Scandal's Daughters

by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson

“I shall have to sack Scroggs.” She took a shaky breath. “The poor girl. And your father will simply have to do without the club. He cannot argue. ’Twas past time. How we shall entertain ourselves in an empty house with nary a book to read, I have no idea. I suppose I shall be too busy scrubbing pots to have time for frivolity anyway. The silver!” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “What if we sell the silver? And your grandmother’s porcelain dining ware? How much do you owe the creditors?”

  Her questions robbed Anthony of the ability to speak. All the porcelain in Mayfair wouldn’t repay his debt, but the important thing, the inconceivable thing, was that his mother would sacrifice it. His heart wrenched. That dining ware was by far her most valued possession. Something she protected so fiercely, no maid in London was allowed to touch it. She treated each piece like riches on display at a palace.

  And she would sell it all without hesitation.

  For Anthony.

  “I have family jewelry of my own,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps you’d care to accompany me on a visit to a pawnbroker? I cannot think of a worthier cause.”

  “We’ll all go,” his mother said with determination. “His father might still have something valuable we could sell. I cannot think of a bigger emergency than this.” She patted Anthony’s arm despite the panic shimmering in her eyes. “Don’t worry, son. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Anthony swallowed the truth. Even if he couldn’t save himself, he could not allow the same fate to destroy his parents.

  Charlotte squeezed his hand, her blue gaze intense. “I can tell by your face that you think our efforts will not be enough. Even if you’re right, even if we sell the clothes off our backs and they still take you away, I will get you out.”

  Anthony’s heart flipped. She was more treasure than he deserved. He pulled her close. She clutched him as if she would never let him go. His throat stung. Although they hadn’t exchanged traditional vows, she was on his side, for richer or for poorer. He glanced over at his mother. His parents were, too.

  This was what having family truly meant.

  Chapter 18

  When morning came, Charlotte awoke to find Anthony kneeling before his open trunk in search of some item within.

  They hadn’t unpacked their traveling bags the night before, in part because they had been too exhausted to do so…but primarily because the only furniture in the bedchamber was the bed.

  At some point when times had been tough, Anthony’s parents had apparently sold the wardrobe, the vanity, even the shaving mirror. Charlotte pushed herself up on her elbows and gazed about the empty chamber in disbelief. A small pitcher of water was the sole nod to luxury.

  She had been so jealous of these people. Not the Fairfaxes specifically, but people like them. People less than the Fairfaxes. Hadn’t she dreamed of being a cobbler’s daughter, a baker’s daughter, anything but what she was? If this was how poor fashionable people lived, what must home life have been like for the poor but respectable children who had spit at her in the streets?

  Guilt clawed at her. The weight of her mother prostituting herself had been all Charlotte could feel, all she could see. She’d been too hurt, too ashamed to consider that perhaps the reason her mother didn’t quit her profession was because she didn’t want Charlotte to grow up without food or clothing.

  She couldn’t imagine the childhood Anthony must have had. Rich one moment, in abject poverty the next. It was clear that his mother loved him. It was equally clear that no one in his family could be trusted with so much as a farthing.

  No wonder he was in the predicament he was in. He was too fashionable to pursue a trade, too poor to resist the allure of making a fortune with a simple wager. Caught in the middle.

  She took another look at the bare walls, the carpet-less floor. Even if Anthony had wished to pursue a trade or business management, with what capital would he have made his investment? She ran her fingers over the threadbare blanket. All possible paths had led him straight to the gaming tables…and to ruin.

  “You’re awake.” Anthony pushed up from the floor with a smile. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she lied. The tester and curtains were missing from the bed, and the draft from the window had given her gooseflesh every time the wind blew. She sat up. “You’re already dressed. Are you parents early risers, too?”

  “Not unless midday is early.” His lips curved in self-deprecation. “I used to be even worse. All night in the vice parlors, all morning making up for lost sleep.” His amusement faded. “I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in Marshalsea.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “The Duke of Courteland’s will remains to be heard. Perhaps my sire made me sole heiress of all his riches.”

  Anthony’s face twisted, but he made no comment.

  He didn’t have to. Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. They both knew how improbable that was.

  After she, too, was washed and dressed, she upended the contents of their purses atop the bed. It had become something of an obsession to count their money every night. And every morning. But no matter how many times she sorted the bills and coins into small, short piles, they never added up to enough. What they needed was a miracle.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  Anthony frowned. “It’s far too early for a social call.”

  He headed to the door all the same. Scroggs had been given her pay last night, along with several glowing letters of recommendation. She had made her escape posthaste. There was no one left to answer the door.

  Charlotte started to follow, then hung back just out of sight. This was London. She could not let her comfort at being with Anthony make her forget the harsh reality of the world outside. The last thing she wished was to be treated with contempt right here in his parents’ house.

  As mortifying as such an experience would be, it would be even more humiliating to know that she’d harmed his parents’ reputation by her mere presence.

  Anthony opened the creaky door. “Yes?”

  “I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” gushed a female voice, “but I am in a dreadful way. One of the ladies in my book club told me I simply must speak to Mrs. Fairfax, who will put everything to rights. Have I called at the correct address?”

  “I’m afraid my mother is still abed. If you’d like to leave a calling card—”

  “Your mother?” sputtered the female voice. “Oh, no. I’m looking for a young Mrs. Fairfax. Not a day over twenty, I’m told. Pretty face, yellow hair...”

  Charlotte’s heart thumped. The woman was looking for her?

  She stepped around the corner before she could lose her courage. “Good morning. I’m Mrs. Fairfax. How may I help you?”

  A completely unfamiliar matron wearing an exquisite fur-lined pelisse and a breathtaking diamond necklace stood in the doorway. To Charlotte’s utter shock, not only did the woman’s face light up upon spotting her, but the lady also bobbed slightly, as if giving a hurried curtsey.

  Charlotte’s mouth fell open in amazement. She had never been curtsied to in all her life. Had never even dreamed of it.

  And it had happened right here. In front of Anthony!

  “It is you. I am certain of it.” The lady clasped her silk-gloved hands together. “You absolutely must come with me at once. That is, at your earliest convenience. I shall pay extra. The situation, you see, is dire. I am having an absolute crisis with the downstairs maids, and my housekeeper has threatened to find other employment. I cannot possibly lose her! Mrs. Trimble has worked at Roundtree Manor longer than I’ve been alive.”

  Charlotte stared at her. A crisis with the downstairs maids? At Roundtree Manor?

  “Lady Roundtree.” Anthony sketched a quick bow. “Forgive me for not immediately recognizing you.”

  “Never mind that, young man. I am in positive jeopardy. A baronetcy may not compare to a duchy or an earldom, but it is my duty to see it run just as efficiently. Except the details have always been Mrs. Trimble�
��s responsibility. Heavens, I’ve never spoken to the servants. I would be lost! My dear, you are my last hope. Mrs. Podmore said you sorted out her hunt for a governess. Do say you’ll come to Roundtree Manor and sort out my housekeeper at once. You may name your price.”

  “That does sound appalling,” Anthony said with a glance at his pocket watch. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Fairfax is booked solid the rest of the morning.”

  Charlotte slanted a shocked stare in his direction.

  “But if you would like to send a coach for her at six o’clock this evening,” he continued easily, “I am certain my wife can spare a moment to speak with your staff before they begin to prepare the evening meal.”

  “Yes,” Lady Roundtree gushed. “This absolutely must be resolved before supper. It shall be as you say. A coach will be right on that corner, promptly at six. Thank you ever so much.”

  When the door closed behind Lady Roundtree, Charlotte launched herself at Anthony. “That was the wealthy old biddy we needed. Why would you tell her I’m booked solid? What if she had shrugged and walked away?”

  “For one,” Anthony said as he swung her in celebratory circles, “proper ladies never shrug.”

  She pulled out of his embrace. “I’m serious. What if she had left? We need this money. You need this money.”

  “Not just this money—two thousand quid more.” Anthony took her hand. “Trust me, darling. I live in this world. Never let them believe getting what they want will be easy. By appearing selective and exclusive, your price undoubtedly just tripled.” He grinned. “Whatever she offers to pay you, double it. And don’t blink an eye.”

  “Double it?” Charlotte choked. She had no idea how much Lady Roundtree believed speaking to a housekeeper was worth, but the sum was no doubt far more exorbitant than the task merited. “Why would she pay it?”

  He clasped his hands together and affected a pose of sweeping tragedy. “Because it is a crisis, darling. The lady is in positive jeopardy.”

  Charlotte burst out laughing at his dramatic rendition. But more than humor, he had given her a measure of hope. If Anthony could not amass enough money to stay out of prison, she would offer every penny she owned if it would buy them even a few more weeks together.

  He stroked the back of her hand. “Now that you have a day of freedom, how would you like to spend it?”

  She bit her lip. There was only one answer. “If you would grant me permission, I am desperate to see my mother. She is the only thing I ever loved in this city, and I have missed her dreadfully these past few weeks.”

  “Permission?” he repeated in surprise. “You don’t need my permission to see your family. I’d like your permission to accompany you. If you’ll have me.”

  At first, she couldn’t make sense of his words. Surely she had mistook his meaning. “Accompany me?”

  “Your mother,” he repeated, his gaze earnest. “I’d like to meet her.”

  Charlotte’s heart beat faster. Did he understand what he was asking? What it would mean for him to pay a social call on an ex-courtesan? What it would mean to Charlotte?

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. What would he think of her mother? What would her mother think of him? She didn’t want either to be hurt. She had done enough of that herself, the last time she’d spoken to her mother. They hadn’t parted company on the best of terms. “I swore I wouldn’t go back until I had changed my fortune. Until I could provide for her. Until I could prove I was worth something.”

  He tilted his head in surprise. “You are worth everything.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “I may not be as eloquent as Lady Roundtree, but I value you very, very much. That’s why I’d like to meet your mother. So I can get to know you even better.”

  She gazed up at him doubtfully, then swallowed her objections. Before she could change her mind, she gave a short nod in acquiescence.

  A smile bloomed over his face.

  She gathered her courage and smiled back.

  “Do you mind if we leave posthaste?” Now that the plan was made, she couldn’t wait to be on her way. She glanced over her shoulder at the silent, empty townhouse. There was certainly nothing requiring their immediate attention here. Not until Lady Roundtree came back. “I suppose we should take care to return by six. I seem to recall some sort of critical appointment on my agenda.”

  “Life and death,” he agreed. “I promise you’ll be home in time to fleece that goosecap out of scads of money.”

  Home. Pleasure spread through her at his choice of words. Not because she aspired to share a townhouse with his parents. But because he was right. Anyplace they were together felt like home.

  But what would he think of the area she’d grown up in? Would he judge her or her mother for the activities that took place beneath that roof in order to keep them both clothed and fed?

  She pushed her misgivings aside as he hailed a hackney cab. She continued to keep a brave face as she gave the direction to the jarvey, who raised his eyebrows at the address. Either he recognized the neighborhood…or he knew Charlotte’s mother.

  She did her best to remain placid as the hack pulled to a stop before her mother’s townhouse.

  “This the place?” the jarvey asked, giving them a speculative look.

  In silence, Charlotte gave him an extra coin.

  She stood on the edge of the cobbled road next to Anthony as the hack rolled away.

  The street looked the same. The houses. The people. Just coming this far made her feel like she was slipping back into her old self. To the defiant little girl who loved her mother dearly but publicly denied any relation to the whore on the corner. To the despairing young woman who fled in search of a father who had never existed. To escape a life that had only brought shame.

  Apprehension made the air feel like molasses. She took Anthony’s hand and led him up the walk to the front door. She wasn’t certain if she gripped his fingers for strength—or to keep him from running away when he realized what he had done. This was her reality. She couldn’t rewrite the past. Have different parents. Redo her childhood. For better or for worse, this was where she had come from. Who part of her would always be.

  The door swung open before her knuckles had even touched the knocker.

  Her mother stood before her wearing an expression of shock and pleasure.

  Charlotte gazed back at her mother’s familiar countenance. With so few years between them, was it any wonder they were mirror images? One had to look closely to find the differences in her mother’s face. Tiny lines crinkled at the edges of identical blue eyes. A few strands of gray blended with identical golden curls. They shared the same height, the same curves, the same smile.

  Except neither of them was smiling now. Her mother’s surprised eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” she gasped. “I thought you were never coming back.”

  “That’s because you knew it was a fool’s mission. I thought I knew better,” Charlotte admitted with self-deprecation. “May I come in?”

  Her mother pulled her forward and into her arms. “You can. Of course you can. You can stay as long as you like. This will always be your home.”

  Mixed emotions assailed Charlotte as she returned her mother’s embrace. She didn’t want this to be her home. She abhorred every memory she held of this place.

  And yet it contained her mother. Someone who Charlotte had never stopped loving.

  She leaned back to pull Anthony across the threshold. “This is Mr. Anthony Fairfax.”

  Her mother shot her a startled look out of the corner of her eye.

  “No,” Charlotte choked out. “He’s not here for that. Anthony is my husband. Darling, this is my mother. Miss Judith Devon.”

  He sketched a grandiose bow. “The pleasure is indeed mine.”

  Her mother stared in disbelief, then dipped an equally elegant curtsey.

  “The pleasure…” Scarlet flooded her cheeks as she turned toward Charlotte. “A husband.
Does he—Did you—”

  “Yes. He knows.” Charlotte led them into the front salon, which was just as elegant as last she’d seen it, if a little worn at the edges. “That is partly why I’m here.”

  Her mother frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Charlotte pulled a ruby ear bob from her reticule. “Who gave these to you?”

  Her mother’s eyes lowered. “That was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. It never mattered.”

  “It mattered to me,” Charlotte said softly. “It mattered to a little girl who longed for a father.”

  Her mother’s shoulders crumpled. “I never meant for you to be born ruined. I wanted to be a good mother to my baby, but my only choices were to keep you or leave you on the steps of a church.”

  Charlotte’s throat tightened. As a small child, she had often fantasized about running away to an orphanage so that some other family could adopt her. A family respectable enough that, someday, Charlotte could marry well and come back to rescue her mother So that they could both have a happy ending.

  Her mother met her gaze. “You may think I made the wrong decision, and that’s your right. But being sold to a workhouse isn’t better. I grew up in one. Many children don’t live long enough to leave. Some, like me, leave the only way they can.” Her eyes were haunted. “I didn’t want that for my daughter. I didn’t want you dead, and I didn’t want you wishing you were while you were on your back in some alley. So I did the best I could for you.”

  “I don’t blame you for being a courtesan,” Charlotte admitted hesitantly. “I always knew you were trying to give me the best life you could. But the harder you worked to raise money, the more infamous and disrespectable we became.”

  Her mother’s sad smile didn’t meet her eyes. “I thought the life of a kept woman would turn out differently. I was quite sought after, once. For one magical year, I wasn’t a mere strumpet, but a fashionable courtesan. I thought I had it all. Operas, fireworks, magic. I was toasted at every turn. It still seems like a dream.”

  “What happened?” Anthony asked, his voice gentle.