Scandal By The Ton

by Virginia Henley

  "Yes. I need you as a buffer between us to keep him at arm's length. I didn't tell you, but after I delivered the column on Monday morning, Lord Royston was waiting for me outside the building. He grabbed me and thrust me into his carriage, demanding to know who paid me to deliver Scandal by the Ton. I was dressed as George the newsboy and managed to escape, but not before he realized I was a female."

  "What fun. Admit the truth and shame the Devil-- you are enjoying this game!"

  "Yes, but I know I'm courting danger. Behind the laughter is the fear that he'll recognize me."

  "Put your fears away. I'll deliver the column on Monday."

  "Bless you." Julia kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Grandma; thank you for a lovely evening."

  Early the next morning, Julia was awakened when her mother invaded her bedchamber, and swished back the drapes to let in the sunshine.

  With hands on hips, Claire demanded, "Where is it? I want to see it."

  Julia blinked and sat up in bed. "What is it you want to see, Mother?"

  "The gown you wore. When you arrived home at that ungodly hour, your cloak covered it."

  Slowly, Julia arose from bed and padded over to her wardrobe. She opened the door, and took out the white tulle gown. She was taken off guard when her mother snatched it from its hanger.

  "It's totally unsuitable for a girl your age. The fashion is daring beyond words."

  "I disagree. Lady Georgina Gordon wore an almost identical dress, and I'm quite fond of it." Julia raised her hand to take back possession of the gown, but her mother refused to let go, and the diaphanous material tore.

  Claire immediately grabbed the torn dress and ripped the material with a vengeance. She flung the pieces to the carpet.

  Julia stared at her mother in horror. "Do you feel better now?" she asked quietly.

  "Decidedly better." Claire turned on her heel and left the room.

  Julia bent and picked up the pieces. Her throat ached with unshed tears, not because of the gown, but because of her mother's vengeful retribution.

  When she took breakfast with her grandmother, she kept silent about what had happened. "Since we've accepted Lord Royston's invitation to the theatre, I'm afraid I'll have to go shopping again, since I've nothing suitable to wear." Julia sipped her chocolate. "I wish the stipend I received for writing the column was enough to pay for my clothes. Until now I've always spent it on books."

  "We'll go shopping today. Moreover, we'll stop at Coutts Bank, and I shall open an account for you. That way you can select and pay for your own clothes, since I suspect Claire will only buy you dresses suitable for a fourteen-year-old."

  "That's very generous of you, Dottie."

  "Nonsense, money is for spending, especially if it brings pleasure."

  On Wednesday evening, Julia donned one of the new outfits she'd picked out at Madam Martine's in Bond Street. It was a cream colored silk trimmed with jade green, and it had a matching brocade green cloak. Dottie presented her with a pair of jade and diamond ear drops, which looked perfect with her upswept hair that had one long curl falling to her shoulder.

  Her grandmother was wearing gray that contrasted with the red wig she had donned. "I want to be sure every eye is drawn to Lord Royston's box at Covent Garden tonight."

  "I can't wait. The paper says that George Frederick Cooke's portrayal of Richard III is the best since Garrick," Julia said.

  "That remains to be seen-- I saw Garrick," Dottie declared. "I asked Dora to keep watch for Royston's carriage. We don't want the poor devil to come face-to-face with Claire, although now that I think of it, that would be rather amusing to watch."

  "It wouldn't amuse me much. It's almost time. Shall we go down and wait, and then as soon as he arrives we can slip out the front door?"

  The plan worked like a charm. Nicholas helped the two ladies into the carriage and sat down beside Dottie, so he had an unimpaired view of Julia. "You look lovely tonight."

  "Yes, I do, don't I?" Dottie straightened her red wig, and Nicholas and Julia exchanged amused glances.

  When they arrived at Covent Garden, Lord Royston took the arm of each lady and led the way to his box. Julia allowed the viscount to remove her cloak before she took her seat, and was acutely aware that his dark eyes swept over her with approval, missing no finest detail.

  Dorothy sat next to Julia, so that her granddaughter would be between herself and Nicholas. She lifted her opera glasses to scrutinize the occupants of the other boxes that were all brilliantly lit with gaslight.

  Nicholas took his seat and offered Julia a program. "Are you familiar with the play?"

  "Yes. Richard III is a tragedy. Now is the winter of our discontent, Made glorious summer by this sun of York. The amazing thing about Shakespeare is how it has held up through the centuries. The opening speech reveals Richard's jealousy and ambition, as his brother rules the country successfully."

  "I am impressed by your grasp of Shakespeare," Nicholas admitted.

  Julia smiled. "I have aspirations to become a writer, though of course I know my limitations."

  "The hobby of writing is commendable. Most young ladies are only interested in matrimony."

  "I think of it as a profession, rather than a hobby. I have no interest in marriage."

  "You cannot be serious?"

  "Perfectly serious. I would much prefer to become a writer and take lovers." Julia hoped she had confounded him. In truth I am basking in his attention. His overt masculinity attracts me like a lodestone. I mustn't let him know how he affects me.

  She turned to her grandmother. "Isn't that Charles James Fox in the box opposite?"

  "It is indeed. That is his light o' love, Elizabeth Armistead." Dottie lowered her voice. "She's slept with just about every famous man in England. Remind me to give you a list when we get home."

  The lights went down and the curtain opened. Julia sat forward, her attention focused on the actors, absorbing the history play that was unfolding on stage.

  Nicholas Royston watched her with pleasure. He was amazed that this captivating, intelligent beauty was Claire Shelborne's daughter. He realized that taking revenge on the woman was becoming thoroughly enjoyable.

  After the second act, when the lights went up, two young men entered the box. "Nick, I demand an introduction to this beauteous young woman. Where have you been hiding her?"

  "This is my brother, Michael. I'm delighted to introduce Lady Julia Shelborne, our neighbor in Hertfordshire."

  Julia held out her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Royston, your reputation precedes you."

  Mick took her fingers to his lips. "Ah, you read the scandal sheets."

  Nicholas gave him a quelling look. "And this lady is Dorothy Ashridge."

  Michael said gallantly, "I could never forget seeing Mrs. Ashridge in Hertfordshire."

  "Yes," Dottie said dryly, "we've had intercourse upon occasion."

  Mick laughed. "Your wit is only exceeded by your beauty, ma'am."

  The tall young man with him cleared his throat and Michael said, "Allow me to present you to Prince William, Lady Julia."

  Julia smiled. "I am delighted to meet you, Your Highness."

  Dottie said, "Which nickname do you prefer: Silly Billy, or Slice of Cheese?"

  The prince stiffened. "I prefer Gloucester."

  "Then Gloucester Cheese it is," Dottie said irreverently.

  Nicholas Royston had a difficult time keeping a straight face.

  "Since the play portrays another Gloucester, are you enjoying it?" Julia asked.

  "Not really," Mick admitted, "I don't think we'll stay for the rest of it."

  Julia's glance moved from Michael to the prince and back again. "Ah, I can see where a play about envy over a more accomplished brother wouldn't appeal to either of you."

  The pair bowed and took their leave, as the lights went down and the third act began.

  Nicholas bent his head to Julia and murmured. "That was a wicked thing to say."

  "Yes, I know
. I simply couldn't resist."

  When Royston took hold of her hand in the dark, she didn't pull away. She could feel the heat from his strong fingers seep into hers. Julia tried to concentrate on the actors onstage, but she was more aware of the compelling presence of the male beside her.

  Gradually, she became used to his closeness and was able to focus on the drama onstage.

  In the fifth and final act, she leaned close to Nicholas and whispered, "Shakespeare is fond of his ghosts." She felt him squeeze her hand in response.

  When the final line was delivered, both Julia and Nicholas were on their feet applauding. The audience cheered, clapped, and some stamped their feet to show their appreciation, as the cast took several curtain calls.

  "I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you so much for inviting me, Lord Royston."

  "Your presence made it more enjoyable for me. And please call me Nicholas. It makes me feel ancient when you address me as Lord Royston." He helped her into her cloak, then his hands cupped her shoulders possessively.

  "Ancient?" Dottie declared. "A man of thirty is barely mature. We would be delighted to call you Nicholas. All unavoided is the doom of destiny," she quoted.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning, two dozen yellow roses arrived for Lady Julia. The card read: Destiny. As she put them in water, she felt both flattered and apprehensive. It was a gallant gesture if Lord Royston truly admired her, but if his motive was revenge against Claire, it was insulting.

  Julia warned herself about developing a tendre for the devilishly attractive viscount. I must think with my head, not my heart. I must distance myself from Nicholas Royston. If he ever finds out that I am the one who splashed his name all over the gossip column of the London and Country, there will be hell to pay!

  On Saturday evening Claire Shelborne went to an entertainment at Spencer House in St. James's, and Julia decided to occupy herself writing her Scandal by the Ton column. She declared Lizzie Armistead 'Tart of the Week' and listed her lovers: Charles James Fox, the Duke of Dorset, the Duke of Ancaster, the Earl of Derby, and Viscount Brolingbroke. Julia then recounted an amusing anecdote where Lord George Cavendish barged in on the lady and found the Prince of Wales in her bed.

  When Julia had asked Dottie where she heard about the incident, Dottie explained that Cavendish was the Duke of Devonshire's brother, and Claire's friend Lavinia had brought the tale straight from Devonshire House.

  "Dottie, are you sure you don't mind delivering the column on Monday morning?"

  "Absolutely, my dear. I can't wait to see if Royston is hanging about, waiting to abduct the culprit who delivers it. What fun it would be if he grabbed me and tried to defrock me."

  On Sunday morning, Julia was in the breakfast room enjoying strawberry filled crepes with her grandmother, when Claire burst in on them.

  "How dare you? How dare you purposely humiliate me by attending the theatre with Nicholas Royston? His box at Covent Garden is so prominent that every eye was upon you, flaunting yourself in his company! It's the talk of the Ton! No less than six people took delight in informing me about the outrageous liaison of my own daughter with the lecherous devil."

  "My dearest Claire, just because the viscount sent Julia two dozen roses, doesn't indicate anything as intimate as a liaison," Dottie declared, deliberately adding fuel to the fire.

  "The roses are from Royston?" Claire screeched. "You stupid girl, do you not realize that Lord Royston is using you to get back at me for dismissing him?"

  "Do sit down and have some breakfast, Claire. You're frothing at the mouth."

  "And you are a devious old harridan, who feigns deafness for her own amusement!"

  "And you are a spoiled bitch, and a deplorable mother, who thinks the Universe should revolve around her. You treat us as if we are your satellites."

  When Claire raised her hand as if she were about to slap her mother, Dottie said dryly, "Let me remind you, I am armed with a knife."

  "Oh, please don't fight." Julia put her napkin on the table and stood up. She was the bone of contention between the pair and if she removed herself, their tempers would likely stop flaring.

  She went up to her own chamber and stood gazing out the window with unseeing eyes. Her mother's words echoed in her ears: You stupid girl, do you not realize that Lord Royston is using you to get back at me for dismissing him?

  Julia pressed her forehead against the cool glass pane. If what Mother says is true, then I am more than stupid. She turned as she heard her bedroom door open, and saw her grandmother. "I think it would be best if I put some distance between both Lord Royston and my mother. If you don't mind, I'd like to spend a week at Ashridge Place. The solitude will give me a chance to begin writing my book."

  "Darling, of course I don't mind. It's your country home. I'll even help you pack all your pretty new clothes. Toby can drive you this afternoon and bring the carriage back. I'll deliver the column tomorrow, and if you're not back in time, I'll try my hand at writing next week's column."

  Julia smiled. "You always manage to make me feel better."

  "That's what grandmothers are for."

  On Monday morning, Dorothy Ashridge stepped from her carriage on Fleet Street. As she walked toward the building where the London and Country Magazine was published she spotted Nicholas Royston standing beside his own carriage. Without hesitation she greeted him.

  "It was exceedingly thoughtful to send Lady Julia roses. She was thrilled."

  "It was my pleasure, ma'am. She enjoyed the play so much; I'd like to invite her to the Drury Lane on Wednesday, with your permission."

  "I would have no objection whatsoever, Lord Royston, but Julia is visiting the country. She went to Ashridge Place yesterday. Hertfordshire is so lovely this time of year."

  "It is indeed. Did Lady Julia go alone?"

  "Claire didn't accompany her, if that answers your question."

  Nicholas smiled ruefully. "It does, ma'am."

  "Are you going into this building, my lord?

  "No, not this building. I have other business on Fleet Street," he evaded.

  "I'm here to see my old friend, Alexander Hamilton, who publishes the London and Country. Do you know him?"

  Since this was the fellow Nicholas had been tempted to sue for libel, he replied, "No, I don't know the owner of the magazine personally."

  "Such a pity. I'm sure you'd have many interests in common. I shall bid you ta-ta for now." Dottie hid her amusement as she made her way to the newsroom to deliver Julia's column. Poor sod will be waiting in vain if he hopes to encounter George the newsboy today.

  Three hours later, Nick Royston gave up his vigil. He climbed into his carriage and on the way home he began to think about Hertfordshire. The lure of the countryside in summer was hard to resist. The more he thought about Royston Hall, the more he missed it. He hadn't been since before he'd traveled to Portugal to urge that country to maintain the alliance against France.

  Thoughts of Julia Shelborne invaded Nick's imagination, and by the time he arrived at Curzon Street, he had decided to drive up to Hertfordshire, concluding that Royston Hall needed his attention. In short order, Nicholas packed, and then wrote a note for Michael telling him where he'd gone. Nick decided to drive his own phaeton and left the closed carriage and driver for Mick.

  As he tooled along the Great North Road he contemplated Lady Julia's surprise when she saw him. Lord Royston did not have a vindictive nature, and the need to take revenge against Claire Shelborne had long since evaporated. He neither liked nor disliked the young widow; he was simply indifferent.

  Julia sat on the lawn beneath the shade of a huge weeping willow; the sable house cat, Luna, curled up beside her. She was surrounded by history books she'd brought from Ashridge Place's well-stocked library. She had decided to write a story about Bess of Hardwick, a real-life woman of history whom she found fascinating. Bess was a friend of Queen Elizabeth the First, another bewitching female.

  Julia had been doing re
search on Elizabeth Hardwick for some time. Bess had begun as a servant girl with nothing, and by her own willful determination, and four husbands along the way, became the richest woman in England after the Queen.

  Julia decided that it was time she stop researching and starting writing. "I think I should divide my story into four parts-- one for each marriage," she told Luna. The cat opened her yellow eyes that resembled full moons, and closed them again.

  With her head on one side and her pencil poised above her notebook, Julia spoke her thoughts aloud. "I'll write a short prologue when Bess was six and the bailiffs removed her family from Hardwick Manor, then jump to Part One, Chapter One, when she was sixteen."

  Julia wrote: Derbyshire, England, August 20, 1533.

  "Well, good morning. I had no idea you were in residence at Ashridge Place."

  Julia looked up in surprise at Nicholas Royston, dressed in riding clothes, holding the reins of a black hunter. "And I had no idea you were in residence at Royston Hall, my lord."

  "An amazing coincidence."

  She licked her lips. "I don't believe in coincidence."

  "Then we'll call it Destiny."

  The corner of her mouth went up. "As you wish."

  "Would you like to join me for a ride?" Nicholas invited.

  Julia was tempted. In fact, she admitted he was the most tempting man she had ever encountered. "Some other time, perhaps. Today I am writing."

  "Then why don't I join you?" Nicholas fastened the reins of his hunter to a tree, and stretched out on the lawn beside her.

  "Writing is a solitary occupation," she said pointedly.

  "When you told me you had aspirations to become a professional writer, I didn't take you seriously. Still, I suppose it's the fashionable thing for a lady to do these days, since Georgiana Devonshire penned The Sylph."

  "I'm not writing to be fashionable, Lord Royston, and I consider The Sylph to be sentimental claptrap, and blush that the duchess named her melodramatic heroine Julia."

  "Sorry, perhaps you prefer to follow in the footsteps of Fanny Burney."