Her Majesty’s Scoundrels

by Christy Carlyle

  “You look deep in thought, Father,” Gideon said.

  “And from the expression on your face, whatever you were thinking wasn’t a happy thought,” Gideon’s younger brother Benjamin chided.

  Edward smiled as the young lords and ladies who’d joined his sons and daughters-in-law greeted him, then scattered as the orchestra sailed into the opening set. “It was nothing. But what about you?” The duke focused his gaze on Gideon and Eve. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  A Billingsworth footman passed by with a tray of drinks, and Edward stopped him. Gideon and Benjamin each took a glass of champagne for themselves and one each for their wives.

  “Are you asking if Eve and I are more comfortable mingling with Society tonight than we were at the two events we attended earlier this week? Or the ones we attended last week, Your Grace?”

  Edward couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, Gideon. I imagine that’s what I’m asking.”

  His eldest son smiled at his wife. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, tucking his wife’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “We are becoming more comfortable. You have done everything in your power to help me take my place in Society. But I would like your word on something.”

  “Of course, Gideon. Anything.”

  “I want you to promise me that you will not pass your title down to me for at least another fifty years.”

  Edward couldn’t help but laugh. “I will do my best, son, but that decision isn’t mine to make.”

  “Then perhaps I will force my brother to take my place at Society’s events. He seems born to this life.”

  “Oh, no,” Benjamin countered. “I plan to spend my old age sitting on the bank of the river with a fishing pole in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other.”

  “And where do you imagine I will be?” Lady Rachael teased.

  “Why, close beside me,” Benjamin answered, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist. “I wouldn’t think of going anywhere without you.”

  Benjamin’s exaggerated wink caused them all to laugh.

  “In all seriousness, Gideon,” His Grace said, making sure the tone of his voice contained a fatherly softness instead of the commanding tone he used when speaking as the Duke of Townsend. “I know you are uncomfortable in these surroundings. But your appearance here is important.”

  “I know, Father. And I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

  “And now,” the duke said, “it’s time I danced with one of my lovely daughters-in-law.” Edward turned to Gideon’s wife. “My dear, if you would allow me,” he said, extending his hand to the woman who would be the next Duchess of Townsend.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Lady Eve answered. “The orchestra is far too fine to ignore.”

  Edward and Eve had only taken one step toward the dance floor before he realized something was wrong. The surrounding cacophony of conversation and laughter died off sharply until not a sound could be heard. The strains of the orchestra beginning the opening notes of the next set choked as if someone had strangled the air from every instrument.

  Edward stepped back into the circle of his family and scanned the crowd around him. All eyes lifted to the entrance of the ballroom.

  A lone figure stood at the top of the stairs.

  Edward recognized her instantly, as did every other person in attendance. They all wore expressions of shock, or dark looks of disapproval.

  Few thought she’d ever show her face in Society again. But Her Majesty had hinted that Lady Lindleigh might be here tonight. And here she was. Edward couldn’t imagine the courage it took for her to face the ton.

  She was exactly as he remembered her: small, elegant, the picture of grace and sophistication. The emerald gown she wore only accentuated her narrow waist and regal bearing. She had always been a beauty without comparison, and in the year she’d been absent, little had changed. Except perhaps with the chilling composure she displayed she’d grown even more beautiful.

  The room remained deathly quiet, the atmosphere resembling that of a morgue. But Edward knew it wouldn’t remain that way. He knew it was only a matter of time before the first of Society’s haughtiest made their move. Only a matter of time before the lady standing before them received a cut direct.

  As if on cue, the first small circle of matrons turned their backs on her.

  “Who is she?” Gideon’s wife asked.

  Of course she wouldn’t know. Eve was the daughter of a country doctor and had never been a part of the London scene. Gideon, too, wouldn’t know, since he’d been confined to Shadowdown until little more than a year ago.

  “It’s Lady Lindleigh. The Earl of Lindleigh’s widow,” Benjamin answered quietly.

  “Why is everyone staring at her like that?”

  “They want her to know that she is not welcome. That she isn’t accepted,” Rachael said.

  “But why?”

  “Because she is rumored to have murdered her husband,” Edward said.

  “That was never proven,” his daughter Winnie objected.

  “Don’t you know?” Edward countered. “Nothing has to be proven in Society. It only has to be rumored.”

  He returned his gaze to the small woman descending the stairs. He didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps that she would turn around and leave. Perhaps that she would collapse to the floor in a heap. Perhaps that tears would fill her deep blue eyes, then trickle down her alabaster cheeks.

  She did none of those. She stood with her back straight, her shoulders lifted, and her head held high. If he thought she might show the slightest sign of weakness, he was wrong. She didn’t exhibit a hint of timidity, nor did she seem delicate, or weak. Instead, she was without a doubt the bravest, most fearless female he’d ever seen. She reminded him of a female Daniel walking into the lion’s den. If she was frightened, she didn’t show it.

  The Countess of Lindleigh confidently made her way down the steps toward the hostile crowd. But instead of the ton admiring her bravery, one by one they turned their backs on her.

  She eventually reached the bottom of the stairs, but there was no one to greet her. Lady Billingsworth had retreated to the far side of the ballroom. It was obvious she had no intention of acknowledging her presence.

  The room was quiet, except for the rustle of silks and satins as those in attendance turned so they would not have to look at the intruder. En masse, they gave Lady Lindleigh the cut direct.

  Edward looked around the ballroom, searching for someone who would come to Lady Lindleigh’s rescue. He didn’t know why, but he wanted there to be someone. Perhaps it was because her husband, the late Earl of Lindleigh, had been a friend in his youth. Although Lindleigh had been a year older than Edward, the two had an amiable friendship at Gresham’s. There had even been an episode in which Lindleigh had come to Edward’s rescue when some older boys bullied him. Lindleigh had fought them off, and received a bloodied nose for his trouble.

  But Lady Lindleigh was not so fortunate. There was no one in the room who would dare stand up for her.

  No one moved for what seemed an eternity. An eerie silence consumed the ballroom, no one daring to speak in anything except hushed whispers. After an agonizingly long moment, Lady Billingsworth motioned for the orchestra to begin the next selection. They did.

  Gradually, the guests moved. Conversation resumed, and couples migrated to the dance floor. The selection was a waltz, and a crush of couples crowded the floor, talking and laughing as if nothing untoward had just happened.

  But Lady Lindleigh was not a part of that group. She stood alone and isolated at the foot of the stairs, not having moved from the spot where she’d been. Abandoned. Ignored.

  Edward focused on her, and saw a slight shift to her demeanor. As if now that she’d come this far, her courage threatened to abandon her.

  “Is she just going to stand there?” Gideon’s wife asked, brushing away a tear that spilled over her lashes.

  “Perhaps she’ll leave,” Winnie said. “Everyone has made
it more than apparent that she won’t be accepted. And neither will anyone who befriends her.”

  Edward heard his daughter’s words and knew they were true. Even though he tried, he couldn’t shift his gaze from where Lindleigh’s widow stood. For some unfathomable reason, the events of that afternoon in the schoolyard all those years ago came back with vivid clarity: the feeling of fear as one bully after another teased and taunted him. The aloneness, the helplessness, the feeling of abandonment. Until his rescuer stepped in. Until the Earl of Lindleigh helped him when he most needed his help.

  Before Edward could consider the ramifications of his actions, his feet carried him forward. He walked toward her and didn’t stop until he was directly in front of her.

  “Lady Lindleigh,” he said, bowing slightly. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  Chapter Three

  Alyssa looked up at the man standing before her and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She tried again and this time found her voice. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.”

  She placed her trembling hand atop his extended arm and walked with him to the dance floor. He took her in his arms, and on legs that threatened not to hold her, they began their waltz.

  The couples on the floor reacted exactly as Alyssa knew they would. Some gave her their backs to exhibit their disgust, as well as their displeasure, then exited the floor. Others ignored her as if the Duke of Townsend hadn’t partnered her. Others stayed on the floor, but kept as far away from her as possible.

  Alyssa didn’t care what reaction she received. All that was important to her was that someone, a duke no less, had welcomed her back into Society. This was important―not for herself, because she could survive not being accepted back into Society―but for her daughter Elizabeth, who could not. Alyssa would not let Society’s vicious gossip and slanderous remarks ruin her daughter’s chance to make a good match when she had her come-out.

  It might take several more attempts and uncomfortable nights like tonight, but this was the first step. And the Duke of Townsend had made it possible. The question she wanted to ask was why he’d done it.

  He didn’t want to be out here with her. That was obvious by his lack of conversation, by the stiffness in his movements. And by the fact that he had yet to look her in the eyes.

  And yet, the fact that he’d asked her to dance had done more for her reputation than anything he could have done or said. He was a duke, after all. One of the most well-respected members of the ton. One of the most influential men in London. Even the Queen valued his opinion on certain matters. So why had he asked her to dance?

  Together they moved across the floor, his steps confident and steady, hers rusty and hesitant. It had been more than a year since she’d last danced. It took all her concentration not to falter in the steps of the dance. Which she would have managed if she hadn’t let her gaze shift to the side of the dance floor. To a spot where a group of Society’s most vicious gossips stood whispering amongst themselves.

  Alyssa knew who they were whispering about. It was obvious from the pointed glares they shot in her direction.

  She took her next step, and her legs gave out beneath her. She stumbled, but His Grace caught her and pulled her to him.

  “Hold on to me, my lady. You need some air.”

  Thankfully, they were near the open double doors that led out onto the terrace. He expertly moved her toward the fluttering drapery that flanked the doors, then out into the cool night air.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he said as he led her to the corner of the terrace where she could lean against the balustrade. When she was close enough to touch the railing, she sagged against it.

  Her legs trembled beneath her and the air she needed to breathe didn’t seem in ample supply.

  His Grace stepped closer and turned her to allow her to sit on the ledge of the railing. His fingers held her as if she needed his strength and support to remain upright. She did.

  “Take several deep breaths, my lady,” he said.

  Alyssa did as he said. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Her head eventually stopped spinning, and the ringing in her ears faded. “Thank you,” she said.

  When he said nothing in response, she lifted her gaze. Her breath caught.

  His expression contained not a hint of compassion, nor a modicum of concern. What she saw caused a hard lump to drop to the pit of her stomach.

  He focused his gaze out into the darkness, to a spot over her head, on something he couldn’t possibly see. And more frightening, his eyes were cold as ice, lacking any warmth whatsoever.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why did you ask me to dance?”

  Alyssa waited for him to answer, but he didn’t. She realized he had no intention of answering her. That perhaps he didn’t know why he’d asked her to dance. Or, more disheartening, maybe he regretted having asked her.

  She reached deep inside herself to find any scrap of courage she hadn’t used yet, and forced herself to gain control of her emotions. “You may release me now, Your Grace.” She struggled to keep her voice steady, her tone confident. “I am recovered.”

  Alyssa held her breath until he loosened his hands from her arms and stepped away from her. When he released her, he turned his back on her the same as the guests in the ballroom had.

  For some reason she didn’t understand, his rejection was more difficult to endure than any had been earlier. His dismissal angered her to the point that she wanted to lash out at him.

  “I wish to be alone, Your Grace. Please, go back inside before we draw attention.”

  She knew although the words she’d spoken had been polite, her tone had not been. What should have been a request was not. But an order. His Grace did not misinterpret her meaning.

  “Are you asking me to leave, countess? Or insisting?”

  “Interpret my words however you wish, Your Grace. You have already concluded much about me. I therefore see little point in explaining a few spoken words.”

  He turned on her.

  In the moonlight, Alyssa noticed his towering height as well as the strength and breadth of his shoulders. She observed his battle-ready stance, and the powerful stature that made the Duke of Townsend one of the most formidable men in Society. Everything about him warned her to be wary, but she was past heeding any warning the voice inside her issued.

  She could not ascertain his exact age, but she recalled her husband mentioning that the Duke of Townsend had been a year or two younger than himself at school. Which put His Grace at nearing his fiftieth year, but probably not yet having reached it. His appearance as a man in his prime confirmed it.

  Alyssa knew she should apologize for her outburst. The harsh look he leveled at her told her he expected her to. But she was too angry to be cowed by him. Her husband had died tragically, and not one person had come to offer their condolences. After all, why would they console the woman they were convinced had murdered her own husband? She’d stood alone at his graveside, and not one of Society’s elite came to offer her their support. And tonight, she’d been rejected by every person in the ballroom. Except by him.

  Befriending her one minute and turning on her the next was salt in the wound.

  “Why did you come tonight?” he asked.

  She took a step away from the railing to face him. “What would you have me do, Your Grace? Hide away in the country as if I were guilty of the crime I’ve been accused of committing?”

  “Are you saying you are innocent?”

  “Of course I’m innocent,” she cried out.

  She knew what Society thought she’d done. She knew the silly disagreement she and Kendrick had publicly engaged in that horrid night had given rise to the rumor that she had killed him. They didn’t know the truth. No one did.

  “But the reports say—”

  “The reports are wrong.”

  “Then why haven’t you stated your innocence?”

 
“I just did. To you. Did you believe me?”

  “According to the reports you were there when your husband died. Why didn’t you cooperate more with the authorities?”

  It was easy to look back and see how guilty she’d looked, how easy it must have been for the authorities to suspect her. How easy it was for all of Society to believe she’d murdered her husband.

  There was no sign that their home had been broken into, and most of the staff had been away in Yorkshire, attending the funeral of their beloved young footman. Neither the maid nor valet in the servants’ quarters on the third floor had heard a thing. The fact that half of London’s elite had seen her argue with her husband in public earlier that evening only confirmed her guilt in everyone’s eyes. And she’d been so overwhelmed by grief, her thoughts were barely coherent when the authorities questioned her.

  She was the only one who knew that her husband had returned from some unknown errand, and thought he was being followed.

  “Clearly, Your Grace, thanks to the wagging tongues of my friends,” she waved a fluttery hand toward the ballroom door before she continued, “the authorities considered me a greater threat to my husband than anything he might have encountered beyond our gate.”

  The heavy burden she carried seemed more hopeless. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. To battle Society on her own, as she’d always known she’d have to do. To claw her way back into the good graces of the people who had turned their backs on her. And she would do it.

  She’d return to event after event after event, until someone admired her bravery enough not to turn their backs on her. Until one of the friends she and Kendrick had shared realized that she wasn’t capable of committing his murder.

  She lifted her chin and took in a deep breath, praying that her confidence didn’t wane. “I think we’ve said enough. I’d like to be alone now. Please, leave me.”

  The Duke of Townsend gave her a curt nod, then turned his back on her. “As you wish,” he said, then stepped toward the open ballroom door.