Page 113 of Rules for Ruin

The unfeeling devil.

Though, Effie couldn’t say she was surprised. Not when Compton had already made something of an overture toward her. Perhaps it was his habit to change his mistresses out every few years? She wondered how many had preceded Mrs. Naismith.

Cabs and carriages vied for positions in front of Lady Bartlett’s house as the rest of the ladies who had attended the lecture departed. Miss Compton’s elegant lacquered coach, with its gold crest on the door, was slowly approaching. A lighter sporting coach pulled by two matched grays preceded it. The vehicle was small but sleek, with a glossy black body and sky-blue painted wheels.

Mrs. Naismith brightened. “Ah! There is my carriage.”

Effie admired the dashing vehicle along with Miss Compton. It had doubtless been provided by Lord Compton, along with Mrs. Naismith’s fine clothes and her house in Ellis Street.

It occurred to Effie that, yesterday, Gabriel had offered her something strikingly similar. Clothes, a house, a carriage. A comfortable life as mistress, rather than a wife.

But no.

It wasn’t at all the same. Gabriel hadn’t proposed that Effie be his guilty secret, tucked away somewhere in a house of her own, to be visited at his leisure. He had asked her to be his love. To make her home—and her life—with him.

Effie’s heart had yearned to accept his offer. Never mind that it wasn’t an offer of marriage. Her heart didn’t care about legalities. All it had wanted—all she had wanted—was to be with the man she loved.

But it wasn’t her heart that was in charge today. It was her head. She had important business to attend to. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Mrs. Naismith turned to Effie and Miss Compton with a smile. “Goodbye to you! Perchance I will see you again at the next meeting?”

“Perchance you will,” Miss Compton said, exchanging curtsies with her.

“Until then,” Effie said.

Mrs. Naismith waved at them as she boarded her carriage. The instant her coach set off, Miss Compton’s carriage pulled up to take its place. The liveried footman jumped down from his perch to open the door for his young mistress.

Here, at last, was the moment Effie had been waiting for.

“May I beg a lift from you?” she asked Miss Compton.

“If you like,” Miss Compton said, “but I must go straight home. My music lesson is at one. And after that, I depart immediately for the balloon ascension at Cremorne Gardens.”

“You mean to attend?”

“Naturally. Lord Mannering will be there with his sister, will he not? I’m eager to tell her I attended the lecture.”

“Yes, of course,” Effie said. “It’s sure to bring you closer to her.”

“And then to him,” Miss Compton said, allowing the footman to hand her into the carriage.

Effie climbed in after her. The interior of the coach was upholstered in blue velvet with gold edging. It appeared to be new. “An excellent plan,” she said. “I shan’t do anything to impede it. Indeed, you need only take me as far as Grosvenor Square.”

The footman closed the door behind them and the carriage started off, rolling smoothly toward Mayfair. It was but three miles away. A negligible distance in such a well-sprung vehicle. They arrived in front of the Comptons’ mansion not twenty minutes later.

Miss Compton gathered her skirts to disembark. “You needn’t walk,” she said to Effie. “John Coachman can convey you to Brook Street quickly enough after I get out.”

“No, no,” Effie objected. “Truly. I had rather stretch my legs. But first…” She sunk her voice. “May I trouble you to use the necessary?”

Miss Compton’s face turned a dull red. Ladies were discouraged from mentioning their bodily functions, even amongst each other. “If you must,” she said with stiff dignity.

The footman opened the carriage door and assisted Miss Compton down. Effie followed, making sure her reticule was still with her. She had packed enough twine in it this morning to fulfill her plan. Without it, she’d have no way to spirit the book out of the house.

Before they had finished ascending the front steps, the Compton’s butler, Parker, materialized at the door. He held it open for them as they entered the hall. “Mr. Lampert has arrived, miss,” he informed Miss Compton. “He awaits you in the music room.”

Miss Compton hurried to the stairs. “I must change,” she said. “Tell him I’ll be down in five minutes. And Parker? Do show Miss Flite to the washroom.”

Effie waited at the foot of the stairs, her eyes lowered in what she hoped was a fair impression of feminine modesty. The house boasted an indoor privy on each floor. She didn’t know where the ground floor one was located, but she suspected it was somewhere along the long corridor that led to the library.