Julia London - [Scandalous 02]

by Highland Scandal

  The day was interminably long. Lizzie pined alternately for Jack and for home. She worried constantly about Charlotte and fretted that Carson was so angry, that he’d done something awful to her or Thorntree. She wrote two letters, one to Charlotte, and one to Carson begging him to leave Charlotte be, promising that she’d return to Thorntree to resolve their differences.

  That evening, when Gavin returned much later than he’d promised, Lizzie sent word that she’d gone to bed early. She had no heart for him.

  The next morning, Gavin was gone by the time she appeared for breakfast. Winston informed her he’d been invited to attend an auction for horseflesh in the village of Kilburn with Lord and Lady Montrose.

  It seemed to Lizzie as if Gavin had forgotten the reason they were in London. To that end, she asked Winston if he might inquire of His Lordship how much longer they might be forced to wait. Winston returned with his answer a half hour later. “Indefinitely, madam,” he said with a bow of his gray head.

  With a groan, Lizzie returned to the suite that had become almost as confining as the little turret room Carson had forced them into. At least there she’d had a bit of company. Exasperating, exciting, charming company.

  Here she had nothing to do but wander about and think. She despised thinking! There were only dark, painful thoughts wandering about her head, and one small thought that would not stop biting at her.

  She’d been over and over it, and frankly, she didn’t believe Jack. She didn’t believe he was as cold as she’d shown her. But why, then, would he have done it? There were no promises between them, nothing he couldn’t have said to her.

  Lizzie would be happy if she never had to think again. What she wouldn’t give for a list of chores to occupy her!

  But midafternoon, she was surprised by Lady Fiona and a family friend, Lady Lindsey. They knocked on the door of the sitting room, and when Lizzie answered, they swept in, directing two footmen whose arms were laden with gowns. They deposited them over the back of a settee, and Fiona shooed them away, then made the introductions.

  Lady Lindsey—“You must call me Evelyn,” she said with genuine warmth—was even prettier than Lady Fiona. “You poor dear, thrust into London with no introduction! I could scarcely believe it when Fiona told me. I came to London years ago, just as alone as you, but at least I knew a person here or there.”

  “Aye,” Lizzie said weakly.

  “We must have you properly outfitted,” Fiona said. “Lady Lindsey has kindly offered to share her lovely gowns.”

  Lizzie blanched at the mere suggestion. “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh no, no, I could no’ possibly!”

  “It is quite all right, Miss Beal,” Lady Lindsey said kindly. “I cannot button a single one.” She grinned. “I’m with child.”

  It was obvious. She was glowing with her pleasure.

  “I should kick Jack for no’ giving you time to assemble a full wardrobe, aye?” Lady Fiona said. “It was terribly thoughtless of him. But when I told him, he said I should make it right, straightaway.”

  “No, no, no—He did?”

  Evelyn held up a gown, eyeing Lizzie against it. “You must choose one for the ball tonight.”

  Lizzie’s heart dropped to her toes. “A ball!” Panic filled her chest. “No! I canna attend a ball. I—”

  “Miss Beal, we will be by your side,” Fiona assured her. “We’d no’ dare abandon you. And it is a very small ball. A mere one hundred guests.”

  One hundred guests! Lizzie’s gasped as Evelyn held up another gown, this one a deep claret silk. She shook her head and tossed it aside as if it were paper, and then picked up one made of gold velvet. It was beautiful. It looked like what Lizzie imagined a princess would wear.

  Evelyn smiled as she held it up to Lizzie. “It is perfect, isn’t it, Fiona? It suits her coloring perfectly.”

  Fiona stood back and nodded. “Aye,” she said. “It is perfect.”

  “I will no’ attend a ball,” Lizzie insisted.

  “You will have a change of heart once you’ve seen yourself in this,” Evelyn said. “This was designed and sewn by Mrs. Olive, one of the most exclusive modistes in London. She typically confines her work to the royal family, but she owed me a small favor. And now, you will be the envy of every woman at the ball.”

  But Lizzie did not want to be the envy of anyone. She just wanted to go back to Thorntree, where life was simple and her society known to her. She could not attend a ball in a gown made for a princess!

  Yet even she had to admit to a moment of pleasant surprise when she was dressed in the gown and standing before a full-length mirror. She wouldn’t have thought she could look so…so lovely. So regal. When Fiona put a necklace of gold on her, she felt like a queen. She turned one way, then the other, admiring herself, wishing Charlotte could see her.

  “It is breath taking,” she said softly. She wondered how much a gown like this might cost, what things she might buy for Thorntree with the money Lady Lindsey had certainly spent on this gown.

  “Have you ever been to a ball?” Fiona asked.

  “No,” Lizzie said laughingly. “In Glenalmond, we’ve only country dances.”

  “Mmm,” Fiona said, admiring the fit of the gown on her. “A country ball in Scotland is the poor cousin of a London society ball. There is dancing, my dear, and”—she leaned in to whisper—“there is dancing. You and Mr. Gordon will be properly scandalized by it.”

  Lizzie had already been scandalized by it. And she would never dance a waltz with anyone, lest she ruin that perfect memory.

  “But I’ve no reason to attend,” Lizzie said. “I willna be in London long.”

  “Why should you no’ have a diversion?” Fiona asked cheerily. “If you attend, you might return to Scotland and amuse them all with what you’ve seen and done, aye? Come, then, Evelyn,” she said. “Let us find our own costumes for the evening.”

  They left Lizzie dressed in the gold velvet gown, staring at herself in the mirror. The gown was exquisite, it was, but…but she was not a debutante. She was not the sort of woman to chat idly as they had the night she’d dined with Lady Fiona’s friends. The things they’d talked about had seemed so trifling to Lizzie—who might marry whom, what fortune did this or that gentleman have, and so forth. Lizzie had a crippled sister at home and worries these women would never have. Their main concern was social position; hers was survival.

  And there was something wholly lacking from last night’s supper table and the ball this evening: Jack.

  Lizzie did not want Jack’s world, but Lord, she wanted him. Two days of mourning him had done nothing to dampen her love for him. And their last meeting, in the entrance hall, had only confused her more. He’d said the words without emotion, but she had seen the look in his eyes. It was the same look she’d seen the night they’d made love—a look of gnawing hunger, of a desire that ran through to the marrow.

  Lizzie had not been able to shake that image. In her heart of hearts, all she wanted was Jack, and everything else seemed small and inconsequential compared to that overwhelming desire. To be in the same house as he—even a house as big as this—to be so close and not with him was excruciating. How would she survive such pain?

  When Lucy appeared, carrying a large millinery box, Lizzie assumed it was another bit of borrowed clothing from Fiona and Evelyn. “It came from Mrs. Olive’s dress shop,” Lucy said. “Lady Fiona said His Lordship purchased it for you.”

  “Pardon?” Lizzie asked, looking up from the book at which she’d stared blindly for an hour.

  “From His Lordship,” Lucy said uncertainly. “She said I was to tell you he purchased it for you.”

  Lizzie took the box from Lucy. She quickly untied the ribbons, pulled the lid from the box, and withdrew a straw bonnet. A beautiful, perfectly trimmed straw bonnet. The ribbons were made of velvet, the floral trim of velvet and silk, and the flowers delicate and small. It was exquisitely made. “It…it is the finest bonnet in all of Britain,” Lizzie murmured.r />
  “Oh, it is very nice,” Lucy said. “The latest fashion—that is Mrs. Olive for you.”

  “Aye,” Lizzie murmured.

  “They are waiting for you mu’um,” Lucy said.

  “Pardon?” Lizzie asked, distracted.

  “Lady Fiona and Mr. Gordon. They are waiting for you in the gold salon.”

  Lizzie gasped and looked at the clock on the mantel. She’d tried to reset it, but it was now an hour slow. “I’ll be there straightaway,” she said, and stood up, still holding the bonnet, holding it out from her body, staring at it as her mind whirled. “I’ll…I’ll be right along, then,” she said.

  Lucy curtsied and went out, leaving Lizzie with the gorgeous bonnet. She finally put it back in its box but took the hatpin from its crown and turned around to the mirror. She looked at herself in that beautiful gold gown, bit her bottom lip, and said, “I beg your pardon, Lady Lindsey.” She dragged the hatpin along the seam, creating a slight tear.

  Several minutes later, she hurried into the gold salon, where Gavin and Lady Fiona were waiting. Gavin was prattling on about something, but was interrupted by the sight of Lizzie. He smiled broadly. “Leannan, you are beautiful,” he said admiringly. “I shall be right proud to have you on my arm, I will.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling self-consciously. “Un-unfortunately, I’ve run into a wee bit of a problem,” Lizzie said. Gavin and Lady Fiona looked at her. She pointed to her side. “A wee tear in the fabric. I suppose I am a bit bigger than Lady Lindsey. I must repair it before we go.”

  Gavin looked slightly disconsolate. “Well. We shall wait.”

  “No, no, you must go on without me!”

  “I’d no’ think of it,” he said, looking at her gown.

  “Of course we will wait,” Lady Fiona said, her gaze fixed on Lizzie. “I’ll send Lucy to you.”

  Lucy, who had just left her, and who would be surprised to learn of a tear in Lizzie’s seam. “Please,” Lizzie said as evenly as she could. “I can repair it, and then…then His Lordship said I need only ask for a carriage. I’ll just ask one to be brought round. You donna want to be tardy, aye? And…and I must remove the gown and stitch it, then dress again, and…”

  “I see,” Lady Fiona said, her gaze as clear as a hawk’s. “We should take our leave, Mr. Gordon. I will tell the Brant butler to expect Miss Beal a bit later, shall I?”

  Gavin looked almost relieved. “A perfect solution, milady,” he said, and offered his arm.

  Lady Fiona put her hand on his proffered arm and the two paraded to the door. But Lady Fiona paused to look at Lizzie once more.

  “I shall be along as soon as possible,” Lizzie said.

  “Donna fret about the time, Miss Beal,” Lady Fiona added. “The Brants are famously lax about social engagements.”

  And, if Lizzie wasn’t mistaken, Lady Fiona gave her a slight wink.

  She watched the pair walk out. She waited until she was certain they had gone, until she heard the front door close and the clip of the footman’s shoes on the marble floor.

  Jack.

  She had no idea where to find him, but she was prepared to go door to door if she must. And she was going now, before she lost her courage. Lizzie marched from the gold salon and turned right, down the carpeted corridor, pausing at each door, timidly opening them, and finding dark rooms. There seemed to be at least a dozen, and she was beginning to lose hope and bravado when she opened a door and startled the occupants.

  Jack and two other gentlemen came quickly and awkwardly to their feet.

  “I beg your pardon,” Lizzie said as the two men turned to look curiously at her.

  Jack, on the other hand, looked stunned. His gaze swept over her, and from where she stood, she saw him swallow. “Miss Beal?”

  If she didn’t gain his attention now, she’d never have the courage again. “Lizzie,” she said. “You call me Lizzie. You’ve always called me Lizzie.”

  Jack’s eyes widened slightly and he exchanged a look with his companions.

  “A pleasure, Lizzie,” the tall one said with a smile for Jack.

  “Excuse me,” Jack said low, and strode quickly across the room to catch Lizzie by the elbow. “What are you doing?” he whispered hotly.

  “When did you stop saying my name?” she whispered just as hotly.

  “This is no’ the time, lass.”

  Lizzie swallowed. “Jack, I know the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “You’ve been dissembling these last few days.”

  “Diah,” he muttered. His gray eyes narrowed on her for a moment, and then he glanced over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Please, avail yourself of the wine, and I shall return momentarily.”

  He grasped Lizzie’s elbow tightly and wheeled her about, marching her from the room and propelling her into the hall. “What are you doing, Lizzie?” he asked curtly. “I donna know what you think you have discovered—”

  “I received the bonnet.”

  “The what?”

  “The bonnet! The best bonnet in all of Britain! You sent it to me.”

  “Aye, Lizzie, but it is a bonnet. It hardly means anything at all.”

  “That’s no’ the least bit true and well you know it, Jack Haines. You do esteem me, but for some foolish reason, you’ve determined that you must pretend you do no’.”

  “I donna esteem you,” he snapped, and threw open the door of his study. The hearth was still lit from the day, casting a low light over the room. He pushed her inside, shut the door, and leaned against it with his arms folded tightly over his chest, his head lowered. He glared at her. “What in heavens is the matter with you? What more must I say to convince you that there is naugh’ between us?”

  “If that is true, then what of the bonnet?”

  “Lizzie, honestly—”

  “You remembered, Jack. You remembered your promise. When I saw that bonnet in the box, I knew this…this wretchedly cold and heartless side of you was a hoax. A cruel one, aye, and one I donna understand why, but I knew that you esteem me yet.”

  “For God’s sake!” Jack cried. He pushed both hands through his hair, then sighed heavenward. “Lizzie…Lizzie, lass, listen to me now,” he said, pushing away from the door and moving toward her. “You will return to Thorntree with your fiancé and you will marry and you will have love and wee bairns and your family around you. What more could you want?”

  “You,” she said. “I could have you. You esteem me, Jack. Admit it!” she said, smiling broadly.

  “No, no,” he said, pointing at her. “Donna smile at me like that. I am the worst sort of man for you. You were right about me, Lizzie. I am a scoundrel, a rogue. I come from bad stock.”

  “Bad stock!”

  “Aye! Bad stock! You are a fool if you donna take the promise Mr. Gordon gives you. He’s a good man. He will do right by you, he will. He’ll provide as he ought and he’ll honor you, and he’ll no’ waste money on prime horseflesh or gambling debts or the like,” he said with disgust.

  Lizzie’s grin widened. “He will be my husband and no’ my lover. Jack…I love you. I have loved you since you kissed me in my room. That searing, lovely kiss,” she said breathlessly.

  Jack caught her hand. “There, do you see? I was trying quite desperately to take advantage of you. Donna do this, Lizzie. Donna pretend. You are expected at a lovely ball, and you are…you are astoundingly beautiful this evening. You must go, aye? Do you remember what I taught you?”

  “I will no’ go.”

  He slipped his other arm around her waist. “One two three, one two three,” he murmured, pulling her into a waltz, moving her in a tight circle as his gaze drifted over her face, her décolletage, her hair. She watched the warmth return to his eyes, could see the shine return to them, and she was sinking into hope and love—

  “Lambourne! Where are you, Lambourne, come at once!” someone called from the corridor.

  “Jack—”

  “Blood
y hell,” he moaned, and stopped dancing. He lifted his head, brushed his hand against her cheek, ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

  “Lambourne! The king!”

  “Donna answer them,” she said desperately, and gripped his hand tightly. “Donna go.”

  He smiled softly. “Go to your ball, Lizzie Beal. Dazzle all of London society. Enjoy yourself. Be happy.” He pulled his hand from hers and stepped back.

  “No! Jack, wait!”

  But he was already to the door, was walking through, was leaving her behind, her body tingling, her heart soaring.

  And just like that he was gone, having been called to an audience with the king.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  Jack considered himself rather lucky that the prince had him put away in the Tower of London as opposed to Newgate, where he’d heard conditions were decidedly uncivilized, even for a man who could afford to pay for his accommodations.

  The Tower was rather sparse, and the guards rather rude and not as careful with Jack’s person as he would have liked. Nor was the Tower as comfortable as Lindsey had led Jack to believe, either, but he had a hearth, a desk and chair, and a serviceable bed. And a view of the Tower green, where, George reportedly said, in a fit of fury at learning Jack was in London, “Lambourne can gaze upon the spot his bonny Prince Charlie was beheaded.”

  He’d been a prisoner since the night he’d gone to the king. Just as Jack suspected, the king was right angry with him for returning to London, particularly when he’d gone to such great lengths to warn Jack to stay away.

  Frankly, Jack had not known until that very night that His Majesty had given his own personal chaise to Fiona to run ahead of George’s men and warn him. That seemed like something Fiona might have mentioned.

  The king was in a very cross mood with a gouty foot and bad knee inflamed. He demanded an explanation for Jack’s return.

  Jack told him as simply as he could. “There is a lass in Scotland who is on the verge of losing what is rightly hers, and it would seem that I am the only one who might help her.”