A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (e novels to read TXT) 📕

table before speaking. “I suppose we knew it was inevitable.” He twirled the stem. “His bad conduct caught up with him. I do wonder if there’s any way to find out where his money was coming from. He was blackmailing someone. Possibly several someones. But I can only imagine they paid him in cash.”

“Let me look into it,” Henry offered. “I might be able to find out something.”

Gage gazed at his half brother in approval. “If so, I’d be grateful.”

Chapter 22

While I generally dreaded society events—finding them to be tedious and the other guests to be overcritical—dinner parties were often the exception. Especially when they were hosted by Lady Bearsden. Charlotte’s great-aunt was not only acquainted with a wide range of interesting people, who invariably had more fascinating things to discuss than the usual small talk and petty gossip, but she also despised cruelty in all forms.

The fact that she was a collector of such gossip would seem to contradict this, but she’d admitted to me once that she only gathered tittle-tattle because it was amusing to be informed of everyone’s foibles, particularly at her age. In any case, since her niece and I had become friends, I knew I needn’t worry about suffering any slights from her other guests. She wouldn’t stand for it. And so I entered the drawing room of the town house she often rented off St. Andrew’s Square with great anticipation.

“My dear Mrs. Gage,” she exclaimed with delight from her chair near the door. Her white hair was piled up on top of her head in a style that seemed reminiscent of the wigs worn sixty years prior. She pushed to her feet with the aid of her gold figure-headed cane and then grasped both of my hands with her own, holding them wide so that she could examine me from head to toe, expectant abdomen and all. “You are looking positively radiant and as ripe as a cherry.”

“A very large cherry,” I quipped, blushing at her approval and the attention she was drawing.

She laughed brightly. “Any day now, isn’t it? I’m so very pleased you could come. And your doting husband, as well.” She beckoned him forward, releasing my hands so that she could offer them to Gage. “My Lumpy couldn’t hold a candle to you or your father in looks, but he was a good man nonetheless,” she proclaimed with a sigh, referring to her late husband with the mildly insulting nickname she always used.

Seeing that she’d latched on to Gage and would likely be monopolizing him for the foreseeable future, I turned to greet Charlotte as she approached. She shook her head at the sight of Lady Bearsden incorrigibly flirting with Gage. “Auntie does love the attention of a handsome young swain. She kept poor Mr. Aldridge at her side for a quarter of an hour before you arrived.” She nodded toward a man with the copper complexion associated with the African continent.

“I doubt it’s a hardship,” I replied, my interest returning to the other young man. His tall bearing and tailored evening garments matched that of any gentleman of my acquaintance, but the mobile expressiveness of his face as he spoke to another guest suggested another noble profession. “Mr. Aldridge . . . why, do you mean the American actor?” I asked, recalling that Charlotte had told me many of the guests at tonight’s dinner party would be connected to the theater.

“Yes, have you seen him onstage?”

“No, but I’ve heard his portrayal of Othello is magnificent.”

“It is. I saw him for the first time at the Royal Coburg in London, and Auntie saw him in Manchester. He’ll be performing the role here in Edinburgh shortly.” She turned to look at me, though I was still distracted by Mr. Aldridge and the pair of people he was talking to, whom I recognized to be Mr. Murray from the Theatre Royal and his sister, Our Mrs. Siddons. “I’ve seated him next to you at dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Why would I mind?” I asked, a moment before I realized what she meant. Although the slave trade had been prohibited in Britain over two decades earlier, and all enslavement within the British Isles effectively abolished, slavery in the British colonies was still legal, and many members of society still held very prejudicial views. A gentleman of color might be good enough to grace the stage or serve as a merchant, but not to dine at the table with them, or worse, their wives.

“No, I don’t mind,” I repeated.

She smiled. “I thought not. And he is a delightful conversationalist.”

She glanced at Gage in consideration.

“And neither will he.”

“Good.” She pulled my arm through hers, leaning in to murmur, “And has he forgiven you?”

My heart warmed at her concern and the memories of my and Gage’s reconciliation. “Yes.”

“I thought so. Now, come.” She urged me forward. “Let me introduce you to our guests.”

It was a small but lively soiree of about a dozen guests. Among which I was by far the least gregarious. However, I was content to listen to their amusing banter, particularly when a trio of the actors—present and former—initiated a witty exchange which turned into a sort of prandial parlor game similar to Consequences, where the last word of the previous Shakespeare quote had to be used as the first word of the next quote spoken. Soon, almost all of the guests were participating, including Gage.

By the time we adjoined to the dining room for dinner, we were a merry party indeed. The vivid arrangements of camellias, daffodils, and pale yellow pears gracing the table between glimmering settings of silver and crystal only heightened the sparkling atmosphere. The flickering firelight in the candelabras above was reflected in the mirrors hung about the room between paintings by Flemish artists, forming a warm glow around the party.

While bowls of chestnut soup were placed before us, I took the