He leaned across their suckling baby and kissed her hard on the mouth.
The Westcott women had held their meeting at Viscount Dirkson’s home on Saturday afternoon. They had all been present, including, to the surprise of everyone else, Jessica herself.
“Because,” she had explained when questioned, “it is not enough simply to confront the man privately and allow him to slink off back home to lick his wounds—though the thought even of that gives me some satisfaction. He must not be allowed to escape some sort of justice, however.”
“My thoughts exactly, Jessica,” Wren said. “But how are we going to bring that about?”
“It is the precise reason why we have gathered here,” Aunt Matilda pointed out.
“I think we should have him arrested,” Grandmama said. “And thrown into a deep, dark dungeon. A damp one. With rats.”
“On thirteen-year-old charges?” Cousin Althea said. “For offenses that were committed a long way away? I think that might be easier said than done, Cousin Eugenia, though I do wish we could do it.”
“Avery could do it,” Jessica’s mother said. “And make the charges stick. So could Alexander. The two of them together—”
“We need a definite plan,” Cousin Elizabeth said. “Something we can implement even if Avery and Alex disagree on the bold move of trying to have Mr. Rochford arrested.”
“I have one,” Jessica told them. “It is why I am here. I would not have come otherwise.” And then she wished she had not added that last, for everyone looked at her—naturally, for she had spoken—and she could feel her cheeks grow hot. She had slept last night, deeply and dreamlessly, probably for several hours, but before and after—
Well.
She probably looked like a dewy-eyed bride the day after. Which was precisely what she was.
“There is that costume ball on Tuesday evening,” she continued. “I have been looking forward to it ever since I received my invitation.”
“I love masquerades,” Estelle cried. “And I am not telling anyone what my costume is to be. No one will recognize me in a million years.” She laughed.
“It is bound to be a great squeeze,” Aunt Viola said. “Everyone loves a masquerade—the respectable kind, anyway, and Lady Farraday’s is always very respectable indeed. No one sneaks in uninvited there despite the most impenetrable of disguises. That distinctive invitation card is everything. Are you hoping Mr. Rochford—Mr. Manley Rochford—will be there, Jessica, even though he is such a recent arrival in town?”
“That is where all of you come in,” Jessica said, glancing about the room. “We need to make sure both that he is invited and that he attends.”
They all gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment.
“I sense a brilliant plan,” Elizabeth said. “The unmasking will be a sensation. I suppose it is the unmasking you are picturing as the climactic moment, Jessica?”
“Yes,” she said. “It will not take care of the meting out of full justice, it is true. We may need another plan for that when the time comes. But it will be a very public humiliation if it is well enough orchestrated. It will be talked about for the next decade. Gabriel and I will take care of that.”
“Oh,” Estelle cried, “why should you have all the fun, Jessica?”
And there she went again, Jessica thought, blushing to the roots of her hair and to the ends of her toes, though that was not what Estelle had meant.
“They will not, Estelle,” Aunt Matilda assured her, sounding quite militant. “Not when there will be Avery and his quizzing glass and Alexander with his magnificent height and looks. And Thomas and Colin and Marcel and Charles. And Bertrand and Boris and Peter too. And that is to name only the men. Then there will be us.”
“All of which,” Grandmama said, “will be worth nothing, Matilda, if Lady Farraday does not send that man an invitation and if he does not attend the masquerade.”
“Mama,” Aunt Mildred said, sounding incredulous. “You surely do not doubt that we can make absolutely sure both those things happen.”
“Who will come with me tomorrow afternoon to call upon Lady Farraday?” Aunt Viola asked.
“I will,” Elizabeth and Wren said together.
“I will go too,” Jessica’s mother said, “even though it will be Sunday. I will go separately from the three of you. Matilda, you must come with me. You too, Mildred. I believe we make a somewhat intimidating trio. The Westcott sisters.”
“I daresay,” Grandmama said, “half the ton will call upon Mr. Rochford and his wife next week. They will, after all, be the sensation of