A Scandalous Publication

by Sandra Heath

  A SCANDALOUS PUBLICATION

  Sandra Heath

  Chapter One

  “Sir Maxim Talgarth and Lady Judith Taynton.”

  The footman’s voice rang out over the quiet drawing room, and the two lawyers paused as they sorted through the deeds and other legal documents about to be signed. They glanced across at the young woman in black, seated alone on the magnificent crimson velvet sofa. How would the outspoken Miss Charlotte Wyndham react to the unexpected and rather insensitive arrival of Sir Maxim’s mistress, a lady whose gloating delight at the downfall and ruin of the Wyndham family had never been disguised?

  Charlotte’s heart sank as both names were announced, and her hands clasped among the folds of her black muslin mourning gown. She took a deep breath. She must remain calm and composed, and not give in to the anger that suddenly invaded her. The sale of Kimber Park had to go ahead without delay, and so she would have to try to ignore the prospective purchaser’s incredible display of thoughtlessness in bringing Judith here today. Or perhaps it wasn’t thoughtlessness at all; perhaps it was quite deliberate….

  The two visitors entered, pausing for a moment in the doorway. Max Talgarth was a tall man of very arresting appearance. Dressed in a dark-blue coat and close-fitting gray trousers, his intricate cravat graced by a costly diamond pin, he was not only a Corinthian of the first order, he was also extremely handsome, his looks somehow enhanced by the jagged white dueling scar on his left cheek, and by the streak of gray in his otherwise coal-black hair.

  There was something almost demonic about his dark good looks, an air of danger that had made many women other than his lovely, accomplished mistress yearn to submit to him. Women found him irresistible. Perhaps it was the dark whispers about him. His wife had died so mysteriously, driven, it was said, to the depths of jealousy and heartbreak by his unfaithfulness and cruelty. And then there were the duels, three bitter confrontations at which he had deftly consigned his opponents to eternity. He wasn’t a man to cross; indeed the devil himself was said to have had a hand in his affairs, and sometimes, when a flash of anger blazed in his piercing blue eyes, it was only too possible to believe that all that was said of him was true.

  As he bowed to Charlotte from the doorway, however, he was the epitome of breeding, refinement, and courtesy, the perfect and most elegant of gentlemen. “Good afternoon, Miss Wyndham.”

  She inclined her head. “Good afternoon, Sir Maxim.” Her glance flickered coldly toward the clinging figure in golden yellow at his side. She and Judith had known each other all their lives, their families’ estates adjoined each other, but a bitter quarrel had put an end to any semblance of friendship and now the two women cordially loathed each other. “Good afternoon, Lady Judith.”

  Judith’s rosebud lips curved into a sleek smile, her green eyes glittering. “Good afternoon, Miss Wyndham,” she replied, her drawling tone an affectation acquired from her many visits to Devonshire House, where such an accent was practically de rigueur.

  Everything about her grated on Charlotte, who nevertheless managed to remain outwardly civil. “Won’t you please sit down?”

  Judith’s yellow skirts rustled as Max conducted her to a chair. She looked soft, fragile, and utterly feminine, an effect she had labored long to perfect. The youngest and most abandoned of the Earl of Barstow’s three flighty daughters, she was also the most lovely, but she was cold and calculating, and there wasn’t anything in the slightest bit yielding in her character.

  Watching as the other woman took her seat, Charlotte wondered if Sir Maxim, for all his diabolical reputation, could see beyond his nose where his mistress was concerned. Judith Taynton was a snake, but she was a very beautiful snake, with an enviably willowy figure and a heart-shaped face framed by a short tumble of shining blond curls. Always clad in yellow, which color she had long since realized flattered her most of all, she was one of the undoubted belles of society, a beauty who knew she was beautiful and who constantly acted the part. Today she was wearing a primrose spencer over a high-waisted, décolleté’ gown of a yellow silk so sheer that it revealed every curve of her body. There was a little matching hat on her head, its flouncy ostrich plumes trembling a little as she tilted her chin at a most becoming angle, but the smile on her lips was hard, revealing the real Lady Judith Taynton to anyone who cared to look.

  Glancing across at Charlotte, so dull in black, Judith couldn’t conceal her delight with the way things had gone recently for the loathed Wyndhams. George Wyndham, Charlotte’s father, was dead, his fortune lost at the gaming tables, and his daughter and widow were left to sell their beloved estate in order to meet his mountainous debts. How good it was to be here today, to watch Max become the new owner of their precious Kimber Park, and to know that Charlotte was cut to the very heart to know that a Taynton would soon be mistress of the house.

  Max took up a position with his back to the immense white marble fireplace, and he too looked at Charlotte. Until recently he had never met her, although he had heard of her. Indeed, who hadn’t heard of George Wyndham’s startling daughter, the heiress who was reluctant to have anything to do with tiresome matters like the Season and the marriage mart, who kept her nose far too much in books, and whose inclination to speak her mind when she felt like it had cost her more than one excellent proposal of marriage? She could have done so well for herself had she tried, but she had made no effort to obey the countless rules of etiquette and convention that bound the exclusive circle of which she was part, and so at twenty-three she was still unmarried, and likely to remain so, for what man in his right mind would want such an unpredictable, independent, stubborn wife?

  He studied her for a moment. Dear God, how stiff and cold she was! She could almost have been fashioned from ice, except for the warmth in the dark-red hair piled up in a knot on the top of her head, a long tress hanging down to her shoulder, and except for the occasional fire he saw in her large gray eyes when something annoyed her. Her detached, cool manner irritated him, touching him on a nerve that pricked him constantly whenever he was with her. Today she was making an effort to conceal her feelings, but on previous occasions she had been so very transparent. She didn’t like him particularly, and she positively loathed his mistress, facts that should not have been allowed to show. He had tried to make allowances for her, knowing that all that had recently happened had placed her under a great strain and had loaded her with responsibilities she had never known before; but none of that really excused the way she had so often allowed him to read her thoughts. She needed a lesson in manners, and he was just the one to do the teaching. She wanted this business over and done with as quickly as possible, but he intended to delay, to drag the meeting out and make her pay just a little for her poor conduct.

  He smiled. “I trust we haven’t kept you waiting, Miss Wyndham.”

  “Not at all, sir, you’re always most punctual.”

  “I’ve always considered punctuality to be a virtue, but perhaps you do not agree.”

  Virtue? What would this man know of virtue? But she managed a bland smile. “Oh, I do agree, Sir Maxim, for to be prompt has the desired effect of hastening things to their conclusion.”

  Not today it doesn’t, he thought. “Yes, it does indeed,” he murmured, his eyes veiled, “provided one doesn’t have to observe too many irritating niceties along the way. Is that not so, Miss Wyndham?” He was rewarded by the dull flush that stole into her pale cheeks. He wondered how much it would take to provoke her into a display of the fiery spirit for which she was known; he wondered too, as an aside, why it was that he found her so damned provocative.

  She knew he was needling her deliberately, but she was determined not to rise to it. “Did you have an agreeable journ
ey from town, sir? I know it’s only ten miles, but the summer has so far been so atrocious that the roads are more than a little dirty.”

  “The journey was comfortable enough.”

  “I’m so glad you weren’t inconvenienced,” she murmured, glancing across at the lawyers. “Perhaps we should proceed…?”

  “There was one stretch of road,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “which was a positive mire; indeed it took some half an hour to traverse it.”

  “How very disagreeable.”

  “Yes, so close to the capital one expects so much more from the king’s highway, does one not?”

  She forced herself to smile, but not terribly successfully. She simply didn’t like him, and his action in bringing Judith had made her dislike him all the more.

  Judith sat forward then, a spiteful light gleaming in her green eyes. “Yes, indeed, the journey was not an ordeal, but then we were in a very fine traveling carriage. When you leave with your mother in a month’s time, you will not be so fortunate, will you? I mean, a hired chaise is hardly an agreeable mode of transport, and if the weather should continue as it has been…. However, no doubt you will cope. Tell me, where is your new London abode to be? I did hear say that it was in Henry Street.”

  Charlotte sighed inwardly, for Judith knew full well where it was; she was merely scoring unkind points. “Henrietta Street,” she replied flatly.

  “Not in Covent Garden?” Judith pretended to be shocked.

  “No, near Cavendish Square.”

  “Oh, that Henrietta Street. But isn’t that rather a quiet area?”

  “I sincerely hope so.”

  “Well, it’s certainly the wrong side of Oxford Street for all the whirl of Mayfair and the Season, isn’t it? And it’s hardly as grand as your Berkeley Square house. But, then, you’ve never taken to all that, have you? Just think, you’ll be almost on the doorstep of Wyman’s Circulating Library. All those books.” She gave a tinkling, false laugh. “I’ve never indulged in reading to any great extent, books seem so very dull to me.”

  “Yes,” replied Charlotte sweetly, “I can well imagine that they would seem that way to you.” Then she looked up at Max. “Shall we proceed with the matter in hand?” She deliberately rose to her feet, determined to conclude the interview.

  He gave the faintest of smiles, inclining his head and offering her his arm. She accepted, but barely rested her hand on his sleeve as they proceeded to the table.

  Judith’s drawling tones carried clearly after them. “Oh, Max, please don’t forget to give especial attention to the boundary documents; you know my father is somewhat concerned to see there is no repetition of previous, er, discrepancies.”

  A sharp anger rose in Charlotte as she sat down, and she was hard put to bite back the blistering retort. The discrepancies had all been the Earl of Barstow’s doing, for he had some fifteen years earlier attempted to illegally annex some Kimber Park land adjoining his property at Taynton Castle. His double-dealing had ended a hitherto neighborly relationship and had resulted in the virtual feud that had existed between the two families ever since.

  The lawyers, both clad in black and both wearing powdered wigs, had the papers ready. Mr. Robards, the Wyndham lawyer, was a short, round man with bulging eyes and a nervous manner; his companion, Mr. Berenson, the Talgarth lawyer, was tall, lean and stooping, with a beaky nose and spectacles. They stood back politely as Max took his seat. Charlotte immediately took up a quill and signed her name in all the relevant places, but Max made it clear straightaway that he was in no such hurry. He took his time, carefully reading through each paper as if it was the first time he had seen it.

  The minutes passed and still he had yet to pick up a quill. Beside him Charlotte grew steadily more incensed, just as he intended she should. She knew that he had read everything before, that he and Mr. Berenson had discussed all the details and had had various clauses inserted or removed, so there really wasn’t any need at all for this studied caution. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more of an insult she found his conduct, for it was as if he was hinting there might have been some sly changes made without his knowledge or consent.

  At last she couldn’t bear it anymore. “Sir Maxim,” she breathed coldly, “do you intend to sign anything or not?”

  He evinced a degree of astonishment at her chill manner. “Why, Miss Wyndham, you seem angry. Have I offended you?”

  “You begin to annoy me intensely, sir,” she replied, throwing caution and common sense to the four winds. She heard Judith’s outraged gasp.

  “Annoy you?” he replied. “But how could I possibly have done that?” So, the famous spirit was to the fore at last.

  “Sir, you’ve been endeavoring to do it since the moment you entered the room, and now you’ll undoubtedly be pleased to know that your efforts have been rewarded.” She got up. “I think we may dispense with further false courtesies, for you like me as little as I like you, and I see no sensible reason for continuing with the pretense.”

  He rose as well, his eyes still a little amused, but also bearing the faintest hint of anger. “It seems to me, Miss Wyndham, that you are quite beyond redemption, after all. I had thought that all I’d heard about your temper must be exaggeration, but apparently it’s all too painfully true.”

  “Sir, I’ve wondered about your reputation as well and confess to having come to the same conclusion. I sincerely hope that I never have to come into contact with you again, and so I will bid you good-bye. I’ve signed all the papers and it only remains for you to do the same, if you still wish to possess Kimber Park. If my being beyond redemption has changed your mind, then I suggest that you go to hell, a place with which I’m given to understand you’re very well acquainted. Oh, and if you do go there, pray take your, er, companion, with you.” With a disdainful glance in Judith’s direction, she gathered her black skirts and walked from the room, closing the double doors behind her.

  Silence reigned for a moment, the two lawyers glancing uneasily at Max, wondering how he would take such conduct. He remained motionless, a myriad of emotions showing fleetingly in his quick blue eyes; then he looked at the nervous, anxious Mr. Robards. “It seems to me, sir,” he said softly, “that the late Mr. Wyndham was singularly lacking in his duty.”

  “L-Lacking, sir?”

  “He should have put his damned daughter over his knee long ago.”

  “Sh-She’s been under a great strain of late, sir,” replied the lawyer apologetically.

  This caused Max to laugh briefly. “My dear fellow, I wouldn’t give much for your hide if she caught you making excuses for her.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat uncomfortably. “No, Sir Maxim,” he admitted with some feeling, “nor do I. Will you still be going ahead with the purchase? Or has this perhaps changed your mind?”

  “It will take more than Miss Wyndham’s acid tongue and ill temper to deflect me, sir. I’m determined to have this house, and have it I will.” He sat down again and swiftly signed every document, not bothering to continue reading, now that Charlotte had gone. He didn’t feel well pleased with himself for having goaded her into such a display, but she had been long overdue for a lesson. Maybe he’d been less than considerate in bringing Judith today, but was he expected to leave her outside when he was, after all, on his way to be a house guest at Taynton Castle? Why should he insult his mistress in order to placate a willful, opinionated, bad-tempered creature who seemed almost totally devoid of drawing-room manners? He tossed down the quill. Damn Charlotte Wyndham for so provoking him that his own drawing-room manners were for once less than perfect.

  Mr. Robards and Mr. Bereson carefully sanded all the papers and gathered them together, Mr. Berenson looked shortsightedly through his spectacles. “You are now the new owner of Kimber Park, Sir Maxim. May I offer you my congratulations?”

  Max looked around the magnificent room, with its gilded plasterwork, shimmering chandeliers, French furniture, and tall, elegant windows. From t
he ceiling gods and goddesses gazed down from heavenly clouds, as if intent upon all that passed in the room below. It was a beautiful room, a brilliant jewel set in a perfect crown, and he had coveted it all for a very long time. There wasn’t a house in England that, in his opinion, could compare with this. He was tired of his exclusive gentleman’s apartment at the house in Piccadilly known as Albany, and his estates in north Wales were too remote to be enjoyed at a moment’s notice. Kimber Park, so very lovely and so conveniently close to London, was the ideal solution. “May you offer me your congratulations, Mr. Berenson? Yes, I rather think that you may.”

  Judith, who with considerable effort had remained silent during Charlotte’s outburst, now rose in a whisper of yellow silk to hurry across to him, slipping her slender arms about him as he sat at the table. “And you have my congratulations too,” she murmured, bending to kiss him.

  He got up quickly, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, ignoring the startled lawyers. But as he drew back, his glance moved thoughtfully toward the door where last he had seen Charlotte. He hadn’t done with that young lady yet, but for the moment at least, she must remain unfinished business.

  Charlotte was watching from the library window a little later as Max’s carriage departed, its team of perfectly matched bays stepping high down the rain-soaked drive. The coachman’s caped coat flapped in the gusts of wind that swept across the open park as he brought the horses up to a spanking pace, maneuvering them deftly around the curve at the foot of the knoll, where the lake wound its way through the wooded valley. The water was the color of lead as the carriage followed the drive along the shore, vanishing from sight for a while among the trees before reappearing on the open, rising land beyond. It climbed the long incline toward the lodge, driving out through the wrought-iron gates and turning west toward Taynton Castle, some two miles farther on. As the gates closed, she breathed out very slowly. It was nearly all over now; in a month’s time she and her mother would be gone and Kimber Park would be part of the past.