Once Upon a Scandal (7 page)

An old Swiss proverb distinctly cites, “God has a plan for every man.” I confess the Swiss have a tendency to mislead. Because God’s plan is meant for every woman, too.
—
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

Five days later
The onset of evening

WHEN A lady celebrated being two and twenty, and came to the realization that all of her debutante friends had been wed and were now beginning to welcome children, her own birthday became a reminder of all the things she had done wrong. Fortunately, her years of being a spinster were at an end and she could now hold her head up high and join the rest of respectable society.

Victoria shifted in her chair, eyeing her father, who kept fussing with his cravat at the dining table. How she wished upon all that was ever sacred that her father had respected himself more these past nine years. His refusal to remarry after the death of her mother, which in turn had resulted in loneliness laced with unmet needs, had all come at a very high price.

Gathering her fork and knife, Victoria glanced toward her cousin, Grayson. He sat in silence at the farthest end of the table, which stretched the length of the dining hall. Grayson, odd soul that he was, always sat there. No matter how many people were dining. He was like an eagle perching itself upon the highest branch—he always wanted a view of the world. It had also once been her mother’s seat at the table, though she doubted Grayson even remembered.

In honor of Grayson’s weekly Thursday night visit, she had decorated the entire dining hall with blue-bells, hoping to make everything more festive. Of course, Grayson didn’t appear to notice or care. He’d been wordlessly staring her down ever since she’d taken him aside and discreetly explained that she now went by the name of Camille. Though she had no idea who Camille was, her father kept insisting that was her name. So Camille she was.

Grayson’s brown eyes met hers from across the dining table. “You shouldn’t be feeding into his delusions. ’Tis wrong. ’Tis morbid and wrong.”

Of course it was morbid and wrong, but who was she to argue with a man whose mind was as fragile as his health? In all but five days, she had gone from being nameless to adored. She preferred being Camille as opposed to not being anyone at all.

“As long as he is happy, Grayson, I am happy.” She offered her cousin an amiable smile, refusing to acknowledge that the situation was in the least bit bizarre. She gestured toward his untouched supper. “I hope the peacock is to your liking. One of the physicians recommended it as a weekly regimen. He claims they have documented proof of its ability to cure.”

Grayson leaned forward and lifted a brow. “Peacocks would be extinct if that were true.”

She blinked. She hadn’t even thought of that.

Grayson leaned back against his chair and waved toward his plate. “I am not eating this. And you shouldn’t make him eat it, either. It has a stench.”

“Everything in life has a stench,” the earl interjected with clear agitation. “Even you have a stench. Now eat it. Food is food. And if I have to eat it, then you have to eat it. Rude, I say. Coming into my home and telling me my food has a stench.”

Victoria glared at her cousin, silently reminding him that he shouldn’t rile her father. “This isn’t about you, Grayson, or what you find appetizing. This is about ensuring Papa’s health and comfort.”

Grayson’s mouth thinned. “He wasn’t like this when I last saw him. He has become delusional. This cannot be good.”

She pinched her lips together, refusing to admit to him or herself that her father was fading.

“Delusional?” The earl dragged his chair closer to the table, his gaze flickering toward Grayson. “I do beg your pardon, but I am not delusional. I remember quite a bit. Especially about you, Grayson. Why, you just returned from Venice all but two days ago, did you not?”

“No. It was four months ago, Uncle.”

“Ah. But I remember you being there. Yes. Once I am well again, you and I will charter a ship and visit those fops. There is someone there I have been meaning to call upon.” The earl nodded. He paused, his silvery brows coming together. “Though I cannot remember who. Who is it, Grayson? I think you know him. Was he not your friend? A good friend, at that?”

Grayson winced and occupied himself by staring at the contents of his plate.

Victoria drew in a shaky breath and let it out. Even after five years, Grayson was still ridden with guilt, as well he should be. Because she knew full well who it was he’d been visiting in Venice all these years, although he’d never once had the decency to admit it.

The earl turned his squinting gaze to her and patted the edge of the table with a bandaged hand. “My dearest Camille—perhaps you can travel to Venice with us.”

Grayson, who’d been nudging his peacock with a fork the whole time, sighed and threw down his silver with a tinkering clatter. Bracing his hands against the table, he slowly rose. “Uncle, she is not Camille. She is your daughter. Victoria.”

“Grayson!” Victoria exclaimed, her heart pounding.

“You cannot hide reality from him. ’Tis wrong.” Grayson returned his gaze to the earl and said softly, “Uncle. Surely you remember your daughter. How is it you remember me, Venice and my friend, yet not your daughter?”

Victoria gasped and jumped to her feet, whipping the napkin onto the table. “How dare you? Do you not understand that he panics when his version of reality is challenged? I have been dealing with it all week. All week!”

Her father slammed a hard fist onto the dining table, shaking every plate, glass and piece of silver set on it. His graying blond hair tumbled down onto his forehead. “I would bloody remember if I had a daughter. ’Tis you who is delusional, Grayson. You!”

Victoria drew in a ragged breath, desperately willing herself not to cry. It was unbearable to see her father like this. He truly was lost in his head.

Grayson fell back into his chair, eyeing her. He shifted and glanced toward her father, offering in a soft tone, “Forgive me, Uncle. I have had too much sherry. We should all eat. I hear peacock is excellent for one’s health.”

Victoria swallowed and seated herself again. At least her dear cousin still had a heart.

Grayson lowered his gaze to his meal. Grabbing his fork, he pierced the peacock on his plate and placed a piece of its white meat into his mouth. He chewed and then paused, his features twisting. Leaning toward his plate, he spit it out and glared at her. “Gut me. Have you tried this? It tastes like burnt piss.”

Her entire family was about as refined as gnomes. It didn’t help she was the only female left in the family to oversee this deranged chaos. “I understand peacock isn’t the most savory of meats, Grayson, but there are physicians who insist it may prolong his life.” She leaned toward the table. “And who knows, it may prolong yours. Now set an example and eat it.” Victoria eyed her father, who had yet to unfold his napkin. She reached out and patted his side of the table. “You really must eat. Eat.”

Grayson blew out a breath and eyed her from across the table. “So. Camille. Assure me, despite all of this, you still intend to meet your suitors and wed. My father has been extremely worried, and rightfully so, about whether or not you will oversee your obligations. Your inheritance depends on it.”

Victoria kept her hand from jumping to a plate and throwing it at his head. As if she wanted to think about men and marriage! “I have repeatedly assured you and your father of my compliance. There is no need to be crass. We will discuss this at a later time.”

The earl blinked and fully turned toward her, shifting in his seat. “Are you getting married, my dear?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

He grinned and clapped in approval. “I will have to send a missive to your mother in France at once. She will be quite pleased to hear it. She was convinced you would forever be a devoted spinster.”

She winced, not even wanting to know who her mother in France was, and pushed herself away from the table. How was she to rationally explain anything to him anymore? It was an involved game she wasn’t mentally prepared to play. She didn’t want to argue over what was real and what wasn’t. Because it didn’t matter. Not to her.

Grayson rose from his seat, as well. “I think it best he be placed into better care at once. My father would be more than willing to—”

“Damn you, Grayson!” The earl hit the table with his fist again, causing everything on the table to chime and rattle. “Cease discussing me as if I were not even here.”

Grayson stared at Victoria in exasperation before pleadingly whispering, “You cannot continue to live like this. I will not allow it. Nor will my father once I inform him of how much my uncle has deteriorated within a short week.”

Victoria blinked back tears. “I have the best physicians calling upon him daily and every servant at my disposal. Surely you do not mean to separate us.”

Grayson’s expression stilled. “No amount of love is going to save him. You have upcoming duties. He won’t be able to remain at your side after you marry.”

Tears blinded her, but she refused to give in to them. She was trying so desperately to be a good daughter by submitting to the familial duty that her father had asked of her before he lost the last of his rational mind. Although she was being forced to marry a man she knew she would never love, she certainly wouldn’t be the first woman to do so. Nor the last. It was the least she could do to honor her father. But despite what Grayson thought, she was not abandoning her father, either.

She fisted her hands in an effort to prevent them from shaking. “I know I cannot save him, Grayson. But I can make whatever time I have left with him memorable. And I will. Whatever husband I take, I will expect him to open his life and his home to me and my father. Otherwise, I will not marry. For I cannot and will not abandon him.”

Grayson swiped his face with a hand. “No man will agree, given his illness. Vile whispers about his state are already flitting across London.”

She narrowed her gaze. “London has never been known for mercy, has it? And if there is no man willing to take mercy upon what I hold dear, then I will not marry at all.”

“Enough, enough of this nonsense!” The earl slammed his bandaged hand against the table. “You will marry whoever will have you, Camille. Your mother wants it so.”

Her cousin groaned and fell back against the chair, raking a hand through his hair. “I need brandy. Lots of it.”

Victoria couldn’t help but share Grayson’s sentiment.

The earl smoothed his wine-stained cravat against his throat and, with pursed lips, marched over toward her side of the table, his gait faltering. He paused beside her, intently looking her in the eye.

She sucked in a breath and braced herself for whatever outrageous thing he was going to say next.

Her father leaned in and patted her cheek assuredly. “I will return by morning.” He nodded, turned away and as he slowly made his way toward the entryway, yelling out to no one in particular, “I am ready to depart, sir! Thank you for being so patient and allowing an old man to eat.”

Quick footsteps echoed in the distance, drawing steadily closer and closer. Victoria’s brows rose as a large, bearded man, dressed in wool riding clothes, veered into the dining hall from the servant’s corridor.

Oh, dear God. Who was this?

She scrambled back.

Grayson’s chair screeched across the floor as he jumped to his feet. “What the hell is this? Uncle, who is this man?”

The earl turned and gestured obligingly. “I am most fortunate to have fine, devoted servants. They assisted me in securing a very special service few can afford. This gentleman here will be escorting me to my own virgin. ’Tis my hope that by the end of this night, I will at long last be cured.”

Victoria gasped. The servants had assisted her father in securing this man, thinking that such vile, superstitious rubbish about lying with a virgin might cure him? Though she supposed her own insistence on serving her father peacock had most likely encouraged the servants to think outside of traditional means.

Grayson jogged toward them and jumped between her and the advancing tough, who was eyeing her appreciatively. Pushing her farther back with his own body, Grayson announced curtly over his shoulder, “Victoria, you will retire. Now. Go. I will oversee this.”

She sighed. “I am not leaving. And there is only one way to oversee this.” She leaned around her cousin, peering at the man. “Sir? I will triple whatever his lordship is offering in return for your departure. Understand that he is very ill and unaware of what he is doing.”

The earl snorted. “I am attempting to prolong my life is what I am doing. Now you.” He pointed at the large tough and then pointed at Grayson. “Give this nephew of mine a good fist for interfering with my business and I will ensure you get an additional ten pounds. Fifty if you do it right.”

“Yes, milord!” The man jumped forward and swung a large, gloved fist at Grayson.

Victoria gasped as she and her cousin dodged and darted off to the side. Grayson snatched up a chair, swinging it up high above his shoulder, ready to let it fly. “Victoria, get the bloody servants! Now!”

Victoria dashed past, knowing the situation had indeed gotten out of hand.

“Camille!” her father shouted pleadingly after her. “I vow upon my honor I would never have let him harm you!”