Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  Maria toyed with her rosary – something she only did when quite nervous. Hyacinth tried not to let her own nerves get the best of her. A guard opened the door for them without question, his eyes on the gleaming coach they'd arrived in.

  Hyacinth looked back at the coach and waved to Georgiana, who smiled and waved as the coachman snapped the reins and they drove off. A momentary look of worry crossed the guard's face.

  “They will return for us in half an hour,” Hyacinth said. “I am here to see Mr. Lyons.”

  “He’s going home shortly,” the guard said. “He keeps early hours, you know, but...” His eyes followed the coach as it turned the corner, with the two liveried footmen hanging onto its sides. “Who shall I tell him is here?” he asked.

  “Miss Grey, regarding Mrs. Miller’s accounts.” Hyacinth said.

  If the guard had any prejudice against the infamous Mrs. Miller, or even knew who she was, it didn't show on his face. He stepped away, and another guard replaced him while Maria and Hyacinth waited just inside the door. Moments later, the guard returned with a harried expression.

  “Please, Miss Grey, follow me. Mr. Lyons will see you now.”

  They followed a carpeted corridor to stairs which led up to another, more richly carpeted corridor. At its end, an oak door stood open, brass hinges gleaming. Hyacinth stepped through the door into a high-ceilinged office overlooking the street. Iron bars guarded the windows, and a dozen gilt-framed portraits adorned the inner walls.

  Mr. Lyons stood as Hyacinth entered. He was about the same age as Mr. Butler, but more portly. He wore a velvet waistcoat and tipped his pipe into a tray.

  “Miss Grey,” he said, coming out from behind his desk. “You are the image of your grandmother.”

  “Of my grandmother?” Hyacinth said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, but I confess I am surprised how well both you, and the solicitor, seem to remember my mother and grandmother. They cannot have been my own age for many years.”

  “Ah, her image is a pleasure to hold in the mind, Miss Grey,” the banker answered. “She was a beautiful woman, as I’m sure you’ve heard. But, as it happens, I have an aide memoire.” He gestured towards the wall.

  Hyacinth turned to see a large portrait hanging on the wall behind her. It was like looking into a very flattering mirror. The woman in the painting wore an old-fashioned dress, and her hair was held in a high, powdered wig in the style of the last century, but the banker was right: she looked very much like Hyacinth… except that she had been a famous beauty, and Hyacinth had always considered herself rather ordinary looking.

  “It is good that you take after her,” he said. “Your father’s family may be fine people, but you could hardly do better than to resemble your grandmother.”

  Hyacinth thought she ought to feel uncomfortable at being compared to an infamous courtesan, but the banker’s praise seemed so wholehearted that it would be petty to take offense – especially because this was her own grandmother, too, as well as a courtesan.

  “She was a great lady, no matter what others might say of her,” he continued. “I have her portrait here not only because she was a beautiful woman, but also because she was one of the first and strongest backers of my enterprise here. Without her, I don't think I would have this bank today. Perhaps some lesser place of business, but not at this address, and not with the other clients I have now. She did a great deal for me, your grandmother did.”

  “I know very little about her,” Hyacinth apologized, “having grown up away from England.”

  “Well, Miss Grey, it’s a shame you didn’t know her better in life, but there’s no denying that you’re her heir, and so it’s time you learned what you can. Are you of age yet?”

  “I am twenty-two,” Hyacinth answered.

  “That will do, according to the terms of the will,” he said. “You'll have to learn to manage your own affairs, but if you take after your grandmother at all...” He trailed off, looking at the portrait.

  “I managed my father's household in Gibraltar,” Hyacinth offered. “I understand that my grandmother left me rather more than I'm accustomed to, but I have a little experience.”

  The banker nodded. “Good. I hope that you do well. In the meantime, let us bring you her deposit boxes, and I'll send for the account books.”

  A few minutes later, Hyacinth and Maria sat in a private room near Mr. Lyons’ office with two large boxes perched on the table before them.

  “Your grandmother must have been very rich,” Maria said.

  Hyacinth nodded, wondering which box to look into first. “I wish I’d known her,” she said. She chose one box and fitted the key into its lock.

  The musty smell of old paper and leather wafted out. Inside, Hyacinth found a stack of two dozen leather-bound journals, much like the one Mr. Butler had sent her, along with a packet of letters. She picked up the journals, one by one. She could not read them all, not all at once. Her grandmother's final journal had been full of peaceful reflections on her life as the owner of an estate, plus a few complaints about old age, but Hyacinth did not relish the thought of reading a closer account of her years as a kept woman, let alone as a denizen of the demi-monde.

  The weight of all her grandmother’s experience, or what was left of it, seemed to be contained in those volumes.

  “I'll take them with me,” she decided. “Let’s look into the other box.”

  The second box was heavier, so much so that Hyacinth could not move it on her own. Maria helped her shift it closer to the window, where the light was better. The box was full to the brim of small packets wrapped in leather and silk and velvet. Hyacinth chose one and untied its string, pulling out a long string of freshwater pearls with golden clasp, figured like an oyster shell.

  Maria’s eyes went wide.

  Hyacinth picked up another packet. It held a silver necklace with a piece of red coral, heavy and strange, yet compellingly shaped. She untied a third packet, then a fourth and fifth, finding earrings, baubles, a thin bracelet of diamonds. Each piece was beautiful, and most looked as if they had been very expensive indeed.

  “I can’t imagine,” Hyacinth said, “how she wore all these, never mind how she acquired them.”

  Maria frowned. “Maybe it is better not to think about that too much,” she said.

  Hyacinth shook her head. “I must think about it. I cannot ignore it. Oh, how I wish I had known her!”

  She pushed back the jewelry, all those pieces that her grandmother had paid for with her favors, or so she presumed. She didn’t feel quite right, possessing all of it. Her father and mother had taken her away to the Mediterranean so that she would grow up untainted by the scandals which had brought her all of this, and yet they would buy her independence, and maybe, just maybe, she could bring that to other young women. Maybe.

  “We should go,” Hyacinth decided. “Let’s wrap these up.” She reached for the bracelet on its pouch of leather. Then she spotted one more intriguing packet in the box, tucked into a bottom corner. She reached for it.

  “I want to open just one more,” she said.

  The wrapping was a multi-coloured, textured silk, quite different from the dark velvets and soft leathers covering the other pieces. Hyacinth untied its complicated knot, no practical dockyard knot, but a weaving of silken cord, almost an ornament in itself.

  The necklace slithered out onto the table top, a coil of warm gold chain, round like a snake. Dangling from it was a piece of sapphire, set again in gold, with a color as blue as the Mediterranean on a sunny day.

  “Que bella!” Maria exclaimed.

  “It is beautiful,” Hyacinth echoed in a whisper. It would also go perfectly with the ball gown that her aunt was having made for her. “I think I will take this with me, too,” she decided. She retied the knot, trying to reproduce what she'd just unraveled, and slipped the necklace into her reticule. Maria bundled the journals together and wrapped them in cloth.

  “I suppose we'll have to tell Aunt C
elia we stopped at a book shop, too,” Hyacinth said. “She won't like it, and I don't like this sneaking around behind her back, but what can I do?”she said, thinking out loud.

  “You must claim your inheritance,” Maria said firmly. “You can't go on living with your aunt. You've been sad there, more sad than I have been. I cannot blame it all on the weather.”

  Hyacinth sighed. “But you are happy enough there, I think. I feel ungrateful, ungracious towards her.”

  “So do most of her staff, even though she treats them well enough,” Maria confided.

  “Would you come with me, if I left?” Hyacinth asked.

  “Of course I would! I would always come with you.”

  “Even though...”

  Maria waved her concern away. “Harold can come to me, if he likes.” She smiled. “And so can your gentleman.”

  Hyacinth laughed. “I don't have a gentleman.”

  “I think you do.”

  Hyacinth shook her head. “Let's go. Lady Pently will be waiting.” Thomas was her friend, perhaps, but with her grandmother's story in her hands, she felt she could not have the makings of a duchess. She would not be his lover, either. No, she did not have a “gentleman,” no matter what everyone else thought, or what she, herself, might dream in an unguarded moment. She had seen Thomas's world, and she was not a part of it. She would be a schoolmarm with a few choice jewels hidden away at a bank, and that was that.

  #

  Thomas's cousins streamed into the breakfast room, rosy-cheeked and alive, snowflakes trailing them. It was enough to make him want a horse. After breakfast, he left Windcastle house to tour all of the horse markets in the vicinity, with one of the grooms. He found nothing which quite pleased him, but the next morning the groom suggested they visit the house of a man he knew of, who had recently found himself in debt and had fine stables.

  “Why didn't we come here yesterday?” Thomas asked, looking down the row of well-kept stalls, housing some of the finest horses he'd seen in years.

  “Begging your pardon, Sir, but I thought if you were happy with what you found yesterday, there'd be no need to tell you about this lot.”

  Thomas thought of grumbling, but then the swish of a tail caught his eye. That tail belonged to a fine black horse, taller than most, but with a racehorse's build. He stomped in his stall. He had a white star on his forehead, and white socks, and looked like he was thinking of breaking down the stable doors.

  “That one,” Thomas declared. “I think that one will do.”

  The next morning, Thomas joined Georgiana and the younger Pentlys for their ride, well-mounted, but with much lighter pockets.

  “You're sure to impress Miss Grey with that prime bit,” Georgiana teased. She approved of the horse, though. How could anyone not? He was worth enough to settle half his former master's considerable debts, and looked every inch of it.

  “Miss Grey?” Thomas said. “Do you think we'll see her?”

  “It's possible, but don't worry, your stallion there will terrify her livery-stable screw into bolting across the green. You'll be spared conversation.”

  Thomas sighed. “Not what I'd had in mind.”

  “I see,” Georgiana said. “Of course, then you can swoop in and rescue her when the nag bolts. What's this boy's name?”

  Thomas patted the sleek black neck of his horse. “They called him Polaris. I think I'll keep it. Wouldn't want to confuse him.”

  “It suits,” Georgaina said.

  “Yes,” Thomas agreed. “And now, I think I'll give him his head. See what he can do.”

  Polaris didn't need to be asked twice. He shook out his mane and thundered across the park. Thomas reveled at the wind in his hair, the feeling of freedom, and the sheer speed of it. They reached the far end of the park in only a few minutes, and he doubled back to rejoin his cousins, thundering across the grass, faster than he'd ridden in a very long time, if ever. Polaris slowed reluctantly.

  “You'll have to take up racing,” Georgiana said as he returned.

  “I think I might,” Thomas answered. “Break my neck, if I'm lucky.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas spotted a garish yellow flare on some unfortunate lady's head.

  “Ah. I see my gift has found its roost at last,” Georgiana said, raising a hand to greet the trio of ladies just entering the park. “You must not tell Lady Talbot where it came from.”

  “It? You mean that yellow thing?” Thomas said. “It's nearly as bad as Nate's waistcoat.”

  “It is,” Georgiana said, “but I couldn't throw it away. The workmanship is very fine, very fine indeed. As it is on Nate's waistcoat. You should know that your Miss Grey is supposed to have bought it for her aunt.”

  “I see,” Thomas said.

  The ladies rode towards them, Hyacinth behind her aunt while her young cousin, a girl who could not be more than twelve, waved frantically to the Pently children.

  “Please, Mama,” the girl said. “May I ride with them?”

  Lady Talbot frowned. “You may, but stay in sight,” she said.

  Georgiana greeted them. “And you must ride with us, Lady Talbot, Miss Grey.”

  Thomas tipped his hat to the ladies.

  “I simply must tell you all about some of the atrocities we saw in the bonnet shops yesterday,” Georgiana said, drawing up alongside Lady Talbot.

  Lady Talbot smiled thinly. “I'm sure, but I'm glad you were there to guide Hyacinth. She knows nothing about style, but perhaps she's beginning to learn.” She patted her new hat affectionately. It was disgusting, Thomas thought.

  He backed away, and so did Hyacinth. How could she endure her aunt?

  “And how are you this morning?” he asked her.

  “Well enough,” Hyacinth said, pulling her horse's head up from the grass. The nag was no better than Georgiana had implied she would be.

  “I should lend you a mount from my family's stables,” Thomas said, looking at the unfortunate bit of horseflesh.

  “You certainly should not,” Hyacinth said. “I wouldn't know what to do with a better horse.”

  Polaris shied away, as if agreeing with Hyacinth's assessment.

  “You won't learn anything but frustration on that one, though,” Thomas said.

  Hyacinth frowned. The horse was trying to graze again, and wandered off the path.

  Lady Talbot looked back at them. “Do catch up!” she scolded.

  “I'm coming,” Hyacinth said. The horse had other ideas. It wandered towards the woods. Sighting something in the trees, it picked up its tired hooves and trotted away from the others.

  “Really, Celia, you must get your niece a better mount,” Thomas heard Georgiana say. “The nag does nothing for her looks, and that stunning cloak you must have chosen for her would look so much finer if your niece were better horsed.”

  “It seems a waste, for someone who can barely tell one rein from the other, but you may be right.” Lady Talbot looked disapprovingly after her niece. “Still,” she said, “the girl's posture is not bad, and at least my Sophie knows how to control her pony.”

  Thomas spurred Polaris after Hyacinth, if only to get away from Georgiana and Lady Talbot. He suspected that Georgiana was playing a deeper game, but he found her friend too much to bear.

  Hyacinth's ill-bred beast had stopped to graze on some tired tufts of grass at the edge of the trees. He reached down from Polaris's back and took her reins.

  “Shall we rejoin the others?” he asked.

  Down on the green, Lady Talbot and Georgiana were riding towards the young people. Lady Talbot glanced back at Hyacinth, caught halfway to frowning.

  “Not yet,” Hyacinth said, turning away from them. “I received your letter the other morning, but I wasn't sure how to reply.” She looked up at him. “I'm sorry. I think I do understand, at least a little.”

  “Thank you,” Thomas said. “I am not truly comfortable with my situation here yet. I still nurse hopes that, one way or another, I'll be able to live ou
t my life as a free man.”

  “It seems unlikely,” Hyacinth said, “and it is just as well that we never had any formal courtship.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Or much informal, at least not...”

  “Not publicly, and nothing that can't be ignored, where others are concerned.”

  He thought he heard a note of regret in her voice, but he couldn't be sure.

  “You know, I think I would still rather marry you than any of the young ladies I have met here,” he said.

  “That is beside the point,” Hyacinth said, looking away. “It is impossible. You are to be a duke, and I am a courtesan's heiress, which is a dubious distinction, at best.” She tried to take the reins back from him.

  “A courtesan's heiress?” Thomas echoed. “How?” Hyacinth was so prim and proper in her appearances, it seemed absurd to think of her having any association with courtesans at all, even long-ago courtesans.

  “My grandmother. I thought Georgiana would have told you.” She tugged on the reins again, but he held tight.

  “No, Georgiana has told me nothing, but she's not shooing you away from me, so she must approve.”

  “Approve?” Hyacinth snorted. “I don't know what she thinks, but she did say that she would help me start the kind of school I had in mind.”

  “What kind of school?” Thomas asked. He wanted to ask about the courtesan, but that was more awkward. Courtesans weren't known for leaving their heirs much of anything, as a rule. He made a show of leading Hyacinth's horse away from the trees. Polaris stomped impatiently, wanting to run again, but he held firm, and the horse listened.

  Hyacinth explained her scheme to squander her inheritance by teaching friendless and downtrodden girls everything from mathematics to Ovid, along with more practical subjects. She told him that she had an estate, somewhere near the Welsh border, and that there was enough money to begin a school there, if the place suited. With Georgiana's backing, especially if it became a fashionable cause, she could probably do well. Certainly, England had an abundance of girls who were, as Hyacinth said, alone and needing friends.

  “I don't know of any schools like that,” Thomas said. “It sounds like the sort of thing that a religious order might take up as a missionary effort.”