A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  What must you think of me? she wondered as she gazed up at him.

  “I think you the most delightful of lovers,” he whispered, as he pressed his lips against her sensitive ear.

  She jumped away, shocked by his words and the realization that she had spoken her question aloud. She touched her hot cheeks and avoided his eyes. She wanted to be anywhere but here. And what did he mean by the most delightful of lovers?

  The thought of such a relationship with him brought to mind utterly scandalous visions. Blood coursed through her in shock and thrill. She reined in those emotions. She would not become his mistress. Had her ardent response given him that idea? What a fool she was.

  “My lady,” Mrs. Parker said, stepping outdoors.

  Belle caught the woman’s compassionate gaze. Had she witnessed hers and Lord Terrance’s behavior? Oh, it did not bear considering.

  “Will you ever forgive me for that note?” the woman asked. “I wanted to explain myself, but his lordship said it would be better to surprise you. Instead, I see I have upset you abominably.”

  “I thought something horrid had happened to you or your family,” Belle said.

  The four children laughed and danced around, arms extended, proving her fears false.

  “I see they are fine, as are you,” she said, smiling at the children’s antics. “For that I am pleased.”

  “Something has happened,” Mrs. Parker said with a wide smile. “Something wonderful.”

  She gestured through the open front door to someone inside, and a man stepped out. In his worn cloak and patched breeches, Belle would have thought him uncommonly weary, but his ecstatic smile disabused her of that thought.

  Then, from behind the stranger, stepped Mr. Nightingale. The young man wore a proud expression.

  Belle glanced at Lord Terrance in concern, for he had not been very pleased with Mr. Nightingale lately. Lord Terrance, however, appeared complacent.

  “This,” Mrs. Parker said, recapturing her attention, “is my husband, Mr. Parker.” Her hands firmly clasped in front of her, she seemed ready to burst with happiness. “Your Lord Terrance has made my Christmas wish come true. My husband is home safe with his family. No words can possibly express my gratitude.”

  As tears welled into Mrs. Parker’s eyes, Belle ran over to hug the woman. “I am so glad for you.”

  “And I have my doll.” Little Margaret held up a rag doll by one of its red braids. Then she wrapped her arms around her father’s legs. “I like him better.”

  The other children quickly agreed with that estimation and joined their sister in hugging their father.

  “I am also pleased to be back with Mrs. Parker and my family,” Mr. Parker said. “Getting a job in London was not as easy as I had hoped.” He looked at Lord Terrance, and for a moment looked nearly as teary-eyed as his wife when he said, “My lord, I truly appreciate you giving me another year to pay off what I owe. I promise to make this farm the best in the country next year, even if I have to be out here every hour of every day.”

  “Glad I could be of service,” Lord Terrance said. “And I hope you know that if you need help again, you are to come to me straightaway.”

  “The Parkers know that now, my lord,” Mr. Nightingale said. “The rest of your tenants will know before sunset. I will be on my way.”

  “Will you be attending the ball tomorrow, Mr. Nightingale?” Lord Terrance asked.

  “Ball, my lord?” The man tipped his head in inquiry.

  “My mother hosts a Christmas ball tomorrow, and everyone from the village is invited. There will be food and games, and, I believe, she has arranged for a play to be enacted. As such, there will not be much time for us to speak privately.”

  “Speak about what, my lord?”

  “I have plans for farm improvements. New disciplines I have read about. I want to build milking parlors in Terrance, which will be a better system for promoting hygiene in our dairy farms.”

  Mr. Nightingale’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer, paying rapt attention.

  “I hope you will attend our meeting as well, Mr. Parker,” Lord Terrance added. “No, I insist on it,” he said. “I have some farming theories I want to test out, and I would like to try those techniques on your farm first. I hope you will do me the favor of assisting my agent with this rather large-scale project. Are you both in agreement?”

  “Yes, my lord,” both men said in unison, their smiles widening even more.

  Belle could hardly contain her own smile at their enthusiastic response. She caught Mrs. Parker’s gaze, and they shared a moment of silent understanding before returning their attention to the men.

  “I, too, have some ideas,” Mr. Nightingale said. “I have read good things about four-course rotation for planting crops. Your father did not care to change our current system, but I have it on the best authority, a Mr. Thomas Coke from Norfolk, that they have used this system widely, and it has done excellently.”

  “Bring your notes to Clearview the day after the ball,” Lord Terrance said. “I might send both of you to inspect Mr. Coke’s properties and see for yourselves if it is a profitable operation.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Mr. Nightingale said. He made to leave, then came back to shake Lord Terrance’s hand and then, surprisingly, gave him a hug.

  Belle bit her lip to keep from laughing at the surprise on Lord Terrance’s face and Mr. and Mrs. Parker’s shocked and half-frightened expressions.

  Mr. Nightingale stepped back, his face pale, as if he had been dismayed by his temerity. When he realized Lord Terrance had not taken offense, his shoulders relaxed, and, with a beaming smile, he left, muttering about row planting and turnips and something about phosphate of lime.

  “Shall we return to the manor?” Lord Terrance asked her. “It is almost suppertime.”

  Belle agreed and bid the Parkers goodbye. Lord Terrance helped her mount and then leaped onto Goodwin.

  On the ride back, she remained silent, absorbing all that had happened. Lord Terrance, too, remained quiet, as if what had happened between them were an everyday occurrence.

  Belle did not know what to say. Anything she uttered would confirm that she loved him. How would he react to such news? Would he be pleased or embarrassed? He obviously found her desirable. The most delightful of lovers, he had said.

  After denouncing her during the snowstorm, he seemed to have changed his mind about her motives in coming to Cheshire, and he had just hinted that he wanted her to become his mistress. But could he ever see her as a suitable wife? Not as long as she believed in spirits, she thought with an inward sigh.

  Though she craved his caresses, she was not sophisticated enough to simply be his lover, nor could she bear the disappointment and shame such a union would generate both within her family and his.

  Yet, if she were to admit to him that she loved him, it would make the road easier for him to seduce her. No, she did not believe that. The Lord Terrance she had come to know would be too honorable to take advantage of her weakness. He would want to protect her. Worse, he might pity her.

  That would result in no more stolen kisses. And after the ball, he would see to it that she returned home with her grandfather. That might be the best course of action to safeguard her heart. However, the ghost of Clearview still remained. She could not risk being sent home until she cleansed the manor. It would be best all around if she kept her feelings to herself. Then, once she had rid the house of its haunting, she would leave on her own, with no one aware, except Mendal of course, that she departed Clearview with a broken heart.

  THE NEXT EVENING, while preparing for the ball, Rufus’s valet seemed intent on ensuring that his master outshine every other gentleman present. He produced a fine cambric shirt that hugged Rufus’s frame and enclosed his neck in a high standing collar.

 
Rufus was uncertain whether he could turn his head without poking out an eye.

  A brilliant white waistcoat and black knee breeches from Westin’s had been pressed to a point and flawlessly fitted his figure. Finally, Ellison helped him don a dark blue velvet coat.

  The effusive compliments from the valet, who for once seemed sober and enjoying his work, made Rufus conclude that Ellison was even more anxious about this ball than he was.

  “It is just a dance,” Rufus said.

  “My reputation is on the line, my lord,” Ellison replied.

  Bemused, Rufus left his valet to tidy the room where every available surface seemed covered with discarded shirts, breeches, and cravats, and made his way to the drawing room to await the rest of his family.

  After twenty minutes of pacing, he was no closer to his decision about what to do about Belle. Despite his and Phillip’s efforts for the past several weeks, he had failed to clear his name. And his time was running out. In less than two weeks, the suspicion that he was a murderer would be made public. The way things looked now, he was more than likely to be facing a hangman’s noose than being in a position to declare his feelings to Belle.

  He felt a surge of frustration so powerful it made him want to yell for Felton to check to see if everyone else had forgotten about the night’s festivities. Thankfully, Phillip strode in before he did something so foolish.

  “Sit,” his cousin said, looking well-presented and composed. “All that walking looks tiresome.”

  “Did you see Belle on the stairs?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Mother?” he asked in exasperation.

  “No, and not Susie either.”

  The door to the drawing room opened, interrupting his retort. Rufus held his breath, waiting for Felton to announce Belle. Instead, the butler announced the Marquess of Alford, Belle’s grandfather.

  “Good evening, my lord.” Rufus bowed. His gaze strayed behind him.

  “Good evening, Lord Terrance,” Lord Alford said. “I believe my granddaughter is not yet ready. Ladies, you realize? Cannot rush them.”

  “Of course. My mother and sister have not arrived either. The guests will be here any moment, and there will be no one but us to greet them.”

  “I am sure we will do a credible job, Rufus.” Phillip stood to bow to the marquess.

  “My lord,” Rufus said, “it is good that we have a moment to speak before the ladies arrive. There is a matter of grave importance I wish to discuss with you.”

  “I shall leave you to it then,” Phillip said and went toward the door. “I shall check with Felton that everything is in order for the evening.” He gave Rufus a thumbs-up sign of encouragement behind the marquess before he shut the door.

  The elderly gentleman appeared lean and a little pale, attesting to his recent illness.

  “Would you care to sit, sir?” Rufus asked, concerned.

  Lord Alford accepted the offer with a look of gratitude.

  Rufus took a chair nearby. “My lord,” he said and paused, his throat suddenly constricted. He cleared it and tried again. “My lord, about your granddaughter. I wish to say I have the most honorable intentions toward her. Since she arrived here, she . . .”

  “I had heard that you had your differences,” Lord Alford interrupted. “I hope you realize that I sent her only because your mother is a dear friend, and she was concerned about the manor.”

  “I wish my mother had come to me first.”

  “Sometimes it is easier to speak with those who are not so close about certain”—he waved his hand in the air—“umm . . . things.”

  “Tell me you do not place any credence on her wild imaginings, my lord,” Rufus said, arching a brow. “I forbade your granddaughter to discuss spirits with my family. She has been graceful enough to accede to my wishes.”

  “She has?” Lord Alford asked, sounding surprised.

  “Why, yes. I have high hopes that she might never mention ghosts again.” Lately, he had successfully given Belle other, more earthly desires to occupy her thoughts.

  The old gentleman eyed him askance. “Are we still speaking of my Belle?”

  Damnation! Why was he the only one who did not have permission to address her as my Belle? “Indeed,” he said aloud. “My lord, I hold your granddaughter in the highest esteem. I care deeply for her.”

  “But how can you care deeply for her when you place no credence on what she believes?”

  “What?” he asked in confusion. What was the old man chattering about?

  Before they could finish their conversation, the drawing room doors opened, and his aunt, mother, and sister entered. The two gentlemen stood, and Rufus was astonished by the ladies’ beauty.

  “Aunt,” he said, “as handsomely turned out as ever.” His attention swung to his mother. “Mother, you look . . . well, to put it simply, lovely. And Susie, there will not be a lady present who could rival you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Rufus.” Susie rushed to give him a hug. She seemed to do that a great deal of late. He liked it.

  “Careful, child,” Mrs. Jones said, “or you will ruin all your maid’s efforts to bring you to this point of perfection.”

  Susie smiled and gave Belle’s grandfather a pretty curtsey. “Good evening, my lord,” she said to Lord Alford. “I am so pleased you could come for the ball.”

  “As am I,” he said. “You are as delightful as your mama said, my dear.” He nodded to Lady Terrance. “Constance, I hope you keep well? And thank you for taking such good care of my granddaughter.”

  Lady Terrance took his hands. “Thank you, Alford. Having your granddaughter here has been a godsend. She is adorable. You should be proud of her.”

  “I am, my dear, I most certainly am.”

  “Grandpapa!” Belle said as she appeared in the open doorway.

  Rufus’s breath caught at sight of Belle in her ball gown.

  Her yellow gown fit her upper figure like a second skin, the material falling to the floor and pooling behind her. Her silky bodice lovingly hugged her bosom, while a slip of lace tantalizingly hinted at a deep cleavage. Every man who came to the ball would want to uncover its secrets.

  He wanted to wrap her in her flowing scarf and take her upstairs so no one else would be as entranced as he. Instead, not only would he have to watch other men pay her homage tonight, he was not free to claim her as his own, not while he was still under suspicion for murder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rufus stood back as Belle ran to greet her grandfather. Then the ladies crowded together, all very pleased with each other’s appearance.

  Phillip returned to the room and raised everyone’s mood further with his fulsome compliments.

  Rufus came forward and bowed to Belle. “Good evening. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said and curtsied, blushing.

  “I hope you will save me a dance?”

  Before she could respond, Phillip said to Susie, “As I hope you will save one for me, dear cousin. Rufus and I will be the envy of the ball, leading the prettiest ladies out onto the dance floor.”

  Susie giggled and hugged Belle. “I cannot imagine why I thought I would hate such entertainment.”

  “My lord,” Felton interrupted. “The first guests arrive.”

  “Then we had best form the reception line.” Rufus led his family to the foyer, while Belle and her grandfather walked into the grand ballroom.

  Once everyone had been received, Rufus inspected the various ballrooms and listened to the happy chatter. The house overflowed with guests. He could not take in the change. Where once Clearview had been dour and gloomy, now its rooms sparkled in bright candlelight and sang with cheer.

  The green ballroom was filled with villagers who welcomed him as if he were thei
r best friend. No one ran and hid as he approached. News about the Parkers had apparently traveled among the villagers, elevating their opinion of him.

  The weight of his father’s disappointment in him withered under the villagers’ uninhibited approval, as one man after another shook his hand and voiced support for his plans to rejuvenate the farms and properties around Terrance Village. Many had ideas for improving their establishments, which they wanted to speak with him about. Rufus called Mr. Nightingale to his side, and as he moved about the room, he instructed his agent to take notes.

  He was still mingling with the villagers when Lady Terrance entered the green ballroom, and everyone grew silent. She carried a mask and wore a cape to portray her as a doctor. Right behind her came a green, scaly dragon puppet born by three village women. Laughter erupted.

  Rufus watched in astonishment as his mother and the dragon women proceeded to entertain everyone with a unique rendition of the old play, Mysterie of St. George. He could not contain his smile at her and her friends’ antics.

  He leaned against the wall, his gaze fastened on his mother’s happy countenance. She thrived on these people’s affection for her. How long had his father denied her this contact? Certainly as long as he could remember. And why? Because of some silly rule about the behavior of a lady of the manor?

  He was about to quit the room, when a heavy-set man waved to catch his attention.

  “Milord,” the man said.

  “Yes?” This gentleman looked familiar, and he sought to remember where he had seen him. Ah, yes. The day Belle arrived at Clearview, this man had accompanied her. He was also the baker who had made him dessert the day Brindle died.

  “Pardon me boldness, milord,” the man said. “Allow me to introduce meself. Ah am Mr. MacBride, the local baker. Ah consider Lady Terrance, yer mother, a good friend, if ah may be so presumptuous.”

  “Any friend to my mother is a friend to me.” Rufus held out his hand. “I believe I have tasted your pastry. You bake a wonderful lemon tart.”