Summer of Scandal EPB

by James, Syrie

  “Is that what you want?”

  His jaw tightened. “I want to do my duty.” Charles glanced sideways at her as they descended. “What about you? You have a marriage proposal on the table. When does Oakley expect your reply?”

  “When he returns from his European tour, at the end of the summer.”

  “Well then, it looks as though we both have our futures laid out for us.”

  “Does it? I am not entirely sure about mine.”

  Charles took that in. He had long owed a debt to Oakley. Here, he realized, was his chance to repay it.

  “I know you are waiting to speak to your sister, Miss Atherton, and I applaud that. But in my opinion, you would be mad not to marry Oakley. He is the best of the best. And what woman in her right mind would refuse the chance to be a duchess?”

  Chapter Four

  Madeleine awoke to the sound of drapes being pulled open. Rolling over in bed, she opened her eyes and squinted against the bright morning light.

  “Good mornin’, miss,” announced Martin. A stout, cheerful woman in a prim black dress and white apron, she had helped Madeleine to dress and undress the evening before.

  How kind of Lady Trevelyan to share her lady’s maid. Madeleine returned the greeting, sat up, and stretched. She’d been so tired after her long day of traveling, she could barely remember anything that had been said at dinner last night. She’d gone straight to bed afterward and now, after a sound sleep, felt wide-awake and refreshed.

  Her room was delightful. The four-poster feather bed was sumptuous and comfortable. The wallpaper was lime green with a pretty pattern of multicolored flowers and birds, and the bed linens and upholstery were tastefully matched. Sunshine poured in through the tall windows. Madeleine bounded out of bed to take in the view. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue, the complete reverse of the gloomy grayness that had pervaded everything the day before.

  The room, which faced the back of the house, overlooked a wide, verdant lawn and manicured gardens blooming with flowers in a variety of hues. Beyond the gardens stretched green woods, and then the world seemed to drop off, replaced by the vast blueness of the sea. In the distance, the coastline curved away, high cliffs towering above blackened rocks and golden sand beaches, where seagulls swooped and cawed shrilly above the crashing waves.

  “What a glorious morning!” Madeleine relished the estate’s proximity to the sea. She looked forward to exploring both outside and in. The house, Madeleine had been pleased to discover, boasted modern plumbing and gas lighting, improvements which were new and rare in English country houses.

  She was going to be at Trevelyan Manor for several days at least, maybe even a week. The notion that she had all that time ahead of her with nothing planned filled Madeleine with excitement. She didn’t have to remain idle while she was here. Hopefully, she could put the time to good use.

  First, she had to let her mother know where she was staying. Then she had to contact Alexandra in Bath, and write to Kathryn in New York. After that. . . .

  Madeleine’s gaze touched on her tapestry bag lying atop the bureau. At last, she could get back to her manuscript. The book that had been her dream and her passion for as long as she could remember. Every moment spent on the novel brought her immense creative satisfaction, a kind of joy and fulfillment she found in no other endeavor. But after three years of hard work, she still wasn’t even finished with the first draft.

  There had been so many other things pulling at her. Her determination to receive highest marks in every class at Vassar and graduate early had required an intense study regime. Immediately afterward, she’d been obliged to sail to France for last-minute adjustments to her new Worth gowns. Onboard ship, her mother had drilled her in preparation for the Season. The moment they’d reached London, she’d been thrust into a whirlwind of events from dawn until dusk, seven days a week. All under her mother’s dictatorial eye.

  She had been subjected to Mother’s criticisms about posture, facial expressions, the way she held her fan, her performance on the dance floor, her tendency to talk too much or too little. Her mother’s incessant reproaches hadn’t eased up when Madeleine met Philip Heyer, the Marquess of Oakley. That illustrious young man’s attentions had only prompted Mrs. Atherton to even more claustrophobic oversight, insisting that this was the match to end all matches, and on no account must Madeleine make a mistake.

  “Such a man doesn’t ask a woman to marry him,” her mother had told her excitedly, “he offers to marry her.” As though his title and all he possessed was a gift he was bestowing.

  As though Madeleine’s fortune, which was very much required to save his family’s impoverished estate, was of only minor value in the equation.

  Madeleine’s courtship with Lord Oakley had been another whirlwind. She had sensed that he was a man to whom she could be happily attached. But when the day came and Oakley actually proposed, Madeleine had frozen up, finding it impossible to give him the reply he wanted.

  Now here she was in Cornwall, her mind in a muddle, with no idea why she was so confused or what she ought to do about it.

  Maybe, she told herself, she ought to stop thinking and face the music, as her father liked to say. Oakley had already left on his European tour. But if she contacted his mother, she might be able to learn where he was staying, write to him, and be done with it. As an engaged woman, she wouldn’t have to attend any more events of the Season. If she and Oakley were betrothed, they could correspond. She could return to London and start planning their wedding.

  Their wedding.

  The idea sent a shiver down Madeleine’s spine and she let go an anxious laugh. It’s just nerves. Every prospective bride feels the same way. Aloud, she heard herself say: “No. No.”

  “I beg yer pardon, miss?” Martin said.

  Madeleine gave the maid a smile. “Don’t mind me, Martin. I was just talking to myself.”

  “Would ye like a fire, miss? I can send in the chambermaid to light one.”

  “No thank you,” Madeleine replied. “Who needs a fire on a day like this?” After unlatching the window, she pushed it open and inhaled deeply of the salt-tinged air, reveling in the sounds of birdsong. How could she have even considered going back to London? She would not make a decision in haste. She had all summer to make up her mind. The interval away from the Season would be good for her. And a talk with Alexandra, whenever it came about, would surely help clear her head.

  She turned to the maid. “Thank you, Martin, for unpacking my clothes last night.” It had all magically happened while Madeleine was at dinner. All the underthings and accessories she’d brought were ensconced in the bureau, and her dresses and riding habit hung in the wardrobe.

  “Ye’re most welcome, miss,” said Martin. “They be right lovely gowns. More beautiful than any I’ve yet seen.”

  You haven’t seen the half of it. Madeleine wondered what Martin would think of the three dozen other gowns still hanging in her suite at Brown’s Hotel. Some were so elaborate and encrusted with beading, they seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Although they were beautiful, Madeleine had been a bit embarrassed to wear them.

  She’d only brought the most modest of her day dresses to Cornwall, along with a few evening gowns, but even they were quite elegant. “Between you and me,” Madeleine confided, “I prefer simpler frocks and suits. But my mother insisted that I have only the best for the Season.”

  “I will take extra special care of ’em,” Martin promised. “You have my word.”

  After helping Madeleine dress in a raspberry-colored summer frock with white lace trimmings, Martin told her that breakfast was served on the buffet in the morning room, and she could come downstairs at her convenience.

  “Martin,” Madeleine asked as the maid opened the bedroom door to leave, “before you go. I need to write to my mother and sisters. Do you know where I might get—”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Atherton?”

  The interruption came from Woodson, who appear
ed in the doorway with several envelopes and sheets of paper in his gloved hand.

  Martin gave him a nod before promptly and silently departing.

  Woodson entered in her wake. “Forgive me for intruding,” he told Madeleine, “but I thought you might require telegram forms and letter-writing materials this morning.”

  Madeleine smiled. “Woodson, how kind and perceptive you are.”

  “You will find pens and ink in the desk drawer,” he noted.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the items he’d brought. “There is one more thing. My sister Alexandra and her husband, Lord Longford, are in Bath, but I have no idea where they are staying. I was wondering if you might be able to find that out for me.”

  “I took the liberty of sending a groom to Polperran House early this morning, miss, to secure that information from the staff.” Woodson removed a note from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

  Madeleine gaped at him. “How did you do that so fast? I thought the roads would be impassable for days.”

  “Impassable to carriages, miss. But a good horseman can navigate even the worst of roads.”

  Madeleine shook her head in amazement. “You are a wizard, Woodson. I am truly grateful.”

  “It is my pleasure to be of assistance,” Woodson replied with a departing bow.

  Madeleine filled out a telegram form with a brief message to her mother, apprising her of her changed circumstances. She could write to Kathryn later, she decided, but should contact Alexandra as soon as possible. She considered which means of communication to use.

  A wire would be faster. But Alexandra disliked telegrams, felt they were impersonal and should only be used in cases of emergency. And this was not an emergency. According to Lord Saunders, Alexandra had only left for Bath a day or two before. Madeleine didn’t want her sister to feel that she must rush home on her account.

  Besides which, Madeleine thought, glancing out the window again with a smile, it was so beautiful here. She wouldn’t mind staying at Trevelyan Manor by the sea for a few days longer.

  She picked up a pen and began a letter to Alexandra:

  Trevelyan Manor, Cornwall

  June 22, 1889

  Dear Lexie,

  You will be surprised when you read the location above, and realize where I am. I have no doubt that you wrote to tell me of your trip to Bath, just as I wired you to say that I was coming to Cornwall to see you! Our communications must have just missed each other.

  Lord Saunders rescued me at Bolton yesterday and I have been kindly invited to stay at his home until you return. I have news, which you have probably already heard from Mother, even though I asked her not to write or say anything!

  If you suspect my news has to do with Lord Oakley, whom I’ve mentioned innumerable times over the past four weeks, you will be right on the mark. He has asked me to marry him. I have not given him an answer yet. I have time to consider, for he has embarked on a three-month tour of the Continent.

  Oh, Alexandra! My head is spinning. I had no idea matters of the heart could be so perplexing. Before I decide anything, I must speak to you. Lord Saunders mentioned that you are to be away for two weeks. Please don’t cut your trip short on my account—I can wait here until you get home. But I need your advice more than ever, and count the days until I can see you again and be in your arms.

  With deepest love, your sister,

  Maddie

  Madeleine brought the letter and completed telegram form downstairs. Woodson was waiting by the bottom step to receive them on a silver tray.

  “I will see to it that they are delivered to the post office immediately,” he promised.

  “Thank you, Woodson.”

  He escorted Madeleine to the breakfast room, where the tantalizing aromas of eggs and bacon emanated from beneath silver-domed serving trays. Lady Trevelyan and Lady Sophie were already at breakfast, seated across from each other at the table. Madeleine filled a plate at the sideboard and joined them.

  “Good morning,” Madeleine said cheerfully as she sat down beside Lady Sophie, who returned the sentiment. A footman poured coffee.

  “I hope you slept well?” Lady Trevelyan asked.

  “I did, thank you.” The empty seat at the head of the table was a painful reminder that the head of the family was absent. “How is Lord Trevelyan?”

  “Not well, I am afraid,” was Her Ladyship’s somber reply.

  “I’m so sorry. Lord Saunders said he has been ill before, though, and always recovered,” Madeleine commented hopefully. “I hope that will again prove true.”

  “I hope so, as well,” Lady Trevelyan answered with a sigh. “But this time it is worse than ever. He has always had good days and bad days, but the bad days seem to have taken over rather permanently.”

  “Does the doctor know what is wrong?”

  Lady Trevelyan shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief. “Thank you for asking, Miss Atherton. But it is not really something to discuss at the breakfast table.”

  “Forgive me.” Madeleine’s heart went out to Lady Trevelyan and His Lordship. She wished there was something she could do. “I would so like to see him while I’m here, to pay my respects and to wish him well.”

  “I will try to arrange that. He rarely comes downstairs anymore. But if Lord Trevelyan feels up to it, perhaps he can join us briefly for tea this afternoon.”

  “That would be wonderful. I’d love to see Lady Helen and Lady Anna, too, if that’s possible?” Madeleine had only met Lady Trevelyan’s daughters once, at Alexandra’s wedding, but remembered them as sweet, well-behaved young ladies in their early teens.

  “They come down for an hour at tea, after their lessons,” Lady Trevelyan replied.

  An hour a day seemed a painfully short time to spend with one’s children, Madeleine thought. But then, it wasn’t really so different from the way she and her sisters had been raised. They’d been at school all day. Their mother had been involved in society affairs, and their father had worked long hours. The only time they’d really spent together as a family was an hour each night at the dinner table.

  “How have you been enjoying the Season, Miss Atherton?” commented Lady Sophie as she sipped her coffee.

  “To be honest, it’s been pretty exhausting,” Madeleine answered.

  “I thought the same at my London debut,” Lady Sophie admitted. “I only had one Season. After Papa died, Mama could not afford to take me again.”

  “Never you mind, my dear,” Lady Trevelyan remarked with a twinkle in her eyes. “Society’s loss is our gain.” The two women exchanged a quiet look of understanding that made Lady Sophie lower her gaze, her cheeks reddening slightly.

  Madeleine hid a smile, aware of the meaning beneath that statement. She wondered if their hope—that Sophie would be Lord Saunders’s bride—was a recent development. Madeleine recalled what Lord Saunders had said the night before: I want to do my duty. Surely Lord Saunders would never have run off to America with Miss Townsend four years ago, if he had felt duty-bound to marry his cousin.

  “Now you must tell us more about your proposal from Lord Oakley.” Lady Trevelyan’s voice broke into her thoughts. Madeleine had mentioned the proposal at dinner the night before as the reason she’d come to Cornwall, seeking her sister’s advice.

  “There’s not much to tell. We met at a dance and saw each other on various occasions after that. Last week, my mother and I were invited to Hatfield Park to meet Lord Oakley’s parents.” Madeleine paused. “That’s where he popped the question.”

  “How thrilling that you have had such a fine offer,” Lady Sophie enthused. “If you accept him, you will be a duchess.”

  Madeleine wished people would stop pointing that out, as if it were reason enough on its own to marry a man.

  “Lord Oakley comes from a very good and old family,” Lady Trevelyan commented. “I have met the Duke and Duchess of Courtenay and seen their estate in East Sussex. The house is magnificen
t and they have truly lovely woods.”

  “She will not be marrying Oakley for his woods,” a masculine voice intoned.

  All heads turned as Lord Saunders strode into the room.

  “I know that, darling,” Lady Trevelyan replied. “I was just making an observation.”

  Despite herself, Madeleine’s heartbeat began to increase in tempo. She recalled that, the few times she’d observed Lord Saunders enter a room in town, he had always made heads turn. Just by walking in, he seemed to transform a space and become its focal point.

  He was certainly the focal point for Lady Sophie, whose attention was captivated by his every move.

  Maybe it was his handsome face, which made it hard to look at anyone else. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself. He exuded an unstudied air of intelligence, a trait she hadn’t found in many men. He also had a habit of arriving late, as if he’d rushed there from some other pressing engagement, which couldn’t help but make one wonder where he’d been. But despite his tardiness, he was always well-dressed and perfectly tailored.

  This morning, he wore a gray suit with a cravat that matched his hazel eyes. Eyes that met hers briefly, before giving a smile to the room at large.

  Madeleine tore her glance away, struggling to remind herself that Lord Saunders didn’t deserve such warm thoughts. Although she’d apologized to him the night before at the top of the stairs, and they’d shared a few pleasant moments in the carriage, this man had once betrayed his dearest friend and her brother-in-law. He seemed to be proud of his “reputation with the ladies.” He was a man she could not admire, a man who could not be trusted.

  “Have you seen your father?” Lady Trevelyan was saying.

  Madeleine refocused her attention on the conversation. Saunders, helping himself at the sideboard, answered his mother, “I am going straight up after breakfast.”