A Scandalous Wife (Scandalous Series, BOOK 1)

by Ava Stone

  When intermission came, the two gentlemen stood to stretch their legs and Lydia was relieved. Walking around could do her some good as well.

  ***

  As Lydia rose from her seat, Robert sternly shook his head. She was much safer in the box than walking about with all of those other men. “You should stay here, my dear. I’ll bring you some refreshment.”

  Lydia feigned a smile and took her seat again. But Robert could tell she was annoyed. She sat with her spine perfectly straight, and didn’t face him or say a word in response.

  He walked the corridor with Chet, who wore a chastising look on his face. “Something you want to say?”

  “Why did you make her stay there with my mother? Awfully uncharitable of you, old man.”

  Robert continued his walk, shrugged, and remarked sardonically, “Sorry you can’t continue your flirting with my wife. Besides I think she’s safer there.”

  Chet’s laugh boomed throughout the hallway. “What do you think she’s going to do, Rob? Take off with the first chap that looks at her?”

  That wasn’t far from what he thought at the moment, and he glanced back at his friend. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Chet laughed again and smacked Robert’s back. “Well, then why don’t you try being a little nicer to her. Perhaps you could convince her to stick around. Give her some incentive, Rob.”

  Robert frowned in annoyance. “Words of advice from a thirty-seven-year-old bachelor? I’m perfectly nice, thank you very much. And besides, I don’t necessarily want her ‘sticking around.’”

  “Perfectly nice?” Chet’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You forget. I was there yesterday morning, Robert. You were a perfect arse. Which reminds me, who won that argument anyway?”

  “I did, of course.” Robert increased his step. He had always done what was expected of him, but now his sister thought him a beast, gossip rags called him ruthless, and his oldest friend considered him a perfect arse. Bloody wonderful!

  “Pity. I think I’d enjoy her staying in Town. She brightens up a room.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Robert admitted. She did indeed brighten up a room, even when she shot daggers at him with her eyes. “You should’ve seen the looks she got when we arrived here tonight.”

  “Well, she’s young, Robert, and very pretty. You said so yourself. You’re old, and stodgy, and set in your ways.”

  Robert furrowed his brow. “You and I are the same age. And I’m not stodgy.” He’d had just about enough of everyone else’s less than stellar opinions about his person.

  Chet’s eyes danced in amusement. “You are the epitome of stodginess, my friend. Poor Lady Masten, so young and beautiful and stuck with you. I think I’ll have to add her to the list of ladies I could have married.”

  Robert snorted. “Tell me, does that list have more than just Bethany Carteret’s name on it? Perhaps you should stop looking at other men’s wives, Chet. There are plenty of unattached ladies out there.”

  Chet’s laugh boomed again. “Why do you think they’re unattached? No one else wants them either.”

  Lord Haywood, a young, dandified gentleman who had just come into his title, approached them from the other direction. Immediately, Robert took note of the young fop, for two reasons. The first, upon the assumption of his title the new baron had also come into the possession of a stud Robert had kept his eye on for the last year. The second, and more pressing reason, was that Haywood was a known compatriot of Luke’s. “Ah, Haywood, do you have a minute?”

  Chet smiled devilishly at Robert and nodded to the young lord. “Take your time, will you, Haywood? I’m off to flirt with Masten’s pretty wife.”

  For a large man, Chet was light on his feet and quickly dashed away before Robert could rebuke him properly. So instead, he adjusted his attention on the young baron and fixed him with a pointed stare. “Haywood, I’m looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”

  “I’m not his keeper.”

  With a scowl that should have intimidated most, Robert leaned toward the younger man. “He’ll turn up eventually. And when he does, please pass on my desire to meet with him.”

  “I’m at your service, Masten,” Haywood retorted belligerently with all the bravado of a boy who didn’t know who he was up against.

  “See that you are.” With a curt nod, Robert left the baron and went in search of wine for his wife. Instead, he caught the eye of someone else—someone he’d rather not see.

  His evening only wanted for this—Mrs. Cecily Rigsley stood just a few feet away. His ex-mistress was resplendent this evening, but then she always was. Wearing a simple gown of shimmering gold, Cecily’s dark eyes sparkled mischievously and her brown ringlets bounced as she stepped toward Robert. She opened her arms wide in greeting him. “My dear Lord Masten, how wonderful to see you.”

  With a curt nod of acknowledgement, Robert made the attempt to step past his one-time lover. But Cecily was not to be ignored. She snatched his arm and made him face her. “Trying to escape, Robert? So unlike you.”

  “What do you want, Mrs. Rigsley?”

  When Cecily pouted in response, Robert cringed. Had he ever found her attempted seductive looks attractive?

  “Now I’m Mrs. Rigsley? After everything, Robert?”

  Robert pried her fingers from his arm. “You are the one who left me. How is Audley, by the way?”

  Cecily folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. “You are cruel, Robert, not to forgive me. Is that bit of muslin in Astwick’s box my replacement? She doesn’t seem your sort.”

  With his jaw hardened and his eyes steely, Robert leaned in toward Cecily. “The days when my comings and goings were your business are no longer. I’ve already told you, but apparently you’re having a difficult time remembering. You’re not under my protection, nor shall you ever be again. Stay out of my way.”

  Cecily narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. “You will regret making an enemy of me, Robert.”

  “My dear Mrs. Rigsley, I already regret ever having known you.” With that, he tipped his head and strode purposefully back toward Astwick’s box, Lydia’s wine long forgotten.

  ***

  Alone with the sulking Lady Astwick, Lydia thought about her ride from Berkeley Square to Drury Lane with her husband. Robert had drilled into her what behavior he expected that night. She’d said nothing, just stewed in her seat with irritation brimming over. She was his wife and her actions would reflect upon him, he’d lectured. He expected her to be polite, courteous, and ladylike. She shook her head in annoyance. She was all those things, and didn’t need direction from him on how to behave in public.

  Now she’d been abandoned to sit alone with the discourteous Lady Astwick. Lydia was certain the dowager didn’t like her, though she couldn’t imagine what she’d done to create such hostility in the older woman. But if she could win the old dragon over, perhaps Robert would see that she didn’t need his directives. She turned in her seat and smiled at Lady Astwick. “What a delightful evening. Thank you so much for having us.”

  The widow looked her up and down, grimaced, and then turned her attention back to the audience below them. “Humph.”

  Lady Masten will not hang her head in shame, Lydia reminded herself. She looked toward the stage, determined to hold herself high. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to the theatre, though I’ve always enjoyed it,” she continued lightly, not willing to give up on Lady Astwick yet. However, the widow ignored her completely and Lydia felt very small.

  When Chet finally returned to the box, Lydia was delighted for his company. He walked past his mother and instead of sitting next to her, he took Robert’s seat and affectionately took Lydia’s hand. “I’m truly glad you came this evening, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Lord Astwick.” Lydia blushed. She wasn’t sure how Robert would feel about his friend holding her hand, but she didn’t remove it. It was nice to have someone look at her kindly.

  “So, what d
o you think of London, my dear?”

  “I love it,” Lydia gushed. How nice to be asked what she thought and not be dictated to. “But I grew up here, sir. It’s just been such a long time since I was home.”

  Chet smiled. “I didn’t know you were from London. I should have scooped you up long before Robert had the chance.”

  Lady Astwick looked at the pair disdainfully and barked at her son, “Chester, why don’t you leave Masten’s wife alone?”

  Chet winked at Lydia. “I’m asking Lady Masten if she has any pretty friends, Mama.”

  As Lydia giggled, Lady Astwick stood up and glowered at her son. “I don’t think any of her friends would be acceptable, Chester. Masten can say anything he wants to. I know why he married her and stashed her away in Cheshire. They found her with that brother of his. She’s a whore.”

  And just that fast, Lydia was completely mortified. She was stunned, speechless, and could feel her face turning red.

  Chet glared back at his mother, but before he could reply, Robert barked angrily from the doorway of the box, “Lady Astwick! That is quite enough! How dare you? If you were a man, we’d be meeting at dawn.”

  Without hesitation, Lydia turned back to see her husband, staring furiously at her attacker. He glanced at her and then continued. “I don’t know where you get your information from, ma’am, but it is incorrect. And I won’t allow you to disparage my wife any longer. Come, Lydia, we’re going home.”

  Quickly leaving her seat, Lydia rushed to her husband’s side. He put a possessive arm around her waist and she kept her head high, though she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. People in other boxes were starting to watch the drama unfold, and her heart pounded ruthlessly.

  Robert continued to eye the widow with contempt. “After you apologize to my wife, and if you think you can keep a civil tongue in your head, I may consider forgiving your outrageous behavior.”

  Without a look back, Robert led Lydia from the box, down the stairs, and out to his phaeton. Lydia barely noticed the blur of people that they’d shot past or the whispering that had started in their wake. Perhaps Robert was right, she might be better off in the country. She certainly didn’t need termagants like Lady Astwick in her life.

  How did the old woman know of her circumstances?

  She had so loved being in London again. But now, for the first time since she’d arrived, she was wishing she’d stayed at Blackstone. It may have been a prison but at least it was a safe prison.

  As they traveled along Piccadilly, she realized that Robert hadn’t uttered a single word to her since they’d left the theatre. She watched quietly as her husband expertly steered his horses through town. His face was still hardened, his jaw firmly set. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come to her defense. She touched his arm. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “No one speaks ill of a Beckford.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road and Lydia’s heart sank further in her chest.

  No, of course they don’t, she thought miserably. It was all about his name. It was only ever about his name. He’d explained all of that to her long ago. It was foolish of her to think he defended her for any other reason. She sighed, clasped both hands in her lap, and was determined not to speak the rest of the way. Once they were at Berkeley Square, she could retire to her room and finally seek the peace she’d needed all afternoon.

  Robert ended the awkward silence when he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to experience that, Lydia.”

  “It’s nothing you haven’t said to me yourself, Robert,” she remarked somberly as she watched the city go by, wanting to be anywhere else at the moment but by his side.

  He frowned as he kept his eyes on the horses he controlled. “Well, that’s different.”

  But not untrue. She smiled sadly as his home came into view. But she would not cry. She was determined to never let him know how his words had hurt her.

  He stopped the horses in front of the house. Lydia hopped down unassisted and started for the front door.

  “Lydia!” he called after her and handed the reins to his quickly approaching footman.

  She stopped but didn’t face him. “Yes, my lord?”

  He came up behind her and spun her around to look at him, staring intently at her for a long moment before speaking. “You kept your head high. Thank you.”

  She smiled half-heartedly. “I believe those were your orders, Masten.”

  “Yes, they were.” His voice was raspy and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over her chin and held her gaze with his smoldering brown eyes. For a fleeting moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he released his hold on her arms and nodded coolly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Very well.” Lydia turned back toward the house and raced up front stairs.

  Phelps opened the door and she slid past him without a word, then climbed the stairs to her chambers.

  ***

  As Robert watched her go. His heart sank, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d held her in disregard for as long as he’d known her. She was right. He had called her a whore, among other things. And for the first time, he felt remorse for that. Hearing Lady Astwick’s acidic words had made hot lava race through his veins. Being reminded that he’d said the same things to her, once upon a time, made him cringe. Chet was right, he was an arse.

  What really had his mind swimming was that he’d nearly kissed her outside in front of the house—out in the open for anyone to see. But she’d looked so hurt and he wanted to take that away from her, any way he could. But she wouldn’t thank him for that. His affections were the last thing Lydia wanted at the moment.

  He exchanged salutations with Phelps and then ascended the staircase to his chambers. Kistler was waiting to undress him, but Robert waived the man off for the night. He needed to be alone.

  Robert paced back and forth across his room, finally stopping at the connecting door that led to his wife’s chambers. With a heavy sigh, he placed his open palm against the door. What he wanted was to knock and for her to let him in, but instead he just stood there and rested his head against the doorframe.

  What was it about his wife that drove him to distraction? In the last two days he’d felt more alive than he had in years. There was something about Lydia that made his emotions run wild, and that was a bit disconcerting.

  When Lady Astwick had spewed her venom, Robert had been overcome with the desire to protect his wife, to keep her safe from the cruel and harsh world—and not for his sake, but for hers. However she’d never believe that, not after the awful things he’d said to her. He barely believed it himself.

  Finally deciding against knocking on her door, Robert went to his study and began sorting through his estates’ accounts. He hadn’t planned on leaving London so soon, but the emergence of his wife had left him little choice. With the evening’s events laying heavily on his mind, he couldn’t think straight and finally just dumped everything into a valise. He’d sort everything out once they got to Beckford Hall.

  Then there was a soft knock at his door. “Yes?”

  The butler pushed the door open and nodded stiffly. “Lord Astwick is here to see you, milord.”

  Robert sighed. “Very well, send him back, Phelps.”

  Soon, Chet walked through the door with a sheepish expression. “I don’t even know what to say, Rob, except I’m completely mortified.”

  “Well, that makes three of us.” Robert leaned back in his chair and motioned for Chet to take a seat across from him.

  “I swear to you, I had no idea she knew your circumstances. She certainly didn’t learn of them from me.” Chet crossed the room and sat opposite Robert, leaning forward on his desk. “After you left, I told her that her accusations were completely false. That you would have told me if any of that drivel had been true. I warned her against spreading any untrue stories about Lady Masten.”

  Robert smiled half-heartedly,
not that it meant anything now. The damage was done. “That was kind of you. But I’m sure she learned of it from the late Lady Staveley. I seem to remember they were great friends before she passed on.”

  “Yes, they were,” Chet agreed remorsefully. “That must be where she got it from. God, if I’d known she was going to behave that way…”

  Robert dismissed his friend’s remarks with a gesture of his hand. “It’s over now, Chet. Actually, I think it will make it easier for Lydia to leave London tomorrow.”

  “Lydia, is it?” Chet finally grinned. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her that before tonight.”

  Robert smiled. It was a pretty name, just like she was. He caught himself from revealing too much and cleared his throat. “Well, we’ll be spending more time with each other. So…”

  With a conspiratorial grin, Chet leaned forward. “More time with your pretty wife? Good for you, Rob. I suspected all along, of course. Though Bren thought I was daft. But I was sure, mind you.”

  “Sure about what?” Robert frowned uneasily.

  “That you’re enamored with your wife. Don’t you think it’s odd that out of all the women at Staveley’s, Lydia is the one who caught your attention? And you raised heaven and hell to get her back under your roof, don’t bother to deny it. So the question is, my friend, are you going to make a real marriage of it?”

  Anxiously, Robert stood and walked around his desk. What was a real marriage? What he and Lydia had for the preceding five years was more harmonious than a number of ‘real marriages’ in Mayfair. But he knew what Chet really meant. “No, though we are discussing my need for an heir, other than Luke.”

  Chet’s booming laugh bounced off the study walls. “Call it what you want, Rob. But once you’ve had that beautiful lady in your bed, I don’t see you walking away from her. In fact, I’ll be disappointed if you do.”