House of Cads (Ladies of Scandal Book 2) Page 24

  It all made perfect sense when she woke in the morning to find her monthly courses had begun in the night. Of course.

  No wonder she couldn’t think. No wonder that she was so irrationally angry and petulant, an ogre shouting at his sweet, hopeful face. Poor Mason!

  The sun was barely up and she had time before the maid came, but she didn’t know how early a servant might come to Mason’s room. She put her ear to the panel to listen and after many minutes of hearing only a deep silence, she opened it just a crack. He was sitting up in the bed, looking at the exact place in the wall where she appeared. Dear man, he was probably sitting there all night.

  “No, do not get up,” she said, putting up a staying hand. “I am here for just a moment, to tell you that I am sorry to be disagreeable. I am only a little unwell, but it will pass, you understand? And then we will talk.”

  He looked alarmed. “Unwell? What do you mean?”

  There was a bit of panic in his face. He probably worried she was pregnant, which almost made her laugh even though there was nothing humorous about it. How to tell him what it was? She didn’t know whether he’d understand it if she was vulgar and told him the English have landed, so she hoped he could get the general idea from less explicit words.

  She settled on saying, “It is only what happens every month.” Thank heaven, he understood that. She could tell by the slight mortification. “I just – I do not want you to take my silence for an answer.”

  “Right.”

  The dark flush started creeping up his neck, which made her irrationally angry again. Or perhaps it was only that she wanted to be back in bed. Alone. She quickly bid him a good day and retreated, only to hear him call softly after her. “Is there anything I can do? To help, I mean?”

  “Just leave me alone,” she sighed. “I am sorry, it is inconvenient this happens now. We will talk when I am well.”

  She latched the panel and then threw herself back into the bed. She always felt most wretched on the first day, so she decided the best thing to do was just stay beneath the coverlet until she felt like moving again. Sweet man, asking if he could help. She supposed it meant something, that she had not hesitated to tell him. Like they were already an old married couple.

  In the afternoon Joyce entered with the maid, who carried a tray. Marie-Anne sat up hopefully.

  “Is that cake?”

  “Yes, and cook has made a creditable attempt at Bath buns. Thank you, Lucy, I’ll pour,” said Joyce as the maid set the tray down carefully. Once she was gone, Joyce continued in a confidential tone. “Mr. Mason found his way to the kitchen, if you can believe it, and was trying to persuade the cook to make any number of cakes for you. But I daresay I know your tastes better than either of them, so here are the buns and some sweet chocolate to drink with them.”

  “Joyce, if you were not married, I would make passionate love to you,” declared Marie-Anne through a mouthful of bun. It was perfect.

  “Mm, Charlotte would have something to say about that.” She uncovered a dish of absolutely beautiful clotted cream and then began pouring steaming chocolate into a cup. “But then it’s often difficult to have a care for convention – or discretion – when one is indulging a passion, isn’t it, my dear.”

  She gave a subtle look toward the panel in the wall as she handed the cup to Marie-Anne.

  “Oh.” Marie-Anne felt rather like a child who’d been caught out, clutching her sugary bun and beginning to blush.

  “I must say – purely as a matter of conjecture, of course – that I believe Lucy would perjure herself in defending you against the suspicions of the laundress with her last breath. She is very fond of you.” She patted Marie-Anne’s hand reassuringly. “And I am silent as the sphinx. Or I mean to say I would be, if there were anything to tell. Which of course there is not. I do hope you’ll feel yourself again soon. Enjoy the cake, dear.”

  She closed the door gently behind her. It was a very friendly warning to be more careful, given with great kindness, and confirming to Marie-Anne that she was right to have told Mason they must stop. To which he’d replied that there would be no problem if they were married. She sipped at the chocolate and wondered if he had only said it to keep her in his bed.

  Well, so what if he had? He did not take the words back. And she wanted to be with him in the bed and out of it, too. Maybe she even wanted children. Oh, to be a mother would be such a wonderful, unexpected delight. The vision of a sweet little red-haired baby rose up in her mind and, as it caused her to actually coo aloud to her chocolate, she quickly thrust the thought away. It was entirely too overwhelming. One could not make a rational decision when faced with the prospect of a redheaded baby. She was only human.

  Marie-Anne was much more herself the next day and though she was fairly certain of her answer, still she could not quite commit to it. It did not seem strange anymore, to imagine herself as his wife. She might have talked to him if she could have found a moment alone with him. But it proved impossible all day, and she did not want to risk using the secret door between their rooms any more.

  The following day, she was determined to find a moment of privacy to speak with him. She would say yes. She was sure she would, but only after she could ask him a few very simple questions about his plans for his future. How very responsible of her! Her reputation for recklessness would suffer quite a blow when she told Helen about this.

  Just as she began looking for Mason, the butler approached her. “Mr. Meeks to see you, madame,” he said in hushed tones. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting him in library again.”

  “Again?” She blinked at him.

  They were only a few steps from the library, which gave her very little time to wonder who this Meeks person was before the door opened and the square-faced secretary to Lord Summerdale was greeting her. She’d completely forgotten him.

  “I hope I do not inconvenience you by coming unannounced,” he said. “But in the interest of both expediency and discretion, we deemed it best that I should come in person immediately.”

  This sounded very ominous. Oh, she did not like this at all.

  “It is not inconvenient for me, Mr. Meeks, but I will come to London in only two days for a visit. I could have saved you the trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, I assure you. Acting with haste in this matter is far more important.” He gestured to a chair and she lowered herself into it, hoping this was only courtesy and not an indication that she should sit down for what he had to say. “First I must ask, madame, if there is perhaps anything further about the character of Mr. Mason – or shall I say, the man who calls himself by that name – well, any further troubling facts you may have discovered about him?”

  “No.” She said it so quickly that anyone could tell it was a lie. But why should she tell this secretary about Mason’s gossip pamphlets? It could not matter.

  “Anything you might tell me will of course be held in strictest confidence.” He waited, but she only bit her lip and kept her silence. “Yes. Well. My own investigations have continued, and I have come here to tell you what we have learned.”

  “We? Who is this we?”

  “I beg your pardon, madame, I should have said that I am here at the request of Lord Summerdale. Being uncertain as to the nature of your present acquaintance with Mr. Mason, he thought it best to proceed with some delicacy.”

  All these careful words made her frown at him. “What is this you are saying, that Stephen gave instruction for you to tell me something?”

  “Indeed, madame. In the normal course of things, Lord Summerdale would simply take action as he sees fit. But in this instance, he should like to know your feelings on the matter before he acts publicly in any way.”

  She clutched her hands together and took a breath, stealing herself. “Then you must tell me what this matter is. It is to do with Mr. Mason?”

  “Yes. You already know the suspicions about his timber business. I must tell you that they are no longer suspicions, but have
been confirmed as fact. There is no timber business. There would also appear to be no Mr. Mason.”

  The falseness of his business was not new to her, so she let her breath out in an exasperated sigh. “But of course there is a Mr. Mason. He is here in this house.”

  “He calls himself Mr. Spencer Mason, but it is not his name. In New York, it would seem he went by the name of Mr. Mason Hawes. When he was not Mason Hawes, he was Mason Hagman, or Samuel Irby Mason, or Mason Hardin, or in one memorable instance, a Mr. Beauregard Shearn.”

  She could not seem to look away from his mouth as he dropped this string of absurd names. “I see.”

  “In Boston, we believe he called himself Mason Fawcett for a time, and Bartholomew Mason. In Philadelphia, it was Mason Hancock and Clover-”

  “Please stop.” She wanted to stand. She thought it might be very good to pace energetically about the room. But her legs felt as if they were made of lead, and she could think of nothing more to say than just, “Stop.”

  He did. But after a long moment, he continued. “It is possible there are more names he has used, in other cities, but it is doubtful we will ever uncover his true identity. Furthermore, there can no longer be any doubt that he has a habit of engaging in criminal enterprise.”

  “When?” she asked. He had said he’d made political drawings in New York. That was why he had run to London – because he had made powerful men angry, not because he was a criminal. “It is long ago, I think, this crime he commits.”

  “We cannot be sure of that, madame. Lord Summerdale does not entirely trust the motives of the men from New York who have provided much of this information. I pass along to you only those facts about which we have little or no doubt.” Just as she began to feel a little relieved, he spoke again. “But it must be said that his continued efforts to persuade several gentlemen to give their money to him under the guise of investment–”

  “He has taken their money?”

  The secretary seemed startled. Probably he did not expect her to care about the particulars, asking so many questions and challenging him. She was supposed to swoon and call Mason infamous and let the men decide what should be done while she smelled salts and fluttered in a corner. How very bad of Stephen, not to warn this secretary about her.

  He recovered his aplomb, though. “As yet, it is difficult to know with any certainty. But it was less than a month ago that he invited the Duke of Ravenclyffe to invest. In the last week, Ravenclyffe has persuaded several peers to join him in the investment and he is even now preparing to hand over a very large sum. All the gentlemen are.”

  “How large?”

  “Just among those few gentlemen who are willing to confide the sum to Lord Summerdale, Mr. Mason can expect twelve thousand pounds.”

  Marie-Anne, who had been expecting to hear nothing greater than one thousand – and even that was an impossibly large number – could only stare at him. It took a very long time for her mind to think past it. When it did, she gradually realized that she should not be so surprised to hear this news. This secretary had told her of this investment scheme before, in this very room. He had mentioned it on his first visit. It was the only reason to look into Mason’s background in the first place.

  She had ignored it completely. Because she was in love. Well, and because she was distracted by learning about the gossip papers. But mostly because she loved him.

  “What will happen to Mr. Mason if…” Her voice died as she remembered his name was not Mr. Mason. She tried to gather her thoughts. What was it this Meeks had said about Stephen acting publicly?

  The secretary cleared his throat. “Lord Summerdale has not indicated what actions he might take, except of course to prevent anyone from being defrauded if it comes to that point, as it seems likely to. But as I have said, madame, his immediate concern is for your welfare.” He seemed caught between concern and slight embarrassment. “He believes it possible that you may have developed an attachment to Mr. Mason. If that is the case, Lord Summerdale would take pains to act with very great discretion.”

  He’d run Mason out of town quietly, that’s what it meant. So civilized and neat, that was the way of Society – and Stephen’s way. Well, not entirely. Marie-Anne remembered with a smile, how he had invited her to break as many hearts as she liked.

  “It must be a very loud rumor, my fondness for Mr. Mason, if it is heard all the way in Norway.”

  “I could not say, madame. Lord Summerdale learned of it upon his return recently, and you can be assured that it is not commonly known–”

  “They’ve returned?” Mr. Meeks nodded, and she rather wanted to shake him. “But why did you not tell me! They were not to be back for another month! And why does he send you here and not come himself to say these things?”

  “They have only just arrived in London. Upon learning of this…situation, Lord Summerdale wished above all to act with the utmost discretion. He has shared this information with no one but myself, and now you. He has not come himself so as not to arouse Lady Summerdale’s curiosity, as she would naturally wish to know why he must speak to you so urgently.”

  “Oh, well!” This made her equal parts angry and affectionate. “You may tell him from me that he can tell my secrets to his wife. I would tell her myself if I knew she was in the country!”

  She was too busy being happy she would soon see Helen to notice the expectant look Mr. Meeks gave her. After a moment, he cleared his throat again.

  “I shall be happy to convey that message to him, madame. As Lord Summerdale greatly values your opinion in the other matter, he eagerly awaits any word you might care to send as regards Mr. Mason’s character.”

  Marie-Anne had no ready response. It was so unexpected that Stephen wanted her opinion – especially when all she wanted was his opinion. How could she possibly think clearly about Mason? Minutes ago she had been preparing to accept his marriage proposal. Minutes ago, she had thought he was not a criminal – and that his name was Mason.

  Oh, men were very disappointing.

  “You must tell him that I am still making my opinion,” she said as she stood up. “And when it is ready, I will deliver it myself – straight to his door in London. They are in London, yes?”

  “At present, yes. I believe they will remove to the country in a week’s time.”

  “I will be there long before that. You must tell them so.”

  She thanked him for coming and then chose a comfortable chair in an isolated corner of the library where she could sort her thoughts. It did not take terribly long, so when Mason entered not long after, she was as ready as she could hope to be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Amy was looking for you,” he said when he saw her rise from the chair. “Are you hiding, or should I go tell her where to find you?”

  He looked so very respectable in his well-made clothes, with his shoes polished to a high shine and not a hair out of place – yet still, somehow, possessing an air of lightly disheveled elegance. She wondered how long he had studied the men he meant to emulate before he’d perfected their look. Not long at all, she imagined, since he had a lifetime of experience at it.

  He crinkled his freckled brow at her. “Marie-Anne?”

  She considered declaring him a cad once more, or a terrible fraud, in that flippant way she employed so often. But she must be even more in love than she’d realized, if she did not feel like being the least bit flippant.

  “No, I do not want to talk with her. I want to talk with you.”

  He closed the door behind him, his pleasant look dissolving into uncertainty and faint anxiety. She could see he held his breath. He thought she would give him her answer, and was bracing himself for rejection. The familiar impulse came to her – to go to him, cross the carpet in a few steps to be within touching distance so she might soothe him. But she stayed where she was.

  “First I must ask you what I should call you,” she finally said. “What is your name?”

  “My name?” He seemed g
enuinely confused by the question. She only looked at him expectantly until he answered. “What do you mean? Why would you call me anything other than Mason?”

  “Because perhaps you are really Clayton or Samuel or… oh, what is the ridiculous one – Bartholomew.”

  He was motionless, staring at her. It felt like a very long time until he took a deep breath and began, “Marie-Anne, just–”

  “No, it was Beauregard! This is the most absurd, you look nothing like a Beauregard.” She was surprised to find that she was not angry at him, really. It all seemed like a game. A very bad game that she did not want to play. “But you do not look like a liar, either. It is like you said, the very innocent face you have. It serves you well in this business you do.”

  He had taken a step toward her but stopped in his tracks. She could see his mind working, which was new. He was normally so very good at hiding whatever calculations went on behind his eyes. But now he was not calculating, he was only trying to understand what was happening.

  “Is it Summerdale?” he asked. “Is that who told you all these names?”

  “What does it matter? I know these names now. It is very inconvenient, to think I might want to be Mrs. Mason and then learn there is no Mr. Mason. I do not want to be Mrs. Bartholomew Beauregard, or whatever name you will think of next.” Her voice was rising. Very well, she was a little angry. “That is what you do, non? You must make a new name when it is time to run away with the money. All the money these wealthy men will give you for a business that does not exist.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Shit.”

  “Yes, it is shit,” she agreed. “It is very much shit.”

  “Will you let me explain?” he asked, and then plowed on without waiting for her to answer. “I wasn’t going to take their money. It was never supposed to go that far, it was just something I said months ago to some idiot and now he won’t shut up about the brilliant American investment scheme. And now other people are talking about it–”