“Lord Wessex the American, yes. Is he very demanding?”
Lady Wessex smiled patronizingly. “Not more than any man, I fear.”
Lady Wellington lowered her voice, glancing in Camille’s direction. “Is Lord Wessex as smitten with your Camille as all the other young bucks who come to call?”
“Oh, quite,” Lady Wessex agreed, and then sang the last words of the verse, beginning in midsentence.
“Good morning, Lady Wessex,” Lady Marlboro greeted from the pew behind her.
Several parishioners glanced at the women in obvious reprimand. Lady Marlboro, though a dear friend of Lady Wessex’s, was hard of hearing and therefore always spoke louder than necessary, even about Mr. West’s slightly off-key organ playing.
“Good morning, Lady Marlboro,” Lady Wessex called over her shoulder. Then, hearing Camille still whispering under breath to her sister about her dress, she gave her daughter’s ear a quick tug.
“Ouch!”
“Shh,” admonished a woman in the pew in front of them.
“Did you see them?” Lady Marlboro said loudly into Lady Wessex’s ear.
The congregation continued to sing one of John Mason Neale’s hymns that he had translated from Latin, but Lady Wessex didn’t like the hymn anyway. Parishioners all around eyed them with disapproval, but they didn’t dare suggest Lady Wessex and her friend cease talking. Each one of the ladies was too important in London right now, for one reason or another, to offend. Lady Wellington’s husband had the new King William’s ear, they said, and would talk of a new reform bill to redistribute seats in the House. He was not a man to cross. Lady Marlboro’s husband was currently an important man in the Court of Faculties and Dispensations, a person one wanted to remain on good terms with should one ever wish to be granted privileges one was not entitled to by law. And Lady Wessex was the talk of society since her husband’s heir arrived. Everyone wanted to remain on her good side in the hopes of being invited to one of her teas, balls, or perhaps even a daughter’s engagement party—if there was any truth to the rumor that the American heir had his eye on Camille, Lady Wessex’s eldest daughter.
Lady Wessex leaned back. “Do I see who, dear?”
“Those young ladies who attended your reception for Lord Wessex.” Lady Marlboro’s voice took an accusatory tone. “The redhead, the pretty one caught with Lord Wessex. Her so-called sister is here, too, but they couldn’t possibly be sisters. Look at the color of her skin!” She pointed with a perfumed handkerchief to a pew across the aisle and one forward of Lady Wessex’s. “Didn’t you hear?” she said loudly.
The hymn came to an end, at last, but then the organist moved directly into another.
“That Lord and Lady Carlisle were forced to ask them to leave? Yes, of course.” Lady Wessex sniffed.
“Noooo,” Lady Marlboro cried excitedly, grabbing her large brimmed hat so that it wouldn’t strike Lady Wessex’s as she leaned forward over the pew. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard! Didn’t you see them at the theater last night?”
“Come, come, what is this dreadful news?”
“Because Miss Fabergine and her godmother were put out of the Carlisles’, she and the one with the dark skin have been forced to go into keeping!”
“No,” Lady Wessex breathed.
“No,” Lady Wellington chimed in.
“God’s truth,” Lady Marlboro swore. “She’s looking for a protector, taking offers.”
“Shocking.” Lady Wellington rested her hand on Lady Wessex’s arm, peering into her face. “It’s just as well the Carlisles distanced themselves from the whole lot of them. Can you imagine the scandal?”
“It’s a good thing she has no family in England, that’s all I have to say,” Lady Marlboro continued, now full of herself and her news. “Such scandal could put a family name in ruin in a matter of weeks.”
“And to think you invited Miss Fabergine into your home.” Lady Wellington squeezed Lady Wessex’s hand before releasing it. “But of course you had no idea what kind of woman she was when you extended that invitation.”
“I had no idea,” Lady Wessex agreed. “They were houseguests of the Carlisles’, just come from Martinique. How was I to know? I was only doing what was de rigeur, extending my invitation to them.”
“How was anyone to know?” Lady Marlboro insisted. “It’s scandalous.”
The hymn came to an end and, at the priest’s direction, the congregation took their seats. Lady Wessex sat down on the cushioned pew and glanced at her daughters sitting in a row beside her. Poor Lady Carlisle, Lady Wessex thought. She had to be beside herself, knowing she had let such undesirables into her home. Thank goodness her children were all married and gone.
Closing her hymn book, Lady Wessex folded her hands neatly on her lap as the rector began his sermon. Though his sermons tended to be long and tedious, she was thankful for this peaceful time each Sunday. It gave her the perfect opportunity to plan her week’s menus in her head.
“I appreciate your taking the time to see me, Lord Wessex,” Jessup Stowe said, clearing his throat. “I hope your stay in London has been pleasant so far.”
“It has not.” Blake took the same leather chair he had occupied the last time he visited the barrister’s office. “Lady Wessex is the most irritating woman I have ever met. She does not shut up long enough to let a man think, no less speak.”