She wasn’t planning to do so, but Moira didn’t know that, and probably wouldn’t believe it even if told by Clarice herself. From Moira’s perspective, the pleasures of Avening couldn’t hope to compete with those of London.
Clarice tied a modish bonnet over her dark hair. Jack straightened. She would scoff at any warning of personal danger, at any request to take greater care. To take a footman or two as escort.
He smiled charmingly as she swept toward him, and offered his arm. No point arguing; he’d escort her himself.
“Lady Clarice, it’s a pleasure to welcome you.” Tall and imposing, handsome in a severe, well-bred way, Lady Davenport nodded approvingly and touched fingers with Clarice, then her gaze deflected to Jack, standing by Clarice’s elbow. “And you, too, Warnefleet. As it’s due to Lady Clarice that you’re here, I can only be grateful for her influence.”
Jack summoned his most charming smile and bestowed it on his aunt.
She humphed and turned to introduce Clarice to the small, round lady by her side. “I believe you’ll recall my sister?”
“Indeed.” Serenely assured, Clarice smiled and bobbed a curtsy of nicely judged degree. Despite Emily, Lady Cowper’s, preeminence among the ton’s hostesses, Clarice was her better in terms of birth.
Emily was more overtly expressive than her sister, more openly keen to embrace Clarice and all she promised; Jack read her enthusiasm with ease.
“My dear Lady Clarice, I’m delighted to meet you again.” Smiling radiantly, Emily pressed Clarice’s hand, then waved to the third grande dame gracing the elegant drawing room. “And no doubt you’ll remember Lady Osbaldestone, too.”
“Ma’am.” Clarice nodded, a touch reserved, rather careful, to the impressive and distinctly intimidating older lady who studied her, then Jack, with a sharply assessing black gaze.
Then Lady Osbaldestone’s brows rose; her expression eased. She beckoned imperiously. “Come sit by me, gel, so I can see you better.” Sinking back onto the chaise, Lady Osbaldestone waited until Lady Davenport and Lady Cowper had resumed their seats, and Clarice had obeyed and sat beside her, before, shooting a saber-sharp glance at Jack, standing with one arm braced on the mantelpiece, she thumped her cane lightly on the polished floor, for all the world as if bringing some meeting to order. “Now, then,” she said. “What’s this I hear about your cousin James and treason?”
Clarice drew in a breath, glanced briefly at Jack, then proceeded to outline in severely abbreviated form James’s, and by extension her family’s, difficulties. She avoided any mention of specifics, including how they knew James was innocent, only saying that they were working to prove it and were certain to succeed.
During her recitation, Lady Osbaldestone and Jack’s aunts shared a number of meaningful looks, ones that pricked Jack’s instincts and left him alert. He and Clarice had agreed that if the three ladies had heard of the as yet insufficiently suppressed rumors, then they would have to appease their curiosities if they wanted their help in dealing with Moira.
Smoothly, Clarice switched from the unjustified threat to the family name to the problems her brothers were facing in their pursuit of matrimony. Again, she didn’t explain fully, leaving it to the ladies’ imaginations to fill in the details she omitted, such as the substance of Moira’s threats. With three such ladies, there was no risk they wouldn’t leap to the correct conclusions.
Unsurprisingly, all three ladies were even more interested in that subject; as Clarice told her tale, their eyes glowed with awakened zeal.
“So,” Clarice concluded, glancing around at the three older faces, “I’m hoping that I can prevail on you to lend me your aid in assisting my brothers to achieve their ends. I’ve been absent from the ton for so long, and, given the events surrounding my leaving it, I’m well aware that I’ll require such
aid to successfully clear my brothers’ paths.”
Again she glanced around; this time, she met each pair of eyes. “Will you help me?”
The three ladies exchanged glances, an unspoken communication that held an element of excitement. Jack wasn’t surprised when, decision wordlessly reached, it was Lady Osbaldestone who delivered it.
“My dear, we’re very pleased that you’ve returned to the ton, regardless of the reason. Of course you will have our help in whatever way seems best, but there’s two points we would like clarified. First, we take it that in terms of the charges of treason, that it’s not only the Altwoods, but ultimately Whitehall and the government who, should the matter proceed to a trial, would be…shall we say ‘inconvenienced’?”
When Clarice blinked, and didn’t reply, Lady Osbaldestone looked at Jack. “Dalziel, I take it? A holy terror, but he does have his uses.”
Jack felt his expression blank. From the other two ladies’ calmly inquiring looks, Lady Osbaldestone’s words came as no surprise to them. How the devil did they know about Dalziel? And if they knew about him, what else did they know?
Lady Osbaldestone’s smile took on a distinctly evil edge. “You didn’t seriously imagine we were unaware of such things, did you?”
Jack shifted, rapidly canvassing his options; remaining silent seemed the wisest course.
Lady Osbaldestone’s expression grew cynical. “You might be relieved to know that, unlike some of our menfolk who fall prey to convoluted dilemmas over concepts of honor whenever the word ‘spy’ is uttered, most ladies of our station are only too relieved to know that others—those entrusted with the realm’s defence—are not so squeamish.”
Her last word carried a distinctly censorious edge.
Jack wasn’t sure her reference was as general as it had sounded, that she didn’t have some specific dilemma-afflicted male in mind. Regardless, he acknowledged, “Whitehall would, indeed, prefer to see the allegations against James Altwood rebutted in the bishop’s court rather than in a public one where details submitted in evidence would be widely desseminated.”
Lady Osbaldestone nodded. “Just so.” She looked again at Clarice. “Our other question is, with the matter of your brothers, do you intend to fully nullify your stepmother’s influence for all time, or do you think simply to help your brothers to the altar, leaving them to manage otherwise on their own?”
Clarice looked into Lady Osbaldestone’s black eyes, and couldn’t tell which answer the old ladies wanted, yet it seemed clear her response would determine the degree of help they would give. She needed their help. Without it, returning to the ton and countering Moira’s schemes would be exceedingly difficult. But they were matriarchs all, absolute rulers within their homes and families; would they disapprove if she told them the truth?
Lifting her chin, she grasped the nettle. “I can’t see any prospect of freeing my brothers without in the main eliminating Moira’s influence. Not just over their marriages, but in general, and more permanent, terms.” She refocused on Lady Osbaldestone’s eyes. “It would be neither realistic nor fair to expect my prospective sisters-in-law to deal with Moira. I have more insight, and a great deal more standing and experience behind me, at least in terms of countering her.”