The Scandal of the Season

by Annie Burrows

  And she would show everyone that she was perfectly happy with her lot, by dressing in the pretty clothes that Rosalind had bought for her. And she would go to whatever event Godmama decreed, and dance and smile all the time so that nobody would be able to guess that he had the power to make her feel...

  Nothing! She was not unhappy. She’d never been so happy in her life. Or at least if she wasn’t, then she jolly well ought to be.

  * * *

  ‘I need,’ she said later, at breakfast, ‘to buy some trimmings for my bonnets. No, Rosalind...’ she held up her hand the moment Rosalind took a breath ‘...I am not going to let you buy me half-a-dozen new ones. The ones I have can be made far prettier with the addition of some ribbons and silk flowers, and so forth.’

  Rosalind pouted. ‘Anyone would think my money isn’t good enough for you.’

  ‘Rosalind, no! That is not it! I just don’t want to take advantage of your generosity. You have bought me so many dresses and things already. That new carriage dress is due to arrive any day, don’t forget, and that scarlet velvet opera cloak which is a positive extravagance. And I...’ She paused to gather herself for the confession she could not withhold any longer. ‘I have ordered far more material than I need for my own use already. I was planning to send what was left over to my aunts at the end of the Season. So you see, I don’t feel I can keep on taking from you...’

  ‘Oh, girls,’ said Godmama, raising her head from a letter she’d been perusing. ‘I don’t think we can go shopping this morning, much as I would love to see you get some new bonnets.’

  Trimmings for bonnets. Not new bonnets, Cassy wanted to protest. Although there was little point since it sounded as though she was not going to get either.

  ‘You see, I am expecting to receive rather a lot of callers this morning. Ladies who will be wanting to ensure you will be attending their events and explaining why it is that they seem to have forgotten, so far, to put your names on their guest lists.’ She smiled at them. ‘I cannot wait to see what excuses they come up with for snubbing you,’ she said, her eyes alight with merriment.

  Cassy exchanged an appalled glance with Rosalind, for it sounded like a perfectly ghastly way to spend the day.

  ‘Do we really have to sit through that, Godmama? We really would enjoy going shopping much, much more.’

  Godmama stared at her, a slice of toast halfway to her lips. ‘I keep forgetting how squeamish you can be sometimes, darling. Oh, very well. As long as you take Hetty with you, and Gordon to carry your parcels. And my town coach, too, to lend you respectability, I can see no harm in it.’

  ‘Thank you, Godmama,’ she said, rising from her chair to give the kind-hearted lady a kiss on her perfumed cheek.

  ‘Enjoy yourselves, girls,’ said Godmama, smiling at them as they scurried away, leaving her to the remains of her breakfast.

  * * *

  ‘It seems ridiculous to have to drive the length of one street to reach the shops,’ grumbled Cassy as they were waiting in the hall, a little later, for the carriage to be brought round from the mews. ‘We could have walked there by now.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Rosalind shook her head as Dawes opened the front door to reveal the shiny barouche standing at the foot of the front steps. ‘When we drive through Town with the hood down, in a carriage with a ducal crest on the doors, everyone knows we are somebody. And anyway,’ she said, digging Cassy in the ribs as a footman opened the aforementioned door and let down the steps, ‘I know you have written home to tell your aunts about how grand it makes you feel.’

  Cassy felt her cheeks heat. ‘Yes, that’s true,’ she said as Gordon gave her his hand to help her climb in. ‘But you know I was only funning about me puffing off my consequence by never walking anywhere and always having at least a maid,’ she said, nodding at Hetty as she took her place facing them, ‘and a footman in attendance. And warning them that they will have to employ a score of servants when I go home because I will probably have become so pampered that I shall faint away at the prospect of carrying my own shopping home the length of the High Street.’

  Rosalind giggled, which lifted Cassy’s spirits no end. Especially as they carried on joking and giggling over nothing much until the moment Godmama’s carriage drew up outside the modiste the Duchess patronised.

  Cassy and Rosalind exchanged a look. ‘She wasn’t listening when I said I only wanted trimmings, not new bonnets, was she? Or she’d have told them to drop us off outside Grafton House.’

  ‘No, but now we are here,’ said Rosalind, looking at the shopfront with longing, ‘we might just as well go in and see how they are getting on with our orders. And see if they have any new patterns, or material in for us to look at.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Cassy, ‘and then we can walk on to Grafton House and see about trimmings for my bonnets.’

  Rosalind grinned as she hopped down from the carriage.

  * * *

  The girls spent the next half hour or so browsing happily, before setting out along Bond Street in the direction of Grafton Street.

  ‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised,’ said Rosalind, linking her arm through Cassy’s, obliging Hetty to fall behind, ‘if you couldn’t get some artificial cherries to decorate one of your bonnets. Don’t you think that would look a treat, with your scarlet opera cloak? Especially if you added some scarlet ribbons and an ostrich feather or two.’

  Cassy flinched. ‘Er...well, possibly just one ostrich feather. If it was a small one,’ she said.

  ‘Well, well,’ said a female voice in a rather arch tone. ‘If it isn’t Miss Cassandra Furnival.’

  Cassy looked up to see Miss Henley standing a few feet in front of her, arm in arm with a young lady who was a total stranger to her. A very expensively dressed young lady, Cassy noted with her professional eye.

  ‘Miss Henley,’ said Cassy, smiling and stepping forward. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ she said, feeling a flash of guilt for having forgotten all about her being in London as well, because she’d been so busy with her own concerns.

  ‘I must say I was surprised, for a moment, to see you coming out of such a very exclusive establishment,’ said Miss Henley, waving a hand at the door of the modiste’s some yards behind them. ‘Although I suppose you in the trade all know each other. And you will have been able to pick up all sorts of useful tips you can employ when you go home. Miss Furnival, you know,’ said Miss Henley to her companion, who was gazing at Cassy and Rosalind with distinct reserve, ‘is my dressmaker, at home in Market Gooding.’

  ‘Really?’ The girl’s expression turned from reserved to downright disdainful. ‘Then I am surprised at you acknowledging her.’

  ‘Oh, Market Gooding is such a small place,’ said Miss Henley, while Cassy sucked in a short, shocked breath. ‘We are on friendly terms with all the tradespeople.’

  ‘Yes, in Market Gooding that may very well do,’ said the haughty young lady. ‘But this is London. The same manners do not apply here.’

  Miss Henley made a rueful face. ‘You see how it is, Miss Furnival,’ she said. ‘You understand.’ And with that, she turned and strolled off in the direction of Brook Street.

  ‘What a cow,’ Rosalind remarked, without any attempt to lower her voice. Though for once Cassy had no wish to chide her for her manners, since she’d only said what Cassy had been thinking.

  And then, as they both turned to eye the two girls who were walking away with their noses in the air, Cassy noted that Godmama’s coachman had used the time they’d spent in the shop to turn the carriage round. And that it was now facing in the very direction that Miss Henley and her top-lofty friend had gone. And all of a sudden Cassy could see exactly why people might want to drive about Town in a shiny, open carriage with ducal crests on the doors and a driver and footman in smart livery on the box at the front.

  ‘Let’s not bother with Grafton House,’ said Cassy, no
dding at the coach.

  ‘No. Let’s not,’ said Rosalind, seeing exactly what Cassy had in mind. Both girls hitched up their skirts and ran to the carriage, clambering in with more haste than dignity, lest the two ladies who’d just given Cassy such a set down had time to go into a shop and miss the sight of them driving past with their noses in the air.

  * * *

  Nathaniel took the pouch of papers General Fewcott pushed across the desk and stood to take his leave.

  ‘I will look into this and work out a solution within the week,’ he vowed.

  The General pursed his lips. ‘You are not going to get distracted, I hope?’

  ‘Distracted?’

  ‘By that Furnival chit. I’ve been hearing some very...interesting rumours.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Is that all you have to say? Oh?’

  Well, what else was there to say? He wasn’t going to admit that he had, to his shame, allowed the Furnival chit to distract him from his duties. Especially since he’d managed to steer clear of her ever since that last, disastrous night when he’d succumbed to the temptation to dance with her and very nearly to the temptation to kiss her. He had only tried to intervene, in the first place, for Issy’s sake. But he was finding that the cost to his peace of mind was too great.

  The General’s mouth relaxed. Almost formed a smile.

  ‘Totally understandable, of course. A man must have his...outlets. And I don’t believe you have mounted a mistress since you began to work with me, have you?’

  Take Miss Furnival as his mistress? She wouldn’t have him now, after the way he’d treated her. And, dammit, he didn’t want to take her as his mistress. He glowered at the General for putting the notion in his head.

  ‘I fail to see, with the greatest respect, what business that is of yours. Sir.’

  The General huffed out a laugh. ‘None whatever. Only that...well, since clapping eyes on her myself, at Lady Twickenham’s last night, I’m not a bit surprised.’

  Lady Twickenham’s? First he caught her dancing with the Duchess’s son and now he learned that she was running tame in the house of her oldest married daughter.

  ‘If I were ten years younger...’ General Fewcott mused, with a rather wistful look in his rheumy eyes. ‘Although,’ he continued, with a frown, ‘it is rather odd the way so many rumours are flying around concerning her. I mean, first of all there was...’ He waved his hand as though batting at an invisible gnat. ‘Though the Earl of Sydenham scotched that one by recognising her at the Bradburys’ ball, so it must just have been one of those family rifts that blow up over nothing and die away just as inexplicably. But this latest one...’ He shook his head. ‘Preposterous! As if the Duchess of Theakstone would take a seamstress into her house and try to pass her off as her goddaughter. I know she’s a pea goose, but not know her own goddaughter? Besides, can’t be true, or Sydenham would never have acknowledged her.’

  ‘Seamstress? Are you speaking of Miss Furnival?’

  ‘Yes. The latest on dit,’ said the General, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk, ‘is that some other chit is putting it about that she hales from the same town where Miss Furnival works in a shop. Claims she made half the gowns in her wardrobe.’

  ‘No, there must have been some mistake.’ Miss Furnival had, according to his sister, who’d had it from Lieutenant Gilbey’s sister, been living in some style, on the money she’d wheedled out of the lad. ‘People must have got her mixed up with that ginger friend of hers. She does come from trade...’

  ‘Hmmph,’ said the General. ‘I don’t suppose it makes any difference. She’s still just as pretty. And probably...’ he leaned further forward, with a leer ‘...more amenable to accepting a business proposition if the rumour is true and she’s a working girl, what?’

  ‘I have no intention of making her any sort of proposition,’ he said, through gritted teeth. Not that it was any of the General’s business what he did on his own time.

  ‘No? Well, she probably won’t accept one from you now, anyway. Not now she’s got two extremely rich viscounts and an elderly marquess dangling after her.’

  Two viscounts and a marquess? Who would give her the option of becoming either rich, or of high status? How the hell had she managed to get that far in the space of four days?

  No, he knew how. She’d only have had to smile at them and they would have gone weak at the knees. His pulse began to thud in his temples. And even though he’d just sworn he had no intention of making her any kind of offer, the thought of her in some other man’s arms, some other man’s bed, left him feeling distinctly queasy.

  ‘Which will make whoever is spreading those tales about her livid. In fact,’ said the General, sitting back and sucking on his moustache, ‘shouldn’t wonder at it if that isn’t what started the whole thing. Jealousy. Miss Furnival is trespassing on someone’s matrimonial ambitions, so they’ve decided to put a spoke in her wheel by making up this faradiddle. It’s the kind of warfare women wage, you know. Since they don’t have...’ he nodded meaningfully at the packet of documents he’d just handed over ‘...more important matters to occupy their time.’

  ‘Sir,’ he said, recognising the note of dismissal. Tucking the documents under his arm, he made for the door.

  He supposed he must have marched along the usual corridors and crossed the familiar lobbies on his way out. But he didn’t notice his surroundings until he was blinking at the brightness of the watery spring sunshine.

  A seamstress? No. Impossible. Issy had said...

  But the girl who’d come from her hometown had claimed...

  And that girl must have known it would be easy enough to check up on her story...

  The conclusion was obvious. Someone was lying. Deliberately.

  Which was a vile thing to do, considering what the consequences could be. Such as, his conscience muttered grimly, having a powerful man threaten to expose her alleged crimes and drive her from polite society.

  His stomach roiled.

  Even if she deserved it...

  No! Nobody deserved to have their reputation deliberately ripped to shreds. Nobody. No matter what they’d done.

  And now he came to consider it, although there was no denying she’d run off with Gilbey, she’d been so young. He hadn’t, at the time, thought she’d been guilty of more than being taken in by the Lieutenant. Because he’d seen the way she’d behaved at the assembly in the back room of the White Hart. She’d been shy of all the officers, except Lieutenant Gilbey, who she clearly knew already, as a friend of the family. When Nathaniel had followed her outside she’d accepted his reproof with a start of guilt, as though it hadn’t occurred to her she ought not to move out of sight of her chaperon. And had gone back inside with him without making the slightest push to engage in any form of dalliance.

  He’d held her image like the pure flame of a votive candle in his heart until the very day she’d turned up on the quayside, clutching Gilbey’s arm. And even though that had snuffed out his own flickering, tentative hope, he hadn’t seen anything of the seductress about her. She’d been wearing clothes that belonged on a schoolgirl and staring about with huge, frightened, bewildered eyes, as though she’d never dreamed such a big bad world existed outside her schoolroom. Which was clearly where she’d still belonged, not in the train of an army about to set out on campaign. Gilbey had been looking harassed, but also shamefaced. Which had convinced Nate that Gilbey had been the one to instigate that mad elopement. And all his anger, then, had been directed squarely at the lad.

  It was only after he’d heard Issy’s version of events that he’d started questioning his judgement. It had made him go galloping into a confrontation with Miss Furnival, all guns blazing.

  Even then, if Miss Furnival had bowed her head meekly, the way she’d done when he’d caught her outside in that stable yard, he would have acted exactly the
way he’d done the first time round. He would have taken her aside, discreetly, and explained about his sister’s concern. About how her return to society was upsetting Lady Agatha, who’d once been her friend. And then he would have made it possible for her to go back to where she belonged, quietly and with no fuss.

  Only she hadn’t acted meekly. She’d changed, utterly changed from the shy, timid schoolgirl who’d had to cling to Gilbey’s arm because she was unable to stand on her own two feet. She’d defied him. And laughed while she did so. As if she hadn’t a care in the world, when his own experiences had left him...

  And he’d seen red, that was what he’d done. And all the anger and bitterness which had been simmering for years had spurred him to go charging into a headlong confrontation, practically yelling a full-blooded war cry.

  Which made him no better than the nameless female who was starting rumours based on spite.

  He wiped his hand across his face. It was shaking.

  That was the trouble with letting feelings loose. They exploded in unexpected directions, like Congreve’s rockets. He needed to get a grip. Suppress them. Kill them. Stamp on them.

  And then, when he could be cool, and calm, and collected, he needed to find Miss Furnival and explain himself. The way he should have done from the start.

  Chapter Eleven

  Colonel Fairfax gave the correct password to the hostess, ran the gauntlet of the more ruthless of the matchmaking mamas who were waiting to ambush unmarried males and made it safely to the tea table. Though by then he wanted something much stronger than tea.

  He took a deep breath and started numbering the buttons down the front of his waistcoat. Only a weak man, a man who couldn’t deal with the reality of his life, would attempt to obliterate his nightmares by numbing his brains with strong drink. And he would never succumb to that type of weakness. He was not going to go down that road. He was not going to become one of those men who needed that kind of crutch to get through their days. The kind of man who made a fool of himself in public because he’d addled his mind, and therefore his self-control, with strong drink. He would take just the one glass of wine. A glass which he did not need, but which gave him something to do with his hands and would help him to blend in.