Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  Hyacinth smiled. “No, you’re right, but… I will just use my shawl. Besides, the weather is quite cold.”

  A knock on Hyacinth’s door summoned her to the front of the house. Half an hour later, they were riding up to the cathedral through throngs of traffic. Boats crowded the Thames so thickly that a man might walk across their decks from one bank to the other, or so it looked from the shore. There were merchant ships as well as Navy vessels, all coming to pay their tribute.

  Hyacinth blinked back tears. Captain Grey was still tending his post in Gibraltar. She knew that there were others like him, all around the empire, but the masses around the cathedral made it look like the entire navy was assembled there. Hyacinth and Aunt Celia made their way to the cathedral doors and slipped in as the funeral began. Sophie had been left at home.

  The speeches and the hymns rolled on, hour after hour. Hyacinth looked up at the domed ceiling, wondering if Admiral Nelson could hear them singing his praises. About halfway through the service, she started to look around her at the other mourners. Some of them, like her aunt, seemed to be only interested in seeing and being seen, but many genuinely mourned Admiral Nelson, too, she was sure. Far away, near the front of the cathedral, but to one side, Hyacinth spotted Emma, Lady Hamilton, the admiral’s lover. The admiral’s widow sat in the front pew, assiduously keeping her head turned so that she would not see the disreputable Lady Hamilton.

  Hyacinth watched for a while as the two women sat, pointedly not looking at each other. She wondered if Lady Hamilton would speak to her after the funeral. She certainly wouldn't meet her in Aunt Celia’s all-too-proper social circles. Hyacinth glanced to one side. Her aunt was batting her eyes at a gentleman in the row behind them – a gentleman with ice blue eyes and the remnants of a tan, except where his beard had been shaved off.

  It took her a moment to recognize him. It was Mr. Smithson! Hyacinth literally bit her tongue to keep from shouting out his name.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed as the congregation began another hymn.

  “The same thing you are, Miss Grey,” he answered.

  Aunt Celia shot her a withering look. “Do you know this gentleman?” she asked.

  “Yes, he was also aboard the Whistler. Do you know him?”

  Celia whispered in her ear, “I do not, yet. I find he reminds me of someone I once knew, that is all.”

  “I see,” Hyacinth said. Who did Thomas remind her aunt of? She could hardly have known him as a child, and he’d been little more than that when he’d left England. Aunt Celia was much younger than Captain Grey, but not nearly as young as Thomas.

  Hyacinth glanced back to Thomas, who smiled at her. He did look very different, as if he, too, had been pressed into the mold of fashion. He looked quite elegant, in fact, without a trace remaining of the ruffian she’d first seen on the shores of Gibraltar.

  She forced herself to face forward until the recessional hymn began, when she turned again to see the coffin go by, with half of the navy's officers in its wake.

  As the people in the pews started to shift towards the aisles, Hyacinth attempted to excuse herself.

  “I would like to go pay my respects to a lady I know from Gibraltar,” she said to her aunt.

  “What lady is that?” Aunt Celia asked distractedly, as she waved to an acquaintance.

  “I don’t believe you’d know her,” Hyacinth said.

  Aunt Celia turned to look at Mr. Smithson, who had edged towards the aisle. “And who is this acquaintance of yours?”

  “Mr. Smithson,” Hyacinth said. “He's been in India.”

  Aunt Celia frowned, and looked around the cathedral. She nodded to another lady and to a gentleman in a yellow waistcoat. “Well, I don’t know how the carriage will make it through the crush,” she said. “You may as well go. Meet me by the baptismal font in a little while.”

  “Certainly,” Hyacinth agreed, glad that her aunt was distracted. She made her way into the side aisle, then started forward, away from the official receiving lines and towards a more informal gathering near the pulpit.

  “May I accompany you?” asked a deep voice at her elbow.

  Hyacinth startled and turned to face Mr. Smithson.

  “I suppose you may,” she said, “though I barely recognized you.”

  Mr. Smithson stroked the place where his beard had been and shrugged.

  “I see that you have been to the tailor’s, too,” Hyacinth added.

  Mr. Smithson nodded. “Our family butler was adamant that I not besmirch his image by appearing in my shipboard attire.”

  “My aunt has insisted on kitting me out in more gowns than I've owned in my entire life,” Hyacinth said. “This one was sewn up on her orders, and I think she has a half dozen more at the modiste's.”

  “Well, the effect is stunning,” Thomas said.

  “Thank you. Your new clothing is also… becoming.” She looked up at him and felt as if she were at sea all over again.

  Thomas chuckled. “I hardly care how I look, really, but I suppose Mr. Jones would be pleased to hear it.”

  “You may pass on my compliments to him, then,” Hyacinth said. “I take it that is your family butler?”

  Thomas nodded, but said nothing as the crush made it necessary for them walk one behind the other.

  “Are your family in London, then?” Hyacinth asked. She knew nothing about him, she realized, not in terms of who he was, or where he came from, even if they had touched once. Even if she might have glimpsed his soul.

  Thomas waited a little too long before answering. “I... No. Most of them are still in the country. They'll be here for the Season, of course, at least, some of them will.”

  There was something not quite right in the way he talked about his family, Hyacinth thought. He was happy enough to talk about the butler, but why would the butler be in London if the family were in the country? And why hadn't he gone to see his family?

  “Who exactly is it you’re going to speak to?” he asked her.

  “Lady Hamilton,” Hyacinth said.

  Thomas sucked in his breath. “I hardly think your father would approve.”

  “There, you are wrong. She has been very kind to me, and Father has no quarrel with her.”

  “She is not quite respectable,” Thomas said.

  “Respectability is more my aunt’s concern,” Hyacinth said, glancing back over her shoulder. Aunt Celia had disappeared into the throngs.

  Thomas shook his head, and led Hyacinth around a cluster of young men. The detour took them into a relatively quiet alcove. Hyacinth took a deep breath. It was strange that Mr. Smithson had found her there, she thought, in the midst of all those thousands of mourners.

  “Were you looking for me?” she asked abruptly, then wished that she hadn't. Thankfully, the alcove was dark enough to hide her blush.

  Thomas tipped his head to one side and looked out at the crowds for a moment before responding. “Not consciously, no,” he said, “but I have missed you, I think, and life on the Whistler, cramped as it was. The journey would have been tedious without you. As it was, I'm not at all sorry it took as long as it did.”

  Hyacinth nodded. “Without you there I would only have had embroidery with Mrs. Hotham, and George to tutor... well, no, I wouldn't have, would I, if you hadn't been there.”

  “How is young George?” Thomas asked.

  “He's in a school in Portsmouth,” Hyacinth said. “I had a short letter from him a few days ago.”

  Thomas nodded. “The only boys who wrote long letters home from school were the ones we bullied,” he said, “the ones who were most unhappy.”

  “Do you think?” Hyacinth said. “Were you away at school much, as a boy?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but then took Hyacinth's elbow and drew her back out into the crowded aisle.

  The crush was beginning to thin. It was strange and unsettling to remember that she had kissed him, or maybe it was he that had kiss
ed her. There in the quiet alcove, she had wished for it to happen again. It was hard to imagine all that had been real, and that this fashionable but guarded gentleman was the same person who had wept so openly over his lost mistress on that ship in the moonlight.

  “Miss Grey?” he asked gently. “Are you all right?”

  Hyacinth pulled herself together. They were in a public place and there was nothing between her and this man, nothing but friendship, and it wouldn’t do to have people speculating about them when they had only just arrived in London.

  “I am quite all right,” Hyacinth said. “Merely a bit overwhelmed by the crowds. I think it would be best to move on. We’ve lingered enough.”

  Thomas took her arm again, and she felt his touch through the thin silk of her gown. She tried not to think of it too much. She was going to share her condolences with Lady Hamilton, that was all that she was doing. Mr. Smithson was simply a friend.

  #

  Thomas found Lady Hamilton’s reputation for charm and beauty more than justified, even though she was no longer lithe or young. She seemed scarcely touched by the condolences offered to her. Considering it coldly, a man might think it was because she despaired of finding another protector as generous as Nelson, but Thomas hoped that she had genuinely loved him.

  She also seemed fond of Hyacinth, who expressed sympathy for the courtesan, without worrying at all what people might think. If Captain Grey thought that the Pently clan, with its wealth and ancient lineage, was a den of vipers to be avoided, and yet he didn't mind his daughter speaking with a known woman of the demimonde, then he did march to a different drummer. So did Hyacinth. She seemed to steer herself by an almost masculine code of conduct, and yet it was charming. Perhaps it was because she had lost her mother at such a young age, and her father had raised her himself, and her father was possibly as different from his father as a man could be, based on his brief impressions.

  “Thank you, Hyacinth,” Lady Hamilton was saying. “You are always so gracious. It has been a delight knowing you.”

  “But surely we’ll meet again,” Hyacinth said. “I wanted to ask your advice. About a school. I'm thinking of starting a school for girls.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to retire to the country, dear,” Lady Hamilton said. “I don't know a thing about schools.”

  Hyacinth wanted to say more, he could tell, but there was a man tugging at Lady Hamilton's sleeve.

  “Best wishes to you, and to your gentleman there,” Lady Hamilton said, nodding to him.

  Hyacinth blushed. Lord Nelson’s famous mistress had already turned to speak to another of her sympathizers.

  “Come,” Thomas said. “We should be moving along.” He scanned the emptying cathedral for people he might still recognize from his youth. Although he’d been in London for over a month, he hadn’t ventured out much beyond Nathan’s club and a gaming hell or two. Nor had he gone to Windcastle. He was getting his bearings by sleeping more than he had in years, and by spending most of his days in the library of Windcastle House.

  “Look!” Hyacinth tugged on his arm. “It’s Captain Hotham!”

  “Why, so it is!” Thomas smiled and waved at the man, who returned the greeting with ebullient enthusiasm, even though they were at a funeral.

  “Miss Grey! Mr. Smithson!” Captain Hotham exclaimed. “Such a delight to see you both again.” The captain looked as if he’d been drinking, more than he ever had on their journey together.

  “How is Mrs. Hotham?” Hyacinth asked. Her hand tightened its grip on Thomas's arm – he hadn't realized how lightly her hand had rested there before.

  The captain beamed, his cheeks rosy and shining, eyes twinkling. “She’s in fine fiddle, so say the letters. And so is our son!”

  “Congratulations!” Thomas clapped him on the back. “That is indeed good news.”

  “How wonderful!” Hyacinth said. “I must write to her immediately.”

  “I won’t be able to carry the letter for you unless you write very quickly indeed,” the captain said. “There’s a stagecoach on its way west in half an hour, and I’m going to get on it.”

  “Send my regards to her,” Hyacinth said. “I’ll post a letter by tomorrow morning at the latest. It is so good to hear such happy news, even on this occasion.”

  “Yes, most of all for myself!” the captain said. “And now I’m away!” He hurried off, calling out to friends of his as he shouldered his way to the doors.

  Thomas felt an odd tightness in his chest, watching the man go, like envy, or regret. He once could have had a son, too. He tried to imagine what that child might have looked like, impossible as his existence had become.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Hyacinth, once he realized how long he’d been standing there, staring into nothingness. “I should see you to your rendezvous point.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Aren’t you happy for him?”

  “Happy?” Thomas said. “I am, I suppose. It’s only…”

  She put her arm on his hand. “Never mind. I’m sure he didn’t notice. And your demeanor is appropriate for a funeral.”

  She was annoyed with him, but he was annoyed with himself, too, so much so that he couldn’t muster an apology for his glum mood until they were almost to the back of the cathedral.

  “I’m sorry I was so distracted,” he said at last.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hyacinth said.

  He desperately wanted to talk of something else, anything else, but he was hard pressed to think of anything. They'd reached the last pews by the time he thought of something to say, however inane.

  “How have you passed your time here?” he asked.

  “My aunt has kept me occupied with modistes and social calls, morning, noon and night,” she sighed. “There's my cousin Sophie, too, who is only twelve. We embroider together a bit.”

  “And that is all?”

  “No. I mean, that shouldn't be all. My grandmother left me an inheritance. I'm supposed to be claiming it, looking after it. I mean to start a school for girls.”

  “Ah. Yes. You mentioned something like that to Lady Hamilton,” he said, trying to puzzle it out. “She's hardly headmistress material.”

  Hyacinth laughed. “Oh, no. It's just that it's... I thought... for girls, you know, who are in her situation. The situation she was in, as a girl. They could have an education. Become governesses or housekeepers, instead of...” She shook her head.

  Thomas nodded. “That's ambitious. But why?”

  “Because I think it would be the right thing to do with my inheritance.”

  “I see,” Thomas said. “I suppose there's nothing to stop you.”

  “There is, though,” Hyacinth sighed. “Aunt Celia wouldn't approve, and it's hard to get around her. I'm her guest, after all.”

  Thomas smiled. “Not her prisoner.”

  “Prisoner to her marriage schemes, maybe.”

  Hyacinth abruptly let go of his arm.

  “I shouldn't have said that. It was ungrateful of me.”

  Thomas shrugged. “My family will have schemes for me, too. It's only natural to resent them.”

  “Is it?” Hyacinth asked.

  “I think so,” Thomas said. “But I can help. I mean, if you need any help, just let me know.”

  “But how will I find you?” Hyacinth asked.

  Before Thomas could answer, the baptismal font came into view. There was Hyacinth's aunt, gossiping loudly with a woman about Thomas's age, a woman who could only be, by her green eyes and sharp looks, his own cousin, Georgiana. According to Mr. Jones, she was still unmarried despite better-than-ordinary looks and substantial property of her own near Windcastle.

  “Thomas!” she called across the crowds. “I knew you at once by your terrible tan! Mr. Jones told me all about it. Are you acquainted with Lady Talbot?”

  “Lady Georgiana,” he said, ignoring Hyacinth’s aunt for the moment. “So good to see you again. I believe I was seated behind Lady Talbot, but w
e weren't properly introduced.”

  “We certainly were, Mr. Smithson.” Lady Talbot's lip curled momentarily into something like a snarl, but she turned her expression into a simper and a wink, so smoothly that most would not have noticed her momentary hostility.

  “Mr. Smithson!” Georgiana laughed. She chortled so loudly, in fact, that people turned to look. “Surely... Why on earth were you using that name, Thomas?”

  Thomas stiffened. Hyacinth pulled away, going to her aunt's side.

  “It was the name I used in India, and on my way home.”

  “Well,” Georgiana said, “Let me introduce you properly, then. This, Lady Talbot, is my long-lost cousin, Sir Pently, whose father is now heir presumptive to my father.”

  “Oh, my,” Lady Talbot said stiffly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Pently.”

  Hyacinth looked puzzled.

  “Miss Grey...” he started.

  Georgiana cut him off. “And Lady Talbot, I have not yet been introduced to this young lady.”

  “This is my niece, Miss Hyacinth Grey,” said Lady Talbot. “Hyacinth, may I present Lady Georgiana Pently.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Lady Pently.” Hyacinth curtsied, ignoring Thomas.

  “Miss Grey and I were aboard the same ship from Gibraltar,” he explained to Georgiana.

  “Oh, I see," Georgiana said. Thomas could practically see the wheels in her head turn as she calculated all the interrelationships. "Your brother's daughter?" she asked Lady Talbot.

  "Yes," Lady Talbot said. "She is Horatio's only child."

  Hyacinth's frown deepened into a scowl, then she remembered herself and plastered an insipid smile onto her face. Georgiana didn't seem to notice.

  "Welcome to London, Miss Grey,” Georgiana said. “I hope you will enjoy it here, even though we can't offer you much sunlight this time of year. I trust that at least some of our festivities will lighten the gloom. I’ll be hosting a small soirée on Tuesday. I do hope you'll be able to attend, Miss Grey, and you too, Lady Talbot."

  "We would be delighted," Lady Talbot answered for both of them. "And now I'm afraid we must go. My coach should be waiting. Do call some time!" She said the words to Georgiana, but she batted her eyelashes at Thomas as she turned away.