Nothing But Scandal (9 page)

But the choice he was asking her to make—she just couldn’t do it. Between her father’s actions and her own, her family had borne enough shame.

“If that is your decision, Elizabeth, I will accept it. And I will see you when I return.”

Elizabeth nodded, and did the only thing she could think to do: kissed him with enough passion to last the next three weeks, and possibly to make him hurry his business matters along.

Marian Grumsby loved country life—most of the time. Her husband and children filled her world with love and joy, and they were happiest away from London. And, truth be told, she didn’t want to do what so many other mothers did during the Season: simply leave the children for weeks on end. But occasionally, she missed the soirees and teas enjoyed by the other ladies of her acquaintance.

So when Lady Alicia Wilbourne, a girlhood friend, invited her to come to London for a holiday, she eagerly accepted. It was a blessing, Marian thought, to know she could have a few days’ fun while the children were well cared for at home.

Hiring Elizabeth had been unconventional, but so far it was proving a perfect solution. The girl was good with the children, and her upbringing unquestionable. Which meant Marian could attend a few parties and catch up on all the latest gossip with her friends without worry.

She’d opted to stay at her mother’s town house, as she usually did when visiting London—preferable, in her opinion, to imposing on friends she rarely saw. The dowager duchess was infrequently there, as she spent the vast majority of her days taking the waters at Bath. But the house had a small staff, who was always pleased to see Marian, and she had peace and quiet in between social events.

This afternoon’s schedule held a garden party at Alicia’s home. The weather had, remarkably, cooperated, and when Marian arrived, the Wilbournes’ yard was decorated with white tents and flowers.

Lord Wilbourne, a middle-aged man with a quickly receding hairline, strolled the grounds, a plate of hors d’oeuvres in hand. He gazed fondly at his younger wife as they greeted their guests.

Upon seeing Marian arrive, they immediately headed her way.

“Lady Grumsby! Back from rusticating at last,” Lady Alicia Wilbourne greeted her.

They’d come out during the same Season, and while Marian had initially pitied her friend for her parents’ decision to marry her to Robert Wilbourne, Alicia didn’t look unhappy in the least.

“Yes, for a short while,” Marian said.

“Then you must be simply dying for conversation. I can’t imagine how you spend all your time in the country. Come.” Alicia gestured to a group of prettily attired women. “I’ve other guests to greet, but you remember Lady Tweedley, and Lady Robesford, and Miss Josephine Baxter.” She led Marian to the group of women and, after a moment, returned to her hostessing duties.

The other women obligingly made room for Marian without a pause in the conversation.

“…sent her packing,” Lady Tweedley finished. “She was his mistress for, what, two years? Gone. He hasn’t been seen with her in weeks.”

“Oh, Harriet, however do you hear such things?” Lady Robesford asked, though her facial expression and the expressions on the other women’s faces suggested they were far more fascinated than shocked to be discussing a member of the demimondaine.

“Perhaps he’s finally looking to marry. If only it were five years ago.”

Five years ago was when Lady Tweedley had married.

Marian wasn’t entirely certain who they were discussing, but she had a good guess. It was a known fact that Harriet Tweedley had—prior to marriage, anyhow—always fawned after Alex Bainbridge.

Marian sighed. Had she really come all the way to London just to hear the usual gossip about her own brother? She almost wished he’d marry simply so the ton would find something else to talk about.

“Actually, I’ve an idea
why
he sent her packing, and it wasn’t to marry,” Miss Baxter, an incurable gossip well on the way to old-maidhood, put in.

“Oh, do tell,” Lady Robesford breathed.

Miss Baxter glanced around as if confiding a great secret. “I heard,” she said, pausing for effect, “he’s been seen with Miss Medford. And the young lady’s chaperone—if she had one—was nowhere in sight. Miss Medford was also seen entering a carriage driven by a man my source recognized as one of the duke’s servants. One can only imagine why he would send a carriage for her.”

“Elizabeth Medford?” Lady Tweedley asked.

“The same.”

“It couldn’t be. She’s off to the country to visit some sick relative,” Lady Robesford said.

Marian was finding it hard to breathe—and it wasn’t just because her maid had the strength of an Amazon when it came to tightening stays. No, she had a very bad feeling about this conversation. But her feet were planted to the spot. She couldn’t move.

Miss Baxter shrugged, smiling the smile of a gossip who relishes each shred of news she reports. “So I, too, have heard. But what relative? I heard there was a falling out when Elizabeth refused her last suitor, and she ran off.”

“Impossible! The family would be ruined,” Lady Robesford declared.

“The family is already ruined. Have you not heard? The baron died without a penny or an heir. Anyhow, I saw the suitor leave with my own two eyes, and he didn’t look pleased. And Elizabeth hasn’t been seen since.
Except,
of course, with Beaufort.”

Beaufort. Marian blinked. Yes, they were talking about her brother. And, apparently, her governess.

“Oh, dear!” Miss Baxter exclaimed. “I only just realized you were standing here, Lady Grumsby.” Bright splotches of color appeared on her cheeks.

Marian kept her face carefully neutral, her spine rigidly erect. So. The gossip in the ton revolved around Alex. That in itself wasn’t so unusual. But this time it involved
her
as well, for her children were being looked after by the very woman rumored to be gallivanting with her hell-bent sibling. Her body hummed with tension, the desire to escape, but she refused to give in. None of the other women knew Elizabeth was in her employ.

She gave them an acknowledging smile. “Understandable. My brother can be quite an absorbing topic.”

The other women looked uncertain as to whether to be relieved or not.

Marian took pity on them. After all, she was certainly used to hearing gossip about Alex. These friends of hers just didn’t know why this particular gossip was unwelcome. “Do you know what
I
heard?” she asked.

They looked at her expectantly.

“I heard he’s booked passage to India and is promised to marry a princess there, the daughter of a man with whom he’s engaged in trade.”

Miss Baxter’s mouth dropped open.

“Of course, I know that not to be true, for Alex told me just the other day he wished to escape from London and spend some time at my estate. And not yesterday our mother was despairing over his lack of interest in marriageable ladies. And my home, while lovely, is hardly an Indian palace. But it did make for an entertaining rumor.” With that, Marian excused herself from the gossipy trio.

She approached Lady Wilbourne. “Alicia. It is a lovely party. Though I hadn’t thought to come so far from home only to hear news of my own family.”

“It is a remarkably fine day,” Alicia said, looking at the sky. “As to the duke, well, he does seem to be the topic
du jour
. Not that that’s unusual. My husband plays cards with him, you know, and Robert told me the duke mentioned something that made him think these latest rumors might not be unfounded.

“Still, I suppose you tire of hearing of your brother’s escapades. Shall we talk about the theater? There’s a marvelous new play showing.”

Marian shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve the headache and must make my excuses. I do thank you for hosting this fine gathering.”

Alicia looked sympathetic, and soon Marian was in the coach on the way back to her mother’s town house.

She’d
so
been looking forward to her sojourn in the city, but she knew she’d not be able to enjoy it now. Even though she’d given the women good reason to question any gossip they heard, she knew that if
they
were talking about it, then most of London was as well.

As much as she’d like to believe the rumors were unfounded, she’d seen the way her brother occasionally gazed over at Elizabeth when he thought her unaware. And though Marian had gently ribbed Alex for leaving only a few days after the party ended, she’d actually been surprised at how long he
did
stay. Perhaps her governess had been the reason. She’d convinced herself they must have met when Elizabeth was still active in Society, that it was nothing more than old friendship. Except her brother wasn’t known for
friendships
with women. And the gazes Marian had intercepted had been filled with heat. She just hadn’t thought her older brother would be so foolish as to act on that heat.

In spite of the wild rumors that always circulated, Marian knew he usually limited his affairs to widows or members of the demimondaine. Perhaps he’d tired of such limitations.

Marian sighed as she repacked the things she’d brought to London.

Elizabeth was a good governess. But Marian put her children first in everything. And there was no way she could allow her children to be chaperoned by a woman of questionable reputation, deserved or not.

“What a disaster.”

“You haven’t seen the worst of it,” Alex’s partner said, as the two men stood on deck surveying the ongoing repairs to the storm-damaged ship. After bidding Elizabeth farewell, Alex had stopped briefly in London before continuing to the port at Ramsgate, where his on-site partner, Tom Golden, had already begun setting things in order.

“No?” Alex had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever came next. Of course, he hadn’t expected this trip to be pleasant. “All right. Enlighten me.”

“Come on.”

Alex followed him below deck to the hold. As expected, many of the crates bearing fine Indian silks and curiosities from the Far East were ruined.

“I already knew the cargo was worthless.” He shrugged. “No man can beat Mother Nature in a fury.”

“It’s not just that. Look.” Tom pulled a length of fabric from one of the few undamaged crates. “Feel this.”

Alex ran his hand over the fabric, then frowned. “What is this? It’s substandard. George knows better than this.”

George Marks had worked as his foreign buyer for years. The man was extensively traveled and knew how to distinguish top-quality silks from their average counterparts the way most men knew a hammer from a shovel.

Tom took back the silk and tossed it into the crate. “George resigned, the day after the ship made port.”

“Blast. Why?”

“Said he’d decided it was time to become a family man, but I don’t buy it. The captain was there when we spoke, and Marks didn’t make eye contact with him the entire time.”

“Blast,” Alex repeated. “Where’s the captain?” That’s why he’d come originally. Tom’s letter stating the ship was damaged had been worrisome, but the fact the captain apparently didn’t care to oversee the repairs was doubly concerning.

“Dorset.”

“What?” He could feel the vein at his temple pulse as his frustration multiplied.

“His home, it seems. Beaufort, there’s a problem here, and I fear it’s far more complicated than a storm-damaged vessel. I know how you are about your investments, and I thought you needed to see for yourself.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “You did the right thing, Tom. It’s not you I’m angry with.” He paused for a moment, forced himself to think. Dorset was several days’ travel from the ship’s current port, but sending a messenger would only prolong this process. And there were some messages the duke preferred to deliver in person. “You see to the repairs. I’ll see to the captain.”

Alex shook his head in frustration as he strode off the dock. He’d hoped to surprise Elizabeth by returning early. God, he missed her. Instead, it appeared he’d be surprising the captain of his ship. And then looking for his replacement.

“Miss Medford, you are released from my service.”

Dismissed. The words reverberated in Elizabeth’s mind like the tolling of a bell.

“I am sorry,” the Viscountess Grumsby continued, her tone kind but firm. “You are a good governess, and the children love you. But your relationship with my brother has become public knowledge, and all the ton is gossiping about it. I was willing to risk hiring you in spite of your background as long as you worked quietly, but now I cannot risk my family’s reputation by keeping you in my employ. I’m sure you understand.”

Elizabeth’s insides squirmed in misery and embarrassment. She opened her mouth to speak, but the other woman put up a hand to stop her. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, Elizabeth, only that Society thinks it so.” She gave Elizabeth an appraising look. “Though I’ve seen the way my brother looks at you, and I daresay the gossip is not without merit.”

Elizabeth lowered her eyes. She had no defense. “I am sorry to have caused such trouble, my lady. I’ll pack my things and be on my way at once.” She dropped a dutiful curtsy and left the room.

A hollow buzzing filled her ears as she numbly packed her few belongings. Elizabeth could hardly blame her—if she was in the viscountess’s position, she’d have done the same thing.

She was a fool. She’d ruined the only opportunity for respectable employment she was likely to receive. And all for a man she could not marry. A few moments of stolen pleasure, and she’d wrecked her life utterly.

How had the gossip leaked? The innkeeper? Elizabeth doubted it. Alex’s threat had made the man visibly tremble. Some other servant?

It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that somehow, their relationship was known. If Lady Grumsby had heard of it in London, the talk must be everywhere.

There were precious few things to pack. Elizabeth had left most of her old life behind when she’d assumed this position. She took her valise downstairs to the back entrance of the manor. The local butcher was just climbing into his cart, having completed a delivery to the Grumsby estate. She quickly arranged to ride with him as far as the White Hart Inn. What she would do when she got there, she’d yet to determine.

The cart smelled strongly of blood, but the ride was free and the butcher not given to conversation, so Elizabeth was thankful.

At the White Hart, she could hardly look inside without thinking of all she and Alex had done in the private dining room. Her breath quickened in shame and desire. Those moments had cost her everything, but, oh, what she wouldn’t give to relive them.

She quickly purchased a seat on the mail coach to London and waited outside. Perhaps Bea would take her in, hide her while she gathered her wits and found new employment. Though now the matter of references would be more difficult than ever.

Oh, why had this happened while Alex was away? He’d not given her any way to reach him. Not that he owed her such considerations. After all, she was not his wife, and she’d even refused to let him keep her as his only mistress. But now she longed for his presence. He was always so confident, so decisive. He would know what to do.

Then again, Elizabeth reflected, the duke’s answer would likely be to renew his argument to let him keep her. As much as she cared for him, it was an arrangement she did not cherish. Taking him as a lover had been risky, certainly, but it had been her choice. It was not the same as allowing him to pay for what they did together.

Elizabeth missed her sister, too. But to go home would be to admit defeat. And her uncle was as likely to shut the door in her face as to let her in.

The coach arrived, and Elizabeth wearily climbed inside, barely noticing as she bumped knees with other passengers in the crowded interior.

All her life she’d been pressured to act responsibly. Much as she hated to admit it, her mother had a point. Just look at the mess she’d made of her life the first and only time she’d strayed from that advice.

The mail coach stop in London was several blocks from Elizabeth’s destination. When they finally arrived, she climbed down, then stood a moment, uncertain. Never had she walked through the streets of London without even a maid to accompany her. Would anyone recognize her? What would they think? She didn’t dare risk sending for someone to fetch her. She was counting on pleading her case in person, begging Beatrice Pullington’s forgiveness and mercy. Bea had already helped her once, and Elizabeth had ruined that opportunity by her indiscretion. Was it too much to count on her friendship a second time?

Elizabeth glanced once more at the bustling street. She still wore her governess’s uniform. Perhaps if she kept her head down and hurried, no one would be the wiser.

Her bag seemed heavier now that she had to carry it through the streets, but she didn’t dare slow her pace. So far, her plan seemed to be working. Even when she did look up to keep her bearings, no one gave her a second glance.

She neared the park. If she cut through, she could reach her friend’s residence more quickly. Even better, she was less likely to be seen, for she was on the side of the park that, though it contained paths, was not manicured and was therefore less frequented by the fashionable set.

The street cleared and she hurried across, intent on her goal.

But as she stepped onto the park path, the toe of her slipper caught on a stone. Momentum, and the weight of her valise, conspired against her. She went down hard.

Worse, as Elizabeth picked herself up from the ground, she discovered she’d fallen directly at the feet of a man who’d just been leaving the path.

He reached down a hand to assist her. She took it, cursing herself for being so clumsy.

The man who’d helped her looked no better than she. Haggard lines furrowed his face, and she smelled alcohol on his breath. It was only mid-afternoon. She muttered a hasty thanks and turned back to the path.

“Miss Medford?”

Curses. She stopped and looked at him once more. He was dressed as a gentleman, but not one of her acquaintance. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Perhaps not. You
are
Miss Medford, are you not?”

Was there any point in denying it? “Yes.”

The man’s eye took on a gleam. He glanced at the valise she carried. Elizabeth knew that he registered her lack of chaperone from the way his brows lifted as he looked around them. “You are unescorted?”

She sighed.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

She didn’t trust the way he looked at her, the way his gaze lingered in places it shouldn’t. “It seems we are headed in opposite directions…Mister?”

“Cutter. My apologies. Name’s Cutter.”

In spite of Elizabeth’s observations about his intended direction prior to their collision, Mr. Cutter followed her as she continued toward the Pullington home.

Her stomach tightened in unease. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene on the street, but now that they’d moved farther into the park, there was no one else around should she need help. She hefted her bag and quickened her pace.

“Why such a hurry?” Cutter asked. “Keeping the duke waiting?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She would have problems enough when she reached Bea’s and began trying to piece her life back together, Elizabeth thought darkly. Couldn’t she at least get that far without incident?

“There’s no need to deny it. Your relationship with the duke is the talk of the ton.” His words were slightly slurred.

How, on God’s green earth, had she had the misfortune to run into this man?

“Mr. Cutter,” she said impatiently, “you are mistaken. There is no relationship. Furthermore, I am not in need of your assistance.”

“I see. The duke lost interest already? Well, now that you’ve worked off your father’s debt, you’re free to choose a man more to your liking.” He put a hand on her arm.

Elizabeth stopped. The man was clearly foxed. Why else would he ramble such nonsense? “I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean. Kindly unhand me.”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” he sneered. “I’m not interested in a virtuous woman. The duke himself told me.”

“Told you
what?
” she asked, even as she thought how ridiculous it was to question a man so obviously inebriated.

But Cutter spoke with conviction, as though, beneath the alcohol-sodden layers, there was a kernel of truth. “How your dear father offered
you
as payment for the gaming debt he owed Beaufort. Can’t say I approve, but now that the deed is done…”

“No. He wouldn’t have,” she said faintly, her stomach clenching. But how could she be sure? So much about her father was not as she’d thought. But there was one thing she did know. “And if he had, His Grace would never have stooped to accept such a bargain.”

“Oh-ho. Defending Beaufort over Daddy? You think he’d ignore such an offer, laid in his lap? Why? He’s a man, after all. And surely you must know he has a reputation.”

Eyeing her bosom, Cutter continued his verbal assault. “You are not without certain charms. Though I must say, when you become my mistress, I will have you do more to display them.”

Elizabeth said a mental prayer of thanks for her modest governess’s gown. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cutter, but your interest in me is misplaced. I have no intention of becoming your mistress.”

“Too good for a mere mister, eh? I’ll have you know I can pay handsomely.”

“Don’t be crude. My favors are not for sale,” she replied coldly, doing her best to edge away. Why, oh
why,
had she thought to cut through the park?

“Look,” he said, his tone turning nasty, “now that you’ve done it to help dear old Daddy, there’s no going back. His Grace grows quickly tired of his mistresses. I’m sure you know that. He’s probably already moved on. Why else would you be alone on the street, valise in hand?

“Consider the debt paid. Since His Grace was not supporting you for those favors you hold so dear, you’ve no reason to be so loyal. Surely you’re not such a fool as to believe he’d grown to care for you.”

Her nails dug into her palms as she resisted dignifying his attack with a response. This man could never understand what she and the duke had shared.

Cutter snickered. “I assure you, Beaufort doesn’t develop lasting affections.
I,
however, might. We could have a pleasant arrangement, you and I.” He ran his hand up her arm.

Elizabeth pulled away, hard.

“Listen to me,” she hissed. “I am not interested. If you speak another word, I shall be ill. Here, on your shoes. I’m going to leave now, and I suggest you do not hinder me. If I scream, we are not so far from the street I cannot be heard. And if you speak one more word of such filth to me, I shall not hesitate to give your name to my uncle upon returning home. He is not a forgiving man. Understood?”

She stalked off before the gaping man could reply.

Angry. He was just angry that she hadn’t jumped at his improper offer. He was foxed, obviously, and angry. That’s all there was to it, Elizabeth told herself, over and over. The threat of her uncle’s retaliation was an empty one, she knew. He’d just as likely hand her over to Cutter and wash his hands of her.

Exiting the park, Elizabeth prayed she’d never have cause to find out.

Only a few more blocks. Her heart slowed its reckless pace.

But even though she held her head high, her chin firm, an awful feeling crept through her.

She knew
she
hadn’t been involved in any agreement, but what about her father? Could he really have offered her to Alex? Had he even owed the duke a gaming debt?