Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Why, you have them beneath you!” Iefan said, sounding pleased.

  Mairin blushed. “Shush!”

  He laughed. “I saw you talking to Eloise a while ago. You were wearing a grim expression. What was that about?”

  Mairin had drunk enough to speak candidly. “Is it true you got rich smuggling guns into France?”

  Iefan’s smile didn’t shift. “Is that what she told you?”

  “Is it?”

  “That I got rich smuggling guns? No. I made more money smuggling food. You would be surprised what a hungry man will pay to have his belly filled.”

  She stared at him, shocked. “Isn’t that awfully ruthless? Taking money from starving people?”

  “They have no need of the money. There is nothing to buy there.” He shrugged.

  “And you clearly have no use for morals.”

  “Not of the type which would stop me from saving lives,” he said sharply. “The money buys more food, Mairin.”

  “You got rich from it,” she persisted.

  “A pleasant side effect.” He pointed to the floor beside her. “Is there anything left in that bottle?”

  She handed it to him and he got to his feet. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To find a bottle with something in it. Why?”

  Mairin squeezed the stem of her glass. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  Iefan laughed. “You haven’t been alone all evening.”

  She dropped her gaze from his face. “That is not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean, then?” he asked, still standing.

  Mairin couldn’t meet his gaze. She cast about for an answer and couldn’t find one. The request that he stay had emerged without thought.

  Iefan sank back onto the lounge. “Mairin?”

  “I meant…” She traced the pattern on the brocade with her finger. “I want the company of someone familiar.”

  Iefan was silent for a long moment. “I’m hardly that,” he said, his tone light. “The last time I saw you was the year after your coming out.”

  “Why is that?” She lifted her head. “Why do you stay away?”

  “I don’t,” he said shortly. “I have things to do which keep me away.”

  “Then you would come to gathers and Christmas if you could?”

  Iefan’s gaze shifted. He looked down at the empty bottle in his hand. He rested it on his knee. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Because you find us suffocating.”

  “Do you not?” he shot back. “The same faces, the same people, the same problems, year after year. The Season goes on, exactly the same, year after year. It is pointless!”

  “And this party is not?”

  Iefan shook his head. “At least these people acknowledge the rot at the heart of society. They don’t cover it up the way the ton does.”

  “They are not family.”

  Iefan shook his head. “No, they are not.”

  “They are not honest, either, Iefan.”

  Iefan sighed. “I don’t think there is a single place in the world where people are true to their hearts and minds. Even here, in this house, where honesty is at least present, it is still rare.”

  “Is that why you stay away? You look for that honest world?”

  Iefan’s smile was sour. “I gave up on finding that place a long time ago.” He got to his feet once more. “If I expect the worst, I am never caught by surprise.” He held up the bottle. “One more glass each, then I will take you home.”

  MOST OF THE JOURNEY back to Park Lane was silent. Iefan remained behind the barrier of his high coat collar, his face hidden in the shadows.

  Mairin had too many thoughts ricocheting in her mind to engage in small talk. She suspected Iefan would not welcome it, anyway. When the carriage stopped in front of the big white house, she reached for the door and Iefan spoke.

  “When do you see Gascony next?”

  “There is no formal arrangement,” she said. “Especially now I have failed to arrive for dinner as promised.”

  “The next time you see him, Louis will try to extract your promise for future events.”

  “Why are you helping me, Iefan?” The question burst from her, coaxed by the champagne she had drunk that night. “You stay away from the family. I am family. It makes no sense.”

  “Perhaps I am in need of the distraction,” he replied. “You amuse me, cousin. In return, I offer an adventure and assistance with your seduction of the French lord. It seems only fair.”

  “Then…I am not like the rest of the family?”

  He hesitated. “You have potential,” he said at last.

  It wasn’t until she was climbing the stairs to her room that it occurred to her to wonder what, exactly, that potential was.

  Chapter Five

  Gascony was eager, the next time Mairin saw him, at an afternoon tea at Lady Dainridge’s. He resisted the concerted efforts of maidens and their mothers to coax him away from his position by Mairin’s side and give them his attention instead.

  “You were not at dinner the other night,” he murmured, keeping his voice low.

  Mairin sipped her tea, hiding the sudden thud of her heart. “A small family emergency,” she told him.

  He studied her. “I see.” His tone said he did not believe her, although he said nothing more about it.

  As she was leaving Lady Dainridge’s, Gascony asked if she planned to attend the at-home they had both been invited to attend on the morrow.

  Mairin considered for a moment. “I think, perhaps, yes, I might accept.”

  Gascony inclined his head, his hand on his chest. “I look forward to seeing you there.”

  Mairin did attend the at-home and Gascony was there as promised. She chatted with him and also went out of her way to speak to her host, Lady Dainridge. She exchanged pleasantries with acquaintances.

  Everyone was unusually nice to her, which surprised Mairin until she realized they were also covertly watching Gascony try to monopolize her time. That was the cause of their sudden friendliness. The duke whom every mama wanted for her daughter was talking to the near-spinster Williams woman, instead.

  The observation lingered in the back of her mind as Mairin sipped tea and ate a single piece of gateau. She considered the abrupt change in behavior of the people she had known all her adult life and her heart ached. For some reason she could not fathom, every time she marveled over how they had changed because of Gascony’s attention to her, Iefan came to mind.

  She suspected he would find this shift in attitude less puzzling than she had.

  At the end of her visit to Lady Dainridge, Gascony drew Mairin aside. “May I meet you in the Park tomorrow morning? I understand every lady likes to walk there in the morning.”

  “I do, although not tomorrow, I am afraid. I have a prior engagement.”

  Gascony’s face fell. “I see.” He did not demand she tell him who the other man was, as so many blustering men might have. Instead, he gave a short bow, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps another time.”

  Mairin stayed at home the next morning. She peeped through the glass at the strollers in the park across the road and was pleased. The day was overcast and chilly. The strollers were all bundled up with gloves and scarves against the unseasonal frost. She would not miss her walk this morning at all.

  The second mail delivery of the day included a letter for Mairin. The flourish-filled script was unknown to her and the stationary had no seal, nor crest.

  Mairin:

  I presume Gascony asked to see you today and you found a reason to refuse, which you must now honor. Let me supply the excuse you need. A run to Woolwich, through Greenwich, in my brougham. I’ll stop by to collect you at nine-thirty this morning.

  I.

  It did not seem shocking that Iefan did not write his name in full. Mairin could almost see the impatient movement of his hand as he dashed off the letter and tossed it at John Stamp, the family butler who served the memb
ers of the Davies family who still attended the London seasons.

  There was no time to send a response by return mail and ensure Iefan received it before setting out. Mairin went to change, instead, and let Cian know she would be gone for most of the day.

  Cian’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware Iefan was back in England.”

  “Only recently.” Mairin pushed her gloves into place. “He won’t speak of it, although I suspect the tensions with Prussia drove him out.”

  “They’re driving a great many people out,” Cian said. “And what of Gascony?”

  Mairin paused. “You heard about the duke?”

  “At least a dozen people found a reason to stop by my table at the club last night and his name came up in association with yours.” Cian’s gaze was steady. “Are you playing men off against one another now, Mairin?”

  “Good lord, no!” Mairin said quickly. “Iefan is one of the family, Cian.”

  “Ah, yes, your professed desire to avoid a family entanglement.”

  “Besides, Iefan is blunt and cynical. He is a refreshing change from the ton.”

  Cian shook his head. “Iefan had a shadowed reputation before he left for France. Be careful, little sister. He is family, which is why I will allow the association. However, even his father’s and brothers’ sterling reputations will not save him if he strays too far from society expectations. That ruin will also fall upon you, if you are seen too much in his company.”

  “I have no intention of being seen much in his company at all. I don’t want the Duke of Gascony to feel too threatened.”

  Cian gave a short laugh. “Then you are playing the man. A duke would be a fine catch, Mairin. I am happy for you.”

  Iefan arrived at nine-thirty as promised. His new brougham was fast, the bay fresh and the roads less choked than usual because of the crisp weather. Iefan had a basket with tea and biscuits which they shared on the way to Woolwich.

  There was nothing remarkable at Woolwich save the Royal Artillery Barracks. Only visitors with a pass written by the War Department in Pall Mall were permitted to enter the barracks. Mairin was surprised when the brougham turned and stopped in front of the gates. Beyond them spread a large regimental parade ground, with officers and troops crossing in all directions, passing among the buildings which surrounded the grounds.

  There were units scattered across the crushed gravel, practicing their parade wheels and turns, looking rather fine in their dark uniforms with the red stripe down the leg.

  A lieutenant stepped up to the door of the brougham and peered in, then straightened, surprise widening his eyes.

  “Collins,” Iefan said, with a small smile.

  “Mr. Davies,” Lieutenant Collins said stiffly. He waved toward the gate and two privates jumped to haul the wrought iron barrier aside. “I didn’t know you were in England. Go right ahead.”

  “Thank you, Collins.”

  Iefan sat back as the carriage rolled forward once more.

  “How well do the regiments know you?” Mairin asked.

  “A little.” He shrugged.

  “They let you in here without a pass.”

  “Which they could live to regret,” he replied, smiling.

  “I thought you were a…a…”

  “Businessman,” Iefan replied. “A business concerns itself with politics if it wishes to survive, and the military are the executive arm of politics.”

  “Then you are not a soldier, after all?”

  His laugh was genuine. “Did you really think I was?”

  “I thought, with all the hints you give about fighting and how grateful Gascony was for your assistance in France, that perhaps you had been, once.”

  “England is not involved in that war.”

  Mairin frowned. “You were, though…” she said slowly.

  Iefan gave her an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone casual. “See, there is the main building. There is a public dining room inside. I will arrange a late lunch for you, while I attend to a matter.”

  “What matter? I thought you were not a soldier?”

  Iefan put his hand on the door handle as the carriage came to a gentle stop. “I had extended holdings and companies in France. I saw…things the army find interesting. They requested I stop by and chat.”

  Mairin was winded. “You answered directly.”

  Iefan looked affronted. “You asked. Did you think I would lie to you?” He opened the door with an irritated shove.

  Mairin bit her lip. “I am used to a gentleman avoiding upsetting ladies with unpleasant topics like war.”

  Iefan held out his hand to help her down. “I gave up being a gentleman a long time ago.” His tone was still harsh.

  She looked up at him, blinking in the dazzling sunlight, for the clouds had departed as they drove here. “This is what you mean by honesty, isn’t it? I had not realized how literally you meant it.”

  His black eyes met hers. “Most people don’t have the backbone required for honesty. So, gentlemen lie and ladies pretend not to see or hear truth which discomforts them.” He grimaced. “That is the world you insist upon marrying into.”

  Mairin bit back the protest which rose to her lips. If Iefan wanted truth, he would have it. “I supposed you meant that to hurt, just to measure my own capacity for honesty?”

  Iefan’s brow lifted. “My, you do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?” He seemed to find the idea cheering, for he turned and held out his elbow for her to grasp. They moved toward the big central Georgian building. The set of doors were open, with soldiers moving in and out.

  A sergeant halted when Iefan caught his attention and said quietly, “General Woodsworth?”

  “Up the stairs, sir, and to the right. His office is marked.”

  “And the dining room, sergeant?”

  “To the left, sir. Lunch is nearly over, but if you’re right quick, then you should catch the cook before he leaves.” The sergeant nodded and moved on.

  Iefan took Mairin into the dining room, found her a table, and arranged for lunch to be served, before leaving her to attend to his appointment with the General. Mairin was happy to sit by the window where the sun streamed through and warmed the air, eat the excellent lamb pie and sip tea. She had much to ponder. Watching the soldiers drill was always interesting.

  Iefan returned two hours later, to collect her and take her home. He was quiet on the return journey.

  “Did the interview go well?” Mairin ventured.

  “Well enough,” he said, scowling. “It reminded me of things I’d rather remain forgotten. War is not pretty, Mairin.” His gaze touched hers, then he returned to staring through the window. “Especially undeclared war,” he added softly, “for the innocent are caught up in a fight they don’t know exists. The sooner France declares war, the better.”

  Then he stirred and seemed to shrug off his mood, for their conversation all the way back to London was lively and interesting.

  Mairin had begun this season with dread, yet the next few weeks flew by in a rapid blur of days made interesting by the challenge of keeping and increasing the Duke of Gascony’s interest in her. From experience, Mairin knew his interest could evaporate overnight. Anything from unpleasant rumors about her, to a sharpening interest in another lady, to a change in his business affairs might destroy Gascony’s fragile attention.

  The challenge was keener because of Iefan’s helpful analysis and suggestions, to his outright complicity in helping her maintain Gascony’s affections.

  It was an exhausting game but one from which Mairin would not retire. She must snare Gascony! Even if her reputation among the ton did not hang by the single thread of hope that Gascony might yet propose, her self-respect depended upon it.

  Bridget was tucked away in the Scottish highlands, blithely happy. Her letters and their mother’s letters enforced the fact each time Mairin read them.

  In between finding more novel ways to surprise and delight Gascony while keeping
enough distance so his interest was maximized, Mairin spent much of her time with Iefan.

  She always found her energy refreshed after an afternoon or evening in Iefan’s company, for he was completely unpredictable and the distractions he provided unique.

  The adventure he had offered was every bit as interesting as he had promised. His group of friends were unexpected—they included soldiers and peers, commoners and foreigners…Mairin was never sure to whom she would next be introduced. She did know that few of Iefan’s friends cared much for the season or the ton. They carved their own entertainment from unexpected places, in unusual ways, from picnics upon Wimbledon Common, to seaside ventures which involved actual swimming.

  There were evenings spent playing cards, where the object of the game was to lose as handsomely as possible. There were parties in various London houses which were relaxed and convivial, for the conversation was as direct as Iefan’s tended to be. Mairin rarely bothered with schooling her own tongue when she was among them.

  All Iefan’s friends were highly interesting and different. There were scholars and professors and writers. A soldier of fortune, who had returned from America in search of the next war and intended to join the French Foreign Regiment. A painter whose landscapes appeared in galleries across England, who earned more money painting private nudes and portraits of illicit couples.

  Even the ladies of Iefan’s acquaintance were as different as his gentlemen friends. They were all forthright in speech, fashionable in appearance and far more broad-minded than Mairin.

  It took several weeks for Mairin to suspect that even though most of Iefan’s friends were married, they regularly strayed from their marriage bed.

  Iefan had been indifferent about the shocking fact. “They don’t speak of it for it is no one’s business but their own,” he said. “What harm is there, if all parties are in agreement about the arrangement?”

  “You mean…wives are happy to have their husbands stray?”

  “Of course. It allows them to stray as widely as their spouses.”

  “That is…it isn’t…it is wrong!” Mairin declared, pummeling the railing with her gloved hand, for they stood at the fence beside the pond in the Regent’s Park, feeding ducks and swans pieces of stale bread.