“Aye,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Aye, I’ll tell ye all of it.”
Chapter Six
A little investment can get a body in a great deal of trouble. One ought to take care to only take an interest in matters that concern them, and in which they will not mind devoting their attention. Once you are in, it is very, very difficult to get back out again.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 17 February 1817
This was a mistake.
Graham wasn’t sure how he knew that, but know it, he did. How else could he explain the overwhelming feeling of dread encompassing him in the carriage as he rattled his way towards the Ingrams’ home? His stomach clenched in apprehension, wondering faintly if he shouldn’t have remained at the theatre with Tyrone and the Sterlings.
But if he had, he wouldn’t know what was going on in the life of Lady Edith Leveson.
Coming to the aid of Lady Edith hadn’t been part of his plans that night, nor had he intended the action to bring him into her confidence, or that of anyone else in her circle. But he would not deny that he was growing more and more intrigued with the woman, and equally concerned with the weasel that seemed incapable of leaving her alone.
When he’d found her at the theatre, tucked away just around a column, he’d been torn between pursuing the weasel and seeing to her aid. As he had no context for the situation, he’d opted to stay with her, and the combination of strength and weakness within her was startling. Whatever had occurred between the weasel and Lady Edith, it had worn on her, made her quiver and retreat, and one look in her eyes had shown Graham just how tired the woman was from whatever her life was doing to her.
Yet behind and beneath all that, there seemed to be a will of iron and a spine of steel within her. The grip she’d had on him as they’d walked back had been strong, and something about the set of her jaw made him want to smile. She wasn’t the weak and retreating type, he suspected, and his finding her in such a distressed state was likely something she would feel ashamed of upon recollection.
No matter what he said to dismiss such feelings, she would have them. Pride would dictate this for her, and it would be all she could do even to meet his gaze in the future.
He could understand that. He didn’t agree with it, in her case, but he understood it. He’d have felt the same way, were the roles reversed.
Strangely, he didn’t mind that he had come to the aid of Lady Edith twice now, in her estimation. She was smart, witty, fascinating, and beautiful; she wasn’t the silly type who would make something out of nothing, and he had yet to see anything regarding dramatics from her. There was something about the brogue he’d been hearing from her that made him want to keep her talking.
For someone who frequently wished people would do anything other than talk with him, this was new and untrodden territory.
Graham glanced out of the window as the coach rolled on, and he exhaled slowly. He hadn’t meant to get roped into the fallout from his role in the situation. He was only supposed to deposit Lady Edith into her friends’ care and return to his evening, dull as it had been. Yet when exchanging looks with Lord Ingram, Graham had seen the silent invitation there and agreed to it.
A note delivered to him during the second act confirmed the invitation, as well as gave him a time and destination. Which was why he was where he was now, and he hadn’t even begun to think about the possibilities that would render such a meeting to take place so suddenly.
He was tied into things now, like it or not, and even the weasel would know it, or soon would. He had seen them waltzing, even if he hadn’t seen them tonight.
Whatever the third incident would be, should there be a third, Graham could hardly expect to remain anonymous after it. Somehow, he knew there would be a third. If not a fourth, fifth, and sixth. Why else would they be cutting their evening short and inviting him to the Ingrams’? Something was happening, or about to happen, and he was now involved.
But was he part of the problem or part of the solution? Or was he simply a bystander being permitted further information?
Time alone would tell.
He’d already chosen his side, he supposed. Made a judgment based on observations. Knew his course of action, come what may. All he lacked was the context behind that course, the meaning behind those observations, and the risks of being on the side he had chosen.
What was Lady Edith involved in, and how had she gotten there?
Quickly, Graham ran through what he knew about her, which wasn’t much at all. Lady Edith Leveson wasn’t notorious or infamous, wasn’t even popular, let alone well known. Her late husband, however, had done little to keep his name out of scandal sheets or gaming halls, and he frequently seemed to keep his name there intentionally. Sir Archibald Leveson had been familiar with each of the seven deadly sins, though gluttony for excesses he reserved for the other sins rather than in food.
Everyone had been surprised that Sir Archibald had married, as no well-bred family would wish to link their daughter to him, no matter how vast his fortune was reputed to be. His status was certainly not as enviable as some, being merely a knight, and his fluctuating financial situation would be too great a risk to take on.
How in the world had Lady Edith’s family agreed to the match?
Sir Archibald hadn’t been in the match long, dying after a drunken ride on his horse shortly after his wedding. The details of the thing weren’t all that clear to the public, and he suspected only Lady Edith and the local magistrate in York knew the full truth. In many respects, life should have improved for Lady Edith with her new bridegroom gone.
By present accounts, however, that was not the case.
This was going to be complicated, and it would, undoubtedly, be a mistake.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the London home of the Ingrams, prompting a rough exhale from Graham as he eyed the façade.
Too late now.
He rose and pushed out of the carriage, not bothering to pause before striding up the few steps to the door. He rapped his knuckles on the surface twice and was let in before he could go for a third.
Clearly, he was expected.
Graham nodded at the butler as he handed his cloak and gloves to a footman nearby. “Am I the last to arrive?”
“You are, sir,” the older man confirmed. “Word has been sent to some others, but I understand they are not expected this evening.”
Interesting. Unless Graham was mistaken, nothing Lady Edith had suffered at the hands of the weasel would require a meeting of such urgency that others would need to be roused from their beds. But perhaps whatever evils that were afoot had been going on for such a length of time that enough was enough.
One instance would have been enough, surely.
But he was not here to judge; he was here to learn.
Silently, he was led down the corridor by the butler, taking fleeting notice of the details of the Ingram home. Nothing overly ostentatious, but perhaps more embellishments to the simple structure of the place than Graham would have made. Tastefully done, though, and fairly refined.
He would chalk that up to the tastes of Lady Ingram and think all the better of her for it. She was from one of the more prominent families in Society, though hardly the wealthiest, and in Graham’s limited experience, the more prominent families had peculiar, if exorbitant, tendencies. He hadn’t known much of Lady Ingram before her marriage to Lord Ingram, so he couldn’t have said prior to this if she followed suit.