Scandal

by Heather Cullman

  She blushed and graced him with another of her guileless smiles. "Yes. Of-f-f course, Mr. Harwood," she stammered, visibly delighted by his request. "It shall be a pleasure to do so."

  "You are most gracious, dear lady," he countered with a smile that mirrored hers in its honesty. His next partner thus secured, Gideon led Lady Julia onto the dance floor.

  "It was exceedingly kind of you to ask Mina to dance, Mr. Harwood," she murmured as they made their way through the crowd. "For all that she is the dearest girl in the world, her looks are considered to be rather, well, unfashionable, so she often lacks partners at balls."

  Gideon shrugged one shoulder. "I asked her because I find her charming. If the gentlemen of the ton are too witless to see her fine qualities, then perhaps she is better off without them."

  "I could not agree with you more," she returned, gazing at him in a way that again made him wish that he could read minds. If he were to hazard a guess at her thoughts, he would have to say that she was surprised to the point of being puzzled by his response. She seemed about to say more, her expression thoughtful as she opened her mouth, then she closed it again and turned her attention to the assembling dancers. When she saw their positions, she frowned and whispered, "Oh dear. A minuet. Do you think that you can manage a minuet, Mr. Harwood?"

  Gideon snorted at the patronizing nature of her question. "Of course I can manage a minuet. In spite of what you might think, one need not have a title to master the steps."

  She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if censoring whatever she had been about to say. When she finally did speak, it was to apologize. "Please forgive me, Mr. Harwood. I did not mean to give offense. My intent was simply to spare you embarrassment should you not know the steps. Being as that we are strangers, I am unacquainted with the extent of your knowledge of dancing, so please do forgive me if my question seemed condescending. I most certainly did not mean to suggest a slur on your birth."

  Aware that they were being scrutinized, Gideon forced himself to smile as he softly flung back, "Indeed? You had no such scruples about doing so when I called on Tuesday."

  Following his lead, she returned his smile. "Yes. And I must apologize for that as well. I can only plead to being overwrought by my unexpected plight. Surely you understand?"

  "Oh, I understand well enough," he snarled through the clenched teeth of his false smile. "You made your opinion of me abundantly clear. And do not tell me that you did not mean what you said. I have learned that people generally reveal their true feelings when they speak in haste, for they speak precisely what is on their mind without taking the time to choose their words and cloak their meaning in neat little lies."

  She sighed as they stopped before their places on the dance floor. "Please, Mr. Harwood, I do not wish to quarrel with you. I am trying to make the best of our situation, as you, yourself, suggested I should do."

  "Fine, then. Since we seem to quarrel every time we speak, perhaps it would be for the best if we do not attempt further conversation." With that, he moved into position for the first figure of the minuet. Now standing facing his haughty bride-to-be, who was displaying her formidable acting talent by beaming as if she were truly enjoying herself, he bowed as the music began, to which she sank into an answering curtsy. The honors thus completed, they moved into the first figure.

  The minuet, which his mother had insisted he learn what seemed like a lifetime ago, had in his mind always been far too long and tedious to qualify as an amusement. And he had loathed every second he had spent learning it. Now, however, reflecting back on those days in the tiny curate's cottage and the hours he had spent with Bethany and Caleb going through the motions of the courtly dances his mother had insisted they study, he saw that they had in truth been some of the most magical moments of his life. Especially those occasions when his father joined them in their instruction, partnering their beautiful mother with an exuberance that had never failed to turn the lesson into a jolly romp. They had all been together then, happy, healthy, and full of love for each other and the simple life they led. What he wouldn't give to go back to those carefree days!

  As Lady Julia passed in front of him, making a half turn on a demi-coupe, she smiled broadly and murmured, "We really must have some conversation if we are to convince the ton of our infatuation with each other."

  She was right, of course, though what they should say, he could not even begin to imagine. Performing a pas marche with his right foot crossed behind his left one, he replied, "Fine. What do you suggest we talk about?"

  By now they had completed the first loop of the S formation in which they danced and had come face-to-face in the center of the figure. She seemed to consider his question as they passed each other obliquely on the right and executed the necessary steps to complete the second loop of the S. It was not until they had again met in the center that she replied, "Pleasantries shall suffice, I should think."

  "What sort of pleasantries?"

  What sort of pleasantries indeed? In view of the fact that he bristled at just about every word she uttered, whatever could she say that would not cause him offense? Deciding that a compliment should be safe enough, she remarked, "I must say that you dance superbly, Mr. Harwood." And it was true. Not only were both his timing and steps precise, he moved with a grace that she would never have believed possible for a man his size, had she not seen it for herself. As she watched him perform a perfect jetcechappe, she found herself wondering how he had come to be such an excellent dancer. After all, such skill was utterly unexpected in a commoner.

  Thus as he presented her with his white-gloved hand, which she could not help noting was as immaculately clean as his stockings, she quizzed, "May I inquire as to how you came by your expertise, sir?"

  "The same way you came by yours, I daresay. It was a course in my daily lessons," he replied, joining the group of dancers forming a small circle in the center of the figure.

  Executing a series of intricate minuet steps, they moved around the circumference until they were in position to present their left hands. "My compliments to your teacher, then," she said, placing her hand lightly on top of his. "He succeeded admirably in teaching you."

  "She," Gideon corrected her, moving his hand from hers to prepare to retrace the circle. "My mother taught me."

  Julia digested that surprising tidbit of information as they performed the contretemps of the minuet, which consisted of hopping and advancing forward to again join left hands. That a parent would actually take the time to teach their child anything, much less dancing, which she knew from her own lessons to be an exceedingly time-consuming proposition, was an utterly foreign notion. She also found herself rather envying him the closeness he had clearly shared with his mother. What would it be like to have a mother who loved her enough to lavish her with such attention?

  She did not have to think to know the answer to that question. It would be a joy beyond all other pleasures, of course, a delight that she would never experience since neither of her parents had ever cared for her beyond the brief displays of approval they granted her when she proved to be a credit to them.

  Now presenting both hands to Gideon in commencement of the fifth figure of the dance, she said, "Your mother sounds wonderful. How very fortunate you were to have been raised by such a person." She could not keep a note of wistfulness from creeping into her voice.

  He glanced at her quickly, a faint frown knitting his brow as if he found her comment very queer indeed, though why he would do so, she could not imagine. "She was. She was the best of women."

  "Was?" Julia echoed. "Then she is-"

  "Dead, yes," he interjected shortly. Hands joined, they made a single rotation.

  "I-I am sorry," she stammered. And she was, genuinely so. His mother sounded like someone she would have liked to meet. So much so, that for a moment she had actually thought that marriage to the despicable Mr. Harwood might not be so very unbearable if it meant becoming part of a family led by a woman capable of suc
h love. Disappointed, she cast about for a new subject, trying to remember what she had heard about him. She finally settled on saying, "I hear tell that you spent several years in India."

  "Yes."

  When he did not expand upon his response, she quizzed, "And how did you find it?" Their arms were rounded and raised at shoulder level to form a circle.

  He released her hands to demi-coupe and then pas glisse. "Different." Again he refrained from elaboration.

  Again she prompted him, "Different? In what ways?"

  "A thousand ways, but none that would be of interest to you."

  "You might be very surprised to learn what interests me."

  "Perhaps, but I doubt it." By now they were nearing the end of the final figure.

  For a moment Julia was tempted to challenge his remark, to tell him exactly what she thought of his high-handed dismissal of her ability to think beyond fashions and the frivolities of society. But, of course, she could not do so. So she curtsied in response to his bow, which concluded their dance, and satisfied her affront by injecting a note of hauteur into her voice as she replied, "We shall see, I suppose," though truth be told she doubted if he would ever care enough about her to learn of her interests.

  Sighing, she took his arm and allowed him to escort her off the dance floor. Oh, well. What did it really matter? What did anything matter as long as her siblings were safe? And they would be safe as long as she maintained the facade of civility she had erected this evening.

  Courtesy. Perfect courtesy. That was her concern, not convincing Gideon Harwood that she had worth beyond her position in society. She would take care to never forget her purpose in the future.

  Chapter 9

  Four routs. Four, no, five balls. Two picnics. A visit to Vauxhall Gardens. Two plays at Covent Garden. An opera at King's Theater. A balloon ascension in the park. One military review. A visit to the Royal Academy to view hackneyed paintings of insipid maidens, frolicking lambs, and exotic fruit. Seven drives through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. And what was now his sixteenth call at her house bearing nosegays, bonbons, and whatever other frivolous token Gilchrist deemed appropriate for genteel courtship, and still, after three and a half weeks of keeping almost constant company with Lady Julia Barham, he had yet to see her display anything that resembled a genuine emotion. Why, if she were any more stiffly polite, even a trifle more rigidly correct, she would be in danger of shattering from brittleness.

  Yes, and as if that were not quite tedious enough in itself, there was the matter of her conversation, or at least what she passed off as such. Bloody hell! Could it possibly be any more inane? Why, the very thought of being forced to endure yet another chirping review of the weather or monotonous tea-blend comparison was more than he could bear.

  Gideon savagely tightened his grip on the nosegay he carried, unmindful that he crushed the intricately cut paper doily that formed a frill around the dainty bouquet of daffodils, roses, heartsease, periwinkle, and mignonette. The entire situation was intolerable-she was intolerable, damn it! Every second he spent in her company was a torment, an endurance test of just how much dullness a mortal man could bear without running mad from boredom.

  Muttering a silent oath, he paused at the gate of the central Grosvenor Square Park through which he had just passed, waiting for a speeding gig and a more sedately paced traveling coach to go by before crossing the street. The fascination he had experienced when first observing Lady Julia's abrupt shift from a supercilious virago to a mealy-mouthed model of decorum had most definitely deserted him now. And he had to admit that he had indeed been fascinated by her dramatic change in behavior, his curiosity piqued to see how long she could maintain her pretense of civility before being overcome by her innate sense of superiority and breaking beneath the strain of being cordial to a man she had made clear she viewed as so much dirt beneath her dainty slippers.

  But she had not broken, not even during those moments when they were alone and she was free to speak her mind without fear of being overheard by the ton. A pity, that. He far preferred the shrewish arrogance with which she had treated him during their initial interview to the banal courtesy she had bored him with since. She had at least been interesting in her scorn.

  Snorting his frustration, Gideon more marched than walked around the corner of North Audley Street and started down Upper Brook Street. To be fair, their charade did require that she treat him with a measure of aristocratic cordiality, which was exactly what she was doing, he supposed. In view of that fact, he should probably give credit where it was due and say that she was doing an admirable job of playing her part.

  Well, at least it was admirable if he were to judge it from the flurry of invitations he had received of late, many from London's leading hostesses. Impossible though it seemed to him, the ton appeared to have interpreted the remote, almost sterile courtesy with which Lady Julia Barham treated him as the formation of an attachment on her part. While he was wise enough to know that the invitations had been tendered out of a desire to watch the progress of their novel romance rather than from any real acceptance of his person, that same wisdom also made him see that he had been granted the rare opportunity to experience life in London's highest society and judge for himself if he truly wished his siblings to be a part of it.

  And now that he had done so, did he still desire it?

  At the moment, he was inclined to answer no. From what he had seen, life in the ton was miserable, an existence populated by artificial people living empty lives, who spent their days fraught with fear of unwittingly doing or saying something that might make them the target of the vicious gossip that was the heart of the beau monde. To be sure, one had only to look at Lady Julia to see the dreary sort of misses they spawned. Or her sisters, whom he had met at the picnic their mother had given Friday last. How many times during the dull affair had he heard them lauded as prime examples of breeding?

  Gideon shuddered at the thought of the younger Barham daughters. Poor chits. Never in his life had he seen more exquisitely mannered children, nor had he encountered ones so tragically lacking in spirit. It had quite broken his heart to see them, tamed and drained of the enchanting exuberance that was a natural part of childhood. They could have been dolls for the way they had sat so stiff and still in their chairs beneath a tree, dolls carved of wood and clothed in a silken elegance that thrust upon them a maturity far beyond their tender years. Thinking back, he could not recall them uttering a single word outside of the rote courtesies with which they had responded when someone had deigned to speak to them. Never once had they smiled or laughed, nor had they engaged in the frolics one expected from children at picnics.

  Lord Stanwell had said that Lady Julia was devoted to her sisters and spent much time in their nursery guiding and counseling them. If what he had seen was a result of her training, then he most certainly did not want her in charge of Bliss's education. He would not allow it! Better that Bliss remained a hell-bound hoyden than be tamed into a lifeless husk of decorum.

  Gideon was now in view of the Palladian-style Barham mansion, an impressive, golden-brick structure boasting five center bays and an Ionic portico that formed a balcony crowned by a triangular pediment. As was usual for this time of day, there was a queue of stylish gigs and blooded mounts lining the street outside it, bearing testimony to the fact that Lady Julia had not been lying when she had claimed to have a bevy of suitors. Indeed, whenever he called there were at least half a dozen titled swains vying for her favor, all waged in a petty competition involving the exchange of genteel glares and cloaked insults as each struggled to outdo the others with the lavishness of the compliments he bestowed upon every aspect of her person.

  Well, they were welcome to her and good riddance. For unless she suddenly displayed qualities that showed her capable of influencing Bliss in a desirable manner, which he rather doubted she would do at this late date, he saw no reason to continue their farce. After all, his sole purpose for agreeing to the bargain was
to benefit his siblings. And since he had now determined that the disadvantages of the ton far outweighed the advantages it could offer them, what possible reason was there for him to marry Lady Julia?

  He contemplated his decision for several moments, carefully considering everything he had heard and seen while in society, wanting to make certain that there was not some benefit he might have overlooked in his admittedly prejudiced view of the woman and her privileged world. After doing so, he slowly shook his head.

  While he could think of a dozen compelling reasons why he should not wed her, he could not find a single one why he should. That being the case, he must end their charade. Today. He would linger until all of Lady Julia's suitors had taken their leave, and then beg a moment alone with her to inform her of his decision. No doubt she would be relieved, especially when he made clear that he was prepared to honor his end of the bargain and allow her father's shameful secret to remain just that, a secret. He would then be free to wash his hands of the duplicitous Barhams and be done with them once and for all.

  Now feeling as if he had been granted a new lease on life, which indeed he had, Gideon smiled and nodded as he passed Darby, Lord Stanwell's senior groom, who sometimes tended his gig on those occasions when he drove to the house, which was usually only when he was to escort Lady Julia somewhere. Having grown accustomed to hard exercise while in India, Gideon chafed at the sedentary life favored by prosperous Londoners and thus often elected to walk when conducting business about town, deeming most of the required distances not worth the trouble of ordering his horse saddled or carriage harnessed. Nodding again, this time at Noah, the youngest of the grooms, who grinned and greeted him gaily, he strode purposefully up the shallow front steps and rang the bell.

  As always the door was guarded by Cuthbert, the Barhams' wizened majordomo, who smiled as if genuinely pleased to see him. Then again, perhaps he was, for Gideon had noticed that he was the only one of Lady Julia's callers who had bothered to learn the man's name and regularly ask after his health, something he did now.