A Taste for Scandal

by Brenda Hiatt

  The next day saw another running of the Cottesmore, where Lord Lonsdale was perfectly agreeable to Miss Turpin participating again. As before, she acquitted herself exceedingly well.

  Wednesday marked Miss Turpin’s first appearance at the Belvoir, where she prevailed upon her brother to approach the Duke of Rutland and his huntsman, Goosey, on her behalf. Rush kept his distance from the discussion, but other members of the Seven Saints were not so reticent.

  “On my oath, your grace, if you’d seen her in the Cottesmore you’d not hesitate to allow it,” Stormy declared. Killer and Littleton chorused their agreement.

  “What say you, Lord Anthony?” the duke asked, turning. “Your lady has set the standard, after all.”

  Anthony laughed. “Your grace cannot expect me to put any other lady on the same level as my wife? However I must say that Miss Turpin rides as well as any other lady I’ve witnessed in the saddle.”

  With a chuckle, the duke nodded. “Very well, then. With such champions, how can I refuse? Turpin, you may tell your sister I’ll allow it.”

  Needless to say, Miss Turpin was ecstatic. Though careful to pay her no more attention than was wise, Rush greatly enjoyed another opportunity to watch her riding to hounds.

  That he’d seen nothing of Julian Bigsby since the Quorn only added to his satisfaction. If the cad had decided trifling with Miss Turpin was not worth risking her brother’s ire, Rush considered it all to the good.

  Chapter Four

  The following evening, Rush surveyed the crowd assembled at Ivy Lodge with bemused detachment. He’d always felt half the point of wintering in the Shires was to escape the crush and pressures of Society. Lady Killerby had been adamant, however, that the Seven Saints must host a dance to be taken seriously as a hunt club.

  He had to admit she’d made a good business of it. Ivy Lodge was filled with laughter, music and a variety of local gentry enjoying a warm escape from the February chill. Watching several couples gaily moving through the interlacing figures of a Scotch reel, their cheeks bright with exertion, he smiled despite his reservations.

  “Never would have thought our little hunt club could pull off such a do,” exclaimed Killer, returning from partnering Mrs. Turpin in the dance. “M’mother has really outdone herself.”

  Dina smiled. “Indeed she has. I am enjoying myself immensely after so many weeks devoted to nothing but estate matters. But why are you not dancing, Lord Rushford?”

  “The last set had already begun when I made my way downstairs,” he explained, ignoring the knowing twinkle in her green eyes. “I had some correspondence to attend to before I could see my way clear to joining the, ah, festivities.”

  “You are here now, however, and I see my sister-in-law heading this way. You should discover whether she is engaged for the next set.”

  Telling himself that he might as well get the inevitable out of the way early, just as he had with his correspondence, Rush held his ground as Miss Turpin joined them.

  “I know Lady Killerby was hoping for a crush, but my goodness!” she exclaimed, fanning herself. “Perhaps it is a sign of her success to have so many people here, but I would much prefer to move through the figures without fearing I will be knocked down by someone in the next set.” Her smile and sparkling eyes belied her complaint.

  When she turned her animated face Rush’s way, he responded with a bow. “Might I request the honor of a dance before such an unfortunate event occurs?”

  “Certainly,” she replied, her surprise evident. “I am bespoken to Sir Charles for the next set, but I am free for the one after that.”

  “I shall look forward to it, then.” Perhaps he could use that dance to learn a bit more about the too-attractive Miss Turpin. Discovering more evidence of her flightiness might help to break the spell she had cast over him. He hoped so.

  Soliciting Dina’s hand for the set just forming, he led her to the floor.

  “I must agree with Violet that I should have been quite happy had Lady Killerby been a bit less successful in filling the rooms,” she confessed as they took their places. “I am glad for this chance to enjoy another dance before the crowd and heat become too oppressive.”

  Rush chuckled. “I shall do my best to ensure you are not trampled by any other dancers.” Given Mrs. Turpin’s diminutive stature, it seemed a definite risk.

  Dina acquitted herself gracefully during the cotillion that followed, though she was noticeably breathless at its conclusion.

  “May I fetch you a glass of something?” Rush offered.

  “And risk you missing the next dance? Certainly not. In any event, here is my husband now to do that office.” She turned smilingly to Thor and he circled her small waist with his arm.

  Their obvious delight in each other caused Rush to feel a pang of…not jealously, precisely, but a longing he could not define. Though he felt not the slightest inclination to attach Dina’s affections himself, he could not deny a touch of envy at his friend’s unmistakeable happiness in the married state. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had been too precipitate last summer in committing his future to a virtual unknown.

  That unsettling line of thought was broken by Miss Turpin returning from the dance. Firmly reminding himself to use this opportunity to quash his desire for her, he extended his arm.

  “Shall we?”

  Her smile faltered and he realized that in his determination to resist her charms, he had spoken more formally than he had intended. Probably just as well.

  Without replying, she placed gloved fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her the five or six steps to the makeshift dance floor.

  “I imagine this small gathering scarcely qualifies as a ball in your estimation, crowded though it is?” he asked as they waited for the music to begin.

  After a quick, doubtful glance at him, she smiled. “You must not imagine I have extensive experience with balls, my lord. Other than our monthly assemblies in Alford, I have only attended the beginning of one, in London last year.”

  He recalled Thor telling him why her one London ball was cut short but before he could comment, Lady Killerby—their sole musician tonight—began a sprightly air on the pianoforte and the dancing resumed. When the figures brought Rush and Miss Turpin together again, she continued their interrupted conversation.

  “What about you, Lord Rushford? Do you prefer a small, country entertainment such as this one to the grander balls found in London? I imagine you have far more experience of those than I.”

  He considered for a moment before replying, “Balls have never been among my favorite amusements, however large or small they may be. I would far rather exert myself on the hunting field.”

  “What amusements do you enjoy, beyond fox hunting?” she asked.

  “Er…” To his secret dismay, he couldn’t think of any. Odd. Surely there were numerous things he had liked to do when he was younger? “I suppose between estate business and other demands, fox hunting is the only one I’ve made time for lately,” he finally confessed.

  Her gaze now seemed almost pitying, prompting him to speak again before she could press him further on what had suddenly become an uncomfortable topic.

  “What of you, Miss Turpin? What are your favorite amusements, beyond midnight gallops on purloined horses, inappropriately flamboyant gowns, and I know not what else.”

  “I see Grant has been carrying tales. It was just one midnight gallop,” she informed him, “and scarcely anyone saw me in that scarlet gown, for Aunt Philomena whisked me out of the Trumbull’s ballroom the moment I removed my cloak. I didn’t even—”

  She broke off as the dance again separated them. When they came back together, she continued in a slightly different vein.

  “You asked about my interests, but mine are almost too many to enumerate,” she said smilingly. “I enjoy all manner of socializing, in small parties or large, as well as theatrical performances and musicales, few though my opportunities have been in the country. Riding is an e
special passion of mine, as you are no doubt aware by now. And lest I sound completely frivolous in comparison to someone so responsible as yourself, I also find pleasure in taking gift baskets to our poorer tenants, though I cannot call that exciting. Of course, when adventure offers in no other way, I can always find it between the covers of a book.”

  His brows rose. “Books?” he echoed. “You enjoy reading, then?”

  “You needn’t look so surprised,” she admonished him. “As it happens, reading has been a pleasure of mine since I was a young girl. A pleasure I assume you do not share, Lord Rushford?”

  “On the contrary, I should have listed it as one of my principal diversions beyond hunting.”

  The demands of the dance forced another pause, during which Rush cautioned himself that Miss Turpin’s liking to read hardly negated her tendency to imprudence.

  To further convince himself of that, he returned to the topic of books at first opportunity. “From what you said before, I imagine you prefer novels to more, ah, serious subjects in your reading?”

  “Not always. I have lately quite enjoyed a work of nonfiction dealing with the Saint of Seven Dials. Have you read it?”

  He shook his head.

  “You should, as your hunt club was named in his honor. I found it quite as exciting as any novel. The more I learn of the Saint, the more I admire him. Even so, your assumption was essentially correct, for since leaving the schoolroom I have tended to seek out novels for my reading pleasure. Romantic ones, in particular.” She slanted a flirtatious glance up at him.

  Powerfully tempted to respond in kind, he forced himself to look away.

  “Ah, I see you despise me for that,” she said, misinterpreting his reaction. “May I ask if you have ever read one?”

  “A romantic novel?” he asked in surprise. “No. I should say the closest I’ve come is the occasional romantic bit of poetry by Byron or the like.”

  “Ah, I thought as much. Educated as you have no doubt been in scientific methods of analysis, my lord, I am surprised that you would condemn an entire branch of literature without first studying it.”

  The dance required another break in conversation just then, rather to Rush’s relief. He needed the time to marshal an argument against her implicit accusation of unthinking prejudice.

  “Tell me, Miss Turpin,” he said loftily when they next came together, “how many branches of literature did you sample before fixing upon romantic novels as superior to the rest?”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “All, or nearly all, I should say,” she replied, surprising him further. “Do you forget what a scholar my father is? Until my mother sent me away to Miss Gebhart’s, he took the greater part of my education upon himself. I was only permitted to read novels when my other studies for the day were complete—perhaps why I came to think of them as pleasurable rewards. He was rather an exacting taskmaster.”

  Rush blinked, struggling to reconcile the idea of a studious Miss Turpin with the madcap girl he’d known and the scandal-prone woman she’d become. Fortunately, the dance ended a moment later and he was able to surrender her to her next partner.

  Unfortunately for his peace of mind, it appeared the lovely Miss Turpin was not so empty-headed as he’d thought. Surely, though, a clever woman bent upon mischief was far more dangerous than a less intelligent one could be?

  Not that it mattered. His tacit engagement to Miss Simpson should safeguard both his name and his heart from falling prey to such a seductive peril.

  Violet was in high spirits when she took her place opposite Roger Littleton for the next set. She had quite enjoyed her conversation with Lord Rushford—and had particularly enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when he learned the extent of her education.

  She was also pleased about making her first real progress in engaging the elusive Lord Rushford’s interest. Not only had he asked her to dance, but he had made an actual effort to converse with her. Surely he would not have done so if he were not attracted to her?

  Though she knew that many men, perhaps most men, considered women inferior in both intelligence and abilities, she’d been startled to hear such antiquated opinions from such a close friend of her brother’s. She hoped she had given Lord Rushford food for thought—and perhaps the impetus to change his thinking—just now. If he danced with her again, she would attempt to build upon that start.

  Lady Killerby launched into another sprightly country tune, forcing her to attend to the demands of the dance—though she could not help noticing that Lord Rushford was now partnering Miss Augusta Melks in another set.

  She suddenly wondered whether his recent coolness toward herself might be because he was attracted? Given how leery of commitment most bachelors were, he might fear—

  “—dance divinely, Miss Turpin,” Mr. Littleton was saying.

  Guiltily, she pulled her attention away from the other set. “Why, I thank you, sir. You are quite accomplished at the art yourself.”

  He preened visibly at the compliment, though privately Violet considered his dancing much inferior to her last partner’s. For a man who claimed not to particularly enjoy the pursuit, Lord Rushford was remarkably skilled at it…

  To avoid falling into another reverie, Violet donned a bright smile. “Pray tell me, Mr. Littleton, did you also fight in the recent wars, as so many of the Seven Saints did?”

  He nodded. “Of the founding members, I believe only Lord Killerby did not—and quite bitter he is about it, too. I was not cavalry, however, so did not have the good fortune to serve under Rush, as Stormy, Anthony and your brother did. Though I saw my share of the fighting, my father was only able to purchase me a lieutenant’s commission in the 45th Foot.”

  He went on to explain that he’d been friends with the others at Oxford prior to joining the army, as had Lord Killerby. All of them had also hunted foxes together for years.

  Violet had to feign more interest than she felt, for she’d already heard most of this from Grant. She was struck, however, by the admiring way Mr. Littleton spoke of Lord Rushford and his style of command during the war. Grant often evinced that same admiration when talking about him—one reason she had fixed upon Lord Rushford as a sort of romantic ideal.

  When the dance ended, Violet again glanced toward the other set in time to see Lord Rushford hastily abandoning his partner to assist a noticeably pale Dina to a nearby chair. Violet immediately excused herself to hurry over to her sister-in-law.

  Grant reached his wife at the same moment Violet did. “What is it?” he anxiously asked. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Dina shook her head. “Not ill, but I felt suddenly dizzy. Thankfully, Rush was near enough to catch me before I could humiliate myself completely by an undignified tumble to the floor.”

  Lady Killerby joined them then, having ceded the instrument to the elder Miss Melks for the next set.

  “My dear! I rather feared you might be exerting yourself overmuch this evening, given your condition.” She turned to the two hovering gentlemen. “One of you fetch her some lemonade and the other something to eat from the buffet in the dining room,” she directed them. “Miss Turpin and I will see to Mrs. Turpin’s comfort while you do so.”

  Both men complied with alacrity, though not without a few backward glances from Grant.

  “Now, my dear, rest you quiet until you are certain you are no longer in danger of fainting. When you feel able to stand, I’ll have your husband see you to your room, that you can lie down properly. An early night will be the best thing for you.”

  Dina gave an embarrassed laugh. “I feel so foolish, acting the weakling like this. Particularly as I have always been the very picture of health, scarcely ill a day in my life.”

  “I think you are doing exceedingly well under the circumstances,” Lady Killerby told her comfortingly. “You will simply have to make some allowances during this time—earlier nights, a less vigorous schedule, that sort of thing. Trust me, when the babe arrives, you’ll be busy enough. Conser
ve your energy while you can. To make certain you do, I shall tell your husband.”

  “Tell me what?” Grant demanded, shouldering his way through the crowd with a large glass of lemonade, looking more concerned than when he had left. “Are you truly ill after all, my love?”

  Dina shook her head. “Not at all. But Lady Killerby has kindly advised me that I would do better to, ah, take things a bit easier in the coming months, difficult as it will be for me to do.”

  “I’m sure she’s quite right. In fact, if you feel equal to walking, I’ll take you upstairs right now, that we might discuss the matter rather more…thoroughly.” The look he bent on Dina was enough to bring color into Violet’s cheeks simply by observing it.

  Appearing only the slightest bit shaky, Dina rose, now smiling.

  “Shall I send up Dina’s abigail?” Violet asked.

  “No, dear,” Lady Killerby murmured to her. “Let them have some time to themselves.”

  With a slightly sheepish grin, Grant took the glass from Violet and the couple made their way toward the stairs. As they went, they encountered Lord Rushford returning from the dining room with a heaped plate. Taking the plate from him, Grant spoke briefly to him before continuing up the stairs with Dina.

  A set or two later, Lord Rushford asked Violet for another dance. That his thoughts also lingered on Grant and Dina and their coming addition was clear from his first words when they took their places.

  “I take it you look forward to playing the doting aunt?”

  “So much!” she declared. “Indeed, I shall likely do more shopping for the babe than for myself while in London. I dare swear the only person who can be more pleased is my mother.”

  He grinned, suddenly seeming much younger. “Ah, yes, I recall a few pointed comments she made over Christmas, when they’d scarce been married a fortnight.”

  They laughed together, their earlier debate forgotten as they discussed Lady Rumble’s probable reaction to the news and how long she would wait before traveling to see her son and his wife. Only after the set ended did Violet recall her earlier intention to further erode Lord Rushford’s antiquated prejudices. Perhaps she would have a chance tomorrow, during the running of the Quorn.