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.