“I always suspected what sort of man Spalding was.” Sands gripped her arms gently and pulled her against him. “I heard the rumors. But you know how such things are ignored by Polite Society.”
“I know,” Hannah mumbled.
“Listen to me, Hannah. I am glad that you shot him. Do you hear me? I only wish that I had had the privilege of doing so myself: If I had been acquainted with you then, I would have done so.”
“Edward.” Hannah held him more tightly.
“I told you, Hannah, there is nothing on the face of this earth that could turn me away from you except to learn that you loved another”
“Never,” Hannah vowed. “You are the only man I have ever loved. The only one I will ever love.”
Sands touched her hair. “Then from now on, will you also trust me?”
“Yes.” Relief and joy were mingled in Hannah’s voice. “I am so sorry that I did not tell you everything long ago.”
Sands looked at Marcus. “It would appear that I am in your debt, sir. Not only for helping Hannah that night, but for shielding her from all the questions and suspicions that ensued.”
Marcus shrugged. “It was nothing.”
Iphiginia smiled proudly. “That is Masters for you, Lord Sands. A gentleman to his fingertips.”
“It was Hannah who made me into a gentleman.” Marcus thrust his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the seat of his coach. He stared out the window into the night and thought about the past. “She taught me everything I needed to know so that I could move confidently in Society.”
“One cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” Iphiginia said. “Lady Sands may have given you a polite polish, but the truth is, you must have been born with the proper instincts for noble behavior.”
Marcus glanced at her, amused. “I was born a farmer, Iphiginia.”
She dismissed that with an airy wave of her gloved hand. “What has that got to do with it? You would be a true nobleman if you fished for a living or sold vegetables out of the back of a cart.”
He was touched by her naive faith in him. He tried to hide it behind a blandly derisive expression. “How very democratic of you. You sound like an American.”
“As far as I am concerned, the title of gentleman belongs to those who earn it, not to those who happen to be born into the right families.”
“That is not a commonly held view.”
Her mouth curved in the shadows. “I rarely hold common views.”
Marcus grinned briefly. “I am well aware of that. It is one of your more endearing qualities.”
“Only a man who also holds uncommon views would appreciate such a quality in a female.”
“No doubt.” Marcus went back to his brooding contemplation of the night. It was a relief to be freed from the burden of Hannah’s secret, he thought. Normally such things did not bother him, but he had not liked having to keep the truth from Iphiginia. She was the first woman with whom he had ever wanted to be completely open.
Having a confidante was a new experience for him. It was a simple pleasure but a profound one.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“What are we going to do now? Mrs. Wycherley is dead. She could not have sent those notes tonight. Who is behind this new trouble?”
Marcus brought his thoughts back to the issue at hand. “I don’t know yet, but I have a theory that whoever killed Mrs. Wycherley may have found her list of blackmail victims.”
“And that person has decided to carry on where she left off?” Iphiginia asked.
“It’s possible.”
Iphiginia frowned in concentration. “It makes no sense. By forcing the four of us into a confrontation tonight, he risked ruining the scheme. Hannah revealed her secrets to her husband. She can no longer be blackmailed.”
“Both you and Sands saw Hannah and me in a thoroughly compromising situation tonight, Iphiginia.”
“Yes, but I knew immediately that you were not guilty of seducing Hannah. And Sands did not believe it for very long, either.”
“No one,” Marcus said very deliberately, “least of all the kind of person who is willing to pick up where a blackmailer left off, could have predicted that outcome.”
Iphiginia stared at him in surprise. “Whatever do you mean? Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “You think that the villain assumed Lord Sands and I would believe the worst?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he was quite mistaken, was he not?”
“It was an assumption that most people would make,” Marcus said softly.
“Nonsense. Only those who do not comprehend connections based on mutual respect, intellectual affinity, and true love would be so idiotic.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, my dear, but I would venture to guess that ninety-nine percent of the populace in general, and one hundred percent of the ton in particular, fails to consider that such connections between men and women are even remotely possible.”
“Is that so?” Iphiginia’s gaze was startlingly direct. “How would you have reacted if you had walked into that chamber tonight and discovered me attempting to conceal the fact that a man was hiding behind the stage door?”
“I would have been bloody furious.”
“But would you have believed me if I had told you that I was innocent?”
Marcus thought about it. It came as something of a shock to realize that he would no doubt believe even the wildest explanation rather than face the possibility that Iphiginia had betrayed him. “Yes.”
Iphiginia smiled with smug satisfaction. “I knew it. You do trust me, sir, do you not?”
“Yes, but I still would have been bloody furious. Pray, do not take a notion to put the matter to the test.”
“I still do not understand what the villain hoped to achieve by throwing us all together tonight. Any way you look at it, he was putting his future income at risk.”
Marcus was silent for a moment while he examined the conclusion he had reached earlier. “Perhaps we are now dealing with someone who gets a thrill out of malicious mischief. Whoever it is may not need the money he could make by blackmailing Mrs. Wycherley’s victims.”
“But he may enjoy exposing their secrets?”
“It’s possible. Society breeds too many dangerously bored people, any number of which might find it titillating to use the information from Mrs. Wycherley’s files to wreak havoc in the ton.”
“Good heavens. What a terrible notion.”
“Not a pleasant one, I’ll grant you that.” Marcus had no intention of explaining the rest of his hypothesis.
What really worried him was that he had sensed a personal element about the mischief that had been produced tonight. It was almost as though someone had wanted vengeance.
Iphiginia’s eyes widened suddenly. “Aunt Zoe’s secret may be at risk again. This villain may choose to expose her past in order to create a furor.”
“It’s possible,” Marcus agreed.
“I must warn her.”
“There is nothing we can do now to stop the revelations, if that is what the villain intends.”
“Yes, I know, but poor Aunt Zoe. She will be devastated if her secret is revealed.”
“We shall see if we can locate her tonight and tell her what has happened. But it’s entirely possible the villain will take no further action for a while,” Marcus said. “He may wait to see if he achieved the desired effect from tonight’s little scene before he goes to the trouble of planning another such elaborate production.”
“Tonight’s work did take planning, did it not?”
“A considerable amount of it, I should think. Iphiginia, I’m beginning to have a few doubts about our earlier conclusion that Mrs. Wycherley was the blackmailer.”
“But Marcus, that makes no sense. It must have been her.”
“Perhaps. But in the morning I shall attempt to do something we have been unable to do until now.”
“What is that?”
> “Obtain some further facts which may establish her guilt.”
“What sort of facts?”
Marcus contemplated a passing carriage. “I shall ask my man of affairs to look into a few matters.”
“Such as?”
“Such as who owns the premises used by the proprietor of Dr. Hardstaff’s Museum.”
Iphiginia blinked. “Surely Dr. Hardstaff owns it or rents it, whichever the case may be.”
“I believe it’s safe to say that Hardstaff is very likely a nom de guerre of sorts,” Marcus said dryly. “It is a most uncommon name.”
Iphiginia frowned. “It is rather unusual.”
“A bit too appropriate for his line of work.”
Iphiginia looked momentarily disconcerted. “Hardstaff. Yes, I see what you mean.”
“In any event, I think it’s time to dig a bit deeper.”
“What do you hope to find?” she asked.
“I do not know yet.”
Iphiginia fell silent for a few minutes. Marcus assumed she was mulling over the night’s events. He was contemplating the instructions he intended to give Barclay in the morning when she interrupted his thoughts.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“Did you think that the Goddess of Manly Vigor on the right behind the transparency screen was a bit too thin?”
Marcus gave a crack of laughter. He reached out and pulled Iphiginia into his arms.
“Not in the least. I believe that she is precisely the tonic I require to maintain my manly vigor.”
They located Zoe at the Crandals’ ball. She and Lord Otis were just leaving the dance floor. They were both flushed from a lively waltz.
“ ’Evening, Iphiginia. Masters.” Otis’s eyebrows bobbed. “Didn’t know you were planning to attend this crush.”
Iphiginia looked at Zoe. “We must speak to you immediately.”
Zoe’s smile of welcome dissolved into an anxious expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Whoever killed Mrs. Wycherley appears to have acquired some of the information on her victims and is amusing himself by revealing their secrets,” Iphiginia said quietly.
“Oh, my God.” Zoe put her hand to her throat.
Otis gripped her arm in a supportive manner. “Calm yourself, m’dear. We can deal with this.”
Marcus took charge. “Let’s go out into the garden, where we can talk about this with some degree of privacy. There really is only one solution to this situation, you know.”
“We must tell the truth to Maryanne.” Otis’s whiskers twitched. “I told Zoe as much weeks ago when it all started. Chickens always come home to roost, I said.”
“But our precious Maryanne,” Zoe whispered in a shaky voice. “What will she say? What will Sheffield say? What about the marriage plans?”
“We shall get through this, m’dear,” Otis murmured as he guided her toward the doors. “From the very beginning we knew that someday we might have to face the thing.”
• • •
An hour and a half later, shortly before two-thirty in the morning, Marcus walked into his laboratory, poured himself a glass of brandy, and settled into the chair behind his worktable.
He surveyed the chamber by the light of the single lamp that he had lit. He needed to think and he always did his best thinking in this room.
He propped his boots on the table, leaned back, and took a sip of the brandy. It was his habit to let his thoughts drift aimlessly for a few minutes before he began to concentrate. The technique helped him to focus his attention.
He reflected briefly on the conversation in the Crandals’ garden an hour ago. He knew Iphiginia was anxious about her aunt’s situation, but Otis had seemed quietly satisfied with events. Marcus thought he understood. After eighteen years of being forced to play the role of a doting friend, Otis would now be able to claim his daughter.
By the end of the discussion, Zoe had seemed resigned to the inevitable, perhaps even relieved that the secret was about to come out.
It remained to be seen how Maryanne would respond to the news that Otis was her real father. Her wedding plans were unquestionably in jeopardy, but who knew how it would all fall out? Marcus thought. Sheffield was an independent-minded young man with a will of his own. If he really loved Maryanne, he might not give a bloody damn about the gossip.
If he really loved Maryanne?
“Bloody hell.” Marcus’s mouth turned down in disgust. He was starting to think like one of those idiot romantic poets. Obviously he had been spending too much time in the company of his brother and Iphiginia. Their distorted, overly romanticized views of the relations between men and women were having an insidious effect on him. He would have to take care that he did not allow them to influence him unduly. He was a man of reason, not a poet.
He had learned his lessons the hard way, formulated his rules so as to protect himself from the pitfalls of naivete and romantic inclinations.
A knock on the door of the laboratory interrupted Marcus before he could refocus his thoughts.
“Enter.”
“Marcus?” Bennet walked into the room.
Marcus glanced at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Bennet hesitated. “Lovelace said you were in here. I was on my way upstairs to bed. Thought I’d say good night.”
“I came in here to do some thinking.” Marcus looked down at the glass in his hand. “Have a brandy with me?”
“Thanks.” Bennet seemed relieved by the invitation. He crossed the room to the brandy table and poured himself a measure.
Marcus waited.
Bennet cradled the brandy glass and looked down into its depths. “I saw you with Mrs. Bright an hour ago.”
“At the Crandals?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“It was an awful crush,” Bennet said. “The ballroom was packed.”
“Yes, it was.”
Bennet cleared his throat. “Have you made plans for your wedding yet?”
“Mrs. Bright has not yet consented to be my bride.”
Bennet’s head came up swiftly, his expression one of amazement. “What did you say?”
“She is not precisely leaping at the opportunity to become my wife.” Marcus smiled ruefully. “She claims that although she is rather, ah, fond of me, she is not terribly keen on the notion of marrying me.”
Bennet choked on his brandy. “She must be mad.” In spite of his opinion on the subject, it was obvious that he was affronted by the news.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Marcus said. “But in truth she is far from mad. She is spirited, proud, independent, and very much an Original, but she is not mad.”
“How could she not want to marry you? You’re an earl, for God’s sake. And wealthy into the bargain. Any woman in her position would kill to marry you.”
“Mrs. Bright is quite comfortably well off, thanks to her own judicious investments. Nor does she seem overly impressed with my title.” Marcus smiled faintly. “She has a remarkably egalitarian notion of what constitutes a gentleman. I believe she has read a bit too much of Locke, Rousseau, and, very likely, Jefferson.”
Bennet was incensed. “She has not questioned your right to the tide, has she?”
“No.”
“I should hope not.” Bennet scowled. “Are you telling me that she might actually refuse your offer?”
“I am telling you that I shall have to put forth considerable effort in order to convince her that I would make her a suitable husband.”
“Hellfire,” Bennet breathed. “This is amazing. I do not know whether to be cheered by the news or insulted by her nerve.”
Marcus turned the glass in his hand and watched the lamplight dance in the crystal. “It was Mrs. Bright who convinced me to withdraw my objections to your plans to become engaged to Juliana Dorchester.”
Bennet glowered at him. “I don’t believe that. Why would Mrs. Bright get involved in my affairs?
Why should she give a damn whom I marry?”
“She cares about a great many odd things. And a number of people.”
“Marcus, do you actually mean to say that you changed your mind about my marriage plans because of something your good friend Mrs. Bright had to say on the subject?”
Marcus smiled ruefully. “Does that surprise you?”
“It astounds me.”
“I confess, you aren’t the only one. I was somewhat taken aback myself.”
“I cannot imagine you allowing anyone, least of all one of your paramours—” Bennet broke off abruptly when Marcus narrowed his eyes in warning. “I mean, one of your female acquaintances to influence you. Devil take it, I’ve never known you to alter your views on a subject once you’ve made up your mind.”
“That’s not entirely true. I’ve been known to change my mind when new facts are introduced which warrant a new conclusion.”
“Bah. That almost never happens because you almost never make up your mind before you have investigated all aspects of a matter quite thoroughly.”
“Suffice it to say that Mrs. Bright succeeded in causing me to alter my decision regarding your plans.” Marcus took a swallow of his brandy.
“Damnation.”
“It concerns you that I have allowed her to influence me?”
“Yes.” Bennet’s mouth tightened ominously. “Yes, it does, even though in this instance I have been the beneficiary of her interference. This is not like you, Marcus.”
“No, it’s not.” Marcus studied the clockwork man in the corner. “I have always made it a point to order my life along a few simple, straightforward principles.”
“You certainly have done so since I was a boy,” Ben-net agreed sourly.
“Mrs. Bright has caused me to bend, and in some cases break, several of my own rules. Barring the possibility that I have, myself, gone mad, what do you suppose it all signifies?”
“No offense, brother, but it strikes me that you have allowed your passions to rule your head.”