A Scandalous Publication

by Sandra Heath

  He held a blind aside so that the fading evening light fell across his face, revealing the scar on his cheek and the streak of gray in his hair.

  She stared at him. “You!”

  “The same.” His hand dropped from the blind, and darkness returned.

  “How dare you do this!”

  “I thought it necessary, if disagreeable, to talk with you again, and when I saw you walking in the park, I decided this was the only way to achieve the desired result, since I doubt very much if you would have come willingly.”

  “Come? Come where?” she asked quickly.

  “To my apartment at the Albany.”

  “I have no intention of submitting to this treatment,” she breathed, “and I’m certainly not going there with you. Other women may be amenable to your every whim, sirrah, but I certainly am not!”

  “The thought of you submitting to my every whim is extremely pleasant, but unfortunately this doesn’t happen to be a mere whim. And if you fear for your virtue, let me assure you that I still have no designs upon it.” He glanced away then. “Beautiful as your face and no doubt your body are, it so happens that right now I’m more interested in your mind.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re an extremely exasperating woman, Miss Wyndham, and I really don’t know why I bother with you, but it so happens that your accusations today were far too momentous for me to even begin to ignore. I’m going to prove to you that I did not ruin your father.”

  “I’ve already seen proof that you did.”

  “What did you see? An IOU? Ah, I see from your reaction that that is precisely it. You’ve misunderstood the significance of that little piece of paper, madam, as you’ll know well enough before much longer. I leave for Chatsworth in the morning, and I don’t wish to leave knowing that you are still under dangerous illusions to which you are only too likely to give voice. I’ve been accused of many things, Miss Wyndham, but never ever of ruining a friend, or indeed of ruining anyone.”

  “How very righteous you are suddenly! You’ve evidently quite put your poor wife from your mind.”

  Even in the darkness she saw the anger leap into his eyes. “And what would you know of that?” he asked softly.

  “Enough.”

  “You know absolutely nothing,” he snapped.

  “I’ve been told—”

  “Damn what you’ve been told. Were you there? Did you witness what passed between Anne and myself? No, you weren’t. You know as little as my sister-in-law, who has presumed to set herself up as judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t know her sister at all, Miss Wyndham, and if she had, she would have come to dislike her as much as I did.”

  Charlotte stared at him, but he looked away again, holding the blind aside to see where they were. The carriage had left Regent Street behind now and was driving west along Piccadilly.

  The great house known simply as Albany, had once been Melbourne House, and had then become the home of the Duke of York and Albany, from whose title it took its present name. Turned into exclusive apartments for single gentlemen, it was a very sought-after address, and rooms were seldom vacant for long. The house, built of brown brick with stone dressings, was approached through a courtyard, the entrance of which was set between elegant shops in the French style. Eagles supported the balconies of the windows above the shop fronts, and a watchman’s box by the opening into the courtyard saw to it that undesirable persons were kept out of this expensive, superior retreat.

  The carriage echoed in the courtyard as it came to a standstill before the main door, and as Max flung open the door to alight, the dim evening light seemed almost bright. He turned to look at her. “The truth awaits you, Miss Wyndham, if you dare to face it. Shall we go in?” There was a mocking smile on his lips as he held out his hand to her.

  She ignored the hand, gathering her skirts and stepping down into an area that was strangely quiet considering the noise and bustle of Piccadilly only a few yards away. She walked past him and into the great house.

  His apartment lay at the rear of the building, overlooking the famous covered walk that led north into Vigo Street. A very discreet manservant opened the door to them and then silently withdrew, leaving them alone. The rooms were gracious and furnished with impeccable taste. In the drawing room huge marble-topped console tables were built against the wall on either side of the gilded fireplace, and above them were mirrors framed by garlands of fruit and flowers carved most exquisitely by the finest craftsmen. Before the fireplace there was an arrangement of four chairs and two sofas, all upholstered in gray-blue velvet, and the same color was echoed in the niches in the otherwise clear cream walls. There were paintings and beautiful porcelain figurines, and a priceless collection of jade ornaments in a tall display cabinet. The only sound came from the elegant long-case clock standing in the corner. As Charlotte took a seat, it chimed nine o’clock.

  Max went to a fine desk decorated with intricate inlaid work, unlocked it, and took out a letter, its seal broken. He held it out to her. “My loving sister-in-law missed this when she was searching. It’s from your father.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting that Sylvia—”

  “Broke in here to search my property? Yes, Miss Wyndham, I’m rather afraid that I am. She was the one who showed you that IOU, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes.” What point was there in denying it?

  “It disappeared from here the day you and I went to Kimber Park, and my manservant reported seeing a lady answering Sylvia’s description hurrying away that evening along the covered walk.”

  Charlotte looked away. That was the day Sylvia had had a “headache” that prevented her from going to the theater….

  “Please read the letter, Miss Wyndham.”

  As she began to unfold the piece of paper, he went to the fireplace, standing with his back toward her. He leaned one hand on the mantelpiece and rested a foot on the gleaming fender. Silence fell, broken only by the gentle ticking of the clock.

  A pang of sorrow passed over her as she gazed at the familiar, untidy scrawl his long-suffering correspondents had likened to the meanderings of a spider that had been unfortunate enough to fall in the inkwell.

  My dear Talgarth,

  You cannot imagine with what relief—and with what deep affection—I received your letter, the letter of a true friend and gentleman. It is because I recognize in your actions the concern of a friend that I will accept the returned IOUs, especially as I know that to refuse would cause you deep offense. But know this, there will come a day sometime in the future when I will repay your kindness, for I know how deeply I am in your debt. No, my friend, I cannot brush my obligations aside, even in the face of your express command that I do so. Would that I had not allowed myself to fall into such a hopeless position, but I have, and now my burden has been considerably eased by your exceedingly thoughtful actions. I value your friendship, Talgarth, and trust that one day I might have the opportunity to prove worthy of it. I wish only that others appreciated your qualities as much as I do, for you are sadly misrepresented.

  I am, sir, your grateful and loving friend,

  George Wyndham

  Charlotte’s hands shook as she slowly folded the letter again. She felt utterly dreadful. “It—it seems I owe you an apology, Sir Maxim.”

  He turned with a derisive laugh. “Is that the best you can manage? You were much more liberal and forthcoming with your accusations.”

  Her cheeks were hot with shame. “Forgive me, I—”

  “No, madam, I will not forgive you, for the simple reason that you don’t merit it.”

  “I thought…believed—”

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you? You much preferred Sylvia Parkstone’s jaundiced view of me, even though her own father doesn’t support her, and I’ve little doubt that you’ll see fit to do the same thing all over again. That IOU was overlooked when I sent the others back; it had fallen to the back of the drawer and was only found a short whi
le ago, and that is the only reason it was still in my possession. I don’t know why I just left it in the drawer when I rediscovered it, but I did, and you may believe, Miss Wyndham, that I heartily wish I’d burned the damned thing the moment it resurfaced. So, that disposes of the matter of the IOU, but there are other things of equal importance, aren’t there? I’ll warrant you still believe I murdered my wife, for that’s surely Sylvia’s most favorite crusade of all, the one she rides into battle over time after tedious time until I do indeed sometimes have murder on my mind—hers! Well, I didn’t murder Anne, Miss Wyndham, even though I quite openly admit that I wished myself free of her. She was an unreasonable, jealous woman, accusing me of bedding every maid in the house, and nearly every maid in everyone else’s house as well. She was convinced that I kept mistresses, when I didn’t. Judith came very late on the scene; indeed, she didn’t become my mistress until after Anne’s death, and she isn’t my mistress anymore, no matter how much she may pretend otherwise to the world.” He looked away for a moment. “I endured a great deal from my wife, Miss Wyndham, and although I loved her when I married her, by the time of her death I virtually loathed her.”

  “And yet you gave her a horse and gig?”

  He gave a faint smile. “It was her birthday and I thought perhaps…. I thought perhaps a conciliatory gesture might melt a little of the ice. It didn’t. She accused me of giving it to salve my conscience because I’d slept with another woman the night before. I tried to feel compassion for her, because surely such jealousy is as much an ailment as the ague, but where people recover from the ague, Anne simply remained entrenched in her suspicion and mistrust. A man would need to have the patience of a saint to withstand such endless, unreasonable resentment, grudge-bearing, and imagined grievances and I most certainly cannot claim to be a saint.” Again the faint, wry smile touched his lips. “I realize that this version of events is far less exciting and titillating than my sister-in-law’s, but like my side of the Westington duel, it happens to be the truth. Miss Wyndham, I trust I don’t have to remind you that events at the duel vindicated me completely.”

  Her voice was very small. “I believe you, Sir Maxim.”

  “Do you? Oh, how magnanimous.” He sketched a scornful bow.

  She got up a little agitatedly then. “I can understand your anger, and I know I deserve your sarcasm and derision, but I don’t deserve to be spoken to so very harshly when I’ve admitted to being in the wrong and have asked you to forgive me.” She was struggling to keep her voice level, for she was close to tears.

  “But such an empty admission isn’t enough, for there are still things I know damned well you doubt. The horse your father won from me, for instance. Well? Do you still wonder if I lost it to him in the hope that it would kill him? Look at the letter again, Miss Wyndham. There’s a postscript you haven’t read yet.”

  She opened the letter again. The postscript had been hastily written on the back.

  P.S. Be warned, dear boy, that friendship is one thing, the acquisition of your damned unmanageable nag quite another. Foul-tempered and unridable it might be, but I’ll win it from you yet. GW

  She looked at him. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Oh, I don’t exactly want my pound of flesh; I just want to know beyond any doubt whatsoever that you know the truth, and that means the truth about everything. We’ll begin with Kimber Park. I admit to having on more than one occasion offered your father a handsome price for it, but he refused—not because he was inordinately attached to the place himself, but because he said you and your mother were and he could not bring himself to sell it, knowing how deeply upset you would be. That I acquired the property in the end doesn’t stand in any doubt, but nor is there any doubt that I offered a very sound bargain indeed, leaving you with enough to purchase another small property and to provide you with an allowance upon which to live. I’m not according myself any laurels, Miss Wyndham, I’m just stating the facts. So, we’ve covered the subject of your father’s debts and death, of my designs upon Kimber Park, and of my parody of a marriage. What’s left? Ah, yes, the duels, for there I am undoubtedly responsible for the deaths of others. I’ve fought four duels in all, Miss Wyndham, resulting in four victories—or three deaths and a considerable humiliation, depending upon which way you look at it. The Westington farce you know already; the others are perhaps not so well-known to you. My first opponent accused me of cheating at cards. Someone was cheating that night at Brook’s, but it most certainly wasn’t me, and when he repeated his accusation, I had to defend my honor by calling him out. As he was an excellent shot, I had to be accurate or pay the ultimate price myself. The second man accused me of seducing his daughters—all three of them, would you believe? A busy and virile fellow I might be, Miss Wyndham, but I’m not a fool, and only a fool would attempt to meddle with three very jealous sisters who were always trying to outdo one another. They stuck together in their story of vile seduction, until one of them saw how neatly she could demolish her sisters’ reputation by admitting the truth, that I hadn’t seduced any of them. By then it was too late, the duel had been fought and their father lay dying of a septic wound.”

  He paused for a moment, his eyes lowered. “The third duel,” he went on, “resulted in the death of a former friend; he accused me of spreading malicious rumors concerning his financial affairs, rumors that resulted in the bankrupting of two of his business ventures. How the stories got about I’ve no idea; I only know that I wasn’t the perpetrator. He was quite distraught, however, forcing me into a duel, which was the last thing he needed with all his other problems. He gave me no choice but to kill him, for he fired once and prepared immediately to fire again, and as he’d nearly disposed of me with the first shot, hence the scar on my cheek, I wasn’t about to be a sitting target the second time. It was kill or be killed, Miss Wyndham, and I’m as eager to continue in this world as the next man. So there you have it, the true story of Max Talgarth, or is there perhaps something still niggling away at your righteous little conscience?” His blue eyes rested coldly on her.

  She shook her head. “No.” Her voice was barely audible, she felt so wretched.

  “Are you quite sure?” he taunted. “You have a horrid suspicion that I’m planning to assist Bonaparte to escape from Saint Helena? Or that I have designs upon the crown jewels? Maybe it’s that I’m really Princess Charlotte’s lover and that I’m not really going to Chatsworth at all tomorrow but am going to a secret rendezvous with her instead?”

  “Stop it! Oh, please, stop it!” Tears were visible in her eyes now. “I believe everything you’ve told me, and I’m deeply ashamed of having doubted you so much. I’m sorry for everything I’ve said to you, Sir Maxim; I’m truly sorry and I really don’t know what else I can say.” She tried to blink the tears away, but they welled hotly from her eyes.

  Her distress seemed to take him by surprise. Then he closed his eyes for a moment and stood motionless with his head bowed. The silence hung; then he came to her, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping her tears away. “There is one thing you can say,” he said softly, holding her gaze, “and that is that you forgive me.”

  “F-Forgive you? But—”

  “No buts. I’ve behaved monstrously again and I know it.”

  “I shouldn’t have accused you as I did,” she whispered, acutely aware of the touch of his hand against her cheek.

  He smiled a little, his thumb moving softly over her skin. “You didn’t deserve such treatment, nor did you deserve all that happened at Kimber Park that day; it was my fault, not yours. I behaved badly when Judith arrived, dispatching you to the garden and then not offering you anything by way of explanation, and my subsequent behavior at the picnic left a great deal to be desired. You’ve managed to get under my skin, Charlotte Wyndham. You’ve a way of looking at me sometimes that plays havoc with my equilibrium, for you seem able at a glance to dispose of any claim I might have had to sangfroid. I’ve tried to ignore your existe
nce; indeed, for almost a year I did my damnedest to keep you at a safe distance, but it was impossible to forget you or put you from my thoughts. You’ve come to mean too much to me, Charlotte, and that’s why it’s so very important to me that you, of all people, believe in the truth about me.”

  The air seemed suddenly very still, almost muffled. She could no longer hear the clock or the distant music of a pianoforte drifting in from the darkness outside. The wild beating of her own heart seemed the only sound as she stared at him. “Wh-What are you telling me?” she asked hesitantly, conscious of every gentle movement of his caressing thumb, of the warmth that darkened his eyes now.

  “Don’t you understand why I’ve broken off my relationship with Judith? Didn’t you have any inkling that day at Kimber Park? How could I maintain a liaison with her and do right by her when all the time I could only think of you? Since the day I came to Kimber Park to sign the deeds, I haven’t been able to think of any woman other than you, Charlotte, and I’ve been endeavoring to let Judith down as lightly as possible. My feelings for her were very transitory. I never loved her, and I never pretended to her that I did, but she loved me and wouldn’t accept that it was over. But it is over, Charlotte, because it’s you that I love, and have loved for so long now.” He smiled a little wryly. “I’ll warrant that that was the very last confession you ever expected to hear from me.”

  She felt weak. Was this another dream? Would she suddenly awaken?

  Her silence made him uncertain. “Haven’t you anything to say? Maybe a suitably crushing rebuff escapes you for the moment.”

  Her fingers were over his then, curling urgently around them. She smiled through her tears. “Oh, Max,” she whispered. “Max, I love you so very much.”

  She could say no more, for he swept her into his arms, stopping her words with a kiss. There was no harsh brutality in him now, but there was a passion that seemed to melt through her, drawing her inexorably toward an ecstasy that threatened to rob her of consciousness. She had dreamed of a kiss like this; now it was happening, possessing her very soul. Her whole body was alive to him, the blood coursing through her veins as if it were on fire. It was a moment she wanted to go on forever.