A Fatal Waltz

because what happened all those years ago may pertain to the murder of Lord Fortescue.” 

“You’re absolutely on the wrong track, Lady Ashton. Fortescue was the most upstanding man in the empire. Capital fellow. I feel like I owe him my life. Or at least my daughter’s.” 

“How so?” 

“It was Fortescue who alerted me to Sanburne’s deviant nature. Had he not, I can’t imagine the life my Helen would have led.” 

I cringed at this harsh assessment of Albert Sanburne. “Lord Fortescue told you?” 

“Yes. Sanburne had fled to Vienna, and I went after him, wanting to confront him in person. Helen was deeply in love with him. Ending the engagement broke her heart. Frankly, I wanted to kill him.” 

“It must have been awful. What did he say?” 

“Very little, actually. It was a pathetic scene. He cried and begged my forgiveness. Killed himself the next day. Only honorable thing the man did in his life.” 

And just then, my heart broke more than a little for Albert Sanburne. I found myself unable to speak for a moment. “Does anyone else know this?” 

“We kept it as quiet as possible. Helen had suffered enough, and I didn’t want the fingers of scandal to touch her. Furthermore, I saw no reason to put Sanburne’s family through more grief. I knew that his sister, Mary, would have a difficult time finding somewhere to live after his death. I circulated the story that he’d died of influenza, although I imagine it didn’t make things all that much easier for the girl. Still, better than if people knew there’d been a suicide in the family.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. 

“I appreciate your telling me all this,” I said. 

“I nearly refused to talk to you,” he said. “But I’ve never felt good about how things turned out with Sanburne. Despite the fact that—well, the less said about it the better.” 

I thanked Mr. Macinnis and made my way back through the fog to Berkeley Square, as the beginnings of a most unwelcome thought started to weave their way through my brain. And though I would have liked more than anything to ignore them, I knew I could not.

Margaret met me at my front door. “Any word from Colin?” I asked. 

“No, I’m sorry. Nothing,” she said. “But your mother! Heavens!” 

“Oh, dear.” I removed my hat and handed it, along with my coat, to a waiting footman. “What has she done?” 

“She’s got Ivy upstairs and refuses to allow her out of bed, let alone to come downstairs. And she’s bent on marrying me off to one of Lady Elliott’s sons.” 

“Not Henry?” 

“Yes, Henry.” 

“No, he’s all wrong for you.” 

“How long is she going to be here? I’ve always considered your house a safe haven, Emily. This is intolerable.” 

“You don’t need to explain, Margaret. I lived with her for years.” 

“What happened with Mr. Hamilton?” 

“Emily! Are you back?” My mother was calling down the stairs. “Come up here at once.” 

I heaved a sigh and started up the steps, Margaret following behind. “I want to hear about Hamilton,” she whispered. 

“It will have to wait.” 

My mother led us to the yellow bedroom, where Ivy was perched in bed, her feet propped up on a towering stack of pillows. 

“You’ve not yet finished your broth, child.” My mother picked up a bowl from the bedside table and thrust it at Ivy. “You must apply yourself to it if you want a strong boy.” 

Ivy did as she was told, her eyes wide. Mother turned to me. “I’ve told your cook she needs at least six bowls of beef broth every day and a strong glass of red wine. She must not be exposed to anything unpleasant during her confinement—” 

“Her confinement?” I interrupted. “Mother, you can’t possibly expect that she’s going to stay in bed for the next…I don’t even know how many months.” 

“Six.” Ivy’s voice was barely audible. 

“Finish your broth.” My mother turned to me and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve removed all the inappropriate materials from this room.” 

“Inappropriate materials?” I asked. 

“That pile of papers, of course. What were you thinking, giving her Oscar Wilde to read? I fear for your common sense, Emily.” 

“You mean the script of Lady Windermere’s Fan? Where is it? What did you do with it?” 

“I threw it directly in the fire. Appalling man, Wilde. Not an ounce of restraint in him.” 

“The fire?” I leaned back against the wall and rubbed my forehead. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

“Stand up straight, Emily. Have you no concern for your posture? Of course I put it in the fire. What else would you have me do with such a vile thing? I opened it up. ‘I can resist everything but temptation’? What sort of a person says such a thing?” 

“I found it rather amusing,” I said. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s wholly inappropriate for a lady in Ivy’s condition, and you, my dear, aren’t even married.” 

“But I was married,” I walked to the fireplace and knocked the logs with a poker, but every trace of the script was gone. 

“And Miss Seward! What if she were to get her hands on such a thing?” 

“Oh, Lady Bromley, I would never give it so much as a passing glance,” Margaret said, a broad smile on her face. 

“Now there”—my mother nodded at Margaret—“is a girl with good sense.” 

“Where is Cécile?” I asked. 

“She’s bathing,” my mother said, doing her best not to frown. “The French do have different habits than we English. But Madame du Lac is from an excellent family. Did you know, Miss Seward, that I believe they may have connections to royalty?” 

“Fascinating,” Margaret said. “I always thought I saw something regal in Cécile’s manner.” 

“I am looking so forward to getting to know you better while I am here, Miss Seward. I’m beginning to think my initial impression of you was entirely wrong.” 

“Will you excuse me, Lady Bromley? I’m going to the library to try to find something inspiring for Ivy to read.” Margaret winked at me as she backed out of the door.

“Go with her, Emily,” my mother said. “Ivy needs to rest. You may come up in a few hours and say a quick hello, but you must not bother her.” 

I threw a sympathetic glance Ivy’s way as I left the room. Margaret was waiting for me in the hall, sitting on the floor, laughing silently. 

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked. 

“I’ve decided to befriend your mother.” 

“You’re awful,” I said, pulling her to her feet and heading back downstairs. “Be careful, or she’ll have you engaged by the end of the month.” 

“There’s no danger of that happening. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.” 

“Is Cécile really bathing?” 

“She is. Meg was assisting her. Odette and Davis left together hours ago. Everyone belowstairs is buzzing about it.” 

“How do you know?” I asked. 

“Because after I watched them leave, I went downstairs myself to see what everyone was saying. You’ve a charming group of servants.” 

“Would you expect anything else?”