Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  “I still hold hope,” Thomas said.

  “But there is still your father's estate and title, and unless your younger brother murders you for the contents of the wine cellar, they are yours.”

  Hyacinth guessed that his father's estate, while maybe not quite a duchy, eclipsed anything she would have imagined. She looked at Thomas and shook her head. “Why did you insist on going by Mr. Smithson, though?”

  “Mr. Smithson?” Lady Thornton laughed.

  “I mentioned my family name once in Gibraltar, to your father, and thought better of it after that.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lady Thornton said. “I should be going.”

  “No.” Hyacinth rose to her feet. “It is I who should be going. Good bye, again, Sir Pently.”

  #

  She sailed away across the room. She looked exquisite in her pale blue gown, and he wasn't the only one to have noticed it. Of course, she had been beautiful aboard the Whistler, too, even in her schoolmarmish clothes, it had just taken him a little longer to realize it. In her very fashionable, rather thin gown, every half-blind fool of a gentleman in the room was angling to take her out for a stroll in the gardens, especially as her chaperone was nowhere to be seen.

  “I should―” Thomas began.

  Aunt Penelope laid a hand on his arm. “She has enough sense to cross the room alone without being ruined,” she said. “Besides, she's going to the card room. Really, I don't think much of that Lady Talbot.”

  “Nor do I,” Thomas said.

  “Let them be,” Aunt Penelope said, “and tell me all about India.”

  #

  Chapter 11: A Ride in the Park

  Thomas sighted Hyacinth once more that evening. She appeared to be tugging her aunt towards the front door. He couldn't break away from the string of re-introductions and inane conversations to find her, and when he did glimpse her, her back was turned. What would he have said to her, in any case? He took a turn at the piano to escape the maze of mostly-forgotten names and titles for a short while. He played a Bach cantata, which he'd once known well, and fumbled half the notes. The entire gathering applauded anyway, at the novelty of a future duke who would play the pianoforte. It gave them even more to talk about, beyond his darkened skin or his general unsuitability for the title.

  The next morning, he had the breakfast table to himself. He settled in for a quiet cup of coffee, gazing at the spread of kippers and bacon on the sideboard. He had not slept well, and his appetite wasn't as good as usual. He wished he'd been more forthcoming about his background aboard the Whistler, at least with Miss Grey. He did not want to lose her friendship over his reluctance to take his place in England. He felt the aristocratic world closing its clutches around him. That world would not approve of their acquaintance. Even if she had been at the soirée, she was on its outskirts, while he was being pulled relentlessly towards the center. Aunt Penelope might find Miss Grey amusing, but would quickly change her tune if he were to express any serious attachment to Hyacinth. He sipped his coffee with his eyes closed, trying to clear his head.

  “Good morning, I said.”

  Thomas looked up to find that Georgiana had entered. She wore a brown riding dress and smelled of horses and leather.

  “Woolgathering, are you?”

  Thomas shrugged. “I suppose so. It's a bit daunting, all this talk of succession.”

  “Hmm,” Georgiana frowned. “As if it's all settled.”

  “Isn't it?”

  Georgiana went to fill her plate. “I'm famished,” she said. She sat down across from him and began to wolf down some of the previous night's roast, laid out cold for breakfast.

  “Would there be some doubt?” Thomas said.

  “About the succession?” Georgiana asked, with feigned lightness. “How would I know?”

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “You know everything, nearly as much as Aunt Penelope.”

  “I doubt that,” Georgiana said, “but for once, for the first time in history, you and our esteemed fathers are in agreement. Not one of you is happy with this situation.”

  “I quite enjoyed being Mr. Smithson, and being judged chiefly on my own merits,” Thomas said.

  “That has nothing to do with it. You are all displeased, and I am sure that somehow the fates will contrive to bow to your wishes.”

  “I don't think the fates are so malleable,” Thomas said.

  Georgiana shrugged again. If she knew something that he did not, she wasn't telling. “So why didn't you stay in India, again?” she pried.

  “It was complicated,” Thomas said.

  He needed to change the subject.

  “I have a small difficulty,” he said.

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. “And you think I can help? Has one of these young misses caught your eye already?”

  “Not precisely,” Thomas said. “It's more that I have an apology to make, and the young lady in question might refuse to see me.”

  “Really?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled broadly. “No one in London would refuse to see you, our future duke.”

  “I do not think that my title will help, in this instance.”

  Georgiana's hand paused, leaving a fork full of herring hovering an inch from her lips as she spoke. “Is it that Miss Grey? The one who sang that abominable sea chantey?”

  Thomas nodded. “It is an abominable song, but I don't think it reflects on the singer. I rather like her.”

  Georgiana leaned back, chewing pensively. “That won't do, you know.”

  “I believe she has declared herself to be uninterested in matrimony,” Thomas said, “if that is what you are thinking of.”

  “Young ladies sometimes say that,” Georgiana said. “I've been known to say it myself.”

  Interesting. That suggested that the famously independent Georgiana was not as opposed to marriage as she'd been at sixteen. He wondered, briefly, if she had anyone in mind, but that was a matter for a different day. He had to apologize to Miss Grey first.

  “Matrimonial intentions aside, I need to apologize to her,” Thomas said.

  Georgiana snorted. “That would be a change.”

  “I have been known to apologize,” Thomas said. “Occasionally.”

  “It is not a behavior the Pentlys are known for,” Georgiana said. “We tend to prefer swords at dawn, haven't you heard?”

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Never mind. There's a very small chance she would open my letter and read it. I will have to try that.” He rose to go.

  Georgiana waved him back into his seat. “No, no,” she said. “I will see what I think of this Miss Grey. Then I will decide whether or not you are a fool for courting her good opinion. Give me three days. If she passes muster, you may dance with her at the ball on Saturday.”

  Yes, Thomas thought. Georgiana was getting ready to step into Aunt Penelope's shoes.

  #

  “You will never be a success if you insist on leaving early,” Aunt Celia said over breakfast. Sophie had breakfasted earlier, and the servants had withdrawn, so they were alone.

  “I will never be a success if I do not have a chaperone, either,” Hyacinth pointed out.

  “Ah, but then you wouldn't have had your little tête-à-tête with the future Duke, then, would you.”

  “He says that he wishes he won't be the duke,” Hyacinth said. Aunt Celia hadn't seen her talking to Thomas, because she'd been in the card room the entire time, but evidently someone had told her.

  “Nonsense. Everyone else is sure,” Aunt Celia said. “They say that he intends to make you his mistress.”

  Hyacinth pushed her half-finished breakfast away. “That is patently ridiculous,” she said, standing up. “I have no intention of being anyone's mistress.”

  “Well, my dear,” Aunt Celia said, “no young lady intends to be anyone's mistress, but you should be on your guard. I do intend to find a respectable marriage for you.”

  “And what constitutes a respectable marriage?” Hyacinth fumed. “Some young ge
ntleman who spends the entire evening--”

  Aunt Celia held up a hand. “A man of appropriate rank. Do not reach above your station. It can only lead to disaster.”

  Hyacinth stood, one hand on the back of her chair, dumbfounded. If she denied that she'd had any courtship with Thomas, Aunt Celia would only laugh, even though it was really only sensible, and true insofar as her time in London went. The Whistler was behind them now, even if it had been a happier time. If she claimed that she was, somehow, setting Thomas in her sights, like an overreaching gunner, then Aunt Celia would gloat, and tighten her grip, and push her into the company of Viscount Whitley and an arsenal of other dull-witted gentlemen, their mamas lining up outside the door to inspect her like a bargain heifer.

  “I am not 'reaching' in any sense,” Hyacinth finally said. “I was merely having a conversation with an older lady when Thomas came along.”

  “Thomas, is it?” Aunt Celia tittered. “Oh, I'm afraid they are right, dear. We must get you married as soon as possible.”

  Hyacinth blushed deeply. She had slipped. Could she recover by calling him Sir Pently? She doubted it. Since there was nothing more to be said, or at least nothing she could think of, she retreated. She was about to walk out of the room when she remembered something. She turned back to face her aunt.

  “Lady Thornton said you might know something about a scandal, yourself,” Hyacinth said. “Do tell me about it someday.”

  She did not wait to see the anger rise in her aunt's eyes, but she heard a cup smash to the floor as she closed the door behind her.

  #

  That afternoon, Hyacinth and Sophie were working on their embroidery in the front parlor when a gleaming black carriage with gold leaf trim pulled up to their door. Aunt Celia had just called for her own carriage, but this was someone else. Her usual round of visits would have to wait.

  “Who is it?” she called down the stairs.

  “The carriage has the Windcastle coat of arms,” the butler informed her.

  Sophie dropped her needle and ran to the window. “Who do you think it is, Hyacinth?”

  Hyacinth's needle hovered above her canvas.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps it’s Lady Georgiana Pently?” She certainly hoped it wasn't Thomas. Or, rather, she would have liked if it had been Mr. Smithson, but since he was actually Sir Pently, and not the man she'd thought he was, she didn't want to see him at all. He was an impostor, even if his deception lay in lowering himself, rather than taking on airs.

  Sophie leaned up to the window. “Oh, I hope it is! I’ve heard so much about her! Mother says she’s quite elegant.”

  Hyacinth looked away.

  “Yes! Oh yes, there she is!” Sophie said. “She is elegant. And taller than Mama, too.”

  Hyacinth carefully pulled her needle through the canvas.

  “Are Lady Talbot and Miss Grey at home?” Georgiana asked.

  “I will enquire,” the butler said.

  A moment later, they heard Aunt Celia’s step in the corridor above, then the swish of her skirts as she came downstairs.

  “Lady Talbot!” Georgiana gushed. “Such a pleasure to see you.”

  “Do step in to the parlor,” Aunt Celia invited. “I will send for tea.”

  When Georgiana walked in, Hyacinth and Sophie rose to greet her, and Aunt Celia introduced her daughter to Georgiana.

  Sophie blushed and curtsied. “I am glad to meet you, Lady Pently. I’ve heard so much about you!”

  Aunt Celia’s mouth twitched as she swallowed an admonition. Sophie’s bobbing up and down did look rather gauche, even to Hyacinth’s less critical eye.

  The ladies drew their chairs into a circle and sat. Georgiana and Aunt Celia launched into an animated discussion of the previous night's gowns, and who was wearing the latest fabrics from France. Hyacinth studied her tea leaves. The conversation seemed perfectly inane. Her thoughts drifted back to her grandmother's diary, and how good it would be to escape Aunt Celia's petty world, to do something, to teach.

  “About a ride in the park?” Georgiana said to her. “You do ride, don’t you?”

  Hyacinth startled up. “I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.”

  Aunt Celia glared at her.

  “I regularly go riding in the mornings, and have agreed to help chaperone some of my younger cousins,” Georgiana said to Hyacinth. “Would you care to join us tomorrow?”

  Sophie leaned forward eagerly. “May I, Mama?”

  “And of course, you may come, too,” Georgiana said to her, one corner of her mouth twitching in amusement.

  Sophie’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.

  “Well, I have a fitting first thing, and I will not go to the atelier on horseback,” Aunt Celia said. “I don't know that I can provide a suitable chaperone for Sophie and Miss Grey.”

  “My old governess will be along, as well,” Georgiana said. “She frequently chaperones my Aunt Penelope's grandchildren, and I'm practically a suitable chaperone myself, these days.”

  Aunt Celia nodded mutely, as if unsure whether Georgiana was looking for confirmation of her respectability, or reassurance that she was still too young to be considered a chaperone.

  “I’ve only just begun to learn to ride,” Hyacinth apologized. “We did not keep horses in Gibraltar. Father said there was no need.”

  Aunt Celia cleared her throat. “Sophie's pony has just come down from the country, and I'm sure she could do with the exercise.” She smiled on her daughter with a sort of tense benevolence. Georgiana caught Hyacinth's eye and winked.

  “So, shall we?” Georgiana asked Hyacinth. “We will collect you before breakfast.”

  Hyacinth smiled. “Yes,” she said. “An early ride in the park sounds delightful. I quite look forward to it.”

  Aunt Celia frowned, as if she were holding back a sharp remark, but then smiled graciously to her visitor, and stood to see her out.

  #

  The sun must have risen, somewhere behind the dark clouds over Hyde Park, but it did nothing to warm the air. Georgiana rode a milk-white Arabian gelding. She wore a dark green scarf with intricate embroidery on it draped around her neck. It reminded Hyacinth of the shawl Thomas had given her, still wrapped in its brown paper at the back of her wardrobe. She could hardly wear it out, she thought. She wouldn't have thought that it would suit the ton's fashion sense, but if Georgiana was wearing one, then others would follow. Hyacinth still had half a mind to send hers back to Mr. Smithson. Thomas. Sir Pently.

  Hyacinth's mount was an indifferently-groomed livery stable nag, better looking than the pony she'd ridden the past two mornings, with Aunt Celia, but more temperamental. She struggled to keep pace with Georgiana and her steed while Sophie and the younger Pently cousins raced ahead on their ponies, laughing despite the cold. The youngest was a boy of about six or seven, and the oldest was a girl about Sophie's age. The governess rode within arm's reach of the youngest – as much as she could manage – while the older girls trotted ahead, carrying on some sort of guarded conversation. Sophie seemed happy. The poor girl was lonely. She didn't take to solitude well.

  Georgiana seemed to be looking more at the tree line and the far reaches of the park than at her cousins, who really did seem to be adequately overseen by their governess.

  “I think we shall have snow,” Georgiana said idly.

  “Do you?” Hyacinth answered. “I haven't seen snow since we've been in London.”

  “It's one of the best things about being here in winter,” Georgiana said, wrinkling her nose. “It covers up the dirt and muck for a few hours. It's really quite lovely.”

  Hyacinth eyed the clouds. They did not seem inclined to produce anything lovely, just more dreariness.

  “Then again, it could just be sleet,” Georgaina sighed.

  There was a long silence. Hyacinth felt that she ought to say something.

  “Thank you for inviting us out,” she said. “Sophie hardly ever gets to see other girls her age.”


  “So I heard. And you are new in town. It isn't my habit to bring young ladies into Society, but I thought you might be interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Hyacinth said.

  “You're well-favored, and Thomas tells me that you have Greek and Latin, and better grasp of mathematics than most factors,” Georgiana said. “Is that so?”

  Hyacinth shrugged. “I do have Greek and Latin, as well as Spanish and a little French, but I don't expect any of that to do me much good here in London, from what I've seen so far. Except possibly for the maths, if I need to cross-examine accounts.”

  Georgiana rode on in silence for a few paces. “Whose accounts?”

  “My own,” Hyacinth said.

  “Your aunt tells me that you haven't a penny to your name.”

  Hyacinth tugged hard on the reins, not that she'd meant to. It sent her nag shuffling sideways. The horse jerked its head forward and it took all of Hyacinth's attention to bring the beast back into line. She returned to her place beside Georgiana, who had stopped to wait for her.

  “Is that not correct?” Georgiana said.

  “It is not,” Hyacinth answered, “but she would rather I not claim my inheritance, since she says that it is tainted with scandal.”

  Georgiana considered that for a moment. “Was it acquired through trade? Your aunt seems woefully old-fashioned sometimes. Trade is growing almost... if not respectable, then at least more influential, even in our circles.”

  “Not the flesh trade,” Hyacinth said.

  Georgiana gasped, and momentarily dropped her reins. Her mount stayed on course. Georgiana regained her composure quickly, too.

  “How?” she whispered.

  “I really shouldn't be saying this,” Hyacinth said.

  “I won't tell,” Georgiana said. “I am not... I have no need to stir up other people's scandals. My life is not that boring.” Her full attention was trained on Hyacinth, who felt just a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, so different from her aunt's, curious, more than critical. Or so she wanted to think.

  Hyacinth frowned. “Aunt Celia's life seems to be. Boring, that is. But that's beside the point.” She had no one to talk to, not really, and though Mr. Butler seemed friendly enough he was a man, and a stranger, and really only a sort of business associate. She wanted to trust Georgiana. After all, if she were to start a school, it would be good to have benefactors and supporters.