Bath Scandal (20 page)

“He mentioned a day or two.”

“That will give me time to pay a few more calls on Lady Sappington. Perhaps we can take in a dance at the Upper Rooms, as you are so fond of going there,” she said. Her tone was a rebuke.

He recognized that tone as one that required explanation. “Beatrice and I took Gillie,” he said.

“That is well enough, I daresay, but why did you go to Bournemouth?”

“The duke wished it,” he said, knowing this was the best excuse in the world.

“And Beatrice invited herself along. Really that woman is not quite the thing. I had no idea she had become so rackety. You would not believe the sort of Cits who have been calling on her. And that Whitehead creature, with his talk of duels. I daresay Evendon is some chum of hers.”

“He is the duke’s uncle.”

“I know that! I have been reading the peerage to check up on the duke. There are some relatives that one does not associate with too closely, however. Still, Beatrice has served her purpose well. As soon as we get Gillie settled, you and I shall have our banns posted. And now you must run along, Southam. I want a word with Beatrice before she retires. Now that I am here, she can resume running around with her own set. I daresay she will be happy for that. You and I shall chaperon Gillie. We’ll take her to call on Lady Sappington tomorrow. The duke’s accident will make an unexceptionable excuse. If we go just before teatime, she might invite us to stay to tea.”

Southam listened, hearing much that displeased him. Such scheming was new to him. Yet he read it in echoes of how Deborah had won him. Before teatime was usually when she came to call in the days when she was courting him, usually with some excuse that appeared feasible to an unsuspecting soul.

“Gillie has her routine established,” he said. “She rides and drives, and joins with a young bunch of girls here who have waltzing parties.”

“Waltzing! She is not even out. Really, I knew Beatrice was not fastidious, but I never imagined she was that foolhardy.”

“All the debs-to-be participate. They are learning the steps before they go to make their bows. It is where Gillie met the duke.” Not really a lie. She had met him there many times.

The magic word absolved the dance lessons of shame. “In that case I daresay it is all right. But she must mind her manners. It is of paramount importance for her to impress Lady Sappington favorably. She is the duke’s mother’s favorite sister. Her opinion will count for a good deal.”

Southam’s lips thinned. “Gillie is plenty good enough for him. If Lady Sappington don’t like her, I cannot think it would make a tuppence of difference to the duke.”

Deborah just tossed up her hands and laughed. “I did not arrive a moment too soon. Run along, Southam. Call for me tomorrow at ten. And, dear, you
will
do something about that cravat? And perhaps if you brushed your hair back, it would not look so odd.”

She put her two hands to his forehead and brushed the offending hair back with her fingers. While she had him in this pose, she bestowed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Did you miss me, Southam?” she asked.

His answer stuck in his throat. “Do you have to ask?” he parried.

“Indeed I do, for you did not say so!” she said, pouting.

He raised her hand and kissed her fingers, for he could not face kissing her lips. Deborah was satisfied with this meager token of affection and sent him off. She darted upstairs, where she thoroughly annoyed her hostess by telling her, in effect, that her services were no longer required.

Before she closed her eyes, Beatrice had reversed her decision to leave Southam to his fate. Annoying as he could be at times, he did not deserve a lifetime of Deborah Swann. She almost felt that death at the hands of Horatio might be better. At least it would be over quickly.

Chapter Seventeen

For the following two days the calm of Saint Andrew’s Terrace was shattered by the machinations of the Honorable Deborah Swann. She bullied Gillie into accompanying her to call on Lady Sappington (where she failed to obtain an invitation to tea); she condescended to Beatrice’s callers and invited her own cousins to dinner without asking Mrs. Searle’s permission. Gillie resumed her old sullen ways. Throughout the ordeal Southam was in a state of prolonged shock. Between guilt for his thoughts and forebodings of the duel to come, he was not up to coping with his fiancée. He did more or less as she demanded, but he did it from a sense of guilt, and he did it with a poor grace. He continued wearing his new cravats and hairdo.

The household, with the exception of Deborah, felt as if they were sitting on a keg of gunpowder, waiting for Lord Horatio and the duke to return to town. Rumors of Evendon’s duel were running like wildfire through town, taking on melodramatic hues as imagination dictated, since there was no hard news. The lady’s husband had caught her and Evendon in flagrante delicto and demanded satisfaction. No, no, it was not a married lady at all. It was a young girl, and her papa was the challenger. It was an actress, it was a lightskirt, but fortunately it was never a widow, and the partner in crime was never Lord Southam.

Late on Thursday afternoon the duke finally arrived home and came to call on Gillie, with his arm hung up in a strip of black cotton. He was discomfited to find Mrs. Searle’s saloon full of people. Southam was there and the Honorable Miss Swann, along with Miss Pittfield and Mrs. Searle and Gillie. He felt like turning tail and leaving when he beheld such a flock of ladies.

He was presented and made an awkward bow. Southam asked how the arm was coming along; he said it hardly hurt at all, except when he moved his fingers. He moved his fingers to demonstrate and grimaced with the pain. As soon as possible he took refuge beside Gillie on the sofa, but he was not allowed any peace. Miss Swann immediately moved over to join him.

“I hope you have had an expert look at that arm, Duke. Such a wound as that might cripple you for life.”

He looked at her in alarm. “It is only a sprain!”

“A friend of Princess Augusta fell from his mount and sprained his wrist. He never rode again,” she announced dolefully. “And that was with the assistance of Dr. Croft, the royal physician.”

“Then I shall steer clear of him!” Tannie exclaimed.

She laughed merrily at this unintentional crumb of ducal wit. “You are too amusing, Duke. How Dr. Croft will laugh to hear that! And how is your dear aunt, Lady Sappington?”

“She is jogging along well enough. Except she complains that every time she is about to sit down and have a read, some curst female she don’t even know comes landing in on her, and stays forever. Yesterday the woman came just at teatime, and had to be shown to the door.”

“Some people have no discernment,” Miss Swann said, shaking her head at such a lack of breeding. “I know just how she feels.”

“I wonder we did not meet this lady, for we were there about that time, Miss Swann,” Gillie said innocently.

“No doubt she came after we left, well before tea-time, my dear.”

The tea tray was brought in, and to escape Miss Swann, the duke went to the hostess to take a cup. “My uncle is back,” he said to Bea in a low voice as she poured his tea. “I wish you will take a drive out and speak to him, Mrs. Searle. He would listen to you if he would listen to anyone.”

“I shall go tomorrow morning, Tannie,” she said, smiling as she poured milk in his tea. “What sort of mood is he in?”

“A foul one, I fear. One can hardly blame him. I mean to say, Southam struck him in the face. I think Southam ought to apologize.”

“He did apologize. Sugar?”

“Four spoons, please. And if you’d just give it a stir for me. Cursed arm. Indeed he did not apologize! He never went near Horatio.”

“He sent his apology through Mr. McIvor.”

“The devil you say! Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch. Between Duncan and Runciman, they will put either Uncle or Southam in his grave. Let us meet at Uncle’s place tomorrow at ten and see if we can straighten it out.”

“An excellent idea.”

“Who is that appalling woman with Gillie?”

“Miss Swann, Southam’s intended.”

“Good God! No wonder he wants Uncle to kill him.”

“Not a word in her direction about this duel, Tannie. She would dislike it very much.”

“You need not fear. I shan’t be talking to her if I can avoid it. Does Gillie know about the duel?”

“No one knows except us and Miss Pittfield.”

“Mum’s the word.” He looked over his shoulder at Miss Swann. “If Southam marries that woman— you mean to say Gillie will have to live with her?”

“Of course. Where else would she live?”

“Poor child. Bad as I am, I daresay she’d be no worse off with me.” He shook his head ruefully and took his tea to a far corner of the room, thus delaying his coze with Gillie until she could escape and join him.

His visit was brief, and when he left, Miss Swann announced to the room that the duke was “A dear, charming boy, quite unexceptionable. So friendly, and such a ready wit. I must write his little joke about Dr. Croft to the princesses. They like a joke as well as anyone. People who only know them from afar are out in their reckoning if they think the princesses lack humor.”

A glazed look came over her listeners’ eyes as she wandered off into various examples of royal wit, then brightened remarkably when she decided to just jot down the duke’s little joke while it was fresh in her mind. She went no farther than the drop leaf desk in the corner of the saloon for her jotting, but at least it removed her from the conversation area.

Beatrice soon made an excuse from the room. She directed a commanding gaze at Southam to follow her. Within two minutes she had him alone in her study. It was the first time they had been alone since Deborah’s arrival.

She wasted not a moment but said immediately, “You said you apologized to Horatio.”

“I asked McIvor to deliver my apologies.”

“Tannie says the apology was not delivered. He thinks Evendon would agree to call off the duel if you would apologize properly.”

“I will not grovel!”

“No one is asking you to. Tannie and I are to meet at Horatio’s at ten tomorrow morning to try to arrange things. Write an apology, and I shall deliver it for you.”

Southam scowled and paced the room, as though trying to come to a decision.

“You cannot be unaware that Bath is rife with scandal about this matter, Southam,” she reminded him. “How long do you think your identity will remain a secret if the duel actually takes place?”

“I am not unduly concerned for my reputation.”

“Then you might give a thought to
mine!”
she retorted sharply. “Once your name arises, mine will be right behind it. I was the lady who went to Bournemouth with you. I have to go on living here after you leave. You must swallow that unappetizing mouthful of pride and apologize. You owe me that much.”

Southam listened and acknowledged that she was right. “Very well. I shall apologize, as I
am
sorry I lost my temper.”

Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief. “Do it now, and give me the letter. I shall probably be gone by the time you arrive tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll call later in the day to learn what Evendon has to say.”

“I don’t like to be uncivil, Southam, but once this matter is hushed up, I trust you will be taking your fiancée home to Alderton, or she will undo all the good we have done in attaching Tannie.”

“You are referring to those ill-timed visits to Lady Sappington. I refused to accompany her, but she somehow bulldozed Gillie into it. I’m sorry she is so—I realize her staying here is a great imposition. As she has cousins in town, I wonder she does not stay with them.”

“She wants to be with Gillie,” Bea said, though she knew by this time that what Deborah really wanted was to keep an eye on her. “I can endure it for another day or two.” This sounded ruder than she meant it to. “I don’t mean to disparage your fiancée, Southam. Certainly her intentions are of the best. I daresay she suits you very well, but my temperament is not so stolid as yours. I am not accustomed to being told what to do in my own house.”

There was a sound in the hall, and they both looked guiltily toward the door, then back at each other. “That might be her,” Bea whispered. “Quick, sit at the desk—I shall say I was just showing you where you could write your note.”

“She’ll want to know what I’m writing.”

“Tell her you’re writing to your steward at Elmland.”

The door opened just as Southam lunged toward the desk and picked up a pen. Deborah’s head peeped in. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked. Her tone was playful, but she looked sharply to see what was afoot.

“Finished your jotting so soon, Deborah?” Bea asked. “Southam had to write a note home. I suggested he use my study.”

Deborah gave her hostess a knowing look and went straight to the desk, to hang over Southam’s shoulder. “Writing with a dry pen, Southam?” she teased. “If I were of a suspicious nature, I would wonder if you are telling me the truth.”

Southam’s nerves were already stretched to the breaking point. To have his knuckles rapped in front of Beatrice was enough to snap his control. His head turned slowly, and when he lifted it, his eyes were like ice. “What are you suggesting, Deborah? That Mrs. Searle and I were attempting to hide something from you? What is it that you suspect? That we were making love?”

Deborah emitted a gasp of surprise. “Really, Southam! What will Beatrice think of you?”

“What will she think of
you,
is more to the point.” He turned his back on her, opened the inkwell and stuck the pen into it.

Beatrice slipped quietly into the hall. She heard Deborah’s voice raised in complaint as she left. It was a quarter of an hour before the couple returned. Southam looked as if he had swallowed hot coals, and Deborah appeared slightly subdued.

Southam went to Beatrice and said, “I have placed my letter to Elmland on your letter salver in the hall. Perhaps you would be kind enough to post it with your letters tomorrow?”

“Certainly, Southam. I’m afraid the tea has grown cold. Shall I call for some fresh, or would you like wine instead?”