Season for Scandal

by Theresa Romain

  Except. From Lord Alleyneham’s startled cough and his lady’s wide-eyed flutter, she realized she had blundered.

  Sweeping into a hurried bow, Kirkpatrick herded her on, his pressure at her elbow sudden and determined. A butler announced them to the room at large, and with more force than grace, they strode into the crowd, as though Kirkpatrick wanted to get them lost in the mill of guests.

  When someone jostled Jane and a heavy boot ground down on her toes, she stopped walking. Kirkpatrick gave another tug at her arm; she tugged right back.

  “Stop,” she said through gritted teeth. She glanced around and spotted an alcove at the side of the soaring candlelit room. It was currently occupied by a potted palm.

  Jane gave the palm a bit of company. Kirkpatrick followed, looking a bit hunted. “What’s the problem, Jane? Don’t you want to join the dancers?”

  I would if I knew how to dance. But Lord Xavier’s impoverished country cousin had never learned such social graces. “Not just yet. Out with it, Kirkpatrick. What did I do wrong?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He became fascinated with the fronds of the palm.

  “In the receiving line. I did something that horrified our host and hostess. What was it?”

  His eyes found Jane’s. “Ah. Well, nothing much. You gave a marchioness’s greeting to a countess. The nod of a superior. But—well, Lord and Lady Alleyneham are good sorts. They won’t mind it.”

  “They certainly looked as if they minded it.”

  “Mere surprise, that’s all. Can I fetch you some punch?” He smiled, but Jane was not to be led astray.

  “I didn’t know,” she muttered. “I should have curtsied, shouldn’t I?”

  It was a far simpler matter to ape her social superiors on the fringes of the ton, in places like Sheringbrook’s card room, than in the heart of the polite world. And her cousin Xavier’s country house party, which she had attended in past years, was a much different affair from a formal London ball.

  In itself, this was neither good nor bad. It simply was. But not being ready for the new and next? Not even recognizing the boundaries of her own ignorance? That was bad indeed, and she thought she saw bright pity limning her husband’s smile.

  “I don’t need any punch,” she decided. “Only find me another baroness in this crowd, Kirkpatrick, and I’ll copy her. I’ll make certain I get everything right next time.”

  “That’s what you want to do at a ball? You want to follow a perfect stranger around and mimic her?”

  He made the behavior sound so odd. “Well, I won’t let her know. She won’t even see me. I can be unobtrusive when I wish. See?”

  When she took a step back, her gown of dark green silk blended into the palm’s fronds. Her ivory fan, snapped closed and held tight, was no more than a stick. And her hair could be anything, because on its own it was nothing. The dull shade of wood paneling or a dead frond.

  Kirkpatrick’s eyes lit with humor. “Are you considering the fact that if anyone sees you in there, you will have to make a swift explanation? I would dearly love to hear it.”

  Jane shrugged. “I’ll say I dropped my fan and someone kicked it aside. I was retrieving it. Honestly, Kirkpatrick, do you think anyone is more interested in my doings than his or her own?”

  He folded his arms. “This ball is our outing together. Something for you to enjoy.”

  “I realize that. But what I would really enjoy is not making another blunder.”

  He looked down at her for a long moment. Despite knowing him for most of her life, she couldn’t read him as easily as she could most people. He was so carefully polite that it was impossible to tell what was flickering through his mind. Was he ashamed of her? Disappointed not to spend the whole evening together? Or relieved to extract himself from her company?

  Finally he relented. “Very well, Jane. If that’s what would please you. Watch the lady in the rose-colored gown, next to the third column. That’s the Baroness Walling; she’s a friend to the Patronesses of Almack’s. Very proper.”

  “Sounds a bit too lofty for me.”

  Kirkpatrick reached out a hand. Jane thought for a dismayed moment that he was going to chuck her under the chin, but instead he traced her jawline with the pad of his thumb. “I don’t think she is. But that’s for you to decide, isn’t it?”

  Bewildered, she waved him off. “Thank you. Now. Go—go find someone to dance with.” She didn’t have time to pant after him now. No matter how many nice little things he did with his thumb.

  She shuddered off a heated memory of an extremely nice thing he had done with that thumb the night before. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

  “All right,” he said, “but just for an hour. Then I’ll come find you. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “That’s fine.”

  When he vanished into the crowd, she settled in for determined study. The Baroness Walling would show her what to do at a ball, just as over the years, Lord Xavier’s guests had shown her what one might do—or ought not to do but still did—at a country house party.

  She needed to learn how one acted in polite society. Unwittingly, she had bought herself a place in it the moment she clasped borrowed rubies around her neck and slipped out to Lord Sheringbrook’s card party.

  She had gambled and lost, and then she’d settled her debt. To protest now, if she were a gentleman, would be dishonorable. And Jane was far more than a gentleman.

  She was a lady now. And a lady should always know what to do.

  An hour and a half later, only sheer determination kept Jane’s back straight and her chin up.

  The end of their allotted hour apart had slipped by, yet her infernal husband continued to take to the dance floor with wallflowers and war widows. Either he had forgotten that he now possessed a wife to whom he had made a promise, or he simply hadn’t cared enough to keep his word.

  Something inside her felt tottery. She squared her shoulders to steady herself.

  She hadn’t wasted the time, at least. Her gambler’s mind had gathered up gestures and phrases as easily as it did pips on a card. Slipping through the crowd, keeping Lady Walling in sight, Jane had observed a few tricks with a fan. The accessory was not, as she had presumed, to be used for cooling one’s heated face. Instead, it was a signal for flirtation or rejection. The meaning was all in the wrist, in the placement, in the subtle way one fluttered it about.

  Besides the language of the fan, Jane had taken in a fair amount of gossip.

  “Yes, but Lady Alleyneham invites everyone. Desperate to marry off her daughters! I believe she’d take a shopkeeper at this point.”

  “Especially now that two of them have fallen ill. Lung ailment, she says? It’s probably smallpox. Why, they’ll be pockmarked as raisin puddings.”

  Yet much of the talk was nice:

  “Have you seen the silk the Countess of Doverfield is draped in? Absolutely exquisite. I’ve been looking for that shade all autumn.”

  “My dear, your son has grown up so handsome. Have you given any thought to finding him a bride? That Miss Selby seems taken with him . . .”

  Or just a simple “I’m so glad to see you. Do come talk with me a while.”

  Jane’s heart had lurched when she’d heard a young woman speak those words in her direction. For a swooping instant, Jane thought this must be some friend of Kirkpatrick’s, someone eager to know her better. But from behind Jane, the speaker’s friend—the woman to whom she’d truly been speaking—had run up, and the pair entered into a giggling tête-à-tête.

  Jane turned away, wishing her name was on someone’s lips. Even to be gossiped about would be better than being forgotten.

  Never mind that. Until Kirkpatrick found her, she would observe and learn. A likely looking subject meandered by: a laughing noblewoman in ivory silk and lace in conversation with a knot of friends. As Jane watched, she adjusted the angle of her head; the beau monde had beautiful posture, their chins always high. And the smiles—they har
dly showed any teeth, did they? Smiles were mysterious; laughter was subdued.

  And the curtsy; she realized now, there were infinite degrees of obeisance. She must bend her knees more—like so.

  “Lady Kirkpatrick, you honor me.”

  Jane continued her observations for two full seconds before she recalled that she was Lady Kirkpatrick. And that she had just unintentionally greeted someone.

  She turned and saw that man from India—Mr. Bellamy—who had been at her wedding. He had been speaking with one of Lord and Lady Alleyneham’s daughters, and they were both standing near the refreshment table.

  Jane’s stomach gave a curious growl, and she realized she was as eager for lobster patties as she was for a test of her newly observed behaviors.

  “Lady Audrina.” With careful calculation, Jane made her curtsy. Her host’s daughter did not appear shocked by the greeting; therefore Jane presumed she had performed it correctly this time. Or perhaps nothing shocked the youngest of the earl and countess’s five unmarried daughters. Lady Audrina Bradleigh was dark and lively, a Mediterranean beauty in a season dominated by blond sylphs.

  “Lady Kirkpatrick, how do you do this evening?” Bellamy looked elegant but old-fashioned. His silver-shot dark hair was tied back in a queue, and his tailcoat was accompanied by knee breeches. Above a snowy fall of lace at his throat, his deeply tanned face broke into a smile so bright that it was impossible not to reflect the expression.

  “Fine, thank you, Mr. Bellamy.” She extended her hand; instead of shaking it, he made a jostling bow over it. “I remember your exciting tales of travel from my wedding day.”

  “Indeed, indeed. And where is your noble husband? Surely he accompanied you. I hoped to see him again.”

  “Yes, he’s here. Probably delighting the hearts of half the women in the ballroom.” Jane used one of her new fan tricks to flutter her polite disinterest, as though an absent flirt of a husband must be perfectly acceptable to any newly wed bride.

  “Fortunate women, and fortunate man.” Bellamy bowed again. “Not that I mean to imply he is dallying with them. No doubt he has important things on his mind.”

  “No doubt.” Jane’s smile didn’t even waver, though the innocent words felt barbed.

  Lady Audrina laughed. “Kirkpatrick is rather dashing. But so is Mr. Bellamy. He tells the most excellent stories. Won’t you tell us more about the people you met in India?”

  “I shouldn’t.” He waved off the request. “Most of my tales aren’t suitable for young women.”

  Jane protested. “That sounds like—”

  “—the best sort of tale,” Lady Audrina finished. The two women grinned at one another.

  Bellamy raised placating hands. “I can see I’m in the company of true travelers.”

  “Oh, I’ve never traveled anywhere.” Jane did another sort of fluttery thing with her fan.

  “No matter, my lady. Traveling is a longing of the soul, not merely an activity of the body.”

  “A longing of the soul?” Lady Audrina’s brow puckered. “I had thought of it as an entertainment. A pastime.”

  “It can be all those things,” Jane replied. “Just thinking of other parts of the world—doesn’t it make this corner seem larger?”

  “My feelings exactly,” Bellamy said. “Everyone hungers for novelty. Some find it in fashion or society; some by roaming the world.”

  Jane felt a moment of kinship with this sun-worn merchant. They were both outsiders to the polite world, weren’t they? Living within its ranks like travelers in a foreign country; observing its customs; following its rules.

  Sometimes causing unintended offense.

  “A life in society can hold novelty indeed,” said the earl’s daughter. “If one knows where to find it. Or creates it.”

  “Do you create novelty, or do you find it?” Jane asked.

  A wicked smile spread across Audrina’s face. “The latter when I can; the former when I need to. And sometimes when I don’t need to.”

  “Ladies,” Bellamy said. “Might I get you some refreshment? Though you must have had any number of dedicated suitors retrieving dainties for you this evening.”

  “I’ve had as many suitors as I’ve had dainties,” Jane replied. “None at all. I could kill for a beefsteak.”

  Lady Audrina laughed. “If you killed a cow, that would serve the purpose perfectly.”

  “As neither cow nor weapon nor beefsteak is at hand, Lady Kirkpatrick, I fear your wishes are to be thwarted,” Bellamy said. “But I’ll see what else I can find.”

  With a shove of his shoulder, he broke the ranks around the table of refreshments. Jane’s fingers worked on the handle of her fan. A silly little ivory thing; she’d already cracked the sticks simply by holding it too hard.

  “Your gown is lovely,” said Lady Audrina, nodding at Jane’s dark-green silk. “I thought you preferred bright colors, but this suits you beautifully.”

  Jane hesitated, then explained, “My mother chose most of my gowns before I was married. Now my lady’s maid advises me. Their tastes aren’t much alike.”

  “They had a different purpose in mind, didn’t they? Your mother wanted you to catch the eyes of a handsome gentleman. Now that he’s already caught, well . . . the dress must show your triumph, yet keep up a bit of mystery.” The young woman gave such an extravagant waggle of her eyebrows that Jane had to laugh.

  “It’s not like that,” she said.

  “Right, right. I’m certain it’s not,” replied Lady Audrina. “Newly wed to Lord Kirkpatrick. You don’t have to tell me a thing, Lady Kirkpatrick. I can imagine all I need to.”

  Jane refused to blush. Especially over the truth of her marriage. So she simply said, “You may call me Jane if you like, Lady Audrina.”

  “Oh, I’d like it very well, Jane. And in return, you mustn’t bother with that ‘Lady’ before my name.”

  Bellamy returned just then with a plate of tiny, fussy foods. “Now, Lady Kirkpatrick, it will be supper before long. If you can manage not to commit murder for the next half hour, I think you’ll make it through the evening right enough.”

  Jane accepted the plate and began to eat. The offerings were the most delicious dainties she’d ever tasted, the lobster patties buttery and pleasantly rich. “Thank you,” she managed to say when the food had all but vanished. “For the plate. Thank you.”

  “Very welcome, my lady. It’s the least a gentleman can do.”

  Jane wondered whether he was taking a poke at Kirkpatrick’s absence from her side. She shrugged, then looked around for a place to set her plate. Laying it on the seat of a chair, she said, “I hope no one sits without looking at the chair first.”

  “I hope someone does,” Audrina replied. Before she could say more, her gaze caught on something over Bellamy’s shoulder. Her lips pressed together. “Would you please excuse me? I see some . . . novelty . . . I must attend to.”

  She disappeared into the crowd before they could see to what, or to whom, she was referring.

  Jane faltered, but only for an instant. She was a baroness. Married. With the soul of a traveler. She affixed a confident smile and turned back to Bellamy. “I’d still like to hear more about India. One day I might go there myself.”

  “Do you know much of it?” Bellamy plucked a flute of champagne from a passing footman’s tray, then handed it to Jane.

  “No, nothing. I’ve seen only the south of England and read about little more. Italy, France, Spain. I’m an ignorant but eager pupil.”

  “The best possible sort.”

  His tanned faced creased with concentration. With hair graying at the temples and that devilish smile, he looked like a scandalous diplomat. “What shall I tell you about first? The elephants, I think. They’re so common in India, the natives keep them like Englishwomen keep pugs. One for every household, no matter how poor, and as gentle as you can imagine. Why, I once saw an elephant lift up a child in its trunk . . .”

  The story wrapped around he
r, tugging her from the crowded ballroom to the sultry sun-baked ground of a faraway land.

  Jane cradled her untouched flute of champagne, drinking in Bellamy’s words instead. Her hands were covered with expensive kid gloves, wrapped around costly crystal. She might dress the part, but she felt herself as much an outsider in this ballroom as she would be in India.

  For the first time this evening, it felt like an adventure, and not just a happenstance.

  Chapter 7

  Concerning the Purpose of Flirtation

  “You dance like an angel, my lady.”

  As the last notes of the quadrille dissolved, Edmund uttered this complete falsity with a brilliant smile, bowing over the hand of his hostess. Lady Alleyneham’s awkwardness during the lively dance had made a catastrophe of his boots, but he had managed to weave her through the other couples well enough to keep the dance moving.

  “Dear me, Kirkpatrick,” the countess fluttered, taking his arm and accompanying him through the crowd. “I can’t think of the last time I’ve danced a quadrille. Not this year, I vow! Why, I hardly remembered a one of the figures.”

  “Surely not,” he lied. “You were as light on your feet as a cloud. Or—‘a host of dancing daffodils.’”

  A rather muddled compliment, but the Wordsworth seemed to please the countess. With five unmarried daughters—two of whom were presently in the country, recovering from some lung ailment—the countess deserved a bit of fun. Even if it came at the price of a few bruised toes.

  Edmund smiled down at the plump countess as she chattered about the complexities of planning a ball, but with his peripheral vision, he scanned the crowd. Whom should he approach next? This would be the supper dance, so he would be paired with the lady for quite some time.

  A laugh floated above Lady Alleyneham’s wall of prattle.

  His head snapped up. He knew that laugh: too loud for politeness, but lusty and genuine.

  Jane.

  And he realized in a flash that he had promised to return to her. And he was probably late.