Summer of Scandal EPB

by James, Syrie

  “Good. He is expecting you.”

  As Saunders took his seat across the table from Madeleine, Lady Trevelyan finished her last bite of toast. “Charles, didn’t you room with Lord Oakley at Oxford?”

  “I did.” Saunders swallowed a forkful of eggs. “Good old Philip. Very fond of architecture, as I recall.”

  “Yes, he is,” Madeleine agreed. “He gave me an in-depth tour of the house at Hatfield Park.”

  “You will never find a more straightforward, honorable, trustworthy fellow than Philip. I will never forget one night at school when I was out late drinking with friends. First-year antics, you understand. Philip had refused to go, because it was against the rules—”

  “Charles!” Lady Trevelyan interrupted. “Must you share that awful story again?”

  “It is nothing to be ashamed of,” Saunders responded.

  “I’d love to hear it,” Madeleine insisted.

  Saunders grinned and went on: “I got in late after curfew, and was attempting to crawl in through the window. This was a second-floor room, mind you. I had barely managed to reach its heights by scaling the attached shrubbery. In my drunken state, I would have surely fallen to my death, had not Oakley bravely reached out and heaved me inside, putting his own life in danger in the process.”

  “Thank goodness you did not fall,” observed Lady Sophie, aghast, and gazing warmly at Lord Saunders.

  “You make Lord Oakley sound like quite the hero,” noted Madeleine, amused by the tale.

  “He was, indisputably,” Saunders agreed. “Particularly since he did not report me. I owe my life and reputation to him. I promised to one day repay the debt, although it is my shame to admit, I never did.”

  Madeleine laughed. “I am glad to hear such a good account of Lord Oakley. And that you survived the incident unharmed. My own college experience seems rather dull in comparison.”

  Lady Sophie looked at her in surprise. “You went to college?”

  “She just graduated,” Saunders replied with a wave of his fork.

  “I have never met a woman who went to college.” Lady Sophie’s expression was both amazed and fascinated. “What was it like?”

  “It was wonderful. There wasn’t enough time to pursue everything that piqued my interest.”

  “What was your primary course of study?” Saunders asked.

  “English Literature.”

  Before he could reply, Lady Trevelyan said, “I admire your courage and pluck, Miss Atherton. I imagine college must have been very difficult. But may I ask why you pursued higher education?”

  “Why? I might ask, why should men learn all there is to know, while women sit home in ignorance and simply run the household?”

  “There is nothing simple about running a household, my dear,” Lady Trevelyan pointed out. “If you marry Lord Oakley, and I presume you will, your husband, home, family, and obligations to society will quite naturally become your entire province.”

  Madeleine paused before answering. She never ceased to be amazed at the number of well-bred women who espoused this point of view. Who were satisfied with the smallness of their lives. She glanced up and caught Lord Saunders’s eye. He shot her a teasing look as if to say, You see? It’s not just me.

  “I hope that isn’t entirely true,” Madeleine said finally. “I’d like to think that even well-bred women can accomplish other things as well—creative things that open their minds and stir their hearts.”

  Lord Saunders’s eyebrows lifted. “Creative things? What kind of creative things?”

  A rush of blood rose to Madeleine’s cheeks. She wished she hadn’t brought up the subject. “I don’t know,” she replied evasively. “Whatever catches their fancy, I suppose.”

  “Needlework is creative,” Lady Sophie suggested.

  “Needlework is a fine pursuit,” Lady Trevelyan agreed. “As are music, drawing, and painting in watercolors. These are the accepted creative outlets for a lady. And they do not require a college education.”

  Madeleine could see that she would get nowhere with this line of dialogue. “Well, I hope my Vassar education will, at the very least, make my conversation at garden parties and the dinner table a little more interesting,” she said lightly.

  Saunders laughed. “I am sure it will.”

  To Madeleine’s relief, the conversation turned to a more banal topic: the weather and the state of the roads. After some discussion about the horrid rain the day before, Lady Sophie observed, “I am so pleased that the sun is out again. I was thinking of going for a walk along the beach.”

  “A fine day for it.” Lady Trevelyan gave her son a meaningful look. “Charles, why do not you accompany Sophie?” As an afterthought, she added, “Of course, Miss Atherton must go as well. I am sure she would like to see our beautiful coastline.”

  Lord Saunders wiped his mouth and put down his napkin. “A splendid notion, Mother. Wish I could, but I must see Father straightaway. Following that I have a great deal to do, as it is my first day home. Forgive me, Sophie. Perhaps another time?”

  With that he stood, bid them all a good morning, and quit the room.

  Lady Sophie watched him go, disappointment in her gray eyes. After a moment, she let out a small sigh. “He is always so busy. But I understand, his duties must come first.” Turning to Madeleine, she added with a smile, “I should be most delighted if you would care to accompany me on my walk this morning, Miss Atherton.”

  “Thank you,” Madeleine replied. “That would be delightful.”

  Chapter Five

  The old man looked very ill indeed.

  Wrong. He is not so very old, Charles corrected himself as he sat at his father’s bedside, worry serving to tamp down the irritation he usually felt in the man’s presence. He is only fifty-eight years of age.

  It was his father’s pale complexion, his overall appearance of fatigue, and the way his facial features were contorted in apparent pain, that made him seem a good twenty years older.

  “So damn sick of lying in bed all day, Charles. Cheer me up, boy. I want news.”

  “News? Well. We have a visitor.”

  Lord Trevelyan’s bushy gray eyebrows lifted. “So your mother said. American girl, is she not? Sister to what’s her name, from over at Polperran House?”

  “Yes, Miss Madeleine Atherton.” As Charles gave his father an overview of Miss Atherton’s circumstances, his attention was drawn to the window, where he noticed the young lady in question, accompanied by Sophie, strolling across the back lawn in the direction of the coast. The two women made a pretty picture, chatting in the morning sunshine.

  There was something about Miss Atherton’s posture and gait as she walked that captured his interest. What was it? Ah, yes, he knew what it was. She didn’t mince along demurely and delicately like Sophie and all the other women he knew. Miss Atherton took bold, deliberate strides, marching along with purpose. Almost like a man. It was refreshingly different and, to his surprise, rather charming.

  He caught himself. He had no business studying Miss Atherton’s gait, much less finding it charming. Despite himself, though, his eyes continued to focus on her alluring backside as she walked away.

  The comments Miss Atherton had made at breakfast came back to him. She appeared to be very proud of her university education; and why shouldn’t she be? The only other woman he had ever met who held a college degree was the young lady’s sister, Alexandra. Charles still did not understand the point of higher education for women of their stature, any more than his mother did; but if it made the Atherton sisters happy, then so be it.

  He was intrigued by what Miss Atherton had said about her interest in creative endeavors. She had seemed uncomfortable after bringing it up, though, and unwilling to elaborate. He wondered what lay behind it. Did she—

  “Strange creatures, do not you agree?”

  His father’s voice broke into his thoughts. Charles realized he had missed part of the conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

&nbs
p; “I said, these American girls are such strange creatures. So wild. One never knows what they are going to say or do next.”

  Charles had to admit, many of the American women he had met in town did tend to speak with less reticence than their English counterparts. If his few conversations with Miss Atherton were any indication, she also had a tendency to blurt out whatever was on her mind. “Well,” he said with a shrug, “I agree that some Americans can be outspoken, but I do not know that I would call them strange.”

  “They are! Nothing even remotely British about them! They come from such an untamed country. Thank God you did not marry that Townsend girl, Charles. You got a lucky escape there.”

  Miss Townsend, again. It was the second time in as many days that someone had brought her up. Was he to spend the rest of his life being reminded of that unfortunate affair? On the night in question, he’d been thinking with his cock, not his brain. Charles had vowed that he would never again find himself in a similar situation—that he would never again allow a woman to take advantage of him in a moment of weakness. “I did indeed,” he solemnly agreed.

  His father heaved a sigh, rubbing his cheek with his hand. “Does not look as though I am going to be so lucky. No escape for me.”

  “Do not say that, Father.” Charles’s other worries vanished from his mind, replaced by this more pressing anxiety. “You will get well.” He might not get along with the old man at times, but he didn’t want him to die.

  “Why pretend? My belly aches something fierce, all the time. Now my teeth hurt. I have cramps in my legs. Tingling in my hands and feet. And I am so damned tired.”

  “You have had these complaints many times over the years. You always came back from it. Surely this is no different?”

  “This is worse than ever before.” Lord Trevelyan looked him in the eye. “Dr. Hancock thinks it is cancer.”

  Charles’s pulse skittered with alarm. “There must be something he can do.”

  “The man has tried everything. Nothing brings me any relief. I thought I should have . . . I hoped for another good twenty years at least. But I fear this will be the end of me.”

  “It will not.” The threat of tears burned behind Charles’s eyes and he blinked rapidly, refusing to let his father see any sign of weakness. “You will rally.”

  “I cannot fight my own body, son.” His father readjusted the covers around himself, as if wishing to hide his ailing form from view. “I can, however, take advantage of whatever time I have left to tell you what I expect to take place when I am gone.”

  Charles swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir?”

  “Item one: I have done my best to maintain the house and estate, but you will be caretaker now. Do well by it. Keep the mine going, Charles. Do right by our tenants. Preserve the Trevelyan legacy for future generations. It is your duty.”

  “I understand, sir.” Charles’s voice now sounded so strangled to his own ears, he scarcely recognized it.

  “Item two: Take care of your mother and sisters. Provide the girls with dowries. Be good to your brother. He is still young and will need your guidance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His father gave him another direct look and intoned sternly, “Item three: Promise me you have given up that silly hobby of yours.”

  “Father—” Charles began, frustration now curling in his gut.

  “I permitted it when you were a child. But an earl cannot engage in such useless activity. And for the Marquess of Trevelyan? It is quite out of the question.”

  Charles wanted to defend himself. His work—the inventions he created—gave his life meaning. His mind never stopped working even when he was away from it, and he was always itching to get back to it. In his youth, he’d tried so hard to get his father to appreciate his interests and passions, seeking the man’s approval, all in vain. Finally, he’d given up trying. For years now, he’d had to work in secret.

  If only he could show his father what he was doing. If only he could make him see its value. But he realized it was of no use. The Marquess of Trevelyan would never understand, would never change his opinion—and he might be dying.

  Lowering his eyes, Charles gave what he hoped would pass for a nod.

  “Item four,” his father went on.

  “There is more?”

  A determined gleam lit his father’s eyes as he said: “Promise me that you will make your mother happy, and marry Sophie.”

  Madeleine inhaled the brisk, salty sea air of the sheltered cove with a smile. Craggy black cliffs towered above them, beneath a bright blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.

  As she and Lady Sophie walked along, their low boots made indentations in the wide stretch of beach that spread out around them like a golden fan. Nearby, waves crested in furls of white foam, dashing against dark rocks that were scattered across the sea. Other waves rushed up just a few yards from them, wetting the sand and receding, in nature’s continuous cycle.

  “This is breathtaking,” Madeleine enthused.

  “Isn’t it?” Lady Sophie agreed. “Walking on the beach is one of my favorite things to do here. Where I grew up in Hampshire, we were nowhere near the sea.”

  “The same for me. Before we moved to New York City, my hometown was upstate on the Hudson River, but miles from the ocean.”

  “I have never been to America. What is it like?”

  “It’s a big country full of people with big ideas. Every day, it seems, someone comes up with a new invention or a new way to change and improve things.”

  “There must be a great many clever people in America.”

  “There are. Ambitious people, too.”

  “Well, you are my first American friend, ever.” Lady Sophie smiled. “I am so glad you have come, even if it is only for a short while. It is splendid to have a companion close to my own age.”

  “I feel the same,” Madeleine admitted.

  “Trevelyan Manor is one of my favorite places in the world. I adore Aunt Charlotte and Uncle George. And my cousins Helen and Anna.”

  Madeleine gave her a sideways glance. “I suspect there is someone else you adore, as well?”

  A rosy hue crept over Lady Sophie’s cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Perhaps only to me,” Madeleine replied kindly.

  Lady Sophie sighed gently. “I think I have loved Charles all my life.”

  “All your life?”

  She nodded. “My parents and I used to spend a month here every summer. Aunt Charlotte was my father’s only sister, and she and Mother and Father were very close. It has been their stated wish, I think from the day of my birth, that Charles and I would marry when I became of age. My earliest memories are of digging in the sand with Charles here on this beach. He is so handsome and clever. I have never thought of him in any other terms than as my future husband.”

  Madeleine pondered this information, surprised. She had supposed that the idea of a union between Lord Saunders and Lady Sophie had come about rather recently. At the very least, after his failed elopement with Miss Townsend. And yet, it seemed the families had wished for this for over two decades, which made his misdeed seem even worse. She wondered, too, if Lady Sophie even knew about the Miss Townsend affair. And about Lord Saunders’s other rumored affairs in town. It would be dreadful, Madeleine thought, to be in love with and waiting for a man who dallied with everyone in a skirt.

  “What a wonderful history you two have shared,” Madeleine noted carefully.

  “Yes. It was not always perfect. I am seven years younger, and for the longest time Charles just seemed annoyed with me. I was the little girl cousin with whom he was obliged to play. Then on my sixteenth birthday, he gave me a gift.” She pulled back the sleeve of her blouse to reveal a delicate bracelet made of interwoven strands of bright copper.

  “How lovely,” Madeleine said. It truly was.

  “I treasure it and wear it always. The day he gave it to me, he kissed me.” Her cheeks bloomed pink again. “I have
never looked at another boy since. Never. During my one Season in town, I felt guilty, as though Papa’s money was being wasted, because he and Mama wished for me to wed Charles, and so did I. None of the gentlemen I met could hold a candle to him. But a debut was absolutely necessary in the eyes of society. We all expected Charles to offer for me that summer, but he did not. Instead, he . . . that was the summer that—” Darting Madeleine an embarrassed glance, she went on: “That summer, he took up with someone else. An American woman.”

  “I heard about that,” Madeleine said softly. “That must have been painful for you to endure.”

  “It was.”

  Madeleine’s heart went out to her. “I experienced that kind of pain myself,” she admitted, “at the same age.”

  “Did you?”

  “It happened at my debut ball in New York.” Madeleine concentrated on the acrobatic feats of two seagulls circling overhead, trying not to think about the heartache she had endured on that occasion.

  “What happened to the young man?”

  “He married someone else.”

  “Oh. I am so sorry.” Lady Sophie bit her lip, then said, “I hope it will turn out differently for me.”

  Madeleine touched the young lady’s arm gently. “Perhaps it will. He did not marry that other woman, after all.”

  Lady Sophie nodded. “And I do not blame him for what he did.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. By all accounts, she was beautiful and wealthy, whereas I have no fortune, nothing to recommend me but our family ties. In the end, all I really want is for Charles to be happy. I like to think he will be happy with me. But he must come to that decision himself.”

  Well. Lady Sophie is a far more forgiving person than I.

  “I believe that episode was an aberration,” Lady Sophie went on. “Charles is such a good and generous man. He would never hurt me or anyone else deliberately. Shall I give you an example of his goodness?”

  “By all means.”

  “When Papa died, I cried for months. I missed him so, and our future was so uncertain.” A faraway sadness came over Lady Sophie’s face. “Lord Trevelyan and one of my other uncles gave us financial assistance, but it was not enough, and we did not wish to ask for more. Then money began arriving from an anonymous source, which made our lives ever so much more comfortable. We later learned that Charles had been providing the funds from his own allowance.”