Mary Nichols - Regency High Society Vol 5 - The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘That’s easy!’ Henry pushed himself to his feet to pour a glass of brandy, offering it to his brother. ‘Servants. They always know more about the family than the family members themselves. If you ever wish to know anything about the Faringdons, for the past two generations at least, ask Marcle. Don’t ever be under the misapprehension that you have any secrets, Nick!’

‘There is only the nursemaid here with them in London. Sarah, I think.’ Eleanor looked at her mama for corroboration.

‘Perfect! Eleanor…would you care to pay a visit to Faringdon House again tomorrow?’ Henry poured brandy for himself. ‘On the pretext of enquiring after Octavia’s health after her social introduction? And see if you can find an occasion to speak with Sarah.’

‘But what on earth do I ask?’ she demanded, startled at the role suddenly thrust at her. ‘Are your employers perhaps charlatans? Do they lie and cheat and—?’

‘I will go with you.’ Mrs Stamford rose to her feet. ‘Come, my dear. It is late. We will think of something. And if words do not get the right results, gold might! In my experience, money will open a multitude of doors.’

‘Well, Mama…’ Eleanor failed to hide her surprise ‘…I shall certainly not refuse your offer. We will be able to enjoy another exciting conversation with Octavia about the state of her roses! If you will accompany me, it may give us the opportunity to distract her so that one of us can talk to the child and Sarah. I shall take Tom with me. What a cosy family party we shall make, to be sure!’

‘Have faith, Eleanor. It seems that we have a mystery on our hands at last, rather than an open-and-shut case.’ Henry walked with habitual grace to open the door for the departing ladies, bowing them out. ‘And brother Thomas is beginning to look like an innocent pawn in an intricate and dangerous game of chance. More innocent by the hour.’

The ladies went to bed, deep in discussing tactics for the morrow. Hal and Nick sat on in the parlour, Hal deep in thought, a bottle of brandy between them.

‘What is it?’ Nicholas asked at last—his brother had spent the past ten minutes saying nothing, but staring into the fire.

‘I have been thinking.’

‘Never!’

Now he looked up, lips curving a little. ‘The documents presented by Sir Edward. They must be false. And Aunt Beatrice’s description of Octavia’s brother…’

‘So?’

‘Little brother.’ Henry smiled in gentle malice. ‘Would you care for another tour of the gentleman’s clubs and gaming establishments of London? And perhaps another informative conversation with Kingstone?’

‘No. I would not!’

‘I think this one may pay off. Just a hunch but. Say nothing to Eleanor. It would not do to raise her hopes until we have more concrete evidence than Beatrice’s ramblings. Our aunt has more faith in her memory than I have. But I think.I just think that we may have been looking for the wrong person!’

At eleven o’clock on the following morning, Mrs Alicia Stamford, as promised, accompanied by the Marchioness of Burford and the infant Marquis, all suitably dressed for an informal morning visit, took the barouche to cover the short distance to Faringdon House in style.

‘We must devise some means to encourage Octavia to bring the nursemaid and the child into the room. I doubt it will be too difficult.’ Mrs Stamford settled herself in the carriage in a decided manner and unfurled her parasol. ‘Since you have the baby with you, it would be natural to wish to praise and admire.’ She removed the tassel of her embroidered reticule from Tom’s inquisitive fingers with firm and well-practised skill. ‘I will engage Octavia in conversation. You may talk with Sarah about the family.’

‘Thank you, Mama!’ Eleanor’s smile was wry. ‘I am not sure who has drawn the short straw.’ She distracted Tom from eating the fingers of her new kid gloves. ‘I hope that she is of a confiding nature!’

As it happened, there was no need for devious plotting on the part of the two ladies. The morning was warm and sunny. There, in the private garden with its ornamental railing in the centre of Grosvenor Square, they spied Octavia Baxendale, her nursemaid and her son taking advantage of the mild temperature. Octavia sat comfortably beneath a tree, a little apart, a book open on her lap. On the grass some distance before her sat Sarah with the child John. High voices and excited shouts gave evidence that other families from the Square, both children and nursemaids, were enjoying the fine morning with childhood games.

‘Fortune smiles on us so far.’ Mrs Stamford gave her hand to their coachman and descended, all regal dignity, to take this crucial meeting with Octavia Baxendale under her control.

The ladies exchanged greetings. Enquired after their respective health. They had come, Mrs Stamford explained, to ask after the welfare of Miss Baxendale after the demands of the previous evening and her meeting the Faringdon family en masse. A most successful at home, was it not, as acknowledged by all. Lady Beatrice Faringdon had particularly commented on her enjoyment at renewing her acquaintance with Miss Baxendale. She clearly remembered their previous meetings very well, when Octavia had first made her curtsy, in spite of the passage of time. And had Sir Edward found it an amusing experience? Mrs Stamford had noticed that he played a skilful hand of whist.

Eleanor hid a smile and simply allowed her mother to continue unchecked. Octavia expressed no surprise, no recognition of, or response to, Mrs Stamford’s subtle comments and answered in her usual calm manner. She smiled. Her eyes rested on her visitors with guileless acceptance. She was very well. No, she had not found it unduly stressful. Yes, she had enjoyed the evening, particularly her conversation with Lady Beatrice, who reminded her a little of her mother. So pleasant to have such a large family. Edward had said what an agreeable evening it had been. All so elegant and comfortable, as they had expected, of course.

Eleanor sighed inwardly and did not envy her mother her self-imposed task of bringing Octavia out of herself.

But Mrs Stamford sat beside Octavia, all determination, arranged her skirts and her parasol and set herself to entertain and elicit information. They discussed the care and design of gardens—of which Eleanor’s masterful mama had limited knowledge, but yet approved as an interest worthy of a lady; and Byron’s latest offerings of Parisina and The Siege of Corinth, both offered in the same volume—which she had never read but willingly condemned, as she did with equal fervency the infamous author for his scandalously wild life and lack of gentility, despite his elevated birth. There was no accounting for such aberrations in even the most well-born of families, she declaimed with a sharp glance at Octavia.

But Octavia had little to add beyond another smile and an inclination of her head. Nor did she claim acquaintance with the works of Lord Byron. Mrs Stamford quickly came to the conclusion that she had never spent so tedious a morning. Miss Baxendale might be a pretty girl with acceptable manners—no fault to be found in her upbringing, for sure—but she had absolutely nothing to say for herself. How Thomas could have married her, she would never understand! But then, she caught herself on the thought, she had to hold on to the conviction that he had never done so.

Meanwhile Eleanor, to the detriment of her figured muslin gown—but it was in a good cause, after all—sat on the grass with Sarah and the two children. Tom was intrigued, too young to enjoy the company of another infant, but content to crawl and to try to eat the daisy heads, which were opening in the sunshine. John ran about on sturdy legs, throwing a ball to Sarah when she encouraged him, but lured by the cries of the other children in the garden. Sarah allowed him to approach their game when the temptation grew too great to withstand, but kept a sharp eye on him. Octavia seemed unconcerned, deep in a discussion with Mrs Stamford of the value of auriculas for spring planting.