To spend the day as a family had been bittersweet for Azalea, reminding her how lucky she was and how much she loved her family. But also forcing her to acknowledge how much she had to lose. She had pushed such anxiety to the back of her mind, enjoying the present.

  She still was, walking arm-in-arm with Eric in the sunshine. They came upon the Ellesmere party, light-hearted and loud by the banks of the Serpentine.

  The arrival of Lord and Lady Trench caused quite a stir, and Mrs. Ellesmere welcomed them with heightened color and somewhat gushing words. Azalea took it all in her stride, for she was a social realist and was well aware her fashionable presence and that of her distinguished husband was something of a coup for their hostess. Although perfectly respectable, Mrs. Ellesmere’s husband was in trade and not of gentle birth. But the lines between old and new money were blurring, and in any case, Azalea had no patience with such snobbery. Eric, for example, was of old, landed aristocracy, but most of his wealth came from financial and trading ventures. Lawrence Hammond’s father had been awarded a knighthood for his services to trade, and his family was accepted by the highest in the land.

  She glimpsed Mr. Hammond with a group of young people sitting on a blanket and throwing bread to the ducks. Some older people sat on trestle chairs, some getting quietly intoxicated, others still the center of their circles.

  Gunning was sprawled on another blanket beside Lord Darchett and two very young ladies—giggling debutantes by Azalea’s guess.

  “The dark one is Miss Fenner,” Eric murmured in her ear. “And Fenner himself stands with his wife and Verry in the group just behind them.”

  “I remember them. I wish we had spoken to Griz and Dragan first. How annoying if we ask the same questions. They will suspect something.”

  “Does that matter? If we frighten them into revealing themselves, I, for one, will be happy.”

  “And I, now you mention it. Shall we go first then to the Fenner party?”

  “If you can stand Gunning’s company.”

  “I might giggle. He is forever in my mind with wet tea leaves running down his neck.”

  A breath of laughter hissed between Eric’s teeth. “That’s my girl. Just don’t stray from the circle in his company.”

  They approached the older group first.

  “Ah, Trench,” Lord Verry greeted them. “Lady Trench, your servant. Are you acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Crookston?” He introduced Eric as a business associate of himself and Fenner, which Azalea could tell her husband did not like, however true.

  After a little polite conversation, Mrs. Fenner was addressed from the nearby blanket by her daughter, who was then also introduced, along with her friend, Miss Jones. And Azalea had the opportunity to sit down with the younger people.

  The girls looked awestruck. Gunning appeared wary, but Darchett seemed to have got over his unease of the other night and gallantly presented her with a glass of wine and a plateful of nibbles. Footmen were passing among the various groups around blankets and trestle tables, offering more substantial fare.

  Azalea smiled at the tongue-tied young ladies. “So, is this your first Season in London?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Miss Fenner replied.

  “I am not really part of the Season at all,” Miss Jones said in a rush. “But Catherine invited me since her sister is indisposed.”

  “What a good friend you are,” Azalea said, struggling for a response to this confidence. “But I hope your sister’s indisposition is not serious, Miss Fenner?”

  She was sure Miss Fenner actually giggled before covering it with a shaky throat clearing. “I’m glad to say it is not.”

  “A spot,” Miss Jones explained. “On the end of her nose.”

  Miss Fenner kicked her friend. Lord Darchett grinned openly. Azalea did not glance at Gunning, let alone Eric, who must have overheard.

  Instead, keeping her voice as steady as possible, she said lightly, “I almost long for those youthful days. At least aging has some benefits. So, will you both be attending Lady Gaveston’s ball this evening?”

  “I will,” Miss Fenner said, then, perhaps for revenge on her sister’s behalf, she added, “Miss Jones does not have a suitable gown.”

  “I wasn’t invited,” Miss Jones blurted.

  “Never mind. It’s bound to be a shocking squeeze, though we shall all love it. What has been your favorite party so far, Miss Fenner?”

  “My first ball was like a fairytale,” Miss Fenner said naïvely. “At Lady Verry’s.”

  “That was the first time I met you and danced with you,” Lord Darchett put in, with a quick smile that made Miss Fenner blush.

  Azalea gathered that the dance with Darchett was part of the fairytale.

  “I don’t believe I was at Lady Verry’s,” Azalea said. “Lady Royston’s the other week was special, I think. But I don’t recall seeing you there.” That at least was true since she didn’t recall anything about it.

  “Your ladyship had no reason to notice me,” Miss Fenner said meekly.

  Which meant she had been there and her father, too, no doubt.

  “I do also enjoy the theatre very much,” Miss Fenner offered, eager to extend the conversation.

  Azalea smiled, since it saved her bringing up the subject. “Do you prefer tragedy or comedy? Or opera, perhaps?”

  “All of it,” Miss Fenner declared. “I love being lost in the story.”

  “My youngest sister is just like you,” Azalea said. “She won’t chat during the play or pay attention to fashion or gossip but sits glued to the stage, whatever the noise around her. And I’m not even sure she discriminates between the good and the bad. Why, only the other day, she dragged us to some very pedestrian comedy at Haymarket, and she was riveted. What was it called, Eric?” she called to her husband. “That dull play Griz made us go to?”

  Eric obliged with the name before carrying on his conversation.

  “There, you see?” Azalea said with amused pride. “My husband remembers everything.”

  “We saw that, too,” Miss Fenner declared.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Oh yes, though it wasn’t, perhaps, very funny.”

  “I should have thought that a minimum requirement for comedies,” Gunning murmured.

  “Not necessarily,” Darchett argued. “The story could appeal while the humor does not. I presume that is what you meant, Miss Fenner?”

  “Indeed,” the girl said fervently, with a grateful smile at Darchett.

  Azalea was glad and slightly surprised to see him trouble to protect her from so mild a criticism. According to rumor, he was pursuing her for her fortune, encouraged by her father, who wanted the aristocratic connection.

  Gunning sneered, excused himself, and got up to wander off toward another group.

  Azalea was not sorry to see him go. She turned her attention to Darchett. “You and Mr. Gunning are good friends, I gather?”

  Darchett’s smile was a little rueful. “We have got up to a lot of mischief together over the years. We were at school together.”

  “And he saw that same comedy,” Miss Fenner said, “for he was your guest, too. He smiled enough at the time.”

  “Perhaps I did not pay enough attention,” Azalea murmured. “I am too easily distracted. At any rate, I look forward to seeing you at Lady Gaveston’s this evening.”

  *

  “Well?” Eric murmured as they met during the mingling after luncheon.

  “I think it’s Gunning,” Azalea said triumphantly. “He was in Darchett’s box when we were at the theatre, which is in the same passage as ours, only four farther away from the staircase. And Miss Fenner, who is a very useful source of information, told me he was not with them when Darchett saw her and her parents to their carriage.”

  “And Fenner did not leave her side?”

  “She doesn’t think so, though, to be honest,” Azalea admitted, “she was paying no attention to him. She is much more concerned with Darchett, who seems quite genuinely taken with her, and it was quite hard to get her to talk about anyone else. Did you learn anything interesting?”

  “Only that Fenner is not discomposed by my presence or yours. He is a little too loud in associating me with his ventures, but that is to do with business. And he does not like Gunning, thinks he is a bad influence on Darchett.”

  “Darchett told Gunning off for some mocking comment he made about Miss Fenner’s opinions.”

  “Well, perhaps there is hope for all of them, then. Hammond, how do you do?” he added, and Azalea turned to see Lawrence Hammond approaching them with his amiable smile.

  Azalea did not believe for a moment that Mr. Hammond was her blackmailer. For one thing, although he had the right build to match the man Eric had punched in Grosvenor Square, he was much too stately, not to say staid, to be easily imagined climbing in and out of high theatre boxes and sprinting through streets.

  And he was, she had always thought, a decent man with a quiet sense of humor. But she went through the motions of trying to discover where he was at the times in question.

  “I have not seen you since the Roystons’ ball, have I?” she said. “For you were not at Lady Braithwaite’s soiree.”

  “Alas, no, I had to go out of town that day. My father summoned me to Kent. Did I miss anything?”

  “A very fine pianist,” Eric said. “I trust your father is well?”

  “Alarmingly so. His message had sounded urgent, but he only wanted to lecture me on investments, which could easily have been done at any time. Ah, I believe we are moving toward the Exhibition at last! Have you been before, Lady Azalea?”

  “Oh yes, we attended the opening, and then we took the children a couple of times, but I have still not seen half of it.”

  In sprawling groups and couples, the party began to make its way from the river toward the Crystal Palace, so dubbed because it was made mostly of glass and steel, a huge and unique edifice, housing the most diverse exhibits one could imagine.

  The building was oddly beautiful, too, in the sunlight, shining and welcoming.

  “Lady Trench.”

  She blinked up at Lord Darchett, realizing she had veered off the path and away from Eric and Hammond.

  “My lord.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting. You seemed a little lost in your thoughts.”

  She smiled. “Dazzled by sun on the Crystal Palace! I believe I shall miss it when the Exhibition is closed.”

  “Indeed. Lady Trench, I wonder if I might have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  He glanced around and lowered his voice. “In private.”

  Intrigued, she veered further off the path, away from straggling members of their party, although it brought them closer to other people, all swarming toward the Exhibition.

  “I wish to apologize,” he muttered, “and I really do not wish others to overhear.”

  Azalea glanced toward Eric, some distance ahead with Hammond and a couple of ladies. But Darchett was young, unthreatening, and not one of their suspects since he was the wrong shape. Moreover, he might well be about to give her the information she needed.

  So, she turned her footsteps away from the swarm, toward a little grove of trees.

  “You intrigue me,” she said when there was no one within hearing distance. “What are you apologizing for?”

  “For my behavior at Lady Royston’s,” he said, low. He took her arm to help her negotiate a rough, muddy patch of grass, and something seemed to connect in her mind like a bolt of lightning. She just didn’t know what it was, but it was something to do with the Roystons’ ball, a grip on her arm…

  She stared at him, convinced suddenly that it was also to do with him. Blood began to sing in her ears.

  “I should have said it long since,” Darchett said, “for I have been ashamed since the incident itself. I had the insolence to speak to you before, when we met in the park, to ensure your discretion over my sins, but that was to miss the point. I apologize for that, too.”

  He drew a deep breath and blurted. “Lady Trench, you were quite right to slap me. I did not know how to look your husband in the face on Saturday evening, and yet today you are so pleasant to me and kind to Catherine Fenner. I just had to speak. My lady, are you quite well?”

  No. No, she wasn’t well at all. That same sense of panic she had felt when Gunning had touched her surged once more, and with it came a blast of images. Darchett by her side, the night sky, her hand flying toward his face. And revulsion, terror, blood.

  “I want you to know I apologize sincerely and unreservedly…” Darchett’s voice meant nothing. It was fading, and she was falling, aware only that hands she did not want anywhere near her were holding her in a frightening grip, and she was alone, fighting them off.

  *

  Hammond seemed more interested in discussing investment, particularly in Trench’s housing projects, so it wasn’t easy to keep steering him back to where he was and who he had seen on certain evenings over the last two weeks. Azalea was much cleverer and subtler in such matters, but she had wandered off.

  A quick glance through the crowds found her with Lord Darchett, moving through a swarm of people.

  “There is no room in either of those ventures,” Trench said. “But there will be others, and I will certainly call upon you…” Unease twisted through him, for Azalea and Darchett were moving farther away, not just from him and the rest of the Ellesmere party, but from everyone.

  And something about her posture, even over that distance, was wrong. And now, too, many people were in the way. He could no longer see her.

  “Excuse me,” he said abruptly and moved away, striding across people’s paths. They kept getting in his way, blocking his view of his wife. Once he glimpsed her looking up at Darchett while the man grasped her arm.

  How dare he? Enraged, he broke free of the crowd, aware he was drawing too much attention, but Darchett now clutched Azalea in his arms, and she was lashing out at the startled baron.

  Even in his fury, he saw the moment Darchett spotted him.

  “It’s not what you think!” Darchett cried. “Please, she is not well. Take her!”

  Trench almost snatched his wife from the other man. Immediately, she stopped struggling, but her face was white, her eyes wild yet almost unfocused.

  “Eric,” she whispered, clutching his lapel, pressing against him. “Don’t leave me, don’t…”

  “I won’t,” he assured her, his voice shaking with mingled fear for her and fury at her attacker.

  Darchett blanched and took a hasty step back, though interestingly, he did not try to flee.

  “What did you do?” Trench asked between clenched teeth, keeping his voice low for Azalea’s benefit, though he did not trouble to disguise the menace of his glare over her head.

  “Nothing,” Darchett assured him. He looked appalled, hunted. “I tried to apologize to her, and she seemed to faint, only when I caught her, she lashed out at me. I could neither let her fall nor calm her.”

  Azalea was trembling in Eric’s arms, but her eyes seemed to have refocused. “He didn’t touch me,” she said weakly. “Well, only to hold me up. I was remembering.”

  Trench swallowed. “Perhaps we should discuss that later. Darchett, drop your coat under that tree so that she can sit for a little.”

  Obediently, Darchett shrugged out of his coat and spread it on the ground. Trench lowered his wife tenderly to sit and crouched by her side. She seemed reluctant to release his hand, which she clutched in a vise-like grip.

  Trench glanced up at the anxious Darchett. “What happened?”

  “I thought only to make things better, to do the right thing. I never dreamed it would upset her to this degree that—”

  “Tell me,” Trench interrupted.

  “I was apologizing to her,” Darchett said miserably. He glanced around, then dropped to a crouch, too, though keeping Trench between himself and Azalea.

  “For?” Trench asked coldly.

  Darchett’s eyes veered away, then came back to Trench’s with conscious courage. “For a stupid wager I made with Gunning, and for acting on it. In truth, I knew neither of us stood a chance with her, but we were drunk, and I’m short of money, as the world knows. So I accepted the bet as to which of us…could…” he swallowed convulsively, “…seduce Lady Trench.”

  Trench’s eyes narrowed in cold, icy fury. “That is the most despicable thing I have ever heard. To even bandy the name of—”

  “I know, I know,” Darchett said in what appeared to be genuine anguish. “There is no excuse. All I can say in our defense is that at least we had enough decency left to make it private between ourselves. In any case, when I saw Lady Trench leave the supper room, I followed her onto the terrace, managed to detach her from her friends, and tricked her into the secluded little garden, where I tried to kiss her. She slapped my face, quite deservedly, which at least sobered me up. I was already ashamed when she walked away from me.”

  “Where did I go?” Azalea asked unexpectedly.

  Darchett blinked, frowning at her.

  “It’s hazy in my mind,” she said. “I suppose I was enraged. Did I go straight back into the house?”

  “No, you walked farther into the garden, which I thought rather magnificent of you. It was I who slunk back into the house. And I have been trying to find a moment to apologize to you ever since. Especially after Gunning told me he had called upon you, as if the wager was still on. I assured him it was not.”

  Trench met Azalea’s gaze. Whatever had happened to her, she now showed no fear of Darchett or any further confusion. Her eyes, in fact, sparkled with speculation.

  Trench turned back to Darchett. “Was Gunning really with you on Friday evening?”

  Darchett looked surprised. “Yes, at my club. There was a group of us playing cards.”

  “And he was there all evening?” Trench asked.

  “Well, yes, until about midnight when we all went on to see the cockfight.” Darchett frowned and scratched his head. “Though he did disappear for a while when I think about it. Probably drank too much, to be honest, but he can’t have gone far because he was definitely with us when we left at midnight.” He dropped his hand to his knee. “You asked me about that on Saturday, too. Look, we were entirely in the wrong about Lady Trench, and we both know it. We spoke, after you sent Gunning about his business and agreed the wager was canceled. There will be no more.”

 

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