The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

Ursula shrugged. “I don’t know what to think, my lady. But I find it strange that she stayed on the island when she has family in Truro.”

A scandal of any sort often claimed innocent victims. It tarnished a family’s reputation merely by association. Lillian understood why Mary kept away. She, too, had walked into a room only to have people stare and smirk. Some gave her the cut direct, eager to show their disdain. Cowards chose the indirect approach, pretending they’d not seen her to avoid any awkwardness.

“Has anyone spoken to Mary?” Lillian asked. “Has anyone questioned her about why she behaves as she does?”

“Most have made up their minds for themselves. They’d have put her in a rowboat back to the mainland, but his lordship refused to remove Mary from her home.” A look passed over the wench’s face when she referred to Fabian, one of admiration.

“Well, I’m on my way to visit Mary now. I shall speak to her and see what explanation she offers for her absence these last two days.” There were but a few excuses the woman could use. Most telling would be her reaction when Lillian mentioned the injury she sustained in the bedchamber tussle.

Ursula frowned. “You shouldn’t go alone, my lady.” Her gaze drifted to the cut above Lillian’s eyebrow. “After your nasty fall, you might still be unsteady on your feet. Wait while I take the basket inside and I’ll come with you.”

“Mackenzie is to accompany me when he’s finished with Lord Ravenscroft.” Knowing Fabian and Vane, they’d probably encouraged the Scot to drink with them. “As the wind has eased, and the sun is shining, I thought I’d take a leisurely stroll to the dock.”

“Isaac said we’re due a mighty downpour. I shall give the basket to Mrs Bell and keep you company until Mackenzie arrives.” Ursula pursed her lips and sighed. “I’m not saying I don’t trust Mary, but they say a sailor has the foresight of a gull for predicting storms. They sense something is wrong.”

Since the scuffle with the intruder, Lillian had spoken to all the women of the same height and build — all except Mary. Heather and Ursula showed no sign of guilt. Just like the incident with Lord Martin, was someone else manipulating events to suit their purpose? And if so why?

“Speak to Mackenzie and tell him I am heading to the cottages. If he’s occupied, then by all means, you may keep me company on the journey. But know that I intend to speak to Mary alone.” If intimidation was the problem, then Mary would say nothing in front of Ursula.

Ursula smiled. “Have no fear, my lady. You can trust me.”

Chapter Seventeen

The wind whipped strands of hair loose from Lillian’s plait as she stood on the cliff edge watching the waves crash violently on the rocks below. It was as if a sudden surge of energy had stirred the temperate waters into a frenzy. The temperature plummeted. Quick-moving clouds covered the clear sky, turning dark and threatening, eager to unleash an angry torrent on the world below.

Absorbed in the show of pure force, she failed to hear the approaching footsteps until Ursula tapped her on the arm. Swinging around in shock, Lillian stumbled back. The chalky earth crumbled beneath her feet. Ursula grabbed Lillian’s cloak and pulled her away from the edge.

“Good Lord!” Lillian clutched her chest, her heartbeat pumping hard against her palm. “You frightened me half to death.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, I thought you’d seen me coming along the path.”

“When one stares out at sea it’s easy to forget everything else exists.”

“Sometimes, sailors look at it for so long they imagine green fields instead of murky water. Many a man has plunged to his death when he all he wanted was to feel land beneath his feet.”

“When a man has a loving wife waiting at home, I imagine the months away can become tiresome.” Lillian considered the woman standing before her. Ursula had hair the colour of spun gold. The ladies of the ton paid wigmakers a small fortune for hair half as vibrant. “Are you not inclined to marry?”

“Oh, I did marry. The drunken fool stumbled into the road on his way home, and a carriage mowed him down.” An odd look passed over her face: relief, not grief. “Maybe I shall marry again one day. But I’m looking for a man with more about him.”

“Do you mean intelligence?” In that regard, Lillian counted herself lucky. Many lords had nothing but sawdust between their ears, or a brain pickled by an excessive consumption of brandy. Fabian was well-read, had ventured to lands far and wide, could converse for hours on the merits of Plato over Aristotle.

“Intelligence?” Ursula scoffed. “Forgive me, my lady, but I was talking about money.”

They both chuckled.

“When it comes to society marriages, money is all that matters.” And an unblemished reputation, of course. Still, wealth was an attribute both sexes admired. Lillian had heard many ladies say that money could render an ugly man handsome.

“The same applies to common folk, too.”

A biting chill in the air forced Lillian to gather her cloak across her chest. “Come. We should be on our way. With the impending storm, it’s unwise to linger.”

They strode in companionable silence along the clifftop path, towards the cluster of stone cottages in the distance.

“Did Mackenzie say he would join us?”

“His lordship sent him to ask Nancy to make a poultice to apply to your brother’s knuckles. I think he meant to hit his lordship’s cheek but punched the table instead.”

Lillian groaned inwardly. What would the world come to if everyone thought to solve their problems with their fists, or to mask their fear and pain by throwing insults and punches?