A Study In Seduction

chapter Five




Miss Jane, you’ve got to stop coming down ’ere!” The maid Sophie turned from the kitchen sink, pushing a lock of hair away from her damp forehead with the back of her hand. The scents of toast and bacon drifted from the dining room.

Jane shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to return to her room before Grandmama and Lydia came down for breakfast. “Has he arrived yet?”

“I’m expecting ’im any minute now, but—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. Sophie cast Jane an exasperated look and went to answer it. The delivery boy, a freckle-faced lad with coppery hair, stood there with a box of goods.

“Mornin’, Sophie, yer looking quite the beauty, ain’t you?”

“Hush now, Tom.” Sophie glanced at Jane with embarrassment and held the door open to let Tom in.

He pushed the box onto a table. “Miss Jane, isn’t it?”

Jane nodded, stepping toward him. “Have you got a letter for me, Tom?”

“Indeed.” He pulled a wrinkled letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

Jane took it, eyeing the scrawled name on the front. “Who gives these to you, Tom?”

“You don’t know, miss?”

“Should I?”

“I… well, I thought you knew who was writing ’em, miss. I get them from Mr. Krebbs. He owns a lodging house over in Bethnal Green near’s where I stay. Gives me a letter sometimes to bring to you and a tuppence as well. Dunno more than that, miss.”

“Mr. Krebbs surely doesn’t write the letters.”

“Don’t think so, miss.”

“That’ll be all, Tom, thank you.” Sophie gave the boy his coin and shooed him out the door before turning back to Jane. A worried frown creased her brow. “You sure it’s all right, then, miss? The letters and all?”

“It’s fine, Sophie. Just a game.”

She hurried from the kitchen, tearing the letter open.


Dear Jane,

So I might have guessed that riddle would prove too simple.

Teacher, yes, of course that is the answer. Here is another.

I shall assume that since it is shorter, it will also be more difficult:

A word there is, five syllables contains

Take one away, no syllable remains.

Till soon,

C


A word with five syllables…

“Jane, do watch where you are going.”

Jane looked up at her grandmother, who was striding down the corridor. A frown etched her face.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Boyd continued. “Where is Mrs. Driscoll?”

“Oh.” Jane fumbled to fold the letter and tuck it against her side. “I don’t… I don’t know. I went to speak to Sophie.”

“What for?”

“I wanted to see if… if we had any jam for our toast.” Jane almost winced at the feebleness of the excuse.

Her grandmother’s frown deepened. “We always have jam for our toast. What is that in your hand?”

“This?” Jane looked at the letter as if she’d only just noticed it. “Just a… some mathematical problem Lydia gave me to solve.”

“Well, I suggest you do so in your room rather than wandering about the house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jane scurried past her grandmother and up the stairs.

As she returned to the schoolroom, she wondered where this was going—who C was and what he wanted from her besides correspondence.

Perhaps she ought to start making more inquiries of the delivery boy and Sophie—learning the letter writer’s identity would be like solving a puzzle in and of itself. Perhaps that was the point of this whole game. Perhaps she was meant to solve the most mysterious puzzle of all.


The pleasure of being loved. R = Return.

The reaction to the partner’s appeal. I = Instinct.

The process of forgetting. O = Oblivion.

If she made certain assumptions on the behavior of the individuals and assigned variables to a positive linear system, and the linear model of x1 (t) = –α1 x1 (t) + β1 x2 (t)…

The pleasure of being loved.

Lydia dropped her pencil. She lifted her head to stare out the window, her heart vibrating like the strings of a violin. No equation could quantify that kind of pleasure. No theorem could explain Lord Northwood’s intent to touch her, which had been so palpable she’d felt it from clear across the room.

She pushed her papers aside and went downstairs. Her own fault, this restless trembling in her veins, the heat of memory. She pushed the longing down deep, alongside the other mistakes that lay buried beneath the crust of time.

The door to her father’s study sat half-open, and Lydia knocked before entering. Her throat constricted at the sight of Sir Henry’s cedarwood desk, the bookshelves crammed with works of Chinese history and literature. She imagined she could still detect the fragrant scent of his pipe smoke. The walls held calligraphic scrolls and Tang dynasty paintings with images of lively horses and riders, mist-covered mountaintops, graceful kingfishers.

Jane sat curled on a sofa by the window, a book on butterflies spread open on her lap. Lydia slipped into the seat beside her and drew the girl close, bending to press a kiss against Jane’s soft brown hair. The bands around her heart loosened as she breathed in the scent of Pears soap.

“You’re all right?” she asked.

“I just miss him.”

“So do I.”

The comfort of shared memories wrapped around them—Sir Henry patiently teaching them how to write Chinese characters, telling them stories of his youthful travels, playing puzzles and games together.

Throughout Lydia’s childhood, her father had spent much of his time either traveling or working, but his dedication to her, his support of her education, had never wavered. And after Jane was born, he ceased traveling in favor of teaching and studying. His placid, serious presence had been so very, very welcome after the loneliness of Lydia’s childhood and the death of Theodora Kellaway.

And Jane—to Lydia’s utter, complete gratitude—had known only Sir Henry’s unwavering love and devotion.

Jane closed the book and rested her head against Lydia’s shoulder. “Do you think Grandmama really will send me away?”

Lydia looked at her sister. “How did you find out?”

“I couldn’t sleep and came downstairs for a glass of milk. I heard you talking in the drawing room.”

“You oughtn’t have listened.”

“Wouldn’t you have listened if you overheard someone talking about you?”

Lydia chuckled and conceded the point. “I suppose.”

“Do you think she’ll do it?” Jane asked. “Do you think she’ll send me to that school in Paris?”

Lydia searched for a proper response. She could not undermine her grandmother’s authority, but neither could she lie. She opted to evade the question.

“How would you feel if she did?”

When Jane didn’t respond, Lydia’s heart sank. She wished Jane would immediately say she didn’t want to go, but of course her sister didn’t respond to anything without thinking it through.

“I don’t know,” Jane finally said. “I’d miss you, of course, and the house. But it’s not as if… I mean, it isn’t as if we ever go anywhere, d’you know?”

“That’s not entirely true. We—”

“It is true, Lydia.” Frustration edged Jane’s voice. “The only place I’ve been outside of London was that trip we took to Brighton. At least Paris would be interesting.”

“Yes, it would,” Lydia admitted, though her heart began to feel like a rock.

“And honestly, I’d like to learn piano and French.” Jane turned her head to look at Lydia’s face. “Oh, Lyddie, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Lydia hugged her sister. “I understand what you mean. When I was a few years older than you, I went away to school as well. To Germany.”

“Did you like it?”

Lydia’s stomach knotted. That single year was like a diamond inside her—bright, cold, and hard. In some ways it had opened her to things she could never have anticipated, and in other ways… it had destroyed both her and those closest to her.

“I liked learning new things,” she said. “Everything was different and interesting. But it wasn’t easy. I spoke little German. I didn’t make many friends. I missed home. I often felt alone.”

I was alone.

Even before Sir Henry had agreed to send her to Germany, Lydia had been alone. With her grandmother caring for her mother and her father either away or working… solitude had been Lydia’s sole companion.

Until him. The man with the cold green eyes and twisted heart. She shivered.

“What happened when you were there?” Jane asked.

“What—”

“I heard you say something to Grandmama about punishing you for something that happened. Was that in Germany? What was it?”

Panic quivered in Lydia’s chest. She tightened her arm around Jane and kissed the top of her head again. “Nothing you need worry about. It was a very long time ago.”

She released her sister to stand. “Would you like to see the diorama in Regent’s Park this afternoon? It just opened last week.”

“Yes, let’s.” Jane brightened.

“Good. Go upstairs and finish your geography report. We’ll go after lunch.”

Jane hurried from the room.

Lydia picked up the book her sister had left on the sofa. Bright, multicolored butterflies sprang from the pages, each illustration created with meticulous detail. A folded piece of paper stuck out from the back of the book. Lydia slipped it back into place.

She tried to imagine what her life would be like without Jane—and couldn’t. She had her work, yes, but almost everything she’d done for the past eleven years had centered around her sister.

She couldn’t lose Jane. Not yet. Not even if Jane wanted to go.


Talia’s hand tightened on Alexander’s arm, her fingers digging in hard as they descended from the carriage into the cold night air. He ignored the pang of regret as he turned to his sister. In a pale blue silk gown, her chestnut-brown hair perfectly coiffed, she looked lovely and brittle. She’d applied a slight excess of rice powder, which gave her a cold, masklike expression.

He put his hand over hers. “Talia, it won’t do any good to look as if you’re heading to the gallows.”

“Five hundred pounds, Alex. I told Mr. Sewell of the Ragged School Union to expect your bank draft on Monday.”

“If you act as if you’re enjoying yourself, I’ll add a hundred pounds to that.”

She flexed her fingers on his arm as if making an effort to relax. “If Lord Fulton is here, I’m leaving straightaway.”

“What about Fulton?” Sebastian asked, clambering out of the carriage after them.

“Last week, Alex suggested to his lordship that I would be amenable to a marriage offer,” Talia replied.

Sebastian let out a noise that was a half snort, half laugh. “Fulton? Good God, Alex, what are you trying to do? Send our Talia running to a nunnery?”

“A far more attractive prospect than Fulton, I daresay,” Talia agreed, turning to Sebastian. “Your brother took it upon himself to make the suggestion to Lord Fulton before discussing it with me.” She threw Alexander a withering glance. “Likely because he knew what my response would be. So I found myself the object of some great joke since everyone at the theater knew about it except me. It was humiliating.”

“You could do worse,” Alexander muttered.

“Oh, could I? Did you know Lord Fulton believes no one else will offer for me because of my Russian blood? That he’s the only one willing to overlook such a travesty?”

Alexander frowned. “He said that?”

Talia gave Sebastian an exasperated look. He winked at her.

“You’re the one who’s got to say yes, old girl. Not him.” He nodded in Alexander’s direction. “Though I do hear Fulton’s sister is getting a bit desperate. Long in the tooth, you know, and wide in the hips. Muddled in the head, too, no doubt.”

“Sounds an ideal prospect for you, Alex.” Some of Talia’s tension eased a little as she and Sebastian exchanged wry grins. “Considering you’re thirty-two, perhaps you’d do well to focus on your own marital prospects rather than attempting to control mine.”

Alexander turned away as they entered the foyer, not knowing whether his irritation was a result of his siblings’ behavior or Fulton’s alleged comments. He sighed. Bribing his sister to attend a ball with him was not the way he wished to move about in society, but the stubborn chit gave him no other option.

After the butler greeted them, they entered the ballroom, which was crowded with well-dressed men and women circling the room like ships in a harbor. Music, laughter, and conversation mingled in the air.

“Why, Lord Northwood. Lady Talia and Mr. Hall as well.” The Marquess of Hadley, who was the president of the Royal Society of Arts Council, and his wife approached. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“The Society did intend some of the ticket proceeds to fund the educational exhibition, my lord.”

Hadley coughed, and his wife’s smile wavered a bit.

“Yes, of course,” Hadley replied. “It’s just, you know, this dreadful business with Russia. Seems to be coming to a head now.”

Lady Hadley waved her hand and stretched her smile wider. “But never mind all that. It’s so nice to see you all here. Do enjoy yourselves.”

Not likely, Alexander thought. “Go along with Lady Hadley, Talia,” he suggested.

His sister gave him a mild glare but, along with Sebastian, accompanied the woman toward a group by the hearth.

“What about the dreadful business?” Alexander asked Hadley.

“The council wishes to convene a meeting to address the, er, specter of war with Russia,” Lord Hadley said. “They’re concerned about its effect on the exhibition. Announcement of the meeting is expected at the end of the week.”

“Where does the concern lie?”

“The French commissioner to the exhibition, Monsieur Bonnart, has indicated there’s a growing anti-Russian sentiment among the French public. He does not wish his country’s involvement in the exhibition to indicate any contrary sympathies.”

Alexander frowned. “This is not a Russian exhibition.”

“I know, Northwood, but it’s the inclusion of the Russian section that is causing a bit of consternation. The French are giving quite a bit of financial assistance to the Society for this. Just don’t want any trouble, you know?”

“I shouldn’t think there will be,” Alexander said. “Lord Hadley, tell the council members I will prepare a speech on the matter that will allay their concerns.”

He gave a nod of dismissal and went to get a drink. He’d been aware of the growing anti-Russian sentiment over the course of the year, especially after the Russian navy obliterated a Turkish fleet last November. The event caused a wave of antipathy toward the czar and strengthened the push for a declaration of war, which appeared likely any moment now.

Alexander swallowed some brandy, disliking the unease evoked by Hadley’s remarks. As vice president of the Society of Arts, he’d proposed this exhibition to celebrate the Society’s one hundredth anniversary, but he’d had an ulterior motive as well.

The educational exhibition would focus on the positive aspects of British education and include international displays to promote the necessity of free trade between Great Britain and other countries. Yet the exhibition would also be Alexander’s triumph—a display of brilliant ideals that would reflect back onto him and thus remove shadows of scandal from the earldom.

But if his ties to Russia were to be linked to the political climate… well, he refused to allow the council to use that against him or let it affect the exhibition. Not after all he’d done.

He went to refill his glass but stopped, his gaze moving to where a handsome blond man stood speaking with Talia. Stiffness lined Talia’s posture, her entire body drawn back as the man stood too close.

Alexander tensed and started forward, only to be stayed by a hand on his arm. Sebastian shook his head.

The blond man grasped Talia’s arm. When he bent even closer to speak to her, she tried to pull away, her features tightening. Alexander shook off Sebastian’s hand and strode toward their sister.

Before he reached her, a tall man with sun-streaked brown hair stopped beside Talia. With one movement, Lord Castleford gripped the blond man’s arm and twisted him away. He stepped between them, shielding Talia with his body. He muttered a few words that caused the younger man to hunch his shoulders and skulk away.

In almost the same movement, Castleford pressed a hand to Talia’s lower back, guiding her onto the dance floor as the music began.

Alexander glanced around, realizing Castleford had accomplished his mission with such stealth that no one except them had noticed the unpleasant little scene.

“I saw him approaching,” Sebastian explained, “and he’s far more discreet than you would have been. Care to tell me again that I don’t give a whit for society’s opinion?”

He arched an eyebrow and strode away. Alexander waited until the music stopped before approaching his friend and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome back, you old bohemian. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to be back, North.”

Alexander looked at his sister. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, as if to indicate the incident with the other man was of no consequence.

“How long were you gone this time?” Alexander asked Castleford.

“Over a year, but I’m planning another excursion to Malay in the fall. Lady Talia tells me you’ve organized the Society of Arts’ educational exhibition?”

“I have.”

“Alexander, Lord Castleford would be a great help with the display focusing on Chinese education,” Talia said. “He traveled extensively in China, you know. He’s also agreed to help me rework my curriculum proposal for the ragged schools.”

Alexander eyed his friend. “I’d no idea you were so interested in education, considering your penchant for playing cricket over studying.”

Castleford grinned. “We can’t all be as industrious as you, North. You’ve still got your Eton Latin Grammar, haven’t you?”

“And I consult it regularly,” Alexander replied. “I’d wager you couldn’t decline a noun to save your life.”

“Salva animum tuum.”

“Abi.”

“Boys,” Talia said. Although her voice was stern, she looked amused for the first time that evening. “Pay attention. We’ve the children’s festival next weekend, Alexander, the one to benefit the ragged schools. I’ve invited Lord Castleford to attend, and I’d hoped you would as well.”

“It’s on my calendar, yes.”

Talia smiled. The expression almost startled Alexander. His sister hadn’t directed a smile at him in an age. It was as if a light had been lit inside her and shone onto him.

“Lord Northwood?” A young woman in a green silk gown paused at the edge of their circle and looked up at him. Her lips curved with pleasure. “We were hoping you would be here tonight. We’ve heard so much about the exhibition.”

“Miss Cooper. Allow me to introduce—”

“Lord Castleford, yes, we’re acquainted.” Miss Cooper’s cool gaze passed over Castleford and came to rest on Talia. “And good evening to you, Lady Talia.”

Talia gave the other woman a stiff nod. Castleford curled his hand around Talia’s elbow, murmured an excuse, and guided her toward the refreshment table.

Alexander turned to Miss Cooper, who was looking at him with expectation. He swallowed a sigh.

“How are your parents, Miss Cooper?” he asked.

“Very well, thank you. Mother is leaving for a trip to Paris next week. She plans to visit a renowned modiste, having been recommended by her dear friend Lady Dubois. I do so wish I could accompany her, but I’ve already several social engagements here in London. Will you be attending Lady Whitmore’s ball?”

“I’ve not yet decided,” Alexander replied. “Please convey my best regards to your parents.”

He stepped back, intending the remark as a polite closure to the conversation, but Miss Cooper moved forward into the slight distance he’d created.

“I do hope you’ll be there,” she continued. “And I believe Mother would like to invite you for tea one afternoon before her departure.”

She blinked up at him. Alexander gave a half bow.

“Thank you, Miss Cooper. I shall look forward to receiving the invitation. Do enjoy the remainder of the evening.” He walked away before she could respond and headed for the card room.

Tension stiffened the back of his neck as he wove through the crowd. He ought to have asked Miss Cooper to dance. He ought to have asked her if he could fetch her a glass of champagne. He ought to have told her she looked beautiful. He ought to have bloody well flirted.

A week ago, he might have.

Before he’d met Lydia Kellaway.

He stopped inside the card room. Crossing his arms, he drummed his fingers against his biceps. An image of Lydia appeared in his mind: flushed cheeks, angry eyes, and hot desperation.

“She’s far prettier than Fulton’s sister.” Sebastian stopped beside him.

“Of course she’s prettier than… Oh.” Alexander cleared his throat. “You mean Miss Cooper. Well, yes. She is.”

Sebastian gave him a shrewd look. “Who else would I have been referring to?”

“Any number of young chits, I’d imagine.” Alexander steeled himself against his brother’s curiosity. He’d told Sebastian about his encounter with Miss Kellaway, about the locket, but he hadn’t divulged his growing interest in the woman.

“You ought to take up with one of them,” Sebastian continued. “Plenty around like Miss Cooper. Pretty and a bit idle headed. I assure you such women are a delight to keep company with. Lady Welbourne’s niece is new to town, and word is she’s quite lovely. You ought to attend her ladyship’s dinner party tomorrow, make her niece’s acquaintance.”

“I’ve other business to contend with tomorrow. A meeting with Father’s solicitors. Letters to dictate regarding Floreston Manor.”

Sebastian was quiet for a moment, then moved in front of him. Alexander suppressed the urge to take a step back, to try to deflect whatever it was his brother intended to say.

“Being the firstborn doesn’t mean you need surrender to duty, Alex,” Sebastian said. “It doesn’t mean you need to put responsibility above all.”

Alexander looked past Sebastian’s shoulder to the numerous card games in progress.

“If I do not,” he said, his voice stiff, “who will?”

Sebastian didn’t respond. Alexander shifted his gaze to meet his brother’s eyes. They were both thinking of Rushton. Alexander smothered a rush of frustration directed at their father.

“And you,” he continued, “are the one who suggested I marry. What other reason would I have if not for the future of the earldom? If not for duty?”

Sebastian stepped back. An odd flash of disappointment crossed his features. “You could do so for you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“For Christ’s sake, Alex, duty doesn’t mean you need to be wound tighter than a clock.” Sebastian scrubbed a hand through his hair. “There’s no law against you having a good bit of fun. Why don’t you come with me to the Eagle Tavern later tonight?”

Alexander hesitated, temptation warring with the ever-present fear of what people would say. He shook his head. Sebastian’s disappointment visibly deepened.

“All right, then,” he said. “Do whatever makes you happy. Oh, no, you’ll never do that, will you? You’ll always do what you have to do instead.”


Alexander watched his brother walk toward a card table. For all his efforts and work in recent years, Alexander wasn’t even certain what he truly wanted to do.

He did, however, know what he did not want to do. He did not want to marry a woman like Miss Cooper whose life revolved around the latest fashions and social functions. He did not want to enter into a union reminiscent of his parents’ marriage, one of brittle formality and coldness. He did not want to be bored.

Well. Perhaps he did know what he wanted to do, after all. He wanted to marry a woman who was interesting and clever. Who made his blood run quick and hot. Who challenged him and forced him to look beyond the boundaries of his own life. A woman whose beauty was only enhanced by the keen intelligence in her eyes.

A woman who hadn’t been far from his thoughts since the day she walked into his life.

A woman like Lydia Kellaway.

Alexander watched Sebastian as his brother sat at a card table, laughing at something one of the other men said. Perhaps he ought to take his brother’s advice, see what happened.

Alexander didn’t know what would come of pursuing Lydia Kellaway. He didn’t know if she would reject him. He didn’t know what his father would say. But he did know he would enjoy the pursuit immensely. And he dared to believe it might even make him happy.