by Mary Brendan - Society Scandals 01 - The Rake's Ruined Lady
‘I didn’t notice,’ Hugh lied glibly. He saw no sense in stirring up trouble; he was determined to leave and visit Gwen, so she could attempt to soothe his restlessness.
‘A hand of cards, Hugh?’ Jago suggested, having returned from the terrace.
‘I’m leaving in a moment...’
‘Oh, do stay for a while yet,’ Verity bubbled. ‘Never mind tedious gaming, the rug is being pulled back and soon there will be dancing.’
On a raised dais a few musicians were tuning up and, in front of it, two footmen were rolling back an Aubusson carpet to reveal the polished wood beneath.
‘You’re likely to frighten him off even sooner with such talk.’ Fiona consolingly patted Hugh’s sleeve. ‘Never fear, I will protect you from being frogmarched into a quadrille.’
Fiona liked Hugh, despite the fact he’d once made an effort to woo her and been gently rebuffed. She’d known all along that he’d approached her on the rebound. He had still been in love with Beatrice and would have returned to his first choice in an instant if he had managed to raise the money to enable him to propose.
Hugh gazed again in Bea’s direction, feeling a frustrated desire to stride over and take her somewhere quiet and secluded. The hope of talking privately to her had brought him here in the first place, although it wasn’t fair to run the risk of embarrassing not only her but also her aunt and their mutual friends. He cursed beneath his breath, acknowledging the insanity in his behaviour; he should have avoided this genteel party and attended one of his usual haunts. There would have been a better time to approach her again... The trouble was he was too impatient to wait for it to crop up...
Having said goodbye to his friends, Hugh had nearly reached the exit when Colin Burnett appeared in front of him, blocking his path.
‘I believe you owe me an apology, sir.’ Colin had had ample time to brood on his dressing down by this man. The opportunity to salve his wounded pride and subdue his bubbling resentment had presented itself this evening and he’d been unable to ignore it.
‘I owe you nothing, Burnett. However, if you would like to take this up with me somewhere more appropriate do call round to Grosvenor Square tomorrow. I’ll be pleased to see you.’ Hugh made to pass, a curl to his lips.
‘You may address me by my title if you speak to me or about me,’ Colin enunciated. ‘I have taken my birthright and am Sir Colin Burnett.’
Hugh’s mouth slanted in a mirthless smile. ‘Yes...I realise you’ve improved your lot.’ His tawny stare slewed to Stella, now watching them from beneath her lashes. ‘Or have you...?’
Colin understood the sarcastic remark. He’d noticed that his future wife had been shadowing Hugh Kendrick’s movements. It was bad enough watching her flatter and tease other gentlemen with her batting lashes and soppy smiles, but to have her take such an interest in this fellow was galling. Contrarily, Colin also felt injured because Kendrick seemed to find Stella contemptible rather than alluring.
‘Perhaps I will call on you,’ he snarled beneath his breath. ‘I don’t like you paying such attention to my fiancée.’
Hugh grinned, genuinely amused. ‘I’ve not a shred of interest in the girl and I find it pitiable that you do...’
Jago had observed the exchange between the two men from a distance. Seeing he might kill two birds with one stone—defuse the situation between two of Miss Dewey’s past loves and keep some interesting male company for a while longer—he strolled up.
‘Lord Whitley would like you to roll dice with him, Hugh. You’ll oblige the old fellow, won’t you? A couple of games won’t delay you by more than fifteen minutes or so.’
With a muted oath Hugh allowed himself to be once again steered towards the centre of the drawing room.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of Mrs Monk’s voice close to his ear transformed Colin’s moodiness to annoyance. He had guessed what had prompted Maggie to suggest they leave even before he’d glanced in his fiancée’s direction. He realised that in polite society it was considered de trop for a gentleman to object to his lady’s circle of admirers so up to now he had bitten his tongue—apart from earlier, when confronting Hugh Kendrick. But Colin’s patience with Stella’s behaviour was almost expired. She had four fawning gallants dancing attendance on her, and from her aunt’s stern expression it was obvious Maggie was also at the end of her tether where the girl was concerned.
Two of Stella’s lapdogs were army officers in redcoats—eager and fresh-faced, perhaps not yet turned twenty-one. The other two gentlemen were older but apparently equally ensnared.
Colin cursed beneath his breath. If only his damnable uncle hadn’t meddled in his life he’d have married the woman he wanted. He had been observing Bea since he’d arrived, and before the evening was out he hoped to have a proper conversation with her. She was everything a man could want in a genteel wife, whereas Stella...was not.
He had noticed the way Kendrick circled Bea and suspected his nemesis had come to a similar conclusion about Beatrice’s charms and was about to take advantage of her availability. To his shame, Colin knew that Stella fired his blood in a way that Bea had never done. The flame-haired vixen made his hands itch to rip off her clothes. But he’d come to understand that Stella purposely teased other fellows in the same way she did him. His fiancée was making a fool of him, prompting people to snigger that he’d be a cuckold before he’d taken his vows.
Maggie Monk had been nagging at him to name the day but, having got to know the woman’s niece better, Colin was no longer in a rush to do so. Why should he? He had his birthright, and as long as he wed no other but Stella he would keep it. He had a feeling that the little wanton would lie with him for a few baubles whether he walked her down the aisle or not...
So he wasn’t about to leave this party early. He hadn’t given up on the idea of having a talk with Beatrice and perhaps confiding his feelings on all sorts of matters... They might never be able to marry, because of his dratted uncle, but Colin was confident Bea might appreciate an invitation to come back into his life in a less formal role than that of wife...
* * *
‘I’m so proud of you...’
The moment Lady Groves drew Dolly Pearson away for a chat Fiona snatched the opportunity to speak privately to Beatrice.
‘Verity was worried when you approached the doctor, thinking you might be rudely rebuffed, but I knew you’d be fine. It was very brave, and quite the right thing to do,’ she enthusiastically praised.
‘I’m glad it is over with.’ Bea gave a heartfelt sigh.
‘Stella Rawlings has been flirting outrageously. Was she impolite to you?’
‘Nothing unpleasant occurred,’ Bea answered. ‘It was just a bit awkward, that’s all.’ She chuckled. ‘Now it is done, and I have escaped my aunt’s beady eye too, by the looks of things.’ She glanced at Dolly, in animated conversation with her cronies. ‘I think I deserve to enjoy myself for an hour or so before going home.’ She squeezed her friend’s fingers. ‘Shall we play cards? I have brought some money for a little flutter.’
‘Jago has lost five pounds already.’ Fiona grimaced a caution.
A pile of cash littered the green baize of the Faro table. Jago was seated beside his wife and looking rather glum. Verity was smiling, perhaps because she appeared to be doing rather better, judging by her stack of coins.
‘I think I might try my luck.’ Bea felt quite carefree now the burden of her meeting with Colin had been lifted. ‘Papa says I’m good at Faro, although I suspect when he’s banker he lets me win.’
‘My allowance is already overspent.’ Fiona glanced about. ‘I wonder where Hugh is? He was throwing dice earlier with our host. I hope he has not already gone...’
Bea frowned, her eyes darting to and fro for a glimpse of him. She too hoped he hadn’t left yet, which was odd considering she’d been dismayed when he’d turned up.
As a fellow threw in his hand and vacated the table Bea sat down opposite her friends.
/>
Some time later she realised that the fellow slouched in a chair, with his chin sunk low on his chest, was Sir Toby Kendrick. Of his fiancée there was no sign. Bea had never before met Toby, but recalled Fiona pointing him out earlier. Hugh’s caustic remarks about his older brother were also still in Bea’s mind. She hadn’t noticed the two men exchange even the briefest of greetings during the evening.
In her buoyant mood she decided that Fiona had spoken wisely when observing that Sir Toby might not be as bad as Hugh would have them all believe. Sibling rivalry was often to blame for such animosity, she decided, having unexpectedly received a smile from Hugh’s brother.
‘You’re doing rather well, Miss Dewey.’
Beatrice smiled, flushed with pleasure and excitement. Her three shillings had won her over four pounds so far. Only a few gamesters remained at the table, the others had folded their hands on hearing the orchestra start up. Jago still toyed with a few chips, and a Hussar in splendidly brocaded uniform was staring intently at the cards in his hand.
It had been Toby Kendrick who’d congratulated Bea a moment ago. As the banker pushed her winnings her way Bea again considered that Hugh had been unfair about his brother; Sir Toby had been unfailingly pleasant. Perhaps Hugh had a tendency to deliberately rub Toby up the wrong way...just as he did her...
Despite his elevated status Sir Toby was not as charismatic or as handsome as his younger brother. Nevertheless his light brown hair and regular features were attractive, if somewhat marred by a complexion that was turning florid from the effects of the brandy he was steadily consuming.
‘If I had your luck I’d be tempted to up the ante.’ Toby placed his bet.
‘I must not!’ Bea lightly remonstrated. ‘I will be jinxed if I do and might lose my winnings.’
‘Superstition.’ Toby made a dismissive gesture. ‘Only the faint-hearted would hold back on such a run of luck—and you, Miss Dewey, are not a coward, are you?’ He held Bea’s gaze with a stare that mingled admiration and challenge.
‘Miss Dewey can make up her own mind on the state of play,’ Jago said, with an undercurrent to his voice.
Bea sensed Jago was warning her against betting heavily. She knew he was doing it kindly, to protect her, but she felt quite drunk with exhilaration, and flattered that Sir Toby had faith in her ability. Besides, if she netted a tidy amount she’d be able to reimburse her father for her wedding expenses. Not that Colin Burnett should be let off the hook; when an opportunity arose she would remind the doctor of the solemn promise he’d made to honour his debts on the day he jilted her.
It was the sense of a hand pressing on the rail of her chair that alerted Beatrice to Hugh’s presence...that and a faint familiar redolence of cigar smoke and sandalwood. If she had not been in shock at what she’d done she might also have guessed at someone being directly behind from people’s reactions: they were no longer pitying her with sly eyes but gawping over the top of her head.
Sir Toby Kendrick had a particularly malicious glint beneath his dropped lashes. But Beatrice was no longer surprised at his meanness. That gentleman had minutes ago transformed from kindly advisor to debt collector.
‘Ah...my dear brother...come to rescue the fair lady,’ Toby drawled. ‘Indeed she needs somebody’s help as she now owes me...let me see...’ He made a show of counting on his fingers. ‘One hundred and fifteen pounds.’ He tapped a hand on baize. ‘Too late to be a hero, I’m afraid.’
Beatrice felt as though a knife had stabbed at her heart, making her physically wince. ‘No...it cannot be as much as that!’
She made to rise, but a cool hand on her shoulder stayed her, then withdrew slowly in a way only she might recognise as a subtle caress. She glanced up, her lovely face bloodless with strain. Following an infinitesimal wordless reassurance Hugh’s eyes were once more on his brother, his jaw tense with controlled fury.
‘Miss Dewey is retiring from the game and I’m taking her place,’ Hugh announced quietly. ‘Does anybody object?’ His gaze swept the remaining players at the Faro table, lingering for a moment on Jago, making his friend squirm beneath a blaze of wrathful accusation. Jago’s attempt at gesturing in explanation was ignored; Hugh’s attention had gone.
‘I object,’ Toby purred, smugly sprawling in his chair.
‘You’re outvoted,’ Hugh said.
‘Those aren’t the rules I play by,’ Toby returned defiantly.
‘They are now.’ Hugh stared at the banker, who in turn peeked at Lord Whitley, standing amidst the audience to this spectacle.
Their host inclined his head rather reluctantly, because the old fellow enjoyed a scandal and a scuffle and he thought that both were in the offing this evening. The fact that a newly jilted spinster now had two brothers fighting over her was quite piquant, and an air of horrified excitement was electrifying the atmosphere.
With a nod the banker indicated that Hugh could join the game in Miss Dewey’s stead.
‘In that case I shall withdraw my person and my winnings...and my IOUs stand.’ Toby knew that to act in such a callous way and prevent the young lady having a chance of cancelling a debt he’d deliberately led her into would brand him a cad. But he didn’t care what people thought; he was obsessed with feeding the envy and enmity he had for his brother.
Toby had always known that Hugh wanted Beatrice Dewey. He’d known it years ago when the couple had been inseparable for weeks. His suspicions that his brother still lusted after the blonde had been confirmed when Hugh had unexpectedly strolled into the Whitleys’ drawing room earlier. Miss Dewey had quite quickly distanced herself from his brother, enlightening Toby, if nobody else present, to the nature of the rift between Viscount Blackthorne and Hugh. Toby hadn’t imagined an opportunity would arise this evening to torment his brother, but the moment it had he’d happily made use of it.
He surged out of his chair as steadily as his inebriated state allowed, grabbing his cash and sneering as a murmur of disapproval grew in volume. Pushing his way through the hushed spectators, Sir Toby Kendrick quit the room, then the house. He chuckled as he sauntered along the pavement. He might have lost his fiancée tonight—Mr Lowell had taken his daughter off home a moment after Toby had asked the miser for a few sovereigns to use as stake money. But luckily, he’d had some pocket change with him, and he’d cleverly turned those few coins into a tidy sum...
‘Come...stand up, Beatrice...it’s time to go...’
Beatrice heard the quiet baritone commanding her, felt gentle fingers touching her arm to coax her out of her seat. But she was unable to move. Tears were burning her eyes, but she managed to keep them at bay until a shrill voice heralded her aunt’s approach.
‘What have you done?’ Dolly cried, thrusting her panic-stricken face close to the miscreant’s blurry vision.
When her niece seemed incapable of explaining herself she pulled out a chair next to Bea and collapsed into it. Just minutes ago Fiona had sidled up to warn her that Bea might be in a spot of trouble, interrupting Dolly mid-flow in singing her niece’s praises to her friends. A spot of trouble hardly did justice, in Dolly’s mind, to this latest disaster threatening the Dewey family.
‘My poor brother!’ Dolly whimpered. ‘How is he to repay the odious fellow that amount of cash? What were you thinking of, playing so freely, you stupid girl?’ Dolly clapped her hands in frustration.
It was the trigger that Beatrice had been dreading. She stiffened, attempting to control her inner quaking at her aunt’s fully deserved reprimand.
‘What is to be done?’ Dolly turned to Hugh for support as Bea dropped her forehead into a hand and used a thumb to smear away the moisture on her lashes.
‘The matter can be rectified,’ Hugh soothed.
He sat down on the opposite side of Bea and immediately she raised her glistening eyes to him. ‘You think your brother is lying? I don’t really owe him that much, do I?’
‘Yes...you do...’ Hugh disabused her. He’d had a muttered confirmation from the
banker that the sum was correct. Sir Toby had encouraged Beatrice to engage in cocking—her whole pot of money had been risked on the turn of a card—and then, when she’d had nothing left and had panicked, his fiend of a brother had pretended to help her recoup her losses by loaning her more cash to stake.
‘Papa shall not know of this,’ Bea whispered.
‘Indeed he must!’ Dolly spluttered. ‘However are you to save yourself from ruin if your father does not settle with Sir Toby—?’
‘He shall not know!’ Beatrice interrupted, so forcefully that her aunt shrank back in her seat.
‘You are overwrought, Beatrice, to speak so.’ Dolly sounded miffed and glanced about.
Thankfully most people had had the good manners to exit the room while the crisis was debated by kith and kin. But Dolly knew that by tomorrow every breakfast table would be alive with gossip about Miss Dewey. Beatrice’s good deed in being nice to Miss Rawlings would be overlooked and only the gory details of her misbehaviour picked over.
‘I shall go home now.’ Beatrice slowly gained her feet, but with a strengthening determination shaping her features. Drawing in a deep, inspiriting breath she elevated her chin. ‘If I must run the gauntlet I’d sooner do it right away.’ She felt ashamed that Hugh had witnessed her stupidity. She’d gone against him in trusting his brother when he’d made it clear Sir Toby was a bad character. ‘Thank you for trying to save me by taking my place,’ she whispered.
‘My pleasure...’ He inclined his head.
‘Will you leave with us now?’ Fiona had arrived with them in the viscount’s coach and Beatrice realised she might like a lift home.
‘Indeed I shall not!’ Fiona replied with asperity. ‘I’m going to stay here with Verity and Jago and defend your reputation by telling everybody what a vile monster Sir Toby is!’ Fiona’s cheeks were flushed with anger at what Hugh’s brother had done. ‘I can get a ride home with my family later.’
Verity murmured full-hearted agreement to her sister’s plan. ‘Jago has told me that he feared Sir Toby was playing a dastardly game with you...’
