Scandal at Vauxhall (Pleasure Garden Follies) (2 page)

London,
England, 1818

The opulence of
Lord and Lady Sinclair’s ballroom borrowed many Italian influences, to the artwork,
chandeliers, and even the fabrics selected. Young ladies lined up on the one
side as randy gentlemen scouted their amusement for the evening. And yet again,
her grace, Isabel Griffith, the Duchess of Brimley, attended another high society
event sans her duke.

Henry Griffith,
the fifth Duke of Brimley, had always been known as a notorious rake. From the
countless affairs he’d had with married women and dalliances with some of London’s
most sought after courtesans, to coveting another duke’s wife, even after their
nuptials.

Some days Isabel
wondered if her father even cared that he’d wedded her into what would become a
lifeless, loveless, and solitary union. One that benefitted the family name
only, but made everyone involved despondent.

If only her
family had been patient enough for Nathaniel’s return. She could have married
into status as parents desired,
and
she’d be happily in love. Isabel often wondered whatever happened to the
marquess
.

On a night like
tonight, however, she was thankful for the lack of her husband’s presence.
These types of occasions always put him in a sour mood. He’d wind up playing
whist and lose. Then, he’d drink himself into a stupor, drag her away from
whatever conversation she was having, take her home and bed her roughly, only
to fall asleep before giving her any pleasure in return.

Pfft
. What is pleasure anyway?
Yet, while she didn’t have much experience in the ways of lovemaking, it was
highly unlikely most marriage beds were like hers. Especially during these
moments, she wished she had the courage to run.

Is
married life supposed to be like this? Leaving me feeling filthy, unworthy, and
so lonely?
She hadn’t the slightest clue about what she'd ever
done wrong, but the pang of regret over not standing up to her husband made her
frailer with each passing day.

Distracting her
from such sad thoughts, Lady Balfour approached, fanning herself with
expediency. “My dear, have you heard? The Marquess of Stoughton has just
arrived. My word, he hasn’t aged one bit, and he’s looking quite fit.”

Nathaniel!
He’s alive.
Isabel’s heart pounded in her chest as
her gaze settled on him
.

She hadn’t seen
him since he’d told her he was leaving on business for the war office. Her pulse
kicked up furiously to the point that she felt light-headed and breathless. He
was still a sight for sore eyes. His dark hair and piercing baby blues stood
out in the crowd. The sheer breadth of his shoulders framed his muscular size.
She watched as he stopped and spoke with other gentlemen, his back now facing
her and Lady Balfour.

My
God! He really is here. Would he even recognize me? Hardly. He’s probably here
to fetch his mistress for the evening. Why would he even pay me any mind?
Besides, she was a duchess, very much married, and obliged to keep up
appearances.

“My, would you
look at the size of his thighs,” Lady
Coxley
announced as she approached the ladies, garnering a few giggles from prying
ears.

Isabel smirked,
knowing all too well in what direction this conversation was headed. “They are
wonderfully built, but I’m sure some other lady has laid claim on the
marquess
.”

“You haven’t
heard, have you, Isabel?”

“What haven’t I
heard?” she asked.
Her breath hitched and
her pulse raced. What could I have missed?

“Come away with
me to the terrace. I wish to speak to you in private. We can’t have half of
London listening in.”

She followed
Lady
Coxley
outdoors, leaving behind the sounds of
merriment to be embraced by the shrouded darkness of night and silence.

“They say the
marquess
will not marry until he’s found her.”

“Until he’s
found who?”

“The one who
broke his heart. But in all honesty, everyone knows it’s you. With any luck,
perchance some horrible fate will happen upon Henry.”

If
I were only so lucky.
“You shouldn’t talk like that! And for
the record, the
marquess
and I were done long ago.
Remember, he’s the one who left me.”

“Isabel, you
cannot expect me to believe that you haven’t thought about that man—at least
once or
ever
—during the course of
this sham of a marriage of yours. The
haute
ton
in its entirety knows where he is right now. And you’d be a fool to
think Henry gives two ninnies about your welfare.”

The sound of
someone clearing their throat interrupted them.

“Excuse me,
ladies, but I was wondering if perchance I could steal Her Grace for a dance.”

Good
grief. Did he hear any of our discussion? I cannot believe he’s actually here.
Heat coursed through Isabel at the thought of holding him once again. She
nodded and held out her gloved palm for him to take. “I’d be honored, My Lord.”

“The pleasure is
all mine, Your Grace.”

Leaving behind
Lady
Coxley
, she followed his lead inside for a
waltz.

“It’s been too
long, Isabel. I’ve missed you terribly,” he whispered as they took a turn about
the dance floor. Nathaniel bowed and took her hand. His touch warmed her, and
the gentle squeeze that followed reassured her that the flame they once had was
still there.

She and Henry
hadn’t danced since their wedding and even then, he quickly discarded her to
dance with the Duchess of Downsbury. If she’d only known her dismissal that
evening would be the first of many others. For the most part, her husband had
two left feet, but Nathaniel whisked her away gracefully to the tune. She
wished to kiss him again and remind herself of their time together.
Good heavens, Isabel. You’re married. Enough
of this foolishness!

Isabel felt him
pulling her closer as his arm at the small of her back pushed her in. His head
dipped down, and, naturally, she looked up at him, ignoring every stare and
whisper as they moved together. She finally cringed and mustered the courage to
ask him the one thing weighing heavily on her mind. “Why did you take so long?
Why didn’t you come sooner? Nathaniel, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t
thought of you.”

As the music wound
down and the dancers departed, Isabel locked her eyes on his and felt a tear
escape. “You’ve been missed greatly, My Lord.”

His thumb swiped
away the drop. “My dear, there hasn’t been a day, hour, or dream you haven’t
occupied.”

Her chest
tightened with his admission.
Could he
have really wanted me all this time?

“Nathan—”

Shouting from the
foyer bled into the main ballroom as a squire and a number of other gentlemen
made their way through. Recognizing one of the men as her footman, Isabel
rushed toward him. “Stanley, what is wrong?”

“Your Grace! I’m
so glad I found you. The duke…he was caught…something about a duel in Hyde
Park.”

Slightly
unsteady, she wavered on her feet, only to be caught by the
marquess
,
who approached from behind. “I’m not sure what you mean, Stanley. What exactly
was he caught doing?”

The footman
lowered his voice to a whisper. “Your Grace, you know—the rumors of your
husband’s affair with Her Grace, the Duchess of Downsbury. Well, apparently the
duke found them in the duchess’s chambers when he entered to claim his
husbandly rights.”

And there it was.

The world seemed
to fade away upon hearing his words. However, she had always known of her
husband’s infidelities, so she refused to swoon. “Thank you, Stanley. I wish to
leave now. I’m sure all of London will know of this by morning, if they haven’t
heard by now.” She turned to the
marquess
. “Thank you
for the dance, My Lord, I bid you a good evening.”

With her head
held high and her stomach in knots, Isabel departed the ball, fearing what the dawn
would bring. Would she wait at home for her husband to stumble back after victory,
or would she be delivered the news of his demise? Given the heartache Henry condemned
her to, and the embarrassment he’d reeked on his family name, perhaps she
should attend.

Before the door
to her carriage closed, she reached for the footman’s hand. “I’d like to stand
witness to the duel.”

“But, Your Grace,
no lady should view such wicked displays.”

“It couldn’t be
any more humiliating than finding out your husband was caught by another. A
fellow peer, no less.”

“I’ll see what I
can do, Your Grace.”

Her attendance
would mean going against all protocol and decorum, but she needed to see it, if
for nothing more than closure.

* * * *

Nathaniel
wondered what exactly had pulled her grace away in a hurry. As he walked around
the ballroom, he listened to the whispers until he reached the games room. Lord
Broxton waved him over to the whist table. Lords Avonlea and Rutledge cast an
amused glance.

Both had gone to
Oxford with him and hadn’t spoken to him since his return to London. It was
interesting. After his trip from the continent earlier this month, all the
ladies still sought him out, but not his friends.

“Come now, Lord
Thompson, we still have room for one more, and the betting has just gotten more
interesting.”

“How so,
Rutledge?” he asked.

“Well, it all
started with fifty guineas and you following her grace, the Duchess of Brimley,
onto the terrace. Fifty guineas gets you in, and another says you’ll bed her
before the year is out.”

Nathaniel raised
his eyebrows. If he were a gambling man, he’d have played along. But tonight he
wasn’t. Something about the way Isabel had been trying to maintain her
composure told him that things were going awry one way or another.

“Rutledge, you
may bet all you want on what I do in private, but I wager I’ll have my boot so
far up your fob
arse
before the night is out.”

The table broke
out into a fit of laughter. “Game on, Thompson. I’m almost certain you’ll lose
the bet.”

The cards were
dealt and all had played their hands when Lady Rutledge came up behind her
husband. “My dear, the most intriguing news. His Grace, the Duke of Brimley,
was called out by Downsbury. The duel is at daybreak. Apparently, he caught
Brimley with his wife.”

So
that was what had her rushing out of here.
This didn’t
bode well for Isabel. Downsbury was an expert marksman, and Brimley didn’t
stand a chance. Isabel could very well be a widow before breakfast, and the
thought had to have frightened her. The worst thing about the entire scenario was
that he couldn’t offer any assistance until knew of the outcome. Scandal
already sat at her doorway, and it was only a matter of time before all of
London heard.

Lord Broxton
chuckled and didn’t appear the least bit fazed by the revelation. “I wouldn’t
worry about it, my dear. Her Grace, the Duchess, should be happy her tyrannical
husband does not stand a chance. And if the rumors are correct, I imagine
Downsbury will still remain a cuckold and very much at the center of bets at
White’s, as his duchess has been stringing around several lords.”

His wife gasped
mockingly then giggled. “Oh my! She has certainly been a busy body, hasn’t
she?”

“My dear, if
there is nothing else of import, please let us gentlemen return to our game.”

“Certainly, My Lord.”
She practically skipped away with the new information to gossip about.

Heartache
swelled in Nathaniel’s chest. Lady Broxton’s announcement certainly explained
much. Had he not been sent off via the war office’s command and married poor
Isabel as he had intended, he could have spared her this grief and
embarrassment.

In fact, he
found it quite shocking that society should take so much pleasure in observing
and commenting on everyone’s lives as if they were a Greek tragedy or some
ridiculous play at the theatre. Mocking and ridiculing, subtle but harsh,
ruthless and relentless. The follies of those who took pleasure in another’s
misery should be eternally punished.

Nevertheless,
the more he pondered on the matter, the more he wanted to see Isabel and lift
her spirits. Yet, he could not. She was above his station, and married, no
less. It was bad enough his mother had many dinners planned and balls to
attend.

The dowager had
an agenda of marrying him and his sister off. However, no respectable peer
would go near his dear, naïve, imprudent sister. Thus, the future of his family
estate was now left entitled to him. To keep the other two women in his life
content, in addition to this conundrum, would prove to be his greatest feat
ever.