The Scandal of the Season

by Annie Burrows

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, disentangling herself from the lady’s perfumed embrace. ‘But I think you must be mistaking me for someone else.’

  The lady cocked her head to one side, and gave her what Cassandra could only think of as a twinkling look. ‘You are Miss Cassandra Furnival, are you not? Daughter of Julia Hasely, third daughter of the Earl of Sydenham?’

  ‘Er...yes, I am, but...’

  The lady gave a rueful shake of her head and heaved a melodramatic sigh, making Cassandra suspect the lady never did anything without considering the effect it would have upon an audience. ‘I suppose I should have been prepared to find you had forgotten me. Because you were, after all, just the tiniest babe when last we were in the same room together.’ She drew off her gloves and held them out in mid-air. One of the footmen sprang forward just in time to catch them as she let them drop. ‘Which was at your christening,’ she finished saying, looking around as though searching for something. ‘Your mother was a great friend of mine,’ she said, making for one of the chairs reserved for customers. ‘A very great friend,’ she said, disposing herself upon it gracefully. ‘I,’ she announced, with a dazzling smile, ‘am your godmother.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ gasped Cassandra, collapsing on to her own chair as she finally realised that this lady had, indeed, come to visit her. The Duchess of Theakstone, her godmother, was the only person from her past life who still corresponded with her. Even though it was only ever in the form of a note at Christmas and her birthday—hastily dashed off, to judge from the handwriting—she had treasured each and every one. For it was more than anyone else had done.

  The Duchess laughed at this expression of Cassandra’s shock at finally meeting her in person. ‘I can see that I have taken you by surprise.’

  Surprise? That was putting it mildly.

  ‘You have never once asked me to help you, but I have often wished I could. While Theakstone was alive, of course, it was impossible.’ She twisted her mouth into what, on a less beautiful woman, would have been called a sneer.

  This statement only served to puzzle Cassandra even further. For one thing, the Duke to whom her godmother had been married had died several years ago. For another...

  ‘Oh, my dear, how perplexed you look,’ said the Duchess of Theakstone, with a challenging sort of smile. ‘As though you never expected me to lift as much as a finger.’

  ‘Ah...’ Well, no, she hadn’t. But the Duchess was making it sound as though somehow that view offended her.

  ‘Well, no,’ stammered Cassandra, ‘I would never have presumed so far. How could I, when not even my own mother was prepared to acknowledge me after I committed my Fatal Error? But it wasn’t only that...’

  ‘Oh? Then what was it, precisely?’ asked the Duchess, rather frostily.

  ‘Only that you don’t look...that is... I suppose that my mother must be considerably older than you. Well, she looked older than you last time I saw her, which was more than half-a-dozen years ago. So I don’t see how you could have been such friends.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, how clever of you to say just the right thing,’ she crowed with delight. ‘I am sure we are going to get along famously,’ she said, untying and removing her bonnet to reveal a mass of gleaming golden curls, not one of which had been flattened by the cleverly constructed confection.

  Aunt Eunice sprang forward to take the exquisite bonnet before either of the footmen could crush it in their meaty great paws, and carried it reverently over to a hatstand, currently occupied only by a swathe of sprig muslin.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Duchess. ‘Not only for taking such great care of my hat, but also of my goddaughter. I am so glad she found a safe haven with two such compassionate ladies.’ She looked at each aunt in turn and then at Cassandra in a way that somehow made her aware that she hadn’t effected a proper introduction.

  ‘This is my Aunt Cordelia,’ she said. ‘Er... Miss Bramstock, I should have said,’ she added, blushing.

  ‘Ah, so you are the one who caused such a stir by spurning Hendon’s offer and running off to set up home with your schoolfriend,’ said the Duchess, before turning to examine Aunt Eunice, who lifted her chin to stare back with some belligerence.

  ‘And this is, well, I call her Aunt Eunice,’ Cassandra said, hoping that this was not going to turn into the sort of confrontation that would send her godmother flouncing out in a huff.

  ‘Because you are so fond of her,’ the Duchess concluded for her. ‘Which is not surprising, when she has clearly done far more for you than any of your blood relations.’

  Aunt Eunice subsided at once, murmuring her thanks and protesting that it was nothing.

  ‘Is there somewhere that my boys,’ said the Duchess, waving a hand at the two enormous footmen, ‘may take refreshments?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Aunt Cordelia with a touch of chagrin at the reminder she was forgetting her duties as a hostess. Once she’d sent ‘the boys’ off to the kitchen with a message for Betty to not only look after them, but also to bring tea and cake to the parlour for their guest, Cassandra and both her aunts took to their chairs and gazed at their visitor in an expectant silence.

  ‘Now that we are alone,’ said the Duchess, ‘we may get to the point. As I said, I am sure nobody could deny that you ladies have done my goddaughter a sterling service, up to this point. But now she needs someone with social standing to bring her out, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Bring me out? That is not possible. Not when I am ruined. Socially, that is, if not in fact. For I’m sure that Stepfather must have made everyone aware he would not let me set foot in his house when I went back to try to explain...’

  ‘Yes. And that he cut you off without a penny to your name, as though it was something to be proud of,’ put in the Duchess grimly.

  ‘Yes. And I don’t suppose even my mother has ever said one word in my defence...’

  ‘The poor creature was so browbeaten by that bully she married I don’t suppose she dared,’ said the Duchess.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Cassandra, marvelling at how clearly the Duchess saw what had happened back then. She wondered if perhaps her mother had written to her, explaining, and asking her to help her only daughter... No, no, that couldn’t be it. Stepfather would never allow any kind of missive to leave the house without scrutinising it carefully.

  ‘But if I,’ continued the Duchess, ‘were to spread a rumour that it was all a plot he made up to swindle you out of your inheritance, plenty of people would be ready to believe it nowadays. Because, let me tell you, my dears, since the time he turned you out of doors he has shown his true colours often enough that he is generally held in aversion.’

  ‘But, Your Grace, that is not true! I mean, yes, I’m sure he did leap at the chance to get his hands on what money should have come to me, because he is that sort of man. But he didn’t have to make up any scandal about me. I did run away with a soldier, you know, and I did return home unmarried...’

  The Duchess held up her hand to stop her saying anything further. ‘I am glad that you are being so frank with me. But you cannot restore your reputation if you go round blurting out the truth to all and sundry.’

  Cassandra’s heart gave a little lurch. Could it be possible? Could she really slough off the cloud of disgrace she could always feel hanging over her head, even when everyone was polite to her face these days? Could she find a place in polite society again? Become respectable once more?

  But at what cost? ‘I won’t tell lies to try to persuade people I am something I am not,’ she said firmly.

  ‘There will be no need,’ said the Duchess after a pause. ‘From what you have just said, it sounds as if your so-called scandal was little more than a brief escapade, which could have been brushed over if your mother had not married such a monster.’

  ‘Well, yes, but...’ she clasped her hands at her waist as another b
arrier to the Duchess’s scheme sprang to mind ‘...am I not too old to make a come-out?’

  ‘Not at all. You cannot be more than twenty years of age?’

  ‘I am three and twenty.’

  ‘You look much younger. Besides, there are plenty of men who do not want a bride right out of the schoolroom. Someone more mature, with a bit of sense. And you are so pretty that I am sure there will be someone who is willing to overlook all that other business,’ she said, waving her hand to dismiss Cassandra’s Fatal Error as though it was no more than a bothersome fly.

  ‘But... I’m not at all sure I wish to marry,’ said Cassandra with a guilty look at her aunts, whose views on marriage she had begun to absorb. ‘I am very happy here.’

  ‘I am sure you are,’ said the Duchess soothingly. ‘And if you don’t find a husband and wish to come back here after your Season, why, of course you may. But there’s more to having a Season than catching a husband. There are all the balls and parties, and picnics and shopping, and visiting the theatre, and galleries and exhibitions. I vow and declare you deserve to enjoy all that has been so long denied you—through, I’m sure, no fault of your own.’

  ‘That’s true, Cassandra,’ said Aunt Cordelia. ‘And even though we both turned our backs on society, at least we had the luxury of choosing to do so.’

  ‘You see?’ The Duchess turned to Cassandra with a smile of triumph. ‘Your aunts would love you to be able to find a husband, if that would make you happy, even if it wasn’t for them,’ she declared with a candour that was slightly shocking.

  ‘And even if your experiences have put you off men altogether, that is no reason not to come to London with me. Wouldn’t you like to go to balls and see the sights, Cassy darling?’

  Cassy twisted the hands she still held clasped at her waist. Because not five minutes earlier, she had been wishing for just that very thing. And to be honest, if she could find a man like her real papa, a man who’d been kind and jolly from what she could remember of him, then she wouldn’t mind marrying, either. For one thing it would mean she wouldn’t have to work for her living any longer. And for another, she might have children. Adorable little chubby babies, who’d grow into people who would love her.

  ‘You know,’ pointed out Aunt Eunice, gruffly, just as Cassy had begun to get a real pang of longing to feel a warm little bundle in her arms, while another pair of youthful arms hugged her knees, ‘it wouldn’t do you any harm to go up to Town just to see the latest fashions being worn.’

  ‘And visit some of the silk warehouses and see what’s on offer,’ said Aunt Cordelia.

  ‘There, you see? These dear ladies are in agreement. Even if you cannot find a husband, there are plenty of other useful things you can do in town. And we shall have such fun,’ said the Duchess, clapping her dainty little hands in delight. ‘Oh, I knew this was going to answer.’

  ‘Well,’ said Cassandra, wondering why she was bothering to argue when everyone in the room, including her, thought that a trip to London was just what she needed. ‘It is very good of you, Your Grace...’

  ‘Oh, don’t start off calling me that. I am your godmother and it will be of the utmost importance to remind everyone of that fact. So you had better get into the habit of calling me Godmama right away. And as for being good,’ she added with a rather mischievous grin, ‘that is not altogether true. Since you have been honest with me, my dear, it is only fair that I return the favour by being completely honest with you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You see, although it is true that, for a while, at one point in our lives, your mother and I were great friends, that is not the only reason I have offered to bring you out.’ She tilted her head to one side, setting her golden ringlets dancing, and smiled in what Cassandra thought of as a positively coaxing manner.

  ‘It is my stepson,’ she said, her smile fading. ‘He has practically ordered me to leave Town and go to live in the Dower House. Which I shall never do! I have such horrid memories of my years at Theakstone Court that I vowed never to set foot anywhere on the estate ever again. But when I told him so, he said I would have no choice if he were to turn off all the London servants. Well...’ she leaned back as both aunts gasped in outrage ‘...that was all he knew! For the moment I warned the staff of his threats, they all swore they would stay on without wages, if necessary. Isn’t that loyal of them? The dears. Which meant that of course I could not abandon them, either. And so I started cudgelling my brains for a solution which would mean that we could all stay on in Grosvenor Square. Which,’ she said, holding out her hand to Cassandra in a way that looked like an appeal for help, ‘is where you come in...’

  Chapter Two

  Colonel Nathaniel Fairfax stood for a moment just inside the doorway of the ballroom, scouting the terrain. Dance floor directly ahead, full of couples performing complicated manoeuvres at the trot. To his right, a dowagers’ bench, fully occupied by well-fed matrons. Beyond them, a trio of fiddlers sawing away industriously. There were two exits, he noted, apart from the doorway in which he was standing. One led to a refreshment room, to judge from the tables he could spy through the crowds gathered there, and the other led to the outside. A terrace, probably. Most houses of this size had them.

  There was a sort of corridor between the terrace door and the dance floor, formed by a set of pillars, and several strategically placed urns stuffed with foliage behind which sharpshooters could crouch, should they wish to prevent uninvited guests getting in through any set of doors.

  Not that he was expecting to encounter sharpshooters in a ballroom. Though he was scouting the terrain for something potentially far more dangerous.

  A woman.

  She wasn’t one of the ladies cavorting about the dance floor. Only a couple of them had dark hair, but neither of them were anywhere near as pretty as he recalled her being.

  She was not on the dowagers’ bench. Not unless she’d aged a couple of decades and put on several stone in weight during the six years since he’d last clapped eyes on her.

  Was she among the crowd loitering in the corridor by the terrace doors? That was where a lot of young females were standing, watching the dancers, and fluttering their fans. He ran his eyes along the rank of them. A tall thin blonde, a short squat ginger piece, a medium-sized brunette with...

  Good God. His sister, Issy, had not lied. She was here. Cassandra Furnival. Brazenly pushing her way back into society when by rights she ought never dare show her face. But then he should already have known she was brazen. Why hadn’t he learned his lesson when it came to her behaviour? She was the kind of girl who could entice a man to follow her out into a moonlit stable yard and almost make him forget the moral code by which he lived. The kind of girl who could, not one month later, entice an entirely different man to elope with her.

  And that when she’d been scarce out of the schoolroom.

  Back then she’d been pretty enough to cause two officers within the same regiment to lose their heads over her. Since then she’d only grown lovelier. To look at, that was. According to Issy, all that loveliness concealed the heart of an avaricious, designing baggage.

  ‘Nate,’ Issy had wailed, with tears trickling down her face, ‘if you don’t do something about her I don’t know who can.’

  ‘Do?’ He’d flung down his pen in exasperation, since not only had she burst into his study unannounced, but had also taken a chair even though she could see he was busy. And the tears meant she was not going to leave until she’d said her piece. ‘What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Stop her! Before she gets some other unsuspecting male in her clutches and wheedles his fortune out of him, the way she did to poor Lady Agatha’s brother.’

  Typical of Issy to use such emotionally charged words, in such a biased manner when, from what he’d observed of Lieutenant Gilbey and Miss Furnival, they’d both been equally culpable.

  ‘And just how,’ he’d said rather irrita
bly, ‘do you think I could do such a thing? Even if you could convince me it was any of my business, which I don’t believe it is.’

  Besides which, he had no wish to browbeat any female. It was not behaviour befitting an officer of His Majesty’s Army.

  ‘Of course it is your business! Lady Agatha’s brother was one of your junior officers. You can’t have forgotten poor Lieutenant Gilbey, can you?’

  No, he hadn’t forgotten the lovelorn young man. He hadn’t forgotten any of the men who’d died while serving under his command. His life would now be far less uncomfortable if he only could.

  ‘Surely,’ Issy had persisted, ‘you can see that you owe it to his memory, to...to his family, too, who are all devastated to learn that Furnival girl is trying to worm her way back into society.’

  He did owe the fallen a great deal. And their families. But surely not to the extent of coming the heavy with Miss Furnival? Not the Miss Furnival he recalled, anyway. She’d seemed a rather timid little thing, not this brazen harpy his sister was describing.

  ‘If she is as bad as you claim—’ and he wasn’t totally convinced of it ‘—I hardly think anyone is likely to receive her. You are probably making a fuss over nothing, Issy.’

  ‘It’s not nothing! Not to Lady Agatha. She was so cut up when she heard that girl had been taken up by that pea goose the Duchess of Theakstone that she left Town for fear she might accidentally come face to face with the designing baggage who cast her spell over her poor deluded brother.’

  There had been a good deal more of the same. About how she’d brought some friend with her, too, who was from a background of trade and had no place in society ballrooms at all. Until, seeing that the only way he would be able to get his sister to leave him in peace to get on with his work would be to say that he would see what he could do.

  Even though he had suspected much of what Issy claimed as fact would probably turn out to have no substance. He’d been certain that nobody would invite the girl anywhere, after what she’d done, even if she had taken up residence in London.