“His bill!”
“All the girls were enormously disappointed. He was a bit of a favorite really. Very charming and chatty, even if we did have to enjoy the occasional horseplay.” Celine coughed into her hand. “I like you,” she said abruptly to Miss Guthrie. “I even think I like you, Miss Beauregard, despite your interest in Henry. But Miss Guthrie, I think you should know. I think your fiancé is still having an affair with your stepmother.”
In the silence that followed, the breeze grew stronger and the trees in the hollow swayed, creaking through their moss-covered trunks. A fox barked in the distance, and even the rabbits that had scattered at their approach stopped munching on the fertile grass.
“I think,” began Miss Guthrie, “I think, you can call me Margaret, Celine.”
Celine sat bolt upright on her horse and with a sigh, visibly lost the tension in her figure.
“To be honest, I am not that surprised. The relationship between my stepmother and Charles has constantly been too close for my liking. I was just so grateful that that, bitch had stopped mentioning marriage.” Miss Guthrie lightly tapped her horse setting him in motion. “I want to ride.”
She led the way through the hollow and out the other side to a path that bordered a small stream. Agatha pulled the small mare into a trot beside her.
“What are you going to do now?” Agatha asked lightly, jolting in the mare’s saddle. Celine’s revelations had put the whole Charles affair into context for her. If Lady Foxtone had been having an affair with Charles Fashington all those years ago, then no wonder she had been so irate when she had discovered Charles and Agatha in a compromising position.
Miss Guthrie bowed her head. “I’m not sure. Breaking off the marriage will look bad.”
“Yes, I know. I was engaged to him too.”
“Hmm, yes. I’ve only recently found that out. I wanted to ask you why you broke your engagement.”
“I never wanted to marry him. He tried to kiss me and we were caught in what looked a compromising position.”
Celine snorted behind them. “That sounds like the Charles of old.”
“It seems as if I can’t really stay engaged to him.” Miss Guthrie seemed as though a weight had fallen from her shoulders. “Now I just need to find a way to tell Father without the stepmother finding out. He tells her everything.”
CHAPTER 36
Henry studied his reflection in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. Streaks of hair around his ears were turning grey, and his formerly unlined forehead was gathering creases. It was that damn woman who was doing this to him. He did not like not knowing where she was or what she was doing.
He had felt the laughing gaze of Lord Stanton on his back too many times the previous evening at dinner.
He shrugged on his frockcoat and deftly tied his cravat in a Windsor knot. He had no need of his valet, who was stood watchful in the corner of the room.
“Will I do?”
“She will like it, my lord.”
He sighed. Even his bloody valet was matchmaking. It seemed as if all his staff wanted desperately to believe in this charade. The valet remained silent, folding up the clothes that Henry had shed after taking a bath to clean himself from his ride.
“Out with it!”
“Janey told me that Miss Beauregard sleeps badly.”
“Janey?”
“Her ladies maid, sir. From the village. Very nice she is too.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open this evening, Ames. Last night we shook the trees and tonight we must see if anything falls out.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Henry stepped lightly down the stairs. The main staircase wound down to the black and white flagged hall that led from the front of the house to the back. As he descended the last flight, the loud clinking of salvers and glasses reached him from below stairs, as did the creak as guests walked backwards and forth above. He had an hour before the first guests arrived from both the house party and around the district.
In fact, what was he to do with himself in the intervening hour? The staff had everything organized. He was only needed to form a receiving line at the start of the evening, and from then on his sister had decreed that everything would work like clockwork. He retreated to his study.
The room was just the same as he had left it on the previous evening. He fell into the leather chair that sat on castors behind his desk. Idly he swung his legs to and fro. Then, with decision, he pulled out a drawer and lifted a small box onto the desk. The birds and lilies embroidered on the top seemed to move for an instant and then freeze again into their perpetual dance and song.
He opened the box and sat for a while, inhaling the faint perfume. Patting his breast pocket, he withdrew the dainty metal band and placed in into the small indentation next to the large gold ring. He closed the box with a snap and carefully placed it back in the desk drawer. Rising, he left the study to face the guests.
The reception line was interminably long. The noise in the ball room reached a crescendo as the number of people gathering increased. Guest upon guest sat in the chairs around the outside of the room, or stood chatting in small groups. They each held a glass of champagne in their hand, helping with the merriment and laughter.
He had already greeted Bill, Lord Stanton, Harry, and a fragile-looking Freddie who had shaken him rather gingerly by the hand, not quite regarding him in the eye.
Even Fashington looked less drunk this evening and more in control of himself, his face open and engaging.
Victoria turned from greeting the last guest and elbowed him in the ribs. “Look at her!”
Henry’s heart leapt, but fell like a stone. In the queue of people to enter the ballroom, Miss Guthrie stood tall, and graceful. Her dress was a stunning sky blue which shimmered as she walked. She held her head high, and laughed, as clear as a bell, as her companion made a remark.
Miss Guthrie did not look at Fashington once, even though he stood nearby trying to attract her attention.
“What’s going on this evening?” Victoria elbowed him in the side again. “First Miss Guthrie and now…”
Henry looked again to the front door and took a deep breath. It was like the first time he had seen the Grand Salvatore. Agatha stood on the top step, glinting and flaming as the candles cast their light on the gold of her dress. She was like the sun emerging from the night. As she entered through the front door, a broad smile crossed her face. The soft light of the hall caressed her creamy shoulders, and set off the red-gold tints in her hair.
“Close your mouth, Henry!” Victoria gave him one last dig in the ribs and then swept over to greet her friend.
He could not stop staring. This was not the same Agatha he knew, and he thought that he had met them all, the reckless scientist, the endearing academic, the infuriatingly loyal friend to his sister. This was a woman who was in touch with her sensuality, and knew how to use it. This was a woman that was going to have all the men at the dance lusting after her.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving forward and pulling Agatha straight back out of the door through which she had come.
“Henry—you can’t…”
He closed the front door in Victoria’s face.
He dropped his hands to his side and clenched them in to tight fists. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t you like it?” Agatha shrugged her shoulders.
“Of course I like it. The problem is, so will everyone else too.”
“And why does that matter?”
“Because, because…” Henry stuttered. Agatha shot a disdainful look at him and pulled the door back open again to where Victoria still stood.
“What a delightful gathering, Victoria,” Agatha said cheerfully, sweeping in through the front door. She shut it quietly on him as he looked after her.
“I’d stick to her like glue, sir.”
Henry jumped and then shook himself. His valet lounged quietly in the shadows.
“What are
you doing there? You are meant to be finding out what is going on in the ballroom.”
“Best place to hear the gossip, my lord. As the guests have been queuing they’ve been discussing all sorts of interesting things that they won’t talk of inside.”
Henry looked back at the door. “Go on.”
“Lots of guests from the local area are suspicious of you finally opening your house for a ball. You’ve owned it for more than five years, and never done something similar.”
“And?”
“And they think that you are doing it because you are near to getting married. They are all craning their heads wondering who the lucky lady is.”
“Hmm.”
“Then there is the group of people who wonder what you actually do when you are down here, given that you don’t seem to go out very much.”
“Sounds normal.”
“And then the ladies are wondering if they are going to have a chance to entrap you.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Fairly unscrupulous bunch. Watch out for the gaggle of local ladies in awful dresses.”
Henry flicked a glare at his valet. “So in reality you haven’t found out much at all, have you?”
“I was going to come on to that. It wasn’t one of the guests going in, but one of the guests coming out that caught my attention. That gentleman, Lord Fashington, stood for a while on the top step smoking. I thought it was a pretty odd place to do it, given that he could have gone for a walk in the grounds. He dropped his cigar the moment after the last coach arrived and slipped inside.”
“Who was in the last coach?”
Ames frowned. “I don’t know him very well. Count Ondaren, I think he’s called. Pretty non-descript chap.”
“Did he speak to anyone else?”
“No one at all. Most of the crowd avoided him.”
Henry was puzzled. Most of the guests had been smoking on the terrace during the weekend as asked to by Victoria. Certainly when a rush of guests were arriving, the normal thing would not be trying to go out through the same door that people were coming in by.
“Are you sure he did not speak to anyone?”
“Of course.”
Henry nodded. “Go round the back and enter through the terrace. See if there is anyone trying to get in that we have not invited.”
With a tip of his cap, Ames moved silently through the shadows and disappeared around the corner of the house.
The hall was empty when Henry re-entered the house. All the guests had now arrived, and Victoria was presiding over the affair in the ballroom.
Henry opened the ballroom door slightly and stepped in quietly. The dancing had already begun with locals and house party guests mingling good-naturedly. As soon as he had stepped in, his body sensed where Agatha was standing. She was surrounded by a sea of males who were listening attentively to her every word. Miss Guthrie too was also similarly accompanied. Fashington stood frustratedly at the edge of her circle, Miss Guthrie angled away from him as if on purpose.
As he strode towards Agatha, she glanced at him and then said something to the man next to her, Earl Harding. Henry gritted his teeth and strode forward more quickly. But he was too late. The earl was already leading Agatha out onto the dance floor. The earl met his eyes briefly and smiled wolfishly.
Henry clenched his hands by his side.
“I say Anglethorpe. Jolly good gathering.” Granwich tapped at his shoulder and handed him a glass of champagne. “Haven’t been to a ball with such interesting guests since your parents’ gatherings. Too bad your mother died of consumption. She was an excellent hostess here, even without your father.”
Henry gripped at the champagne glass tightly. “Consumption?” What in the hell?
Granwich stared at him. “Yes of course. She contracted it several months before your father died.”
“She did? I…”
“She never wanted to make a fuss, your mother. She was a very special lady. Always understood the pressure your father was under and the risks that he took.”
“She didn’t die of a broken heart?”
Granwich frowned at him. “Good god man, where did you get that idea? No, she and your father were very much in love, and of course Helen was grief stricken when she died, but she always said she was lucky to have had even the time that she had had with your father, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. He knew she was going of course. It was the cough that gave it away.”
His mother coughing with laughter outside the carriage.
“Why didn’t she tell me… us?”
“I don’t think she wanted to burden you with it. Consumption is rumored to be highly infectious. Also plays havoc with the body… most patients end up looking like skeletons at the end.”
So that was why she refused had refused to see Victoria or Henry. Not because she was languishing with a broken heart.
Henry balled his hands into a fist. “If only Father hadn’t died… if I could just find what my father was looking for.”
Granwich stared at him. “That won’t bring her back.” He grasped Henry roughly by the shoulder. “Henry, you’ve been looking for seven years. Searching for something that you believe will bring back those halcyon days of your family. Your mother and father are dead and you can’t bring them back. You’ve been concentrating on the wrong thing—you should be creating your own family, your own happiness. Then in time, a strand of information will surface and you will be able to continue again looking for whatever it is.” Stepping away, Granwich picked up his cane and turned back. “Imagine dying without having ever loved or been loved?” he said in a low voice. “What use would all your searching have been then?”
Granwich strode away into the crowds, his hand white on his cane.
Henry gasped, a sharp pain seizing his shoulders. He should have known. His father had tried to tell him that day in the Cheshire Cheese. Look after her if I go. He’d known already that his mother was dying, that only his sister would be left to look after.
From the terrace, a roar rippled across the crowds. Henry started, running a hand through his hair.
“Why, you little bitch!” Charles pushed open the terraced door and staggered through it, pursued by the small dark form of a woman.
“And whilst we are here, Lord Charles Fashington, I never want to see you again in my life.” A disheveled Miss Guthrie appeared behind the lurching Charles. She lifted her reticule and thumped him on the head.
“No wonder no man wants you, you washed up prude.” Charles seemed unaware of his audience and appeared incandescent with rage. “You can’t break our marriage off. Your father won’t allow it. Especially when I tell him what you have been up to.”
Miss Guthrie drew herself to her full height. “What I have been up to!” She laughed hysterically. “I think that everyone—” She gestured to the shocked ballroom in front of them—“will be interested in the fact that you have spent your entire inheritance on courtesans, gambling and my stepmother!”
“Who told you that?” Charles straightened, his hands still covering the sensitive area between his legs. “It’s not true!” he cried wildly to the ballroom. “She’s a wild fantasist and a liar. She’s just jealous of Lady Guthrie.”
He looked around himself, eyes bulging as the guests turned their back on him. “What are you doing?” he burst out as voices here and there echoed ‘inheritance’, ‘gambling’, and even more worryingly, ‘depraved sexual tastes’. “What have you done?”
“I’m not sorry, Charles.” Miss Guthrie collapsed onto the supporting arm of Victoria. “I asked you out onto the terrace to break the news to you in person and discreetly.”
“Oh, come on. Everybody knows that if a lady asks you onto the terrace then she only wants one thing.”
“Really, Charles, I would have thought you had learnt your lesson on that front by now.” Striding across the ballroom, Henry bent to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen out of Miss Guthrie’s hand. “Hmm. I prom
ise the bearer five thousand guineas.”
“I thought I could buy him off.” Miss Guthrie bit the words out. “He could give it to his lover, my stepmother.”
“I’ll still take it.” Charles looked hopeful. “Consider it a parting present.”
“I don’t think she needs to do anything like that, Charles.” Victoria ripped up the waiver. “In fact I think you can collect your things now and a coach will take you to the local inn, and then you can leave from there.” She signaled to two waiting footmen.
“Look, we don’t need to do anything hastily. Anglethorpe? Henry,” Charles pleaded. “Goddamnit, you can’t do this to me! I’m a peer of the realm and my work is important!”
Henry watched immovably as the footmen led a hunched and shaking Charles away. He looked at the guests who had gathered around, the initial excitement of the new gossip wearing off.
“I think, Victoria, that more dancing is needed.” He checked his pocket watch and stilled. “And this time we should play a waltz.” Henry walked over to the string quartet. After a murmured conversation, the players enthusiastically picked up their instruments and started a lively melody.
He clapped his hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen! Please find your partners for the first waltz of the evening!”
A shimmer of gold distracted him. Agatha slipped through the open terrace door that Charles had staggered through. He strode quickly after her, but on the dimly-lit patio, however, there was no sign of a golden siren. A few gentlemen stood smoking, discussing shooting and estates. He strode into the gardens beyond. The grass was long and wet underfoot and bent where footsteps had already crossed it.
He found her at last in the center of a dark, box hedge enclosure, seated on a semi-circular marble seat, the strains of quartet floating through the air. She gazed unblinking at a hollow sphere-shaped sundial.
With a slender finger she traced the edges of the marble seat. “Why didn’t I have the courage to deal with Charles Fashington in the same way?” she asked in a low voice.
Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) Page 23