Chapter 19

“I’m giving you exactly what you deserve.”

Mr. Dawson’s ominous comment echoed in Olivia’s mind. Even though she had never met him, he knew that before the earl’s death, she had been gathering evidence to petition for divorce under the Matrimonial Causes Act, something she had kept a closely guarded secret. The only person who had known was the earl… and anyone he had told.

That was proof enough for her that Mr. Dawson was in league with the late Earl of Allen’s mistress.

The only thing left to find out was the identity of said lady. They could not threaten Mr. Dawson without risking Constance, but perhaps the woman could be reasoned with, or persuaded in some other way.

Unfortunately, she had few clues, beyond the woman being blonde, married, and a member of the gentry. Mrs. Zephyr was unlikely to remember their conversation in the morning, much less be willing to elaborate.

There had to be someone else who had seen her husband’s mistress enter her home. A carriage driver. A street sweeper. Perhaps if she brought sketches of different women to Boris, it would jog his memory.

Thel shook her shoulders, scrambling her thoughts. She was no longer standing in the ballroom but sitting in an armchair in a candlelit office with Thel gazing at her face.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

She should have confessed everything: that she had arranged for Constance to sneak away with Mr. Dawson and test him, that her plan had failed, and now Constance was betrothed. Worse, Olivia had no idea what Mr. Dawson was planning. He couldn’t intend to keep Constance unaware of his lies for three more years.

Thel cupped her cheek in his hand. “You can trust me.”

She leaned into his touch and forced her stiff muscles to relax even as fear of what he might do if she angered him caused her words to curdle in her throat.

“That’s better,” Thel said. “I thought you might faint, and I wasn’t keen on carrying your unconscious body back to the carriage.”

She imagined him being caught by a laundry maid while prowling through the hallways with her limp form draped across his shoulder like a barbarian and giggled.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Laughter suits you.”

She indulged him for a long moment before pulling away. As Mr. Dawson had passed Constance’s test—although she doubted he had meant anything he had told the young girl—so had Thel passed hers. She owed him the truth.

“Mr. Dawson is here because of me,” she said before filling him in on what she had instructed Constance to do. “I took a chance. If it had worked, we might have been free of him.” She clenched her back teeth together. “Now she is more confident in him than ever.”

He knelt in front of her and put his hand on her thigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turned her head away. “I didn’t think you would approve.”

He shoved to his feet. “Of course I don’t approve!”

She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg for his forgiveness, but that would do nothing to resolve the problem they faced.

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “There’s more.” She told him about her brief conversation with Mrs. Zephyr and her subsequent suspicions.

“A blonde, married woman.” Thel exhaled harshly through his nostrils. “It could be one of a hundred different ladies. How do we narrow it down?”

“I will consult Debrett’s Peerage ,” she said. “That is, at least, a place to start.” Even if it meant many long nights at her desk trying to summon a mental image of each name in the book.

“I could speak to Mrs. Zephyr,” he said.

She shook her head. “She would not tell you anything that sensitive without first securing an invitation to your bed.” The woman was too conniving, and she’d already made her interest in Thel clear.

He shuddered. “In that case, I’ll leave her to you.”

“That still leaves Mr. Dawson,” she said. He was the more immediate threat, having sauntered into her trap without triggering the snare. That meant he would likely see through any obvious attempt she made at manipulation.

The connection between her former husband’s jealous mistress and Mr. Dawson still eluded her. She had searched the earl’s paperwork, but there was no mention of him. She didn’t know if he was the puppet master or a pawn in another woman’s game. His actions had not endeared her to him, but she had to consider the possibility that she had only focused on him because her past colored any man like the earl as a monster.

Then she remembered the bruises on Lady Mason’s arm and realized the only thing that mattered was removing Constance from Mr. Dawson’s reach. The longer she remained attached to him, the more likely she would wind up dead or chained to a man who treated her as a possession.

She forced her thoughts back on track. “He has power over us as long as he continues commissioning the articles and has his hooks in Constance.”

Although, the more she considered Constance’s behavior, the more she wondered if Constance knew anything about what Mr. Dawson was doing. Had he somehow arranged the articles without her knowing? What of the letters found in Constance’s room? The girl had seemed ignorant of them.

Thel scowled. “If I challenged him to a duel, it would be by morning.”

She shook her head. “You do not have sufficient reason to call him out. Even if you did, and assuming you were even the victor, her grief would eventually fade, but she would never forgive you. If we are to have any chance of beating Mr. Dawson, it must be in the place where we have the most influence and control. Within society.” She sighed. “She trusts me. If we give her enough time, she’ll come to her senses. The difficulty will be in keeping Mr. Dawson from realizing what we are doing.”

She had some idea of what might entice him. Her former husband had loved nothing more than drawing out her suffering. It was only when she’d failed to give him a reaction that he’d grown impatient and things had escalated. If Mr. Dawson was the same, then for Constance’s sake, she would put on the most elaborate performance of her life.

“Let me help,” a voice said.

Mr. Ringwell stood in the doorway, dressed in a different suit than he had worn earlier that evening. His hair was wet, and there was a damp towel clutched in his hand.

“What happened to you?” Thel asked.

Mr. Ringwell’s lips thinned. “When I wouldn’t let Constance wander off without me, she pushed me into a fountain. Lord Wintermoor found me and allowed me to borrow one of his suits.” He lifted his arm. The cuff of his jacket dangled over the tips of his fingers. “We are not quite of the same size.”

Olivia put a knuckle to her lips but could not completely disguise her laugh. He looked like a child who had been playing in his father’s wardrobe. Constance would owe him a significant apology if she had any interest in maintaining their friendship.

Mr. Ringwell rubbed his hair with his towel. “She told me about Mr. Dawson. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her besotted. She’ll come out of it.” He squeezed the towel so tight that the tips of his fingers turned white. “She has to.”

“I wish I had known there was something between you two,” Thel said. “It might have saved me the trouble of finding a matchmaker.” Then he cursed as Mr. Ringwell shook his wet hair, spraying droplets of water.

Olivia stood and paced the room. When she compared the situation to her own coming out, Mr. Ringwell was the most significant difference. Her childhood had been devoid of friends. Every young man she had met at her first ball had been a stranger. The earl had used her lack of experience to his advantage, placing himself above her other suitors by virtue of his greater fortune and title.

“Mr. Ringwell can assist us by preventing Mr. Dawson from capturing the entirety of Constance’s attention,” she said. “Mr. Dawson will find it difficult to control her while there is someone else whispering in her ear, and because she treats him like a friend, Mr. Dawson might not see him as a threat.”

Mr. Ringwell winced. “You do not need to remind me.”

“Do not start,” Thel said. “If you had expressed your feelings to her sooner, she might never have fallen in with Mr. Dawson to begin with.”

Mr. Ringwell’s ears turned red. “I know. It’s only that when it comes to Constance, the practiced speeches vanish from my mind the moment we’re alone. I had all but given up on her until you left for London. It was only then that I realized that I couldn’t let her marry someone else.” He shuffled his feet. “I tried to confess tonight, but my tongue twisted into knots and the words wouldn’t come out.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said. She knew exactly how it felt to be overwhelmed with emotion to the point where she couldn’t speak.

“I did ask her to marry me once,” Mr. Ringwell said. “When we were children. I even gave her a ring made of braided grass.” He touched his breast pocket, where Olivia suspected another such ring was stored.

“You will have another chance,” Thel said. Then he looked at Olivia. “How shall we start our campaign?”

She would never grow tired of the way he deferred to her, especially when they both knew she was the expert in a given area.

“I’ll tell Constance the only way she can convince her family to accept Mr. Dawson is by showing them he can exist in society alongside her,” she said. “That way, we can control how and when they meet.”

“And she won’t get away from me again,” Mr. Ringwell said. “Even if it means I drag her into the fountain with me next time.”