Scandalous Scions One

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Natasha had asked Elisa not to pursue the matter, yet after a sleepless night of restlessly turning and tangling bedsheets and disturbing Vaughn, who normally slept as soundly as a hibernating bear, Elisa realized she simply could not let it be.

  Thomsett, Raymond’s young butler, opened the door quickly for her. “Lady Farleigh,” he said in his quiet, well-spoken voice. “This is a pleasure. I am sure Lord Raymond will be very happy to see you.” His green eyes were warm and welcoming.

  “I do apologize for arriving without warning in this way,” Elisa told him, as she happily removed her gloves and bonnet. “Raymond is at home?”

  “He has a guest at the moment, although I do believe the gentleman intends to leave at any moment. I was about to take his hat and cane through.”

  Thomsett gave off the air of someone managing a flurry of unexpected activity with aplomb and grace that didn’t match his youth. He had begun service with Raymond only a few years ago. Elisa did not know anything about him, although she assumed that Raymond had looked into his references properly before hiring him. The one thing Elisa did know about the butler was that at some time in the past, he had been in the military. He had the upright bearing and square shouldered stance that only came from a military officer’s career.

  Thomsett, though, was as discreet as Paulson.

  “Ah, there we,” Thomsett murmured, as male voices grew louder, issuing from the library.

  Two men stepped into the hall, both of them halting when they saw Elisa.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Raymond said, barely looking surprised.

  The other man was Benjamin Hedley, Anna and Rhys’ adopted son. He smiled with delight when he saw her. “Aunt Elisa, what a surprise!” He kissed her cheek, his full black beard and moustache tickling her. Both were neatly trimmed, with none of the curled and waxed ends some men adopted. He had coal black eyes that matched his hair and porcelain white flesh. His Welsh heritage was quite evident.

  His very white teeth flashed beneath his moustache and his eyes twinkled. “You are just in time, Aunt Elisa. Please talk this fellow into helping out his old team in July. We’re short a man thanks to a posting to India.”

  “I’ve already explained I am to be one of the marshals,” Raymond said. “As much as I would like to help out.”

  Benjamin rolled his eyes. “He’s being a stick in the mud.”

  “I believe Raymond is only insisting upon doing what he has first promised to someone else. Could Will or Jack help out, instead?” Elisa said, freely offering either of her oldest sons.

  “Jack doesn’t row and Will is already in the team.” Benjamin sighed as he took his hat and cane from Thomsett. “I suppose I could ask one of the fellows at the club.”

  “There’s the ticket,” Raymond said.

  Benjamin strode out of the house, not looking too upset at Raymond’s refusal.

  “Is it very bad to lose a man so close to the Regatta?” Elisa asked Raymond as Thomsett closed the door.

  “Benjamin is making far too much of it in his usual fashion,” Raymond said easily. “It is nearly a fortnight until the Regatta. He’ll spend a lot of time beating his chest about the loss, so everyone will feel sorry for him. Then he’ll ask Percy at the club and Percy will ask him why it took that long to ask.”

  Elisa laughed.

  Even Thomsett smiled. “Fresh tea, my lord?”

  “Is there any of that lemonade Mrs. Fraser made yesterday?” Raymond asked.

  “I’m sure we can scare some up,” Thompsett said and headed to the back of the house.

  Raymond moved toward the library once more. “Come in, Mother.”

  “Could we use the morning room instead? The library is so dark and dreary,” Elisa said.

  Raymond froze for one small moment. “Of course,” he said shortly and crossed the hall to the opposite door. “Although I haven’t been in here for a while, so I have no idea what the state of the room is…” He paused inside the door, looking around.

  Elisa stopped by his shoulder.

  “Exactly the same,” Raymond muttered.

  Elisa patted his arm. “Yet not quite the same, I’m sure. It’s time to put it to different uses, don’t you think?” She moved around him and over to the French parlor sofa sitting by the fire and picked up all the cushions and put them in the wing chair next to it. “There’s absolutely no need to hunch up next to the fire at this time of year. This sofa would be better placed with the sideboard behind it. Could you ask Thomsett and a footman to arrange it?”

  Raymond looked at her steadily for a moment. Then he went over to the bell pull and tugged on it. One of the footmen appeared swiftly and Raymond explained what needed doing.

  The man hurried away, then returned a few minutes later with Thomsett and another footman.

  Raymond raised a brow. “Mother?” he asked pointedly.

  Elisa had taken the few moments of waiting to sort out the seating in her mind. She gave directions on where the furniture was to be moved, then stepped over to the door with Raymond, well out of the way.

  Two maids and another footman had also been called in to help, by the time the room was rearranged to Elisa’s satisfaction. The new arrangement made the most of the view through the three windows, overlooking the square and the shady trees there. The sideboard, that had lived up against the wall, now sat behind the sofa, its pleasing lines facing the door. The bowl of roses was placed on the sideboard, where guests would see them as soon as they entered.

  “It looks strange,” Raymond complained.

  “It is French,” Elisa said. “You’ll learn to like it, trust me.”

  He bent over the bowl of pink blooms. “These are fresh.” He sounded surprised.

  “The maids will have cut fresh flowers and placed them here every few days, whether you saw them or not,” Elisa assured him.

  He looked at her, startled. “Why would they do that?”

  “Because you are not the only one to miss Rose,” she said gently.

  He snapped upright and moved to the wing chair, which was now opposite the sofa, its back to the fireplace. Both chair and sofa were sitting in the light coming through the windows. Raymond settled himself in the chair and looked around. “Very strange,” he muttered.

  Thomsett came in with a tray bearing the lemonade jug and glasses. “There was even a little ice left, my lord,” he added as he placed the tray on the table beside Raymond. The ice tinkled against the side of the jug.

  Elisa’s throat contracted longingly at the sound. “Perhaps, if there is any more lemonade left, Thomsett, you and the staff should have it after all your efforts just now. Raymond?”

  “Yes, please help yourself,” Raymond said without hesitation.

  Thomsett smiled. “It will be most welcome, my lord, Lady Farleigh. Thank you.”

  “I’ll see to the drinks,” Raymond told him. “You go and have yours.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Elisa waited until Thomsett had closed the door. “Where did you find Thomsett, Raymond? He seems far too young to be so…old.”

  “Competent is the word you are looking for, I believe.” Raymond poured two glasses of lemonade, dropped sugar lumps into hers along with a spoon and passed her the glass. “A fellow I knew at Cambridge who went into the Army recommended Thomsett to me. Blackwood—”

  “The Marquess of Ladbroke?” Elisa asked, for she knew the family.

  “Cory Blackwood is the second son,” Raymond said.

  “He bought a commission?”

  “No, actually. He always knew he was heading for the military. He didn’t like the idea of buying himself rank and privilege. He graduated from the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich and went into the Artillery. He’s a Colonel now. He was caught up in the mutiny in India.”

  “Thomsett, too?” Elisa asked.

  “No, Thomsett was forced to retire for medical reasons, after the Crimean War.”

  “Retire? He’s so young!”

&
nbsp; Raymond nodded. “He was awarded a Victoria Cross.”

  “No!”

  “He keeps it in the back of drawer somewhere.”

  “Surely, such a man could find a more challenging occupation, one better suited to his valor?”

  “He likes the peace,” Raymond said. “Butler to this household is challenge enough, he says.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t speak of it, but I believe Thomsett returned from Russia with demons eating his soul. It happens, in the military, especially for those in the very thick of the fighting.”

  Elisa sipped her lemonade, reconsidering Thomsett in this new light.

  “And what brings you to my door this morning, Mother?” Raymond asked.

  She put her glass aside. “Natasha told me a very strange story yesterday, about you.”

  “I saw her at the cemetery,” Raymond said easily. “What story is that?”

  “About a woman called Susanna.” Elisa paused expectantly.

  Raymond didn’t react. He didn’t move at all, or show any emotion. His face might have been carved from marble.

  “Natasha was worried. You mustn’t mind her telling me,” Elisa added.

  “Worried?” Raymond repeated woodenly.

  “Who is she, this Susanna?” Elisa asked. “I know of no one by that name. Is she a commoner, Raymond? Is that why you feel you cannot—”

  “Mother, stop,” he said, his voice deepening. “Do you think, if I have not spoken of her in all these years, I would suddenly tell you everything at the first urging?

  Elisa bit her lip. “No,” she admitted reluctantly. “I suppose not. But surely—”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I cannot and will not say anything further about her. It would compromise her position. It would embarrass her and it would be of no use beyond either of those things.”

  Elisa stared at him, surprised. Raymond had never spoken so shortly with her before. It felt a little as though a normally placid dog had snapped at her without warning. Then Natasha had spoken truly. This secret woman really had snared his heart. “Did she trifle with you, Raymond?” Elisa asked, her heart aching for his. “Did she extend hope, to leave you dangling in this way?”

  Raymond surged to his feet. “No. Never. She is and always has been a complete lady.” He moved restlessly to the window and back, to grip the wing of the chair. He was not enjoying the conversation, yet he would not end it because he was her son.

  Elisa spared him. She rose to her feet. “I must go,” she said and pretended she did not see the relief in his face.

  “Very well. I’ll have Thomsett bring your things.” He went over to the bell and tugged on it.

  Elisa moved through to the front hall. When Raymond followed her, she turned to him and spoke quickly, before Thomsett arrived. “I know you are trying, but you must find a way to let her go, Raymond. You have ruined the first half of your life over a shadow and a thought, for that is all she really is, whoever she is. You deserve more.”

  Thomsett silently appeared with her gloves and bonnet.

  Raymond tried to smile. It wouldn’t form properly. “I will heed what you say,” he told her, as she slid her gloves on and tied her bonnet.

  Elisa was satisfied with that. “You’re a good man, Raymond,” she told him and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’m also very glad you choose to shave!”

  She was pleased to hear his soft chuckle as she left.

  Chapter Three

  The belting heat of late June faded as July whispered in with cooler breezes and a little rain to rescue parched gardens. It was still warm and bright and on cloudless days wandering the banks of the Thames was a very pleasant affair. Natasha was still completely grateful for the airiness and lightness of muslin and the shade of her parasol, as she perched on a stool, her skirts billowing out around her, and watched the activity on the river and in the enclosure, where most the ton was invited to spectate.

  Natasha was not the only woman in white muslin. There was all manner of dresses on display. Flounced skirts, skirts draped up and pinned with fresh flowers. Dresses with insets, dresses with bell sleeves. Lady Rylstone wore muslin so thin, her corset cover showed as a pale ghost beneath. However, the embroidered, colorful flowers on the hem of her dress and over the bust distracted the eye.

  There was as much cotton lace as there was muslin, plus ribbons and bows and pearl buttons. There were a hundred more parasols bobbing about the enclosure, too. It was all very pretty and enticing.

  The men were also dressed as coolly as possible, with thin shirts and unbuttoned jackets and the lightest of cravats. She did not look closely enough to determine if any of them had dispensed with their undershirts, but would not be surprised if they had. Most of the jackets were striped, short sportsman jackets, although even the frockcoats on display were all pale colored fabrics, designed to reflect the heat.

  There was a small breeze that rippled across the water, sending welcome moist air over the enclosure, although there was not as much water for it to fan across as there might have been, because of all the boats. There were dinghies and rowboats, rafts and more—anything that could float and carry passengers had been pressed into service, allowing spectators to get that much closer to the racing.

  The little steam-driven cabin boat that officiated the finish line of the races was puttering across the river now, settling into position. Between races, the officials spent their time trying to herd the spectator craft out of the way of the race course.

  Natasha looked around for Annalies and Elisa. They had left shortly after the last race to use the conveniences. They would be back shortly and the next race was about to begin. Rhys and Vaughn were in the shady corner where the brandy was in good supply. It left Natasha alone. She didn’t mind. It was distracting, watching everyone wander the enclosure, or risk themselves on a wobbling boat. Most of the people here she knew, some very well and some by name only. Everyone who passed by knew her, too.

  Far down the river, Natasha heard the pistol fire to mark the start of the next race. She looked around once more for Anna and Elisa and saw them coming toward her with a dark-haired woman between them. The woman was wearing muslin, too. There was a tartan cummerbund about her exceedingly slender waist.

  Natasha’s heart sank. This had to be the Scottish woman whom the London Orphans Society valued so highly. Anna and Elisa must have been introduced to her by someone—probably Lady Gaddesby, the President of the Society, who knew that Anna and Elisa were Natasha’s closest friends. Lady Gaddesby had most likely urged Elisa to bring the woman to Natasha and introduce them. Elisa, always sensitive to public opinion and propriety, far more than Anna and Natasha were, would have obliged without demur.

  Now here the woman was. Natasha cast about for her name. It had been supplied in the monthly newsletter from the Society, but she had quite forgotten it. Some Baronet from the Highlands…

  “Lady Innesford,” Elisa said, as they reached Natasha. “May I present to you a recent acquaintance? Morven, Lady Tachbrook of Scotland.”

  Natasha nodded at her. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she said stiffly.

  Lady Tachbrook’s blue eyes met hers, as Elisa completed the introduction; “Lady Tachbrook, this is Lady Natasha, Countess of Innesford, Baroness Harrow.”

  Lady Tachbrook nodded her head. It was a gracious inclination that displayed the masses of black curls pinned up at the back of her head. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Innesford,” she said. There was no hint of brogue in her voice and she had a lovely lilting way of speaking. “I have heard for many years about how beautiful you were. I see now that the gossip was accurate, for a change.”

  Natasha stared at her, startled. “I…er…thank you,” she said inadequately. “How is it we’ve not met before now? I thought I knew everyone.”

  “I have been secluded near Inverness for many years,” Lady Tachbrook replied. “I lost my husband when I was young. I heard of your husband’s passing, too. I am very sorry.”


  Natasha drew in a breath and held it, keeping her reaction to the mention of Seth hidden. Then she relaxed and exhaled. “Thank you.”

  Elisa rested her hand on Natasha’s shoulder for a moment. “Lady Gaddesby, who just introduced Lady Tachbrook to the Princess and I, wanted you to know that Lady Tachbrook has occupied herself with good deeds and charity work recently.” Elisa’s mouth turned down in a tiny grimace. She was acknowledging her regret for forcing Natasha to meet the woman.

  Lady Tachbrook also wrinkled her nose. “Really, if you do not mind, call me Morven. I feel I must apologize for Lady Gaddesby’s enthusiasm. She has thrust me upon society, because of some small successes I had building a fund for children in Inverness. She is rather…” Lady Tachbrook hesitated.

  “Insistent?” Elisa suggested delicately.

  “Bulldogs wilt before Mary Gaddesby,” Annalies said, speaking in a voice that was not meant to carry.

  Natasha felt her eyes widen. So did Lady Tachbrook’s.

  Suddenly, all four of them were laughing.

  One of the enclosure staff brought over a fourth stool at Elisa’s gesture. The three women sat down to watch the race, for the competitors were coming into view. Lady Tachbrook—Morven—took the stool on Natasha’s left and arranged her hems so the merest tip of her shoe showed beneath.

  Natasha glanced at the woman. She had not a single thread out of place. Her dress was modest, becoming and completely appropriate for a woman her age, which appeared to be close to Natasha’s. There was nothing about the woman that Natasha could criticize or dismiss.

  Add to that her charming apology for the Orphan Society event and it was hard to maintain the dislike Natasha had formed based purely on the lady’s reputation as put forth by Lady Gaddesby.

  Everyone in the enclosure, including Morven, was staring at the river, watching the rowers fight it out for the lead. Shouts of encouragement and cheers sounded, although the volume was a mere racket now. As the race drew to the finish it would become deafening.