Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (12 page)

Alexandra reached to the table before her
and casually picked up the book on India she noticed earlier.  Flipping
open the front cover, she noted that the binding of the book was stiff, as if
it had never been opened.  The sherry made her bold.  “Are you enjoying
this book on India, Mr. Runyon?  I’ve read several on the Far East. 
The area is of particular interest to me.  I’ve heard all sorts of tales
of Macao – what a wicked place it is.  Have you –“

“Alexandra!”   Her uncle
sputtered.  His moon-like face took on a horrified look.

Mr. Runyon’s turned pale cold eyes to
her.  A light purplish flush crept up from the top of his cravat, ruining
the perfection of his skin.

  What had she said?  Both men
regarded her as if she committed murder.

“I beg your pardon, Runyon.” Odious
Oliver apologized.  “My niece speaks before thinking. This is what comes
from overeducating women. Letting them read and have opinions.”

Mr. Runyon took a deep breath and pinched
the bridge of his nose.  His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as if
composing himself before addressing Alexandra. 

“Mr. Runyon?” She leaned forward in
concern.  She put down her sherry.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” His eyes opened and
he smiled kindly.  “My stomach can be contrary at times and I fear that
the sherry,” he swished the dark liquid in his glass, “does not agree with me
on an empty stomach.  Shall we?”  He stood and offered his arm to
Alexandra. “A bite of food and some of the excellent Madeira I’ve chosen for
dinner will no doubt put me to rights.”  He patted her hand and leaned
closer.  “And I find your opinions on everything quite to my taste.”

Alexandra stood and bit back the retort
she was about to fling at her uncle.  She didn’t wish to upset Mr. Runyon.
Soon.  Soon she would reach Mr. Meechum.  Mr. Runyon would assist
her.  Then she would be rid of Odious Oliver and return to her beloved
Helmsby Abbey. She lowered her eyes afraid her thoughts would show as she
allowed Mr. Runyon to lead her to the dining room, in as docile a manner as she
could muster.

***

What a lovely dinner!  Alexandra
swayed slightly with the movement of her uncle’s carriage as they pulled away
from Mr. Runyon’s elegant home.  The conversation over dinner ran the
gamut of politics, art and history.   Alexandra delighted in showing off
her knowledge, especially enjoying her uncle’s discomfort.  Oliver had
little to contribute.  Her uncle was ill suited to any type of
conversation that didn’t involve food or drink.  She knew he detested
educated women.  She quoted Plato just to annoy him! Odious Oliver sat in
terror all evening, fearful that her display of intelligence would put off Mr.
Runyon.  Alexandra absolutely adored watching the fat man fidget.

The carriage hit a bump and she flopped
back against the squabs, giggling to herself as her head spun a bit.  Mr.
Runyon kept her glass full of Madeira all through dinner while regaling her
with tales of his travels.  The name of the wine escaped her just now, something
Spanish, but it tasted delicious, like ripe blackberries. Wine was never served
with dinner at Helmsby Abbey.  Her aunt thought it a luxury. A pity. 
Wine gave one such a different view of the world, a wonderful feeling of
lightness, and whimsy.  She decided that when she returned to Helmsby
Abbey, wine with dinner would be a necessity. 

An excellent host, Mr. Runyon kept their
conversation flowing, asking for her opinions on various topics.  She
enjoyed his company immensely. Perhaps she
should
marry Mr. Runyon. He
seemed to value her and she would never lose control with a man like Mr.
Runyon.  He was nothing like Lord Reynolds, the dark Marquess, who made
her want to throw off her clothes, and act wanton.  And Mr. Runyon hadn’t compared
her to an ill-tempered rodent all evening.  She thought that a huge point
in his favor.

“You got on quite well with Runyon,
Alexandra.  He will make you an excellent husband.  You’ll be well
taken care of.”

Her uncle’s words surprised her. 
First, because she was sure he cared nothing for her happiness, and second,
because she assumed he had fallen asleep as soon as the carriage left Mr.
Runyon’s elegantly furnished town home.

A self-satisfied smile stretched across
his face.  “Well?”

Apparently the fat man wished her to
converse with him.  She decided to have a bit of fun. “Yes, he’s quite
amiable.” Alexandra frowned a bit.  She put a finger to her head. 
“Although, Uncle, he did tell me that when he agreed to the match, he did not
realize exactly how educated I was.  He claims you failed to inform him
completely.”  Alexandra said in what she hoped was a demure manner,
remembering her uncle’s disparaging remarks before dinner. “I hope it does not
put him off.”

Her uncle sat up so quickly she thought
his backside was on fire.

“What do you mean, girl? Put him off? You
got on well at dinner.” Spittle formed at the sides of her uncle’s mouth. 

Alexandra widened her eyes in an innocent
manner, enjoying her uncle’s dismay. “Oh, just that he said I was a bit more
opinionated then you lead him to believe. He said I didn’t appear to be, now
what was the word he used?  Pliable.  Yes!  Pliable. He actually
needs a more pliable wife, although he certainly enjoys my company. I took that
to mean he thought me a bit too bookish for his taste.” Kind Mr. Runyon said no
such thing to her.  Her uncle, so consumed with eating everything on his
plate, missed most of the dinner conversation.    

She could hear her uncle’s labored
breathing, as if he’d run down the street.  The wine emboldened her. 
“I’m sure he meant nothing by it, Uncle.  After all, Mr. Runyon does not
strike
me
as the type of man to go back on his word.” She smiled sweetly
at her uncle, even though she doubted he could see her clearly in the carriage. 
Alexandra thought this the best night she’d had since coming to London.

***

Oliver Burke watched his drunken niece
teeter up the steps of his town home.  If he pushed her down the steps,
her neck would snap, and he could end this ridiculous charade.  The
fingers of his hand curled into a fist.   He should have gotten rid
of her instead of trying to marry her off.  But that damn solicitor of
Eloise’s checked on the girl at regular intervals.  Oliver convinced
Meechum that Alexandra wished to marry so the solicitor would advance funds for
Alexandra’s debut.  If she suddenly disappeared, suspicion would fall on
Oliver.  Besides, now he needed her.

Had she put Runyon off?  Oliver
didn’t think so.  He’d tried to pay attention to their conversation this
evening, but honestly, talk of history and what Parliament voted on bored him
to tears.  

  Sweat broke out on Burke’s
forehead as he contemplated the exorbitant amount of money he’d lost to Runyon
in faro.  Runyon held Oliver’s fate in his hands.  But Runyon was
desperate, too.  Estranged from his father, Runyon needed a bride of
unimpeachable virtue to present to his elderly father.  Oliver did some
checking on Runyon. None of the families of the
ton
would give him their
daughters, and Oliver knew why.  Runyon found Alexandra, his worthless
niece attractive enough to take her in payment of the debt.  She was
perfect, Runyon said, for his needs. 

 Oliver watched Alexandra ascend the
stairs and wave goodnight to him.  He prayed for her to trip.  She
looked smug.  Assured. Little bitch!  She wouldn’t be so confident
once she was married to Runyon.  He waddled down the hall to his
study.  An evening of his niece’s company and his acting her concerned
guardian called for a drink.  Perhaps he could induce Tilda to join
him.  He had known Tilda for near twenty years, when she had been a gin
whore near the docks.  She was never too busy to spend some time with
Oliver. 

He walked into his study and ignored the chipped
furniture and the worn Persian rug.  Eloise.  This was all her
fault.  What remained of the Dunforth money, even Helmsby Abbey, should be
his.  Eloise’s only use to him had been her money. Why else would he have
married her some squire’s daughter in Hampshire?

Oliver smoothed back the few strands of
gray hair that sprang across his eyes.  How he hated Eloise.  Two
years ago, Oliver snuck back to Helmsby Abbey to see his wife as she lay dying.
 He spent his monthly allowance almost as soon as he received it.  He
was tired of the duns beating a path to his door.  Tired of begging Eloise
for money.  Her father, crafty old bastard, hadn’t trusted Oliver completely. 
Eloise held the purse strings.  But that was about to end.  Oliver
would inherit everything. He would never have to ask her for money again. 
Eloise, pale and smelling of the sickbed, laughed at him. “Not
everything
,”
she’d croaked.

Oliver took out a handkerchief and mopped
the sweat from the top of his lip, pausing to run a finger through his mustache
and twist the ends into points.  The action helped calm him.  Oliver detested
being laughed at.  Before he realized it, he had a pillow over his dying
wife’s face.  He just wanted to shut her up.  He didn’t mean to
actually
kill her, but he felt no remorse that he had.  Just joy.  He rode
as fast as he could back to London, neither Alexandra or the staff at Helmsby
Abbey even knew he’d been there. Oliver received notice of his wife’s death the
next afternoon and promptly visited Meechum & Sons for the remainder of the
Dunforth fortune.  Mr. Meechum informed Oliver that while he, Lord Burke, would
certainly receive a vast sum, Helmsby Abbey and the remainder of the Dunforth
money was Alexandra’s upon reaching her majority. Oliver heard nothing after
Meechum said “vast sum”.  He directed the solicitor to send the money to
Oliver’s bank account. Burke cared nothing for his niece and even less for
Helmsby Abbey and thus pushed them both out of his mind.  He walked out of
Meechum and Sons without a second thought, already spending the Dunforth money.

He paid his debts.  The creditors
left him in peace.  Oliver focused all his attention on spending his long
awaited money.  He celebrated the death of Eloise by taking a mistress and
gambling.  But Oliver was a terrible gambler.  Oliver, a plump whore
on his lap, unwisely played faro with Runyon.  He knew now that Runyon let
him win several hands.  Oliver, drunk and filled with overblown confidence
bet everything.  The whole of the Dunforth money went to Runyon on the
turn of a card. Oliver was ruined.  Then he remembered.  Oliver still
had his unfortunate niece, and Helmsby Abbey.  But time was running out.

Oliver waddled into his study and over to
the massive oak desk.  Opening the drawer, his sweating hands closed over
a small blue bottle.  How fortunate that Runyon, who was as rich as
Croesus, needed a wife.  Runyon would forgive the debt. Oliver could keep
Helmsby Abbey and the money and Alexandra’s money.  But Alexandra must
marry Runyon.  Now Oliver was about to lose everything because that little
twit possibly offended Runyon at dinner.   She was always
trouble.  Even as a child.  Always mouthing off.  Thought she
was so smart.  He suspected she thought to outsmart him.  He knew
perfectly well her birthday was still two months hence  After all, his
entire life depended on knowing the terms of his guardianship.   Silly,
stupid little girl.  Her marriage to Runyon would take place well before
her birthday. 

Alexandra would awake tomorrow with a
headache from the enormous amount of wine she drank tonight.  Oliver, as a
concerned uncle, would send for a doctor who would prescribe medicine. 
Alexandra, the doctor would tell her, was possessed by a nervous
disposition.  She needed medication to calm her and avoid headaches.

Alexandra
would
be biddable. 
She
would
marry Runyon.  Oliver would keep the rest of the Dunforth
money and sell Helmsby Abbey.  His only regret was that Eloise was no
longer alive to witness it.

“Miss Dunforth?”  Jameson opened the
parlor door.   “Mr. Runyon is here to see you.”

Alexandra put down the last of her tea
and smoothed down the sprigged green muslin of her gown.  The special tea
the doctor prescribed gave her a lazy feeling, but the headache abated. 
The headaches started soon after her dinner with Mr. Runyon, but the tea
managed to keep the worst of the pain at bay.  The doctor her uncle summoned,
a stern, older man who spoke with an upper crust accent, told her she had
anxiety due to exhaustion.  The sudden excitement of London, after
spending so many years in the country, confused her nerves.   
Alexandra normally scoffed at such diagnoses of women’s ills.  She rarely
even contracted a cold.   But the tea did make the headache go
away.  And when the headache returned, the tea helped again.  The tea
did tend to make her forgetful. She nearly forgot about Mr. Runyon taking her
to Thrumbadge’s today.

Mr. Runyon’s visits become a daily ritual
after dinner at his home.  She looked forward to seeing him.  Today,
he was taking her to Thrumbadge’s, London’s premiere lending library and
bookseller.    Her uncle’s library left much to be
desired.  It was full of ancient tomes dedicated to medieval armor. 
She thought the books likely left by the previous owner, since the only thing
she ever saw her uncle read were reports of horse races.  The thought of
coming back to her uncle’s dismal town home with a carriage full of books
filled her with delight. And anything purchased today she could take with her
to Helmsby Abbey upon her return.  She couldn’t wait to leave London,
though she would miss Miranda Reynolds and the Dowager, with whom she had twice
had tea, and even attended a musicale.  She considered herself lucky that
Lord Reynolds and she did not cross paths again, although she did spy him from
across the room at the musicale.  She made an excuse to greet Lady Dobson
while Miranda conversed with her brother.  Lord Reynolds escorted a beautiful,
tall brunette that evening, who clung to his arm as if their skin were fused
together.  Thankfully, he didn’t see her or at the very least he ignored
her presence. The brief flirtation they shared was apparently over.  She
told herself how grateful she was he no longer toyed with her.