Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells)

by Madelynne Ellis

  Morton wept too, his tears dripped in a steady stream onto his cravat.

  Giles found himself curiously devoid of tears. Mostly, he felt disorientated and angry. Oh, yes, still angry. “She died due to a tragic accident and you thought foxing us with some nonsense about childbirth would make things easier? What sort of drivel is that?” He paced twice back and forth across the rug, trying to make sense of such a ridiculous notion. “There was never any doubt in my mind that she’d drowned. I saw that she was wet through, but I thought she’d taken her own life, that your brother had driven her to it. She’d been so weary.”

  Morton raised his head and spoke up, “The weight of the baby was tiring her. She hadn’t been sleeping well either, and her appetite was erratic due to the sickness. But she was happy, Giles. She was delirious with the joy of bearing our first child.” His face crumpled, his eyes briefly closing. “Good God, now I understand why you hated me. Why you were so keen to avoid us.” He glared at his sister and shook his head. “We’re going to the country in the morning and there you and mother are going to explain all this to me in detail until I can make sense of it. Giles,” he offered his hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I feel the need to retire now.”

  Giles accepted both Morton’s hand and the brush off. He felt curiously calm, although his head still spun as he strode towards the door. Clemencè followed him into the hall. “I tried to tell you the truth.” She reached out to touch him, but Giles tottered out of reach. “But you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t meet with me.”

  “You could have written everything you’ve just said in a note.”

  “Mama…”

  He shook his head at her protest. Sometimes you had to step out of line and act as you thought best, rather than blindly follow orders. “Goodbye, Clemencè.” He staggered back into the night.

  By the time Giles reached Piccadilly he’d realized that marching up to the Allenthorpe’s front door would achieve nothing, save perhaps his arrest by a constable or another beating. There seemed to be an unusually large number of lower class men loitering in the vicinity. Macleane’s hired dogs, no doubt.

  He paused outside St. James’s church, only for a carriage to draw to a halt beside him a moment later.

  The twins leapt from its belly. “Thank the Lord,” Darleston sighed. They dragged him inside, where a lantern spilled a warming yellow glow over the plush interior. Giles collapsed onto the squabs cold and achy.

  “Dare we ask where you’ve been?” Darleston threw a rug over Giles’s lap. “Ned assumed you’d gone after Fortuna. I told him even you weren’t that stupid. Not without concocting a half-cocked plan first.”

  Safely in the bowels of the carriage, with a lantern spilling a yellow glow over the interior, exhaustion began to grip Giles more tightly. “I went to see Morton. I was overdue sorting that one out and it seemed an appropriate moment. They can’t do anything to Fortuna until she’s well. And I can’t get any nearer than this.”

  “I take it Morton wasn’t too friendly when you saw him,” said Ned.

  Eyelids already heavy, Giles let them close a moment. His jaw ached, but not as much as his heart. As for the bruises the length and breadth of his body, he just hoped that when he woke tomorrow it wasn’t to find his ribs were cracked. “Not Morton,” he mumbled. “This was courtesy of Clemencè.” He mustered up a smile, but couldn’t maintain it. The new bruise along with the others was beginning to sap his strength. They certainly hurt more now that the brandy induced numbness had worn off.

  Darleston edged forward on the seat opposite and pressed three fingers to Giles’s chin, forcing him to turn his head. His grey eyes opened a fraction wider at the extent of the bruise. “Well damn me! I never thought the woman had it in her to do more than pout prettily and embroider. What did she hit you with, an iron?”

  “A vase.” And a whole slew of distressing truths.

  “With the flowers still in it?” A smirk chased Neddy’s lips, which Giles couldn’t stop himself reciprocating. Only smiling hurt like hell, and he was still so chewed up inside he was scared he might start laughing and never stop again. Lord knows what the damn vase had been made of, but it had near smashed his jaw in two and yet had survived completely intact.

  “Know I’ve been an idiot,” Giles said. “Don’t know how to make it right.”

  “I think you might start with a bath and a night’s rest. There’s nothing else you can do for Fortuna right now, Giles. She needs to heal. Any further adventures you’re thinking of offering her will have to wait.”

  “Can’t abandon her to Macleane.”

  “And we won’t.” Darleston tucked a second blanket around Giles’s shoulders. “Rest easy, now. We’ll work something out in the morning. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know you’re not the only one who’s had a foul day. We bumped into Henry Tristan a little while back. Apparently, Pitt’s resigned as Prime Minister over the Irish Catholics. Doesn’t want to antagonise the King. Addington is to form the new government.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Much wickedness abounds in the affairs of the most noble Lord D—. If abandonment of his lady wife were not proof enough of his wretchedness towards the fairer sex, her ladyship now fears her husband complicit in such crimes as Lord Castlehaven was convicted more than a hundred years ago.

  Giles flung the open newspaper into the fire. Damn Lucy and her slanderous rumours! As if things weren’t awry enough already without her petty interference. What did she hope to achieve? Darleston would never welcome her back. He’d leave the country rather than tolerate a return to his sham marriage.

  Fingers pressed to his eyes, Giles’s thoughts drifted rapidly away from his friend. Nine days he’d now spent without Fortuna, a longer period than she’d spent in his house. Nine days of waking alone in a house choked with ash. The fire had completely destroyed the drawing room and entrance hall, and everything else was soot stained and smoky. He lifted a book from the nearby table and blew the dust from its cover. The library had been closed and hence had been spared much damage. It remained his one haven while Kitty, and the still poorly but indomitable Leach, along with an army of plasterers and carpenters repaired the damage. Not for the first time he contemplated leaving town, but he couldn’t leave Fortuna behind, but nor could he get to her. His only consolation was the fact that Fortuna remained unwed. However, with Macleane’s constant presence at her bedside and his dogs patrolling the area around her house, he’d been unable to visit or even discover much about her condition.

  “Lord Darleston’s here, sir.” Leach appeared at Giles’s side with a pot of tea, which he pushed onto the table alongside Giles’s soot-stained book. He prodded the half-burned newspaper, which was slowly crumbing into ash across the hearthstone, into the flames.

  “I know. I ought to take more care if I don’t wish my library to go the way of the rest of my house,” said Giles. He watched the newsprint catch and bright orange flames leap high up the chimney. “Best see him in.”

  Darleston had already shown himself in. He skipped his hat across the leather-top of Giles’s desk before coming to join him by the fire. “I take it you’ve seen it,” he remarked of the burning newspaper. “If I should have the misfortune of setting eyes on that woman again I’ll make a point of wringing her neck.”

  Giles patted his friend’s gloved fist. “If I don’t do it first.” He waved Darleston into a seat. At least some things never changed. They were doing a good job of pretending nothing unusual had occurred between them at the molly house. “Where’s your brother this morning?”

  Darleston shrugged, so that his recently cut and now tidied hair framed his narrow face like an auburn halo. “I’m not entirely sure. He mentioned something about a reconnaissance mission and an appointment with a jeweller at breakfast, but as to what either entails... I don’t know, Giles. He’s hardly been himself lately. I can’t tell what’s going on inside his head.”

  “Reconnaissance, aye. Everyone talks to Ned, they c
an’t help themselves, but I’ve not sent him to a jeweller. He’s obviously about some ploy of his own that he’s not shared yet.” He and Neddy had talked long into the night the previous evening, reliving memories of what they’d shared with Fortuna. It had eased Giles’s mind over a couple of points, primarily that Neddy harboured no deep infatuation with Fortuna, although he’d sworn to do everything in his power to help.

  Giles pushed himself out of the chair and went to stand before the fire. “Any other news?” he asked. Time was ticking by. They would have to act soon. Macleane wouldn’t delay the wedding indefinitely. He was not a patient man, and Fortuna’s injuries were surely healing well by now. His own bruises had faded to mottled greens and yellows. “Did the countess pay her visit?”

  Darleston followed him to the fireside. “She did, but I’m afraid she didn’t get to see Fortuna, or any of her sisters for that matter. They have her convalescing in bed in preparation for the wedding, and as I understand it, she’s heavily dosed with laudanum to ease the pain.”

  The pain of what, he wondered, her injuries or life itself? “It makes her sick, you know,” he groaned. How stupid that he’d fallen for her in Pennerley’s garden just after she’d vomited around her feet. Yet he had. He’d wanted her from that very moment, when she reached out and took his hip flask from his hand to take away the taste of whatever had pained her then.

  “Laudanum makes most of us sick, Giles. It’ll help her rest, and she needs that in order to heal. A few bad sprains are nothing to what it could have been. I thought her dead for certain.”

  How clammy her skin had felt as he’d held her in his arms by the wagon side. Even now the moment was sharp enough to cut his heart in two.

  “And Macleane,” he growled. “What of him? Is he still at her bedside?”

  Darleston thoughtfully steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. “Mr. Allenthorpe’s study, I believe, rather than her bedside. I understand he’s not left the house since her return. Likely he’ll be there until the wedding.”

  He had to ask. “When is it?”

  “First thing, at St James’s,” Darleston said so fast, he almost missed it.

  “That soon? Why didn’t you come straight round?” Giles snatched up the poker and stabbed it repeatedly into the blazing coals, causing burning ash to spill over the hearth.

  “Giles,” Darleston stayed his hand. “I came as soon as I was able. I suspect she’s better than she’s letting on. Do you honestly think Macleane cares either way?”

  “Lord, no. The only thing that baboon is interested in is that stupid rock.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  Giles shrugged. “Steal her away. Contest the will.”

  “And if that fails? Not that you’ve time for the latter.”

  He hadn’t a clue. Giles gripped the mantle with both hands and knocked his brow against the plinth.

  “I notice you’re not mentioning marriage. I thought you’d settled the issue of Emily’s death.”

  Giles stared at his friend as Darleston nervously wetted his lips. The truth was, what had befallen his sister had been a tragic accident. The only wrong of her marriage, was that he’d forced her to accept it in the first place. Afterwards, she’d been content, happy even, if Morton were to be believed. “Aye,” he sighed cautiously. “I have, but that doesn’t change the fundamental flaw with the institution. Marriage is still bondage. It’s still servitude. Not something I wish to be part of. I want her, Darleston, don’t get me wrong, but I desire an arrangement that doesn’t involve shackles. I find the very idea of sacrificing my principles in order to give Macleane some poxy gem quite loathsome.”

  “Loathsome or not, are you prepared to do it?”

  Giles fell quiet as he gently worried his lower lip.

  Darleston’s warm hand curled around his shoulder. “It’s a big step. I know it. But, I think it’s worth stating here that you’re fighting this battle on the wrong front. What you’re missing here, Giles, is that marriage is whatever you choose to make of it. Not every marriage is as foul as mine. You’d be marrying for love, and should you wed, then it would be up to you what liberties and rights you grant Fortuna. You can give her whatever she wants and deliver her freedom. You could even write it into your vows.”

  “I can? I… Oh!” He had not considered the vows they would make. The law would still see her as his property, a fact he despised, but he did not have to treat her like that.

  “Giles, I’m not saying give up your principles. You should champion your cause. It’s a good one. Women have few rights, and there is no reason why they should be entirely dependent upon us. However, it’s a war that needs to be waged in the Commons not the bedroom.”

  “Politics! Will they listen?”

  “Perhaps not at first, but you won’t know until you try. I think Fortuna might even help you. You know there are others who share your views. I’ve seen the words of Godwin and Wollstonecraft littered about the place. Just don’t expect change overnight.”

  As Darleston’s words sunk in, Giles nodded his head. “But how do I get to her? I doubt that walking into the wedding tomorrow and demanding her affections at gunpoint will win me any points with the in-laws. Plus it would necessitate shooting Macleane and leaves far too bloody much to chance.”

  His friend’s expressive lips twitched with amusement. “Rash. Although, not entirely without appeal. I wish somebody had done that at my wedding. It’d have saved me a great deal of hell. But no. You’re forgetting your own talents, Giles.”

  Was he? What talents did he have besides a propensity for indolence and debauchery? An aptitude for seduction hardly seemed something to crow about when his lover’s freedom was at stake and his pigheadedness had already damn near killed her.

  “You’ve charmed your way past guards and into bedchambers before.”

  Giles wearily shook his head. “Are you saying I should climb in her window?”

  Darleston tilted his head. “I’m sure Ned and I can draw off the guards. And even if you’re seen by one of the family once you’re inside, I’m not sure they’d stop you. I doubt any of them have much taste for Macleane in their lives anymore, and he’s already threatened to stick his nose into the younger girls’ affairs once he and Fortuna are wed.”

  “I bet they’d still prefer him than risk a trip to the poorhouse.”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to do that to them, because you’re going to give Macleane what he wants, and we both know that isn’t Fortuna.” Darleston turned away and walked over to the window. The snow that had covered the ground a week ago was gone and a less crisp spring wind tousled the bonnet ribbons and coat tails of the passers-by.

  “Marriage,” Giles blurted. An incredulous grin tugged at his cheeks and lips. He still couldn’t comprehend that he was even contemplating the notion. Some of the bucks were bound to brand him a turncoat, but what did it matter if it set Fortuna and her family free?

  “It won’t kill you.”

  “It ain’t done you any favours.”

  Darleston heaved in a huge breath, making his nostrils flare. Still breathing heavily, he returned to the table and poured tea into a china cup.

  “Will you petition for a divorce?” Giles asked. He watched his friend scoop numerous spoonfuls of sugar into the liquid before stirring it and offering the drink to him.

  “To what purpose, Giles? I’d gain nothing from it. Rumours about my peccadilloes already grace the society sheets. Further scandal might well see me at risk for my life. No, I think it best if I simply avoid her. She has an allowance and she’ll ruin herself given time enough.” He poured a second cup of tea and sipped it slowly. “I’m going to head out into the shires for a while, and keep my head low, but not until I know you’re settled.” His grey irises fixed intently upon Giles’s face. “You don’t have the luxury of time on you side. Nor do I. What’s it to be, Giles? Are you going to claim her tonight, or not?”

  “License,” Giles blurted.
“How and where exactly do I get one?”

  * * * * *

  Only a short ride away on Jermyn Street, Fortuna lay in her bed with her eyes shut tight, faking a ragged breath. He was in her room again, that odious man whom she could hardly bear to look upon. For days she’d lain here defenceless while her injuries mended, with her senses dulled by endless prescriptive compounds, and every time the layers of fog peeled back he’d been there, always at the foot of the bed, never any closer, always waiting.

  Tomorrow after their vows were said, he’d presumably no longer hold back. How her stomach turned at the thought of him peeling back the covers and lifting her shift. She couldn’t imagine him naked. Didn’t want to.

  She wanted Giles.

  Even though she’d lain here in her prescriptive haze and cursed him to the devil. If only he weren’t so stubborn and blinded by ideals, then he might have answered her sooner and they wouldn’t have been in the molly house when Macleane had arrived. Hell, if he’d wed her when he’d first expressed his love for her then the whole situation might have been avoided. Why did she have to fall for the most stubborn man in England?

  At least he hadn’t forgotten her. While he hadn’t come to the house—too dangerous with Macleane’s hired men patrolling the area—he had sent members of his circle to enquire after her. The Countess of Onnerley had called, so to had Charles Aubrey and Giles’s neighbour, Mrs. Richardson. Also, she had no doubt that if she could somehow escape, he would harbour her again.

  She loved her family, but at this moment, if she could’ve run she’d have done so. Alas that her ankle still pained her whenever she stood and any sort of clothing dug into the extensive bruising across her ribs. Many of the marks had faded to yellow, but there were still patches of more conspicuous reds and blues.