One Night of Scandal

by Darcy Burke

  “As you know from personal experience, this is not the best of times.”

  His father had been an MP for several years until Jack had taken over in the last election. Before him, Jack’s grandfather, for whom Jack had been named, had been MP. Barretts had occupied this seat for decades. That was a detail the rotten-borough MPs liked to point out to Jack when he discussed the overwhelming corruption in so many constituencies.

  “Yes, and it seems the Tories are reacting just as they always do, with fear and a need to maintain their grip however they can.” Father shook his head before sipping his whisky once more.

  “It may be even worse than that,” Jack said darkly. He’d thought about this mystery MP he and Lady Viola were hunting, and was nearly convinced it was a Tory trying to foment fear and distrust toward the radicals and workers and anyone else in opposition to them. “Apparently, an MP advised a group of radicals—or maybe it was one radical, I don’t know the details—to attack the Prince Regent. He told them where the prince would be and when to attack him. I suspect it’s a Tory trying to instigate the radicals in order to stoke fear so Parliament would implement a secret committee or suspend habeas corpus, which it did.” Jack scowled.

  James Barrett was a difficult man to upset—unflappable was the word that came to mind when describing him. But now he seemed to freeze, his eyes locking on Jack. “An MP was behind the attack?” Jack nodded, and his father continued. “You know it was a Tory?”

  “Not for certain—I don’t know the person’s identity at all. I am trying to find out, though.”

  Father’s brow creased and his mouth settled into a deep frown. “You must be careful, Jack. If it is a Tory, they have power right now, and you’ll only make trouble for yourself if you dig into things. But what if it isn’t a Tory? Doesn’t it make as much sense that a sympathetic MP could be trying to aid the radicals?”

  “What would attacking the Prince actually gain them? No, it has to be a Tory.”

  Father chuckled softly. “You’re assuming this MP is as cunning as you are. Many of them are not.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? Sir Humphrey came to mind. His idiocy was almost canceled out by his good friend Caldwell’s clever deviousness. Almost.

  “How did you hear of this?” Father asked.

  “It’s gossip for now.” At his father’s dark look, Jack waved him off. “Don’t give me that expression. I am hunting down the truth. Hodges heard it, and he’s trustworthy.”

  “Yes, but he’s also starting to go deaf, though he covers for it very well,” Father said wryly. “While I understand your desire to find the truth of the matter, aren’t your energies better spent elsewhere? You’ve built a good career for yourself over the past four and a half years, and as far as I can tell, you could spend the next several decades representing Middlesex.” A small smile crept across his father’s lips. “Unless you’re elevated to the peerage, of course. Then you’ll still represent us, just in a different place.”

  Jack nearly groaned. That was Father’s goal for him. “I am quite content in the House of Commons, and will be honored to represent Middlesex for as long as they will have me.”

  “Perhaps you should consider taking a wife.”

  The whisky Jack had just sipped nearly shot straight out of his mouth. Instead, Jack choked on it, the fiery liquid burning his throat. When he was finished sputtering, he stared at his father. “I beg your pardon?”

  His father’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You heard me.”

  “I’m afraid I did. Why on earth would you suggest that? You just said I’m doing well, and you know I’m only thirty.”

  “Yes, you’re thirty, and I know you’ve stated you won’t wed until you’re thirty-five because that’s what your grandfather and I did. We are not role models in this sense.”

  Jack couldn’t have disagreed more. “You and Grandfather are the best role models—in every sense.”

  Father sipped his whisky and stared into the fireplace for a moment. When he looked back to Jack, his smile was sad, his gaze weary. “I regret waiting so long. I actually met your mother just after I became a barrister. I was twenty-two years old and full of vigor—and arrogance. It was clear that we suited. I loved her, but not as much as my ambition. The next part you know: she married someone else and after he died, we wed.” Father inched forward in his chair, his eyes intense. “I lost over a decade with her. When I think of that time and the other children we could have had…”

  The fact that his father had rejected his mother sat in Jack’s gut like a stone. “I haven’t met anyone like Mother,” he said quietly. “What I mean to say is that I haven’t met anyone I would like to wed.”

  An image of Lady Viola sprang forth in his mind. Why should he think of her? Because he enjoyed her company and found her attractive. Regardless, he absolutely hadn’t considered marrying her and had no intention to.

  “You also aren’t open to the idea.” Father sat back in his chair, cradling his whisky glass between his hands. “I’m merely suggesting you consider the possibility. Don’t live your life by an arbitrary timeline, and don’t let your career override everything.” His mouth tilted sardonically. “It won’t keep you warm at night.”

  The discomfort swirling in Jack’s belly grew until he knew he had to change the topic. He was saved from having to do so by the arrival of Michaelson announcing dinner.

  They finished their whisky and stood from their chairs. Father clapped Jack on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. You know I’ll support you, no matter what. Just promise me you’ll be careful with this attack business. I hope you’ll take my advice and steer far clear of it. Trouble has a way of finding us. There’s no need to go looking for it.”

  Father set his glass on the sideboard and quit the library. Jack followed suit, his mind churning with what he’d just learned and his father’s counsel. Perhaps he should let this investigation go.

  But that would mean leaving Lady Viola to continue on her own, and that wasn’t safe either. If it was dangerous for Jack, it was especially so for her. If this really was a Tory plot, they’d have no compunction about harming someone like her—or Tavistock, in this case—not after they’d already attacked the bloody Prince Regent.

  It was time to sit down with her and have a frank discussion about what she intended to do if they learned the truth—and whether they should walk away now, while they still could.

  The traffic in the park was terrible. Viola suspected Grandmama’s barouche had moved approximately ten feet in the past quarter hour. The day was overcast but fair, and so everyone was out, or so it seemed. Of course, they’d move more quickly if they weren’t constantly waylaid by Grandmama’s friends and acquaintances. Everyone—well, not everyone—sought the dowager’s favor.

  At last, Grandmama waved off whomever she’d been chatting with, and the barouche moved forward. Viola must have made some sound of relief, as Grandmama gave her a pointed stare.

  “Are you bored?” she asked.

  “Yes, actually.” Viola saw no point in prevaricating. “Perhaps I’ll get out for a walk. I see Felicity.”

  “Before you go, I want to speak with you about the ball tonight.”

  Viola kept herself from visibly cringing. Tonight was the Goodrick ball, and Viola wished she could beg off. Or come down with malaria. Perhaps she could sprain her foot descending from the barouche.

  Except any social event was an opportunity to hear something—anything—about the MP who’d instigated the attack on the Prince Regent.

  “I’m quite looking forward to it.” That Viola would lie about.

  “No, you aren’t, but I do appreciate the effort you are putting in since I mentioned you should return to the Marriage Mart. Tonight shall be your triumphant reentry.”

  Good God, what did that mean? Was Grandmama going to hang a sign about her neck? Of course not. She’d never do something so vulgar. “You want me to have a dance card?” She cringed, waiting for the dowager’s r
esponse.

  “Yes. There are plenty of excellent matches to be made. Take Lord Orford, for instance. He is widowed, and he has a young child.”

  “Therefore, he must be in need of a wife,” Viola muttered.

  “Yes.” Grandmama’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. “If you behave as though you don’t wish to wed or that you think the entire endeavor is beneath you, there will be no success in your future. Do you wish to remain unmarried?”

  Desperately. “I am quite content in my current state.” She smiled serenely for added effect.

  Grandmama blew out a breath in frustration. “I will not be here forever. Who will take care of you after I am gone? Val is married now, and you can’t expect to impose on him. Well, you could, I suppose, but I daresay you wouldn’t want to.”

  Heavens no. “I suspect I can take care of myself, just as you have done since Grandpapa died.”

  “It would be different, my dear. I had children and grandchildren. You will have no one.” She waved her hand. “Go and walk, then. Tonight you will dance, and you will entertain the possibility of marriage.”

  “Yes, Grandmama.” Viola nodded, then reached for the handle of the barouche. The footman on the back jumped down and helped Viola descend.

  As she made her way toward Felicity along the pedestrian path, she felt a mixture of irritation and sadness. Grandmama was right—Viola wouldn’t have anyone after she was gone. Oh, she could be an aunt to Val’s children, assuming he had any, but it wasn’t the same as having her own husband and children. Plus, Grandmama was right in that she would never want to intrude.

  “Viola!” Felicity waved as Viola approached. Grinning, she greeted her friend warmly, then immediately sobered. “What’s wrong?”

  “Grandmama says I must have a dance card this evening.”

  Felicity made a face that was part outrage and part disdain. “Well, that’s upsetting.”

  “She says I must consider the possibility of marriage.”

  “That isn’t so bad,” Felicity said brightly. She took Viola’s hand. “Let us consider it together.” She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as if she were thinking intently. “Are you considering it?”

  Viola fought not to laugh. “I’m doing my best.”

  Felicity held her breath and seemed to concentrate even harder. When her cheeks turned red, Viola couldn’t stand it another moment and burst out laughing. Felicity exhaled, her lungs emptying in a whoosh. “I’ve given it my very best, and I’m afraid marriage just may not be in the offing for you.” She gave Viola a pitying look. “My gravest apologies.”

  Viola dissolved into more laughter, and Felicity finally cracked, joining her.

  “You two ladies look as if you’re having a grand time.”

  Viola and Felicity swung their heads in unison, their laughter halting like a spigot stopping the flow of ale from a cask. Lord Orford regarded them with his pale gray eyes, his thin lips spread in a smile as he presented his leg.

  They curtsied in return and exchanged glances. Felicity thrust her arm through Viola’s, perhaps to deter him from asking them to promenade. “Good afternoon, Lord Orford.”

  “Good afternoon, Lady Viola, Lady Felicity. Perhaps you’d care to promenade with me.” With certain gentlemen, deterrence rarely worked, unfortunately.

  “Both of us?” Viola asked. She didn’t want to abandon Felicity to him nor did she want to walk with him alone.

  “Why not?” He offered his arms.

  Felicity and Viola traded another look and answered with imperceptible shrugs. They each took one of his well-muscled arms—Lord Orford was known to enjoy pugilism—and started along the path.

  “Please tell me you will both be at the Goodrick ball this evening so that I may sign both of your dance cards.”

  “Er, yes,” Felicity said haltingly. She leaned forward and cast Viola a look of apology.

  Viola rolled her eyes and gave her head a tiny shake, trying to communicate that it didn’t matter. She may as well dance with Lord Orford as anyone.

  But she’d rather dance with Jack Barrett.

  Good Lord, where had that thought come from? From the dark corner of her mind, apparently, and it could go right back there.

  Searching for something to occupy her errant brain, Viola realized Lord Orford was a member of the House of Commons. He was the Viscount Orford, but it was a courtesy title. He sat in the Commons, while his father, the Earl of Debenham, sat in the House of Lords. Perhaps Orford could be helpful…

  “What news from the House of Commons, my lord?” she asked prettily.

  He looked down at her, a slightly perplexed glint in his eyes. “You can’t possibly be interested in such things.”

  Viola resisted the urge to trip him. She did, however, grind her teeth together behind her tightened lips. Felicity shot her a look that reflected Viola’s irritation.

  “Why not?” Viola asked. “I like to be informed. All this business with the march in Manchester and the riots last fall. Every citizen should be aware of what is happening. I should dearly love to know what happened with the attack on the Prince Regent. I can’t help thinking there is more to that incident. Why don’t we know who was behind it?”

  Viola watched his face for the slightest inclination that he might know something. Had his eye twitched? Yes, she thought maybe it had.

  He waved his hand before his face, and she saw the insect he batted away. Perhaps that was the reason for the spasm. Or not.

  He frowned deeply. “That was a dastardly incursion. Whoever was responsible should be hanged.”

  “Shouldn’t they be arrested first? Tried, perhaps?” Felicity said.

  “Yes, of course. I said the responsible party should be punished, and the word responsible presumes they are guilty.”

  Viola couldn’t help pushing him to see where he stood. “The suspension of habeas corpus is dangerous.”

  “I don’t disagree. However, these are dangerous times, and we must keep everyone safe. I’d much rather suspected radicals are removed from the streets than left to organize another attack such as the one against the Prince Regent.”

  “What if the radicals didn’t organize it?” Viola asked. “I mean, we don’t really know, do we?”

  Felicity peered at her around the viscount, her gaze sparking with curiosity.

  Lord Orford shot Viola a look of amusement. Amusement? He found her funny? “What have you heard, Lady Viola?”

  The question took her by surprise. It seemed so…pointed. As if he knew she was referring to gossip she’d heard. Which, of course, she was. And now she presumed he’d heard it too. “I don’t know, what have you heard?” she asked coyly.

  He narrowed his eyes for the barest moment—so briefly, she wondered if she’d imagined it, just as she’d wondered if she’d imagined the twitch. Then his attention snapped to somewhere down the path. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, ladies. I look forward to seeing you later.” He bowed to each of them as they withdrew their arms.

  “What was that about?” Felicity asked while they watched him depart.

  “Oh, nothing,” Viola said, turning to return the way they’d come.

  Felicity pivoted with her. “The attack on Prinny isn’t ‘nothing.’ Why were you asking Orford about it?”

  Viola shrugged. “I just thought he might be in a position to know something. Wouldn’t you like to know what happened?”

  “We do know what happened. Some idiotic people shot at—or threw rocks, depending on whom you ask—the Prince Regent. I would like those people to be in prison so they can’t try again, but that doesn’t seem likely at this point.”

  Viola didn’t agree with that observation, but then she knew more than Felicity on the matter. Perhaps she could confide in her…

  “There’s my brother and Diana,” Felicity said. “I’ll see you tonight.” She clasped Viola’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am not above helping you come down with a ghastly illness or injury if you need it.”
She winked at Viola and walked toward the Duke and Duchess of Colehaven.

  Pensive after the conversation with Lord Orford, Viola looked down at the path as she took a few steps.

  “Careful, there.” Strong hands clasped her elbows for a slight moment.

  Awareness flashed through her. She knew that voice, that touch. Snapping her head up, she looked into the captivating walnut-colored eyes of Jack Barrett.

  His hands were gone before she could begin to appreciate their warmth and security. Appreciate? She was going daft in the head.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Barrett,” she said.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Viola. May I walk with you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m just on my way back to my grandmother in her barouche.”

  He offered his arm, and she grasped his sleeve. “I think we should visit the coffeehouse again,” she said without preamble.

  “How are you today?” Mr. Barrett asked in a mockingly overinterested tone. “The weather is quite fine. Did you walk or ride to the park?”

  She glanced over at him with a guilty smile. “Sorry. How are you today?”

  “Very well, thank you. As to visiting the coffeehouse, I actually think we should consider abandoning our inquiries.”

  Viola stopped and stared at him. “Why?”

  “It’s a dangerous endeavor. We’re seeking a man who had no compunction about harming the Prince Regent. I doubt they would hesitate to commit violence against us.”

  While that was true, Viola refused to be afraid. She was also disappointed in his change of heart. “The truth should be known. I thought you agreed with that.”

  “I did. I do. But we are perhaps not the best people to investigate this situation.”

  “If not us—no, not us, me—if not me, who?” She scowled at him and withdrew her arm from his. “Never mind. I don’t need your help. And before you threaten to tell my brother, I’ll tell him myself if I must.”

  He expelled a breath. “You don’t need to do that. But will you please think about what I said? I understand how important it is to you to uncover this information and make it known, but surely there are other articles you can write.”