Scandalous (18 page)

Even while Wickham had been lying stricken abovestairs, visitors, whom one might have supposed would stay away out of respect for the supposedly distressed nature of the household, had called in droves as word of the earl's mishap apparently spread with the speed of a wildfire throughout fashionable London. A missive had arrived from Lady Salcombe, bidding her nieces to present themselves at her house at a certain hour three days hence. Cards had been left by the dozen; with Wickham out of the woods and Gabby now ready to receive them in person, callers flocked to their door. Lord Denby, claiming a close friendship with the stricken earl, was one of the first to be admitted, on the afternoon of the day when Gabby had abandoned her nursing duties. After inquiring politely about his friend's well-being, he spent an agreeable quarter hour flirting madly with Claire.

In this pursuit he was soon joined by the Honorable Mr. Pool, Lord Henry Ravenby, and Sir Barty Crane. These visitors were unexpected, but Gabby, mindful that Claire's marriage was the ultimate object of all her machinations, and would, moreover, free her from any obligation to the rogue abovestairs, received them with all the hospitality Wickham House could muster.

Somewhat less welcome was Lady Ware, who floated into the already crowded drawing room just as the aforementioned gentlemen were taking their leave, bestowed air kisses upon Gabby and Claire as if they were bosom friends, and joined the small cluster of gathered ladies in exclaiming over the earl's accident before settling down to chat of fashionable
on-dits
about town. Although she stayed no longer than the correct quarter of an hour, when she stood up to go Gabby was conscious of a disproportionate feeling of relief. Claire's whispered admiration of the lady's gown— a simple sky-blue silk obviously designed to showcase a bosom that even Gabby had to admit was magnificent— irritated her, but not nearly as much as the note Lady Ware pressed into her hand as she took her leave.

"Something to cheer up poor dear Wickham," Lady Ware said with a naughty smile.

Gabby, accepting the sealed missive because she could think of no civil way to decline it, just managed to summon a smile in return as she battled the urge to crush the
billet doux
in her fist.

It was even more irritating that, even after she passed the note on to Stivers with instructions that it be conveyed to its rightful recipient, Gabby could not seem to rid her hands of the cloying perfume with which it had been scented. Even repeated scrubbings of her fingers, and, ultimately, a complete change of raiment, did not clear the scent from her nostrils.

Which was not, perhaps, quite properly Wickham's fault, but it was certainly something for which Gabby blamed him.

The identities of some of those who came over the next two days were most flattering: Lady Jersey, who was apparently a long-time friend of their aunt's and was accompanied by the Countess Lieven, left her card. That these ladies were patronesses of Almack's, that most august of supper clubs, and as such to be carefully cultivated, was revealed by Twindle with great excitement.

"Only the most select are admitted there, you know," Twindle told Gabby and Claire as they looked over the collection of cards with some awe. "The vulgar call it the Marriage Mart. Nothing could be more fatal to a girl's chances than to be denied admission. If the patronesses should frown on you… But there is no chance of that, of course.
No one
could find the least fault with
you,
Miss Claire, or with Miss Gabby or Miss Beth either, for that matter. Nothing shabby genteel
here."

"That's as may be, Twindle, but it is quite likely that if our aunt frowns on us Lady Jersey and her like will not be so gracious," Gabby said. She was tired as a result of passing another indifferent night. A slight headache plagued her as well, but none of that mattered when weighed against the need to secure their aunt's support.

Accordingly, four o'clock on the appointed day found Gabby and Claire ascending the steps of Lady Salcombe's house in Berkeley Square. Beth, not yet being out, had been spared this expedition, for which she was thankful. However, when apprised of the program Twindle had in mind for her entertainment instead— visiting some stuffy museum to view Greek marbles that, she said gloomily, could be counted on to put one to the blush, and were, besides,
broken—
she was openly unenthused and muttered something about only Johnny Raws being ripe for such an expedition. This brought down on her head another lecture from Twindle on the evils that were certain to befall young ladies who used vulgar cant instead of the King's English, so Beth was looking very glum indeed as she and Twindle took their leave.

Having just finished recounting this tale for Claire's benefit, Gabby was smiling as the sisters were ushered into their aunt's presence, the footman who had answered the door having determined that she was at home.

Claire was smiling, too, as they walked into the drawing room, as she usually could be counted on to do over Beth's skirmishes with Twindle. Gabby had hoped the story would have just such an effect on her sister, so that Claire would not seem quite stricken with fright when she first appeared before their aunt. It worked, although even with the smile Claire was pale with nerves. Still, Gabby thought proudly, a lovelier picture than Claire presented could scarcely have been imagined. In a simple dress of primrose muslin, caught up under the bosom by gold ribbons and set off by the most charming little chip-straw bonnet, she was a picture to gladden anyone's heart.

Except, perhaps, that of the imposing lady who, setting aside her embroidery, rose to her feet upon their entrance to her drawing room and commenced to look them both over with a highly critical eye.

"Well," she said in a gruff baritone so remarkably like their late father's that even Gabby gave a little start. "I suppose I must count myself honored that you chose to let me know that you had come to town."

19

One look at Claire's widened eyes brought Gabby's chin up. However this visit turned out, she refused to allow herself and her sister to be bullied. They'd had enough of that from their father to last several lifetimes.

"Good afternoon, Aunt," Gabby said coolly, holding out her hand. Dressed in deep orange sarsenet with a white lace bonnet perched upon her head, she was conscious of looking very well herself, although not, of course, anything to rival Claire.

Augusta Salcombe's smallish blue eyes narrowed on her nieces. Even in her youth she could never have been a beauty, and now, at what Gabby estimated must be something more than sixty, she was the kind of woman for whom the phrase
battle-ax
had been coined. Nearly six feet tall and mannish in build, she had an angular, large-nosed face topped by a coronet of silver braids. As if to emphasize their color, she was dressed in the palest gray lustring in a style several seasons old.

"Well, I'm glad to see that at least
you're
no milk-and-water miss. You've the sense to dress your age, too, which many females who are at their last prayers do not." She shook Gabby's hand as she uttered this backhanded compliment, then turned her gimlet gaze upon Claire. Poor Claire almost visibly quaked, and instinctively dropped a small curtsy. Lady Salcombe harrumphed. "You have the look of your mother, girl. A beauty, she was, but a complete pea goose. Which goes without saying, I suppose. She wed Wickham, didn't she?" She gave a short barking laugh. "It's to be hoped that you're not as silly as she was." Her gaze moved back to Gabby. "You, too, have a look of your mother, but if Sophia ever had a spine
I
never saw any evidence of it. I've a notion you do, however. Well, sit down, sit down, the pair of you."

They sat, and refreshments were brought in. When they were sipping tea from tiny porcelain cups, Lady Salcombe looked at Gabby.

"I've heard Wickham shot himself, or some such tomfool thing. What's the truth of it?"

Gabby told her the version that had been given out for popular consumption, and Lady Salcombe clucked disapprovingly.

"What a mutton-headed thing to have done. It's to be hoped he's got more in his cockloft than that, in the general way of things. He's the head of our house now, after all, and if he's such a gudgeon as that makes him sound he's likely to be an embarrassment to us all. Well. He's a handsome scamp, from all I've heard, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he
is
a scamp: He's been in town for more than a fortnight, and hasn't had the common courtesy to pay a call upon his aunt. What have you to say to that, eh?" Her gaze fixed accusingly on Gabby.

"Why, that I should hate to be held responsible for my brother's sins, ma'am," Gabby responded tranquilly, taking a sip of her tea. Lady Salcombe laughed.

"I like you, Gabriella, and I'm surprised at that. Your father— well, that's neither here nor there now that he's gone, but you must know that we never did get on. Well, I didn't even go to his funeral. You should have read the letter he wrote me when I offered to bring you out. Such stuff. Well." Lady Salcombe shook her head, then frowned. Her gaze ran over Gabby from head to toe. "He said you were crippled?"

"Gabby is not," Claire spoke up with a touch of indignation. Knowing how intimidated she was— Claire had never been the least hand at standing up to bullies— Gabby smiled faintly at her sister, then directed her gaze back to their aunt.

"I have a limp, ma'am."

"I didn't notice it."

"It is only noticeable when she is tired, or— or sick, or must walk long distances. She is certainly not crippled." Claire's cheeks had pinkened becomingly in her sister's defense.

Lady Salcombe looked hard at Claire. "So you do have a tongue. I was beginning to wonder. Isn't there another one of you? I thought Matthew had three daughters."

"Beth is with her governess today. She is fifteen."

"Hmph. I should like to see her."

"We would be happy to have you visit us in Grosvenor Square," Gabby said smoothly.

"I may just do that. Salcombe's dead these ten years, you know, and I've no children. Besides the two of you, and your sister and brother, my closest relatives are Thomas and his girls.
Not
relations with whom I care to spend a great deal of time, as you may imagine if you are acquainted with them. I have it in mind to get to know the four of you better."

"We would be honored, ma'am." Gabby smiled at her aunt.

Lady Salcombe set her cup down, and gave Gabby a shrewd look. "Well, I don't believe in beating about the bush and never have, so you may as well tell me plainly: Have you come to town hoping to make a splash?"

Gabby put down her own cup. "Yes, ma'am, we have."

Lady Salcombe looked a visibly uncomfortable Claire over from head to toe, then glanced back at Gabby. "Well, she'll puff off easy enough, and may look as high as she chooses, too, unless I very much miss my guess. 'Twill be harder to find a husband for you, but I don't despair of it by any means. A widower with children, perhaps. You
do
like children?"

Claire's eyes widened, and she made a choked sound that Gabby at least recognized for a hastily stifled laugh. When Lady Salcombe glanced at her with a gathering frown, however, Claire turned the sound, with great presence of mind, into a cough.

"Yes, ma'am," Gabby responded, successfully diverting Lady Salcombe from Claire's small lapse. "I do like children, but in any case I don't seek a husband for myself. We are here in London to establish Claire."

"Hmmph. All females seek husbands, my dear. It is the way of our sex. But that is neither here nor there. I presume you've come to me to ask my help in launching you and your sister into the
ton?"

Gabby had meant to broach the subject tactfully. But Lady Salcombe, who was far from anything she had expected, seemed to have no use for tact. The only possible defense, Gabby thought, was to be as direct as she was herself.

"Yes, ma'am."

Lady Salcombe actually smiled. The effect was rather like watching the sun rise over a particularly bleak landscape, bestowing on it a warmth it was never meant to possess. Out of the corner of her eye Gabby caught Claire openly staring at their aunt with a kind of bemused wonder. Claire must have felt Gabby's look, because she recovered herself almost instantly and glanced away.

"You've a great deal of sense," Lady Salcombe said approvingly to Gabby, who, unlike Claire, managed to preserve a serene expression. "I like that in a girl. I detest today's mealymouthed misses, let me tell you." This was accompanied by a darkling glance at Claire. "Well, I'll do it. I'll sponsor you both into the
ton, on
the condition that you let yourselves be guided by me. Sally Jersey shall provide you with vouchers for Almack's— she said she was going to call on you, by the by; I'm glad you had the sense to come see me before she did so, for now you may tell her that you're under my aegis— and Wickham shall give you a come-out ball. 'Twill require a great deal of work on my part— see to it that you're properly grateful, young misses— but I feel I owe it to the name. Plus I expect to be wonderfully diverted by it all." A sly twinkle crept into her eyes. "Maud is bringing out her youngest this year: Desdemona, or some such idiotic name, don't you know. Won't she be green when she sees this one?" She nodded at Claire, and suddenly looked almost cheerful. Claire blushed at the obvious implication.

Gabby smiled at Lady Salcombe. "Thank you, ma'am. We accept your offer most gratefully, do we not, Claire? You are too kind. But as to Wickham's giving us a ball…"

"I told you you were to be guided by me." Lady Salcombe sent Gabby a martial look. "If I say there is to be a ball, then there will be one. Everything bang-up, or I won't do it at all. I shall talk to Wickham myself."

An irresistible picture of Lady Salcombe browbeating her supposed nephew into providing a ball for his unwanted "sisters" made Gabby smile. She was still smiling as she got to her feet, the allotted time for a call being well past, and all she had hoped to accomplish being done.