Alarmed by Lilliana’s reaction, Atlas strode to her side. “What is it?”
She’d become so engrossed in the book that she seemed to have forgotten his presence. “I had no idea,” she murmured, turning the pages far more slowly now, studying some of them rather closely. “Surely not . . .”
When he drew near, she slammed the book shut and lobbed it back into the box as though it were one of the deadly scorpions he’d once seen in Carthage. She stood and scooted away, putting distance between them, her cheeks flushed as she avoided his gaze. It was the first time he’d ever seen her flustered.
Curious as to what had shattered Lilliana’s crystalline reserve, Atlas squatted down on his haunches and reached for the book. He flipped it open and inhaled sharply, shock coursing through his veins. Aghast, he paged through it.
The book was full of indecent illustrations, one page after another showing graphic portrayals of men and women engaging in sexual congress or performing various sex acts upon one another. Some involved more than two people; others depicted men in explicit situations with other men or two women enjoying each other. More than indecent, the drawings were outright obscene, so detailed that they left nothing to the reader’s imagination.
He closed the book with a sharp thud and remained staring down at it for a moment as he regained his composure. Exhaling long and steady through his nostrils, he put the book aside and straightened to his full height, appalled that Lilliana had been subjected to the base drawings, which no doubt introduced to her a litany of sex acts she couldn’t have even imagined before now. He forced himself to look at her and found the lady watching him with undisguised curiosity.
“What is that?” she asked.
He didn’t quite know how to answer her question. A rising anger heated his words. “Gordon Davis was a vile, repugnant man to show such things to an innocent, gently bred woman such as Lavinia Fenton.”
“Is that the sort of thing men . . . read . . . erm . . . regularly?”
His cheeks were hot. “No, most decidedly not.”
“But you have seen the like before.”
Of course he had. “At Harrow, the boys secretly passed dirty books around.”
“Oh, I see.” She swallowed, her composure returning. “And is this common?”
He hardly understood what she asked. “Is what common?”
“These sorts of books.”
“They can be.” Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared she wanted to know whether the explicit acts portrayed on the book’s pages were common. “There is a street, Holywell, off the Strand, where these types of materials can be found for a certain price.”
“Holywell?” Her forehead wrinkled. “But isn’t that where radicals sell their books and pamphlets?”
“You will find both. Recently, authorities have cracked down on dissenters, prompting many on Holywell Street to turn to alternate ways to make a profit.”
She remained silent for a few moments, seeming to consider his answer. “And two men, together in that way . . .” She hesitated. “Is that done?”
He wondered if she inquired for the reason he suspected. Something about the grave manner in which she asked, the seriousness of purpose in her eyes, told him her interest wasn’t of a prurient nature.
“Not by most men, no.” He spoke with care. “But there are some whose tastes deviate from the norm.”
He abruptly turned the conversation back to the investigation. It was, after all, why he’d come. Besides, he wasn’t about to discuss buggery with Lilliana. “About Lavinia Fenton. What did she tell you about this book? Aside from the fact that Davis gave it to her?”
“Very little. Roxbury arrived before we had an opportunity to talk about the contents of her package and her acquaintance with Mr. Davis.”
“This book suggests their acquaintance might have been of an intimate nature.”
Interest gleamed in her eyes. “You think Lavinia is the mysterious Lady L.”
“The book certainly makes it seem very possible, but we need to learn more about how well they might have known each other. I also have not told you about my visit to Clapham.” He went on to share the details of his encounter with the Archers.
“Is the elder Miss Archer a candidate for the unknown Lady L?”
“It is hard to tell. We do know she was acquainted with Davis, but on the surface, it appears that they barely knew each other.” He leaned forward and helped himself to a biscuit from the tea tray. “And she is betrothed. It is difficult to imagine Miss Archer carrying on a torrid affair with a footman-turned-clerk while promised to another man.”
“What do we know about her intended?”
“His name is Gregory Montgomery. He appears to be besotted with Miss Archer, and she seems to enjoy his regard.”
Lilliana contemplated the possibilities. “It would be exceedingly difficult for a well-bred young woman to carry on an illicit liaison. It is difficult for maidens to go anywhere without a chaperone.”
“Quite right. But Davis did manage to get those books to Lady Lavinia.”
“We must talk with her.” Lilliana tapped a tapered finger against her pale cheek. “When Lavinia departed today, she mentioned she walks in the park every morning at eleven.”
“An unsubtle hint of where to find the girl in the event you wish to speak with her again?”
“I believe so. She is anything but shy.”
He wondered exactly what Lilliana meant by that, but he supposed he’d find out soon enough. “I gather you plan to take a walk tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” she said with that lopsided smile of hers, “and you can just happen upon us after I accidentally run into Lavinia.”
* * *
Although Atlas had never met Lavinia Fenton and knew almost nothing about her, he realized the moment Lilliana introduced them that the girl was trouble.
He’d pretended to accidentally encounter the two ladies in the park late the following morning, just as he and Lilliana had arranged. Lady Lavinia was very young, blonde, fair, and somewhat buxom, but what left the deepest impression on him was the mischief sparkling in her vivacious blue eyes.
“How delightful to make your acquaintance, Mr. Catesby.” The girl batted her eyelashes and, to his surprise, thoroughly perused his form with unabashed inquisitiveness—all the way from the tip of his black beaver-skin top hat down to the pointy toes of his polished boots.
Startled by her boldness, he exchanged a look with Lilliana before greeting them both with a bow. “Lady Lavinia, a pleasure.”
Lilliana’s eyes twinkled. “Mr. Catesby, what a surprise it is to run into you here.”
“A very pleasant one,” Lavinia added with a saucy grin. That this cheeky girl might have a penchant for trouble would not surprise Atlas in the least.
The three of them strolled along the path, exchanging the usual polite pleasantries, with Lavinia’s maid strolling at a distance behind them. It was not the fashionable hour to be seen in Hyde Park—that would come much later in the afternoon—so the atmosphere was sedate. The weather had held; the air was damp and thickly humid, but it wasn’t raining.
After a few minutes, Lilliana paused and addressed the young lady in a more serious manner. “As I mentioned to you previously, Mr. Catesby is looking into Mr. Davis’s death.”
The girl lost some of her pluck. “It’s so very sad. Gordon was the most agreeable footman we’ve ever had.”
“Anything you share with me will be held in the strictest confidence,” Atlas reassured her. “I care only about finding out how Davis died.”
She leaned closer, totally enrapt. “Do you think someone killed him?”
“We cannot be certain,” he answered, “but I do believe it’s a possibility.”
“I shall be pleased to tell you anything I know.”
He decided Lavinia was a young lady who would appreciate directness. “Why did Davis give you those books?”
“Because I asked him to.”
He and Lilliana exchanged a startled look. “Were the two of you very close?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Not particularly, no.”
“Then why would you ask for books of that nature from your footman?”
“I wanted to show them to my friends.”
“Friends?” Lilliana echoed.
“Yes,” she said pertly. “You see, I found similar books hidden in my brother Wade’s bedchamber. They were ever so enlightening, and I wanted to share them with my friends, but Wade removed them before I had a chance to show them to anyone.”
If Atlas had initially worried about getting the girl to disclose what she knew about Davis, he needn’t have concerned himself. Lavinia Fenton was a bold piece who spoke plainly.
“Is that why you asked Davis to procure similar material for you?”
“Yes, because Adora and Frances didn’t believe dirty books like the one I’d seen in Wade’s chamber existed. So I asked Davis to help me prove that they do.”
“Adora and Frances?” Lilliana’s brows drew together. “Adora Bradford?”
“Yes, do you know her?”
Lilliana blinked. “Somewhat.”
Atlas wondered what it was about this Adora Bradford that prompted Lilliana’s obvious consternation. He directed his attention back to Lavinia. “You asked Davis to buy the . . . erm . . . books to show to your friends.”
“Exactly.” She smiled smugly. “And then Adora and Frances had to believe me, didn’t they now? I had the proof right there.”
“What made you feel so comfortable asking Davis to procure these books for you?” he asked. “What kind of relationship did you have with him?”
She wrinkled her pert little nose. “What do you mean?”
He was grateful when Lilliana interjected. “Were you perhaps drawn to him,” she prompted, “in the way men and women are sometimes drawn to each other?”
Lavinia’s eyes widened. “Of course not! I’m a viscount’s daughter. I expect to marry no lower than an earl.” She cast an appreciative look in Atlas’s direction. “Unless it is a love match and the man is of noble blood. In that event, titles are unnecessary.”
Ignoring the way Lilliana’s mouth trembled with suppressed laughter, Atlas resisted the urge to loosen his cravat, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. “Did Davis ever behave inappropriately with you?”
“He was a flirt and very handsome. But I would never become enamored of a footman. Imagine that.” Lavinia laughed as if truly amused. “Besides, he was engaged in a liaison with a married lady.”
Atlas blinked. “I beg your pardon? Did Davis tell you that himself?”
She shook her head, her artful curls bouncing. “No, I heard it from my lady’s maid. She said all of the servants were gossiping about it. No one knew who it was, but they say she was a grand lady in Mayfair and that theirs was a long-standing affair that preceded the lady’s marriage.”
Her words made Atlas recall that Henry Buller, the clerk at the dye factory, had told him Davis had claimed to be betrothed to a wealthy young lady who’d jilted him to marry a title. He wondered if it was the same lady.
“I would never have run away with a footman,” Lavinia was saying, “but Davis was convenient to have about. For a little bit of coin, he would do or get whatever I wanted.”
Atlas still wasn’t certain he believed Lavinia’s relationship with Davis had solely been that of mistress and servant. “Why did your father let Davis go without so much as a letter of recommendation?”
He saw the moment she decided to lie to him. Her gaze slipped away before coming back to meet his. “I’m afraid I have no idea.”
“Can you think of any reason?” he prompted.
“No.” She gave him a bold look. “Is there a Mrs. Catesby?”
Atlas’s eyes widened. He hadn’t spent a great deal of time in the company of gently bred young women, but he never imagined one could be as forward as the dark-eyed prostitutes he’d encountered upon arrival at Constantinople’s Galata docks. “There is not.”
Lilliana decided to rescue him. “Mr. Catesby is wed to the world. Travel is his passion. Affairs of the heart will never compare to the romantic embrace of foreign lands.”
Lavinia’s eyes lit up. “The stories Mr. Catesby must have to tell.” She fluttered her long lashes in Atlas’s direction. “Perhaps you will call upon me one day soon and share tales of your exotic adventures.”
Atlas remained silent. A gallant reply was in order, but he had no intention of giving this child even the slightest hope that he might consider courting her. Yet his tepid reaction did not seem to deter the girl.
With a brazen we-shall-see-about-that smile, she said, “I really must go. I promised Papa I’d have the carriage back by midday.”
He watched the girl waltz away with her maid scurrying in her wake.
“You could do worse.” Lilliana fought a smile. “I’m told she has a sizable dowry.”
“That child doesn’t need a husband,” he grumbled. “She needs to be sent to bed without supper. She cannot possibly be a day over seventeen.”
“She is eighteen. Surely you haven’t forgotten that I was two years younger than Lavinia when I wed.”
And she had certainly suffered for it. “Those were extraordinary circumstances.”
“Indeed,” she said mildly as she turned back on the path to continue strolling. “Do you think Lavinia could be our mysterious Lady L?”
He fell in step beside her. “Before meeting her, I would have said no. I could not have imagined a sheltered viscount’s daughter being so brazen as to take a lover.” He exhaled through his mouth. “However, with Davis employed as a footman in Merton’s household, engaging in a liaison would not have been difficult. A minx as forward and artless as Lady Lavinia might be capable of anything.”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “Even murder?”
His mouth twisted as he considered the possibility. “We’ve no proof that the mysterious Lady L is the killer.”
“But we cannot rule Lavinia out as Lady L.”
“True. Nor can we rule her out as our killer.” He paused, filtering through what they’d learned so far. “Then there is the matter of the married lady Davis was supposedly involved with.”
“How do we find her?”
“I’m not certain. But perhaps you might be able to ferret something out from the ladies of Mayfair at these many social functions you attend during the Season.”
She seemed skeptical. “I suppose I could try, but I have formed no close associations since my return.” She shot him a wry look. “However, perhaps it is time I started.”
He did not doubt she would succeed at anything she attempted. “If she is well born and they were acquainted before her marriage, perhaps she was a daughter of the house where Davis was in service before he joined Merton’s household.”
She nodded. “I’ll ask Tacy about her brother’s past employers.” She paused as if ready to turn back. “Now I really must get back to join the children for their midday meal.”
“May I escort you home?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent,” he said briskly, offering his arm to accompany her back to near Stanhope Gate, where one of Somerville’s coaches awaited to return her to the duke’s residence. “I’d like to get that book Lavinia gave you, if I may.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Should I ask why?”
His cheeks warmed. “So that I may see if it offers any clues, such as where the book was purchased.”
“What would that signify?”
He twisted his lips. “We won’t know until we explore this particular avenue.”
A few minutes later, as they settled into the ornate chariot’s cerulean-blue tufted seats with a lush patterned carpet under their feet, he asked about her children. “How are Peter and Robin?”
“They are very well.” Sitting opposite her, he could easily see Lilliana’s face soften at the mention of her sons. “You should come and see them.”
“I would very much like to.” The invitation pleased him. In the aftermath of their father’s untimely death—and before he’d learned who she really was—Lilliana had insisted Atlas maintain his distance in order to keep the boys from forming an attachment to him.
“You cannot imagine how well they bowl hoops now.” She referred to the game he had taught the boys shortly after meeting them. “I daresay they might be able to best you.”
He laughed, thinking of the two energetic boys he’d run with in the park. “I do not doubt it.” He slid a hand along the smooth damask wall of the carriage, over the gold-and-red silk embroidery of the Somerville family crest. “The duke says you plan to send Peter to Eton in the fall.”
Her smile faltered. “Somerville is most determined that the boys be given every opportunity to succeed in society despite their sire’s low birth.”
“That’s commendable of him.” Godfrey Warwick hadn’t exactly been common, but he had been a minor member of the gentry, far below where a duke’s daughter would normally marry. But Lilliana’s circumstances had been unique. She’d needed protection, and wedding the detestable Warwick had provided it. “How do you feel about sending the boy away?”
She looked away, out the window, which was only partially covered by the silk shade. “He is only eight.”
He knew her to be very attached to her children. She had not relegated them to a nursery during her marriage. They had not been looked after by nursemaids and only presented to their noble parents for an hour or so before bedtime. “Is Somerville firm in his decision?”
“He can be dissuaded.” She turned from the window, her gaze troubled. “But I must do what is right for the boys’ future.”
“Perhaps it is best for young children to be with a loving mother. You certainly fought hard enough for them.” Before his death, Lilliana’s husband had kept the boys from her.
She exhaled, and he sensed how heavily the decision weighed on her. “Yes, but I mustn’t be selfish. I must think of the boys first, above all else.”
“I’ve never known you to do otherwise.” The carriage came to a stop, and the footman opened the door and laid out the step. Atlas alighted and turned to help Lilliana down.
She placed her gloved hand in his. “Will you stay and have luncheon with me and the boys?”
He closed his large hand around her delicate fingers. “I would be delighted.”