Saved by Scandal's Heir

by Janice Preston

  A rueful smile lit Felicity’s face. ‘I lived through my father’s and my stepfather’s infidelities,’ she said. ‘Had your liaison with Richard taken place after our marriage, I could never forgive either of you for that, although I know many wives do accept their husband’s affaires. But to take against you for something that happened before I was even betrothed to Richard...? No, that would be unfair, although I confess I found it hard at first to forgive you both for not telling me the truth as soon as you and I became friends.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Harriet hung her head.

  ‘Oh, it was not your fault, I am aware of that. My penitent husband admitted you had advised him to tell me the truth, but that he thought it best to say nothing and hope I would never find out. And even that I cannot be angry about, for it finally forced Richard and me to be honest with one another, and our marriage is happier and stronger as a result. So, I repeat, I will not see you on the streets. You are welcome to stay with us if the worse comes to the worst.

  ‘We can do something about your reputation, however. You have done nothing wrong, and you are not to skulk in here as though you have.’ She stood up. ‘Get some rest, and I shall collect you at four thirty. Put on your best carriage dress, for you and I are going to dazzle them all in the park.’

  Harriet’s heart sank. ‘Felicity, no. I cannot. I—’

  ‘You can and you must,’ Felicity said gently before stooping to kiss Harriet’s cheek. ‘You will not go down without a fight. I shall not let you.’

  * * *

  It was worse than Harriet feared.

  Felicity had driven to Sackville Street in her phaeton and pair, her groom perched behind. Harriet had dressed in her best blue carriage dress and matching bonnet and sat by Felicity as she expertly drove to the park and steered the vehicle onto the carriageway.

  As usual at that time of day, the park was thronged with walkers, riders and people taking the air in their open-topped carriages. They were people Harriet had come to know over the past eleven years since her marriage to Brierley. Most had been friendly enough towards her, even though Harriet had mostly kept herself to herself after Brierley’s death, finding it hard to fully trust others—the legacy of her marriage, she supposed. Others, however, had merely tolerated the vicar’s daughter who had become a countess by marriage. And some—since she had begun her crusade to protect vulnerable maidservants—had given her the cold shoulder. They were no loss—she had no desire to socialise with such people in any case. But now...today...her ears were burning, as was her face, as one after the other turned from her.

  Snatches of conversation as they passed reverberated as loudly as a town crier’s announcements to Harriet in her sensitive state.

  ‘Her own granddaughter’s ball...’

  ‘Shameless...’

  ‘Low breeding, my dear...’

  ‘Tenterfield Court...’

  ‘On his deathbed...’

  ‘No shame...’

  ‘No gentleman...’

  ‘Miss Marstone...’

  ‘Lucky escape...’

  ‘Felicity,’ she said, as they bowled along the drive, ‘please take me home. I cannot bear this.’

  Felicity, however, slowed her ponies to a walk and pointed with her whip to three gentlemen trotting towards them on horseback. Harriet’s heart quailed, but then rallied as she recognised Stanton as one of the three. He, at least—surely—would not cut her.

  ‘You are not running away,’ Felicity said fiercely. ‘You have done nothing wrong.’ She turned her attention to her ponies, who tossed their heads, sending their identical flaxen manes rippling on their necks, as the three huge horses were reined in alongside the phaeton. ‘Whoa, Spice. Steady, Nutmeg.’

  Harriet saw, with a nervous lurch of her stomach, that the other two men were the Duke of Cheriton—one of the most powerful noblemen in the ton and, she knew, Felicity’s former guardian—and his younger brother, Lord Vernon Beauchamp.

  ‘Good afternoon, Cousin Leo, Cousin Vernon,’ Felicity said. ‘You are both acquainted with Lady Brierley, I think.’

  All three men doffed their hats. Stanton smiled at Harriet, his chocolate-brown eyes warm.

  ‘Don’t look so petrified, Harry,’ he said. ‘You do know that, whatever happens, Felicity and I will always stand by you. And, in the meantime, His Grace has expressed a wish to promenade. So—’ Stanton swung elegantly from the back of his huge dapple-grey gelding and strode to the side of the phaeton, holding out his hand to Felicity ‘—if you ladies would care to join us, I can think of no more pleasurable way to spend the next half an hour.’

  He then addressed the groom perched on the phaeton. ‘Dalton, please hold Gambit—’ he proffered his horse’s reins ‘—and her ladyship’s ponies, whilst we take a short stroll.’

  In the meantime the duke, suave and elegant as always, had also dismounted. He tossed his black’s reins to his brother, who tipped his hat, smiled and said, ‘I’d better keep these two on the move or war is likely to break out. See you back here shortly,’ and nudged his horse into a walk.

  Harriet absorbed all this manoeuvring with an inner Hmph. That the whole encounter had been planned by Felicity she did not doubt, but she was grateful for the effort. Whether it would do any good or not was anybody’s guess, although—she looked into the duke’s silver-grey eyes as he handed her from the phaeton—if anyone could sway public opinion, it was the Duke of Cheriton.

  Hope filtered into her heart. No one would dare to snub her whilst the duke and the Earl of Stanton championed her.

  They began to stroll.

  * * *

  ‘So when are you going to tell me what happened after I left last night, you dog?’ Matthew said as he relaxed back in a chair in the coffee lounge at White’s late that afternoon. ‘There’s a new bet in the Book, that Sir B— P— will make a significant announcement before the week is out. Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a bride already? That’s quick work, even for you.’

  ‘Why must it be about a woman? It could refer to the imminent murder of my business partner.’

  ‘Hah! You wouldn’t last five minutes without me to prop you up. Seriously, though, I should warn you—you’re unfamiliar with the ways of the ton. If you are raising expectations enough to be noticed, you will be expected to make an offer. If you don’t, then the parents of decent young ladies will warn them against you and your reputation will suffer. I presume you’re still serious about restoring the Poole name?’

  ‘Oh, I’m serious, all right. And no, I have not raised any expectations.’

  ‘So what does the wager mean? Come on, old boy, if there’s some inside information you can give me, I might have a flutter myself.’

  He really didn’t want to discuss it but he’d barely slept, wondering what damage had been done to Harriet’s wider reputation. Brierley’s black opinion of his stepmother was already, he feared, a lost cause.

  ‘What about a widow’s reputation?’ he asked.

  Matthew tilted his head, a knowing smile lurking in his eyes. ‘The Lady Brierley again? What have you been up to, old chap? And what is the story between you two? Eleanor has been badgering me to find out ever since you met at our house the other week, and particularly after your reluctance to discuss the subject at the picnic. She is convinced you two have history.’

  Benedict ignored Matthew’s questions. The past was no one’s business but his. But he needed to know what might now happen. ‘A widow’s reputation is not as vital as an unmarried girl’s, is it?’

  ‘Vital in what context?’

  Benedict told Matthew what had happened after Matthew and Eleanor had left Kitty’s ball.

  Matthew whistled through his teeth. ‘And Lady Marstone came in with both the Brierleys, you say? She was setting you up, old chap.’

  ‘I
know.’ Benedict clenched his jaw as he realised his friend was trying not to laugh. ‘It is not funny.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been had you ended up shackled to Bridget Marstone,’ Matthew said. ‘Seriously...I would have had to reconsider our partnership. And to think of having Lady M as a mother-in-law! Thank God for Harriet, eh? So what is the problem? There were enough witnesses to confirm you were never alone with Miss Marstone.’

  ‘Yes,’ Benedict said, ‘but none to swear how long I was alone with Harriet. When Lady Marstone realised I was not about to make an offer for her daughter, she made threats. I’m not concerned about me, but for Harriet.’

  He had no choice, he realised, but to confide in Matthew about Harriet’s visit to Tenterfield Court.

  Matthew straightened in his chair, frowning and suddenly serious, and Benedict found himself thinking that he preferred his friend’s mocking banter, irritating as it was at times.

  ‘What did Brierley do last night?’

  ‘He made Harriet leave. I took her home in my carriage.’

  ‘Bloody fool. Brierley, I mean,’ he added. ‘He missed a perfect opportunity to smooth things over by putting on a united front with Harriet.’

  Benedict sighed. ‘I think he’s moved way beyond wanting to smooth things over. He’s set on throwing Harriet out of her home and stopping her allowance. I need to know how her reputation will suffer, Matt. Brierley is more concerned with securing an offer from Wincott for his daughter than with the damage his actions will do to his stepmother.’

  ‘Self-righteous fool! When you consider what his father was like—’

  ‘His father?’

  ‘He’s the reason Harriet set up her charity,’ Matthew said. ‘Eleanor was full of it after she heard about it. Brierley got two of his servants with child and then dismissed them. Harriet helps other girls in a similar situation—it’s sickening to realise how many gentlemen feel perfectly justified in washing their hands of those girls and their children. Harriet works hard to persuade the men responsible to pay up and support their by-blows, making her somewhat unpopular in some quarters.’

  Benedict felt sick. Harriet might have betrayed him, but she was a decent, caring woman, and his thoughtless action was hurting her. ‘And they will no doubt happily spread scurrilous rumours about her if they hear about last night.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Matthew said. ‘They will be in their element. From what I’ve heard, there have been a few who have tried to discredit her in the past, but she has always taken care to guard her reputation.’

  ‘And I suppose, there I have my answer,’ Benedict said slowly. ‘Her reputation will suffer because, until now, it’s always been spotless.’

  Matthew smiled in sympathy. ‘It looks that way.’

  What would Harriet’s answer be? Despite her manoeuvrings at the masquerade, she still might throw his offer back in his face, but at least he would have tried to make things right. He must accept responsibility. What was happening to her was his fault—if he had not followed her, she would not be in this predicament.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Benedict rapped on Harriet’s front door. Stevens answered it almost immediately.

  ‘Is her ladyship in?’

  Benedict went to step over the threshold. Stevens moved to block his way. Benedict scowled at the man.

  ‘Has her ladyship told you to bar my entry?’ He was in no mood to be denied; his decision was made and the sooner he asked the question and she accepted, the sooner the damage he had caused could be repaired.

  ‘Her ladyship is not at home, sir,’ Stevens said.

  Benedict eyed the man, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or if he was merely obeying instructions. If the potential scandal was as bad as he now feared, where would she go? It was far more likely she was hiding away at home.

  There was a clatter of hooves in the street behind him. A phaeton and pair, driven by Felicity, Lady Stanton, had turned into Sackville Street, and there she was.

  Head high, facing the world. His Harriet.

  Your Harriet? Since when? She’s never been yours.

  She will be now. The reply instantly soothed his agitation and he knew, suddenly, he had made the right decision. He wanted Harriet and if this was the only way he could have her, then so be it.

  He barely noticed the three gentlemen riding behind the phaeton until they reined to a halt outside the house. Stanton and two of his cronies—although whether it was quite the thing to call a duke and his brother cronies was another matter. He had never formally met either man, although he knew them by sight, and he now found himself the target of hard looks from the three men. Stanton spoke to the duke’s brother and swung from the saddle. He strode over to where Benedict waited on the doorstep.

  ‘What the devil are you about, coming here?’

  Benedict locked eyes with him. ‘I’ll go where I please.’

  ‘You’ve done more than enough—’

  ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ Benedict snarled. ‘It is between—’

  There was a flurry of skirts and Harriet and Felicity joined them, Felicity linking arms with her husband.

  ‘Thank you, Stanton, for all you’ve done,’ Harriet said. She raised her voice and called to the duke and his brother, ‘And thank you both, too. I’m very grateful.’ She turned cool violet eyes on Benedict. ‘Did you have something to say to me?’

  ‘Yes. But not here. Inside.’

  She stared. ‘Have you learned nothing of the ways of this world? If I allow you inside my house now, do you not realise that all our efforts to repair the damage of last night will have been for nothing?’

  Benedict was aware that Stanton had shrugged free of Felicity’s restraint and had ushered her away from the door before coming back to stand next to Harriet. He still did not know for certain if those rumours about the earl and Harriet were true or false. If they were, would Felicity and Harriet be such friends? It was yet another question for Harriet to answer.

  In the meantime, the duke had dismounted and stood beside Felicity, one hand around her upper arm.

  Keeping her out of harm’s way. Benedict felt his eyes narrow and his blood began to pound through his veins. He had faced many situations like this in his life—men bristling with menace, protecting their own, whether it was their women, their possessions or merely a jug of ale. A brawl, or even heated words, would do nothing to help his cause but, God help him, he would not back down from these dandies. Although—looking again at their stances and their expressions—dandies was no more accurate a description than cronies.

  He concentrated on Harriet. ‘I have come to repair the damage,’ he said. ‘To make things right. I wish to speak to you. In private.’

  Sudden understanding flashed in her eyes and a myriad of expressions crossed her face, so fleeting he hardly had time to interpret them, and then she blinked and was again unreadable. She locked eyes with him, probing, and he tried to convey his deepest feelings by expression alone. He must have succeeded, for she released a tiny sigh, turned to the others and said, ‘Thank you so much for all you have done for me today. It will be all right now, I assure you.’

  ‘We can come in and wait in the hall,’ Felicity said, clearly reluctant to trust Benedict. ‘At least, that way, the proprieties will be observed if Sir Benedict is... If he does not...um...’ Her voice tailed away as her cheeks flamed.

  Benedict pushed past Stanton and crossed the pavement to stand in front of Felicity. ‘You have my word,’ he said softly. ‘I will make things right. Thank you for caring.’

  Amber eyes searched his. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually. She glanced up at the duke. ‘Would you help me into my phaeton please, Cousin Leo?’

  Cousin? That explained a lot. Harriet did move in exalted circles these days. He felt a tremor of unease.
What if she would not accept him? He was but a lowly trader compared to these men.

  You are a baronet, now, don’t forget, and rich, too.

  Oh, yes! Wealthy and a title. How could she refuse? She married for the same before, don’t forget.

  He dismissed his sudden uncertainties as he walked back to stand by Harriet, ignoring the large form of Stanton, still hovering protectively by her side.

  ‘Well?’ He’d stated his case. He would not beg.

  She nodded and said, ‘Come inside.’

  About to follow her across the threshold, Benedict turned to Stanton and thrust out his hand. They would have to learn to get along, with Harriet and Felicity such fast friends.

  ‘Thank you for looking after her,’ he said. ‘It’s good to know she has friends to rely on when her own family are so quick to believe the worst.’

  Stanton gave him a hard stare as he gripped his hand.

  ‘You make sure you look after her,’ he said. ‘Or you will be hearing from me. I will not have my wife upset. Do we understand one another?’

  ‘We do.’ Benedict followed Harriet inside the house.

  ‘Thank you, Stevens,’ Harriet said as she handed him her bonnet. ‘Please come this way, Sir Benedict.’

  She led him into the salon where he had taken her after she had fainted in the street. It seemed like a lifetime ago, not just two weeks. How had his life taken such an unexpected turn? From being set on marrying a virtuous girl of impeccable breeding, here he was on the verge of offering for a...for a... His thought process stalled. And then he realised.

  It simply did not matter what Harriet was or was not. He loved her. He had always loved her. And now, more than ever, having seen her vulnerability, he knew it was his destiny to be the man to protect her. The sight of Stanton taking that role—the role that destiny dictated was Benedict’s—had made his blood boil.