Scandal

by Heather Cullman

  Her ladyship inclined her head in regal acknowledgment of his bow. "Mr. Harwood," she uttered in a clipped, precise voice.

  Gideon tightened his smile to keep it from faltering. Good God. What ever had possessed him to make him think that he could marry this bloodless paragon of over bred maidenhood? Not only was she utterly lacking in looks-not that looks were his first priority when judging a woman's merits, mind you-but there was absolutely nothing in her manner to suggest that she might at least be good company. To be sure, judging from her icy demeanor and the disdainful pursing of her pale lips, he doubted if she were the least bit familiar with genial words like tolerance, humor, and amiability.

  For several moments he seriously reconsidered his bargain with Lord Stanwell, wondering if, perhaps, he had been a jot hasty in agreeing to this match. Then he reminded himself of his reasons for doing so, the privileges that the union would bring to his family and the incalculable debt he owed them, and he grimly resigned himself to his wretched fate. Perhaps matters might not be so dismal if-

  "Mr. Harwood?" The words sliced through his thoughts, ringing with rebuke.

  Gideon heaved an inward sigh and reluctantly forced himself to refocus on the woman before him. By the frown creasing her brow, it was clear that she had said something that required a response from him. Unable to imagine what that response should be, yet wishing to set a tone of civility for their interview, he urged his fixed smile a fraction broader and improvised. "A thousand pardons, my lady. I fear that I was momentarily diverted by"-he glanced over her shoulder in search of an appropriate object to which he could ascribe his lapse in attentiveness-"your celestial globe," he smoothly inserted, choosing the first likely object to fall beneath his gaze. "It is a particularly fine example, the finest I have seen in London."

  "It is French," she replied shortly. "My great-grandfather purchased it in Paris half a century ago. I believe that it dates from the seventeenth century."

  "Indeed," he murmured for a lack of anything more conversational to say.

  She nodded, a gesture so stiff that he wondered if she had slept wrong the night before and thus had a sore neck. "Mr. Harwood, do excuse me if what I am about to say seems overly abrupt or rude, but we both know the reason for this meeting and it has nothing whatsoever to do with globes or other such chitchat. If you do not mind, I would prefer to address the matter at hand, and be done with it."

  Gideon narrowed his eyes, taken aback by her candor. He had expected her to play games, to dance around their business and cloak the issues in a veneer of inane banter. But it appeared that he had been wrong, that there might actually be pluck and a measure of intellect beneath the haughty Lady Julia's milk-and-water appearance. His interest piqued, he replied, "As you wish."

  "Excellent. Shall we sit?" She stepped back, gesturing to one of the spacious room's seating groups, consisting of a facing pair of sofas. With their formal serpentine backs and sparsely padded celadon-and-white damask upholstery, the dainty gilded-wood sofas could not have looked more exquisite or torturously uncomfortable. Then again the Gold and White Drawing Room, as the majordomo had referred to the aptly named space, appeared to have been decorated more to dazzle the beholder than to provide comfort for its occupants.

  Everything in the coldly elegant chamber was calculated in its perfection, from the pristine white walls and coved ceiling, both of which were lavishly decorated with gilded plasterwork, to the five ornately wrought gold chandeliers and matching wall sconces, all laden with expensive white beeswax candles. As one would expect from a family of such an ancient and noble lineage, the walls were hung with an assortment of dynastic portraits that, judging from the subjects' clothing, dated everywhere from Henry VIII down to the current period.

  When they reached the sofas, Lady Julia signaled that he was to occupy the one on her right, politely if coolly inquiring, "May I offer you refreshment, Mr. Harwood?"

  "No. Thank you." Truth be known, he had no intention of staying any longer than was absolutely necessary. He had decided as much on his ride here today, determining that he would outline what was to be done in the simplest and most businesslike of terms, and then take his leave. No fuss. No muss. Since, by her own admission, Lady Julia was eager to do the same, he saw no need to waste precious time on trifling niceties. Thus he waited until she had seated herself on the opposite sofa, then sat himself, commencing without preamble, "Shall we proceed, then?"

  "Yes. Of course." Another of her stiff-necked little nods. "We do have a great deal to discuss. However, before we begin, I feel as if I must explain our lack of chaperonage. No doubt you are wondering at the absence of an abigail?"

  Gideon nodded, though truth be told, he had been wondering nothing of the sort. Then again, there was nothing about her ladyship's person that he found the least bit enticing, so he was in no danger of being overwhelmed by the sort of ruttishness that would require dampening glares from a dried-up matron.

  At his nod, she replied, "Considering the shocking nature of our business, my father decided that our discussion would best be conducted in private. To be sure, were the unsavory details of this matter to become known, our family would, quite naturally, be ruined. But then, you already know that or you would not be here."

  Shocking business? Unsavory details? Ruined? Gideon shot her a quick glance, caught off guard by her words. One would think by her speech that her father had confessed the nature of his sins to her. Curious to find out if what he suspected was indeed true, he said, "Perhaps you should tell me exactly what your father told you, so that I will know where to begin our interview."

  She flushed at his words, giving proof that there was blood rather than ice water flowing through her veins, her amber eyes darting away from his steady gaze to stare at a place somewhere in the proximity of her feet. Her voice quavering with barely contained-what?-anger? chagrin? indignation?-she declared, "If you possess so much as a fiber of human compassion, sir, you will not humiliate me by forcing me to speak of my parent's shameful weakness. I can assure you that no one could have been more appalled or dismayed than I when I learned of it. This entire matter is unspeakably monstrous. A disgrace." She looked up then, and he saw the emotion in her face that he had been unable to read in her voice. It was resentment, pure and simple.

  That it was directed entirely at him came as no great surprise. Why, he could only imagine what a blow it must be to her aristocratic pride to be forced to wed a lowly commoner-a far worse one, no doubt, than learning of her father's bigamy. And he was now quite certain that the craven Lord Stanwell had indeed confessed his crime to his daughter. What else was he to make of her bitter little dialogue? Yes, and now that he had considered the matter more thoroughly, he would probably be safe in attributing a measure of her antipathy toward him to the fact that he had dared to challenge the code of justice popularly held by nobles: that their crimes should go unmarked and unpunished simply because they were of the peerage and thus above the law. That a mere commoner would have the unmitigated gall to confront her high-and-mighty father with his wrongdoing must rankle her to no end.

  Rankled himself by the thought of such conceit, he more snapped than said, "Since you appear to understand where matters stand in that regard, we will proceed to planning our courtship. Me being from an inferior station"-a little salt for the wound to her arrogance-"I am, of course, unfamiliar with the courtship rituals favored by the ton. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?" Not that he required any such instruction from her, having engaged a particularly experienced valet who could direct him in such matters, should he find himself in need of help. No. It was just that he wished to rub the salt in by forcing her to actually think about what lay ahead of her.

  She shrugged, a gesture as imperious as it was dismissive. "The conventional course of courtship begins with a formal introduction. I should think that even you would know that."

  "Ah. But this is hardly what could be termed as a conventional courtship, Lady Julia, is it?" he countered, ru
bbing the salt yet deeper.

  To her credit, she merely nodded, her expression void of the turmoil that had to be roiling beneath her coldly proud facade. "While that is true, Mr. Harwood, we must proceed as if it were conventional, at least we must if you wish it to be believable to the ton. And gaining acceptance into the ton is your sole reason for entering into this marriage, is it not?" The scorn in her voice was unmistakable.

  "Perhaps not the sole reason, but certainly one of the more compelling ones," he unabashedly admitted. At least she hadn't deluded herself into thinking that he desired her person.

  "Well then, in that instance it would be advisable to follow the tenets of courtship put forth by the ton. And the first on the list demands a formal introduction. It is usual for the gentleman to ask a credible third party to introduce him to the girl who has struck his fancy."

  "That hardly seems necessary since we have already been introduced."

  "Yes, but not publicly. As I understand matters, you wish our marriage to appear to be a love match. Correct?" She peered down her nose long enough to grace him with a querying look.

  He nodded.

  "Then you must appear to be smitten by the sight of me and beg for an introduction. And it must be done in the presence of the entire ton, though"-she sniffed, a singularly contemptuous and unpleasant sound-"exactly how you shall manage such a feat, I do not know. As you, yourself, pointed out, you are of a significantly lower station, so you are unlikely to be invited to any affair that will allow you to do so."

  Not just a lower station, but a significantly lower station. It seemed that Lady Julia wasn't above tossing a little salt herself. Unfortunately for her, he was not wounded by her reference to his inferior social standing, so her salt did not render the desired sting. Grinning now, to illustrate that failure, he drawled, "Do not worry your head on my account, my dear. Lord Shepley has taken care of that detail."

  She blinked and frowned, drawing back slightly, as if in incredulous disbelief. "He has?"

  "Yes. He has invited me to the ball he is holding in honor of his daughter two nights hence."

  "Oh? And exactly what sort of blackmail did you use to obtain the invitation?" The instant the words left her mouth, she bit her lip, flushing a rather interesting shade of beet red as she rushed to explain. "Er-it is just that Lord Shepley generally invites only members of the haute ton to his affairs, especially those honoring Amy. Do forgive me. I did not mean to suggest that you would actually blackmail him into an invitation."

  Like hell she didn't. Then again, could he really blame her for jumping to such a conclusion after the bargain he had struck with her father? Unable to fault her on that score, he nodded his acceptance of her apology. "I can assure you that I came by the invitation honestly. If you must know, it was the size of my deposit in his lordship's bank that prompted it. Apparently my wealth has done much to elevate my station in his eyes." He paused to chuckle. "That, and the fact that his daughter begged him to invite me. Lady Amy seems to be of the opinion that my presence will add luster to the occasion."

  Another of her disdainful sniffs. "I am sure that she does."

  "Meaning?" He regarded her with raised eyebrows.

  The challenging question hung in the air between them for several seconds; then she seized it and flung back, "I simply meant that Lady Amy is prone to silly schoolgirl crushes. Never fear, though. They seldom last past a fortnight. Amy is rather fickle in her affections, but"-she frowned and shook her head-"Amy and her affections are neither here nor there, are they?"

  "No. So do let us return to the business at hand."

  She nodded, her frown deepening. "Then I suppose it is settled. We will be formally introduced at Lord Shepley's ball on Thursday evening. We should most probably discuss how to go about it so as to ensure that matters proceed smoothly."

  He shrugged. "No need. Your father has already devised a plan."

  "What?" If the furrows in her forehead got any deeper, they would crease her skull. "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Exactly what I said. Your father has already devised a plan for our introduction. I am surprised that he did not outline it to you."

  She stared at him for several moments, her eyes slowly narrowing. Her mouth thinning with displeasure, she demanded, "Exactly what is your game, Mr. Harwood? I thought you said that you did not know how to go about our courtship."

  He shrugged again, deliberately ignoring her pique. "No game. I did and I do not."

  She out-and-out snorted at his response. "You must have at least an inkling to have so cozily arranged matters with my father."

  "We have arranged an introduction, nothing more. Your father said that I was to consult you for further details." That much was true. Like Lady Julia, Lord Stanwell seemed to think that anyone below the station of viscount was utterly lacking in breeding.

  "In that instance, you should have had the courtesy to tell me of my father's plan, so as to save me from wasting time on matters that have already been arranged."

  "I just did."

  "You should have mentioned it when I first broached the subject of an introduction." The accusation was punctuated by a singularly scornful sniff.

  Yet another shrug. "Do forgive me. I was operating under the false assumption that you knew of the plan." Of course he had been doing no such thing. He had allowed her to ramble on simply because he wished to see what she would say.

  By her expression, it was apparent that she did not believe his explanation. Nonetheless, she accepted it, saying, "In the future, please do be kind enough not to make any more such assumptions."

  "Fine."

  "Well then?"

  "Well then, what?" he inquired obtusely, though he knew perfectly well what she was asking. It was just that he did not care for the dictatorial manner in which she was asking it.

  "Well then, do tell me of my father's plan for our introduction." By her tone, it was an order, not a request.

  Gideon graced her with an abbreviated bow. "But of course. Your wish is my command, dear lady."

  His insolence earned him a withering look.

  Questioning anew the wisdom of the bargain he had made, Gideon explained, "I am to await your father's signal, which he will give when he is in what he deems as appropriate company to serve as witnesses, and then approach him begging for an introduction. He will, naturally, agree, saying that you had spied me with Lord Shepley at Vauxhall and have been unable to speak of anything else since. In short, he shall instigate the rumor that you were smitten with me at first sight."

  "If you are a gentleman, you will pretend to be equally enamored with me. A gentleman would say that he has been languishing with love for me and fears that he shall perish if he does not make my acquaintance," she pointed out with yet another of her sniffs.

  "If one must engage in pretentious banter in order to earn the title of gentleman, then I fear that I must refrain from trying."

  "A thousand pardons, Mr. Harwood. I should have guessed that such a feat would be beyond your capabilities."

  "Apology accepted, my lady. You may consider yourself pardoned," he returned, refusing to be pricked by her barb.

  Still another sniff. "You are too kind, sir."

  He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. "Not at all." Then he extended the neatly folded square of blue silk. "Here."

  She viewed his offering with visible confusion. "Excuse me?"

  "It is obvious from your repeated sniffing that your nose requires blowing."

  The nose in question promptly rose several inches into the air. "I can assure you that my nose is quite clear, Mr. Harwood. I also feel obligated to point out that a gentleman would never be so vulgar as to notice such a condition in a lady."

  "But we have already established that being a gentleman is beyond my capabilities, have we not?" he reminded her, returning the rejected handkerchief to its resting place.

  "Yes. And your actions just now have served simply to confirm my opinion."

  Gi
deon chuckled, which judging by her face was not the response she desired. "I am glad to hear that we have managed to settle at least that much."

  "Yes, and I wish to settle the remainder of our business before the day grows much older," she retorted waspishly.

  "Ah, yes. Our business. Now where were we?" He knew exactly where they had left off, but he was having far too much fun baiting her to stop now.

  "Our introduction at Lord Shepley's ball." Her exasperation was unmistakable.

  He made a show of thinking, then nodded. "Yes. Now I remember. After we are introduced, we are to dance, during which we must look appropriately bewitched by each other. That done, I shall return to your father and his friends and ask permission to court you."

  "I see that you do not intend to waste any time," she observed dryly.

  He shrugged. "What is the point in doing so, when the outcome will be the same?"

  "Nonetheless, I do hope that you intend to allow a decent period of courtship before having our engagement announced."

  "A month, no longer. We will be married two weeks later."

  "What!" She blanched a shade whiter, if such a thing was possible, and a hunted look crept into her eyes. It was the first honest emotion she had displayed since beginning their interview.

  Gideon nodded, pleased to have fractured her shell of aristocratic ice. "I have several rather pressing family matters to attend to in Lancashire, so I cannot spare any more time than that. That means that you must work especially hard on your performance. If you chatter constantly about me to your friends and acquaintances, they should be convinced enough of your infatuation that the announcement of our marriage shan't come as any great surprise to them."