Summer of Scandal EPB

by James, Syrie

  Hopefully, a few hours at his shop would be consuming enough to take his mind off the tantalizing Miss Atherton.

  “Charles, I need you to take Sophie into the village today,” his mother said at breakfast on Monday morning.

  Charles washed down his eggs with a swallow of coffee. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Sophie’s new gown is ready. The dressmaker had promised to deliver it personally, but sent a note with her apologies. Her horse has gone lame and she won’t be able to get out this way for quite some time.”

  “If you are otherwise engaged today, I understand, Charles,” Sophie said quietly. “The gown can wait.”

  “Well,” Charles began, “I do not know if—”

  “Charles.” His mother shot him a look, implying that this was an order, not a request.

  Charles thought about it. It had been a long time since he had paid any real attention to Sophie, and he felt a bit ashamed about that. It would not kill him to take his future wife to the dressmaker’s, would it, to try on her gown?

  I’d rather see Miss Atherton try on a gown. And then remove it.

  A spike of arousal darted from his brain to his groin. Charles tensed and drew a quick mental curtain over the thought. Damn it all to hell. The few stolen hours he had spent banging away at projects in his workshop the past two days hadn’t been as therapeutic as he had hoped. With every strike of the hammer and every twist of the screwdriver, the image of similar motions he’d like to be experiencing with Miss Atherton had invaded his mind.

  He required some new activity to help banish thoughts of her. A trip to the village would be a welcome distraction.

  “I am happy to take you, Sophie,” Charles told her.

  She rewarded him with a grateful smile and rose. “I can be ready in half an hour.”

  Charles ordered the chariot to be brought around, and within the hour he and Sophie were seated side by side on the rear leather seat, on their way into the village.

  He glanced at her, figured he ought to say something kind, something a future husband might say. Perhaps a compliment was in order. “You look nice today, Sophie.” She did. Her green dress and hat were very pretty.

  “Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you doing this.”

  “It is my pleasure.”

  “It has been a long while since we shared a carriage together.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  He sensed now that something was bothering her; he had no idea what. “I considered taking the curricle and driving myself. But I did not like the look of those clouds. I thought it might rain.”

  Rain. Miss Atherton on horseback in the rain. My arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Tesla thundering beneath our thighs.

  “Did you enjoy your visit to the tenants’ farms yesterday?”

  Charles blinked. Hard. Farms? Yesterday? Oh yes. “Um . . . well, it was a productive day. Thank you for asking. Have you been enjoying your time here?”

  “I have. I have written to my mother every day. I enjoyed walking and riding with Maddie, and I made her a monogrammed handkerchief.”

  “Maddie?”

  “Madeleine Atherton. Maddie is what her sisters call her.”

  Of course. Damn it. Did every comment in every conversation have to come back to her? “You call Miss Atherton by her Christian name?”

  “We became close in a very short time,” Sophie said simply.

  If you only knew how close we became. Another thought he was obliged to censor.

  Sophie went quiet for a minute or two. He racked his brain for something else to say, but before he could think of anything, she said, “Charles. Do you still want to marry me?”

  The remark caught him completely off guard. His eyes flew up to hers. A frown marred her otherwise perfect features. Could she guess where his mind kept going? “What? Of course I do.” He wished his reply sounded more convincing. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

  “I have been waiting so long. Sometimes I sense that perhaps you would rather it never happened.”

  His pulse quickened in dismay. “That is not true.”

  She stared at her hands in her lap. “I saw you once, looking at Miss Atherton.”

  “Miss Atherton?” His heart jumped now, with a dash of guilt. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe . . . you cared for her.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. I barely spoke to Miss Atherton when she was here.” That wasn’t true, but it was what Sophie needed to hear. Charles took her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “You are perfect, Sophie. It has been decreed by powers higher than ourselves that we will be wed one day. And so we shall.”

  Her smile returned, which gratified him. “When?” she asked.

  When. He let go of her hand as perspiration gathered on his brow.

  Charles thought about the promise he had given his father. His mother had deliberately invited Sophie down for the summer, hoping Charles would make his move. And Sophie had been so patient over the years.

  I might as well get on with it. The heirloom ring was sitting in a drawer in his bureau. But he didn’t need the ring. He didn’t need to drop down on one knee, either. He could simply take her hand in his again and say the words that would bind them together forever.

  A painful spasm curled in his gut. No. No. Not yet.

  What was the rush? He had all summer to make good on his promise. If only Father lasts that long. He was aware of Sophie’s eyes on him, waiting for a reply. He cleared his throat.

  “Soon, my dear,” he said. “There are some projects I need to complete first.”

  “What kind of projects?”

  “I doubt you would be interested,” he answered evasively. “They have nothing to do with you. Once we are married, I doubt I shall have the time required to devote to them. If you will only be patient.”

  “I will, Charles.” Her voice was heavy with meaning as she added, “Did you know your mother has been talking about holding a ball this summer, in honor of her birthday?”

  “Has she?” He had an idea where Sophie was going with this, hoped he was wrong.

  “Even if you do not wish the wedding to take place yet, the ball might be the perfect time to make an announcement. I know it would make your mother happy. And I should be happy as well, to know that it is finally settled.”

  There was such hope and affection in her eyes, he couldn’t bear to hurt her. Nor could he give her the reply she wanted. He settled for: “Excellent notion. I will think about it.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” A small smile curved her lips as she turned to the window. She said nothing more.

  Charles was in no mood for further talk, either. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared silently out the window for the rest of the journey.

  The tiny fishing village of Trevelyan was known for its whitewashed buildings and steep cobbled main street that led uphill from the harbor, where fishing boats rested on the muddy banks, evidence of the shifting tides. Ned parked outside the dressmaker’s shop, and while Sophie went inside for her dress fitting, Charles wandered into the pub next door and ordered a pint.

  The pub was filled with fishermen back from their morning runs and elderly locals chatting and smoking pipes. Several ruddy-faced chaps stopped by the bar to tip their hats respectfully and ask Charles how his father was getting on.

  When he left the pub sometime later, he was surprised to see Dr. Hancock exiting a house across the street. Charles went up to him and they shook hands.

  “What brings you to town?” Hancock asked.

  Charles gestured toward the dressmaker’s shop. “Sophie is picking up a new dress. What about you? Seeing a patient?”

  “Yes, a good, kind woman. Ninety-two years of age, God bless her. I predict she will live to be a hundred and five.”

  Charles grinned, then added more soberly, “If only my father’s health was in such good order.”

  Hancock frowned. “His case is one of
the most puzzling I have ever encountered, Saunders. I believe it’s cancer, yet in many ways, it doesn’t present as cancer. I wish I could do more for him.”

  At that moment, Sophie exited the dressmaker’s shop, holding a large parcel. Charles was about to offer to take it from her, when Hancock strode up to her and doffed his hat. “Lady Sophie. Pray allow me to carry that for you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” She gave him the box.

  “A new gown, is it?” Hancock commented. “I hope you are happy with it?”

  “I am. I had it especially made in my favorite color.”

  “Ah. Would that be lavender?”

  Sophie stared at Hancock, dumbfounded. “How do you come to know my favorite color, Dr. Hancock?”

  “It was just a guess,” he admitted with a laugh. “I once saw a letter you had left for posting. Your writing paper was lavender, as was the sealing wax you used.”

  Sophie smiled. “You are most observant, Doctor.”

  This dialogue was abruptly interrupted by a sudden commotion in the street, which drew their collective attention. Three rustically dressed men thundered up on horseback and dismounted. Two of them dashed into the pub. From the anxious, determined looks on their faces, Charles guessed that they had some kind of news to share with the patrons, a surmise which seemed to be proven when the sound of shouting soon issued from within. The third man, who Charles recognized as Abner Dowrick, the father of one of his workers at the mine, hurried up to where Charles and Dr. Hancock stood. The man’s face was contorted with worry.

  “Dowrick? What is going on?” Charles asked.

  “There’s been an accident at Wheal Jenny, milord,” Dowrick said urgently, removing his hat.

  “Dear God,” Charles exclaimed.

  “I was sent to fetch ye, Dr. Hancock. There be a good many injuries, and I fear some ’ave died as well. I just thank the Lord it not be my son.”

  “I will go at once,” Hancock said.

  “May I ride with you?” Charles asked.

  “Of course.”

  Charles turned to Sophie, whose face had gone pale. “Sophie, you will have to go home with Ned.”

  She nodded. Hancock deposited her parcel into the chariot. After seeing her off, Charles and Hancock leapt into his own waiting carriage and high-tailed it out of the village. When they arrived at Wheal Jenny, everything was in chaos with workers milling about and women crying. Half a dozen bloodied men lay on the ground, tended by anxious wives. Two more forms, covered by dirty sheets, could only be dead bodies.

  Charles spotted the foreman and raced up to him in anguish. “What happened?”

  “An explosion, milord. The men say it were a lamp what ignited.”

  Charles cursed aloud. Light was essential to a miner’s labor. But the open flames of the lamps they used could also be lethal, as had once again been proven here.

  “Thanks be to God,” the foreman went on, “it happened in a part o’ the mine where only a few men were working.”

  Charles nodded grimly. It could have been so much worse.

  Dr. Hancock immediately got to work tending to the wounded. Charles rolled up his sleeves and strode forward to help in any way he could. When he learned the names of the miners who had died, tears of anger and sadness burned behind his eyes. They were both good men with families.

  This kind of accident, he thought, should never happen. Not in this modern age of invention. Charles vowed that he would perfect the device he was working on, so that a tragedy like this would never occur again.

  On her fifth day at Polperran House, Madeleine received the following telegram:

  TO: MISS MADELEINE ATHERTON

  POLPERRAN HOUSE, NEAR LONGFORD, CORNWALL

  YOU’RE A FOOL. I PRAY THAT OAKLEY DOESN’T CHANGE HIS MIND. CHECKED OUT OF BROWN’S HOTEL. TRAVELING TO THE CONTINENT WITH A FRIEND. SENDING YOU 5 TRUNKS OF GOWNS.

  MOTHER

  “Well,” Alexandra said when Madeleine showed her the wire, “it looks like you’ll have plenty of frocks to choose from this summer.”

  They laughed.

  The conversation turned more somber, however, when Thomas told them about the terrible accident at Wheal Jenny. The mine explosion was, he explained, an unfortunate but common occurrence. It was lucky so few lives had been taken.

  The next morning, Thomas rode off to see Lord Saunders and to offer his assistance. Alexandra, Madeleine, Julia, and Lillie brought food and medicine to the families of the wounded men in Trevelyan village, and stayed to comfort the grieving. They ran into Lady Trevelyan, Sophie, and Helen on the same errand. Despite all their comings and goings, Madeleine never encountered Lord Saunders, for which she was grateful.

  The tragedy of the mine explosion cast a pall over everything in the region. Alexandra and Madeleine, seeing how deeply this had affected Julia and Lillie, and feeling it necessary to lift their spirits, invited Helen and Anna to visit on July the Fourth. In honor of the American celebration, they decided to make an event of it with a ladies only picnic on the Polperran House grounds.

  It proved to be a lovely day. They played lawn games and then relaxed on blankets spread on the grass, enjoying the sandwiches, fruit, biscuits, and cakes that Mrs. Nettle had prepared. When they had finished eating, Madeleine read aloud from one of her favorite books, Little Women.

  The girls listened in rapt attention, and were particularly enthralled by the part where the March girls performed a play for their friends.

  “We should put on a play,” Lillie suggested, when Madeleine had finished reading the second chapter, “just like the March girls.”

  Julia’s eyes lit up. “What a grand idea.”

  “A play? I’ve never acted before,” Helen pointed out dubiously.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Julia insisted. “Lillie and I were both shy about performing when Alexandra first came as our governess last year. But in no time at all, she had us reading aloud from books. It would be even more thrilling to put on our own theatrics.” She glanced at Alexandra. “Could we?”

  Alexandra pondered for only the briefest of seconds, then a smile crossed her face. “Why not? I think it’s a splendid idea. A play would be the perfect summer activity for you girls.” Glancing at Madeleine, she added, “And it would be fun for us, too.”

  From Alexandra’s expression, Madeleine had a sneaking suspicion that her sister was hatching a plan of some kind. But Alexandra just went on, “When Maddie and I were your age, we used to stage plays at home all the time with our sister, Kathryn.”

  Madeleine nodded, recalling their childhood antics. “We roped our parents and the servants into attending, made all our own costumes and props, and drew up playbills and everything.”

  “May we invite our parents?” Helen asked. “And Charles?”

  “Absolutely,” Alexandra replied. “You must invite your whole family.”

  Madeleine glanced up, alarmed now, as she guessed what Alexandra might be plotting. Did she hope this would create an opportunity for Madeleine to see Lord Saunders again, and set off more sparks? That was the last thing she wanted.

  “Of course we must invite your family,” Madeleine said quickly, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up that they’ll attend. Your father is unwell, and your brother is a busy man. Lord Saunders has had a lot to deal with recently, with his mine.” She darted a glare at Alexandra, as if to say, Get that thought right out of your mind.

  Alexandra responded with an innocent shrug.

  “Well,” Anna said, “even if they do not come, it will be heaps of fun.”

  “When you put on your plays,” Lillie asked Alexandra, “where did you get your scripts?”

  “Every one was original,” Alexandra replied proudly. “Maddie always wrote them.”

  Four pairs of eyes now turned to Madeleine in wonder. “You wrote the plays you performed?” Helen asked, astonished. “Just like Jo in Little Women?”

  Madeleine’s face warmed with modest pride. “I did.”

&n
bsp; “They were wonderful, too,” Alexandra said. “Everyone said so.”

  “Everyone except Mother,” Madeleine pointed out dryly. “Mother always called my writing a stupid hobby. We were lucky she allowed us to perform at all.”

  “Mother disapproved of everything fun. She still does.” Alexandra sighed.

  “Maddie,” Lillie said, “will you write a play for us?”

  The question gave Madeleine pause. “I don’t know, Lillie.” She’d been making steady progress recently on the book she was writing, and would rather not break that momentum.

  “Maddie: you absolutely must do it,” Alexandra insisted. “You could whip one up in a few days, I’ve seen you do it.”

  “Please?” Julia said.

  “Yes, please!” Anna enthused.

  Madeleine hesitated again. It had been a long time since she had written a play. She wasn’t certain she could write one so quickly, and more importantly, one worth performing. But the girls had such hope in their eyes, how could she say no? “What kind of play do you want?” Madeleine asked.

  “A drama,” answered Julia.

  “Something filled with action,” Helen said.

  “A love story,” Anna countered.

  “A comedy,” Lillie insisted.

  Madeleine laughed, delighted by their diverse replies as well as their enthusiasm. “I’ll tell you what,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll write you something with all of those elements combined.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Madeleine spent every spare minute of the next four days writing a play for the girls. She wrote from the moment she arose until long after dark, only taking breaks to eat and sleep.

  The piece she concocted was about two daughters of a duke who were being courted by noblemen who bored them. One of the girls was in love with a young solicitor who broadened her mind, but of whom the duke violently disapproved. Madeleine threw in an aborted elopement, a carriage accident, an escape through a field of sheep, and a resolution in which the duke allowed his daughters to put off marriage in order to attend a women’s college.