My Lady Scandal (5 page)

Another thing she had carefully avoided thinking about for the past few days was their host for the evening, the Viscount Carlisle, Griffin – or Grif - to family and friends. As a matter of course they had had Talbot make inquiries about their visitor and he had returned with the information that: a/ the man was single, b/ he was obscenely rich and c/ he would have been a matrimonial prize if it were not for the fact that he sailed clear of the institution with all the skill of a master mariner. This was all well and good as far as Nell was concerned; his marital status was of no interest to her. But there had been something about the man that continued to niggle and it was not just that she could not place where – or even
if
– she had seen him before. Handsome, articulate and charming was not a combination that came along every day. Was she being absurd, feeling a flutter of nerves at the prospect of seeing him again?

Yes, she concluded. It was ridiculous.

And it was all a great deal more complicated than she could manage at the moment. Her sole aim was to find a suitable bride for her brother and set him up properly as Lord Peregrine Marriott so he could take his place in Society and reestablish their name. If that bride happened to come with a sizeable dowry, so much the better, although she knew she would never want Perry to marry for anything but true affection. Her parents might have been many things but they had each been besotted with the other.

She sighed and went to find her brother.

Perry had also dressed with an eye to impress. His bronze satin jacket looked very well with his plain black velvet waistcoat and he had teamed them with parchment colored knee breeches. His one new purchase, essential if he were to appear up to snuff among his peers, was the boots he had commissioned from Hoby. A man’s boots set the tone for his entire ensemble and only the best would do. The styling of both their outfits was a little more exotic than might be found in England, but the Marriotts were intending to pass off their finery as high French fashion.

It was a familiar question. The various guises their previous life necessitated meant they had both assumed a persona to go with the identity.

‘Why, none at all. We have come home, Nell; just be you.’

She made a face. ‘I do not think Society is quite ready for
that
!’

‘An intelligent female who can think for herself? Possibly not, but do it anyway. It might prove to be a refreshing change for them.’

‘I cannot help but feel that Society does not care to be refreshed. Come along; we must not be late.’

Arm in arm, they headed for the door.

‘Really, Grif, I cannot imagine what you are about,’ Viola said, looking around at the rapidly filling rooms. Three days before, there had been no party planned for this evening, but then her cousin had swung into action, dispatching invitations, hiring musicians and arranging a full catered buffet with an unfamiliar outburst of energy that seemed completely out of character. This ball had been very short notice but a surprising number of people had accepted his invitation. Charles Audley had been correct; Carlisle rarely entertained and they were not about to miss a rare treat.

Grif smiled. He looked remarkably well in black with touches of silver on his vest to offset the severity of his clothing. ‘Just a little social get together. Nothing too tiring.’

Viola gave him a suspicious look. ‘Really?’

‘But of course.’

‘I have
heard
that you have invited the Marriotts.’

My, my, Grif reflected, word did spread quickly. He was not surprised, however. That little
on dit
would have been circulating through the ton like the clap through a bawdy house. With that in mind, he had been very generous with his catering, knowing that he could anticipate quite a crowd in his rooms.

‘Yes. Titillating, would you not say?’

‘Yes, but where did you meet them? They have not gone about at all since their return.’

It had been quite a coupe, no doubt about it. From never having heard a word about the Marriott siblings, since coming upon them, he had heard of nothing else. They were a mystery and Society
did
love a mystery. Not only that, but nobody was entirely sure how they should be received. There had been some kind of scandal concerning the sudden departure of Thomas Marriott and his beautiful wife, Geneviève, seven years before, but it was mostly conjecture; nobody could actually remember the gist of it, although all agreed it had to do with Thomas’ deplorable gambling habit.

So the knowledge that they were making their entrée in his salons tonight –
his
salons, of all places! – had caused quite a stir.

Glancing at the door, he saw the tall figure of Captain Hugo Frame, resplendent as ever in his scarlet coat, and frowned. ‘Do you know, Viola,’ he observed gently, ‘I am almost sure I did not invite Captain Frame tonight?’

‘No,’ his cousin agreed, ‘I did. I knew you would not mind.’

‘Did you indeed?’ He had deliberately omitted the Captain from the guest list; aware that the man was helping the authorities investigate the spate of highway robberies that were occurring so close to the city. His meeting with the Marriotts the other day had convinced him that they were probably quite capable of diverting any unwanted attentions away from themselves, but he had no wish to bring them to anyone’s notice.

Viola looked up at him with large brown eyes. ‘Why, yes. You know perfectly well that I have a particular interest in Hugo. I knew that his lack of invitation was nothing more than oversight on your part.’

Whatever retort he had been about to make to this piece of nonsense was silenced by the sudden ripple that swirled through the room. He looked towards the door again and, sure enough, behind Frame’s tall figure appeared two people, as gloriously dazzling as two bright jewels in the sunlight. He heard Viola catch her breath beside him and gave a slight smile; no timid slipping in beneath the gimlet gazes of Society’s matrons for these two. They had decided to burst upon the ton in a blaze of glory.

The Marriotts had arrived.

‘Oh, my!’ Viola breathed. ‘How… how pretty!’

It was an inadequate description for the spectacle before them, but Grif knew what his cousin meant. The tall, golden figures in the doorway would be eye catching anywhere but in the enchanting light of his well-lit drawing room, they appeared to shimmer with a special glow. The clothing was straight from Paris, so much was obvious and they wore it like royalty, smiling at the assembly of people with all the gracious assurance of people confident of their own worth.

It was, Grif acknowledged ruefully, a masterful entrance.

He moved forward to greet them, Viola beside him, unwilling to be omitted from what appeared to be such a momentous event. She cast a melting smile at Frame as she passed him, but such was the pull of the golden Marriotts that she did not, for once in a way, stop to speak to him.

Grif greeted them both warmly, acknowledging Perry’s bow and Nell’s curtsey. ‘How delightful that you could both join me tonight.’ He tried not to let his eyes linger too long on Nell, but truthfully, she took his breath away.

‘It was good of you to invite us,’ Perry rejoined easily.

‘This is my cousin, Viola. A tiresome child but she is a useful creature to know, as she is fully conversant with all the gossip.’ Viola gave her cousin a narrow glare, but smiled a welcome. ‘Come along; let me start the arduous round of introductions. It will be easier if I get the most onerous out of the way first, the dowagers and the like. Once they have dissected you, you may enjoy the night without reservation.’

He led them into the well-mannered fray.

An hour later, well satisfied with his work, Grif allowed himself to hang back and watch his two protégées interact. They did so with a cool charm that won over the room, which led him to suspect that they were no strangers to awkward social situations.

They were, undoubtedly, a hit.

The subtle questions put forth about their parents were answered readily, with a delicate candor that seemed to say a lot but actually said very little. At the end of the inquisitions, all anybody knew was that Thomas and Geneviève had been killed under tragic circumstances in Italy. Questions about how the Marriotts,
en famille
, had spent the past seven years had been met with vague references to relatives on the Continent.

Initially, he had lingered nearby, ready to intervene if necessary, but when Lady Spencer enquired of Nell:

‘My dear child, what of your presentation? A female may not participate in the Season if she has not been presented to the Prince of Wales.’

To which Nell had replied immediately, ‘Well, my mother arranged for me to be presented to Maria Antonietta two years ago at the Spanish Court. As a French noblewoman, she was my patroness.’

‘I
see
,’ Lady Spencer said, but with a deal more approbation in her tone. European royalty was not nearly as respectable as English royalty were – what with those lamentable Napoleonic Wars and the ongoing issues there – but it was satisfactory, never the less.

Grif had wondered if it were true; if Miss. Marriott had really undertaken that most necessary of female rites, the Presentation at Court, but quickly concluded that it did not matter one way or the other. Europe was undergoing a state of unrest, its fortunes shifting with every passing week. If it was a lie, it was a damned good one that nobody would be able to prove.

After that, Grif knew that his two guests were going to be fine and he could leave them to their own devices; the Marriotts had returned.

He let his eyes drift to Nell, who was fielding the attentions of no less than five separate gentlemen, with all the skill of a fairground juggler. The dancing had just begun, music drifting through the open doors of the ballroom and she was being inundated with besotted fellows eager to stand up with her.

She was, he thought with a curious – and unfamiliar – sensation somewhere in the region of his stomach, quite ridiculously beautiful. It was the fine, fragile beauty of a porcelain figurine; for all that, she must have been five foot, eight in her stocking feet, the creature appeared delicate.

Nell Marriott carried a kind of serenity about her, an aura of stillness that was somehow restful and utterly fascinating. How deep did it run, he wondered. He found himself very much wanting to find out. In fact, he found himself wanting to find out everything there was to know about Nell, for she was by far the most interesting creature he had encountered in… well, in forever. Whatever life she had been leading beyond England had molded her into something very different from the debutantes and the young ladies that usually populated the Season.

Yes, indeed… he would discover a little more about Nell Marriott. And, of course, her brother, Peregrine. For, charming couple that they were, they had accepted his invitation for reasons that had nothing to do with entering London Society.

They had their own reasons for being here; these two pretty rogues who had taken to highway robbery to survive.

Grif wondered what
else
they were planning on doing and what
he
could do to stop them from falling into the kind of trouble from which even their considerable charm could not extricate them.

That is a very fine necklace
, Nell thought as she was whirled though the crowd of energetic couples engaged in a Scotch Reel. Rubies of praiseworthy size, interspersed with some very decent sized diamonds. It must, she reflected, as it flashed past again, be worth a small fortune.

This was exactly what they needed. Actually, they needed a very large fortune, but many small ones should do the trick just as well.

She knew that her interest in the necklace coincided with her dislike of the wearer, Lady Abbington, a pretty, young matron who delighted in finding fault with everyone and everything. Nell had already seen her all but reduce one of the more retiring debutantes to tears with her unflattering opinion on her dress and hair. It would, she reflected cheerfully, be quite satisfactory to relieve the lady of some of her finery. Why, with an attitude like that she was practically
begging
to be robbed.

And of course Lady Abbington was very, very rich.

The question of how to get their hands on objects they identified had been occupying her mind very much over the intervening days. Stealing the jewelry off a lady was sure to prove problematic at a party. After much discussion, she and Perry had decided that removing the jewelry from the owners’ houses – while they were away, of course – might be the best course of action. They both had some experience in breaking into houses before.

If they selected a night when their victims were absent, then they would not be interrupted (for it was well known that servants never stirred themselves from the kitchen if they were left to their own devices) and they could help themselves to the contents of Lady Abbington’s jewel case, making the outing very profitable indeed.

Nell allowed herself, just for a moment, to reflect on the moral implications of their proposed thieving, but really, Lady Abbington was so unpleasant there did not seem to
be
any moral implications. If life had taught Nell anything, it was that unpleasant people should have unpleasant things happen to them.

Unfortunately, it did not occur nearly enough.

She had found the night to be a lot less nerve wracking than she had anticipated and knew it was largely down to her host, Viscount Carlisle. He had smoothed the way for them, making introductions to the people they must meet to achieve approval, easing the way though any difficulties.