Chapter 19 - A Walk in Regent's Park

At Brooks's, wagers were no longer being placed on which of the Season's beauties Lord Hartshorne would favor with an offer. Betting had moved on from the question of whom he would choose to the date upon which his betrothal to Miss Helena Damerel would be announced.

The best odds were that the announcement would figure as the highlight of the ball the Damerels were hosting in their daughter's honor in a week's time. There were a smattering of dates predicted both before and after that event with, tellingly, only one wager, entered out of pure contrariness by Simon St. Cyr, of "never."

"I stand to win some serious blunt," Simon joked as he and Percy left the club. "And you can help me to it. If anyone has a chance to scuttle that betrothal, it's you. Pull it off, and, tell you what, I'll split the pot with you, fifty-fifty."

Percy usually took his cousin's ribbing in good part, but this time Simon's attempt at humor fell flat. He sobered at once and apologized. "It's not a laughing matter."

"No," Percy agreed.

Simon waited for more, but as Percy failed to elaborate, he ventured carefully, "Are you really not going to intervene? You're just going to concede her to Harshorne?"

Percy let out a ragged sigh. "I don't know. I'm torn. Part of me wants desperately to press my suit, but the sense of overstepping, of presuming too much holds me back."

"So… what? Let's just say, for argument's sake, you 'overstep' and propose. What's the worst that can happen? You're rejected. No shame in that. In fact, you'll find yourself in excellent company. How many worthy men of rank and wealth has Damerel turned away? A dozen?"

"Easily," Percy allowed.

"So, you'll suffer some humiliation. That can't be helped. But, Percy, at least you'll know. You won't be left with doubts of what might have been if only you'd acted. You won't be haunted by regret."

As I am. Simon did not need to say the words for Percy to read them in his gaze. It had been many years since he'd alluded even so obliquely to the girl he'd loved in his university days. Simon had met Stella Morris during the course of an investigation when he, at his father's request, had sought her father's expertise in deciphering an ancient text. The only child of a widowed gentleman-scholar, she'd run her father's household, kept his papers in order and assisted with his research. Smart as a whip and beautiful into the bargain, she'd maddened Simon and enchanted him by turns. She had not, however, been of his world, nor he of hers, and while he had vacillated, struggling to reconcile his feelings with his duties, she'd despaired of his ever declaring himself and had accepted the longstanding offer from one of her father's close associates. Simon had been gutted but he'd had only his own dithering to blame, and his look now pleaded with Percy not to repeat his error. Percy gave a nod of understanding which Simon returned with a weak smile. He clapped Percy's shoulder once in parting and went on his way.

For his part, Percy was expected in Cavendish Square, and so he turned his steps up St. James Street toward Piccadilly. It was a fine day for walking, the temperature warm, the air only slightly muggy, the sky a hazy blue. The good weather had drawn other people out of doors and Percy, starting up Bond Street, found the sidewalks crowded with shoppers wending in and out of establishments and strollers casually casting looks at shop displays. Absorbed as he was in turning over Simon's advice, Percy very nearly collided with a number of fellow pedestrians and had to beg pardon several times. His mind was elsewhere, feverishly reviewing Mr. Reed's most recent letter and the latest offer it detailed for the Harebel stables. The anonymous would-be buyer had upped his offer yet again and to a price Reed judged to be handsome. If Percy approved the sale, the increase in his personal wealth would lift him instantly out of the rank of ineligibles and permit him to approach Damerel, if not with confidence, at least with dignity. Still, it went against the grain to sell; the stables were a source of income he was not sure he could do without and there was also the troubling matter of the buyer's anonymity. He would have liked some reassurance he was not turning the organization over to a shady individual or, worse, a criminal syndicate that, in the interest of raking in money, would abuse the horses and exploit the staff. It felt wrong, a dereliction of his responsibility toward the men in his employ, to hand over the organization without the least notion of the buyer's reputation and intentions. And yet, the sale would free Percy to follow his heart and, perhaps, secure Helena as his bride. Surely, the risk was worth the reward…?

Percy was so immersed in this internal debate that he did not hear his name being called and continued unaware until his interpolator came up beside him and all but shouted in his ear. He jerked out of his abstraction to find Walter Flavell at his elbow.

"Uh, good day," he said, gathering himself with some difficulty.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Flavell apologized. "Tried to get your attention, but your head was in the clouds."

"It was, rather," Percy conceded. "Can I… er… do something for you?"

Flavell shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "You're headed to Cavendish Square, are you not? I've just come from there," he hastened to explain. "I stopped in to ask Georgie — Miss Harcourt — if she'd care to walk in the park, but she said she already had plans with you, so…" An awkward silence followed, during which Flavell looked anywhere but at Percy. At last, he managed, "I won't hold you up, but I would like a word. I can walk back with you a ways."

"If you'd like."

For all the urgency of his manner, they'd gone several steps before Flavell brought himself to speak. "You will likely think me impertinent," he began with unusual diffidence, "but I must know: what are your intentions toward Miss Harcourt?"

The question was so entirely inappropriate, Percy was initially shocked and then not a little offended. "I beg your pardon?"

Flavell could not have mistaken the sharpness in Percy's tone, but he carried on manfully, "You've been showing Miss Harcourt very marked attentions these last weeks, and I should like to know whether, as your actions suggest, you mean to offer for her."

Percy was genuinely stunned by the man's effrontery but, as a sign that his and Georgie's charade was having the desired effect, it also buoyed his spirits. Slipping into character, he said frostily, "I fail to see how this is any concern of yours, Flavell. Mrs. Harcourt, now, or your friend Will Hendred…" He treated Flavell to a suddenly narrowed gaze. "Is one of them behind this? Did they ask you to inquire?"

Flavell's eyes flew wide. "No! Nothing of the sort!"

"In that case, you'll permit me to observe that, being no relation of Miss Harcourt's, you've no right to ask your question, let alone expect an answer. You cross the line, Flavell."

A hot flush suffused the younger man's cheeks. "I don't mean to give offense, truly. It's just… I have known Miss Harcourt since she was a girl, and though, as you say, there is no blood tie, she is very like a sister to me. I am anxious for her happiness…"

"And I am not? Is that your meaning?"

"No! That is… I do not think you mean her any harm, not intentionally, but if you're not serious in your attentions…"

Percy pulled up abruptly and fixed Flavell with so icy a stare, the other man stumbled. "Let me understand this: you suspect me of being careless with Miss Harcourt's feelings and reputation? Of engaging her in an idle flirtation? Out of what? Vanity? Boredom? No," he said, cutting off Flavell's protest in mid-stammer. "I've heard enough. You are welcome to think the worst of me — I've no care for your good opinion — but consider this: as insulting as your concern is to me, it is no less so to Miss Harcourt."

Flavell eyed Percy uncertainly, his brow knit in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's hardly a compliment to her to believe, as you appear to, that she's insufficiently attractive to retain my interest. Is that what you truly think of her? That she's lacking in charm or allure?"

"No!" he burst out. "Not at all! I…" He took a moment to collect himself and continued more evenly, "I feel quite the reverse, in fact."

"I'm relieved to hear it. I should be sorry to think that someone who's known her so long should fail to appreciate her worth." Percy locked a stern gaze on Flavell, and had the satisfaction of seeing him look somewhat chastened. He let another long moment pass and then inquired cooly, "Is that all you wished to say, or is there more?" Flavell showed good sense at last and let the matter drop, whereupon Percy said, "Well, then, I believe I will go on from here alone. Good day to you, Flavell."

Percy had taken no more than a few steps when he was plagued with misgivings as to how he'd handled Flavell. The man's inquiry had been ill-mannered and he'd richly deserved a set-down, but on reflection Percy considered he needn't have been so harsh. It had been on account of the implied slight to his character; he'd been touched on the raw and overreacted. Still, he'd managed to maneuver Flavell into acknowledging his feelings for Georgie, so something good had come of the exchange. He anticipated recounting the conversation to Georgie, her taking heart at Flavell's admission… It was then that the question of his offering for Helena recurred to him and with it, the effect his doing so would inevitably have on Georgie. She would be left exposed in a highly awkward position, for how could they explain his abruptly dropping her in favor of her cousin, especially after the scene he'd just enacted? If he'd time on his side, he could make the transition more gradual, but, if he were to propose at all, it must be in the next few days…

So lost was Percy in these troubling thoughts, he walked straight past the Hendred residence, and, on discovering his error, was obliged to retrace his steps. He was preparing to mount the outer stair when the front door opened and a young woman emerged followed closely by her maid. The young woman struck him as vaguely familiar, but Percy could not place her until she, catching sight of him, broke into a dazzling smile. He remembered her, then, from having partnered her once or twice: Miss Philippa Warren, Georgie's old schoolfellow. She greeted Percy by name, and was delighted when, in response, he used hers as well. She was so emboldened by this mark of recognition she kept him standing several moments with banal chitchat about the weather, batting her lashes at him all the while.

When, at last, Miss Warren took her leave, Percy bounded up the stair and, upon admittance to the house, was directed to the drawing room. He stepped across that threshold, an apology for lateness at the ready, to discover Georgie seated alone on a couch, staring into space, a look of desolation on her face. Overcome with concern, Percy moved quickly toward her, asking in his alarm, "Georgie, what is it? What's the matter?"

She raised forlorn eyes to his. "Oh, Lord Percy! Thank goodness you've come!"

"What is it?" he pressed again, dropping down beside her. "What's happened to distress you?"

Georgie only shook her head. "Not here." She rose to her feet, and, smoothing down her walking dress, said with a thin attempt at normalcy, "I have only to fetch my bonnet. I'll be but a moment."

She was as good as her word, and within minutes, they had left the house and were walking at a steady pace toward Regent's Park. Georgie had accepted the offer of Percy's arm, but kept her gaze from meeting his and her face hidden behind the large brim of her bonnet. Anxious though he was to learn what troubled her, he recognized she was still too upset for speech and schooled himself to wait. At last, flashing him a regretful look, she said, "I apologize, my lord, for treating you to such theatrics. You will think me a terrible ninny."

"Not at all!" he assured her. "Only tell me what is wrong."

"I… I had a caller. Just before you arrived. My friend, or so I thought her…"

"Miss Warren, do you mean?" At Georgie's look of surprise, he explained, "We crossed paths as she was leaving."

Georgie nodded. "Pippa, yes. She's always loved to gossip. I knew that about her, of course, but I've never known her to be mean before. Or, maybe she's always been malicious, and, because her tales never touched on someone I care for, I wasn't bothered."

"She came carrying rumors about someone close to you?"

"Yes, and not out of sympathy or to warn me as you'd expect. No, she positively relished spreading her venom, and, what is worse, she expected me — of all people! — to delight in the telling! It was monstrous! As if I could ever take pleasure in hearing Helena torn down!"

"Helena!" Percy echoed in his shock. "She was disparaging Miss Damerel?"

Georgie regarded him uncertainly. "Did I not say so? I thought I had."

They'd reached New Road by this time and had to give their full attention to crossing the thoroughfare safely. Once on the other side, Percy lost no time in asking, "What fault could she possibly find with your cousin? Her conduct's been exemplary."

"That's just what I told her! 'Helena would never stoop to low behavior,' I said, but she replied that Helena had me fooled and was not the model of propriety she affected to be."

"That's utter nonsense. What basis could she have for such a claim? I suppose she must have advanced one?"

"She did, yes."

Percy had yet again to wait for an answer as, another couple leaving the park as they entered, they slowed to exchange nods and good-days in passing. The bridge over the narrow arm of the lake caused further delay as the span was too congested with strollers and people stopped to admire the view for discreet conversation. When they were at last on the broad and much less trafficked path beyond, Percy prompted, "You were saying… ? About Miss Warren?"

Georgie drew a deep breath. "Yes. Well, according to Pippa, it's come to light that Helena's a jilt and a mercenary care-for-nothing but status and tremendous wealth. It's being said she broke off a longstanding betrothal the moment she inherited a substantial sum and realized she might aspire to a more exalted and better-heeled class of suitors. The story also goes she came by the money dishonestly, by cheating the rightful heir of his portion."

The viciousness of the rumor so far exceeded Percy's expectation that he was rendered momentarily speechless. "But… that's absurd! No one who knows Miss Damerel even slightly could believe any part of that drivel. The very idea is laughable."

George gave her head a doleful shake. "I fear you are wrong there, my lord. If Pippa is any indication, there are a good many people — spiteful, envious people — all too eager to embrace the lies and glory in Helena's embarrassment. Pippa was only repeating the story, remember. She said she had it from Miss Chatterton."

"Amanda Chatterton? I should have thought her above spreading gossip."

"So should I, and that's precisely my point. If she — a good-natured, respectable girl — could sink to passing on such despicable slurs, who knows how many like her there may be?"

The question was disturbing enough that they walked on a stretch in silence, the only sounds the swish of Georgie's skirts and their footfalls on the path. Trees in full, verdant leaf stood along one side of the walkway, their crowns casting pools of welcome shade on the ground while on the other an open grassland rolled tranquilly into the distance. The peace and beauty of the park usually combined to lift Percy's spirits, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts to be more than dimly aware of his surroundings. At length, the jumble of his reflections led him to wonder aloud, "Who can have started the rumor? Someone with a powerful grudge, clearly. But who?"

Georgie glanced up at him, her expression not only sad but deeply pained. "I have a guess."

"You do?"

She nodded. "I suspect our cousin, Roland Lanyon, put it about."

"Lanyon!" The ugly scene at Epsom flashed in Percy's mind: the young brute's grip on Helena's arm, his mounting outrage at being rebuffed. There was bad blood there, no mistake.

"There's a grain of — well, not truth," Georgie was saying, "but a twisted version of it in the gossip. If you believe Sir Conway — that's Roland's father — Roland and Helena have been promised to each other from birth, but that is based on nothing more substantial that Lady Lanyon's having once expressed the fancy that they might someday marry and Cousin Venetia's having made no reply. Sir Conway has approached Damerel about formalizing the betrothal and was refused in no uncertain terms."

"The betrothal's a figment, then, of Sir Conway's imagination?"

"Yes, and one very much to his advantage. As for Roland, I think, having heard the claim repeated much of his life, he's taken it into his head that Helena, and her dowry, are rightfully his. He considers her a cheat and himself, the injured party."

"And the ill-gotten inheritance?"

"Another bone of contention. Lady Steeples, Sir Conway and Cousin Venetia's mother, died unexpectedly, leaving no instructions as to how her personal effects should be distributed. Her widower, Sir Lambert, took it upon himself to decide that all the jewelry he'd showered on his wife — a veritable fortune in diamonds — should go exclusively to Cousin Venetia. Now, you might think that arbitrary, but, indeed, it was not. Of her three children, Venetia was the only one not to shun Lady Steeples. There were reasons she should have, excellent reasons," Georgie put in hastily, "but what matters is, she didn't. She openly acknowledged the Steeples — it could even be said she flaunted the connection — and Sir Lambert loved her for it. As for Sir Conway and Cousin Aubrey, he never forgave them for snubbing his wife and made it a condition of the bequest that they receive no part of it."

"I take it Lanyon believes his father is owed a third share?"

Georgie nodded. "That's Sir Conway's position, to be sure, and it's caused no end of friction in the family. His bitterness is such, he's even gone so far as to intimate that Venetia insinuated herself into Sir Lambert's good graces with no other view than to insure she was named sole beneficiary."

Percy's lip curled in distaste. "That speaks more ill of him than her."

"It does," she agreed. "Sir Conway's given Venetia a great deal of grief, and she's done nothing to deserve it. It's a sorry state of affairs, and, like any painful subject, not much touched on in the family. I only learned of it myself from conversations I overhead between my mama and grandmama. It's a very private matter, and I should not have brought it up except to explain why it's Roland I suspect."

Percy nodded grimly. "The rumor corresponds too nearly to Lanyon's grievance for coincidence. And, as no one but the family knows the details, and only the Lanyons stand to gain by airing their version, it follows it must be one of them. And, the timing fits as well. Haven't the Lanyons only recently come to Town?"

"A week or so ago, yes." Georgie lowered her head and studied her feet, but Percy could glimpse enough of her profile to see she was biting her lip. He forbore to press her, and, after a few long moments' silence, she turned back to him, gaze troubled. "There's just one thing gives me pause."

"And that is?"

"Roland and his parents don't have the social standing that would give them access to someone like Miss Chatterton, or even Pippa. I don't mean to say they aren't received. They have a coterie of friends — fellow officers from Sir Conway's army days, neighbors from Yorkshire down for part of the Season — but you won't find them attending ton balls or entertainments."

"Ah! I see. Roland — or Sir Conway, for that matter — may've had the incentive, but not the opportunity." He turned this over in his mind. "What of Lady Lanyon? Might she have a friend in fashionable circles? One of the military wives, perhaps? Or some distant relation?"

Georgie shook her head. "I don't know her well enough to say, but I doubt she's had a hand in this. By all accounts, she's very soft-hearted, and more likely to want to make peace than cause trouble."

"We are back, then, to Roland and Sir Conway. They must, between them, have some contact in the beau monde, someone willing to be their accomplice. There need be only one, after all, provided he — or she — is active enough and well-placed. It only remains to discover who."

They tried for a time to work out who the go-between might be, but soon had to admit defeat. "We'll find her out — or him," Percy said, with sudden resolution. "And then we'll put an end to this mischief. You may trust me on that."

Georgie regarded him with newfound hope. "Do you really think you can?"

"I'm certain of it. I'll put Callie in the picture straightaway — nothing gets past that girl! — and, between us, we should have the answer in a day or two."

"Oh!" Georgie breathed. "That would be wonderful!"

"There is little time to waste," Percy warned her. "If you've no objection, we will cut our walk short and I'll escort you home. From there, you must go, with your mother or Will, to Storborough House and tell the Damerels all you have heard."

"Oh!" Georgie cried, this time with remorse. "I should have done so right away! I didn't think, I was so upset! Yes, yes," she urged, increasing her pace. "By all means, let us hurry!"

They had scant breath to spare for conversation on the brisk return, but once outside the Hendred residence, Percy stopped long enough to take Georgie's hand and give in a heartening squeeze. "All will be well," he assured her. "Miss Damerel has a great many friends, and we will all of us rally around her. She will take no lasting harm from this, you'll see."

The words were meant to comfort and were gratefully received. They were not to prove prophetic.