Page 19 of Silence of Deceit
Audrey’s foot stilled, and shame flooded her chest and cheeks. She’d brought Greer with her, and the lady’s maid said nothing as Carrigan started back toward Violet House.
The viscountess was indeed at home—her footman would not have disappeared for nearly five minutes had she not been. No, the viscountess had seen it was the Duke of Fournier calling on her and had decided to give him the cut. Refusing to invite in a caller was the ultimate statement of rejection. And if Lady Rumsford’s servants were anything at all like the rest of the serving class of the ton, theon ditwould begin to make its way around London’s finest addresses without ado. Though she and Greer rode back to Curzon Street in silence, over the next several hours, her embarrassment transformed to something she was much more familiar with—determination.
By late the next morning, her second plan to speak to Lady Rumsford was well into formation when a message delivered to Violet House threatened to upend it. Miss Mary Simpson had sent word ahead, announcing that she would be calling on the duchess at four o’clock to discuss something “pertinent” to their previous conversation. Audrey folded the note with a groan and lamented the poor timing. She would not be at home to receive Mary, as she would be busy attempting to speak to Lady Rumsford. As intrigued as she was to know what Mary wanted to say, the viscountess’s involvement with Delia was still unknown, which sparked Audrey’s interest more. She’d sent a reply stating that six o’clock might be a better time and then prepared for her afternoon outing.
Though it was now November, and the sun was setting earlier with each passing day, the many paths through Hyde Park continued to be a center of activity for the fashionable set in the late afternoon. The wide corridor of the King’s Private Road, better known as Rotten Row, traveled past the Serpentine River, and it was by far the most popular spot to see and be seen.
Just before four o’clock, curious gazes fell upon Audrey as she languidly strolled the footpath along the water, her lady’s maid a few steps behind. She met with polite smiles and greetings, but no one stopped her for a proper hello. Had she wished for such interaction, she might have been disappointed. However, socializing had never been among Audrey’s assets. She had been raised the same way every other lady of the peerage had been, taught to care about the same things, and strive for the same distinguishments. And yet, she had never quite been able to ignore the preposterousness of it all. The insignificance of it. Did no one else see how trivial their lives were? How little they were actuallydoing? Audrey had often pondered that thought, and the more she explored it, the further away she felt from everyone around her. Especially among women who were truly comfortable with their positions in society.
For those reasons, being seen in Hyde Park could not have appealed to Audrey less. But as she forced a starched grin and a well-bred greeting toward a pair of ladies who had crossed the path in front of her to purposefully catch the duchess’s eye, she reminded herself of why she was here.
Greer had gotten it from Charlie, the under butler at Violet House, who had gotten it from his cousin, a groom for Lord Yancey, who just so happened to be Lord and Lady Rumsford’s neighbor, that the viscountess almost always quit her house at four o’clock to take a constitutional stroll through Hyde Park. So, near to that time, Audrey and Greer had set out once again for King Street and waited a little way down for the viscountess to step out her front door and be whisked away in her carriage.
Snubbing someone from the privacy of one’s drawing room was one thing; giving the cut direct in full view of society while on Rotten Row was another level of seriousness altogether. Audrey was risking much; should the viscountess turn up her nose, there would be no end to the gossip. But it seemed a silly thing to worry about—hadn’t there been a deluge of gossip regarding the duke and duchess since April anyhow? She wasn’t in the practice of giving up, and if Delia’s involvement in some blackmailing scheme had gotten her killed, Lady Rumsford might have critical information.
Of course, Hugh Marsden might have already visited Lady Rumsford’s home and gleaned all that the woman knew. Audrey had not heard from him, and nor did she expect to. Yesterday in the carriage, when he’d brought up their near kiss, Audrey had been all too aware of her own reaction—the memory so visceral and immediate, it might have only been a single day since he’d clutched her to him and bent his head toward hers.
But what ofhisreaction? He’d seemed much more guarded and solemn. Repentant. Perhaps he regretted the impulse so thoroughly that he felt none of the same strange friction under his skin that she did when thoughts of him crossed her mind. Now that he was aware that the duke did not know, and even if he did, would not call him out, it was possible Hugh Marsden wished to put the mistake behind him.
He would be right to, of course. It was the best course of action. Perhaps Hugh was only better at dismissing something as simple as a close embrace because he had done so many times in the past. He had surely been involved with other women in a more serious nature.
Audrey had only a few moments to question why the notion weighed so heavily in her stomach before she heard Greer cough politely behind her. The duchess broke from her troublesome reverie and quickly found the viscountess ahead on the path. Opportunity was upon her.
A few steps behind Lady Rumsford, a pair of footmen trailed with a matched set of small, white, long-furred dogs. Each footman held a leash and were carefully pacing the dogs so that they trotted alongside the viscountess, one on either side of her.
“Lady Rumsford,” Audrey said as the woman approached on the path. She deplored the knob of anticipation in the center of her throat, the slight fluttering of her pulse, and the desperate hope that when she drew to a stop, the viscountess would as well.
Lady Rumsford, a matronly woman in her fourth decade with an austere mien, eyed Audrey skeptically, her attention taking in every last thread and detail of her appearance from the tips of Audrey’s walking boots to the crown of her emerald velvet bonnet, adorned with a wide black silk ribbon.
“Forgive me, it’s been some time since Lady Redding introduced us,” Audrey fibbed. In truth, Millie had never done so. “I am Audrey Sinclair, Duchess of Fournier.”
The woman’s reaction was just as violent as expected. Flaring nostrils and rounded eyes preceded a swift look around to see if there was any chance of her escaping without a scene. The pair of dogs ruined her chances. The footmen leading them lost their dignified control and crossed leashes, causing the pups to yip and bounce about excitedly, drawing attention their way.
“Your Grace, of course,” the viscountess said loudly, and then stepped closer to her, away from her boisterous dogs. She wasted no time lowering her tone and adding, “This is no coincidence, is it? I knew that could not be the duke calling on me yesterday. What are you playing at, Your Grace?”
“And how would you have known such a thing?”
“Isuspectedit,” she amended, her discontent masked by another false grin as a lady and gentleman ambled past them. “I have never met the duke andyourcard had been presented before.”
So, it was true. Audrey drew in a breath, both victorious and incensed. Delia had employed her ruse with Lady Rumsford as well. She had sullied Audrey’s name with Mrs. Simpson and the viscountess, and who knew how many other people?
“A young woman presented it?” Audrey asked, to be certain.
“What is your connection to her?” the viscountess snapped.
Audrey had anticipated such a question and had a story at the ready. “She was the daughter of a longtime employee at Violet House.”
The lady narrowed her shrewd eyes. “Was?”
“She is dead,” Audrey revealed.
The viscountess hitched a brow. “Good. I do not care if it is a coarse statement. I’ve never been prone to sentimentality anyhow.”
Audrey bit back an instant retort that Delia had not deserved to die, no matter what she had done. But the truth was, she didn’t quite know everything Deliahaddone. It would better serve her to stay focused on why she’d tracked the viscountess down and cornered her. It’s what Hugh would have done. Even with all the bewildering feelings she had for him, she at least knew and respected his questioning tactics.
“She was blackmailing you?” But then, thinking of Mrs. Simpson’s situation, she amended with, “Perhaps about of a relative of yours? Someone you care for?”
Lady Rumsford peered back at her dogs and footmen, then jutted her chin, a signal for Audrey to fall into step beside her. They walked a glacial pace along the path. “How do you know this? The woman claimed you weren’t involved, even though I had my doubts after that scandalbroth last spring.”
