The Scandal of the Season

by Annie Burrows

  She would just have to endure London for as long as these two wanted her to stay. And during that time she could hopefully find a way to prevent Miss Henley from becoming a social pariah, before they all went back to Market Gooding.

  * * *

  Nathaniel had spent that same evening, and then the night, pacing back and forth in his room. Sleep was impossible, with all that he had on his mind.

  She’d been a virgin.

  She’d put her arms round him and told him she wanted him, had rubbed her leg up and down his flank, and had smiled at him, even giggled when he’d picked her up and carried her to her bed.

  So how the hell could she have been a virgin? Virgins didn’t put their arms round men and giggle. They didn’t invite them up to their rooms and send for tea, but not a chaperon. They didn’t get a man out of his wet boots and jacket, and put a dash of brandy into his tea, either. Those were the actions of a...

  He turned on his heel. Those were the actions of a compassionate woman who trusted a man completely because she had no idea she was behaving improperly. In the same way that she’d had no idea she was behaving improperly that night at the White Hart, all those years ago. Because she hadn’t had an attentive chaperon to guide her. Where the devil had her mother been? How could a woman allow her daughter to go off to a public event of that nature, to which any randy buck could gain admittance for the price of a ticket, without even warning her of the dangers of wandering off alone?

  And why hadn’t she learned any sense in all the years since then? Why hadn’t she...?

  No. It was not right to blame her. He was the one who’d behaved improperly. Indecently. And it was no use blaming that rush of emotion that had poured from him when he’d started talking about the horses. He shouldn’t have mentioned them. He’d always known they were some sort of trigger, that if he ever admitted how he’d felt, had ever started to unbutton, he’d be lost.

  Only he hadn’t thought he would lose himself in that fashion. He’d thought he would have succumbed to feeble tears, or humiliating drunkenness. He’d never dreamed he would turn into some kind of...ravening beast and pounce on the very person who least deserved it...

  He turned to pace in the other direction and forced himself to examine everything, from her eager touch to her little cries, and gasps and groans which had been a genuine expression of the wonder she’d been experiencing.

  Wonder. Because it had all taken her by surprise.

  Though nobody had been more surprised than him when she’d turned down his proposal of marriage. Flat. Most women, when caught in such a situation, would have been relieved that a man was prepared to do the honourable thing. Instead, she’d acted as if he’d insulted her.

  Though, he supposed, in a way, he had. His words had sounded clumsy and...not right, even to his own ears, as he’d been uttering them. No, not clumsy, offensive, his conscience whispered. What woman would not be offended when told she should have saved her virginity for her wedding night, by the man to whom she’d just gifted it?

  He reached the bed and turned.

  He’d never been much of a lady’s man, that was part of his problem. He’d never acquired the knack of uttering smooth compliments. He’d been used to the world of men. Of being forthright. Honest. Only on this occasion, had he needed to be brutally honest? Could he not have...?

  Hah. It was all very well looking back and seeing what he should have said. Or refrained from saying. Or said sooner. If he’d only proposed before kissing her, then she wouldn’t have misunderstood his reaction to discovering he’d just deflowered her. Clumsily. With no finesse at all.

  And even if he’d still blurted out those words of self-recrimination for losing control yet again when it was the one trait he prized in himself above all others, she might have been inclined to listen instead of running away and hiding. And he could have said that the blame was entirely his and beg her forgiveness for rushing her into a physical embrace that went so far beyond the bounds of acceptable behaviour...

  That he’d wanted her so much, had wanted her for so long, that, when she’d responded to his kiss so sweetly it had been like a dam bursting.

  Hell, why was it always like a dam bursting with her? He ran his fingers through his hair as he reached the window, before turning and pacing back again. Why couldn’t he maintain any self-control the minute he got within two feet of her? No matter how sternly he lectured himself, or how many times he made sure the buttons of his waistcoat were fully fastened, why hadn’t he ever been able to resist her? Or just stay away when he very first started to feel that magnetic pull she exerted?

  Because he hadn’t wanted to, he decided as he approached the bed. It was as simple as that. No matter what anyone told him she was, no matter what his mission in her regard had been, no matter how harshly he’d felt obliged to speak to her, the truth was he’d just been glad of any excuse to get close to her. No matter how poorly the encounter went. Because—he came to an abrupt halt as the truth struck him between the eyes—he was in love with her.

  Almost at once, something else struck him, even more forcibly.

  He’d ruined everything.

  He breathed in, then out, fighting down a wave of nausea that rose on the thought that he might have driven her away for good.

  But then he whirled away from the bed, his fighting spirit rising up with a roar, yelling No. He would not sit back and wallow in self-recrimination, whimpering that he might have lost her. Battles were not won by men who sat down and hung their heads in despair. They were won by men who refused to admit defeat, even when the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against them.

  So, yes, he might have blundered, very badly, but he’d already taken steps to mitigate his error. He’d put the room to rights before he summoned a servant and demanded the return of his boots and jacket. Because she would not have wanted anyone to know what they’d just done. What she’d let him do. No, what she’d done. She’d enjoyed it, he was sure of it, right up to the point where he’d opened his big mouth and put his foot right in it. He must cling to that fact, for in it lay seeds of hope.

  He reached the window and turned back.

  He didn’t want anyone to know what he’d done, either, if it came to that. God in heaven, he wasn’t the kind of man who went round debauching innocents. He detested men who behaved little better than animals.

  He was ashamed of himself. In so many ways.

  Yet...he couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened. Because, thanks to Cassy, he’d spoken about his struggle, got it all out in the open and survived. He’d felt sad when he’d told her about the slaughter of the horses and the terrible deaths of the civilians caught up in the train of the army, but it hadn’t cut him off at the knees. Because, when all was said and done, the retreat to Corunna had happened years ago.

  While he’d been keeping his mind fully occupied, it appeared to have...healed up somewhat. The way a wound cut into his flesh would have healed. He thought of some of the men who’d almost died of their injuries. Carter, who’d lost an arm, or Barnes, who’d lost a foot to frostbite. Both men had gone through painful treatment and slow recovery. Had formed scabs and scars and struggled to get back to some semblance of normality. But they’d done it. Both of them were now leading almost normal lives. To look at them, it was almost impossible to tell what an ordeal they’d been through.

  The bed was in his way again, so he had to do an about-face. As he did so, he recalled the jolt he’d suffered when she’d talked about the way he was burying himself away as though he wasn’t grateful for being spared. It had...been like a shaft of light spearing through all the darkness that had been shrouding him.

  It made him see that he ought to be more grateful for his life. And he was. He was. For having four functioning limbs and a solid roof over his head, servants to do his bidding, and work which enabled him to make a difference to the fate of those less privileged th
an himself. Hell, he was even grateful, at this moment, for his crazy, meddling sister. Because if not for her, he would never have found his way back to Cassy.

  He wouldn’t be standing here feeling as if he had his whole life ahead of him, to make of whatever he wanted. With Cassy, the woman he loved, hopefully at his side.

  As he reached the window yet again he noticed with a shock that it was no longer completely dark outside. He could make out the outlines of rooftops against the pale grey sky. And it occurred to him that he, too, felt lighter than he had done for some considerable time. As though a great burden had fallen away.

  It really was a new day.

  Right then. Yesterday, and all the mistakes he’d made during the course of it, was over. He could start this day with a clean slate. And if his mind was truly healed, then it was about time he put it to good use. Come up with a stratagem to win Cassy round. Because he wanted—no, had—to marry her. There was no alternative.

  But how to start? What was the etiquette for this type of situation? Had they danced together the night before, he could have sent her flowers. If he sent her flowers today, she’d probably rip off all the petals and then thrash the delivery man with the stems.

  His mouth pulled up at the corners. Which stunned him. He...he couldn’t be smiling, could he? At the vision of Cassy thrashing some poor defenceless florist round the head with his own bouquet?

  He raised a questing hand to his mouth. Which had, of its own volition, smiled. At the thought of Cassy, proud, defiant, unconventional Cassy, taking out her anger with a bunch of flowers.

  It would almost be worth sending some and hiding round the corner to watch her do it. He chuckled. Then blinked in surprise. When was the last time he’d laughed at something amusing he’d been thinking about? He cast his mind back, trying to capture such a moment. Then shook his weary head. His mind was too woolly with fatigue to think straight. As if to confirm that theory, a yawn took him unawares.

  He still didn’t have any idea exactly how he was going to make Cassy change her mind about marrying him, but change it he would. He was going to lay siege to her and not give in until she’d capitulated.

  After he’d had a good few hours’ sleep.

  Having come to that decision, he yawned again, stretched his arms and finally lay down on his bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next afternoon Cassy paid a call on the Henleys. For a couple of reasons.

  For one thing, it was all very well Godmama saying her aunts didn’t need to work, so it wouldn’t matter if the Henleys did prevent people from giving them custom, because her aunts did rely on local goodwill. People could be so cruel to ladies who stepped beyond the bounds of social convention, for whatever reason. So, if there was anything Cassy could do to protect the ladies who’d been so kind to her from suffering that kind of ostracism, then she had to do it.

  For another, she couldn’t forget that Miss Henley was not very much older than she’d been when she’d run off with Guy. Girls of that age were easily led astray by glib-tongued so-called friends, and she had no doubt that it was that haughty female she’d seen her with who’d put her up to the spreading of rumours.

  And also that it was in her power to rescue Miss Henley before things went too far.

  Lastly, she could not condone what Godmama might have set in train regarding Miss Henley. And Godmama could protest all she liked about wanting retribution for Cassy’s sake, but she couldn’t help thinking that Godmama was far more concerned about herself in all of this. She might smile and call her darling, but Cassy had started to notice that she smiled more and became most affectionate when she was trying to get her own way.

  ‘Miss Furnival!’ Lady Henley got to her feet when Cassy entered her drawing room, her expression wary. It made Cassy wonder why she hadn’t instructed her butler to deny her admission.

  ‘I did not expect...’ Lady Henley’s face was pale. ‘That is, I am sure you have no reason to...’

  ‘Lady Henley,’ said Cassy, cutting through all the stuttering and bluster. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that this business will be better carried on behind closed doors,’ she said defensively. ‘But let me assure you, had we known of your connection to the Duchess of Theakstone we would have...that is...’ She shot her daughter, who was sitting bolt upright on her chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her lips pinched, a dirty look. ‘Although of course now,’ she said crossly, ‘I suppose it would be out of the question.’

  So Godmama had been correct. Had they known about Cassy’s connection to a lady of such high station, they would have beaten a path to her door. Which gave her hope that her offer of a truce would succeed.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Cassy, going to sit on the chair next to Miss Henley. ‘In fact, I very much hope that you will come to call upon us, in Grosvenor Square, several times over the next couple of days. Just to show everyone that we...’ she waved a hand between herself and Miss Henley ‘...are on friendly terms. Because if something is not done soon then I fear that remarks made by my godmother may prove fatal to your daughter’s reputation.’

  Lady Henley heaved a sigh of relief. ‘There! What did I tell you, you silly girl?’ she said to her daughter, who was looking more resentful than ever. ‘Let this be a lesson to you to be more careful about your choice of friends.’

  ‘I thought she was just a seamstress,’ Miss Henley protested.

  ‘Well, that just goes to show that you should treat everyone with respect,’ returned her mother. ‘You never know who anyone may be connected to!’

  Cassy decided to intervene swiftly, before the Henleys launched into a full-blown quarrel.

  ‘Do you have invitations to the Cardingtons’ ball tonight?’ Godmama had said they probably would, because Lady Cardington was one of those people who only considered their balls a success if people could scarcely squeeze into the ballroom.

  When Lady Henley nodded, Cassy had to concede, once again, that Godmama knew what she was talking about when it came to society matters.

  ‘Good. I shall make sure that Godmama comes to speak to you both and appears friendly.’ She’d been very firm with Godmama about it, before setting out here, not wishing to arrive empty-handed, so to speak. Which had surprised everyone, not least herself. But she simply had not been able to stand back and allow Godmama to destroy a girl’s reputation, apparently for the fun of it. ‘I know,’ she said grimly, ‘what it feels like to be a social pariah. And I would not wish that on anyone.’

  Miss Henley bridled at that. However, that very same night, probably after much more talking-to from her mother, she smiled very prettily when Godmama approached her at the Cardingtons’ crush. And Lady Henley became almost incoherent with gratitude when Godmama got Captain Bucknell to clear a path through the throng for all of them, so that the two older ladies could take places on the crowded chaperons’ seats side by side.

  Having succeeded in making Godmama behave, and putting Miss Henley in her place, Cassy suddenly found that she had the courage to say what she liked to anyone.

  She no longer cared if she gave offence, for some reason. Possibly because it no longer mattered what anyone thought of her now that she truly was a fallen woman. Which struck her as rather ironic, when she’d found it so hard to defend herself when she’d been innocent.

  As the evening progressed, she began to enjoy coming up with increasingly quelling responses to all the insincere flattery that came her way. She’d always wished she had the courage to tell men what she thought of them and their ridiculously overblown compliments. Now that she had nothing to lose she’d finally found it.

  She’d never been desperate to find a husband, so what did it matter if she drove away all the suitors that Godmama insisted were the most eligible? She’d been minding her manners rather than speaking her mind for so long that it was like a... />
  She scowled. She would not think about the nature of ginger-beer bottles and popping their corks.

  The scowl finished off what her tart rejoinders had begun. Before much longer she ended up all alone on the fringes of the ballroom with an empty champagne glass in her hand. But she didn’t care. If she wanted another drink, she was perfectly capable of summoning a waiter herself. Or even walking into the refreshment room and getting one there. She had no need of a man to fetch and carry for her.

  She didn’t need a man for anything.

  No sooner had she come to that conclusion than a flurry of activity by the doorway drew her attention. Lady Cardington was going into raptures over the latest arrival—who was none other than Colonel Fairfax.

  Cassandra set her empty glass down on a windowsill and turned her head away, but not before seeing him scanning the ballroom over his hostess’s head and start heading in her direction.

  Cassy’s heart began hammering in her chest. It felt as if every minute of this day had been leading up to this moment. Even the men to whom she’d been so rude had only been in the light of a rehearsal for the main event. Because this was the man she was really angry with. This was the man she truly wanted to flay with her tongue and cut down to size.

  His long legs ate up the distance rapidly, even though he didn’t look as if he was hurrying. Even though she wasn’t watching. Well, except for brief, sideways glances.

  In next to no time he was standing over her, bowing. His eyes were bright, she noted with resentment, when hers felt so gritty through lack of sleep. He clearly hadn’t spent the night weeping into his pillow. But then why should he? He didn’t care a rap for her. Not a rap. Or he couldn’t have done...what he’d done, thinking what he thought of her while he was doing it.

  ‘Would you,’ he said, ‘do me the honour of joining me in the next set?’

  ‘No,’ she replied as stonily as she could, considering this was a public place.