Page 64 of The Dangerous Lord

“I tell you what. Go in with us, and if you consider it unsuitable, we’ll come right back out. I swear it. You, of all people, know how newspapers exaggerate to sell tickets. It probably only contains old dog bones and an ax or two.”

He had a point. She’d said as much in her own column. She glanced from Ian to her expectant brothers. “Very well. We’ll take a quick look. But if I see so much as a smashed finger displayed in that exhibit, I’ll⁠—”

None of them gave her time to finish. They were racing off to the opposite end of the hall where a doorway covered in a black curtain awaited them. Next to it a big sign read Warning in bold letters, followed by smaller script, no doubt extolling the faint-inducing properties of the room’s contents.

An uneasiness gripped her. If Ian were wrong ...

She only prayed he wasn’t.

Chapter Fifteen

Though overindulging a child is unwise, what constitutes overindulging? One parent considers an extra apple tart a mere concession to hunger, while the other believes it leads down the road to perdition. Is it any wonder that children grow up confused?

Lord X, The Evening Gazette, December 22, 1820

“She’s mad at us, ain’t she?” Georgie whispered to Ian across the carriage, so loudly that even passersby outside could probably hear him. Certainly everyone inside did, including the motionless woman who sat beside the young scamp.

Yet he couldn’t see her reaction in the meager glow of the scarce street lamps. Then a trickle of light crept across her face to dapple her cheeks with silver and highlight her fixed gaze. His breath caught in his throat. He’d never seen her look so forlorn.

He shifted on the seat he shared with James and William. His normally roomy carriage was cramped and hot with six bodies squeezed into it. “She’s not mad at you.” Ian didn’t bother to lower his voice. “She’s mad at me.”

Felicity ignored him.

“Why?” Georgie asked.

“She thinks I was wrong to take all of you into The Separate Room.”

The boys began reassuring him that he wasn’t, that they’d had a fine time.

Then Felicity spoke. “I’m not angry at any of you, unless it’s for speaking of me as if I’m not here.” Her gaze scoured them all. “I’m angry at myself. I allowed you children to enter that dreadful place when I should have stood firm.”

Ian stifled an oath. Yes, stood firm against him. And if she wasn’t angry, why did the smoke of her disapproval clog the air in his carriage?

Damn it, how could he have known the rascals would scatter as soon as their wriggling bodies entered The Separate Room? How could he have known what lay inside? All right, so they’d been met by three severed wax heads impaled on tall poles. Wax figures of criminals had lined the walls bearing bloody axes, bloody swords, bloody everything. Wax blood stained the hacked-off limbs of their victims, and wax blood dripped off the guillotine blade at one end of the hall.

Was it his fault Madame Tussaud possessed a seemingly endless vat of red wax? And a flare for the dramatic?

Apparently so, judging from the way Felicity had glared at him, then stormed about the room catching each boy by the scruff of the neck and herding them toward the entrance. By then it had been too late. By the time she’d caught Georgie, the boys had been exposed a good fifteen minutes to the horrors of the Separate Room.

Thus had begun Ian’s exile from Felicity’s affections. She’d spoken to him only in one-word utterances. She’d barely touched the supper of mutton pies, apple tarts, and tea that he’d paid for at a popular cookshop, though the boys attacked theirs with gusto. Now she sat like one of Madame’s cursed statues, as far from him as possible. She’d probably hang her limbs out the window if it would gain her more distance from him.

Everything had gone so well until then. He couldn’t believe he’d ruined his plans for the evening with so heedless an act.

James spoke up from beside Ian. “Well, you shouldn’t be angry about me, Lissy. I’m old enough to go in the Separate Room if I like. I’m not a child anymore.”

Ian stifled a groan when Felicity flinched. Wonderful. Why must James choose this inopportune moment to assert his independence from his sister?

James continued in the unevenly pitched voice that amply illustrated his youth. “It’s not as if you’re our mother or anything. If I hadn’t been forced to leave Islington Academy, I could have gone on my own to the exhibit, you know. And then no one would have prevented me from seeing The Separate Room.”

At the mention of Islington Academy, a silence as heavy as this year’s winter snow fell on the carriage. Even the triplets stopped fidgeting. Ian glanced at Felicity, whose eyes he could dimly see, gone wide with clear alarm.

He turned to stare at James. “Why were you forced to leave Islington Academy? You’re a bright lad and well-mannered. Surely they’d have no reason to throw you out.”

Panic made the boy jerk upright in his seat. “Well, I ... I⁠—”

“You misunderstood him, Ian,” Felicity interrupted. “He didn’t leave. He’s merely home on holiday.”

“Yes, th-that’s it,” James added, stumbling over the words. “For Christmas.”