Chapter Six

Lady Davina Hasket's Guide to Gossip and Governesses

Hasket House, London—June 9, 1816

Davina

“‘And Lady J— was seen in a darkened corner with a mysterious gentleman of unknown origins. Certainly not the very gentleman to whom she owes her current condition. Mr. P— was heard proclaiming to all and sundry that he was not responsible for such a condition. Which, of course, leads one to wonder, doth the gentleman protest too much?’”

“Who else?” Mama demanded.

“It goes on here… ‘Lady G— was seen exiting a closet appearing very much as rumpled as the last time. Unfortunately, she was followed by Lord G— which seems to be a regular occupation for them.’”

“Yes, yes.”

“‘Lady R— disappeared early in the evening only to fl—’”

“Flee the ballroom, yes. I know Celine was up to frolicsomeness,” she finished, waving me to the next bit of gossip. 

“‘Lady D— proved to be quite a gambler. Best tighten those purse strings in her presence.’”

“Oh, you won dearest? Well done! Who was next?”

“I did,” I replied, distractedly scanning the final lines again. Desperation, it seemed, could not will extra tidbits. “That’s all, Mama.”

“That is all? But…” she trailed off, a forlorn note creeping into her tone. 

Mama had taken to her bed after the masquerade and hadn’t been home for visitors all day. Not that she had received any. 

The heavy velveteen curtains of deep vermilion stood fast against the morning light. Her bedclothes rumpled around her. And her gown… her beautiful, absurd gown lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, ridiculous wig tangled atop it. 

“This one didn’t discuss the fashions. Perhaps there’s another that recognized the elegance of your gown.”

“But The Morning Post is the singular missive worthy of cognizance. You know, not so very long ago, there were lengthy editorials about D— R—. And before that, Lady C—. Speculation over which courtier I would compliment with my assiduity was rampant.”

“I know, Mama. They still do. It’s just...”

“It is just that I am old. And dull.” 

Oh no. This was particularly bad. Nothing good ever came when mother used simple, straightforward words. Especially not self-deprecating ones. And truly, my mother could be called many things, but dull had never been one of them.

“They just don’t understand—”

“Me!” she interjected with a pitiful sniff. 

“True fashion, Mama. Since the war, so many of them haven’t the luxury of seeing the designs coming from Paris. Not the way you have. And they don’t have your eye for design.”

And it was true, Mama was beautiful. But she was the kind of beautiful that was harsh, angled jaws and sharp brows. Every inch of her was thoughtfully considered, coiffed to perfection. Her beauty took effort. Her world too. This room, this house, not a corner of it was left to chance. My mother saw the world in a way no one else—save perhaps Xander—did. 

But she was a carefully curated beautiful. A sculpted museum piece in a world that had deemed nature the peak of elegance. It wasn’t natural—not truly. We all pretended that our perpetual flush was demure modesty and that we woke each morning with perfect ringlets. But it was a lie. One my mother wouldn’t or couldn’t abide. 

And it hurt her. To see the gowns and coiffure she agonized over for weeks scoffed at as though the ladies scoffing hadn’t agonized just as hard over their flimsy silks and not-quite-there rouges. 

My mother was the wrong kind of beautiful, and the only thing that hurt worse than being mocked in the gossip pages for it was being left out entirely. 

“I am not feeling well. Please send one of the maids up with my tea. You know the one, darling.” The one that was more laudanum than tea. I knew it well.

“Mama…”

“I need to rest, Davina.”

“All right,” I said, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

In the hall, I found Mary, tea tray already in hand. “As little as you can manage, please?”

“Of course, my lady.”

* * *

From my perch on the rooftop, I heard the front door open and Xander’s usual flustered tones. I slipped back in through the window just in time for Mary to knock on my door to alert me to my brother’s presence in Father’s study. 

I made my way to join him without any particular haste, pausing by Mother’s room to listen for a croaking snore. 

The study door was open and Xander inside. This room alone served as the last remnants of my father. Here there were hunter greens and muddy browns. The one place Mother hadn’t ever touched. And it was all the sadder for it. The last dusty, forgotten vestiges of my father lived in the worn creases of the leather sofa and the musty, damp-smelling books. 

“Why are we in here?” I asked, brushing time’s remnants from the cushion before plopping down. 

“Celine is… She thinks— It doesn’t matter. She’s finally lost the last thread,” he replied, flipping distractedly through documents he pulled from father’s overwrought desk.

“Of sanity?”

“Yes, she’ll be in an institution before New Year.”

“That would be unfortunate for both of us. You’d have to serve as my chaperone then.”

He shot me a look underneath a harried, disheveled lock of hair. 

“How is Mother today? I saw the Post.”

“It was a bad day. I may write to Mme Cadieux and ask if perhaps she will sit with Mama tomorrow.”

“That is a good plan.” 

He moved on from the desk pages to the ledgers, boxed underneath the desk, never returned to their proper shelf when Xander returned them from Rycliffe Place. He turned page after page, unseeing.

“You’re not going to find anything like that. Tell me what you’re looking for.”

He sighed and leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot even begin to explain Celine’s scheme. Of the women in my life most likely to ruin us all, I wouldn’t have put her at the top.”

I ignored the slight and snagged one of the ledgers off the corner of the desk and paged through it. 

“You disappeared last night,” I said, striving for casual in lieu of nosy.

He startled, the page in his hand ripping clean from the ledger. With a curse, he pressed it back into the bindings as though that wound undo the damage. 

“Now I must know.” Something sheepish overtook his expression and he settled back into the chair, gnawing on his lip. “Xander… did you meet someone?”

A blush overtook my brother’s cheeks, something I couldn’t recall seeing in the entirety of my existence. Excited, I rushed to slot myself between him and the desk and pushed his chair back to gain a clearer vantage. 

“Who is he? Do I know him?”

“You know?” he demanded, incredulous.

“Ugh, Xander! Know what? That you prefer men?”

“Yes.” Though it was a statement, the curve of his brow and the lilt of the word named it a question.

“Obviously. I used to read your little diaries.”

“You read my…” The more familiar exasperated expression crossed his face. “Davina, have you told any—”

“No! Of course not. Despite what you may think, I’m not actually trying to ruin your life. Now, tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We talked, that is all.”

“You talked?”

“Yes.”

“Even your scandals are dull. Well, who is he?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? How can you not know?” I pressed.

“He was masked.”

“Well, that’s hardly an impediment. I can think of only a single gentleman I couldn’t identify with a mask the entire evening. Was it the impossibly tall and fair one? Wearing the mask that covered the one side of his face?”

“No, well—he was impossibly tall, but his hair was more of a reddish brown. And he wore a viridian domino.”

“Viridian? You must be smitten. Did he at least kiss you?”

“I’m not discussing this with you,” he insisted, brow furrowed as his hands danced in front of him.

“That is a yes. Was it lovely?”

“He didn’t— We didn’t— There was no kissing!”

“Well, why not? Was he not handsome?”

His jaw dropped for a moment, then closed briefly before opening once again. Finally seeming to recognize that it was attached to his face, he snapped it shut and shook the thought away. “You know, I heard you danced with Lord Leighton,” he blurted. 

“Mr. Summers. And that is not the point, and you know it.”

“I know no such thing,” Xander protested.

“Spending time in the presence of Mr. Summers is nothing new. Unlike your masked mystery gentleman.”

“And how was it?” he asked, refusing to rise to my bait. “Dancing with him?”

“It was fine,” I said, then hopped onto the desk, letting my feet swing back and forth above the floor. I grabbed one of the ledgers for something to do and thumbed through it with no interest. “He is a terrible dancer, though he does take direction well. I feel badly for him. Lady Grayson is determined to see him wed, regardless of his feelings on the subject. And he’s so… miserable all the time.”

“I believe that’s merely the way his face is,” Xander said.

“No. I mean, yes, it is. But no, he is disconsolate.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Mother.” 

“Forlorn? Melancholy?” 

“Better. He is handsome though.”

“I suppose. If one likes despondent men who cannot keep time,” I said, considering Mr. Summers’ dark eyes and full lips. And the messy curls. The right sort of woman might find those charming. 

“Do you?” he asked, hesitation clear. 

My eyes flicked to his. “Absolutely not, Xander. Do not for one second suggest what I think you’re about to suggest.”

“All right,” he said, hands held up in placation. “Just an insane notion. It has been a day for them, after all.”

“What does Cee want anyway?”

“She thinks she found Gabe’s killer.”

“What?” I nearly toppled off the desk and yanked the ledgers down to the floor in my effort to find footing. 

“Well, I suspect she was fondling the man somewhere last night and happened to recall something from the day… But she seems convinced.”

“Who?”

“Oh, no. I’m not getting you wrapped up in this mess as well,” he insisted, grabbing one of the ledgers from the floor and straightening it. 

“Ugh, Xander!”

“I won’t budge on this one, Dav. And don’t go asking her about it either. I don’t want to encourage this nonsense.”

“Alexander Hasket, you tell me this instant!”

“Absolutely not. Go to your room, you little she-devil.”

“But—”

“Now, and if you behave, I'll take you to Hudson’s later.”

“Fine,” I replied, full of petulance. Xander had never been that insistent. And when it came to Gabriel, Celine was just a little bit mad. And I did really love the little fairy cake things, I acknowledged, smiling to myself at the memory.

* * *

The fresh air and exercise did much to help me shed the gloom of Mama’s mood. Xander, determined to stroll at a respectable pace, kept my hand tucked between his elbow and side. Though the effort slowed me down, it didn’t stop me from trying to rush him along. 

“If you do not stop, we shall never walk anywhere again.”

“Xander, I haven’t left the house in days. Mama was determined to wait for callers.”

He said nothing in response but lengthened his stride just the smallest amount. My teeth caught my lip, it wouldn’t do to let him know his efforts were appreciated. 

The massive bay windows of Hudson’s came into view up ahead, the letters painted along both sides of the door, framing a small table in each. 

When we arrived, Xander held the door open for me. The shop beckoned me in with the scents of vanilla, sugar, and butter. Inside, I caught scents of berry and something floral.

What I hadn’t considered in this plot was that this late in the afternoon every table was occupied, filled with everything from courting couples to long-wed lovers. 

Behind the counter, Mrs. Ainsley offered a bright smile to us before returning her attention to a governess with two charges before her. 

A peal of laughter sounded from over by the window, catching my notice. For the second time in my life, I caught sight of Mr. Summers driving a girl to giggles. This time, however, I could feel the smile pulling at the corners of my lips along with hers.

Mr. Summers shared a round table with Will. And braced on one knee was Miss Emma Ainsley with her perfect strawberry ringlets. Miss Emma Ainsley, who was chiefly occupied with attempting to knock the bite of cake off his fork while he dodged her tiny, baby fists. 

The toddler’s joy caught Xander’s attention as well, and he chuckled. The sound caught Mr. Summers’ attention and he offered a wave with the fork, barely managing to escape Miss Ainsley’s surprisingly accurate grasp. 

Will, noticing us, rose and joined us in the cue, greeting us warmly and offering to share their table as long as we were willing to brave flying bites of cake. Xander agreed and gestured toward the table, wordlessly sending me over. 

“Mr. Summers,” I said as I took the empty seat beside him. “Miss Ainsley.” 

She offered me only a “Bah!”

“Lady Davina, please forgive my manners, but Miss Ainsley is very determined that I shan’t move.”

“Nor should you! Her comfort is of the utmost importance.” 

Something about the corner of Mr. Summers’ lip tightened. It was either irritation or a facsimile of a smile. “You see the way of it. I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of my responsibilities when I sat down.” An almost-smile then. 

The little girl reached out, palm splayed toward the fairy cake. Sensing her plan, Mr. Summers slid it away just as her hand slapped the table. 

“I suppose you thought to eat your little cake thing.”

“It had crossed my mind, I must admit,” he replied, the ghost of a smile finding a home in the set of his cheeks. 

“And how, may I ask, did you come to be in the presence of such a graceful dining companion?”

“Auggie—Mr. Ainsley—had an emergency at the club. Will and I volunteered. Or rather, Will volunteered me because he intended to actually eat his biscuits.”

“Well, if you find the law does not suit you, you may have a future as a governess.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said just as Will and Xander arrived at the table. Each carried a plate with a singular fairy cake atop it. Will settled his in front of me before returning to his biscuits while Xander sat beside him. 

“What’s that?” Will asked.

“Oh, consider this my notice. I’m leaving to begin my life as a governess,” Mr. Summers replied with such sincerity that I almost would have believed him but for the upturned tilt at the corner of his eyes. 

“I’m fine with it, but your sister might have something to say about your diminished prospects,” Will replied.

“I’m almost certain she will.” 

Miss Ainsley squealed her approval, smacking at the table again when Mr. Summers reached for the cake.

“Fortunately, my charges will ensure I can hear none of it.” Wordlessly, he abandoned his fork to dig through a pocket from which he pulled out a plain handkerchief and wiped away the drool and crumbs from his companion’s mouth. 

Miss Ainsley, having decided that she liked the handkerchief, caught it and stuffed the corner in her mouth, gnawing on it. 

“You keep that,” Mr. Summers said, grabbing for the cake again with more success. In fact, he managed to shovel several bites in quick succession before he became certain that Miss Ainsley was well occupied. 

Xander turned to Will and asked him some utterly dull financial question. 

“You’re good with her,” I complimented Mr. Summers as he bounced his knee, making the girl giggle around her soggy handkerchief.

“I’ve had practice. My sister has five little ones.”

“Kate has one?”

“My elder sister, Lizzie.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance.”

“You wouldn’t have. She’s in Lincolnshire, her husband is a farmer.” His gaze found mine, something unreadable in his dark eyes.

“I’m surprised your aunt didn’t host her for a season the way she did Kate.”

It was the wrong thing to say if his huffed breath was any indication. “Lizzie and Sidney were easy. She was only fifteen when she declared she would marry none but him. Took him a few more years to finally realize that Lizzie is always right. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Aunt Prudence only summoned Katie because her life became dull after her own daughter wed.”

There was an undertone to his words I couldn’t quite place. I sensed that I was treading into dangerous waters. “I’ve heard it said that Kate is always right. You’re saying it’s your elder sister instead?”

“Katie, too, and my mother. Summers women are an unstoppable force when they decide something.”

“Then why do you remain unwed?” I teased with an arch smile.

“To vex her,” he replied, one lip finally curling into a smile. “And she hasn’t set her mind to it yet, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, she would be thrilled if any of the ladies she has thrust in my direction looked twice at me. But as much as she wants a wedding, she does love me. She hasn’t found the lady she thinks will make me happy yet. Once she does, she’ll be relentless.”

“Should I be offended?” I teased.

The question earned me a singular chuckle. “That depends. Would you be offended to know that I happened to be the nearest slightly trustworthy person when you were causing mischief and so she thrust you at me?”

“No!” I exclaimed in mock offense.

“Oh yes, she would never consider you and me in terms of matrimony.” The smile crept onto the other side of his face, and I should have been delighted. Instead, I was struck at the notion that I wasn’t a prospect. 

“Why not? You should be so lucky!”

In agreement, Miss Ainsley smacked him across the face with a sticky hand. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled distractedly, pulling her hand away. “I just meant that she knows you would never consider me, so there’s no match to be made.” 

It was there, on the tip of my tongue, the assurance that, while I wouldn’t consider him, I wouldn’t consider anyone. 

“Davina, how is your fairy cake?” Ugh, Xander. His gaze flicked between Mr. Summers and me, head swiveling like that of a judgmental owl. 

“Delectable,” I insisted before taking a bite. As predicted, it was exquisite, a bright burst of bergamot followed by the soothingly familiar malty caramel of tea. Mrs. Ainsley had outdone herself with this one.

A glance at Mr. Summers showed an odd expression crossing his face. It was wiped away when the child on his lap wriggled unhappily and made another swipe toward the now-empty cake plate. Mr. Summers resumed the bouncing of his knee and her coos turned happier. 

“Will,” I asked, “did you enjoy the masquerade?”

He burst into a strangled cough, seemingly inhaling a crumb. Xander clapped him on the back for a moment before the man finally leaned back, red-faced. 

“Yes, Will, did you enjoy the masquerade?” Mr. Summers repeated, something teasing in his tone.

It was clear from Will’s glare that I’d missed something and that was a feeling I loathed. “Did you lose at the tables?”

“Ah, no. I’m not much of a gambler,” he finally choked out. 

Before I could reply, Mr. Ainsley slipped through the door and made his way to collect his daughter. 

He startled for a moment at the sight of Xander and me crowding the table.

“Your Grace, Lady Davina, I trust you’re well?”

Xander answered affirmatively on our behalf while Mr. Ainsley plucked his reaching daughter from her perch on Mr. Summers’ knee. 

“I hate to interrupt your… afternoon,” he finished after floundering to describe the odd pairing we made. “But I was hoping to get your opinion on something at the club.”

“Of course,” Mr. Summers replied while Will rose. “Your Grace, Lady Davina, it has been a pleasure. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After wishing him a good evening, I tucked into my little fairy cake with more enthusiasm. It was a necessary and delicious distraction from Xander’s probing gaze.