge lower her glass and turn to speak to a stout matron seated beside her. She could not make out Lady Exbridge’s expression, but there was something in the stiff, brittle way in which she moved that told her, that Basil was wrong. Lady Exbridge took no pleasure from the war with her grandson. It did not require any great degree of intuition to know that she was a most unhappy and probably a very lonely person.

  “I wonder if—” Basil sounded suddenly very thoughtful.

  “Yes?” Emma glanced at him. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, really. Forget it.”

  “I can hardly do that when you are acting so mysteriously, sir. Just what did you mean to say?”

  “It’s none of my affair, of course, but, well …” Basil sighed. “Perhaps it is only fair to warn you.”

  “Warn me of what?”

  He lowered his voice and leaned forward with an earnest air. “Please do not take this as anything more than the natural concern of a friend. But it suddenly struck me that you may have become a pawn in the Stokes-Exbridge war.”

  “What in heaven’s name do you mean by that?”

  Basil’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You may have heard that Stokes’s mother was a governess who ruined herself in the affair with Wesley.”

  “Yes, I know. What has that to do with anything?”

  “Whether she likes it or not, Edison Stokes is Lady Exbridge’s only blood relative. The offspring of her only child. He is her only hope for carrying on the family name. Stokes has managed to buy his way into respectability. His own children, her future great-grandchildren, will be accepted into Society. She knows that better than anyone.”

  “What is your point, sir?”

  “It just occurred to me that there is very likely nothing on the face of the earth that would annoy Lady Exbridge more than to see Stokes select a wife she considers entirely unsuitable. A woman who, in fact, once held a station in life not unlike that of his mother’s. After all, this woman will be the mother of her great-grandchildren.”

  The shock of his insinuations took Emma’s breath. She rallied swiftly, however. After all, she thought, she knew the real reason Edison had announced his engagement to her. It had nothing to do with annoying his grandmother.

  “You are mistaken, Mr. Ware.”

  “Very likely,” he agreed graciously. “Please forgive me. I only wished to prevent you from being used in some devious purpose.”

  “I am not being used, sir.” At least, Emma added silently, not in the way you imagine.

  “Of course not.” Basil looked across the theater and smoothly changed the subject. “I see Miranda is up to her tricks again. She really is a most determined little witch, is she not? With her looks, she is probably not accustomed to failure.”

  Emma turned her attention back to Miranda’s box just in t
ime to see Edison glance in her direction. She thought he frowned when he saw Basil sitting next to her, but it was difficult to be certain from this distance. As she watched he turned back to respond to something Miranda must have said.

  Pursuing his inquiries into her past, Emma reminded herself.

  It occurred to her that two could practice the fine art of eliciting information.

  “You’re quite right, Mr. Ware. Lady Ames is very lovely.” Emma hoped she sounded casual. “Have you known her long?”

  “Not really.” Basil raised one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “We were introduced at the Connerville levee shortly after the start of the Season. I found her to be rather amusing, so I invited her to my country house party.”

  “Were you acquainted with her husband?”

  “Never met the man.” Basil grinned knowingly. “But I can hazard a guess as to the cause of his demise.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lady Ames can be a trifle exhausting, even for a man in his prime. I understand her lord was quite elderly. He probably never stood a chance. I venture to say he expired from overexertion.”

  Emma felt the heat rush into her cheeks. “I see.” So much for her talents as a sleuth. She cleared her throat and turned back to gaze fixedly across the theater.

  She saw at once that Edison had vanished from Miranda’s box. Another man had taken his place.

  “Well, I had best be off.” Basil rose abruptly to his feet and bowed deeply over Emma’s hand. “Your fiancé appears to be hurrying back to this box. Perhaps he took offense at the sight of me chatting with you.”

  She knew from the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that Basil was leaving because he had accomplished his goal. He had amused himself at her expense. It was all nothing more to him than a round of the popular pastime of flirting with another man’s lady. The game had no doubt had an extra fillip of interest tonight because of the presence of Lady Exbridge.

  “Do stay, Mr. Ware.” Emma gave him a steely smile. “I’m certain that Edison will wish to speak with you.”

  “I have no desire to find myself making a dawn appointment.” The laughter vanished from his eyes. It was replaced with something that could have been genuine concern. “I trust you will not forget what I told you at Ware Castle, Miss Greyson. If you should ever find yourself in, shall we say, unfortunate circumstances, you must get in touch with me immediately.”