Scandal's Child

by Sherrill Bodine

  “The Vanderworths are so very pleasant, Willy, I’m sure they will understand,” Mariah placated automatically, but her eyes flew questioningly to Kat’s face.

  Kat had never before seen that particular expression upon her sister’s beautiful countenance. Yes, she really must be more attentive at these ton parties and take a good long look at the Vanderworths. She would have to stop worrying about Jacko and only hope he would do nothing to endanger this Season. It meant so much to Willy and Mariah. She had already vowed to be on her best behavior.

  Jacko was not at Lady Sefton’s musicale, although half the ton was in attendance. Squeezed into all the salons, drinking champagne and devouring lobster patties, the ton was more than prepared for the onset of the Season. Yet, only a week into the whirl of balls, parties, and routs Kat was already bored with being in the midst of yet another sad crush.

  The press of people shifted around them and Mariah grabbed Kat’s arm; with gentle pressure she indicated a direction. “There they are!” she whispered, hardly allowing herself a glance.

  Kat had no such compunction. A tall, impeccably dressed gentleman, his cravat tied with painstaking neatness, strolled toward them. On his arm was a pale young woman, wearing a demurely cut white crepe gown. The girl’s squint was quite pronounced until they drew closer, and then she smiled. Quite a pleasing feature in an otherwise unremarkable face, Kat thought, as Miss Helen Vanderworth and her brother joined them.

  The expression on Mr. Christian Vanderworth’s face was noncommittal, even distant, although he responded politely to their greeting. Kat noticed Mariah’s eyes brighten, just as they had earlier at the mention of his name. Surely her sister could not be caught at last by this American! Casting a worried glance at Lady Tutwilliger, Kat was relieved to see her dear godmother seemed totally unaware of Mariah’s enraptured countenance.

  “Yes, Miss Vanderworth, Lord Thistlewait was so disappointed he could not be in attendance tonight,” Lady Tutwilliger twittered. “He particularly asked us to relay his regrets to you, my dear.”

  Helen Vanderworth blushed a rosy pink and glanced down. “Thank you, Lady Tutwilliger. Lord Thistlewait honors me.” Then she looked up, her eyes as bright as Mariah’s. “We will miss him tonight, for he does so add to a gathering, does he not?”

  With a sinking feeling in her chest, Kat acknowledged that poor Miss Vanderworth had joined the ranks of women bowled over by her twin’s disgustingly beautiful looks. Even though the three of them possessed the Thistlewait aquamarine eyes and the Thistlewait dimples, Jacko’s eyes were more startling and his dimples deeper. Kat’s hair was golden blond, but Jacko’s was brighter, more full of light, as if constantly kissed by the sun. It had proved to be a fatal combination. His only saving grace, Kat grudgingly acknowledged, was that he was completely oblivious to the effect his appearance had on the fair sex.

  “I believe we are to enter the salon for the concert now.” Mr. Christian Vanderworth’s voice was cultured and, admittedly, there was a definite air about him as he offered his arm to Lady Tutwilliger.

  “Please, Mr. Vanderworth, escort your sister and Lady Mariah. I must have a private word with Kathryn.”

  Kat watched the three of them comfortably conversing as they crossed the room, and she was left with her fuming godmother.

  “Where is your reticule?” Lady Tutwilliger demanded.

  “Oh! I must have left it with my cloak,” Kat sighed, knowing what was coming next.

  “When are you going to grow out of this childish habit of misplacing your belongings? Mark my words, it will place you in the suds one of these days. Go fetch it. And keep an eye out for your dreadful twin. He may be lurking about somewhere, the wretch!”

  Poor Jacko was in for it, but he would talk Willy around, Kat knew. Their godmother was no more proof against Jacko’s charm than any other woman, except his long-suffering sisters, of course.

  Escaping Lady Tutwilliger’s wrath, Kat slowly made her way through each salon, even going so far as to peek into the card room. Several gentlemen had already found their way there and settled in for a fine evening of cards, far away from the Italian soprano Lady Sefton had engaged to entertain the ton. Unfortunately, Jacko was not among them.

  A little further down the hall Kat pushed open an antechamber door and stopped, swallowing down a gasp.

  “I am so very sorry,” she stammered, shocked to find a couple sitting too closely together upon a low couch.

  The gentleman’s pallid eyes flickered briefly before he stood. “This room is occupied,” he announced in an oily voice.

  Kat hastily backed up but refused to shut the door completely. The girl had not turned her face away quickly enough; Kat recognized her—Caroline Strange, a young and, word had it, wealthy heiress. Kat also recognized the girl’s companion—Sir Edmund Trigge, an out-and-out fortune hunter. Where was Miss Strange’s chaperon? Who would allow her to keep company with an older man who possessed such an unsavory reputation?

  Kat’s nearly overwhelming desire to linger in the hallway and give young Miss Strange some well-meaning advice was squelched by remembering Lady Tutwilliger’s warning that above all she must be circumspect this Season. Best not to get involved, Kat decided. It was difficult to walk away because obviously Caroline Strange was as guileless as dear Jacko.

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste as the soprano tried, unsuccessfully, to reach a particularly high note. Kat sighed deeply, the sacrifices she had to make for Society!

  A footman suddenly appeared at her side, “Lady Kathryn, I believe?” He presented a letter upon a small silver tray.

  Her smile quickly vanished as she recognized Jacko’s untidy scrawl. Retiring to a bench half-hidden by a large potted plant, Kat opened her brother’s note and read.

  “Oh, no!” she breathed, hardly able to comprehend her twin’s misguided reasoning. Fed up with Lady Tutwilliger’s matchmaking he was off to the Continent. But, happily, he had met up with his bosom friends, Mr. Gladstone Pennington and Sir Percy Allendale, and they were all first attending a mill on Berkshire Road. He was putting up at the Blue Boar Inn with the quaintest old lady, a gypsy princess. Kat was not to worry. It was all quite a lark. He wished she could join him.

  She folded the note over in her hand. Lady Tutwilliger would never forgive this! What could she do? Dear, sweet, gorgeous Jacko was sure to fall into a scrape without her guidance!

  Kat had always been the leader; the consequence of arriving in the world five minutes ahead of John Charles, Lord Thistlewait, heir to Thistlewait Hall, Thistlewait Manor, and the Grange.

  What to do about this coil? Kat rapidly rejected the idea of confronting her godmother or Mariah with Jacko’s latest wild flight. Somehow she would have to prevent this.

  The tall clock in the hallway chimed the hour, and Kat looked up, surprised to realize it was really still quite early. Early enough for her to save the day.

  Rising slowly to her feet, Kat brushed a hand across her brow and theatrically tottered toward Lady Sefton’s major domo, who stood at rigid attention in the entryway.

  “Please call my carriage and relay the message to Lady Tutwilliger that I have developed a headache and returned home,” Kat said breathlessly.

  He was solicitation itself; it was all Kat could do to keep him from fetching her godmother immediately to her side. By the time she was safely leaning against the squabs of the carriage, there truly was a naggy ache behind her eyes.

  Lady Tutwilliger’s butler, Westley, so far forgot himself upon finding her alone on the doorstep that he paled.

  “Miss Kathryn! I do trust nothing’s amiss,” he gasped.

  So much for the slight hope that the servants did not realize how tenuous was the Thistlewait hold on a successful Season.

  “No, Westley, I simply returned with an unfortunate headache.” She sighed deeply, forcing he
rself to walk ever so slowly toward the stairs. “Please inform my maid I shall not need her until late tomorrow morning. I do not want to be disturbed.”

  “As you wish, Miss.” He bowed, and Kat felt remorse at the true concern on his face and in his voice.

  Nevertheless, the moment she was around the first turn in the upper hall, and out of sight, she gathered up the folds of her skirt in one hand and raced toward the room Jacko used upon his too infrequent stays at Tutwilliger House.

  Kat had nearly obtained her goal when a door opened; Hannah Hamilton, holding aloft a single candle, stepped into the hallway.

  “Kathryn, my dear child! What is wrong?” In the dim light, Hannah’s face was ghostlike as if she were badly frightened.

  Swaying to a sudden stop, Kat smiled weakly. “Dear Hannah, I am so sorry if I gave you a start. I have simply returned with a headache. All I need is a nice long sleep.”

  “But, dear, your room is not down this hall,” Hannah breathed, her forehead wrinkling into several worried lines.

  “Yes, but … but I was in Jacko’s room earlier and left a book of poems … I … I thought perhaps I would read before retiring,” Kat finished triumphantly, surprised at how quickly she could come up with the white lie.

  “But, Kathryn, reading will surely not improve your headache.” Hannah’s worry dissolved into the glazed look that came over her whenever she realized she might be in the midst of a conflict.

  “I assure you I shall be quite all right tomorrow, Hannah,” Kat said softly and yawned conspicuously. “Perhaps you should make an early night of it yourself.”

  “Yes, perhaps you are right.” Yawning delicately, Hannah backed into her room. “I suddenly feel the need for a rest myself. Good night, dear.”

  As soon as the door shut Kat looked quickly both ways down the hall to make sure no one else was about before she bolted into Jacko’s room and locked the door behind her.

  Everything she needed was right there.

  Chapter 2

  Whatever had possessed him to attend the mill on Berkshire Road, Jules did not know. But he had gone, and he had bet, and he had won a considerable sum on the winning pugilist. Now he was more than a little foxed, back at the Blue Boar Inn surrounded by three young twigs of the ton. They were deliriously happy for his success, giving no thought whatsoever to their own losses.

  “Here, Saville, try this brandy. Quite good stuff,” his new acquaintance, John Thistlewait, slurred, and slid a glass across the table.

  Jules tipped the brandy down his throat, its warmth spreading in languorous fingers through his body. He nodded. “Excellent, Thistlewait. Now, I really should make an early night. I’m for the coast at dawn.”

  “Damn it, Count, just getting to be friends! Impressed with your knowledge of pugilism.” The young lord gave him a roguishly dimpled smile. “Penny and Percy ain’t no company tonight. They’re otherwise occupied.”

  He was correct, his friends were both fawning over the serving wench. Mr. Gladstone Pennington, cravat twisted beneath his right ear, looked ready to pass out, but Sir Percy Allendale was sober enough to hold the wench firmly upon his lap.

  Jules found Pennington and Allendale to be good enough fellows, although he had a suspicion Sir Percy was a sad rattle. Thistlewait he particularly liked. Probably because the youngster reminded Jules of his brother, Dominic, when he was young.

  So, Jules took another long draught of brandy and prepared to discuss the mill in greater detail with the eager young lord and his friends.

  Berkshire Road proved a greater distance than Kat had anticipated. No sound, except her horse’s rhythmic hoofbeats, broke into the darkness. Every mile brought a new doubt. Had she taken the right action? She had to pull it off now, and be back before anyone missed her. It might be fun to meet a real gypsy—if indeed the inn’s proprietress was one. Shouldn’t she be there by now? Jacko’s note! She hoped she stuffed it away somewhere. Oh well, no one would think to look in Jacko’s room until she was safe again in London with her twin beside her.

  Kat caught her breath, half-faint with relief when the low hanging moon finally lit the Blue Boar Inn’s wooden sign.

  She leapt from the saddle, tossing her reins to the postboy. Lowering her voice, she forced a cough. “Rub him down and give him an extra bag of oats,” she mumbled, flipping the boy a coin. Instantly he did as he was bidden without the blink of an eye. The first hurdle was crossed.

  Adjusting her greatcoat and drawing herself to her full height, Kat entered the inn. Male laughter, loud and cheery, greeted her from the taproom. Pulling her hat a bit farther down her forehead, she peered carefully through the open rectangle. A low fire burned merrily in the grate and comfortable-looking high-backed chairs were placed around square tables, most of which were littered with empty bottles.

  Thank goodness he was here! The nagging doubt that she would really be in the suds if she somehow missed him was removed. It was more of a relief than she imagined.

  Penny and Percy were making fools of themselves over some serving girl who was more out of her low-cut blouse than in it. A peal of Jacko’s laughter drew her eyes to another table in a shadowy corner. There he was, her twin, happy as a lark, conversing with great animation to some gentleman who had his back to Kat. He didn’t seem at all familiar. All she could tell was that the stranger had raven black hair and broad shoulders.

  What to do? She couldn’t simply rush into the room and confront her errant twin.

  “May I be of assistance?”

  Kat whirled around at the crisp inquiry. A tiny woman with a worn brown face and grizzly white hair pulled up into an enormous bun confronted her. Could this be Jacko’s gypsy princess?

  “My lord, I didn’t recognize you at first. Didn’t realize you’d gone out again.” The innkeeper’s sharp eyes slowly surveyed the greatcoat that hung loosely upon Kat’s shoulders.

  Shifting it back into place, Kat again drew herself up as tall as possible. “Think I’m coming down with something,” she mumbled as gruffly as she could. “Felt a bit chilly.”

  Kat was not surprised by the old woman’s skeptical smile. It was actually quite unseasonably warm.

  “Lord Thistlewait, I shall have a hot punch sent to your room at once.”

  “My room?” Kat questioned. “Yes, of course, my room,” Kat muttered self-consciously, backing toward a narrow winding staircase. “I will retire to my room.”

  Kat could feel the older woman’s eyes on her as she hesitated on the landing, studying six closed doors.

  “Third on the right, my lord,” the innkeeper called.

  Kat nodded, then coughed several more times. “Send that hot punch right along,” she demanded gruffly, before escaping into the safety of Jacko’s room.

  The flames from the fireplace and a three-branch candelabrum on the bedside table lit the cozy low-ceilinged chamber. The bed, already turned down for the night, looked inviting; the linen felt freshly clean when Kat ran her palm over it. Lavender. The innkeeper had rinsed it in lavender, and the delicate scent permeated the pillows and sheets.

  Kat straightened with a start when a short knock heralded the old woman’s entrance; she carried a tray containing a steamy mug of appealing brew.

  “Here you are, my lord,” she said briskly, setting the tray beside the bed. “This should do the trick.”

  “Thank you,” Kat muttered, trying to move deeper into the corner of the room. Again she was subjected to a quizzical appraisal of her slightly strange attire. “Thank you again, ma’am. That shall be all. Good night,” Kat finished firmly.

  With an almost regal nod, the innkeeper left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  What could she do? Kat really had no other choice but to wait for her twin to come up. She fervently hoped the raven-haired gentleman did not keep Jacko too long;
they had a tiresome journey back to London ahead of them tonight. Even with Jacko to chaperon her, she’d have a hard time explaining her presence here.

  Gratefully sliding out of the unwieldy coat, the only garment she could find in Jacko’s closet big enough to conceal her true identity, she sat on the bed. It didn’t take long to remove the Hessians; they were way too big for her. She’d had to stuff old darned stockings in the toes to keep them on. The neckcloth was tossed, with the greatcoat, onto the chair in the dark corner. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her stomach and undid Jacko’s breeches.

  What a relief! It had been a few years since she’d dressed up in her brother’s clothes to fool their friends. Last time the breeches had not fit so snugly. The lawn shirt also pulled across her bosom so she slid several buttons open. Perhaps Jacko’s clothes no longer fit because she was finally developing some curves like Mariah.

  Much more comfortable, she leaned back upon the pillows. The enticing aroma from the mug tempted her to lift it to her lips. She was most definitely parched from her journey. The punch was surprisingly smooth going down. In fact, it was so soothing that she drank the entire contents of the mug.

  Suddenly her eyelids felt ridiculously heavy. It couldn’t hurt to close her eyes and take the tiniest rest while waiting for Jacko.

  Snuffing out the candles, she settled back upon the soft pillows. Really, it was amazing how tired she suddenly felt; all her former apprehension about Jacko slowly dissolved into a blissful peace.

  Jules found the steps shockingly uneven; his boots kept slipping off of them. Strange, he had not noticed that before. Nor had he noticed how many blasted doors there were in this inn’s hallway. Carefully he counted, his room was the third … on the left.

  “Saville!”

  Jules whirled to turn back and peer over the banister. The hall pitched and spun wildly before coming into focus. Lord John Thistlewait, his golden curls tumbling about his flushed face, stared up at him. He waved the brandy bottle.