Scandalous Scoundrels

by Aileen Fish

  “I think we ought to purchase Harry his own set of tin soldiers,” Dillie said in a whisper.

  Daisy and Lily nodded in hearty agreement. “Ah, here come Gabriel and Uncle George.”

  Gabriel introduced them to Colonel Croft, the regimental commander, a gruff but jovial man. “I insist on giving you a personal tour. Especially you,” he said, saluting young Harry.

  The boy responded by tugging on his moustache.

  After an exchange of pleasantries the commander escorted them on an extended tour, guiding them through the gate house, the mews, the dining hall, the chapel, several meeting rooms, the dungeon—fortunately, it was not occupied—and finally into a stately hall with dark oak paneling and dozens of paintings lining the walls. “I believe this is the room you had in mind, sir,” the commander said to Gabriel.

  Gabriel nodded.

  Harry had taken it all in, as though understanding every word issuing from Colonel Croft’s lips. Even now, as they walked through the portrait hall, his eyes were wide as saucers, taking in every detail, the large windows, the brightly polished dark wood, the decorative swords and shields hanging between portraits of the regiment’s commanding officers.

  “And now that we’re here, you must excuse me for a moment,” Colonel Croft said. “I’ll return shortly.”

  While her sisters and her uncle lingered over the swords and shields, Daisy accompanied Gabriel to the far end of the hall, pausing before a portrait of her uncle, Harrison Farthingale.

  “Painted shortly before the regiment shipped off to Spain one last time,” Gabriel murmured, taking little Harry from her arms. Their hands touched as they made the exchange, and Gabriel, to her surprise, gave her hand a little squeeze.

  It wasn’t a flirtatious squeeze, just an acknowledgment of something special between them, almost a thank you for helping him unite father and son, though he’d managed that on his own. She had tried for months without success to make her family listen and had never thought to bring Harry to his father’s regimental headquarters. Yet this place more than anywhere else captured Harrison’s essence, his sense of honor and duty which extended beyond family, to king and country.

  “That’s your papa,” Gabriel said to Harry, holding him in his arms with a casual ease that evoked a sigh from Daisy. There was something quite exquisite in the way he held the child, quite caring and fatherly.

  The loss of Harrison Farthingale had struck their family hard. They’d all mourned him, but watching Gabriel, the kindness and patience with which he dealt with little Harry, somehow eased that pain and simply conquered her heart. She turned away to wipe a stray tear from her eye before it fell upon her cheek. If one tear fell, she knew others would follow in a pitiful, gushing stream. She refused to have Gabriel think of her as a blubbering ninny.

  “Take a long look at him,” Gabriel said to Harry, but he spared her a concerned glance. “Do you see how he’s smiling at you?”

  As Harry nodded, Colonel Croft returned with a box in hand. “Here it is, Lord Dayne. The medal and ribbons you requested.”

  Daisy stared at Gabriel in confusion. “Medal and ribbons?”

  He nodded and opened the box with one hand, dug out an ornate gold cross hanging on a red ribbon, and handed it to her. “A replica of the Cross of St. George, the regiment’s highest award for valor. It was awarded to Harrison on one of the early Peninsular campaigns.”

  She stared at her uncle’s portrait, then turned back to the medal. Julia had the original safely under lock and key at their townhouse, for the medal had jewels encrusted on it, several diamonds among rows of smaller sapphires. A drawing of it was pinned to her uncle’s chest in the portrait.

  “Harry’s too young to be entrusted with the real one,” Gabriel said as she continued to stare at the portrait. “Your aunt will keep it safe until he comes of age.”

  In the meantime, the lad would have the replica to wear. She ought to have thought of it herself. Indeed, why hadn’t her father or Uncle George considered it? She glanced down the hall to where her uncle stood with her sisters and caught him looking back. His remorseful gaze spoke volumes. In truth, she expected that Julia, her parents, and the rest of the Farthingale elders were feeling quite ashamed for their dismissal of little Harry and his loss.

  Gabriel tweaked the boy’s chin. “See, Harry. Just like your father’s.”

  The boy looked at his medal, then up at his father’s portrait and the one displayed on his chest. His face lit up with the brightest smile. “Just yike Papa’s.”

  Daisy chuckled. “Yes, just like your papa’s.”

  She turned to Gabriel, now hopelessly in love with him, and wishing he felt the same about her. Of course, that would take a miracle, especially since she’d botched every one of Lady Forsythia’s rules.

  “I don’t know what to say, or how to thank you,” she said, a little breathless and quite in awe. He’d known exactly what to do, had thought of everything short of returning Uncle Harrison to them. Not even Gabriel could accomplish that feat. But as he stood beside her, she felt his warmth, his reassuring presence, and almost believed him capable of performing miracles.

  “You would have done the same,” he mumbled and walked back to the twins and George with Harry safely tucked in his arms.

  She stared at his retreating back, her mouth open in surprise, for he seemed decidedly embarrassed by the compliment. She felt another tug at her heart. Indeed, she was in danger of falling ridiculously and deeply in love with him. More in love with him than she already was.

  “Didn’t know Lord Dayne had it in him,” Colonel Croft said, standing beside her and watching Gabriel, “what with his wretched reputation. I suppose there’s good in everyone. Sometimes you have to look very hard.”

  No, Daisy thought in despair. His valor was there for all to see, but those looking were simply too blind to notice.

  Gabriel was a hero.

  An English hero, not a blackguard or a scoundrel. Not a smuggler, or gambler, and certainly not spying for the French.

  Problem was, he refused to be her hero.

  Chapter 15

  In a dire situation, a lady must defer to the authority of a gentleman, even if the gentleman is a rake.

  “Daisy, what’s taking you so long?”

  “I’ll be right down, Mother,” she said, hastening to dress for the afternoon jaunt she’d agreed to take with Julia. More precisely, she had been invited by Julia to ride in Hyde Park in order to be “seen” by all the right people. Unlike her gloriously free and unfettered morning jaunts on Brutus, this afternoon’s excursion was crafted with the strategy of a Wellington battle plan, the objective to show her off to greatest advantage.

  Having been exonerated of wrongdoing with respect to the Harry incident, and thanked by her parents upon returning from the regimental headquarters, she was quite pleased with the way everything was turning out. Even the sun continued to shine brightly and the air had warmed, making for an unusually lovely day.

  Julia had apologized to her and extended the invitation to ride, a generous peace offering, so they were off to the park, happily reconciled and in search of husbands. Not that she had any interest in finding a husband. She’d found the man for her, chosen by his charming but interfering grandmother, who had given her a book on how to reform his wicked ways.

  She let out a dejected sigh, knowing she was incapable of reforming anyone, least of all Gabriel. Quite the opposite, she was likely to end up as another of his conquests. She hoped for it, wanted to be thoroughly scandalized and ruined by him. He wouldn’t do it, of course. He was too sensible.

  She was the lovesick fool.

  “Take the carriage,” Uncle Rupert advised as she passed him on the stairs. Even now, the elders were interjecting their opinions on whether she and Julia ought to be riding.

  “A stroll along the Ladies’ Mile is just the thing,” Aunt Eunice vociferously insisted.

  Daisy had no say, no one believing it relevant that she was the
one going to the park and might perhaps have a preference, or wish to express it. But no, such decisions were made by committee, every adult member of the Farthingale clan convinced that his or her opinion was of vital importance and had to be expressed no matter how unwanted or inane. To question the family’s decisions was unheard of and a waste of breath, Daisy had long ago learned.

  She’d obediently donned her new riding habit of dark blue velvet and polished boots of finest black leather, cutting a fine figure (if she did say so herself) as she pranced down the stairs, because she wasn’t going to stroll or take the carriage, no matter what the elders decided. She enjoyed riding and that’s what she was going to do.

  Her mother cast her a warm, doting smile. “Don’t you look pretty, dear.”

  “I’ve ordered Amos to saddle Bessie for you,” her father said, casting her a stern glance because he would not allow any Farthingale female, certainly not one of his dainty daughters, to tear through the park like a hellion on horseback. The way he studied her, Daisy was certain he suspected that she had crept out of the house this morning to ride Brutus and was now punishing her for it.

  She let out a groan. “No, Papa. Not her!” Bessie was a lovely old mare, barely capable of walking, much less breaking into a gallop. Little Harry could toddle faster than the docile mare could trot.

  “You’ll ride Bessie. I’ll hear no more about it!” And whenever her father used that expression and in just that tone there was no changing his opinion.

  Crumpets, as the twins would say!

  Daisy smothered her annoyance and walked toward the mews where Julia awaited her, now friends again. Daisy had readily forgiven her for her harsh accusations, relieved to move on now that Harry seemed to be feeling better. Julia appeared contrite and eager to move on as well.

  Daisy came upon her fussing with the skirt of her emerald green riding habit, busily draping it across the rump of her roan filly to create the unstudied effect of a lavish, green wave. The filly, a frisky animal by the name of Windy, refused to cooperate, each time knocking the expensive fabric off her rump with a flick of her tail.

  “Oh, bother! I shall die an old maid,” Julia muttered, overlooking the fact that she had been married and produced an adorable child.

  The remark required no response, so Daisy wisely chose to keep her mouth shut and not comment. Instead, she concentrated on the horses. Windy pranced and skittered in front of the stable, a sharp contrast to good old Bessie, whose joints creaked as she hesitantly crawled out of her stall, coaxed into the sunshine by Amos.

  “You be careful with her, Miss Daisy. She’s a frail little thing.”

  “I will.” She cast him an assuring smile, knowing he had a soft spot for the old mare. Although Amos was as big and strong as an oak tree, he would weep like a baby if any harm befell the gentle horse.

  She supposed it was for the best that she’d been given Bessie. After all, she’d had a busy day, first riding Brutus, then saving Harry and visiting the regimental quarters, and now going for a ride with Julia. Tonight they were expected to attend Lady Baldridge’s musicale. Indeed, it was to be a long day, but if she found herself yawning, she’d settle in a dark, quiet corner as soon as the recital started and nap through it.

  “I wonder whom we’ll meet,” Julia remarked with a surprisingly girlish squeal as they made their way to the park with Amos and another of the household retainers following at a discreet distance.

  Daisy wished she could be as excited and filled with innocent hope, but her heart had spoken and she wasn’t ready to dismiss the man it had chosen. It mattered little that the man in question was doing his best to avoid commitment.

  “Well? What do you think?” Julia asked after they’d exchanged greetings with several riders as they entered the park.

  Daisy turned to Julia. “Of what?”

  “Those gentlemen we just passed.”

  Daisy could not help but roll her eyes. “Lord Wilsey is arrogant and without good cause. Lord Armbrewster is a sot and Lord Henley has bad teeth.”

  Julia surprised her by agreeing.

  “He looks promising,” Julia said a moment later, discreetly pointing to an elegantly dressed gentleman riding toward them. “He’s six thousand a year.”

  “Hello, Lord Six-Thousand-a-Year,” she jokingly muttered before he was close enough to hear her, referring to him as Julia had, by wealth and not by name. “Oh, there goes Lord Flat-Broke.”

  Julia cast her a light frown. “Honestly, Daisy. Marriage is a serious business. You would do well to encourage the suitable young men who’ve shown interest in you. Auguste Malinor, for one. We’ve all noticed how attentive he’s been to you lately.”

  A hot blush crept into Daisy’s cheeks. “I know, but there’s something about him that puts me off.” She wondered whether to confide in Julia that he seemed to have a roving eye and she sensed he would not be faithful in their marriage, assuming he ever would consider marriage to her, which she doubted. Curiously, she thought Gabriel would be faithful, for everyone knew that reformed rakes made the best husbands, or so it said in Lady Forsythia’s book.

  “I was fortunate the first time,” Julia admitted. “Harrison was a good man and I loved him dearly, but marriage is a mercenary business. Women don’t have the ability to make their own fortunes, so they must marry well. Why don’t you like Auguste? He seems quite charming.”

  “He’s a little intimidating, I suppose.” So was Gabriel, but not in the same way. What was it about Gabriel that set her heart aflutter? And why couldn’t Auguste evoke even a blush from her? He was handsome and clever, and he hadn’t really done anything wrong. True, he had gone into the garden with another woman, but he was still free to do so. The true test would come once he declared for her. She silently berated herself. His sort did not propose marriage to daughters of merchants, not even wealthy merchants.

  “You needn’t be in love with Auguste to marry him,” Julia said, interrupting her thoughts. “The Malinors are among England’s most prominent families. Auguste is a viscount in his own right and will inherit the vast earldom upon his father’s death.”

  Daisy’s thoughts drifted once more as Julia droned on about convenient marital arrangements and discreet understandings, none of which held any appeal for her. She was going to marry for love and would settle for nothing less.

  “... though you’re not nearly as clever as Lily,” Julia remarked, regaining her attention. “You’d find a way to coax a marriage proposal out of young Lord Malinor if you really tried.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Julia, I’m not an idiot.”

  “Of course you’re not. I never said any such thing.” She drew up her mount and paused to study Daisy, finally giving a nod of approval. “You have a natural beauty and a genuine sincerity that men find quite attractive. Thank goodness you’re nothing like that bluestocking sister of yours. Few men will want Lily, for the brain on that girl is intimidating. She’ll probably die an old maid surrounded by her books. But, as I said, you are nothing like your sister and have great possibilities.”

  “Oh, that makes me so feel much better.” She laughed again, amazed by her aunt’s ability to insult her and Lily in the same breath. Lily was too brilliant to attract a man and she, Daisy, was too empty headed. She understood that Julia did not mean to insult her. She loved the woman, but often found her exasperating, as she was now.

  “And if you don’t wish to pursue young Malinor, then consider Lord Six-Thousand-a-Year. He’ll make you far happier than Lord Dayne ever could. You must keep away from that scoundrel. He’s no good. He’ll only hurt you, Daisy. You deserve far better.”

  “How can you say that after all he’s done for Harry?”

  Julia pursed her lips and raised her chin daintily in the air. “He humiliated me in front of my own son, in front of my entire family.”

  Obviously, that remained a sore spot for her aunt. “He didn’t, but even if he had—which he didn’t—can’t you see the wonderful
change in Harry?”

  Her chin tipped higher. “No, I can’t. Harry’s always been wonderful and that hasn’t changed.”

  Daisy let out a resigned sigh. No amount of logic or reasoning would alter Julia’s resentment toward Gabriel.

  Their horses hadn’t gone more than a few steps further before Julia suddenly reined in her mount and let out a soft cry of delight. “There’s Auguste Malinor and he’s riding toward us. Here’s your chance, my girl. I wonder if his father is here, too.” She craned her neck to get a better view, then let out a huff. “Oh, drat. I don’t see him.”

  Daisy couldn’t imagine the elder Lord Malinor fitting his rotund frame upon a horse. His jowls would bounce about like soft pudding. However, Auguste cut a trim, striking figure in his black riding jacket and buff breaches. He sat astride an enormous gray gelding, exuding confidence and authority.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Malinor.” Julia sat a little straighter in her saddle as she greeted him.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Farthingale.” He nodded to Julia, then allowed his gaze to drift to Daisy, one eyebrow tilting up in mockery as he noticed her poor little mare. He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “Miss Farthingale. What a pleasant surprise. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here since you’re known to be an excellent rider. But your riding tends to take place in the early morning I understand.”

  A tingle of unease crawled up Daisy’s neck. “I help my sister out with her horses on occasion, if that’s what you mean.”

  His smile seemed frozen on his face and she felt its coldness. “Very thoughtful of you to lend her a hand.”

  “She appreciates the assistance,” Daisy replied, wondering at his comments. He had no right to berate her for taking Brutus through his paces this morning. And how did he learn of it anyway?

  “I have no doubt. Family loyalty is an honorable trait.”

  “We’re a large, but very close family,” Julia interjected. “We’re all loyal to each other, even those who marry in.”