Scandal

by Heather Cullman

  "B-but six weeks?" She shook her head over and over again. "Impossible! Why. it will be whispered that you compromised me and that we have to be wed lest there be a seven-month baby."

  "Compromise? Hmmm. Now there is an intriguing notion." He made a show of furrowing his brow, pretending to be seriously considering the idea as an option. Keeping his voice to a murmur, as if musing out loud, he said, "Let me see now. If I were to compromise you Thursday night, we could be wed in, oh, a fortnight at the most. Then we could dispense with this nonsense." He nodded, as if warming to the idea. "Yes. And if we exert an effort to make your seduction appear exceedingly passionate in nature, why no one will think to question our love."

  She could not have looked more appalled. "Surely you jest?"

  For several moments he was tempted to say no, to take her down yet another peg. Then his innate sense of gallantry overrode his annoyance at her arrogance, and he nodded. "Yes, though I must admit that the idea does have its merits."

  She made a derisive noise, one that made him instantly regret his clemency. "It most certainly does not have merit. I, for one, would never participate in such a display. No respectable woman would willingly allow herself to become the object of scandal."

  "Yes. And anyone can see that you are, above all else, a paragon of respectability." He flung the words like the insult they were meant to be. Hot color flooded her cheeks, and her spine straightened with a brutality that made him wonder that it did not snap. Once, twice, thrice she opened her mouth, as if trying to expel her indignation. Before she could open it a fourth time and perhaps succeed in her vexed purpose, he said, "Since we do not wish your reputation to be tainted by the slightest breath of scandal, I shall charge you, who are such a flower of propriety, with the duty of deciding how we will progress from our introduction."

  Though she looked as if she would rather tell him to go to the devil, and in truth he expected her to do so, she surprised him by evenly replying, "You must call on me the morning after the ball. If you wish to appear especially smitten, you will bring me a nosegay. After you have called several times, you must include a sweet, such as a basket of strawberries or a beribboned box of bonbons. Later on you may bring me a fan or a book of poetry." She smiled with an infuriating air of superiority. "In spite of what you might think, Mr. Harwood, I have a bevy of suitors and they are likely to be present when you call. If they are to judge your intentions toward me as true and honorable, you must impress them with your romantic fervor. Please believe me when I say that their report to the ton will have much to do with whether or not you gain your desired acceptance into their ranks."

  Gideon snorted at the notion of her suitors. "If your admirers are all as witless as that popinjay Lord Wolton, they should be simple enough to convince."

  "If you say so, Mr. Harwood," she returned in a patronizing voice.

  "I do," he snapped, nearing the end of his patience. "What else is to be done?"

  "We must be seen in public together as often as possible. I assume that you are not cow-handed with the reins?"

  "I can handle a gig, if that is what you mean."

  "Fine. Then you may take me driving in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. May I assume that you know when that is?" By the smugness of her expression, it was clear that she assumed no such thing.

  "Of course I do," he lied, not about to give her the satisfaction of admitting his ignorance. No doubt his valet, Gilchrist, could enlighten him as to the specifics. "What else?"

  She thought for a moment and then replied, "You may squire me to the theater, but only in the company of my parents. They have boxes at King's Theater and Covent Garden. Considering the circumstances, I am sure that my father will be amendable to including you in our party whenever we attend. You would also do well to ask my father to include you in some of his more manly pastimes. After all, it is important to appearances that my parents seem to accept you. If they welcome you, there is a good chance that other ton members will follow suit."

  Though the last thing in the world he wished to do was spend time with her father, Gideon saw that there was no help for it, so he nodded. "Fine. Is there anything else?"

  "Well"-her gaze darted to her feet-"In order for our charade to be truly successful we must, er-" She bit her lip, her cheeks again staining a beet red.

  "Must what?" he prompted impatiently, growing bored with the tedious subject.

  "We must . . . mmm ... act like lovers."

  So much for boredom. "Oh?"

  She nodded, her gaze still glued to her feet.

  "And how do you propose we do that?" He really wanted to know.

  She made a helpless little hand gesture. "We must do things like-like sit together and whisper, as if sharing endearments. And you must compliment me at every turn. It would also help if you clung to my every word, as if fascinated. And-and well"-she shot him a rather desperate look-"you take my meaning, do you not?"

  He pretended to think on what she had just told him, ticking off, "Let me see, now. Whispered endearments. Compliments. Clinging to every word." He paused to frown. "Are lingering glances across the room in order?"

  "I suppose so. Yes."

  "And holding hands?"

  "Um . . . after an appropriate interval of time, yes."

  "Which is?"

  "Considering the shortness of our engagement, I suppose that it will be permissible to do so"-she shook her head and looked up at him-"oh. I guess it will have to be the week before we announce our engagement."

  Again he pretended to contemplate the matter, and then inquired, "How about kissing?" He simply could not resist asking.

  Her gaze flew back to her feet. "Kissing?" she squeaked.

  "Yes. It is when two people, usually ones who bear a measure of affection for each other, express their feelings by caressing one another with their lips."

  "I know what a kiss is," she snapped, casting him a venomous look.

  "Seeing as how you are so very respectable, I could not be sure."

  If looks could kill . . . "You may kiss me when our engagement is announced. However, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so again until the moment you must kiss me in order to seal our marriage vows."

  He would most definitely have no problem honoring that request. "Fine. Is there anything else I should know?"

  She seemed to consider, then sighed and shook her head. "I am sure there is more, but at the moment I cannot imagine what it is. As you can probably understand, this is all rather trying for me, and I am not properly able to think."

  "I can assure you that I do indeed understand." And he did. After all, this was hardly a carnival of chuckles for him either.

  For several moments thereafter they remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Gideon was about to take his leave, having concluded that their interview had come to an end, when Lady Julia murmured, "Is there anything you wish to add to all of this, Mr. Harwood?"

  Was there? There was. Well, at least something he felt obligated to say out of a sense of decency. For in spite of what the supercilious Lady Julia might think or say about him, he was a gentleman. Nodding, he quietly replied, "Only my promise that I will make the best of this situation. I sincerely hope that you will do the same."

  Her lips tightened and she drew herself up straight, as if she were a martyr mounted on her high horse. "What choice do I have?" she inquired tersely, her eyes flashing with self-righteous reproach. "Please know, sir, that I shall do whatever I must to save my family from shame and ruin, regardless of the cost to myself. It is my duty to do so."

  "How very honorable," he sneered, infuriated by her saintly outrage. If she were anything like her father, and he was beginning to suspect that she was, judging from her demeanor, then the only thing she was truly interested in saving was her precious position in society.

  She reverted back to sniffing her disparagement. "Considering the circumstances, Mr. Harwood, I must wonder if you even know the meaning of the word 'honor.'
"

  He had to admit that she had every right to question his honor. After all, if he were truly honorable, he would never have consented to her father's bargain. Then again, if honor were so blasted important to her, she would have refused to participate in this charade and damn the consequences. Not that there would have been any. At least not from him. Truth be told, had she refused to sanction her father's plan and had told them all to go to the devil, he would have kept silent forever out of admiration for her ethics.

  Heaving an inward sigh, he glanced at the woman across from him. She sat rigidly erect, as if someone had shoved a rod down her spine, stabbing him with her hostile gaze.

  If only she had had the character to say no. If only he'd had the strength to deny the temptation of the bargain. If only. But, of course, as with all of his "if onlys," it was too late to mend matters now.

  Chapter 7

  Julia had been at Amy's ball for well over an hour, and Gideon Harwood had yet to appear.

  Not that she cared.

  Not a jot.

  Indeed, nothing could have pleased her more than if the blackguard took himself back to whatever God-forsaken hellhole he had crawled from, and never returned.

  But, of course, that was a lie. She did care. She had no choice but to do so.

  Julia smiled cordially as she curtsied to Lord Farndell, a genial but exceedingly gawky young earl, thus concluding the final figure of the cotillion they danced. If Mr. Harwood did not come tonight, she could be almost certain that he had decided to call off the bargain he had made with her father. Then they would be ruined. And it would all be her fault. As her dance partner escorted her back to her aunt Aurelia, who was often called upon during the Season to serve as her chaperon, Julia cursed her ungovernable temper.

  She had behaved abominably toward Mr. Harwood when he had called two days earlier, like a shrew-the worst sort of termagant-baiting and pricking him at every turn. Heaven help her, she had been unable to stop herself from doing so, in spite of her good intentions. And she had indeed planned to be on her best behavior when she had entered the room that afternoon, promising herself that she would take the utmost pains to be all that was amiable and pleasing.

  She had also vowed that she would not do or say anything that might prompt him to rethink the bargain and thus endanger her siblings. But then, well, what could she possibly say in her own defense? He had been so arrogant, so blasted smug and sure of himself, as if what he did was somehow just and righteous, that she had been unable to contain her outrage. The way he had spoken to her-why, one would have thought that he was of the nobility and she a mere commoner from the lack of deference he had shown her. He was insufferable, that is what he was. Yes, he was an insufferable, blackmailing scoundrel, the worst sort of villain.

  Oh please, God. Let him come tonight and beg her father's permission to court her. She had just proposed a bargain to the powers that be, promising to bridle her tongue and temper her pride with humility in exchange for a second chance with Gideon Harwood, when Lord Farndell interrupted her negotiations.

  "A pleasure, as always, my dearest Lady Julia," he gushed, gazing at her as if she were the sun around which his world revolved. "Indeed, I cannot think of a greater pleasure or privilege in life than dancing with you." Now coming to a stop before her aunt, who sat in one of the chairs lining the ballroom walls, looking regal yet appropriately unassuming in her dark blue sarcenet gown, he captured both of Julia's hands in his and hugged them to his heart, impetuously murmuring, "May I be so bold as to say that you dance as lightly as a rose petal on a soft spring breeze? That the beauty of your smile warms my heart, and that the music of your laughter lifts my soul on wings of euphoric gladness?"

  Julia nodded her acceptance of his rhapsodic gallantry. Excessive flattery, it seemed, had become all the rage among the gentlemen of late, for she had yet to have a dance partner that evening who had not waxed poetic over her charms. "You may, my lord, and thank you," she said, favoring him with a gracious smile.

  His homely freckled face split into an answering grin, revealing a broken front tooth and several crooked lower ones. "You would be granting me the greatest of honors if you would permit me to call on you tomorrow."

  "It is I who shall be honored if you do." she said, which was not only the correct response, but also the expected one. Besides, she genuinely liked Lord Farndell. Indeed, for all that he was behaving like a lovesick dolt this evening, she knew that he had no more desire to court her than she had for him to do so. They were friends, jolly ones, but nothing more. No doubt his current display of fawning buffoonery could in some way be attributed to his recent tiff with the high-spirited Lady Lucetta Burney, whom he loved and fully intended to marry.

  Now lifting her hands to his lips, his lordship made a show of extravagantly kissing first her left and then her right one, between which he murmured in a sighing voice, "I shall count the seconds until that moment arrives, my dearest Lady Julia." Concluding his honeyed speech with a look of wry deviltry, which she answered with a conspiratorial smile, he bowed and departed. Julia arranged herself in a graceful pose in the vacant chair beside Aurelia, unfurling her fan to fend off what was rapidly becoming the torturous heat. That the ball was a triumph was apparent from the crush of people crowding the room, all of whom hailed from London's highest circles.

  They also ranked among the city's most perfumed circles, Julia decided, her head beginning to throb as she was assaulted by a sickeningly sweet mélange of lavender, frangipani, musk, and attar of roses. Add the smell of burning beeswax emanating from the two hundred and fifty candles that blazed in the ten cut-glass chandeliers overhead, and the faint yet pervasive aroma of the food laid out on two long tables in the adjoining room, and it was almost more than she could bear. No. Not almost, she amended, giving her fan a particularly violent wave in a desperate attempt to clear the air. It was more than she could bear.

  Just when Julia was certain that she would either suffocate or be sick if she remained in the oppressive room a second longer, Caroline appeared before her. As always, she was dressed in the height of fashion, in an ivory silk gown overlaid with a gold net half robe, both delicately trimmed with gleaming gold quilling. "Lady Aurelia. Lady Julia," she said, inclining her Grecian-coiffed head first to the older woman and then to her friend. "If you please, Lady Aurelia, may Julia withdraw to the retiring room with me? I find myself rather overcome by the heat, and would be exceedingly grateful for her company."

  Julia, too, looked at her aunt. "Please? I must confess to feeling overcome as well." The appeal was a formality, of course, one voiced strictly for the sake of appearances. After all, it would never do to let on that there was discord within the family.

  Aurelia swept Julia with a critical eye, her skillfully rouged lips pursing, as if she did not at all approve of what she saw. "Very well." She nodded once, brusquely. "You are looking overly flushed, Julia. Perhaps it would be for the best if you retire from view until your color subsides. High color is most unbecoming to delicate complexions such as yours."

  "Yes. I am sure it is," Julia returned with unruffled irony, well aware that just about everything in respects to her person was unbecoming in her aunt's eyes. Unlike her younger sisters, however, she refused to take Aurelia's criticism to heart, so she remained impervious to the woman's constant onslaught of slings and arrows. Now rising, she added, "Should my mother have a need for me, please direct her to the retiring room." Not that she actually expected her mother to grace her with her attention. Were her mother the least bit inclined to pay her mind, she would not have requested Aurelia's services as chaperon this evening. Granting her aunt the courtesy of a parting nod, Julia looped her arm through Caroline's, and together they skirted the edge of the dance floor, their progress slow as they wended their way through the assemblage.

  As they squeezed around a trio of ancient peers, all of who wore old-fashioned powdered wigs and gestured broadly as they engaged in a loud political debate, Julia said,
"I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me, Caro. I truly was feeling overcome by the heat."

  "And I must thank you," Caroline countered with a smile. "Had you not consented to accompany me to the retiring room, I would have been forced to return to my mother and she would have insisted that I dance with Lord Sorley. I saw him approaching as I took my leave. Mercifully, I escaped before Mother took note of his presence." Lord Sorley was an odious, rat-faced earl whose plump pockets more than made up for his lack of looks and social graces in the eyes of the ton's matchmaking mothers. To Caroline's infinite horror, he had recently abandoned his pursuit of famous Helene, having no doubt suffered one too many rebuffs from the haughty beauty, and had now redirected his attention to her.

  Julia made a face at the mention of the detestable man. "I would hardly term what Lord Sorley does on the dance floor as dancing. He quite ruined my slippers for all the treading he did on my feet the last time I was pressed into partnering him."

  "Nor would I, though to listen to him boast of his popularity as a dance partner one would think that he was quite the master of London's ballrooms."

  Julia sniffed at his lordship's unwarranted conceit. "Well, judging from the way he barks at the servants, he is scarcely a master of patience, so he will no doubt have gone off after less-challenging prey by the time you return from the retiring room."

  The women fell silent as they squeezed sideways through a narrow fissure between a knot of whispering matrons and a convergence of drunken young rakes. When they reached the end of the human channel. Julia resumed their conversation by inquiring, "By the bye, have you seen Mina this evening? When I attended the reception at Ackermann's Repository with her and her parents on Monday last, we encountered Lord Denney, who prettily begged us each to save a dance for him at tonight's ball. And you know what a crush Mina has on Lord Denney. Since she wishes to look her best, she made me promise to seek her out and give my opinion of her new gown."

  Caro sighed, her face taking on an expression that suggested the greatest of tragedies. "The poor dear has the most dreadful spot at the end of her nose and does not wish Lord Denney to see her in such a state, so she has been hiding in alcoves all evening. The last time I saw her, Amy was offering to filch the Venetian paste she claims her aunt Cecily always carries in her reticule, promising to apply it so that it will perfectly cover the spot. My guess is that Mina accepted the offer, and that they have now retired to a private place to apply it. After all, it would never do to be caught using, much less possessing, cosmetics."