Bath Scandal

by Joan Smith

  “Your work?” he asked ironically. “It seems to me, your major involvement in it was to send Gillie off to Mrs. Searle.”

  “I have visited Lady Sappington a dozen times! You must listen to reason, Southam.”

  “I did not issue the challenge. I apologized. My apology was not accepted. I must meet Lord Horatio.”

  Deborah quickly scanned her options. She could see only one avenue open to her, and she knew it was a treacherous one. “If you persist in this folly, Southam, our engagement is terminated,” she announced with awful solemnity.

  He was happy to see her eyes were dry. He inclined his head in a bow. “I am sorry to hear it, ma’am.”

  She turned and swept from the room. The last he saw of her was her skirt whisking angrily upstairs.

  Southam went to the doorway of the saloon and beckoned Beatrice into the study. “What happened?” she demanded.

  “Deborah found out about the duel.”

  “You surely did not tell her!”

  “No, she read Horatio’s note, which I, er, accidentally left open on the table.”

  “But you are not fighting! Horatio accepted your apology. What have you done to change his mind?”

  He handed her Evendon’s note. “The man’s a rock. Nothing pleases him.”

  She quickly scanned the note. “What does he mean by this? Your note is an aggravation of the original offenses. What on earth did you write?”

  “I cannot recall the exact wording. It sounded unexceptionable to me.”

  “I should have known better than to leave you to your own devices. I’ll go to Horatio this very minute.”

  She turned to flee from the room. Southam grasped her wrist and turned her around. “You will do nothing of the sort, madam. I have been at considerable pains to arrange matters just as I wish.”

  Angry sparks flashed from her emerald eyes. “And what is it you wish, Southam, to get yourself killed, or to kill Horatio?”

  “Duels do not always end in a death. Sometimes they denote a beginning.”

  “Horatio is a dead shot.”

  “Tannie mentioned his shooting the wicks off candles in his meadow this afternoon,” he said musingly.

  A gasp of fear issued from her throat, and her white hands went out to him. “Southam, if you have any regard for me at all, please, please don’t do this foolish thing.”

  His hands covered over hers and squeezed as he gazed into her eyes, darkened now with fear. “If?” he asked, his voice rough. “If? You say if to me? You shatter-brained, idiotic, adorable hoyden! I would not be risking my life if I were not insanely in love with you.”

  A smile trembled on her lips, and a soft sigh escaped her. “Thank you for that, Southam. I am glad you said it, before—while you are still able to.”

  “Then I am not imagining that you feel the same way?”

  “I thought I was concealing it rather well,” she admitted ruefully.

  “Ah, but love and a cough, you know, cannot be hidden for long. Now that we have both confessed our sins...” He drew her into his arms and crushed her lips with a searing kiss. Beatrice opened herself to the luxury of that one stolen embrace, made more poignant by the sense of wrongdoing. It was a bittersweet experience. She had finally found the perfect husband, only to know she might lose him on the morrow.

  When Southam finally lifted his head, his eyes looked wild and dazed. He moved his hand behind him and closed the study door, which had been left slightly ajar. “That was an excellent appetizer,” he said, smiling in anticipation.

  She moved from his arms and opened the door wide. “I know what you are thinking, Rawl, and I would like it, too, but with Gillie and Miss Pittfield in the house—to say nothing of your fiancée—it would really be too farouche.”

  “Oh, did I not mention it? Deborah has given me my conge.”

  She read that flash of mischief in his eyes and knew she did not have the whole of the story. Southam had some scheme to avoid death. She gave a tsk of annoyance. “She only did it to lumber me with the job of burying your corpse.”

  Southam followed her to the door. “Very likely, but I do not wish you to go to any undue trouble. A simple winding cloth will do well enough.”

  She put her hand over his. “You will be careful, Rawl?”

  “How can I let him kill me, when I suddenly have so much to live for?”

  “Horatio won’t care a fig for your happiness. He would delope if he knew it would make me happy.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “I hope you know what you are talking about, my darling. A third apology from me would surely break some rule of a gentleman’s code of honor. I cannot permit you to beg for my life. And now I must retire. I have an early date in the morning and require a long night of tossing and turning to prepare myself for it. Say good-night to the others for me.”

  She took a long look at him, fearful that it would be her last. “If you let him kill you, I’ll never speak to you again, Southam,” she said, and smiled sadly.

  “Of course you will. I’ll come back and haunt you. That’s a promise.”

  He gave her a last quick kiss and left.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He didn’t say good-bye to Gillie, Beatrice thought, as she lay in bed, worrying over the duel. Surely Southam would have said good-bye to his sister if he thought he would never see her again. She felt in her bones he had some scheme to save himself, yet he had spoken of risking death. Horatio was shooting the wicks off candles in the meadow. Why practice his shooting if he meant to delope? Sleep was, of course, totally impossible. She listened to the long-case clock in the hallway downstairs chime the slow hours. One, two, three.

  Southam had said an early meeting. How early would it be? Probably long before most folks were up, to avoid interruption. She wondered if the seconds had remembered to have a doctor standing by. There was plenty of time—a whole sleepless night— to visualize the scene. The gentlemen with their dark jacket collars turned up to hide their white shirtfronts, which made excellent targets. They would probably meet above Walcot Cemetery, where the last duel, three years before, had occurred. Duels were not a common event in staid, respectable Bath.

  At four o’clock, a fine rain began to patter against her window. Was that better or worse for Southam’s chances? At four-thirty it stopped. The dueling site would be encased in fog, with water dripping from the trees, to lend the proper lugubrious atmosphere. Beatrice thought she might drive out to the cemetery—but then, there was no saying that was the site chosen. And besides, the dueling ground was not actually at the cemetery, but in some secret enclave nearby. No, there was no point in going. She would suffer the woman’s silent torment of waiting and worrying.

  Her nerves were in tatters when she rose and got dressed at seven o’clock. She went downstairs, wanting only peace and quiet, and was immediately faced with a hostile Miss Swann. Deborah ignored her hostess, as if she were not in the room, and spoke to the servant.

  “I have been ringing for half an hour,” she said. “Why was my bell not answered?”

  “We don’t come on duty till seven, ma’am.”

  “Really!” It was a burst of annoyance. “I want my carriage at the door at eight-thirty. Breakfast in my room, at once.” The servant curtsied and left.

  Beatrice looked askance at her guest. She was glad to see she wore a traveling suit. Bea was in no mood for condescension, but felt some words of farewell ought to be exchanged.

  “So, you are leaving, Deborah?” she said.

  Deborah turned a wrathful face on her. “I would never have come if I had had the slightest idea what sort of woman you have become, Mrs. Searle. I rue the day I sent Lady Gillian to you. I shall not thank you for having me, nor apologize for not doing so. You only allowed Gillian to come here to get your talons into Southam. The more fool he, for being so easily duped.”

  “Are you not concerned that he might, even now, be lying dead?”

  “Not in the least. As i
t will prevent him from making a misalliance with yourself, it is the best thing that could happen to him.”

  “That sounds remarkably like a bitch in the manger. As we are being entirely frank, I have a few things to say as well. You only sent Gillie here because you did not want to be bothered with her. You knew she saw through your stunt of pretending an entirely spurious interest in Southam’s family. You wanted a wealthy, titled husband, but you did not want the duties his family entailed. The best thing I ever did was to show Southam the error of his ways.”

  “Don’t think he’ll marry you! A woman who sullies her name by a duel and travels abroad with a gentleman without benefit of marriage will never be anything but a temporary diversion for a man like Southam. Foolish as he is, he won’t marry you.”

  “There is such a thing as too much propriety, Miss Swann.”

  “How would you know?” Miss Swann retaliated, and sailed out of the door before Beatrice could think of a set-down.

  Deborah was on thorns to get back to Alderton to call on Stuyvesant. Very likely it was love of herself that had caused him to shy off from having Gillian. He, a real gentleman, would sympathize with her in her hour of distress. The naughtiness of her having turned Southam off would lend her a dashing air that might appeal to Stuyvesant. Only a baron, unfortunately, but then, look how high her papa had soared on a baron’s wings.

  Beatrice didn’t take breakfast. While she sipped her coffee, Gillian came down. She was looking out of sorts, although she knew nothing of the duel.

  “Did you know Deborah is leaving this morning?” she asked.

  “Yes, she was just down, saying good-bye.”

  “Why is she leaving?”

  “I expect she is eager to get home to her mother,” Bea replied. She was too overwrought to go into the whole story.

  Gillie heaped her plate from the sideboard, but she ate little. “What is the matter?” Bea asked.

  “What did Tannie want last night when he talked to Rawl?”

  “I don’t know,” Bea said, crossing her fingers.

  “Rawl didn’t say anything to you last night before he left?”

  “Not about the duke.”

  “Tannie didn’t say anything about wanting to marry me, then?”

  So that was it! Bea could not in good conscience encourage the girl. Tannie’s family might very well forbid the match when they learned of the duel. “Did Tannie say anything to you?” she parried. “You spent more time with him than anyone else.”

  “All he talked about was Newmarket. Am I going to be allowed to go to London?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I expect Deborah won’t allow it.”

  After picking at her gammon and eggs for ten minutes, Gillie left the table. She looked precariously close to tears. And she hadn’t mentioned her morning ride, which was unusual. Was it possible the hoyden had finally tumbled into love with her duke?

  At eight-thirty Deborah’s carriage arrived. Beatrice did not go to the door to see her guest off. She had had a fire lit in her study and sat gazing into the restive flames. If Southam was dead, she would put on her caps and become one of the righteous widows of Bath. She would not continue with her annual trips to London. She would give up any thought of marrying again. A marriage of convenience was not an agreeable thought, and loving someone was too painful. There was too much agony along with the joy of love. Better a peaceful, retired life, not caring too much for anyone.

  At nine o’clock, there was a rattle of the door knocker, and Beatrice jumped up. Her heart hammered mercilessly in her breast. Oh, God! If he’s dead—she waited to hear whose voice sounded in the hallway and heard Lord Horatio asking for her. He had wounded Southam then, or killed him, and had come to explain.

  She was galvanized into action, flying out the door like a harpy. “How dare you come here! Get out of my house. I don’t know you, from this day onward, Lord Horatio!”

  He blinked in astonishment, and behind him she saw Southam advancing toward the door. Tannie accompanied him, propping him up. The jacket hanging over Southam’s shoulders had a bullet hole in it, to the left of and above the heart. His left arm was in a white sling, but other than that, he looked normal. His color was high, and he walked without trouble.

  She looked from one to the other. “What happened?” she demanded. “Did you delope, Southam? Horatio, why did you shoot him? Southam, come in here and sit down. Let me look at that arm.” She spoke rapidly, without waiting for answers.

  Southam looked along the hallway toward the door of the saloon. “Is Deborah about?”

  “She’s gone home.”

  “Ah!” He reached out and pulled off the sling. His shirt had a bullet hole matching that in his jacket. A smear of something resembling blood oozed around the bullet hole. “In that case, I am fine.” He shucked into his jacket, moving his left arm in a way that would have been impossible for a wounded man.

  “I don’t understand,” Beatrice said, staring at this miraculous performance.

  They all proceeded to the saloon, the gentlemen exchanging laughing looks as they went. “It is all a hum, you see,” Tannie exclaimed. Being the youngest, he could not control his glee. “We thought Miss Swann would still be here, and we had to convince her there was a duel.”

  “Was there not a duel?” Beatrice asked, frowning at that bullet hole in Southam’s jacket—and there had been a blood smear on his shirt. It made her flesh crawl to think of it.

  “Shots were fired,” Horatio said, chuckling. “I knocked a leaf off a branch, and Southam accidentally brought down a squirrel.”

  “I didn’t even see it. It was hiding,” Southam explained.

  “That’s where we got the blood,” Tannie said.

  “Gruesome! So you deloped,” Beatrice said, trying to make sense of this farce.

  “You didn’t think I’d kill your beau, now did you, lass?” Horatio teased. “It has taken you long enough to find one. I knew by the gleam in your eyes when you came to see me that you had settled on your man.”

  “But you refused to withdraw your challenge.”

  “How else were we to free this lad from his engagement? I did have a few bad moments when I read Southam’s letter. Man of my age indeed! That ‘pusillanimous’ did not sit well, either. But when Tannie explained the situation to me, I understood what Southam was up to.”

  Beatrice looked at her beloved knowingly. “So that is why you sent Horatio that strange letter of apology.”

  “I have apologized more properly to Sir Horatio since then. We agreed we could not have our families become the Montagues and Capulets, when the duke and Gillie are to marry.”

  “If she’ll have me, that is to say,” the duke added humbly.

  “I think she will have you,” Bea said. “She was out of reason cross this morning that you did not speak to her last night, Tannie. Shall I call her down?”

  “If it ain’t too much trouble.”

  “It begins to look as if I am de trop here, unless there is another lady in the house who is looking for a match,” Horatio said.

  Southam looked at him with interest. “There is Miss Pittfield....”

  “Is she a looker?” Horatio asked. He did not remain to find out, but took his leave. “I want the pair of you to marry very soon, you hear?” he said to Southam. “I am too old to be embroiled in duels and scandal broth. It keeps me busy just paying my debts. I have given Southam back his thousand pounds, Bea. Tannie has taken an ugly picture of his great-uncle to cover my Bournemouth losses. I am glad to be rid of it, I can tell you.” He waved and strode off to his waiting carriage.

  Gillie was called and came flying downstairs, too young to conceal her eagerness. “Would you like to go for a drive?” Tannie asked, jiggling uneasily from foot to foot. “You’ll have to handle the ribbons yourself. And mind you don’t put us in the ditch again.”

  “All right,” Gillie said, frowning. This was not what she had expected to hear.

  “You�
�d best get used to it,” Tannie said. “I mean to say, we’ll want to take our curricle to Newmarket, and I shan’t be able to drive for a few weeks yet. You will like Newmarket, I think.”

  “Don’t be silly. I cannot go to Newmarket with you.”

  As usual, the duke spoke in his normal voice. “Could if we was married,” he said. Southam and Beatrice exchanged a disbelieving look at this offhand proposal.

  “It sounds like fun. I’ll think about it,” Gillie said, and went for her bonnet.

  Tannie smiled at Southam. “Said she’ll think about it. Didn’t turn me off, at least. I’ll offer her her own phaeton, and perhaps a new hunter. Well, she’ll have to have one, won’t she? Can’t be riding yours when she ain’t at Elmland.”

  “That might very well turn the trick,” Southam said, smiling at this blatant bribery.

  After Southam and Bea had waved the youngsters off, she suggested they go to her study. “I had a fire built in there. I needed some warmth while I was awaiting word of your execution. If you ever pull a stunt like this on me again, Rawl, I shall not be responsible for the outcome. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I must look like the wrath of God.”

  They stood before the leaping flames. He studied her upturned face. His own expression was dreamy, like a man besotted. “You look charming, as usual,” he assured her. “Perhaps just a trifle puffy under the eyes. And your hair has not seen a brush this morning, if I am not mistaken.” His hands brushed her hair back from her face, then cupped her head.

  “Don’t forget to remind me of my charming crow’s-feet, and the chin not quite so firm as it once was.”

  He cocked his head to one side and continued studying her minutely. It was only the love glowing in his eyes that saved him from abuse, for his words were far from flattering. “Yes, we are getting well past it, you and I, Cousin. We won’t want to waste a single day. I think—a special license and a quiet wedding here before we go on to Elmland. Or shall we indulge in a dart to the border and a wedding over the anvil, to put the cap on our degrading affair?”

  “A special license, please. It is well you are spiriting me away from Bath, for my reputation here will not be worth a brass farthing, I promise you.”