Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  “You’ve had a lucky escape. He’s a ruthless man and was only after your money,” Lily said severely. “Now, don’t cry. You’re safe now. We’ll take you home. Where does your godmother live?”

  Lavinia gave them the address. They hired a hackney and, promising to come and see her the next day and bring her to have tea with Emm, who was her former teacher, they left her to deal with her very shocked godmother, who had imagined her still in bed.

  “Poor child,” Lily said as they drove away.

  “Little fool,” George said. “She’s fourteen. What’s a schoolgirl doing letting a grown man chase after her?”

  Rose said nothing. She was very quiet.

  Lily glanced out the window and saw where they were. “Stop,” she called to the driver. “Turn around, please.”

  “What are you doing?” Rose asked. “You surely don’t want to go back to light candles now, do you?”

  “No, it’s spoiled for today,” Lily said. “But Sylvia lives down that street. Turn right,” she called to the cabbie.

  “Sylvia?”

  “Her cousin has just died. We saw it. We are implicated in his death.”

  “No, he chose to—”

  “It’s all right, I don’t feel in the slightest bit guilty about it. To be honest, it’s a neater ending than I’d hoped for. And breaking the news to Sylvia will somehow finish it off for me, once and for all.”

  Rose shrugged. “Go ahead, then.”

  But when they got to Sylvia’s house they found her in the street, supervising the loading of a large mound of luggage onto an antiquated traveling coach.

  They piled out of the hackney.

  “What are you doing here?” Sylvia said rudely when she saw Lily. “I thought you said you never wanted to see or speak to me again.”

  “Sylvia, we’ve brought you some bad news. I think we should go inside.”

  “Do you indeed, Miss Bossy?” Sylvia said. “Well, I don’t want to. I’m leaving that ghastly house and not coming back.”

  “You’re returning to the country?”

  “Lord, no!” Sylvia gave a brittle laugh. “If you must know, I’m leaving my husband. I’m going to live with Victor in Paris.”

  “Your cousin, Victor?”

  “Who else? You didn’t know, did you, Lily dear, that Victor and I are in love, and have been for ages. Yes, I helped him trick you, little dummy that you are. That inheritance of yours is wasted on you. Still, we’ve hatched another plan and Victor is even now securing our future income with another useless little heiress.”

  “If you mean he tried to abduct Lavinia Fortescue-Brown, he failed.”

  Sylvia gasped. “How did you know?”

  “We saw it happen. And he didn’t just fail, he was killed while trying to escape,” Rose said. “He dived into the Thames and . . . died.”

  Sylvia looked from Rose to Lily and back. “I don’t believe you. Victor can swim like a fish. I don’t know how you found out about silly little Lavvy Fortescue-Brown—I suppose the wretched chit left someone a note—they always do”—she bared her teeth at Lily—“unless they can’t.” She laughed nastily. “You’re too late to ruin my life again. Victor and his little pigeon will be halfway to the border by now.”

  “Ruin your life?” Lily was stunned by the accusation. “You’re the one who tried to ruin my life. What did I ever do to you?”

  Sylvia sneered. “Apart from having the fortune we needed? I hate you, Lily Rutherford—and you, Rose Rutherford.” She looked at George. “And you, whoever you are. But I especially hate you, Lily. At school nobody wanted to be friends with me—”

  “Hard to understand why,” George said.

  “But they all loved you! Why? You’re stupid and you’re fat and you’re not even pretty, but even so, everyone in that school loved you. And then you made me your friend, you—the dumbest girl in the school! So I would look stupid too!”

  Lily was staggered. “You hate me because I tried to be friends with you?”

  “Not only that. Because of you, I was expelled from Mallard’s. Because of you, I was forced to marry a miserly old man who I despise!” She shouted the last bit to the upper stories of her house. A curtain twitched. The figure of a man stood behind it. Sylvia really was burning her boats.

  “But I had nothing to do with you being expelled,” Lily persisted.

  “You did! I borrowed that tatty old painted locket of yours and someone found it in my drawer and claimed I’d stolen it.”

  “Along with a hoard of other people’s jewelry that you just happened to have as well,” Rose said.

  Lily added, “That gold locket contained my only portrait of my mother. It was precious to me.”

  “All you girls had too much of everything. I had nothing!” Sylvia flashed.

  “I think your coach is ready to leave,” George interrupted. She stepped forward and opened the door.

  Sylvia flounced into the coach. “Good-bye, Rutherfords, and good riddance. Think of me when you’re rotting in London fogs and Victor and I are living it up in style in Paris.”

  “But Victor is—” Lily began.

  “Leave it, little sister,” Rose said. “She doesn’t want to know, and to be honest, we’ll all be better off if she’s gone.”

  “But she conspired with her cousin to kidnap me. Lavinia too, I’m sure. She should be punished!” Lily started forward, with some vague idea of stopping Sylvia.

  Rose held her arm. “She will be punished. Think about what she’s doing. She’s leaving everything behind her to meet up with a man who won’t be there. She’ll be alone in France, with no money, no support, and no friends. She can’t ever come back to England—if she does, she’ll be arrested, and I don’t imagine her husband will lift a finger to help her.”

  Considering that, Lily almost felt sorry for Sylvia. Almost.

  The laden old coach trundled away. Lily watched it go, still a little dazed by the savagery of Sylvia’s attack and the hatred she’d nurtured for so long.

  “Poisonous little flower, isn’t she,” George commented as the coach turned the corner and disappeared from sight. “I don’t think even the French deserve her. Now, isn’t it time for lunch? Violence and vitriol always give me an appetite.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Lily took out the key to Galbraith House and handed it to her husband. “I thought, for the first time . . .” She was dancing on her toes, excited to show him what she’d done with their new home, and a little bit nervous. What if he didn’t like it? She knew he’d left here when he was a child, and that he’d never been very happy here, but men generally didn’t like change.

  He took the key from her and inserted it in the lock. The door opened soundlessly.

  “If there’s anything you don’t—Edward, wh—?” She gave a squeak of surprise as he lifted her off her feet. It turned into a giggle. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying my bride across the threshold, of course.” He kissed her, then set her back on her feet. “Tomorrow we’ll finalize the staff.”

  “We? You mean both of us?”

  “Yes, Atkins, my man of business, has prepared a list of suitable applicants and he’s arranged for them to call here in the morning. Of course, if you don’t want to help me choose . . .”

  “I want to. Only . . .” She bit her lip.

  “You’re thinking of the list, and having to sort through character references.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be there, but in any case, the first staff member we’ll decide on is your confidential secretary.”

  “A confidential secretary? For me?” It sounded rather intimidating. On the other hand, she couldn’t go running to Emm and Rose for everything.

  “Yes, I’ve arranged for her to come first thing in the morning.”

&nbs
p; “Her? You mean a female secretary?” She’d never heard of such a thing. Every secretary she knew of was male.

  He nodded. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with a female. I learned of a lady—the widow of a soldier I knew—who has two little boys and a mother to support. She wouldn’t live in, of course. Her mother would care for the children while she’s at work.” He looked down at Lily. “But if you don’t like her, we’ll find someone else.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be perfect. It’s a wonderful idea, Edward, thank you.” Lily flung her arms around him and kissed him, moved by his thoughtfulness and sensitivity. It was the perfect solution to her problem, and it was just like Edward to present it in such a matter-of-fact way.

  “Now, let’s have a look at this house.” He glanced around. “It looks—”

  Lily put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say anything. Not until you’ve seen it all.”

  His mouth quirked with amusement, but he kept it shut. She led him through room after room, explaining all the changes she’d made. “Now that gas has been fitted throughout, you’ll find it much lighter and more pleasant at night than when you were a child. Aren’t the light fittings elegant? No, don’t say anything.”

  She showed him the reception rooms and the library, the only room that was almost entirely unchanged. “I had all the books taken down and dusted, the shelves polished, the furniture repaired where necessary and the walls painted. Nothing else. Except for the gas lighting.” She eyed him anxiously. Galbraith men loved their libraries.

  He made a slow tour of the library, then turned to her with a smile. “It’s perfect.”

  They went upstairs. “This is my bedroom.” She threw open the door and stepped back. Edward admired the new cream silk wallpaper, the new curtains and the elegant new furniture—not nearly as heavy and oppressive as what had been there before. “I’ve replaced most of the furniture in the house,” she admitted.

  “I noticed all that ghastly Egyptian stuff has gone. It frightened me to death as a child. This is all very nice.” He strolled toward the connecting door. “I suppose this is my room.”

  “Mmm.”

  He opened the door. Lily waited with bated breath as he examined every item in the room: the wardrobe, the tall chest of drawers, the cheval glass, the comfortable leather armchair, the elegant small table where he could write his endless letters . . .

  He didn’t say a thing, just nodded thoughtfully and with apparent approval.

  She gave a surreptitious sigh of relief. He hadn’t noticed. “And now I want to show you the upstairs.” She took his arm and tugged him toward the door.

  He didn’t move. “There’s something missing.”

  “Really?” she exclaimed in surprise. Hoping she wasn’t overdoing it.

  “Yes, really. A small matter of a missing bed.”

  Lily widened her eyes. “Good heavens, you’re right. I didn’t notice. The men must have forgotten. Or maybe it wasn’t finished. Yes, that will be it. Your bed isn’t yet finished.”

  He looked down at her, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I suppose until it arrives, I’ll have to share your bed.”

  “Oh, dear.” She tried to look concerned. “You won’t mind, will you?”

  He laughed. “You, Madam Wife, are a minx. I expect that missing bed of mine will turn up eventually.”

  She gave an innocent shrug. “In a year or two, at least.” He kissed her and when she had breath to continue, she added, “Possibly more.”

  She showed him the rest of the house, but when they came to the attic stairs, he paused. “I remember this place.” He glanced at her. “I was never very happy here.

  “I’ve changed it quite a bit.” She took his hand and led him up the stairs.

  He took two steps in and stopped. The gray walls were now a soft yellow. The low line of cupboards was painted blue, and the molded edging painted bright red. The bookshelves were new. The floor had been varnished and waxed, so the room smelled of beeswax instead of dust, and several large, colorful fluffy rugs were scattered over it. In the corner was a French enamel stove.

  He examined it curiously.

  “Miss Chance, my dressmaker, has this kind of stove in her shop. They keep her rooms lovely and warm, and are clean and safe to use.”

  “This room was always so cold. And so bare and dull—and grim. Now”—he glanced around with a smile—“I could almost envy the children who will play here—our children, God willing.” He walked to the angled window in the roof and pushed it open. He pulled a stool forward. “Stand on this. I want to show you my childhood kingdom.”

  With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, he pointed out the silhouettes and rooftop lands he’d imagined, explaining what they’d been to a solitary small boy, and where his imaginary friends and enemies—and several monsters—had lived. She leaned against him, aching for the lonely little boy he’d been.

  He glanced at her and caught her blinking back tears. He pulled her against him. “Don’t weep for the past, my love. Like the shabby, outworn furnishings of this place, it’s gone to dust. What you’ve done to this room”—he made a sweeping gesture—“this whole house, is truly wonderful, but it’s nothing compared with how you’ve transformed my life.”

  He linked both arms around her waist and looked down at her. “You’ve given me back my home—and I’m not talking about any building, but home in every sense of the word. You restored me to my place and my people, opened up my heart again and showed me the road to a future I didn’t dream was possible.” His deep voice was ragged with emotion. His grip on her tightened.

  “For the past decade and more, I’ve lived a kind of half-life. It was an existence, not a life, with no meaning and no purpose except not to feel, not to hope, and not to love.” His expression was solemn, but his eyes blazed with a light that took her breath away. “You are my hope and my home. You’re my future and my endless, eternal love. With all my heart, I thank you.”

  “Oh, Edward.” Lily gave a happy sigh, wound her arms around his neck and lifted her face to receive his kiss.

  Epilogue

  “I am the happiest creature in the world.”

  —JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  It was the first ball in a generation to be held at Shields, and all the county was there, along with half the ton of London. Guests had been arriving all week, and from early afternoon carriages had been bowling down the tree-lined driveway.

  Against all predictions, the day had dawned clear and sunny and had mellowed into a perfect spring evening, the air warm with the promise of summer and fragrant with the scent of a thousand blooms. And that of a roasting oxen, three sheep, dozens of loaves of bread and a bonfire.

  It wasn’t only the ton who’d come for the party. Old Lord Galbraith was determined to welcome his grandson and heir back to Shields after a ten-year absence—and the people of the estate were celebrating with him.

  Much loved was the young master who’d grown up here along with their own lads. His sweet little bride was no less beloved, despite being a newcomer. They knew who was responsible for bringing their lad home.

  The old house glowed with life and laughter, pretty dresses and sparkling jewels catching the light of hundreds of candles. Outside, blazing torches lined the driveway and entrance to the house, while the garden and the trees surrounding it glittered with hundreds of tiny lanterns, like fireflies or fairy lights in the velvety dark night.

  A night for magic, everyone agreed.

  In the flower-bedecked ballroom an orchestra played cotillions, country dances, Scotch reels and the Sir Roger de Coverley for the older generation, quadrilles and dashing waltzes for the younger ones.

  Out the back behind the barn an enormous bonfire blazed, and a quartet of fiddlers played lively tunes while the estate workers, dressed in their best, danced and twirled and romped to their hea
rts’ content.

  Inside, champagne and other fine wines were served; outside beer and cider flowed, compliments of old Lord Galbraith, along with other less clearly defined brews brought by the villagers and passed around in flasks.

  As the night went on, the distinction between workers and the gentry began to blur. Ned Galbraith and his pretty wife divided their time between the two groups, greeting villagers and gentry with equal pleasure, and soon others of the ton were venturing outside to dance by firelight—and some to slip into the shadows to taste more forbidden delights.

  Ned watched the dancing, his arm around Lily’s waist. They’d danced the last four dances and Lily was puffed. “It’s a grand night,” he said softly. “Grandfather is ready to burst with pleasure.”

  “Not just Grandfather, everyone’s so happy that you’ve come home.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “That we’re going to make our principal home here.”

  “No, of course not, I love it here, Edward. Surely you knew that.”

  “But you put so much work into refurbishing the London house.”

  Lily laughed. “We’ll use it, don’t worry. I’ll want to spend quite a bit of time in London, at least until my sister and George find husbands.”

  He chuckled and pointed to a slender figure crouched over a pen by the barn. She was flanked by a tall, shaggy Irish wolfhound who was sniffing the contents of the pen cautiously. “That might be some time. George is far more interested in those puppies than in any man here.”

  Lily smiled. “As long as she’s happy, does it really matter whether she marries or not?”

  His arm tightened around her. “I never wanted to marry, either, but my marriage has brought me more happiness than I ever imagined possible.” He bent and kissed her. “And it began so unpromisingly.”