Scandal Becomes Her
Page 2
“You lose,” Robert said, as he pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I am ready. Let us go view this incredible horse you have found.”
Over Andrew’s shoulder, Henry made a face and shook his head. “Waste of time,” he mouthed silently to Robert.
Robert shrugged and turning away, took his leave from Sir Edward and Nell. The room was quiet for a moment after the three men had left.
“And what,” Sir Edward asked, “do you plan to do today, my dear?”
“Nothing as exciting as buying a horse,” Nell replied with a smile. “If we are to leave on Monday as planned, I must make final plans with Mrs. Fields and Chatham. Are you going to leave a few servants here? Or is everyone coming to Meadowlea with us?”
“I can think of no good reason to leave anyone behind, can you?”
“Housebreakers?”
Sir Edward shook his head. “We will take all the silver and plate with us, and except for the furniture there will be little else to steal.”
The twinkle in her eye became pronounced. “The wine cellar?”
He smiled. “Secured behind a stout door and barred and locked. Chatham assures me that my wines will be safe.”
“Very well then, I shall get busy,” she said, rising to her feet. “Far be it for me to argue with Chatham.”
As she passed her father, he reached out and caught one of her hands. Surprised, she glanced at him. “What is it?”
Quietly he asked, “Have you enjoyed yourself, Nell? I know this is the first time you have come with me to London in many years. Has it been very bad?” His expression troubled, he added, “Was it difficult seeing Bethune and that wife of his?”
“Bethune?” she inquired in astonishment. “Oh, Papa, I got over him a long time ago—it has been ten years, after all.” Seeing that he was not quite convinced, she kissed his head and murmured, “Papa, it is all right. My heart is not broken, even if I thought it was once upon a time.” She grinned. “And as for that wife of his—he got precisely what he deserved. He should not have been so quick to throw me over.”
“If I had not been so quick to offer him his freedom, then instead of locking yourself away in the country and acting as my hostess, you would have been a duchess, a leader of society,” he said, watching her carefully.
Nell wrinkled her nose. “And utterly bored and miserable. I am glad you offered him his freedom—and that he took it. If he cared so little for me that he could so quickly rid himself of me, I am much better without him.” She patted his arm. “Papa, I have told you time and again, I am very happy with my life. I like the country. I know that I could come with you to London whenever I want—I chose to stay at Meadowlea.” When he would have protested, she put a finger against his lips. “And, no, I do not stay there because I fear running into Bethune and his wife, or anybody else, for that matter.” Her face softened. “It happened a decade ago, I am sure that few people even remember that I was engaged to him. I do not repine over it and you should not, either.” She grinned at him. “Unless of course it is you who hungers for a great title for your daughter.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You know that my first concern is for you to be happy. A title be damned.” He looked wistful. “Although I will confess that I was proud of the grand match you had made. But title or no, I would like to see all of my children married and with their own families.” He sighed. “I will be honest, Nell, it baffles me that none of you has married. Robert is my heir—he should be married and have a quiver full of children by now. I would like to dandle a grandchild or two on my knee before I die. As for the twins…I would have thought by now that at least one of them would have married.”
Nell could think of nothing to say. Her own spinsterhood she took for granted. In the beginning, she had realized that even with her fortune, there were few men who wanted a crippled wife. It didn’t matter these days that her limp was nowhere as obvious as it had been during the first few years after her fall, the stigma was still there. And then there was the fact that, for a while at least, it had been common knowledge in the ton that she had been a bit, well, strange for a time after she had regained consciousness. No gentleman of breeding wanted a wife who might become a resident of Bedlam, the home for the insane. Her eyes hardened. She had Bethune to thank for that bit of lingering gossip. He had wanted to make certain that no blame ever fell in his direction for the ending of the engagement and so he and his family had made certain that her mental state was touted about as being far worse than it had actually been. Supercilious swine.
Touched by her father’s concerns, she sank down onto a chair near Sir Edward. Leaning forward, she said earnestly, “Papa, you know that I do not wish to marry. We’ve discussed it many times—and, no, it is not because I am heart-broken over Bethune. I simply have not met any gentleman who rouses my interest.” She smiled. “With my fortune, there is not the necessity for me to marry. Even when you are gone, which I pray will not be for years and years yet, I am well provided for. You do not need to worry about me.”
“But it is unnatural for you to remain unmarried,” he muttered. “You are a beautiful young woman and, as you just said, you are wealthy, and while we may not have a great title, our ancestry is as proud and grand as any in England.”
Nell dropped her gaze and, her expression demure, she drawled, “Well, there is Lord Tynedale…”
Sir Edward sucked in a breath, aghast. “That scoundrel! He has gambled and whored away his entire fortune. It is common gossip that he owes so much money that, peer or not, he stands a good chance of being thrown into debtor’s prison.” He shook his finger at her. “Everyone knows that he is desperate and hanging out for a rich wife. I heard it from Lord Vinton that he actually tried to kidnap the Arnett heiress. Said her father caught up with them before any harm was done. You be careful around him. If you don’t watch your step, you might find yourself in the same position.” He shook his finger harder at her, saying fiercely, “I ain’t blind, you know. I’ve seen him sniffing around you this past month. Probably thinks that your fortune will do him nicely. You mark my words, gel, he’ll beggar you pulling himself from the River Tick.” His fire fading, he asked anxiously, “Surely, you would not consider such a match?”
Nell raised a pair of laughing eyes. “Papa! As if I would! Of course I would not consider throwing myself away on such a fellow. I am aware of his reputation—even the gossip about the Arnett heiress—and I assure you that I am very careful around him. If I were to marry, it would not be to a poor creature like Tynedale.”
Sir Edward relaxed, a smile curving his mouth. “You should not tease your dear old papa that way, my dear,” he scolded. “You could send me off to meet my maker sooner than any one of us would like.”
Nell snorted. Rising to her feet, she kissed his bald pate again and made for the door, tossing over her shoulder, “Papa, you worry too much about us. Robert will marry one of these days and I am sure that the twins will not be far behind him. You shall dandle those grandchildren you long for before too many more years pass. You wait and see.”
Across town, a few hours later, in the grand London house of the Earls of Wyndham, a similar conversation took place. The present Lord Wyndham, the tenth, having endured one unhappy marriage for the sake of his title and his family, was not about to undertake another. No matter how many tears and scenes were staged by his young stepmother.
Looking across the scattered remains of their breakfast into her tear-filled eyes, Lord Wyndham murmured, “Now let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to marry your godchild, because if I were to die, your godchild, presumably having presented me with an heir, would ensure that your future was secure?”
The Countess Wyndham, looking far too young to be his stepmother, stared back resentfully. She was a lovely little thing, possessed of speaking velvet-brown eyes and enchanting dusky ringlets that framed an equally enchanting face. She was also, at five and thirty, three years younger than her stepson.
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nbsp; “I don’t see,” she muttered, “why you have to take that tone with me. Is my position so hard to understand? If you die without an heir, your cousin Charles will step, no, leap, into your boots. You know that he will toss me and my poor, darling child out onto the streets.”
“I thought that you liked Charles,” Lord Wyndham replied innocently, amusement glimmering in his eyes.
“I do like Charles well enough,” she admitted. “He can be very amusing, but he is a rake and wild to a fault. And his women! You know very well that if Charles inherits that he won’t want Elizabeth and me underfoot. You know that he’ll toss us out onto the streets.”
Lord Wyndham grinned. “Yes, he would most likely toss you out onto the streets—out onto the streets where you and Elizabeth will pick yourselves up and order your carriage brought round to drive you to the Dower House at Wyndham.”
Her dainty fingers tightened on her teacup. “Yes, it is true that we could live there…buried in the country, in a house that has sat empty for decades and is in need of repair. It is also true that your dear, sainted father settled a handsome sum on me when we married.” She leaned forward. “But don’t you see, Julian, it isn’t just about money. You must remember it may not be Charles who inherits—don’t forget that he barely escaped with his life this past summer when his yacht sank and there was that terrible accident with his horses just last month. With his reckless ways Charles may die before you and it may be Raoul who inherits.”
She looked pensive. “I like Sofia Weston, but you have to admit that Raoul’s mother is a strong-minded woman. If Raoul were to inherit, she would see to it that he wasted little time in marrying, and you can be sure that it will be to some little mouse that Mrs. Weston can keep under her thumb. Mrs. Weston will be the Countess Wyndham in all but name—not my sweet-natured godchild, Georgette. If Charles or Raoul inherit, I shall probably never be allowed to step foot in these halls again.”
She buried her nose in a scrap of lace. “These same halls,” she said in muffled tones, “that your dear, dear father first brought me to as a bride five years ago. How different things would be if something did happen to you, and you were married to Georgette! She would see to it that I would always be welcome. And Elizabeth, too. If she doesn’t run away and marry that awful Captain Carver.” She peeped over the top of her handkerchief. “You know the one, the captain in the cavalry, who goes around looking romantic and dashing with his arm in a black sling. Why, I don’t even believe he needs it. He is, no doubt, wearing it just to impress my dear child.”
Julian sighed. Following Diana’s thinking always exasperated his supply of patience, but this morning her thoughts seemed even more disjointed and confused than usual. He glanced at her curvaceous little form and delicate features and he could understand, at least partially, why she had so captivated his father. Of course, he thought dryly, that was the basic difference between him and his father: he would have enjoyed a discreet affair with the young widow, not married her. He sighed again. Not that he blamed his father. His mother had died some twenty years ago and his father had been alone, except for the occasional ladybird, for some twelve years before the taking little widow Diana Forest had caught his eye.
Polite society had been stunned when the ninth Earl of Wyndham had suddenly married the impecunious widow of a lieutenant in the infantry. Not only was she poor, and younger than his only child, but she came with a child herself, her twelve-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.
But the odd marriage had worked and, Julian reminded himself, Diana had made his father happy. Very. His father had adored her and he had doted on Elizabeth, going so far as to settle a nice tidy sum on his young stepdaughter so that she was not penniless. It was too bad that he had died within two years of his marriage, three years ago, leaving his son with the care of a young stepmother and stepsister. Not that Elizabeth gave him any trouble. Sunny-natured and accommodating, Elizabeth adored him and he had a decided soft spot for his sister by marriage. Of course, he had one for Diana, too—when she wasn’t trying his patience.
Recognizing from past experience that Diana had finally come to the crux of her conversation, he asked neutrally, “Do you want me to talk to someone at the Horse Guards about this, uh, Captain Carver? Perhaps the captain can be assigned another post. Say, in Calcutta?”
Diana’s eyes opened wide. “Could you do that?”
He smiled, his harsh-featured face suddenly very attractive. “Yes, I could do that—if it pleases you.”
She looked uncertain. “Well, I don’t think that Calcutta would be very healthy for a man who was wounded, do you? I would feel dreadful if something terrible happened to him. Couldn’t you just have your friends at the Horse Guards see that he is kept very busy—too busy to dangle after my daughter?” She paused, struck by a new worry. “Oh, dear, that might not be wise. Suppose it was discovered that you are keeping them apart. Why, they might be compelled to do something rash.” In a voice full of horror, she breathed, “Oh, Julian, you don’t think that Elizabeth would consent to a runaway match, do you? She is so innocent, of such a sweet, easy-going nature that there is no telling what this man might convince her to do.”
His patience at an end, Julian rose to his feet. He needed to escape before he did something rash. Bowing in her direction, he said, “Do not worry, Diana. I shall take care of it.” Dryly he added, “As I always do.”
Chapter 2
Since it was Saturday, and he doubted that he would find his friend Colonel Stanton at the Horse Guards, Julian put off the chore of settling Captain Carver’s fate. The problem could wait until the beginning of the week. But Diana was not so convinced and to head off the incipient hysterics he could see brewing, before he left the house that afternoon to follow his own pursuits, he wrote to Stanton, requesting a private meeting on Monday afternoon. He was not worried about the situation and he doubted that Elizabeth would throw her cap over the windmill for a mere captain—no matter how dashing. Elizabeth had a good head on her slender shoulders. His mouth twisted. Unlike her mother.
The woman was quite mad, Julian decided several hours later as he strolled down St. James Street toward Boodle’s. Quite mad if she thought he would ever make another marriage based solely on pleasing his family. His lips thinned. His marriage to Catherine had taught him the folly of that!
Catherine had been an heiress, the only child of the Duke of Bellamy and she had been very beautiful. His father had been pleased at the match—Julian had been twenty-nine at the time and to his father’s despair, he had not shown the slightest interest in marriage. “Think of the title,” Lord Wyndham had exhorted him on many an occasion. “When I am gone, and you stick your spoon in the wall, I want your son, not Daniel’s—fine boy that he is—to be the one stepping into your shoes. You need to marry, boy, and present me with grandchildren. It is your duty.” His father had winked at him. “Pleasant one, too.”
When the alluring Lady Catherine had crossed his path a few months later, to please his father, Julian had offered for her. Their wedding had been the most anticipated social affair of the Season of 1795. As he and his new bride had driven away from the reception, Lord Wyndham had fairly rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought of the grandchildren that were sure to be soon forthcoming from the union.
Except, he had thought wrong, Julian recalled grimly. Catherine was not eager for children and Julian discovered almost immediately that behind that beautiful face lived a spoiled and petulant child. Before many months had passed they were openly sniping with each other, and before they were married a year, except for necessity, were seldom seen in each other’s company. Neither one of them had been happy, he admitted, and Catherine had probably found him as boring, insipid and infuriating as he had found her. But they had hobbled along together for a few years, like many other couples in their position, and might still be yoked together if Catherine, pregnant and hating every moment of it, had not been killed in a carriage accident. Julian sighed at the memory.
He was scowling by the time he walked into Boodle’s. Unaware of the fierce expression on his face, he was startled when his friend Mr. Talcott accosted him in the grand salon and demanded, “By Jove, but don’t you look glimflashy this evening! And with hunting season just started!” He studied Julian’s face. “I’ll wager that stepmother of yours has put you out of sorts.” Talcott’s usually merry blue eyes became thoughtful. “She’s a taking little thing, won’t deny it, but think she’d drive me mad.”
Julian laughed, his dark mood vanishing. Clapping Talcott on the back, he said, “Very astute of you. Now come join me in a drink, and tell me that you have decided to accept my invitation to stay at Wyndham Hall.”
They had just started to leave the grand salon when Julian caught sight of a slim blond man. His expression grim, he asked, “Since when has Boodle’s started letting any ragtag bobtail join its ranks?”
Talcott looked startled, then, following Julian’s gaze, he stiffened. “Tynedale! He is pushing his luck, isn’t he? Surely not even he would dare—” Catching sight of the burly man who stood to Tynedale’s left, he muttered, “Well, that explains it—he must have prevailed upon Braithwaite to sponsor him.”
Julian started forward, but Talcott grabbed his shoulder and jerked him into a nearby small alcove. “Don’t be a fool!” he hissed. “You’ve already fought one duel with him—and won. Leave it be. Challenging him again is not going to bring young Daniel back.”