Silk and Scandal

by Cassandra Dean

  Here in Vienna, there are many pleasant things to observe. Father has taken to spending his days AND nights at the embassy, so I am wholly left to my own devices. I find myself wandering the cafés and the markets, hoping for something that will occupy my time. I’ve not found it as yet, but I’m sure I shall one day soon.

  Tonight, there is to be a ball in some Austrian Count’s honor. I was not going to attend, but I think now I shall. I shall be giddy and gay and altogether happy. Do you not think that a fine accomplishment, Thomas? Is that to be the totality of my purpose in this world?

  In any event, I look forward to your next letter. I hope it contains all the news of your court cases and your impressions of the Old Bailey. I should dearly love for you to detail such, and perhaps the particulars of your latest case. Please, Thomas, take pity on me. Give me something to occupy my brain.

  Write soon, dear friend.

  I do so miss you.

  Nicola

  ***

  Vienna, Austria, 1 January 1845

  Thomas?

  Chapter One

  London, England, September 1846

  Lady Nicola Fitzgibbons had returned to London.

  Thomas stared at the article. He’d not thought to see her name in print ever again. He’d avoided the scandal pages in which she’d made an alarmingly frequent appearance, although, on occasion, her father’s diplomatic feats had been mentioned. However, he’d trained his gaze to skip over any article that featured Lord William Fitzgibbons’s name and might, subsequently, feature his daughter’s. Now, the Lincoln Herald, ostensibly a specifically non-social paper, saw fit to ruin the practice of years.

  With grim determination, he read on. The article described the cut of her dress, the ridiculously frivolous hat she wore, the amount of luggage she had returned with. It detailed her every step since she disembarked from the boat, an air of breathlessness to the writing, as if Nic—Lady Nicola—would cause a scandal on the path from the ship to her carriage. The tone turning to disappointment, the article reported she was to take up residence at the Mivart Hotel before moving to her father’s home in Knightsbridge.

  He blanched at that. So, some small reprieve before she became his neighbor once more.

  The article continued, speculating on her grandfather’s reaction at her return, the Earl of Kerr no doubt overjoyed his granddaughter graced home soil at last. Finally, the article’s author made sly, indirect mention of the myriad scandals that chased Lady Nicola from Europe to Asia and back again, and the author fairly salivated at the thought Lady Nicola would cause scandal anew in London.

  Thomas stared at the paper. Bloody hell, he had the urge to defend her. Who would have thought such an old friendship still had the power to influence him?

  Deliberately, he folded the paper in half and buried it under a stack of briefs. He would not look at the article again and he wouldn’t keep it, as he’d kept all her letters. Lady Nicola was no concern of his. It had been almost a year since her last letter, and another before that since he’d responded. A barrister and the granddaughter of an earl had little enough in common, and it was unlikely their paths should ever cross. He would not allow her return to affect him.

  Exhaling, he looked over the books and briefs, the files and papers surrounding him. He would think on other things, on his work, and put her far from mind.

  Thanks to Lord Harry and Lady Millicent, he now had this life as a barrister. If they hadn’t taken him in when he’d been just a boy, he’d be another orphaned child roaming the streets of London. He would have grown to a life of incredible hardship, if not dead or transported to Australia by now. He’d compounded their faith, becoming a member of parliament in the last election. If only they were here to see what their faith had wrought.

  He stared down at his desk. He still missed them, every day, though it had been four years.

  Shaking off maudlin thoughts that would get him nowhere, he looked again at the stacks of briefs, files, papers, and books. The work piled upon him, and it seemed it never ended. Until he achieved Silk—if he achieved Silk—he would not be in a position to pick and choose the clients he represented. He would have to take every brief that came his way, and he was still new enough to the bar that the solicitors who provided his work were mostly unaware of his talents. Becoming a Queens Counsel—achieving Silk—would not happen for years, and between that moment and this stood a veritable mountain of work.

  He’d taken a step in the right direction. Joining Lord Draper’s chambers had helped raise his profile immensely, and his recent ascension to politics and the House of Commons wouldn’t hurt in that respect either. But both took time from his work, and fitting in the social and political demands were wearing him thin, especially when, above any other concern, he needed to eat. He needed to maintain the house Lord Harry and Lady Millicent had left him, he needed to clothe himself as befit his station, and he needed to earn coin from barrister work to do all that. But, to get work as a barrister, he needed the bloody solicitors to know who he was.

  Sinking into his chair, he rubbed his temples to lessen the sudden pound of a headache.

  At least Arthur sent work his way. After completion of their degrees, Arthur had chosen to become a solicitor. Though he generally worked in wills and estates, he occasionally caught a criminal case, which he then referred on to Thomas. Thank God for friends.

  A commotion outside his chamber door made him lift his head. The raised voice of his law clerk, a kind of frantic cadence coloring his indistinct words, seemed to plead with someone, whose lighter tones floated through the door.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose. No. It couldn’t be.

  The door burst open, and in a sea of frothy gown, Lady Nicola Fitzgibbons glided in.

  A thousand emotions crashed over him. Consternation, frustration, happiness…. All pulled and tore at him, until he didn’t know how he felt that Lady Nicola—how he felt that Nic—was in his chambers, returned after eight years and a veritable lifetime abroad.

  Her blond curls bounced around her pretty face, and her radiant smile tugged at things best left forgotten. “Mr. Cartwright, it is so good to see you! Please, tell this man we know one another and that he should desist with his insistence upon my removal.”

  His law clerk rushed in behind her, a harried expression upon his face. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry, but she insisted upon seeing you—”

  Lady Nicola whirled to face him, a scowl touching her face. “Of course I did. We are old friends, Mr. Cartwright and I.”

  “But, Mr. Cartwright is required—”

  Thomas held up a hand, and tried to ignore how it shook. “It’s all right, Buchanan. Lady Nicola and I are acquainted.”

  Buchannan still looked uncertain, his gaze darting from Nic to Thomas and back again. “You’re due in court in an hour, sir.” With a final bewildered look at Nic, he departed.

  As soon as the door closed behind Buchannan, Nic’s smile became overwhelmingly bright. “Mr. Cartwright—No. That is too formal for friends such as us. Thomas. Of course, it must be Thomas! Thomas, I am ever so glad you are here. That secretary person tried to insist you should not want to be bothered, but I knew you would have time for such an old friend as I. Come now, sir, you cannot tell me you aren’t glad to see me.”

  How was it she’d been gone and yet he could still read her? She was overly bright, because she worried about his response. She spoke quickly, because she couldn’t bear it if he refused her. Bloody hell, eight years had passed. Eight. How could he still know her so well?

  He forced himself to be cool. Cool, calm, and collected. He could do it. “Lady Nicola.”

  Her smile, if anything, brightened. “Thomas, you are positively impressive! Why, look at you in your barrister’s robes. I always knew you would achieve such a position, and you’ve no notion of how proud I was when I received your letter telling me you had obtained the bar. Why, I could speak of nothing else for weeks. Weeks! I’m sure I bored the ears off eve
ryone I came in contact with in…in…” She frowned.

  “Stockholm.” He still had the letter, nestled safe in his desk at home with all the others she’d sent.

  “Yes, that’s it! Father was posted to Sweden at the time, wasn’t he? How sweet of you to remember.” Looking around, she carefully picked up a stack of files on a visitor’s chair and placed them on the ground. Seating herself, she beamed up at him. “Now, tell me all!”

  He took a breath, knowing he had to phrase this just right. “Lady Nicola, while I am cognizant of the honor you do me, I don’t believe it appropriate you visit me in my chambers. Shall we arrange a time that suits us both, perhaps for a walk about the park?”

  China-blue eyes laughed at him. “Oh, pish. Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy, Thomas. We never stood on such ceremony before.”

  Didn’t she know he couldn’t be her friend? Not since their ways had parted and she’d become who she was, while he had become who he was. “Our situations were different before, Lady Nicola. It is not appropriate for a lady of your standing to visit a bachelor in his chambers.”

  “Who is going to comment? No one knows I’m here.”

  Was she serious? “My clerk knows you’re here. By now, the senior clerk undoubtedly knows you’re here. Before ten minutes have passed, everyone in the building will know you’re here.”

  “Well, then, they are a bunch of shocking gossips, and I should not like to know them any better.” She folded her hands in her lap.

  “Not the point, Nicola.” Bloody hell, but she drove him mental. She tore at him and picked at him until he didn’t know where he stood. Always she’d done this, taken what little sense he had and driven it right out of his brain.

  “I should say it is the point. Our visit would not distress you, if it weren’t for them.”

  “It should distress me in any case. You should not be here.”

  “Do you know what I’m hearing, Thomas? I’m hearing a vast amount of negativity, when you’ve not even greeted me properly. Why, you’ve yet to kiss my hand, or perhaps give me a h-hug.” Chin up, she looked at him with eyes brimming, and he saw right through her facade. She was truly hurt he’d not yet greeted her as he should.

  Helpless, he stared at her. How did she do it? How did she turn his brain to mush? She’d been here less than five minutes, and already she had drawn him back in.

  But she was right. He hadn’t greeted her as he should.

  Standing, he went to her and drew her to her feet. “Welcome home, Nic.” And he hugged her.

  Dear God, she felt good. Only a head shorter than him, she smelled of violets or lavender or some other water ladies liked to douse themselves in. He allowed himself ten seconds to hold her, to absorb the feel of her into himself, then he stepped back. “You should not be here.”

  She sighed. “This again, Thomas?”

  “We are no longer children talking over a fence, Lady Nicola. You are who you are, and I—” He resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair. He’d spent an hour taming the mess this morning; he would not wreck his efforts because Lady Nicola Fitzgibbons had chosen to stampede once more into his life. “I cannot receive you in my chambers. I will call on you.”

  “When?”

  Vagueness sometimes worked. “A week?”

  “That’s not good enough, Thomas.”

  Damnation. Well, it did only work sometimes.

  Raising her hand, she smoothed the lapel of his coat. “We used to be friends, you and I. What has changed?”

  God, she used to do that. Forever ago, she used to right his clothes, smooth his hair, bestow upon him a million casual touches she never thought of twice but he’d thought of too much.

  He stepped back, away from her and her small touches. “Nic, I’m a barrister now. A member of parliament. I cannot—”

  “Really?” A delighted smile lit her face. “Oh, Thomas, that’s wonderful! You will be such a good representative. Which borough? Would you like Father to help at all? Or maybe Grandpapa? I’m sure if I had a word, they would do everything in their power to help.”

  “That’s not the point.” Bugger it. He plunged his hand through his hair, and ignored how the sparkle of her eyes made him want to touch her instead. “The point is, I must be circumspect now I’m in public life.”

  Her grin slowly faded, as did the light in her eyes. “Thomas, are you trying to say I am too scandalous for us to be friends?”

  “No, I’m saying…” An idea lit him. “Where is it you are residing?” He knew perfectly well where, but he didn’t want her to know he knew.

  She frowned. “The Mivart Hotel. Didn’t the article mention that?”

  How on earth did she know—“Article?”

  “Yes, the article you were reading before I came in. Honestly, Thomas, if you wished to hide a newspaper, you should do a better job than that.”

  Dull heat burned his cheeks. “Well, I cannot call upon you in a hotel.”

  “Of course you can.” She fashioned a moue of disappointment. “Are you being difficult simply to vex me?”

  Racking his brain, he tossed out another excuse. “I have a busy caseload—”

  “Oh, honestly.” A determined gleam lighting her eye, she stood. “You will visit me. Tomorrow. Or I shall be forced to seek you out.”

  Damnation, she would do it, too. He exhaled. He knew when he was defeated. “Tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” She bounced to her feet. “Now, I shall leave you be. Until tomorrow!” Leaning over, she brushed his cheek with a kiss.

  A teasing cloud of violet-lavender surrounded him. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but savor the feel of her lips clinging to his skin, soft and sweet as her scent wound itself around him.

  Then, she was gone.

  Collapsing in his seat, he ran his hand through his hair, uncaring of the mess he made. This was why he’d ceased writing her. Even when she was on the other side of the world, she was more vibrant and present to him than any other woman of his acquaintance. It didn’t matter how intimately he knew the woman. Nic was still there, ever lurking in the back of his mind. He needed to protect himself somehow, and a lack of communication had been his solution.

  Through the door, he could hear his clerk arguing with her, and the lightness of Nic’s response as she no doubt breezed past him. Whatever it was, she would have gotten her way. Nic always did.

  But, bloody hell, she was back. And, worst of all, he could still feel her lips against his cheek.

  Chapter Two

  The ballroom was crowded with people, though the dancing had yet to begin. Members of the aristocracy mingled with members of the House of Commons, and this ball, in part to celebrate the election of the Conservative Party to government, looked as if it would be a rousing success.

  Lifting his glass, Thomas partook of champagne as he tried to discern how, precisely, he could enter the fray. He saw no one he knew well enough who could ease his passage. He’d thought if he attended this ball he would engineer a meeting with senior members of the Conservatives, perhaps even meet the new prime minister. He’d not thought he’d be stuck in the corner, battling an ill-timed case of nerves as he stared at the throng of unknown society before him. Earlier, he’d observed the Earl of Malvern and his new bride, but he knew the man only in passing, and he could not think the haughty earl would welcome the greeting of someone with whom he had such little acquaintance. He’d also spied Lord Morpeth and Lord Palmerston, but he’d approached neither.

  He took another swill of the sickly sweet alcohol. Bloody hell, right now he’d settle for just moving from this damn spot.

  Gulping down the thimbleful of champagne left, he plunked the empty glass on the table beside him. Right, that’s it. He would put thought to practice. He was going to introduce himself to someone. Anyone. Now.

  “Mr. Cartwright, I thought that was you. I’m so glad there is finally someone I know here.”

  He froze. Bloody hell. Nic.

  Slowly, he turned. A
dazzling smile lighting her face, she stood before him, dressed in another frothy concoction.

  His heart seized. Did she have to look so damned pretty?

  Her smile widened, becoming blinding. “I am so glad you are not taken ill or suffering from some horrible disease. Why, I was fair worried when you did not attend our meet, as we had arranged.”

  Guilt stuck him. He hadn’t visited her at the Mivart yesterday. He’d justified it to himself, telling himself he was too busy to comply with her demands, and he’d sent her an expensive posy of flowers he couldn’t really afford to compensate. He’d then carried on with his work, or at least, he’d attempted to. That he’d been distracted by thoughts of her, and her reaction to the flowers instead of his presence, was his own bloody fault.

  Her gaze skittered over him. “Thomas, have you been stood in this corner for since you arrived?”

  How on earth did she know that? “How on earth do you know that?”

  Arching her brow, she gestured at his hand. “Since when do you like champagne?”

  He looked down at the empty glass. “Since never.”

  A smile flirted with her lips. “Did you come to this ball for a reason?”

  “No, of course not. I mean, I came because of a reason. A regular one. Just like everyone else—” Good God, he was blushing. What was it about her? Giving up any attempt at pretense, he simply told her the truth. “I thought maybe I could meet some of the senior members.”

  “Ah.” She regarded him a long moment, so long he shifted, uncomfortable under such a level gaze. Finally, she nodded. “Right. Well, come on, then.” Taking his arm, she pulled him and, finally, he moved from that damned spot.