Merry Widows 02: Just One Of Those Flings

by Candice Hern

  And did Beatrice have to look so bloody beautiful? She wore a dress of brilliant turquoise that reminded him of the sari he had wrapped around her that day at Loughton House. The day that had been one of the happiest of his life. He wished he could forget it. He wished he could forget her.

  He ought to hate her for all she had said, but he did not. He could not stop loving her that easily. He was angry with her, to be sure. She was as mule-headed as any woman he'd ever met. How foolish to allow that dolt of a husband not only to make her unhappy while he lived, but to ruin the rest of her life, as well. Thayne had wanted to shake some sense into her. But he suspected she would never change her mind. She was determined that marriage was little better than a prison and that he would be the worst of jailers.

  Damn her!

  Had she never witnessed a happy marriage in all her life? Thayne thought of his own parents, who loved each other fiercely. If Beatrice thought he was domineering, she ought to have grown up with the Duke of Doncaster. And yet his mother had always held her own against him, would not allow him to bully her. That is the sort of marriage he had hoped for with Beatrice—that she would fight with him, butt heads with him, challenge him, and ultimately love him, all with equal passion. But she could not even comprehend such a marriage, and so she had dismissed him out of hand.

  Damn her!

  He still was honor bound to find a bride this Season, but how was he to do so now? He had made his choice. What the devil was he to do when that choice was not allowed him? Thayne had spent a lifetime making his own choices and decisions with little or no objections and no obstacles in his way. He had been totally unprepared for Beatrice to toss this decision, the most important of his life, back in his face. He had almost no experience in being denied something he badly wanted. It made him feel unsteady, like foundering in unknown waters. He did not like the feeling. It made him angry. She made him angry. Being at this damned ball made him angry.

  But Burnett was determined on pursuing Emily Thirkill, and equally determined that Thayne should be there to support him. Whereas Thayne had once asked Burnett to fill Emily's ears with a recital of all his faults, Burnett appeared to believe it was Thayne's turn to exclaim his virtues to the girl. Since he barely ever spoke to Emily, Thayne did not know how such a thing was to be accomplished. But Burnett was top over tail in love with the girl and had begged his friend for help.

  And if he was brutally honest with himself, Thayne supposed he would have to admit that he had in fact wanted to see Beatrice again. He still wanted her, God help him, and perhaps he hoped for one more twinkling of serendipity to bring them back together again. But overriding any glimmer of hope was a hot anger at the scene she had enacted for him the previous evening.

  Damn her!

  Burnett was at that moment chatting with the fair Emily. He seemed to have made headway among her circle, which was as crowded with lovesick puppies as ever. Thayne kept his distance, since Beatrice stood at her niece's side. She refused to look at him, and cast her gaze about the room.

  Suddenly her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in a look of complete astonishment. Thayne followed her gaze to the entrance, where she had stood earlier in the receiving line. A slightly stout, fair-haired woman was making her way across the floor with difficulty. She hobbled uncertainly on a crutch, a liveried footman at her elbow helping her along. The crowd that milled about the dance floor waiting for the next set parted to let her pass.

  The woman wore an angry look, or perhaps she was in pain. In any case, she did not appear happy. Thayne was surprised to see Emily hurry across the floor to meet the woman. Beatrice followed close behind. Who was she? Could it be Emily's mother? It must be. The girl was speaking in a very animated manner, and at one point looked in Thayne's direction and nodded.

  And then the most astonishing thing happened. The woman hobbled most determinedly toward him, her furious gaze boring straight through him as she approached. By the time she stopped a few feet in front of Thayne, all eyes were upon them and a hush had settled on the crowd.

  The woman lifted a hand and pointed to him. "You!" Her voice rang out clear and shrill in the almost silent room.

  Puzzled as to what she wanted, he made a crisp bow. "Ma'am?"

  "You are Lord Thayne?" she asked.

  "I am. But forgive me, I do not believe I have had the pleasure—"

  "You scoundrel!" She made as though to strike him, but tottered on her crutch and was forced to balance herself. "Do you dare think you can get away with ruining my daughter?"

  What the devil? Thayne shot her his most intimidating glare. "I beg your pardon, madam?"

  "Mama, please." Emily had come up beside the woman and clutched her sleeve. "What are you doing?"

  "I am seeing to it that this so-called gentleman does right by you. I know what has happened. You have seduced my poor girl, sir, and by God you will marry her."

  Hell and damnation. Did this shrew mean to entrap him?

  He heard Beatrice gasp.

  "Mama! What are you talking about? Don't do this. You're embarrassing me. Please, let's go." Emily tugged her mother's arm, but the woman—Lady Thirkill, he presumed—was not to be budged.

  "I am afraid you are mistaken, madam," he said in a tone dripping with icy disdain. "I have not seduced Miss Thirkill. You wrong her by stating so."

  "How dare you deny it, sir, when you were seen? Only last night, though how many other times you may have imposed upon her, I do not know. But last night, or more precisely the wee hours of this morning, you were seen."

  Last night? Bloody hell.

  His eyes instinctively sought out Beatrice, whose face had gone pale as death.

  "Aha!" The woman's shrill voice had reached a crescendo. "You do not deny it."

  "Mama, please." Emily looked ready to burst into tears and clung to her mother's arm. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't you, my girl? The man was seen leaving your aunt's house, her dark house, in the early hours of this morning, climbing from a window with his boots in his hands. Skulking away like a thief in the night, down a tree, no less. And in his stocking feet. Everyone knows he has been chasing after you all Season. It seems he got what he was after. And by God he will pay for it."

  Thayne could barely breathe. She might have plunged a red-hot poker into his chest. What had he done?

  Emily's face had grown scarlet, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're being ridiculous, Mama. Please, don't do this. It was some other house and some other man, I assure you. Lord Thayne was not at my aunt's house last night."

  "Yes, he was."

  Silence rolled over the room like an ocean wave. Beatrice stepped forward, and it almost broke Thayne's heart to watch her. All she had ever asked for was discretion, and that was all blown to hell now. Every person in the room was watching.

  Thayne went to stand at her side. He would not allow her to suffer this alone. He noticed that her friends, the other ball patronesses, had come to stand behind her.

  "Yes, Ophelia," Beatrice said in a clear, steady voice, "Lord Thayne was in my house last night, but it was not to seduce Emily. He was with me."

  "With you?" Lady Thirkill's face was a mask of incredulousness. "You? All this time I was hoping to secure a match for our Emily with Lord Thayne and you were his lover?"

  Beatrice closed her eyes for a moment and seemed about to collapse. Before Thayne could reach out to her, she opened her eyes and schooled her features into a semblance of composure.

  "Yes," she said, and nothing more.

  "Dear God." Lady Thirkill clutched a hand to her breast and Thayne watched it slowly squeeze into a fist.

  "Aunt Beatrice! How could you? How could you?" Emily's voice had become a wail, and she covered her face with her hands.

  The room erupted with a dozen whispered conversations. Thayne could feel Beatrice trembling at his side. She kept her head high, though her mortification was almost palpable. Her reputation had been shattered.
As he studied her expressionless face, Thayne felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. He could not bear it. He could not bear to watch her pain.

  Thayne took her limp hand and placed it on his arm. "You must forgive us, Miss Thirkill, for keeping it a secret, but your aunt and I are engaged to be married."

  "Married?" Emily lifted her face and looked thoroughly confused, as if such a thing were impossible.

  "Well!" Lady Thirkill said. "You might have told me, Beatrice."

  "I did not tell you," Beatrice said as she removed her hand from Thayne's arm, "because it is not true. Lord Thayne is being presumptuous. We are not to be married. Now, please, let us remove ourselves to a more private area. We have made enough of a scene for one night."

  Beatrice walked away, apparently with purpose, and so Lady Thirkill, Emily, and Thayne followed her. She led them to a small, private anteroom. He wished he could speak with her alone, to convince her that marriage to him was the only way to salvage her good name, but she did not give him the opportunity. She turned on him at once.

  "How dare you try to force my hand in so public a manner? After all I said to you last night?"

  "I was only trying to save a wretched situation," he said.

  "Oh, yes. You wasted no time at all in turning an ugly scene to your advantage. Well, by God, sir, you have picked the wrong woman to manipulate. I will not have it!"

  "I was not trying to manipulate—"

  "Weren't you? You manipulated me last night and look where it got us. If you had given even one moment's thought to my wishes, to the possible consequences of your actions, none of this would have happened. And now you decide we should marry and announce it to the world. You decide. I have no say in the matter. You are controlling me already and I am not your wife. You see why I can't marry you? You'd be a worse bully than poor Somerfield ever was. It would not surprise me to discover you had orchestrated the whole thing, just to force me to your will."

  "See here, Beatrice, I never—"

  "All your life you have expected to be obeyed, to be in charge, to control everything. You give no thought to what I want, or anyone else, for that matter. You just charge ahead with what you want, determined to carry the day, to command everything and everyone. Well, sir, you will not command me. I would rather suffer a sordid scandal than to marry you."

  She might as well have slapped his face. Fury welled in Thayne's chest. How could she toss out all those barbs when she must know he had been trying to help her? The ungrateful bitch.

  Damn her!

  He pulled himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at her. "I am sorry to have caused you any distress, Lady Somerfield. My fault is in my stupidity, not manipulation. I orchestrated nothing tonight, I assure you. Rather than cause further distress, however, I shall remove myself from your presence. Good evening to you all."

  He turned on his heel and stormed away.

  Beatrice sank into a chair and dropped her face into her hands. She shook with anger. She had never been more furious or more mortified. What a bloody farce they had played out for all the world to see. She lifted her head to find Ophelia and Emily staring at her in openmouthed astonishment.

  She waved a hand in the air. "Stop gaping, you two. Yes, I had an affair with Thayne. And thanks to you, dear sister, everyone and his brother knows about it."

  "You astonish me, Sister," Ophelia said in her chilliest tone. "No wonder you were so adamant that Lord Thayne would not make a match with our Emily. You stole him from her. You stole the one man I had marked as the perfect husband for my daughter."

  "I did not steal him. Emily never had him. Thayne and I were lovers before she even met him."

  "Dear God, you are shameless. And now you have brought us all into disgrace by publicly admitting to the affair."

  "You gave me no choice, Ophelia. Was I to stand by and allow you to ruin your own daughter's reputation with a lie? You forced my hand, and as a result . . . well, my name is now ruined. Dear God, I would like to wring your neck, Ophelia! Or break that other leg of yours. What on earth possessed you to haul yourself to one of my balls and make such a spectacle? And poor Emily. There is no excuse for what you have done to her."

  "I have never been more humiliated in my entire life," Emily said. She paced the length of the room, and flung her hands in the air, gesturing wildly as she spoke. Tears slid down her beautiful face. "I hope you are satisfied, Mama. And you, too, Aunt Beatrice. You have each put a nail in the coffin of my future. I am ruined. Ruined! Who will want anything to do with me now, with a mother who insults me in public and an aunt who is having an illicit affair with a man too young for her? How am I ever to show my face again?"

  "Everyone will know there had been a mistake and you were not seduced by Lord Thayne," Ophelia said. "There is no shame for you in all this."

  "Except the shame of having a mother who was willing to ruin my name in public in order to snare a fine husband for me. Don't bother denying it, Mama. I know that is what you intended. And so does everyone else who witnessed your tirade."

  "I only wanted to make sure that he did right by you," Ophelia said, "if he had seduced you."

  "You ought to have trusted me, Mama, not to allow myself to be seduced. I cannot believe you thought I had done such a thing."

  "What was I to think," Ophelia said, "when I heard of Lord Thayne leaving Brook Street in the middle of the night with his boots in his hand?"

  "Who told you?" Beatrice asked.

  "Phoebe Littleworth was at my door this morning with the tale. Her husband had been returning from his club—or more likely from his mistress, if you ask me—when he saw Thayne sneaking out of your house. Really, Beatrice, you ought to be ashamed. Carrying on with a man at least ten years younger."

  "Six."

  "And in your own house, when Emily and your own daughters might have bumped into him in the hallway. Or, heaven forbid, walked in on you during the act. If you insist on having a lover, you might consider being more discreet. Only look what has happened. How many people do you think heard that story from Phoebe before we straightened it out tonight?"

  "Oh, God!" Emily wailed. "I really am ruined."

  "And if you must know, Beatrice, it is a good thing you are not marrying Lord Thayne. Phoebe told me something about him that gave me pause."

  "Not that it matters, but what?"

  "Well," Ophelia said, in that snide tone she often used when reporting a delicious bit of gossip, "the house next to hers is being let by Henry and Rebecca Padgett."

  "Never heard of them."

  "Neither have I. They have been out of the country for some years. In India."

  Beatrice's interest was suddenly piqued. "India?"

  "Yes. As it happens, they returned on the same ship as Lord Thayne. And his lordship apparently had company on that journey. A young Indian slave girl."

  "A slave girl?"

  'You know what sort of slave I am talking about." She narrowed one eye in a knowing look. "A pretty dark-eyed girl, very young. He brought her back from India with him and keeps her in his apartments in Doncaster House."

  A knot twisted in Beatrice's stomach. "I don't believe it." Even if there was a girl, she could not imagine the duchess allowing her to stay at Doncaster House.

  "Apparently it was common knowledge among the passengers that Lord Thayne had brought a few slaves back to England with him, including that interesting young girl who is said to—" She paused and glanced at Emily. "Well, you know better than most what sort of service she provides him. They say those Indian woman are very skilled at . . . certain activities."

  Dear God. Was it true? Was that where he had learned all those positions and their names? From his own slave girl? No, surely not. Beatrice was furious with the man but knew him to have a core of honor that ran deep. It did not make sense that a man like him would purchase slaves. It was illegal, wasn't it? British ships could not transport slaves.

  "I don't believe it," she said. "He wo
uld not do anything so reprehensible."

  "The Padgetts will swear that he brought slaves back with him to England. They particularly mentioned the girl called Chitra."

  "Chitra." She had a name. She was not an anonymous vague rumor. She had a name. She was real. Beatrice's stomach roiled. She did not want to believe any of this.

  "It is very interesting to me, Mama," Emily said in a haughty tone, "that you knew all this about Lord Thayne and still wished to force me to marry him."

  "He may be a scoundrel," Ophelia said, "but he is still a wealthy marquess, and will be a duke one day. Society overlooks transgressions by men that high up in the aristocracy."

  "So you not only tramped into the ball on your crutch," Emily said, "and announced to the world that I had been ruined, but were willing to marry me off to a man who keeps slaves."