Wallflower Most Wanted--A Studies in Scandal Novel

by Manda Collins

  Their night together had been a revelation for Sophia and she had found herself wondering how she could possibly have gone through her life before without him. Ben was kind and funny and warm, and when she was in his arms she felt as if they were invincible. Alone, apart, they were strong. But together? They could do anything.

  Even bring down a forgery scheme that had flummoxed the Home Office for almost a year.

  “The clues were there,” Sophia said with a shake of her head. “We just didn’t know to look for them.”

  “Maitland told me that Lady Celeste took a real interest in Greaves’ painting,” Daphne said, looking sad. “She told him once that Greaves had real talent, but no imagination. Which is why he was so good at copying masterpieces, I suppose.”

  “I must confess that it never occurred to me,” Sophia admitted, her own feelings of guilt still lingering despite Ben’s reassurances that she was not to blame. “He took an interest in my work, but I thought that was all it was. I had no notion that he had ambitions of his own. And I was far too wedded to the notion that Ryder and then the Primbles must be responsible for the forgeries. I fell into the habit of seeing what he wished me to see. A servant.”

  “He fooled us all,” Gemma said, patting her hand. “Even Lady Celeste. When I think of how brilliant she was, how much she managed to foresee before her untimely death, it’s maddening to think of how she missed the turncoat living under her very own roof.”

  “I wonder what the authorities will do to him,” Ivy said with a shiver. “If he did in fact kill Mr. Framingham, then it’s likely he’ll face hanging.”

  “We’ll know more when the men come back from seeing the magistrate,” Sophia said. “I suppose the Home Office will need to speak to both Greaves and Morgan before anything can go forward. Ben said that they had suspicions that the money from the forgeries was being sent by Morgan to a group of Bonapartists.”

  “What on Earth for?” Gemma asked, aghast. “Haven’t we spent enough years at war? Why would they wish for such carnage again?”

  It was the same question Sophia had asked Ben, whose response had been galling.

  “Because in addition to cotton mills,” she told them, “Morgan also owns several factories which manufacture supplies for the military.”

  Daphne said a word that was not appropriate for mixed company.

  “For once,” Ivy said to her, “I agree with you. What a horrid man. To think that he would try to foment war simply for the purposes of lining his own pockets.”

  “It’s despicable,” Sophia agreed. “I just shudder to think what would have happened if Ben and I hadn’t overheard his conversation with Framingham at the ball. We might never have become interested in the forgeries at all.”

  Ben had told her last night that the industrialist’s crimes hadn’t stopped at treason either. She’d been horrified to learn what Morgan had done to Mrs. Debenham. As if his other crimes weren’t disgusting enough, he’d attempted to intimidate the widow into a liaison.

  “Speaking of,” Gemma said with a frown. “Why did Greaves give you the letter from Lady Celeste? Surely it would have been in his best interest to keep that information from you as long as possible.”

  Sophia shrugged. “I’m not really sure. All I can think is that he knew I was looking into the matter anyway. And that Lady Celeste’s letter cast suspicions on the Primbles since she and Evelyn were such good friends. I wondered if he had read the letter before he gave it to me. I decided he must have. The seal did look odd. He must have melted it then re-sealed it. Lady Celeste had several seals in her study. It would have been easy enough for Greaves to get hold of it and melt some wax.”

  “It’s all so hard to believe,” Ivy said. “Such a great many mysteries left behind by Lady Celeste. And even though they were all left unsolved, I cannot think we would have even known about them if she hadn’t gone to such lengths to leave us the clues.”

  “She was a remarkable woman,” Sophia agreed.

  “And so are you, Sophia,” said Gemma with a smile. “I can’t wait to see your paintings at the exhibition next week.”

  “Now that Morgan is out of the way you’ll be able to show them without objection, right?” Daphne asked.

  “I believe so,” Sophia said. “I shall have to speak to the Primbles, of course, though I believe they will allow it. It was always Morgan’s attempts to influence the committee that stood in my way.”

  Just then, the sound of the front door alerted them to the fact that the gentlemen had returned.

  Daphne and Ivy rose and went to investigate, leaving Gemma and Sophia at the table.

  “I am happy for you,” Gemma told her sister with a grin. “Even if knowing Lord Benedick spent the night here has stripped away my last vestige of maidenly innocence.”

  “Oh, please,” Sophia said with roll of her eyes. “You are as prone to fits of virginal blushes as I am.”

  “You wound me,” Gemma replied before ruining the effect by sticking out her tongue.

  Their teasing was interrupted by the entrance of Serena, who was followed closely behind by Ben whose cheekbones were suspiciously pink.

  “Gemma,” said Serena in a suspiciously calm voice, “would you leave the three of us alone for a moment?”

  Gemma bit back a giggle, before giving her sister a wide-eyed look. Aloud she said, “Of course.”

  When she was gone, Serena shut the door behind her and Ben went to sit beside Sophia. Under the table, he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. Exhaling gustily, Serena took the chair opposite the couple and poured herself a cup of tea. “I believe we had a wager, Sophia,” she said in a suspiciously calm voice.

  Sophia relaxed a little, and squeezed Ben’s hand. “We did. Any of my paintings you want.”

  After taking a sip of tea, Serena settled her cup back on its saucer. She turned her attention to the vicar and shook her head. “I thought if I could count on anyone to conduct himself with propriety, Lord Benedick, it would be the vicar. I hope the two of you are satisfied. I’ve now proven myself to be the least effective chaperone in Sussex. Possibly all of England.”

  “Don’t say that, dearest,” Sophia said with a frown. “It’s a silly antiquated notion in any event. I’m my own person and responsible for my own actions. One hardly expects you to sit with a shotgun outside our bedchambers.”

  Clearing his throat, Ben added, “I take full responsibility for the lapse in propriety, Lady Serena. And I promise you that we will be wed as soon as possible by special license.

  “Don’t you dare take responsibility for me, Ben,” Sophia said hotly, pulling her hand from his. “You hardly forced yourself on me.”

  “But I should have been strong enough to resist,” he countered in a heated whisper. “Let me take the blame.”

  “I certainly will n—”

  “Children, please!” Serena said sharply. “It doesn’t matter which of you seduced the other. What matters is that you marry soon enough to preserve both your reputations. Which I am happy to learn is your plan, Lord Benedick. In that, at least, we are in agreement.”

  “I am pleased to hear you approve, Lady Serena,” Ben said with a nod. “And I can assure you, in your role as guardian, that I love Sophia and will do my utmost to make her happy.”

  “Why must you be so sweet,” Sophia said pettishly. “I wasn’t finished being cross with you over your high-handedness.”

  She kissed him on the cheek to take away the sting of her words, and then slipped her hand back into his.

  “Completely without remorse,” Serena said with a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m surprised since neither my cousin and Ivy, nor my brother and Daphne showed an inkling of regret either.”

  “It’s difficult to feel sorry when you can’t stop smiling,” Sophia said grinning.

  “Come give me a hug, then,” Serena said, opening her arms, and Sophia and Ben rose and crossed to the other side of the table to exchange embraces with Lady Serena.<
br />
  “I’m pleased for you, my dear,” she told Sophia as she held her close. “Be happy, that is all I ask.”

  To Ben, she said, “I will keep you to your promise, you know.”

  Then, giving them one last shake of the head, she told Sophia. “Instead of one of your paintings that is already finished, I have a special request.”

  “Anything,” Sophia said, blinking back tears of joy and gratitude.

  “I should like a portrait of Jem, if you feel up to it. I know as the baronet, he should have an official portrait, but I should feel better knowing his likeness is in the hands of someone who knows and loves him.”

  “I would be honored,” Sophia said, clasping her hand to her chest. “Truly.”

  “Good,” Serena responded with a smile. “Now I’ll leave you alone. But please recall that servants are quite observant and that the walls in this house are not quite as thick as everyone seems to think.”

  With that closing remark, she left them, shutting the door behind her.

  Almost as soon as the door clicked shut, both Sophia and Ben burst into peals of laughter. When Sophia grasped onto his arm to hold herself up, he pulled her close and soon their giggles turned into kisses.

  “I missed you,” he said in a low voice that played over her spine like a bow on a violin string, echoing his fingers doing the same thing. “It took every ounce of strength to leave you sleeping this morning and go back to the vicarage.”

  “I missed you too,” she said, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “Were you able to send for the vicar in Bexhill?”

  “Yes,” he said with a broad smile. “I asked him to come tomorrow. Unless something unforeseen happens, by dinnertime tomorrow we’ll be wed.”

  Sophia gave a squeal of excitement. “I can’t wait.”

  “You’re sure you don’t wish to wait for our families?” he asked, his tone serious. “I’m eager to say our vows too, but I am happy to wait if you wish it.”

  Kissing her on the nose, he added, “I will do whatever you wish.”

  “You will?” she asked, her voice going soft.

  “Perhaps you haven’t noticed yet, Miss Hastings,” he said with mock solemnity, “but I am utterly devoted to you.”

  “You are?”

  To prove how charmed she was by this, she took his mouth and it was some minutes before they spoke again.

  “Miss Hastings, please,” Ben said with mock severity when they came up for air. “Whatever will the neighbors think?”

  “That I’m pleased at the idea of marrying you?” she asked, feeling her heart swell with so much love she could hardly bear it. “Because I am.”

  “So, is that a no on waiting for our families?” he asked a moment later.

  “We can celebrate with them later,” Sophia said, her whole being suffused with love. “For now I want you all to myself.”

  If his kiss was any indication, Ben most heartily approved of the notion.

  Epilogue

  “I don’t know, Miss Hastings,” said the mayor with a shake of his head. Then, catching his mistake, he said, “I mean Lady Benedick. I do apologize. It’s hard for me to remember your good news. What I mean is that, I don’t know, Lady Benedick, how I feel about this painting. If you’ll pardon me for the admission. It just doesn’t seem proper.”

  They were standing in the empty exhibition hall, where Sophia’s painting, Fallen, was hanging high on the wall above a landscape by one of the Primrose Green artists and beside a mediocre still life of some fruit by the butcher’s wife. It was hardly the most illustrious showing for an artist of Sophia’s caliber. But given the work that she’d had to put forth in order to get it here, she wasn’t complaining.

  Now, in the quiet before the doors were opened to the local populace, she had come to take one last look and had found the mayor standing transfixed before it.

  “I agree that the subject matter is rather difficult, Mr. Mayor,” she said carefully. She preferred not to receive criticism of her works directly from the mouths of her audience. It was much easier to make the decision about whether or not to pay attention when it came in the form of a newspaper column or a magazine review. “But I think anything that makes people think must be accounted a good thing, do you not?”

  He turned to her, his bushy brows furrowed. “I…” Then, as if the sun had suddenly clarified things he laughed. “Goodness me, no. I don’t mean the dead lady there.” He pointed a beefy finger to the figure of the dead prostitute at the edge of the painting. “I meant that we should divide ’em up by type. Your painting is very good. But it’s got people in it. I think we ought to have a section for people and a section for fruits and a section for trees and the like.”

  She turned to look at him, arrested by his placid acceptance of the fact that her painting—an indictment on the disposable manner in which men in the upper classes treated women—upset many of the proprieties laid out by polite society, and instead was troubled that it was placed between fruit and a stand of trees.

  “I’m afraid that’s not up to me,” she said, relieved to be able to say so. “You should bring it up with Mrs. Primble. I believe she’s over there by the refreshment table.”

  With a nod, the mayor shambled off to share his concern with the chair of the committee. She gave one last look upward, and was startled to feel a hand at the small of her back. As caresses went, it was subtle, and likely no one would have seen it given its speed. But she knew who it was without turning.

  “Lady Benedick, have I told you today that you’re talented beyond measure?” Ben asked from where he stood just close enough behind her so that she could feel his warmth.

  “I believe you told me that this morning,” she said, remembering just how much his praise of that talent in particular had pleased her. She was still a relative novice, but she was eager to gain more proficiency. And he seemed quite happy with the frequency with which she insisted upon practicing.

  “And so I did,” his voice got that roughness that told her he was remembering that morning’s activities too. “And so you are. Talented at any number of things.”

  “Why, thank you, Vicar,” she said with a coy smile.

  “Minx,” he said with an answering grin.

  Then, changing the subject, he asked, “What was the mayor saying to you? He looked very concerned. I was worried he might be upset by your work.”

  When she told him what the mayor’s pressing concern had been, he threw his head back and laughed.

  “It’s not that funny,” she said with a chiding tone.

  “Oh, I disagree,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’ve been dreading this day for you. Because I know how talented you are, and how exquisite your work is. But I didn’t trust the good people of Little Seaford to appreciate it. So, imagine my relief when the worst our mayor has to say about it is that it’s been misplaced.”

  Her heart constricted. “You’ve been worried for me?” She fell in love with him all over again in that moment.

  “Of course I have,” he said, with a frown. “I want every minute of your every day to be a pleasure. I know that’s not possible. But I want it for you nonetheless.”

  Not caring who saw them, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Since it was a public venue—and no matter how they might feel about one another, they did have a certain level of propriety to maintain—she quickly withdrew and settled for slipping her arm into his for the moment.

  “I almost forgot,” he said when they’d stepped further down the line of paintings. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a letter. “This came for you, and Serena asked me to give it to you.”

  Recognizing Aunt Dahlia’s handwriting, Sophia quickly unfolded the missive and scanned the crabbed writing for the highlights. But one line in particular leapt out at her and she gasped.

  At almost the same moment, there was a commotion at the door to the exhibition hall.

  “I am well able to walk on
my own, young man,” said Miss Dahlia Hastings, still dressed for travel as she entered the large room flanked by the Duke of Maitland and Daphne. “I am hardly so old and infirm that I cannot cross a threshold without assistance. Now, tell me where I can find my nieces, if you please.”

  Suppressing a laugh, Sophia pulled Ben toward where a sheepish-looking Maitland waited with Daphne and Aunt Dahlia.

  “You did seem to stumble when you climbed down from the carriage,” Daphne said in her blunt fashion. “I think maybe you are wrong about yourself.”

  “Aunt Dahlia,” Sophia said before her aunt could respond in her own blistering fashion to the duchess, “What a surprise. I only just now received your letter.”

  The old woman’s face softened for just a fraction when she saw her niece. “Finally,” she said with a nod. “Someone with sense. I am happy to see you, my dear child.”

  Ignoring the hand her aunt offered, Sophia hugged her. Aunt Dahlia might not be particularly demonstrative, but she was not opposed to affection. “It’s good to see you. I have news.”

  Stepping back a little stiffly, her aunt pinned her with a narrow gaze. “If you mean the news that you have up and married a vicar without so much as a by-your-leave, young lady,” she said with a scowl, “I’ve already heard it. It was the first thing your sister told me when I saw her at Celeste’s house. Your parents will be none too pleased, I can tell you. Your Mama was hoping—despite your attempts to dissuade her—on a viscount at the least. Still, you might have married a blacksmith as you threatened to do. I’ll never forget the look on her face.”

  Sophia took the opportunity to speak while her aunt drew breath.

  “There was no time to let them know, you see, and—”

  But her aunt had already turned to Ben, who bowed over her wrinkled, beringed hand. “Miss Hastings,” he said with the typical Lisle charm, “I am so pleased to meet the strong lady who helped shape my dear Sophia into the jewel she is today.”

  Turning to Sophia, Aunt Dahlia said in a stage whisper, “I can see why you rushed this one to the altar, my gel. Vicar or no, he’s a charmer, isn’t he?”