“What the devil?” he muttered, shifting as Tristan came up beside him.
“Brendale?” the viscount suggested.
“He would have gone straight to the Academy, and he’s not due till Friday at the earliest.”
A footman pulled open the door of the lead coach. A dainty pearled slipper peeked into the doorway, followed by a second shoe and a pearl and blue muslin gown. A white gloved hand fluttered out, and the footman gripped her fingers as she stepped to the ground. The conservative blue bonnet tipped upward, exposing the woman’s face to their view.
“Good God,” Tristan murmured.
His jaw clenched, Grey muttered a quiet curse and stalked to the front door. He stopped on the top step. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“I’m pleased to see you again, too, son.”
For a moment Grey felt as though he was five years old and had just pushed his cousin Georgiana into Wycliffe Park’s pond. Frowning, he came down the steps to take the tall woman’s hand. “Mother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her pale cheek.
“Much better, Grey.”
“I thought you still in London.”
She returned the kiss. “Obviously. You’ve gotten sneaky as you’ve matured. I would never have expected to find you in Hampshire.”
He inclined his head, offering his arm to escort her into the house. “That was the very reason I chose to come here.”
“So I thought.” Her pale gray eyes found Tristan, lurking behind one of the towering porticos which lined the entryway. “Dare, escort my companion.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “Which companion would that be?”
“Whom do you think, Lord Dare?” a second female voice drawled.
Grey stifled a grin as Tristan stiffened. His mother apparently intended on torturing both him and his main accomplice. “Cousin Georgiana,” he said.
The tall young woman, her curling blonde hair in a fetching knot at the top of her head, curtsied, graceful as ever in a soft green gown that matched her eyes. “Grey. How delightful that you’ve chosen to disrupt the Season so thoroughly.”
“I’m surprised you allowed yourself to be dragged into this.”
Light green eyes slid over to Tristan and back. “It wasn’t by choice.”
The viscount cleared his throat. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go down myself in the duck pond.”
Georgiana bent down and picked up a rock. “Here,” she said, handing it to Dare. “This should help.”
While Tristan made his escape, Grey returned his attention to the entourage. “Mother,” he murmured, his gaze following his cousin as Sylvia and Alice came forward to greet her, “what are you doing here?”
The duchess leaned against his arm. “I was under the impression that you were going to offer for Caroline. Imagine my surprise when instead you vanish without a word to anyone, while at the same time Caroline claims ill and flees to her father’s estate in York.”
She didn’t know the half of it. “Where did you hear I was going to offer for Caroline?”
“From Caroline, of course. You never tell me anything.”
“Especially when there’s nothing to tell. I never had any intention of becoming leg-shackled to that devious b—”
“So it’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“Where are Dennis and Regina?” the duchess asked, allowing her son to lead her up the front steps and ignoring his question.
Grey shook himself. “They went into Basingstoke after luncheon,” he said, guiding his mother inside and instructing Hobbes to have two additional bed chambers prepared for the new guests. If she didn’t wish to answer, he could wait.
His mother kept her light grip on his arm throughout their tour of the manor and all the group’s bantering small talk, and didn’t set him free even after he led her to her guest room.
“Georgiana,” she said to her companion, “will you please see if anyone at Haverly knows how to brew peppermint tea?”
“I’ll see to it myself, Aunt Frederica.” With a sideways glance at Grey, she disappeared back down the hallway.
The duchess glided into her small private rooms. “Grey, come open the window for me.”
He complied, unsurprised when she took the opportunity to close the door behind them. Servants had stacked a half dozen trunks against the room’s far wall. Obviously Her Grace intended on staying for awhile.
“All right, I’m listening,” he said, leaning back against the window frame.
The Duchess carefully removed her bonnet. “Georgiana heard that you stripped Caroline naked in the middle of Almack’s coatroom, found her wanting, and sent her away.”
“The stripping was her idea, but otherwise the tale’s fairly accurate.”
“So you fled to Hampshire? That’s not like you.”
“I left London because I was tired of all the damned females who find it necessary to trap, trick, and lie in order to drag me to the altar.” He scowled. “I had intended on returning already, to inform cousin William that as far as I’m concerned, he can have the title and all the accompanying headaches when I die, because I’m not going anywhere near an altar for the rest of my life.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Then why didn’t you return and tell him?”
“Because I made a wager,” he said. “One which I intend to win.”
“A wager? That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear, then?”
“That you’ve been conducting some sort of affair with the headmistress of that girls’ school. You and Dare both, actually. You’ve been sharing her.”
Grey swore long and loudly. “That is not even remotely…” he growled, belatedly slamming the window shut when he caught sight of one of the gardeners staring up at him in surprise. “Damnation!”
“You already used that one, dear.”
He needed to tell Emma. The gossip was even worse than he’d realized, and the situation infinitely more serious. It wasn’t just a few parents whose concerns needed to be allayed; it was London, destroying the reputation of a fine school and a finer woman.
“Grey? You’re muttering.”
He shook himself. He needed to make this right. If he had to tell Emma the worst of the rumors, he also wanted to be able to tell her that he’d found their source and stopped them, and that everything would be all right. “Where did you hear this?” he asked.
His mother sat on the edge of her bed. “It’s everywhere.”
He strode up to her. “It started somewhere,” he snapped. “Who told you?”
“Grey—”
“Who?”
“Georgiana told me.”
The duchess looked startled, and he couldn’t blame her; he’d had messy affairs before, and he’d never been upset about the ensuing gossip and exaggerations.
“Excuse me then, Mother. I need to speak with Georgiana.”
He headed downstairs, looking for his cousin. Georgie was one of the few females he could tolerate, but in the mood he was in, she’d best have used her famous insight to figure out where the damned rumors had originated.
“Your Grace,” Hobbes said, intercepting him at the bottom of the stairs. “I was just coming to inform you that you have callers.”
Grey stopped. “Callers?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I showed them into the library while I inquired whether you were available.”
Wonderful. Probably Mr. Brendale and half the fathers of the Academy had arrived. “Are they armed?” he asked, turning for the library.
“Armed? N…no, Your Grace. Not that I’m aware of.”
Grey pulled open the library door and stepped inside. And stopped.
His students—all five of them—stood ranged in a loose semi-circle facing the doorway. They may not have been armed, but they looked bloody determined about something.
“Where’s your chaperone?”
“We escaped.” Lizzy stepped forward while the oth
ers closed ranks behind her, precise as a military battalion. “Why is everyone trying to hurt Miss Emma?”
For a moment Grey had a vision of what Haverly would look like if every female he’d ever insulted or wronged appeared on the doorstep. It was getting crowded already. “I’m in something of a hurry at the moment. I’ll explain things later.”
Jane shook her head. “No. We want to know now. If you don’t tell us, we won’t help you win the wager.”
For God’s sake, the little midgets were trying to blackmail him. “It’s complicated.”
Her fists coiled and her eyes floating with tears, Lizzy glared up at him. “My mother wrote me a letter and said Miss Emma was a…a wanton strumpet who should have known better than to allow a rake like you anywhere near her. You said you were the good kind of rake, Grey.”
Looking into Elizabeth Newcombe’s innocent brown eyes, he wanted to confess everything—and he didn’t even know what he would be confessing to. “Lizzy, I can’t tell you right now. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Then we don’t want to talk to you anymore. We don’t like you anymore.”
“And please don’t come to the Academy again,” Jane added. At her gesture, the girls lined up to leave.
“As you wish.” With a stiff nod he opened the door for them. “Did you walk here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have the barouche hitched up.”
This time it was Mary Mawgry who faced him. “No, thank you, Your Grace. We prefer to walk.”
“Very well. I understand.”
Georgiana leaned into the doorway as the girls trooped down the hall to the front entry. “What was that all about?”
“Those were my students,” he said, moving to the window. He couldn’t see the drive from there, and stifled a scowl at the realization that he would miss the little chits. It would work out. They wouldn’t hate him forever.
“‘Were?’” his cousin repeated.
“I think they just dismissed me.”
“Ah.”
Grey glanced at her, seeing the amusement in her eyes. “That’s just between us.”
She nodded. “Certainly. Your mother said you were looking for me.”
He gestured her inside and closed the door again. “I need to know where you think the rumors about Emma Grenville and myself originated.”
“And Dare. Don’t forget that he’s a part of your menage à trois.”
“Georgie, I know you don’t like Tristan, but this really isn’t about him. Please.”
Georgiana studied his face for a moment, her green eyes thoughtful. “I heard it from a half dozen people. Since we’re related, everyone thought I should be able to confirm your involvement.”
“Georgi—”
“I’m getting to it, Grey. The most interesting conversation I had was with some woman I barely know—a Mrs. Hugh Brendale, I believe. She said she’d received a horrid letter about her own daughter’s headmistress. I asked to see it, and she actually showed it to me, the ninny. It was anonymous, of course, but it was franked in Hampshire.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Only a member of Parliament can frank…” Abruptly it made sense. “It came from here. From Haverly.”
“That would be my guess.”
“Thank you, Georgiana.”
She drifted forward and went up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his cheek. “You always provide so much entertainment, Cousin.”
“Ha. I haven’t started yet.”
He hadn’t franked any correspondence but his own, and he doubted Tristan had. Since neither Dennis nor Regina would send out any correspondence condemning Emma, that left his uncle franking letters for either Blumton, Alice, or Sylvia. And he had a very good idea which of them it was.
“Do you think we were too mean to him?” Julia asked, nearly falling down as she looked over her shoulder for the hundredth time.
Elizabeth scowled. She felt the same way, but it was his own fault. “We all agreed to make certain he knew we were mad at him.”
“But he said he would explain it. We didn’t give him a chance.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re in love with him.” Lizzy jammed her hands into the pockets of her pelisse and kept walking.
“I am not in love with him! You take that back, Lizzy!”
“No.”
“Hush, now,” Mary said, putting her arm across Elizabeth’s shoulders. “I’m almost in love with him, and I’m still mad. You know what everyone’s saying. And it’s all because of Grey being at the Academy and what everyone says he’s been…doing with Miss Emma.”
“This is so awful,” Jane said mournfully. “There must be something we can do for Miss Emma.”
They rounded the bend, and stopped. Lord Dare lay stretched out on his back across the road, his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Julia asked.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Why would he be dead?” Just in case, though, she grabbed a long stick and jabbed him in the ribs.
He yelped, lunging to his feet with a speed that surprised her. “Good God!”
Trying to stifle her own shriek, Lizzy kept the stick raised between them. “We thought you might be dead!”
“Well, I wasn’t,” he snapped, rubbing his ribs.
“What in the world were you doing in the middle of the road?”
He looked back toward Haverly as he brushed dust from his coat. “If you must know, I was hoping a coach would come by and take me to a decent inn so I might get indecently drunk.”
“No coaches ever come by here, unless they’re going to Haverly.”
Lord Dare sighed. “What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s Emma?”
Abruptly remembering that he was Grey’s friend, Elizabeth put her hand across Jane’s mouth before the older girl could answer. “Just a moment. Whose side are you on?”
“That depends,” he said slowly. “Which side is going to win?”
“Our side.”
“Then I’m on your side. What are we disputing?”
“We’re not disputing. We told His Grace that if he won’t tell us why everyone’s trying to hurt Miss Emma, we don’t want to be his students anymore.”
The viscount was silent for a moment. “Ah. And how did His Grace respond to that?”
“We don’t care.”
He gave a nod. “Miss Emma knows you’ve given Wycliffe this ultimatum?”
Lizzy thought Jane should answer that, and she took a step backward.
“Miss Emma has been worried enough.”
His brow furrowed, Lord Dare gestured for them to continue back to the Academy, and he fell into step between Jane and Elizabeth. Elizabeth didn’t quite trust him, though she did like the way he’d tried to explain the sins of wagering to them and hadn’t succeeded at all.
“Hm,” he finally murmured. “Although I want to assure you that I remain firmly on your side, I don’t think you’ve been apprised of the entire situation.” Again he glanced over his shoulder. “At the risk of my life and limbs, I’m going to tell you the horrifying but true tale of a very cynical nobleman whose eyes and mind have been opened by love, and of the evil gossip that now threatens to bollux the entire affair.”
Relieved that someone was finally going to explain things, Lizzy took his hand. “Does it have a good ending?”
Lord Dare chuckled. “Damned if I know. Maybe we can help.”
Emma hated waiting. Pacing and wringing her hands seemed supremely useless, but at the moment she couldn’t think of anything useful. Barring the gates and setting cannons in the yard seemed an over-reaction to the parents’ imminent arrival, though at least getting off a shot or two would have been enormously satisfying.
Her worry wasn’t for herself, or even for most of her well-born students; they would have homes to return to, and she could likely find work as a governess somewhere. No, it was Elizabeth Newcombe, and the other handful of students whose lives she had prom
ised to improve, who haunted her.
Miss Perchase clattered up the stairs. “Miss Emma, they’re back.”
“Thank heavens!” Following Miss Perchase down to the main hallway, Emma found her five missing students cornered in the foyer, surrounded by half the Academy’s residents and being pelted with questions. She had a few to ask, herself. “Where have you been?”
“We went to Haverly,” Jane said, lifting her chin.
“To Haverly. Why?”
“We prefer not to say.”
Lizzy was eyeing her closely, but she had no idea what the little girl might be looking for. With a glance at the curious crowd, she gestured the five girls into one of the private sitting rooms off the main hallway. “Do you know how many rules you’ve broken?” she asked, shutting the door behind them. “You might have been hurt, or lost! And then what would I have done?”
“Lord Dare escorted us back to the Academy,” Mary said in her quiet voice, “but Tobias wouldn’t let him through the gate.”
“We were safe,” Julia echoed. “Lizzy had a stick.”
“We didn’t want to make more trouble,” Jane added. “We needed to take care of something.”
“And you won’t tell me what it was?”
“No.”
She hated this part of being a headmistress. “Very well. I think you all need to contemplate what you’ve done, and what your parents and this school expect of our students. Go to your rooms. You will be served dinner there. I don’t wish to see you again until breakfast.”
“Yes, Miss Emma.” Heads bowed, they filed out of the room and up the stairs to their bed chambers.
So—they wouldn’t tell her what they’d been up to. She couldn’t blame them for their unwillingness to confide in her, considering the blunders she’d been making, but she was their headmistress. She needed to find out what was going on. And besides, she really hated sitting about and waiting. Hurrying upstairs to grab her shawl and her bonnet, Emma returned to the foyer.
“Miss Perchase, I shall return shortly,” she said, not waiting for an answer as she strode down the steps and onto the drive.
A Matter of Scandal Page 23