Portrait of a Scandal

by Annie Burrows

  Besides, it was herself she was cross with. If she’d had her wits about her she would have been first out of the door and marched straight down the path for home before anyone could waylay her. But it was too late now. She was well and truly trapped, with only herself to blame.

  ‘I did not have time to tell you our most interesting news,’ panted Mrs Podmore, ‘when I visited you the other day. But now I should like to introduce you to the newest resident of Stanton Basset.’ She stepped aside and waved her hand to summon the person who’d been hovering behind her, rather in the manner of a conjuror producing coins from thin air.

  ‘Allow me to present Mr Brown,’ she said, as Nathan stepped forwards.

  Nathan? Here in Stanton Basset? Amethyst could not have been more stunned if Mrs Podmore had conjured up a unicorn from behind her velvet-and-bombazine bulk. She was glad she was still seated or her legs might have given way.

  ‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Dalby,’ said Nathan suavely. ‘I have heard so much about you.’

  ‘Mr...Brown?’ She gazed at him in bewilderment. And excitement that warred with trepidation.

  ‘Mr Brown is an artist,’ said Mrs Podmore, completely oblivious, as usual, to the effect she was creating in her current victim’s breast. She was far more interested in having just trumped Amethyst’s foreign count, who nobody would ever see, with a genuine, visible, novelty. ‘He declares he has fallen in love with the charm of the place and intends to make a stay of some months, capturing it all on canvas.’

  ‘An artist,’ said Amethyst weakly. So he wasn’t trying to conceal everything about himself.

  ‘Oh, you need not be alarmed. Mr Brown is quite the gentleman. He has taken a lease on old Murdoch’s place.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Amethyst’s brain finally emerged from the state of shock that seeing Nathan standing in the aisle of St Gregory’s had induced, and started coming up with questions. Why had he hired such a massive old mausoleum? How had he been able to afford it? And why was he going by the name of Brown?

  And, more importantly, why was he here?

  Her heart skipped a beat. Monsieur Le Brun had declared that he would have followed Fenella to England, to continue courting her. Was this what Nathan was doing?

  Or was she clutching at straws?

  ‘How...how long have you been here?’ It was the one question she could safely ask. The kind of thing one stranger might say to another upon their first introduction. For if he was going by the name of Brown, and getting Mrs Podmore to introduce him to her, then he clearly didn’t want anyone to guess they already knew each other.

  ‘Almost a month, now,’ said Nathan.

  A month? That meant he must have left Paris almost immediately after she’d turned down his proposal. No wonder he hadn’t called on her. He’d been on his way here.

  But why? Not that she could ask him that, not here.

  Nor could she sit staring at him like this. It wasn’t seemly.

  ‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I really must be getting home.’

  ‘Perhaps you will do me the honour of permitting me to call on you some time,’ said Nathan. And then, with a swift sideways glance at Mrs Podmore, continued, ‘You have a very interesting face. I should like to paint you.’

  ‘And I have told him that if anyone in this town is likely to be able to afford such an extravagance, it is you, Miss Dalby. From what I hear,’ said Mrs Podmore with a twitch of her brows.

  Her stomach roiled in reaction. The whole town had buzzed with the tale of her father fighting the lawyer over her inheritance. And though nobody knew for sure how much was at stake, they’d definitely overheard him prophesying she’d fritter her entire fortune away within a twelvemonth and have to crawl back to him for forgiveness. Because he’d done so in the voice he normally employed for booming hellfire sermons from the pulpit.

  ‘And I am sure you will agree that we should do what we can to support burgeoning talent, the kind that Mr Brown possesses.’ Mrs Podmore leaned forwards and confided, ‘He is a most interesting addition to our town, my dear. Quite the gentleman. Much more preferable as a tenant of the Murdoch place than some we might be unfortunate enough to get.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said, making for the door as fast as she could.

  She didn’t feel as if she could breathe properly, even once she’d got outside. She wasn’t going to let Mrs Podmore’s assumptions spoil whatever chance there might be with Nathan. He couldn’t have known about her wealth before he’d come here. He’d come here because he’d meant what he said.

  He had.

  And anyway, even if he had since found out about her money, hadn’t she already decided she didn’t care? If Nathan had come here to try to win her, then she wasn’t going to let any consideration keep them apart. She’d just spent the most miserable weeks of her life berating herself for not accepting any of his proposals. She most certainly wasn’t going to turn down any more.

  If he’d really come here to propose again.

  Yet why else would he be here, if not to offer for her hand again?

  A cold, suspicious voice, that sounded very much like her aunt, whispered, He could be planning to blackmail you.

  She bowed her head into the sleet, which had started some time during the service, and marched doggedly on, though every breath she took made her chest ache, it had gone so cold.

  No—she wasn’t going to believe Nathan would do such a thing. Why, he’d had her portrait, which he could have used to attempt to coerce her into marriage, or even blackmail her for money, but he hadn’t. He’d just handed it over without making any demands at all.

  He’d had the chance to blacken her name ten years ago, too, and hadn’t taken it. He was too decent.

  Nathan Harcourt? The man whose career was punctuated by scandal and failure?

  Yes, him. He was a decent man. Deep down, where it mattered. He’d had good reasons for acting so badly. He’d been devastated by the lies they’d told him. He’d drifted into a career he hadn’t wanted and a marriage that had been like a prison. No wonder he’d broken free the only way he could.

  You’re making excuses for him.

  Perhaps she was. And perhaps that made her a foolish, lovestruck woman.

  But she didn’t care. She was done with assuming the worst of everyone.

  She would wait until he’d called, before deciding anything. Hear what he had to say, and then...

  Then what?

  She didn’t know, God help her. She’d just spent the week deciding how she was going to cope without him. Made all sorts of resolutions about striking out in a new direction.

  If he really was here to make her another offer, she would gladly toss every single one of her plans out of the window.

  And if he wasn’t...

  If he wasn’t, then she’d just have to deal with it.

  * * *

  She barely slept a wink that night.

  And it took her an age to dress the following morning. She’d never found her choice of clothing so important before. Pride wouldn’t let her wear something that would make her look too eager, just in case he hadn’t come here to propose again. But she didn’t want to dress so soberly that he would take one look at her and think she was going to turn him down, again, either.

  In the end, she donned the gown she’d bought for Fenella’s wedding. Since he had never seen her in it, it wouldn’t have any associations which might put ideas into his head. And it was both suitable for the current weather, being made of fine merino wool, and having long sleeves, yet pretty enough, with its scalloped hem and embroidered detail round the neckline, to make her seem approachable. She hoped.

  * * *

  She had barely nibbled on her toast at the breakfast table, yet she’d ma
naged to bite her nails to the quick by the time Adams came to her study—where she’d been pacing up and down rather than making even a token pretence at shuffling papers round her desk—to inform her that she had a visitor.

  ‘A gentleman,’ he said, with a slight inflection on the word which suggested he very much doubted it. ‘He claims to have made an appointment. And says his name is Mr Brown.’

  How perceptive Adams was. No wonder her aunt had kept him on when she could have saved a fortune by hiring a female as housekeeper to do more or less the same job.

  ‘You are correct upon all counts,’ she said, causing one of his eyebrows to quirk, just a fraction. ‘He was introduced to me, at church yesterday, as Mr Brown and I did agree to see him.’

  The eyebrow rose just a fraction more.

  ‘And, no, I do not think he is a gentleman either.’

  His face returned to its proper state of butlerish blandness.

  ‘Shall I bring refreshments to the morning room? I took the liberty of showing him in there, rather than leaving him cluttering up the hall.’

  In spite of her nerves, Amethyst couldn’t help smiling at this restrained display of humour.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Tea would be most welcome.’

  Her mouth had gone very dry. And going through all the ceremony of pouring and serving would at least give her something to do if the interview didn’t go the way she hoped.

  ‘Tea. Of course, miss. He looks just the sort of man,’ said Adams with a perfectly straight face, ‘to enjoy drinking tea in the middle of the day.’

  And with that last caustic comment upon the character of a man who had come calling upon a single lady when everyone knew she didn’t have a chaperon, he bowed himself out of the room.

  And then, since there was no mirror in the study she hastily checked her fractured reflection in the multiple panes of the glass-fronted bookshelves, one last time, before going to meet Nathan. Although she’d checked it every few turns of the room, so knew exactly what she looked like. It was just that it was hard to credit she looked so neat and tidy when inside she felt as though she was coming unravelled.

  He’d dressed with great care too, she noted the moment she entered the morning room, in immaculate breeches and topcoat, his pristine neckcloth foaming from a damask silk waistcoat. He truly was a sight for sore eyes.

  He got to his feet and took a step towards her, then stopped, as though unsure of his welcome.

  She smiled, or at least tried to. She was so nervous that it felt a little wobbly and yet tight at the same time.

  ‘Please, won’t you sit down?’ she said, waving to the seat on the other side of the fireplace as she took her aunt’s chair.

  Some of the stiffness left his face at her tentative gesture of welcome.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you would even let me in,’ he said, resting his arms on the arm of the chair and leaning forwards.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done,’ she replied. ‘It is not the thing to receive a single gentleman when I am without a chaperon. The whole town will be scandalised.’

  A frown flickered across his face.

  ‘The last thing I want to do is plunge you into a scandal. That is why I decided it would be better if I got here well before you came back, so it wouldn’t look as if there was already anything between us. You made it so obvious that my notoriety would be an issue, here in this little town, that I have done all I can to prevent anyone knowing exactly who, and what, I am.’

  Oh. That made perfect sense.

  And was incredibly sweet of him.

  ‘That is why you are using an assumed name?’

  ‘Of course. You made it so clear you weren’t interested in marrying a man of my notoriety, that I was sure you wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’d had a liaison with the notorious Nathan Harcourt. So I took a leaf out of your courier’s book. He successfully managed to court your companion under the name of Brown. I hoped it might be as lucky for me.’

  ‘C-courting?’ Her breath hitched in her throat. He’d come all this way to court her. In spite of the way they’d parted, her conviction she’d driven him away for good. He must have meant every one of those proposals which she’d discounted, for varying reasons.

  ‘Yes. Courting.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘And I’d better warn you that I’ve spent my time in this town learning as much as I could about you—surreptitiously, of course—in the hopes that I might find a chink in your armour.’

  ‘B-but you love Paris. You were so happy there...’

  ‘It would have been a wasteland without you in it. Don’t you realise, yet, that I cannot be happy anywhere, unless you are with me?’

  He did love her, then. Enough to abandon the work he loved and the home he’d made for himself. Assume a false identity and put up with Mrs Podmore taking him under her wing.

  Nobody had ever exerted themselves to such an extent on her account.

  ‘Y-yes. Actually, I think I do,’ she admitted shyly. ‘Because I have been utterly miserable since our last meeting. I was such an idiot to drive you away.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I was so scared I’d driven you away for good.’

  He left his chair to kneel at her feet. He seized her hands.

  ‘Does this mean what I hope it means? I’ve been telling myself that once your temper had cooled and you could think things over rationally, you would be able to forgive me. And give me another chance.’

  ‘I will give you as many chances as you want, so long as you are able to forgive me for being so...’ She screwed up her face in disgust as she thought of how narrow-minded and judgemental she’d been. ‘For being such a...’

  He placed one finger over her lips.

  ‘I’ve no right to condemn you for anything you’ve done, or thought. Not with my record.’

  He tugged at her hands and drew her to her feet.

  ‘Miss Dalby, once and for all, will you forget all the past mistakes we’ve both made and marry me?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She sighed. And then, because her legs went limp, she leaned forwards, rested her head on his chest and said, ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Thank God,’ he muttered fervently, putting both arms round her and hugging her tight.

  And it felt like coming home. No, better than any home she’d ever known. He was the only person who’d ever accepted her, liked her, loved her, just as she was. Everyone else had tried to change her. Sway her opinions to match their own. But not Nathan.

  And then just hugging him wasn’t enough. Amethyst raised her face hopefully and he obliged her by meeting her halfway in a kiss. A kiss that went on and on, as though they both needed to drink the other in.

  It was only Adams, scuffling against the door as he prepared to bring in the tea tray, that made them break apart, smiling ruefully.

  By the time he placed the tray on the table, they were both seated in the chairs that flanked the fireplace, looking perfectly respectable, if a little flushed and breathless.

  Adams glanced from one to the other. His face went more wooden than usual and, without a word, he made a swift exit.

  Amethyst’s hand was shaking too much to pour the tea.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Nathan with a smile. ‘It wasn’t to drink tea that I came here today. I had this great long speech planned.’

  She darted him a shy smile. ‘Should I apologise for stopping you making it?’

  He grinned back at her. ‘Not in the least. It was just...well, I have a few things I do need to tell you, before I make an honest woman of you. I’d thought I would need to prove to you that I could at least appear respectable if I stood a chance of persuading you that I was husband material, rather than only being good enough for a temporary liaison...’

  A pang of guilt shot through her. Had she really made him feel like that? It wa
s so typical of the way she’d been—never giving a thought to what her actions might make other people feel like.

  ‘Which is one reason why I hired the biggest house I could find to rent in this area. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the nearest one to yours. I wanted to demonstrate, you see, that I have the means to support you. I realised, in Paris, that I might have given you the impression that I haven’t a feather to fly with—’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter one bit, Nathan, you see—’

  ‘Please, hear me out. I need to explain why I was living the way I was when you found me. I was doing it to prove a point. I wanted to demonstrate that I was good enough to make a living from my work alone. And I did. But I have independent means, as well. I can keep you in tolerable comfort, Amy. You don’t need to fear that we’ll ever have to worry about where the rent will come from.’

  ‘No, we won’t. Because I have money, too. Quite a lot of it, actually. Which was one of the reasons I was so suspicious of all the proposals you made to me before. I thought you must have found out about it somehow and was trying to...’

  His face froze. ‘Yes? Trying to what?’

  ‘I’m so very, very sorry. I know it was nothing of the sort, now. It is just that my aunt, the one who took me in and left me this house, would keep on about how important it was to keep the extent of our fortune a secret, or we’d become targets for fortune hunters. I was convinced that no man would ever show an interest in me unless it was because he wanted to get his hands on my money. It became second nature to me to conceal the fact that I’m a wealthy woman.’

  ‘A wealthy woman.’ He frowned. ‘Exactly how large is this fortune?’

  She cleared her throat and then, in a matter-of-fact tone, told him exactly how large, and in what it consisted, and that moreover she had plans to expand into France now trading there was legal again.

  By the time she had finished he was looking at her as though she’d become a total stranger.

  ‘So you are not some simple country girl, eking out your existence on a modest little windfall from the spinster aunt you cared for in her last days. And what of Mrs Mountsorrel? Was she really just a widowed friend with whom you threw in your lot?’ He flung the words at her as though he was accusing her of something.