Seduction & Scandal

Isabella’s mouth dropped open. “Did my uncle—”

“Black,” Wendell announced as he sat on the settee and crossed one long leg over the other. “I encountered Lord Black on the docks this morning. We chatted for a bit and he invited me to the lodge. He’s sponsoring me, Isabella. I can hardly believe it. A Mason. A member of the Brethren.”

He clapped his hands and whooped in delight and Isabella couldn’t help but notice how young and handsome he appeared, with the sunlight filtering through the windows, casting him in a brilliant glow. “My first meeting will be tonight. I can hardly wait. You know of my interest in the Templars, and it’s no secret that the Freemasonry, or at the very least, Black’s lodge, practices the Templar ways. Rumor has it, that this particular lodge was opened by members who could actually lay claim to being descended directly from Templar knights!”

“Something must be very exciting,” Lucy announced as she breezed into the parlor, wearing a celadon-colored morning gown. “I could hear the enthusiasm from the hallway.”

Wendell stood and bowed. “Good morning, my lady. Forgive the early hour of my call, but I could not contain myself.”

“Well, I can understand why. Isabella does look astonishingly lovely in pale pink. Ethereal, wouldn’t you say?”

Wendell’s smile faded as he cast a glance in the direction of the chair where she was seated, pouring the tea. Her outfit was a lovely pink bodice made of pleated silk, adorned with an ecru high lace collar that was at once extravagant but beautiful. The bodice fit snuggly, emphasizing her full bust, and the overskirt of pink silk damask was edged in thick velvet. It was something a grand lady would wear, not a poor Yorkshire girl. She felt like a sham wearing such beautiful things, but Lucy had made it for her, another one of her particular designs. Her cousin certainly had an eye for fashion, and the sewing skills to match. Lucy was a forerunner of fashion, and every debutante and fashionable lady strove to uncover the modiste who outfitted Lucy in such wonderful clothes. Little did they know, the modiste was Lucy herself. A fact that would shock society. No society lady would ever deign to make their own clothes—that was for the middling classes. Herself, she didn’t see what all the fuss was about, especially since her cousin’s sense of fashion and ingenious designs outshone anything she had seen done up by the seamstresses that outfitted the cream of the ton. But then, she had never been able to afford to contemplate such things. She’d counted herself lucky if she possessed a cloak without holes in it. Which very rarely happened.

A masculine cough ended her rumination. “Oh, yes, yes,” Wendell said hurriedly. “In my excitement, I forgot myself. You look lovely today, Miss Fairmont. Pink is a very fetching color on you.”

She handed him a cup and saucer, made out of Wedgwood china, which was so fine and delicate she could see through it as the sun’s rays sparkled through the salon windows. “Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Knighton. Really, my vanity can survive a morning without it being complimented.”

She sent Lucy a warning glance, which her cousin, of course, ignored. Sinking onto the chair beside hers, Lucy reached for a cup of tea and brought it to her mouth for a delicate sip before replacing the cup in the saucer with a slight chink. “You must tell us what is so exciting, Mr. Knighton.”

“I am to be initiated into the Brotherhood, my lady. The Masons,” Wendell said with a mix of pride and awe.

“Are you?” Lucy asked. “Did my father offer to sponsor you?”

“In fact, no. Lord Black did.”

“Black?” Lucy asked, her auburn brow furled as she glanced at her.

Wendell took a sip of his tea, then nodded. “Indeed, Black. Very amiable fellow. There is to be a special meeting tonight, an initiation which I will not be privy to. But before that, Black will offer to sponsor me.”

Lucy slid her gaze to Isabella. “Well, then, I do believe you are free tonight, cousin.”

Isabella hid a groan. Not that séance business again. Her head was paining her, and she felt queasy, and the thought of attending Lucy’s morbid curiosity only made her feel worse.

“Oh, yes, please,” Wendell said as he rose from the settee. “Please, Miss Fairmont, go out and enjoy the evening. There will be few nice ones left before the winter comes. Do not let my plans interfere with yours.”

Isabella accepted Wendell’s hand and allowed him to help her from her chair. With a chaste kiss, he kissed her hand, then reached for his hat. “Good day, Miss Fairmont. Please do enjoy it.”

They watched him leave the parlor, and when the door closed behind him, Isabella sunk into an ungraceful heap onto the chair. She felt … let down for some reason, but why, she could not fathom. Wendell’s visit had been like all his other ones, and she had never felt anything less then satisfied when he had left.

Lucy must have known her thoughts, for she kept her lips pressed firmly together as she toyed with an imaginary speck of lint on her skirts.

“I wonder what Lord Black is playing at, sponsoring Mr. Knighton?”

Isabella took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps he is just being kind, Luce. Not everyone has ulterior motives.”

Lucy’s gaze met hers. “Think back to our conversation last night, Issy. Did I not tell you that Black would not be deterred?”

“Deterred from what?”

Like a sly kitten, Lucy smiled. “You know very well from what.”

“In fact, I don’t. What is it you’re trying to say?” Isabella asked, irritability making her voice sharper than she intended. The mild headache she had been suffering under all morning became a loud and painful throbbing. Now she knew for certain, it was one of those headaches, she thought. Rubbing her temple, she tried focusing on her cousin.

“What I am trying to make you see, dear Issy, is that Black has just removed an obstacle.”

Isabella dropped her hand from her temple. “I beg your pardon? I’m not following your line of thinking.”

“He has removed Knighton from your side, and quite effectively, in fact, for Mr. Knighton will be studying for weeks to make it through the first degrees, thereby leaving you alone, and available for the evenings.”

The door opened, thankfully relieving Isabella of the task of rebutting Lucy’s wild suggestion. Stonebrook’s butler, Jennings, appeared, his face austere and wrinkled. He was ancient and frightfully proper. Isabella had been terrified of him when she had first come to live with Lucy and her father. But since that time, she had softened to crusty old Jennings.

“For you, miss.”

Jennings presented a silver salver with one perfect bloodred bloom, with an ivory card attached to the stem by a black satin ribbon.

“For me?” she asked, even though she could read quite clearly that the card had her name written on it, in bold, black lettering.

“Indeed,” Jennings murmured.

“Thank you,” she returned as she lifted the delicate flower from its resting place. Oh, it was perfect. And the sender had removed the leaves and thorns as well.

Jennings departed, and with a quick glance at her cousin, who was pressing forward in her chair, Isabella turned the card over and noted that there was no seal imprinted on the wax. The only thing keeping the edges together was a large blob of black wax.

“Well?” Lucy asked. “I can hardly bear the suspense, Issy. Open the blasted thing.”

“Your language,” Isabella reprimanded her, feeling every bit as anxious as Lucy.

“Oh, get on with it,” Lucy commanded. “It’s only you and I, for mercy’s sake.”

The wax seal broke, and she opened the card to more of the elegant black script.

‘Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh

To reflect back her blushes

To give sigh for sigh.

I dreamed of your sighs last night, Isabella—a most haunting, beautiful sound that I hope, most fervently, I might hear again very soon.