Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

“No. But I could invest in a company that would manufacture it. Think what a difference it would make in the mining industry. It could save lives.”

  She took that in. “Still. This environment, it is so dirty and messy. Surely this kind of thing is better left to people in the trades?”

  “Why? Why should I not pursue what interests me?”

  “Because you are an earl.”

  “You sound just like my father.” He sighed in annoyance.

  Sophie’s brows furrowed in distress. She seemed to go somewhere else in her mind for a moment before speaking again. “I do not wish to upset you, Charles. Perhaps it is not my place to say anything. But I have known you all my life. You must be practical. You are looked up to in your current position, and one day you will be a marquess. Surely you understand why you must give all this up?”

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I shall have to, one day,” Charles responded grimly, before showing her to the door.

  Five days after Tommy’s birth, a telegram arrived at Polperran House:

  TO: THE EARL AND COUNTESS OF LONGFORD

  POLPERRAN HOUSE, LONGFORD, CORNWALL

  WELCOME BABY THOMAS. LEAVING PARIS TOMORROW. ARRIVE BOLTON STATION AUGUST 16 ON 2 PM TRAIN. SEND CARRIAGE.

  MOTHER

  Madeleine set down the telegram on the breakfast table, exchanging a sigh with her sister. The last thing she wanted right now was to see her mother, who would no doubt have only one thing on her mind: whether or not Madeleine was ready to accept Lord Oakley.

  “What is that sigh for, ladies?” Thomas asked as he tucked into his scrambled eggs.

  “I think you know,” his wife responded, sipping her coffee.

  “Because your mother is coming?”

  Alexandra nodded. “Mother can be so difficult.”

  “Mother,” Madeleine agreed, “can be impossible.”

  “Well,” Thomas replied, “let us hope she will be so thrilled to see her first grandchild, she’ll be on her best behavior.”

  When the carriage rolled up in the courtyard’s gravel drive on Friday afternoon, the entire household was waiting outside to greet it.

  The footman opened the coach’s door and pulled down the steps. Madeleine and Alexandra’s mother glanced out from the doorway with a wide, uncharacteristic smile on her face.

  “Hello!” she called out.

  The footman assisted Mrs. Atherton to step down. She was dressed in a meticulously fashioned suit and matching hat that could only have been made in Paris.

  “What a beautiful dress,” Julia commented.

  “She looks so happy,” Lillie noted.

  “Too happy,” Madeleine murmured.

  “She always arrives grumpy and complaining,” Alexandra whispered in agreement. “I wonder what’s going on?”

  A second occupant alighted: their mother’s lady’s maid, Fiona, with whom she always traveled. And then, to Madeleine’s utter astonishment, yet another person emerged from the carriage.

  Lord Oakley.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As Lord Oakley stepped down onto the gravel drive, Madeleine stared at him, stunned into silence.

  What was he doing here, showing up without an invitation? The last she’d heard from Lord Oakley, he was in Italy with plans to visit France. He’d intended to be away another month at least.

  He stood tall and upright, a dignified figure in his brown tweed suit and pumpkin-colored ascot, his auburn hair becomingly combed. Somehow, he managed to look fresh and immaculate, despite the fact that he must have been traveling for days.

  “My lord,” her mother said to Thomas, “I believe you know Lord Oakley?”

  Although her sister and Thomas must have been just as surprised by this man’s unexpected appearance as Madeleine was, neither showed an ounce of discomposure.

  Thomas held out his hand. “Oakley! Yes, I remember you from Oxford. It has been an age.”

  “Nice to see you, Longford.” Lord Oakley firmly returned the handshake.

  “May I present my wife, Lady Longford?”

  Oakley bowed to Alexandra. “Lady Longford. I believe we have met before as well, when you were first presented to English society.”

  “We did,” Alexandra acknowledged.

  Thomas introduced Oakley to his sisters Julia and Lillie, who curtsied politely.

  Oakley then turned to Madeleine, his pale blue eyes imbued with warmth. “May I say, Miss Atherton, what a delight it is to see you again.”

  Confusion shot through her. Madeleine had forgotten how handsome he was, or the effect his smile had on her. Recovering the power of speech, she said, “And you, my lord. I hope you enjoyed your holiday abroad?”

  “Very much. But after running into your mother in Paris, I was happy to cut it short.”

  Suddenly, Oakley’s presence was beginning to make sense. Madeleine cast a dark look at her mother, but it went unnoticed.

  “Imagine my surprise,” her mother commented, “when I came down to the lobby of the Grand Hotel Terminus to discover that Lord Oakley was staying at the very same place!”

  “It was a happy coincidence,” Oakley remarked.

  Coincidence my foot.

  “When I told him I was coming back to Cornwall to see my new grandson,” Mrs. Atherton went on, “he wouldn’t hear of me traveling on my own, absolutely insisted on accompanying me. But then, I already told you all this in the wire I sent.” She smiled, as if daring anyone to challenge this lie.

  “Yes, of course,” Alexandra replied.

  “Glad to have you,” Thomas said.

  “Glad to be here,” Lord Oakley replied. “It is my first time in Cornwall.” Gazing up at the massive, three-winged edifice that wrapped around the courtyard in which they stood, he added, “I say, this is a beautiful old house. The battlements and turrets are exceptional. Did there used to be a fourth wing?”

  “There did—it burned down over a century ago,” Thomas acknowledged.

  “I thought as much. I am a bit of an architecture buff,” Oakley announced proudly. “I look forward to seeing the place.”

  “Allow me to lead the way.” Thomas gestured for Oakley and Alexandra to accompany him inside. Julia and Lillie fell in step behind them.

  “So,” Madeleine said under her breath, following along with her mother, “you just happened to run into him in Paris?”

  “What do you take me for?” her mother responded in a stern whisper. “His mother gave me his itinerary.”

  “And he decided to return to England, just to provide you with an escort?”

  “He is a gallant gentleman. What can I say? Although I’m sure the greater impetus was my insistence that a prompt visit from him was in order—and that you were quite ready to accept his offer.”

  “You told him that?” Madeleine was aghast. “Mother, how could you?”

  “You’ve had plenty of time to think this over, Madeleine. Time apart does not make the heart grow fonder. Accept him and be done with it. You will thank me later.” As they passed through the grand entry hall into the enormous drawing room where the others were chatting, Mrs. Atherton raised her voice and called out, “When do I get to meet my new grandson?”

  The conversation at dinner focused on anecdotes from Lord Oakley’s and Mrs. Atherton’s recent travel experiences. Although the stories were interesting and often amusing, Madeleine found it impossible to attend to them.

  All summer long, she’d been so distracted by her attraction to Lord Saunders, she’d given Lord Oakley very little thought—and she felt a bit guilty about that. It was hard to believe he was actually here, sitting beside her now. According to her mother, he’d come because he thought she was ready to accept him.

  Madeleine felt as if she were on a train that was barreling down a track, destined for some inescapable end. She had fallen in love with Lord Saunders, but a relationship with him had never even been in the cards. Maybe, all along, she was supposed to marry Lord Oakley. Maybe her whole visit to Cornwall wa
s never supposed to have happened.

  Oakley’s voice infiltrated her reverie. “Of all the cities I visited in Italy,” he was saying as he swirled the wine in his glass, “Venice was my favorite. All those wonderful ancient buildings, particularly St. Mark’s Basilica. Unforgettable.”

  “Thomas and I honeymooned in Italy,” Alexandra nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ll never forget our gondola ride in Venice. It was so romantic.”

  “Not quite so romantic, I am afraid, when you have no one to share it with.” Oakley turned to Madeleine. “One day soon, I look forward to gliding along the canals in the moonlight with you, my dear.”

  Madeleine wished she could return his sentiment. She searched for a reply. “Did you visit Florence, my lord?”

  “I did. A lovely city.”

  “I studied art in Florence,” Thomas remarked as the footman served him roasted potatoes from a silver tray. “I will never forget the sense of awe that came over me the first time I saw Michelangelo’s David.”

  “Incredible to think he carved that massive statue from a single piece of unwanted marble,” Alexandra noted.

  “An Italian Grand Duke gave Queen Victoria a replica of the David thirty years ago,” Mrs. Atherton said with a sniff. “She was so offended by its nudity, she commissioned a plaster cast fig leaf to preserve its modesty.”

  Oakley nodded. “Quite the right thing to do.”

  Madeleine stared at him. “The right thing? How can you say so, Lord Oakley? The David is a masterpiece.”

  “It is,” Oakley agreed, “but created for a different audience. The day I saw it, no fewer than three gentlewomen fainted dead away upon beholding it—one directly into my arms.”

  Laughter erupted along the table. Madeleine feigned a laugh she didn’t feel.

  After dinner, as the party arrived in the parlor for tea, Thomas and Alexandra were suddenly called away to attend to their son, and Mrs. Atherton announced that she was tired and going to bed.

  “Was that a cleverly engineered subterfuge to leave us on our own?” Oakley asked Madeleine, amused, as he sat down on the sofa beside her.

  Madeleine’s heart quickened, but more with anxiety than anticipation. “I believe it was.”

  “Kind of them, though. And very much appreciated.” Oakley gave her an earnest and tender smile. “Miss Atherton. I know I have only just arrived after two months apart. Perhaps it is too soon to speak, but I do not know when we shall have another opportunity like this.” He took a breath. “First, I want to make sure there are no illusions between us. I fear your mother may have misled you when she explained why I have come to Cornwall.”

  “Oh?” She glanced at her lap.

  “It is true that I did not like the idea of your mother traveling on her own, but there is a more important reason I wished to accompany her.” He took one of her hands in his. His voice ringing with emotion, he said, “When I met your mother in Paris, she said that you had made a decision regarding my offer. That you have now decided to make me the happiest man on earth.”

  Madeleine looked up to see quiet affection in his eyes. Her heart pounded. How should she respond? She admired Lord Oakley. He had been so patient. She’d made him wait two months already, and he’d cut short a trip to Europe just to see her. Maybe she owed it to him to say yes.

  She recalled what her mother had said to her months ago, when Madeleine had professed herself to be uncertain as to whether or not she loved Lord Oakley. Do not be so particular. You will learn to love the man you marry. As I did. As all wealthy women do.

  Maybe it was true. Maybe she could learn to love Lord Oakley.

  Accept him and be done with it. You will thank me later.

  Before Madeline could reply, however, Oakley leaned in and pressed his lips briefly and delicately against hers, then announced with a smile, “I am so glad to have the matter settled at last. We will have a perfect life together, my darling Madeleine. I love you dearly. Mother is so looking forward to discussing the wedding arrangements.”

  Madeleine’s mind was in a whirl. What had just happened? Had she indeed accepted him? Were she and Lord Oakley now engaged? He’d kissed her and called her Madeleine, a familiarity reserved for couples who were betrothed. She felt a sense of rising panic and sinking disappointment, two disparate sensations that clanged violently within her.

  “But before we get to that,” Lord Oakley went on, “I feel remiss. At dinner, we talked only about me and my travels. Tell me about you. How have you occupied yourself while I was gone?”

  Madeleine struggled to find her voice. “Um. Well. I have kept busy. I spent much of my time at Trevelyan Manor.” And I kissed Lord Saunders. Twice. She felt her ears grow hot. Lord Oakley’s kiss just now had been so polite, so tentative. She had felt . . . nothing. The contrast between that kiss and the kisses she’d shared with Lord Saunders was so extreme, she could hardly countenance it.

  “Trevelyan Manor?” Oakley asked. “Where is that?”

  “Five miles off. It’s the home of George Grayson, the Marquess of Trevelyan.”

  “Ah, yes. I knew Charles Grayson at school. An excellent chap! I should love to see him again. But why were you there?”

  “A visiting cousin needed a companion, and I complied. I have also been writing this summer.”

  “Writing? Ah. Mother says that writing letters can be a pleasant pastime for a woman.”

  “I didn’t write many letters. Actually, I wrote a play. And I finished my book.”

  “Your book?”

  “The novel I told you about.”

  “A novel?” He pronounced the word as if he’d just taken a bite of a sour lemon.

  “Yes. I did mention it. And you—”

  “But you say you are all finished with that now?” he said hastily.

  “Finished? Well, no. I have to revise it until it’s ready for publication.”

  “Publication?” A short laugh escaped Oakley’s lips. “My dear, you must know that as a marchioness and my future duchess, you cannot think of publishing a novel. That sort of thing simply will not do.”

  “Won’t it?” While at Hatfield Park, he’d seemed perfectly amenable when she’d told him of her aspirations. It now occurred to Madeleine that he probably hadn’t even been listening.

  “Letters and journals, these are the proper and acceptable outlets for a woman’s pen,” Oakley insisted. “But to scribble away at novels? Mother would never hear of it. And what would other people think?”

  Mother would never hear of it. It was the third time he’d mentioned his mother in as many minutes. Madeleine had never noticed before how much his mother’s opinions occupied his thoughts.

  As he continued talking, Madeleine’s mind spun. Lord Oakley, she realized, was a genteel man with many redeeming qualities. He needed to marry a fortune, but there were plenty of other heiresses from whom to choose. He’d said that he loved her, but that couldn’t possibly be true. Because he didn’t really understand her, nor care what was important to her. More importantly, Madeleine realized, she didn’t love him. And she never could. The attraction she’d felt for him when they first met had been mild at best, and fleeting. There had never been any real spark. That, she now comprehended, was why she hadn’t been able to give him her answer two months ago.

  Since then, Madeleine had discovered what true love was. She loved Lord Saunders. She might not be able to marry him, but someday, difficult as it was to imagine now, she might feel that way about someone else. Until that day came, if it ever came, she would settle for nothing less.

  “You shan’t have time for such an indulgence in any case, my dearest,” Lord Oakley was saying. “You shall have a house in London and in the country to manage, children to raise, and much of your time will be devoted to charitable ventures. I trust that will keep any woman busy enough.”

  “You’re right, my lord,” Madeleine said, raising her eyes to his. “All that certainly would keep a woman busy enough. And for almost any woman in the world, it
would be enough. But it isn’t enough for me.”

  Lord Oakley didn’t try to hide his disappointment over Madeleine’s decision, but to his credit, he was a gentleman about it. He left Polperran House early the next morning, before the rest of the household had risen from bed.

  When Madeleine came downstairs and learned that Oakley had gone, she sighed with relief. She hadn’t realized how much this decision had been weighing her down. For the first time in months, she was filled with a sense of peace.

  It was a peace, however, that she knew would be short-lived. Because any minute now, her mother was going to descend those stairs, fully anticipating that her daughter was to be a future duchess.

  Madeleine couldn’t face her mother’s wrath. Not this morning. She needed to get away.

  But where could she go? What excuse could she give for leaving the house?

  An answer suddenly presented itself—an errand Madeleine needed to run. There was no better time than the present to undertake it.

  The morning breeze whipped through Madeleine’s hair as she trotted along. Her mount, Black Shadow, was her favorite horse in the Polperran stables, a gentle mare she had ridden several times before.

  Madeleine’s visit to Trevelyan Manor, she determined, would be a brief one. She was wearing her green silk summer riding habit, after all, not dressed for a social call. Her purpose: to retrieve the manuscript she’d inadvertently left when she’d departed in such haste on the night of the ball.

  It would nice to see Sophie and the family again, if only for a few minutes. Madeleine could tell them about her new nephew, promise to call again in the near future, and depart. There wouldn’t be time for Lord Oakley’s name to come up at all. If Lord Saunders was there . . .

  Madeleine hoped that Lord Saunders wouldn’t be there. It would be so much easier if he weren’t. As she rode up to the manor house, a stable boy appeared.

  “I am only staying a minute,” Madeleine told the boy as she dismounted and gave him the reins. “If you could give her water and bring her straight back, I’d appreciate it.”

  The boy nodded and led the horse off. Madeleine looped up the long, left-hand-side drape of her riding skirt and buttoned it out of the way so she wouldn’t trip on it. Before she could knock, Woodson was opening the front door.