Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  The carriage drew up to the steps and Hyacinth stepped down into a narrow street crowded with carriages and matched teams of horses, each finer than the last. Candlelight blazed from the windows, and they entered into a hall so richly furnished that Hyacinth thought she might have stepped into a giantess's box of jewels. Her grandmother's necklace would be entirely appropriate to the surroundings. She handed her cloak to a waiting servant and stepped into a fairytale of laughter and light. A small orchestra was tuning their instruments at the far end of the room, the thin sound of the plucked and bowed strings just audible against the noise of conversation. It filled the air with anticipation.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Hyacinth said to her aunt. She ducked into a neighboring room before Aunt Celia could follow her, and set her reticule down on a side table. She pretended to be looking at a painting, a bucolic landscape, while she surreptitiously fastened the clasp at her neck. With a quick glance back over her shoulder, she returned to the ballroom.

  Aunt Celia had abandoned her again. She was halfway across the room, greeting a pair of acquaintances – a very handsome gentleman and a lady. The lady, presumably the man's wife, eyed Aunt Celia with distaste. Hyacinth returned to her aunt's side.

  Aunt Celia glanced at her, as if to brush her off like a fly, but froze for a moment before returning her attention to the gentleman she'd been talking to. She'd seen the necklace, and how could she not? As dazzling as the room was, it did not at all detract from the dazzling glow of the stone at her chest.

  “May I present my niece, Miss Grey,” she managed to say.

  Hyacinth curtsied.

  “We really must be going,” the lady said. “Lord Darling has promised me the first dance.” She tugged on her husband's sleeve, and he left, not altogether reluctantly.

  “What is that thing?” Aunt Celia hissed.

  “It belonged to my grandmother,” Hyacinth said. “And now, if you please, this is my first ball, and I would like to dance. I believe that, as my chaperone, you should see that I am introduced to a suitable partner.”

  Aunt Celia grumbled, but led her straight to a rather dapper-looking young man who was probably a little too young to be seriously in search of a bride. Hyacinth barely heard his name, caring only that he was pleasant and courteous, a tolerable dancer, and, unlike Viscount Whitley, seemed more interested in dancing than in peeling her gown away. He led her out to their place in the line, and the orchestra fell into a country dance, one well-enough known that Hyacinth had danced it even in Gibraltar. She turned and stepped to the rhythm, and really, yes, she was enjoying herself.

  After the set, her partner gamely led her back to Aunt Celia's side, thanking her graciously. As she smiled a farewell, her cheer faded. People were looking at her necklace. Although there were many fine and ornate jewels on various bosoms and hands around the room, hers was, undoubtedly, among the largest. If not the largest. Aunt Celia looked annoyed.

  “I hoped you would dance another set with that one.”

  “I might,” Hyacinth said.

  “People are staring at you.”

  Hyacinth shrugged.

  Underneath one of the doors out to the balcony, a cluster of women, including Lady Spencer, had gathered around two tall, blond gentlemen.

  “There’s your beau,” Aunt Celia said. “I told you that you were setting your sights too high.”

  Thomas peered over the ladies’ heads and smiled at her. Hyacinth smiled back. Thomas extracted himself from the conversation and began to make his way towards her. Aunt Celia shook her head and walked away.

  “I am delighted that you’ve arrived,” Thomas said. “I saw you dancing – I'm sorry I was too late to claim your first set, but may I have the next, before my mother insists that I dance with someone other then you?”

  “I suppose... well... yes, yes I would like to dance.”

  There was something about Thomas's eyes that discomfited her, something new. Hopeful.

  “I'm surprised that your card isn't full,” Hyacinth said.

  Thomas shrugged. “I believe the mamas are drawing lots to decide who will be allowed to pounce on me next.”

  “Really?” Hyacinth laughed nervously. “My aunt informed me, yet again, that I was setting my sights too high.” She looked up into his eyes, and wished that they were somewhere where they could talk freely. “I should tell you…” she started, but then she looked over her shoulder to see a lady, a little older than her aunt, glaring down at her.

  “Is this Miss Grey, then?” she said.

  “I am,” said Hyacinth.

  “Allow me,” Thomas said, “to present my mother, the Baroness Lawton.”

  Hyacinth curtsied. Thomas's mother might find her wanting, might dislike her entirely, but it didn't matter. She would be leaving their glittering London world on a morning stagecoach, and tonight, she would dance with Thomas. And say goodbye.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Hyacinth said cheerfully. Even Lady Lawton seemed to take a little too long looking at her necklace.

  “Shall we take our places?” Thomas proposed.

  “Yes, let's.” Hyacinth took his arm and felt a thrill shiver up her spine. As the musicians took their places and the lights dazzled above, for a moment, she could pretend to herself that they really were courting.

  “You look... stunning,” Thomas said, as they settled in across from each other.

  Hyacinth blushed. The dance began. The steps led them apart and back together before they stood close for a moment.

  “What is that necklace?” Thomas asked.

  “It was my grandmother's,” Hyacinth answered. The dance pulled them apart.

  “It is a very fine piece. Very fine.” Thomas said when they passed again.

  Hyacinth took in the music, the elegance of the narrow tables along the walls, the society matrons on their chairs, watching, ruling from their perches, in their fine jewels and elaborately coiffed hair. Not that the dancers were any less fine. Hyacinth admired the dancing slippers, the swirl of gowns and coat tails, the studied movements. And here and there, in a turn, she touched Thomas's hand. She wished it might last forever.

  But soon, too soon, the set drew to a close. She curtsied with the other ladies, and turned to go.

  Thomas took her arm and led her to the side of the room. “Perhaps we might take a moment to stroll on the balcony,” he said.

  Hyacinth felt a moment of alarm. “I can't... I mean, don't you have to find your partner for the next dance?”

  “We have some few minutes.”

  Aunt Celia, of course, was nowhere to be seen. A relatively shabbily dressed gentleman was making his way towards them. “Who is that?” Hyacinth asked.

  Thomas stilled for a moment, studying him. “I don't know what he'd be doing here. I'll have to speak to him later. Come.” He hurried her out the doors.

  The balcony looked out over a park, dark in the night. Far away, scattered glints of lamplight shone through the trees. They were not alone on the balcony, but at least it was a little less crowded, and cooler. The breeze whisked the perspiration from Hyacinth's brow

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said.

  “No, I thank you,” Thomas said. A lady of middle years passed and nodded to Thomas, her eyes lingering disapprovingly on Hyacinth, or maybe it was just a look of disappointment.

  “I would speak to you about... about my situation,” Thomas said.

  “Can anything have changed?” Hyacinth said. “I am practically a commoner; you are to be a duke.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “My cousin left a widow. She... she will bear a child in the coming months. If it is a boy, and if he thrives, he will be my uncle's heir, and I wish him well.”

  Hyacinth considered. The baby could as easily be a girl. She shook her head. “Send word, then, after her confinement.”

  “I will see you, though. If I can, I would... I would like to renew my suit.”

  “You must see that we cannot,” Hy
acinth insisted. “In any case, I will be working to establish that school I told you about. I think that Georgiana will help.”

  “I am sure she will.”

  Inside, the musicians picked up their instruments, and the dancers took their places on the floor.

  “We should go back in,” Hyacinth said. The balcony had emptied. For a moment, as the music began, they were alone.

  “I think of you all the time,” Thomas said. “I have no interest in any of the young ladies my mother would have me marry.”

  Hyacinth had to leave. She turned away. She could not stay for this hope of a promise, this hope that in a few month's time, her old shipboard friend would come calling again. She stepped into the hall and found Aunt Celia, to escort her to her partner for the next set.

  #

  Thomas leaned against the balcony wall and took a deep breath of cool air. In the park, bare branches scraped quietly against each other. He could hear the sound of horses and carriage wheels from the streets on the other side of the house. Still, the music played, and some young lady was to partner him in the dance. He must go find her.

  He entered the hall only to find himself face to face with his mother.

  “You are not to court that girl,” she said. “No matter if she wears jewels that rival the queen’s.”

  “It is a fine piece,” Thomas said, “but I was just catching a breath of air.”

  His mother rolled her eyes.

  “I believe I have a partner for this set. I hope you can help me find her?”

  She cleared her throat. “Miss Bennett is very much in demand, as I'm sure your cousin told you. She found another partner when you did not appear. You must sit this one out.” Thomas's mother looked over his shoulder. “And I have promised to keep Lady Gavin company while her daughter dances. Be a good lad and fetch us a bottle of port.”

  Thomas bowed. “As you wish, Mama.”

  Skirting around the edges of the room, avoiding conversation, Thomas tried to keep his eyes away from the dance floor, but despite his efforts, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, and even heard her laugh once. He was so intent on not looking in her direction that he didn't notice when the somewhat rough merchant he knew, the very one who Hyacinth had noticed earlier, stepped into his path.

  “Mr. Smithson!” the man said, rather too loudly. People turned to look. Thomas raised his eyebrows at them, and for the most part they looked away.

  “I don't really go by that name here, Churchill. Not these days. I should have told you as much when we met at the club.”

  “Oh, pardon me,” Mr. Churchill said. He scratched his chin and dusted off his waistcoat, which was made of a rather good Indian cotton. He still wore his clothes from the subcontinent, and they did not quite suit the ballroom.

  “I confess, I'm surprised to see you here.”

  “Ah, well, our hosts have seen fit to invite me, a mere tradesman, to their affair,” Mr. Churchill said. “I am quite pleased.”

  Thomas smiled blandly. Yes, Mr. Churchill ought to be pleased. If there were investors to be found in London, the Spencer ballroom was not a bad place to be seen. Despite himself, he looked out towards the dancers. Hyacinth's partner was a Sir Pently of some sort, one who was a good dancer and charming enough, though Thomas suspected he had more interest in the other gentlemen's tight breeches than in Hyacinth's creamy decolletage.

  “Who is that chit?” Mr. Churchill asked.

  “What young lady do you mean?”

  “The one who is wearing the Star of Kanchen.” He was staring right at Hyacinth. There was no mistaking it. “You know the Company lost their treaty with the King of Sikkim over that bauble,” Mr. Churchill went on. “I’m quite sure that’s it. I’ve heard so many descriptions, and that chain, it's very Sikkimese. It has to be the one. The King demanded that the company return it. They promised it, and they never delivered. I suspect they couldn’t find it. But there it is. What a stroke of luck.”

  Thomas looked down at the man. He spoke softly. He was absolutely earnest. He had locked his gaze onto the jewel resting on Hyacinth’s perfect bosom, completely indifferent to the lady who wore it.

  #

  Chapter 14: A Journey

  “It's morning.”

  Hyacinth had scarcely closed her eyes. Music and ballroom lights echoed in her mind, and her feet ached from dancing.

  “We must go, and go soon,” Maria said.

  Hyacinth opened her eyes. Outside, the night was pitch black.

  “But it's dark out,” Hyacinth protested.

  “The coach leaves in an hour and a half. It will be just getting light then.”

  Hyacinth gritted her teeth and pushed herself out of bed. The house was silent. In the night, Maria had finished packing her bags. Her traveling clothes were laid out, lying dully beside the still-luminescent ball gown. George sat by the fire, poking at a few dying embers.

  “Will you come with us?” Hyacinth asked him, turning away from the gown.

  George shrugged.

  “Of course he won't. He'll get the coach to Portsmouth.”

  “I could come with you if you want,” he offered.

  “No, stay at school. You can come to us at the next holidays. I'll write,” Hyacinth said. She swung her feet out of bed and went behind a screen to dress as Maria tidied her bed.

  “What was the ball like?” George asked.

  Hyacinth felt like she'd left half of herself in that dream, that few hours' dream of dancing, music, and the ladies and gentlemen in their finery.

  “Wonderful,” she said. Of course, there was one gentleman in particular that she hadn't quite managed to say goodbye to.

  In minutes, she was following George and Maria down the servant's stair. It was a narrow, dark place, one totally unfamiliar to her, despite her weeks in the house. She thought that maybe, if she'd grown up in this place, she might know it from childhood explorations, on slow, rainy days. George seemed quite thrilled with the adventure.

  Harold waited for them at the back of the garden.

  “Can't have a young miss out this time of the night with only another young miss and a boy,” he said, joining them as they threaded their way through the mews.

  “Thank you,” Hyacinth said. “If there's any trouble...”

  Harold waved her concerns away. “There won't be none,” he said decisively. “Come on, then.”

  He had not harnessed the horses – it would have been too much of an affront to Aunt Celia, and besides, Hyacinth didn't want to draw attention to herself when she arrived at the coaching inn. She had dressed simply, too, in hopes of simply blending into the background as she traveled. She'd seen all manner of travelers in her life on Gibraltar, and it was always the ostentatious ones who complained of being robbed, everywhere they went.

  She wished, again, that she'd said goodbye to Thomas.

  “What will you tell your fellow passengers on the coach?” George said.

  “What will I tell them?” Hyacinth said. “Why, nothing at all. Why should I?”

  Harold shook his head. “You'd want to be friendly like.”

  “On the way up from Portsmouth they were all talking to each other,” George said. “One was a milliner, another one on the way to meet his grandson for the first time. There was even a nun.”

  Hyacinth considered. “I suppose I'll just say I'm a governess.”

  George was about to speak when Harold held up his hand for silence. They stopped to listen. Harold peered back along the street.

  “I thought I heard someone back there, following us, like,” he said. “Might've been nothing.” He motioned for them to move on. “It's safer than it was, like,” he said, “but you can't be too careful. Footpads and all.”

  Maria thanked him, but for the rest of the walk, Hyacinth was constantly looking back over her shoulder, thinking, from time to time, that she'd glimpsed a shadow of a man, ducking into alleyways behind them.

  #

  As they approached the coa
ching inn, the empty streets began to fill – a shutter opening here, a laborer on his way to work there, a maid of all work with a shopping basket, hurrying towards the market. Still, the shadows seemed to hide furtive movements.

  “I think I prefer London in the daylight, at least the streets,” Hyacinth confided to Maria.

  “No sense turning back now; we're nearly there,” Harold said.

  George ran ahead.

  “I'm sure your aunt won't object if you want to go back,” Maria said, sensing Hyacinth's unease.

  “No,” Hyacinth declared. “We must keep on. I'll never see this estate if I don't go now. I won't lose my nerve.”

  “That's the way,” Harold said. “You just keep to yourselves on the journey, and you'll be fine.”

  “But you and George were just saying to be friendly,” Hyacinth pointed out.

  “Oh, friendly is one thing,” Harold said, “but don't let on too much. You never know what scoundrels you might meet on the road.”

  “That is not very calming,” Maria said.

  “We'll manage. Won't we?” Hyacinth said.

  George had reached the gates of the inn yard. He ducked in for a moment then reappeared and ran back toward them. “They're selling mincemeat pies already,” he reported, “and tea and coffee. Both!”

  “Very well,” Hyacinth said. “We'll breakfast before we go our separate ways.”

  At the inn yard gate, Harold stopped. “I'd best be getting back,” he said. “The horses will want their feed and water.” Maria ran to grasp his hand.

  “All right, George,” Hyacinth said. “Where was it that you saw those pies?”

  He pointed to a window half-obscured by the waiting crowds. A few urchins sat near the little shop, their cheeks hollow, noses upturned as if smelling the victuals could satisfy their hunger in some small way.

  “Could we buy pies for them?” Hyacinth whispered to George.

  He shook his head. “If you did, it would be telling everyone in sight you've got more money than sense. That's what Mrs. Portnoy warned me, before I came here. She said these London folks are hard, even when they're only young.”