Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

  “I will find her,” Charles insisted, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “But first I have to know if she is on that ship! If you could please check your log and tell me her cabin number, I would be most appreciative.”

  “My lord,” the agent said again, drawing himself up imperiously, “if you were sailing on the Britannia today with a first-class ticket, I could happily give you the name of any passenger you like. Otherwise, my hands are tied. We have rules here at the White Star Line, and were you Queen Victoria herself, I should be bound to follow them.”

  “Fine! Fine!” Charles growled. “I will purchase a first-class ticket. How much does it cost?”

  “I think we are sold out in first class,” the agent said, methodically checking his log.

  It was all Charles could do not to jump across the counter and grab the fellow by the neck.

  The clerk twirled his mustached in his fingertips, then took a small, satisfied breath. “Ah—you’re in luck. I do have one first-class cabin available. That will be sixteen pounds.”

  Charles pulled money from his pocket and paid the man, grateful that he had enough to cover the fee. The agent took his time processing the ticket before sliding it across the counter.

  “Now will you check please, and quickly?” Charles urged. “Miss Madeleine Atherton.”

  “Atherton?” the agent repeated, running his finger backward up the list where he had just entered Charles’s name. “Ah! Yes. I thought the name sounded familiar. Miss Atherton just bought a first-class ticket herself not two hours ago. Cabin 312.”

  “Thank you.” Charles dashed out of the office, ticket in hand. Twenty-five minutes to go.

  He hurried past the last-minute arriving coaches and wagons and wove his way in between the masses of people clustered at the dock who were preparing to board or had come to say good-bye.

  As he approached the gangplank, he noticed a family with five children in old, faded clothing who were hauling trunks and bags. Even the youngest children, who looked to be no more than four and five years old, were struggling to pull along cases which looked as large and heavy as themselves. No time, keep going. But in spite of the pressure he was under, Charles couldn’t bring himself to pass by without helping.

  “Those bags look too big for you.” Charles paused before the children with a wink and a smile. “Might I offer you some assistance?”

  The boy and girl glanced up at him with surprise and gratitude on their weary faces. Charles grabbed their burdens, one in each hand. “I will just dash on ahead, shall I, and leave them for you at the top?”

  “Thank you, sir,” cried the woman who was undoubtedly their mother.

  Charles nodded in reply and raced up the gangplank, murmuring “Forgive me” and “Beg your pardon” as he darted around the people who were ascending and descending.

  Upon reaching the platform which allowed access to the ship, Charles left the bags with a steward, hastily pointing out the family to whom they belonged. Then he rushed to the stairs.

  He recalled that most people preferred to stand on deck when a steamship left the dock, but you never knew. Miss Atherton might be in her cabin. It made sense to check there first. Following a brief inquiry with a passing steward, Charles found the appropriate level and raced down the long corridor to cabin 312.

  Catching his breath, he knocked. There was no answer. He called out and knocked again. “Miss Atherton? It is Charles Grayson. If you are there, please open the door.”

  Silence.

  He turned and ran back down the corridor, then took the stairs up two at a time. She could be in the lounge. The saloon. The café. Anywhere at all. But reason told him she would be outside with the other first-class passengers.

  Bursting forth from the doorway to the promenade deck, he glanced frantically in both directions. The ship was huge. The deck ran around its entire length like a racetrack, but everyone was clustered on the port side. In which direction should he head? There was no way to know.

  He turned left and made his way along the open-air passageway. Excitement filled the air. There were people, people, everywhere, clustered beneath the rows of overhanging lifeboats. Crowds of passengers stood at the rail. A few last groups of visitors were saying good-bye to their departing friends, chattering and wiping away tears.

  Just then the warning bell rang, a hollow, high-pitched sound that resonated above the clamor. Stewards passed by, crying: “All ashore, if you please! All ashore that’s going ashore!”

  Charles’s heart thundered in his ears. Time was running out. All around him, people were shaking hands and exchanging final embraces. He forged on against the tide as those without tickets began to disperse. He saw a clergyman waving good-bye to his family. Women kissing each other, parting, then rushing back for one last clutch in each other’s arms.

  He hurried along, his pulse beating time with every step, his eyes touching on every woman he passed. When he got to the stern of the ship, he turned around and made his way back toward the bow. But although he glimpsed several women with hair and builds similar to Miss Atherton’s, when they turned and he got a look at their faces, he realized they were strangers.

  “Last call!” a steward cried out as he strode by. “All ashore that’s going ashore!”

  With a sudden, deep rumble, like some great beast coming to life, the engine started. Overhead, smoke poured from the three huge stacks.

  Dear Lord. Any minute now, they’d be removing the gangplank.

  It was an impossible task. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. Passengers were gathered three and four deep at the rail, straining to look out over each other’s shoulders as they waved and called out. Miss Atherton could be at the rail five feet away from him, and he would never know it—there were too many people in the way.

  A sudden thought occurred to him. The passengers on this side were all saying good-bye to someone. Miss Atherton might still be here, hidden by the throngs, wanting to take in the exciting moment when the ship pulled away from the dock.

  Or, since she had no one to see her off, she might prefer a more quiet viewing spot on the opposite side of the ship.

  The wooden deck vibrated beneath his feet.

  This was it. Unless he wanted to sail to New York, he had to get off the ship.

  Charles made his decision. He ducked into the first doorway he came to, raced down a hall and across a vast space that appeared to be a lounge, finally emerging through a door onto the promenade deck on the opposite side of the ship. This side, as he had predicted, was far less crowded.

  He ran along the deck, breathing hard, scanning every feminine face and figure.

  And then he saw her. Standing at the rail about fifty feet ahead.

  A vision in a white lawn frock. A despondent look on her lovely face.

  He covered the space between them in seconds and stopped before her, too breathless for words, his chest feeling as though it might explode from exertion. She glanced up, her expression only vaguely curious. When she caught sight of him, her eyes widened and her lips parted in utter astonishment.

  “What on earth . . . ?” she said.

  He was still gasping for air. Now that they stood face-to-face, he realized that everything he’d prepared to say was useless. He had hoped to convince her to leave the ship. To stay in England. Which was pointless now.

  Because as they stood staring at each other, the rumble of the engines increased in volume, and the ship began to move.

  Madeleine couldn’t believe her eyes. Lord Saunders was standing before her, so out of breath as to be incapable of speech. She would have been less surprised to see a kangaroo or an elephant materialize beside her on deck than she was to see him.

  “You’re sailing to New York?” It was a ridiculous question. Obviously he was sailing to New York. Beneath her feet, she could feel the vibration of the huge vessel as it steamed away from the shore.

  “Apparently,” was all he could manage.

  “Why?”
She had bought passage on this ship not just to get away from her mother, but also to get away from him. Yet here he stood.

  “It was not my original intention.” He kept gulping for air, until he was at last able to manage a conversation. “I was hoping to stop you from leaving port. I could not let you go until you had heard my apology.”

  “Your apology?”

  He nodded, contrition in his eyes. “Yesterday, I behaved like an ass. I shudder to think of the things I said to you. I know that I hurt you, but I was too dense and pigheaded at the time to understand the truth of my own feelings. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

  Madeleine tried to make sense of this startling declaration. “I accept your apology, Lord Saunders, and I value the great lengths which you have undergone to offer it.”

  Relief seemed to infuse his every feature. The look on his face promised that more was coming, along with that tantalizing phrase he had uttered . . . the truth of my own feelings. She had never, in her wildest dreams, expected that anything like this might happen. She waited, the first tiny flutters of hope rising in her chest.

  He took a deep breath and went on. “Miss Atherton. From the first moment I saw you, descending the stairs at that party at Polperran House, I was entranced. Since I have gotten to know you this summer, my mind and heart have become entirely yours. I have tried to deny it, believing that I was duty-bound to another. But it was a commitment that should never have been asked of me. You are the woman with whom I wish to share my life.”

  Her heart pounded. “But . . . what about Sophie?”

  “I resolved this morning that I could never marry Sophie. I informed my father and mother of such. Before I could break the news to Sophie herself, she admitted that she is in love with Dr. Hancock. They are, in fact, engaged.”

  “Engaged? To Dr. Hancock?” Madeleine could hardly believe it. And yet, she suddenly recalled the times she had come upon the two of them together . . . how strange and out of sorts Sophie had been acting lately . . . and what she’d said the night of the ball: I am hoping for a proposal tonight. Sophie hadn’t been hoping for a proposal from Saunders at all, but rather from Dr. Hancock.

  Saunders took both of her gloved hands in his. “Miss Atherton: You are my heart. My soul. The other half of myself. I love you. I love you more dearly than words can express. Dare I hope that you can forgive me for what I said, and for the hurt I caused you?”

  Madeleine felt her mouth curving up into a smile. “You may dare, Lord Saunders.”

  “May I dare further, and hope that you might love me?”

  “I do love you,” Madeleine told him with feeling, “with all my heart.”

  His eyes brimmed with affection as he moved closer still. “Will you make me the happiest of men and agree to be my wife?”

  “I will.”

  As the ship steamed away into the blue, he drew her into his arms and kissed her. And, her heart soaring, she kissed him right back.

  Epilogue

  They were married that same evening in the ship’s chapel by a clergyman on board, who was only too happy to conduct the service for the Earl of Saunders and his bride. The captain himself and head steward served as witnesses, recording the event in the ship’s logbook. The bride wore a white lawn frock and carried a bouquet of roses and daisies hastily thrown together by the ship’s florist. The groom wore what he had arrived in.

  After sending cables to their families to apprise them of the news, they returned to Madeleine’s cabin, where Saunders lifted her into his arms and carried her over the threshold.

  “Now I truly feel like a bride,” Madeleine said, laughing, “although I admit, I have felt this way before.”

  “Do you mean to say I have committed bigamy?” Saunders quipped, setting her down gently on her feet inside the spacious cabin.

  “I was thinking of yesterday. When you carried me up the stairs to your loft.”

  “Oh.” He paused, sobering. “I deeply regret my behavior on that occasion, my darling. I vow to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

  “I will hold you to that.”

  He kissed her soundly, then took off his coat. “You know,” he said, as he began undoing the buttons on her dress, “we have two first-class cabins, bought and paid for. It seems rather superfluous, does it not?”

  “It does indeed. Shall we offer one to the kind clergyman who married us? I heard he’s traveling second class. He might be grateful for the upgrade.”

  “An excellent plan.” He slid her dress from her shoulders, let it drop to the floor.

  She untied his cravat and slipped it from around his neck. “Am I right in supposing that you have no luggage?”

  “None whatsoever. I have only the clothes on my back.”

  “Well, based on how much time I expect us to spend in this cabin,” she said as she unbuttoned his shirt, “I’m thinking you won’t need any more clothes than that.”

  He laughed and kissed her again. “How I love you, Lady Saunders.”

  “There is no need for such formality, dearest,” she teased. “You have called me Madeleine before.”

  “So I have.” He unlaced her corset and removed it. “I adore your name. But would you mind very much if I call you Maddie, as your sisters do?”

  “I would love that, Charles.”

  “Charles,” he repeated, a mere murmur. “How I love the way you say it.”

  They made love, rocked by the movement of the ship. It was a tender yet passionate union, a meeting of souls made even more meaningful by the promises of love and devotion they exchanged.

  Afterward, nestled in each other’s arms in the quiet darkness, they talked about the future.

  “I hope you do not regret being married in this fashion,” Charles said, cradling her cheek in his hand as he gazed at her across the pillow.

  “I don’t. I know some girls, growing up, dream of a big church wedding with all the trimmings, but my sisters and I never did. That kind of affair has always seemed too stressful and extravagant to me. I loved the way we did it: a private exchange of vows, no fuss, no muss, no planning required.”

  “I quite agree with you. But,” he added thoughtfully, “I think my mother will be disappointed. She might wish for another wedding on land. And your mother . . .”

  “You’re right. My mother will insist upon a lavish affair.” Madeleine shrugged. “We might as well give them the pleasure.”

  “Where shall we have such a ceremony? In New York or England?”

  “In England,” Madeleine responded. “If we are to be wed a second time, I wouldn’t think of holding it anywhere but on the lawn at Trevelyan Manor, overlooking the sea.”

  “It shall be done. Perhaps in autumn, as the leaves are turning?”

  “That would be lovely.” Madeleine returned his affectionate gaze. “You know, this all happened so fast, I never had time to wonder. Where will we live?”

  “Where would you like to live? As long as my father remains healthy, which I hope will continue for a good many years, we aren’t bound to stay in England.”

  “But I’d like to,” Madeleine told him. “Cornwall is your home. I’d like to live near your family and near Alexandra and her family as well.”

  “That’s easy, then. We can live at Parmoor House. It is on the edge of our estate. I believe it could be made ready and comfortable for us in a matter of months.”

  “I think I have seen it. Is it a redbrick house with blue shutters?”

  “Yes. It is cozy compared to Trevelyan Manor, but big enough, I think, to raise a handful of children.”

  “A handful? Do you refer to the number of children, or to their behavior patterns?”

  “Both, perhaps.” He laughed and she laughed with him.

  “The house looked sweet. I’m sure it will do.”

  “I’m glad. In the meantime, we can travel. I have always wished to see more of America. What would you say if we honeymooned there? I have heard great things about your nat
ional parks, Yellowstone and Yosemite in particular. I have always wanted to see San Francisco.”

  “Me, too. But we must begin in Manhattan. I’d love to share my favorite haunts with you. You might find our house on Fifth Avenue a bit ostentatious, but I know my father and Kathryn will be delighted to see you again.” An idea suddenly came to her. “Charles: doesn’t Nikola Tesla work in Manhattan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Remington’s typewriters are manufactured there as well?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And Thomas Edison has a workshop in New Jersey?”

  “So I have been told. Why?”

  “Would you like to meet them?”

  His eyes widened. “Is that even possible?”

  “My father knows everyone. I can ask him to arrange an introduction. You might find an exchange of ideas with those gentlemen inspiring. And who knows? One of them might take an interest in the projects you’ve been working on.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something.” He shook his head in wonder. “How well you know me, darling.” Smiling, he added, “This brings me to another point I wished to make. The book you wrote. I presume you have the manuscript with you?”

  “I do.”

  “An acquaintance of mine owns a publishing house in London. They have offices in New York as well. I know you said you’ve only completed a first draft. But whenever you deem it ready I can contact him, see if he can do something for you.”

  “Charles! That would be amazing.”

  “You are amazing.” He kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair. “I love you, Maddie.”

  “And I love you, Charles,” she murmured against his lips.

  The kiss became more heated. Madeleine felt a rocking sensation and was uncertain if it was the movement of the ship plowing through the open sea, or the motion of their intertwined bodies as they made love.

  Either way, it was pure bliss.

  Acknowledgments

  With deepest thanks to the team at Avon Impulse for all your hard work bringing this book to life. I am so grateful!