encourage women to rise beyond their station—not my words, by the way—then you could have a public uprising on your hands.’
‘Like the Blagdon Controversy,’ breathed Mrs Beecham, referring to the extensive public outcry against Hannah More’s Sunday Schools as dangerous and ‘Methodist’.
‘It could be far worse,’ Mr Alden said. ‘Women do not rate any higher on the Church of England’s scale than Methodists.'.’
‘Thank you, Mr Alden,’ Lady Ashford intoned. ‘You have given us a great deal to consider. We shall proceed with care.’ She fixed a stern gaze on Lily. ‘You can see that it would indeed be best for you to stay home, Miss Beecham. Old warhorses like your mother and I are one thing. We would not wish to be accused of corrupting young ladies.’
Lily lowered her gaze. Hurt and dismay congealed in her throat, choking off any protest. She barely knew MrAlden; it was ridiculous to feel this bone-deep sense of betrayal. But she could not stem it, any more than she could hold back the rising tide of anger in her breast. She raised her head and met Mr Alden’s gaze with a steely one of her own.
‘I cannot see where sending Miss Beecham home on the mail coach is any kinder or gentler than carting her around Surrey.’ Mr Alden’s eyes never left hers as he spoke. ‘Clearly, the best thing for her to do is to remain here.’
Lily forgave the irritating man everything on the spot. ‘Oh, yes! What a marvellous idea!’
Lily’s mother sniffed. ‘Well, I cannot see that a residence with a single gentleman in London is any less dangerous than one in Faversham.'.’
‘But the Bartleighs, Mother!’ Lily exclaimed.
Lady Ashford sent her an enquiring look and she hastened to explain. ‘Very dear friends of ours, from home,’ she said. ‘They are due to arrive in London soon, for a short stay. Mother, you know they would not mind if I stayed with them.’
‘Lilith Beecham,’ her mother scolded, ‘the Bartleighs are travelling to town to consult with the doctors here, not to chaperon you. I wouldn’t ask it of them, even if they were due to arrive before we are gone, which they are not.’
But Lady Dayle was nearly jumping out of her seat. ‘Oh, but Lily must stay with me! You need not worry, Mrs Beecham, for Jack has his own bachelor’s rooms. I scarcely see him at the best of times, and now he talks of urying himself in his books for his next research project.’
Lily watched her mother and began to hope.
‘It will be just Miss Beecham and I,’ the viscountess continued. ‘How perfect! She can help to introduce me to some of the worthy causes you ladies support, and I can introduce her a little to society.’
Lily’s heart sank. That had been the absolute wrong thing to suggest.
‘We are honoured by your invitation, my lady, but I do not wish for Lilith to go into society.’ Her mother’s mouth had pressed so tight that her lips had disappeared.
‘Come now, dear Margaret.’ The unexpected, coaxing tone came from Lady Ashford. ‘It will not do the girl any harm to gain a little polish. She’ll likely need it in the future.’
Her mother hesitated. Lily’s heart was pounding, but she kept her eyes demurely down. The moment of silence stretched out, until she thought her nerves would shatter.
‘I shall ask my dear daughter Corinne to help with the girl,’ Lady Ashford said. ‘You know that she and her husband are familiar with the right people. Although she is too far along in her confinement to take the girl herself, they will know just the events that a girl like Lilith will do well at.’
‘Yes, of course, nothing fast or too tonnish,’ said Lady Dayle in reassuring tones. ‘Perhaps a literary or musical evening.’
Her mother heaved a great sigh. ‘Very well,’ she said ungraciously.
‘Oh,’ breathed Lily. ‘Thank you, Mother.’
Lady Dayle was positively gleeful. ‘Oh, we shall have a grand time getting to know one another, my dear.’
Lady Ashford knew when to call a retreat. She stood. ‘Well, it has been a long and tiring day and I must still see to the tally of the day’s profits. I’m sure that Mrs Beecham and her daughter will both do better for a good night’s rest.’ She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Elenor, for the tea and for your interest.’
The farewells were made. Lily returned the viscountess’s embrace and agreed to meet to make plans on the morrow. She approached her son with a cautious step and a wary glance. ‘Mr Alden, I scarcely know what to say to you.’
She flinched a little at the disapproval she glimpsed in his expression. But then she squared her shoulders. She had faced disapprobation nearly every day for years. Why should his stab any deeper?
‘Thank you for everything that you have done for me today,’ she said with a smile, ‘Even though I’m sure some of it was quite unintentional.’
He bowed. ‘I am very happy to have met you, Miss Beecham. It has been an…interesting experience.’
Once again he had donned that impenetrable mask. It saddened her, this barrier that she could not breach. Earlier today he had handled a difficult situation with humour and ease. But now he only looked worldly and cynical. How disappointing. He obviously possessed a great mind. She suspected he also possessed a sense of justice, perhaps even a thoughtful nature, but how could she know for sure?
This was her chance. Lily knew there would still be restrictions, but she could not suppress this glorious feeling of freedom. For a few weeks she would be able to relax, to give her true nature free rein. Perhaps if she was very lucky she might even find a position, or, she blushed, a suitor. Anything to supplant her mother’s idea for her future.
Lily knew she owed Mr Alden for this chance, and, indeed, she was grateful. But staring into his closed countenance, she knew she had no time to waste on him.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. She turned wistfully away and followed her mother out the door.
Lady Dayle chattered happily for a few minutes after her guests had left. Jack listened to her, content to see her so excited about the coming weeks. When the servants came in to clear, he rose, kissed her goodbye and let the butler show him out. The door clicked closed behind him. Jack stood for a long moment on the step, breathing deep in the cold evening air.
The girl was from Dorset. He was going to do it—he was going to find Matthew Beecham, who would lead him to Batiste. He no longer knew if it was truly justice he sought, or some twisted sort of redemption. He no longer cared. He was going to quiet the roiling furore that had turned his existence upside down.
It would take some delicate manoeuvring, he was sure. He was going to have to proceed very carefully. He was more than a little disturbed by his own actions. Right now he stood, evaluating his options with reason and purpose. That had not been the case in there.
He’d done what he could to manipulate the situation in his favour. And he’d succeeded. But one minute he’d been speaking like a man of sense and the next Lily Beecham had been glaring at him with accusation in her lovely face.
It had done something to him. His brain had shut down with a
