Lady Scandal

by Shannon Donnelly

  He could not help it. He glanced at Madam D'Aeth and stuttered into silence. How did he explain he was avenging General D'Aeth for the dishonor of his wife without implying that the First Consul now also dishonored this woman?

  Taliaris's cravat tightened and he drew in a ragged breath, his thoughts turning fast. Yes, he could mention rape. And an Englishman. He straightened. "I am here under orders from General D'Aeth."

  There—that was an honest answer.

  His expression bored, Bonaparte looked away, studying instead the harbor and the cliffs above it. "You are no longer under his command. General D'Aeth is posted to Santo Domingo."

  Glancing at Madam D'Aeth, Taliaris searched her pretty face for a glimmer of regret or sadness. If she had shown any, he would have spoken. Instead, she bent to the little dog she held in her arms and cooed something at it.

  He clenched his teeth. His mouth dried to ashes. He had been defending nothing. Nothing! The English girl had been right, this woman had used her husband, and now she used France. Why she had taken a dislike to Marsett no longer mattered. But he knew now that she had not even the decency to worry for her husband. Nor had she interest, it seemed, in her own honor.

  He had, however, seen real valor and love in the last few moments. His duty lay clear. He saluted the First Consul. "Sir, your permission to finish matters here?"

  Bonaparte turned, smiled at the woman, petted her dog, and turned back. "Do so. And then I wish a tour of the harbor. I want to know how many men could we station on the bluffs—and how deep is this harbor. Well? Why do you still stand here?"

  Clicking his heels, Taliaris snapped a salute. He turned and strode back to the quay.

  Marsett, Lady Sandal and Miss Edgcot watched him, tense and wary.

  Taliaris strode past his men and stopped before them. "By order of the First Consul I am no longer under orders from General D'Aeth." He stepped nearer to them, and added in English, "I recommend you take advantage of that before the First Consul takes an interest in you and gives me new orders."

  Turning, he barked commands to dismiss his troops. They glanced at him, and fell out, glancing at each other and back at Marsett, puzzled and glowering. But they went.

  Taliaris glanced at the English again. "Why are you still here?"

  Paxten took Alexandria's hand. "We are gone already." He started with her for the docks, but she dragged at him until he had to stop. "Come, ma chére. The tide will not wait. We cannot lose this chance!"

  Alexandria turned to him. "But Diana?"

  Looking back, he saw the girl still standing in front of the captain. And he cursed.

  Taliaris frowned at the girl. "Well? Why do you not leave? Is this not what you want?"

  Diana nodded. "I—well, I thought someone ought to thank you. So...well, thank you."

  "You English have no sense! Go—before I change my mind."

  She smiled. "As if you would. You are a man of honor, I see. That is a rare thing. I hope you never allow the world to take that from you."

  His frown deepened, but he said nothing.

  She glanced towards the First Consul's carriage, and looked again at the captain. Bitterness lay in his eyes. She wanted to ease that from him. And so she said, the words pouring out in a rush, "There are women of honor as well. Please do not forget that."

  The hard look eased from his eyes. "I know. Now hurry! The tide turns for you."

  Smiling at him, she started to walk away. But she thought of her aunt and Mr. Marsett and of regrets for things not done. Stopping, she glanced back.

  Without another thought, she ran to him and threw herself at him, letting him catch her, knowing he would. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him. Kissed him because she wanted to. Because she had felt cheated earlier of his lips. Because...oh, just because.

  He tasted of salt from the air and something else that settled inside her. He held her tight for a moment before he put her on her feet and pushed her away.

  Her smile widened. "This war cannot last forever. And I live in Surrey. In Wellings. At Edgcot Place. And...well, I want you to know, a man of true honor is worth any wait."

  He shook his head and started to speak, but she said first, "Yes, I know—go! Adieu, mon cher."

  She turned and ran from him, but she thought she heard behind her a low, rough adieu.

  Mr. Marsett had a flurry of French with which to scold her, and Aunt grabbed her hand and would not let go. They ran for the dock, and Paxten herded them into a rowboat, almost throwing them in.

  Diana did not notice. She watched the quay and a tall figure in a uniform. And she wondered if something things were fated? Such as her aunt and Mr. Marsett. Or was it all a matter of luck?

  She turned away from the shore to find a fishing boat bobbing on the gray waters of the Channel before them. Glaring at it, she muttered, "I thought we would have a proper ship!"

  Alexandria laughed. She glanced at the disappointment on her niece's face and her last worry faded. She had wondered for a moment if perhaps Diana had conceived a too-sudden and too-rash attachment to that rather handsome captain. But now she relaxed. Diana was young yet. She wanted adventure. This had to be just another part of it.

  Paxten hailed the boat and soon enough a rope ladder fell over the side of the single-masted vessel. They climbed up the ladder, the two boats swaying, falling and lifting with the swells of the ocean. Alexandria's stomach dipped at each lurch, but at last she stood on the deck, Paxten and Diana with her.

  The captain of the boat—a fat fellow with dark eyes and black hair worn slicked back—eyed them and said something to Paxten. Alexandria did not understand his words, but she could not mistake his meaning. She glanced at Paxten, almost ready to cry now, and muttered, "Heavens—the jewels! We have no payment!"

  Diana turned away and seemed to pull something from her bodice. With a smile and a curtsey, she handed a ruby necklace, bracelet and earrings set in gold to the captain. The man held up the stones, squinted at them. He grinned broadly at last, and flourished gestures of welcome and for them to make themselves comfortable.

  Alexandria stared at her niece. Diana smiled, lifted her shoulders in a too-Gaelic shrug, and explained, "I thought it best to go back for them before we left the inn this morning."

  With a grin, Paxten swept the girl into a hug. He lifted her off her feet, realized he should not have for pain jabbed his side, but he spun her about anyway. "You, ma fille, can have whatever you wish to ask of me."

  "You may stop calling me your girl. I shall not be a girl forever. In fact, I think I very much have stopped being a girl on this trip and I ought to merit more consideration. Should I not, Aunt?"

  "Yes, dear. Now would you care to go and sit someplace and watch the waves or some such thing?"

  Paxten watched the girl glance from her aunt to him, and realize the hint. "Oh, yes. Yes, I shall see if one of the sailors will teach me to make knots."

  She took herself off.

  Paxten took Alexandria's arm and led her to the bow of the boat. Waves broke in white crests below them. The wind, sharp and crisp from the sea, blew stinging droplets from the ocean against them. To the right, the sun edged a crescent of orange glow above the horizon.

  Alexandria stood with one hand pressed to her stomach.

  He took her hand. "Ah, no sickness allowed. Trust me—stay on the deck and you'll not have your stomach turning up on you."

  She wrapped her arms around herself. "I shall freeze, however."

  Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms over hers. "That is what I am for, ma chére."

  Leaning against him, she smiled. "Is it done? Really done? Are we safe?"

  "We are, unless we shipwreck, or pirates attack, or we are boarded by an English frigate and taken for French spies."

  She pulled away from him to glare at him. "Paxten! I was looking for reassurance."

  With a grin, he pulled her back into his arms. "We are as safe as we ever are anywhere. Only, I fear, I am not at
all safe. Not from you. Tell me, ma chére, why did you decide that now you cannot leave my side? What changed?"

  Twisting, she looked at him. "Perhaps I changed—or perhaps you changed. Or perhaps it was because I found the freedom to make my choice." She cupped his face with her hand. "Or perhaps I finally found the courage to live up to the name you once gave me—to be your Lady Scandal."

  He scowled at her. "I don't like any of these reasons."

  She turned in his arms so that she faced him. "Do you like the reason that I love you?"

  He smiled and a tightness around his heart eased. "Say that again—I think the wind took away your words."

  "I love you! And I shall say it however many times you wish. A hundred. A thou—"

  His kiss interrupted her. With a sigh, she relaxed into his arms. Pulling back, he grinned at her. "Can not a captain of a ship marry a man and a woman?"

  "Can he? Are you certain?"

  He shrugged. "No. But why do we not let him. We can always marry latter in a church. Or better still, elope so your family and mine cannot scowl at us when we wed."

  She smiled at him, her eyes as brilliant as the sunlight on the sea. "What a scandal that would be."

  Smiling, he tightened his arms around her. "Ah, but, ma chére, I assure you, there will be no scandal attached to the too-respectable Mrs. Paxten Marsett."

  EPILOGUE

  "You do know what they called his mother, do you not—Lady Scandal!"

  The lady in gray fanned her face. "No! Is that so?"

  The matron with a purple turban and satin gown nodded. "Oh, yes. She married a second time—to some Frenchman."

  The young man standing near them who had appeared to be reading from a book now lifted his stare. He had vague blue eyes and blonde hair that darkened at the ends to a pale brown. He smiled at them. "Half French, actually."

  The two matrons stiffened. The one in purple gave him a startled glance, and a shaky smile, and said, her tone stiff, "Lord Sandal—what a surprise to see you at Lady Anderson's musical evening. You are not much out these days I understand."

  "I came for the music. Not the gossip. But if you must talk, do get it right. My stepfather is Mr. Paxten Marsett, he is half French, and with the war ended I expect he may well come back into the titles take from his father in France. You might not want to get on the bad side of my mother if she becomes a countess, you know. She'll be more than Mrs. Marsett then."

  The matrons stuttered apologies, but he bowed, and as he left, he heard one whisper, "Mark my words—he'll be a Lord Scandal, he will!"

  He smiled and went to find his mother. She had gone into the garden—with Paxten of course. He made a good deal of noise crunching across the gravel. Over the years, he had learned how to avoid embarrassing scenes. Not that Paxten ever seemed to be embarrassed about being caught making love to his wife. But mother tended to color up, and Jules found it...well, just a touch distasteful, if he were to be honest. Not the affection between them. But a display of such physical intimacy seemed to him to be a rather vulgar thing he would rather avoid.

  They sat next to each other and near a fountain with a statue of Cupid in the center, merely holding hands when he found them. "I came to say my good nights."

  His mother stretched one hand to him. She looked well, he thought. Still lovely. The silver in her hair no more than an added interesting lightness, and her face lined only by smiles. "What? So soon?"

  "Yes. The music is excellent—so rare to hear a good alto soprano, but the tattle that goes around does wear."

  She frowned. "It is not that again? I vow, Paxten, can you not do something?"

  He shrugged and smiled. "Ah, but ma chére, it would not do for me to call out old dowagers for duels."

  Jules kissed his mother's hand. "Don't worry on my account. It doesn't bother me really, so it should not you. It is just a bore. Good night, Pax."

  With a wave, he continued down the garden path.

  Alexandria watched her son leave. She let out a sign and turned to Paxten. "There must be something we can do."

  Taking her hands, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. Her figure had thickened over the year in ways a man could appreciate. His hands now smoothed over the flare of her hips. "What do you suggest? For it sounds as if you have a plan already."

  She leaned back and smiled at him. "I do. What do you think of Paris?"

  He frowned. "What—did you not have enough of it eleven years ago?"

  "But that is ages ago. And Diana is longing to make the trip again for old time's sale—she is so bored with her life just now, I vow. And we could take Jules as well."

  "And how much will we enjoy ourselves with them along?"

  "Young people can find their own amusements."

  He stared at her. "We are not young still then?"

  "Oh, well, then, I shall say that very young people can find entertainment for themselves. And, thank you, but I would rather not be very young again." Her arms tightened around his neck. "I prefer to be where I am."

  She kissed him then, slowly, her lips lingering over his. She pulled away at last with a sigh.

  He rested his cheek against hers. "I suppose with Bonaparte sent away to Elba, he cannot again spoil things for you."

  "We ought to be grateful to him, really. He did save our lives."

  "He did, ma chére. But I should still prefer to thank him from a distance. However, if you wish Paris, let us go to Paris."

  She smiled at him. "And perhaps we shall have a little adventure?"

  Paxten glanced around them, before he fixed his gaze on his wife. He tightened his arms around her. "Ma chére, the adventure I had in mind was of making love to you under the stars."

  "Did you?"

  "I did. Lady Anderson's garden, I understand, has a most secluded grotto, with water tumbling around that might hide your cries of passion."

  "My cries?"

  "And shadows made so convenient for seduction."

  Alexandria fanned her face. "You are a wicked man."

  "Ah, ma chére, you have found me out."

  She leaned against him, happy, utterly content. "I found you out years ago. And I am so very glad that I did. Now, just where might we find this grotto?"

  He chuckled. "Ah, I can see Paris will be quite the adventure, indeed."

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Napoleon Bonaparte's order to arrest "All the English, from the ages of eighteen to sixty, or holding any commission from his Britannic Majesty, who are at present in France..." appeared in the Moniteur in May 1803. It can be argued that neither the English nor the French were really serious about making a lasting peace when they signed the Treaty of Amiens. England failed to following the terms by not evacuating Malta. France failed with its continual interference in the states of Italy and in Switzerland. And the treaty lacked any trade terms that might have made peace possible. Bonaparte's intentions are perhaps best shown in his letter to his minister, Talleyrand, concerning a note from the English ambassador: "If the note contains the word ultimatum, make him understand that word means war; if the note does not contain it, get him to put it in, on the grounds that we must know where we are."

  England, however, beat Bonaparte to the act by making their declaration first.

  By July 1803, Bonaparte had ridden to Calais, and then to Boulogne, and from there rode along the coast. He was looking for, in his own words, "a very favorable spot for my plans." Those plans were the invasion of England. I've taken the liberty to have Bonaparte first make his trip to Dieppe. Bonaparte was also known for his flirtations and amorous intrigues, and he was not above sending inconvenient husbands elsewhere.

  By February 1804, Bonaparte wanted 130,000 troops in Boulogne. He planned that, "With a good wind we need the fleet for only twelve hours." He did not factor in the English fleet, nor that Admiral Nelson would repeat his other naval success again at Trafalgar. That battle cost Nelson his life, and ended any hope of a French invasion of England.

 
By then Bonaparte had gone from struggling solider to General of the Republic to First Consul for life to crowning himself Emperor of France. He would also go onto other, larger mistakes—such as the invasion of Russia—and to eventual defeat. First by the allied armies in 1814, and then again in the brutal battle of Waterloo in 1815.

  But those are all other stories for other books, including the tale of Diana and her captain.

  For more information on the Regency period and my other books, visit www.sd-writer.com.