The Birthday Scandal

by Leigh Michaels

  “I don’t suppose he knew how long it would take a post-chaise to get here.”

  “To be safe, I’d better make my move after the very first country dance.”

  Lucien was still thinking about her smile—and realizing that if Captain Hopkins showed up tonight, he would never see her smile again. He would probably never see Chloe again, for the orbits of an earl’s heir and a woman who had eloped could never cross.

  He couldn’t bear the thought. Still, it was cruel of him to wish for her hopes to be dashed solely because he didn’t want to give up her smile.

  All this might work out for her after all, Lucien told himself. He might be imagining Captain Hopkins as a villain because he didn’t want to see another side of the man. But maybe the captain wasn’t just a fortune-hunting soldier. Maybe he loved Chloe enough to do without her father’s money. There would be nothing incredible about that, for Chloe Fletcher was eminently lovable.

  I love her that much. Why shouldn’t he?

  For a moment Lucien didn’t even hear what he was thinking, and when the knowledge hit him, he staggered a little.

  “Are you all right? Lucien Arden, have you been swilling ale all afternoon?”

  I love Chloe Fletcher.

  Her laughter. Her feisty attitude. Her determination not to be traded off in marriage. Even the smooth way she’d maneuvered him into helping her. God help him, he loved all of her.

  But he couldn’t even confess his feelings, for Chloe had already made her choice.

  Isabel sat on her out-of-the-way bench until the cold stone and the chilly breeze drove her back inside. In her bedroom, Martha was waiting with a bath prepared and a scold on the tip of her tongue. “Staying out in that damp air,” she muttered. “It’ll be a wonder if you don’t catch your death. And now there’s hardly time to get you ready for dinner, much less do justice to your new ball gown.”

  Isabel paid no attention. The warm water did not soothe her; her bones still felt cold when she climbed out of the tub and stood listlessly by the fire as Martha rubbed her down with a rough towel. Even the new ball gown Uncle Josiah had provided couldn’t lift her spirits tonight, beautiful though it was. Layers of white silk and net drifted around her as she moved, and the silver spangles that were scattered across the skirt twinkled in the candlelight.

  “How beautiful you are,” Martha said.

  Isabel dutifully looked in the mirror. “I suppose so.”

  The maid frowned. “If you’re coming down with some ailment, my lady—”

  Only a troubled heart, Isabel almost said. “I’m fine, Martha.”

  “You don’t look…Oh,” Martha said, and smiled. “I see. I should have known. Well, as long as you don’t wear yourself out, dancing can’t hurt the babe.”

  “I’m not pregnant.” I refuse to be pregnant. But sadness swept over her at the thought that there might never be a child.

  Martha shrugged and went to answer a knock.

  Emily swept in. “You’re not ready yet, Isabel? I couldn’t wait—I was so excited about putting on this gown.”

  Isabel could see why. The deep rose-pink of Emily’s gown refected in her cheeks and made her big brown eyes dark and mysterious. While I just look washed out.

  Though, when she looked closer, it seemed to her that Emily’s excitement might not be rising out of joy but something else instead. Was her color not quite natural? And was it sadness rather than exhilaration that had made her eyes so dark?

  Martha put the last pin in Isabel’s hair and added a spray of tiny white roses—no doubt the very last of the season—and Isabel glanced at the result and nodded curtly. Just as she stood up, she caught a flash of movement behind her in the mirror, and she braced herself.

  “Aren’t you even going to wear Mother’s pearls?” Emily asked. “You look lovely, but that neckline cries out for something, Isabel. You can’t just leave it bare.”

  Maxwell came to stand beside Isabel. “I should think not.”

  For a moment she saw the two of them side by side in the mirror. He had chosen a black coat tonight, with black satin knee breeches—but his shirt, waistcoat, and neckcloth were just as pure a white as Isabel’s gown. They looked like a matched set—the perfect couple.

  Appearances can be misleading.

  “I hope you will wear this.” He held out a velvet-covered box.

  Isabel wanted to dash it in his face. But then she would have to explain herself, admit what she had heard in the folly, and confront him—and she was not ready to do any of those things.

  Besides, she could not make a scene in front of her sister, and obviously Emily had no intention of going away; she was already peering at the box, longing to see what was inside.

  Isabel did not reach out, and finally Maxwell snapped the latch and turned the open box toward her.

  Emily gasped.

  Against the dark satin lining of the box, the inch-wide band looked like a narrow river of diamonds, the stones set so closely together that there seemed to be no break between them.

  “Quite nice,” Isabel said coolly.

  Maxwell frowned and lifted the necklace from the satin.

  Isabel turned her back, hoping to forestall him. “Martha, if you will help me?”

  But Maxwell himself laid the necklace around her throat and fastened the clasp, his fingers warm against her nape. Isabel thought for a moment that even with Emily in the room, he might bend his head and kiss her, and she tensed at the thought. He let his hands rest on her shoulders instead and turned her toward the mirror.

  The main section of the necklace ft closely around her throat—so closely, Isabel thought, that it just might choke her—while a few larger stones in pendant settings dripped down almost to the swell of her breasts.

  She kept her voice absolutely level. “I shall take the greatest care of it, my lord, and return it to you unharmed at the end of the evening.”

  Emily was goggling at her as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  For a moment, Isabel considered which would be more uncomfortable—being left alone with Maxwell or with Emily. Fortunately, neither was likely to happen, for the clock on the mantel announced it was time to go down for dinner. She linked her arm in her sister’s and led the way downstairs.

  As they reached the drawing room door, Maxwell said, “A moment, Isabel.” His voice was deep, calm, and inexorable.

  Isabel’s insides froze. Surely he wouldn’t ask her to explain her attitude while Emily was present…though even with an audience, he usually managed to get his point across without quite causing a scene.

  But why should she assume he meant to confront her? He had no way of knowing she had been outside the folly this afternoon, eavesdropping on that damning conversation. Her own guilty knowledge—and the uncertainty of what she was going to do about what she had heard—was making her sensitive; that was all.

  Besides, Maxwell could hardly be surprised at her lack of reaction to the diamond necklace. After the way he had seemed to expect favors in return for a dress, Isabel would have to be a fool not to wonder what reward he expected for presenting her with diamonds. Of course she hadn’t thrown herself on him with hugs and tears of glee.

  And if she had been so foolish as to read some deeper meaning into a diamond necklace, he would probably have told her—whether it was true or not—that the jewelry was only rented and not hers to keep.

  “I see you already have your card for the ball,” he went on. “I should like first choice of this evening’s dances.” He held out a hand for Isabel’s dance card.

  Numbly, she handed it over and watched, seething, as he wrote his name on three different lines. Had he selected those particular dances ahead of time, she wondered, or chosen them at random?

  He put the card back into her hand and solicitously closed her fingers over it. “Or were you thinking, my dear, that I might wish to ask for something else instead?”

  Isabel didn’t even try to answer, but brushed past him to go into
the drawing room. They were almost the last of the group to arrive, and Isabel felt as though every eye in the place was on her.

  Almost every eye. From her chair near one of the fireplaces, Lady Murdoch looked over the edge of her fan, past Mr. Lancaster and on beyond Isabel, coming to rest on Maxwell. When she smiled at him, Isabel was reminded of a lioness who had just sighted a particularly juicy bit of prey.

  Then Lady Murdoch’s eyes widened and her gaze swept back to Isabel and focused on the necklace. For an instant, shock fooded her face.

  She’s just as surprised as I was.

  For the first time, Isabel wondered why Maxwell even had such an elaborate necklace with him. He must have brought it from London, for there was nowhere within a day’s journey where he could buy such a thing, and there hadn’t been time for him to send an order all the way back to the city. But why would he have tucked such elaborate jewels into his luggage?

  As a gift for a mistress, Isabel thought. No wonder Lady Murdoch was looking daggers at her. She thought the necklace should have been hers.

  But if it had been Maxwell’s intention to give the necklace to his mistress, why was Isabel the one who was dripping with diamonds tonight?

  Guests were still streaming through the ceremonial entrance to the old section of the castle, then making their way into the ancient great hall to bow to the Duke of Weybridge and wish him a happy birthday, when the master of ceremonies announced the start of the first country dance. The duke waved Gavin away from the receiving line to where the dancers were forming into two columns running almost the entire length of the great hall.

  Gavin took his place near the center, opposite the elder Miss Carew, and glanced down the row to where Emily stood across from young Baron Draycott.

  Between the small orchestra tuning up and his own distraction, he almost didn’t hear Miss Carew say, “I wonder why the duke has never added a ballroom. Don’t you think it odd that the castle doesn’t have one?”

  To Gavin’s relief, the music started just then, so he could merely nod instead of having to answer. She was right, after all—the absence of a ballroom was odd, since the damned castle seemed to have at least two of everything else. Not that he felt the lack; he hadn’t even been able to count all the rooms as yet. Why would anyone feel the need to add a ballroom, to be used at most once a year?

  Only a few minutes into the dance, the complex steps brought him face-to-face with Emily. As they wheeled around together, he asked, “Is Lancaster on your dance card?”

  “What concern is it of yours?”

  The music surged on and the figures moved them away from each other.

  A bit later, as they repeated the steps, he stayed silent. But Emily said, “If you really want to know who I’ll be dancing with tonight, perhaps you should send Benson to look me up and inquire.” She flashed a smile—though he thought it was more of a grimace—and was gone.

  That hadn’t gone well. What was wrong with her, anyway? She’d seen firsthand that he was stuck to the duke’s side at the garden party, so why didn’t she seem to realize that he had only brought Benson into the picture so she would have all the warning it was possible to give her?

  The man had rescued her just this morning, so surely she wasn’t fearful of what he might do. True, she still seemed to have her suspicions of Benson, but…I’ll just have to catch her alone.

  But she was never alone. Her dance card must be crammed full—for when Gavin asked for it after the first country dance so he could claim a waltz later in the evening, Emily merely gave him a pitying smile and shook her head. “I’m quite occupied with other gentlemen tonight, you see. I’m interviewing to see who I want as my next lover, so I must take advantage of every opportunity.”

  Before he could find his voice, she’d slipped away—and the next time he saw her on the floor, she was dancing with Lancaster.

  Gavin gritted his teeth and wished that he hadn’t been quite so noble after all. If he had done as she’d asked and taken her virginity, she wouldn’t be looking for another lover, and he could have better protected her from adventurers like Lancaster.

  He frowned, because something about that logic didn’t feel quite right—but before he could sort it out, the music changed and he had to mind his steps.

  As the first country dance began, Lucien found himself at the extreme end of the line of dancers and paired with the younger Miss Carew, while Chloe, partnering the Earl of Chiswick, was in the thick of things right in the center of the ballroom. Only for an instant in the entire half hour of the dance was he able to touch her hand and look into her eyes, before the figures swept them apart once more.

  He couldn’t help thinking that this might be the only time they would ever dance together—and to have such a special moment be gone in the blink of an eye was painful.

  He tried not to watch for her as the music ended and everyone milled about the floor, changing partners for the next dance, so he was startled to see her cutting across the great hall straight toward him. “Chloe,” he said. “What—?” Too late, he realized that the Earl of Chiswick was still beside her.

  Chloe brushed past Mr. Lancaster and Lady Murdoch as they left the floor. She stopped in front of Lady Fletcher, who was sitting with Lady Stone only a few feet from Lucien.

  “Mama,” she said, “I’m sorry, truly I am, and I fear I’m insulting the dear duke—but I have a terrible headache and if I don’t lie down, I’m afraid I will be ill.”

  She did look pale, Lucien thought, and he wouldn’t be surprised if her head really was hurting.

  Lady Fletcher seemed reluctant to give up her conversation with Lady Stone, though she clucked a little over her daughter. “My dear, you’ve looked forward to this ball. Surely if you just sit somewhere for a moment you’ll be better. I’m certain Lord Chiswick will keep you company.”

  Chloe looked even more ill, though Lucien wouldn’t have thought it possible. “No, Mama, I must lie down. You’ll make my apologies to the duke?”

  Her voice cracked, and Lucien winced. He hadn’t even considered how difficult this moment would be for her; she was saying good-bye to her mother forever, but she wasn’t even able to say the words.

  Chloe curtseyed to Chiswick. “I thank you, of course, my lord.” She put a hand to her forehead.

  “Poor child,” Lady Fletcher said absently, and turned back to Lady Stone. “I’ve never known her to have a megrim before—at least not when there’s an entertainment she enjoys. You were telling me about the very strange behavior of your companion, ma’am?”

  Emily tugged at Lucien’s arm. “The dancers are forming up for the next set, and you did write your name on my card. Besides, you can’t stand in the middle of the room, practically next to Father, and ogle Chloe Fletcher. People notice these things, and you’re making a cake of yourself.”

  Horrified, Lucien could only stare at her.

  “I mean your conviction that she set out to marry so far above herself,” Emily said impatiently. “You’re being a cork-brain if you still think she’s anything but a pawn, Lucien.”

  “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “Not at first, but now…The music’s starting, so come along.”

  He couldn’t concentrate on the dance, and to Emily’s obvious aggravation he kept missing his steps and messing up the turns.

  He could think only of Chloe, sitting by herself out in the folly, in the dark and the chill. He wouldn’t even know until morning if Captain Hopkins had kept the assignation she had made.

  Even then, he realized, he would not know for certain whether she was safe. She would just be gone—with nothing to nothing to show whether Captain Hopkins had appeared. What if someone else found her out there?

  Lucien tried to dismiss that fear, for what was the likelihood someone else would come along that back lane in the dark of night and stop to visit the folly? That was the reason she had chosen the location, after all—the loneliness of the spot. Still, Lucien couldn’t quite sha
ke the apprehension that swept over him.

  And what if his instinct was right and Captain Hopkins didn’t come? How long would she sit there and wait, growing colder by the moment? What would she do when she finally gave up, as she must sooner or later? She could hardly limp back into the castle, valise in hand, and pretend that she hadn’t tried to run away.

  What kind of a gentleman are you, Lucien Arden—letting a lady sit out there in the cold by herself?

  He stuck out the dance because to walk off the floor in the middle would call far too much attention to his behavior. But the moment the music stopped he seized Emily’s arm. “If anyone asks about me, just say I’ve…oh, say I’m tired of dancing and I’m going to scare up a card game somewhere.”

  She made a face. “I’d object, but the way you were stumbling over your feet, it’s probably for the best if you don’t make any other partner miserable tonight.” She wheeled around and collided with Gavin. “Not you again. Did you hear Lucien say he’d rather play cards? You should join him.”

  Lucien didn’t wait to hear the answer.

  All the activity was centered in the great hall tonight, so the new wing of the castle was largely empty. Even the footmen who normally manned the doors had been moved to duty in the great hall. Lucien pretended not to notice a pair of waiters carrying trays from the kitchen, because asking why they were strolling through the public rooms instead of taking the back stairs would only make his departure something to remember. For the same reason, he didn’t stop to find a greatcoat. Stepping out for a moment’s fresh air was common at a ball. But to bundle up as if he were going for a cross-country walk would draw attention.

  The full moon was past, but the night was clear and the garden paths were not hard to follow despite the deep shadows cast by trees and hedges and statues. A brisk five-minute walk brought him to the folly, and he approached carefully, not wanting to frighten her.

  But the folly was empty.

  Lucien could not believe his eyes. He would have wagered his entire year’s allowance—pittance though it was—that Captain Hopkins would not show up. But it appeared the soldier had not only answered Chloe’s summons but had been waiting for her. She could not have been many minutes before Lucien on that lonely garden path.