Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

  Alexandra had wanted her to “explore her feelings” for Lord Saunders. Well, she’d certainly been exploring them. After that flagrant display, Madeleine could no longer deny that she did have feelings for him. Very strong feelings. How could she even consider a relationship with Oakley or any other man when she was obviously, totally, infatuated with this one?

  Did he feel the same way about her? Clearly, he had enjoyed that kiss every bit as much as she had. Clearly, he wanted her. But what were his intentions? Had anything changed? She had to know.

  She swallowed hard. “What should we do about this?”

  “Do?” He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Um. I mean . . . about this. About us.”

  He started to reply, then seemed to rethink it. His eyes, as he glanced at her, were filled with desire and undisguised yearning, followed by a dash of self-incrimination. “I suppose,” he said finally, in a low tone laced with regret, “I should once again offer my apologies.”

  Apologies again. Madeleine sighed. Was it because he thought he’d taken advantage of her? Or because he was still firmly committed to another woman? Before Madeleine could ask, he took in the shattered wine bottle at their feet and said, “I wonder if there is a broom anywhere about? I wouldn’t want anyone to walk in and step on broken glass.”

  A quick search led to a closet with the requisite supplies. Madeleine wielded the broom, showing Lord Saunders how to hold the dustpan. He was comically inept at the business.

  “This is an experience I never thought to have,” he quipped. “Helping a million-dollar heiress sweep up my kitchen.”

  She struggled to match his light tone, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her hands and body were still trembling from their kiss. “How thoughtless of you, to state aloud the amount of my fortune.”

  “It is common knowledge and in all the papers.”

  And of no interest to you, since you have all the money you need. Madeleine found herself wishing, for an instant, that he did need her money. A silence fell between them as they finished sweeping up the glass and deposited it in a rubbish bin. “Should we put the food back?” Madeleine asked.

  “The staff will clean it up.” That same desire and yearning was once again visible in his eyes, but he turned away. “Well, then.” He seemed to be about to quit the room.

  “Wait. Before we go.” Madeleine took a deep breath and said, “I’m not sorry we kissed. In truth, I rather liked it.”

  A hint of a smile. “So did I.”

  “So . . .”

  “So?” he repeated.

  Madeleine’s heart pounded. “I need to know what you’re thinking. If this . . . if you and I are . . .” She waited.

  He paused, as if carefully considering his reply. At last he met her gaze and said softly, “I have never met anyone quite like you. You are a remarkable woman. I admire you more than I can say.”

  “I feel the same way about you.”

  “But . . .”

  She knew what was coming. Still, she needed to hear him say it. “But?”

  He heaved a sigh. “My fate was decided for me long ago. I gave my father my promise that Sophie and I would be officially engaged by the end of summer. I must . . . I mean to keep that promise.”

  Even though Madeleine had expected it, the admission hit her like a punch in the stomach. So, he had given his promise. There was no going back. “Of course. I see.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no. Don’t be.” Her cheeks felt like they were aflame. Whether or not he had any feelings for Sophie was unclear, but it didn’t seem to matter. He would marry her. He would do his duty. All a man really has in life is his honor. She ought to admire him for that. “It’s what your family has always wanted. She’s a lovely girl. I’m sure you’ll be very happy.”

  A hard look clouded his features. “And you and Oakley . . .”

  “Yes, yes, Lord Oakley.” Madeleine couldn’t care less about Lord Oakley at the moment.

  “It’s just as well,” she heard herself rush on, determined to rise above her hurt and embarrassment. “It’s for the best. For both of us. Really. And not just because of your promise, or anything I might owe Lord Oakley. Because of a promise I made myself, years ago.”

  “What promise is that?”

  Madeleine sank down on her stool and took a deep breath. “When I was twelve years old I had a crush on the baker’s son, who used to give me a free cinnamon bun whenever I went into his father’s shop. Then he started giving out free buns to my friend Ada. I cried for weeks. When I was fifteen, on summer vacation with my family, I fell hard for a farmer’s son. One day, I saw him kissing Alexandra behind the barn. I never had the nerve to speak to him again.”

  He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am sorry that happened. But—”

  Madeleine raised a hand to stop him. “When I turned eighteen, I fell in love with a young man who worked at my father’s bank. I felt certain he was going to propose at my coming out ball. But that night, my best friend Pearl stole him for all the best dances.” Madeleine’s voice caught as she recalled the scene that had devastated her. “I saw them later on the terrace, kissing. They went together for a few months before Pearl dropped him. I never heard from Joe again.”

  Saunders seemed to ponder this. “So you had a crush on two boys when you were very young, and had your heart broken at eighteen.”

  “Three times, I lost the boy I liked to someone else—a friend I’d trusted, even my own sister! Three times, I was discarded. Betrayed. Second best. I will never forget the pain I suffered. How small and worthless it made me feel. Each time, it took my heart years to mend. I never want to make any woman suffer the way I suffered.” Madeleine wasn’t sure if this explanation was meant to convince him, or herself. “Which is why you are absolutely correct, my lord. I can never hurt Sophie that way. She loves you. Her future rests in your hands. And as you said, you must keep your promise.”

  His gaze returned to her face. “It seems we are of one mind, then.”

  “Yes!” If that were true, why did her heart feel so heavy? “We must rise above this . . . this . . . infatuation, or whatever it is, and agree that henceforth we will just be friends.”

  “Friends.” He looked a bit dubious.

  “Furthermore, I suggest we make a pact.”

  “What sort of pact?”

  “To stay out of each other’s way.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know how possible that is, given that you—”

  “We have to try. During the rest of my stay here, we can be like ships passing in the night. And we have to agree that this sort of thing can never happen again.”

  He hesitated, then said with obvious reluctance: “Very well.”

  “If we ever should find ourselves alone together . . .” A thought occurred to her. “We need a reminder word.”

  “A what?”

  “When I was a girl, my mother came up with a reminder word, to keep me from doing or saying anything improper and behave.”

  “What was your reminder word?”

  “Pineapple.”

  Saunders stared at her. “Pineapple.”

  “It’s the perfect word. Pineapples are prickly and funny-looking. It’s a mental image guaranteed to stop you in your tracks and make you laugh.”

  Saunders’s eyes twinkled now and his lips twitched, as if he were holding back a laugh. “Pineapple it is, Miss Atherton.”

  Madeleine slept in the next day until noon. When she finally rose and dressed, it was time for luncheon. She discovered that Dr. Hancock had come and gone, and as Madeleine had been unavailable, he had pushed Sophie around the garden in her wheelchair himself.

  Madeleine was sorry to have missed seeing the doctor, as she’d hoped to talk to him again about Lord Trevelyan’s state of health. Had the information she’d conveyed to him been of any value whatsoever?

  Saunders, she learned, had left for London on a business matt
er and would be gone for a week. When Lady Trevelyan told her this, despite herself, Madeleine was keenly disappointed. Did he truly have business in London? Madeleine couldn’t be certain, but she had a strong feeling he had gone deliberately, to make it easier to keep their “pact” to stay away from each other. A pact he had been obviously reluctant to make—but she knew it was for the best.

  The next few days were given over to party planning. Helen and Anna were ecstatic to discover that they would be allowed to dress up and attend the festivities, although they would only be allowed to stay up until nine o’clock, and could not participate in the ballroom dancing.

  Lady Trevelyan ordered invitations from a printing house in the village. When they arrived, Sophie and Madeleine joined Her Ladyship in the parlor, where they helped fill in the invitees’ names on the cards and addressed the envelopes.

  “Is there a theme for the fancy dress?” Madeleine asked as she dipped her pen and inscribed an envelope in her finest script.

  “No,” Lady Trevelyan answered. “I want everyone to dress up as anything they like. Historical figures are always popular, though. I am going as Marie Antoinette. I found the most divine gown in the attic that belonged to one of my husband’s relations.”

  “Will we wear masks?” Sophie asked.

  Lady Trevelyan shook her head. “I prefer to know the identity of the gentleman with whom I am dancing.”

  Madeleine laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  The following afternoon, Madeleine, Sophie, and the girls scoured the Trevelyan Manor attic for their own costumes.

  “What do you think of this one?” Helen found a lady’s Turkish-style costume featuring pantaloons of turquoise silk and an embroidered white bodice.

  “It would suit you perfectly,” Sophie said admiringly from her seat on a moth-eaten chair. Due to her ankle injury, a footman had carried Sophie up to the attic so that she could participate.

  Helen tried on the outfit, which Madeleine proclaimed to be a perfect fit.

  Anna pulled an old shawl of gold-colored wool from a trunk and smiled. “I know what I am going as. I shall be Night.”

  “Night?” Helen repeated. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “I shall cut gold stars out of this shawl and sew them all over my dark blue frock,” Anna explained, “and wear more gold stars in my hair.”

  “That sounds lovely and quite creative,” Madeleine said, which made Anna beam. A Regency gown of white muslin caught Madeleine’s eye. The cap sleeves and Empire waist were trimmed with white ribbon, and the skirts were embroidered with cascades of tiny white flowers. “Isn’t this pretty?” It looked like it had hardly ever been worn.

  “It would look divine on you,” Sophie commented. “You could be the Empress Josephine.”

  “Or Lady Hamilton.” Madeleine held the gown up to herself. “But it looks too small.”

  “Ask Martin to alter it,” Helen suggested. “I grew two inches last year and gained almost a full stone. But I had a brand-new gown I didn’t want to give up, so she let it out and added a flounce to the hem.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask her.” Turning to Sophie, Madeleine added: “Now, what about you?”

  “Oh, I do not think I shall wear a costume. No doubt I will still be consigned to that dreadful wheelchair.”

  “Dr. Hancock said there’s a good chance you’ll be up and dancing by August eighth,” Madeleine insisted. “And in any case, you must go in fancy dress.”

  “Yes, you must,” Helen agreed, pulling out a voluminous satin gown with an eight-inch stomacher. “You could go as a French king’s mistress.”

  Sophie made a face and shook her head. “If I could choose a costume, there is something else I should wish to be.”

  “What’s that?” Madeleine asked.

  “A butterfly.”

  Anna’s eyes lit up. “A butterfly! Sophie, how thrilling.”

  “But I do not see how that would be possible.”

  “We can make it possible.” Madeleine’s mind was already whirring with ideas. Flicking through the other garments on the rack, she came to a Georgian ball gown of violet satin, with a black velvet bodice and black lace trim. “This would be stunning. I’ve seen butterflies this exact color. We can remove the overskirt and make wings from it.”

  “And we can make a black hair band with antennae,” Anna suggested.

  Sophie laughed. “You are all quite marvelous. I do not know what I should do without you.”

  Madeleine was about to head downstairs the next morning to assist Sophie with her letter-writing, when Lord Trevelyan’s voice boomed throughout the halls.

  She heard bits and pieces: What the devil! and No bread? No beer? and Do you mean to starve me? He sounded as angry as a hornet.

  Although curious as to what that was about, Madeleine didn’t dare investigate. She ventured down to the library, where she found Sophie and Dr. Hancock seated on a sofa, involved in conversation. At Madeleine’s appearance, the doctor’s cheeks grew rosy and he stood.

  “Miss Atherton.” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping to see you. I have news about my patient’s condition.”

  “I hope Sophie is all right?” Madeleine said, worried.

  “I am not speaking of Lady Sophie, but of Lord Trevelyan.”

  “Oh?” Madeleine was even more worried. “What has happened?”

  “It is not what has happened so much as what I have learned. As you seemed so interested. . . .” Dr. Hancock glanced at Sophie. “Forgive me. I do not wish to trouble you, Lady Sophie, with these particulars.” Receiving a nod from Sophie, he asked Madeleine, “May we speak in the hall?”

  “Of course.”

  Bowing to Sophie, Dr. Hancock bid her good day. Madeleine followed him out of the room.

  “Miss Atherton,” he said as they strode down the hall toward the front of the house, “the other day, you mentioned a Dr. ‘G’ at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London. I had heard of a doctor with that name. Not a name which simply began with the letter G, but the actual surname G-E-E: Dr. Samuel Gee. So I wrote to him.”

  Madeleine’s pulse quickened. “And?”

  “Dr. Gee has an interesting theory concerning a new disease. Well, it is not actually new. It was discovered in the first century CE by Aretaeus of Cappadocia, a celebrated Greek physician. His theories were unfortunately lost to science for eons. Dr. Gee’s fluency in ancient Greek made it possible for him to read a work by Aretaeus called The Coeliac Affection, which detailed the symptoms of a digestive disorder. Gee noticed that many of his patients had the same array of diverse complaints. He conducted a clinical study, and last year published the first description of a condition he calls Coeliac Disease.”

  Madeleine was intrigued. “Do you think His Lordship suffers from this disease?”

  “I think it highly possible.”

  “You called it a digestive complaint?”

  “Dr. Gee suspects the condition has something to do with the inability of the intestines to absorb nutrients.”

  “Interesting. Is there a cure?”

  “Not that we know of. But happily, Dr. Gee has found a way to control it by means of changes to the diet.”

  “The diet?” Madeleine caught her breath. “Just as I overheard that night!”

  “I met with Lord and Lady Trevelyan this morning and explained that for a trial period, His Lordship must avoid eating all foods made with wheat and barley.”

  “So, no bread.”

  “No bread, no cakes, no biscuits, no noodles. And no barley, which means no beer or malt vinegar.”

  Madeleine nodded solemnly. “I heard His Lordship shouting down the hallway a few minutes ago. I’m guessing breakfast had just been served?”

  Dr. Hancock sighed ruefully. “He called me a quack and a charlatan, complained that I was taking away all of his favorite foods. Her Ladyship seemed more open-minded. Even so, I do not expect to be very popular with him for the next few weeks. By then, we should know if this
new diet is effective or not.” They had reached the front entry now, where Woodson waited at attention by the door.

  “Do you think it will be effective?” Madeleine asked.

  “Time will tell. Even if the diet does not cure Lord Trevelyan, I may have other, future patients who suffer from this ailment. I am in your debt for calling it to my attention.”

  “I am glad, if you think the information has been of some use. Please let me know how His Lordship does. I dearly hope he improves.”

  “As do we all, Miss Atherton,” Dr. Hancock said with a parting bow.

  Two weeks flew by. Lord Saunders was true to his word, and so excelled at staying out of Madeleine’s way, that even after he returned from London, she only caught rare glimpses of him. On the few occasions when Madeleine did see him, the family was always present, and they exchanged no more than a word or two.

  She wondered if Lord Saunders missed her as much as she missed him. Just thinking about him made her ache with longing. And seeing him across the room now and then, looking so impossibly handsome, only made her ache more deeply.

  Madeleine had to admit, it was easier to relax when he was away, when she didn’t have to worry that he might walk around a corner at any moment and send her heart racing. If she’d learned anything from their encounter in the kitchen, it was that she had to govern her feelings for him, accept the fact that he could be no more than a friend.

  Dr. Hancock called daily to check on both Lord Trevelyan and Sophie. He pronounced that the latter’s ankle was mending perfectly, and if healing progressed in the same vein, Sophie ought to be able to dance at the fancy dress ball.

  As for the former, matters did not appear to be progressing so well. Madeleine winced at the daily barrage of curses and complaints that issued from Lord Trevelyan’s bedchamber whenever his food was served. Lady Trevelyan, on the other hand, was grateful for the new regime.

  “I have been saying for years that His Lordship seemed to feel worse after eating,” she told Madeleine one afternoon at tea, “and I kept asking if it could be connected. The doctor would not listen to me. I pray this is the remedy, and applaud you for sharing what you heard.”