Scandalous Brides

by Annette Blair

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The Earl held the younger man’s gaze. Although Willis showed a perfectly neutral expression, his clasped hands would not be still. Salt’s lips twitched. “I have not forgotten you are itching to speak with me in confidence. It will have to wait until I have had my bath and you have returned from your errand. Don’t go to the bookroom. Come up to my private apartments. Andrews will admit you.” He had a sudden thought and climbed down off his pedestal. “It can wait, what it is you want to discuss with me, can it, Rufus?”

  Willis was so astounded that the Earl knew his Christian name that he nodded dumbly, never mind that what he needed to tell the Earl was a matter of life and death. He reasoned that he had the blue bottle securely locked away in a cabinet and three burly footmen had been sent to guard the Countess’s sitting room, and as she would be surrounded by family, her ladyship and her unborn child were safe from any immediate malevolence from the Lady St. John.

  “Yes, my lord. Yes, it can wait.”

  Salt squeezed the under-butler’s shoulder. “Good. This is what I want you to do…”

  ~ ~ ~

  TOM HAD NOT needed a second prompting to do the Earl’s bidding. He was off across the tennis court at a run and disappeared through the door at the far end of the Royal Tennis Court into the corridor that connected up the Gallery boxes. Here he collided with Diana St. John.

  She gave a little start and pulled her petticoats to her to allow Tom to pass. But she did not move aside and blocked his exit. Flustered, she dropped her fan, which Tom retrieved, then made a show of brushing down her petticoats before asking if Tom knew the whereabouts of Lord Salt. She had a most urgent need to see him. It was about her son Ron, and so it was very important his lordship be told at once. Did Mr. Allenby know his direction? None of the servants seemed to have any idea, and as the butler and the under-butler were both missing from their posts, there was not one servant who could oblige her; such a disorderly household. No doubt the young Countess would, in time, fathom the simple intricacies of household management, but it must be such a disruption for Lord Salt, not to mention a nuisance, when his lordship had so much more important matters to occupy his time, running the country for one.

  Tom was about to protest and defend his stepsister but decided he did not have the time to waste on this woman and so his response was blunt and he did not linger.

  On his return to Grosvenor Square with the documents safely sequestered in a deep pocket of his frock coat, Tom came to the uneasy realization that Diana St. John had been heading away from the Gallery, not going to the Royal Tennis Court as she had intimated. She must have been secreted in one of the Gallery boxes eavesdropping on the Earl’s conversation. Waylaying Tom was a ploy to fluster him from knowing the truth and to gain her time. Once he put the documents safely in the Earl’s hands, he resolved to go immediately to Jane’s apartments.

  Diana St. John got to the Countess first.

  ~ ~ ~

  WHEN WILLIS was silently ushered into the warmth and opulent splendor of his master’s private apartments the Earl had discarded his tennis shirt and breeches for clothes more befitting his rank and surroundings. If this noble colossus dressed in velvet and silver lacings magnificence didn’t put the tremble into Willis’ knees, then the rigidity in the Earl’s handsome features certainly had the ability to turn the under-butler’s limbs to frumenty. He also had the distinct impression that whatever the physical malaise his master had suffered on the tennis court, it was now well and truly vanquished. The Earl was again totally in command of his physical and mental faculties. This only increased the under-butler’s discomfort. Face-to-face alone with his lordship was a world away from waiting on the young Countess, who not only made him feel at his ease and was open to taking his advice but also valued his opinion. He felt anything but easy and inclined to confidences with an implacable human edifice that had five hundred years of blue blood pumping through its veins.

  His master was preoccupied with reading a document by the light streaming in through an undraped window. So he patiently waited at the edge of the deep carpet and took an interest beyond the cavernous sitting room to the dressing room where the valet was fossicking about an enormous hipbath. Andrews stopped and stared the under-butler up and down with a you’re-not-wanted-here, nose-in-the-air, raise of his eyebrows that only increased Willis’ discomfort. Downstairs, Aloysius Andrews was a force to be reckoned with, and the only servant permitted to do and come and go as he pleased. Still, he had no place overhearing what Willis had to say, and his frowning disapproval was noted by the Earl who let it be known by a look over his gold-rimmed spectacles that Andrews was to take himself off.

  Finally beckoned forward, Willis wondered if his legs would carry him across the room, particularly when at that moment the nobleman tossed the folded document onto a walnut side table with a sharp expletive that made the under-butler wince. His hands were shaking when he placed a leather pouch and a small, fine-necked blue glass bottle on the walnut side table. And when the Earl slipped the pouch into his frock coat pocket without checking its contents, then stared at the blue glass bottle with a significant questioning raise of his eyebrows, Willis audibly gulped.

  An hour later, the under-butler emerged from his lordship’s private apartments on the brink of nervous collapse. Jenkins, with Andrews at his back, set upon him in the servant passageway, demanding to know by what right Willis had gone behind his back in seeking an audience with their noble employer without his permission. Willis stared at the butler expressionless, white-faced, and thin-lipped. He wiped the beading of sweat from his upper lip but said nothing. When he proceeded to walk off, Jenkins demanded he remain where he was or face instant dismissal for insubordination. Rufus Willis turned and with a slight bow quietly informed the astonished Mr. Jenkins and the jaw-slackened Andrews that it was quite unnecessary for him to go to so much trouble. He, Willis, no longer held the position of under-butler in this Grosvenor Square mansion; he would be gone by the end of the week. He then turned on a low heel and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster.

  ~ ~ ~

  ARTHUR ELLIS found the Countess of Salt Hendon in her pretty sitting room curled up with her needlework amongst the cushions in the window seat. The St. John children were playing with Viscount Fourpaws in front of the marble fireplace where radiated the warmth of a roaring fire. The children were laughing and happy, teasing the kitten with a length of ribbon, and the Countess was utterly captivating in a froth of sky-blue satin petticoats that flowed onto the floor, her shiny black hair piled atop her head and threaded with matching sky-blue satin ribbons that were the same color as her lovely eyes.

  It was a thoroughly delightful and calm domestic scene, and a welcome change for the secretary after the earlier drama down on the tennis court with his noble master suffering a seizure of some kind followed by his friend Tom Allenby charging into the bookroom unannounced brandishing parchment. When told the Earl was in his private apartments taking a bath and could not be disturbed, Tom winked at him and said his noble brother-in-law would certainly see him, in his bath or no, and dashed off, the secretary’s protests falling on deaf ears. And on the way to the Countess’s rooms via the servant passage, because it was quicker than taking the main stair and meant there was no likelihood of coming face to face with a lingering petitioner or unwanted afternoon guest, he had come upon Rufus Willis being harassed by Mr. Jenkins and Aloysius Andrews. He looked as if he had just been delivered news of his own execution.

  What Arthur wanted more than anything was a cup of Bohea tea, a slice of seedy cake and the Countess to smile upon him reassuringly. She seemed to read his mind because she was regarding him with an understanding smile as he straightened from a weary bow. She offered him a seat on the striped sofa.

  “Mr. Ellis! You’ve come to join us for tea,” Jane said with a bright smile, setting aside her needlework but remaining in the window seat. “But I’m afraid you are a little early, or
are we late?”

  “Ellis is early,” Ron announced, flinging the ribbon at his sister because he didn’t want to be seen playing with a kitten by one of his uncle’s male functionaries, after all he was almost nine years of age, and because it was Merry’s turn to amuse Viscount Fourpaws. “Besides, we’re waiting for Tom Allenby.”

  “He’s promised to tell us all about the manufacture of blue glass,” Merry volunteered, scooping the kitten into her arms, “so we’ll know all about it when he takes us on a visit of his factories. Have you been to Tom Allenby’s factories, Aunt Jane?”

  “No, but I should like to. Perhaps we can all go together?” Jane suggested. “Shall you come with us, Mr. Ellis? Or has Tom already taken you to his Bristol manufactories?”

  Arthur was slow to respond. In fact, he had not heard a word Jane said. He was staring openly at her. There was something about her today, something he could not quite put his finger on. She was radiant. Yes, that was it. Radiant. She’d had that same radiance four autumns ago when he had visited Tom at Despard Park, around the time of the Salt Hunt Ball.

  “It’s bad mannered to stare, Ellis,” Ron stated flatly, leaning against the window seat close to Jane.

  “Everyone stares at Aunt Jane, Ron,” Merry responded matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t mind. Do you, Aunt Jane?”

  “A-apologies, my lady,” Arthur stammered. “Tea-tea and c-cake would be most welcome, thank you.”

  “It’s perfectly all right for the unwashed to stare, because they know no better,” Ron lectured his sister. “And they aren’t ever likely to come across a fairy because they don’t own gardens. But it’s wrong for servants to stare. Uncle Salt would not like that at all.”

  “Mr. Ellis is not a servant. He’s a secretary,” Merry corrected her brother.

  “Fairy?” Arthur Ellis enquired diffidently, an eye on the Countess. “Whoever said such a thing, Master Ron?”

  Ron shrugged a thin shoulder. “Caroline said—”

  “—Uncle Salt found Aunt Jane at the bottom of his garden,” Merry interrupted, “amongst the flowers. Cousin Caroline said that’s where fairies take their tea, made from crushed dandelions, and that Uncle Salt picked Aunt Jane because she was by far the prettiest and nicest fairy he—”

  “Don’t be a widgeon, Merry! Fairies don’t drink tea. They drink…”

  Arthur Ellis took the opportunity in the ensuing argument between the twins about tea and fairies, real or imagined, to seek the Countess’s attention. “My lady, a word in private, if I may,” he asked, a pointed glance at Ron and Merry.

  The twins were not so wrapped up in their argument as Arthur Ellis had hoped. The loud chorus of disapproval that greeted his suggestion had Jane up off the window seat and brushing down her petticoats.

  “Dear me! What a great noise about very little. No. Stay where you are. The tea things will be here shortly, and so will your Cousin Caroline. Mr. Ellis and I will go through to the dressing room. Besides,” she added, picking up a handful of her petticoats and bustling through to her dressing room, “I must find out if Anne has returned. She went on an errand and was away so long I did my own hair. Perhaps she—”

  Jane was brought up short in the doorway by the startling sight of her personal maid being stood over by Lady St. John, who had the girl by the upper arm and was giving her a good shake.

  “My lady? Why are you in my private rooms?” Jane demanded. “And by what right are you abusing my maid?”

  “Your maid, madam, is a thief and a liar,” Diana St. John announced. “She stole something from me of great sentimental value and I want it returned or she’ll hang!”

  “My lady, I did not steal—”

  “Liar!”

  “Unhand her, my lady,” Jane ordered. “It is not your business to seek out my servants and mistreat them, whatever you think they may have done. You come to me with your concerns first.”

  “Good Lord! Two minutes a countess and you are an authority on how to treat miscreant servants? You really should leave such matters to those who have the experience to deal with the likes of this insolent creature.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need your advice.” Jane led her maid a little way off. “Do you have Lady St. John’s property?” she asked gently. “Please, don’t cry. I will believe what you tell me, Anne.”

  That brought Anne’s head up and she sniffed. “I did not steal what does not belong to Lady St. John, my lady,” she whispered and stared at the Countess meaningfully, a quick glance at Diana St. John. “Mr. Willis returned the article to his lordship as he was requested to do.”

  Jane held the maid’s gaze. “Returned?” When the maid nodded and lightly placed a hand at the base of her throat, Jane understood. “Thank you, Anne.”

  “And the blue bottle?” Diana St. John enquired boldly of the maid. “What did you do with the blue bottle?”

  Standing behind the Countess, Anne felt brave enough to look Lady St. John in the face. “Mr. Willis has that too, my lady.”

  Diana St. John took a step forward, teeth and hands clenched. “That was a singularly stupid thing to do, you little fool!”

  “Regardless of your opinion of my maid’s actions, you see that she does not have what it is you want,” Jane answered calmly. “I believe you are required in his lordship’s bookroom…”

  “I was sent to fetch you, my lady,” Arthur Ellis said and nervously stepped forward, saying to the Countess with a significant look, “His lordship was particularly desirous of Lady St. John’s company and has been patiently waiting for her in his bookroom.”

  Diana St. John’s smile was superior. “To think he spent the entire night at my house and now demands to see me again not so many hours after he left,” she cooed with delight. “You poor wretch, just three months a bride and already he has lost interest. I predicted as much. Those two nights this past sennight that he strayed from your bed—”

  “He was with me at Arlington Street,” Sir Antony explained, strolling further into the now crowded dressing room, twirling his quizzing glass on its riband. “Two late sittings of Parliament and dinner both nights with yours truly. He was worn thin, so thin that I was able to persuade him to spend the night in his old rooms. Apologies for keeping him from you, my lady,” he said to Jane with a bow and sidled up to his sister, saying under his breath, “Your mischief–making is as stale as yesterday’s loaf, Di. Give it up before you embarrass yourself further.”

  “Milk sop,” Diana St. John hissed and with a swish of her petticoats turned and swept out of the room, saying cryptically on a sigh, “If you want something done, best to do it yourself.”

  Unperturbed, Sir Antony shrugged and looked at the secretary. “Three brutes are guarding her ladyship’s sitting room door. Can you enlighten us, Ellis?”

  “Please do not be alarmed, my lady,” said the secretary. “The men have been posted on his lordship’s request should Lady St. John attempt to re-enter these rooms at the conclusion of her interview with his lordship. They have been instructed to keep all comers from your door.”

  “Fat lot of good they proved to be!” Sir Antony rightly pointed out. “Dratted fellows tried to keep me from joining the tea party, and me dressed in fresh powder and frock coat. The tea party, I might add, is in full swing out there. Looks like you could use a strong dish of Bohea, Ellis,” he added good-naturedly with a slap to the secretary’s thin back, a wink at Jane as he led Arthur back into the sitting room.

  So much for the effectiveness of three burly footmen keeping all and sundry away! Arthur knew when to bow to force majeure. He also knew what was expected of him and quietly perched on a corner of a sofa and gratefully accepted a dish of tea, a beady eye on the Lady St. John, who, far from dashing off to the Earl’s bookroom as requested, had taken it upon herself to sit by the teapot. With the help of her daughter, she distributed the dishes of tea and the assortment of almond and ratafia biscuits, seedy and lemon cakes amongst the assembled company.

  Jane ma
de no attempt to dislodge Diana St. John to take her rightful place in front of her own tea things, despite her great annoyance that the woman had the barefaced audacity to remain in her sitting room and assume control of proceedings. Instead, she quietly returned to the window seat and picked up her needlework, deeming it best for all concerned, particularly the twins, to humor Diana St. John; let her believe she was in control if it kept her calm until the Earl had the children away from her. The woman’s openly hostile behavior towards Anne was indication enough that she was more unstable than Jane had at first thought.

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice the Lady Caroline had taken up residence on the chaise longue, where she sat with Ron, giving Viscount Fourpaws a good scratch behind both ears, until she began verbally sparring with Diana St. John; not the most conducive activity to maintaining a calm environment.

  “Does anyone know why Salt’s been in his apartments since forever?” Lady Caroline asked, gathering up her froth of silk petticoats in expectation of Sir Antony sitting beside her. When he chose to warm his hands in front of the fireplace she pouted but pretended not to notice, adding, “Perhaps he’s taking a well-earned nap?” a sickly-sweet smile directed at Diana St. John. “Who can blame him when he was awake most of the night playing at nursemaid.”

  Lady St. John selected a sugared plum from a bowl amongst the clutter on the tea trolley. “Caroline, you have no right questioning Salt’s devotion to my son.”

  “Oh, it’s not his devotion to Ron that concerns me, Cousin,” Lady Caroline responded, a genuine smile at Ron.

  She gave him the kitten and eyed Diana St. John resentfully. She had never cared for Diana, who had made a habit of monopolizing her brother’s time and attention since she could remember, and she remembered a great deal. It was only four years since the death of her favorite uncle St. John. He had always taken the time to talk with her as if her thoughts and opinions were important to him, which is how Salt had always treated her, as a person, not as an object to be owned or ignored as if she was part of the furniture, which is how Diana saw her and thus dismissed her existence as unimportant. Thus, it did not matter to Diana that Caroline saw and heard how she mistreated St. John, their heated arguments, the overt flirting with every male visitor to Salt Hall, but most particularly of all how she monopolized Salt’s time and attention, which made Caroline loathe her all the more.