Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  ‘We take care of our own. Ah, here comes Damerel. I shall leave you in his capable hands.’

  He bowed and sauntered over to speak to another of Eleanor’s self-appointed guardians.

  ‘Well! Really!’ Eleanor hissed to Aunt Lucy. ‘What on earth do they think they are doing? And who, I should like to know, told them about me? I knew we shouldn’t have told Sir Horace what has been happening.’

  ‘Ellie, please do not throw such accusations around without good reason,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘Why, it could have been...well, it might have been the servants. You know how they gossip between the households. Or Mr Damerel, even. Why do you not ask him?’

  ‘Ask me what?’ Matthew said, as he reached Eleanor’s side. ‘Good evening, ladies. May I say how very charming you both look this evening?’

  His eyes lingered on Eleanor’s décolletage, igniting sparks that flickered along her veins, heating her skin. She curled her fingers against the desire to tug her neckline higher.

  ‘Why, I appear to be the centre of attention of some of the most powerful gentlemen in the ton,’ she said. ‘Please tell me you have not told them of my...my predicament.’

  ‘Of course I have not. I...oh! Deuce take it! Stephen?’

  Stephen Damerel stood chatting with Lord Derham, who also formed one of Eleanor’s ‘guards’, as she had come to think of them. At the sound of his name, Stephen strolled over to Matthew and Eleanor.

  ‘Matthew?’ He raised an elegant brow.

  ‘You told your brother?’ Eleanor hissed. ‘What made you think it would be acceptable to me for anyone to know my business? And now...look!’ In her agitation, she swept her arm aloft, indicating the surrounding gentlemen. ‘The very last thing I wish is to be the centre of attention like this.’

  She glared at Matthew, whose jaw firmed. ‘I told Stephen because he was full of conjectures as to why I appeared so interested in you and I needed to nip them in the bud.’

  Of course, it would never do for anyone to presume he was interested in her as a woman, would it? She could quite see how embarrassing that would be for him.

  ‘And besides...’ he lowered his voice and dipped his mouth close to her ear ‘...how did imagine you could fail to be the centre of attention in that dress?’

  His breath tickled her neck and his scent surrounded her, sending her senses reeling. She stepped away, intent on clearing her head, and looked accusingly at Stephen Damerel.

  ‘You are in danger. You need protection,’ he stated unrepentantly. ‘I only told a few of my most trusted friends—it is not common knowledge.’

  ‘What do you imagine could possibly happen to me in the duke’s ballroom?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘They will be discreet—you need not worry. Look, they are mingling now. They only wanted to ensure your safety until Matthew was here to look after you. They will still keep an eye out, but from a distance. No one will know. If I am honest—’ a charming smile lit his face ‘—we are delighted to be of service. It makes a change to have a purpose to these gatherings.’ He bowed and wandered away.

  ‘You will not persuade them otherwise, you know,’ Matthew said. ‘They see it as their duty to protect a lady in need.’

  ‘I know. Which is why I wished to keep this whole débâcle out of the public eye,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Admit that you will feel more secure, knowing there are several pairs of eyes watching over you instead of just mine,’ Matthew said. ‘You’ve been feeling vulnerable ever since we arrived in London, I know you have. You wouldn’t have asked me about a pistol if you weren’t scared.’

  ‘A pistol?’ Sir Horace Todmorden had joined them. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Hush,’ Eleanor said, glancing at Aunt Lucy whose attention, thankfully, had been claimed by old Lady Ely. ‘I asked Mr Damerel to help me purchase a small pistol. For protection.’

  ‘Oh, my dear lady, no. I really cannot condone...what? A young lady such as yourself with a firearm? No, no, no. It is far too dangerous. Why, what if the rogue should disarm you? Where would you be then?’

  ‘No worse off than if I had no weapon,’ Eleanor said. ‘At least if I buy one, I will sleep better at night. There are no tonnish gentlemen around at that time to watch over me,’ she added, with an innocent look at Matthew.

  His eyes narrowed and he shook his head at her as Sir Horace barked a laugh.

  ‘You’ve got your hands full there, my lad,’ he announced, slapping Matthew on the back.

  Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat as her cheeks burned. Were their names already being linked? She must take care not to gain a reputation for being fast if Emily Cowper was to succeed in adding her name to the list for Almack’s. She raised her fan and, under cover of cooling her face, glanced around the ballroom. Nobody was paying them attention. Her breathing eased.

  ‘Sir Horace,’ she said, ‘I think you may be suffering under a misapprehension. I know I may speak freely, with you being such a particular friend of my aunt’s. Mr Damerel is just a friend who is kindly helping me through this difficult time. That is all. There is no romantic intention on either side, I assure you.’

  ‘None,’ Matthew confirmed. ‘I am a merchant who works for his living and, once we unmask the culprit, I shall return to my own life. I should hate for any untoward rumours to circulate. There is Lady Ashby’s reputation to consider.’

  ‘Of course. My profound apologies, dear lady. Damerel, pray forgive me. I did not mean to imply...oh, dear me, no... I know you only...but your aunt did express a hope...’

  The poor man was mortified. Eleanor smiled at him. ‘There is no harm done. I am persuaded you understand the situation now. Let us forget all about it.’

  Sir Horace, still beetroot-red, bowed. ‘You are most gracious. Now, if you will excuse me...?’ He left them to join Aunt Lucy and Lady Ely.

  What had Aunt Lucy been saying? For that matter, what did she think? Was she harbouring romantic notions about Eleanor and Matthew? Eleanor’s heart fluttered against her ribs. Until yesterday, any future had seemed impossible but...now...might there be hope? They were equals by birth. Might there, possibly, be a chance they could...?

  Her thoughts faltered. This was foolish thinking. He was a third son and in trade. Her hopes of living down her mother’s scandal would be lost for ever. Besides, there was his pride to consider. I could never accept a woman who outranks me and has tenfold my wealth.

  No, we can only ever be friends.

  ‘Eleanor?’

  Her name caught her whirling thoughts. ‘Sorry. Did you say something?’

  Matthew was watching her, a frown creasing his brow. ‘I was saying, on the subject of your protection, I felt I should warn you that your cousin and his wife are present tonight.’

  The news set her stomach roiling. She had not seen James since he had slammed from her house in a temper after realising he was under suspicion. What would he say? How would he react? Here was another reason to regret that others were aware she was in danger for, surely, they could not help but suspect James, the same as both Matthew and Aunt Lucy.

  Eleanor licked at suddenly dry lips and Matthew signalled to a passing waiter for a glass of wine. She sipped at it gratefully. ‘Thank you for the warning.’

  ‘About that pistol,’ Matthew said.

  Eleanor raised a brow, encouraged that he had broached the subject voluntarily.

  ‘You need a lady’s muff pistol. That will be small enough to carry in a reticule or, as the name implies, conceal in a muff. There is an excellent gunmaker on Shoemaker’s Row, in Blackfriars. Richard Fenton. I shall buy you one tomorrow and teach you how to shoot.’

  ‘I understood the gentlemen of the ton always patronise Manton’s?’

  ‘Ah, but you forget. I am no gentleman of the ton. My associates frequent different haunts.’

  ‘Oh!’ Eleanor pictured a seedy workshop in a dark alley. ‘I am not sure...would it not be safer...? I mean, I hope he is reputable.’

  Matthew laughe
d. ‘Of course he is reputable. What do you take me for? He is simply not quite as fashionable as Manton or his brother.’

  ‘I see.’ Eleanor fidgeted with her fan. ‘It was my intention to choose my own pistol.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Matthew said. ‘I shall find you the perfect pistol. A gunmaker’s shop is no place for a lady.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The musicians, clustered on the balcony, struck a chord. The chatter died and the crowd began the ebb and flow that would result in the dancers remaining in the centre of the floor and the onlookers arranged around the perimeter, some standing, some sitting. Gowns and jewels shimmered as they caught the light from the many chandeliers and Eleanor thought she had never seen so many sumptuous dresses and beautifully coiffured heads before.

  ‘Is it not a magnificent sight?’ she said to Aunt Lucy, who had finally escaped the clutches of Lady Ely. ‘How I wish I’d had the confidence to enjoy my come-out instead of hiding amongst the chaperons.’

  ‘Do not waste time regretting the past, my pet,’ Aunt Lucy replied, squeezing Eleanor’s hand. ‘You made the right choices, for you, at the time. You are here now. Enjoy the moment. There is not a lady in this ballroom to outshine you, so make the most of it.’

  ‘And I second that,’ a deep voice murmured in her ear. ‘I believe this first dance is mine?’

  Her skin seemed to tighten until it felt too small to contain her flesh and her insides quivered.

  Matthew. She glanced at him through her lashes as they took their place in one of the sets. His broad shoulders and square jaw allowed no doubt as to his strength and his masculinity. A glance at the other men in their set failed to flame her senses in the same way. His fingers closed around hers and fire flickered along her veins.

  Who would choose smooth urbanity and polished address over Matthew’s rugged capability and down-to-earth manner? Probably, she mused, many ladies of the ton would value those qualities higher. But not her. She did not want pretty words with no heart behind them. She wanted... Matthew. She might as well admit it. She had wanted him since that first kiss. It had just seemed so impossible.

  Now...

  She looked up and caught his eye. He looked...

  ‘What is wrong? You look preoccupied.’

  ‘As do you,’ he said.

  ‘But I was preoccupied in a happy way,’ Eleanor retorted. ‘You look precisely the opposite. Why?’

  He did not reply.

  ‘If you did not wish to dance, why did you ask me?’

  His startled blue gaze bored into her. ‘Please do not imagine you know what is going on inside my head.’ He fell silent until they were near enough to converse again. ‘If you must know,’ he continued, ‘I had a visit from my eldest brother earlier. I was wondering what reception I might expect from my father when he arrives.’

  Eleanor pondered his words. Matthew was adamant he had no wish to accept his rightful place in society but...could reconciliation with his father change his mind? Ideas of how she might help ricocheted around her brain but, if she were to help, it stood to reason she must discover the cause of their estrangement: the reason his father had banished Matthew to India.

  They joined hands for the next movement of the dance. She barely noticed, dancing by rote. A swift tug caught her attention.

  ‘What are you plotting? I can see it in your eyes. You are up to something.’

  Eleanor tilted her chin. ‘I am not. I was thinking about supper.’

  She avoided his narrow-eyed study of her face. At the end of the dance, she said, ‘May we sit this one out, Mr Damerel? I find I am rather tired.’ Matthew had marked her card for the first two.

  ‘After one dance?’

  ‘It is the worry. The thought of meeting James and Ruth has quite overset me.’ She ignored Matthew’s quiet huff of disbelief. ‘I would appreciate finding a quiet corner to rest. To prepare myself.’

  ‘Very well.’ Matthew offered his arm and led Eleanor across the floor to where a set of French windows stood ajar. ‘Would you care for a breath of fresh air? There are others out there, so we cannot be accused of being unchaperoned. You cannot afford to take any chances; the patronesses of Almack’s are present. I saw Lady Cowper and Lady Jersey earlier.’

  Eleanor glimpsed several guests outside on a well-lit, flagged terrace, where they were taking advantage of a cooling breeze. Perfect...enough in number to provide respectability, but few enough to enable them to converse without being overheard.

  ‘Indeed.’ Now to wheedle the truth out of Matthew.

  They walked slowly to one end of the terrace, which ran the full width of Beauchamp House. Matthew held his tongue—Eleanor would speak her mind soon enough. Until then, he was content to enjoy the peace. As they turned to retrace their steps, Eleanor drew breath.

  ‘Your father,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, now we get to it. I knew you were up to something.’

  ‘I am not up to something. I am...interested. Your brother Stephen has accepted you back. Why do you imagine your father will not? What did your other brother say?’

  And if she thought he was going to tell her about that interview, she was mistaken. ‘He was hardly overjoyed to see me.’

  ‘And yet he visited you. Why?’

  Matthew shrugged free of her hand on his arm and strode over to the balustrade. He gazed blindly into the dark garden beyond the terrace.

  Tenacious.

  It described her perfectly.

  She’s only trying to help.

  As if she had heard his thoughts, she said, ‘I only wish to understand.’

  ‘I know.’

  He turned to look at her. Gorgeous. His blood heated instantly. Her glorious dark tresses, piled on to her head, artful ringlets framing her beautiful face. That gown...the colour of a summer sky, over a white satin underdress...the low neckline revealing an enticing glimpse of full breasts and emphasising her fragile collarbones and swan-like neck, adorned by an elegant string of pearls. His hands curled into fists against the urge to reach for her.

  She touched one of those fists...a fleeting contact, but enough to trigger that vibrant spark that arced between them whenever they touched. His resolve hardened. He must stay strong. Eleanor might believe her feelings lay hidden, but they shone from her eyes. He must disillusion her—she must understand there was no future for them, for her sake and her standing in society as much as for his pride.

  ‘I was caught cheating at cards,’ he said. ‘My accuser was then attacked and robbed. That is why my father sent me to India. My accuser was badly injured and Father feared he might die.’

  ‘But you didn’t do it.’ Her declaration rang with conviction.

  ‘I was long ago cleared of the attack,’ he said.

  ‘Why did you not come home, then?’

  ‘I am not wanted here.’ Claverley’s scornful words had pierced deeper than he realised. Damn him. And damn everything. And, in particular, damn his youthful indiscretions...his thoughtless, careless certainty that nothing could touch him. ‘Not then. Not now. I have a debt to repay to my father. Once that is discharged, I shall return to my previous existence.’

  ‘You are still bitter about his rejection of you. Is it not time to put that bitterness behind you and think of the future?’

  ‘Am I not justified if I do feel bitter? Would you not feel the same had you been rejected by your...?’ Too late, he bit his tongue. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. I should not have said that.’

  He saw her swallow. ‘It is true my mother left me. I don’t think I have ever been bitter about it, though.’ She took his arm. ‘Come, let us walk and talk. It is easier to speak with honesty when you cannot see the other’s face.’

  They continued to stroll.

  ‘Mayhap I was never bitter because I still had my father,’ she said.

  ‘But it must have affected you.’

  ‘Of course it did. It devastated me. But...but...’ From the corner of his eye he saw her shrug in a helples
s fashion. ‘I thought it was my fault.’

  He had to strain to hear her. His heart swelled. He had been eighteen—old enough to rationalise his father’s behaviour. Eleanor had been eleven years old. Still a child. No wonder, at times, she doubted herself. No wonder she concealed that inner doubt behind a shell of determined independence. He covered her hand with his and squeezed gently.

  ‘You know now it was not your fault, I hope?’

  She inhaled sharply. ‘Of course. But we were talking of you and your father.’

  Her voice was bright and positive. He bit back a smile. She was the most courageous woman he had ever met.

  ‘May I tell you what I think, without annoying you?’

  And here was a first—asking if he wanted her opinion before voicing it. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think you should meet your father with an open heart. Listen to what he says and, more importantly, how he says it. Do not barricade your heart behind a wall of pride.’

  That’s easy for her to say. ‘I will try,’ he said.

  ‘Did you prove you did not cheat at cards?’

  ‘Who says I didn’t cheat?’

  ‘I say. I know you, Matthew Damerel. You are too honourable to do such a thing.’

  A lump formed in his throat and his eyes smarted at her absolute conviction. She believed in him, unquestioningly, when his own father had not.

  ‘Come.’ His voice was gruff. ‘We must go back inside. I do not want you to catch a chill.’

  * * *

  ‘Cousin Eleanor, how are you?’

  It was some time later when the familiar voice roused Eleanor from her reverie and she turned to see James standing over her, Ruth clinging to his arm. Eleanor’s heart faltered. She studied James’s face. Could he really be responsible for those attacks? But, if not him, who? And why?

  ‘I am delighted to see you without that guard dog of yours in tow,’ he continued.

  At least he hadn’t noticed her new guardians. Despite her earlier annoyance, the sight of Lord Derham and Lord Vernon Beauchamp, hovering watchfully, eased her apprehension. They had appeared shortly after Matthew—with a wink at Eleanor and a whisper of ‘Think of Almack’s’—led Lady Cowper on to the dance floor. Eleanor, grateful for a respite from dancing, and for some time to ponder Matthew’s earlier revelations, had sunk into a vacant seat next to Aunt Lucy and several of her friends.