Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  She trudged up the stairs and stared at the gown already laid out. It was a pale pink, festooned with three rows of ruffles and bows at the neck and sleeves.

  “What’s this?” She pointed at the dress when Mary entered the room with her evening slippers.

  “Your gown for tonight.”

  She drew the line. “I shall not wear it.”

  “Lady Siltsbury said Jocelyn will be attired in the same gown, only blue. You have matching evening slippers and a matching feathered hat to wear.”

  She picked up the hat, plopped in on her head, and walked over to the looking glass. “No.”

  After removing her gown, she climbed into her bed and snuggled under the covers.

  “Are you unwell, milady?”

  “Tell Mama I have a headache. Tell her I foolishly snitched a strawberry off the sideboard and might be getting Jocelyn’s welts.” She’d thought to brazen it out at the musicale and see if anyone behaved as ridiculously as predicted. She’d been kidnapped, for heaven’s sake. Why would someone blame her for her own abduction?

  She was bone-tired and would not budge from this bed. Let Jocelyn go. She could tell whatever tale was necessary to get herself exonerated. She’d done nothing. She’d been ill in bed when the ball took place.

  If I go, and Mother is right, everyone will focus on me.

  She turned over, and the last face she imagined before she slid into sleep was that of Ralston—handsome, concerned, dutiful man that he was. Prince Charming of her fanciful dreams.

  If only he loved her.

  Chapter 39

  Jane awoke before dawn, restless and anxious. She needed something to rid herself of the tension that came from living in this house with a sister who was so different and a woman she was trying to like.

  After lighting a candle, she dressed herself in the riding habit she’d brought from Lady Amelia’s. She counted the days until her mare would arrive from America. In the meantime, a mount had been designated for her use.

  Jane bolted down the backstairs and out the door, making her way to the stable. Even though it was not yet dawn, grooms would be preparing to start work soon, and she might not be able to avoid them.

  She easily saddled the horse, happy that she’d always done things for herself in Baltimore. A groom wandered in and gasped when he saw her. She waved him away and headed out. Light brightened the horizon, backlighting buildings as she guided the horse toward Hyde Park. It would be a fine morning for a ride. No one would be about, and she could let the horse have his head and be back before breakfast.

  More people than expected were out preparing for the day. Street vendors rolled their carts into place, and shopkeepers swept their stoops. A few other horsemen stared at her as she passed. She probably should have brought a groom, but home was a short distance away and no one knew who she was here, even if she was breaking some kind of rule. She made no eye contact and kept riding.

  When she entered the park, she followed the Serpentine to the trail she’d seen yesterday. Once on the bridle path, she urged her horse into a gallop and gloried in the wind brushing her cheeks and whipping her hair beneath her loosely tied bonnet. She’d missed this so much. Bringing her horse back to a canter, she slowed and turned into a path with a canopy of tree limbs overhead. After dismounting, she walked the horse deeper into the trees, watching rays of sunlight begin to filter through bright-green leaves, creating a pattern of light that illuminated the ground.

  Filling her lungs with fresh air, she set her horse to graze, then removed her bonnet to tuck back her hair. Nature calmed her, and the brisk ride refreshed her spirit and gave her new resolve to try harder to fit into this society that was now her home, no matter what temporary setbacks she faced. Surely they wouldn’t be as bad as Mother, Jocelyn, and Ralston made them out to be.

  She’d prove them wrong.

  Intent on her task, she didn’t notice the three men who crept up behind her until one called out, “I say. Are you all right?”

  Startled, she turned around. They were dressed as gentlemen, and all three were on foot.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you alone?” asked the first man.

  “Looks that way, eh, Higgins.” The other two laughed.

  “Hey, I know this chit. ’Tis Lady Jocelyn Stafford.” He inched closer. “What are you doing out here this time of day?”

  Jane shrank back against her horse and folded her fist around her riding whip. They were drunk. She smelled liquor on the closest man’s breath.

  The second man squinted and staggered back. “No. Lady Jocelyn would still be abed at this hour.”

  “I know. ’Tis Leisterbridge’s whore.”

  “Nah, it’s Lady Jocelyn.”

  “Lady Jocelyn is the one who had spots. Or was it bites? Can’t remember the story. This is the Yankee twin.”

  “A nice piece of muslin, eh?”

  Two came closer and leered into her face. “Let’s have a look at you, see what the marquis saw.”

  “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice squeaked, despite her attempt to remain calm.

  “What will you do? Hit us with your crop?”

  She swatted at him, knocking off his hat. The man grabbed her riding crop, and the other pulled at her bodice. Buttons went flying.

  Horrified, she couldn’t seem to move, to think, to speak, to cry out. This abomination was happening to someone else, not her.

  “Be careful, Brewster. She’s a lady.” It was the third man, the one standing back.

  “That’s not what Leisterbridge says.”

  The third man pleaded with his friends, “Come on, lads. Sun’s up. We’ve been at that gambling hell all night. I need my bed.”

  The first man leaned in and leered. “I need a kiss. Why don’t you two leave, and I’ll have what I need and join you later.”

  Jane swallowed several times, unable to suppress a shudder. Why had she left the main trail?

  “Don’t be daft,” said the second man. “Her guardian will come after us.”

  “Right now I’m so randy I don’t care.”

  He pinned Jane’s arms. She finally screamed as he pushed her against a tree and put his foul mouth on hers.

  The third man ran over and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him off. “A horseman is headed this way. He probably heard her scream. Come on.”

  “Bollocks!” The three ran off as if Lucifer himself was after them.

  Jane spat and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her breathing uneven. She’d been about to land a kick where it would hurt the most. The man’s friend had removed him just in time.

  As the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves became louder, Jane scurried behind a bush and remained there, hoping her mare hadn’t wandered too far. She didn’t trust any man she didn’t know and didn’t want to risk further scandal with someone approaching. Peeking through the leaves, Jane let the tension fall from her shoulders. The gentleman remained mounted, apparently satisfied he’d heard an animal.

  When she was sure no one else was about, she pulled her spencer around her as tight as she could and tucked her loosened hair into her bonnet. She found the mare peacefully cropping grass deeper in the trees, climbed up on its back with the aid of a stump, and began her journey home. After reaching the mews, she remained in a stall until she was sure she was alone, then crept into the house through a side door.

  When she reached her room, she locked herself in and slid to the floor. Shaking, she sat quietly, keeping all her roiling emotions inside. She would not allow those rogues the pleasure of upsetting her. She would not give them an iota of her thoughts. She would not. She would not!

  She stifled a sob and got to her feet, moving to the bellpull. Mary would come, thinking she needed to break her fast. She desperately wanted to bathe, t
o remove the stench of her panic. No, there was no time. She took off her clothes, piled them on the floor, and stood in her shift, scrubbing at her face, her neck, even her arms with cold water from the pitcher.

  Her heart thumped, and her breaths came in short gasps. She’d been assaulted by a stranger because she was now a social pariah. Leisterbridge’s whore. These hadn’t been street men. They were peers, gentlemen of the ton, albeit at least two were drunk. They were persons she might encounter at social gatherings.

  I cannot stay here.

  By the time Mary knocked on the door, Jane had put on her old black dress and shoes and had made up her mind.

  “Milady, are you well? You look peaked.” She frowned. “You’re dressed?”

  “Pack a small valise for yourself. I’ll pack my own.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away. I shall tell you when we get out of the house. Now do as I say, and if anyone asks why you are carrying a valise, tell them you are taking my old gowns to a charity house.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  She couldn’t stay in London. Not now.

  They’d take a hackney to the nearest mail coach stop and find out which public conveyance to take to the village near her cottage. From there, she’d hire someone to drive her to her property. Mary would be with her. She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  They escaped by the backstairs. Two kitchen maids seemed shocked to see them but said nothing. It wasn’t their place to question the daughter of their employer. When she and Mary reached the street, they walked swiftly to a busier thoroughfare where they hailed a hackney. The streets were busy at this early morning hour. Jane barely noticed.

  She couldn’t believe how calm she was. Nothing stirred inside. Her limbs were numb, operating automatically, without her thinking anything more than to put one foot before the other, then repeat.

  The tightness in her shoulders returned and didn’t ease until they were dropped off at an inn frequented by mail coaches. When they finally climbed into the coach, she left everything behind—her belongings, her reputation, her life.

  The team pulled forward, and she settled back on the seat.

  It would be over soon.

  And I shall survive.

  Chapter 40

  The day was gone by the time the wagon she’d hired in the village deposited them at her doorstep. Bone weary, she paid the farmer who’d driven them and followed Mary along the drive to the front of the house.

  The journey, which entailed several coach changes and a frustrating hour in the local village waiting for someone willing to drive them to Seacliff Cottage, took longer than expected. By now, Mother would know she had departed, and had probably sent word to Ralston.

  He’d know where she’d gone and would arrive tomorrow or the next day and use all manner of threats to get her to return.

  She would not.

  No lamps shone from within. The staff quarters were in the rear. If no one answered her knock, she’d walk around the back and try to find a way in.

  “Come, Mary. Our knuckles will be bloody by the time someone hears us.” She led the way around the house, noting new flower beds. The scent of roses filled her nostrils as she turned toward the rear entrance. A wave of nostalgia crashed over her. She’d prided herself on the roses at their farm. Bright pink and red blooms always freshened the air in their house during the spring and summer months.

  Why did you have to die, Papa? Why?

  The back door was unlatched. She crept in and headed straight for the private parlor used by the staff. Mrs. Bobkins sat at her writing desk with papers stacked neatly in front of her. She looked up, startled.

  “Milady? What are you doing here? I had no word that you were due.”

  “It’s a long story, and one I do not wish to talk about right now. A pot of tea and a biscuit would be delightful, or coffee if you have it. Can you show Mary to a room? I can find my way to the one I used last time I was here.”

  “I’ll lead the way. Your maid can occupy the room she had before, if that would be acceptable.”

  “It would. Right now I think I shall expire on the spot if I don’t lie down on something softer than a wooden bench.”

  The housekeeper asked no questions and led the way upstairs. “I keep bed linens fresh, and I’ll bring hot water as soon as it’s heated.” She opened the door to the room with the magnificent view Jane remembered.

  Mary continued into the adjoining chamber, and Jane closed the door, untied her bonnet, and laid her cloak on a chair. Eyeing the bed, she took off her footwear and sank into the feather mattress. Heaven.

  Would her backside ever recover from this wild flight to the coast? She hoped so because she planned to stay here for the coming year, if her guardian could be persuaded to release some of the additional funds she’d need to remain. The sea cliffs called to her the minute she’d seen them on her first visit, and the house reminded her of her home in Baltimore. She needn’t be a lady here. She could do her share of the work and put the disastrous events in London behind her.

  If they’ll let me.

  She sighed and let her eyes close. When she opened them, the darkness in the room and the rumbling in her stomach told her it was long past time to go back downstairs and find something to eat.

  A soft knock, followed by the door opening a crack, made her rise on her elbows.

  “Yes?”

  “Ah, you are awake, milady. I brought you a tray. When I brought it earlier, you were sound asleep.” Mary set the tray on the dresser.

  Jane left the bed and walked in her bare feet over to the tray. Lifting a napkin, she picked up a slice of cheese and followed it with a roll. “I am sorry I missed dinner, Mary. I was exhausted. Do you know the time?”

  “’Tis half past ten. I was about to go to my bed when I remembered you hadn’t eaten.”

  “Please don’t let me keep you. I know you are as exhausted as I am.”

  “Thank you. I shall see you tomorrow.” She bobbed a curtsy and left, closing the door behind her.

  Jane sat to eat, concentrating on each mouthful.

  She’d put the traumatic events of the early morning out of her head, and whenever they intruded, she filled her brain with another topic. She would not think about her experience, and she would tell no one. Mother wouldn’t seek her here. She’d send Ralston. He already knew she wanted to live here. She’d tell him she couldn’t abide living in Town, and if he made her go back, she’d run off again.

  Would he force me? Cut off funds?

  When she’d finished every crumb, she drank the glass of wine that had accompanied the meal, undressed, and took her nightgown and tooth powder out of her valise. Completing her ablutions, she spread wide the window covering and stared at the starry sky. Ralston would be here in the next few days. She must be rested and have a plan.

  After pulling the curtains closed, she climbed into bed and fell into a restless sleep, awakening several times as she fought off imaginary hands and once shouted out “No” as someone in her nightmare called her “Whore.”

  In the morning, the image in her looking glass featured a quivering lip and eyes with dark circles. Biting hard, she turned from the mirror, washed her face and hands with the rest of the water in the pitcher, and rubbed her cheeks briskly, hoping to restore a semblance of healthy color.

  Mary arrived with fresh water and the one additional gown she’d brought, pressed and ready for the day.

  “Come, milady. A fresh gown will make you feel better, and a hearty breakfast awaits.”

  She needed food and did not want to face questions. The American in her would answer them, perhaps not readily, but would feel the staff was owed an explanation.

  I am in England, and I am a member of the aristocracy. I need not accoun
t for my actions.

  Relaxing, she made her way to the dining room. The Bobkins were employees. They would not quiz her. It was not done.

  “There you are, milady. Did you have a restful night?” The housekeeper poured her morning coffee and set a plate in front of her. There were fresh eggs, toast, a pot of butter and another of jam.

  “Yes, thank you.” She hated lying. Maddie always said it was better to nod and smile when you didn’t feel like talking. Then you didn’t have to lie.

  She wolfed down her breakfast, and when she finished, she wandered around the cottage in an aimless manner. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do that in her room. Fresh air and sunshine called to her, so she wandered outside and headed for the cliffs. Today she’d see if she could negotiate the cliff path she remembered seeing. Ralston had warned her it was treacherous. She could manage. She was nimble-footed and was not burdened with excess clothing today. Her old boots were comfortable and her gown simple and unadorned.

  The brisk air fortified her, and the sound of waves breaking beneath the cliff calmed her. Jane found the path and surveyed its pitfalls before she descended. A few places were narrow, but she’d negotiated tight spaces before.

  When she reached the bottom, she kicked off her shoes, lifted her skirt, and waded along the shore. The frothy bubbles tickled her toes, and the temperature of the water made her feet ache. She moved back, remaining close to the shore where she could look out and pretend she could see home. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized she’d walked farther than she’d planned and turned back.

  I need to organize my arguments. Ralston will respond to logic.

  Her head cleared, and she sat down in a dry spot, well back from the tide. She hugged her knees and thought about how she could remain here. In previous conversations with her guardian, she’d been told bills were sent to him from the steward along with lists of goods or services needing funds. Ralston paid from her trust fund and most likely did the same with Jocelyn’s London property. Mother had her own funds. Jane didn’t know if she contributed to household accounts or paid for extras.