“They should have believed me,” Thea said.
“But you are always making up stories, and remember you even said—”
“Exactly!” Thea whirled around. “They know I make silly jests, so they should have believed me when I said I spoke the truth. Instead, they chose to believe Percy Russell’s nasty lies. Now his life goes on as merrily as it always did, while I was cast out of home.”
“Pa offered you money.”
“I don’t want their money! I want them to believe me.”
Thea hated to disappoint her parents; all her life, she had tried her best to please them and contribute to the family’s success, but when Percy Russell came strutting along and sought Pa’s permission to court her, the arguments had begun.
“If you marry into the upper class, Thea, the whole family will be secure,” Ma had said. “Not just you, but Helen and the Little Ones too. Your Pa has made his fortune again, but he’s lost it before, and in this world, only those in the upper class can be sure of their position.”
But when Thea protested that she did not like Percy Russell, Ma only said, “Give him time. With time, he’ll grow on you.”
“Like fungus?” Thea had retorted.
Indeed. A toxic fungus that poisoned her whole life.
“Never mind,” Thea said now. “Soon, everyone will know the truth. I am going to put the world right,” she announced, with more confidence than she felt. After all, to put the world right, she must first convince the world that it was wrong. And if there was one thing the world hated, it was being told that it was wrong.
Helen narrowed her eyes. “Thea, what mischief are you up to now?”
Before Thea could reply, someone rapped at the door. Helen yanked the clerical hat down over her braided hair, and Thea hastily pulled on the poke bonnet. Its long, curved brim was designed to completely shield the wearer’s face from the sun—and, conveniently for their purposes, from any prying eyes. The effect was like blinders on a horse, and she had to rotate her entire body to see who entered.
But it was only Arabella, sliding through the door and shutting it silently behind her, before turning to assess them with cool, critical blue eyes. Arabella had traveled only a few miles from her family estate to collect Thea, but her royal-blue pelisse, adorned with little white tassels down the front, was elegant enough for a promenade with the queen. Atop her dark hair, and a perfect foil for her pale, angular features, was a matching cap, from which sprouted a single, superb ostrich feather. Arabella was unfashionably tall, but she wore her outfits to such perfection that Thea was sure the fashions must be wrong. Even in Helen’s stylish new outfit, with its smart rows of frogging, Thea felt shabby by comparison.
“You’ll do,” Arabella drawled in her imperious manner. “I can hardly see your faces. We are all satisfied that neither of you has met anyone on my parents’ guest list?”
“Agreed,” Thea and Helen chorused.
“Then all that remains is for Mister Helen to travel north, and Thea to come home with me where Ventnor’s men cannot follow.”
Helen peered out the window at the yard, where the next stagecoach north waited. “First, Thea,” she said, turning back and pulling on her gloves. “I have just enough time for you to tell me about your other mischief.”
Thea couldn’t help chuckling. “I have penned a pamphlet telling the true story of what Percy Russell and Francis Upton did to me,” she said. “Arabella has a publishing connection in London who has agreed to print it and deliver a copy to every aristocratic and genteel household in Town. I’ll place copies in every coffeehouse, and advertisements in every newspaper, and prints in every bookseller’s window. I’ll pay hostesses to discuss it in every salon, and debt-ridden gentlemen to whisper of it over every game of cards. Enough of the ton will be in London for the Little Season in September that word will spread to everyone in society. And oh, if only I could ruin them,” she spat. “Ruin Percy Russell and Francis Upton like they ruined me.”
Only a few hundred people had been in Lord Ventnor’s ballroom that night to witness her downfall, but they had spread the false story like a disease. Everyone else had believed the rumors without question, of course, never caring that a life was destroyed. Well, time for Thea to turn the rumor mill to her advantage instead.
Excellent mischief, indeed! And it complied with her three Rules: It served the admirable causes of justice and restoring her reputation, it would expose Percy Russell’s vileness, and she would enjoy every last minute.
“It will be chaos,” Helen said.
Thea sighed happily. “I know.”
“It will be expensive,” Arabella said.
Thea sighed ruefully. “I know.”
“It will enrage Lord Ventnor,” Helen said.
Thea grinned. “I know.”
Arabella shook her head just enough to make her ostrich feather quiver. “We must plan it very carefully. Lord Ventnor will not appreciate you saying such things about his son.”
“By ‘such things,’ you mean ‘the truth.’”
“Another truth is that Ventnor is a powerful man. He may be only a viscount, but he boasts the ear of several dukes and the Prince Regent.”
Thea waved away her doubts. “The pamphlet uses false names, with only a note in the foreword inviting the reader to guess whose story it tells. Ventnor cannot accuse me without admitting the story is about Percy. Helen will be married to Mr. Russell by then, and he’ll protect you from Ventnor’s ire… Won’t he?”
“Of course he will,” Helen said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I promise you, Thea, Beau is a good man.”
“You say that, but…” She would not say it. She would not quarrel. She would not— “Oh, Helen, are you sure about this?” she blurted out. “I know you are in love, but when you marry Mr. Russell, you get his whole family.”
“They are not so bad,” Helen said. “Lord Ventnor terrifies me, of course, and Beau says Percy was always vile, even as a boy. But his mother, Lady Ventnor, is lovely, and his younger sister is too. He says he still misses his elder sister, Katharine, although ’tis nine years since she died.” Helen glanced out the window again, and when she turned back to Thea, a wicked gleam lit her eyes. “They say her husband murdered her.”
“No!”
“Yes! Some say it was poison. Others say he is a witch and killed her with sorcery. They say he bears the Devil’s mark upon his face, and it was the Devil himself who killed his father and brothers that he might become the earl.”
“The earl?” Thea repeated, looking from Helen to Arabella.
“She speaks of the Earl of Luxborough,” Arabella said. “Although when he eloped with Katharine Russell, he was only the earl’s penniless third son.”
Helen’s eyes were comically wide under her clerical hat. “And since he became the earl, they say he keeps to his estate in Somersetshire, where he practices his sorcery, making potions and poisons, keeping company only with foreigners and heathens and witches.”
“What utter nonsense,” Thea declared. “You cannot believe such rumors are true.”
“Rumors about other people are always true,” Arabella said. “It’s the rumors about oneself that are false. But some of that story is fact: About thirteen years ago, he ran away to America with Ventnor’s daughter. After a few years, they returned to England, she died in mysterious circumstances, and he left again. Now he is back, he never goes into society.”