Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (28 page)

CHAPTER 35

“Lord Anglethorpe.” Agatha regretted the insouciant kick out of her skirts as she took the last step on the stair. Whilst she had been trying to make a point, she had revealed too much ankle. In the dark hallway, her peach skirt gave the impression of being even more brown than it had done in the dingy bedroom.

Henry smiled. “How lovely to see you again, so soon.”

Agatha wondered if Henry was mocking her; his granite-like face was even more inscrutable than usual.

“I think most of our guests have arrived, so if you would like to follow me, we are serving champagne in the drawing room before supper.”

This time Agatha took the proffered arm, gritting her teeth. He hadn’t even complimented her on her dress, as custom dictated. Even though she had sneaking suspicion she looked like a mushroom. Glancing sideways, she caught Bill’s barely concealed grin. Lord Stanton stared at the ground, biting his lips.

Henry led them through the house as muffled sounds of merriment grew louder. Victoria slipped through the drawing room door, her cheeks pink at the edges.

“Really, Henry! I know I invited that woman but truly, I still don’t see what you saw in her!” Her voice trailed away as she stared at Agatha and smiled, her mouth not quite turning up at the edges. They all knew who Victoria was referring to. Indeed, part of the plan was to make her behavior worse.

“So. Does everyone know what they have to do?” The harried look on Victoria’s face faded away to be replaced with steely determination. “Agatha. A word.”

Agatha watched as Henry’s large form slipped through the door to the drawing room, where the noise dipped slightly and then continued again at normal volume.

Victoria patted her arm. “Agatha. Things are going to get bad before they get any better.”

“I know, Victoria. I know.”

“And I know that you have been through worse before.”

“Yes, Victoria.”

“In that case, remember to keep your chin high, and to act like you don’t care.”

Agatha pushed her chin up. Five years she had spent acting as if she didn’t care, didn’t care about herself, pretending to be someone else. It should have been ingrained in her by now. But recently she hadn’t been able to stop herself; little acts here and there that had broken free from her carefully constructed exterior.

Hands shaking, she pushed open the drawing room door. The drop in sound this time went on for much longer. But one voice continued to speak shrilly into the silence.

“And did you know, someone told me that she stood in for the Grande Salvatore and actually threw knives at a woman in Vauxhall Gardens! If that isn’t a measure of ill character, I…” The voice was as loud as a bell and clear into the hush.

It was not hard to see that it was Celine talking. Quickly, Agatha affected a hurt stance, opening her mouth and widening her eyes in shock. Although they had concocted a series of tales and rumors of which this was one, it was still hurtful to hear in the cold light of the evening. There was no point in being ashamed; most of this one
was
true. Even if it had only been one knife.
Somewhat scandalous
? That was it.

Henry, who had been lounging by the wood paneled door talking to Edward, straightened and strode to her side. He slid a hand around her waist and with the other, lightly caressed her cheek.

And then he kissed her in front of all the guests, his smooth lips moving firmly against hers, persuasive, questing… commanding.

Ah yes
. Another part of the planned charade. It did not stop Agatha’s cheeks flaming. Henry looked down at her with an amused expression on his face. Agatha blinked and her breathing slowed as the amusement leached from his face and he lowered his head once more.

And then she remembered the guest that she had just heard speaking. He had feigned it for Celine. Why could he not feign it for her?

Lowering her eyes, she broke away from him, greeting guests that she knew, friends of Victoria’s. Chatter broke out again amongst the groups of guests arranged around the room, louder this time and more excitedly.

“So you’ve hooked yourself another gullible lord, have you,
dear Aggie.
” Charles Fashington stood slumped by the fireplace, alone. He swayed slightly, one hand steadying himself against the mantel. A fire roared in the grate but he seemed impervious to the heat.

Agatha tucked a rogue ringlet behind one ear. Taking a deep breath, she tipped her head to one side and smiled.

“Why yes, Charles! And did not you know, he works for the War Office just like you!”

“We aren’t meant to mention that,” Charles said shortly.

Aggie affected a giggle. “Why silly you. Of course you aren’t,” she continued in a whisper, “but everyone knows.” She giggled again. “Did you know he’s been looking for
Monsieur Herr
?”

“No.” Charles’ pallor whitened imperceptibly and his fingers clenched even tighter against the mantel.

“He thinks he’s found
her.
And she’s terribly high up in society, don’t you know.” Agatha was tempted to try another giggle. “I mean, just think, they thought it was me for a while.”

“They did? But they don’t anymore?” Charles’ voice was hoarse.

“Oh no. I mean. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Almost as ridiculous as me applying to the Royal Society of Sciences.”

“Err yes… of course.” Charles looked over her shoulder and sneered. “Anglethorpe would have supported you, though. He always did think you walked on water. You know what he said to me when he forced me into an engagement with you? You were too good for me and to never let you stop experimenting. Hah! If only it had been the type of experimenting I liked.” He swallowed. “Would you excuse me?” Charles pushed himself off the mantel and, brushing past Agatha, snagged a new glass of champagne from the waiting footman. Without pausing, he made straight for the drawing room door.

Agatha stared after him. Henry had said
what
?

“I’d say job well done,” Victoria whispered in her ear. “Oh dear.” Her gleeful demeanor dropped quickly. A new arrival stood at the door. Earl Harding filled the doorway. “Oh, that odious man. Why ever did I invite him?”

“My darling.”

Agatha jumped. “You don’t have to continue calling me your darling, Lord Anglethorpe.”
Henry had said she was too good for Charles.

“Oh, but I do. Come and meet a friend of mine. Celine.”

Ah, a dose of reality. Agatha batted away Henry’s hand and followed him as he sauntered over to where Celine stood, surrounded by women and some men who were hanging on to her every word.

“Lovers’ tiff already, Henry?” Celine drawled. Her dress left little to the imagination, dipping low at the front and hanging off her shoulders in the sultry imitation of a bath robe. “We never argued when we were together.” Celine gave Henry a coquettish look.

“You were too busy hanging out for diamonds and becoming the next Lady Anglethorpe, Celine. Whereas this,” Henry drew Agatha closer, “is true love.”

Agatha stifled a gasp. Henry was really pushing the boundaries of what they said they would do. They had had a two pronged approach. First through Charles—one of the spies’ notes had been lost in his clothing; he had to be connected somehow, and then through Celine. They had to pretend they were in love so that Celine, a notorious gossip, would spread the fact far and wide in the hope that would reach
Monsieur Herr’s
ears. And then hopefully, Monsieur Herr would worry that nobody believed that Agatha was
Monsieur Herr.
After all, why would Henry, the consummate spymaster, continue to pursue a relationship with the woman that he assumed to be the spy?

Agatha pasted a smile on her face and drew a deep breath. “Darling Henry has told me all about you.” Henry’s hand tightened sharply on her waist and Celine frowned. “Why, did not you used to live at a certain address in Piccadilly where…”

“Ah, Earl Harding has just caught my eye. We really must go. Ladies, gentlemen, Celine…” With a nod, Henry swung Agatha away from the crowd and pushed her in the direction of Earl Harding. “What did you think you were doing?” he murmured.

“What did you think you were doing? True love!”

“We had to convince her somehow. Your little display did nothing for our cause.”

“It wasn’t a little display.”

“It was.”

“Stop bickering, you two!” As Victoria spoke, Earl Harding regarded them with interest.

“You know, I really think…”

“Isn’t it a wonderful gathering?” Victoria broke into Earl Harding’s musing.

“But Victoria…”

“This is not the time, Hades. Anyway. You were telling me what you had done with my dog, Arturo.”

Agatha’s mouth dropped open. Lord Harding’s name was Hades? God of the underworld? Hades Harding! The earl gave her a stony glare as Henry drew her away.

“What is it between those two?”

“I’ll tell you another time. Suffice it to say, they have a long history. And it has never ended well.”

Agatha shuddered. Was he still speaking about Victoria and Earl Harding or about themselves?

“I think we have done enough here. It is time to go through to supper.” Henry clapped his hands. The footmen opened the door to the drawing room. Delicious smells wafted through from the dining room directly opposite. “Harding, if you could escort my sister, please?”

Charles was already in the dining room, drinking steadily from a wine glass. He did not look up when the others entered. Each place was marked with a name. Agatha’s heart fell as she read the card. To her left was Earl Harding, to her right Henry, directly opposite Charles and either side of him Celine and Miss Guthrie.

Henry drew out her chair for her and she nodded as she sat. The smile he gave her was soft, but she ignored him. Gathering her full skirts in her hands, she gently seated herself in the chair.

Their section of the table was quiet to begin with, as they concentrated on the soup course that arrived immediately. No one made eye contact. Around them the other guests chatted excitedly. Victoria shot concerned looks down the length of the table and muttered urgently in Bill’s ear. Anthony sat on her other side, his usual cheerfulness gone, silently watching the table.

“So. Where’s Lord Lassiter?” Celine was the first to start the conversation.

“He fell from his horse,” Henry said shortly.

“He never falls from a horse,” Charles slurred. “He’s known as one of the best riders in the Army.”

In an effort to turn the conversation Agatha, concentrated on Miss Guthrie who had been the quietest. “So have you set a date, Miss Guthrie?”

“We haven’t,” Charles answered for her. “We are still discussing settlements.”

Celine snorted, crashing her soup plate from the table in her mirth. “Settlements? What settlements? The only settlement in your marriage is what you’ll be receiving from Guthrie.”

“Ssh, Celine.” Edward tried in vain to intercede from further down the table as more guests turned to watch.

“Yes, shut up Celine, you little trollop.” Charles raised his face from the soup, his cheeks a bright red. The dinner guests gasped.

“I would remind you, Fashington, that you are at my dinner table and if you cannot control yourself, then you should leave.” Victoria stood and rang the bell for the footman.

Charles threw his napkin on the table. “No need. Lady Colchester. Miss Guthrie.” He nodded his head and stalked out in a wobbly line. Those sat round the table breathed a sigh of relief.

“I say,” breathed Celine.

“Enough, Celine.” Henry took a spoonful of soup. “Let us discuss something else. I hear that Darkangel is running at Newmarket tomorrow. What does anyone think of its odds?”

Shoulders slumping in relief, Agatha picked up her own spoon as discussion of the riders and runners at the races swirled around her.

The next day dawned bright and clear. In the morning room, Agatha slowly finished her breakfast. She had spent the night tossing and turning. Henry’s declaration to Celine had rocked her, “This is true love,” echoing in her ears. What had really disturbed her was the sense of longing that she consumed her. With a jolt of chagrin, she wished that it were true. She wanted him to love her. She wanted it to be true love, the man that had declared her too good for Charles.

Clouds swept across the blue sky, the grass bending gently in the breeze outside the breakfast room windows. All the other current residents of Berale House had been delivered a breakfast tray to their rooms.

The stable boy saddled a horse for her, a fairly docile grey mare with a kind temperament. Agatha guided her down the drive and out onto the rolling hills above the coastline. They started out first on the hedge-enclosed tracks around the quarries which led out slowly onto the scrub land. From there it was an easy climb up the field behind, already planted with the summer’s crops.

She wasn’t alone when she reached the top of the hill.

Miss Guthrie looked down at her, seated on a magnificent stallion that excitedly twitched its tail at the sight of the mare.

“Good morning, Miss Guthrie.”

“Oh! Please call me Margaret. I do hate the formality of Miss Guthrie.” She wheeled the stallion in a circle as it snorted at the mare.

“Margaret, it is, then. I’m Agatha. What a fantastic horse.”

“Isn’t it just.” Miss Guthrie pulled the reins lightly. “My father gave him to me. He bought him at Tattersalls. Lady Guthrie was aghast at how much he spent.”

“Gosh! How do you control him?” The stallion snorted again.

“He’s actually quite even-tempered. He will quieten down in a minute.” As she spoke, the stallion stopped prancing and swishing his tail and arched a nose out towards the mare.

“Isn’t it a magnificent view from here?”

Agatha nodded. It was indeed. As they looked south towards the coast, the sun rose to the left of them, glinting off waves in the water.

“Would you like to join me?” Miss Guthrie asked shyly. “I would love some company.”

Agatha thought of the morning’s entertainments of painting and croquet and decided that some quiet company would probably be just what she needed. “Yes, I would love to.”