How to Enjoy a Scandal

by Adrienne Basso

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jason held on to his patience with surprising restraint as Mildred Ellingham oohed and awed with exaggerated pleasure over a portrait done by a lesser-known artist. His only consolation was that the sweet flattery she was now spewing replaced her previous questions about his ancestors and the artwork, both of which had been nearly impossible for him to answer correctly.

  It was his brother Jasper who paid attention to such matters. Thankfully, Mrs. Ellingham had no art knowledge to speak of, allowing Jason to simply fabricate his answers. But even his somewhat vivid imagination was being tested to the limit at this point in the afternoon.

  The moment he noticed Mrs. Ellingham engrossed in another portrait, Jason quietly slipped away and joined her nieces. He had expected Gwendolyn would keep her distance from him and she had, effectively using her sister as a shield. But he did not intend to let her leave the manor without having a frank and open discussion with her.

  “You are scowling, Miss Ellingham,” Jason declared.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  Gwendolyn blinked. “Gracious, no. We were just admiring your lovely paintings, were we not, Emma?”

  “Yes.”

  The nearly breathless squeak of that single word answer startled Jason. The response was most unusual for the bubbly, talkative Emma. Curious at what had agitated the sisters, he angled his head to see the painting.

  The sight made his blood suddenly run cold.

  It was the forgery. He had deliberately left it hanging in the gallery, while keeping the original well-hidden in his bedchamber. “Is there something in this portrait that you find of particular interest, ladies?”

  He watched the pair closely for a reaction, for a flicker of awareness, some sign that either of them knew there was something wrong with the portrait. Emma’s hands twitched and Gwendolyn’s back straightened with the perfect posture that would do a military man proud.

  They exchanged a heated look, but Jason had no idea what that meant.

  Emma raised her hand and politely coughed into her fist, leaving Gwendolyn to answer his question.

  “We were fascinated by the twin boys,” Gwendolyn replied. “And thought it most interesting that twins seem to occur only in certain families. Apparently the phe-nomenon goes back many generations in yours.”

  “That is what has captivated you so completely? The twins?” His tone let them know he did not quite believe them.

  “Yes,” Gwendolyn insisted. “We thought they were adorable.”

  “Indeed. Very cute,” Emma chimed in.

  He glared at the women, but Gwendolyn barely flinched.

  Emma however, let out a half cough, half choke and turned her head away. He noticed Gwendolyn grabbing for her sister’s hand and holding on to it tightly.

  Jason felt a tic beginning in his left cheek as an awful suspicion began to take root in his mind. Was it possible that they knew something about the forgery? “I seem to recall that you paint, Miss Emma.”

  “I dabble,” she croaked. “As do many other young ladies.”

  “Come now, you are being far too modest. Why, your own sister has praised your talents to me on several occasions.”

  “A sisterly prejudice, I am certain.”

  “I confess that is true.” Gwendolyn’s brief laugh was a brittle, false sound. “I have exaggerated Emma’s talent, though not her enthusiasm and devotion to her art.”

  His lips curved. Oh, they were a clever pair, but each word they uttered spun them deeper into a web of deceit. Still, he could not ask too many questions without giving away what he knew. “Tell me, Miss Emma, do you subscribe to the notion that copying the works of the great masters improves your own technique?”

  The swoosh of breath Emma exhaled was the dominant sound in that section of the gallery. “I have heard it can be of benefit to an aspiring artist,” she finally whispered.

  “Then you must avail yourself of my gallery,” he offered, forcing a smile. “There are so many styles, so many choices. It should not be difficult to find a painting that appeals to you.”

  “Oh, heavens, I could never even consider doing such a thing.” Emma turned wild eyes on her sister. He noticed Gwendolyn squeeze Emma’s hand in comfort.

  “’Tis a most kind and generous offer, my lord, but Emma’s skill is not yet at this level,” Gwendolyn added.

  “That’s right.” Emma’s head bobbed up and down at a frantic pace. “I would make a real muddle of it if I tried to copy such refined and complicated work.”

  “Nonsense. Challenging yourself is the only way to improve and sharpen your skills.”

  “Not always,” Gwendolyn interjected sharply. “Attempting something you know is unrealistic is the surest road to failure. And heartbreak.”

  “I disagree. Though perhaps it would be best to start with a single portrait. A group painting, such as this, might be too overwhelming.” Jason made a deliberate show of trying to decide which portrait would be a good subject. “Do you have a particular favorite, Miss Emma?”

  “They are all far beyond my humble talent,” she answered, her voice rising with panic.

  “Truly,” Gwendolyn added.

  Jason once again considered the women. Gwendolyn remained stoic. Emma looked like a cornered mouse.

  “Yes, Aunt Mildred?” Emma called out loudly. “I’m coming.”

  After hastily excusing herself, Emma rushed away.

  Jason decided she must have extraordinary hearing because he had not heard Mrs. Ellingham utter a word to her niece. More than likely Emma’s quick wit had devised a clever form of escape.

  “Oh, no. I’m not allowing you to run away too.” Jason planted himself in front of Gwendolyn as she made a motion to follow after her sister.

  “Run away? Don’t be absurd. I was merely tr ying to join my aunt and sister. I do not understand why you would make such a ridiculous observation in light—”

  “You’re babbling, sweetheart. Something that rarely occurs unless you are very nervous or agitated.”

  Jason watched as Gwendolyn slowly brought herself under control. The respite gave him time to consider all that he had just discovered and he concluded that in all likelihood Emma had been the one who had copied the painting. But why? And for whom?

  Jason almost allowed his frustration to show. He needed to get Gwendolyn alone! It was impossible to have a frank and open discussion with her relatives so near. For a long moment he did not say anything, but his need to know the truth compelled him to ask. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Gwendolyn?”

  He looked at her, just looked at her. And waited.

  There was a heartbeat of silence, then she shook her head from side to side.

  Jason’s heart sank.

  In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to confront her with his suspicions. To drag her upstairs and produce the original painting and then demand to know what she and Emma knew of this matter. Instead, he took a much-needed moment to steady himself, forcing his mind to consider all the implications.

  It would do no good to confront her in the heat of emotion, especially when he was missing several important facts. He had no proof that Emma had copied the painting, just a strong suspicion.

  Logically, it made little sense. The women had no connection to the manor, no involvement with Ardley, the person Jason was certain was responsible for the missing funds and missing items from the estate. Yet somehow the sisters had become involved.

  Still, it stung that Gwendolyn did not trust him enough to reveal the truth. Jason felt his hands tighten into fists, and purposefully relaxed his fingers. How was it possible that an already complicated situation had just become even more of a quagmire?

  He caught her eye and was completely distracted when she suddenly smiled at him, going from pretty to beautiful in mere seconds. It reminded him instantly of how deeply he cared for her, how much she meant to him.

  The early afternoon light spilling from the long windows haloed
around her, but Jason knew she was far from an angel. Which suited him just fine. He wanted a real woman, a female with flaws and faults, with passion and life. After his disastrous relationship with Elizabeth ended, he had vowed that no woman would ever again have such an intense effect on him. That vow was now broken and a part of him rejoiced.

  But there were several obstacles that needed to be overcome before he would be rewarded. And the only way Jason knew that would happen was if he and Gwendolyn were truthful with each other.

  He was once again distracted from these thoughts by the arrival of the butler. The normally dignified Snowden scurried in and practically yanked Jason away from Gwendolyn, urgently requesting a private word. Jason fully expected to be told that Miss Dorothea was awake and ready to travel home, which made the ser vant’s words even more shocking.

  “’Tis the prisoner, my lord,” the butler said in an anxious tone. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone? That’s impossible. I locked the door to the cellar myself and checked it first thing this morning.”

  “I know. I watched you as you performed the task.”

  The butler frowned and shook his head in dismay. “At my instruction, Cook prepared a tray of food for the prisoner. I personally selected Collin and Arthur, two loyal footmen of the household who are blessed with common sense and strength, to deliver the food, believing they would be the best men for the job.”

  “What happened?” Jason asked with concern. “Were the men overpowered? Are they all right?”

  “Collin and Arthur are unharmed. When they un-locked the cellar and called out, there was no response.

  They summoned me. We entered the room most cautiously, fearing a trick. But the joke was on us. The cellar was empty, the prisoner nowhere in sight.”

  “Are you certain? There are several large crates and heavy barrels down there, providing ample places to hide.”

  The butler sighed and hung his head. “We searched most thoroughly. The cellar is empty.”

  Jason’s mind rushed through several possibilities, discarding each notion almost as quickly as it occurred to him. “Was the door forced open, the lock broken?”

  “No, my lord. The lock is intact. And the door was secured before the footmen attempted to deliver the meal.

  I had checked it a mere twenty minutes prior.”

  Jason cursed under his breath as he stabbed his fingers through his hair. “You know what this means, don’t you, Snowden?”

  “Aye. The lock was opened with a key. And though it pains me greatly to say it, more than likely by someone in the household.”

  “Exactly.”

  The butler scowled, his face lined with distress. “What shall I do?”

  “Instruct the men to search the grounds, though I suspect it is too late and our bird has flown far away. I also want Collin and Arthur available to give a full statement to the magistrate. He is due to arrive here shortly.”

  “Gentlemen, is there a problem?” Mildred Ellingham’s voice held a sharp note of interest. She drew near, her expression curious.

  At that moment Jason realized that Snowden must be very distressed indeed, for the normally circumspect butler turned toward the older woman and blurted out,

  “The prisoner has escaped from the cellar!”

  Upon hearing that, Mildred Ellingham let out a strangled cry of alarm, then dropped to the floor in a most ungraceful, undignified faint.

  The Ellingham family began their journey home amid low clouds, a light drizzle and a rolling fog. Aunt Mildred had expressed deep concern at traveling in such bleak weather conditions, not to mention the danger of an escaped prisoner on the loose, but Uncle Fletcher had quickly dismissed his wife’s objections. For once Gwendolyn was glad that her uncle rarely considered the opinions and feelings of the females in the family. Every minute she spent at Moorehead Manor was becoming torturous.

  The viscount did insist that his outriders escort their carriage and, after initially presenting a mild protest, Uncle Fletcher agreed, if only to calm his wife’s near hys-teria. Aunt Mildred was convinced they would all be attacked and brutally slain—or worse.

  Personally, Gwendolyn though the idea that a lone man fleeing for his life would attack a large carriage in broad day a perfectly ludicrous notion. But she had no intention of voicing any sort of opinion, fearing any mention of the escaped criminal would set her aunt’s emotions over the edge.

  Gwendolyn’s greater worry was Dorothea, who looked pale and tired even before the journey began. She had limped to the carriage under her own power, but seemed exhausted from the effort. Though Gwendolyn was loath to overwhelm her sister, she found herself joining in with her aunt’s fussing, placing a large pillow behind her sister’s head and a light blanket upon her lap, even as Dorothea insisted she was far too warm already.

  Preoccupied with her efforts to see to her sister’s comfort, Gwendolyn was unaware of Lord Fairhurst’s approach until Emma leaned over and hissed a warning into her ear. Gwendolyn glanced up, gazed out the carriage window and felt her entire body begin to shiver.

  Lord Fairhurst was coming from the stables, looking handsome and surly as he walked in purposeful strides.

  He had removed his jacket and cravat. His collar was open at the throat, exposing a small part of his tanned chest and a few golden curls. Gwendolyn sucked in her breath sharply. The depth of her yearning shocked her.

  “My cook has prepared a basket of treats for Miss Dorothea to enjoy once she is feeling better,” the viscount announced, holding it aloft.

  “How kind.” Dorothea wanly smiled her thanks.

  “Gwendolyn dear, fetch the basket from Lord Fairhurst, please,” Aunt Mildred requested, as she too smiled at the viscount.

  Gwendolyn turned to Emma in mute appeal, but her sister was seated on the far side of the coach, away from the door. Reluctantly Gwendolyn descended from the coach, not understanding why he couldn’t just hand the damn basket up to them.

  Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Gwendolyn reached for the hamper. “Farewell,” she said, backing away the moment it was in her possession, but Jason put a hand on her arm.

  “Farewell for now, my dearest. But we both know you cannot hide yourself behind this wall of resolution forever,” he replied, his voice low, his deep green eyes darkened. “This is far from settled.”

  Gwendolyn felt her spine stiffen. Apparently Lord Fairhurst had a streak in him that went far beyond stubborn. No matter how many times she had told him to drop the matter, he refused. And she was hardly in a position to refute his statement without making a total spectacle of herself.

  Instead, she leveled a positively frosty stare at him.

  “Good-bye, Lord Fairhurst.”

  But before she could make good her escape, he lifted her unencumbered, un-gloved hand to his lips. The heat flashed up her arm, making her breasts tingle as her entire body tightened with response. Gwendolyn swallowed hard, desperately trying to gather herself before anyone noticed.

  “Stop,” she said thickly, straining away from him.

  Gwendolyn tugged her arm, trying to pull free. He released her hand slowly, his touch lingering, sending shivers coursing through her body. Gwendolyn wanted to scream. Stamp on his foot, slap his face, anything to remove herself from his hypnotic spell.

  The moment she broke free, Gwendolyn bolted inside the carriage, hardly caring how undignified she looked.

  She thrust the basket at her aunt and maneuvered herself as far away from the window as possible. Still, she had a clear view of Lord Fairhurst and could not help but notice how he stared at her so oddly, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

  The man was most definitely a menace to her peace of mind. Yet try as she might, Gwendolyn could not help from turning for a final look as the carriage pulled away.

  He was standing where she had left him, one hand on his hip, his eyes on her, his expression part knowing, part inquisitive.

  The carriage turned and the viscount faded fr
om view.

  Gwendolyn sighed, then closed her eyes, burning the sight of him into her brain.

  It was not a long distance home, but the ride seemed interminable. Aunt Mildred babbled, Dorothea dozed, Emma stared out the window pensively and Gwendolyn brooded. She envied her uncle’s freedom, riding on his horse beside the coach despite the light rain. Fresh air and brisk exercise were precisely what she needed to occupy her mind, but that was an impossibility, especially since she was dressed in her evening gown from last night.

  Eventually, they arrived home safely, in spite of Aunt Mildred’s dire predictions. The moment they descended from the carriage, Aunt Mildred began fawning over Dorothea, leaving Gwendolyn and Emma the chance for a private word.

  “When shall we confront Uncle Fletcher about the painting?” Emma asked in an anxious whisper. “He is usually in a more congenial state of mind after a good meal. Perhaps it would be best to wait until after supper?”

  “I will speak with him shortly,” Gwendolyn declared.

  “But Gwen—”

  “No, Emma, I’ll not involve you.”

  “Oh, Gwen, I am already involved,” Emma said mournfully.

  “Let me handle this, Emma.” Gwendolyn drew back her shoulders and raised her chin. “Uncle Fletcher, might I have a word with you, please?”

  The older gentleman paused as he handed the reins of his mount to the waiting stable boy and gave her a sour look. “I am rather busy right now. Can it wait until later? Or better still, until tomorrow?”

  Gwendolyn shook her head. “No. I must speak with you as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “I’m afraid that I really must insist.” Gwendolyn pushed her hands behind her back and moved froward, standing toe to toe with her uncle. “I won’t keep you long.”

  Gwendolyn could see the annoyance building in him, from his posture to his tone of voice. “Well, then, girl, speak! I already told you I haven’t got all day.”

  “Not here. Somewhere private. Your study?”

  Uncle Fletcher’s grimace turned to outright annoyance, but he did not argue. He stomped into the house, down the hall toward his study. Gwendolyn followed close behind.