capable of handling this on my own."
Julia was the only one not smiling. She was bloody frightening sometimes. "If you are sure you can handle both the Prince Regent and Lady Alicia, then of course you should go alone," she said. "If you are sure."
"As far as I know, I'm the only one George is still speaking to," Nathaniel added. "And that's only because I'm married to his ward. Perhaps Willa and I should drop in on the week's events. She's very good with George."
Dane looked disgruntled. "Olivia is very good with George as well… perhaps a bit too good."
Stanton gazed at them all warily. "Don't. Come. To. Sussex."
Juba tilted her head and beamed him a stunning smile. Though she was most assuredly taken, and not Stanton's type in any respect, her beauty was such that no man could think straight when she focused her considerable charms upon him.
"Now why would we do that?" she purred.
Stanton blinked. The room was becoming warm and it had been a very, very long time since a woman had looked at him at all. The back of his neck began to dampen—
He shot a dark glare Julia's way. "Stop that."
Marcus was a puddle in his chair. "Witness to my daily battle," he gasped between chuckles.
Julia bowed her head briefly. "I defer to the master. You are made of stern stuff, Wyndham. I don't think Lady Alicia has a chance in hell of dividing your attention."
It had been a test. Wyndham would have been angry if he hadn't seen the sense of it. If a renowned beauty like Julia couldn't sway him, what chance had poor, disadvantaged Lady Alicia?
6
« ^ »
Later that evening, however, as Stanton undressed for bed, he began to have his doubts.
For the first time in his memory, he was no more astute than the average human, at least where Lady Alicia Lawrence was concerned. For the first time, he had a taste of the awful confusion and morass of doubt that every person about him suffered through on a daily basis, forced to trust blindly or even to mistake real truth for lies, driven to it by their own suspicions.
When he'd been no more than seven, he had watched his father casually accept a ledger from his housekeeper's hand and he had known the nonchalance was a lie. He had continued to watch as his mother greeted his father after arriving home from a shopping trip to London and he had seen that her bright smile and offhand affection for her husband was a lie.
The housekeeper, a statuesque woman named Ilsa, stood between his parents like a fortress wall, her hold on Lord Wyndham complete. It was obvious to Stanton, even at such a young age, yet no one spoke of it. His mother, whether helpless or simply unwilling to combat the woman, spent more and more time away "shopping," although the rumors of her true activities spread to the estate of Wyndham and beyond, while his father fell more and more under
Ilsa's spell.
The handsome, dignified lord, his beautiful young wife, Stanton himself playing the part of the sturdy scion, all living out the roles given them. Meanwhile, beneath that shining façade there lurked hatred and jealousy, obsession and oppression, writhing and growing like the squirming life found beneath a stone.
So young Stanton had observed the lies. He'd seen the way people moved, the way they held themselves, the very manner of their speech, and he had simply known who lied and who did not.
And discovered, of course, that everyone did, in ways that betrayed their very souls to his eyes.
Until now.
The sickening possibility that he might have lost his unique skill caused Stanton to turn to his valet quickly.
"Herbert, I have decided to adopt a goatee."
Herbert, who was well-known for his disdain of facial hair, nodded without a blink. "Very good, my lord. Very dashing."
Lie
. Stanton nearly closed his eyes in relief. "Or perhaps not," he said, to provide good Hamersley with a bit of the same. "Rather too devilish, I would think."
"True, my lord. Too true."
So his mysterious skill still worked, only not on
Julia was the only one not smiling. She was bloody frightening sometimes. "If you are sure you can handle both the Prince Regent and Lady Alicia, then of course you should go alone," she said. "If you are sure."
"As far as I know, I'm the only one George is still speaking to," Nathaniel added. "And that's only because I'm married to his ward. Perhaps Willa and I should drop in on the week's events. She's very good with George."
Dane looked disgruntled. "Olivia is very good with George as well… perhaps a bit too good."
Stanton gazed at them all warily. "Don't. Come. To. Sussex."
Juba tilted her head and beamed him a stunning smile. Though she was most assuredly taken, and not Stanton's type in any respect, her beauty was such that no man could think straight when she focused her considerable charms upon him.
"Now why would we do that?" she purred.
Stanton blinked. The room was becoming warm and it had been a very, very long time since a woman had looked at him at all. The back of his neck began to dampen—
He shot a dark glare Julia's way. "Stop that."
Marcus was a puddle in his chair. "Witness to my daily battle," he gasped between chuckles.
Julia bowed her head briefly. "I defer to the master. You are made of stern stuff, Wyndham. I don't think Lady Alicia has a chance in hell of dividing your attention."
It had been a test. Wyndham would have been angry if he hadn't seen the sense of it. If a renowned beauty like Julia couldn't sway him, what chance had poor, disadvantaged Lady Alicia?
6
« ^ »
Later that evening, however, as Stanton undressed for bed, he began to have his doubts.
For the first time in his memory, he was no more astute than the average human, at least where Lady Alicia Lawrence was concerned. For the first time, he had a taste of the awful confusion and morass of doubt that every person about him suffered through on a daily basis, forced to trust blindly or even to mistake real truth for lies, driven to it by their own suspicions.
When he'd been no more than seven, he had watched his father casually accept a ledger from his housekeeper's hand and he had known the nonchalance was a lie. He had continued to watch as his mother greeted his father after arriving home from a shopping trip to London and he had seen that her bright smile and offhand affection for her husband was a lie.
The housekeeper, a statuesque woman named Ilsa, stood between his parents like a fortress wall, her hold on Lord Wyndham complete. It was obvious to Stanton, even at such a young age, yet no one spoke of it. His mother, whether helpless or simply unwilling to combat the woman, spent more and more time away "shopping," although the rumors of her true activities spread to the estate of Wyndham and beyond, while his father fell more and more under
Ilsa's spell.
The handsome, dignified lord, his beautiful young wife, Stanton himself playing the part of the sturdy scion, all living out the roles given them. Meanwhile, beneath that shining façade there lurked hatred and jealousy, obsession and oppression, writhing and growing like the squirming life found beneath a stone.
So young Stanton had observed the lies. He'd seen the way people moved, the way they held themselves, the very manner of their speech, and he had simply known who lied and who did not.
And discovered, of course, that everyone did, in ways that betrayed their very souls to his eyes.
Until now.
The sickening possibility that he might have lost his unique skill caused Stanton to turn to his valet quickly.
"Herbert, I have decided to adopt a goatee."
Herbert, who was well-known for his disdain of facial hair, nodded without a blink. "Very good, my lord. Very dashing."
Lie
. Stanton nearly closed his eyes in relief. "Or perhaps not," he said, to provide good Hamersley with a bit of the same. "Rather too devilish, I would think."
"True, my lord. Too true."
So his mysterious skill still worked, only not on
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