Chapter 15 - MARK—WHAT HAD HAPPENED

Chapter 15

MARK—WHAT HAD HAPPENED

Iclimbed into the carriage of the Earl of Livingston after a Sunday morning with my mother. I escorted her to church at Saint George’s, and then retired to a wonderful brunch at Prahmn’s in-town home, a lovely house on Grosvenor Street, not too far from the duke’s Anya House.

“You always look a little miserable when you come from your mother’s. Did she foist upon you more marriage candidates? Doesn’t she know a man in his twenties is not to be tied down? Marriage is overrated.”

“Livingston,” I said, losing the will to talk, “Mother was the same as always. Over toast and her favorite jam and biscuits, I was told of the many women she and her war council of friends thought would make a proper wife.”

My mother did seem extra animated or even fretful. Had the gossipmongers begun saying they’d seen her youngest son attempt to ruin a woman at Anya House down the road?

“Yes, Livingston. She wants me to have a proper wife. That means a woman of certain breeding with a large dowry.”

“A third son’s lot. It’s not like your elder brothers will share their fortunes.”

Gerald was heir to all of Prahmn’s assets. Christopher came back from his naval career at sea and did as Lady Prahmn wanted and married one of her handpicked, wealthy, proper women.

“I’m just glad you offered me a way of escape, Livingston. Lady Prahmn can be a bit much to take. I’m not partial to her innate belief that she’s always right.”

“Mothers are women too.”

Though the earl was the kind of friend who’d risk his soul to rescue you or lend aid, he wasn’t the type to be reasonable when it came to women or marriage.

Turning down busy streets, I half listened to my friend talking about his current research. He seemed animated, discussing something about inoculations and blood. Something excited him about Carew’s presentation at Anya House.

“Yes, they put blood from one dog to another through a duck’s quill. A duck’s quill. Both lived. The physician didn’t exaggerate. And having too much blood didn’t kill the pup.”

“What about the duck?”

“No. The dogs. Blood is a necessity for life. We need to learn more.”

“To be sure.” That was my common response to one of Livingston’s monologues.

He glanced at me over his spectacles. “You’re not paying attention.”

“ ’Course I am . . . sort of. There’s a lot on my mind.”

Livingston knocked my shoulder. “Sebastian, I know your mind is elsewhere. You’re not humming. You have no paper or quill.”

“Perhaps they are all being used for experiments—the paper, quills, my head.”

“Sebastian.”

“Please, go on. I’ll try to stop dwelling on Brooks’s rib roast. Hopefully, they’ll have the claret we had last week. It will be a delicious combination.”

My friend began talking or, more so, lecturing again.

Windblown brown hair bobbing as he recounted more of his research, the earl seemed very pleased. If he were a layman, not a peer, he’d be a renowned physician.

“Sebastian, are you in there? You don’t look right. Let me guess. The mad Duke of Torrance forced you into some scheme after I left. What did he bet you?”

Torrance betting? “What are you talking about?”

“It was a long time ago, but he has a history of outlandish betting. I’ve been waiting for when he’d start again. What did he get you to do?”

Livingston was a man who loved to research and gossip. Would he keep the false nature of my engagement to himself for me, his dearest friend?

I thought not.

So, I’d offer him a bit of the truth. “Well, I’ve been convinced to show the woman I have an understanding with, my secret fiancée, how to exhibit with confidence. She can sing.”

I’d heard her hum. It was good. I’d learn if Miss Wilcox could truly perform tomorrow.

“Secret fiancée? I’d heard that you’d had a little fun recently, but fiancée? An engagement? Please say you are joking.”

I should’ve known he’d heard of the commotion at Torrance’s. “It’s true. You’re one of the first officially to know. My secret entanglement will be made public at the duke’s ball. Unless it’s already in the gossip columns.”

My friend’s mouth opened. “You’re serious. Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes, and I’ve committed myself to teaching my fiancée to exhibit with confidence. It will be a test for her. My life will be exhibiting. The wife of a composer should understand.”

Livingston looked distraught. He clung to the edge of his seat, his nails digging into the tufting. I suppose he waited for me to burst into chuckles and say this was a lie.

I couldn’t admit that to him. The truth would be all over London by tomorrow noon.

“My hope, sir, is that she takes to it. I want her to be happy as my bride. But I must prepare myself if she can’t and breaks with me.”

“Looking for the worst already?” Livingston shook his head. “He got to you. The duke and some woman got to you. I cannot believe this.”

“Who? Who got what?”

“Women. You can’t trust them.” His face turned beetroot red. He sputtered like he’d been shoved off a cliff. “You’ve fallen prey to a pretty vixen. And Torrance has helped. I can sense it.”

“Sir, you seem to be falling ill, perhaps we should not dine tonight.”

“Not ill. Horrified. I’m horrified for you. Don’t you know what marriage will do to you?”

Squinting at Livingston, I folded my arms, readying to raise a shield against his onslaught. “You’re visibly repulsed, and yet I’ve not told you who or how or why?”

The earl sank on the seat, pouting like an angry child. “A woman of marriageable age sunk her hooks into my friend and made him come up to scratch. All this time, I thought you were dedicated to music. You’ve been courting a woman. She’s the reason you haven’t finished your composition.”

“Calm down, Livingston. You’re coming unglued. Talk again about your research. We won’t say another word—”

“You had to have compromised someone. I know you, Sebastian. You haven’t had time for anything.”

This was true, but I had to make this course of action seem logical. “Well, when we talked about me meeting a courtesan in the garden, I had . . . I had already happened upon a woman with Torrance. We met again in his garden. Your talk of a courtesan and gardens made me relax and talk with her. I proposed before I knew it.”

“You idiot. You weren’t listening.” His fist rose up as if he’d punch through the carriage roof. “I said you’d meet Madame Zula in a few weeks in Covent Garden, not any garden. I can’t believe I’m to blame.”

If Livingston was going to take my half-told story and put the blame on himself, then so be it. Perhaps that would keep the man from gossiping about it.

My friend took a big breath. “Tell me you’re trying to find a way out.”

There was a way if the duke’s plan worked. But announcing the full truth to the earl would make it fail. My friend wasn’t the malicious sort, but him being this agitated was as good as calling up the papers and announcing the scandal in gory detail.

Having become so jaded by his own miserable marriage, Livingston couldn’t help but say or do the wrong thing in pursuit of rescuing a friend from the altar.

Like my music, I arranged the facts in my head, then stroked the key and exhibited. “I knew she was what I wanted instantly. I’ll marry this girl. My life is changed for the better.”

There. That sounded right. It possessed enough zeal and contrition and passion that Livingston seemed moved.

He nodded as if he’d analyzed every word. “You’re actually in love. You wish to marry.”

“I do. And I will unless she changes her mind. So, please don’t ruin this for me. Say nothing.”

My friend was plotting. His hatred of marriage might be something to aid me, stirring up other candidates to sway my intended. “Who’s this woman? Maybe there’s a scandal I can uncover and force her to release you.”

No. No. That’s not what I wanted. “Wait, Livingston. I don’t want to call off this marriage. If the young lady changes her mind about me, so be it. But no dredging anything up on her or her family. I’ll never speak to you again. I’m committed. Miss Wilcox is . . . is a goddess.”

“Wilcox . . . Would that be a sister of Lady Hampton?”

Oh, dear. Of course the man would know. “Yes, the sister of my intended, Lady Hampton, is a nice woman, but a little prickly. She tried to talk her sister out of marrying me. I assume she’s only looking out for her sister’s welfare.”

“You’ve become engaged to one of the Wilcox sisters? The daughters of the coal king.”

What? Coal king? As in a lot of coal or a fortune in coal or ruling a country with coal? “I suppose. Georgina Wilcox is probably one of the prettiest women I’ve seen in a long time. Of course you’ve heard of them. You make it your business to know about pretty women and gossip.”

“It’s not gossip. It’s insurance. Someone has to protect the men from marriage-minded mamas or viscountesses who are trying to ensnare unsuspecting men for their daughters or their sister.”

“It wasn’t like that at all. Lady Hampton is horrified. She will work to change her sister’s mind. She thinks I’m a fortune hunter.”

“Perhaps those Sundays with your mother have indoctrinated you. You’ve become the fortune hunter Lady Prahmn expects.”

That was a dismal thought.

I hoped Georgina or Lady Hampton didn’t think that of me.

“Well, I’m glad we are both friends of the duke. Torrance is very protective of the Wilcox family. He can attest to my character.”

At this, Livingston chuckled.

I’ve seen this man laugh at a lot of things, but this was a maniacal, evil laugh.

“What is it, sir? Why does Torrance trying to protect the young woman make you sound unhinged?”

“Do you know the duke’s history? You don’t, do you?”

“Tell me.” I sighed and steeled my stomach. “Tell me what you know.”

“Torrance fought to gain his title. The decision in the Court of Chancery was very close. The opposition to him claiming his due was intense. Many hated his parentage.”

“Why? He’s half Russian, half British. Our kings are Hanovers. Many in the ton have Germanic or Prussian roots. Why be bothered by Russians?”

“It’s not the Russian blood that caused the problem. It’s his Blackamoor roots. He’s half that as well.”

Livingston didn’t stutter. And I remembered the cane. Torrance had said it was his grandfather’s. It was African. One I’d assumed he acquired from other people, not belonging to his ancestors.

“I know it’s hard to tell, but he has them. Ghanaian or Ethiopian, I think. Torrance’s line can be traced to the Black prince of Tzar Peter’s court.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, you only met him a year ago. It’s not something that comes up in simple conversations. It seems not to matter to you. You chose Miss Wilcox. But color or, more so, race matters to some.”

My gut tightened. My friend, I thought from all his research, was enlightened. And I had seen Beethoven perform with George Bridgetower, the Blackamoor violinist championed by the Prince Regent. And I worshipped the compositions of Chevalier de Saint-Georges, whose talent rivaled Mozart’s. I’d come to understand that music arose from the soul. It had nothing to do with skin pigment.

“Do you have a problem with Torrance having his title, Livingston? Will you object to my wife and not bow to a daughter of the coal king?”

He tugged at his wilting cravat, retying it. “I’ve watched the dissection of human flesh. Everyone looks the same underneath. Shed blood is red from all bodies. I’ve no problem with Torrance. Or your prospective bride. I hate the institution of marriage. I wouldn’t wish it on any man.”

My stomach eased. I wanted to believe my friends all thought the same. Yet, I knew my father, and probably the heir, wouldn’t be so liberal. The spare with his past affairs might be, but Christopher was married and back in London.

“Sebastian, if I were of the marrying sort who needed funds, the wealthy trade class would be where I searched. The Wilcoxes are prime targets. But I have money and will never wed again.”

Except for mistaking a gentle lady for a courtesan, I believed I was a reasonable judge of character. “Thank you, Livingston. It’s reassuring to know my friendships are good.”

“Thank me when I get you out of this entanglement.”

“Well, if the lady has her head swayed by someone in a better position, I think it would only be fair to step aside. Thankfully, you’ll not marry. I don’t want to lose dear Miss Wilcox to you, Livingston.”

There.

My tone sounded merry, musical. I hoped it started Livingston thinking about eligible bachelors who might show enough interest that a young woman could plausibly renege on my proposal.

But with his vigilant stance against marriage, I doubted he’d encourage others to try to court Miss Wilcox.

Twisting his hands, I saw the cogs in his head turning. If not trying to name potential suitors, what could he be thinking?

I sat forward. “Tell me the gossip on Torrance or the Wilcoxes that you must be holding back. You seem to be plotting.”

“Nothing on Torrance or the Wilcoxes, I’ll have to ask around—”

“Please don’t. I don’t want this engagement to get the wrong attention.”

“I don’t have to do a thing. Once you speak to your father, he’ll cause a stir.”

“He doesn’t pay attention to me.”

“The man will now. He’ll take this engagement personally.”

“What does Prahmn have to do with anything? My father will be cross that I, ah, um . . . arrived upon this decision without including him. But we’ve never seen eye to eye on much.”

Livingston blew out a long evil laugh. “You won’t have a meeting of the minds on this. Your father tried to influence the Court of Chancery to prevent Torrance’s accession. He didn’t want a peer who was Russian or Blackamoor.”

My father did a lot of ugly things. This, I didn’t think him capable of.

But I didn’t have a reason to suspect Livingston of lying.

“I wonder, Sebastian, if Torrance supported this alliance to make the marquess madder than an angry bull.”

That was a good way to describe my father, mad and bullish. “Prahmn’s away on holiday. This should be concluded before he returns.”

“What? No. No eloping!”

Couldn’t tell Livingston the plan was to gain more suitors for Miss Wilcox so that she could gracefully beg off at Easter. “I suppose. But our wedding will be after I’ve secured my spot in the Harlbert’s Prize for Music. Once the plans for the Royal Academy of Music are created, like the Royal Society, I will have a position. All Harlbert’s Prize winners will be considered.”

“You aspire to a profession? I suppose that’s one droll way of earning an income.”

Livingston was a first son and the heir. He could pursue whatever he wanted. He had the income of his lands to afford his leisure and his research, particularly in the area of disease. It was a noble cause for him. His father died from smallpox.

Nonetheless, my friend was bitter from his wife’s abandonment. She ran off to Scotland to gain a divorce. The action, the gossip, left him broken, changed.

“My friend, I have to afford my new wife. I don’t want coal money. The Marquess of Prahmn will definitely cut off my funds.”

“The Wilcox woman, this secret romance, is the cause of not finishing your entry.” He groaned. “She’s been a distraction. You have to agree. You’ve been struggling. I arranged Madame Zula for nothing.”

“You give my apologies to the madame. And now that I’ve secured Miss Wilcox’s affection, I can concentrate. My submission has to be a brand-new piece, one never played for the public. It has to be perfect. Every time I get close, the notes go away.”

“Well, you’re too high-strung. You need to relax. A gentlewoman isn’t the answer. That’s why I arranged for you to meet Madame Zula at Covent Garden. You’d have had your pick of her flowers, instead of finding one in Torrance’s garden.”

Livingston sat back and drew his hands to his head like he’d been seized with a headache. “You actually want to marry Miss Wilcox? Where have I gone wrong? Should’ve gotten you to Zula last year.”

We were silent until the carriage stopped at 60 St. James’s Street. Brooks’s.

As I started to step out, Livingston stopped me. “Let’s get to the betting book. I bet you a guinea that you’ll falter and won’t marry the Wilcox chick.”

Why would I take a bet I hoped to lose? “I’m not going to wager on my future happiness. Now, come on. Let’s go in. Still buying dinner?”

“Yes, I’m buying dinner. And I’m floating you a guinea for this wager. We’re going to find that famous book and write this bet in it. That way when I win, I’m not emptying your pockets.”

“If that will get you to not mention this anymore, then fine.”

As we entered the establishment, the Duke of Torrance was leaving.

I nodded.

He did too. “See you tomorrow for my friend’s first exhibition lesson.”

With a doff of his dark hat, he walked to the other side of St. James’s Street and boarded his carriage.

He didn’t have the cane.

The man looked better too.

My friend knocked my elbow. “Wonder if he already put a bet in Brooks’s book?”

Chuckling, Livingston went inside.

And I sort of stood there, my mind filling with questions. Were Miss Wilcox and I pawns in a bigger game, one of the duke’s making? Did he take advantage of this scandal to even a score with my father?

Livingston popped back out. “Oh, come on, music man. Tell me about this latest piece over a fine dinner. We’ll fret about bets and weddings later.”

“Right.” I followed my friend into Brooks’s, wondering if all this faux engagement was a gamble for a duke with secrets.