Bedford Square - Anne Perry [89]
“That is … terrible,” Theodosia whispered. “What is your friend going to do?”
“There is very little he can do.” Vespasia watched her closely. “I am not sure if he is aware that he is not the only person so victimized.”
Theodosia was startled. “What? I mean … you think there are others?”
“There are four others that I know of. I think there may be five. Don’t you, my dear?”
Theodosia licked her lips. She hesitated for several long, silent minutes. The clock in the hall struck the quarter hour. In the garden, outside the long windows, a bird sang. Somewhere, beyond the wall, children were calling out in a game.
“I promised Leo I would tell no one,” Theodosia said at last, but the anguish in her face made it desperately clear how she longed to share the burden.
Vespasia waited.
Outside the bird was still singing, the same liquid call over and over—a blackbird, high in a tree in the sun.
“I suppose you already know,” Theodosia said at last. “I don’t know why I hesitate, except that the nature of the accusation is … oh, it’s all so stupid, and yet so real … so … almost … not true … but …” She signed. “What am I making excuses for? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t alter anything.” She looked steadily at Vespasia. “Leo has received two of these letters as well, making the charges but not yet asking for anything, just pointing out how if it became public it would ruin him … ruin us both … and Sir Richard Aston as well.”
Vespasia was puzzled. She could imagine no charge that could possibly include Leo and Theodosia and Aston. Aston was Leo’s superior in the Foreign Office, a man of highly distinguished career and very great influence. His wife was connected to several of the great aristocratic families in the land. He was a charming man, possessed of both wit and intelligence.
Theodosia laughed, but it was a hollow sound, amusement without pleasure.
“I see you had not even thought of it,” she observed. “It was Sir Richard who was responsible for Leo’s promotion.”
“It was entirely merited,” Vespasia replied. “He has amply proved that. But even had it not been, it is a mistake to promote someone beyond their ability, but it is not an offense, and certainly not Leo’s offense, or yours.”
“Your trust in me is making you naive,” Theodosia said with an edge of bitterness. “The suggestion was that Leo paid for his promotion.”
“That’s balderdash,” Vespasia dismissed it, but without conviction or relief. It was so foolish it could be only part of the story. “Aston has all the money he could need, and Leo hasn’t sufficient to pay an amount that would make any difference. And you mentioned that you were involved, or at least you implied you had some part in it greater than simply that his ruin would accomplish yours as well.” Then even as she spoke a glimmering of another idea came to her; it was repellently ugly, because she cared for Theodosia, but not unbelievable of someone for whom she had no regard. Others would believe it.
“I can see it in your face,” Theodosia said gently. “You understand at last. You are right; the letter said that Sir Richard had admired me far more than as a friend, and Leo had sold me to him, as a lover, in return for his promotion, and Sir Richard had accepted.” She winced as she gave it words, and her hands were twisting in her lap. “The only part of it that bears any relation to fact is that I was aware that Sir Richard did … desire me. But he never made any improper suggestion, let alone advance. I was simply … a trifle uncomfortable because of his position regarding my husband.” Her jaw set. “Why should I have to apologize for that? I was beautiful. I could name a score of other women, two score, who were the same.”
“You do not have to explain,” Vespasia pointed out with a flash of humor. “I do understand.”
Theodosia blushed. “I’m sorry. Of course you do, better than I. You must have faced envy and discomfort on that account all your life, the little remarks