Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  Mr. Butler glanced at his watch. “I’ll tell you the outline of things now, and you can make an appointment with the clerk to return. Tomorrow afternoon I have a bit of time.”

  “I don't know that I'll be able to get away,” Hyacinth said apologetically.

  Mr. Butler squinted at her. “Ah, yes. Your aunt. Who is she?”

  “The dowager countess Talbot,” Hyacinth said.

  Mr. Butler frowned. “Can't say I know her. But I know her kind. I'm sure you'll find a way, if not tomorrow, another day. Also, the size of the fortune might change her opinion of its respectability. I suspect she thinks your grandmother left only a few tainted baubles.”

  “I don't know,” Hyacinth said. “I doubt she'd allow anything to change her mind.”

  Mr. Butler sifted through the documents.

  “Here is the deed to Lindley Hall, with a map of its properties,” he said, handing her one sheaf of papers. “It includes three crofters’ cottages, all still occupied, I believe.”

  Hyacinth looked at the map. The property encompassed at least forty acres, and was far more than a cottage.

  “This is larger than I expected,” she said.

  “Yes, it’s not the house her patron left her with, although this one is also near the Welsh border. I believe that Mrs. Miller was born somewhere in that part of the country, though she never spoke of it directly,” the solicitor said. “Shall I write to the manager and let him know that you're in London?”

  “Yes, do,” Hyacinth said. “I would like to visit soon, if I can find a way.”

  The solicitor nodded. “Mrs. Miller was an astute investor, very astute. Here’s a folio of stocks. Some of these should be cashed in, but others of the companies are still gaining in value.”

  Hyacinth looked at one piece of paper, then another. The sums named were considerable, not enough to finance a clipper ship, but close to it.

  “In addition, there is cash money at Lyons’ Bank, roughly twenty thousand. Here is the pass book.”

  He handed her a small leather-covered folio.

  “Twenty thousand pounds?” Hyacinth asked.

  “More than that, but I haven’t checked the exact amount lately. You can go over there and ask for yourself.” He stood up from his desk at the sound of the clock on the tower beginning to strike the quarter hour.

  “Fifteen minutes until I need to be at the bar,” he said. “Return tomorrow afternoon. Have the clerk enter it in my book.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away,” Hyacinth reminded him.

  “Send me a note if you cannot come,” he said. “I can call around to your Aunt's residence on Saturday, if you cannot come before then.”

  “Yes,” Hyacinth said. “Come in the afternoon. I will be sure to be at home.”

  “Meanwhile, I advise you to pay a visit to Lyon’s Bank.”

  “I will try to do that.” Hyacinth looked at the sheaf of stock folios in her hand, staggered by the amount of money they represented. Those, with the twenty thousand in the bank and the estate, represented a sizable fortune. It was hers alone, and it was enough, more than enough, to start a school. In fact, she realized that she was quite out of her depth with it.

  “Shall I leave these here?” she said, handing the stock certificates to the solicitor.

  “Yes, they’ll be secure with me, as they have been.” He slid them back in with the rest of the documents and ushered Hyacinth out of the room, locking the door behind them. Maria rose from her seat and fell into step behind as Mr. Butler led them back to the front door of Lincoln’s Inn.

  “One more thing,” he said as he hurried down the stairs. “Here is the key to the deposit box at the bank. Go see the director, Mr. Lyons, when you arrive there. I’m sure he’ll be able to recognize you as I did. You might want to see what’s in there before we meet again.”

  Hyacinth scarcely had time to say goodbye before the door closed behind her and they were back out on the busy London streets.

  #

  Chapter 10: Georgiana's Soiree

  Hyacinth waited in the front parlor where Sophie was sulking, dejected at being left behind.

  “At least you have something to read,” Hyacinth said.

  Sophie brightened. “Thanks to you! It was such an adventure.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “Where did you go, though?”

  Hyacinth glanced at the door and listened for any sound of her aunt's approach. She didn't want to lie, but maybe a half-truth would do.

  “I was... I had to find out something about the other half of my family,” she said.

  “And did you?”

  “I did, but I can't tell you about it, not yet.”

  Sophie's eyes went wide. “Mama is coming!”

  Hyacinth hadn't heard anything. It was her turn to be puzzled.

  “I heard her door,” Sophie said. “It creaks just a little, like this.” She leaned forward and made a soft, high-pitched sound which Hyacinth could barely hear. She looked very childish when she did it.

  “I couldn't hear a thing,” Hyacinth said, “but I believe you.”

  Sophie flounced her skirts and straightened her posture. “I will be so bored,” she complained loudly.

  “I don't know that the soirée will be very exciting, either,” Hyacinth offered.

  “Mama tells me that the Pentlys are never boring.”

  “I see,” Hyacinth said, though she didn't really. Clearly, Aunt Celia hadn't obeyed her own rule about never mentioning the Pentlys.

  “She often visits Georgiana, who is an old maid,” Sophie confided.

  “Is she?” Hyacinth asked. “She didn't seem much older than I am.”

  Sophie shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know how old she is, only that she is considered to be on the shelf. And she is nearly as obsessed with fashion as Mama is. That’s what they always talk about, Mama says.”

  Finally, Hyacinth heard the sound of Aunt Celia coming up the hall, skirts swishing. Sophie picked up her embroidery.

  Aunt Celia entered and inspected Hyacinth. “I think that is quite a good color for you,” she declared. Hyacinth's gown was made of soft, pale blue silk, which set off her eyes perfectly. “You will have a good complexion once another month here drives that Mediterranean sun off your face,” she added.

  Hyacinth wished there were a bit more sun in London to keep her complexion ruined.

  “Your gown is exquisite as always, Aunt,” she said, instead. Aunt Celia favored bright, intense colors. She wore a dress of lapis lazuli blue velvet with ornate gold trim. She looked nearly regal.

  She acknowledged Hyacinth's compliment with a brief nod. “Well, we really must be going,” she said. “It is good to be late, but not too late!”

  #

  Aunt Celia spent the entire drive to Windcastle House enumerating her daughter's shortcomings and worrying about her entrance to society, still nearly five years away. Hyacinth could not agree with most of her aunt's judgments, but the carriage was dark and her aunt ignored her long silences. She ought to tell Aunt Celia about her inheritance. She ought to mention her plans to build a school, but not yet, and not on the way to a soirée.

  “Well,” her aunt said. “Which do you prefer?”

  “Which what?” Hyacinth said.

  Aunt Celia let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Have you heard anything I just said?”

  “I am sorry. I must have nodded off,” Hyacinth said. It was better than admitting what she'd been thinking about. “It's very late.”

  “Nonsense. You will have to get used to fashionable hours. Now, which of the young gentlemen do you prefer?”

  Hyacinth shook her head. “I don't know. I don't think I prefer any of them. I've only met Viscount Whitley and Sir Albert.”

  “I've told you about the others, though, and you might meet Lord Rawley here tonight,” Aunt Celia said. “He has a fine estate in Yorkshire, they say.”

  “I have never been to Yorkshire and have no opinion of it,” Hyacinth sai
d.

  Mercifully, the carriage turned, entering the circular drive in front of Windcastle House.

  The house loomed over them, a Classical portico on a facade which stretched across one side of an elegant square. Ten or more of Aunt Celia's perfectly respectable house might have fit inside it. The wings looked as though they’d been tacked together from two houses from a century or more ago, either of which would have been an estimable residence in its own right. Hyacinth swallowed deeply. This was the home of the so-called Mr. Smithson's family, of Thomas's family. It was not the kind of house which could belong to a tradesman, no matter how successful. It was the kind of house which belonged to a family within a handsbreadth of the monarchy.

  If the grandeur of their house was any indication of the strength of their influence, it was a wonder he'd been able to escape them at all, even in India. He had been dishonest in not telling her who he really was, even on shipboard. He should have, even if he had attempted to run away from them, for whatever reason. Aunt Celia was probably right – the Pently men were not to be trusted.

  “Come,” Aunt Celia urged.

  Hyacinth realized that she had frozen on the step of the carriage. She let the footman help her down and took a step toward the house.

  “The house isn’t in the latest style,” Aunt Celia whispered, “but Georgiana has had a few rooms done up with furnishings from the continent and the effect is quite impressive.”

  “It is rather larger than I’d thought a house could be,” Hyacinth said.

  Aunt Celia tsked. “If you say that in company, you’ll sound like a country mushroom.” She took a deep breath and ushered Hyacinth in.

  They were led through the entrance hall and to a room which gleamed with ornament. Glistening chandeliers, impossibly bright with candles, hung from a vaulted ceiling. It was like standing inside an enormous jewel, a ruby, flecked with gold.

  “Lady Talbot and Miss Grey,” the butler announced.

  Hyacinth stepped forward, with Aunt Celia at her elbow. The room glistened, but so did the figures in silk and damask and jewels milling beneath the chandeliers. There were dozens of them, not what Hyacinth would have considered a small party, at all. A dense group of younger people clustered at the far end of the room, admiring something.

  “Ah, look!” Aunt Celia said. “There's Viscount Whitley and his mama.” She steered Hyacinth to one side and exchanged greetings with her friend. Hyacinth merely smiled in response, hoping to escape. She had met Viscount Whitley while riding in the park, and had not heard him say anything beyond the most inane pleasantries. His gaze had lingered on her bosom, and whenever the older ladies looked away, he leered. He might have been considered handsome, except that his face was spotty and he slouched.

  “Why don't you two take a turn around the room?” Aunt Celia suggested.

  Hyacinth smiled weakly and Aunt Celia took that for assent. Viscount Whitley's clammy hand rested on her arm. She gritted her teeth.

  “Shall we walk on the balcony?” he suggested, almost immediately.

  Hyacinth took a deep breath. “No,” she said, “I think I'd rather see what everyone is looking at, over there.” She walked towards the group of young people, forcing Viscount Whitley to follow her. He was annoyed, but at least they weren't out on the balcony. She looked over her shoulder. Aunt Celia was nowhere to be seen.

  A small pianoforte stood at the center of the group.

  “Marvelous inlay,” one of the young gentlemen said.

  Hyacinth agreed – the inlaid rosewood and ivory made a floral pattern, which was really quite beautiful.

  “But how does it sound?” one of the young ladies said.

  “Do you play, Miss Grey?” Viscount Whitley asked.

  “Not well,” Hyacinth said.

  “I am sure you are only being modest,” Viscount Whitley said. “Why don’t you take a turn?” He tried to nudge her onto the bench, but she managed to jump out of the way.

  “No, I really don't play well,” Hyacinth said. She didn't want to thrust herself into the center of attention like that. The group around the pianoforte turned their eyes on her, as if gauging the interloper's weaknesses. “Besides--”

  “We're waiting for Georgiana,” one of the young ladies cut her off. “It's her new instrument. She's to be the first to play it. Really.” She glared at Hyacinth.

  “What have we here, Whitley?”

  Hyacinth turned to see a gentleman with a canary waistcoat and a florid complexion leaning heavily on the piano. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

  Whitley leered again.

  “Miss Grey, may I present The Honorable Nathan Pently.”

  Hyacinth curtsied. He didn't look honorable.

  “Someone go find Georgiana,” demanded a pale girl, with indifferent brown eyes. “I want a turn to play.”

  Nathan Pently grunted and wandered off, presumably in search of Georgiana.

  “I’m sure you’ll get to play soon,” Hyacinth said to her.

  The girl looked down her long nose at Hyacinth. “I don’t mind. We have a better pianoforte at home, anyway.” She turned to inspect the collection of sheet music.

  “Perhaps you can sing, later,” Viscount Whitley said to Hyacinth, leaning in too close again.

  “I don’t care to,” she said, stepping back. “No one else is singing, are they?”

  “But they will, later,” he answered. “You may be sure of it.”

  Hyacinth was saved from responding by a round of applause which rippled through the room as Georgiana approached the pianoforte. She swept the sheet music aside.

  “What will you be playing?” Viscount Whitley asked her.

  Georgiana ignored him and set her fingers on the keys. The viscount stepped back and dusted off his waistcoat. Hyacinth shifted away from him. Perhaps she could find a seat along the edges of the room, with the older ladies. Aunt Celia was nowhere to be seen.

  As Georgiana struck the first notes, Hyacinth looked up and saw Thomas just entering the room. Even from the far side of the party, she could sense that he didn’t share in the festive mood. He wore the same black suit he’d worn at the funeral the week before. His jaw was clenched into a frown, and he looked distracted. He wasn't enjoying himself, but then, neither was she.

  Then the music began, an ascending ripple of notes, light, then a thunder of bass underneath, creeping up ominously. Hyacinth was transfixed. She wondered, momentarily, if Thomas had seen her, but the fluid, precise movements of Georgiana’s fingers over the keys captivated her attention entirely, and the music swept her away.

  #

  She had not seen him, Thomas thought. That was probably for the best. Hyacinth was standing too close to the piano to pay attention to anything else. Even from the far side of the room, Thomas could feel the force of Georgiana’s musical mastery. He had forgotten about that, in India. There were many things he hadn't thought about in all that time, the finer points of life in London, and the fact that not all of his relations were boors.

  No, they were not boors, not generally. They were men of influence, and most people conferred respect on them unthinkingly, overlooking their abuses of power, of which there were plenty, and more in every generation, as far as he could tell. He simply wanted no part of it, but here he was.

  Georgiana had quizzed and ribbed him over breakfast, day after day, to ensure that his long absence and dabblings in trade had left his breeding and comportment intact. She was provisionally satisfied that he would not make a fool of himself and the family, but he couldn't help but look at the soirée as a field of battle, or at least a test. A pair of matrons on the far side of the room eyed him from behind their fans. He retreated.

  He made it through the doorway as Georgiana began the last movement of the piece, but he had to stop in his tracks to avoid stepping on a delicately slippered foot. He stood toe-to-toe with a rouge-cheeked woman in a vibrant blue gown.

  “Pardon me,” she said, fanning her decolletage.

>   She was familiar somehow, but Thomas couldn’t place her right away. She drew back a step and looked up at him.

  “Ah, Sir Pently, isn’t it?” she said.

  “It is, Ma’am. And who would you be?” He didn’t like having to ask, but he lacked the presence of mind to beat around the bush. The miasma of his circling family made it difficult to think clearly.

  The lady sucked in her breath. “Well. From any less handsome man, I would take that as an insult. I must take care to make sure you remember me this time. We met on Thursday…”

  The pieces clicked into place at once. “At Admiral Nelson’s funeral. My apologies, Lady Talbot.”

  “Not at all. I can see that you are quite out of practice. Your cousin’s soirees may not be large, but they are social events of a very high standard.”

  “Everything Georgiana does is to the highest standard,” Thomas said. Hyacinth’s aunt was standing so close to him that the thought of someone coming upon them made him uneasy. Besides, he would far rather have been talking to Hyacinth. “I believe I will go watch her play the last chords,” Thomas said.

  “So will I, then,” Lady Talbot said. She stepped forward in such a way that a gentleman would reflexively take her arm, but Thomas sidestepped. He was still standing there, not taking her hand, as the final chords crashed out of the piano.

  “Ah,” Thomas said. “I have missed it. And now I must go on with my errand.”

  He turned on his heel, escaping before Lady Talbot could entrap him again.

  #

  Hyacinth watched Georgiana's fingers fly over the keys, coaxing out a music that made her forget everything else, at least for the moment. At the end of the piece, she joined the applause and looked around the room. Thomas was gone from his place by the door, and she couldn't see him anywhere else, either. Viscount Whitley was at her side again, asking if she wanted a glass of orgeat.

  “Orgeat?” Hyacinth echoed. “Yes, I think I would, thank you.”

  “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, his eyes lingering on her bosom.