The Road to Scandal is Paved with Wicked Intentions (The May Flowers Book 6)

by Merry Farmer

  Phoebe glanced warily at the serene woman, anxiety pooling in her stomach. She had no idea Lady Cecelia even knew she was coming, let alone that she had issued an invitation. It made her wonder how much of the whole thing Natalia had shared with her sister-in-law in advance.

  “Is this the level to which we have sunk?” Lady Maude commented, taking her seat in the circle of chairs that filled the room and tilting her nose up. “Is anyone allowed to address our assembly now?”

  “Lady Phoebe is the daughter of a marquess,” Lady Cecelia reminded all of the women assembled, not just Lady Maude. “It is my understanding that she has come to us with a request for help.”

  The stiff reaction from most of the members of the May Flowers did nothing to ease Phoebe’s worry.

  “And why should we help her?” Lady Agnes Hamilton asked from farther back in the assembly.

  Phoebe’s heart sank. She’d always considered Lady Agnes an ally, if not a friend.

  “It is our duty to help one another whenever possible,” Lady Cecelia answered her gently.

  Lady Agnes’s expression hardened, as did the expression of several others around her. “Lord Darlington was responsible for the near ruination of my brother,” Lady Agnes said, crossing her arms and glaring at Phoebe. “Chauncey was just starting out in life, but that blackguard came close to bankrupting him and ruining his morals at the same time.”

  Heat infused Phoebe’s face. She was under no illusion as to her father’s character.

  “Lord Darlington importuned my aunt,” another of the assembly, Lady Heldon, spoke up from the back. “She was so distraught by the incident that she returned to the country and has not come back to London since.”

  “The bastard killed my cousin,” yet another lady, Lady Dennison, said, staring daggers at Phoebe, as though she’d like to return the favor.

  “Did he?” the woman sitting next to her gasped.

  Lady Dennison squirmed in her chair. “Perhaps not directly, but poor Arthur was found murdered in an alley, and the last person to see him was Lord Darlington. At a gaming den. Where he’d just lost a fortune playing cards with Arthur.”

  “That isn’t proof that the man was a murderer,” the woman beside her said.

  “It isn’t proof that he was innocent either,” Lady Dennison said.

  Phoebe gulped and tried to still her racing heart as more of the women assembled grumbled and raised complaints about the sins of her father. She’d known her father was the worst sort of man possible, but being faced with it all at once, having all of the ire that he should have received for his sins directed at her, was almost more than she could bear. Natalia’s idea of coming to the May Flowers for help was a dismal one. If none of the ladies assembled had been willing to help her and her mother with something as simple as finding a place to live because of her father’s wickedness, there was no chance they would help her host a ball.

  Still, as more and more invectives were directed against her, she kept her chin up. In spite of every instinct within her that wanted to lower her head and her eyes, as she had a hundred times before whenever faced with the shame of her father or her life as it had become, she looked straight ahead. It was as if she felt Danny’s hand under her chin telling her not to back down.

  “I am truly, deeply sorry for the pain that my father caused,” she managed to say, though her words were drowned out at first by the complaints of the women around her. They quieted when they realized she was speaking. It gave her just enough courage to go on. “I can assure you that whatever ill-fate and hardships have befallen you and your families, those hardships have rained down tenfold on me and my mother.”

  “As if we should care about you,” Lady Jane sniffed.

  Far too many people agreed with her.

  Holding her head up became as difficult as climbing the Matterhorn with her bare hands. Phoebe swallowed and forced herself to take a breath. “I am truly sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can see now this was the wrong quarter in which to search for help. Good day to you all.”

  She curtsied politely, then turned to leave before she could burst into tears. A buzz of indignant chatter rose up in her wake as she fled the room.

  Once she reached the hall, she clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing and picked up her pace, racing toward the front door.

  “Wait,” Lady Cecelia called after her, dashing into the hall.

  Phoebe paused long enough to see Natalia, Lady Henrietta O’Shea, and Miss Lenore Garrett follow Lady Cecelia into the hall. She wavered on her spot, desperate to leave, but knowing it would be terribly unmannerly of her to do so.

  Lady Cecelia exchanged a glance with Lady Henrietta as they reached Phoebe. “Natalia has told us the sort of help you were going to request,” she said.

  “You are in need of help hosting a ball?” Lady Henrietta asked, nothing but kindness in her eyes.

  Phoebe bit her lip, everything within her wound so tight that she thought she might shatter. “As a favor for a friend,” she said, her voice tiny and rough with misery. “I am simply trying to repay his kindness by assisting with his business ventures.”

  Lady Cecelia and Lady Henrietta exchanged another look, drawing Miss Garett into the exchange as well.

  “We’re very familiar with Mr. Long,” Lady Henrietta said. “He was instrumental in helping my husband bring the men who attacked and injured him to justice.”

  Phoebe blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized Danny had played a part in the tragic events of the attack on Lord O’Shea that had blinded him in one eye and left him in a wheelchair.

  “He also helps my sister-in-law, Lady Clerkenwell, and her husband raise funds for their charitable endeavors,” Lady Cecelia said.

  Phoebe did remember that. One of those events was where she had first met Danny, even though she barely remembered it.

  “Freddy and Reese think very highly of Mr. Long,” Miss Garrett added. “I would say it’s the least we could do to offer him help in return.”

  “You should have come directly to us instead of addressing the May Flowers,” Lady Henrietta said.

  “Believe me,” Phoebe said with a sharp exhale, “I am beginning to think that as well.”

  They all glanced to Natalia, who flushed and stiffened. “I thought this could be a good way to reintroduce Phoebe to society,” she said uncomfortably. “You know it is terribly wrong how badly she has been snubbed. Phoebe is the kindest, gentlest soul on the earth, and she certainly doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s been given. Those ladies should be glad to have a friend like Phoebe.” Natalia’s voice and energy rose as her speech progressed until she was pointing angrily at the room behind them. “It simply isn’t fair,” she finished, crossing her arms.

  As grateful as she was to Natalia for her friendship at a time when few others were willing to walk on the same side of the street as her, Phoebe had to admit that the young woman still had a lot of learning and maturing to do.

  “Thank you for your considerations and for your efforts,” she said with a sigh, glancing to the front door, ready to leave. She looked back to Lady Cecelia. “I am sorry to have bothered you with my problems. I suppose I will have to look into halls Mr. Long could rent for his ball.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Henrietta said, stepping forward and taking Phoebe’s arm. She walked with her toward the door. “We’ll have the ball at Hopewell House.”

  “Yes, that’s a brilliant idea,” Natalia said, hopping into step with Phoebe and Lady Henrietta.

  “It’s the perfect venue for a party,” Miss Garrett said. “I would love a chance to actually plan a grand, London ball instead of just attending one.”

  “You…you would?” Waves of gratitude washed over Phoebe as she glanced around at her unlikely saviors.

  “Certainly,” Miss Garrett said with a wide smile. “I love a good party.”

  “We’ll all help you,” Lady Cecelia said. “Whether the May Flowers want to be involved or not. We’ll
consider this our own, private endeavor.”

  “And perhaps, if the ball is the success that I know we can make it, those bitter old tarts will welcome you back into their society with open arms,” Natalia said.

  Phoebe glanced askance at her over the comment. It sounded a great deal like her mother’s arguments for why she should accept Lord Cosgrove’s suit. Even though Natalia meant well, something felt wrong about the nudge toward the life Phoebe once led. It was as if they were pushing her back toward the cliff she had only barely managed to climb over.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” she said graciously all the same. “I’ll go and tell Mr. Long at once that the ball can move forward.”

  “Send me a letter letting me know when you would like me to hold it and I’ll put things in motion,” Lady Henrietta said.

  Phoebe left Marlowe House with her spirits renewed, but with a lingering feeling of anxiety all the same. She’d gotten what Natalia had invited her to the meeting to get, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d lost something in the process. Now she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt just what the ladies of her former acquaintance thought of her. Even ones who hadn’t purchased gloves from her at Harrods. The chasm between her old life and her new one seemed larger than ever.

  Those thoughts remained on her mind as she walked across the breadth of Mayfair and up to Oxford Street, then on to Fitzrovia and her new home. The light was already waning and The Watchman was filling up, but she made the decision to enter the pub in order to tell Danny the good news instead of going straight home, like any proper young lady would do.

  The contrast in the world of the pub and that of Lady Cecelia’s conservatory was like night to day. It was still early, but the crowd that was gathering at the pub seemed more boisterous than usual that evening. Someone had brought a concertina with them and several slightly inebriated customers had broken into song in one corner of the common room. It was a bawdy, cheery tune that Phoebe was embarrassed to admit she knew the words to. Several patrons at other tables were laughing loudly and flirting with the barmaids as they delivered food and pints.

  “Lady Darlington, there you are!” Danny’s voice was louder than anyone else’s as he called to her from where he was addressing a table filled with surprisingly well-dressed men. “The evening is complete!”

  He cut his way through the tables to reach her, greeting her with a wide smile and heat in his eyes.

  “It’s Lady Phoebe, not Lady Darlington,” she reminded him with a smile that she couldn’t stifle.

  “Can it be just Phoebe?” he asked with a sudden air of innocent hope.

  Phoebe grinned in spite of herself, charmed by the way he was a man of command and action one moment and a playful boy the next. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and said, “I suppose.”

  “Lovely.”

  His single word carried so much heat that she glanced around, acutely aware of the crowd around him. As aware as she was of the memory of his lips against hers and the need that had pulsed through her at his touch twice now.

  “I came to tell you that Lady Henrietta O’Shea has agreed to host your ball at her London home,” she said, switching to her mission so that she could flee to the safety of her flat and her feelings without Danny’s devilish gaze on her.

  “Oh?” He seemed to become even happier and livelier than he already was. “That’s brilliant. I knew you could do it.”

  “It wasn’t me, really,” she protested. “In fact, I was certain that the May Flowers would chase me out of Lady Cecelia Marlowe’s house with torches and pitchforks.”

  “Is that so?” A sharp edge filled Danny’s words, and he crossed his arm.

  “I think I’m better off without them,” Phoebe said, surprised that she actually meant it. The afternoon had certainly given her rich food for thought. She blinked and glanced up at Danny once more. “Lady Henrietta asked me to send her word of when you’d like to have the ball.”

  “As soon as possible,” Danny said with the businesslike gleam in his eyes that she found even more alluring than his impishness. “Could she do it on Friday?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll send word to her,” Phoebe said.

  “Good.” Danny’s expression lit with confidence all over again. “We’ll beat Cosgrove at his game yet.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Phoebe laughed, enjoying the sense of competition, mad though it was.

  But even as she shifted into mischievousness, Danny’s expression took on a thoughtful, clouded, almost anxious look.

  “There’s something I found out,” he began, but snapped his mouth shut. He stared at her, brow knit.

  When Phoebe’s anticipation rose to towering levels, she blurted, “What did you find out?”

  Danny’s jaw clenched, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t. At last, he said, “I found out that Cosgrove is planning a similar event to our ball. That’s why we need to get things done as fast as possible.”

  “Of course.” Phoebe let out a breath, surprised that she was relieved by his statement. She’d worried it could have been much worse. “I’ll express as much to Lady Henrietta when I write to her. Which I plan to do immediately.”

  She turned to go, but Danny caught her arm. When she whirled back to him, he grinned and asked, “Would you accompany me to the ball?”

  Bursts of heat and giddiness filled Phoebe’s chest. “Are you asking me especially?” she asked, her voice almost too low and shy to be heard.

  “Of course,” he said, his smile growing. “I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else.”

  Again, the comparison between Danny and Lord Cosgrove—or any other man of her acquaintance—was all Phoebe could think about. Danny’s invitation was almost bashful. He didn’t assume she would give a favorable answer. It was the most endearing thing she’d ever known.

  “I would love to attend the ball with you,” she said, lowering her eyes, but for an entirely different reason than shame. She felt so much like a fairy princess accepting the invitation of a prince that the noise and vulgarity of the pub seemed to vanish around her, leaving nothing but the soaring hope in her heart.

  “Excellent,” Danny said with a strong nod and a bright smile. “I’ll purchase a new suit tomorrow. And I want you to buy yourself a new gown as well,” he went on.

  “Oh, I don’t have the money to spare for that. I’ll remake something I already own,” she said.

  “You will not,” Danny insisted. “I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do, seeing as you’ve helped me so much.”

  “That’s…that’s so generous of you.” Phoebe’s heart fluttered, though she wondered how much money Danny had to spare.

  He leaned in closer, winking at her as though they were alone. “Love, you haven’t even begun to know how generous I can be.”

  He spoke the words as though they were an embrace. It left Phoebe certain beyond a doubt that the sort of generosity he was speaking of had nothing to do with money or gowns or balls. And mad as it was, she found herself longing to experience what he was claiming and wishing her original assumptions about how she would pay her rent were true after all.

  Chapter 10

  Within ten minutes of the beginning of the ball at Hopewell House, Danny was convinced that the entire form of entertainment was mostly pointless. At least as a means of having fun. As he stood near the entrance to Lady Henrietta O’Shea’s ballroom, greeting guests the way Phoebe had instructed him to, the collar of his new and ridiculously expensive suit choking him and the starch in his shirt itching, all he saw were a bunch of self-congratulatory nobs posing and preening as a means to impress each other.

  “Shouldn’t there be music and dancing?” he murmured to Phoebe out of the side of his mouth, leaning closer to her than was probably appropriate, given the setting.

  “The dancing will start within the half-hour,” Phoebe whispered back. “It is necessary to give the guests time to arrive and be seen first.”

  “The ball began
at eight o’clock,” Danny argued. He slipped his gold pocket watch out of his tight, brocade waistcoat—something he’d been told was too colorful and arresting for the current fashion, not that he cared—and checked the time. “It’s nearly nine already. Where is everyone?”

  “Have you never heard the term ‘fashionably late’, Mr. Long?” Lady O’Shea herself said, slipping up to Danny’s side with a mischievous grin. She pushed her husband, the inimitable Lord Fergus O’Shea, with her.

  “Have they never heard the phrase ‘the early bird catches the worm’?” Danny replied, knowing his voice was already growing too loud. He added in a quieter tone, “You’re looking well, Fergus. Is that a new eye-patch?” And flashed him a teasing grin.

  “It’s only a shame I can’t make the reply I’d like to make to that comment with ladies present,” Fergus replied, grinning himself. “And you’ll get used to this lot and their fickle ways soon enough.” He paused to grunt out a laugh, then added, “The way things are going with your property empire, you’ll displace us all in no time, regardless.”

  Danny laughed, but his chest went tight. He peeked sideways at Phoebe to see what she made of the comment. As far as he could discern, she still hadn’t figured out that he was more than just a pub owner and a landlord. And after what he’d learned about her chances of inheriting an entire country estate, he wasn’t sure he wanted to spill his whole story to her.

  The wariness caused by Fergus’s comment doubled to bloody annoying anxiety at the memory of how he’d lost his nerve to tell Phoebe about her possible inheritance the other day. He still couldn’t put his finger on why he hadn’t solved all of her problems and brought joy back to her life by telling her all was not lost and she could go on being the grand, aristocratic lady after all. Except that he did know. If Phoebe took up possession of her inheritance and returned to her old life, she’d be done with him. And damn him, he wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life. Not by a long shot.

  “Guests,” Phoebe whispered, startling Danny into realizing that he’d been staring at her like a lovesick fool. “You have guests to greet.”