Scandalous Brides

by Amanda McCabe

  “I do.”

  Carmen kissed his hand gently and disentangled herself from his grasp. She rose and went to the window, leaning her cheek against the cool glass. Below her, the garden slept all silvery beneath the moon, an ocean of peace.

  And, at last, her own heart knew just such a perfect tranquility.

  “I love you, too,” she answered. “I always have.”

  He came up behind her. “Then, you will marry me again? At Clifton Manor, in front of all our friends and our daughter?”

  Carmen closed her eyes and thought. She loved the Peter she had married six years ago, and she knew that now she loved the man he had become. As complicated and maddening as he could be! She wanted to quarrel with him and misunderstand him and kiss him until they were ninety and surrounded by grandchildren.

  She turned to face him. “Yes. I will marry you again.”

  “Carmen!” In one step he had her in his arms, held against him so tightly that her feet left the carpet entirely. She buried her face in the silk of his golden hair and laughed aloud.

  “We will be happy now,” he said fiercely. “As we should have been all these years.”

  “So you are willing happiness on us now?”

  “I am. I believe we are richly deserving of it.”

  “I believe you are right! But I have dreamed of this moment so many times, only to have it vanish in the daylight. What if this is a dream?”

  He lowered her slowly to her feet. His hands came up to gently cradle the back of her head, his fingers in the soft curls. “My darling. Does this feel like a dream?” And he kissed her, his lips warm and soft on hers, as gentle as a spring day.

  Carmen sighed and smiled as he lifted his head to look down at her. “It feels like heaven.”

  “I want to meet Isabella. Soon.”

  “Of course. I will write to Esperanza tomorrow and ask her to bring her here. Isabella will be ecstatic to come and see Elizabeth, and she will adore you, I am sure.”

  “And I will surely adore her.” He laid his cheek against her hair and hugged her close. “Ah, Carmen, I can scarce fathom it! I am a father; I have a child, a daughter.”

  “One who is the very image of you—tall, golden, and stubborn as a bull! I cannot wait for you to meet.” Carmen rested her head on Peter’s shoulder, listening to the soft, ocean-wave sound of his breathing through the thin linen of his shirt.

  She was sure she could feel the stirrings of some long-buried emotion—joy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Carmen! Is it really true?” The door to the library flew open, and Elizabeth rushed in, the fringed ends of her shawl swinging.

  Carmen looked up from the letter she was writing, and smiled a radiant welcome. All the world seemed gloriously sunlit to her that morning, despite the fact that it was raining outside. “Is what true?”

  “Come now, do not tease me! I was just talking with my brother. Are you going to be my ‘official’ sister?”

  Carmen giggled like a schoolgirl. “It is true—sister.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth threw her arms about her ‘sister.’ “I simply knew how it would be! I knew it would all work out beautifully, and so it has. Nick told me not to fly into the boughs, that the two of you had been apart so long that perhaps you no longer wished to be married. I said that was fustian, that of course you wanted to be married! And you do!”

  “Yes,” Carmen interrupted happily. “We talked all last night, and everything is settled between us.”

  “I am glad. I would so much rather have you for a sister than that Lady Deidra Clearbridge! I never had a happier hour than when she went back to London. But only think what a dash you and I will cut together in Society! And now you must let me paint your portrait.”

  Carmen laughed. Surely life would never be dull with such a sister and brother-in-law as Elizabeth and Nicholas! “Indeed I shall! But not yet. We have a wedding to plan. And you are not to say a word to anyone yet. Peter wishes to wait to make an announcement until after he has met Isabella.”

  “I will be silent as tombs. Except to Nick.” Elizabeth’s expression turned suddenly serious. “Peter does know about Isabella, then? That she is his child?”

  “Oh, yes. I told him last night.”

  “And was there a row?”

  “Not at all. It was all much—simpler than I had supposed. He was a bit angry at first, to be sure. But I think that the happiness of the news quite overcame his anger. He is most eager to meet his new daughter.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth breathed. “No tantrum. My brother must be maturing.”

  “I believe so!”

  “When is he to meet Isabella?”

  “That is what I wished to speak with you about.” Carmen held up the letter she was writing. “I am writing to Esperanza, asking her to bring Isabella here for a few days. I thought perhaps it would be easier for her and for Peter to meet here in the country, where it is quiet and they can talk, rather than in Town.”

  “Yes, quite right.”

  “Of course, that means we must impose on your hospitality for a few days longer. Esperanza could not possibly arrive here before the end of your party. I know you have your work to return to ...”

  Elizabeth waved away her apologies. “Not at all! Nick and I were planning to stay here until next month. I am sure he will be delighted to have you and Peter and Isabella with us. And, of course, you must visit Clifton when you are so near.”

  “That is so kind of you, Lizzie.”

  “Nonsense! It will be great fun. A family holiday.” Elizabeth gathered up her shawl and prepared to depart. “This afternoon Georgina and I are going up to the attics to look for costumes. The former owners left simply piles of trunks and boxes! You must join us.”

  “That sounds delightful! I will see you later, Lizzie.” Carmen waved to Elizabeth as she left the room, then turned back to seal and address her letter to Esperanza.

  As she did so, she thought of the blackmailing letters she had tucked away in the bottom of her trunk, the ones sealed in black wax. She still had not found their writer, and that fact cast the one dark pall over her new happiness. She was always waiting for another missive to be delivered, for the sword of Damocles to drop on her head and all to be revealed to the scandal-loving ton.

  A scandal, always to be avoided, was unthinkable now that she was soon to be presented as the Countess of Clifton, with her daughter the child of an English earl. Carmen could never bear to bring disgrace on Peter’s head, of harming his promising political career and the name of his family.

  She had, in her mind, ruled out Robert Means as the culprit. But if not him, then who?

  The attics of Evanstone Park were not as Carmen remembered the attics at her home in Seville—dark, dusty, musty. They were wide and clean, with the smell of new wood and polish, lined with trunks left by the former owners, as well as a few that had belonged to Elizabeth’s mother and grandmother.

  Carmen, Elizabeth, and Georgina dug through this bounty, spreading silks, satins, and velvets across the floor in search of suitable costumes for the tableaux.

  Georgina held up an elaborate gown of bright blue taffeta, its silk flower-trimmed skirts spreading wide in the style of the last century. “What do you think, ladies? Would this be quite suitable for Hera, descending from the heavens like a great bluebell?”

  Elizabeth laughed and swirled a velvet cloak over her shoulders. “I like this one! I shall sweep onstage, covered from head to toe. Then I shall drop the cloak and reveal, hmm ...” She pulled out a transparent chemise. “This! Et voila!”

  “Quel scandale!” Georgina cried. She fanned herself with a large painted silk fan. “I declare I shall swoon from the shock. No vouchers for you!”

  Elizabeth pushed her playfully. “You were never shocked in all your life, Georgie Beaumont! Remember that costume ball in Venice, where you wore a lady pirate gown with a skirt that ended quite at your knees?”

  “I never!” Georgina gasped.


  Carmen laughed at their antics, then turned back to the trunk she was excavating. It must have belonged to Elizabeth’s mother rather than her grandmother, for it contained clothes of a slightly more recent vintage. And it seemed that Elizabeth’s mother had been dashing indeed.

  She took out a long, shimmering, one-shouldered column of silver tissue. It was almost of the right length on Carmen, and quite appropriately classical in appearance.

  She held it up to her and examined the effect in the tall mirror set up in the corner.

  It was beautiful, almost like a fall of liquid silver, flowing and sparkling.

  She wondered what Peter would think, if he saw her in it.

  She smiled softly.

  Elizabeth came up beside her, to touch the magical fabric gently with her small hand. “My mother wore this to a masquerade ball when I was a small child,” she said. “It was even before she married Peter’s father. I remember watching her dress for the ball. She wore a mask of white feathers and long diamond earrings. I thought her such a magical creature in it, all gold and silver. Almost like a swan!”

  “Oh.” Carmen held the gown away from her. “Then, I must not wear it, not if it was a very special gown of your mother’s.”

  “No, you must wear it, for that very reason. It should not be hidden away in a trunk forever.” She smiled mischievously. “And just imagine the look on my brother’s face when he sees you in it!”

  Carmen laughed. “I was thinking that very thing!”

  “Then, you will wear it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Excellent! Now, I am very thirsty. Digging about in dusty old trunks is tiring work.”

  Carmen carefully folded the gown and laid it aside. “I will go downstairs, then, and see about some tea and cakes.”

  As she went down the stairs, brushing dust from her hair, she caught a glimpse of Peter as he went into the conservatory. Tucked beneath his arm was a large, colorful book of children’s fairy tales.

  By noon, the morning’s rain had paused, bringing out azure skies and glorious sunshine. So Elizabeth’s luncheon moved out to tables set up on the terrace, where guests could look at the dew-damp gardens and chatter freely about their tableaux and the cards planned for that evening.

  Carmen had only just finished the dessert, when a footman came to her and spoke quietly in her ear.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said. “A lady has arrived who is asking for you.”

  Carmen looked up at him, startled. A guest, for her? “Are you certain she is not looking for Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, no. She said most specifically the Condesa de Santiago. I have placed them in the library.”

  “Them?”

  “Yes, my lady. She has a child with her.”

  Isabella. It had to be. Carmen quickly excused herself to her table companions, and followed the footman to the library, trying to still the trepidation in her heart.

  As she stepped into the dim library, a small bundle of velvet cloak and satin hair ribbons flew across the room and hurled itself at her. Small arms flung about her waist, nearly pulling her off balance.

  “Mama!” Isabella cried. “Mama, Mama, I’ve missed you so, so much!”

  “Darling Bella!” For a glorious moment the bright joy of reunion overcame any misgivings. Carmen picked Isabella up and twirled her about until the little girl squealed with laughter. She kissed her daughter’s small pink cheeks over and over, and nuzzled her nose into warm golden curls. “Um, you smell of roses and rain!”

  “And you smell of Mama,” Isabella giggled. “Are you happy to see us?”

  Carmen glanced at Esperanza, who stood by the fire wrapped in her black traveling cloak. “I am happier than happy, dearest. And I know that Elizabeth and Nicholas will be happy to see you again. But I am surprised; you cannot possibly have received my letter, as I posted it only this morning.”

  “Letter?” said Esperanza. “No, Carmencita, we received no letter. I just thought it best to come to you, as Isabella has been ill.”

  “Ill!” Carmen framed her child’s face in her hands and peered into it closely, searching for any sign of dreaded illness. Isabella’s complexion was all pink and white, her dark eyes clear and bright. She was a bit flushed, but that could be attributed to the excitement of travel. Carmen laid the back of her hand against Isabella’s brow; it was cool. “She looks well. What was amiss?”

  “She is well now,” Esperanza replied. “But only two days ago she was quite feverish and calling for you. I thought it best to bring her to you. If only you had been at home, where you belong . . .”

  “Yes,” Carmen interrupted firmly. “Just so. But you were right to bring her here.”

  “It was only a stomachache,” Isabella said, her six-year-old voice quite as scornful as her father’s. Then she leaned against her mother and whispered, “I wanted you, Mama, because you never make me swallow awful medicines when I’m ill, as Esperanza does. You tell better bedside stories, too.”

  Carmen laughed. “Well, I am happy my little imp is feeling better. I am also happy that you’ve come to me; I have a grand surprise for you!”

  “A surprise? Really? What is it? A pony?”

  “Better! But you shall have to wait and see. If I told you what it is, it would not be a surprise any longer.”

  Isabella made a moue. “Oh, all right! I can wait.”

  “Good girl! Now, you wait here while I go fetch Elizabeth. She can find you the very prettiest room and make sure you are settled while I talk to Esperanza ...”

  Elizabeth, as if conjured by the mention of her name, opened the door and poked her dark head inside. “Did I hear James say your maid was here, Carmen?”

  “Yes. Esperanza has brought Isabella for a visit.”

  “Hello, Lady Elizabeth!” Isabella cried, running forward to give her the same exuberant welcome she had given Carmen. “I have come to see you!”

  “So I see!” Elizabeth kissed Isabella’s cheek. “I shall have to tell Nick what a very charming guest has come to grace our house!”

  “Can we go see him now?” asked Isabella.

  “Well, I ...” Elizabeth glanced questioningly at Carmen. At her nod she took Isabella’s hand and led her out of the room. “Of course, dear. Then we will find you a chamber that suits so that your mother can talk with Esperanza.”

  Carmen closed the library door behind Elizabeth and Isabella, and leaned back against it. “Now, Esperanza,” she said. “I wish to know what really happened.”

  “What really happened, Carmencita?” Esperanza sank down onto a chair, her lined features weary in the firelight. “Isabella was ill, she wanted her mother. It was a stomachache, as she sometimes gets, but I thought it best to bring her to you.”

  “She was probably eating too many lemon drops again. But why did you not send a messenger? I would have come back to London straight away. There was no need for you to make such a journey.” Carmen went and sat on the arm of Esperanza’s chair, taking her duenna’s wrinkled hand in hers.

  “Did something else, of a more alarming nature, occur after I left?”

  “Alarming, Carmencita? Such as what?”

  “I do not know. A message, perhaps, or an odd visitor. A break-in. Did someone follow you while you were out shopping or walking in the park?”

  Esperanza shook her head. “Oh, no, niña. Nothing of the sort. I only thought that Isabella would be better off with her mother.”

  Carmen was still uneasy. It was really not at all like Esperanza to act on impulse; she had spent almost six years following Carmen’s travels stoically from city to city, but she had never enjoyed it. She had always wanted predictability, such as she had had with Carmen’s mother.

  Something must have happened in Town. But Esperanza’s head was almost drooping with fatigue, and Carmen did not have the heart to press her. There would be time enough for talk later.

  “I am sorry, Esperanza dear,” she said. “You must be so tired from your
journey. Let me see you settled, then later you and Isabella and I shall have tea together, and I will tell you all of what I have been doing here. And you must tell me what you and Isabella have been up to!”

  “Yes.” Esperanza allowed Carmen to help her to her feet, leaning heavily on her younger arm. “Yes. Yes, I am very tired.”

  What the devil was detaining Carmen?

  Peter glanced at his watch. She had promised to meet him for a walk in the gardens, now that the rain had ceased.

  But there was no sign of her: not in the drawing room, where small groups were preparing their tableaux for Sunday evening, not in the dining room, where an afternoon buffet was set. She was not even with Elizabeth and Georgina Beaumont, who were once again foraging for costumes in the attics.

  He finally decided to wait for her in the library, where he was at least assured of quiet and a good fire. He borrowed a bottle of Nicholas’s best claret and a book, and settled down to have a read until Carmen chose to show herself.

  He had no sooner begun the first chapter, when he was distracted by a faint but persistent hissing noise.

  He glanced up and saw nothing. He wondered what Nicholas was putting in his claret these days, to cause people to hear things.

  “Psst! Psst!”

  There it was again, assuredly not a figment of the claret bottle. In point of fact, he believed it to be coming from beneath his very chair.

  Peter looked down and saw a white lace flounce against the deep green carpet. There was also the tip of a tiny kid slipper.

  It was far too small to belong to any of the female guests, even Miss Dixon, who prided herself on her very tiny hands and feet. So he knew he was not interrupting some bizarre tryst under the library furniture. One of the servant’s children, perhaps?

  “Oh, my,” he said. “I do believe this library is haunted.”

  There was a giggle.

  “I sincerely hope they are friendly ghosts.”

  “It is not a ghost,” a small voice said. “It is I!”

  “And who might I be?”

  A head popped from beneath the chair. Peter leaned over to peer at the little porcelain face framed by a tangle of golden curls and untied pink hair ribbons.