by Mary Brendan - Society Scandals 01 - The Rake's Ruined Lady
‘Well, don’t think about it for too long.’ Toby scrambled to his feet, incensed that his brother would take himself off before an agreement had been reached.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Now do you understand, you stupid girl, why I wanted you married as soon as maybe?’ Maggie Monk raised a hand as though to slap some sense into her daughter.
‘It is all your fault everything is lost!’ Stella cried hysterically, scrubbing at her eyes with a hanky. ‘You should have told me sooner all about it. Why keep it secret? I cannot be your offspring...I cannot.’
She sent her mother a look of utter distaste. In Stella’s opinion such a drab-looking woman could not be so closely related to her; she deserved parents who were charming and glamorous. Since childhood Stella had imagined her father to be a tragic gallant who’d perished in a fire while bravely attempting to rescue his wife and baby girl from an inferno. She’d been brought up thinking she’d been safely dropped from a bedroom window into the trusty arms of a servant, then her poor parents had succumbed to the flames, lost to her for ever...
Stella had now learned that no such heroics had occurred and that she’d been brought into the world following a sordid affair between an old miser and a plain-faced adulteress.
‘I cannot be yours.’ Stella gave a pitiful sniff.
‘Well, you are, my girl!’ Maggie boomed. ‘You’re mine and Sir Donald’s and you’re entitled to his protection from beyond the grave.’ Maggie wrathfully wrung her hands. ‘The tight-fist left no provision for you in his will and he left me nothing more than I’d already got, despite me tending to him till he’d expelled his dying breath.’
Her mouth knotted in bitterness.
‘So I did what I had to do to keep us comfortable. My meagre pension would never run to fine gowns for you so you might socialise with the Quality and find a good husband.’ Maggie strode up to her daughter and pinched her chin in cruel fingers. ‘Did you fancy a yokel touching you with his callused hands?’ She gave a grim smile as Stella flinched from the idea of marrying a labourer. ‘Sir Donald’s name and his wealth are yours by right and I did my utmost to get them for you.’ She shook Stella’s shoulder in emphasis. ‘You should thank me for what I did. Once vows had been taken Sir Colin would never have admitted to being hoodwinked; neither would he have wanted the scandal of a divorce.’
‘But he’s not bothered about abandoning his fiancée!’ Stella screeched, again dabbing her watering eyes. She’d not cared much for Sir Colin, but she’d loved the life and the people to which he’d introduced her. She’d been determined to keep him hooked while she cast about for a better catch. Her circle of admirers would disperse once those fellows discovered she was a bastard and her mother a fraudster.
‘You’re not the first Colin’s jilted; he’ll be known as a fickle rogue.’
The only crumb of comfort Maggie had was that Sir Colin Burnett’s reputation might suffer following his breaking off another engagement. Maggie was banking on him keeping the matter to himself as far as he was able. She’d forged Sir Donald’s signature on a replica will when bubbling with rancour because the man to whom she’d devoted her life had treated her and their daughter shabbily. Maggie had cuckolded her mild-mannered first husband for almost a decade with his brother, then carried on sleeping with Donald for the duration of her second marriage. After her lover’s death she’d finally realised that she, and their child, had meant little to the man she’d adored. He’d left everything to a nephew he barely knew and nothing to his own flesh and blood.
At noon that day Sir Colin Burnett had turned up, thunder-faced. Stella had still been abed and Maggie had been relieved that her daughter had missed most of the argument that had taken place. At first Maggie had denied everything. Once Sir Colin had produced the authentic will she had known the game was up and taken refuge in bluster. Their raised voices had eventually drawn Stella downstairs and Sir Colin had tarried only long enough to demand back his engagement ring before storming off.
Maggie was anxious to know how Burnett might retaliate. If she were mistaken in thinking he’d wish to smooth over the matter to protect his credibility she must prepare to flee to avoid arrest. If she were imprisoned her beloved Stella would be at the mercy of rough sorts in need of a wife but with nothing to give her but coarse manners and backbreaking work.
‘Damn that solicitor and his eagle eyes,’ Maggie spat resentfully.
Stella knuckled her wet eyes. ‘Are we in bad trouble, Mama?’
‘No...’ Maggie stroked her daughter’s fiery tresses, pleased to hear the girl call her Mama. ‘Sir Colin will not want this all played out in court because of the risk to his reputation. It will blow over.’
‘What of my reputation?’ Stella wailed. ‘Lord Whitley will never again have me in his house if he knows I’m a bastard...’
‘Never mind that old man!’
‘But I like him...’
Maggie sighed, eyeing her daughter shrewdly. ‘I reckon Lord Whitley likes you, too, my dear.’
Once the old lecher found out her wedding was off he might proposition Stella. It was no perfect solution, but Maggie believed her daughter would be better off protected as a rich man’s mistress than a poor man’s wife...
* * *
‘You must allow me to pay off Toby Kendrick...prior to knocking his teeth down his throat.’
‘You may knock the blackguard’s teeth down his throat with my blessing, but paying my daughter’s debts is my responsibility.’ Stubbornly Mr Dewey turned from his son-in-law to cast a censorious look in Beatrice’s direction. ‘Would that she had a husband to keep her in check,’ he muttered darkly, ‘For I am fast running out of cash and patience with her.’
‘Papa! It is not wholly Bea’s fault! The vile wretch tricked her into thinking he was offering sound advice during that game of Faro.’ Elise attempted to soothe her father’s agitation.
Beatrice’s sorrowful shake of the head indicated to her sister that she deserved their father’s wrath, and would bear it if it eased his mind. Approaching Walter, Bea took one of his withered hands. She hated seeing him overwrought.
Walter shook off her comfort, limping to an armchair to flop down. ‘You have overstepped the mark this time, miss, with your impetuousness.’
Alex shrugged, wordlessly enquiring from his wife how else he might persuade Walter to sensibly allow him to take control of the matter.
‘Papa, listen to me. It is best that the odious man is quickly paid off or he might charge interest on the debt, you know,’ Elise warned briskly.
‘Hah! He can try! I’ll broadcast far and wide that he is a dastardly money-grabber.’
‘I think most people have already come to that conclusion,’ the viscount commented dryly. ‘What’s more, Toby Kendrick gives the impression he’s too thick-skinned to care about vilification.’
‘He was not liked before this blew up; now people roundly despise him,’ Elise chipped in. ‘Why would he go out of his way to make a target of Bea?’
Alex had his own ideas on that, but realised he’d better not air them or his father-in-law might have apoplexy. He and Hugh had been close for decades, and Alex was sorely missing his friend’s companionship. He knew Hugh almost as well as he knew himself. In Alex’s opinion Hugh had never stopped loving Beatrice and desired her with a passion bordering on obsession. Alex also knew that Sir Toby Kendrick was bitterly resentful of his younger brother’s success. If Toby had discovered Hugh’s Achilles’ Heel he would jab mercilessly at it and enjoy watching his brother squirm.
‘Your sister had it from Kendrick that his brother was no good.’ Walter wagged a finger at Elise. ‘Beatrice told me that herself; yet she ignored the good fellow and heeded the bad character.’
Again Beatrice winced beneath her father’s rebuke, clapping her hands over her ears as the debate over Sir Toby’s hatefulness and her stupidity continued batting to and fro.
Two days had passed since the evening she’d gambled so h
eavily. Early the following morning she had told her father and sister what she’d done. Under chaotic interrogation, when questions had been fired at her from every direction, she had admitted that Hugh Kendrick had said he didn’t consider his brother a trustworthy individual. Bea was glad she’d owned up straight away that a scandal was brewing, before her family learned gory details from gossip.
Aunt Dolly had arrived in high dudgeon just after luncheon, to complain to her brother that his elder daughter had learned nothing from her past mistakes and had cast a shadow over them all once more.
Beatrice hadn’t ducked any criticism, and simply wished to put matters right...but how? She dared not tell her father that the gentleman he lauded had made her an indecent proposal in order to clear her debt.
The idea of carrying out the forfeit both excited and appalled Bea. At the time, the wager had seemed too good to be true. As, of course, it was. Once the anxiety fogging her mind had lifted Beatrice had realised that she had shaken hands on a deal that she could never win. In the eyes of the ton she’d be damned if she did go to Hugh Kendrick and damned if she did not.
There was only one reason a gentleman would pay a young lady’s debts if she were unrelated to him, and everybody knew what it was. Toby Kendrick would reveal that his brother had paid off Miss Dewey’s IOUs and revel in seeing her suffer the dreadful consequences.
But what right had she to feel outraged? She had already come close to becoming Hugh’s paramour. The memory of the exquisite pleasure Hugh had aroused in her was preventing her focussing on finding a solution to this latest crisis. Even now she was conscious of the low throb in her belly caused by a need to see him. She felt restless enough to want to leave the house—even if it meant enduring stares and whispers—so she might meet Hugh by chance rather than by design.
‘I have some insurance policies that can be sold to pay off the rogue...’
Mr Dewey’s sighed declaration pierced Bea’s consciousness. ‘But...but those policies provide your pension, Papa,’ she stammered. ‘You cannot sell them and leave yourself without an income.’ Bea was coming to accept there was little option but to let her brother-in-law salvage her reputation by dealing with the matter.
‘So what else do you suggest I do, miss?’ Walter bellowed.
‘A gentleman caller, my lord,’ a liveried footman announced.
Viscount Blackthorne quirked an eyebrow at his manservant.
‘Sir Colin Burnett, my lord.’ The footman answered his master’s wordless enquiry.
‘Show him to my study.’
‘What in God’s name can he want?’ Walter muttered testily once the footman had withdrawn. ‘Mayhap he’s come to crow over our worsening misfortune. And he set the ball rolling, damn him!’
‘I’m sure he has not.’ Beatrice spoke up for the man who’d jilted her. Her father rarely used expletives with his daughters present so she knew how angry he was feeling. ‘Colin was pleasant to me at the Whitleys’.’
‘Was he, now? Well, perhaps he’ll be nice enough to hand over my expenses so I can put the cash towards those other costs you have dumped at my door.’
‘What do you think he wants?’ Elise whispered to Bea as they sat together on the sofa.
Alex had gone to meet his visitor and the two sisters had settled down, allowing their father to brood moodily in his armchair. Every so often Walter would thump down his stick on the rug as some private thought vexed him. But he’d directed no further reprimands at Beatrice.
‘I hope his purpose is to belatedly open his purse and hand over what he owes,’ Beatrice replied in an undertone. ‘Papa might then calm down while we sort out the other mess I’ve caused.’
Elise knew Bea was feeling very guilty indeed. ‘Perhaps Colin will ask to see you, if you are again friends,’ she suggested, giving her sister’s hand a comforting pat.
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re friends.’ Bea sounded rueful. ‘I’ve nothing more to say to him. Papa is quite able to speak for himself about his expenses.’ She slipped a glance at their father, glowering into space. ‘He seems ready to do so, too.’
Bea cast her eyes heavenwards, acutely regretting having spoiled what might be her father’s final outing to town.
‘It is lovely staying with you, Elise, but I wish now I had remained in Hertfordshire. Every time I come to London I seem to bring problems with me.’
‘Indeed you do not!’ Elise again attempted to buck up her morose sister. ‘You don’t deserve the bad luck you get, Bea...’
‘Sir Colin would like to speak privately to Beatrice.’ Alex had re-entered the morning room and closed the door before making his announcement.
‘Would he, now?’ Walter used his stick to assist him to his feet. ‘Well, you can tell the turncoat that I am the one he ought to visit, and you can also tell him that my daughter sees no gentleman privately without my permission.’
‘Papa!’ Beatrice sounded mildly irritated. ‘I am twenty-five years old and have been alone with Colin many times before.’
‘That was when you were his future wife,’ Walter retorted. He turned to his son-in-law. ‘What reason did he give for asking to see Beatrice?’
‘He said there had been developments, but wouldn’t disclose more to me. He seemed prepared to leave if his request was denied. I’ve had him shown to the small salon to await his answer.’
Her father’s high-handedness had made Bea feel contrary; she was also becoming increasingly curious to know what Colin wanted to talk about. She remembered Colin’s bemused expression as she quit the Whitleys’ house in disgrace. If he’d brought news concerning that calamity it would be best to have the gossip sooner rather than later, and she told her father so.
‘Very well, you may have a few minutes with him.’ Walter backed down because he was also keen to find out why Colin had called; they had all parted company under a very black cloud. Therefore he reasoned it had to be a matter of some magnitude that would bring the doctor, cap in hand, to see the woman he had jilted while she was in the bosom of her family.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Would you like some refreshment, sir? I can ask for some tea to be brought to us.’ Beatrice made her polite offer on entering the small salon and closing the door behind her. Her arrival had interrupted Colin pacing and, remembering him as a staid character, she found it remarkable that he appeared so restless.
‘No...nothing...thank you...’ Colin immediately approached, grasping her hands and then raising them as though he might kiss her fingertips.
Flustered by such an eager and inappropriate greeting, Beatrice speedily freed herself from his clasp. She didn’t want him to believe they were now friends just because they had exchanged a few courtesies at the Whitleys’.
‘I have made a dreadful error, Beatrice, and would beg you to hear me out,’ Colin erupted. ‘I know you have every right to hate me but I’m optimistic you do not. You were kind enough to come and talk to me the other evening, and you have agreed to see me today.’
He raked back from his forehead an untidy fringe of auburn hair.
‘I am hoping that your natural grace and goodness will allow you to forgive me. Indeed, I pray you will, and that you’ll take pity on me when you hear of the injury I have suffered.’
‘The injury you have suffered?’ Beatrice echoed, rather tartly. If her memory served her correctly she had been the wounded party.
‘I have been duped, Beatrice!’ Colin exclaimed, a whirling hand and furrowed brow emphasising the gravity of his situation. ‘My uncle’s will did not after all contain a stipulation that I must marry Stella Rawlings.’
Beatrice blinked, momentarily rendered speechless. ‘You have only just thought to check on it?’ Despite her astonishment Bea realised there was no immediate relief at having Colin’s news. In fact, as an inkling of his reason for visiting her pricked her mind, she inwardly mustered a rebuff.
‘Oh, I ordered it all to be checked thoroughly.’ He tutted. ‘There is n
o point in picking over upsetting details now, because what is done is done. I shall sue my solicitor, of course, and am confident of eventual success...but enough of that.’ He gazed pleadingly at Bea. ‘One vital aspect must be remedied straight away. There was never any need for our engagement to be broken, my dear.’
Once more, Colin captured her small hands in his sturdy digits.
‘I cannot reveal all to you at this stage, but suffice to say that a crime has been committed and Miss Rawlings and I are no longer engaged. I am free to marry you, and would do so this very moment if I could.’ Her crushed fingers were taken to his heart and held there, miming his devotion. ‘We must set a date before the end of the month...next week if you like. Your father will not need to spend a farthing more than he already has, I swear.’
Delving into his pocket, Colin drew out the garnet ring he had just hours ago demanded Stella return to him. In finger and thumb he held it out to Beatrice, anticipating her joy at the sight of it.
‘It gives me immense satisfaction to return this to its rightful owner. I have never stopped loving you, Bea...’
‘But I have stopped loving you.’ Beatrice jerked her hand back to her side as Colin would have forced the ring on her finger. ‘I’m very sorry to be blunt, and to hear that you and Miss Rawlings are not to be married, but I refuse to be drawn into your problems or substitute myself for her.’
Colin smiled softly. ‘You must not be indignant that I have come back to you; I wanted you as my wife all along, Beatrice. You are not second fiddle, and I have not rushed here on the rebound from her.’
Bea coughed a startled laugh. ‘I do not think of myself as second fiddle, and I am not indulging in a fit of the sulks because of wounded pride.’
She stepped to a sofa, using its back as support as the magnitude of what she’d heard sank in. She knew her family—waiting patiently in another room to hear the outcome of this meeting—would be shocked to learn that there had been no reason after all for Colin to jilt her. And yet, in a way, it had been right that the wedding had been cancelled, Bea realised. She’d since come to accept that her feelings for Hugh Kendrick had never completely died, and now had rekindled to a passion that threatened to overwhelm her. Every waking moment and every restless night were disturbed by thoughts of him. When she tried to force her mind to other, pressing matters she could not concentrate on them for longer than a minute before his dark sardonic features were before her eyes.
