It has come to This Author's notice that the dowager Lady Wellington has seen fit to send the Viscountess Hale away from her residence. While whispers circulate that the Viscountess acted as though she owned a home that was no longer hers, This Author finds the truth far more scandalous.
Rumor has it that Viscount Hale and his brothers, Lord Julian and Lord Edward, descended upon the Granger household like a storm, whisking their sister and her children away into the night.
Lord Granger claims his wife was unfaithful, but This Author knows better than to believe the word of a man whose reputation is as thin as his breeding.
Lady Ravenscroft's Society Papers. 17 April 1813
The following morning broke with a deceptive calm. Nicholas Hale, the Viscount Hale, stared out at the rolling greens of the estate, his jaw set in a grim line. As Lady Dorrington had so bluntly reminded him, England was no kingdom for women; the law favored the cruel, and it fell to him to shield his sister from the wolves.
He entered the morning room, where the air was thick with the scent of Earl Grey and the hushed urgency of conspiracy. Lady Dorrington was there, her lapdog yapping at her skirts, alongside the Beaumont family.
"Good morning," Nicholas greeted, his voice tight. He took the only available seat—which, by design or divine providence, happened to be beside the elder Beaumont sister, Helena.
"How do you intend to handle this rotter?" Lady Dorrington asked, not looking up from her tea.
"I believe a man-to-man talk with Lord Granger is required," Nicholas said, just as his siblings, Violet and Edward, entered.
"And you truly believe a man like that understands the language of reason?" Edward asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
Lady Dorrington set her cup down with a decisive clink. "How about you leave this matter to the ladies?"
Nicholas blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Pardon me, but how exactly do you plan to solve a matter involving unstable men and legal debts?"
"Catherine told me of a certain incident in Lyon," Lady Dorrington said, casting a pointed look at Helena. "A man who committed similar atrocities against his wife was forced into hiding by the sheer will of Miss Beaumont."
All eyes turned to Helena. She did not shrink. Instead, she smoothed her skirts with a nonchalant grace. "That was a singular occurrence."
"You did what?" Edward gasped, stunned.
"The coward struck his wife," Helena said, her blue eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce fire. "I simply acted as any person of conscience should."
"And how, precisely, did you act?" Nicholas asked, leaning closer. He could smell the faint scent of lavender clinging to her.
"I might have recruited the help of the village staff to... embellish certain truths," she said. "A whisper here, a horrified gasp there."
"The poor man couldn't buy a loaf of bread without being spat upon," James added with a smirk.
"He deserved worse," Helena countered, taking a slow sip of her tea. She turned her gaze to Nicholas. "If you want to ruin a man in the Ton, My Lord, you do not use a sword. You use a secret. We need Lady Ravenscroft."
"The gossip sheet?" Violet whispered.
"She thrives on scandal," Helena noted. "And Lord Granger has provided us with a feast. We shall not shout the truth; we shall whisper it until the Ton does the shouting for us."
"Lady Granger might have something to say as well" Violet said as the attention in the room turned to her.
Nicholas turned to see Lady Hyacinth Granger. Violet reached out, covering her mother-in-law's hand with her own.
"They are not just cruel men, Nicholas," Lady Hyacinth began, her eyes meeting his with a haunted intensity. "They are p-predators."
Nicholas felt the familiar tightening in his chest. "P-predators?" he repeated, the word catching in his throat as he remembered the state to which he had found both Violet and Lady Hale.
"Lord Granger and Dominic... they have turned our home into a place of secrets and shadows," she whispered. "It began with the staff. Young girls, barely more than children themselves, hired for the nursery or the scullery. Dominic would... he would take what he wanted. And when they became 'inconvenient'—when they bore the evidence of his sin—they were cast out into the streets with nothing but a handful of coins and a threat to never speak the Granger name again".
A sharp gasp filled the room and Nicholas turned to look at Miss Beamount beside him.Her blue eyes, usually so full of fire, were now dark with a mixture of horror and fury. Nicholas saw her knuckles whiten as she tighten her grip.
"And the gambling," Lady Hyacinth continued, her voice gaining a bitter strength. "The debts are astronomical. My husband has played away not just our fortune, but the very roof over our heads. He has used the family's townhome as collateral at White's. We are living on a precipice, Nicholas. Any day, the creditors could come and strip us of everything".
Nicholas took a step toward Violet, his protective instincts surging.
"W-why did you not s-say anything s-sooner?" he asked, his voice low and trembling.
Violet pulled back her lace collar, revealing a dark, mottled bruise that stretched across her collarbone like a brand. "Because of this,and because of my children" she said simply. "Whenever I questioned the disappearances of the girls, or the mounting piles of debt, they would remind me of my place.
He turned to look at Lady Hyacinth and Violet, his expression hardening into that of the Viscount he was born to be. "Lord Granger and Dominic believe they are untouchable. They believe the Hales are a f-family divided. They are w-wrong. We are going to r-ruin them"
The following evening, the ballroom at Lady Wellington's home was a sea of shimmering silk and sharp wit. Nicholas felt his cravat tightening like a noose. Beside him, Helena was a vision in midnight-blue silk, her eyes scanning the room with the precision of a hawk.
"You look as though you're awaiting a firing squad, Nicholas," she murmured, her hand grazing his arm. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with the mission.
"I-it is not the b-battle I fear," Nicholas managed. "It is the p-possibility of f-failure."
"Trust me," Helena whispered, her gaze lingering on his. "A man's reputation is a fragile thing. Once it cracks, the Ton will do the rest."
They moved toward a corner of the room where Lady Dorrington is talking to Lady Hale.
"You are sure about this, Lady Hyacinth?" Lady Dorrington asked, her voice low.
The older woman nodded, her hands trembling slightly against her silk skirts. "They have kept their secrets behind closed doors for too long. The gambling debts, the maids sent away in the middle of the night... and the way they treat those they are meant to protect. It must end."
As the music for the quadrille began, the family moved into position. Helena approached a group of influential matrons, including the formidable Lady Wellington.
"Lady Wellington," Helena sighed, her expression one of practiced concern. "I fear for poor Violet. She has been so... reclusive lately. And Lady Hyacinth... did you see the way she winced when she reached for her tea? It's almost as if she's in constant pain."
Lady Wellington leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "Pain? From what?"
Helena lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There are rumors—only whispers, mind you—of a darkness at Granger House. Debts that are never paid, and young girls who disappear from the staff without a word of recommendation. It makes one wonder if the Lord and his son have any honor at all."
Meanwhile, Nicholas found himself cornered by a group of gentlemen near the punch bowl. He could see Dominic Granger across the room, laughing loudly and posturing as if he were a king. The sight made Nicholas's blood boil, and the familiar stutter returned as he tried to speak.
"H-he is not the man he claims to be," Nicholas said to a fellow peer.
"Oh? And what man is that, Hale?" the man asked, intrigued.
Nicholas took a breath, forcing himself to speak slowly as his grandmother had taught him. "A m-man who leaves his mother and wife to b-bear the weight of his... indiscretions. A man who owes more than he possesses."
The seed was planted. Within the hour, the whispers had traveled from the matrons to the debutantes and down to the gentlemen's clubs. Lady Hyacinth played her part perfectly, letting slip a "tearful" remark about her son's "unfortunate temper" to a known gossip.
Lord Granger and Dominic had arrived. They strode in, chin high, unaware that the atmosphere in the room had shifted from warm welcome to sub-zero disdain. As they passed, the "Cut Direct" began. Lady Wellington turned her back. The Earl of Sefton stepped aside as if avoiding a puddle of mud.
"Watch," Helena whispered, stepping back into the shadows with Nicholas. "The fall of a house is a quiet thing at first."
Dominic Granger approached a group of young men he usually drank with, but they moved away in a synchronized wave, leaving him standing alone in the center of the floor. He looked confused, then angry, his gaze darting around the room until it landed on Lady Hyacinth, who sat regally among the dowagers, no longer hiding her bruises.
Nicholas stood taller, his hand instinctively finding Helena's in the dark. He didn't stutter as he watched his enemy realize the world had turned against him. The war had begun, and thanks to the courage of a mother-in-law and the wit of a Beaumont, the Hales were finally winning.
As the ball reached its peak, Helena returned to Nicholas's side. She looked exhilarated. "It's working. I heard three different versions of the story near the orchestra. By tomorrow, Lady Ravenscroft will have enough material for a month's worth of columns."
"Y-you are d-dangerous, Miss Beaumont," he said softly.
Helena smiled, a spark of pure mischief in her eyes. "Only to those who deserve it, My Lord."
Nicholas looked down at her, his heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with his nerves. The Hales and Beaumonts had declared a silent war, and as the music swelled, he knew they had already won.
Early the following morning, Lady Ravenscroft ensured the Ton awoke to scandal by circulating a fresh issue of this publication.
Any soul so unfortunate as to have missed the ball held at the Wellington residence missed not merely dancing and champagne, but a veritable feast of impropriety. It has been revealed to This Author—and confirmed by more than a few observant attendees—that Lord Granger and his heir, the notorious Lord Dominic, possess a most unsettling preference: children, rather than women of suitable age and sense.
Such conduct, dear reader, is not merely improper—it is repulsive.
Young Lord Dominic Granger is whispered to follow closely in his father's brutish footsteps. Tales abound of a temper so violent that neither his own mother nor his unfortunate wife were spared his hand. One wonders whether cruelty is taught at the Granger breakfast table, as both father and son appear equally practiced in it.
Even more scandalous are the hushed reports—though whispered loudly enough for the entire ballroom to hear—that the Granger men have left a trail of ruined young girls in their wake, bellies swelling while honor and responsibility remain conspicuously absent. That a family so eager to lecture the Ton on propriety should so openly defile it is, indeed, rich irony.
One can only hope society remembers these revelations the next time Lord Dominic dares present himself as a respectable gentleman. This Author, for one, shall not forget.
Lady Ravenscroft Society Papers 18 April 1813.