Nothing But Scandal (19 page)

Elizabeth nodded, disappointed.

The story they’d concocted was full of holes. Technically she
had
been with a cousin—Harold—in the country, though she preferred not to remember that. And as far as having been in residence at the Grumsbys, well, that had happened, too, though not in the order her fabricated story alleged.

She hadn’t been a
friend
of the Grumsbys until recently. She’d been their
governess
.

She just hoped she’d managed to stay out of sight on the few occasions her employers had had guests, and that no one had recognized her there.

Yes, the story was shaky, but there was simply nothing better they could think of.

When Alex came to claim his one dance, he kept his demeanor businesslike, as though she were merely a friendly acquaintance. Only the intimate gleam in his eyes when he took her hand told her otherwise.

She wanted nothing more than to slide her hands beneath his jacket, beneath the crisp white of his shirt, to hold him close and touch him fully. She’d never been graceful on her feet, and now, merely breathing in his clean masculine scent made her head spin. How on earth was she going to concentrate on
dancing?

The first strains of music sounded and Alex grimaced. “A reel? You’ve got to be joking. Couldn’t you have at least reserved me a waltz?”

She gave him a helpless smile. “Marian’s orders. A waltz is too intimate. She intends to present me as the soul of respectability.”

Alex took his position, several feet away. When they next came close, he gave her a wolfish grin. “I hadn’t intended on marrying ‘the soul of respectability.’”

Elizabeth missed a step. Alex’s grin widened.

“Right,” she finally managed, several beats later. “Well, had you been privy to our earlier conversation with our hosts, you’d have learned that you, Your Grace, are now the soul of amiability.”

His brows lifted. “I’ve never been described as amiable in my life.”

The nature of the reel allowed little further conversation, but as her fiancé returned Elizabeth to her mother, she whispered to him, “I find you quite amiable. At least as amiable as I am respectable.”

He laughed, then gave her a sober smile. “I do have the utmost respect for you, Elizabeth. ’Tis only the thought of marrying someone nicknamed ‘the soul of respectability’ that makes me shudder.”

“I shall endeavor not to live up to it.”

“And I shall hold you to that promise.” He handed her off to her mother. “Soon.”

Elizabeth was too warm and tingly to care that the moment he left her, as usual, a throng of admirers surrounded him. It was something she’d have to accept, at least until their engagement was publicly announced.

Marian and Bea gave her matching triumphant smiles.

“I think,” said Marian, “you have managed it.”

Bea nodded. “I’ve been eavesdropping,” she confided. “There are some who still wonder, but most figure you’d never have dared show your face tonight if half the things that have been said about you were true.”

Elizabeth smiled back. If only they all knew.

Preparing for the Holbrooks’ ball was nothing compared to preparing for her wedding.

Elizabeth and Alex announced their engagement a mere week after the ball. Though a few nasty rumors resurfaced, they were mostly bandied about by envious young women, each of whom had hoped to see her own name associated in the papers with that of the Duke of Beaufort.

The young men of Society favored the marriage, for it gave them a better chance at the unmarried females who no longer could hold out hopes of a proposal from Beaufort.

The rest of the ton seemed to accept it as well. People who had shunned Elizabeth weeks before now came to call, offering congratulations and, Elizabeth assumed, hoping to curry enough favor for an invitation to the event.

Bea’s house had turned into a veritable blizzard of wedding-related paraphernalia, and Charity was present so often Bea had offered her one of the other guestrooms.

Fortunately, in Elizabeth’s new role as fiancée to the Duke of Beaufort, every modiste in town was praying for her patronage. Never mind that the wedding was scheduled for two weeks hence, and most of them would have to delay other clients’ requests in order to satisfy hers—they each wanted to be able to claim the distinction of having designed the Duchess of Beaufort’s wedding gown.

But a wedding dress was only the beginning. There were any number of garments a duchess would need, she discovered. Walking dresses, riding habits, capes, ball gowns, and theater gowns were the bare essentials…not to mention the bonnets, capotes, gloves, and other accoutrements she must have to complete each ensemble.

And
nothing
she already owned would suffice, as Marian, Bea, and Charity unanimously informed her.

They’d packed her governess’s gray serge and black mourning gowns and sent them to a mission for the poor. Her chemises, stockings, and undergarments went right with them.

When Elizabeth protested, arguing that her underthings were perfectly serviceable, the two ladies who’d been married laughed aloud.

“I can’t claim to have had a passionate marriage, E.,” Bea had told her, gaining a curious glance from Marian, “but even I know your duke won’t wish to see you in old, plain cotton.”

Elizabeth was no innocent, but she’d still been shocked when they’d whisked her to a French modiste and she’d seen what that lady deemed “necessary” to her wardrobe.

Filmy confections of fabric designed to reveal, to entice, more than to cover. Elizabeth had colored until her ears matched her hair, but the proprietress of the shop assured her that her new husband would be pleased.

After spending a truly obscene amount of Alex’s money—though Marian promised her there was nothing her brother would rather spend it on—they left the shop.

Marian strode like a woman on a mission toward the nearby hatmaker’s, but Beatrice quickly pulled Elizabeth aside. “E., are you absolutely sure this is what you want? I mean, I know how you’ve always felt about the duke, but marriage, well, it’s different.”

“Different how?”

“You’ll have to answer to him, for one. And,” her face grew red, “there’s more to the marriage bed than kissing.”

Elizabeth smiled, though her heart swelled with pity for Bea and the type of marriage she must have had. “I know, Bea. But”—she lowered her voice further—“I must confess marital relations with Alex don’t hold any distaste for me. In fact, they’re a reason favoring marriage.”

Beatrice’s eyes grew round at her friend’s tacit admission that the rumors about the affair with the duke were true. “I see,” she murmured. “Yes, I suppose with a man like the duke it would be different. I just want to know you’re happy, E.”

“Very,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Now, let’s catch up with Marian.”

After the hatmaker, it was the glove maker, and then the perfumery, before Elizabeth finally pled exhaustion. Since her friends were drooping as well, they all agreed to rest and regather at Bea’s the following day, when Elizabeth was due for a fitting for her wedding gown.

On the way home, Elizabeth’s eye kept straying toward the packages containing her new undergarments. What would Alex think? Their intimate encounters before had been rushed, secretive. She’d never deliberately dressed to seduce him.

But across from her, an innocent-looking white box held a gown made entirely of sheer lace, with slits up to her thighs and nothing but a flimsy tie to hold the bodice together.

Yes, he would like that. She remembered the way his eyes darkened before he kissed her, imagined his touch with nothing but the lace separating them…for however long the gown stayed on. Elizabeth’s fantasies made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, longing for the day when she and Alex would be married and could once again share a bed.

It wasn’t a bed—or even an enclosed carriage, which might afford them some privacy—but when Alex offered to take her for a ride in his new curricle the following Tuesday, Elizabeth eagerly accepted. Since returning to London she’d had precious few moments with the man she loved, and most of those few had occurred in settings that hardly even allowed for conversation.

No sooner had they entered the park than a young man in a cheaply made suit ran up.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” He doffed his hat and gave an awkward sort of bow. “Miss Medford. I wonder if I might speak with you a moment.”

“Who are you?” Alex asked.

The man looked embarrassed. “Tippen’s the name, Your Grace. I work for Harrow and Morton, Solicitors.”

Elizabeth pitied the man his obvious unease, though at the mention of his occupation, she felt a twinge of unease herself. “And why, Mr. Tippen, would you wish to speak with me?”

“Well, it’s only that, er, our firm has business with your late father’s estate—sorry for your loss, miss—and, er, we’ve been having quite a time of it trying to get a firm answer from his solicitors…” Tippen trailed off, his face red.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elizabeth said politely.

Beside her, Alex fingered the reins in obvious impatience.

“Right, well. Miss Medford, I can’t quite think of a delicate way to put it, but there’s a rather large sum of money involved. And, er, my firm is quite anxious to recover it.”

“I’m sure they are.” Elizabeth was aware there were probably solicitors, tradesman, and merchants all over town wringing their hands over her father’s unpaid debts. But this was the first time one had been bold enough to approach
her
—with the exception of the jeweler who’d made her father’s brooch. And in that instance, Elizabeth had gotten involved only after Charity had intercepted the firm’s letter. At any rate, she had no intention of getting involved again.

“I fail to see how I can help you,” she told the man firmly. “Your inquiries are best directed toward the solicitors of my father’s estate. If you are having difficulty gaining a response, perhaps a personal visit would be in order.”

“I just thought—” Tippen stammered, face redder than ever.

“I’m sorry, I must be going,” she said firmly.

At her words, Alex gave the reins a little slap and the curricle moved off, leaving Tippen standing at the park entrance, hat still in hand.

“I cannot fathom what made him approach you like that.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m sure he’s only trying to do his job. No doubt he must answer to someone, and I imagine he’s not anxious to explain the lack of progress on the Medford account.” Her lips twisted in an ironic smile.

“Still. In a public park, when it’s obvious to anyone you’re on an outing. And in front of your fiancé, no less. A terrible breach of manners. What did he think to gain?”

She glanced away, uncomfortable. So much for the romantic outing she’d hoped for. “I imagine he thought to make you aware—in case you were not already—of my father’s problems, perhaps in the hope you would cover his debts.”

Alex’s face darkened. “Surely you jest. I’ve already forgiven a lordly sum owed me by the baron. I’ve no intention, nor any responsibility, to cover his others.”

Anxious, Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm. “No, I never meant you
should
. Only that perhaps it is what that man was after.”

Alex’s features relaxed, slightly. “Truly, Elizabeth. The position your father left you in is untenable. I cannot imagine how such an irresponsible, overreaching man—let alone the rest of your family—raised a daughter like you.”

“He wasn’t so bad as that.”

Alex’s look was disbelieving. “How can you defend him?”

Elizabeth sighed. Alex was a wonderful fiancé, but he clearly did not care for her family. In fact, he had an odd habit of changing the subject whenever she mentioned one of them.
Especially
when she mentioned her father. Whenever he was brought up, Alex’s expression immediately became shuttered.

She knew the reason, at least partly. It still hurt to know her father had offered
her
as payment to Alex. But she had other, better, memories as well.

She tipped her head to one side as she attempted to explain. “I know he spent too much on gaming. And I know he and my mother were not always happy with one another. But there was another side to him, as well. A kind, laughing side. And that I cannot forget.”

“But if it weren’t for his actions, you never would have been placed in the situations you’ve faced since his death,” Alex argued. “Elizabeth, he tried to
sell
you to me.”

She nodded. “I know. And I can only hope that, somewhere beneath the depths of his desperation, he did so out of some intuition for how well we’d suit.

“Alex, it may be hard for anyone else to see, but I remember my father as a good man, at least when I was young. When I was twelve, for instance, my mother enrolled me in dancing lessons. She was disappointed in not having a son, and determined her daughter would make an amazing match to compensate for not providing her husband with an heir. I’m afraid I disappointed her further, however. As you may have noticed, I am not particularly graceful.”

“I never noticed.”

But she could see the twinkle in his eyes.

She swatted him playfully. “Anyhow, the dance lessons were miserable. The instructor berated me, yelling the beats and the steps loudly, as though I were hard of hearing and if he simply raised his voice, I might be able to follow. After each lesson, my mother would chastise me for my lack of improvement.

“But one day, it was my father waiting at the end of the lesson. I was nearly in tears, as we’d been learning the quadrille, and I’d never managed to be in the right place at the right time. Father never said a word about my clumsiness. He only smiled and held my hand, and asked me if I’d like an outing to Vauxhall Gardens. Of course I said yes, and we had the loveliest time. He made me forget all about the horrible dance instructor.

“We listened to the strolling musicians, and he told me he thought it was foolish to dance to music when one might be making it. He knew how I loved to play the violin—even though that, too, was considered ungraceful. I could hear the beats just fine when I played, I just couldn’t move my body to them.

“He bought me sweets from the vendors, even though Mother was strict that we not have them. By the end of the day my spirits were restored. Best of all, when we returned home and Mother questioned me about the lesson, Father stepped in and told her I’d done very well. He lied for me.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I knew lying was wrong, of course, but for that one day I didn’t have to face up to my failures.
That’s
the father I wish to remember.”

Alex sobered. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I did not know him that way. I do understand, now, why you defend him. It must have been hard on you to lose him so suddenly. I’m sorry.”

She gave him a small smile. “It’s not your fault.”

He said nothing.

“Besides,” she continued brightly, “if he hadn’t been the man he was, faults included, then none of the things that have happened to me would have turned out this way. And, after all, that sequence of events did lead me to you.”

“Yes, there is that.” But his voice was oddly choked.

Elizabeth frowned. She’d done her best, but despite Alex’s acknowledgment that he understood, his mood was still dark. Perhaps in the future, she should simply avoid the topic of the men in her family—provided they had no further encounters with overeager solicitors.

Before she could think of a way to cheer her duke, Elizabeth was distracted by a landau full of brightly attired young ladies, all of whom were waving at her.

Or, rather, she mentally amended as she registered their longing gazes, they were waving at her fiancé.

The vehicle carrying the young women slowed as it drew even with their own. Elizabeth sighed as Alex drew in the reins to their own vehicle. It would have been rude to do anything else, though for a moment she was tempted to reach over and give the reins a brisk slap.

Instead, she resigned herself to postponing her probing of the reasons for Alex’s moodiness, then pasted a bright smile on her face for the inevitable round of congratulations—though she suspected these would be grudgingly given—and gossip to follow.

If the number of gifts arriving at the town house was any indication, Elizabeth’s reentry into Society had been a success. Day after day, parcels arrived in a steady stream. Some gifts came directly to Bea’s house—these were mostly from closer friends. Charity brought others in a daily delivery from the Medford home. Still others, she knew, would go to the home she and Alex would share after they were married.

What had been intended as a small wedding was turning into quite an affair, but Elizabeth had no cause for complaint. She was marrying the man she loved. A man who’d forgiven her lack of dowry and the unattractive traits of her family members, and had even rescued her at her worst moment.

To the rest of Society he might be a ruthless, if wealthy, rake, but to Elizabeth, he was a knight in shining armor.

But even a happy bride can be a nervous one. By the time the wedding date arrived, Elizabeth’s nerves had resurfaced in full force.

The church was full to bursting. Carriages clogged the streets outside and last-minute arrivals looked for any vacant inch of pew on which to sit. Elizabeth, Charity, and their uncle stood in a small room near the front of the church, hidden from sight, as they waited for the ceremony to begin.