A Proper Scandal

by Charis Michaels

  “Lillian,” Elisabeth’s voice shook. “I might as well know what?”

  “Truly? You had no idea?”

  “No idea about what? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I only meant to make conversation, acknowledging your love for parties.”

  “Oh, darling. My love for parties? But don’t you see? If I am seen out, happy, active, popular—no one will guess. When you are settled, well, the charade may end. Quincy and I will quietly slip away. Simply, ‘the Lady Banning has remarried. She relinquishes her title and has sailed from England with her new husband. Bound for the tropics.’ Somewhere warm and sunny has always been our dream.” She winked at Elisabeth. “In time, we will get there.”

  “Lillian”—Elisabeth struggled, suspecting the answer, dreading the answer—“are you meaning to say that the only reason you have remained in London, living life as a countess, is for me?”

  Lillian cocked her head. “Come now, Elisabeth.”

  “But why? Surely I have not detained you fifteen years?”

  Elisabeth thought back, her mind a whirl. She had learned of her aunt’s secret relationship with the gardener slowly over time, in the weeks and months after she turned up at Lillian’s door. She’d accepted it from the start and happily took on their deeply guarded secret. But never once had she considered the cost to them. In the beginning, she’d been too wrapped up in her own pain. After that, it simply was.

  Oh, God, the sacrifice . . .

  Lillian shook her head. “In no way did you detain us. We are very happy, as you can plainly see. Eventually, we will go. Soon, perhaps, if your affiliation with the viscount continues on course, and I suspect it will. For now, I would not dream of scandalizing and, let us be honest, ruining you. I cannot traipse off to a tropical island with the gardener. If we did this, your reputation would never recover.”

  “My reputation?” Elisabeth said, her voice far too loud in the closed carriage. “But what care have I for my reputation? Especially if it is keeping you and Quincy from your life together. Oh, but this is awful. I had no idea. Lillian! I’m so sorry. The sacrifice the two of you have made . . . ”

  “There has been no sacrifice, and you should never speak of it in that way. You are like a daughter to me, and I love you with all of my heart. Quincy too. Everything we have done has been out of love. It has been our own choice.”

  “My God,” said Elisabeth, strangled. “You might have had children if you’d married and moved away.”

  “Stop. And what would I want with a baby to make me fat when I had a delightful, full-grown girl in you? Besides, Quincy and I do not suffer. We carry on behind the walls of Denby House exactly as we please. Eventually, we will realize our next dream. But for now, you are our dream.”

  Elisabeth fell back against the carriage seat. “I shall never be able to repay you,” she whispered. “So many lives were forever changed that night. So many.”

  “Oh, my dear, you’re viewing this in entirely the wrong light.” Lillian tsked, fluffing her hair. “What I would not give to have my brother and your dear mama here with us, hale and hearty, but I could not have been more blessed to raise you in their stead. It has been an honor. And it is not over yet. Ah, but look, here we are. Let us not tarry. No frowning or sad eyes at a ball, if you please—that’s no way to snare a viscount.”

  “How can you bid me to smile after all you’ve just revealed?”

  “My revelation is entirely out of your control. Now, if you wish to bring Quincy’s and my love into the light of day, then sew up this brilliant match with Rainsleigh, and we’ll be halfway there. But it shall never happen with that tearful expression! There we go; there’s a good girl. Lovely. You chose well, picking the green dress instead of the fawn. Not every girl could pull it off, but it looks stunning on you. Especially when you smile.” She rapped on the window of the carriage door. “Do hurry,” she called to the groom, “the static in this carriage seat is spoiling my hair.”

  Elisabeth descended the ballroom steps in a fog.

  And now she was meant to be jovial? To smile and make conversation with new friends? To enjoy the food and wine and dance? What once seemed frivolous and leisurely now seemed urgent and pressing. The ball must be tolerable—the first of many tolerable balls she would endure as Rainsleigh’s wife. Her strong feelings for him must remain strong—nay, they must soar.

  And, above all, she must tell him. Now. Tonight. And he must take her great secret to heart and accept it, and he must be understanding and sympathetic. And then they must marry, sooner rather than later.

  After that, he must take in stride the fact that his aunt-in-law is no longer the esteemed Countess of Banning but rather Lillian Greene, runaway newlywed, most recently of the British West Indies or Timbuktu.

  Dear Lord.

  As if meeting the man again, concealing their courtship, and then forcing herself to tell him her deepest, most hateful secret were not enough. Now was the pressure of Lillian’s long-delayed happiness, and after that, the ramifications of what would be said when a countess married her gardener.

  The venue for the ball, another sprawling Mayfair townhome, was like every other ball Elisabeth had been compelled to attend over the years. Admittedly, she had been to very few, but they always appeared to the same: Crowded, noisy, warm.

  It made no difference. Tonight she would dance for her life—or Lilly’s life. The sacrifice her aunt had made, not to mention Elisabeth’s own, self-involved blindness to it, propelled her. She squinted in the uneven light of five hundred candles, searching the crush of color and silk for Rainsleigh. Aunt Lillian had been immediately swept away by friends and admirers. She’d suggested they circulate together, but Elisabeth sent her on. Lilly’s social pantomime would be harder to watch, now that she knew the truth. She needed space and air; she needed—

  Rainsleigh.

  She saw him standing, tall and resplendent in evening finery, near the bright fire of a large hearth across the room. Her breath caught, and a swarm of butterflies launched in her stomach. She looked away. She forced herself to take a deep breath and to smile as she released it. Perhaps she was in love with him.

  He spoke to his brother, a casually propped elbow on the mantel, his other hand in his pocket. He looked every inch lord of this incredibly over-bunted, flower-laden ballroom, of these finely dressed people, of this fine house—of the whole world.

  But now his brother was pulled away, and Rainsleigh turned in her direction. Their eyes locked. The butterflies converged for a swooping flip.

  He inclined his head. A slight, regal nod. She did not wish to be coy, but she would not grin. Or sprint to his side. With some effort, she slowly inclined her own head. A return nod.

  “Lady Elisabeth?”

  Grateful for a reason to look away, if only for a moment, she turned at the sound of her name. A young woman sidestepped a footman carrying a chair to hop beside her. She extended her hand, smiling brightly.

  “Lady Elisabeth?” she repeated. “Forgive my impatience, but I must meet you. You don’t know me—not yet—I am Piety, Lady Falcondale, Lord Rainsleigh’s neighbor! Next door in Henrietta Place?”

  “Lady Falcondale. How do you do?” Elisabeth smiled uncertainly. “Our mutual friend, Miss Breedlowe, has told me so much about you, including that you were newly back in town. Welcome home. But I had no idea to expect you at this ball. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Of course, Piety would be young, but Elisabeth had not expected her to be so beautiful. Or effusive. She wore a loose-fitting gown that did little to hide her obvious pregnancy.

  “Oh, well, Jocelyn will confirm that I am full of surprises,” Piety enthused, her honey-blonde curls bouncing as she pumped Elisabeth’s hand. Her frank American accent grew more obvious with each proclamation. “I’ve bribed my husband to come because it may be the last such ‘do’ I am able to attend for quite some time.” She patted her swollen belly. “He loathes this sort of thing, but I wanted to see for
myself. We set sail so soon after I became a countess, I never had the opportunity to attend a proper ball before tonight.”

  “Oh,” said Elisabeth weakly, looking around. “Well, if you’ve been to one of them, you’ve been to them all. But do not let me spoil it for you. Rainsleigh, too, looked forward to this night. I am trying to put on a brave face for him.”

  Piety chuckled and snatched up Elisabeth’s other hand. “A brave face—ha! But you are stunning! Rainsleigh did not exaggerate.”

  “The viscount, er, described me?”

  She nodded cheerfully. “Well, he told Trevor, who told me.” She spun, gesturing to a tall, tanned, sandy-haired gentleman making his way toward them. “That’s my husband. Trevor, Lord Falcondale. We sailed on one of Rainsleigh’s ships, and the two of them have had much to discuss since we returned. But it’s not all business, obviously. Trevor says Rainsleigh speaks often of you.”

  “Oh, well,” said Elisabeth without commitment, glancing at Rainsleigh and then quickly away. She could feel her cheeks glow with color. She knew of Rainsleigh’s enthusiasm for her, but it had not occurred to her that he would discuss their relationship with other people. The realization made her strangely uneasy. They were hardly carrying on in secret, but the more people he told about her, the more people would require excuses if her great secret drove them apart.

  Carefully, she changed the subject. “Jocelyn has been looking so forward to your return. How long were you away from England?”

  Lady Falcondale made a sound of exaggerated fatigue. “Oh, heavens, since well into last year. Long enough to, er, get our family under way.” She touched her belly again. “We came home to have the baby. But how delighted we were to find Rainsleigh had moved in for good. When we left, the house was a worksite, and he only dropped by now and again. It was a lovely homecoming to have him in residence—and to be getting on so well with you.”

  “Yes,” said Elisabeth, barely able to keep up.

  Piety went on. “But perhaps my happiest discovery was to learn that dear Jocelyn is working again as a chaperone. All the better. I do worry for her sanity when she is in the unrelenting company of Lady Frinfrock.”

  “Please do not joke about the unrelenting company of Lady Frinfrock,” said a male voice behind them. “Far too grave a threat.”

  Elisabeth turned. It was Piety’s husband, Lord Falcondale. He placed a possessive hand on the small of his wife’s back.

  “How do you do?” he said, “Lady Elisabeth, I presume?” He made a small bow over her hand. “Thank God. I thought my wife would burst with anticipation.”

  “How do you do?” said Elisabeth, smiling more easily now. “Rainsleigh and Miss Breedlowe speak so highly of you—both of you.”

  “High praise from Rainsleigh?” said the earl. “Now I know he’s besotted.”

  “I knew Rainsleigh was over the moon,” gushed Piety, “when I heard about his donation to your charity. He does like to throw his money around, but then I learned of the nature of your foundation. And I knew.”

  “The viscount has been most generous,” Elisabeth managed, surprised to discuss her work. And Rainsleigh’s money. And especially his alleged state, over the moon. It occurred to her that she, alone, viewed their courtship as a small, private, experimental thing.

  “Ah, but here’s the devil himself,” Falcondale said, watching Rainsleigh make his way to them. “Thank God. He’s finally screwed up the courage to say hello.”

  Elisabeth inclined her head, watching dancers part and the room open to him. Her heart began to pound. He cut a slow, determined stride across the parquet floor. She allowed a small smile, watching him watch her as he came.

  “Lady Elisabeth is a peach, Rainsleigh,” Piety enthused when he reached them.

  Elisabeth laughed, barely managing to screw on a straight face while Rainsleigh affected a formal bow over her gloved hand.

  “My lady,” he said. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Elisabeth resisted squeezing her fingers around his hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

  “Finally,” said Falcondale. “My God, Rainsleigh, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten which one she was. Sporting of you to say hello. Lovely girl, by the way.” He shot Elisabeth a smile. “But my wife and unborn child require sustenance. Who fancies a turn at the buffet? The sooner we eat, the sooner we may leave for home.”

  Elisabeth did laugh then; Piety too. Rainsleigh offered his arm, and Elisabeth took it, grateful to feel the solidness of him at last. She tightened her hand around his bicep and saw his jaw clench, as it always did. It thrilled her to see him respond to her.

  “How are you enjoying the evening, my lord?” she asked.

  “Well enough,” he said. “I had a moment’s . . . unease that you had changed your mind and wouldn’t come.”

  “Oh, yes, how anxious you looked when I arrived, rushing to greet me.”

  His eyes narrowed, but she saw him fight a smile. “You look . . . verdant,” he said.

  “As I am not a forest, may I assume that means nice?”

  “You may assume that means beautiful. You’ve left your hair to hang down your back. My preference.”

  “Is it? What luck; it’s mine too. But of course you know that long, loose hair is hardly current. People will talk, and not in a good way. Individualism is not to be encouraged in settings such as these.”

  “Hmmm. Another stroke of luck, as you seem impervious to ‘talk.’ ”

  “I’ve made the effort to turn up here, just to be with you. So that people will talk about that too.”

  “You came here,” he whispered into her ear, “to enjoy the evening with me; everyone else and their chatter be damned.”

  Elisabeth pressed on, enjoying herself. “The gossip in the ballroom is positively echoing in my ears.” She affected a meddlesome tone. “ ‘But who is the gentleman we’ve never before bothered to invite? Oh, it’s Lord Rainsleigh. And how well-heeled he is. I cannot imagine what took us so long to include him. But who is that verdant spinster beside him with the unkempt hair?’ ”

  “Ha!” Rainsleigh barked a laugh. “I assure you that is not what’s being said. In fact, I could stand for a little less talk in this ballroom, as ‘spinster’ is hardly the word the men here are ascribing to you. I was unprepared for the amount of male attention you would receive. I don’t like it.”

  “Pity to wait your whole life to go to a fancy party, only to discover it’s no fun at all.”

  “Let me be very clear. I can take or leave the bloody ball. I don’t enjoy the other men staring at you. Is your dress, perhaps, missing some part of the neckline?”

  Now she laughed. “Perhaps you should do something possessive and demonstrative—and quick.”

  Rainsleigh made a growling noise. “It’s reckless to be without Miss Breedlowe. I don’t care what your aunt says. She will be a hapless chaperone, I fear.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  She shook her head. “Come now, what possible impropriety could happen in a crowded ballroom?”

  “If only you knew my parents.”

  “I’m glad I did not know them.”

  He stopped, looking down at her. “Yes. So am I.”

  “But we will be nothing like them,” she assured him, hugging his arm more closely. “I am only here to meet your friends—who are lovely, by the way—and because it is important to you. You are only here because you can be. Where’s the risk in that?”

  “Careful, my lady, you might just enjoy yourself.”

  “I already am.”

  In that moment, she longed, deeply, to rise up on her toes and kiss him. If they had not been in a crowded ballroom, swirling with watchful strangers, she would have done it. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered.

  Rainsleigh growled again and swept her along.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Let me guess,” Beau Courtland drawled, sidling up beside his brother. “It doesn’t live up to yo
ur expectations?”

  A footman passed with beef pies on a tray, and his brother scooped up two, eating the first in a single bite. “Too much idle diversion? No ledgers to tally? Certainly no boats in sight.”

  “Clever . . . ” mumbled Bryson, not really listening. Across the room, he watched the Countess of Banning introduce Elisabeth and Piety to yet another circle of guests.

  “Have you seen Kenneth?” Another footman passed, this time with drinks. Beau juggled the pies and took up a glass. “He has no guile, the sod. Standing vigil beside the drinks table as if he’s just come off Lent.”

  Bryson tore his gaze from Elisabeth and stared at his brother. “Kenneth Courtland is here? Why?”

  Beau shrugged, making a face. “I don’t monitor the comings and goings of our cousins, but it was hard to miss him. Strolled in on your coattails. I thought you saw him. I told you last month that he was back in town, trying to use the family as currency.”

  “It’s one thing to lie to bookmakers and card dealers but quite another to show up at a proper ball. My God, why did they let him in?”

  “God only knows. The butler is better dressed. Do you send him money?”

  “I’ve never sent him a shilling. I keep Aunt Fay in small house in Wales, but nothing more. She has no other means.” He turned back to the ballroom, seeking out the degenerate relative. “He should not be here.”

  “Fancy I should speak to him?” Beau sighed. “He knows better than to come close to you.”

  Bryson shook his head. “Stay away from him. If there’s any justice, he’ll be ignored and scuttle out before there’s any harm. Best not to associate.” They watched Kenneth, standing alone with a tankard, his dated, threadbare suit near to bursting at the seams.