Secrets of a Scandalous Heiress

by Theresa Romain

  How had those women of his past persuaded him out of his clothing? How had they won his hope? What had they offered; what had they promised?

  Augusta had given him honesty, and it had not been enough. Or perhaps it was too much. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

  A few people greeted Mrs. Flowers as they walked, and Augusta felt more and more as though she were wearing a costume. And as one at a masquerade, the compliments and praise were good only while the farce lasted. They had no reflection on her real self.

  Joss accompanied her to the door of Emily’s house. At the top step, he took her hands in his. Bending his head to hers, he kissed her on the forehead—a swift, warm press of lips that sent a sweet pulse of shock through her.

  “Thank you for your company, Mrs. Flowers. Miss Meredith.” His eyes were shadowed and deep, his mouth a firm curve. So long had they walked in silence that she almost forgot speech was allowed. Still, she could manage none; she only nodded a farewell before stepping inside.

  She caught sight of herself in the foyer glass, bonnet wind-tumbled and cheeks pink with confusion and desire; lips that had spoken foolish words, then been silent at the wrong time. What should she have said, though? What did he mean; what did he want?

  Atop her shoulders, the invisible boulder threatened to roll. Her chest gave a warning hitch.

  “That won’t do,” she told her reflection. “You’re Mrs. Flowers.” She glared until the mirror woman began to correct her expression. Feature by feature, she changed herself: closing her eyes until they agreed not to make tears; breathing slowly through her nose until it resumed working with her lungs, collecting air without that terrible heavy hitch pressing on her.

  When she opened her eyes again, she managed to smile. “Emily,” she called upstairs. “How do you feel? Shall we go to an assembly tonight?”

  Sometimes one was far too lonely to be left alone.

  Nine

  “Why,” Augusta asked with some suspicion the following day, “are there four places laid for dinner? I thought we were to dine alone before attending the theater tonight.”

  From the doorway of the dining room, Emily replied, “A slight change of plans. As of a few days ago, we’ve a new neighbor to the west.”

  “Lord Sutcliffe, you mean?”

  “Yes, I have invited him to dine with us. Poor fellow, his servants have hardly unpacked, and there’s no telling what his cook may be feeding him. A dinner with friends is much more pleasant than a meat pie from a public house, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Certainly.” Augusta regarded her clothing with some doubt. “Though I ought to change my gown.”

  She had planned to don an evening frock after dinner, before she and Emily ventured out to the theater. At the moment, then, she still wore her tawny cotton day dress. Earlier today, it had traveled on a carriage ride to Claverton Downs with a man named Prewitt, and it had entertained Hiccuper—whose real name proved to be Harris—and a few friends for tea. It had clothed Mrs. Flowers for a long day of smiles and coos and pleasant chatter.

  Augusta had looked forward to being Miss Meredith for a while this evening.

  “You haven’t time to change. They’ll be here any minute, as they have only to walk from next door.” Emily shook her perfectly coiffed auburn head. She had changed for dinner, and despite her pallor, she looked elegant in buttery silk with puffed sleeves and sweeping swags of lace about the skirt.

  Augusta indicated the fourth place setting. “Who will accompany Lord Sutcliffe?”

  “Mr. Everett, of course.” Emily beamed at Augusta. “Do you hear the door knocker? I think they’ve arrived. Come, we’ll meet them in the drawing room.”

  Augusta’s heart thumped harder than was necessary for a healthy young woman climbing a single flight of stairs. Foolish organ.

  The men reached the drawing room only a minute after Emily and Augusta had settled themselves. Lord Sutcliffe entered first, thin yet resplendent in a plum-colored velvet coat, and Joss trailing behind wearing his usual black. The women greeted them warmly, Augusta trying to smooth the wrinkles from her day dress as she stood.

  “Thank you for joining us,” Emily said. “I am so glad we have two such amiable neighbors next door.”

  “Oh, Everett doesn’t stay at my lodging.” Lord Sutcliffe carried a bottle of something spirituous, which he handed to Joss as he made his bows to the women.

  Augusta tilted her head, surprised, but before she could comment, Joss replied. “Of course not. Lord Sutcliffe is a sedate married man. I cannot have him circumscribing my pleasures.”

  “How wicked, Mr. Everett! You must tell us more.” Emily twinkled, and Sutcliffe beamed at her. Joss’s own smile looked odd, merely an ill-fitting shape on his face. When Augusta caught his eye, he looked away, fingers gripping the bottle’s neck tightly.

  “Lord Sutcliffe,” Emily added, “I believe you have met my friend, Mrs.—” Emily cut herself off, eyes opening wide. Augusta’s fingers went cold. Of course. She had met Sutcliffe before in London. He would know her true name. Oh, damn.

  “Mrs. Flowers,” Joss spoke up from behind the baron, directing a tiny shake of his head to the women. “No, Sutcliffe, I don’t think you have yet made her acquaintance.”

  “Then the honor is mine.” The baron bowed over Augusta’s right hand as her left still tried to bring order to her worn day dress. “Sure we haven’t been introduced before, ma’am? You do look familiar. I never forget a pretty face.”

  “Well, if we had met, I’m sure I should never forget a baron. So therefore we must not have met, my lord.” As though this made perfect sense, Augusta mustered Mrs. Flowers’s smile, a simper with a dash of syrup. “I am so glad we have the chance to make one another’s acquaintance. For the first time.”

  “The honor is mine. And what a pleasure to dine in this lovely house!” Sutcliffe spread his arms wide. “Lovely, lovely. I ought to have you come look around mine, Lady Tallant, to lend it your magic touch. The furniture is in a sad state compared to this house. Why, some of the velvet on the drawing room settee is worn to the nap.”

  “Dear me,” Emily said. “That sounds most uncomfortable. Have you taken a long lease?”

  “A week at a time. But I’m here for as long as need be.” Sutcliffe winked. “There’s so much in Bath I haven’t seen yet. Did you know a man can hire a private bath, and no one would even know who would come and go? We could have an assembly in a bath!”

  “I take a private bath daily, but I never thought of hosting an assembly in a bathhouse.” Only the slight tilt of Emily’s head betrayed her bemusement.

  “Lord Sutcliffe is a fount of ideas,” murmured Joss.

  The blond-haired man beamed. “Truer words were never spoken, and all that. When I’m next in London, I shall see whether I can have a bath constructed for my house. In the ballroom, maybe? It would be simple to have an assembly in a bath if the bath were in a ballroom. Everett, hold tight to that bottle. I had it sent all the way from Switzerland.”

  They all blinked into this whirlwind of conversation for an instant.

  Augusta filled the succeeding pause. “Ah—Lady Tallant, I believe you mentioned that dinner was likely ready?”

  “Indeed, yes!” Emily jumped on this excuse. “Lord Sutcliffe, please do see me down. Mr. Everett, you will accompany Mrs. Flowers?”

  With more spirit than grace, Emily seized the baron’s arm and dragged him from the room. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Augusta whispered, “Thank you, Joss. I had not realized in time that your cousin had met me before. I just learned the pair of you were to dine tonight, which is why I’m still wearing—” She cut herself off, fisting a wad of cotton skirts. The state of her clothing mattered far less than the state of her reputation. “Well. Thank you again for covering my uncertainty. But surely he’ll remember at any time, won’t he? Best that I pretend t
o be ill and bow out of the dinner.”

  “No need, I assure you.” A pinched smile marred Joss’s handsome features. “Lord Sutcliffe has a poor memory for names, and as the meal goes on, it shall only become poorer.” He brandished the tinted glass bottle, which contained a pale liquid.

  He held out his other arm, and once Augusta tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he added, “Only act as though all is well, and all shall be well. I’ve known him my whole life, and I can promise you you’re quite safe. Lord Sutcliffe is ready to be pleased.”

  “And you?” Beneath his coat sleeve, she could feel the strong line of his forearm. “What are you ready for?”

  His eyes were dark as smoke as he caught her gaze. “My dear fake widow, I am ready for whatever lies ahead.”

  ***

  An hour later, Joss was relieved that his comforting words to Augusta had been proved accurate. Between Lady Tallant’s gracious manners, Lord Sutcliffe’s chatter, and Augusta’s relentless smiles, there was scarcely a pause in the flow of conversation. The dining room itself was cheerful as a garden, its pale green wallpaper overgrown with vines and fat pink flowers. Silver and china beamed up from the glossy table, and an extravagant fire snapped impishly from the grate. Even the portrait over the chimneypiece, a fat old bewigged gentleman, looked pleased with itself.

  Good. For now, everything was good. And where Sutcliffe was concerned, for now was the only thing on which he could rely.

  Joss forked up a bite of capon, savoring the tender richness of the roasted meat. Along with this delicacy, their hostess had provided puffy little Yorkshire puddings, savory from drippings. Also arrayed about the table were creamed turnips, sweetbreads, a ham, walnuts, and several sorts of boiled vegetables. And wine, of course—a deep red wine as well as a sherry.

  Just a small dinner at one’s home. Nothing fancy.

  As usual, Sutcliffe had allowed himself to be served a full plate of food, then messed about with it so industriously that no one suspected he hardly ate a thing. His glass had been refilled several times, though, and Joss had noticed the baron’s fingers wandering toward the breast pocket in which his pouch of somalata always waited. He had shared out the mysterious beverage from Switzerland, too.

  “Absinthe,” he explained as a footman poured the pale green beverage into glasses. “It’s made from wormwood and fennel. Medicinal! Some people mix it with water, but I don’t believe there’s any need for that bother.”

  He raised his glass in a toast to his hostess and “her lovely companion,” then tossed back his drink as though it were lemonade. Joss sipped at the unfamiliar beverage slowly. It smelled of anise, and it bit sharply at the tongue and the back of his throat. One taste was enough; he set it aside in favor of wine.

  Lady Tallant and Augusta seemed to have thought the same; after a dutiful sip, they too set their glasses aside.

  “Thank you for allowing us to sample the absinthe,” Augusta said. As Mrs. Flowers, her voice was sweeter and higher than the usual. “I do love trying something new.”

  “Here now, you’re not going to finish it? It does have that strong flavor. Medicinal, as I said. Good for the health! But if you prefer wine, that never did anyone harm either.” Sutcliffe tilted his own empty glass, squinting at the dregs. “Pass me your glasses, dear ladies; I shall tidy up every hint of the offending liquor.”

  True to his word, the second and third glasses joined the first in quick succession. “To keep my health in fine form, I do love to try remedies from around the world,” the baron confided. “It’s my way of traveling, since family responsibilities keep me at home so much.”

  Joss gulped his wine to help him swallow the ha of protest that threatened to burst forth. If by family responsibilities Sutcliffe meant overspending the allowance from my wife through gambling and extravagance, then indeed, family responsibilities curtailed the baron’s dreams of traveling the world and imbibing absinthe in its homeland.

  “I understand completely,” said Lady Tallant. In the dim light of the fire and overhead chandelier, she looked shadow-eyed, though her expression was as pleasant as ever. “One’s family is ever in mind, even when far away. I miss Lord Tallant and my sons terribly, but we have been writing to one another every day.” Her smile trembled. “I hope it shall not be long before we are together again, but the physicians in Bath are remarkably cautious.”

  “You do not take their advice,” Augusta chided. “The last one instructed you to have beef three times each day.” For a moment, her brows drew together and she looked like her spirited self; then, with a quick dart of her eyes in the direction of Sutcliffe, her face became a cheerful blank.

  “Beef, ham, capon.” Lady Tallant shrugged. “Surely it’s all the same. I find that company does me more good than resting and stuffing myself.” She leaned forward. “Lord Sutcliffe, do tell me about your family. You have two daughters, I think?”

  “And a son, yes.” The baron pulled forth his pouch and sprinkled somalata atop his food before forking up a bite. “Medicinal,” he explained, then added, “Yes, I’ve three little treasures. They’re very fond of magic. Have you ever seen me pull a shilling from someone’s ear? They love that trick. I say, your maids would like it too. Have you any maids around?”

  Joss cleared his throat.

  Lady Tallant spoke again. “How old are your daughters? Are they much alike?”

  Sutcliffe considered. “They do look rather alike, yes. One of them is five years old.”

  Joss shut his eyes for a moment. “They are both five years old,” he said, “as they are twins.”

  “So they are.” Sutcliffe beamed. “I ought to have said so. Never had any twins in my family before. But then I suppose they were Lady Sutcliffe’s doing, weren’t they? Once they were born, I wasn’t sure how I’d manage, but they’re pleasant little things.”

  Whom you only see for a few minutes each day, Joss thought. But it was not his place to interject; only to butter and sweeten the conversation if Sutcliffe began pouring forth too much of his medicinal insight.

  Besides this, Lady Tallant seemed hardly to be listening to the baron’s conversational meanderings. “Do you think there is a great difference in the constitution of girls and boys? I’ve raised my sons largely in London, but perhaps a girl would not tolerate the city air. I—don’t know.” Her laugh was an odd, shivery thing. “How could I know? I’ve no daughter.”

  When Augusta caught her eye with a concerned expression, Joss thought he understood why Lady Tallant was so pale, and for what reason she had traveled to Bath to recover.

  Despite the countess’s laden table, warm house, silk gown, and attractive face, Joss pitied her. How many of her blessings would Lady Tallant give up in order to bear another child?

  But the world did not permit such trades. If it did, Joss would long ago have bartered his pestilent honor for a more respectable birth or a wholly English heritage. But these things were intertwined, inextricable.

  “Since I have two daughters,” Sutcliffe was saying, “that’s almost as though I’ve an extra. I could send one to stay with you in London and you could see if she gets sick. And you could send one of your sons to the country. He could play with my son, Toddy.”

  “Teddy,” Joss muttered. “A toddy is a drink.”

  “A drink?” Sutcliffe glanced his way. “You think we ought to have a drink, Everett? Not a bad idea. Not at all.” Motioning for the footman, he had his glass refilled with the last of the absinthe. “How about you, Mrs. Flowers? Any children?”

  Joss watched with some amusement as Augusta looked around for a reply, then finally recollected that she was Mrs. Flowers. “Me? Oh, goodness, no.” Her giggle rang like a sleigh bell. “I wasn’t married long at all.”

  Her gaze dropped to her plate—demurely, it seemed. Wise woman. If she met Joss’s eye, he was likely to betray them both with laughter.
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br />   “Any brothers and sisters? I have five sisters.” Sutcliffe paused, his glass halfway to his lips. “That can’t be right. Five? Five is far too many. Everett, how many sisters have I?”

  “Six.”

  “Six, right,” Sutcliffe said cheerfully. “I knew I had to frank a cursed lot of letters for them. Everett is like my own brain walking about in a different body. Saves me the trouble of remembering things.”

  Now it was Joss’s turn to regard his china plate with great interest. Were he to catch Augusta’s gaze, he would either snort with laughter or roll his eyes until they popped from their sockets. An extended amount of time in his cousin’s company inspired both reactions, sometimes at once.

  “You are fortunate to hail from a large family, my lord.” The sugary voice of Mrs. Flowers dissolved into Augusta’s own lower tones. “I was the only child of my parents, though they always hoped for more.”

  “Nonsense! They must have been delighted with you. How could anyone hope for more?”

  Rare was the individual who could remain immune to Sutcliffe long when he set out to charm. Augusta returned the baron’s dazzling smile, but Joss noticed that Lady Tallant had begun to droop. Under the table, he kicked Sutcliffe and shot him a fierce unspoken message: Turn the subject.

  “Besides which,” the baron added smoothly, “sometimes children turn out in the oddest ways. They were lucky with you, but another son or daughter could have turned out rotten. Why, Everett was his mother’s only child, and a good thing, too. Not because he was rotten, but because—well, it was for the best.”

  Did he refer to the poverty of Joss’s mother, or the bad blood of his drunken, absent father? Joss cleared his throat. “A child’s temperament does not always reflect his upbringing.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Sutcliffe agreed. “If it did, you’d have finished your absinthe. Eh?”

  This was evidently meant as a hilarious jest—though if parsed, it reflected as much on Sutcliffe’s drinking as it did on Joss’s heritage.