One for the Rogue (Studies in Scandal)

by Manda Collins

  Though she’d never say so.

  Aloud she asked, “Who was it you followed? I—I mean we, all four heiresses, have a right to know who attempts to trespass on our property.”

  “So that you might go and confront him and make him flee the county before we even know what he’s up to?” Cam asked with a raised brow. “I think not.”

  “You are the most infuriating man,” she said crossly. “How are we to protect ourselves if we don’t know why he was even here?”

  “Might I make a suggestion?” asked Aunt Dahlia in a deceptively sweet tone.

  Gemma knew her aunt far too well to believe that meekness.

  But Cam was not so familiar with her wiles.

  “By all means, Miss Hastings,” he said with a nod of deference. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into your niece.”

  “I don’t know about the two of you,” the older lady said with a speaking look, “but I will be traveling back to Manchester in the morning and I need my sleep. So I suggest you table this discussion until tomorrow. I will be sorry to miss your—no doubt, entertaining—argument over why and why not Gemma deserves to know this man’s identity, but I am quite sure she’ll send me an entertaining letter detailing all of it.”

  Gemma opened her mouth to object, but closed it when Dahlia raised her brows.

  And to her disappointment, Cam seemed too well mannered to object to her aunt’s suggestion.

  “I am sorry to hear you’re leaving so soon, Miss Hastings,” he said over Dahlia’s hand as he took his leave of her. “I wish you a safe journey. And I shall endeavor to make our row as colorful as possible so that you might be entertained by a missive about it in the future.”

  Gemma rose to see him to the door, but Cam shook his head, then shrugged into his greatcoat and pulled on his gloves and scarf. “I’ll just go out the way I came in. I’ll send word if I’m unable to call in the morning, Miss Gemma.”

  And with a jaunty salute, he stepped out onto the terrace and closed the French doors behind him.

  “You might have allowed me to question him further,” Gemma complained to her aunt after a minute. “I’ve all but convinced myself that whoever it was out there was searching for the fossil Lady Celeste left for me.”

  “If I knew Celeste at all,” Aunt Dahlia, who had been well acquainted with the lady in their youth, said, “then I have little doubt that she hid it well enough that you need not fear someone stumbling over it in the dark. Or that she would breathe a word of it to someone else. If there was one quality Celeste was endowed with in large quantities, it was discretion.”

  “But that’s just it, Aunt,” Gemma protested. “The very fact that this man was trying to walk the beach in the middle of the night—and not just any man, but a fossil-hunter—must mean he knows something’s there.”

  She crossed her arms against the sudden chill that ran through her. “Not to mention that for the past week or so I’ve had the distinct feeling of being watched.”

  Dahlia’s dark brows—a contrast to her white hair—drew together. “You never said that. At least not to me.”

  Gemma shrugged. “I didn’t wish to alarm anyone. And besides I’ve had no real evidence of anything. Just a feeling.”

  “You aren’t prone to flights of fancy, my dear,” her aunt said. “Promise me you’ll speak to Serena about this tomorrow. And your sister. After what’s happened to the other heiresses over the past months, it would be foolish to ignore your instincts.”

  Gemma nodded. Suddenly she wished Dahlia wasn’t leaving. Having her here for the past month had been a great comfort in the wake of Sophia’s marriage and Ivy and Daphne’s absence. Once Dahlia was gone, there would be only herself and Serena. And as much as she loved the widow, Serena didn’t enjoy spirited academic debate like the others did.

  “You might also mention the matter to Lord Cameron,” Dahlia said, interrupting Gemma’s thoughts. “As much as you pretend to despise him, he’s not as bad as all that. He did tell you he’d been following someone tonight. And he may have heard gossip amongst the gentlemen at Pearson Close about fossils hereabouts. Or perhaps the Beauchamp Collection itself. They might deny women the opportunity to join their clubs and societies, but they are happy enough to sweep in after the ladies have done the hard work and claim credit for it.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” Gemma said wryly, “Lord Cameron is one of them. He’s editor of one of the most important journals in the field of geology and has never once published more than a letter from a female geologist.”

  “I didn’t say your objections to him were wrong,” Dahlia said mildly. “Just that he may not be the worst of the lot. And he obviously has a great deal of affection for his brother and Sophia. That must account for something.”

  Gemma wasn’t quite convinced but she didn’t argue. “I will consider speaking to him about it. It’s likely that whoever it was he followed tonight is the same person who’s been watching the house.”

  “Good,” Dahlia said with a nod.

  Something in her tone made Gemma look closer. “Never say you’re telling me to set my cap at him,” she said with a horrified expression.

  “Heavens no,” Dahlia said with a laugh. “My opinion of marriage has changed not at all, despite the fact that your sister seems happy enough with her vicar. I want more for you, though, my girl. You have the potential to break down barriers. To succeed where those of us who came before you, like Celeste and I, failed.”

  It was something her aunt, who had been a part of the Hastings household in Manchester since both Gemma and her sister Sophia were small children, had told them again and again. She’d made sure her nieces, whose parents were loving but largely uninterested in their progeny, were educated and took them herself on outings to museums and the theatre and anywhere else she thought they might find food for the mind.

  Her reaction to Sophia’s marriage had been unexpectedly cheerful considering she had openly advocated against the institution for years. But, she’d decided since the deed was done—and she did like Benedick, Sophia’s husband, a great deal—that she would not protest it.

  And, after all, there was still Gemma to fulfill the spinster’s dreams of the life of the mind.

  Dahlia’s own dreams had been crushed by the fact that her brother controlled her purse strings and had required her to live under his roof. But Gemma, as one of the Beauchamp House heiresses, had no such restrictions.

  She was endowed with the funds and the independence that Dahlia had lacked, and Gemma felt the weight of her aunt’s expectations upon her in a way that Sophia never had.

  “I wasn’t so sure when I first arrived,” her aunt continued, “but now I’m certain that you’ve got the recognition we’ve always dreamed up within your grasp. Once you find whatever it is that Celeste left for you, I have no doubt you’ll be able to show those closed-minded men of the Royal Society how wrong they are to deny you entrance. I can’t wait to read the announcement in the papers.”

  Gemma wished she shared her aunt’s optimism about her prospects, but decided not to air her doubts just now. It was quite late, after all, and they both had to rise early to get Dahlia on the road.

  “Neither of us will do anything unless we get to bed soon,” she said, helping her aunt to her feet. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us already. It feels as if you only just arrived.”

  Slipping her arm around Gemma’s waist, Dahlia allowed her niece to help her from the room and up the stairs. “You must promise to write me as soon as Sophia is increasing. I know she’ll want to wait but I trust you to keep me informed. And tell her I can be here in a week’s time if she needs me.”

  For someone who was so against the notion of marriage, Dahlia was very much in favor of infants, Gemma thought with a smile.

  Aloud she said, “I promise. And of course I’ll write regardless.”

  They reached the door to Dahlia’s bedchamber and she gave her niece an impulsive hug. “I’ve enjoyed these wee
ks here with you girls,” she said. “I am so grateful to Celeste for giving you this opportunity. I only pray you won’t make the same mistakes I made and squander it.”

  Before Gemma could ask what she meant, she turned, and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Chapter 2

  Despite the lateness of his return to Pearson Close the night before, Cam was awake and dressed at a relatively early hour.

  “I may be driving to Beauchamp House later this morning,” he told his valet, Sims, who was arranging Cam’s shaving things on the dressing table while Cam tied his cravat himself. “Ask James to be ready with the curricle.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Sims said with a nod. The man had been with Cam since he was a youth, and though he may have wished for an employer who preferred a more flamboyant—or at the very least more fastidious—mode of dress, they rubbed along well together.

  “Ask for some hot bricks,” Cam added, remembering how cold it had been last night without them. Instead of bothering with the curricle he’d chosen to ride out to the cliff and had arrived back at Pearson Close shivering. “I don’t think the cold will let up anytime soon.”

  Leaving the valet to finish tidying his bedchamber, Cam made his way downstairs toward the breakfast room.

  Before he set out for Beauchamp House, he’d first question Sir Everard a bit to see if he could learn anything more about why the man had been trespassing on Beauchamp House land last night.

  So far the gathering of fossil hunters at the home of Mr. Lancelot Pearson, a fossil collector known for his reclusive nature, had been less intellectually stimulating than he’d hoped it would be.

  For one thing, though there were a few collectors of note among the guests, like Mr. Roderick Templeton, Viscount Paley, and Sir Andrew Reynolds, the rest were enthusiastic but not particularly knowledgeable about the theories and science that tried to make sense of the origins and development of the creatures whose fossilized remains they collected.

  It would have been far more enjoyable if his own friends in the collecting world, like Joshua Darnley, a physician who lived with his wife and children in Leaming, or Adrian Freemantle, a Cambridge don, had been able to make the journey. But both men were restricted from such gatherings by the demands of their respective professions. He’d met both men through their membership in the Royal Society and counted them among his closest friends, aside from his brothers, of course. Adrian would have made quick work of the worst offenses against logic and sense at the current gathering. Sir Everard Healy, whom Cam had at first thought was one of the more thoughtful men at the meeting, would have infuriated his scholarly friend. Not only was the baronet rather fond of the sound of his own voice, but he also managed not to take in anyone else’s arguments. Just banged on with his own ill-informed opinions like a discordant drum.

  It was, perhaps, dislike which had prompted Cam to follow him the evening before, but he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts about people and their motives. And something about Sir Everard made him suspicious. That he’d been unable to catch the man in anything more nefarious than a midnight trip to the shore didn’t mean Cam had given up his instinct to find out what the other man was up to.

  He entered the breakfast room to find Sir Everard himself holding forth on his theories relating to the proteosaurus, a marine lizard that had been found just down the coast in Lyme Regis by the celebrated fossil collector Mary Anning.

  Like her father before her, Mary made her living by selling the fossils and bones and oddities she found embedded in the chalk cliffs and sand near her home. It was dangerous work, and often required the help of local laborers and even tethering herself to the shore to keep from being swept out to sea by the powerful waves.

  No doubt Gemma would have something to say about that despite the fact Mary had taught herself French so that she could read the work of Cuvier, and could likely more knowledgeably discuss a fossil’s origins than most men, she was effectively ignored so that men like Sir Everard could pontificate about the fossils she’d discovered.

  Gemma wasn’t wrong, he thought as he listened to Sir Everard posit—wrongly in Cam’s opinion—that the fossil in question was related far more closely to the crocodile than Cuvier had theorized. The world of geology, and fossil hunting in particular, were male-dominated. And when he saw men like Sir Everard gaining acclaim while Gemma and women like Mary Anning were denied entry into the Royal Society, it rather made Gemma’s point for her.

  When Cam had filled his plate from the sideboard he turned toward the table.

  “Ah, Lord Cameron,” said Pearson, a plate of kippers and eggs before him, as Cam took a seat on the other side of the table. “You must tell us what you think of this proteosaurus Sir Everard is discussing. I must say, I had thought Cuvier had the right of it, but Sir Everard makes a good argument.”

  Indicating to the footman behind him that he’d like coffee, Cam made himself busy with his cutlery to give himself time to avoid the question. He had no wish to insult his host, but nor did he wish to give Sir Everard the idea that Cam agreed with his assessment.

  Fortunately, Lord Paley, seated on his other side, chose that moment to speak up. “I rather think Lord Cameron might be one of those fellows who is better able to articulate himself after he’s had coffee or tea.”

  To Cam’s relief, Pearson laughed. “Fair enough, old fellow. Fair enough.”

  When their host turned his attention back to the other men, Cam spoke to Paley in a low voice. “I appreciate the help, there. I was afraid I’d be forced to give my true opinion of Sir Everard and that would be a bad thing for all of us, I think.”

  “I merely thought that if I found the fellow tedious,” said Paley in an equally low voice, “someone of your stature in the collecting world must find him insufferable.”

  Cam wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or wary at the compliment. It was true he was well known in the collecting world, in part because of his role as editor of the Annals. But he was hardly of stature. “I rather think tedium is evident to most people whether they are well regarded or not.”

  “Fair enough,” said the other man, raising his cup of tea. “Though our host seems to hang on his every word, doesn’t he?”

  Cam took a bite of his eggs before speaking. “I suspect he’s just trying to be a good host. Given his usual preference for solitude I’d imagine a gathering like this would be a bit challenging.”

  Paley laughed. “You are determined to be kind when I am determined to be quite the opposite, Lord Cameron.”

  Cam laughed too. “I did sound a bit priggish, didn’t I? Let’s just say I am trying to be agreeable in the face of some challenges.”

  By the time Cam finished his breakfast, both Pearson and Templeton had left to look at something in Pearson’s collection, leaving Cam and Paley with Sir Everard, who for some reason, seemed keen to speak to them.

  Or rather, keen to speak to Cam.

  Pushing his plate forward, the large man got up from his chair and came to sit across from the two men.

  “You’re related to one of the Beauchamp House heiresses by marriage, aren’t you, Lord Cameron?” he asked without preamble.

  “I am,” said Cam, careful not to let on his interest at Sir Everard’s question. He’d thought he would have to be the one to broach the topic of Beauchamp House. Clearly he’d underestimated the other man’s boldness. “My brother, the vicar hereabouts, married Miss Sophia Hastings a couple of months ago.”

  “There’s another, though, isn’t there?” Sir Everard pressed. “Another Hastings sister at Beauchamp, I mean. Calls herself a geologist, I believe?”

  Cam felt himself bristle on Gemma’s behalf at the other man’s dismissive tone. “Miss Gemma Hastings is a geologist, yes,” he said in a deceptively calm tone. He was rather surprised at his reaction to the man’s condescension, but there was something particularly vile about such a dullard belittling Gemma’s place in their field of study.

  “You are acquain
ted with the chit, then?” the older man pressed. “Able to wrangle an invitation to the house, I mean?”

  Cam blinked. Was this man actually attempting to garner an invitation to Beauchamp House after effectively calling one of its mistresses a pretender? He’d known the baronet was bold given his attempt to search the shore last night, but he hadn’t thought him presumptuous enough to inveigle an invitation through Cam’s familial connection.

  “I believe I could arrange something, yes,” Cam said after a minute. “You’ll wish to see the Beauchamp House collection, I suppose?”

  Sir Everard nodded. “Yes, of course. It would be foolish to come this close to such a renowned collection and miss out on seeing it for myself. Despite her lack of any true understanding of the science behind it, I’ve heard Lady Celeste had a rare knack for choosing important items to keep for herself.”

  “I say,” Lord Paley interjected before Cam could reply, “you wouldn’t mind if I were to tag along, would you? I’ve long wished to see Lady Celeste Beauchamp’s artifacts. What a spot of luck that you’re connected to the house, Lord Cameron.”

  Not bothering to comment on Sir Everard’s dismissal of Lady Celeste’s intellect, Cam nodded to both men. “I should be able to garner invitations for you both. I know Miss Gemma will be quite pleased to show us the finer points of Lady Celeste’s collection.”

  In a fit of pique, he added, “She’s quite knowledgeable about the study of fossils and their origins herself, you know. I’ve read some of her work and it’s sound analysis.”

  He’d rejected it for the Annals, but they didn’t need to know that. It wasn’t because her analysis was flawed but because he’d seen a similar argument in a different publication not long before he read hers. It wasn’t her fault that she’d arrived at the logical conclusion.