Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘If you are sure…’ Leaving her to face the music alone felt cowardly and wrong.

  ‘I most definitely am.’ She stopped several yards short of her family, giving him ample room to escape and curtsied solemnly once again before ruining it completely with a thoroughly rebellious glint shimmering in her lovely eyes. ‘Thank you for the dance and the impending scandal, Lord Eastwood, although I fear one will prove to be much more enjoyable than the other.’

  He inclined his head politely as was expected but dropped his voice so that only she could hear. ‘Thank you, Miss Brookes, both for asking me and for causing it. If nothing else, it will make a refreshing change to have a fellow cellmate in purgatory.’

  As she grinned, something odd happened somewhere in the vicinity of his battered, hardened heart and despite knowing it was only going to make everything considerably worse in the scandal sheets in the morning, he succumbed to temptation and recklessly kissed her hand.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In a staggering and unexpected turn of events, Miss B. from Bloomsbury has publicly parted ways with her gentle poet after apparently enticing a significantly bigger fish to her hook…

  Whispers from Behind the Fan

  March 1814

  ‘This is the best one!’ An absolutely delighted Charity smoothed the Morning Chronicle open on the breakfast table before theatrically clearing her throat. ‘The highlight of the Renshaw Ball was surely the spectacle of a certain Miss B. twirling breathless in the arms of the infamous Lord E.’

  Their mother’s teacup clattered into its saucer.

  ‘Oh, good heavens! They are getting worse!’ She began to rhythmically massage the bridge of her nose in the faint hope it would iron flat the enormous indent currently ploughed deep between her furrowed eyebrows. ‘I cannot fathom what you were thinking, Faith! After all my stark warnings…’

  ‘It was difficult to discern which of the pair appeared more smitten by the encounter,’ continued Charity unrepentant. ‘Suffice to say it appeared both were thoroughly seduced by the intoxicating power of the once forbidden dance of love.’ She slanted Faith a glance and raised her golden eyebrows suggestively. ‘We await with bated breath, dear reader, to discover if there is significantly more to come, as we have it on good authority that this pair will be spending a great deal of time together over the coming months while the smitten young lady assists the nation’s premier painter at none other than the scandalous aforementioned gentleman’s well-appointed Mayfair abode.’

  Hope shook her head in disgust. ‘What a poorly constructed and verbose sentence.’ A comment which earned her a snarling glare from their mother.

  ‘Your sister is likely ruined, and the only thing you can find to comment upon is the grammar?’

  ‘Well, it is a dreadful sentence, Mama. These people are paid good money to write, yet fail to understand the importance of simple punctuation, let alone cadence.’ She took a nonplussed sip of her chocolate. ‘It makes my blood boil that such pathetic penmanship is allowed in a national newspaper when an illiterate could construct better.’

  Their mother’s incensed eyes began to bulge. ‘What makes my blood boil, Hope, is that my eldest daughter decided to toss away her good reputation to dance a breathless waltz with Lord Beastly! In front of everyone!’

  ‘She is hardly ruined, Roberta.’ Their father tried to lay calming oil on troubled water. ‘It is just a bit of silly gossip, nowhere near as bad as some of the nonsense they have printed about our girls over the years. Like all those, it will disappear as quickly as it began—just as it always does. Lord Eastwood isn’t the first gentleman one of our daughters has been erroneously linked to and I sincerely doubt he shall be the last. Next week they’ll print some other nonsense about Hope or Charity or the pair of us and Faith’s waltz will be forgotten. Let us not forget, that same paper claimed you were about to run off with a Spanish tenor last year, my dear. Yet here you still are and there has been no mention of it since.’

  The tenor in question had dined with them at least thrice with his wife, who had taken the gossip so badly she had marched to Bloomsbury and had a screaming fit on their doorstep. That had made the papers too. It had been a much more scandalous story in the long run than one paltry waltz.

  ‘And it was hardly breathless, Mama.’ Although for several alarming moments as Faith had drowned in his hypnotic green eyes it had been, yet it seemed prudent to clarify in case her sisters picked up on that damning comment and bludgeoned her mercilessly with it. ‘It was a single dance, that is all, which only came about after Edward behaved like a total cad without the slightest provocation.’

  ‘Edward wouldn’t have had to be a cad if you hadn’t been huddled unchaperoned in that alcove!’ Her mother’s finger prodded in accusation. ‘Do not try to deny it because I saw you! Chatting amiably away with him as if he wasn’t the D-E-V-I-L incarnate.’

  ‘Faith was in an alcove all alone with Lord Beastly?’ Charity was enjoying this a little too much. ‘The plot thickens…’

  ‘Indeed it does!’ Her mother’s finger now wagged in perfect time with the pendulum on the mantel clock. ‘I sent him there specifically to extract you from that monster’s clutches, terrified he had already S-E-D-U-C-E-D you with his silver tongue.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Faith stared heavenwards and prayed for strength. This was all ridiculous. ‘Lord Eastwood has the least silver tongue of anyone I have ever known, Mother. If you had taken the trouble to talk to him last night when you had the opportunity, instead of treating him like a leper, you might have discovered as much for yourself.’ He was often charmingly tongue-tied and when he wasn’t, he was dry and sardonic, not effortlessly charming—although she found that subtle wit quite charming enough in combination with his other attractions.

  Like the solid feel of those artistically pleasing broad shoulders beneath her palms or those expressive eyes which continually held hers captive. All a very dangerous combination which she had henceforth decided to avoid anyway, which in turn made this entire conversation moot. She would never have her head turned by a man like him again, and one tiny slip was hardly the end of the world. ‘If you hadn’t been so unspeakably rude to both him and his perfectly lovely parents, I would not have had to seek him out to apologise for it and I would have left straight after had you not sent Edward.’

  She was stretching the truth a bit there, as she had not been in a hurry to leave him. He had looked so lost and lonely, it had called to something within her and she had been powerless to do anything but answer. ‘If you wanted to subtly extricate me from Lord Eastwood, what possessed you to send Edward Tate anyway? Of all the people in our acquaintance, he is the least subtle. He thrives on drama and adores being the centre of attention. He charged in like the cavalry and behaved like a bully, and didn’t seem to care who saw him do it.’

  ‘Are you saying this is my fault?’ Dear Mama’s face was now so hot it was a miracle steam didn’t shoot out of her ears. ‘That I should have ignored the fact my eldest daughter was in deep, intimate and unmonitored conversation with a morally moribund, callous, manipulative and despicable S-C-O-U-N-D-R-E-L?’ Two palms slapped the table with such force the last slice of toast vibrated out of the silver toast rack and flopped belly up on the crisp linen cloth. ‘If I am guilty of anything in this shameful debacle, daughter, then it is of trying to rescue you as any decent mother would! Had I known you would respond to poor Edward’s offer to intervene with your customary pig-headedness, I would have fetched you myself and that awful dance wouldn’t have happened!’

  ‘It was hardly awful.’ Hope fished the last piece of toast from the tablecloth then began to smear it with jam. ‘I thought Lord Beastly danced very well for such a big man and the pair of you certainly looked very striking.’ Her sister’s typical flippant comment wasn’t helping.

  ‘They looked scandalous! The whole waltz was scandalous! Faith’s compl
ete lack of judgement was scandalous!’

  ‘Oh, it was.’ The last of the toast disappeared into Hope’s mouth. ‘I am merely stating that if one is going to be a scandal, one might as well look magnificent while doing it and she did.’ Her sister turned to her. ‘Would you mind if I borrowed that red gown for Mama’s opening, Faith? I sincerely doubt anyone will notice it is the same gown—everyone had better things to be staring at.’

  ‘Like Miss B.’s smitten expression while she twirled breathless in the arms of the infamous Lord E.’ The dark art of subtle innuendo was lost on Charity, who clutched her hands to her heart. ‘I thought that was a particularly good sentence. It was certainly the best one I have read this morning.’

  ‘Enough!’ Her father snatched the paper out of Charity’s hand and waved a furious finger at all of them. ‘Or I’ll have the lot of you dispatched to a nunnery!’ His glare rested on Faith. ‘That waltz was ill-considered and foolish, irrespective of the provocation, and has caused a flurry of unnecessary gossip for this family! Again! Let alone the poor Writtles, who have suffered more than their fair share of press attention these last few months. At least have the decency to acknowledge it.’

  ‘I am sorry, Papa.’ But more for the way the papers were treating poor Lord Eastwood than for anyone else, but she wasn’t stupid enough to admit that out loud. ‘It will not happen again, Mama.’

  ‘Be sure that it doesn’t.’ Her father gave her one last hard stare, then his eyes skewered his wife. ‘And you were unforgivably rude to both the Writtles and Lord Eastwood, Roberta. I cannot fathom what you were thinking to be so unsubtle.’

  ‘I was curt, not rude, Augustus.’

  ‘You used a mallet to crush a walnut, Roberta, and have put me in a very uncomfortable position with a perfectly respectable and decent family! They are paying me to paint them, remember! Yet today I shall have to go there and repair the damage you have done! And that is assuming they want me back to paint them. I could be issued my marching orders on the doorstep and lose that valuable commission to any one of the hundreds of portrait painters in the capital. And what would that do to my reputation, madam? Did you consider that when you grievously insulted their beloved son? Who, I might add, has been nothing but a complete gentleman in my presence since this commission started.’

  He too slapped the table. ‘There! I’ve said it. Irrespective of what the press have said, I rather like the fellow and feel dreadfully sorry he has to go through more nonsense because our headstrong daughter decided the best way to put that annoying poet in his place was to drag him into another scandal! But at least Faith meant well! You were unforgivably rude!’

  For the first time all morning her mother was contrite. ‘I was caught off guard…’

  ‘Had Lord Beastly done anything to you personally to deserve such censure before he waltzed with Faith?’

  ‘No, Augustus.’ Her mother stared down at her hands.

  ‘Was it Lord Eastwood’s fault that that lacy fop Edward Tate charged in like a bull at a gate and behaved abominably at your prompting? And did he, or did he not try to caution our headstrong daughter against dancing with him because he knew an innocent dance would be twisted, misconstrued and smeared over the scandal sheets?’ Faith had told them everything except the strange way he made her feel. And perhaps her inexplicable preoccupation with the man. Uncharacteristic behaviours which she hoped were ultimately as transient as they were all-encompassing, even though they still lingered.

  As her father continued to glare, her mother’s expression dissolved from belligerent to apologetic. ‘I owe them all an apology, don’t I?’

  He finally smiled. ‘You do, my dear. But I dare say it’s nothing that a brace of the finest seats to your grand opening can’t fix, as long as the tickets come with a brief accompanying note which states they caught you at a bad time and you are now mortified you inadvertently took your ill temper out on them. True patrons of the arts are very forgiving of the artistic temperament, and the Writtles have certainly indulged my eccentricities this past week so I am sure they will take your gesture in the right spirit.’

  ‘I shall arrange both to be sent over this morning, Augustus, with some flowers for Lady Writtle.’ Apology swiftly turned to theatrical martyrdom. ‘I shall even include Lord Beastly in the invitation to be magnanimous.’

  ‘That is very decent of you, my dear.’

  Their maid, Lily, chose that moment to poke her head around the door. ‘Evan has brought the carriage out front, sir.’

  ‘Splendid.’ Eager to escape the madness now that he had calmed the tempest, her father was up like a shot. ‘Come along, Faith, I have a busy day ahead and the only hour Lord Writtle has free today begins at nine.’

  ‘You cannot mean to take her with you, Augustus!’ Her mother’s expression was now one of utter astonishment coloured with a healthy dollop of betrayal to make him feel guilty. ‘Not back to the lion’s D-E-N… Surely?’

  ‘Like me, Faith has work to do. A great deal of it. I cannot get this commission finished without her.’

  ‘But she is at risk, Augustus. Can you not see that?’

  ‘She really isn’t, my dear.’ He strode towards the door like a man in a desperate hurry. ‘As usual you are worrying unnecessarily. I have heard Faith’s explanation of what happened, and I am satisfied by it. With the benefit of hindsight, it perhaps was not the most sensible course of action, but I can see no real harm was done.’

  ‘But the papers…’

  ‘Will print rot regardless and always have. Giving this latest gossip more credence than all those equally ridiculous stories which we have suffered in the past is silly and we have never enjoyed unblemished reputations anyway. That is exactly why blue-blooded society secretly adores us mere mortals who exist on the fringes—we enrich their staid, upright lives with fascinating titillation.’

  ‘Did you not see the way he looked her? The way she looked at him?’

  His feet paused, as Faith felt the weight of her sisters’ twin stares at the outrageous comment which was a little too close to the truth for comfort.

  ‘Augustus…for a while there, it was just the two of them on that dance floor…nothing else existed. Don’t you remember what that felt like?’

  ‘This is all nonsense!’ Faith’s outrage was more to do with her panic than fury, because there had been a moment when there had been only him and it hadn’t been anywhere near as fleeting as she had desperately tried to convince herself since. Yet undeniably, there was something about Lord Eastwood which made her feel…odd. ‘I cannot believe we are even having this conversation when all of us, Mother included, have been romantically linked both scurrilously and erroneously to all manner of gentlemen over the years and we have always laughed it off. We have always seen it for exactly what it is! Utter absurdity. Complete claptrap!’

  That she had been that transparent, that unguarded was mortifying. If her mother had seen it from the edge of the floor, had Lord Eastwood seen it too? Had everyone else?

  Twirling breathless.

  Of course they had. And it had been sublime. Magical.

  Breathtaking.

  An odd look passed between her parents. One which clearly said more than the two words which came out of her mother’s mouth.

  ‘Augustus…please…’

  An eerie quiet settled over the table while they all waited for his judgement, and Faith willed him to dismiss her mother’s ludicrous comment out of hand with his customary chuckle whenever she was being dramatic and overly fanciful. Instead, he sighed.

  ‘She will be with me, Roberta, under my watchful eye and therefore I can assure you no harm will come to her.’ His gaze then fixed on Faith and she saw his concern unbelievably mirrored his wife’s before he masked it with a smile. ‘This is all a storm in a teacup. Mark my words.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was just a thank-you.
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  One which really did not require this level of overthinking or debate. A polite acknowledgement that her kindness towards him yesterday was appreciated alongside an apology for the unfounded furore her generosity had inadvertently caused in the press this morning. It was the very least he could do after she had had her name splashed all over the newspapers.

  There was absolutely nothing anybody could read into a simple thank-you.

  Not even his mother could read more into it than common decency and good manners demanded. In fact, it would be jolly poor form if he did not seek her out and mention it after she had made such a public stand on his behalf. They should commiserate it briefly together.

  So why the blazes was he still dithering outside the blasted ballroom a full five minutes after arriving there, rehearsing the damn words in his head when the whole thing should be done and dusted by now?

  Unfortunately, Piers knew exactly why.

  He was procrastinating because he wanted to have more to say once the necessary thanking and commiserating was done.

  Something erudite and amusing which she might find interesting. Something which might spark another sparring conversation and which gave him an excuse to linger in her company a little longer than a quick, efficient and polite acknowledgement afforded—because clearly, despite his better judgement and thanks entirely to one short, foolhardy waltz, he had gone completely stark, staring mad!

  Especially when there was nothing wrong with his sensible strategy to steer well clear of the vixen for evermore. As much as everything about her called to him—from the bright gowns she favoured to the attractive outspokenness and witty sarcasm which highlighted her intelligence, or the selfless bravery which had led her to make a public stand against the sort of unfairness he had come to expect from his peers—only a complete fool or a diehard flagellant would consider the possibility that history might not repeat itself if he continued down this pathway to certain doom.