Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante

by Bronwyn Scott

  Lilya gasped, enchanted at the sight of it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Encouraged, the jeweller went on, ‘It is straight from Burma and the mines of Mynnamar. If I might, Miss Stefanov?’ The jeweller deftly draped the bracelet about her wrist, but struggled with the clasp.

  ‘Here, allow me,’ Beldon volunteered unthinkingly. He reached out, gently capturing her wrist, and fastened the bracelet, but not without marveling at the feel of her fine, narrow bones beneath her glove. Her wrist was as delicate and slender as the bracelet itself—a perfect match that sent a jolt of unmistakable desire straight to his male core. Beldon stepped back, hoping to distance himself.

  Lilya held up her wrist, the deep shades of the tourmaline catching the light. The bracelet slid towards her elbow. ‘It’s a little big.’

  ‘Links can be removed easily if it’s too large,’ Mr Brown put in quickly, no doubt smelling another sale in the air, or perhaps something else Beldon did not care to give name to. Beldon did not care for the suggestion Mr Brown intimated, that somehow he’d be purchasing jewellery also for Lilya. The assumption carried with it an inappropriate implication about the nature of their relationship.

  ‘It’s a beautiful piece, sir, thank you for sharing it. But I will pass. The bracelet is not in my intended’s style.’ Beldon was careful to emphasise the ‘my intended’ part. It wasn’t a lie. The bracelet was entirely wrong. It was too elegant, too subtle, too rich in colour, for an English rose like Lady Eleanor. The piece needed someone with dark hair and slightly foreign looks to be carried off. The piece needed someone like Lilya. Beldon could not imagine the bracelet on another’s wrist after seeing it on hers and that was dangerous ground indeed. It was time to go.

  ‘I am ready for sustenance, how about you?’ Beldon said, betraying none of the comparisons dominating his mind at the moment. He helped Lilya with the bracelet clasp and returned it to the jeweller. ‘May I interest you in a stop at Fortnum and Mason’s before we head home?’

  Ah, he’d chosen wisely, Beldon thought twenty minutes later. Tea was precisely the thing he needed to restore his balance. He could not recall the last time he’d enjoyed sitting down to flavoured hot water and little sandwiches so much. If he’d been alone, he would have taken refreshment at his club over on St James’s. The meal would have been more substantial, but the company less so.

  ‘You knew more about jewels than I realised. Your taste was impeccable,’ Beldon complimented as they finished their second pot. It was nearly time to go. He could not justify lingering any longer.

  Lilya blushed becomingly, but her eyes darkened and Beldon sensed she was holding an internal debate with herself. Fine. He would wait. At last, aware that he wasn’t going to fill the silence until she spoke, she said, ‘My family dealt in jewels in Negush and, before that, my grandfather was a jeweller to the sultan in Constantinople.’

  The admission stunned him into silence. She said it as naturally as if she’d said, ‘My family own dairy cows in Herefordshire’.

  ‘I never knew’ was all he could manage. Maybe he’d have to call for a third pot of tea after all. One didn’t just get up from the table and leave a comment like that unexplored.

  ‘You don’t talk of your life very much and yet I think your life has been full of fascinating experiences. Certainly, very different experiences than what one has here.’ Beldon held her eyes across the table, wanting her to see the sincerity in his own, wanting to see the veils lift from hers. The more he knew her, the more mysterious she became. There were depths here. ‘I would like to hear about them. You don’t have to forget about them simply because you’re in England now.’

  ‘It is all in the past and sometimes forgetting can be better than remembering.’

  But surely not better than never knowing. Beldon would not be put off. ‘Jewels are not a poor man’s trade. What was your father to the empire?’ He gave in to the inevitable and signalled for another pot of tea.

  Then, just as she had in the jewellery store when he’d deliberately selected the wrong piece, Lilya smiled and took pity on him. In soft tones of confidentiality she said, ‘We were hospodars. Do you know the word?’ Beldon shook his head. Her next words took his breath away altogether. ‘We were princes.’

  The disclosure all but flattened him. She’d been born to great wealth and privilege and then it had all been taken away. This was not what he’d expected. He’d envisioned her raised in modest surroundings, middle class, perhaps, with a merchant father caught up in the intrigues of larger men. He’d attributed her nervousness to feeling overwhelmed by the jewels, out of her element, but clearly that was not the case. Her taste had been far too exquisite and this recent revelation confirmed it.

  She was used to riches.

  Lilya continued and Beldon listened intently for fear that she’d stop and he’d not get another chance to hear her answer. ‘We had our trade, but we also were responsible for collecting taxes for the sultan in our region.’ She shrugged here. ‘Many of the ruling families abused their power in being tax collectors. But the Stefanovs were always fair.’

  She was used to power.

  Riches and power. A deadly combination. And one that might explain the glimpse of worldliness he sometimes saw in her eyes, the way she carried herself with a certain degree of pride and confidence not found in the usual débutante.

  She was not willing to say more and adroitly turned the conversation to his estate, plying him with questions regarding the upgrades and new technologies he was employing for higher crop yields.

  ‘I can see you love your home,’ Lilya said after a while. ‘I think it’s good for a lord to care so much for his people. A good leader is always ready to put his needs aside for the benefit of the people.’ She poured out the last of the tea, only getting half a cup. ‘Oh dear, I think we’ve drunk half the tea in England.’

  Beldon laughed, the austere line of his mouth turning up into an approachable grin.

  ‘You should do that more often,’ Lilya remarked.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Laugh. Smile.’

  ‘I laugh. I smile,’ Beldon protested.

  ‘Not nearly enough. You have a wonderful smile, it was one of the things I noticed about you when we danced at the Fitzsimmons’ ball.’

  ‘And Mr Agyros? Does he have a wonderful smile as well?’ He was stoking the fires again. Lilya looked as if she’d been struck. It was not well done of him. He wished immediately he could take the words back.

  Lilya stood up and gathered her things. Her tone was frigidly formal. ‘If I was not clear then, let me be clear with my gratitude now. I appreciated your interference although it was not necessary.’

  Beldon rose along with his temper. He was angry with himself and this current gambit of theirs made an easy target. ‘My interference? Is that what you call it?’

  ‘What would you prefer I call it?’ Lilya said, undaunted.

  ‘How about “intervention”? “Interference” implies I was sticking my nose where it wasn’t wanted.’

  ‘Perhaps you were.’

  ‘Would you have preferred letting Mr Agyros kiss you?’

  ‘I can handle myself with a gentleman. Nothing would have proceeded without my permission.’ Lilya gave her hair a regal toss. ‘Now, I think it best you take me home. I want to make sure Philippa is feeling better. She was feeling poorly when I left this morning.’

  He promptly left Lilya after a short visit with his sister to assure himself of her health. But his day seemed decidedly empty after that. Beldon had no appetite for the social engagements on his calendar that evening and he opted for a night in, poring over atlases in his library and searching his shelves for books about the Ottoman Empire and the hospodars.

  That night he dreamed of a dark-haired woman wearing only the Pendennys emeralds.

  In the morning, he sent a hurried note to Mr Brown. He’d take the tourmaline bracelet after all.

  Chapter Sixr />
  By the evening of Val’s Rose Gala, Lilya was starting to doubt her ability to avoid an engagement without causing a nasty scandal. A few weeks into the Season and she was worried about lasting until August. When she’d laid her plans, she had underestimated the issue of time. Three months, twelve weeks at the most, had not seemed such a great amount then. She had not realised just how different time was in the ton. Two weeks was a lifetime, three an eternity. The breath of scandal tumbled débutantes from their pedestals at dizzying speeds and courtships were alarmingly accelerated. Life was lived fast during the Season and decisions made even faster.

  Lilya stood in Val’s drawing room, surrounded by her court of guests and all too aware of the subtle change in her circumstances. Two weeks ago, she’d been ably deflecting any marked interest of would-be suitors. Admittedly, some of those suitors had been lukewarm in their attentions, unsure of her suitability. She was not one of them, no matter what the size of Val’s dowry. She understood that, it had worked to her benefit.

  Men might flock to a lovely woman, might even admire her, but she knew in the end some things mattered more than others when a peer contemplated marriage. She’d counted on that. But somewhere in the past month she’d gone from ‘potential’ wifely material to ‘acceptable’ and it was all Beldon’s fault, never mind that he’d made himself scarce since the day at the jewellers’. He’d danced with her on two different occasions. People had noticed and the damage was done.

  Every match-making mama in London knew Lord Pendennys had come to town to take a wife, thus any girl he showed attentions towards must be a decent choice. It followed that any girl worthy of Pendennys’s high standards was worthy of the attentions of others, too.

  The consequence was that her court was now filled with genuine suitors who were definitely looking to take home a wife in August. Among them, Christoph Agyros, who’d not overstepped his bounds since the night at Latimore’s.

  Lilya took a modest sip of the pre-supper champagne Val was serving in honour of the occasion, letting her eyes scan the group around her. Christoph stood beside her in what he was starting to assume was his place of honour. Beldon was notably missing as he had been for the last week. He would be here tonight, she knew. He wouldn’t miss Val’s big party. The idea that Beldon would be here sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She wished she could like Christoph more. There was no reason not to. They had much in common and he was handsome with good prospects in the import-export business. If things were different, he’d be ideal.

  Come now, be fair, her conscience chided. If things were different, she’d still be drawn to Beldon. Different wouldn’t change that attraction, just make it more possible to act upon. In which case, she was better off without ‘different’. An attraction to Beldon could easily lead to a broken heart if she gave her feelings their head.

  She felt him before she saw him, some nebulous sixth sense telling her Beldon had entered the room and gone straight to Valerian. Her eyes surreptitiously followed him. How could they not? He was the finest man in the room. Impeccable in dark evening wear, his hair burnished and smooth in the light, he commanded attention with his very presence. He spoke with Val and then made his way towards her.

  ‘Miss Stefanov, our host has asked me to take you into supper.’

  Her court groaned their mutual disappointment, but could do nothing to forestall the inevitable loss. She took Beldon’s arm and they prepared for the summons to dinner.

  ‘Do you think you might call me Lilya any time soon?’

  ‘Not in public company,’ Beldon replied, his eyes forwards. ‘By the way, you look lovely in green. That gown becomes you.’

  ‘Not just green, celery,’ Lilya corrected playfully.

  ‘Ah, celery. Why not broccoli? If we’re naming colours after vegetables, why stop with celery?’

  ‘But we have.’

  ‘Stopped?’

  ‘No, named. We have named other colours from nature. There’s peach, strawberry, lemon-yellow, grape.’

  ‘Those are fruits,’ Beldon interrupted with mock seriousness. ‘I believe we were talking about vegetables.’

  Lilya laughed. ‘Well, there’s aubergine.’

  ‘Aubergine? Is that all you can come up with? This seems highly iniquitous to vegetables everywhere. Fruits have a clear monopoly on fashion.’

  ‘Herbs, too,’ Lilya put in, warming to the word-play. ‘Lavender, sage-green, mustard-yellow, saffron.’

  ‘Careful, saffron’s technically a spice.’

  ‘Careful,’ she repeated, unable to refuse a final tease. ‘You’re on the brink of a smile.’

  ‘I smile.’

  ‘A reactionary defence.’

  ‘What is? Smiling?’

  ‘Your answer. You’re just disagreeing to disagree. You never smile.’

  ‘I do. I’ve smiled three times at least that you’ve commented on.’

  ‘Maybe you only smile with me,’ Lilya ventured in the spirit of playful sparring, but it had the opposite effect.

  He reached over to cover her hand with his where it lay upon his sleeve, another of his proper but arousing gestures. ‘Maybe I do. What do you suppose that means, Miss Stefanov?’

  There was little of the gentleman in the low-voiced growl. They were doing it again, sparking the thrum of tension that could ignite so readily between them. But to what purpose? This was an exciting but futile game they played. It begged the question whether he played this game with all the females of his acquaintance. More importantly, did he play this game with Lady Eleanor?

  ‘Have you given Lady Eleanor the pin yet?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Not yet,’ Beldon replied, the tight set of his jaw subtly indicating he was well aware of the underplay in their conversation. The butler announced dinner, putting a timely end to further discussion. But the answer was plenty of food for thought throughout dinner.

  Not yet.

  He’d had a week to find the right moment and yet he hadn’t.

  ‘Is there something on your mind?’ Christoph enquired quietly. He’d been seated on her other side for dinner at the long table. No doubt Philippa had thought to do her a favour.

  ‘I was just contemplating the fish but, alas, you’ve cod me at it.’ She smiled, but Christoph merely looked confused. She suddenly felt silly. ‘“Cod”, “caught”—the two words sound alike,’ she explained hastily.

  Beldon would have laughed.

  Admittedly, it was not a hilarious joke, but it was worth a chuckle.

  ‘I see.’ Christoph forced a smile and Lilya felt that he did see, not the joke, but something more—that he’d been compared and come up lacking.

  He was losing her. Christoph wasn’t sure how it had happened. He’d felt they’d got off to a good start a few weeks ago. Since then, he’d danced attendance on her, sent flowers, done all the things a lady liked. And yet Lilya Stefanov hadn’t opened up to him, given him no inkling of her ties to the diamond, which in itself was telling. Lilya shared nothing of her history with him, although he’d given her plenty of chances to do so. He knew no more about her than what was already in the Filiki Adamao dossier. Saying nothing at all did arouse his suspicions.

  Christoph did lay the blame for his lack of headway at Baron Pendennys’s proverbial doorstep. Christoph was man enough to feel the challenge in it. Beldon might fancy himself her protector, but that was not all. The Englishman lusted for her. Those feelings did not go unreciprocated. Whenever Pendennys was present, Lilya’s attentions were riveted in his direction.

  Her choice, to favour the baron over him, was undermining his original plans. He’d decided if she would not be forthcoming about the diamond, he would have to take a different measure and he would do it tonight. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to search the St Just town house. If he could find the diamond, his worries would be over. He would simply steal it and he could forgo any semblance of relationship with Lilya. He would merely fade ou
t of her life, called back to his country by some imaginary emergency. He might even be gone before she noticed the diamond was missing.

  There were only a few places the diamond would be: St Just’s office in a secret vault, assuming St Just knew about the gem’s existence, or in Lilya’s own rooms.

  There was always the chance, too, that if St Just knew about the diamond, the diamond was not on the premises, but in a bank safe under security. That would be his next step.

  The worst case was that the diamond had been left in Cornwall. No, Christoph corrected, worst case was not finding the diamond at all.

  If that happened, he would have to ask Lilya outright and he’d need a believable relationship in place to do it without giving away his hand. Only a woman in love would not view such a question as suspicious. If Lilya’s suspicions were aroused, it would be war, all illusions of courtship banished in the wake of reality, and his mission exposed to the world. He had as much to gain from secrecy as Lilya did, provided she actually possessed the diamond.