Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  He shifted his gaze to Tinmore’s box. Somehow he’d cross paths with Miss Genna Summerfield again. Why not?

  * * *

  When the opera was over the crowds spilled on to the street where the carriages were lined up to gather them. A fine mist of rain dampened the air and kept most of the crowd waiting in the shelter behind the Opera House’s columns.

  Genna stood with Tess and her husband, Marc Glenville, a few feet from Tinmore and Lorene, who remained under the portico. The rain was too thin to be of much concern and, after the close air and crowds inside the theatre, Genna relished the night air. The lamplight shone on the wet pavement and cobbles, making a play of light and dark that captivated her. How did artists paint such reflections?

  Something else to try. There was always something about art that she discovered she did not know. Thanks to Rossdale, she’d begun to look at the paintings around her more carefully to try to answer some of these questions.

  She took a breath.

  Rossdale. Where was he? Somewhere in the crowd? Odd to know he was so close. It made her skin tingle with excitement.

  ‘What is the delay?’ she heard Tinmore complain. ‘I distinctly told the coachman to be at the head of the line. I detest waiting.’

  Next to her, Tess gave an exasperated sigh. ‘At least it is not pouring rain.’ She clasped her husband’s arm. ‘It feels rather refreshing out here.’

  Marc smiled and held her even closer. ‘It does look as if we are in for a bit of a wait.’

  ‘We could walk back faster,’ Genna said.

  ‘I would not mind,’ Tess said.

  Most of those from the orchestra seats seemed to be doing just that, filling the streets and blocking the carriages.

  Tess hummed. ‘Do you not have the music still in your head? I do.’

  ‘It was good music,’ her husband agreed.

  Genna held on to the costumes, the stage designs and the colours and patterns of the theatre itself.

  ‘Miss Summerfield?’ A low masculine voice sounded behind her.

  She turned. ‘Lord Rossdale!’ Her insides skittered with something like joy.

  He tipped his hat and bowed. ‘I thought that was you.’

  ‘Rossdale! Rossdale!’ Tinmore called out. ‘Saw you in the theatre. You and your father. Give him my regards.’

  Rossdale turned slowly and merely nodded to Tinmore before turning back to Genna. ‘I hope you are well, Miss Summerfield.’

  She smiled. ‘I am always well, sir!’ Her voice dropped. ‘It is good to see you.’

  She caught his gaze for a moment, when Tess, standing right beside her, said, ‘Genna?’

  ‘Oh.’ She gestured from Tess to Rossdale. ‘Tess, may I present Lord Rossdale, with whom we became acquainted when he visited Lincolnshire. My sister, Mrs Glenville.’

  Tess smiled at him. ‘Lord Rossdale.’

  Tess’s husband spoke up. ‘Rossdale. Good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, Glenville.’ He shook Marc’s hand. ‘Under better circumstances, yes?’

  Marc glanced at his wife. ‘Much better circumstances.’

  ‘There it is!’ Tinmore shouted. ‘There is our carriage. Do not tarry!’ He walked quickly, his cane tapping loudly on the pavement.

  Genna exchanged a glance with Rossdale.

  He stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Miss Summerfield.’ He nodded to Tess and Marc. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Make haste!’ Tinmore called from the carriage door. ‘I do not wish to remain here all night.’

  They had no choice but to rush to the carriage.

  Genna took a glance back as she was assisted into the carriage, but Rossdale seemed to have melted into the crowd.

  * * *

  Shortly after Lord Tinmore’s carriage pulled away, Ross climbed into his father’s carriage.

  ‘Is Dell with you?’ his father asked. They had all been invited to a supper after the opera.

  ‘He is making his own way,’ Ross replied.

  Dell had left him right after the performance. Rather abruptly, Ross thought.

  ‘I wanted to talk to him about this income-tax business,’ the Duke said. ‘We must settle this question. It is vital.’

  Income taxes had been high during the war with Napoleon and now, with the peace, the citizens were eager for some relief.

  ‘I heard much discussion among the others who called upon our box during the intermission,’ the Duchess said. Ross’s father’s second wife was perhaps even more serious about politics than was his father.

  The carriage started to move.

  Ross, though, had heard his father’s discussion of the income tax—and the Duchess’s—many times since joining them in London. He’d contributed all his thoughts on the subject already. Not that his father credited his opinion.

  He turned his thoughts instead to Genna. To devising some way to see her again soon.

  It was possible that eventually they would be invited to the same social affair, but that was leaving too much to chance. He needed to figure out a way to see her soon and he knew just how to arrange that.

  ‘I heard something as well,’ he began. ‘Well, not so much heard, but noticed.’

  ‘Something of importance?’ his father asked sceptically.

  His father believed Ross was merely pleasure-seeking, but, then, his father never knew Ross to do anything of importance. He never knew of Ross’s voyages across the channel during the war, transporting spies like Glenville, Genna’s brother-in-law, and of bringing exiles to safety. He certainly did not know of his assistance to Waterloo veterans and their families.

  ‘Do you recall that Dell and I had some acquaintance with Lord Tinmore when we were in Lincolnshire?’ Ross asked.

  ‘That unpalatable fossil?’ his father spat.

  Ross suppressed a smile. His father did have a way with words. ‘The very one. I ran into him tonight right before the carriage came. He asked me to give you his regards.’

  His father peered at him. ‘Ross, Tinmore’s regards are of no importance to me.’

  ‘I think they are,’ Ross countered. ‘The thing is, Tinmore is dazzled by you. He acted the complete toad-eater when Dell and I saw him in Lincolnshire. I believe he fancies being one of your set. I think he’d be easily swayed to vote with you if he had the impression you favoured him.’ This was half-true at least. Tinmore was enamoured of being in the company of a duke—or even his son. Whether he’d change his vote was total speculation.

  Ross’s father nodded thoughtfully. ‘You might be correct. And if I secure his vote, those old cronies of his might follow suit.’ He shook his head. ‘No. If I befriend him now he’ll think I am merely seeking votes.’

  Which was precisely what his father wished to do.

  ‘Be subtle,’ Ross urged. ‘Do not approach him directly. Invite him to some of your entertainments.’

  The Duchess, who had been listening with keen interest, spoke up. ‘Invite him…I believe it could work, although I hesitate to include that fortune-hunter wife of his.’

  ‘I can ease your concern on that score,’ Ross said quickly. ‘Lady Tinmore is actually a mild-mannered, well-meaning woman. I think you might actually take a liking to her.’

  ‘Is she?’ The Duchess’s brows rose. ‘Difficult to believe. Everyone knows her mother was as wanton as they come even before she ran away with a foreign count.’ She leaned forward. ‘You know people say each of the Summerfield daughters were fathered by different lovers. And there is that bastard son. And Summerfield lost his fortune, of course.’

  Leave it to the Duchess to know all the gossip there was to know.

  ‘I also heard the bastard son married Lord Northdon’s daughter,’ she went on. ‘A patched-up affair that was, I am certain. Northdon packed t
hem off to some farm in the Lake District.’

  How did she retain all this information?

  ‘I do not dispute the sins of the parents,’ Ross said. ‘And I have never met the son. But the daughters are not cut from the same cloth.’ Genna was an original, that was certain, but he saw nothing wanton in her. ‘They would not embarrass you.’

  She leaned back on the seat. ‘I confess I am curious about them.’

  ‘Invite them to your musicale next week,’ he suggested.

  Her mouth turned up in a calculating grin. She turned to the Duke. ‘Shall we?’

  He returned her expression. ‘By all means.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  The invitation to the Duchess of Kessington’s musicale was quite unexpected, but it put Lord Tinmore in raptures. He became nearly intolerable. From the moment he’d opened the gold-edged invitation bearing the Kessington crest his warnings and instructions had been incessant. He was convinced that Lorene or Genna would behave improperly and would prove to be an embarrassment to him.

  Genna had no fears that she and Lorene would offend anyone. Tinmore’s capacity to be objectionable, though, was another story altogether.

  Along with a litany of dos and don’ts in the society of dukes and duchesses, Tinmore desired to select what gowns they were to wear and how they ought to style their hair. Goodness! He would probably have put them in stomachers and powdered wigs.

  Somehow Lorene had been able to prevent that ghastly idea. It was a good thing, because Genna would have refused to wear whatever Tinmore selected, even if it had been her finest dress.

  On the night of the musicale, with the assistance of Nancy, their modiste, they managed to look presentable, but that hardly eased Tinmore’s nerves. When their carriage pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Kessington House on Piccadilly, he was nearly beside himself.

  ‘Now remember to curtsy to the Duchess and, whatever you do, do not open your mouths. The less you say the less chance you will utter some drivel.’

  They entered the hall, a semicircular room all white and gold with marble floors and cream walls with gilded plasterwork. The curve of the room was repeated in the double-marble staircase, as was the gold. Its wrought-iron banister was gilded, the curves appearing again in its design.

  A footman in fine livery took their cloaks and another led them toward the sounds of people talking and soft violin music playing.

  The butler announced them, ‘Lord and Lady Tinmore. Miss Summerfield.

  Genna noticed heads turn towards them. Because of Tinmore or because two of the scandalous Summerfield sisters had arrived? She lifted her chin and allowed her gaze to sweep the room. Its walls were covered with huge paintings and mirrors, its ceiling a marvel of plasterwork design. Hanging from the ceiling was the largest crystal chandelier she had ever seen. The room was all pattern and opulence.

  Tinmore impatiently tugged at her arm to follow him to where His and Her Graces greeted other guests who had arrived just before them. Rossdale stood next to them and caught Genna’s eye as they approached.

  He smiled and she knew the smile was just for her.

  Tinmore effusively greeted the Duke and thanked the Duchess for including them. He made a big show of presenting Lorene to them before mumbling, ‘My wife’s sister, Miss Summerfield.’

  ‘Very good of you to come,’ the Duke said. ‘I trust we will have some time to talk before the night is through.’

  ‘It would be my honour.’ Tinmore bowed.

  The Duchess smiled graciously at Lorene and Genna. ‘I must learn who your modiste is. Your appearance is charming. Charming.’

  Rossdale stepped forward, extending his hand to Tinmore. ‘Good of you to come, sir.’

  ‘Rossdale.’ Tinmore shook his hand eagerly. ‘Good to see you again. Looking forward to this evening.’

  Rossdale also took Lorene’s hand. ‘Welcome, ma’am. I dare say there should be some people you know here. Your cousin is here somewhere.’

  ‘Lord Penford?’ she said. ‘Yes, I already glimpsed him.’

  Finally he clasped Genna’s hand and even through her glove she could feel his warmth and strength. ‘Miss Summerfield. I hope you will allow me to show you the art work in this house. We have a considerable collection.’

  She was so happy to see him, but feared it would show. She glanced at the paintings gracing the walls instead. ‘I can see that already! There are so many wonderful paintings here.’

  He released her. ‘I took time to learn of them so you will be impressed with me.’

  She laughed.

  Tinmore took her arm and pulled her away. ‘Do not waste the gentleman’s time.’

  ‘She is not—’ Rossdale started, but other guests arrived and he had to turn away.

  Tinmore led Genna and Lorene through the throngs of people and deposited them in a corner before insinuating himself into a group of other lords probably discussing their political matters.

  ‘Do you suppose anyone will speak to us?’ Lorene asked. ‘I cannot help but feel this company is too high for us. Why were we invited, I wonder?’

  ‘I wonder, too.’ Did Rossdale have anything to do with it?

  Two of the ladies seated nearby gave them curious looks. Did they disapprove of their being invited?

  Lorene nodded to them and smiled sweetly. How could anyone not adore her sister?

  Genna turned her attention to the painting on the wall behind them, a portrait of an old man in a turban. This was not an Italian artist, she would guess by the clothing and the style of painting. The colours were dark and the figure seemed to blend into the background, although his face seemed bathed in light.

  ‘Lady Tinmore.’ A male voice came from behind.

  Genna turned. It was Lord Penford.

  ‘How do you do, sir,’ Lorene said, her voice barely audible.

  ‘Penford!’ Genna said lightly. ‘Are you going to speak to us? No one else has dared!’

  ‘I thought I might take you around and introduce you,’ he said.

  It was what Tinmore ought to have done.

  ‘How very nice of you, Cousin.’ Out of the corner of her eye Genna saw Rossdale working his way through the crowd. ‘Take Lorene around. I wish to study these paintings a little longer.’

  Neither he nor Lorene acted as if she’d said something odd. They left her. A footman brought her a glass of champagne which delighted Genna, who had only tasted the bubbly light wine two or three times during the last Season.

  The two ladies seated nearby glanced at her again. They were of an age with her parents, Genna guessed. Perhaps they knew Genna’s mother and father. If so, no wonder they stared.

  Genna used Lorene’s response and smiled at them. They smiled back. Did they wish her to speak with them? Genna could not tell.

  No matter. Rossdale was coming closer.

  ‘You are here alone,’ he said when he reached her.

  She turned to the wall. ‘I was studying this painting. It is not Italian, is it?’

  He grinned. ‘Good girl. It is Dutch. Rembrandt.’

  She looked at it again, more closely. ‘I have never seen a Rembrandt. Look how he paints the black cloak of the man. It blends into the background, but it is still clear it is a coat if you look closely.’

  He nodded. ‘Do you wish a tour of the other paintings in the room?’ he asked.

  She glanced at the ladies nearby who looked her way again. ‘I am afraid it would look odd with all your guests here.’ She leaned closer to him. ‘Tinmore might have apoplexy if I do anything to draw attention to myself. He has a great fear that Lorene and I will do something to mortify him.’ She huffed. ‘Of course, as soon as he could, he left us in this corner. I suppose he thought we would stand here like statues.’

  He incl
ined his head. ‘I saw Dell introducing your sister to other guests. Would you like me to introduce you?’

  She giggled. ‘Let Tinmore worry that I’ll do something objectionable in your company.’

  He started with the two ladies who had made her and Lorene an object of interest. ‘May I present Miss Summerfield, sister-in-law to Lord Tinmore? Miss Summerfield, the Duchess of Archester and the Duchess of Mannerton.’

  Genna executed a perfect curtsy. ‘Your Graces. I am honoured to meet you.’

  The Duchess of Archester peered at her. ‘I knew your mother, Miss Summerfield.’

  And she probably knew about all her mother’s lovers and how her mother had left her children with a father who cared nothing for them and ran off with a foreign count.

  ‘Did you, ma’am?’ Genna smiled and held her gaze steady.

  ‘I knew her quite well,’ the Duchess said. ‘How is she faring? I hope she is in good health.’

  Genna managed to keep her composure. ‘I have not seen her for many years.’ Since she was three years old. ‘But my sister, Mrs Glenville, met her in Brussels last summer. By her report my mother is in good health and prospering.’

  ‘Is she still with Count von Osten?’ asked the Duchess of Mannerton.

  Was this any of their concern?

  ‘Yes, she is.’ Genna still smiled. ‘My sister reports they are quite happy together.’

  She was not about to give them the satisfaction of imagining her mother going to rack and ruin by leaving a loveless, desolate marriage for a man who loved her and could give her everything she desired.

  Except her children.

  To her surprise, though, the Duchesses looked pleased. ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ the Duchess of Mannerton said. ‘A bad business it was, but she found her way in the end.’

  Rossdale asked if the Duchesses needed anything and if they were enjoying themselves while Genna still reeled from this reaction to her mother.

  ‘I cannot believe it,’ she said as Rossdale escorted her away. ‘I think they actually liked my mother. I thought they were looking at Lorene and me because they disapproved of us.’