He’d taken a lease on a small property nearby, though with no money coming in, he knew that could not go on forever.
He’d ruminated for months, certain he had been badly used. His fate could not be what it was. A mistake had been made somewhere.
His days and nights blended together as he walked the small, rented house searching for an answer. He rarely slept. Who could sleep with the world closing in upon one? His options dwindled away, one by one. He thought he might marry and regain his footing that way. But to who? The only eligible girl, Miss Agnes Rosings of Rosedale Farm, had laughed in his face and told him he was both poor and a bore. He would have slapped her had her mother not been in the next room. As it was, he’d been forced to admit to himself that he had not that charm that might make a girl blind to his financial shortcomings.
He thought he might buy some small plot of land with the money he had left, he might work his way up again with diligence, making a profit and buying more land.
That possibility had faded to nothing. He’d had too many pressing needs to fulfill—rent, food, drink, firewood, and especially, laudanum. That helpful draught was the only thing that kept him sane. He must have it. And yet, it took up so much of his resources.
One day, as he searched the little rented house, always hoping to discover some cache of coins somebody had forgot about, he’d found a book. It was small in size and tucked neatly above a rafter. Certainly, it must be of some value if someone had hidden it so well. He might sell it.
He’d sat down in front of his woefully small fire and read it from beginning to end. It was a diary, by he knew not who. It was only signedA faithful servant to Sir John Hill.
There, he’d read a story very like his own. This faithful servant detailed an intelligent and resourceful master who’d made many contributions and was cast aside by the very place that should have welcomed him—The Royal Society of London.
The parallels to his own life were unmistakable! Sir John Hill had been wronged, as he had been wronged! John Hill had not been allowed to take his proper place, just as he had been barred from it! In truth, he had fared even worse than John Hill—he’d been rejected byeverybody. Nobody asked him to dine anymore, they just gave him pitying glances and avoided his eye.
It was then that it became clear to him that the whole of society was rigged. The powerful made certain that the ones with no power never got any. A duke might be foolish beyond measure and mortgage his estates, and yet he was still a duke and ate a fine dinner every night. Money and credit were thrown at those who did not need it and denied to those who did. A man like himself always teetered on the brink of disaster. One small push was all it took to send a man flying down a pit he could not climb out of.
The laudanum, as he increased the doses, helped him see how things were in the world even more clearly than he had before. He had not lost everything and been sent to this house only to die in misery. He had been sent to find the book, as the only person who could understand its significance. He had been sent to revenge John Hill and raise himself up in the process. John Hill had been wronged by Martin Folkes and Lord George Penderton. Neither of those fellows were responsible for his own losses, or even alive at this late date, but they were the keys to his rise. Like Jesus, he would be born again, and the descendants of those two criminals would pay for his restoration to life.
Once he’d realized that God had sent him on a mission, that he was meant for great things, the plans came to him fast and quick. It was not a month before he’d sold all of his furniture and rented the house hard by St. George’s church.
As he read and re-read the book, he was more and more encouraged that the wrong would be righted through him. He would take his place as a rich man, given courtesy and inspiring fear. Further, he would do it in a rather elegant fashion—he would rip back his fate with the help of John Hill. Society would know the tables had been turned, certain persons would know that every crime had its price, though the bill had been a long time coming due.
It was a modern-day crusade and he was its only and most powerful knight. He was veritas and lux—truth and light.
He must just tread carefully now. Though he was well-aware that he was not particularly talented at unraveling the nuances of other people, he was certain Miss Dell had tried to put him off when he spoke to her in Mrs. Herschel’s drawing room.
Why, though? She gave every appearance of being a lady who wished to discuss scientific discoveries and theories. And hehaddiscussed them with her. What was there to oppose him? Certainly no other gentleman would humor her so.
And why had she been so obstinate as to suggest Grayson’s theory that there was a connection between John Hill and Veritas? He’d made his opinion on the matter very clear in Lady Milton’s drawing room. That avenue of inquiry was to be discounted. Why had she gone on with it?
Though he could not imagine that Lord Grayson held sway over the lady, she did not give up on his idea.
It was confounding.
Rather than spend hours trying to divine the incomprehensible, he decided he must just move forward in his plan. He did not think Miss Dell was in love with him. He guessed that she attempted to put him off because of that fact. He also knew it would be quite beyond his powers to transform himself into some dashing rake, leading women into corners to whisper frivolous compliments. As far as he could tell, women lost their reason over such fellows, had they much reason to lose.
No, a strategy such as that was doomed to fail. What might not fail, though, was family pressure. He would present himself to Lord Penderton. His credentials were convincing enough and it was likely that the lord would jump at the chance to marry off his bookish daughter. Lord Penderton would be only too aware that suitors would not be falling from the trees to secure the lady librarian. She might be comely, but what fellow would welcome being lectured to on all manner of subjects? She fancied herself an intellectual over some staring at flowers she’d done. Any man of sense would recoil from it.
The only obstacle, as far as he could see, would be if Lord Penderton had secret hopes of Grayson stepping forward. It would be delusional, everybody knew Grayson was an unrepentant flirt, but many a father had deluded themselves with high hopes.
He must just lay out the facts and appeal to Lord Penderton’s commonsense.
He stood and headed toward the library to find some paper in the desk. He would write to Lord Penderton and request an interview.
*
Giles felt asif the walls around him were closing in. He’d gone along so jolly these past years, with really not a care. He knew, of course, that people talked about his flirtations, but he’d felt it was all said in good humor.
Suddenly, in the past few days, the humor had seemed to fade. First Dalton had used his history against him by telling Miss Dell there were bets laid with her name on them. Now, he was in receipt of his mask for Lady Blakely’s ball.
The lady had always been rather amused by his way of going on, but it seemed her amusement had faded.
LaRue examined the mask. “You will look terrible,” he said, pulling at the curls.
The mask consisted of a tricorn hat, a black half-mask emblazoned with a white V on the forehead, and a flowing white curled wig.
