Chapter 21
AUTHORITIES DRAW CLOSE. Additional evidence of Lady Allen’s misdeeds has been provided to the members of London’s finest. It shall not be long before Lady Allen receives the justice she richly deserves.
If someone had asked Olivia how many blonde, married women of high class there were in society, she might have shrugged and guessed about fifty.
She would have been wrong.
The real number was at least twice that, and she had only counted those who lived in or regularly visited London.
She slammed her copy ofDebrett’sclosed. Hours of carefully combing through the earl’s correspondence and she was no closer to uncovering the identity of her former husband’s mistress.
There had to be a faster way. She had commissioned one of Saffron’s artist friends to produce sketches of the most likely suspects, but Boris’s eyesight was not good enough for him to say if any of them had been the woman he had seen.
She wished they could have revealed Mr. Dawson’s trickery in full to the rest of Thel’s family, but it was too risky. They did not know how Thel’s parents or brothers would react and the last thing they needed was a fistfight in the middle of the parlor.
Maybe Thel had been right all along, and the best way to get rid of Mr. Dawson was to put a bullet through his heart.It would solve both of their problems at the same time. Then again, after the stunt in the park, she’d caught more than a few glances of Constable Smith out of the corner of her eye. The man was watching her, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to question her again. If she gave him a chance to arrest either Thel or herself, he might pounce.
A knock at her door gave her the perfect excuse to take a break. “Come in.”
Her butler entered, clutching a wax-sealed envelope and a small box. “From Lord Lowell, my lady.” He set the items at the edge of her desk. “The cook insisted on feeding the messenger, seeing as it is nearly teatime. Shall I instruct him to wait?”
Olivia’s arms burst into gooseflesh. She did not need to see inside the box to know what it held. She had wondered how long Thel would wait before returning her chain. She imagined him tying her silk garter around himself, preparing her present. Their pleasure would be that much more intense from the waiting.
Her butler was still waiting for her response.
“Send the boy back with a basket of apple tarts from this morning,” she said. It was a small gesture, but she hoped it would discourage Thel’s staff from repeating anything they might overhear when she was alone with their employer.
When her butler exited, she picked up Thel’s note and cracked open the seal. Inside was a single line of text.
It would be my honor to wear your token.
She flipped the lid on the box and removed her chain from the plush, velvet interior. When she had it coiled in her hand, however, there were still glints of silver inside the box. She dug her fingers into the slippery fabric and removed two diamond teardrop earrings. She fastened them in place and admired the sparkling stones in her dressing mirror. There were more elaborate pieces in her jewelry box, many that were giftsfrom past lovers, but none of them had ever made her feel so cherished.
The soft, gray gown laid out on her bed would not suffice. She needed something that would tell Thel exactly how much she appreciated him. She flew to her wardrobe and sorted through her dresses until she found one she had not worn in years. It was a silky, silver confection of organza and cream, silk taffeta with white, bobbin lace trim, from the trailing end of her two years in mourning. She placed it on her bed and added a diamond and pearl necklace and her favorite white silk slippers.
She was about to summon her maid when she remembered the chain. Her staff was used to her eccentricities, but there were aspects of her personal life she kept secret. Even a tiny spark of impropriety could be fanned by rumors into a scandal.
She did not need to add any fuel to the inferno already burning around her.
At least she did not have to worry about choosing the stage for their next confrontation. Her invitation to Saffron’safternoon of music, at home,sat propped against her mirror, having arrived earlier that week.
It had been with tremendous guilt that she had imposed upon her friend the favor of extending additional invitations to Mr. Ringwell and Mr. Dawson. She was not certain either would attend, but she had to try.
Thankfully, both Saffron and her intimidating husband were eager to play a part in revealing Mr. Dawson’s true nature to Constance, and their event was small enough that the Duke and Duchess of Hestia were unlikely to have heard of it.
Thel’s insistence on hiding Constance’s engagement from her grandparents felt like a futile gesture, given how quickly news spread in society, but Constance was not her daughter, and therefore, she bowed to his judgment.
She selected her largest reticule and added the invitation to it, along with a heavy bag of coins. They were the bait for her trap. Her skill at cards was second only to her ability to bluff. She would draw Mr. Dawson and Constance into a game, and when he was giddy with victory, she would pull the rug out from under him.
She had yet to meet a man who could maintain his composure when bested by a woman.
When—not if—Mr. Dawson exploded, Constance would see what lay beneath his charismatic exterior. If that did not shake the foundation of her belief in him, nothing would.
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Hours later, as she entered Saffron’s home, a shiver went down her back. She was not sure if it was from nerves or anticipation. The chain hung heavily between her breasts, shifting with the smallest movement. It was a manner of play the earl had forced her to engage in. She had hated herself for enjoying it, which was every reason for her to reclaim the pleasure as her own. Thel was not likely to tug painfully on her chain to get her to heel.
She removed her hat and handed it to a footman, then made her way to the receiving room. It was immediately clear that she had arrived too early, as Thel was the only other guest present. He stood next to a trio of musicians positioned in front of the bay windows, wearing a black-and-white checkered frock coat and matching trousers. His black hair was slicked back and even his unruly beard had been groomed into submission.
