Wallflower Most Wanted--A Studies in Scandal Novel

by Manda Collins

  Besides. She’d seen enough infatuations of a few days’ duration to know that it was far too soon to think about Ben in those terms. For all she knew, he’d meet the love of his life when he was paying calls in the village and not give her a second thought.

  To her surprise, since her sister was often her most ardent teaser, it was Gemma who came to her rescue. “I suppose we’ve nettled you enough. Though I hope you will remember this when it comes time for you to scold me about my behavior with Lord Cameron.”

  “My maid told me she heard the shouting from the laundry,” Daphne said with an admiring glance at Gemma. “I must admit I enjoyed hearing that you gave the male editor of a scholarly journal a set down. I’ve known several in my time who deserved worse.”

  “Do not encourage her,” Sophia said, giving her sister a speaking look. “It might have been cathartic, but it really is not the thing to shout at a gentleman you don’t even know. Though I do know your nerves were overset, Gemma, you must know you crossed a line. As did Lord Cameron. It was badly done on both your parts.”

  “So much for not scolding me,” Gemma said under her breath. Aloud she said, “I am sorry for losing my temper. It was not becoming. And I am grateful you arrived when you did.”

  “And I’m sorry you were so upset,” Sophia said, grasping her sister by the hand. “I must confess, I find it difficult to believe that Lord Cameron’s manners are so lacking given…”

  “I thought we weren’t going to speak of the Lisle brothers any longer,” Daphne cut in. “I really wish someone would ensure that we keep this conversation on track. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

  Sophia felt a pang of conscience. Daphne was right. She was being hypocritical.

  “Good point, Daphne,” she said with a nod. “I broke my own rule.”

  They were silent for a moment as they concentrated on the delicious fish pie cook had presented for luncheon.

  “Where is Serena today?” Sophia asked, noting for the first time that their chaperone—and sister to the Duke of Maitland—was absent from the table. “She would have reined us in before we came to such a pass.”

  “Jeremy has a cold, poor dear, and Serena is sitting with him while he’s feeling poorly,” Ivy said with a sympathetic frown. “She’s taking a tray in the nursery.”

  Though the boy was old enough to have been sent away to school, Serena was determined to keep her son at home and away from the often brutal realities of Eton for as long as she could. Sophia couldn’t blame her. Especially given the bad behavior the boy had already witnessed from his now deceased father.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Sophia said aloud. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “She says not.” Ivy shrugged. “I already asked. And Dr. Holmes had a look in on him yesterday when he was here to see you. He says it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Both Lady Serena and Jeremy had become dear to the heiresses in their time at Beauchamp House, and the ladies discussed possible trinkets available in town they might purchase for the child. Nothing too dear, but well suited to divert an ailing child from his misery.

  Once they’d settled on a plan, the conversation turned to the exhibition.

  “You didn’t tell us what the Primbles said about your paintings, Sophia,” Gemma said. “Are they going to back you against Morgan?”

  “Yes,” Sophia said, pleased with that portion of the visit to the Primbles. She filled them in on what the couple had said regarding her place in the exhibition, and their assessment of Ryder as the possible forger.

  “Is he the unpleasant fellow who none-too-subtly attempted to determine the amount of each potential dance partner’s dowry before he would sign their dance cards?” Gemma asked with a look of disgust. “He is not terrible to look at, but I confess I cannot understand why any of the young ladies present consented to stand up with him.”

  “He has the unqualified support of his patron.” Ivy’s mouth pursed in distaste. “Ryder himself might not have wealth or talent, but he has the support of Morgan. And Morgan is not without some degree of influence. Both in Little Seaford, and in some circles in a certain part of London. He may not be a pillar of polite society, but he holds some sway in the middle class. And like it or not, many genteel families with land have a need for the infusion of funds that a connection to Morgan might give them.”

  If it had been Morgan she and Ben overheard at the ball, perhaps the politician’s support of Ryder wasn’t as strong as they thought. Without any means of identifying the voices they’d heard, however, it was entirely possible it was someone else who threatened murder. Given her own animus toward Morgan, it would be so much more satisfying to learn he was a criminal. But the truth of the matter was she had no idea. Not with any degree of certainty.

  “Did any of you get the feeling that anyone else was particularly interested in Ryder at the ball?” she asked her friends. “Not ladies, but perhaps men who seemed to be taking him under their wing. In a manner similar to the way Morgan did?”

  “He seemed to be very friendly with the mayor, Mr. Ivens, and of course Mr. Framingham, but he owns one of the galleries in town, so that’s not unusual,” Gemma said. “Why do you ask?”

  At the mention of Framingham, Sophia’s heart began to beat faster. As owner of one of the two galleries in town, Framingham was in a prime position to sell forged paintings. He had the connections in town that would allow him to know exactly what sort of works the newly wealthy middle class were seeking to furnish their homes with. And he knew which artists were least likely to draw suspicion from the authorities. It was much less risky to attempt to sell a forged version of a work by lesser-known Renaissance artists, than, say Tintoretto. And Framingham would know that.

  Surely it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if she were to pay a visit to Framingham’s gallery while they were in town purchasing things for little Jeremy.

  “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “are we all agreed that a trip to the village is in order this afternoon? I should also like to look at the selection of ribbon at White’s. My chip bonnet is sadly in need of refurbishing and I’d like a little project to take my mind of this business with Morgan.”

  To her relief, no one seemed to guess the secondary reason for her enthusiasm for the shopping excursion. And, not too much later, all four ladies were settled in the open carriage, on their way into Little Seaford.

  * * *

  Jeffries was waiting at the door when Ben arrived back at the vicarage from Beauchamp House, accompanied by Cam.

  That another of the vicar’s brothers had arrived for a visit seemed not to faze him. But the note that had come while Ben was out seemed to be burning the hand that held it.

  “This came for you, my lord,” he said with a speaking look as he handed it over. “It was tucked into the door jamb. I found it just after you left this morning.”

  It wasn’t unusual for Ben, as the local clergyman, to receive anonymous notes, deliveries of produce as tithe, and even once a cage of chickens. But something about this note must be troubling his butler.

  “What’s amiss, Jeffries?” he asked, ignoring the smirk on Cam’s face. His brother’s wandering allowed him to get through life without the responsibility of personal servants. He claimed it was the best way to live, though Ben had his doubts.

  “It’s just that this arrived without me knowing it, my lord,” the butler said in a low, harassed voice. “I always know when someone is delivering something. Even the chickens.”

  Since the chickens had been rather loud it wasn’t exactly a glowing example of the man’s all-knowing nature.

  “Well, it does happen sometimes,” Ben reassured him. “Even the sharpest eye can miss a detail from time to time.”

  That didn’t seem to appease the man, but he took himself off to the kitchens to perhaps vent his frustration on the cook.

  “I suppose I’ll take myself off, then,” Cam said with a wry grin. “When you begin dealing with domesti
c issues, it’s time for me to go back to my vagabond life.”

  “You just got here,” Ben said, not really surprised, but not willing to let his brother off the hook either. “At least Freddie stayed a couple of days when he breezed through.”

  “I came to confront the man I thought had insulted me,” Cam said with a shrug. “Now that I’ve discovered he’s a lady, I have no more need to be here.”

  “You can’t cozen me, brother. I saw the way you looked at her when she wasn’t looking at you.” Ben had been amused to see his usually diffident brother fall under the spell of Gemma’s spirit. She was lovely—though he was partial to her sister’s softer beauty, of course—and Cam had definitely been intrigued.

  “And that is exactly why I need to leave,” Cam said ruefully. “I might be attracted, but a smart man removes himself from danger before it becomes a real risk. You’d do well to do the same if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Perhaps I’m not so fearful of getting caught,” Ben said with a shrug. In fact, he was rather certain he’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  It took a moment for the realization to sink in.

  He blinked.

  He wanted to get caught. He wanted to marry her.

  Miss Sophia Hastings.

  Ben felt the uncanny sensation of rightness that came from knowing his own mind.

  He’d only experienced it one other time in his life: when he decided to follow his heart and join the church.

  Despite the fact that he was grinning like an idiot, however, his brother was, as per usual, oblivious.

  “To each his own,” Cam said with a shake of his head. “I’m going to go back to my happy bachelor life and leave you to your little artist. Don’t want any of that nonsense rubbing off on me. It’s bad enough Archer and Freddie have fallen.”

  One day, Ben thought wryly as he cuffed his brother on the shoulder. One day Cam would succumb to love’s siren song.

  However he might try to avoid it.

  “The next time you come for a visit, please endeavor not to overset my lady or her sister,” he said aloud. Though despite the chiding remark, he was sad to see him go. He missed his brothers, living as he did, away from them.

  But Cam didn’t seem to mind the scold. “I’ll do my best, though you know I’ve got a particular knack for setting up ladies’ backs.”

  And with an answering clap on his elder brother’s shoulder, he took himself off.

  When he was gone, Ben took the anonymous note to his study, poured himself a brandy, and broke the seal on the missive.

  I HAVE INFORMATION ABOUT THE PAINTINGS. COME TO FRAMINGHAM GALLERY TODAY AT 3PM

  A FRIEND

  He’d donned his hat and coat again and was on his way into the village before the brandy settled again inside the cut crystal glass.

  Chapter 14

  The drive into the village wasn’t a long one, but Sophia took the time while Daphne and Ivy were in their own conversation to speak with her sister.

  Touching Gemma on the arm, she asked in a low voice, “Are you sure you’re well after your contretemps with Lord Cameron this afternoon? He did seem to be remorseful later, but he was quite harsh to begin with.”

  Gemma, who had been scanning the horizon, likely hoping for a glimpse of the sea, turned to her with a laugh. “Of course, my dear.” She gave her a half hug. “It takes more than a dressing down from that sort of man to dim my enthusiasm.”

  She lifted a dark brow and countered, “I should ask you if you’re sanguine that he’ll quite likely be your brother-in-law. It’s a shame such a self-important prig should be related to a man as delightful as Lord Benedick.”

  Sophia felt her face burn. “I shouldn’t be so quick to assume any sort of permanent match between the vicar and me, Gemma,” she said hastily. “We are friends, that is all. If something more should come of our association…”

  But Gemma was no more ready to believe Sophia’s denials than Sophia was prepared to believe Gemma had emerged from that afternoon’s argument unscathed. “It’s as plain as punch that he’s smitten. Why on earth would he have brought both his brothers to visit you in the space of week if he felt otherwise?”

  “That was because of the business with the forger,” Sophia said with a shake of her head. “At least, that’s why he brought Lord Frederick. And we are his closest neighbors so it’s hardly a surprise that he would call with his houseguests.”

  Her stomach flipped at the notion whatever it was between them could lead to something permanent. Of course she was hardly unaware of the logical conclusion of mutual attraction, but then, too, she knew that most meetings of the mind lasted only a few days before one or the other party lost interest and moved on.

  “You may pretend to yourself that it’s nothing more than good manners that has the vicar paying calls so often,” Gemma said with a shake of her head. “But that doesn’t explain the way his eyes follow you whenever you’re in a room together.”

  “Since when are you so observant?” Sophia asked pettishly. She wasn’t accustomed to Gemma being the one to point out home truths to her and not the other way round.

  “You might think me a daydreamer, sister,” Gemma chided, “But that doesn’t mean I’m entirely without the ability to notice what’s right under my nose.”

  Then, as if unable to keep from admitting the truth, she added, “And Daphne and Ivy are convinced you’ll make a match of it. Once they pointed it out, I saw for myself the truth of it.”

  Sophia gave a frustrated sigh. There were many things she appreciated about living amongst the most intelligent ladies she’d ever known, but having that intellect turned upon her own life was not one of them.

  “Oh, do not take on so,” Gemma said, patting her on the hand. “We all quite like him. And it never hurts to have a man of God on one’s side in a fight.”

  That only made Sophia’s heart twist. “Gemma,” she said in a hushed tone. “What do I know about being a vicar’s wife? I’m not even particularly devout. And I certainly know nothing about keeping house or running a village fete, or whatever it is a clergyman’s helpmeet is expected to do.”

  At that confession, her sister’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask, dearest, given that I too know little about the sorts of things other ladies are taught from the time they’re small. I cannot regret our unconventional education, but I would not have objected to at least a bit of household management from Mama in addition to the lessons Aunt Dahlia gave us.”

  At the mention of Dahlia, Sophia’s head snapped up. “That reminds me that I’ve a letter for her in my reticule. I do wish the mail coach ran faster. I should like to know what she thinks about Mr. Morgan’s possible involvement in the forgery scheme. She might know whether he has any connections to the art world in Manchester.”

  Though her mention of Dahlia was indeed sparked by her sister’s words, it was also true that Sophia had taken advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. She did have concerns about her suitability as a wife should the attraction with Ben turn to something more serious, but she didn’t want to dwell on the matter. Especially when so many other important matters were on her mind.

  Gemma seemed to accept the diversion and they chatted about their aunt for a few moments until the carriage came to a stop in the village.

  * * *

  She waited for Ivy and Daphne to go inside before she lay a hand on her sister’s arm. “I’ve just remembered I need to stop in at Framingham’s to see if he knows where in the exhibition hall my paintings will go. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Gemma rolled her eyes. “I should have known,” she said with sigh. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted to question Framingham?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Sophia hissed. “I don’t want everyone in the street to know my plans.”

  “And what are those plans?” Gemma asked in a lowered voice. “You are not a Bow Street Runner, Sophia. And r
ecall what sort of danger Ivy and Daphne found themselves in when they began meddling in dangerous matters. They were almost killed.”

  Sophia gaped at her sister. “They only began asking questions because Lady Celeste asked them to. She may not have known about this particular business, but she would certainly be against it if she had. Any artist with integrity would be.”

  Looking as if she knew that argument was futile, Gemma threw up her hands. “I give up. You’re going to do what you think best anyway. You always have. Just promise me that you’ll be careful.” Her gaze softened. “You’re my only sister and I cannot afford to find another one.”

  “I promise,” Sophia said with an answering smile. Her sister might be the only person in the world who could set her back up in mere seconds, but she was also her dearest friend. “Now, go inside and make my excuses. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  * * *

  In the intervening hour before he was expected at Framingham’s shop, Ben paid a call at the home of a local widow, Mrs. Debenham. A sweet-tempered lady of middle years, she’d been left to raise three daughters on her own when her husband died only a year or so ago of influenza.

  Though she’d seemed to be coming out of her shell a bit now that her official mourning period was over, he’d noticed her waiting to speak to him after services this past Sunday. But when he’d finally managed to extricate himself from a particularly loquacious elderly parishioner, Mrs. Debenham had been gone.

  He’d always been adept at reading people. Even as a child he’d been able to anticipate what his brothers or parents would say or do, sometimes before they themselves seemed to know it. It was a skill that had served him well in his calling. Persuasion and guidance were almost as important in the vicarage as preaching.

  So, he’d known something was amiss with Mrs. Debenham, and for the moment, set aside his anticipation of the meeting at Framingham’s to focus on his duty as a vicar.

  The door was opened by Miss Temple, the widow’s spinster sister who had come to live with her after Mr. Debenham’s untimely death.