Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante

by Bronwyn Scott

  Beldon rolled to his side. ‘Ouch!’ He sat up, wincing.

  ‘Is it your shoulder?’

  It had been a month now since he’d been hurt and, with the exception of an occasional twinge, he seemed well healed.

  Beldon grinned and shook his head. ‘No, just a reminder that I have something for you, something I’ve been meaning to give you for a while. I keep thinking I’ll wait for the right time, but I can’t quite decide when that will be. In the meanwhile, I’ve impaled my hip on it.’ Beldon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box.

  ‘I don’t need presents, Beldon.’ She was coming to find out he was always full of surprises. There’d been a well-trained mare for her in the stables last week. There’d been a shipment of books from Hatchard’s a few days ago. Now this. He was the most thoughtful of gift-givers, selecting items that would suit her perfectly.

  She untied the ribbon, recognising the signature colours of the jewellers’ at the Burlington Arcade. She opened the lid and tears threatened. ‘The bracelet.’ She gave a breathless gasp, turning the bracelet in the sun, letting the light spark off the tourmaline. ‘It’s lovely. Help me with the clasp, I want to put it on.’

  Beldon fastened the circlet around her wrist. ‘I thought to use it as an engagement present, but it was rather difficult when you wouldn’t accept my proposal outright.’

  ‘It’s hard to accept outright when one is not asked outright,’ she replied drily.

  ‘Hush, you’re interrupting, minx. Then I thought to use it as a wedding gift, but there were the family jewels to give. I thought a two-week anniversary is as good a cause to celebrate as any. Otherwise, I could be stuck carrying this around until Christmas and who knows what other bruises that could result in.’

  Lilya lifted her wrist, watching the play of light on the gems.

  ‘I’ve been told tourmaline signifies devotion and balance in a marriage.’ Beldon reached for her hand, drawing her to him. She came willingly, lying down close to him on the blanket, the scent of his morning soap mixed with the smells of grass and summer.

  ‘You’ve brought me balance, Lilya.’ He pushed back a length of hair from her face, his warm hand cupping the curve of her jaw.

  She smiled. ‘You remembered why a woman likes jewellery.’

  ‘Yes, you see, I can be taught.’ Beldon chuckled, a low sensual sound near her ear. They weren’t going to be talking about jewellery and fine sentiments much longer. His hands were already working the buttons of the linen blouse she’d worn beneath her riding jacket when they’d ridden out that morning. She wiggled against him, a tremor of excitement racing through her at the prospect of making love outdoors. And why not? Other than the horses picketed nearby, there was no one to see.

  Suddenly Beldon tensed and pushed her away. He heaved himself up, looking around.

  ‘What is it?’ Lilya struggled to sit up.

  ‘I heard something, someone.’ Beldon rose to his feet and called out. ‘Halloo, we’re over here.’ He gave an exaggerated wave.

  Lilya fumbled hastily with her buttons. A stable boy from Pendennys rode into view, his horse lathered from a hard ride. Anxiety took her. Something had happened. She rose to stand beside Beldon, her hand immediately slipping into his. It was a sign of her complacency that her first thought had been for a tenant, perhaps a farmer hurt out in the fields.

  ‘My lord…’ the boy was breathless ‘…there’s been an accident at the stable. The head groom, Bassett, he tried to stop it, but…’

  Tried to stop it? Those weren’t words used to describe an accident. Then Christoph crossed her mind. Lilya didn’t wait to hear more. Without conscious thought, she was running to her mare; a swift vault saw her in the saddle, heedless of ankles and high riding skirts. Her mind reeled with thoughts— Christoph was here! She had to get to the diamond. She’d been foolish! She’d felt safe too soon. The diamond was hidden at home; she was without her weapons, her knife tucked in a drawer. She’d thought she’d have some warning, that she would have seen him coming and have time to prepare.

  Beldon caught her bridle. ‘Lilya! Wait for me.’

  ‘Let me go! There’s not a second to lose,’ she cried.

  ‘We cannot run headlong into madness,’ Beldon argued.

  ‘He’s not there, milord.’ The stable boy spoke up. ‘He’s gone now. But he said he’d be back.’

  ‘Then we’re already too late!’ Lilya was desperate now. She had to get home. She had to get the diamond. Beyond that, she could not think yet. Beldon was up on his horse, giving terse instructions to the stable boy to follow when his horse was rested.

  Then they were off, flying over the meadows homewards. Beldon was grim and Lilya wished now that she’d listened to more of the report. What had happened? Was Bassett all right? She urged her horse onwards, taking stone-wall jump after stone-wall jump—there was no time to take the road. Cutting cross-country would be faster.

  Pendennys loomed before them at last and they skidded to a halt into an eerily quiet stable yard. Beldon was off his horse instantly. ‘Lilya, go to the house and stay there. This is no place for you.’ His face was stern, his tone severe. He hardly spared a look for her, leaving her to dismount on her own. She’d seen him like this before in London, commanding and full of authority, a man ready to take on the world—alone.

  But Lilya would have none of it. She slid from the mare and ran to catch up. Whatever this tragedy was, it was of her making, she was sure of it. She would not be shielded.

  ‘Where’s Bassett?’ Beldon asked a pale-faced stable hand.

  ‘We’ve got him in his room. Mrs Andrews is with him. She’s stopped the bleeding.’

  ‘And the horses?’

  The other man shook his head. ‘They’re still in the paddock. We haven’t had a chance to move ’em yet.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s more important to look after Bassett. There’s nothing to be done for them at any rate.’

  ‘It was terrible, milord. The man just walked in here, asked if this was Pendennys and then he started shooting.’ The man’s voice choked. ‘Every horse in the paddock, sir. The new colt, the stallion…’

  ‘What did he look like?’ Lilya demanded. ‘Was he squat? Beady eyes?’ She tried to recall the image of the man who’d shot at Beldon in London.

  Beldon rounded on her. ‘Lilya, I told you to go to the house. This is not your concern.’

  ‘This is my concern! How dare you suggest otherwise!’ Lilya railed. Anger and horror warred within her. The man who’d shot Beldon had come here and massacred Beldon’s horses. Because of her.

  In her anger, she strode towards the paddock, but her gorge rose in her throat before she was halfway there, so intense was the carnage. It was not every horse, many had still been in their stalls, but it was an overt message, meant to warn and terrify. Life was no longer sacred. They would not shoot and miss a second time.

  She could not go closer, but she could not look away from one section in particular. The big grey stallion, Thunder, lay over the colt born earlier that spring.

  Her legs began to tremble, the horror finally outweighing her anger, her source of strength. A loud desperate sob escaped her; she was going to collapse, she could feel it coming on, but she was powerless to help herself, to stop it. But she didn’t fall. Beldon was there, wrapping her in his arms, his anger subdued momentarily by her need for him. He was murmuring nonsense to her.

  The stable hand must be with them. She was vaguely conscious of his voice, telling the tale. ‘Once Bassett grasped the situation, he charged the man with the gun, but the man had a friend we didn’t see right away. It was the friend who shot Bassett, just as cool as you please. Thunder went berserk after that. The old boy was going to protect his mares. He tried herding them to safety, then he tried going after the man. If he could have got out, Thunder would have killed the bastard, would have run the man down. At the end, he took three bullets trying to save th
e colt. It was over in a matter of minutes, too fast for anyone from the house to help us. By the time they knew what had happened, the men were gone.’

  ‘I’ll take Lilya to the house and then I’ll come to check on Bassett.’ Beldon’s tone was quiet, but she was not fooled. He was nowhere near subdued. He was fighting mad and he was going to do something, something that might get him killed.

  ‘I don’t need to go to the house. I’m all right now.’ Lilya hiccupped, hating her weakness. But she was torn. She wanted to go to the house and check on the diamond, get her knife, arm herself. But she feared if she left Beldon, he’d do something drastic and she’d be left behind.

  ‘Please, let me take you to the house, Lilya.’ Beldon was firm and she found no argument to countermand him.

  Maids and footmen milled about the front of the house, waiting for news, waiting for something to fill their time in the wake of the tragedy. Beldon knew exactly what to do.

  ‘Tea, please, for Lady Pendennys. She’s taken a shock. I’ll be back shortly.’

  The simple sentence galvanised the staff. Lilya found herself whisked to one of the private family sitting rooms, and tea laid before her, everyone glad for something to do. Her appreciation for her husband rose inestimably. In the face of a tragedy of this magnitude, he was miraculously balancing everyone’s needs: the victimised stable hands who’d witnessed the tragedy first-hand, the household staff who wanted to offer comfort and even his own wife’s need.

  Lilya looked down at the bracelet on her wrist. An hour ago he’d spoken of such things—balance and devotion. He was demonstrating those characteristics this minute. And she was a threat to those foundations, her very presence a menace to Pendennys, to the core of Beldon’s dreams. In the wake of her happiness it had been convenient to forget.

  She sipped at her tea, taking a cue from Beldon’s choices. The servants needed to be busy; the least she could do was drink the tea and validate their efforts. The tea helped. Her brain starting functioning again, in its old way, the way it used to function before she’d allowed herself to be something other than Lilya Stefanov, keeper of the Phanar Diamond.

  ‘Is there anything else you need, milady?’ her maid solicited kindly. How silly it had been to think she could be other than what she was, to think she might be someone else besides Adamao’s keeper.

  ‘Yes, Sally, there is. I need paper for a note and someone to ride to St Just’s. The viscount must be told at once.’

  Writing supplies were brought immediately and Lilya wrote with all haste, telling Valerian of the attack and warning him not to come. Under no circumstances were he and Philippa to come to them. But they should prepare themselves, just in case. Lilya folded the note and handed it to a waiting rider. ‘This must go with all speed.’

  ‘What is this, Lilya?’ Beldon appeared in the doorway, letting the rider brush past him. The lines of his face were grim and his clothes were dusty.

  ‘A note for St Just. Val must know.’

  Beldon gave her a curt nod of approval. ‘Yes, that’s an excellent idea.’

  ‘Tea?’ Lilya handed him a cup. ‘How is Bassett?’

  ‘He’ll recover.’ Beldon passed a hand over his mouth. ‘We’ve done what we can to restore order in the stables.’

  ‘Christoph is here,’ Lilya said slowly. They had to talk about it. They’d spent a lot of time not talking about it to no good end. He’d come anyway. ‘He won’t stop until he has the diamond or he’s dead.’

  Beldon nodded. ‘I’d prefer the latter.’

  Lilya set down her teacup and met his hard eyes evenly, eyes that had twinkled merrily beside her on a picnic blanket a few hours earlier. ‘It would certainly solve things. For now. Until next time.’

  ‘I’ll post a watch around Pendennys. He won’t get past us again.’

  Lilya offered him a wan smile. ‘No, he won’t.’ There wouldn’t be a next time if she could help it. She rose. ‘You have things to do. You needn’t worry about me. I think I’ll go up to my room for a bit.’

  Lilya went into action the moment she reached the quiet sanctuary of her room. She had to go before he posted the watch. Guards served two purposes, although not always intentionally. They kept people in as much as they kept people out. Beldon was efficient. She wouldn’t have much time.

  It was no good trying to pretend everything would be all right. Maybe Christoph would give up, or maybe he’d be killed in the trying. It could just as easily be Beldon who was killed. Goodness knew he and Christoph could not co-exist much longer. It would have to be one or the other.

  Unless she left.

  Then Christoph would have to choose. Certainly he had petty grievances with Beldon, but they did not outweigh his desire, his need, to retrieve the diamond. She could draw him away from Beldon, away from Pendennys.

  Away from everything she’d ever wanted when she was brave enough to admit it. Lilya uncovered the diamond from its hiding spot and sank on to the bed. Beldon would hate her for this, and leaving broke her heart. Worse, she feared that for him it would affirm he’d been right to wear his armour, right to stay away from opening up to love.

  First instincts were usually right. She should never have deviated from her plan. She should never have married. More than that, she should never have married someone she loved. Lilya rummaged for her travelling cloak with all its inside pockets. She might manage a small bundle of things, but most of what she could take would have to fit in the cloak. No one went for a walk with a valise without arousing suspicion.

  The old habits came back, of the times after Negush when she’d lived as best she could, often with relatives who were forced to flee in the night to safety with whatever they could carry. She dressed in layers, selecting the most serviceable of her clothes, wearing a skirt over another skirt. It was summer and layering would be unwelcome weight for a while until she could fashion a better way to carry her things, but she’d be glad of a change of clothes in the long run.

  What she needed most was money or things that could be converted into money. Money was portable and it didn’t take up space. She had only a little—she could not bring herself to take Philippa’s pearls or the Pendennys emeralds—but it would be enough to catch a coach or to buy passage to Ireland. From Ireland there would be boats to America or somewhere else. She’d be less likely to be detected leaving from Ireland. Friends and enemies alike would be watching the English ports. Her success would be in leaving England quickly.

  She penned a note to Beldon. It was the only courtesy she could give him. He deserved to know that she’d loved him. That she’d not meant to use him. Perhaps those words would be enough to convince him that he had not been betrayed. The tears started. She squeezed them back. If she let even one tear fall, she’d be lost. Action was better than thought at times, and this was one of those times. If she didn’t think about what she was doing, she’d get through it. All she had to do was put one foot in front of the other. She’d concentrate on getting out the front door, then to the parklands, then to the bridle trails that led through the woods. It was unlikely Christoph would know about those trails yet. He’d still be watching the roads. When it was safe, she’d try to get a ride with a farm wagon off to market. Then she’d have time, time to forget that, for a while, she’d had everything.

  Beldon returned at dusk, home from posting a watch, dirty and tired. He was emotionally and physically empty. The dream had become a nightmare. Val would have Lilya’s message by now. There was some consolation in that, although he hoped it did its job and kept Valerian safely at home.

  Decisions had to be made, not so much made as taken. He’d known in his gut this day would come. He’d planned for it even as he’d wanted to believe such plans would be unnecessary. But first, he wanted to steal some heaven with his wife, with Lilya. He wanted one last moment in her arms here at Pendennys before he threw their lives into disarray in a final attempt to save them.

  Beldon climbed the stairs,
his hand lingering on the polished banister as if his body were committing to memory each touch and feel of a life that was about to end. But his heart had already departed that life. His heart was urging him to the hallway, to Lilya’s door. More than he wanted to savour Pendennys, he wanted the comfort of Lilya’s arms, and to comfort her in turn.

  His thoughts had not been far from her during the day. She knew precisely what had happened and why. The guilt she felt must be paralysing. He wanted desperately to tell her he did not hold her responsible. He feared she might have misunderstood his terseness earlier. He was not angry with her, he was thinking of her safety, of his need to protect her.

  Beldon opened her door without a knock. If she was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her. ‘Lilya?’ he called softly. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, expecting to find her in bed. But the bed was empty. Where could she have gone? He yanked the bell pull, summoning her maid.