Scandal's Reward

by Jean R. Ewing

  At the whiplash in Dagonet’s tone, the innkeeper leapt to obey, cowering and mumbling apologies. A few minutes later, they were shown into an empty chamber and the door closed behind them. Dagonet leaned back against the polished wood and began to laugh. Furious, Catherine whirled on her companion.

  “How dare you! How could you tell them we were married?” She stalked up and down the dining room. “It’s too absurd! The word will be all over Bath by the end of the week and all over London in two. Whatever possessed you?”

  She turned and marched up to him. He stopped laughing and bowed, but his eyes were alight with a keen sense of the ridiculous.

  “What word would you prefer passed from mouth to mouth by those busy ladies, Kate dear? That you are my wife or my mistress? There is no other choice, I’m afraid, thanks to some bungling inn maid.”

  It was true, of course. No other interpretation could be put upon their presence here. Dagonet grinned at her. He appeared to keep his voice level with no effort at all. “If you prefer to be known as my mistress, you can deny our marriage, and it will make no difference. Just a little extra garnish to the story. Otherwise, we can be married without delay, and there will be no scandal.”

  “How can you stand there so calmly and smile about it? This is beyond anything! I don’t want to marry you.”

  “I’m sorry you find the idea so repulsive. It was, I admit, the opposite of my intention when we began this evening together. Nevertheless, I offer you my hand and heart, sweet Kate, and my disreputable name for what it’s worth.”

  It was the most painful moment of her life. She could see that they were both trapped. It must be the last thing that he wanted, to be saddled with an impetuous girl that had already interfered too much in his life. Under any other circumstances, his proposal would have been the fulfillment of her heart’s desire. She was no longer under any illusion about her feelings for him, but she would not burden him with them, when they were not returned. Now he was being gallant, but he could not mean it.

  As if he read her thoughts, he continued, “I do mean it. You can have no idea what you and your family will face if you are thought to be my mistress. It will not be possible to deny it and be believed. You will lose all respect and decent treatment. The world is full of vultures, Kate. Marry me, and they will think you misguided, but not wicked. I give you my word, it will be a marriage in name only. After a decent interval it can be annulled.”

  How could she admit that if his motivation were any other than to save her reputation, she would not want a marriage in name only? She no longer believed him guilty of any wrong doing in the death of Millicent Trumble. Some other explanation was bound to be discovered if they could only get John Catchpole to tell his story. Dagonet was the finest man she was ever likely to meet. Could she now throw this generous gesture back in his face?

  “I do appreciate your motives, sir. But surely there is some other way out?”

  “There is none. If you are thought to have been my mistress, but return to London alone, I shall then be accused of abandoning you. That is, of course, no more than much of the ton would expect of me, thanks to my talkative cousins, but it will put David Morris in a dreadful spot. As your sister’s husband, he will probably feel obliged to call me out. He’s a very good friend; I would rather not face him on the dueling field.” She bit her lip, and he went on very gently. “There is also your father to consider. I think I owe him more than to ruin his eldest daughter.”

  She smiled at him a little ruefully. “We’re both trapped, aren’t we, sir? I know you don’t really want to marry me, but I think I must accept your proposal.”

  “Good, then that’s taken care of and we can have our dinner.”

  He bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers, then rang the bell for the waiter.

  Catherine could never fathom afterward, how she could then have sat across the table from him and enjoyed such a merry meal. Perhaps it was because of Annie. The full import of the danger to her sister and the final relief from it, bubbled up in her like champagne. Perhaps it was because Dagonet was simply the best dinner companion anyone could wish for. His wit had, after all, entertained the Prince Regent and Beau Brummel. She gave back as good as she got, however, and when at last he escorted her to her room, and left to relieve the inn maid from her watch over Annie, she felt quite reconciled to being Mrs. de Dagonet, even if in name only.

  The next morning the snow began to melt, and travelers began to leave the Rose and Crown in droves. Lady Pander and Mrs. Clay presumably continued their journey to Bath, where the news of Catherine’s marriage could be expected to spread with great rapidity. Catherine gave them no more thought. Annie was much recovered, but still weak, and would come back to London with her sister. The child had forgotten nothing that Dagonet had told her. She insisted that George must also have drowned Millicent Trumble. All that Dagonet could tell her of his being reliably known to have been elsewhere could not convince her otherwise.

  Catherine meanwhile had to give thought to facing her father. A message had earlier been sent to Exmoor and in a few days, the Reverend Hunter arrived. She need not have been so concerned. After spending an hour closeted with Dagonet in a private parlor, the vicar announced himself content with the decision.

  “It is not how I imagined marrying my eldest daughter, my dear, but you are in safe hands with Charles.”

  “Then you think he is innocent?”

  “I have always believed him innocent. I knew him as a boy, remember? But until it’s all cleared up, the suspicion is like a poison spring at the center of his being and he is being destroyed by it. You can’t allow it to happen, Catherine. Exmoor and Lion Court need him. He can’t be allowed to go to waste.”

  “He’s indifferent to me, Papa, but I’ll do what I can.”

  She put her arms around her father and hugged him. As soon as Dagonet could obtain a special license Reverend Hunter married them himself.

  Chapter 16

  Dagonet had hired a comfortable four-horse chaise to take them back to London, while his tiger slowly brought the phaeton up behind. Annie slept much of the way, her head pillowed on Catherine’s lap.

  “Well, sir,” Catherine commented lightly to Dagonet as they pulled away from Marlborough. “What now?”

  “You will return to Brooke House, dear Kate, with Annie. I have John Catchpole to hunt down. I do not imagine that he is still to be found in Lower Hobb Lane in Whitechapel, but he has probably not gone too far. This time, however, I would prefer not to have your assistance.”

  “Now that we are man and wife, sir, do you not think I have an interest in proving your innocence?”

  “If that is what is to be proved,” he said with a wry smile. “You have just sworn to honor and obey, Madame de Dagonet. My first orders are that you do not interfere again with our unpleasant Mr. Catchpole.”

  “But you do not expect me to keep the promises made under duress, sir. I do not take orders from you. I also swore to love. You do not mention that.”

  “Because love cannot be ordered, ma’am,” he said. “Whereas obedience can.”

  Annie listened to this exchange with interest. She had woken up several minutes before. There was no polite way she could let her sister and her hero know that she had eavesdropped, so she stayed on the rocking coach seat, with her head in Catherine’s lap, without moving. Cathy may be forbidden to interfere, she thought as she allowed herself to drift back to sleep, but I’m not, and I’m going to show that Sir George Montagu is the villain.

  Captain David Morris, now Lord Brooke, returned to the city to find that his friend was indeed married to Amelia’s sister, but that nothing else seemed to have changed. Dagonet still kept his bachelor apartment, and Catherine was still a guest at Brooke House. David knew better, however, than to question such an odd arrangement. No one else knew of it. Not George, to whom the news of the marriage came like a thunderbolt. Nor Lady Montagu, who thought the whole thing very shocking, and wondered if her
one-time companion had lost her mind.

  George had been in an agitated state ever since his encounter with John Catchpole. It had never concerned him in the least that Dagonet had taken the blame over the Milly Trumble affair. He knew that his cousin maintained some old-fashioned sensibility about his honor and would never tell George’s role to anyone. He had been worried for a while that the girl’s sister, Mary, had suspected who had really been Milly’s lover, and that was why he had wanted to keep Dagonet from talking to her. It seemed, however, that Mary really knew nothing.

  As to what had actually happened on the day Millicent drowned, he had never worried about it before. He was totally in the clear himself, thank God, having been with his mother all day. What was that Catchpole fellow insinuating? The drowning lay at Dagonet’s feet, not his!

  Nevertheless, Catchpole may have known that George was the one who had won the girl’s favors, and that was dangerous knowledge. If Grandfather or Miss Ponsonby ever found out! And Miss Hunter was somehow involved, and Dagonet had married her. A vicar’s daughter without a penny!

  What gave his cousin such confidence in the future? Did he plan to expose George, after all, and somehow claim Lion Court as a result? Sir George found his cravats tended to become uncomfortably tight whenever he thought about it.

  * * * *

  Amelia tried only once to gain her sister’s confidence and then gave up. Catherine treated the marriage as if it were a great joke and refused to say anything further.

  She was not to escape so lightly.

  “Cathy! Look at this!” Amelia was going through her correspondence. “It’s from old Lady Easthaven. Oh, no! She’s going to give a ball the week before Christmas. For you and Dagonet! As grande dame of the family, of course, she would see it as her right.”

  Catherine leapt up. “Amy, this is dreadful! A formal ball? Whatever shall I do?”

  “Put on your prettiest gown and give me the first waltz, of course.” Dagonet strolled into the room. “I showed myself in, Lady Brooke. Forgive your footmen, they are no match for me when I’m in such a black mood.”

  His face looked anything but black. In fact he was laughing.

  “Oh, how can you laugh, sir?” Catherine snapped. “To marry you was bad enough, but to have to act the blissful newlyweds in public! It’s too much.”

  “I’m sorry that you find it beyond your powers, Kate dear, to behave toward me with even a semblance of affection. I shall do my best, however, to look the doting spouse, and perhaps my performance may be enough for both of us?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Can’t you persuade her not to do it?”

  “What, deny an old lady the honor of celebrating our nuptials? You could not be so cruel, Kate. Besides if we are to convince the beau monde that there was nothing shady about our hurried union, we had better face down the world with panache. What better setting than a ball given by a staunch patroness of the ton?”

  “My life seems to be a series of traps these days,” Catherine said. “Of course I can do it, but I shall not pretend that it will give me anything but discomfort.”

  “Kate! My heart is broken.”

  “You don’t have a heart to break, Mr. de Dagonet. So do not give me such fustian!”

  “We are more in harmony at the piano, aren’t we, wife? Let us play a duet, or Lady Brooke will have me thrown from the house.”

  “My footmen wouldn’t dare, sir,” Amelia said as Dagonet sat at the piano.

  He turned expectantly to Catherine. “Ne Jupiter quidem omnibus placet, dear Kate.”

  “Not even Jupiter may please everybody, sir, but at this moment you are pleasing nobody. I don’t care for your choice in music and . . .”

  She was not to finish, since Annabella, hearing from one of the maids about the visitor burst into the room.

  Thus it was not Catherine, but Annie, her face beaming, who ended up sitting at the piano with Dagonet. Catherine was thoroughly relieved. The mood became as merry as she could possibly wish, the laughter drowning out the insistent message that her heart was trying to give her.

  * * * *

  The ball was to be a splendid affair. Catherine had a new gown made up in white silk for the occasion. The bodice was cut lower than she had ever worn before, but the modiste insisted that as a married lady, she must not look like an ingénue. An overdress of finest gauze fell in classic folds past her shoulders and floated over the silk underskirt. The whole was caught up under her breasts with ivory ribbon.

  Since she had no jewelry of her own, she tied a matching ribbon around her neck. One of her sister’s maids dressed her hair high on top of her head, leaving just a handful of ringlets to brush teasingly past her cheek. She could barely recognize herself in the mirror.

  She went downstairs to join the party who were to travel together to Lady Easthaven’s mansion in the Brooke carriage. Since David had been forced to leave again on business, Dagonet was to escort both sisters. He awaited Catherine at the bottom of the stairs.

  He swept her an elegant bow. His immaculate evening clothes set off his muscular figure to perfection. As a mark of respect to Lady Easthaven’s old-fashioned tastes, he wore silk breeches rather than trousers.

  At least I have that satisfaction, thought Catherine ruefully. He will be the most distinguished-looking gentleman there.

  “Sweet Catherine, you are breathtaking!” he said simply, causing a blush to spread over her cheeks. “There is but one thing lacking.”

  He walked up to her, his eyes alight with mischief.

  “What is that, sir?” Catherine asked defiantly. “Do I have mud on my cheek?”

  “Hardly mud, my dear! Only the bloom of fresh spring roses.”

  “Please don’t act the fool, Mr. de Dagonet! I shall never get through the evening if you make fun of me with exaggerated compliments.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so that she could see herself in the hall mirror. As she watched their reflection, he carefully untied the ribbon that she had placed around her neck. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin was a delicious torture.

  “I do not exaggerate,” he said gently. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why? May I trust you if I do?”

  “Of course. When have I ever betrayed your trust?”

  “Often,” she stated, but she closed her eyes.

  Something cool and smooth settled around her neck. Her lids flew open. He was just fastening the catch of his mother’s diamond necklace. She had last seen the brilliant jewels slipping into his pocket in the drawing room at Lion Court, after he had taken them from Charlotte.

  “Mr. de Dagonet! Whatever are you thinking of? I have no right to wear these.”

  “Nonsense, you are my wife. Here are the earrings. Put them on!”

  She could not read his expression, but there was something in his tone that told her not to remonstrate further.

  “Now, if you can manage to make it through the evening without falling into a puddle, you will do me proud. Come, we had better make haste. The others are waiting.”

  * * * *

  The ballroom was a blaze of light. A throng of sumptuously dressed ladies and gentlemen milled about beneath a rococo effusion of flowers and greenery and great chandeliers full of candles.

  Lady Easthaven immediately began to introduce Catherine to a succession of fashionable young people. Giving her a slight wink, Dagonet disappeared into the crowd, leaving her dance card to fill up with the names of strangers. In vain, she looked about for him, and was only able once or twice to catch a glimpse, through the crush, of his broad shoulders or dark hair.

  Lord Kendal lead her into dinner and kept her laughing throughout the meal.

  Whatever story Charlotte Clay and Lady Pander were spreading among their cronies, this ball was obviously going to be an effective antidote. Not once did Catherine lack for a partner. Not once was an eyebrow raised or a look given her askance. Had Dagonet not insisted on the marriage, she would have been an outcast. E
ven if she didn’t care for her own reputation, she must care for Amelia’s sake.

  Her thoughts were interrupted.

  “You have been the belle of the evening, my dear. I have watched in an agony of jealousy as every young blade trips up and down the floor with you. Am I not to have a dance with my own bride?”

  “It is hardly the thing, sir, for husbands and wives to squire each other about the ballroom. Besides, I am promised to Lord Kendal for this dance.”

  “Those may be the rules of the beau monde, but in spite of the glitter that surrounds us this evening, and the fawning flattery of those who mistakenly think Lady Easthaven makes me her protégé, I am still a renegade. Lord Kendal will not dare to challenge me. Come!”

  Dagonet grasped her hand and led her from the ballroom into the quiet hallway. There was a small anteroom where the footmen had waited earlier. It now stood deserted, but the strains of the band could be heard quite clearly.

  “Now I have you at my mercy,” Dagonet declared with a grin. “May I have the honor of this dance, ma’am?”

  As the lilting notes of the waltz swept into the little room, he pulled her into his embrace and they swirled together into the steps of the dance. Catherine half closed her eyes. If only he meant it! She allowed herself to relax into his arms as they spun around together. When the music stopped, she opened them again to find him looking down at her. The green eyes were shadowed with an indefinable emotion. He did not release her. Instead, as the diamond necklace rose and fell with her breathing, he took her head gently in both hands and tilted her face up to his.

  “The last time I danced alone with you, wife,” he murmured against her lips, “we were rudely interrupted. I think it’s time to finish what I began then.”

  His kiss was questioning at first, and gentle, but as she began to respond, he became more demanding, until she caught fire in his embrace.