The Scandal of the Season

by Annie Burrows

  ‘I should not sit,’ he pointed out, ‘until you do.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said briskly. ‘Sit down while I fetch another chair. It won’t take a moment.’

  It didn’t. But by the time she returned and had rearranged the furniture so that his armchair, and the chair on which his jacket was hanging, were as close to the fire as they could get without charring and had set her own chair a little further back, his jacket was starting to steam.

  This, all this caring, was what he’d denied Gilbey. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stopped her marrying the lad...

  Only then she would have been caught up in that retreat across the mountains, too. And perhaps she would have...

  He shivered convulsively and shook his head against the vision that invaded it.

  ‘Colonel Fairfax?’ Miss Furnival leaned forward in her chair. ‘What is it? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

  He had. Hers.

  ‘I don’t regret stopping your marriage to that young idiot Gilbey,’ he grated savagely. ‘But it wasn’t for the reasons you think. The reasons I told you.’

  She sat back, all traces of compassion wiped from her face. She looked wary now, as well she might after the way he’d treated her lately.

  ‘But I do owe you an apology. For...for the way I’ve...and the things I’ve said. For believing them... I...’ He dashed his hand through his hair. His fingers came away wet.

  He went to wipe them on his breeches, only they were wet, too. As were his boots.

  ‘I should not have come up here in these boots,’ he suddenly realised. He wasn’t in some soldier’s billet, even if his mind had been picturing her in such a setting. He was in an elegant sitting room in a ducal house in Grosvenor Square. ‘I will ruin the carpet.’ He shot to his feet.

  ‘You will ruin more of it if you start striding about,’ she replied tartly. ‘You would do better to sit still and wait for that towel I ordered. Ah,’ she said as there was a knock at the door. ‘That will be it, now.’

  It was. Not only the towel, draped over the arm of a granite-faced footman, but also a tray laden down with all the trappings for making tea. Along with a small carafe which looked as though it contained the brandy she’d ordered.

  ‘Would you be good enough,’ said Miss Furnival to the footman, as the maid set the tea tray down on one of the tables scattered about the room, ‘to help the Colonel out of his boots. And then take them down and see what you can do about drying them before he has to leave?’

  ‘Pardon me, miss, but I don’t think...’

  Miss Furnival quelled the footman’s objections with a single look. And then, while the man knelt to tug off his boots, she set about stirring and pouring the tea. Without asking, she added a lump of sugar and a splash of liquid from the decanter.

  ‘There,’ she said, handing it to him the moment the servants had left the room. ‘Drink that and then tell me what’s troubling you.’

  Warmth spread from his stomach outward as he took a sip of the hot, laced tea. But then she took the towel and draped it round his shoulders. And shame sent it curling back in on itself. ‘You should dry your hair,’ she said, ‘as well. But the tea first, I think.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said wryly. She would not only have done well as an army wife, but could have taken the place of many of his officers, with an attitude like that. He took another sip of the tea, hoping it would have the same effect as the first sip had done. It didn’t. Nothing was going to be able to ease the burden of shame except his confession and her absolution. But at least he’d stopped shivering.

  ‘Now,’ she said, sitting on the chair on which she’d hung his jacket, which the servants had removed, along with his boots. ‘Are you feeling up to telling me whatever it is that has reduced you to this state?’

  He set the empty cup down at his feet, took hold of the towel and began to rub at his hair. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said miserably, ‘I think that this state is really all there is of me. This...shambling, scared man who no longer possesses the sense to take an umbrella to keep off the rain...’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said again, though not unkindly. ‘You are not scared of anything or anyone.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, flinging the towel away. ‘I am scared of you. Of what you will think when I tell you...’

  ‘Me?’ Her eyes widened. She lay one hand upon her breast. A breast, he noted, that was decorously covered up because she hadn’t expected to receive visitors. ‘How on earth could a man like you be scared of a woman like me?’

  ‘Because I am not the man you think I am.’ Just as she hadn’t been the woman he’d thought she was. This was more like her. With nobody to impress, she’d reverted to just being herself. The way anyone did at home, when they thought they weren’t going to be disturbed.

  ‘Once I stop hiding behind the...the... I don’t even know what to call it,’ he grated, dropping his head into his hands.

  He was so close to falling apart completely. He needed...he needed...

  His fingers went to the buttons of his waistcoat, a habit he’d got into increasingly of late.

  Because he was starting to feel as if, in spite of all his precautions, he was finally starting to come undone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘I found out, today,’ he said, gazing up at her with an expression of pleading, ‘that my sister lied to me about you.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Well, of course I knew that somebody must have done.’

  She’d always known he could never have behaved the way he had unless he’d believed he was doing it for the greater good. Because his behaviour had been so very different from the stern, yet considerate way he’d escorted her back to the ballroom when she’d foolishly gone outside on her own. And the way he’d been even when he’d discovered her and Guy in the very act of eloping. He’d been angry, but all the anger had been directed at Guy. He’d even dipped into his own purse to ensure she had funds to reach home again.

  Something inside her settled as she saw that he really was the same inside as he’d always been. That he was the same man she’d admired so much all those years ago. Perhaps particularly because he still looked so troubled.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, hoping to soothe his conscience, which she could see was smarting.

  ‘It does matter,’ he countered, his features agonised. ‘There is no excuse for treating you so abominably.’

  ‘Well, no,’ she conceded, since she could see he was devastated to learn that he’d broken the most basic code by which he lived. And needed absolution, not an argument about his deeply held creed. ‘But you trusted the person who told you...whatever it was. I don’t suppose you had any reason to suspect your own sister would lie to you about...another person.’

  ‘It was what she told me that spurred me into action,’ he said, a spasm of remorse flickering across his face, ‘but I cannot pass the blame on to her. I don’t want you to blame her, or be angry with her. She did it for the...for what she thought were the best motives.’ He lowered his head, burying his face in his hands. But only for a moment or two.

  ‘My family want me to marry. Well, it is my duty. But since I came back from that last campaign I have become...’ He lifted his head. His eyes were so bleak, so utterly devoid of hope that it made her want to say she didn’t need to hear whatever it was he was trying to say. Only something told her he needed to say it. That he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t make a full confession. So she kept quiet. And waited. Eventually, he heaved a sigh before continuing.

  ‘I don’t feel as if I have the right to go gadding about as though I haven’t a care in the world, when so many others...’ He grimaced. ‘So I have been doing my utmost to prevent more needless deaths of the kind I witnessed on my last campaign. But they think...my female relatives think...that I have been neglecting my duty to the family. So
they put their heads together,’ he said bitterly, ‘and came up with a ruse to make me attend balls and the like. They deliberately made me believe...’ He looked up at her ruefully.

  Ah, so that explained why he believed she’d inherited a fortune from Guy.

  ‘Well,’ she said, when he hung his head again, clearly struggling to find a way forward, ‘I do know a bit about your reputation for being a recluse, because of the stir it caused when you came to Lady Bunsford’s ball. And I can see that your sister, and the others, must have been at their wits’ end over you.’ And she didn’t think it was all about him carrying on the family line, either. They probably cared about him, just him. The way anyone who knew him well couldn’t help but do.

  ‘You know, Godmama believes it worked to my advantage,’ she said, hoping to relieve him of some of the guilt that was so obviously weighing him down. ‘Because, once society’s hostesses saw that you were likely to turn up to any place where I was, we started getting a lot more invitations than before.’

  He grunted. ‘That is a generous view to take. But I suspect it had more to do with the fact that your uncle recognised you.’ He looked up at her then, with a searching frown. ‘Was that why you came to London, after all this time? To try to heal the breach with the head of your family?’

  ‘Well, yes, that was part of it. But it wasn’t...’ Now it was her turn to stop. It wasn’t her place to reveal Rosalind’s ambitions to snag a lord for a husband. And it would feel like betraying Godmama if she revealed the financial difficulties that had driven her to come up with the notion of finding a girl with a family wealthy enough to meet the expense of a Season for all of them. They were the ones to whom she should be loyal. They were the ones who’d always liked and supported her. Though, if she were totally honest with herself, since she’d met Colonel Fairfax again, he’d been at the forefront of her mind. She’d wondered what he would think of her in this or that gown, what he might say if he should be at this or that event and how she could answer him. She had to keep reminding herself that her main role in London was to support Godmama and Rosalind, and possibly scout out fashions for her aunts.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he said wearily. ‘I can see that the only way I am going to be able to make you understand the depth of my guilt will be to tell you from the beginning. Although it wasn’t then that I...’ He drew in a great shuddering breath and turned his head so that he was gazing into the flames. ‘It was the horses, that was the last straw,’ he said. His voice sounded thick with tears. Perhaps the threat of them was what had made him turn his head away, so that she wouldn’t see them if he couldn’t prevent them spilling over.

  ‘You see, there weren’t enough ships to bring them all back to England. Barely enough to cram all the troops on as it was.’

  It took her a moment for her to perceive he must be talking about the Battle of Corunna, the town in northern Spain from which British forces had taken ship home at the close of John Moore’s ill-fated campaign.

  ‘But we couldn’t let them fall into the hands of the French. So we had to...destroy them.’ He swallowed. ‘You wouldn’t have thought it would affect us so badly. I mean, during the course of our flight across the mountains, we saw far worse. Bodies of women and even children, lying frozen by the roadside...’

  Cassy’s stomach turned. She raised one hand to her throat. She’d known, of course, that there were a great many casualties during the course of that flight to Corunna. Guy had been one of them. But to hear of women and children dying, too, and their bodies left like that...

  ‘I was fine, well, I coped at any rate, with the slaughter in the town...’ he swallowed ‘...though it was the devil of a thing, having to shoot our own mounts. They looked at us with such trust in their eyes, even as we pulled the triggers.’

  At this vivid description, tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted to do something...but what could anyone do to comfort someone who’d had to do such a terrible thing? There were no words to suffice.

  ‘But then, as we set sail, there was one horse...’ he swallowed again ‘...which had somehow survived. And it started swimming after us. But there was no way we could get it on board, even if we’d had the room. Or the fodder to keep it alive during the voyage. Anyway, his owner, a hulking great Hussar, broke down. Fell to his knees, sobbing. And...it went like a wave through all the men. And when it reached me, that feeling of despair, I was afraid I’d drown in it.’ His face suddenly hardened. ‘But I was in charge. I could not permit a breakdown of discipline. I could not allow myself to break down. So I...’ He ran his hands over the front of his waistcoat, in a gesture she’d seen him repeat often. ‘The only way I can describe it is... I buttoned it up. Inside.’ He ran his fingers over each of the buttons in turn. And she understood, then, that every time she’d seen him do that before, he’d been repeating a gesture that helped him control very strong emotions.

  ‘And when that wasn’t quite enough, I buttoned up an imaginary jacket over the top. And then a coat as well, to keep it all from spilling out.’

  She could just see him, standing there, striving to remain unmoved at a time when anyone would be forgiven for breaking down and weeping. He was one of those people who couldn’t bear to appear weak. Aunt Eunice was exactly the same, which made her come across, very often, as gruff, or even unkind. Though truly she was neither.

  And nor was he.

  ‘And I...got the men to bear up, somehow. I don’t know what I said, but they listened to me.’

  She was sure they had. Because she’d seen the way he’d been on the quayside, so many years earlier. She’d thought of him as a rock, round which all the others swirled. A rock she could cling to. Steady, reliable, dependable. It had been Colonel Fairfax who had provided her with an escape route from a situation she’d seen, by that time, was untenable. Even though it hadn’t worked out the way he’d assumed, her life had become better, because of the way he’d stepped in. Even if he had done it to save Guy, rather than her.

  Why, if he hadn’t intervened, she might even have become one of those casualties who’d fallen by the roadside during that flight across the mountains.

  ‘And by the time we reached England my men did at least resemble a disciplined unit. Which was more than could be said of some others. The only trouble was...’ he thrust his fingers through his hair in a gesture that spoke of extreme vexation ‘...I couldn’t unbutton again. I’d crammed all I felt, all the horror and despair, down so tight that I...well, to be frank, I was half afraid of facing it. There was so much, I thought that if I once even looked at it, it might burst out and completely unman me. So I didn’t look. I left it all there, simmering, festering...’ He rubbed at the front of his waistcoat as though there really was something lying coiled beneath. Something that only needed the slightest bit of encouragement to burst free and wreak havoc.

  ‘That didn’t bother me, to start with. I told myself there would be time enough to mourn and weep when we were all safe. Only, when we got back to England, I had new responsibilities. For my family, my tenants, my holdings. Besides which, I’d vowed that I would do whatever I could to try to ensure that nothing like that flight over the mountains would ever happen to our men again. I only ever stopped when I fell into bed at night. And that was fine, that was how I wanted it to be. If I exhausted myself, every day, then I wouldn’t lie in bed at nights dwelling on—’ his face contorted ‘—things. And if ever I did start to...if anything ever reminded me of...that time, I squashed it down all the harder.

  ‘But, anyway, my sister Issy, so she says, was growing steadily more worried about me. But she could see that I was trying to honour those who’d fallen and protect those yet to serve. So she made it sound as though I owed it to Lieutenant Gilbey to prevent you from destroying another man, the way you destroyed him. But you didn’t, did you? Destroy him, I mean. That was the army. An accident of fate. But I believed her, because...it sounded convincing, because
...well, for one thing, whenever he received a letter from you, he would become... I can’t explain it, except to say he looked tortured. He would never talk about what you wrote, but I suppose it was hearing your family wouldn’t take you back? And having to work as a seamstress?’

  ‘Oh!’ Cassy felt as if someone had stuck a knife in her heart. ‘I never meant to upset him, let alone torture him,’ she said, tears burning at her eyes. ‘It was my aunts. They said he deserved to know what had become of me. That it was his fault and he should make restitution. I...perhaps I shouldn’t have been...quite so frank with him. Did it...?’ Her stomach clenched as a horrible thought crossed her mind. ‘Did it make him reckless? Did it put his life in danger? Was that what you thought? Was that why you were so beastly to me? If it is true,’ she whispered, aghast, ‘then I deserved it.’

  ‘No!’ He fell to his knees at her feet, seizing both her hands. ‘None of it was your fault. His unit was one of those fighting at the rear of the column, keeping the French at bay. He didn’t fling himself into some forlorn hope, or anything like that. He was just doing his duty. And was unlucky.’

  ‘But then, why...?’

  ‘Was I so beastly, as you put it?’ He gave a sad smile. ‘I don’t know. Truly. I don’t understand where all the anger came from. I think...’ He frowned. ‘Possibly...it was because you had already disappointed me.’

  What? How on earth had she managed that?

  ‘The first time we met I thought you were so innocent, so in need of protection...but then not one month later there you were, eloping with one of my junior officers.’

  And that had disappointed him?

  Hah. He could not have been more disappointed in her than she’d been in herself. She had been stupid to believe Guy’s assurances that she’d be happier with him than staying in her stepfather’s house.

  ‘So I thought I’d been mistaken. Instead of being the innocent, I thought you were...’