Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  “You look like the wild child you once were, Aunt.”

  “How would you know anything about being a wild child? You never let go, do you?”

  She was right. Letting go meant getting hurt.

  That would never happen again.

  Chapter 3

  Colorful stalls, animal enclosures, and people intent on enjoying themselves while the weather held cluttered the village green. The harvest fair was an annual event, held in November. Emily liked the fact that people of all ages and stations mingled together, sampling food, watching various forms of entertainment, and shopping for handmade goods offered for sale by some of the villagers.

  She hadn’t wanted to come, but in the end, Aunt Lily prevailed, reminding her how she’d enjoyed past fairs. After two hours wandering around the green, she was ready to go home.

  “Shall we depart?” Emily retied her bonnet strings and pulled her cloak tighter. A breeze had sprung up, and anything not weighted down went flying, including her skirt.

  “Can you not relax for one moment?” Her aunt frowned as she bit into a warm pasty from a vendor’s stall. “Didn’t you enjoy the charming dance put on by the children? I certainly did. In fact, I remember when you begged and pleaded to be allowed to join the merriment. I believe you were all of eight years old.”

  “And my horrified mama whisked me away.”

  “She did, while you sobbed and told her how unkind she was.”

  Emily smiled at the memory, recalling how she’d wanted to go to school with the village children. They’d seemed happy and carefree, while she’d had a stern governess who required her to sit for hours alone in a schoolroom. Her older brothers had been sent to Eton by then.

  “Look at that. A dancing bear. Shall we venture closer?”

  “If you wish. I prefer to get back to my sewing. Cecily will be all grown up before I send her the bonnet to match the dress I made for her while in Yorkshire.”

  “Posh. Sewing can wait. At least I don’t recoil in horror, because you’re doing something common. Wasn’t that what your mother called it?”

  Emily recalled the first time Mama saw her cutting a length of cloth. She’d sent her maid into town to summon a seamstress, thinking her daughter somehow had the misguided idea that she had to do her own sewing.

  “At least she allowed me to finish my creation. The only pastimes Mama approves are playing the pianoforte and my feeble attempts to paint landscapes. She’d drag me to London for sure if she knew I was still designing my own gowns and composing my own music.”

  Aunt Lily patted her on the shoulder. “My wonderfully talented niece. I do adore you. If only you adored yourself as much. You need to stand up to your mama more often. Sending her off to London unaccompanied is the first time I’ve known you to be this brave. And yet, underneath that proper countenance lies the heart of a rebel, a heart hidden away beneath a subservient demeanor.” She giggled. “There are times you are more righteous than our butler, and he is quite staid.”

  Leave it to Aunt Lily to make her feel better. ’Twas a shame Mama didn’t approve of her pursuits. But then Mama was as much a stickler for propriety as Emily pretended to be when in London.

  She’d enjoyed herself today. If only she hadn’t fretted about running into Cardmore, stiffening whenever a man laughed, and scanning the crowd often enough to make her neck hurt from the effort. She wasn’t ready to see him. Not when she wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.

  Her aunt tugged on her hand, pulling her toward an enclosure.

  The dancing bear delighted the audience and was rewarded with a fish when his act was completed. He seemed well cared for and was not baited to do his tricks, like many. She wandered over to a puppet show about to begin. Several of the children who had danced were seated on benches, waiting for the curtain to be drawn on the makeshift stage.

  Lately she’d been drawn by children. When asked to hand out prizes for exceptional performance at the village school, she’d readily agreed. It was not likely she’d become a mother now. In that, she envied her friend Gwen.

  Aunt Lily joined her on the bench, and they laughed at the puppets. When the show ended, her aunt excused herself to visit with a friend, and Emily wandered over to the stalls. A shout in the distance drew her attention. A group of men, at the far end of the village green, gathered in a wide circle.

  Strolling over to see what they were about, she realized a mill was about to take place. Technically illegal, bare-knuckle fistfights were immensely popular. While wagers were being placed, two brutes stood facing each other across a drawn line, waiting for the competition to begin.

  Her eldest brother had once explained that mills at fairs usually featured a local lad who took on everyone who wanted to fight. Brawlers were not divided by age or weight. The winner fought the next person until the mill ended. The winner earned a sizeable purse, and spectators made wagers amongst themselves.

  “Hurry. They’re about to begin.”

  A chill slithered down her spine, and her legs refused to move as she recognized the male voice directly behind her. Where on earth was her aunt?

  “Plenty of time to place our bets.” The second speaker was not familiar.

  Not daring to turn around, Emily stared straight ahead, afraid to move. Andrew Quigley, Lord Cardmore, stood a few paces behind her.

  He obviously had not taken notice of her, because he moved closer, commenting on the size and probable abilities of one of the fighters. His companion laughed and decided to favor the opponent. She couldn’t remain frozen in place when she’d only come over to see what was going on. Women were not allowed to witness brawls—at least not in this village. Aunt would be looking for her.

  Taking a deep breath she turned, averting her eyes.

  “Miss Sinclair?” She forced herself to look up to see surprise in Andrew’s eyes.

  I should not acknowledge him. I should give him the cut direct.

  She couldn’t. It was not in her nature to be unkind, even to her worst enemy. She’d played a role most of her life. She could pretend to be civil to the man who’d hurt her more than any other, even though her heart thumped against her chest, her knees threatened to give way, and an odd little tingling awakened in her belly.

  Lifting her chin, she stared him down, not allowing even a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Cardmore? I thought I recognized your voice.”

  “May-may I present my friend, Lord Ralston. Lady Emily Sinclair.”

  She held out her gloved hand, hoping it would not shake and reveal her agitation. The friend bowed over it. “We met years ago, Miss Sinclair. I believe it was at an event at Cumberland’s residence.”

  She forced her lips into a smile. “Of course. You’re John Montague’s friend.”

  “I am, indeed.”

  She stole a quick glance at Andrew. He seemed flustered, red in the face, as if he’d been exerting himself in some strenuous activity. Having completed the required niceties, she made an inane comment about hoping they had a pleasant afternoon and excused herself.

  Andrew moved aside to let her pass. She spotted Aunt Lily at the flower stall and purposely slowed her steps while her breaths quickened. Holding herself erect with a bland expression, she walked sedately over to where her aunt was speaking to the flower seller.

  “There you are. Aren’t these beautiful? I shall take a bouquet for the front hall.” Her aunt’s voice faltered, and she put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? You’re pale. Are you feeling unwell?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “I wish to depart. Now.”

  “All right, dear. Let me pay for these. Our carriage should be waiting near the road. I told coachman he could enjoy the fair but to be back in two hours’ time. It’s long past that now. We can leave immediately.”

&n
bsp; “Thank you.” She made her way carefully toward the road, her head high. She wanted to look over toward the mill when shouts and cheers filled the air, but instead she kept her eyes cast down.

  In spite of her anxiety, she hadn’t really expected to see Cardmore here. Recluses confined themselves to their homes. She’d assumed he’d call on her aunt eventually, and that would be the day they’d face each other for the first time. She would have had time to prepare, to decide how to act, to school herself to be cordial but not too friendly.

  She did, after all, want to know why he’d discarded her like a pair of old boots. But she hadn’t expected to run into him here and certainly not looking the way he did. She’d heard he was ill, nursing his damaged spirit. But he’d looked quite well to her—jovial in fact.

  So much for the wounded hero.

  She could tell Mama to stop feeling sorry for him now.

  She’d often thought about what she might say or feel when she saw him again. But being caught off guard had made every rehearsed phrase flee from her head. Happily, she could report there was no stabbing pain.

  She must think of him as a casual acquaintance, someone she might have met long ago in a social setting. Their former relationship was long buried and would not be resurrected.

  Thank God she’d finally seen him, and it was at a village fair where no malicious eyes watched for nuances of expression. If they’d met at a ball or some other fashionable event in London, they would have drawn attention. She could go home now and think about how to get her questions answered without appearing too eager. Then go back to her lonely life and follow her singular pursuits, knowing there would be no love in her life, but no heartache either.

  Is that what you want? To not feel anything?

  “You’re pensive today.” Her aunt joined her as she seated herself in the waiting carriage.

  “Merely tired, Aunt Lily. Anxious to get home.”

  “It is chilly out. We’ll have tea in the drawing room. Be very formal. Your mama would approve.” She climbed in beside Emily and rapped on the ceiling. The carriage lurched forward along the bumpy road.

  Emily stared at the passing scene, the rumble of the coach wheels filling her ears. She hadn’t had time to study Andrew’s appearance in detail, but he seemed in good health. He didn’t walk with a limp or have a severed limb. No scar marred his perfect face. No one had remarked on his wound, so she was unsure where it was. But his smile, while tentative, hadn’t seemed forced, and Lord Ralston hadn’t acted like he was attending an invalid. She didn’t know Ralston very well and hadn’t realized he was a guest at the Hall.

  Aunt Lily tapped her on the shoulder. “You haven’t said one word since we departed. Have you taken ill? What happened?”

  Pulled out of her reverie by her aunt’s words, Emily made a quick decision.

  “I saw him.”

  Aunt Lily bit her bottom lip and sighed as she sank back against the cushions. Waiting for a scold, Emily faced her aunt, looking directly into her eyes.

  Instead her lips curved up into a smile. “I’m glad that’s over with. Did he speak to you? What did he say?”

  “Truth be told, I think he was as startled to see me as I was to see him. He introduced me to his friend, Lord Ralston, whom I’d already met, and that was that.”

  “Was he embarrassed? Did he blush and stammer and try to apologize for his past behavior?”

  “No, he was quite calm. I believe they were on their way to the mill.”

  “And you? How did seeing him at last make you feel?”

  “Relieved.” Now she didn’t have to worry about encountering him again. Her trips to the village were few and far between, but if she happened to see him, she could nod and be on her way. She could go back home and not wonder how he was getting on. She still had unanswered questions, but even she knew better than to reinstate a friendship that had turned out badly.

  Let sleeping dogs lie. Was that Shakespeare? Whoever said it was wise.

  She should heed the advice, but would she?

  Chapter 4

  Blood dripped from the nose of the hefty brute in the makeshift ring. His opponent, a bit shorter and a lot quicker, stood in front of him, fists raised, apparently ignoring one eye that was almost swollen shut.

  Andrew stood at the edge of the crowd, eyes fixed on the brawl, trying not to think of Emily. Breathe. Damn but this cravat was tight. He should have tied it himself instead of letting Lester do it. He twisted his neck, trying to loosen the knot while forcing himself to slow his breaths.

  Why was she here instead of in London, and why had no one told him?

  She hadn’t smiled. Why should she? He was her enemy, the man who’d turned her life upside down at a time when she should have been happiest. He was shocked she had even deigned to speak to him. When he’d called her name, she should have turned her back and run in the opposite direction.

  A roar from the crowd brought his thoughts back to the brawl. The large brute lay on the ground and appeared to be unconscious. A fidgety man with a neat beard and a top hat held up the winner’s hand.

  “Damn. I believe I’ve won.” Ralston strode away and returned with a big smile on his face. He patted his pocket. “Shall we find a pub before the next fight? I’m parched. A draft of ale wouldn’t be amiss.”

  “I think I’ll get back. You can remain if you wish. I find my shoulder is starting to throb.”

  “Nonsense. We rode over together. We’ll ride back.”

  They threaded their way through the crowd to where their horses were tied and cantered home along the tree-shaded lane. A dark cloud drifted over the late afternoon sun, bringing a sharp breeze with it. Andrew shuddered and winced as the pain in his shoulder unsettled him. A large dose of laudanum, on top of his earlier brandy, had rendered him relatively pain free during their attendance at the mill, but another tot of medicine was already needed. He’d discovered through long use it not only relieved pain but made him happier.

  They quickened their pace along the lane and headed straight to the stables. More clouds had gathered by the time they arrived, and rain began to fall.

  “Let’s hope Lester has deigned to put some coal in the grate. The Hall can be drafty in the winter, which is why I never liked staying here during the winter months.”

  Or any other month when Father was alive.

  “Have you given any more thought to hiring staff? You cannot run a house this size without them, you know.”

  “You’ll be happy to know I’m taking your advice. When I returned to England I longed for the peace and quiet of the country. I gave no thought to personal comfort or even basic needs. It never entered my mind that the house would be closed and the staff dismissed. But then my father’s man of business was a parsimonious chap. Plus he never approved of me, especially after the incident with Caroline.”

  They handed their horses to the stablemaster and dashed for the house, entering the library as the rain intensified. Andrew had made this space his personal sanctuary. A cozy fire warmed the room, and a man he’d never seen before bent before the grate, adding wood.

  Startled, the man stood and nodded his head.

  “Who might you be?” Andrew tossed his hat and coat on a chair.

  “Hawkins, your lordship. Mr. Drake hired me this morning to be first footman. I beg yer lordship’s pardon. I don’t have me livery yet.”

  “I see.” He wandered over to the fireplace and sniffed the wood. “You have a log in here. Was there no coal?”

  “None, sir. Mr. Drake said to use wood to take the chill off the room.”

  “Can you send him to me, please?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Ralston placed his outerwear on the pile and slouched in a wing chair in front of the fire. “That was fast. I wonder how many other
servants Drake was able to procure.”

  “I expect to find out shortly.” He reached over to the tea table and grasped the decanter of brandy. Pouring two glasses, he handed one to Ralston. Drake returned with two women in tow. Andrew recognized the older one as his father’s former housekeeper.

  “Mrs. Evans. How nice to see you again. I thought sure you’d be here when I returned and was shocked when I was told you’d been let go.”

  “We all got a month’s wages and a reference a few months after your father died. Yer man in London saw to it.”

  “The old codger thought I’d be killed off in the war, eh? Sorry to disappoint him.” He swallowed a mouthful of brandy. “You were not employed elsewhere then?”

  “No, my lord. I’ve been living with my daughter.”

  “I’m not sure your old quarters are habitable. But I’m happy to have you back.” He gazed next at the younger woman. “And who might this be?”

  Mrs. Evans answered. “My niece, Matilda. She is an experienced housemaid and glad to have employment.”

  “Welcome to Cardmore Hall.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy, her cheeks a fiery red.

  “Mr. Drake, I trust you can get everyone settled. We may need additional staff at a later date, but I don’t plan to entertain anyone but Ralston, here, until I’m up to snuff. I will need a butler though.”

  “If I may be so bold, sir, I recommend bringing Spencer back. He was butler here for two decades and was devastated when asked to leave.”

  “He isn’t working elsewhere either?”

  “No, sir. He’s fallen on hard times, given his age.”

  A pity. Spencer had run the household with ease and was the only one who seemed to be pious enough to get along with Father. If the man was available, Drake should hire him immediately.