A Scandalous Publication

by Sandra Heath

  Charlotte didn’t flinch. “You’re deluding yourself if you think he’s going to return to you. I don’t believe a word you’ve said. You certainly haven’t been at Chatsworth, and you’re most definitely not his mistress. You don’t fool me in the slightest; all this is simply an attempt to drive a wedge between Max and myself, and I can tell you that it won’t work. You’ve lost him and nothing is going to change that.”

  A dull flush had crept into the other’s cheeks, informing Charlotte that she was right. “I warned you before that you’d made an implacable enemy in me, Charlotte Wyndham, and now I warn you again. I’ll get back at you for all you’ve done, I’ll ruin your happiness and I’ll ruin your reputation as well. Don’t be sure of anything, especially not Max Talgarth, for his heart is very fickle.”

  Charlotte picked up her book again and made as if to continue reading. “Please leave, my lady, I don’t think you and I have anything more to say to each other.” She heard the yellow skirts swishing angrily away across the grass.

  * * *

  At last the day of Max’s return to London arrived, and as evening approached, Charlotte dressed for the theater. She wanted to look her very best, and so she chose one of Madame Forestier’s very finest gowns. It was made of the sheerest white silk, with an overgown of elegant, fashionable plowman’s gauze, a rich material that in no way merited its rather rural name. The gauze was transparent and sprinkled with pale-blue satin spots, and the gown’s neckline was deliciously low, revealing to perfection the creamy curve of her bosom. Her dark-red hair was dressed up in a knot on the top of her head, and several long curls trailed down from it, entwined with blue ribbons and sprigged with tiny artificial flowers. She wore a faint touch of rouge on her lips and cheeks, and a dab or so of Yardley’s lavender water behind her ears. There was a glow about her, a shimmering excitement at the prospect of seeing him again and of being in his arms.

  Sylvia had been at the house for some time, having arrived to discuss the ball the next day. She and Mrs. Wyndham were so deep in last-minute details—catering, orchestras, floral arrangements, and so on—that they didn’t realize how time had passed. It was almost eight when Max was due to call, and Sylvia ran the risk of coming face to face with him.

  Richard went into the drawing room to disturb the two women. “Sylvia, I think such a very fine evening cries out for you and me to take an airing in Regent’s Park.”

  She looked up, still wrapped in the ball and all its problems. “Take an airing? But I’ve far too much to talk over.”

  “Nevertheless,” he replied firmly, “you and I are going to go out. There will be time enough for you and my sister to talk afterward, but for the moment you will put on your bonnet and shawl and come with me, unless you wish to cause a scene, of course.” He spoke a little harshly because he half-suspected her of deliberately setting out to engineer a confrontation with Max, and when he saw the quick flush touch her cheeks, he knew his suspicions were correct.

  Mrs. Wyndham looked reproachfully at her brother. “Richard, your manner isn’t exactly—”

  “Sophia, my manner is exactly what this moment requires.” He looked angrily at Sylvia again. “Put on your bonnet and shawl, and do it quickly. I warn you, I’m quite capable of putting you over my knee and spanking you.”

  His sister was appalled. “Richard, how could you!”

  He ignored her, still looking at Sylvia. “Do as you’re told, madam.”

  She stared at him, her lovely eyes huge. Then, without another word of protest, she got up and picked up her things.

  He took a deep breath. “If you’d done that in the first place, there wouldn’t have been any need for me to raise my voice.”

  “No, Richard,” she said meekly.

  “You’re the most exasperating minx it’s been my misfortune to meet, and there are times when I can’t believe I’m fool enough to love you.”

  She raised her big eyes to his face in a way that twisted at his very heart. “I’m sorry, Richard,” she said contritely, slipping her little hand through his arm. “Do you forgive me?”

  He gazed at her. “I don’t know,” he said unconvincingly, for it was quite obvious he’d forgiven her already. “I’ll think about it while we’re walking.”

  “You’ve been very masterful recently,” she said, “and not at all as I’d come to think you were.”

  “Masterful? Me?”

  “Yes,” she declared, smiling a little, “and I find I like it very much. Very much indeed.”

  They’d gone when Charlotte at last came down. Her mother looked proudly at her. “My dear, you look very beautiful.”

  Charlotte smiled almost shyly. “Do you know, tonight I actually feel beautiful.”

  “Love is a sovereign remedy for everything, from low spirits to a stubborn determination to believe oneself ugly. And talking of love….”

  “Yes?”

  “I rather think Richard has at last turned the corner with Sylvia. He was quite odiously overbearing a moment ago, ordering her about as if he owned her, and she actually melted to him. I declare I’ve never seen her look so soft and yielding. They’ve gone for a walk now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if things didn’t develop very handsomely in the meantime.”

  Charlotte looked hopefully at her. “Do you really think that? I’d be so happy for Richard.”

  “So would I. From the outset they’ve seemed made for each other, but she didn’t seem to feel the same way. Now, though….”

  “If she could fall hopelessly and completely in love with Richard, I’m sure she’d forget her battle with Max. I hope so, anyway.”

  “So do I, my dear. So do I. But, Charlotte…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you quite, quite sure that Sylvia is wrong about everything?”

  Charlotte looked quickly at her. “Yes, I’m quite sure.”

  Her mother nodded. “I worry so, because I’m such a hopeless judge of character. I want to feel at ease about it all, and my heart tells me that poor Sylvia is mistaken; indeed, Henry and I have talked ad infinitum about it all. He assures me that Sir Maxim is the finest of gentlemen and quite worthy of aspiring to your hand. Anyway, enough of such maudlin talk, this is a happy evening and we must talk of other things than doubts and anxieties. Have you heard about the new book that came out today?”

  “Book? No.”

  “Another roman à clef, it seems, and set to be even more outrageous than Glenarvon.”

  “Really?” Charlotte was very interested.

  “No doubt you’ll want to read it, but at least now you’ll be able to purchase it for yourself instead of having to wait an eternity for your name to reach the top of Wyman’s list. I gather that although it only came out this morning, it’s already causing a storm second to none.”

  “Who is it supposed to be about?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Her mother was a little disapproving then. “I can’t imagine why you find such horrid books so very absorbing.”

  “It’s the odious, scandalmongering side of my nature. What’s the book called, do you know?”

  “No. Listen, isn’t that a carriage outside?”

  Charlotte hurried to the window and looked out, her heart giving a leap as she saw that it was Max. He alighted from the carriage, looking very distinguished in black velvet, but as always there was something about him to prevent him looking too formal; this time it was the way his top hat was tilted almost rakishly back on his dark hair.

  She was trembling a little as Mrs. White admitted him, and then he was there. He didn’t see Charlotte by the window as he bowed over her mother’s hand. “Good evening, madam,” he said, smiling.

  “Good evening, Sir Maxim. I confess I don’t quite know how to greet you, for when last we met you were a virtual stranger, but now….”

  “Now I hope to become your son-in-law?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I trust that we will soon become close, Mrs. Wyndham, for I love your daughter very much
indeed.”

  She succumbed to the charm of the smile, falling under his spell and eliminating Sylvia’s charges against him once and for all. “Perhaps, sir,” she said softly, “you would like to say that to Charlotte herself.” She nodded toward the window.

  He turned, a light passing through his blue eyes as he saw Charlotte standing there. He came quickly toward her, taking her hands and drawing them both to his lips. “Charlotte,” he murmured, “you’re more beautiful than even I had thought.”

  She felt very warm suddenly. “Max, I’m so happy to see you again.”

  Mrs. Wyndham watched them for a moment. “I’m sure you will be late if you delay here, and carriages can be so very private, don’t you agree?”

  “Mother!” Charlotte felt hot color rushing into her cheeks.

  “I may be getting on, my dear, but my memory isn’t failing me yet.” Mrs. Wyndham smiled at Max. “I understand you’re going to the Italian Opera House?”

  “We are.”

  “What is being performed tonight? Only an opera, or a ballet as well?”

  “I gather Von Winter’s Zaira is the opera, and I’m told the ballet is to be Gonsalvo de Cordova.”

  “What a very agreeable program.”

  “Please, come with us.”

  “And be a gooseberry? Sir, that wouldn’t suit me at all. Now, then, don’t let me detain you a moment longer, for I’m sure you have a great deal to talk about. Oh, and Sir Maxim?”

  “Madam?”

  She looked earnestly at him. “Charlotte has told me what you did for my husband. Thank you for being so honorable, and for being such a friend.”

  “He was my friend, Mrs. Wyndham, and I liked his society very much.”

  She smiled, tears in her eyes. “Thank you again, sir. If Mr. Wyndham was alive now, I know that nothing would delight him more than knowing that you are to be Charlotte’s husband.”

  He went to her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “And nothing pleases me more than being able to say to you that Kimber Park is no longer lost to you. It’s there for you to enjoy whenever you wish.”

  She nodded, her eyes very tear-bright now. She searched for her handkerchief. “Hurry along, sir, I’m sure you don’t wish to see me sniffle.”

  He paused for a moment. “Mrs. Wyndham, will you do something for me?”

  “Do something?” She wiped away the tears. “If I can, then of course.”

  “I realize that my coming on the scene has caused difficulty with my former sister-in-law. It is my earnest wish to resolve our differences and I’m more than prepared to extend an olive branch to her. I know how she feels about me, and although I know she’s wrong, I respect her feelings because I know they are due to the very noblest of causes. Would you tell her what I’ve just said?”

  Mrs. Wyndham smiled. “Of course, sir, nothing would please me more. I only hope she meets you halfway, for then we could all be so happy.”

  The evening was warm and clear as they stepped out of the house. Another carriage was driving past, the teams of grays kicking up their heels in almost sprightly fashion. There were a number of people out enjoying the end of such a grand July day, but Max paid them no heed as he took Charlotte in his arms and kissed her on the lips in front of them all. She drew back, glancing around in embarrassment, and he smiled. “I’ve missed you so much that I’m damned if I’m going to wait a moment longer.”

  “I’ve missed you too. Max, I’m so very happy.”

  “And so am I. Damn it, why have you got to look so particularly beautiful? My baser instincts are threatening to get the better of me. Perhaps we’d better go before I succumb.” He handed her into the carriage.

  The Italian Opera House in the Haymarket was a very fashionable attraction, and the ton flocked there during the Season to see and be seen in their private boxes. The street was almost solid with fine carriages, and there was quite a delay before Max’s carriage reached the curb by the arcade that encircled the base of the building. There were wrought-iron lamps suspended in these arches, and the windows of the little shops behind looked very charming and bright as the lengthening evening shadows made the arcade almost dark.

  Charlotte felt nervous as the door was opened and Max assisted her down. Her gown rustled and the satin spots on the gauze shone as if polished. It was warm and she could smell the lavender water she’d used earlier. It was clear, light, and fresh.

  As Max put her shawl about her shoulders, a man walking past caught his eye. “Bob?” he said. “Bob Westacot? I trust you’re not about to violate the sanctity of the opera by wearing that atrocious peacock garb.”

  Charlotte turned to see whom he was addressing, and she saw a tall, foppish young man dressed in a very tight pea-green coat and very full dark-green cossack trousers gathered at his ankles. He had a mop of contrived Apollo curls that seemed to tumble in all directions at once, and his waist was so tightly laced that it was very waspish indeed. He was evidently a dandy of the first order, his cane adorned with at least five golden tassels and his shining top hat worn forward at such an acute angle that it was necessary for him to raise his head and look down his rather questing nose in order to see who was speaking. It seemed to Charlotte that something rather akin to embarrassment passed fleetingly through his pale eyes before he managed a smile. “Max! By all that’s holy! It’s been a long time since I last saw your phiz.”

  “It seems not long enough since last you offended my eyes with your so-called taste in clothes.”

  “Come, now, my dear boy, there’s no need for that. It so happens that I’m just passing by, and the Italian Opera House is to struggle along without me to brighten its portals.” He paused. “So,” he murmured then, “here I am, face to face with the man of the moment.”

  “Man of the moment?” Max raised an amused eyebrow. “No doubt I’d have a suitable reply to hand, if I knew what you meant.”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “No.”

  The other looked a little uneasy. “Well, far be it from me to be the one to enlighten you.”

  Max was a little perplexed now, but then suddenly realized that he hadn’t introduced Charlotte. “Bob, allow me to present Miss Wyndham. Char—”

  He got no further, for Mr. Westacot interrupted in surprise. “Miss Charlotte Wyndham?”

  Charlotte was a little taken aback. “Yes. Sir, is something wrong?”

  He didn’t reply, but glanced around as if he wished himself anywhere but where he was.

  Max frowned then. “Yes, Bob, is something wrong? Your manner is, to say the least, odd.”

  “Forgive me, it’s just that I’m a little surprised, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps you’d be good enough to explain why?”

  “Look, Max, I just don’t want to be the one to tell you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll toddle along and mind my own business.” Touching his hat, he turned on his heel and hurried away through the crowds, some of whom were already glancing toward Max’s carriage.

  Charlotte sensed that there was a little more to their interest than curiosity about a possible match. Her hand crept a little nervously over Max’s arm. “What’s happened? Why are they looking at us like that?”

  “It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Don’t let it spoil our evening.” He smiled, his fingers warm and reassuring over hers. “Shall we go in?” She nodded and they proceeded into the theater, conscious all the while of the stares and whispers that followed them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rich red and gold of the opera house glowed in the light of the chandeliers. There were five tiers of boxes encircling the huge, horseshoe auditorium, most of them occupied by ladies and gentlemen of rank and fashion. Their servants and other persons sat in the gallery high above, while down in the pit was Fops’ Alley, where dandies displayed themselves in noisy splendor, rattling their canes and snuffboxes and talking in drawling, affected tones that almost resembled the braying of donkeys.

  Max�
��s box was directly opposite that of the Prince Regent, although the prince wasn’t present tonight. From her gilded chair, Charlotte had a commanding view of the stage and the audience. The curtain trembled now and then, as if someone was moving behind it, and as the orchestra took up its position and began to tune up, there was a momentary hush of expectation before conversation began again. She gazed at the sea of faces all around, the gentlemen in dress uniform or dark, formal velvet, the ladies in silk and satin, their hair adorned with jewels and tall ostrich plumes. There was a great deal of shuffling and clearing of throats, with the occasional louder voice emanating from the more vulgar element high in the gallery.

  Charlotte had forgotten the strange incident outside with Mr. Westacot. She was too intent upon watching the orchestra as it continued to tune up, one violin evidently having a little difficulty, but Max hadn’t forgotten, especially as he swiftly realized that he and Charlotte were receiving far more attention than rumors of their forthcoming betrothal would seem to warrant. That there would be interest he did not dispute, for his reputation alone would have assured them of that, but not this veritable stir, a wave of raised quizzing glasses and lorgnettes, and a constant fluttering of fans, behind which lips were murmuring secretly. Too many glances were directed toward their box, and as he watched, he became aware of the hiss of whispering beyond the general drone of conversation.

  Looking across at the boxes opposite, he saw the Earl of Barstow and his family and friends, including, of course, Judith. The earl was a thin, hook-nosed man, made even thinner by the tight fit of his evening clothes. He too was intent upon Max and Charlotte, his quizzing glass swinging idly on its ribbon between his bony fingers. Judith was leaning close to the lady at her side, pointing across with her fan and evidently having a great deal to say. The lady’s reaction to whatever she said could only be described as shocked, her lips pursed, her eyes widened, and she began to waft her fan to and fro as if suddenly very hot. After a moment she leaned forward to touch a gentleman on the shoulder, whispering in his ear and pointing across the auditorium. He seemed taken aback, staring at Max and Charlotte, and then he too spread the whisper, whatever it was, to his neighbor. So the buzz spread from person to person, box to box, each new recipient seeming shocked, intrigued, and determined to pass the whisper on.