Scandal's Daughter

by Emma V. Leech

  Once every complaint had been dealt with and every ruffled feather smoothed to a nicety, Georgiana found herself standing outside the shop facing her heroic rescuer.

  "Well, sir, I don't know what to say," she replied in all honesty. "I can never thank you enough for your intervention. I fear to think what might have happened if you hadn't stepped in."

  "Think nothing of it," he said, once more employing that devastating smile to good purpose. "I am a great animal lover and it would have been a shame to put a period to the life of such an intrepid canine."

  "Idiotish creature," she sighed, looking down at her dog with chagrin.

  "Oh, come, I'm not that bad." She laughed in surprise as a pair of bright blue eyes twinkled at her with amusement. "But now," he added, with mock seriousness. "After our great adventure, will you not do me the honour of giving me your name?"

  Georgiana went to open her mouth and then paused. It was only too clear that this man, whoever he was, was a member of the ton. He was exquisitely dressed, with everything from his carefully arranged hair to his cravat and boots, of the latest fashion. Far from being a dandy however, he was dressed with taste and restraint, a large sapphire pin winking in his perfectly tied cravat the only sign of obvious extravagance. Taking a deep breath she realised she would have to face this reaction sooner or later and reluctantly took his proffered hand.

  "I am Lady Georgiana Dalton, Sir," she replied, a little breathless as she waited to see disgust flicker in those beautiful eyes. She did see something there, surprise certainly and then curiosity, but not disgust.

  "Well, well, so you are the Siren," he whispered.

  She stiffened immediately and tried to pull her hand free but he held it tight. "Oh, please forgive me, that was ungallant wasn't it. I did not mean to call you so, only that everyone is speculating about The Siren. I assure you I of all people would never hold your mother's sins as your own."

  She unwound a little at the sincerity in his eyes. "Thank you, Sir, but I still do not have your name."

  "Good Lord, where are my manners today?" he replied, shaking his head with bemusement. "The trouble is after one look at your beautiful face I have quite forgotten it I assure you."

  She arched one eyebrow at him and he grinned at her.

  "Too much?" he asked with a look of such innocence that she couldn't help but laugh at him.

  "Certainly too much," she nodded, trying hard not to look too obviously amused. Whoever he was he was the most outrageous flirt.

  He gave a heartfelt sigh and then bowed to her. "I am Charles Stafford, the Marquis of Beaumont. But you, my dear, can most certainly call me, Beau."

  For a moment she just stared at him, before anger bloomed. Whoever this charming creature may be he had no right to be going around and pretending he was someone he was not.

  "Oh really?" she said, her tone obviously scathing. "You're Beau Beaumont?"

  The look on his face was one of deep consternation as he answered. "Yes, I am. Is that a problem?"

  Returning a look of disgust she simply replied, "I imagine it might be, for the real Marquis." Not wanting to pursue a conversation with someone who was at best a loose screw and at worst, quite possibly mad she bit him a cool, "Good day," and turned on her heel.

  Unfortunately he wasn't about to be shaken free so easily and set off after her.

  "Am I to understand," he asked, keeping stride with her quite easily. "That you do not believe I am who I purport to be?"

  "You have it in a nutshell, sir," she replied with a haughty sniff.

  To her surprise he gave a bark of laughter. "How intriguing," he said, showing no inclination to leave her alone.

  "Please sir," she replied, stopping in her tracks. "It is most improper that you follow me about town in such a manner when I have no idea who you are. If you know of my circumstances then you must know I have the utmost need for propriety and so I must bid you good day!"

  To her annoyance he ignored this piece of good sense and carried on walking beside her.

  "I do see," he said, with obvious sympathy. "Probably more than you realise, but the difficulty is this." He stopped, and by gently grasping her wrist forced her to stop as well. "I really am the Marquis of Beaumont, Lady Dalton." To her horror he reached into a pocket and removed a silver case and withdrew a calling card which he presented to her.

  Georgiana looked at the elegantly engraved card and the name of the Marquis of Beaumont stared back at her, mocking her and her own foolish naivety. For the man she had fallen for could have been any one. He had clearly only meant to toy with her affections and had given her a false name so she would never be able to trace him. And of course who better to blame than Beau Beaumont, the most notorious rakehell in all of England.

  She blinked back tears and willed herself not to cry as she heard his concerned voice filter through the shock.

  "My poor dear, you look quite pale. Look at this, fortuitously we are right outside Gunter's. Won't you come in and have a cup of chocolate until you feel more the thing. Come now, it can be quite unexceptionable with your footman to chaperone us."

  Blindly she allowed him to lead her from the street and for Thomas to take care of Conrad who was behaving like a meek little lamb now the devil was full of scotch eggs. She gave a little hiccupping laugh, somewhere between amusement and the depths of sorrow but could do nothing to protest as Lord Beaumont guided her to a seat and ordered her chocolate. It was with acceptance that she heard his order replied to with a brisk, "Right away, Lord Beaumont." Just in case she'd been in any doubt.

  Indeed, by the time she was half way through her chocolate she felt a little more able to meet the man's eyes. Lifting her own she looked up and found him watching her with concern.

  "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice quiet. "Feeling a little better?"

  She nodded and tried to smile at him though this seemed a tremendous effort. Her heart and mind were full of all the memories and dreams that had sprung up since the autumn, and now to find even her memories were constructed upon lies was almost more than she could bear.

  "I can't imagine what you think of me," she murmured, looking down into her cup once more.

  "Don't be foolish, child," he said, scolding her with a mild tone. "I think perhaps you have been ill used, but I strongly doubt you have anything to reproach yourself for."

  She gave an unsteady huff of laughter and then covered her eyes with her hand as tears threatened again.

  "You know, I am most terribly discreet when the need arises," he said and looking up into those blue eyes she believed him. But then she had believed another man too, she had believed every word he'd said. He sighed at her continued silence. "Am I to take it that you have encountered a man who told you he was the Marquis of Beaumont?"

  She nodded, she owed him some kind of explanation for her extraordinary behaviour after all.

  "And I think perhaps ... you were ... fond of this gentleman?"

  She looked up at him but could say nothing but it appeared he could read the answer in her eyes clearly enough.

  "Oh, my poor child," he said, his eyes full of warmth and such sympathy that she felt she would dissolve into tears and tell him all. It took a great deal of effort not to do just that as she pushed what remained of her chocolate aside.

  "Can you tell me anything about him?" he asked, his expression intense. "As I feel the urgent desire to have a rather short conversation with the bas-- fellow."

  She bit her lip and shrugged, shaking her head. She didn't want to speak about it anymore and for whatever ridiculous motive, she didn't want to get him into trouble. Whoever he was. Though why she owed him a shred of loyalty she couldn't fathom.

  "I will find out," the Marquis warned, the dangerous glint in his eyes only too evident.

  "You have been very kind, my Lord," she said, trying to hold onto her composure and keep her dignity intact. "But I should be getting back. I will be missed if I'm away any longer."

  He nodded an
d got to his feet, taking her back outside. "Would you like me to escort you home?" he asked.

  "No, thank you. You have already been so very kind and Thomas will look after me. Besides," she added with an apologetic expression. "It probably wouldn't be wise."

  "No, perhaps not," he replied with a rueful grin. "But we will meet again, Lady Dalton, and I promise you this much, I will do everything in my power to make you forget there was ever another Beau Beaumont ... or ever could be." He gave her a roguish smile and bowed, before leaving her with Thomas to walk back to Mayfair.

  ***

  It was obviously quite clear to Céleste that something was wrong the moment she got home, but to her credit she said nothing. Instead she helped her to her room and closed the curtains, instructing Georgiana to lie down upon the bed and sending her abigail off for a cloth soaked in vinegar. Georgiana didn't attempt to try and explain or make excuses. She didn't want to lie to her friend and any attempt at the truth right now would only result in tears. Though all she truly wanted was to be left alone to indulge in a really serious cry. While they waited for her abigail to return Céleste rubbed a little lavender oil onto her wrists and temples, talking silly nothings in French that Georgiana couldn't understand but found soothing.

  Once the abigail had returned, the cloth laid carefully on her forehead, and Georgiana made as comfortable as Céleste could make her, her friend took her hand and gave it a squeeze

  "Don't reply to me," she said, giving her a sweet smile. "I don't know what 'as happened and you don't need to tell me right now. But later, when you feel a little better ... if you want to talk to someone ..." She leaned down and kissed Georgiana's cheek. "It is a new thing for me, you see, to 'ave friends. But I promise you I am trying to be very good at it, and anything you say to me ... I will tell no one else. Not even Alex if you don't want me to. You 'ave my word."

  With a last reassuring pat off her hand, Céleste got up and went to the door. "Just call if you need anything or want me to come back, Chérie." And with that she closed the door quietly behind her.

  Chapter 17

  "Wherein plans are revealed and the fates laugh with glee."

  Sebastian looked up as Beau strolled into the room unannounced and without so much as a knock. "Do come in," he drawled, tucking the sleek red curl he had been staring at with dejection into his desk drawer and out of sight.

  Beau paused and looked at him, one blond eyebrow arched in surprise. "I have," he replied, before going and helping himself to Sebastian's best brandy.

  "It's not even noon," he pointed out to Beau who just returned a bored look and sat down in front of his desk.

  "I'm celebrating," Beau replied with a smug expression.

  "Oh?" Sebastian closed the ledger that he'd been quite at a loss to make tally for the past two hours as a certain sweet country girl and her unruly red hair kept intruding on his thoughts. He was dangerously close to breaking and returning to Cornwall for he didn't think he could bear not to see her again.

  "Yes, I believe I have discovered the means to my salvation."

  Sebastian blinked and tried to drag his mind away from an October day and a Titian haired beauty spread out among the autumn leaves and back to Beau's news.

  "Oh?"

  Beau sighed and shook his head. "You said that already."

  "I did?"

  "Good God, man," his friend snapped, clearly exasperated. "Will you snap out of ... of whatever this is!" He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and slouched back in the chair, glaring at Sebastian. "You've not been fit for man nor beast for weeks now. You can't have her! You know you can't so bloody well let it go."

  "I would if I could, damn it!" he exploded in return. The unfairness of it all, the longing to see Georgiana, the pressure of the past weeks, of his mother's hysterics and her determination that they were all to be brought to ruin had worn on his last nerve. "What do you know of love?" he demanded. "You've never cared a damn for anyone but yourself. I can't forget her, I ... I can't." He stopped, appalled by his outburst. He hadn't meant to admit that to Beau, and he certainly hadn't meant to abuse his best friend for no reason. He sighed as he saw the look in his friend's eyes. His face had that guarded, shuttered up quality that he wore for everyone but Sebastian. "Forgive me, Beau," he said, hearing the exhaustion behind his words. "I had no right to say that and ... and I know it isn't true. You have always been ... the very best of friends."

  Beau snorted in disgust, though he seemed to relax a little. "No I haven't. Far from it, and you well know it. But you are and I don't expect to hear you of all people call me out for it."

  Sebastian laughed, relieved that he'd been so easily forgiven. "To tell the truth it's been the most damnably awful few weeks."

  "I suppose a broken heart will do that to you?" Beau replied, curiosity lurking in his blue eyes. "You really think you love the girl?"

  "I don't think it," he replied with a crooked smile. "I know it. I have never felt this way before. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the world and I can't breathe anymore."

  Beau grimaced with disdain and picked a tiny piece of lint from his perfectly tailored sleeve. "How terribly uncomfortable. I must make sure I avoid it at all costs."

  "You do," Sebastian replied laughing. He grew serious again as Georgiana's lovely face drifted back to mind. "I can't get her out of my head," he admitted.

  "You must, unless you would offer her a carte blanche?"

  Sebastian smiled as he imagined the look on Georgiana's face if he dared to offer to keep her as his mistress. "I don't think she'd take that offer very kindly," he said, shaking his head with amusement.

  Beau gave an impatient tut of annoyance. "Well you must think of something because I can't stand all this moping about, it's revolting. Just imagine what your mother would say if you told her you intended to offer for a doctor's daughter with no name and no fortune. Good God, that would be the spasm to end all spasms. You might actually kill her!"

  Sebastian buried his head in his hands. "Right at this moment she might actually welcome the idea as it's far from my only problem."

  "You're not serious? What else can have ... oh!" Beau trailed off.

  He watched as Beau fell silent and thought he detected a slightly guilty air about him.

  Sebastian narrowed his eyes, leaning over the desk to better scrutinise the angelic countenance in front of him. "You're up to something unspeakable!"

  He was given an eye roll as Beau finished his drink and stood to pour another. "Oh very well," he replied. "But you go first. Tell me why your darling parent is having the vapours now, though I think I can guess."

  "I'm damned sure you can. Fix me one of those," he added, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache began to bloom behind his eyes. "The blasted scandal rags are full of Lady Dalton, The Siren! So the whole bloody scandal is going to be raked up again, just at the moment I'm out to find a wife and mother is convinced the chit is somehow going to ruin me like her mother ruined father."

  "Ah," Beau handed him his glass and a sympathetic expression. "Yes I do see. But ... it may be that I can help you there."

  Sebastian paused with the glass halfway to his lips. "What the devil do you mean?"

  "Well," his friend said, winking and raising his glass at him. "It's an ill wind ..."

  "Oh for the love of God, do stop talking in riddles. You know it drives me insane when you do that."

  Beau chuckled, his blue eyes glittering with calculation. "Well it just so happens that Lady Dalton is an heiress and I have every intention of making her my wife."

  Sebastian stared at his friend, the words seemed to circulate his brain but it was taking longer than usual to accept the meaning of them.

  "You ... want to marry her?" he replied with care, wanting to be sure he'd really understood as the enormity of it hit him.

  Beau pursed his lips, a thoughtful expression making him look more bloody perfect that usual. "Want to is perhaps giving the matter a little t
oo much force," he replied with perfect sincerity. "I don't want to marry anyone. However seeing as I am probably days away from point non plus and some of my creditors are really not the kind of men who take kindly to being told my pockets are to let ... then yes, I most certainly will do all in my power to marry her as fast as I may. They say she's rich enough to buy an abbey you know, and gifts like that don't fall into your hands every day."

  "She would be your wife, Beau. The daughter of the woman who ruined my life, who killed my father and tore my family apart while the ton looked on and gossiped. You would marry her?" Sebastian found he'd got to his feet without somehow noticing it. His fists were clenched with rage as the ferocity of his words rang around the room.

  Beau met his gaze, his expression placid but there was something in his eyes that gave him pause. "I'm sorry, Sebastian, truly I am. If I had any other choice I swear I would take it. But heiresses are thin on the ground and please don't think I overstate the case when I tell you I am ... in trouble ..."

  Sebastian sat down again as his anger fell away. He stared at Beau and for the first time he could ever remember he thought he saw fear in his eyes.

  "Your father?" he queried, though he knew what the answer would be.

  "For God's sake, Sebastian. When will you get it through your head that the bastard hates my guts. He would laugh himself to death if I got carted off to debtor's prison I assure you. Though frankly I'd be lucky to get there after some of the callers I've been forced to receive recently."

  "Christ, Beau!" Sebastian shouted and pulled out the desk drawer, fully intending to write his friend a banker's draft there and then.

  "Don't you dare!" Beau sprang to his feet, his eyes almost feverish. "I won't take it, damn you. I made this bloody mess and I'll get myself out of it. I won't take a penny from you so don't try to give it to me or we will most certainly fall out."