Late For The Wedding

Eleven

“Evidently country life does not agree with you, March.” Lord Crackenburne’s bristling gray brows bunched above the rims of his spectacles. “Let me see if I have got it all straight. In the course of the single night you spent under Beaumont’s roof, a mysterious death occurred, you found evidence that a new Memento-Mori Man is at work, and a lady from your past managed to involve you in an awkward situation in front of your good friend Mrs. Lake.”

“Nor is that the end of the list of lively particulars.” Lord Vale’s eyes glittered with sardonic amusement. “Let us not forget that this memorable visit to the country culminated in you and Mrs. Lake being summarily tossed out of the castle before breakfast.”

Tobias stretched out his left leg, which still ached from the long carriage ride the previous day, and sank deeper into his chair. It was one o’clock in the afternoon and the club’s coffee room was only sparsely populated. He and Crackenburne and Vale had the place almost entirely to themselves. Hardly surprising, he reflected. It was a fine day, and the majority of those members who had remained in Town for the summer had found some interesting occupations to pursue outside in the warmth of the sun. The gentlemen would not drift back into their clubs until this evening, when whist and claret and gossip called them indoors once more.

At this time of year, the demands of the social world were considerably diminished. The Season, with its rigorous schedule of balls, soirees, and parties, had ended for all intents and purposes. Many of the most fashionable hostesses had already retreated to their estates for the summer.

Not all of the high flyers fled London in the summer. For a variety of reasons, including the long, uncomfortable journeys, the lack of a suitable residence, or a dread of the sheer boredom of country life a goodly number of those who moved in the better circles chose to remain in Town.

A few, such as Crackenburne, did not even leave their clubs.

Following the death of his lady several years earlier, the Earl had virtually taken up residence here in the coffee room. Crackenburne was such a familiar fixture that the other members were inclined to overlook him as though he were a comfortable old sofa or a worn carpet. They gossiped freely in his presence, as though he were deaf.

The result was that Crackenburne absorbed rumors and news the way a sponge took up water. He knew some of the deepest secrets of the ton.

“I cannot take all of the credit for being chucked out of Beaumont Castle,” Tobias said. “Mrs. Lake played the leading role in that little melodrama. Had she not taken it upon herself to insist to Beaumont that a murder had occurred under his roof, or, to be more precise, upon his roof, we might not have been asked to leave so unceremoniously.”

Crackenburne was amused. “One can scarcely blame Beaumont for not wanting to acknowledge the manner of Fullerton’s demise.

“That sort of gossip would no doubt discourage some of the less adventurous members of Society from accepting future invitations to his wife’s parties. Lady Beaumont would have been furious if her reputation as a hostess had been ruined by talk of murder.”

“True.” Tobias sank deeper into his chair. “And it is not as though we had any proof to offer.”

“But there is no doubt in your mind?” Vale asked.

Tobias was not surprised by the cold interest in the other man’s eyes. Vale had listened to the recitation of events at the Beaumont house party with the degree of interest he usually reserved for his collection of antiquities.

Nearing fifty, Vale was tall and elegantly slender, with the long fingers of an artist. His receding hairline set off a strong profile and a high forehead that would not have looked amiss on one of the Roman busts in his collection.

Tobias was not yet certain what to make of Vale’s newfound interest in the investigation business. His lordship was a scholar and an expert on Roman artifacts. He spent a great deal of time excavating various ancient sites around England. But he was also something of a mystery. The fact that he was intrigued with the notion of consulting for the firm of Lake amp; March made Tobias a little uneasy.

On the other hand, there was no doubt that Vale’s rank and wealth, combined with his very close and presumably intimate connection to Lavinia’s new friend Mrs. Dove, had proved useful on the last case. There was every possibility that he could be helpful on this new investigation as well.

Tobias reminded himself that he needed all the assistance he could get.

He steepled his fingers and examined the carved marble of the mantel in the vain hope that it might offer up a clue. “I am quite certain that Fullerton’s fall from the roof was no accident. Mrs. Lake found the cap that the killer wore to conceal his features. But the memento-mori ring I discovered on the night table was all the proof I really needed.”

“Now you wish to know who might have benefited from Fullerton’s death,” Crackenburne said with a meditative air.

“It appears that this new killer seeks to emulate his predecessor,”

Tobias said. “One of the few things of which we can be certain about Zachary Elland is that he considered himself a professional. He not only took pride in the strategy he devised to carry out his kills, he always sought to turn a profit. He was a man of business, right down to his journal of accounts.”

“Therefore,” Vale concluded, looking more intrigued than ever, “it is very likely that this new murderer had a client who paid him for Fullerton’s death.”

“Indeed. If I can identify his client, I may be able to discover who was hired to commit the murder.” At the moment that was all that concerned him. He had a client of his own, and he was determined to protect Aspasia.

“A logical approach.” Crackenburne turned pensive. There is one possibility, but I’m inclined to dismiss it out of hand.”

Tobias waited.

“Fullerton was married years ago,” Crackenburne continued. “But there was no offspring. After his wife died, he seemed content with his mistresses and his horses. It was assumed that his fortune and title would eventually go to his nephew. But at the end of the Season this year, he astonished everyone in the ton by announcing his engagement to the Panfield chit.”

Vale made a small sound of disgust. “Fullerton was sixty if he was a day. The Panfield girl is barely out of the schoolroom. No more than seventeen, I’ll wager.”

“I am told that she is very pretty and quite charming in that naive, innocent sort of way that some men who should know better find alluring,” Crackenburne said. “For his part, Fullerton had a fortune and a title to offer. All in all, an excellent match from the point of view of any self-respecting parent who desires to elevate the family’s social status.”

Tobias pondered that news. “Obviously the Panfields had every reason to want Fullerton to live at least until his wedding night. So I am left with the nephew as a possible suspect. That suits me. It has been my experience that money is always an excellent motive.”

“It may not be in this instance,” Crackenburne warned. “The nephew is already quite well off in his own right. Furthermore, he is engaged to marry the Dorlingate heiress.”

“She’ll bring a fortune to the marriage,” Vale observed. “You’re right, sir, it would appear that the nephew has no great pressing financial concerns.”

Tobias scowled. “What of the title?”

“The nephew is already in line for an earldom from his father,”

Crackenburne said drily.

“Huh.” Fullerton had been a mere baron, Tobias thought. Not a title worth killing for when one was set to become an earl.

“In addition,” Crackenburne said, I have heard that the nephew is a generous, easy going sort who is devoted to his estates. He does not appear to be the type who would hire a killer to get rid of his uncle.”

“Is there anyone else who might have had a reason to get rid of Fullerton?” Tobias pressed. “A disgruntled financial partner?

“Someone with a personal grudge?”

“Not that I know of,” Crackenburne said.

Vale shook his head. “No one comes to mind.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re not overlooking someone.” Tobias glanced at Crackenburne. “Would you mind very much digging a little deeper in that direction?”

“Not at all.”

“Can either of you think of any other recent deaths that seem somewhat suspicious or quite unexpected?” Tobias asked.

Crackenburne and Vale meditated on that for a while.

Eventually Crackenburne shifted a little in his chair. “The only other recent death in Society that struck me as unexpected was that of Lady Rowland last month,” he said. “Died in her sleep. The family has put out the word that her heart failed her. But the gossip is that when her maid found her, she also discovered a half-empty bottle of the tonic Lady Rowland used for sleep.”

“A suicide?” Vale asked.

“That is the rumor,” Crackenburne said. “But I knew Lady Rowland for years. In my opinion, she was not the type to take her own life.”

“She was very wealthy,” Vale pointed out. “What is more, she used her money to control everyone else in the family. In my experience, people generally resent that sort of high-handed manipulation.”

“Just what I needed,” Tobias muttered. “An entire family of suspects.”

“Better than no suspects at all,” Vale said.

Lavinia walked through the little park and came to a halt beneath the leafy canopy of a tree. She was dismayed to see the gleaming carriage drawn up in front of Number 14 Hazelton Square. Joan Dove was apparently entertaining visitors this afternoon.

She should have sent word to her friend announcing her intention to call upon her today. But the warm sunshine had beckoned and it had seemed the perfect opportunity for a pleasant stroll to the elegant street of fine town houses where Joan lived. The odds had been very much against encountering another visitor at Number 14.

Although Joan had emerged from her widowhood and was getting out more these days, she was a private woman who did not maintain a large circle of close friends and acquaintances.

Well, there was no help for it, Lavinia thought. The only thing she could do was leave her card with the bull of a butler who guarded the front door and come back some other time.

She opened her reticule and groped inside with one gloved hand, searching for her little packet of cards.

At that moment the door of Number 14 opened. Lavinia glanced up and saw Joan’s daughter, Maryanne, emerge and start down the steps. The young woman was as lovely and elegant as her mother.

Her wedding to the Colchester heir at the end of the Season had been a lavish affair. The alliance was an excellent one, both socially and financially. But Joan had confided to Lavinia that she was particularly pleased because Maryanne and young Lord Colchester were very much in love.

Maryanne appeared to be in a hurry today. She walked swiftly toward the waiting carriage. Lavinia caught a glimpse of her tense,

unhappy features when a liveried footman leaped to open the door for her. She was no sooner settled inside the vehicle than the order was given to set off.

The carriage rolled past Lavinia. Through the uncovered window she saw Maryanne dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. The young woman was crying.

A little chill of disquiet went through Lavinia. Whatever had passed between Maryanne and Joan, it had not been pleasant.

Perhaps she ought to delay her visit until tomorrow.

She deliberated a moment longer and then started across the street. This investigation was too important to be set aside, however briefly, unless there was no alternative.

She went up the steps of the colonnaded town house and banged the knocker. The door opened immediately.

“Mrs. Lake.” The massive butler inclined his head in somber recognition. “I shall inform Mrs. Dove that you are here.”

“Thank you.”

Relieved not to have been barred from entrance on the grounds that Joan was not receiving visitors, she whisked into the black-and-white-marble-tiled hall and removed her bonnet. A glimpse of her reflection in the large, gilded mirrors revealed that the fichu she had tucked into the snug bodice of her violet gown was askew.

Madam Francesca, her tyrannical dressmaker, would have been outraged.

She had just finished making the adjustments to her attire when the butler returned.

“Mrs. Dove will see you in the drawing room.”

She followed him into the yellow, green, and gilt chamber. The thick velvet drapes were tied back with yellow cord to frame the pleasant vista of the park. Light streamed through the panes of glass, illuminating the thick, patterned carpet. Huge vases full of summer flowers brightened the corners.

Joan Dove stood at one of the tall windows, gazing pensively out into the street. It struck Lavinia that she made an excellent match for her new lover, Lord Vale. Joan was in her early forties, but she possessed the sort of striking profile and graceful height that would allow her to carry her beauty with her for many years.

It never ceased to amaze Lavinia that she had become friends with this woman. On the face of it, they had very little in common.

Joan had come to her first as a client. At the time of her husband’s death a little more than a year ago, she had inherited not only his fortune but, quite possibly, his position as the head of a mysterious underworld organization known as the Blue Chamber.

At the height of its power under Fielding Dove’s guidance, the tentacles of the Blue Chamber had stretched throughout England and beyond, onto the Continent. According to Tobias, who, in his capacity as a spy, had had every reason to know, the Chamber had operated a variety of businesses. Some of those enterprises had been legitimate. Others had been decidedly less so. The links between the two had often been murky.

The Blue Chamber was believed to have disintegrated in the wake of Dove’s death. Those few who were privy to the truth about his illicit activities assumed he had concealed his role as the lord of a criminal empire from his beloved wife and daughter. It was understood, after all, that gentlemen, even those engaged in legitimate investments, seldom troubled their ladies with the details of their business ventures.

Dove had been not only a gentleman by birth, he had also been extremely secretive. There was no reason to think that he had taken Joan into his confidence.

Lavinia and Tobias, however, were not so certain. There were rumors in certain quarters of the underworld that the clandestine operations of the Chamber were now under new management. And the only person around who appeared to be capable of running such an extensive enterprise was Joan.

Lavinia had no intention of asking Joan if the gossip was true. It was, she reflected, one of those questions one did not ask if one could avoid it.

On the other hand, it was difficult not to notice that, now that she had emerged from mourning, Joan exhibited a decided preference for a particular shade of blue. Her fashionable gowns and many of the gemstones she wore could best be described as azure in color.

Azure had been Fielding Dove’s secret title during the years when he controlled the Blue Chamber.

“Mrs. Lake, madam.” The butler glanced at the silver tea tray.

“Shall I fetch another cup?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Pugh,” Joan said quietly.

“Maryanne declined to take any while she was here. Mrs. Lake can use her cup.”

“Yes, madam.” Pugh bowed himself out of the drawing room and closed the door.

“Please be seated, Lavinia.” Joan’s smile was warm but tinged with a wan, unhappy quality. “I am delighted to see you, but I must admit this visit comes as a surprise. What happened in the country?”

“There were some complications.” Lavinia sank down onto one of the chairs and studied Joan’s drawn features with concern. “Are you feeling ill? I do not want to impose. Perhaps it would be best if I came back later?”

“No, this is an excellent time.” Joan seated herself on the sofa and reached for the teapot on the heavily worked silver tray. “I have just concluded a most unpleasant conversation with my daughter, and I am badly in need of a distraction.”

“I see.” Lavinia took the cup and saucer Joan handed to her. “Well, as it happens, I have one for you.”

“Excellent.” Joan picked up her own cup and looked at Lavinia with a determined anticipation. “May I assume that Lake and March has taken on a new case and that it is connected to the rather sudden death of Lord Fullerton?”

Lavinia smiled. “I never cease to be astonished by the manner in which you are always conversant with the latest news.”

“I daresay that word of Fullerton’s fall from Beaumont’s roof reached London before you did. And the fact that Vale got his carriage back somewhat sooner than planned told us both that you and Mr. March were likely involved in the matter.”

“Yes, of course.”

Joan gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am so sorry that your visit to the country was cut short.” She paused delicately. “I don’t suppose that you and Mr. March had much opportunity to, mmm, enjoy some private moments communing with nature before the disaster occurred?”

“Fullerton managed to plummet straight past my window in the course of one of the few private moments Mr. March and I were able to share.” Lavinia shuddered at the memory and took a breath. “He screamed, Joan.”

“I presume you do not refer to Mr. March.”

“I cannot envision Tobias screaming at the sight of the gates of hell, let alone in surprise at a body falling past a window. No, it was Fullerton who shrieked, and it was a most bloodcurdling sound, I assure you.”

“I can well imagine.” Joan sipped her tea and lowered her cup.

“And you immediately suspected murder most foul.”

“It was impossible to avoid that conclusion. In any event, we found proof shortly thereafter.”

She gave Joan a quick summary of events. When she concluded her tale, Joan studied her with an expression of grave concern.

“This is not merely another case, is it?” she asked.

“No.” Lavinia set her cup down with great care. “I will be honest with you. Tobias thinks that the business with the memento-mori ring implies that this new murderer has issued a challenge, that he or she is playing out some deadly game. But I fear that the villain’s real goal may be revenge.”

“Against Mrs. Gray or Mr. March?”

Lavinia shrugged. “Perhaps both. But in truth, I am most anxious about Tobias’s safety.”

Joan raised her brows. “I collect that you are not overly fond of your new client?”

“Mrs. Gray is very beautiful. She is also a woman of the world. My intuition tells me that she would not scruple to use her wiles to manipulate a man if she thought the tactic would prove effective.”

Joan’s mouth curved upward at the corners. “I very much doubt that such a strategy would work with Mr. March. It has been my observation that he and Vale have a great deal in common. One of the attributes they share is a remarkable degree of sound judgment.

“Neither would be easily deceived by a beautiful face or an alluring manner.”

“I am aware of that, but the thing is, Tobias feels some responsibility for what happened in the past. He blames himself for having set Zachary Elland on the path that eventually led to his undertaking a career as a professional murderer.”

“That is absurd.”

“Yes, of course it is.” Lavinia spread her hands, relieved to be able to confide her deepest fears about the case. “I explained that to him in no uncertain terms.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did. You are seldom reluctant to give Mr. March the benefit of your opinion. But in this matter, I collect that he was unwilling to accept your view?”

“Unfortunately, when it comes to taking responsibility for events in which he was involved, Tobias is inclined to err on the side of assuming that he should have been in complete control of matters.”

Joan nodded sagely. “That is a fault that I have observed in Vale as well. In my experience, men of their sort frequently blame themselves when things go wrong, even if there was nothing they could have done to alter the course of events. Fielding had the same habit.

“I suspect that inclination is a character trait that goes hand in hand with great strength of will and purpose.”

“Tobias also blames himself for not realizing sooner that Elland had become a professional murderer.”

“It is often most difficult to see evil in those whom we believe we know well.”

“Very true,” Lavinia said. “Well, that is the whole of the tale, or at least as much as we know at this point. As you can see, the only way out of this tangle is to find the killer.”

“And to that end, you seek to discover who benefited most from Fullerton’s death.”

“I came to you for advice on the subject because you have excellent connections in Society.”

“Let me think a moment. There is no doubt that Fullerton’s nephew will benefit directly. But as I recall, the young man is quite wealthy in his own right and about to marry an heiress. He will also acquire a more elevated title when his father dies. I see no strong motive in that quarter.”

“I agree.” Lavinia was reluctant to let go of that theory, but she had to admit it did not hold much promise. “Can you think of anything else that will be significantly changed because of Fullerton’s death?”

Joan tapped her fingertip against the side of her cup. “Obviously

“- Lord Fullerton will no longer be going through with his wedding plans, which means that the Panfield girl will be back on the marriage mart next Season. I can only imagine that her mama and papa are feeling quite downcast at the moment. It is common knowledge that Panfield is fishing for a title for his daughter.”

Lavinia contemplated that angle for a moment. “What about the girl herself? Was she equally enthusiastic about the marriage to Fullerton?”

“I have no idea how she felt about the situation. She is quite young and of course had very little to say in the matter. But I cannot imagine that a fat, aging baron was the romantic hero of her dreams.”

“Hmm.”

Joan looked amused. “I think you can forget the notion that the girl could have arranged such a drastic means of ridding herself of an unwelcome fiance. I doubt very much that an innocent young lady just out of the schoolroom could have secured the services of a professional murderer, let alone found a way to pay him.”

“I take your point,” Lavinia said. “Well, then, what about the true romantic hero of her dreams?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is there perhaps some young gentleman who is passionately in love with Miss Panfield and who might have concocted a scheme to get Fullerton out of his way?”

Joan considered for a moment. “Not that I am aware of, but I admit that I have not paid much attention.”

They drank tea together in a companionable silence for a while.

“I wonder what sort of temperament is required to make a person contemplate hiring a murderer,” Lavinia said finally.

“Presumably one with a great capacity for overwhelming greed or ambition.”

“Or perhaps one that is capable of harboring a deep rage,” Lavinia said slowly. “Can you think of anyone who would have had a reason to hate Fullerton so intensely?”

“Not offhand, although I suppose any man of his age might have acquired some enemies along the way.” Joan looked intrigued. “Do you want me to make some inquiries in that direction?”

“I would be very grateful if you would do that. There is no time to waste and we must pursue every avenue. This entire affair is so extremely muddled. We do not even know if Fullerton is the killer’s first victim.”

Joan’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Her eyes narrowed faintly.

“Do you have reason to suspect that there may have been others?”

“It’s possible. We simply do not know.” Restless and frustrated, Lavinia rose and went to examine the large golden chrysanthemums in the nearest vase. “Can you think of any other recent unexpected or unexplained deaths in Society?”

Joan pursed her lips. “Apsley’s heart failed him in May, but given his ill health, no one was surprised. Lady Thornby was taken off by a fever last month, but she had been bedridden for nearly a year.”

She fell silent, thinking. Lavinia listened to the ticking of the tall clock.

“I confess that I did wonder a bit at the news of Lady Rowland’s death last month,” Joan said eventually. “The gossip is that she accidentally consumed too much of her bedtime tonic and died in her sleep. But those who were close to her said that she brewed the concoction herself and had taken it regularly for years without incident.”

Lavinia turned quickly. “Suicide?”

“I am strongly inclined to doubt it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The woman was a tyrant,” Joan said flatly. “She controlled the purse strings in the family, and she did not hesitate to use them to force the others to bend to her will. At the time of her death, she had an excellent reason to live.”

Lavinia felt her curiosity stir. “Why do you say that?”

“From all accounts, Lady Rowland was looking forward to the announcement of her eldest granddaughter’s engagement next month. She had agreed to settle a vast sum on the girl, provided her papa accepted an offer from Ferring’s oldest son. It was no secret that Lady Rowland was obsessed with seeing the marriage take place.”

“Why was that?”

“The on-dit is that in her youth, Lady Rowland conceived a great passion for Ferring’s father. Her parents forced her to marry Rowland instead, but the gossip is that she never got over her feelings for Ferring. Indeed, they are rumored to have had a long-standing affair after Ferring himself was married. He died a few years ago.”

“Do you believe that Lady Rowland was determined to live out her dreams through her eldest granddaughter?”

“That is what I was told. It is certainly no secret that after her own husband died, she used the Rowland fortune to buy the Ferring heir for her granddaughter.” Joan sipped tea and slowly lowered her cup, eyes faintly narrowed. “But I believe that has all changed now’

“Why is that?”

“Maryanne mentioned just last week that she had heard there would be no engagement announcement after all. Something about the young lady’s papa having refused Ferring’s offer.”

Lavinia felt excitement leap. “What happened to change his mind?”

“I cannot say. At the time the subject was not of particular interest.” Joan paused. “But I could probably find out for you.”

“Yes, I think I would very much like to know the particulars.”

Lavinia tapped the toe of her half boot on the thick carpet. “Who controls Lady Rowland’s fortune now?”

“Her son, the granddaughter’s papa.”

“Well, now,” Lavinia said to herself.

Joan gave her an inquiring look. “What are you thinking?”

“It occurs to me that in the wake of both Lord Fullerton’s and Lady Rowland’s deaths, wedding plans were drastically altered.”

Joan tilted her head slightly to the side, considering that conclusion. “Do you know, now that I study the question in that light, there may be a third death that fits the formula, that of a gentleman of some forty years named Newbold. He was found dead at the foot of his own staircase one morning a few weeks ago. Everyone assumed that he had had too much to drink and lost his balance on the top step.”

“What marriage plans were altered by his death?”

“His own.” Joan gave a tiny shudder. “He was quite a dreadful man who was known to seek out the brothels that would supply him with very young children.”

“Vile creature,” Lavinia whispered.

“Yes. But a very rich vile creature. As was the case with Fullerton, he had recently got engaged to a young lady. I wonder if the chit knows how very fortunate she is to have had her wedding date canceled.”

“Well,” Lavinia said again.

Joan frowned. “The thing is, Lavinia, as with the other two instances, no one involved appeared to be opposed to Newbold’s marriage plans. Indeed, all three of these proposed alliances were excellent matches in terms of money and social connections. In Society, those are the only things that matter. You know that as well as I do.”

“In most cases, perhaps, but not always. For example, I know that you were very concerned for Maryanne’s happiness when the plans were made for her marriage.”

“Yes, that is true.” Joan looked at the portrait of Fielding Dove that hung above the mantel, her expression unreadable. “Fielding was equally concerned. Our own marriage had been such a warm and happy alliance, you see.”

Lavinia realized that Joan was working hard to conceal some strong emotion. She did not know whether to ignore her friend’s mood or try to offer comfort. She and Joan were still in the process of forging a friendship. There were some boundaries she did not want to cross unless she was invited to do so.

She walked back to the chair she had occupied earlier and stopped beside it.

“I know you loved Fielding Dove very much,” she said carefully.

That seemed sufficiently noncommittal, she thought. If Joan wanted to maintain her privacy, she could let the remark pass with a simple acknowledgment.

Joan nodded, never taking her eyes off the portrait.

For a moment Lavinia thought that would be the end of the conversation.

Joan got to her feet and went back to stand at the window.

“Shortly before you arrived, my daughter took great pains to remind me of that very fact.”

“I do not wish to pry,” Lavinia said. “But I sense that you are unhappy. Is there anything I can do?”

Joan’s elegant jaw tightened. She blinked several times, as though she had something in her eye. “Maryanne called today to lecture me about the impropriety of my new friendship with Lord Vale.”

“Oh, dear.”

“She seems to feel that I am somehow being unfaithful to Fielding’s memory.”

“I see.”

“It is rather unsettling to be lectured on such matters by one’s daughter.”

Lavinia winced. “If it is any consolation, I recently endured a similar talk, from my niece. Emeline made it clear that in her opinion my connection with Mr. March has gone on long enough without the formality of a marriage license.”

“Joan cast her a quick, wryly sympathetic glance. Then you can perhaps understand some of my feelings in this matter. Tell me truthfully, do you think that my connection with Vale is evidence that I no longer treasure and respect Fielding’s memory?”

“Joan, the nature of your friendship with Lord Vale is none of my concern. However, since you have asked for my opinion, I will give it to you. From what you have said of your marriage, I believe that Fielding Dove loved you very much. Therefore, I cannot imagine that he would have wanted you to deny yourself the opportunity to experience happiness and affection after he was gone.”

“That is what I have told myself.”

“If you doubt it, try reversing the situation in your mind. If you were the one who had been taken off first, would you have wanted Fielding to be alone for the rest of his life?”

“No,” Joan said quietly. “Above all else, I would have wanted him to be happy.”

“I suspect that is precisely what he would have said about you if someone had asked him the question.”

“Thank you.” Joan sounded somewhat relieved. She turned around and smiled. “It is very kind of you to reassure me. I confess, Maryanne’s tears and accusations today rattled me. I began to wonder if I was, indeed, failing to honor Fielding in my heart.”

“I assure you, Emeline’s little homily on the proprieties sent a few tremors through me also.”

“I must say, under any other circumstance, our predicament would almost be amusing. You and I have both spent many years and a great deal of effort instructing two young ladies in the rules of decorum and proper behavior, and now they see fit to turn the tables on us.”

“It does give one pause, does it not?” Lavinia frowned. “I wonder if it is an indication that the younger generation may be developing a taste for prudery.”

Joan shuddered. “What a ghastly thought. Discretion and decorum are all very well, but it would be a great pity, indeed, if this current crop of young ladies and gentlemen were to become a nation of narrow-minded, straitlaced prigs.”