Once Upon a Scandal (27 page)

“That is hardly Claudette’s fault, is it?” she asked, indignant on the woman’s behalf. “I hope you’ve left her well provided for. Gifts alone will not do it. She needs a roof over her head. What if she is already with child?”

“She is not pregnant,” he ground out, his own voice indignant now.

“Can you be so certain? Such things are not always immediately evident. I learned that much from the Ladies Society.”

“I take every precaution.” A twitch was working in his jaw. “I’ve no wish for children.”

“Surely you don’t want to be a disappointment to your father?” Such hurtful words her mouth could utter. “You’re meant to populate the whole of England with his progeny, remember?”

His eyes swung back to hers, and the emotion in them made her suddenly uneasy.

“There will be no progeny.” He was rigid with anger. “That is my father’s punishment. Not to mention my penance.”

Just like that, she was swimming in waters far too deep. “I don’t understand,” she said. They didn’t seem to be talking about gifts, or Claudette, or even her own feelings any more.

“Everything comes back to Aiden and his death, don’t you see?

She didn’t see anything. “I only know it was a terrible tragedy.”

“It was far worse than that,” he said, studying the floor intently.

Surely, he didn’t blame himself for his brother’s death? “It was not your fault. It was no one’s fault.”

“How I wish that were true,” he said, his words bitter. “Father and I share it, but he had the temerity to up and die. And I still live, when I’ve done nothing at all to deserve my reprieve.”

“You can’t believe that.” How could he have such a tortured view of his role?

“It was a beautiful day, too beautiful to be cooped up inside, as Aiden so often was.” He was staring past her now, his voice dull. “We could see the lake through the windows, and he wanted to play at being Lord Nelson again. It was all I needed to know.”

Her heart ached at the pain in his voice. How quickly anger could fall into sorrow. “No doubt you’d done it dozens of times before,” she said. “You could not have expected that day to be any different.”

“His seizures had been getting worse, striking without warning. And I should have known he’d grown far too weak to swim.”

“You were only a child yourself. Children don’t think of such things.”

But he seemed lost in the memory of it. She wasn’t even certain he heard her. “We’d stopped in the middle of the lake when he started shaking violently. His body lurched towards the oars, smashing one into my head, knocking me into the water. For several moments, I was too disoriented to see anything.”

All this time, to have felt the burden of those lost moments.

“When I’d gone over, the boat had flipped. I could hear Aiden—such terrible gurgling sounds—but my head was gashed open, and every time I dipped below the surface, I became more lightheaded. I swam the wrong way.”

An error for which he’d obviously never forgiven himself. A simple mistake with horrific consequences.

“And then I saw our butler swimming towards me. I could hear Father shouting as he raced towards the shore, ordering Maybanks to save his heir, that he would find Aiden.”

“He must have been in a panic.” Clearly, Aiden, in the midst of a seizure, would have been the child in greater danger.

“No,” Benjamin said, dropping his head into his hands. “He simply chose me.”

“I don’t understand.” Because the implications of what he’d said couldn’t possibly be true.

“Father all but admitted it to me on his deathbed,” he said, looking up, his face tortured. “He’d loved Aiden, of course, and wanted to save him. But Aiden wasn’t in line for the title, and he wasn’t nearly as perfect as me. And in that one moment, it had seemed vital I be saved, no matter the consequences.”

“Your father wanted your forgiveness before meeting his Maker,” she said softly. “And you could not give it.”

“Aiden should have been the one to live.” His mouth was set in a determined line, his eyes fierce. “So the Alden family name will die with me. I can’t kill off the Marworth title, but Painshill Park, his pride and joy, is unentailed. Everything my father built there will rot right along with me.”

The words left unspoken were the hardest ones. Benjamin would never allow himself to love or to marry. And that was why he had come to apologize today.

Any woman raised in Society would have had expectations following last night’s passionate interlude. Privately, and against his repeated warnings to the contrary, she might have secretly hoped for the same. An admission that she was more than a desire. That she might be someone he could grow to love. But she’d promised she’d not hold him to anything but the memory of their time together. He was taking her up on that promise.

“I am so sorry. Sorry for the pain you bear, for the guilt that follows you still. But you are the one serving your father’s punishment. I can’t pretend to understand that.” She reached out to caress his cheek, startling him. “If we are nothing else, I hope we are friends, so I must be honest. I can respect your decision. But I can’t deny my heart is breaking for you.”

And with that, she stood and fled the room.

Dressing up beauty continuously wears it out.—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

Jane stiffened her spine against a strong case of nerves as Sophia’s butler announced her to the crowd. Since the moment she’d first been spotted, whispers had followed her progress towards the candlelit ballroom. If the men watched her with undisguised interest, many of the women blanched and fanned themselves, as if a specter walked in their mist. She’d known most of them, after all, in her former life, and it had required all her composure to remember her role on that long walk down the stairs. To be a woman of experience and confidence. Because she’d not felt so alone since that day at the graveyard, when she’d buried her father.

Word had obviously gotten out that Jane Fitzsimmons’s French cousin was being celebrated tonight. A throng of Londoners had been gathering outside the mansion since midday, many of them wearing bright red bows of support on their coats and lapels. Reporters had also collected, pencils in hand. No doubt, Lillianne, as a stranger to English Society, would revel in such a welcome. And thus so would Jane. She’d worked too hard at this to disappoint Benjamin, who would join them later in the evening. Would she be able to disguise her imprudent feelings? They’d had only the most stilted interactions since that conversation in the family parlor. They were united in their quest for the missing dossiers, and nothing more.

With a bright smile on her face, one she hoped was suitably mysterious, she crossed into the ballroom, which was festooned with late summer flowers. She approached Sophia, who was beaming encouragement, as the whispers swelled around her.

“Lord above, she might be her twin!”

“But so much more sophisticated, don’t you think?” said another.

“Look at that dress! How shocking but utterly delicious! Our Miss Fitzsimmons was a brave one but never so fascinating.”

A rather bald observation, that. She nearly lost her footing.

“Madame Fauchon,” Sophia said, regal in a gold evening dress with an embroidered overlay. “How proud I am to have you as a guest of honor in my home. So many here are eager to make your acquaintance. Do come and stand beside me, so you may greet your admirers personally.”

No sooner had Jane taken her place than a line formed, snaking through the room, people pushing for a place near the front. For a moment, mayhem reigned. One matron actually shoved another out of the way to secure a more advantageous position. To think she’d once measured her worth by her place among them, these so-called doyennes of Society. Their strict rules and codes of conduct had been instituted for one reason and one alone: to prove themselves superior. They didn’t judge a person’s suitability by intellect, achievement, or even kindness.

Their standards were far more rigorous.

Did one have the necessary bloodlines, for instance, to merit inclusion? Because the marriage mart was a bit like being at Tattersalls during the Thoroughbred sale. You had better know what you were buying.

Did one understand that behavior must be dictated, not by personality, but by convention? Because nothing was more unpleasant than a challenging opinion or thought. Hadn’t
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women
said so?

Did one know the precise angle at which to bend for a court curtsey? Because even though a war was being fought and lives were being lost and thieves worked in their midst, a ball was underway, and there was always the slim chance a member of the royal family might drop by. Society proved its worth by behaving as if the world beyond it did not exist.

But she must set aside her heretical ruminations. All of her lessons at Painshill had been working towards this moment. Even now, the person who’d taken the dossiers might be standing in the line before her, waiting to determine where her allegiances lay. She needed to be alert to every nuance of behavior, every shaded innuendo. All while masking the nature of her true purpose here. At least figuratively, it was time to take her place in this war, to do her part, because Benjamin believed she could. Assuming her brightest smile, she nodded at Sophia, who would perform each of the introductions, and snapped open her fan. It was the only real weapon she had. Thank goodness she’d learned how to use it.

• • •

“You’ve met Lord Winchester, of course,” Sophia said, as he bowed over Jane’s hand, lingering longer than he should have.

“You are lovely,
madame
, whether drenched in the beauty of a summer’s evening or a summer’s storm.”

She nodded, fighting a small smile. “You are too kind,
monsieur le marquise
.”

“Mr. Frederick Byng and … ” Sophia hesitated only slightly. “Miss Petunia Byng.”

The dog leapt from his arms at the sight of Jane, barking and pawing at her skirts. “Petunia!” Byng was clearly horrified. “She is generally so well-behaved.”

“
Bonsoir, ma belle petit chien
,” she cooed, picking the dog up, laughing as it squirmed closer, eager to lick her face. “Such a noble poodle, and what a charming little cape you are wearing.”

“She’s very picky about whom she likes,” Byng said, obviously relieved. “All the best ones are.”

“Lord Melbourne.” On the committee and here without his wife, Caroline. According to Sophia, she’d been in hiding since that incident at Lady Heathcote’s recent ball. Distraught over the end of her affair with Lord Byron, she’d broken a wine glass in front of him and slashed her wrists.

“Welcome to London, Madame Fauchon. Wouldn’t it be marvelous if your visit managed to spark a peace between our countries? My brother-in-law, Frederick, is fighting on the frontlines, and I am eager for his safe return.”

“I know you must be,” she said. “I, too, pray for peace.” Would such a man risk the life of a family member in order to sell secrets to the enemy? It hardly seemed likely. But she must not make assumptions.

“Lord Brougham.” Another member of the committee, whom she’d met in Hyde Park.

“What a pleasure to see you again,
madame
.” It was obvious he wasn’t at all pleased. His eyes were already searching the crowd, looking for someone. A contact, perhaps? She needed to see if she could spark a response.

“
Merci, monsieur le baron.
You are a passionate advocate for reform, no? In France, the emperor has a campaign to improve education and health care. I could share the details if you’d like.”

That caught his attention. “I would find it fascinating. I will seek you out once the receiving line is done.”

“And you’ve met Sir Aldus Rempley,” Sophia said, stiffening visibly. Lord Brougham turned at the name, sniffing with disdain before he swept into the crowd, Rempley obviously disconcerted by the slight. But while part of her reveled in his sudden fall from grace, another wondered why he would venture out to face such contempt. Surely, he’d expected it.

“Madame Fauchon, may I request a dance and a moment in private as soon as one presents itself?”

“Of course, I say yes to the dance,
monsieur le baron
. But to a private moment, we shall have to see.” She’d hardly agree to be alone in his company.

She greeted the next person and then the next, on and on. Such a strange experience, being introduced to so many people she already knew.

“Lord Alvanley.” A famed wit, the man liked gambling almost as much as her father.

“The Duke of Devonshire.” His title newly inherited, he was a cousin to Caroline, Lady Melbourne.

“Lord Byron.” Lady Melbourne’s much lamented lover.

“Mr. George Brummel.” Looking through his quizzing glass, he’d deemed her gown “extraordinary” and “a triumph.”

“Lord and Lady Liverpool.” England’s prime minister, elevated to the position just last year, after the shocking assassination of Spencer Perceval inside the House of Commons. Even though his greeting was gracious, he eyed her with suspicion. Hadn’t Benjamin mentioned her role in this? She knew they all worked under his direction.

But a buzz had started in the crowd, at first hushed and then louder as people stepped back, parting to reveal a half dozen attendants in matching livery, their movements fluid as they bowed their heads and swept their arms to the floor.

Canby’s voice rang throughout the ballroom. “His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent of England.”

Dear Lord above. Thank goodness she knew a court curtsey, after all. She sank into her deepest one, eyes fixed to the floor, inhaling sharply.

“Please rise, our dearest Madame Fauchon. We are so pleased to meet you personally.”

“It is too great an honor, Your Majesty,” she said as he came into view, inch by inch, during her slow ascent. Jewel-encrusted shoes with a low heel. Silk stockings. Pearl-colored trousers with banded ties at the knees. A red military jacket with epaulettes at the shoulders and gold braiding at the high neck; a profusion of medals and ribbons set on a deep blue sash. Chestnut hair, fashioned in careful curls. A fleshy face with bright, blue eyes. He looked … pained. Could that be right?