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Four
Lavender certainly turned heads when they entered the Coonans’ ballroom. He was dressed in a classic coat-and-tails and there were several murmurs of approval as they prowled the perimeter of the room. Lavender had paired his tux with a gorgeous purple silk paisley vest and a purple tie. A sprig of lavender and an iris were pinned to his lapel.
Meanwhile, Reginald was limited to the drab wardrobe at his place but Lavender did his best. He remained at Reginald’s side, much to Gates’s chagrin. Most of Reginald’s ancestor’s wardrobe was limited to blacks and drab browns, many of the waistcoats in burgundy and dark green. They settled on one in embroidered green silk and Lavender made a stylish boutonniere from a sprig of holly and a rose. Reginald felt unusually festive as he flashed curious matrons his cheekiest smiles.
The entire house had been decorated for the holiday season with what had to be miles of garland and hundreds of candles. The women were fountains of crinoline and lace and seemed rather excited to see Reginald and Lavender together. Reginald heard their names murmured behind silk gloves and fans.
“What’s your plan?” Reginald whispered out of the side of his mouth. He’d asked several times but Lavender had been tight-lipped. They located Winterstone at the same time and Lavender pulled Reginald with him so they could find a spot against the wall.
“I’m not here to kill anyone if that’s what you’re thinking.” Lavender dropped into a low bow as an older man and his entourage passed so Reginald did as well. They kept their heads down then drifted closer to the wall. “I might be…observing Winterstone on behalf of an interested party but that’s all you need to know.”
“Why is he so much younger?” Reginald wondered to himself as he assessed the version of Mickey Winterstone holding court in what appeared to be a sitting room off of the ballroom. Winterstone’s hair was a bright orange and his thick curls were slicked back by a pomade. He was a strapping barrel-chested man and his laugh carried over the music and low chatter in the ballroom. Winterstone appeared to be in his early fifties and Reginald was certain his brain had done that deliberately.
“I don’t know that I’d consider him to be that young,” Lavender mused.
Reginald shook his head slowly then gasped when another familiar face from Speed’s photos appeared at Winterstone’s shoulder. “Why is Frank Leary a baby?” He whispered to Lavender. Leary appeared to be in his early twenties. His auburn hair was slicked back and he had thick sideburns and a full mustache.
“Sir Francis O’Leary? He’s hardly a baby. He’s…” Lavender’s hand rolled vaguely. “At least twenty.”
“I didn’t mean an actual baby,” Reginald said, mildly exasperated. The two men looked like they’d stepped out of Speed’s photos but were dressed in formal evening attire. They laughed and made polite conversation but Reginald sensed some unease around them. “It became fashionable to add the Os and Macs back to surnames after the Catholic Emancipation but O’Leary’s O was dropped at Staten Island. They aren’t well-liked?” Reginald asked from behind a hand and Lavender shook his head.
“Trouble has been stirring in Ireland again and those two are holding the spoons. Lord Coonan’s done his best to maintain the peace but Winterstone wants more than Catholic representation. He’s going to call for an independent Ireland.”
“Makes sense,” Reginald mumbled as he considered the historical parallels. Instead of the Italians, Coonan had aligned himself with the British, still putting the alliance between himself and Winterstone in jeopardy.
“I beg your pardon?” Lavender asked heavily.
“You don’t want to know what I think about the monarchy and imperialism,” Reginald whispered with an eye roll. “But it makes sense for Winterstone and O’Leary to be Fenians,” he explained. Lavender shushed threateningly as he looked around.
“That’s not a word you want to be heard saying,” he said with a toss of his chin to get them moving again. “And try not to make a scene. Lady Coonan prides herself on the variety and liveliness of her parties but we don’t want to be the on-dit of the evening.”
“Gotcha, boss!” Reginald whispered. Lavender grimaced and leaned away.
“That’s not… I am not your boss. That implies that either of us is accustomed to physical labor.” He waved for Reginald to follow, tightly smiling and nodding whenever they were greeted. But it was obvious that they were quickly becoming the topic of gossip around the crowded room as all eyes followed them. A hush would descend whenever they approached a cluster of partygoers.
“I always knew we’d make a striking couple,” Reginald murmured, earning a sneer from Lavender.
“No doubt they are trying to discern if we are a couple. News has traveled fast and it appears that everyone knows you’re extremely displeased with your mistress and your wife. And possibly in the market for a husband, of all things.”
“Shhh!I do not have a—!” Reginald spat and shook his head. “I cannot even countenance the possibility. I refuse.” He stated with a hard slash of his hand, making Lavender laugh.
“Easy, my lord. Many men have wives though they do not wish it, but they quietly do their duty. Take Lord Carmichael. There isn’t a soul in all of England who believes he’s ever touched her but Carmichael happily married his cousin to hold onto his title, deposited her in his place in the Cotswolds, and goes about his life as happily as he pleases.”
“Lucky Lady Carmichael,” Reginald noted wryly and Lavender shrugged as they strolled.
“She quite enjoys the groundskeeper from what I’m told.”
“As long as there are bucolic delights, I suppose,” Reginald said but continued to shake his head. “You literally couldn’t pay me to do it.”
“That surprises me,” Lavender confessed. “You’re known to be ruthless in your pursuit of money and influence.”
“Not at all,” Reginald said with a chuckle. “I am ruthless in the pursuit of my own pleasure because I learned—at a young age and rather ruthlessly—that I was a commodity to be exploited. My parents wanted me to believe that my only path to acceptance and happiness was through conformity.”
Lavender halted them, then nodded at the sea of bodies filling the Coonans’ ballroom. They arrived late, after the receiving line so they had yet to meet their hosts. The sea was a current of black tuxedos and flouncing ice-cream colored gowns. Reginald was aware of how uniform and mindless it all was as the dancers simultaneously conformed to a hundred tedious rules in order to avoid social ruin.
“Is it that bad? Most men would kill for your name and your position. They’d simply see a wife as an inconvenience and get on with it.”
“Get on with it?” Reginald parroted, then gagged. “Get on with what? Being bored and miserable? Look at them.” He threw a hand at the room around them. “I refused to settle. I left all of this because I knew I was better and I wanted more. Money and power were easy but I searched the whole world over to find the perfect man.”
