A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  Beatrix stumbled, prompting Jane to reach for her and ask if she was all right. “I’m fine, thank you, just a bump in the lawn.”

  Lady Sutton stopped and pivoted, her gaze sweeping over the people still milling about. “Where is my aunt? Has Rockbourne left already?”

  “I don’t see him,” Jane said, scanning the area.

  Beatrix didn’t see him either. Had he left? And if so, had he done so before hearing the rumor, or had he heard it too? This was terrible, and not just because it was completely untrue! It was perhaps time she came forward as the eyewitness he needed to put all this behind him.

  Yes, it would ruin her reputation, but what did that matter now? Still, there were Selina and Harry to consider. She would talk to Selina as soon as she got home. How she hated to intrude upon her happy honeymoon with this.

  She’d tell Selina everything, including how she’d fallen in love with Tom. Perhaps Selina could help her decide what to do.

  “I don’t see your aunt either,” Phoebe said. “However, there is Lord Sutton.” Phoebe gestured several yards away.

  Lady Sutton started in his direction, moving as quickly as her pregnant state allowed.

  Beatrix and the others followed her, but then hung back as she reached her husband. He put his arms around her and glowered over her head toward no one in particular.

  Beatrix turned to Jane and Phoebe. “I don’t suppose either of you are going to leave soon?”

  “Did I miss you promenading with Lord Sandon?” Jane asked.

  “No, but I think I’d prefer to go home. That despicable rumor has rather turned my stomach.”

  Jane’s eyes sparked with anger. “Rumors are reprehensible. Those who spread them should be the ones expelled from Polite Society.”

  “I completely agree,” Phoebe said, touching her friend’s arm.

  “Particularly when they could cause real damage.” Beatrix gave Jane a look of apology. “I imagine you know that better than anyone.”

  “I do indeed.” Jane’s features relaxed. “Poor Rockbourne has suffered too. I can only imagine he must regret listening to a rumor five years ago. He was certainly angry about it at my sister’s aborted wedding.” Jane scoffed. “And I can guess the worst among us will point to that anger as ‘proof’ that he pushed his loathsome wife.”

  Blanching, Jane added, “Forgive me, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  How Beatrix wished she could affirm that Lady Rockbourne was indeed loathsome, and in ways that would disgust them.

  “Yes, let us go,” Phoebe said. “I’ll go find Marcus.”

  “And I’ll find Anthony.” Jane looked to Beatrix. “Do you want to come along or wait here?”

  “I’ll wait here.” And hope that Sandon didn’t happen along.

  Jane and Phoebe took themselves off, and Beatrix did her best to fade into the shrubbery behind her. Apparently, she wasn’t very good at it because a woman approached her.

  Tall, with a long face and a sharp chin, she wore a small but rather arrogant smile. She was dressed in an expensive walking costume—Beatrix knew because of the clothes she’d recently had made. Something about her faded blue eyes and the small dent in her chin sparked a memory. And then she spoke.

  “Miss Whitford is it?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly. God, that voice was so familiar…

  “Yes.” Every part of Beatrix tensed.

  “Why not Miss Linley? That is your name, isn’t it?” She blinked in faux innocence at Beatrix.

  Words failed to come even as recognition flooded Beatrix with a horrible, prickly heat. It was Deborah. Awful, arrogant, malicious Deborah.

  “I know that’s who you really are,” the woman said loftily. “What I’d like to know is if you’re still a dirty little thief.”

  Beatrix fought to breathe. She and Selina had wondered if they would ever encounter any of the girls they’d met at Mrs. Goodwin’s. They’d hoped they wouldn’t, and if they had, were optimistic that so much time had passed that no one would recognize anyone else. And since Beatrix and Selina used different surnames, no one would have made a connection that way.

  They’d clearly underestimated the situation. Or just Deborah.

  Beatrix wasn’t even sure she could remember Deborah’s last name.

  Somehow, Beatrix collected herself enough to ask, “Have we been introduced?” She looked at Deborah as if she had no idea who she could be. Beatrix prayed her act was convincing.

  Deborah pursed her thin lips. “Years ago at Mrs. Goodwin’s. I’m now Lady Burnhope, but back then I was Deborah Mallory.” Her height made it quite easy for her to look down her nose at Beatrix.

  Beatrix dipped a curtsey. “I’m pleased to meet you. I am certain we haven’t met. I am not Miss Linley.” Not for a very long time, nor would she ever be again.

  “You lie, and I’ll wager you’re still a thief.”

  Thankfully, Jane and Phoebe and their husbands were coming straight for them.

  “You must excuse me. I must meet my friends.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Lady Ripley and Lady Colton and their husbands—the marquess and the viscount.” Flashing a bright smile, Beatrix walked right past the horrid Deborah. She felt as if she were moving through paste.

  They were soon ensconced in the Ripleys’ coach and on their way to Cavendish Square. Beatrix clasped her hands together and hoped no one noticed her shaking.

  “I’m so pleased your sister and Mr. Sheffield are living in my house,” Phoebe said. “I hope they’ll be very happy there.”

  Beatrix answered, but honestly couldn’t remember what she said. Her brain was teeming with alarm and fear about what Deborah might do.

  Because yes, Beatrix was still a thief. As recently as three days ago, when she’d stolen her mother’s jewels from the duke’s house. But that was to be the last theft.

  Now, however, having the jewels made her uncomfortable. They were a reminder of all she’d been and what she wanted to leave behind. Not just stealing, but the hope that she would regain her father. The demi-parure didn’t remind her of her mother. It made her think of loss and rejection. And having them made her a thief.

  Didn’t it?

  She would return the emeralds. Her mind began to strategize as the coach drove into Cavendish Square. She departed and thanked them for their company.

  Then she rushed into the house and threw her hat and gloves on a small table in the entry. The footman who was at the door didn’t say a word.

  “Where is my sister?” Beatrix asked without preamble.

  “In the garden room, miss.”

  Beatrix strode partway through the hall and stopped abruptly to say, “Thank you,” before continuing on. Once she reached the garden room, she closed the door.

  Thankfully, Harry was not present. Selina looked up from the table where she sat reviewing correspondence. “How was the picnic?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she paled. “Something happened.”

  Beatrix hurried across the room and sat at the table opposite Selina. “Deborah was there. She’s Lady Burnhope now.”

  Selina stared at her. “Tell me everything.”

  Beatrix described the encounter down to the last detail, including the ghastly triple-ruffled hem of Deborah’s gown. When she was finished, she leaned back in her chair, suddenly exhausted. Or weary. Or both.

  “Do you think she believed you?” Selina asked.

  “I can’t say, but my instinct says no. All she has to do is tell everyone we were at Mrs. Goodwin’s. There must be records.”

  Selina exhaled as she put her elbow on the table and propped her hand beneath her chin. “We should have changed our first names. We were stupid to want to retain that small piece of ourselves. It won’t be much of a stretch for people to believe that Miss Selina Blackwell and Miss Beatrix Linley are our real names.

  “And what does that reveal about me? My maiden name before I married Sir Barnabus?”

  Beatrix grimaced. “God forbid someone tries to find
your nonexistent marriage certificate.”

  “Yes, well hopefully they won’t,” Selina said darkly. “As for your name, they may discover you are the bastard daughter of the Duke of Ramsgate. Would anyone blame you for changing your surname to avoid being judged or shunned?”

  “That’s a good explanation, actually. Too bad Society won’t care. It’s much more entertaining to believe I’m a thief, which I’m sure she’ll tell them.”

  “Well then, she’ll tell them I am too, because I took the blame once.” Selina shrugged. “Let her try to besmirch us. We must be strong, Trix.”

  “Will you tell Harry?”

  “Of course. I have no secrets from him. Not anymore.”

  Secrets. It was time for Beatrix to share hers too. “That isn’t all that happened.”

  Selina lowered her hand to the table, her eyes rounding briefly. “Goodness, what else?”

  “The Bow Street investigation into Lady Rockbourne’s death has gotten out. The picnic was abuzz with the charge that Tom pushed his wife to her death.”

  “Tom?”

  “That’s the other part, and please don’t be angry with me. I do know Rockbourne—Tom—more than I admitted to you. In fact, I met him the night his wife died. I saw the entire thing. She fell after she attacked him with a knife. Well, I didn’t actually see the knife, but I apparently stole it afterward.”

  “You don’t remember.” Selina didn’t ask it like a question, because she knew.

  “Yes. I sold all my stolen items last Sunday, and that’s when I found it. I didn’t realize what it was until the next day.”

  Selina gave her a dubious look. “What do you mean by all your stolen items?”

  “I kept everything I’d taken over the years—most things—in a box. I decided it was time to get rid of them. Besides, I wanted to buy you a wedding present.”

  “That’s how you did it. I was afraid you’d stolen it, but when you said you got it at the Golden Lion, I realized you’d simply gathered some funds together. But I did wonder how.”

  “I would never steal your wedding present!” Beatrix wasn’t offended, but she wanted Selina to know that for certain. “Honestly, I don’t want to steal anything ever again. The thought of it makes me ill. If I hadn’t taken the knife, the constable would have found it beneath the balcony in Tom’s garden, and it would have corroborated his story about Lady Rockbourne attacking him.” She looked at Selina in anguish. “They don’t believe him. I can’t let him go to prison.”

  “If they convict him of murder, he won’t go to prison. He’ll hang. Probably.”

  Beatrix gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Tears burned her eyes.

  Selina reached across the table. “You are much more than friends with Rockbourne, aren’t you?”

  Nodding, Beatrix wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I love him.”

  Selina stood and went to hug Beatrix. “My dearest Trix.”

  The embrace was a bit awkward with Beatrix sitting and Selina, who was too tall anyway, standing. Beatrix rose and wrapped her arms around Selina’s middle. They stood like that for a good long moment.

  Beatrix stepped back and brushed at her cheeks again. “I need to tell Dearborn—the constable—what really happened that night. I should have from the start, but Tom didn’t want me to jeopardize my reputation.” She made a sound of disgust in her throat. “That was when I still hoped the duke would want to be my father.”

  Selina touched her shoulder.

  “But I was also worried about you—and Harry,” Beatrix said. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you. I still don’t.”

  “I understand.” Selina squeezed her hand and sat back down. “Harry isn’t here, but we’ll ask him what to do.”

  Beatrix sank into her chair. “I really didn’t want to involve either of you, not when you were about to be married. I never imagined Bow Street would continue their investigation. But then they got that letter from Lady Rockbourne’s mother, and Tom lied to them about what happened because he was trying to keep his daughter from learning what a horrid person her mother was.”

  “You’re going to have to explain this in a bit more detail because I’m confused,” Selina said apologetically.

  After she did so—leaving out the things Tom had told her about himself and his wife and their marriage—Selina gave her an encouraging smile. “Harry will know what to do. He’s the very best constable at Bow Street. Dearborn is young and likely overenthusiastic. This will all turn out right.”

  “I hope so.” Now Beatrix was certain she felt exhausted.

  “What about Tom?” Selina asked softly.

  Beatrix wiped her fingers over her eyelids, then focused on Selina across the table. “What do you mean?”

  “Does he love you in return?”

  “I don’t know. He’s in mourning, or at least he’s supposed to be. I haven’t told him how I feel. He… I’m not sure he wants to marry again.” She wouldn’t say more.

  “Well, take my advice and tell him. I wish I had confessed my feelings to Harry sooner.”

  “I know.” Beatrix gave her a weak smile. “But it all turned out as it should.”

  “So far. Hopefully, Deborah won’t try to ruin things.” Selina curled her lip. “Why am I not surprised she would be the one to cause us trouble?”

  “Because she was the absolute worst person at Mrs. Goodwin’s?”

  “That is true.” Selina grinned. “How lucky you and I are to have found each other there. Can you imagine if we hadn’t?”

  Beatrix indulged that for a moment. She envisioned a life where she took a position as a governess or perhaps a lady’s companion. She might have ended up as a courtesan like her mother and ultimately as some lord’s mistress. “We may have done things of which we aren’t proud and which we wouldn’t do again, but I am not sorry,” Beatrix said with quiet certainty. “There is no one I would rather choose for my family than you.”

  “I feel precisely the same. And, for better or worse, we are now part of a larger family with Harry’s lot.”

  “Plus Rafe.” Beatrix had thought she’d be the one contributing members to their family, but as of now, it was just her. She felt a sudden blast of loneliness, which was silly. She would always have Selina.

  Yes, but she wanted Tom.

  “We’ll sort this out with Harry,” Selina said. “Then you and Rockbourne can decide what to do. I am sure he’s a smart gentleman—he must be if you love him—and will realize what a wonderful woman you are.”

  The question was what, if anything, he planned to do about it.

  * * *

  “Papa, when is the nice lady coming back?”

  Thomas set the puppets in the trunk that housed many of Regan’s toys. He’d just regaled her with a silly show featuring Horace the Horse and Jack the Ass. She’d giggled throughout, and it had done wonders for his mood since returning from the picnic.

  He closed the trunk and turned to sweep Regan into his arms. “I don’t know, sweeting. You liked her?”

  She nodded. “I liked her story. I want her to tell it to me again.”

  “I could tell it to you, if you like.” Thomas was fairly certain he could remember it. Or at least come up with something that was close enough.

  “No, it has to be her.”

  Of course it did. Thomas agreed—he wanted Beatrix and not some substandard alternative. He realized that was him in this case.

  Honestly, he didn’t mind. He would be thrilled to give Regan a mother she could love and who would love her in return. Was Beatrix that woman?

  “I’ll ask her when she can come again,” Thomas said, even as he feared he was setting his daughter up for disappointment. It was too risky for Beatrix to come at night—they agreed they couldn’t continue that behavior. Which meant she’d have to visit some other time. Either she’d disguise herself, or they’d completely flout Society’s rules.

  He wondered if she would come dressed as a man. And if that would fool any
one in the light of day. He closed his eyes and silently chided himself. He wouldn’t ask her to do that. That wasn’t how he wanted their future to be.

  “Soon, Papa.” She fidgeted with his cravat. “Also, where’s my kitten?”

  “I’m working on that,” Thomas said. He’d made some inquiries at the picnic, actually, and Aquilla said she was fairly certain one of the cats at Sutton Park had recently had kittens. He didn’t want to get Regan’s hopes up until he was certain. “You must be patient, but I know how hard that is.”

  Baines came into the nursery, surprising Thomas. And filling him with a sense of dread.

  “What brings you all the way up here?” Thomas set Regan down.

  “You’ve a caller. Mr. Dearborn, I’m afraid. And he is not alone.”

  Bloody hell. What could that mean? Dearborn and another constable had returned yesterday and searched the entire house. Thomas didn’t think they’d found anything—at least they hadn’t said they had. “Is Sheffield with him? Broad-shouldered fellow with dark red hair.”

  Baines shook his head. “That does not match the description of either of the gentlemen who accompanied him.”

  “There are two?” Bloody, bloody hell. “Will you fetch the nurse?”

  Baines quickly departed.

  Squatting down, Thomas crooked his finger at Regan. “I must go downstairs and meet with someone. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Thank you for the puppets, Papa.” She threw her hands around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  Thomas held her close for a moment. He inhaled the soft, sweet scent of little girl—his little girl—and felt a hitch in his chest. He kissed her temple before letting her go.

  Miss Addy came into the nursery and immediately took over. Reluctantly, Thomas left.

  As he descended, his feet felt heavier and heavier. He realized he wasn’t certain where the constables were waiting. After peering into the drawing room and finding it empty, he decided they must be in the front sitting room.

  Taking a deep breath, he went down the final staircase and ran into Baines. “The sitting room?” Thomas asked.