Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells)

by Madelynne Ellis

  “What are you worth?” Darleston asked. He rose and paced a leisurely circle around her. “You must be worth something, or have something that Macleane wants. Something that’s more important, and enticing than your virtue.”

  Giles looked up, and both men’s gazes fastened expectantly upon her.

  “I don’t own anything of value.” She stared imploringly at Giles, her hands tightly clenched. “My dowry is pitiful. Remember, I’m one of nine. There’s not much to go around when it’s split between so many. So, it can’t be that.” In all honesty she could not think of a single thing she possessed that would attract a fortune-hunter.

  Lord Darleston’s grey eyes twinkled, his expressive lips quirked at both corners. “I’ll wager ten guineas it is.”

  “Then you will lose ten guineas.”

  “You own not a thing, not a single thing a man might be interested in, beside whatever pittance you’re father sees fit to offer up?”

  “Nothing? No deathbed gifts from obscure relatives?”

  “No.” Fortuna began shaking her head, then turned away from them, her clasped hands pressed to her lips. “Well…perhaps, yes. There is one thing, which my godfather left to me, but it’s worthless, of sentimental value only. Mr Pimcock died penniless.”

  Neddy bounded into the room, his clothing still awry, although Leach appeared to have fixed his cravat. “Gosh, why so serious? Breakfast’s set.” He offered his arm to Fortuna. “Shall we?” She took it, glad to shake off the feeling of dread if only for a moment.

  Fortuna sat down to a breakfast of poached eggs with the three men, still confounded by what Sir Hector could possibly want from her. She owned nothing beyond a few minor trinkets and a collection of dresses and accoutrements that for the most part had already seen too many outings.

  “This godfather of yours,” Giles waggled his fork at her. “Tell us about him.” Clearly intrigued, three set of eyes fastened upon her. Fortuna set down her cutlery. She only wished there were something of interest to tell. “He was mama’s brother. And he didn’t leave me anything you’d consider a treasure trove. No money or property, not even functional dinner service or a walnut bureau. He died ten months back, but it took a while for the news to reach us from India.”

  “India—what was he doing there?”

  “Rats!” Neddy interjected.

  “Excuse me?” said Fortuna, turning to face the younger Darleston. Despite having been dressed little over an hour he looked severely dishevelled. His hair stuck up on one side. Neddy raised his hands to ward off their attention, and began dabbing at the egg yolk he’d spilled upon his waistcoat. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I knew there was a reason why we always have Cook overdo these things.”

  Darleston slowly shook his head, barely stirring the red hair that reached his shoulders. “No, Ned, it isn’t deliberate, she’s just can’t manage eggs.”

  Giles pushed his empty plate away and swung back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs. He pressed his index fingers together and began tapping them to his lips. “Your godfather, Mr.— Remind me.”

  “James Pimcock.” Fortuna supplied.

  “Never heard of him,” mumbled Neddy.

  Darleston lay down his knife and fork. “Name sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “My mother’s younger brother,” Fortuna supplied. “Not very like her except for the sandy hair. Except, he never had a lot of it, and he never wore a wig except to court.”

  The description failed to spark any further recognition from Darleston, who gave an eloquent shrug and returned to his breakfast. “What did he do, besides die penniless in India? And what did he actually leave you?”

  “He retired there ten years ago, after Aunt Hattie’s death, to his pursue his hobbies. He was devoted to her, and once she was gone he ploughed all his attention into his rocks and fossils. He was rather scholarly about the natural world. Always had pockets full of rocks and crystals, which he used to stir up whenever he grew nervous. They made the most annoying clacking sound that used to drive Mama quite insane. He once gave me the most beautiful piece of snowflake obsidian that he had just found. Father had it worked into a brooch when I came of age.”

  “Well there at least is a connection,” remarked Neddy. “Both Macleane and this Mr. Pimcock are enamoured of tasteless rocks. Clearly, Macleane’s after this snowflake brooch.”

  “Tenuous,” remarked Darleston between sips of ale, his storm-grey eyes flicking between upon Fortuna and his brother. “I hardly think Macleane’s after a piece of snowflake obsidian.”

  “What—do you think he’s more of a carnelian or sodalite sort?”

  “Neddy.” Darleston left the table and strolled to the window nursing his tankard in his palm. “I assume this brooch isn’t actually the trinket he left you. So, what is?”

  Fortuna left the table and joined Darleston by the window. Outside the temperature was finally rising and patches of green showed through the melting snow. Specks of purple too stood out against the white, a few early crocuses rearing their heads. She lifted an oriental vase from the windowsill and turned it carefully within her palms. “He left me Aunt Hattie’s necklace, the Star of Fortune.”

  Neddy spluttered tea over the tablecloth. “Now, that I’ve heard of! Ain’t it an enormous star ruby? No bloody wonder he’s after you.” Giles was on his feet immediately and Darleston’s hand closed tightly around her wrist.

  “It’s paste!” she squeaked, seeing flames ignite in all three sets of eyes. “It’s just a keepsake, dressed up as a wedding gift. Mr. Pimcock was a great believer in love. He loved Aunt Hattie, you see. They married despite objections from both families and were devoted to one another.” She coughed a little to clear her throat. Darleston refused to release her wrist and Giles and Neddy were hanging on her every word. “My great grandfather sold the original. It’s partly why Mr. Pimcock went out to India. He was obsessed with reacquiring the real Star of Fortune. Instead, he lost all his wealth in the attempt.”

  Judging by Giles’s expression he wasn’t entirely convinced. Gone was his mask of rakish insouciance and in its place a cynical thoughtful air. “You’re absolutely certain that it’s a fake?”

  She nodded. “Of course. What few possessions my godfather had when he died were sold off and the monies bequeathed to my brother, Gabriel. I don’t believe it was more than a few hundred pounds.”

  Giles clapped a hand upon Darleston’s shoulder. “Ease off a little, my friend.”

  Darleston finally released her, though he’d left a red impression of his fingers around her wrist. “Where is this necklace of yours? Have you actually seen it?”

  “The Star of Fortune is held in trust. The family solicitors, Knapsley & Cox have it. I told you, my godfather intended it as a gift. I don’t receive it until I marry.”

  “I’m assuming he anticipated that union would be a love match?”

  Fortuna gave Darleston a wary glance. That was exactly how Mr. Pimcock had intended the gift. The Star had been a symbol of his and dear Aunt Hattie’s love. He’d wanted her to be equally enamoured of her spouse, and he’d wanted her to bear the gem after which she’d been named. Mr. Pimcock would much rather have seen her pledging her love to the man who had so far done his best to make her happy and protect her, than to Sir Hector Macleane. The notion of standing in church and swearing obedience to that hideous boor of a man threatened to reacquaint her with her breakfast.

  Yes, her godfather would much rather have seen her walk down the aisle with a man she believed she’d enjoy sharing her life with. Sadly, the man she believed that to be, had no interest in ever burdening himself in that respect.

  Giles resumed thoughtfully tapping his fingers to his lips. Fortuna sneaked a hasty glance at him. The light streaming in from the garden painted golden streaks in the brown of his hair, yet it failed to soften the determined set of his jaw. What dark thoughts were troubling him? Did he truly believe that the Star of Fortune was the key to her woes? She reached out to
touch his face, but her fingers never made contact, for he grasped her fingertips and enfolded them within his palm.

  “It’s paste, Giles. Truly. I’m certain Sir Hector knows it too. The family has never made any attempt to hide that fact.”

  He smiled wanly down at her, the soft jade of his eyes infused with care. “Just tell me one thing. When did he start courting you—before or after Pimcock’s bequest?”

  Her stomach continuing to stir uneasily, Fortuna pressed her free hand to her lips. “After,” she confessed. Giles continued to hold her a moment, though his gaze appeared to be turned inward rather than focused upon her.

  Feeling suddenly tired, she looked at them. She needed to mull over the night’s events and the newspaper announcement too. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll go and rest.” She wasn’t really tired, despite having been kept awake much of the night by Giles and Neddy, but she needed some space after the interrogation she’d just endured, and the ale had rather gone to her head. Take time to sort her desires from her emotions. She couldn’t simply drift along indefinitely; she had to be realistic about her future. Sir Hector would be out looking for her, and eventually he’d find her here. She needed to be prepared for that.

  Letting herself out of the room, she took to the stairs, struck by a sudden thought. How ironic that Sir Hector might truly want her only so that he could lay claim to a piece of jewellery, a garish fake that she’d gladly hand him to ensure her freedom.

  * * * * *

  The first thing Giles did when he went into the study was to pour a stiff drink. He could feel Darleston’s eyes on him as he swallowed the cognac but he didn’t stop until the glass was drained. Discarding the crystal upon the desktop, he moved to the fireplace and set to work banking the coals. It was a damn nuisance having Kitty missing for the week, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d have to figure a way of gagging the girl if this affair dragged on into next week. There was no way he could manage without a maid indefinitely.

  Fire lit, he watched the coals slowly whiten as he rubbed some warmth into his fingertips. Then with a deep breath he turned to face his friend. Darleston had made himself comfortable in the less worn of the two leather armchairs. He stopped toying with his ornate buttons and glanced up at Giles.

  “Was it entirely necessary to make her feel so uncomfortable earlier?” Giles asked.

  Darleston shrugged. “Am I not allowed to indulge in even a little sport? I feel rather disadvantaged already.”

  “Jealous, you mean.” Giles took the other seat. “She’s not a plaything, Robert. It’s not about taking turns. There was a purpose to stealing her away besides bedding her.”

  “Well at least you admit that was partially your purpose now. As for the other, after this morning’s tedium, I’m well aware of that. Clearly you believe this necklace Pimcock left her is valuable enough to catch Macleane’s attention, though it’ll have to be bloody magnificent to make her still desirable to take to wife once what she’s been up to with you and Ned comes out.”

  “I don’t see why it should come out at all.” Giles gave a sour scowl, which simply resulted in Darleston leaning back in his chair and snorting with laughter.

  “It can’t fail to come out, Giles. What are you proposing? That she just magically reappears again once you tire of her and never mentions where she’s been or your name? You won’t get her to agree to that, and no one would believe it anyway. That’s the thing about women. You can tell the virgins from the whores. Knowledge changes them.”

  “I’m not suggesting that we make merry and then send her on her way.” Just the thought of it sickened him. He would never turn her out. His mind wandered back to waking with her in his arms, her long coltish legs curved over his calf.

  “Then what exactly are you doing, Giles? Don’t fool yourself into thinking she’ll ever stand up beside you as an advocate of free love. The approval of her peers means too much to her. This is merely an amoral interlude before she returns to her decent, respectable existence. Though Lord knows what it’ll cost her. Macleane may end up as her only option.”

  “No, godammit!” Giles slammed his fist into his thigh, making himself wince. He would not allow himself to believe that. He conceded that his plan had not been terribly well thought out. His main objective had been to remove Fortuna from the pressure being exerted by her family, but he hadn’t really thought about what happened next. Certainly, he was content to let her remain here indefinitely, if she liked. Even desired such, although he wasn’t quite sure how that would work with Sir Hector on the rampage trying to herd her up a church aisle.

  “Giles, she’s not going to settle for being your mistress, which let’s face it, is all you’re prepared to offer her.”

  “With good reasons.”

  Darleston was out of his chair and leaning over Giles in a flash. Startled, Giles stared up into his friend’s storm-cloud-coloured eyes. There were fires smouldering in their depths. He stiffened.

  “What reasons, Giles? Because we’re no longer discussing idealism here, are we? Free love has always been an excuse to sow our oats where we choose. It’s about pleasure seeking, not emotional attachment, despite what you try to convince yourself.” Darleston stroked his fingers along the edge of Giles’s jaw.

  Giles pushed him away and stood. “I had enough of this nonsense from Oxbury and Littleton. Do I have to throw you out too?” He didn’t know why Darleston was being so damned incendiary this morning; the man was well acquainted with his views. True, most saw free love in exactly that fashion, but not he. Not he…

  Darleston twirled on his heels, and with a clack, stalked to the window. “Turning me out won’t change the fact, which is that Fortuna is going to emerge from this escapade with her reputation irreparably damaged. The only way in which she’ll be able to enter society again is as someone’s wife, but who will have her? There’s only Macleane. You heard her yourself. There’s nothing else there to attract a husband, no money, no particularly impressive lineage.”

  “She won’t marry Macleane,” muttered Giles, as much to reaffirm the notion in his own mind as to refute Darleston’s prediction.

  “There’s no other option save selling herself.”

  Giles shook his head. “I promised to protect her, that’s all. I never suggested there’d be anything else. In fact I made it clear there wouldn’t be.”

  “That was before you and Neddy took her to bed.” Darleston waved away Giles’s growl of protest. He resumed his seat and crossed his long legs. “I’ll tell you what I think, dear friend. That you’re scared.”

  Arms folded, Giles snorted in disgust.

  “Oh, you can snort. But marriage terrifies you, doesn’t it? I don’t know why, other than it has something to do with Emily’s marriage to Morton. I wouldn’t bring it up, but it does seem to have a bearing on the current drama.”

  Emily. She was rarely from his thoughts. She haunted his dreams. He’d wronged her, his precious, flighty sister. He remembered her smile, the tinkling sound of her laughter, and the way she’d make merry upon the lawns, honeysuckle wound around her head like a faerie crown.

  He missed her. The house had felt empty from the moment she left. He’d come back here after the wedding breakfast and cursed his weakness. He should never have forced her into making the match. She hadn’t wanted it, but she’d acquiesced. She’d done it for him.

  “Giles, is this because he hurt her?” Darleston’s words tore through his memories, and brought him hurtling into the present. “Marriage won’t turn you into a brute.”

  “Hurt her? What do you mean he hurt her?” Just the notion that Morton may have raised his fists to Emily flooded his mouth with bile. Yes, there were unanswered questions about his sister’s death, but he’d never suspected Morton of physically harming her.

  “Oh!” Darleston gave him a rather sickly smile.

  “You’d better damn well explain that remark.”

  A reedy breath hissed between Darleston’s t
eeth. “I learned last night that Morton has a taste for spanking women. I’m merely speculating that he enjoyed such pleasures with his wife.”

  Enjoyed! Giles’s guts clenched as if someone had shoved a red-hot poker into them. Tension burned across his shoulders as he found himself standing rigidly, staring at Darleston, who came towards him bearing a drink. He curled Giles’s palm around the glass and lifted it to his lips. “Drink.”

  Giles gulped down the contents, but the intoxicating burn did little to soothe him. “I don’t want to dig over this now.” Emily’s death was almost a year gone. What had happened had no bearing on the present. “I’d rather concentrate on just helping Fortuna.”

  Darleston’s raised brow said he thought this pertinent, but it wasn’t. Not really. He just knew he’d never make another woman a slave to his whim. Matrimony had killed his sister.

  Darleston’s strong fingers curled into the knots in Giles’s shoulders, and began working away some of the tension. “I’m not trying to torment you, Giles. I’d rather save my bile for someone who deserves it. I just want you to look at things clearly.”

  Giles slung back another gulp of brandy. It hit his churning stomach like fat on hot coals. Inner stillness didn’t come easily, but after another two fingers of the stuff he was at least able to unclench his fists. “Let’s go and see what we can dig up about Pimcock and this necklace,” he said. Action would help him relax. He was starting to feel penned.

  Something shifted in the hard planes of Darleston’s face, so that his concern showed clearly through his mask of studied indifference. He gave a slight nod. “Where did you have in mind?”

  “Gibbons, perhaps.”

  Mask shattered, Darleston’s brows shot towards his hairline. “Archie Gibbons! What do you hope to learn from that old buffoon? I’m not sure he’s left his chair at Brooks’ in twenty years.”