The thought of Hyperia screaming inspired me to fleetness. Then too, I hadn’t had much to eat or drink, and I had a natural gift of foot speed. I was thus first on the scene at a bend in the path that connected the summer cottage and the orangery.
“Hyperia, are you injured?” I panted.
“I nearly did somebody an injury,” she retorted, gathering a pale silk shawl about her shoulders. “I can’t imagine what he thought to do, but a hard stomp to his foot, and he desisted.”
He? A he had inspired Hyperia West, the personification of good sense and dignity, to scream? My first instinct was to demand a description and an accounting of the incident, but investigation would have to wait.
Miss Longacre stood a few yards off, scowling mightily. She, too, had collected a pale shawl, and the moonlight gave her the appearance of a shade.
“He went that way,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the stable. “Or, rather, I heard footsteps that way.”
I was a decent tracker. If the miscreant had bolted for the stable, I’d soon know it. “Hyperia, did something startle you?” I spoke as calmly as I could, which wasn’t very calmly at all.
“He didn’t bolt for the stable. He went for the home wood,” Hyperia said, sounding as if she was willing to put up her fives to settle the question.
“Miss West,” I said, lowering my voice to that of a senior officer losing his patience, “did something startle you?”
Ormstead came crashing up the path behind me. “Everybody accounted for?”
Hyperia stared at me as if I’d spoken in ancient Etruscan, then comprehension dawned in her eyes.
“Miss Longacre and I are unharmed,” she said slowly. “A stray dog or loose pig brushed by me on the path. We don’t have wolves in Britain any more, do we?”
“We killed the last of them in my grandfather’s day,” Ormstead said, looking puzzled. “You came upon a stray dog?”
“They do roam the countryside,” Miss Longacre said, taking the place at Hyperia’s side. “Such a nuisance. As for a loose pig, that happens, and the home farm is less than half a mile off. I’ll tell Papa to have a word with the steward. I am certain the beast made for the stable. A cat perhaps or a large rat.”
A few other guests had straggled up the path, though the undergrowth meant they could not all crowd around Hyperia and Miss Longacre, and instead had to essentially form a queue.
“No reason for upset,” Ormstead called. “One of the ladies was taken aback by some creature dashing across the path. The full moon doubtless makes the wildlife more active.”
That little detail showed a capacity for quick thinking on Ormstead’s part. Wildlife cavorting in the moonshine lent a patina of credibility to Hyperia’s explanation—to the explanation I’d suggested she offer.
“Let’s return to the garden, shall we?” I offered her my arm, and Ormstead did the pretty for Miss Longacre.
The gawkers dissipated in pairs, and my heart eventually slowed from a gallop to a restless trot.
“What happened?” I asked when Hyperia and I were some distance from the other guests.
“I was certainly not accosted by a dog,” she muttered.
“Not of the canine variety. You and Miss Longacre agree that your assailant was a man. Was he wearing supper attire? Livery? A stable boy’s garb? Can you recall the texture of the fabric of his coat? Was he tall, short, stout, slender? Anything you recollect might be of use.”
We passed the fountain, the sound of the water trickling in the darkness soothing to my nerves. Though what of Hyperia’s nerves? Some scoundrel had accosted her.
She slipped her hand free of my arm. “I was on the porch, waiting for Maybelle to finish in the retiring room. The moonrise was lovely, and I was wishing I did not have to return to the other guests. The next thing I knew, some fellow had me about the middle and was hauling me into the bushes.”
“You resisted?”
“Of course I struggled, and I hoped he’d realize I was not whichever merry widow or obliging chaperone he thought I was. No such insight befell him, and thus I screamed. I also tromped hard on his instep, and he cursed.”
“Good for you. Did he say anything?”
“‘Bloody hell.’” Hyperia settled onto a shadowed bench, her prim tone making the vulgar expostulation all the more shocking. “Not a mean ‘bloody hell.’ More of a surprised, annoyed ‘bloody hell.’ Like when your saddle horse comes up lame, and you’re already running late for an engagement.”
I paced before the bench, sorting through a few bloody hells of my own. “His tone is why you conclude he mistook you for a trysting partner. I suppose that’s possible.” In which case, no threat to Hyperia remained.
Some randy bachelor had had too many glasses of champagne and not enough light to see by. Miss Longacre would support the feral dog/frisky wildlife story, and by morning, half the company would believe a fox or a badger had caused Hyperia’s fright. The other half would keep their unkind thoughts to themselves.
“Thank you,” Hyperia said, watching me pace.
“For what?”
“For your quick wits. I’m sure Lady Longacre would rather not have her house party become grist for the gossip mill. I would dislike becoming an object of talk, for that matter.”
Polite society had a relentlessly dirty mind. If it became known that a male with nefarious intent had put his hands on Hyperia’s person, speculation would ensue: Had she enticed him? Had he done more than maul her? What was she doing, standing all alone on the moonlit porch, if not waiting for a lover?
Did Hyperia have a lover? Half of me hoped so. The other half of me kicked my curiosity in the arse for even presuming to speculate.
“Stop pacing, Jules. You’ll draw attention, and right now I wish I were invisible.”
I settled on the bench. “One sympathizes. Tell me more about this fellow. Colorful waistcoat? Gloves? Watch chain glinting in the moonlight? Was there any accent to his ‘bloody hell,’ or did he sound Etonian? Was it ‘bluddy ’ell’ or ‘bluidy hell’?”
“He didn’t drop his aitch, if that’s what you mean, but Kentish lads don’t, so that doesn’t tell us much. Not Scottish either. He was good-sized, though shorter than you. Strong.”
And he had used that strength to disrespect Hyperia. I gained new sympathy for Sir Thomas’s seething rage. “Clothing?”
“Good wool. He wasn’t a stable lad or drunken gardener, though his breath bore the scent of wine.”
“Any other scent? Pomade? Horse? Tobacco? Hungary water?”
The moon was well up now, appearing smaller as it rose. That I was discussing a criminal assault with my former almost-intended rather than reciting poetry or whispering of half-acknowledged dreams struck me as symbolic of the man I’d become.
I’d never really sought a romantic attachment with Hyperia. I liked her and respected her. Now I could never have that sentimental attachment, though I could contribute in some minor way to her continued safety.
“He mashed me against his chest,” she said, “and his coat smelled of… a roast in the kitchen, gravy, ham and potatoes.”
“Of a supper buffet in a rather overheated orangery?”
“Yes. Exactly like that. By design, the company has a full complement of strutting bachelors, Jules. One of them mistook me for some other woman, and there’s an end to it.”
Hyperia articulated the simplest theory that explained all the facts, and yet, I was unconvinced. The bachelors were strutting, but they weren’t blind or blind drunk—not yet. Hyperia was notably petite, and the summer cottage had likely been abuzz with ladies directly after the meal. To mistake her for another woman was possible, but quite the foolish error.
Then too, the footmen had been moving around in the orangery and would have frequented the kitchen. They might well smell of roast, have proper diction, and wear good wool.
“Jules?”
“I’ll walk you to the house, Hyperia. You don’t have to ask me.” I’d walk her to the door of her room and loiter in the corridor until I heard her lady’s maid greet her and the lock click into place.
“I do have to ask. Might you linger another day or two here at Makepeace? Healy was supposed to come with me, but he was delayed and isn’t expected until the day after tomorrow. Until he arrives, you won’t upset the numbers, and you will be a source of… reassurance for me.”
From Lady Ophelia, such a request would have been blatant manipulation. Her style would be to turn an ankle or come down with a mysterious ague, then bid me to wait for her imminent death before I returned to Town. Hyperia eschewed intrigue, and she was as proud as any of my sisters.
“You are asking me to stay?”
“Only until Healy arrives. A day or two at most.”
I could not refuse, and yet I hesitated to oblige. The other guests wanted me anywhere but underfoot. They’d had their gawk at Lord Julian the Traitor and would doubtless prefer I gave them a clear field in which to gossip about me.
“You haven’t a chaperone here?” I asked.
“Lady Longacre is my sister’s godmother, so I’m nominally chaperoned. Lady Ophelia could also serve. Healy would not have allowed me to come otherwise, and he will be upset if he learns that I was…”
“Frightened by a badger.” I hated the hesitance in Hyperia’s voice, the way her fingers plucked at the tassels of her shawl. I knew how it felt to realize that the world I’d grown up in had become unsafe for me.
“Ormstead will keep an eye on you if I ask it of him.”
Hyperia sat up straighter. “Ormstead will not see me to my room, take up a lantern, and search the undergrowth for tracks until cockcrow. Ormstead will not think to ask about aitches when all I heard was two words. Ormstead will not expect me to recall the quality of wool I felt for only a moment.”
“You are a woman of fashionable tastes. Of course you can evaluate wool at a touch.”
“I am little, notably reserved, and past my prime, Jules. Why any man would do that…”
The scoundrel had had his hands on her for less than ten seconds, but that had been plenty long enough to shake her confidence.
As my matrimonial desertion had doubtless shaken her confidence. “Let’s get you inside, Perry, dear.” I rose and offered her my hand. “I do want to have a look around the summer cottage.” I also needed to have a word with Miss Longacre, but I’d have to find a way to chat with her discreetly.
“You’ll stay, then?” Hyperia asked, rising unassisted. “For a day or two?”
“I’ll stay until Healy arrives, but I also want to have a quiet word with our host. If women aren’t safe on his property, he needs to know that and to take appropriate measures to address the problem.”
“I wish I hadn’t come,” Hyperia muttered as we traversed the length of the garden. “I’m too old for this nonsense, and it is nonsense. Maybelle will find a swain when she’s good and ready to. A lady ought to have a few years to enjoy herself between the schoolroom, the altar, and childbed. Two of the girls I went to school with are dead, you know.”
I hadn’t known. “Child birth?”
“Of course child birth. One of them had been married less than a year. What woman seeks to risk her life for the sake of some fellow’s elegant knee or witty repartee?”
I thought of my friends from university, so eager to buy their colors, knowing that if they gave their lives in uniform, they’d die a hero’s death.
“I’m glad you are alive, Hyperia. Very glad.” I couldn’t think of anything more gallant to say than that. “Where is your room?”
“East wing, with the other hens and untitled makeweights. Second floor, facing the orangery.”
“I’m in the east wing as well, third floor. My door has no carving. Third on the left after the light well if you come up the main staircase. A portrait of Good Queen Bess hangs opposite my accommodations.” My room was probably intended for an upper servant—first footman, underbutler, under-steward—or a visiting solicitor or merchant from Town. Plain, though more than adequate to a soldier on bivouac.
If my billet was intended to insult the son of a duke, the ploy failed. I didn’t want to be here, and the more obscure my quarters, the better I could hide.
“Collect me on the way to breakfast, will you?” Hyperia asked. “I want to know what your examination of the woods reveals.”
I bowed good-night to her at her door, waited until I heard the murmur of female voices and the snick of a lock, then retraced my steps to the garden. I helped myself to a torch and returned to the scene of the crime—because it had been a crime, and I intended to get to the bottom of it.
“I don’t want you here,” Lord Longacre said as we strolled a dewy bridle path on the perimeter of the yearling paddock. On the other side of the fence, young horses started their day engaging in mock battles, napping, swishing flies, grazing, and embarking on what would doubtless be the most enjoyable summer of their equine lives.
If they only knew… But as far as they were concerned, life would always be high grass and herd politics.
“I don’t want to be here,” I replied, “though I appreciate your hospitality insofar that it has been extended to me.” My room smelled of mildew and dust, and the mattress was an abomination, but I would not have slept any better in the staterooms. I was no better at sleeping than I was at remembering.
“Her ladyship said we must be mindful of Lady Ophelia’s situation,” Longacre replied, “and thus you were given a bed for the night. My fondest wish is that you make your farewell in the next hour, before we have any further upheaval in your vicinity.”
Lord Longacre was of an age to be taking his first hard look at approaching middle age. Gray dusted his temples. He carried some extra provisions about his middle. He had a daughter to launch now, and his wife’s concerns had abruptly become his concerns. Socializing for Longacre had acquired a tactical aspect, and he was in the uncomfortable position of having to rely on his spouse’s skills to advance their shared agenda. I recalled the same heightening of awareness in my father when the time came to launch my sister Ginny.
Papa had shifted the ducal artillery, switching his aim from Parliament to the family my mother had been managing handily for decades. Such rows they’d had, and not over me for once.
“The upheaval,” I said, catching a hint of innuendo in Longacre’s last comment, “was in the vicinity of your daughter. I was at the orangery in Ormstead’s company when Miss West nearly stepped on that badger.”
“Maybelle says it wasn’t a badger.”
Good for Maybelle, getting her oar in before the paternal mind had been closed by breakfast gossip.
“Both Miss West and Miss Longacre agree that Miss West was accosted by a grown man. Miss West further informs me that her attacker was wearing good wool clothing, and he spoke at least somewhat proper English. He was tallish and strong and put his hands on Miss West in a most familiar and forcible manner.”
Longacre ceased his perambulations and rested his elbows on the topmost fence board. “I realize I am being unfair, my lord, but I associate this unfortunate incident with your unplanned addition to my guest list.”
Unfair was human, but I drew the line at irrational. “Apply a little logic, Longacre. I am the last man who’d seek to bring attention to himself at a social gathering. I have no wish to be here, but Ophelia importuned me and promised me I could simply drop her at the gate, so to speak. I planned to get a room at The Fool’s Paradise and trot for London this morning.”
He slanted a puzzled look at me. “What’s stopping you?”
“Miss West is unnerved by last night’s assault.”
He had the grace to flinch at my word choice. “A presuming footman thinking to dally with a willing maid. It happens, particularly at house parties. You’d know that if you’d been to more of them.”
Polite society longed to forget that, until I’d come home from the war in disgrace, I’d been one of their number. I’d attended countless house parties hosted by my father and brothers-in-law. I’d ridden to hounds, gone up to university, racketed about Town, and acquainted myself with all the gentlemanly vices.
But that part of me—the normal part—had become invisible, leaving only the traitor on view.
I was also a former officer who’d mostly done my duty, regardless of the cost. “Do your willing maids wear pale silk shawls? Do they style their hair in coronets and loiter on moonlit porches where any guest might pass by? Those features were obvious even in the limited light, though Miss West’s specific identity was not.”
“Then one of the horde of bachelors her ladyship has assembled was bent on a little mischief and got his paws on the wrong female. No harm done.”
I yearned to strike the smug dismissal from his eyes. “Hyperia West was frightened and mauled while she was a guest in your house. What have you done to address the situation?”
“I’m asking you to leave, that’s what. For all I know, the incident was intended to cast aspersion on you and inspire your departure.”
“I was with a witness of impeccable integrity and in view of other guests. Sir Thomas was likely keeping an eye on my whereabouts, so ask him if I could have caused that scream.”
In the paddock, a chestnut colt and a bay were rearing and pawing at each other, squealing and trotting around like subalterns arguing battle tactics. The bay was bigger and meaner, though the chestnut was more nimble.
“Sir Thomas told me as much,” Longacre replied. “Volunteered the information, as did Ormstead. I still say it was a footman getting above himself.”
And just when did Sir Thomas volunteer the information, and in response to whose questions? “Then your male domestic staff is out of control, my lord, and you cannot guarantee the safety of your garrison. Miss West has asked me to stay until her brother arrives, and unless you tell me to leave, I plan to accede to her wishes.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like bloody hell. In the pasture, the bay aimed a kick at the chestnut’s head, which the chestnut narrowly avoided. The smaller horse trotted off, but the bay wasn’t content with mere victory. More squealing and rearing followed.
Longacre looked not at his young horses and not at me, but at the soaring edifice that was his home, visible through the trees of the park.
“Stay if you must,” he said, “until Healy West can join us, but behave yourself. You are a blot on your family’s escutcheon, and I don’t want anybody to think you’re welcome here.”
As if I’d needed reminding of my perpetual blot-ship. “I apologize for inconveniencing you, Lord Longacre, but hasn’t it occurred to you that the intended victim of this assault was your own daughter?”
He straightened, and for the first time, he looked at me not as if I’d just toasted the Corsican monster, but as if I’d said something that merited consideration.
“Maybelle was at risk? How do you figure that?”
“The ladies dined at the same table. They went to the summer cottage together. They are of a height, they are both dark-haired and petite, and they both wore pale shawls and dark evening gowns. Given the shadows, Miss West could easily have been mistaken for Miss Longacre.”
“You are making too much of this.” Lord Longacre pushed away from the fence and marched in the direction of the stable. “A full moon, pretty females, champagne flowing like the Thames at spring tide—good champagne, at that—and somebody had a weak moment.”
“The somebody wore Hoby boots,” I said, falling in step beside mine host. “I inspected the scene last night and that evidence was plain to see. Miss Longacre heard footsteps moving off in the direction of the stable. Miss West said her attacker decamped for the garden proper. You might well have two somebodies intent on accosting your daughter.”
We reached the corner of the yearling pasture just as the bay landed a stout kick on the quarters of the chestnut.
“That bay will harm your other colts and enjoy the exercise,” I said. “You had best castrate him as soon as may be. The chestnut tried to cede the field, and your bully boy wasn’t content with a clear offer of surrender.”
“The bay is too fast to geld,” Longacre said, pride in his tone. “Mean, but fast.”
“Then for God’s sake put him in with the draft mares until he learns his place.”
Longacre appeared to consider the notion. “They might hurt him.”
Somebody long, long ago should have planted his lordship a facer or two. “Then get him away from the others and tell the grooms to put some manners on him. You might well have left it too late as it is.”
Lecturing a peer on the management of his horseflesh probably ranked above treason in terms of bad form, but Longacre’s bay was going to kill somebody. One of his lordship’s guests might well rape somebody, and the viscount appeared more concerned about protecting his colt than protecting his own daughter.
“You’re an expert on young horses now, Caldicott?”
I was properly addressed as Lord Julian, but I’d offended the man—for the sake of a horse—so I let the slight pass.
“I am a former cavalry officer decorated for bravery and raised by a duke who owned one of the finest racing stables in the country. I merely offer a friendly, cautionary word between horsemen.”
Longacre’s pace slowed, while I felt an increasing compulsion to get indoors. The sun was spreading painfully bright beams over the land, and I had been ordered to accompany Hyperia to breakfast.
“I want to hate you,” Longacre said. “Not very Christian of me, but you betrayed your country, or so Sir Thomas claims. He served loyally and well, and he won’t say more than that, but he speaks with conviction. You can call me out for it, my lord, but I’d be much more comfortable extending my hospitality to you if I simply knew what happened in France.”
What I took from that recitation was that Lord Longacre did not hate me, for which I ought to be grateful, but wasn’t.
“All I can tell you is that I followed my brother Harry into the night, concerned for his welfare. He had not discussed his mission with me, which was unusual, and the French were camped less than ten miles away. They got him—my worst fears come to life—and all I could think to do was let them get me so I could spring him.”
Harry had gone peaceably into the company of his executors. In hindsight, I’d wondered if he had known I was trailing him and had been attempting to save me with his passivity. Harry had been that strategic in his thinking, though not always as observant as he ought to have been.
“By the time the commandant got around to questioning me,” I went on, “it was apparently too late for Harry. The guards said he’d died honorably. If his captors could have said otherwise, they would have simply for the joy of tormenting me with the news.”
Oddly enough, I had not recounted these memories to anybody previously, save one grizzled brevet general, who’d listened as if enduring the recital of a bad amateur soprano. He’d asked me numerous questions about what I’d observed while in captivity, then informed me that a court-martial was in nobody’s interest. Harry and I had both doubtless meant well. I was to return to my regiment and say no more on the matter.
“I managed to escape,” I went on, “but by the time I found my way back to British forces, the French had had their bloody moment with me. I assume I told them where to look for our advance party as we prepared to cross the mountains, but I have no memory of doing so.”
I could recall other details, but not that moment.
Longacre studied me much as my superior officer had: That’s the best you can come up with? You cannot recall betraying your country? You cannot admit you are a traitor and bear responsibility for dozens of deaths?
“One pities your mother,” Longacre said at length. “One son dead, another disgraced and mentally defective. You may stay until Miss West’s brother arrives, but then please take yourself back to London. You are further informed that we will avoid inviting Lady Ophelia to another gathering for some time.”
Oh, right. Lady Ophelia’s consequence was such that he could not punish her directly for imposing me upon his household, so he would punish me with guilt. Very tactical of him.
And tiresomely small-minded. “I will decamp at the first opportunity. I have agreed to escort Miss West to breakfast, so you will please excuse me.” I bowed and left the path to cut across the park. “And please,” I called over my shoulder, “do something about that bay. He’s a nasty piece of goods now, and if you don’t intercede, he’ll soon be dangerous.”
I intended to escort Hyperia to breakfast, but the more pressing objective was a quiet conversation with Miss Longacre. She’d claimed the attacker had run off in the direction of the stable, but he hadn’t. He’d run parallel to the gravel walkway toward the orangery, then stepped onto the path, where I’d lost him.
Before I tucked tail and left the house party in disgrace—yet more disgrace—I would determine for myself whether Miss Longacre had been confused or had purposely lied about what she’d heard.