Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)

Without the hiss and crackle of a fire or the melting of candles, the air lay quiet. He could hear his own heart, beating slow and heavy. There was only him. And her.

“Em,” he said softly, eyes closed. “I’m sorry.” And whispered, so low he barely heard the words, “I miss you. God, I miss you.”

Finally, finally, he let grief take him and wept for her then, for a long time.

“Forgive me,” he said.

And at last lay down upon her white bed and let sleep take him, too, to whatever dreams it would.





10





DOWN TO BUSINESS


OVER THE NEXT TWO weeks, Minnie threw herself determinedly into the pursuit of business. She tried not to think of Soeur Emmanuelle, but thought of her mother hovered near her, like an angel on her shoulder, and after a bit she accepted this. There was, after all, nothing she could do about it, and at least now she knew her mother was alive. Perhaps even content.

Between increasing business—of both kinds—and Lady Buford’s determined social agenda, Minnie scarcely had a minute to herself. When she wasn’t going to view a collection of moldy hymnals in a garret down by the Thames or accepting sealed documents from her father’s mysterious client in the Vauxhall Gardens, she was dressing for a card party in Fulham. The O’Higginses, faithful Irish wolfhounds, either accompanied or trailed her to every destination, their visibility depending on her errand.

She was pleased, therefore, to be able to combine Colonel Quarry’s commission with Lady Buford’s husband-hunting. Rather to Minnie’s surprise, the latter involved a great deal of socializing with females.

“To be desirable, it is necessary to be talked about, my dear,” Lady Buford told her over a glass of iced negus at Largier’s tea shop (Madame Largier was French and thought tea itself a distinctly second-class beverage). “But you must be talked about in the right way. You must not suggest any hint of scandal, and—just as important—you must not cause jealousy. Be sweet and unassuming, always admire your companions’ frocks and dismiss your own, and do not bat your eyes at their sons or brothers, should such be present.”

“I’ve never batted my eyes at anyone in my life!” Minnie said indignantly.

“It isn’t a difficult technique to master,” Lady Buford said dryly. “But I trust you take my point.”

Minnie did, and as she had no intention whatever of attracting a potential husband, she was extremely popular with the young women of society. Which turned out to be an unexpectedly good thing, because most young women had no discretion whatever, very little judgment, and would tell you the most unspeakable things without batting a single one of their own eyes.

They hadn’t the least hesitation in telling her all about Esmé Grey; the late Countess Melton was a prime subject of gossip. But it wasn’t the sort of gossip Minnie had expected to hear.

After a week’s gentle prodding, Minnie had formed the distinct impression that women in general had not really liked Esmé—most of them had been afraid of her or envious of her—but that most men very definitely had liked her; hence, the envy. That being so, the lack of any hint of scandal was surprising.

There was quite a bit of public sympathy for Esmé; she was dead, and the poor little baby, too….It was a tragic story, and people did love tragedy, as long as it wasn’t theirs.

And certainly there was a good deal of talk (in lowered tones) about Lord Melton having shot poor Mr. Twelvetrees, which threw the countess into such a state of shock that she had gone into labor too early and died—but, surprisingly, there was no indication that Esmé’s affair with Nathaniel had been noticed.

There was a great deal of speculation as to Lord Melton’s motive for assassinating Mr. Twelvetrees—but apparently Esmé had been more than discreet, and there was no talk at all about Mr. Twelvetrees having paid her attention or even having been seen alone with her on any occasion.

There was a whisper of gossip to the effect that Lord Melton had killed Nathaniel because of an intrigue over an Italian singer, but the general opinion was that it had been over a matter of business; Nathaniel had been a failed curate who then became a stockbroker (“though he wrote the most divine poetry, my dear!”), and there had been a rumor of considerable losses incurred by the Grey family, attributed to Nathaniel’s incompetence.

But as she continued to poke and prod, Minnie discovered an increasing sentiment along the lines that Colonel Quarry had mentioned: people were beginning to whisper that Lord Melton had killed Nathaniel in a fit of madness. After all, the duke (“though I’m told we mustn’t call him by his title; he won’t have it—and if that’s not proof of madness…”) had appeared nowhere in public since the death of his wife.

Given that the countess’s death had occurred only two months earlier, Minnie thought this reticence perhaps reasonable, even admirable.

But as Lady Buford had been present during one of these exchanges, Minnie took the opportunity in the carriage going home to ask her chaperone’s opinion of the Duke—or not—of Pardloe’s marriage.

Lady Buford pursed her lips and tapped her closed fan against them in a considering manner.

“Well, there was a great deal of scandal over the first duke’s death—had you heard about that?”

Minnie shook her head, in hopes of hearing more than her father’s précis had provided, but Lady Buford was one who could tell the difference between facts and gossip, and her account of the first duke’s supposed Jacobite associations was even briefer than Minnie’s father’s had been.

“It was quixotic at best—do you know that word, my dear?”

“I do, yes. You’re speaking of—the second duke, would he be—Harold? He repudiated his title, is that what you mean?”

Lady Buford gave a small sniff and put away her fan in her capacious sleeve.

“It’s actually not possible to repudiate a title, unless the king should give one leave to do so. But he did decline to use it, which amused some people, disgusted others who thought it affectation, and quite shocked society in general. Still…he’d been married a year before the first duke died, so Esmé had wed him with the expectation that he’d eventually succeed to the title. She hadn’t given any indication that she regretted his decision—or even that she’d noticed it. That girl knew the meaning of ‘aloof,’?” Lady Buford added with approval.

“Were they in love, do you think?” Minnie asked, with genuine interest.

“Yes, I do,” Lady Buford said, without hesitation. “She was French, of course, and quite striking—exotic, you might say. And Harold Grey is certainly an odd—well, I shouldn’t say that, perhaps I merely mean unusual—young man. Their peculiarities seemed to complement each other. And neither one of them gave a single thought to what anyone else said or thought about them.”