Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (29 page)

“I’ll come too.” Unnoticed whilst they had been considering the view, Celine had trotted up to them. She was dressed in a riding habit that accentuated her curves; a little hat sat cockaded on her head.

“I don’t think that—”

“It’s fine, Agatha. I want to hear more about what Celine has to say.”

“Well I—”

“Oh, don’t be such a widgeon, Miss Beauregard. Buck up. You need to if you want to catch Lord Anglethorpe. I’ll meet you two at the bottom by the hollow.”

Agatha gritted her teeth as Celine cantered down the hill.

“She’s quite a character, isn’t she?” Miss Guthrie said innocently.

“Yes,” Agatha blurted out.

“I quite admire her actually. She has made the transition from a lady of the night to semi-respectable woman quite well.”

Agatha choked. Someone had definitely replaced Miss Guthrie in the night.

“My sources tell me that she is actually quite a clever woman. If only she was my stepmother instead of that odious woman.”

Agatha stared down the hill. Miss Guthrie did have a point. The first time Agatha met Celine, she had helped her escape Charles, putting her own self in danger. But ever since, every word she had uttered had contained rumors and hearsay. Agatha frowned, and yet none of it had been said in a spiteful voice. It was as if Celine was merely playing a role, going through the motions.

“I’m afraid I can’t hold him any longer. See you at the bottom.” Miss Guthrie kicked the stallion, which responded with a gigantic leap into an immediate canter. Agatha watched admiringly as she crouched low in the saddle, fitting her form to the horse. Giving a light tap to her own mare, she held tightly to the reins as the smaller horse picked its way slowly down the hill.

When she reached the hollow, both Celine and Miss Guthrie were laughing like old friends.

Miss Guthrie stopped suddenly, her hands twitching at the reins held lightly in her hand. “Celine, you said something last night at dinner about my marriage settlement.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I want to hear more.”

“I’m not sure I should—”

“It’s not your marriage and you are not the one who is being pushed into it!” Miss Guthrie shut her mouth like a trap and slumped.

Agatha cursed as her mare chose that instant to circle away. Pulling hard on the reins, she guided the horse back to the others.

“Interesting. Exactly who is pushing you?” Celine cocked her head on one side.

“My stepmother. Lady Guthrie.” Miss Guthrie spat out, stilling her twitching hands. “She has convinced my father that this is a worthy match.”

“You must have liked him at first,” Agatha ventured. After all, she had too.

“I did. Before he started drinking. He was charming.”

Agatha nodded. Yes. Charles had been a very charming man.

Miss Guthrie stroked the head of the stallion. “I was so pleased that I had found someone that I liked and whom both my father and stepmother welcomed.”

“Oh, I just bet Lady Guthrie welcomed him,” Celine said. “The affair between her and Fashington when old Foxtone was alive used to be the worst kept secret in the ton.”

Agatha gasped.

“My fiancé had an affair with my stepmother whilst she was married to Lord Foxtone?” Miss Guthrie pulled on her horse’s reins as he sidestepped in disquiet.

“How… how do you know?” Agatha asked.

Celine stared at them. “A woman of my means,” she started delicately, “hears many things. Especially when she caters to those who have specific needs.”

“Specific needs?”

Celine whacked her riding crop against her glove-clad fingers, causing them both to jump. “Let us just say, this crop doesn’t work only on horses.” She looked intently at Agatha. “I tried to tell you that time in the park.”

“But Charles…”

“Oh, particularly Charles. How else do you think I knew that he had no money left?”

“
What?”
Miss Guthrie gasped.

“Surely your father told you? Charles is penniless. He has spent all his money from the estates on gambling, women and wine. We found out when he couldn’t pay his bill.”

“
His bill!
”

“All the girls were enormously disappointed. He was a bit of a favorite really. Very charming and chatty, even if we did have to enjoy the occasional horseplay.” Celine coughed into her hand.  “I like you,” she said abruptly to Miss Guthrie. “I even think I like you, Miss Beauregard, despite your interest in Henry. But Miss Guthrie, I think you should know. I think your fiancé is still having an affair with your stepmother.”

In the silence that followed, the breeze grew stronger and the trees in the hollow swayed, creaking through their moss-covered trunks. A fox barked in the distance, and even the rabbits that had scattered at their approach stopped munching on the fertile grass.

“I think,” began Miss Guthrie, “I think, you can call me Margaret, Celine.”

Celine sat bolt upright on her horse and with a sigh, visibly lost the tension in her figure.

“To be honest, I am not that surprised. The relationship between my stepmother and Charles has constantly been too close for my liking. I was just so grateful that that,
bitch
had stopped mentioning marriage.” Miss Guthrie lightly tapped her horse setting him in motion. “I want to ride.”

She led the way through the hollow and out the other side to a path that bordered a small stream. Agatha pulled the small mare into a trot beside her.

“What are you going to do now?” Agatha asked lightly, jolting in the mare’s saddle. Celine’s revelations had put the whole Charles affair into context for her. If Lady Foxtone had been having an affair with Charles Fashington all those years ago, then no wonder she had been so irate when she had discovered Charles and Agatha in a compromising position.

Miss Guthrie bowed her head. “I’m not sure. Breaking off the marriage will look bad.”

“Yes, I know. I was engaged to him too.”

“Hmm, yes. I’ve only recently found that out. I wanted to ask you why you broke your engagement.”

“I never wanted to marry him. He tried to kiss me and we were caught in what looked a compromising position.”

Celine snorted behind them. “That sounds like the Charles of old.”

“It seems as if I can’t really stay engaged to him.” Miss Guthrie seemed as though a weight had fallen from her shoulders. “Now I just need to find a way to tell Father without the stepmother finding out. He tells her
everything
.”

CHAPTER 36

Henry studied his reflection in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. Streaks of hair around his ears were turning grey, and his formerly unlined forehead was gathering creases. It was that damn woman who was doing this to him. He did not like not knowing where she was or what she was doing.

He had felt the laughing gaze of Lord Stanton on his back too many times the previous evening at dinner.

He shrugged on his frockcoat and deftly tied his cravat in a Windsor knot. He had no need of his valet, who was stood watchful in the corner of the room.

“Will I do?”

“She will like it, my lord.”

He sighed. Even his bloody valet was matchmaking. It seemed as if all his staff wanted desperately to believe in this charade. The valet remained silent, folding up the clothes that Henry had shed after taking a bath to clean himself from his ride.

“Out with it!”

“Janey told me that Miss Beauregard sleeps badly.”

“Janey?”

“Her ladies maid, sir. From the village. Very nice she is too.”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open this evening, Ames. Last night we shook the trees and tonight we must see if anything falls out.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Henry stepped lightly down the stairs. The main staircase wound down to the black and white flagged hall that led from the front of the house to the back. As he descended the last flight, the loud clinking of salvers and glasses reached him from below stairs, as did the creak as guests walked backwards and forth above. He had an hour before the first guests arrived from both the house party and around the district.

In fact, what was he to do with himself in the intervening hour? The staff had everything organized. He was only needed to form a receiving line at the start of the evening, and from then on his sister had decreed that everything would work like clockwork. He retreated to his study.

The room was just the same as he had left it on the previous evening. He fell into the leather chair that sat on castors behind his desk. Idly he swung his legs to and fro. Then, with decision, he pulled out a drawer and lifted a small box onto the desk. The birds and lilies embroidered on the top seemed to move for an instant and then freeze again into their perpetual dance and song.

He opened the box and sat for a while, inhaling the faint perfume. Patting his breast pocket, he withdrew the dainty metal band and placed in into the small indentation next to the large gold ring. He closed the box with a snap and carefully placed it back in the desk drawer. Rising, he left the study to face the guests. 

The reception line was interminably long. The noise in the ball room reached a crescendo as the number of people gathering increased. Guest upon guest sat in the chairs around the outside of the room, or stood chatting in small groups. They each held a glass of champagne in their hand, helping with the merriment and laughter.

He had already greeted Bill, Lord Stanton, Harry, and a fragile-looking Freddie who had shaken him rather gingerly by the hand, not quite regarding him in the eye.

Even Fashington looked less drunk this evening and more in control of himself, his face open and engaging.

Victoria turned from greeting the last guest and elbowed him in the ribs. “Look at her!”

Henry’s heart leapt, but fell like a stone. In the queue of people to enter the ballroom, Miss Guthrie stood tall, and graceful. Her dress was a stunning sky blue which shimmered as she walked. She held her head high, and laughed, as clear as a bell, as her companion made a remark.

Miss Guthrie did not look at Fashington once, even though he stood nearby trying to attract her attention.

“What’s going on this evening?” Victoria elbowed him in the side again. “First Miss Guthrie and now…”

Henry looked again to the front door and took a deep breath. It was like the first time he had seen the Grand Salvatore. Agatha stood on the top step, glinting and flaming as the candles cast their light on the gold of her dress. She was like the sun emerging from the night. As she entered through the front door, a broad smile crossed her face. The soft light of the hall caressed her creamy shoulders, and set off the red-gold tints in her hair.

“Close your mouth, Henry!” Victoria gave him one last dig in the ribs and then swept over to greet her friend.

He could not stop staring. This was not the same Agatha he knew, and he thought that he had met them all, the reckless scientist, the endearing academic, the infuriatingly loyal friend to his sister. This was a woman who was in touch with her sensuality, and knew how to use it. This was a woman that was going to have all the men at the dance lusting after her.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving forward and pulling Agatha straight back out of the door through which she had come.

“Henry—you can’t…”

He closed the front door in Victoria’s face.

He dropped his hands to his side and clenched them in to tight fists. “What are you wearing?”

“Don’t you like it?” Agatha shrugged her shoulders.

“Of course I like it. The problem is, so will everyone else too.”

“And why does that matter?”

“Because, because…” Henry stuttered. Agatha shot a disdainful look at him and pulled the door back open again to where Victoria still stood.

“What a delightful gathering, Victoria,” Agatha said cheerfully, sweeping in through the front door. She shut it quietly on him as he looked after her.

“I’d stick to her like glue, sir.”

Henry jumped and then shook himself. His valet lounged quietly in the shadows.

“What are you doing there? You are meant to be finding out what is going on in the ballroom.”

“Best place to hear the gossip, my lord. As the guests have been queuing they’ve been discussing all sorts of interesting things that they won’t talk of inside.”

Henry looked back at the door. “Go on.”

“Lots of guests from the local area are suspicious of you finally opening your house for a ball. You’ve owned it for more than five years, and never done something similar.”

“And?”

“And they think that you are doing it because you are near to getting married. They are all craning their heads wondering who the lucky lady is.”

“Hmm.”

“Then there is the group of people who wonder what you actually do when you are down here, given that you don’t seem to go out very much.”

“Sounds normal.”

“And then the ladies are wondering if they are going to have a chance to entrap you.”

“What?”

“Oh yes. Fairly unscrupulous bunch. Watch out for the gaggle of local ladies in awful dresses.”

Henry flicked a glare at his valet. “So in reality you haven’t found out much at all, have you?”

“I was going to come on to that. It wasn’t one of the guests going in, but one of the guests coming out that caught my attention. That gentleman, Lord Fashington, stood for a while on the top step smoking. I thought it was a pretty odd place to do it, given that he could have gone for a walk in the grounds. He dropped his cigar the moment after the last coach arrived and slipped inside.”

“Who was in the last coach?”

Ames frowned. “I don’t know him very well. Count Ondaren, I think he’s called. Pretty non-descript chap.”

“Did he speak to anyone else?”

“No one at all. Most of the crowd avoided him.”

Henry was puzzled. Most of the guests had been smoking on the terrace during the weekend as asked to by Victoria. Certainly when a rush of guests were arriving, the normal thing would not be trying to go out through the same door that people were coming in by.

“Are you sure he did not speak to anyone?”