The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three. Elysabeth Williams
muttering incoherently under her breath about the neighbors.
“What is it, Jillian?”
“Your neighbors are the nosiest people in the city.”
“I could have told you that.” She chuckled, hanging the cape on the coat rack and walking back into the kitchen with Miriam. “What have they said or done now?”
“I assume Miriam has already advised you of their recent rumor-mongering.”
“Indeed she has. I hope it doesn’t sully the baron’s good name.”
“I’m ever so surprised his name isn’t already sullied, Eliza. Let’s not forget this man is a rake,” Jillian replied, helping herself to the freshly brewed coffee.
“I cannot forget much of anything about him.” She sighed, retiring to the parlor. The two women followed her and sat.
“Does he have an interesting past?” Miriam asked, looking between both of them.
“As far as I know, when he first came to London, he tended to carouse the same haunts as my father. Then for some reason, he disappeared from the scene for a time. When he came back, he seemed to change.” Jillian shrugged. “But who knows what that means when it comes to men.”
“Was it everything we all hoped it would be?” Miriam smirked at Eliza, sipping her coffee.
“It was everything and then some.” Eliza sighed and closed her eyes.
“Spare us details, please,” Jillian begged. “Let’s discuss Colonel Cuthbert’s letter. What did it say?”
Eliza reached over to the side table, picked up the paper, handed it to Jillian to inspect, and looked toward Miriam. “I already explained a few details to Jillian last night, but it appears Countess Wilmont has again lost her mind. She wants to eradicate the Tower Bridge. We are to stop her.”
“The Tower Bridge? It just opened. The paint is barely dry. Why would she want to destroy it?” Miriam asked as Jillian handed her the note.
“She’s insane.” Jillian waved her hand.
“Wait, wasn’t she the one who tried to burn down Parliament because it smelled like day-old fish?” Miriam asked.
“One and the same.” Eliza laughed, shaking her head. “There were no details as to her motive this time, but I plan to find out–and expect it to be complete insane drivel. Are you ladies up to the challenge? If so, I shall send a response to the colonel this afternoon.”
“Do we know when the countess is planning to carry out this nonsense?” Jillian asked.
“No. I say we send word to the colonel. We can keep an eye out on her to start, and await details as we monitor,” Miriam suggested.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Eliza agreed. Jillian nodded as well.
“So, beyond stopping the mad countess from decimating a perfectly good bridge, what else is on the agenda?”
“Silas Willoughby is holding the end of season ball at his London residence soon,” Eliza said blandly.
“Is it ball time again already? Unrelated, have you not seen enough of him?” Jillian slapped her friend on the knee.
“Never.” Eliza smirked. Jillian laughed. Eliza looked at her from the corner of her eye and changed the subject. “Let’s discuss a Mr. Devin Dashing, shall we?”
“Ugh, let’s not. The man stares. It’s rude.” Jillian looked sour.
“It’s endearing,” Miriam scoffed.
“It’s stalking prey,” Jillian retorted, rolling her eyes.
“Precisely!” Eliza laughed.
“Did he speak at all after your performance last night?”
“Briefly,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t understand the man. He’s as verbose as the pope at Christmas Mass.”
It was Miriam’s turn to roll her eyes. “Tell him to shut his mouth and kiss you.”
“I suppose shutting one’s mouth and then kissing them would be a trifle difficult–but it could be managed,” Eliza pondered.
“Oh, do behave, Eliza. I don’t see Mr. Dashing in that manner.”
“Perhaps you should see him in that manner–and in a few different manners as well. He obviously cares enough about your attentions to jaw away incessantly,” Eliza said, smiling to herself.
“Psh.” Jillian looked at Miriam. “Save me from her taunts.”
“Jump him. Save yourself,” she replied, dryly.
“I never!” Jillian scoffed.
“We know!” The other two sputtered as they fell into peals of laughter.
After the trio settled down, the questions arose again.
“Do you think the countess will travel to the city to attend the ball?” Miriam asked.
Eliza shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her out since the beginning of the season.”
“Then it’s high time for her to be seen. Perhaps we can at least inquire on her schedule discreetly,” Jillian offered.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Eliza concurred.
After exhausting both the coffee and other topics, Miriam stood to leave. “Ladies, as always it has been a pleasure. I’ll see you later in the week, if not sooner.” She gathered her cape and donned it, waving as she left.
“I suppose I should leave too.” Jillian sighed, looking at the large grandfather clock in the hallway. She rose to gather her things and walked to the door.
“All right. Keep me informed of any happenings, if there are any, between now and the ball. I want to keep Colonel Cuthbert abreast of all the details.”
“Of course,” Jillian said. She patted her reticule, which contained the small communications device. “I shall ring you with anything pressing.” She left the townhouse and waved behind her as she headed for her waiting carriage.
“Very well, I shall do the same,” Eliza said, waving and closing the door.
She turned to the empty and now hollow-sounding house. This was the worst part: being alone after her friends left. Although she usually enjoyed the solitude compared to the hatred or generally abysmal attitude of her husband’s presence, it still hurt to find herself without the uproarious echoes of laughter or–as last night, the decadent moans of passion.
Eliza sighed and returned to the parlor. She grabbed a book from a shelf, flopped unceremoniously on the chaise lounge, and delved into someone else’s life–anything to avoid hers for just a brief moment longer. She knew to prepare for the next formal ball, she would need all the boring downtime she could manage.
Chapter 4
Jillian left Eliza’s house and directed her carriage toward the local dressmaker. If she was to attend the end of season ball, she would do so in a brand new dress.
Jillian Johnsworth was the only unmarried one of their trio. She had adamantly declined all offers of marriage–much to her parents’ dismay–and held fast to information her father would never want revealed. The blackmail allowed her to keep her own residence in the city, with an allowance and the ability to move about without scandal.
Her father was the sole proprietor of the most exclusive dining and entertainment establishment in London, Miss Merriweather’s–which had made him a millionaire the moment the doors opened. An elaborate and ornately decorated three-story facility, the club was an overnight success, providing meals, high tea, comedic performances, plays, live music and dancing to the highest of classes.
Little