Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals)

by Janice Preston

  Mr Temple might have no qualms, but Thea found herself hoping Mannington would show up, as Vernon predicted. Her jealousy battled to break free. Hearing the familiar way in which Vernon called the heiress Cordelia burned in Thea’s chest and, before she knew what she was doing, she was standing in front of Vernon, gazing up at him. Would he kiss her again? Give her some sign that she meant more to him than just a funny little kitten to amuse himself with?

  His eyes darkened and he swayed towards her. Her lids drifted shut and she tilted her face to his. She heard a groan and peeped through her lashes. His gaze was still fixed upon her face but then, as she watched, every plane of his face hardened and, taking her by the shoulders, he set her aside and strode past her to the door.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘I shall see you in the morning.’

  * * *

  The following afternoon Cordelia Temple, charmingly dressed, with a white lace parasol over her shoulder, joined Vernon as he waited patiently by his curricle for her to appear.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lord Boyton.’

  ‘Miss Temple.’ Vernon bowed. ‘How very charming you look today. However...’ He glanced at the sky. It was still blue, with fluffy white clouds, but from his bedchamber window he had glimpsed black clouds massing in the west. ‘I fear you might have more need of an umbrella than a parasol. We shall be wise not to venture too far today.’

  ‘I am thankful for any opportunity to pass the time whilst my father is occupied, Lord Boyton,’ Cordelia said. She lowered her voice. ‘Even if I do suspect your main purpose was to rile our mutual friend, Mr Mannington. Who, I must tell you, is now especially displeased at being thwarted by Pops.’

  The laughter in her eyes belied the censure in her words. Vernon handed her up into his curricle and—aware that Henry Mannington stood nearby talking to Samuel Temple—he brushed the back of her gloved hand with his lips before releasing it, conscious of Mannington’s glare boring into him. He had ridden into Worcester, as Vernon had predicted, in time to accompany them on their drive. Samuel Temple, though, had forestalled him—begging to discuss the ‘unmissable’ business deal Mannington had spoken of last night.

  A slight movement from above caught Vernon’s eye. A curtain twitched at an upstairs window and his heart sank as he caught a glimpse of Thea’s red curls as she turned away, her hand to her mouth. She had made no secret of her contempt for the game of flirtation he played with Cordelia and, despite his reassurance it was merely a game, relations between the two of them had been strained when they met over the breakfast table that morning.

  He tried to push Thea from his thoughts. He must concentrate on Cordelia.

  ‘And what about your feelings, Miss Temple? Are you sad that your faithful swain will not accompany us?’

  ‘Oh, I shall see plenty of Mr Mannington in the next two days, my lord. He is throwing a house party at Crackthorpe Manor from tomorrow and, not only are Pops and I invited, we are to be guests of honour and are to be introduced to more of his business associates. Pops is thrilled at the opportunity to cultivate more useful contacts over here.’

  A bad feeling was forming in Vernon’s stomach. He liked the Temples and he did not want to see either of them hurt, but he was not yet in a position to confront Mannington or to confide his distrust of the man in the Temples. He could furnish no proof and he still had no clue what had happened to Daniel. For now all he could do was gain Cordelia’s trust in the hope she would believe him when he warned her against Mannington.

  He was aware that both Samuel Temple and Mannington were now behind him and within earshot.

  ‘Miss Temple, I am distraught,’ he protested, pressing his left hand to his chest. ‘How shall I survive without your presence for even one day?’

  ‘No need for you to be left out, m’lord.’ Temple slapped Vernon on the back as he spoke. ‘I’m sure you can squeeze one more guest in, eh, Mannington?’

  Vernon turned and looked directly at Mannington, raising his brow. Again, only the minutest twitch in one eye betrayed the man’s ire.

  ‘But of course.’ He inclined his head. ‘You are most welcome to join us.’

  ‘That is most gracious, Mannington, but I am loath to leave my nephew alone in a public inn overnight.’

  Satisfaction gleamed momentarily in Mannington’s eyes.

  ‘However,’ Vernon continued, ‘I shall be delighted to join you for your daytime activities and for dinner, of course.’ He smiled. ‘I look forward to it with great anticipation.’

  It’ll be an ideal opportunity to snoop around.

  He smiled at Cordelia and bowed again.

  ‘It seems I am not to be deprived of your company after all, Miss Temple. You see before you a happy man.’

  ‘Well, well, that’s all sorted. We’ll see you later, Delia, m’lord. Come along, Mannington...’ Temple slung his arm across Mannington’s shoulders and urged him back to the inn ‘...and tell me again how this investment works.’

  Cordelia chuckled, bringing Vernon’s attention back to her. ‘It is fortunate for you, my lord, that I am not so easily duped by compliments and sweet smiles,’ she whispered, ‘particularly when the minute we are on our own your manner is more that of an uncle to a favourite niece than a beau.’

  They had strolled down to the river and back that morning, and Vernon had deliberately refrained from any behaviour that could be construed as courtship. Instead, their conversation had centred on London society to help Cordelia prepare for her sojourn in the capital in the autumn.

  Quite apart from anything else, she was far too young for his taste. Why, she could only be a year or two older than his niece, Olivia. Far too young. And besides, he only wanted Thea.

  He swallowed. He had lain awake half the night trying to unpick his feelings and then one simple question had given him his answer. How would he feel when the time came to say goodbye? He did not have to puzzle over the answer to that. He never wanted to say goodbye.

  Vernon rounded the curricle and climbed on board, nodding at Bickling, who was at the horses’ heads, to release them. The blacks, eager to get going, pranced on the spot until Bickling hopped on behind and Vernon eased his hold on the reins. They set off, heading towards the bridge over the Severn.

  ‘Well, I am old enough to be your uncle and my behaviour is called being a gentleman,’ Vernon said. ‘You deserve to be treated as a lady and you must remember that when you go to London. I know you are aware you will be a target for fortune hunters, so my advice is: do not be fooled into going anywhere alone with a man. There are scoundrels in all walks of life, including the ton. If you have doubts, never be afraid to say No. A decent man will respect you for it and you need not concern yourself with what the other sorts might think.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Vernon.’ Cordelia nudged him with her elbow, laughing, and he smiled down at her.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ she continued, ‘I am grateful for your advice about how to behave in London. I am sure without it I should end up breaking all kinds of unwritten rules, there are so many to abide by. You men do not know how lucky you are.’

  ‘That is true,’ Vernon said. ‘But you are a sensible—’

  A fork of lightning lit the sky and, after a tense pause, they heard a grumble of thunder ahead of them. Bruised purple clouds roiled over the horizon, building higher by the minute.

  ‘The storm is a few miles away yet,’ Vernon said, ‘but we will not go too much further. I understand the river here floods quite readily and it is still high from the heavy rain last week.’

  He felt Cordelia shudder and he glanced at her.

  ‘Are you scared of thunder? Do you wish to return now?’

  ‘No, it is not that. I was remembering that poor young man who fell into the river last week. They never did find his body.’

  Vernon’s heart se
ized in his chest.

  ‘What young man?’

  ‘Nobody knows who he was.’ She bit her lip. ‘Pops and I...we saw it happen.’

  Another flash of lightning forked from the sky, followed by another crash of thunder. Closer now.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I do not know much more. It had been raining for days and, when it finally stopped, we walked down to the river. It was quite a sight, several people were on the bridge, watching the torrent. Papa said he noticed the man ride across the bridge from the city end. His horse was light grey and it caught his eye because it looked like it had been ridden hard. Then, not long after, people started shouting and screaming and pointing. The sky was still dark with clouds. We could not see clearly...it was all a blur...there was a scuffle on the bank and, next thing, a man was in the water. He was swept away so fast. Someone on the other end of the bridge said the other man had stabbed him, before galloping off on a dark-coloured horse. They formed a party to search along the river, but found nothing. It was horrible. Pops reckons they were drunk.’

  Sorrow gathered—a solid lump in Vernon’s chest—as Thea’s face surfaced in his mind’s eye.

  Cordelia frowned. ‘You look troubled.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sent the blacks up the road at a brisk trot, looking for a place wide enough to turn. ‘I apologise, but I must cut our drive short. I need to return.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cordelia replied. ‘I am sorry. Did you...do you think you know that man?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  Vernon cursed himself. He had deliberately not said Daniel was missing when he had enquired after him around Worcester, worried that word of his search would reach Mannington. If only he had said, someone before now might have mentioned the drowning of a mysterious stranger.

  ‘What happened to his horse?’ That had been Thea’s hope from the start, that Daniel’s horse had not found its way home.

  ‘No one knows. It ran off in all the confusion.’

  A crossroads loomed ahead and, although there was not much room, there was enough to effect a turn.

  ‘May I ask a favour of you?’ Vernon manoeuvred the curricle and pair into a tight circle.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Please do not mention my interest in that man—not to your father, not to anyone. I cannot explain more now, but I need to keep my connection to him a secret, just for a short while.’

  ‘It is your business, my lord. I shall say nothing.’

  Vernon threw her a grateful smile. She really was a remarkable young lady...so young and yet such a level head on her shoulders. Did that come from growing up in America? Or from the travelling? Or both?

  ‘Bickling,’ Vernon spoke over his shoulder, ‘that goes for you, too. Not a word. We shall say we turned around because of the storm.’

  ‘Very good, milord.’

  They completed the remainder of the journey in silence, Vernon in a fever of impatience. He would seek out the constable and find out more about this drowning and then...reluctance crept through him. Once he had more details, it would fall to him to deliver the bad news to Thea and shatter her world. That lump of sorrow threaded through with dread rose up to fill his throat.

  * * *

  Thea felt better once she’d indulged in a little weep after seeing Vernon kiss Cordelia’s hand when he handed her into his curricle. The incident had brought all her insecurities to the fore. She lay on her back, staring at a dark patch on the ceiling above her head, and tried to put her thoughts in order. Vernon had spent most of today with that woman...that girl...walking with her that morning and driving her around even though thunder threatened. He said he must gain her trust and Thea did believe that...but she also knew he must be bored with only her—a scrap of a woman dressed as a boy—for company. Why wouldn’t he prefer the society of an American heiress who made him laugh?

  She was younger than Thea: prettier, taller, curvier. And more fun. And much, much more suitable for Vernon than the daughter of a glassware manufacturer who even Bickling could see was not his type.

  A flash of light illuminated her room, followed a minute later by an ominous rumble.

  I hope they get soaked.

  Thea swiped at her tears. It was easy to be fun when your father was rich and indulged your every whim, and when your only brother was not missing. She scrubbed her hands over her face. What did it matter? There was no point in worrying about her complexion, or her red eyes, or the mouth that—these days—had a permanent droop. She could do nothing to improve her appearance even if she wanted to. And Vernon wouldn’t notice if she did. He had not kissed her again last night, even when she had blatantly offered her lips, and today he had spent as little time alone with her as possible.

  And you do not help by scolding him and nit-picking whenever you are together.

  Can I help it if he irritates me? With his teasing ways and his flirting with Cordelia and his, ‘Stay out of sight as much as possible, Dotty. We don’t want Mannington seeing you.’ Hmph! What he really means is: Stay out of sight so I can romance dear, sweet, clever Cordelia.

  Another flash, this time followed more quickly by a clap of thunder. The storm was nearing, the air thick and oppressive.

  She should be happy for him. They would no doubt suit very well, with each of them in possession of a vast fortune, and Vernon in possession of that all-important title—

  She sat up at the rap on the door, that bitter inner conversation stumbling into a silence that echoed frighteningly in her head. No one apart from Vernon ever came to her door at this time of day. Vernon was out. Horwell? She found herself praying it was the innkeeper, because the other face that hovered in her imagination was that of Henry Mannington, who she knew was here, somewhere, in this inn.

  Rap! Rap!

  Lightning flared again.

  Thea scrambled from the bed and ran lightly to the door. She waited for the thunder to die away before putting her ear to the wood.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Me. Are you decent? We need to talk.’

  Vernon. Why is he back?

  Thea fumbled with the latch and pulled the door open, walking backwards so she remained hidden from anyone else outside. If he had brought that Cordelia... She caught sight of his expression and, again, her circling thoughts slammed to a halt. Her temples throbbed. Her heart climbed into her throat, her stomach clenching in fierce dread.

  ‘You have news.’

  She stumbled to the bed and, clinging to the corner post at the foot, she pivoted and slumped on to the mattress. Their charade would be over soon, but first she must bear what Vernon had to tell her. She wanted to run away, to ram her fingers into her ears—she already knew the worst without listening to the detail. But she would not. She owed Daniel that much.

  ‘Tell me.’ How steady her voice sounded when all she wanted to do was scream and scream and scream and then curl into a ball and never wake up. Never have to deal with the truth.

  He came and sat next to her, on the edge of the mattress, his legs wide, elbows on knees, forearms dangling between. His head was bowed.

  She found the strength to say, ‘The news is not good.’ A small part of her marvelled that, even now, she cared about easing his task. ‘Tell me the end, then tell me the details. I need to know.’

  His back expanded as he sucked in a breath, then he looked her in the eyes. Put his hand to her cheek.

  ‘I am so sorry. It seems Daniel fell into the Severn during an altercation. He drowned.’

  She willed herself not to cry. There would be time, soon, for tears. Now, she needed to know. She shuddered and Vernon’s arm slipped around her, pulling her close, supporting her with his strength and his vitality. She leaned into him, relishing his warmth.

  ‘Tell me. Please.’

  He told her wha
t Cordelia and her father had seen, and that he had spoken to the constable who told him that descriptions of the assailant varied wildly and the only detail all the witnesses agreed upon was that he was dressed as a gentleman and that he’d had a knife. The constable doubted they would ever discover his identity.

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day Daniel went missing.’

  ‘But we cannot know for certain it was Daniel.’

  ‘Mr Temple noticed a young man of Daniel’s age ride across the bridge on a light grey horse. He said it was sweat-stained. It had been ridden hard. It was that man who fell in the river.’

  ‘You said during an altercation? Who with? Was it Mannington?’

  ‘Nobody knows. The light was failing and no one was certain exactly what happened.’

  ‘But...’ There was a straw of hope and Thea grabbed it. ‘Daniel can swim. He—’

  ‘Hush, sweetheart. There had been heavy rain—do you remember? In the early part of last week? The river was brimming full and turbulent. The constable told me that if a man fell into the river in full spate, he would almost certainly drown.’

  The sobs began deep down, deeper inside her than she believed possible. Deep, racking sobs that wrenched her stomach, robbed her of air, left her gasping and juddering as they scraped her throat raw. Dimly, she felt herself gathered into a strong, familiar embrace and she pressed her face into Vernon’s chest and allowed all her pent-up misery and fear and despair to escape the shackles that had kept them buried ever since Daniel had failed to return home.

  Chapter Twenty

  Finally, Thea slept. Carefully, inch by inch, Vernon moved to sit with his back propped against the headboard and his legs stretched along the bed, Thea cradled on his lap. At some point, as the day outside grew dim and the noise from the bar downstairs grew louder, there was a tap on the door and Bickling popped his head around. He held a lighted candle that illuminated his expression and Vernon answered the questioning lift of his brow with a nod.