Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

  The girls adored the play from the start. It was decided that Lillie and Anna would play the sisters, while Julia and Helen would take on multiple roles as their dim-witted beaux, their parents, and other minor parts.

  Alexandra begged off performing, insisting that she was too pregnant to participate, but would be happy to serve as stage manager. Madeleine was appointed director, and the girls insisted she must also play the dashing solicitor.

  The group spent a long day working in the library, each writing out her own copy of the script. After sending out invitations to their families and servants, the real work—and fun—began. Eight days were devoted to rehearsals, gathering props, and drawing up playbills. Costumes were assembled from their own wardrobes and from the Polperran House attic, which was stuffed with ancestral offerings.

  Madeleine enjoyed every aspect of the preparation and planning. So many years had passed since she had been similarly occupied, that in a way, it was like reliving the best memories from her own childhood.

  Visitors were banned from rehearsals. Although Helen struggled at first to find a comfortable footing onstage, she was a whiz at memorizing lines and soon came into her own. Anna and Lillie threw themselves into their parts with verve. Julia was particularly hilarious as one of the suitors, and gave a heartwarming performance as the father at his daughter’s bedside, as she hovered on the brink of death before making a miraculous recovery.

  In the beginning, Helen and Anna drove back and forth from Trevelyan Manor to Polperran House for rehearsals. But this was seen to be a great waste of time, so for the last few days leading up to the performance, the girls stayed at Polperran, where it felt like one grand slumber party.

  The enterprise was so all-consuming, that during this period Madeleine had no time to give a single thought to Lord Oakley, or to ponder her misbegotten attraction to Lord Saunders. Well. She did dream about Saunders once or twice. Or three times. Dreams in which they exchanged erotic kisses, and from which she awakened hot and heavy, full of self-recrimination.

  And which she promptly put out of her mind.

  At the moment, she told herself, she wasn’t an heiress with a crush on an unavailable earl, and an offer of matrimony from a future duke. She was simply a playwright creating a work for the stage. In that role, Madeleine felt as though she were truly in her element.

  The performance was held on a Thursday afternoon in mid-July in the gallery, a magnificent hall that made up the entire east wing of Polperran House, with a barrel-shaped plasterwork ceiling and windows framed by red velvet draperies.

  They set up rows of chairs facing an area they cleared and designated as the stage. In lieu of a curtain, two folding screens were placed at each side to conceal the actors while they changed costumes or waited for their cues. The primary scenes took place in a drawing room, which was created with assorted furniture from the house. A few more adventurous scenes, such as the runaway carriage, were depicted in pantomime.

  At the appointed day and hour, the audience began to arrive. Madeleine’s stomach curled in nervous anticipation as she peered out from behind one of the screens, dressed as “Mr. Danvers, solicitor.”

  Her costume, which had belonged to Thomas’s father, reportedly a man of slight build and short stature, fit surprisingly well. It was the first time since Madeleine was a child that she had dressed up as a man, and the ensemble of wool trousers, shirt, tie, and frock coat, topped off by a high silk hat, felt both foreign and excitingly scandalous. She had completed the look by drawing a mustache in charcoal across her upper lip.

  The girls, made up, costumed, and coiffured, giggled beside her.

  Madeleine caught sight of Alexandra ushering Thomas to his seat in the front row. He had a smile on his face, as did the dozen or more servants who were taking seats near the back, murmuring amongst themselves. An air of simmering excitement filled the room. Moments later, some bustle was heard from the corridor. Alexandra reappeared, escorting in Lady and Lord Trevelyan.

  Madeleine started in surprise. She knew they had been invited, but as expected, Lady Trevelyan had written to express her regrets, citing Lord Trevelyan’s precarious health. Yet here they were. His Lordship was seated in a wheelchair, being pushed by a nurse. He looked ashen and weak. Madeleine couldn’t begin to imagine the effort it must have taken for him to rise from his bed and come all this way to see Helen and Anna perform. It was a real testament to his affection for his daughters and his strength of will.

  If they were here, Madeleine wondered suddenly, did it mean . . .

  She barely had time to register that thought when Lord Saunders strode into the room, accompanied by Sophie.

  Madeleine froze, her heart banging in her chest like a drum. The last time she’d seen Lord Saunders, they had been kissing in a cave. Three weeks had passed since then. During that time, she had tried to persuade herself that she had overestimated the degree of his attractiveness in her mind.

  She hadn’t.

  The twosome paused just inside the doorway. Clad in a dark suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall, masculine frame, Saunders radiated a charm that seemed to affect the entire room. Sophie wore a lavender silk frock, her upsweep of luxurious blond hair showing off her pretty face.

  Madeleine had never expected him to come, had rather hoped he wouldn’t. Didn’t he have better things to do than to watch his sisters perform in an amateur theatrical? Apparently not. She watched as he and Sophie took their seats.

  Madeleine turned away and closed her eyes. She refused to let his presence affect her. She and the girls had worked hard on this play. She was going to give it everything she had.

  And try not to think about how perfect Saunders and Sophie looked, sitting there together in the second row, his handsome magnetism complemented by Sophie’s fresh-as-a-daisy look.

  Whereas Madeleine was standing there dressed like a man. In a frock coat and trousers. And a mustache.

  The play ended. The small audience erupted into applause. Many of the women leapt to their feet.

  Charles took their cue and rose, clapping for all he was worth.

  He had expected the play to be a mere trifle. Just something for his and Longford’s sisters to do during the summer. He had only come because his sisters had begged him to. His attendance had nothing to do with the fact that he had known Miss Atherton was at the helm of the whole thing. That it would give him an opportunity to see her again.

  It had nothing to do with that at all.

  He had anticipated an hour of amateur acting and an amateurish script. What he’d just observed had turned out to be something else again. The play itself, although clearly meant to entertain, was also marvelously clever and heartfelt. He’d had no idea a woman could write like that. The plays he’d attended in town had all been written by men. Miss Atherton’s message, about the importance of education for women—a theme which didn’t surprise him one bit—had been slyly interwoven with an exuberant plot.

  The girls’ lack of experience had been made up for by the obvious joy they had felt in the performance. And Miss Atherton—he would never have guessed it, as her expressed passion was writing, after all—had a natural ability onstage and an excellent sense of timing. She was damnably funny. And she’d played a man! She’d had the role down pat. He might have actually mistaken her for a man—albeit a very attractive man—if not for the feminine curves which that tight-fitting frock coat could not hide.

  The young actors came forward now to receive their embraces, jumping with excitement. Charles hugged his sisters and told Julia and Lillie what a great job they had done. His father took the girls’ hands from his wheelchair and offered his praise, as did his mother, Thomas, and Alexandra.

  While the servants came up to pay their respects, Charles noticed Miss Atherton standing off to one side, watching all this with a grin. He debated whether or not to go up to her. After what had happened in the cave, he would not blame her if she never wanted to speak to him again. But he felt
drawn to her like a magnet.

  I will never breathe a word about this. Let’s pretend it never happened.

  He could do that. He would do that, difficult as it might be. His heart hammered in his ears as he crossed the room and offered her a bow. “Miss Atherton.”

  Her blue eyes lifted to his. She appeared guarded. “Lord Saunders,” was her polite reply.

  “Pray allow me to congratulate you on an excellent performance.”

  “Thank you.”

  An awkward silence followed. There was so much he wished he could say to her, but none of it was possible, not with all these people about. “You got some excellent performances out of those girls. But more than that: the script was wonderful, both funny and meaningful. I admired your theme, radical though it was.”

  “You thought it radical?” Her mouth curved with amusement. That damnable charcoal mustache curved into a smile of its own.

  Charles fought a sudden urge to wipe that mustache away with a fingertip. Or, alternatively, to rub that same fingertip over the pink lips beneath it.

  Stop it stop it stop it. “Most radical indeed,” he heard himself say. “The daughters of a duke attending college? I doubt that will happen anytime this century.”

  “Well, the century is nearly over, my lord. Let us hope for more progressive thinking in the next.”

  He started to reply, but was prevented when Sophie glided up and said, “Maddie. I am in awe. That was absolutely wonderful.”

  “I’m so pleased you liked it.”

  “Liked it? I loved it. Everyone did.”

  “The girls had fun,” Miss Atherton said. “That’s the most important thing.”

  “I should never have your courage! To act upon the stage!” Sophie lowered her voice, her eyes teasing. “And how scandalous you are, to dress as a man!”

  Miss Atherton laughed at that and seemed to be about to reply, when his mother and father appeared. “Miss Atherton?” his father said, weak and pale, from his wheelchair.

  “Your Lordship,” Miss Atherton answered, reaching down to take his hand. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to see you here. How are you feeling?”

  “Fair to middling,” the old man answered. The mere act of talking seemed to wear him out. “But let us not talk of that, young lady. I wish to congratulate you on a job well done. I do not approve of all this girls-going-to-college nonsense, but the play had its moments.”

  “I loved it,” his mother interjected. “Helen and Anna have talked of nothing else but this play for weeks. I have never seen Helen so animated. You have quite brought her out of herself, Miss Atherton. I know it was all due to your hard work and genius. Thank you.”

  Miss Atherton bowed her head at the compliment. “Thank you for saying so, Your Ladyship.”

  “Now I fear we must take our leave,” his mother said, casting a worried glance at his father. “Charles? Will you call for the coach?”

  Charles nodded, tamping down his frustration. “Of course.” He had wanted to talk longer with Miss Atherton. Now all he could do was to give her a parting smile. “Good day, Miss Atherton.”

  “Good day,” she answered to his party at large. “Thank you all so much for coming.”

  “I would not have missed it,” Charles insisted. With that, he was forced to leave the room.

  Madeleine and Alexandra spent the rest of the afternoon supervising the girls while the servants cleaned up after the performance. Helen and Anna had been granted permission to stay one more night to help put costumes away.

  The talk at dinner consisted of nothing but the play. The girls reveled in their accomplishment, recounting the audience’s reactions and laughing over tiny mistakes they’d made which, in retrospect, only made the experience more humorous and exciting.

  When it came time to retire for the night, the house still buzzed with energy. As Madeleine lay in bed, listening to the girls’ chatter and laughter from down the hall, she struggled to calm her own brain.

  She was proud of the girls. The play itself had been a triumph as well. People had laughed at all the right places and gasped at every twist of the plot. Although playwriting was not her ambition, it was rewarding to have her writing so well received.

  She recalled the moment when Lord Saunders had come up to her after the play. It had been disconcerting to speak to him again. Madeleine sensed that he’d also found it rather awkward, which was understandable, with Sophie standing right there. They’d only had two seconds to talk, which was just as well.

  Hopefully, Madeleine thought as she finally drifted off to sleep, she would have no reason to encounter him again over the next two months. She could forget about him, move on, and enjoy her summer at Polperran House in peace.

  This idea was disabused two mornings later, upon the arrival of a letter from Trevelyan Manor.

  “This just came for you, Miss Atherton,” intoned Hutchens, the distinguished, white-haired butler, as Madeleine arrived in the breakfast room.

  Julia and Lillie had not yet risen. Thomas was taking care of a matter for one of the tenants. Hutchens extended a silver salver with an envelope upon it. Who, Madeleine wondered idly, and not for the first time, had come up with this absurd practice of presenting the mail on a tray? And why was it always silver?

  “Thank you, Hutchens.” Madeleine took the envelope, fully expecting it to be from Sophie, with whom she had exchanged numerous missives since she’d come to Polperran House. However, she didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope.

  “Another letter from Sophie?” Alexandra brought her plate over from the sideboard and sat down.

  “No.” Madeleine noticed a distinctive coronet imprinted on the envelope, along with the marchioness’s name. “It’s from Lady Trevelyan,” she said in surprise.

  “A servant is waiting downstairs for your reply, miss,” Hutchens told her. “It seems to be a matter of some urgency.”

  Intrigued, Madeleine withdrew the letter and read it through:

  Trevelyan Manor

  July 20, 1889

  My Dear Miss Atherton,

  May I begin by reiterating how grateful we are for the effort you put into the marvelous play performance. My daughters are still floating on a cloud of excitement and satisfaction from the experience. I feel certain that it will be the highlight of the summer, if not the entire year.

  I now wish to apprise you of another matter entirely, which is of more serious note. I am writing on behalf of my niece.

  Yesterday morning, Sophie was out riding with Charles, when she was thrown by her horse. I am alarmed to say that she suffered a mild concussion of the brain, a small broken bone in her hand, and a twisted ankle—injuries which, thankfully, Dr. Hancock assures us will cause no permanent impairment. Indeed, her headache is nearly gone today.

  However, the doctor said her hand will require about three weeks to heal, and her ankle, which appears to be a serious type of sprain, may take equally as long.

  It is Sophie’s right hand, making it impossible for her to write, which is why she asked me to pen this letter. The thought of being kept indoors for three weeks entire, being unable to take the daily walks and rides to which she is accustomed, or even to write the letters to her mother which she likes to send on a regular basis, has left her in very low spirits.

  Sophie begs me to ask if you would be so kind as to come to Trevelyan Manor to keep her company during her convalescence. I believe that having a friend her own age here would make all the difference in her recovery. I know you and Sophie are of short acquaintance, but in that time, she said, you have become very dear to her. She insists that she would prefer your company to anyone else’s.

  I realize this is asking a great deal of you—that you may have plans to return to London, or prefer to spend the coming month with your own family. But if it is at all within your power to accede to Sophie’s request, I know it would make her extremely happy.

  Be assured as well that Lord Trevelyan and I would be pleased to r
eceive you again at our home, where you are welcome to stay as long as you like. Should Lord Longford’s coach be available, please feel free to make your way hither immediately. This afternoon would not be too soon. Or, should you wish me to send a carriage, I would be happy to do so.

  I eagerly await your reply.

  With all best wishes,

  Charlotte Grayson

  Madeleine, with equal parts astonishment and distress, handed the letter to her sister. “Poor Sophie,” she said, after Alexandra had read it through.

  “You should go to her,” Alexandra advised.

  Madeleine shook her head. She felt terrible that Sophie had been so seriously injured. And she was honored—flattered—that Sophie sought her companionship to get through the difficult weeks ahead. But returning to Trevelyan Manor meant being, once again, in the presence of Lord Saunders.

  It had been difficult enough to contend with her confusing attraction to him on her first visit. Before they had kissed. A kiss which still burned on her lips, and infiltrated her memory at the most inconvenient moments. Even now, she felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of it.

  “I don’t think so,” Madeleine said. “I’ve been so looking forward to being here with you all summer. I don’t want to miss the baby’s birth.”

  “The baby isn’t due until August twenty-third. That’s five weeks away. She’s asking you to come for three weeks only. You’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  “Sophie doesn’t need me. There are plenty of servants to help. Lady Trevelyan can write her letters for her.”

  “Sophie asked expressly for you. She’s your friend. She’s been injured. You could be a real help to her, Maddie. How can you even think of not going?” Alexandra looked at her. “What are you really worried about? Is it Lord Saunders?”