Chapter Thirteen

As it happened, the day Frederick and I rode to Candlewood was the very day I received the first letter from Georgina. Lila was present when it arrived, and we excused ourselves from the parlor as soon as possible and ran upstairs to read it. These were the contents:

Dearest Cassie and Lila,

I hope this letter reaches you before you begin your return journey to Caemre. Let me assure you that I am well; the journey to London was not at all fatiguing, and I am comfortably settled in a fine inn with the innkeeper’s wife acting as a sort of chaperone and lady’s maid, and Mr. Dodge settled in a cozy room at the back of the house, where he can easily reach the barn containing my horses and carriage.

My first endeavor was to find a way of getting an introduction to the dowager Stanfield. I had the innkeeper’s wife (Mrs. Peabody—a pleasant woman) send a note to the London Times announcing the arrival of Lady Lovell to her establishment. When the announcement appeared in print, I received several invitations from members of the ton, and I took advantage of each.

Yesterday brought some interesting news. At Mrs. Gorton Bird’s charity luncheon, I fell into conversation with a loquacious gossip named Miss Robin Bird, a cousin of Mr. Gorton Bird. (Can you believe the name Robin Bird? I am chuckling as I write.)

I mentioned to Robin Bird that I hoped to meet an old friend in town, the widow Mrs. Stanfield of London and Kent. Miss Bird was all agog and hopped about like a sparrow with a fat berry. She gleefully informed me that Mrs. Stanfield was in seclusion because of a certain story extant concerning her son.

I pulled gossip out of Miss Bird as easily as pulling taffy on a hot summer day. As the story goes, someone observed Mr. Stanfield entering a house of ill repute owned by a certain French lady of disreputable habits—Emilienne d’Arnot. Because the ton considered him a bastion of respectability, whose wife had fled, the hypocrisy inherent in the tale caused it to spread through the ton like wildfire.

I knew the story would be of use to me somehow, but I was not sure how. As I returned to the inn, walking, as the day was fine, I heard someone calling my name. I turned toward the sound, to see Mr. Eliot Sparkman hurrying toward me. You remember the private detective, I am sure! He seemed quite happy to see me and bowed and smiled in a gentlemanly manner, without any of that supercilious air of mistrust he displayed at our last meeting.

Mr. Sparkman invited me to his rooms to take tea, and having no scruples enjoyed by other women as to visiting a gentleman’s quarters, I agreed. He is an interesting man, and our chat covered many topics. He does not denigrate women or dismiss their talents as I often see done. He mentioned you, Cassie, with regret that he had practically accused you of murder.

The result of our meeting was this: I explained your situation and asked him to pursue Mr. Stanfield and ascertain whether he was actually visiting Mademoiselle d’Arnot. He readily agreed, adding he would do his best to assist, feeling an obligation to you.

I hope, dearest friends, I will have news soon. I will send my next missive to Caemre Cottage.

Georgina

When the day of our departure arrived, Lila and I promised to visit again in the summer, and this assuaged the grief of my mother at the parting. We embraced, Frederick handed us into the coach, and on a clear day in late December, we began our journey to Caemre. It was not a pleasant journey, for the weather turned icy, but we arrived safely, bringing gifts for everyone.

On the evening of our arrival, my sisters and Deirdre conspired to busy themselves in other areas of the house so that John Carter and I might have time alone. We sat by the fire, and at first we chatted, for we had much to tell each other. At one point in my story of Frederick’s altered attitudes, I smiled.

John touched my face. “When you smile so, I can think of nothing except how desperately I want to kiss you.”

I put up my hand, palm out, between us.

“Will you push me away on our wedding night?” he whispered with a grin.

I laughed. “Perhaps I might. If we ever have a wedding night.”

He ran his hand lightly over my arm and smiled as I quivered and pulled away. “I will make you beg me. I will have you groveling at my feet.”

“Indeed! You are very sure of yourself!”

His hand trailed across my bodice before I could stop him. He caressed the sensitive flesh of my breasts swelling above the lace of my gown.

I jumped up and shook my finger at him. “Have you forgotten your promise? You had better go home!”

He rose and stood before me, his eyes gleaming in the firelight as they pierced my own. For a moment we held each other’s gaze, and my longing grew so intense, I had to tear my eyes from his lest I throw myself into his arms. His manly beauty, so captivating, was joined to a noble heart and outstanding courage. Here, my jumbled thoughts proclaimed, is a real man, a man such as a man should be—a rare, so rare, synthesis of all that makes a gentleman exemplary!

“Oh, John, what will I do if I lose you? What if we can never wed?”

He held me in his arms until footsteps tapped in the hall. As Lila entered, he released me, whispering, “We will find a way.”

John’s words proved prophetic, for a few days later I received another letter from Georgina. Lila and the others had gone early to the village, to purchase bakery treats for the children and a few other provisions. Mattie came in with the post, and after a bit of chat with her, I eagerly opened the missive. My eyes opened wide and my heart beat fast as I read the contents.

My dear friends,

I have news that must be broken as gently as possible. First, I confess to having seen Mr. Sparkman quite often, our friendship having developed rapidly. More of this later, but I apprise you of that circumstance to obtain your pardon for distracting him from his mission. Despite the interruptions to his duty brought about by my desire for his company, and his, apparently, for mine, he did find an opportunity to follow Mr. Stanfield to the home of Mademoiselle d’Arnot.

Herein, I must warn you, will be found a true recitation of Mr. Sparkman’s observations. I will not withhold information.

Under cover of darkness and having left his carriage on another street, Mr. Stanfield entered mademoiselle’s establishment. Sparkman followed shortly after, informing the maid who answered the door that he had urgent business with Miss d’Arnot. When the lady entered the parlor in which the maid had installed him, Sparkman wasted no time in offering a bribe for her cooperation. She was hesitant, but in the end she relented.

Miss d’Arnot led Sparkman down a hallway at the rear of the house. They passed two shut doors, stopping at the final one at the end of the passage. D’Arnot put a finger to her lips to motion Sparkman to be quiet. Very slowly and carefully she inserted a key into the lock, and with a sudden thrust, threw open the door.

The sight before Mr. Sparkman did not shock him but will shock you, my worthy friends. Mr. Stanfield was engrossed in a sexual adventure with a man. Stanfield was seated in a chair, and a young man was kneeling at his feet, servicing him.

Mr. Sparkman related these events to me exactly as I have related them to you. The sexual predilections of men and women do not shock or distress me; my attitude is live and let live. However, the observation clearly made by Mr. Sparkman gives us an unshakable hold over Mr. Stanfield. We will meet with him tomorrow to settle terms. He will grant you a divorce to keep his peccadillo private, you may be sure.

On another topic, I regretfully report that I have fallen in love, a circumstance I was quite sure would never again befall me. Mr. Sparkman is a strange, compelling individual—not only brilliant but highly creative. His earliest childhood desire was to become an artist, but he claims to have no talent. I saw a few of his works, and they show promise. He needs instruction, which I intend to give him, for he is going to accompany me to Caemre when this dreary business with Stanfield has been completed. Rest easy! We will remain in London until the divorce has been granted.

With much affection,

Georgina

Which declaration shocked me more: my husband’s dallying with a man, or Georgina’s falling in love with Sparkman? I stood very still, with the letter dangling from my hand and my other hand on my bosom to quell my quick intake of breath.

I was not as aghast at Mr. Stanfield’s sexual proclivities as Georgina might have believed. My London life had given me an insight into such matters. Still, it was shocking enough, and my hand quaked as I folded the letter and secured it in the pocket of my gown. Many previously unexplained circumstances of my marriage—my husband’s lack of desire to make love to me, his long absences in the evening—slipped through my disordered mind.

I carried Georgina’s letter upstairs and concealed it in my jewelry box. There was no need for Lila to know the details of Mr. Stanfield’s secret life. Better to acquaint as few persons as possible with such information.

Feeling now certain of the dissolution of my marriage, I busied myself over the next few days with assisting Deirdre in the instruction of the children. I had promised Percy a pony and riding lessons in the spring. Although he and Paulie were rapidly learning to read—they did not want intelligence—Percy’s first love was horses. We all joined in giving him as much time with the noble beasts as possible. John took him on the saddle of his road horse, and Lila gave him lessons in driving the pony cart. When the winter weather cleared away, I would purchase a small, gentle pony and give Percy riding lessons myself.

Paulie had little interest in horses. She liked fine dresses, flowers, and pretty baubles. Deirdre taught her to tat and sew, and she had produced a bit of simple lace. Both of the children now spoke well, from having the example of those of us who lived with them and taught them. Showered with love, they had no reason to misbehave, and every time I looked at them, I thanked Fate that I had learned of their existence and rescued them from poverty and despair.

The little cottage was crowded to the bursting point and constantly busy. Aleta, who loved music and played quite well, had taken on the project of teaching the children songs. Rehearsals filled the house with childish trilling every morning. Lila fussed about with cooking and unnecessary supervision of Mattie, and as like as not, Jesse McCrea and his brood of offspring would descend on us at some point to add to the chaos. John occasionally stopped and had tea with us, but I was allowing him no time alone with me. Until I was free, I could not encourage his suit.

With all of us busy and happy, the days flew. I was anxious for the next letter from Georgina, but it did not arrive until two weeks after the previous. My heart beat as I opened it—to find my hopes dashed.

Dearest Cassie,

I regret that I must impart unwelcome news. If you remember, Mr. Sparkman and I were appointed to meet with your husband the day after my previous letter to you was written. Sparkman called for me at my inn, and we arrived at the Stanfield townhouse a minute or two before the appointed hour. Imagine our surprise when the butler informed us that his master had gone to the country.

“Gone to the country?” cried I. “In January?”

The butler looked fish-eyed at us for a moment, and then begged us to step into the parlor. When we were seated, he hemmed and hawed a bit and then said, “Mr. Stanfield notified me of your intended visit. He instructed me to give you this clipping from the Times and tell you that the business you had with him is now moot.”

You can imagine, dear Cassie, with what eagerness we read the article. I enclose it for your perusal. As you will see, it contains news of Mr. Stanfield’s having left Bath and “retreated to his country house” as a result of two eyewitnesses informing the newspaper that “Mr. Stanfield was engaged in unnatural acts, as a result of which he will no doubt be excluded from London society.” Apparently, someone else learned of Stanfield’s activities and did not hesitate to inform the press. Perhaps Mademoiselle herself is the culprit; I do not know.

Cassie, please do not suspect us—Mr. Sparkman and myself—of any complicity in spreading this story. We had no wish to embarrass Mr. Stanfield but only to procure a divorce for you. No circumstance, even his refusal to seek a divorce, would have given us the right to expose him.

By the time this letter reaches you, I will have already set off on my journey home; so pray do not reply. I will call on you as soon as I have arrived home, and we can decide what steps to take next.

Georgina

I fell into a chair and stared, seeing nothing before me. Mr. Stanfield’s disgrace was my disgrace as well, and I could only hope the London press would not pursue me to the cottage. Such a tale—a wealthy bastion of respectability found out to be a libertine—is one the public loves. The press would fly with it for as long as it sold newspapers.

At the sound of visitors, I hastily shoved the letter and article into my pocket. Lila arrived from the kitchen, wiping her hands, and Mattie ushered the entire McCrea family into the parlor. Percy and Paulie, hearing the arrival of their playmates, rushed downstairs. In the noise and confusion, I slipped upstairs; I was greatly in need of quiet to recover my spirits.