Saved by Scandal's Heir

by Janice Preston

  ‘I think you will find, sir, that you are not invited,’ she said tartly.

  He grinned at her, his eyes glinting. ‘And a very good afternoon to you, too, Lady Brierley. Please accept my abject apologies for eavesdropping and for having the audacity to interrupt your conversation.’

  He bowed before glancing enquiringly at Fanny. Harriet gritted her teeth; of all the bad luck, bumping into Benedict when she was out with Fanny and Kitty. What if one of them mentioned it to Edward? Her nerves wound a little tighter and she glared at Benedict, trying to convey a warning with her eyes even as her heart pounded at the mere sight of him. His gaze flickered in her direction before he turned his attention back to Fanny.

  Harriet sighed, recognising she had no choice. ‘Sir Benedict Poole, might I introduce you to my stepdaughter-in-law, Frances, Lady Brierley.’

  ‘Honoured, my lady.’ Benedict bowed to Fanny.

  ‘Sir Benedict! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Why, we are almost neighbours. Of course you must come to Kitty’s ball, sir—I have no doubt Brierley was unaware of your presence in town or he would have made sure your name was on the list.’

  ‘Fanny, I do not think Edward—’

  ‘I shall send you an invitation as soon as I return home, sir, for the ball is tomorrow night, and single gentlemen are always most welcome. I do so hope you are free?’

  Harriet fixed Benedict with a look that she was sure contained the direst warning she could muster, but he studiously ignored her, his lips curving in a smile as he said, ‘Oh, yes. I am free. Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘Fanny...’ Harriet seethed with a mix of anger and fear. Once Edward returned home and got wind of those rumours, Benedict’s presence at Kitty’s ball could only make matters worse. ‘Perhaps you should not. Not without Edward—’

  ‘Oh, Edward leaves all those decisions to me, my dear. There is no need to worry. We have plenty of room. Now, let us continue our shopping, for I simply must find some ribbon to trim my puce bonnet.’

  They took their leave of Benedict. There was no help for it; all she could now do was try to avoid Benedict at the ball. Although whether even that would prove enough when Edward heard those rumours... Sick dread swirled her stomach. She was effectively trapped. Sooner or later, Edward’s axe would fall and, in the meantime, she had no choice but to continue her life with a smile upon her face.

  * * *

  The time for Kitty’s debut into society arrived. Elegant in her white gown, her dark hair fashioned in the Grecian style and threaded through with pearls, she was the belle of the ball as the Marquess of Wincott led her onto the ballroom floor into the top position for the first dance. Harriet’s heart swelled with love and pride and Fanny, standing by Harriet’s side, had tears in her eyes.

  Edward’s greeting had been noticeably chilly when Harriet had arrived earlier, and she was already halfway convinced that he was merely biding his time, waiting until Kitty’s ball was over before confronting Harriet over the gossip.

  Benedict had not yet arrived, to her relief. She prayed he would see sense and stay away—he must know Edward would not welcome him and that his presence would stir up trouble for Harriet. Or was that his intention? Did he want to punish her for the masquerade? Well, he need not think she had forgiven him for what he had said at the picnic, even though it was the truth. To accuse her so bluntly was inexcusable—definitely not the behaviour expected of a gentleman.

  I’m better off without him!

  Oh, but she could not help but feel a fool, knowing that Benedict was fully aware of her pathetic and sordid plan.

  How he must have laughed at me!

  She kept an eye on the late arrivals—constantly checking to see if Benedict appeared, her nerves all on edge—as Lord Wincott, slender and elegant in his evening clothes, bowed to Kitty and the rest of the dancers began to take their places in the set. As the dance progressed, a movement in the guests standing nearby diverted Harriet’s attention from Kitty, and she turned to see Felicity and Eleanor both smiling at her.

  ‘Harriet! Where have you been since we went to Richmond?’ Felicity said. ‘Have you been away?’

  ‘No, but I have been busy helping my stepdaughter prepare for tonight.’

  It was a white lie. She had not been involved at all with the preparations for Kitty’s come-out ball, apart from yesterday’s shopping trip with Fanny and Kitty, but had hidden away at home, feeling a fool, consumed with embarrassment that Benedict had guessed why she had seduced him at the masquerade and sick with worry over her future.

  ‘Lady Katherine looks stunning,’ Felicity said, watching as Kitty and Wincott performed their steps. ‘And the room is beautifully decorated. Does it feel strange, seeing another family living here, when it used to be your home? I do not mean to pry, but I do sometimes wonder how Richard’s mother must feel, to see me installed as mistress at Fernley Park whilst she lives at the Dower House.’

  Harriet gazed around the ballroom—the walls had been draped with swags of silver gauze and palest pink silk and large vases of artfully arranged pink flowers and delicate ferny foliage adorned the side tables placed at intervals along the long wall opposite the tall, imposing windows. The house had never looked so fine when Harriet had been mistress here.

  ‘No,’ she said. It was the truth. This had never been her home. And she had never, in reality, been mistress here. ‘I prefer my little house in Sackville Street, if I am honest.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Eleanor said. ‘If anything happened to Matthew...why, I can imagine how painful it would be to continue living in the house where we had lived together. Even though Ashby Manor was my childhood home, I’m sure the ghosts would haunt me every day.’

  As they haunt me, Harriet thought, barely controlling her shiver. At least Eleanor would have happy memories to sustain her. A hand touched her arm. It was Felicity, her amber eyes full of understanding. It had remained an unspoken agreement between Harriet and Felicity that they would never talk about the past, but she knew Stanton must have explained something of Harriet’s marriage to Brierley. Felicity had managed to convey, without words, both her sympathy and her acceptance of what had gone before.

  Harriet knew how fortunate she was to have Felicity for a friend and she was uncomfortably aware that, were she a true friend in return, she would be delighted that Felicity was with child, not jealous. She looked at the other two women. Felicity was positively glowing, as was Eleanor. Harriet buried her twinge of regret; she remembered all too well that bloom: the glossy hair, the clear skin, the shining eyes—even though hers had been diminished by Benedict’s desertion and the nightmare of her marriage to Brierley.

  ‘You are both looking so beautiful,’ she said on impulse. ‘And so radiantly happy.’

  Felicity blushed. ‘Thank you, Harriet, but beautiful is hardly—’

  ‘Now then, Felicity Joy,’ came a deep voice from behind Harriet. ‘Do I hear you denigrating yourself again? Come, my beautiful wife, dance with me while we still can.’

  Harriet watched Stanton whisk Felicity onto the ballroom floor, where sets were now forming for a country reel. She knew what his words meant—Felicity had already confided in her that they would leave town before her pregnancy began to show, and that must surely be soon. But... She turned anxiously to Eleanor.

  ‘Do you think it is safe, Felicity taking part in such an energetic dance in her condition?’

  Eleanor tore her attention from the couples on the floor. ‘Trust her to know what she is capable of,’ she said. ‘It is an odd thing. Everyone seems determined to protect us and wrap us up safely and yet—and I know I speak for Felicity as well—we have never felt so alive.’

  ‘I remember the feeling,’ Harriet replied. Although no one had protected her. Her throat thickened.

  ‘You?’ Eleanor’s voice rose in astonish
ment.

  Harriet cursed her unthinking comment. No one knew, apart from her immediate family. She searched for words to divert Eleanor, but none would come.

  ‘I do beg your pardon,’ Eleanor carried on, ‘but I had no idea... That is, I had not realised... Oh, heavens, here I go making things worse. I shall just say what I was going to say in the first instance. I did not know you had ever had a child, Harriet.’

  Harriet felt the other woman’s gaze on her and she averted her face, her eyes suddenly moist. She felt Eleanor take her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Matthew always tells me I must think before I speak, and now I have upset you and I truly had no notion of doing so.’

  Harriet shook her head. ‘It is quite all right,’ she said.

  A glass of wine was thrust into her hand and she took a grateful sip.

  ‘Would you care to sit somewhere quiet?’ Eleanor asked. ‘I am sorry—our excitement must bring it all back to you. It is odd, is it not, that something so natural and everyday as procreation should become so utterly absorbing when it is happening to you. And, of course,’ she added, glancing around at the people close to them, ‘a subject never to be mentioned in polite company.’ She smiled her wide, infectious smile. ‘I believe it is safe to say both Felicity and I have abjectly failed in that endeavour!’

  Harriet dragged in a deep breath and tried to force a smile in return, grateful to Eleanor for trying to smooth over her emotional reaction. She read nothing but sympathy and contrition in the other woman’s open, honest expression.

  ‘I am fine now, thank you, Eleanor. And please do not think I am not delighted for you both, for I am. I... I lost my baby before she was born. But it was a long time ago now. You caught me at a vulnerable moment, with the excitement of Kitty’s come-out and realising my daughter would never...never...’

  Eleanor slipped her arm around Harriet’s waist and guided her to a chair at the side of the ballroom. ‘Come,’ she whispered. ‘Drink your wine, and then dance the night away. Keep yourself so busy you will have no time to remember.’

  Harriet pushed down her misery. This was not like her. She never dwelt on the past. She looked forward, not back.

  Until Benedict came back into your life.

  Angrily, she dismissed that voice. She would not disintegrate into a feeble, weeping woman, particularly not in front of a strong lady like Eleanor. A strong, kind lady, she realised. She had reserved judgement about this new friend of Felicity’s at first, but now she could see her true qualities. Many other women would have pried and poked and then rushed to spread the latest on dit amongst their acquaintances. Harriet recalled the whispers of scandal that had followed Eleanor when she had come to London the previous spring, and she knew she could trust the other woman not to gossip about her.

  A figure appeared before her. Mr Stephen Damerel—Matthew’s brother—begging her hand for the next dance, which was just forming. On the brink of refusing him, she hesitated. She could not spend her life skulking in a corner. Benedict had not appeared—perhaps, with luck, he would stay away.

  She smiled at Eleanor. ‘Thank you. You are right. I shall make sure to enjoy myself,’ she said as she accepted Mr Damerel.

  He whisked her into the dance, closely followed by three other partners. As the last of the three led her from the floor, Richard, Lord Stanton, was bowing before her. Harriet laughed up at him, her hand to her chest.

  ‘I need a chance to catch my breath, Stanton.’ She dare not risk fuelling the gossip by dancing with him. ‘If you care to procure me a glass of wine, you may consider your duty done and return to your wife.’

  ‘It is not duty, and you know that very well, Harry.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It cannot be wise for us to be seen together like this, not with these rumours. They have me in such a fever of apprehension—who could have started them? Nobody knew about us. We were so discreet.’

  Stanton snorted. ‘My loose-tongued cousin, that’s who. He confessed all last night.’

  ‘Charles? But...but why would he do such a thing? I thought he was my friend, and I know he would not wish to harm you or Felicity.’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t mean any harm, but you know Charles—he never means any harm, but he just cannot help himself at times. It seems he overheard someone expressing surprise at my choice of bride and—in an attempt to defend Felicity and before he knew what was happening—he managed to let slip that I’d had a close liaison with a very comely widow up until our wedding.’ He sighed. ‘You know what people are like, Harry. Once the rumour hatched it soon sprouted wings and now a load of nonsense is being passed around as fact. All we can do is ride it out. There’ll soon be another scandal to take its place.’

  ‘But my name is already being linked to yours.’

  ‘Don’t worry. No one can prove it. We did nothing wrong. And if anyone is ill-bred enough to ask outright...why, we shall simply deny it. If Felicity does not object, why should anyone else?’

  Harriet bit her lip. She was tempted to confide in Stanton about Edward and his threats but pride forced her to keep quiet. It was her problem and she must deal with it. Although heaven knew how, now it was clear Benedict—who had finally arrived—would never offer for her. Every time she caught sight of him, he appeared to be glowering in her direction. Was it his intention to punish her for her ill-judged attempt to seduce him into making an offer? If so, he was succeeding. What a complete fool she had been.

  She sipped at her wine, quietly despairing as she pondered her future.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She hadn’t stopped dancing since he arrived, other than when she had been with Stanton, in what appeared to be yet another intimate conversation.

  Benedict strolled moodily around the edge of the ballroom, trying, unsuccessfully for the most part, to keep his attention from wandering to Harriet too often. She sparkled. She was radiant. Her smile brightened the entire room. He hated the fortunate fellows who were the recipients of that glorious smile.

  Begrudged them.

  Deeply.

  You’re supposed to be searching for a wife.

  Hmph! He’d already cast his eye over the young ladies at the ball. There wasn’t one of them could hold a candle to Harriet.

  She betrayed you. She didn’t love you enough to wait for you. How could you ever trust her? And don’t forget Stanton.

  Whenever he thought of Harriet with the earl the sharp claws of jealousy raked at his insides until he was ready to roar his rage. The gossip claiming it was Harriet who had been Stanton’s mistress was more widespread than ever. Yet when he had been about to suggest a similar arrangement she had not even allowed him to speak. Once again, Harriet had chosen another man in preference to him, until she had seen him as the answer to her predicament. Well, he had seen through her game. He had taken what she offered, and he had walked away.

  Except...except...it hadn’t quite worked out as he had planned. His desire for her was stronger than ever and he feared it was likely to continue to plague him until such time as he wed. Then, surely, his focus would be on his own family and he could pack her back inside the box in his mind where she had lain undisturbed for so many years.

  So what was he doing here?

  He raked suddenly nervous fingers through his hair, the thought that it needed cutting randomly flitting through his mind. Why was he here? Was he so weak-willed that a week without seeing her or speaking to her was too much for him? He had spotted her in the street and, before he could question his motives or think through the consequences, he had inveigled an invitation to the ball tonight, despite knowing Brierley would object.

  He glanced around but saw no sign of his host. He had deliberately come late, not wishing to stand in line to be greeted by the Brierleys and their daughter and thus afford Brierley an opportunity to refuse him entry. He
had timed his arrival after the dancing had started, when the butler’s stentorian announcement of his name had struggled to be heard above the music and the babble of conversation. Since then, he had taken care not to wander too close to his host. If Brierley tried to have him thrown out, Benedict was not sure he would be able to control his temper—which teetered on a knife-edge these days—and that would not bode well for his goal of overcoming Sir Malcolm’s legacy of scandal.

  ‘Sir Benedict, I am delighted you were able to come.’

  Benedict closed his eyes briefly as he recognised the voice of his hostess. Perhaps Brierley would not...but no. One glance at Lady Brierley revealed a glowering Lord Brierley behind her. So much for his manoeuvrings to avoid the man.

  Brierley barrelled forward. ‘You were not invited, sir.’

  Benedict held tight to the reins of his temper.

  ‘Brierley, do not say so. I invited Sir Benedict.’ Lady Brierley raised her anxious gaze to her husband.

  Brierley’s focus remained on Benedict. ‘When did you do so? And where?’

  ‘Why—’ his lady faltered ‘—it was yesterday. When Kitty and I were out shopping.’

  ‘Yesterday...when you were with my stepmother?’

  ‘Why, yes, she is an old friend of—’ Lady Brierley’s eyes sharpened. She drew herself up to her full height and said, ‘It makes no matter, sir, for the deed is now done. I did not know... If you had only confided in me...but there. It is of no use now. Come, we have our duties as hosts to attend to—will you spoil your own daughter’s come-out by quarrelling with a guest?’

  Benedict held his breath, hoping he was not about to witness a full-blown marital dispute, but Brierley—after a quick glance around the ballroom—said, ‘Very well. I can see I have no choice.’ He glared at Benedict. ‘Enjoy the ball, sir. Come, my dear, we must not neglect our other guests.’