Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  “They’ll approve him,” George said cynically. “He’s young, handsome, well born and about to be tamed by marriage. They’ll want him as an object lesson, like a butterfly displayed on a pin.”

  “Don’t be so horrid, George.” Lily retrieved the note, folded it carefully and tucked it away. “Write a reply for me, will you, Rose?”

  “An acceptance, I presume.” Rose fetched her writing desk and took out a small sheet of hot-pressed notepaper. She began to write.

  George picked up the book, a very pretty volume bound in red leather. “Poetry and notes. You’re going to have to tell him soon, you know.”

  Lily sighed. “I know. And I will. But not yet.” He’d sent her flowers—a sweet-smelling posy—and now a book. He was making an effort to court her. She couldn’t bear to expose herself to his judgment just yet.

  “Girls, I’ve had a curious invitation.” Emm entered the room, holding a note in her hand. “Do any of you know a Lady Davenham? Beatrice, Lady Davenham?”

  They shook their heads.

  “She’s invited us—all of us, by name—to the next meeting of her literary society.”

  The girls exchanged blank looks. Lily thought of the book-reading group that Miss Chance had mentioned, but it was highly unlikely that a Cockney dressmaker, however wonderful her designs, would attend a literary society run by a titled lady of the ton.

  Emm tapped the note against her fingers. “Well, shall we accept? The next meeting is tomorrow afternoon. None of you have any particular engagements, do you?”

  They didn’t, so Emm penned a swift acceptance and sent it off, along with Lily’s note to Mr. Galbraith. Lily watched with a frown. How was she going to manage without Emm or Rose on hand? Handling a few invitations and notes was nothing to running a household.

  Her stomach clenched. She was going to have to tell him soon.

  * * *

  • • •

  Lady Davenham’s literary society meeting was held in her large home on Berkeley Square. Arriving shortly before the time indicated, the Rutherford ladies were escorted by a burly footman to a large room on the first floor. Chairs had been set out in semicircular rows around a small raised platform. A number of people had already arrived and were chatting in groups. Emm and the girls were pleased to find a number of friends and acquaintances among them.

  They were introduced to Lady Beatrice, a vivacious elderly lady with surprisingly vivid red hair beneath a striped turban bristling with ostrich feathers. “Delighted to meet you at last, Lady Ashendon, and these are your pretty charges, eh?” She smiled at the three girls as they were introduced. “Such lovely gels—I hope you’ll come often to my literary society. I adore the company of young people.”

  She glanced at Emm’s waist. “I see you’re increasing, Lady Ashendon—indelicate of me to mention it, I know, but I have no patience with such mealymouthedness—why should women hide away a swollen womb as if it’s an embarrassment? Pshaw! It’s a triumph, my dear, a female triumph! And I’m delighted for you.” She sighed happily and patted Emm’s hand. “I can vouch for the joy of having a baby in the house. I was never blessed with children, not until I got me some nieces, and now I have a little great-niece living here with me, and she’s the delight of my autumn days.”

  “Thank you, Lady Davenham—”

  “Call me Lady Beatrice, my dear, everyone does. So much better than being the Dowager Lady Davenham”—she pulled a face that made the girls giggle—“and besides, my papa was an earl, so I was born with the title, just as your girls were.

  “Now, which of you is Lady Lily—ah, yes, of course.” She raised her lorgnette and Lily braced herself, but the old lady simply beamed at her. “I’ve heard you’re the first to be fired off—Galbraith, ain’t it?—a fine, handsome boy. Takes after his grandfather. I hope you’ll be very happy, my dear, very happy indeed. Now here is Featherby, to tell me we’re about to start. Off you go and find a seat. My niece Abby’s reading today and you won’t want to miss a word.”

  Looking around for somewhere to sit, Lily was surprised to see her dressmaker, Miss Chance, sitting in a seat nearest the wall. A basket of silk threads sat at her feet. The chair next to her was vacant.

  She hurried over. “Good afternoon, Miss Chance. Is anyone sitting here? May I sit with you?”

  “Course you can, Lady Lily.” Miss Chance patted the seat. “But best call me Mrs. Flynn in this company. They know both me names of course, but when I’m here, I’m here as Lady Bea’s niece, not the dressmaker.”

  “You’re Lady Beatrice’s niece too?”

  “Sort of. Wrong side of the blanket, but the old lady don’t care. Now, shush. Abby’s about to start.”

  As Lily sat, a gong sounded, and the murmur of voices died away. Into the hush, a stylish young matron said, “This is where we ended last time: ‘Once, too, he spoke to Anne. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw her, and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness—”

  “‘I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;” and though she immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again.

  “‘Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.’” The young woman looked up and smiled at her audience. “And now, on to chapter nine . . .”

  A sigh of anticipation rippled through the room. Lily caught Rose’s eye and smiled. What a delightful way to spend a few hours. To think she’d been nervous about attending a literary society.

  Lady Beatrice’s niece Abby read beautifully, in a well-modulated voice that made the story come alive, but as Lily sat and listened, she was back in a carriage, listening to the same story read in a deep, entrancingly masculine voice . . .

  What if she, like poor Anne Elliot, had been persuaded into refusing Edward’s offer? Would she now be feeling as awkward, as unwanted and miserable, as Anne?

  No, her case was different. Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth had once been in love. Lily’s situation was vastly different. If she’d been Anne, loved by a fine man and with a vain and selfish father and a sister who disdained her, nothing could have persuaded her to refuse Captain Wentworth, or whatever rank he’d been then.

  Even with a man who had made it quite clear that he didn’t love her, Lily had gone against the advice of her family—and they loved her and cared about her happiness.

  Was it foolishness or faith? She wished she knew.

  At the end of the chapter, there was a short break while another young woman took Abby’s place. A hum of conversation rose as people discussed the story so far. Lily barely noticed; she was still thinking about Edward.

  Miss Chance leaned across to her and murmured, “Don’t take no notice of them, Lady Lily.”

  Startled from her reverie, Lily turned an inquiring face toward her. “Who?”

  “Them—those two behind you.” Miss Chance jerked her chin. “Don’t listen to a thing they’re saying.”

  Naturally that made Lily focus all her attention on the low but vehement exchange occurring in the seats behind her. Sentence fragments drifted to her over the hum of general conversation.

  “. . . such a fine man . . . a plump little dab of a girl. If it had been her sister, now I might understand it . . .”

  “But my dear, didn’t you know? Galbraith was trapped into offering for her . . .”

  Lily stiffened.

  “No other explanation for it—you must have heard the rumors.”

  “As if a man like Galbraith would be interested in a plump little ingenue with no conversation . . .”

  “A shame . . .”

  “Don’t listen to ’em.” Miss Chance tugged Lily’s
arm and explained in a low voice. “Mrs. Plunkett—she’s the one with the hat like an upside-down coal scuttle— No, don’t look, you don’t want her to know she’s upset you—”

  “She hasn’t.” Lily squared her shoulders. What did the opinion of strangers matter when even her own sisters opposed her marriage? In any case, she ought to be inured to gossip and hard words by now. At school some of the girls had called her “the dummy” because she couldn’t read. She’d learned to hide the hurt their words had caused. She’d do the same now.

  Besides, if the price of marriage to Edward was to be ritually humiliated, it was a price she’d gladly pay.

  “Oh? Right, then, good for you. Anyway it’s all sour grapes. Mrs. Plunkett has been wanting your Mr. Galbraith for her daughter for ages.”

  Lily liked the sound of “your Mr. Galbraith.” Not that he was yet.

  “And the other one—well, you know what they say: ‘Hell hath no fury’—and no, don’t turn around! Look at them later when the tea comes around.”

  It took all of Lily’s willpower not to turn and stare at the woman who’d tried to seduce Galbraith and been rejected. The reading recommenced but Lily barely heard a word.

  The incident, brief as it was, had brought one fact home to her: She was marrying a rake. How many other women would she come across in society who knew Edward better than she did?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late. Hope had already entered.

  —JANE AUSTEN, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

  Wednesday evening came, and Edward presented himself at Ashendon House, immaculately attired in a black coat, black knee breeches, and white silk stockings, a chapeau bras tucked under his arm.

  He looked, Lily thought, magnificent. “Did you get a voucher?” she blurted. She’d worried about it all night. It would be mortifying if he was turned away.

  He smiled. “Of course. Did you doubt me?”

  She heaved a sigh of relief.

  “You look beautiful,” he told her, and she flushed with pleasure.

  “So do you.”

  He laughed. “Men, my dear, are never beautiful.”

  Lily disagreed, but she wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you for the flowers, and the book of poetry.”

  “Did you like it? I’m told that young ladies cannot get enough of Lord Byron.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s wonderful.” Lily had learned a couple of verses by heart—she might not be able to read, but she had a good memory—in case she needed to have a conversation about the book, but just then Rose and George came downstairs followed almost immediately afterward by Emm and Cal.

  There were two carriages to transport them to King Street; Cal and Emm and George rode in the first, and Edward, Lily and Rose in the second. “Playing gooseberry,” Rose murmured to her sister with a grin.

  But nothing could dim Lily’s pleasure in the evening. They were admitted without hesitation and the gasps, the small silence and then the buzz of conversation that followed Lily’s entrance on Edward’s arm was everything any hurriedly betrothed girl could wish for.

  Edward had broken his own rule; more, he had brought her to Almack’s of his own accord. And everyone knew it.

  “I won’t be staying to the end,” he told her. “They have this ridiculous rule that I can only dance with you twice, so I’ll be leaving after that—you don’t mind, do you?”

  Lily didn’t. It would only underline the reason he had come—for her.

  He led her out for the first dance, a cotillion, which he performed with surprising confidence and grace. Somehow, Lily hadn’t ever imagined him as a dancer, but it was obvious he’d spent many hours on dance floors in the past. She tried not to wonder with whom.

  After the cotillion, he danced in turn with Emm, then Rose, then George—and even with Aunt Agatha. Then, for his second dance with Lily, he chose a waltz.

  She stepped onto the dance floor, initially aware of the envious eyes on her, but the music started and soon she was aware only of Edward, his strength, his dark masculinity, and the masterful way he twirled her around. She was floating on air. Never had she imagined a dance could feel like this.

  She was flushed and breathless when the dance finally finished, and not just because of the dancing. Edward led her to a seat. “May I fetch you something to drink?”

  “That would be lovely. Ratafia, please.”

  He returned shortly with a glass of ratafia and as he handed it to her, he pulled a face. “Abominable refreshments they serve here. Not a decent drop of wine to be had!”

  She laughed. “Almack’s is famous for it, didn’t you know?”

  “I’d heard. Didn’t believe it.” They sat companionably side by side, watching the dancers, as she sipped her drink.

  “Why did you decide to break your rule about Almack’s?” she asked him.

  “Rule? It wasn’t a rule—I just never wanted to set foot in the place.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I decided we needed the appearance of a courtship.”

  “The appearance of a courtship?”

  “Yes, to stop the nonsense being bruited about that you trapped me into marriage. Once people see me appearing to court you, they’ll think otherwise.”

  “Oh. I see.” Lily sipped her ratafia. It tasted more bitter than usual. Not a real courtship, but the appearance of one. He wasn’t doing it for her, but for them—the anonymous gossips who had nothing better to do than try to ruin other people’s lives.

  “Was that why you sent me flowers? And the book of poems?” She felt foolish now, having treasured them.

  “Yes.” He frowned and looked down at her. “And because I thought you’d like them, of course.”

  “Oh, I do. Thank you for your consideration.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She forced a quick half smile. “Perfectly all right, thank you.”

  “Good. You won’t mind if I slip out now?”

  “No, no, not at all. Thank you for coming.” She just wanted him gone, so she could be alone with her thoughts. And her disappointment. She’d thought he was changing the habit of a lifetime for her sake. Instead it was all for appearance.

  As was their betrothal. And her forthcoming marriage. She had to remember that.

  His plan made sense. But she didn’t want a facsimile of a courtship—she wanted a real one.

  He stood, then hesitated, frowning down at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” She gave him a bright smile.

  He took his leave then and Lily joined Emm, who was looking a bit tired. “I think I’ll go home shortly,” Emm told her. “Aunt Agatha has said she’ll look after you and the others and bring you home afterward.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lily told her. “I’m getting a headache.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The days flew past, filled with shopping, social engagements—the season didn’t stop simply because Lily was getting married—and twice a week, the literary society, which they all enjoyed as much for the new friends they were making there as for the stories.

  And there were dress fittings—Lily’s dress was going to be the most beautiful dress she’d ever worn. She was even losing weight—Miss Chance had been forced to take some of the seams in. Lily was delighted.

  Everywhere she went, people offered their congratulations on her forthcoming marriage, and as Emm had predicted, talk of her wedding began to eclipse the last remnants of rumor. All they needed now, George pointed out, was a nice juicy scandal involving someone else.

  Every day something arrived from Mr. Galbraith, mounting evidence of the appearance of courtship, she told herself. And every second day he took her out in public, always with George or Rose, making the point: Forced marriage or not, he wa
s courting Lady Lily Rutherford.

  He even took Aunt Dottie out driving with them one day—she’d arrived from Bath a week before the wedding. “Well done, my dear,” she murmured to Lily after he handed them down from his phaeton. “He’ll do very nicely.”

  Today’s gift was a small painted box. Lily lifted the lid, and tinkling notes filled the air.

  “I suppose he’s trying,” Rose said in a grudging tone. Lily had told Rose and George what Edward had told her at Almack’s.

  “I think it’s lovely.” Imitation courtship or not, Lily couldn’t help but be touched by the gifts and the effort he was making. She’d arranged them around her bedchamber. Flowers, a puzzle, boxes of sweets, and a small china owl—that was her favorite. It was the most personal thing, recalling a moment only he and she knew the significance of. The night he’d kissed her.

  She still relived those kisses every night, in the dark, in the privacy of her bed. She knew it was probably foolish, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Three days before the wedding, Emm sought her out for a private chat. “I thought you might have one or two questions about being married,” she said when they were alone. Blushing, Lily admitted she did.

  Emm then explained to her exactly what would happen on the wedding night, and answered all of Lily’s questions about it. She’d given it a great deal of thought since, unable really to imagine how, physically, it was possible. But Emm had assured her that though it might be a little uncomfortable at first, with practice it would get better, and could even lead to a feeling of bliss.

  Lily thought of the way Edward had kissed her. That was bliss. “Is it better than kissing?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Emm blushed rosily. It made Lily eager to find out for herself.

  Emm also gave Lily some more general advice about being married, explaining that it had taken her and Cal a while, a lot of patience and a good deal of compromise before they even began to be happy together. “We had quite a few quarrels at the beginning. Your brother is, as you know, terribly pigheaded, and I, well, I must admit I’m rather stubborn too.”