A Marriage of Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  She shook her head. She could not worry about that at the moment.

  * * *

  She hesitated once more as she approached the door of the Stephen’s Hotel. Surely it was not what a lady would do, to enter this establishment that catered to army officers. She took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping in to a sparsely decorated hall. There was a desk behind which a clerk stood.

  The man looked up and his brows rose.

  She approached him. ‘I would like to see Mr Campion, if I may.’

  He looked askance. ‘He would wish to know who calls.’

  She had not thought that far in advance. ‘Tell him his pianiste calls.’

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’ The man gestured to an open door on his right. ‘Would you care to wait in the drawing room?’

  Phillipa thanked him and hoped no one else would be in the room. Luckily she was alone amidst the assortment of chairs and couches arranged for conversation. The curtains were drawn and, although the room had more the air of a gentleman’s library, fresh flowers on the mantel and on the tables made it somewhat cheerful.

  The idea of coming here seemed suddenly foolish. How much could it have mattered to simply wait to talk to him that night?

  A man’s voice sounded in the hall and Phillipa hurried to the doorway, expecting to see Xavier.

  It was not Xavier.

  It was General Henson, obviously sneaking a giggling woman through the hall.

  Phillipa’s mother.

  * * *

  Xavier quickly put on his coat and ran a hand through his hair as he descended the stairs, trying not to appear too eager for the clerk’s sake.

  She’d come alone, the clerk said. What could have possessed her to do so? He could only think that something bad had happened.

  The clerk was again behind his desk by the time Xavier crossed the hall to the drawing room. When he walked through the doorway he saw her.

  She simply stood, gazing blankly towards the door.

  He hurried to her. ‘Phillipa, what is it? Has something happened?’

  God help that it not have happened to Rhys. Or Lady Gale, Rhys’s lover. Or any member of her family. He could think of no other reason she would come to him here.

  She did not answer.

  Unless something had happened to her.

  He lifted the netting away from her face. ‘Phillipa! Talk to me.’

  She blinked. ‘Oh, do forgive me.’ She was pale as chalk. ‘I am quite speechless.’

  He gripped her shoulders. ‘What happened?’

  She shook her head as if not believing her eyes. ‘I just saw General Henson. In the hall. The real General Henson. Not a vision.’

  He softened his touch and his tone, but did not cease holding her. ‘The hotel caters to army officers.’

  ‘I know.’ Her voice was breathless. ‘There is more. My mother was with him. They obviously came from his rooms.’

  That must have been a shock.

  His fingers slipped down her arm and grasped her hand. ‘Come. Sit.’ He led her to a sofa. ‘You could not have known that before you came here.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘I did not, but it was why I came, none the less.’

  She told him of encountering General Henson with her mother in her mother’s drawing room. Of her mother professing to know him many years ago. Of the general saying he’d seen her when she was a tiny girl.

  ‘But, this is the thing.’ She touched her scar. ‘He showed no surprise at seeing my scar. People are always surprised the first time they see my scar. So he must have known about it. He must have seen me—and Mama—after it happened.’

  Henson must have been the man on the beach that night. Nothing else made sense.

  ‘I think they were lovers,’ she said firmly. ‘Are lovers, still. They obviously have become reunited.’

  ‘General Henson has not been in town long, I think.’ He realised he still held her hand. He released it. ‘Does it upset you to discover your mother has a lover?’

  ‘Goodness, no.’ She laughed. ‘If any woman deserves a lover, it is she. My father certainly gave her more trouble than care or devotion.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Were you thinking I should have a fit of the vapours? I assure you I have acquired some knowledge of the world.’ She gestured to her face. ‘When nobody looks at you, much can be observed.’

  He felt a stab of pain for her.

  ‘It surprised me to see them, that’s all.’ She glanced away as if witnessing them again. ‘My mother was as giddy and silly as a girl in her first Season—’ She cut herself off and turned back to him. ‘I am the one who feels silly, coming to you like this.’

  He met her gaze. ‘I confess, I feared something much more serious brought you here.’

  From the window, the sun’s rays dusted her chocolate-brown eyes with flecks of gold. Her lips were moist and tempting. Her skin, too, was luminous and so smooth he itched to touch it—

  He stopped himself. Why was it he’d only found one instance to kiss her? Every other time the desire overcame him, she was too overcome with emotion.

  He contented himself to savour her beauty. What a pity people did not look at her. Or if they did, they saw only her scar.

  Her eyes darkened and she lowered her lashes. ‘It was foolish of me. I simply needed someone to tell about General Henson and my mother. There was no one else but you.’ Her lashes fluttered. ‘It should have waited until tonight.’

  He almost touched her again. ‘I do not mind it, Phillipa.’

  She fussed with the netting on her hat and covered half her face. ‘It is the sort of thing one runs to one’s lady friends about, I suppose, but I’ve lost touch with most of my school friends and the others live far away.’

  ‘You have hidden yourself away,’ he said.

  Her chin rose. ‘I have been busy with my music. It has been my passion.’

  He did indulge himself and touched his finger to her chin, but it was as he used to do when they were children and he wanted to tease her about the faintest cleft in her chin. ‘You’ve achieved impressive results.’

  Her eyes widened and she leaned back. ‘Why, thank you, Xavier. I have longed to hear words of approval for my music.’

  He was puzzled. ‘You hear such words every night you play, do you not?’

  She released a breath. ‘They do not know who I am.’

  ‘Should it make a difference?’ He noticed a stray curl escaped from her bonnet.

  ‘The daughter of an earl is not supposed to perform music. At least not in a gaming house. At a musicale, perhaps, but there everyone who plays is deemed marvellous.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I do not think you would lie.’

  ‘I would never lie to you.’ Withhold information, perhaps, but never lie.

  ‘This is all of no consequence.’ She waved a hand. ‘The vision must be a memory, as you have said. General Henson must have been there when I fell. My mother would not tell me such a thing, if he had been her lover. What do you think?’

  ‘It seems plausible,’ was all he could say.

  ‘I would so much rather have a memory than see things that were never there.’ She leaned against him like she used to do when they were playmates. ‘This seems so much like it used to be in Brighton. You were always my friend and confidant.’

  He put his arm around her and enjoyed the moment of comfortable closeness with her.

  ‘I must go.’ She sat up straight again. ‘I presume too much, taking up your time like this with my nonsense.’

  She rose from the sofa.

  He stood as well. ‘Wait a moment. I’ll get my hat and walk you home.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I came on my own. I can leave on my own.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides I do not want my mother to see
you. She might be home by now. I do not wish to endure her questions.’

  He nodded.

  She started for the door but turned back to him. ‘Thank you for being so kind, Xavier. I truly did need a friend to talk to about this.’

  ‘I am your friend, Phillipa,’ he responded. ‘I have always been.’

  She smiled, but did not meet his eye. ‘Good day.’

  He did not want her to leave. ‘I will see you tonight.’

  ‘Yes. Tonight.’

  She turned back to the door, but suddenly ran back to him, throwing her arms around him in a big hug. She would have pulled away just as quickly, but he held her there, against him, and inhaled the jasmine scent of her, relished the warmth of her.

  He released her and she hurried away. He stepped to the window to watch her walk briskly away. She stopped suddenly and pulled the rest of the netting back over her face.

  And he again felt a stab of pain for her.

  Without hat or gloves, he stepped to the door to follow her home and make certain she arrived safely.

  * * *

  That night she sang songs about forbidden love.

  Still thinking about her mother, Xavier surmised. He felt even closer to her than before, even closer than as children, the sort of closeness a man wants with a woman he craves.

  He stood at the back of the room, his usual place, watching her as her long, elegant fingers moved over the pianoforte keys and her voice rang out with emotion. He wished she could remove her mask so he could see the emotion on her face as she played.

  Her music was full of life because she’d put her whole life into it. It made him sad for her, but also appreciative of her considerable achievement.

  He could listen to her for hours, but ought to spare only a few minutes more before attending to the gaming room.

  Daphne sidled up to him. ‘I did not know you had such an...appreciation of music, Xavier.’

  She ruined the moment for him. ‘You do not know me, Daphne.’

  She was undaunted. ‘We have become bosom bows, your Miss Songstress and me. Did you know that?’

  ‘I believe you have said as much before.’ But he doubted it. He inclined his head towards Phillipa. ‘Does she know it?’

  Her lips pursed for a moment, but she turned them up in a smile. ‘You will make me laugh, Xavier, and then I will interrupt the music.’

  He straightened. ‘I cannot remain here and talk to you. I must return to the gaming room.’

  He walked away from her without a second glance.

  * * *

  Later when he came to collect Phillipa for the ride home in the hackney, Daphne stood with her, chattering away. It was difficult to see Phillipa’s reaction under her mask.

  When they were in the coach, he perused her. ‘Have you befriended Lady Faville?’

  She did not answer immediately. ‘She befriended me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Why?’

  She stiffened. ‘Is it so difficult to believe someone would befriend me?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ he assured her. ‘But someone like her—’

  Phillipa drew away from him. ‘Because she is so lovely?’

  ‘You know I do not mean that.’ This was merely causing tension between them. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. She is not the sort to make friends.’

  He dropped the subject and so did she, but they rode in uncomfortable silence the rest of the short journey. He felt like kicking himself. He ought to have let her talk of her mother and General Henson.

  The hackney pulled up a few doors down from the Westleigh town house and Xavier helped Phillipa from the carriage. Just as they both stood on the pavement, the Westleigh town house door opened and a man emerged.

  Xavier and Phillipa stood in the shadows away from the hackney coach’s lamp.

  General Henson walked past them.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day Phillipa rose early to catch her mother at breakfast.

  By rights Phillipa ought to confront her mother about her affair with the general, but she didn’t have the heart. Her mother deserved some happiness, after all.

  But Phillipa’s memory of General Henson and its apparent attachment to her injury were another matter. So when she descended the stairs and entered the dining room it was with a determined step.

  Her mother was already seated there.

  ‘You are up early,’ they said in unison.

  ‘I could not sleep,’ they answered together.

  Her mother laughed, a sound Phillipa had so rarely heard in recent years.

  She turned to the buffet and picked out a piece of bread and jam.

  Her mother spoke. ‘I rose early so I could go to the shops.’ Her tone was defensive. She was lying. ‘I plan to shop all day, so I am certain you would not wish to keep me company.’

  A wave of tenderness for her mother washed over Phillipa. ‘I do not, but who do you take with you? Your maid? Higgley?’

  Her mother lifted her nose. ‘If you must know, General Henson will accompany me.’

  ‘Again today?’

  Her mother crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Yes. Again today. I have not seen him in very many years—’

  Phillipa held up a hand. ‘I meant no criticism, Mama.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her mother relaxed again.

  ‘There is something I wish to ask you, though.’

  Her mother tensed again. ‘Not more about your father and brothers, if you please. I am done talking about that with you.’

  Phillipa chewed and swallowed a piece of bread. ‘Not that,’ she assured her. ‘I wanted to ask you what you remember about the time I fell. When my face was cut.’

  Her mother glanced away. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Curiosity.’ She took a breath. ‘Tell me about it again.’

  Her mother rose and fussed at the buffet. ‘Must I? It was a terrible event and I dislike remembering it.’

  ‘Please, Mama. Just tell me again.’

  ‘There is nothing to say.’ She sat again. ‘You went outside without permission and I found you on the beach. You’d fallen. That is all.’

  ‘What was I doing out there?’ Phillipa had never thought to ask this before.

  Her mother threw up her hands. ‘I do not know. You went out. You confessed not to remember. It was a terrible shock to find you all—all bleeding and insensible.’

  Why had her mother gone out to find her? She’d never thought of it before, but her mother sent servants for tasks like that.

  Her heart pounded. ‘Was anyone else there, on the beach when you found me?’

  ‘No.’ Her mother’s eyes darted away. ‘Enough of that, now. The whole terrible event is best forgotten. I will not say another word about it.’

  Phillipa persisted. ‘Is there anything you can tell me now that you withheld from me as a child? I do wish to know.’

  Her mother busied herself with her food. ‘Nothing. Unless you wish to hear a hideous description of the skin hanging off your face.’

  ‘Spare me that, Mama.’ Her mother was being deliberately cruel.

  ‘You would do better to forget about the past. You need to rejoin society.’ Her mother straightened in her chair.

  This was an old, familiar lecture.

  ‘You are an earl’s daughter,’ her mother went on. ‘For that reason alone, you are a desirable catch for any respectable gentleman, no matter what your age and your—’ She stopped. ‘No respectable gentleman would be unkind to you, because of—’ Again she closed her mouth.

  The word her mother refused to speak was scar.

  ‘There is a ball tonight,’ her mother said. ‘You should attend.’

  Phillipa glanced down at her plate. ‘No, Ma
ma.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her mother stood. ‘I will take Miss Gale with me.’ She flounced out of the room.

  Phillipa rested her head in her hands. Such an attack by her mother had only one end. To force Phillipa’s retreat.

  There was something her mother did not wish to speak of and that something had to do with her accident. These secrets were killing her.

  General Henson must have been there. Her memory told her so. Why could her mother not simply admit it and explain what really happened?

  * * *

  Over the next two days there was no opportunity for Phillipa to confront her mother again. Her mother spent every spare minute with General Henson. Phillipa surmised he spent at least part of the night in her mother’s bed even though she and Xavier never saw him leave again. She held her breath entering the house in the wee morning hours for fear of bumping into him on the stairway.

  Phillipa encountered another worry. Her maid had discovered that she was sneaking out at night. Luckily the girl was loyal. And ambitious. Phillipa paid her well for her silence.

  Since General Henson was with her mother, he did not show up at the Masquerade Club. However, Lady Faville was always there.

  Soon, though, it would all end. Each night that passed brought her closer to the time when Rhysdale would return. That would be the end of her performing.

  The end of her time with Xavier.

  It broke her heart.

  This night as Phillipa took her seat at the pianoforte, she forced herself to be happy for the moment and not think of the future.

  Lady Faville and the steadfast Mr Everard sat at their usual table. She supposed she would have to endure another comfortable coze, as Lady Faville called it, where Lady Faville would prose on about her devotion to Xavier and her determination to marry him.

  Whenever Lady Faville stood next to Xavier, Phillipa was struck anew at how perfect they looked together, that contrast of light and dark. Mr Everard saw it too, she noticed. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at the beautiful pair.

  Lady Faville gave her a little wave and Phillipa started playing. She chose the happiest piece she could think of. Not one of her compositions, which all tended to more wrenching emotions, but ‘La De Belombre’, an old composition for harpsichord she liked because it challenged her fingering.