A Matter of Scandal (21 page)

He narrowed his eyes. “Only a member of Parliament can frank…” Abruptly it made sense. “It came from here. From Haverly.”

“That would be my guess.”

“Thank you, Georgiana.”

She drifted forward and went up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his cheek. “You always provide so much entertainment, Cousin.”

“Ha. I haven’t started yet.”

He hadn’t franked any correspondence but his own, and he doubted Tristan had. Since neither Dennis nor Regina would send out any correspondence condemning Emma, that left his uncle franking letters for either Blumton, Alice, or Sylvia. And he had a very good idea which of them it was.

“Do you think we were too mean to him?” Julia asked, nearly falling down as she looked over her shoulder for the hundredth time.

Elizabeth scowled. She felt the same way, but it was his own fault. “We all agreed to make certain he knew we were mad at him.”

“But he said he would explain it. We didn’t give him a chance.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re in love with him.” Lizzy jammed her hands into the pockets of her pelisse and kept walking.

“I am not in love with him! You take that back, Lizzy!”

“No.”

“Hush, now,” Mary said, putting her arm across Elizabeth’s shoulders. “I’m almost in love with him, and I’m still mad. You know what everyone’s saying. And it’s all because of Grey being at the Academy and what everyone says he’s been…doing with Miss Emma.”

“This is so awful,” Jane said mournfully. “There must be something we can do for Miss Emma.”

They rounded the bend, and stopped. Lord Dare lay stretched out on his back across the road, his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Julia asked.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Why would he be dead?” Just in case, though, she grabbed a long stick and jabbed him in the ribs.

He yelped, lunging to his feet with a speed that surprised her. “Good God!”

Trying to stifle her own shriek, Lizzy kept the stick raised between them. “We thought you might be dead!”

“Well, I wasn’t,” he snapped, rubbing his ribs.

“What in the world were you doing in the middle of the road?”

He looked back toward Haverly as he brushed dust from his coat. “If you must know, I was hoping a coach would come by and take me to a decent inn so I might get indecently drunk.”

“No coaches ever come by here, unless they’re going to Haverly.”

Lord Dare sighed. “What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s Emma?”

Abruptly remembering that he was Grey’s friend, Elizabeth put her hand across Jane’s mouth before the older girl could answer. “Just a moment. Whose side are you on?”

“That depends,” he said slowly. “Which side is going to win?”

“Our side.”

“Then I’m on your side. What are we disputing?”

“We’re not disputing. We told His Grace that if he won’t tell us why everyone’s trying to hurt Miss Emma, we don’t want to be his students anymore.”

The viscount was silent for a moment. “Ah. And how did His Grace respond to that?”

“We don’t care.”

He gave a nod. “Miss Emma knows you’ve given Wycliffe this ultimatum?”

Lizzy thought Jane should answer that, and she took a step backward.

“Miss Emma has been worried enough.”

His brow furrowed, Lord Dare gestured for them to continue back to the Academy, and he fell into step between Jane and Elizabeth. Elizabeth didn’t quite trust him, though she did like the way he’d tried to explain the sins of wagering to them and hadn’t succeeded at all.

“Hm,” he finally murmured. “Although I want to assure you that I remain firmly on your side, I don’t think you’ve been apprised of the entire situation.” Again he glanced over his shoulder. “At the risk of my life and limbs, I’m going to tell you the horrifying but true tale of a very cynical nobleman whose eyes and mind have been opened by love, and of the evil gossip that now threatens to bollux the entire affair.”

Relieved that someone was finally going to explain things, Lizzy took his hand. “Does it have a good ending?”

Lord Dare chuckled. “Damned if I know. Maybe we can help.”

Emma hated waiting. Pacing and wringing her hands seemed supremely useless, but at the moment she couldn’t think of anything useful. Barring the gates and setting cannons in the yard seemed an over-reaction to the parents’ imminent arrival, though at least getting off a shot or two would have been enormously satisfying.

Her worry wasn’t for herself, or even for most
of her well-born students; they would have homes to return to, and she could likely find work as a governess somewhere. No, it was Elizabeth Newcombe, and the other handful of students whose lives she had promised to improve, who haunted her.

Miss Perchase clattered up the stairs. “Miss Emma, they’re back.”

“Thank heavens!” Following Miss Perchase down to the main hallway, Emma found her five missing students cornered in the foyer, surrounded by half the Academy’s residents and being pelted with questions. She had a few to ask, herself. “Where have you been?”

“We went to Haverly,” Jane said, lifting her chin.

“To Haverly. Why?”

“We prefer not to say.”

Lizzy was eyeing her closely, but she had no idea what the little girl might be looking for. With a glance at the curious crowd, she gestured the five girls into one of the private sitting rooms off the main hallway. “Do you know how many rules you’ve broken?” she asked, shutting the door behind them. “You might have been hurt, or lost! And then what would I have done?”

“Lord Dare escorted us back to the Academy,” Mary said in her quiet voice, “but Tobias wouldn’t let him through the gate.”

“We were safe,” Julia echoed. “Lizzy had a stick.”

“We didn’t want to make more trouble,” Jane added. “We needed to take care of something.”

“And you won’t tell me what it was?”

“No.”

She hated this part of being a headmistress. “Very well. I think you all need to contemplate what you’ve done, and what your parents and this school expect of our students. Go to your rooms. You will be served dinner there. I don’t wish to see you again until breakfast.”

“Yes, Miss Emma.” Heads bowed, they filed out of the room and up the stairs to their bed chambers.

So—they wouldn’t tell her what they’d been up to. She couldn’t blame them for their unwillingness to confide in her, considering the blunders she’d been making, but she
was
their headmistress. She needed to find out what was going on. And besides, she really hated sitting about and waiting. Hurrying upstairs to grab her shawl and her bonnet, Emma returned to the foyer.

“Miss Perchase, I shall return shortly,” she said, not waiting for an answer as she strode down the steps and onto the drive.

Her hurry had nothing to do with the fact that she hadn’t seen Grey in over a day, of course. As headmistress of the Academy, she needed to be apprised of any recent developments. If her heart was pounding, it was only because of her worry, not because she was contemplating being kissed.

Hurrying as she was, she didn’t take the time to look over her shoulder at the Academy and see five young faces peering out an upstairs window and giggling.

E
mma hurried along the road. Whatever the girls thought they had needed to say to Wycliffe, they couldn’t afford any more trouble. Her own alleged misdeeds were bad enough, so now any wrong the girls did would be magnified tenfold.

As the house came into sight, she slowed. Two additional coaches stood behind the stable. Emma suppressed a nervous shudder. More people, and undoubtedly more rumors. She’d imagined a discussion with a few irate parents—not a confrontation with an entire brigade.

Hobbes pulled open the door before she could knock, and she managed a smile for him. “Good afternoon. I…require a word with His Grace, if he’s available.”

The butler nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’ll tuck you into Lord Haverly’s office while I inquire.”

She wanted to inquire about who Haverly’s guests might be, but now, more than ever, she needed to act as the Academy’s ambassador. Uncertain as she felt about being there with all of the awful gossip flying everywhere, she still had a role to fulfill. Keeping her hands clasped in front of her, she followed the butler into the office to wait for Grey.

Out of habit she strolled over to the gaming table. Lord Haverly, obviously sensing his imminent defeat, had moved his last bishop into the fray as a distraction. She was in the mood for a victory, though, and this one seemed more sure than anything else in her life at the moment. Ignoring the ruse, she took a white pawn with her rook, moving into position for the
coup de grace
.

“I was wondering where Uncle Dennis had acquired his sudden ability to think more than three moved ahead.”

Grey shut the door behind himself and crossed the room to her. Emma tilted her face up, her pulse fluttering. Slowly he tugged the bow beneath her chin loose, then lifted the bonnet from her hair. She drew a breath, trembling at his gentle touch.

The hat dangling from his fingers, he leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. She felt it all the way down to her toes, but at the same moment she noticed something peculiar. Backing off, she wrinkled her nose. “You taste like brandy.”

“Whiskey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet. You interrupted me.”

She couldn’t read his expression. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

He kissed her again, soft and slow, as though for the first time. She wanted to melt into him. Something was different this time, deep and quiet and centered. As the embrace of their mouths deepened and heat wound down her spine, Emma wondered whether he had locked the door. After all, ambassadors weren’t supposed to be caught bare-bottomed in the embrace of dukes.

“You have guests,” she said, pulling away again.

Grey kept his free hand clasped around her elbow, not letting her get too far away. That excited her, though his mere presence was enough to do that.

“Just my mother and my cousin.”

“I thought you were in hiding.”

“I’ve been discovered.” He leaned down again to rest his forehead against hers. “This is rotten business. Next time I’ll keep my mouth shut and my eyes open, Emma. I promise you that.”

She swallowed. Why was he promising her things? He’d never done that before. “My share of blame is at least as large as yours,” she said, thankful her voice remained steady. “But I’m not here to assess degrees of guilt. Your students told me they came to Haverly this morning, but they wouldn’t tell me why.”

“Yes. They informed me that they consider me to be at fault for any and all rumors, and said unless I told them exactly what was going on, they didn’t wish my services any longer.”

Emma looked down for a moment, stifling a surprised smile. My goodness, she loved those girls. “What did you tell them?” she asked, lifting her head again.

“Nothing. The less they know, the better.” He sighed. “We’ll have to think up something to tell them, though, because I can’t lose the wager without them.”

“Win or lose, I still can’t see any way out of this.”

His eyes searched hers. “I think I may have a solution.”

She grabbed his sleeve. “Really? What is it?”

For a long moment he was silent, his gaze steady on her face. Whatever his answer to this disaster was, he seemed very serious about it. Emma wrapped fingers around his lapels and shook him lightly.

“
Tell
me. What’s your solution?”

“Mar—”

The door opened, and a dignified-looking woman with long black hair piled high on her head strolled into the room. Grey’s fingers tightened on Emma’s elbow, then with a twitch released her.

“Mother,” he said smoothly.

She stopped halfway across the room, her inquisitive gaze on Emma. “So you’re the headmistress who’s been servicing Dare and my son all Season,” she said.

The duke said something low and brief in reply, but Emma couldn’t hear it. All of London—Grey’s
mother
, even—thought her a whore. The Academy was lost. White spots suddenly began floating in front of her eyes. The rushing pulse of
her blood roared in her ears, and then everything went black.

Grey heard Emma’s uneven intake of breath, and whipped around just in time to catch her as she collapsed. His heart pounding, he swept her into his arms and made for the doorway, scarcely noting his mother as she moved out of his way.

“Hobbes!” he bellowed, reaching the stairs and taking them two at a time, “get me smelling salts! And send for a physician!”

Dimly he heard the household roar into action behind him, but his attention was on the limp figure in his arms. Damnation, he’d done this to her—with his own abject stupidity and selfishness. He should have broken the news to her before a stranger could hurt her with it.

With a curse he kicked open his bed chamber door, knocking it off its hinges yet again, and carried her inside. Shaking, he gently laid her down on the bed.

“Em?” he whispered, brushing a strand of her auburn hair from her pale forehead. “Emma?”

“Move,” his mother said, taking a jar of smelling salts from the panting butler as the two of them nearly collided in the doorway.

While Grey numbly shifted sideways, she leaned over Emma, loosening the fastenings of her pelisse. Frederica held the bottle beneath the headmistress’s nose. After what seemed like hours but must have been only seconds, Emma’s eyes fluttered open. A moment later she gasped a breath and then batted the bottle of smelling salts away from her face.

“My goodness,” she rasped, coughing, and sat up.

“Lie down,” Grey commanded, beginning to breathe again.

Her eyes found him and then slid away again. “Nonsense. I merely became overly warm, walking over here. I’m fine.”

More footsteps skidded into the room, and without looking Grey knew damned Tristan had arrived.

“Emma?” the viscount said, pushing through the growing crowd of servants and guests.

“Lord Dare,” she said, paling again. Shooting Grey’s mother a look of abject humiliation, she sat up quickly, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Your Grace, could you arrange for someone to take me back to the Academy? It seems I’ve overexerted myself. I should have ridden Pimpernel, but the day was so nice, and…”

“Of course.” Grey started to cup her elbow, but she jerked away from him.

“Perhaps Hobbes might assist me,” she managed, her voice shaking.

“You should stay here,” Grey insisted, alarmed all over again, “until you’re certain you’re feeling better.” Or at least until he had time to explain that he did have a way to make everything right, so that no one would be able to insult her with impunity again.

“I will feel better back at the Academy,” she returned stiffly, still avoiding his gaze. “I wish to leave now, if you please.”

With a swift glance at Grey, Hobbes helped her to her feet. As they reached the hallway, Grey
noted that the crowd of servants had perceptibly thinned—with such speed that he knew his mother had to have been involved. He would thank her later, after he expressed his anger at her loose tongue.

Dare had hurried downstairs ahead of them, and the phaeton was at the foot of the steps as the viscount held open the front door. Emma held onto the butler until the groom put his hands around her waist to help her onto the vehicle’s high seat.

Unable to stand it any longer, Grey strode forward as the groom circled the back of the phaeton to climb onto the seat on the far side.

“Emma,” he said in a low voice, “for God’s sake, don’t leave it like this.”

Still she wouldn’t look at him, but instead made a show of taking her bonnet from a footman and tying it under her chin.

“Please,” he continued. “I promise that everything—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t possibly keep,” she murmured in a flat, bleak tone. “I have never expected a great deal of my fellow man. Good day.”

It was most certainly
not
a good day, and it was growing worse by the moment. He’d caused the woman he cared for to faint and then allowed her to ride off,
unchaperoned
, with another man.

“Her Grace requires a word with you, Your Grace,” Hobbes said, out of breath and red-faced. “She is in the earl’s office.”

The butler had probably never seen so much chaos in his entire term of employment as he had
witnessed today. “Thank you, Hobbes. And help yourself to a brandy.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

His mother sat behind the office desk, reading a letter, as he entered the room and closed the door firmly behind him. “That was inexcusable,” he said tightly.

“You might have mentioned that to me before she arrived at Haverly,” she said, her gaze trailing along the missive.

“I didn’t think you required
me
, of all people, to caution you against repeating gossip and injuring someone’s feelings.”

She looked up. “Pardon me, dear, but did you just say that a female has feelings?”

He leaned back against the door. “That’s a hell of a way to make your point.”

The duchess sighed. “I know. I owe Miss Emma a considerable apology. She isn’t at all what I expected.”

Grey scowled. Whatever she meant by that, he didn’t like it. And he bloody well wasn’t going to feed her suspicions by saying anything. “You summoned me,” he reminded her instead. “If you merely want a companion while you read your correspondence, I’ll fetch Georgiana.”

She went back to the letter. “I’m not reading my correspondence; I’m reading yours.”

“
What?
” All Grey could do for a moment was look at her. He knew which correspondence it was, of course; the duchess wouldn’t have bothered spying on his business correspondence. She must have seen it on his bed stand while he was distracted with Emma. “Don’t think,” he said
slowly, his eyes narrowing, “that just because I allow you to meddle in my life, I am not quite capable of keeping you out of it.”

Her gaze on him, she refolded the letter. “For heaven’s sake, Greydon, how was I supposed to know that you actually liked her? You’ve never particularly cared about any of your mistresses before. You practically left Caroline naked in the middle of a ballroom. Of course I had to read your letter—you never
tell
me anything.” She sat forward. “Unless you wish to do so now?”

“Only that things have become somewhat…complicated,” he hedged. “I will ask you one last time to stay out of them.”

The duchess stood. “While I might be inclined to do as you ask, I doubt the rest of your peers will be as patient.” She strolled to the door and handed the letter to him. “She’ll have a mob after her in a few days; she’s actually invited them to the Academy, from what I hear. And they’ll be even less diplomatic than I was, I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Grey pulled open the door, then hesitated. “I may need a female to…speak on her behalf.”

“I won’t make any promises until I have more conversation with her than we managed today.”

“Fair enough.”

Now he needed to make sure Emma would even speak to one of them, after the mess he’d made. He’d been about to suggest that Emma marry him in order to quiet the gossips, but now she probably wouldn’t believe him.

At least he had the beginnings of a battle plan, though. And the first order of business was to sort out the enemies from the allies. Only then
could he approach the fair maiden and see whether she would allow him to perform a rescue.

With that in mind, Grey went looking for Sylvia. He found her just as she was stepping out for a walk in the garden. She disliked the country air, as far as he knew; obviously she’d gotten word that he was tracking her down.

“Allow me to join you,” he said, offering his arm as she stepped onto the stone path.

With a smooth smile, Lady Sylvia nodded. “You are gallant today.”

“I wouldn’t wager on that.” Guiding them past the fork which led to the wildflower garden, Grey kept them headed toward the park and the distant pond. Pushing her into it was beginning to seem like the best idea he’d had all day—short of marrying Emma, of course.

“Ah. Perhaps you might answer a question, then.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And which question would that be?”

“Why are we having this pleasantly brisk walk?”

They
were
charging toward the pond at a rather swift pace. Taking a breath, he slowed their approach. “That depends on how you answer three questions of mine.”

“Ask your questions then, Grey.”

“First, to whom did you send those two letters last week? The ones you charmed my uncle into franking for you.”

Sylvia sent a quick glance back toward the house, as if to see whether anyone else might be strolling this afternoon. “My goodness, you ask
such personal questions—first about my relationship with Lord Dare, and now about my private correspondence. I might almost think you jealous, Grey.”

Not bloody likely
. Her evasiveness, though, confirmed his suspicions. “Secondly,” he drawled coolly, continuing them on the curving path down the sloping hill, “why would you send
any
correspondence when—if you’ll recall—you promised me before we left London not to disclose our location to anyone?” He deliberately kept the questions turned in his direction and away from Emma; he’d made enough trouble for her without adding Lady Sylvia Kincaid to the list.