The Tutor (House of Lords) (9 page)

Then she kissed Cynthia’s cheek and was gone. For a long time after she had departed, Cynthia sat on the sofa, one hand on her cheek, lost in thought.

“Are you going out tonight?” her father asked later as she picked at her supper. “Will you see the duke?”

Cynthia shook her head. “I am afraid I am indisposed, Papa,” she said, not lifting her eyes from the table. “I think I will stay home and rest.”

Her father wrinkled his nose. Illness had always been abhorrent to him, and women’s troubles especially so. He would never press her about such a thing, which was exactly what Cynthia was counting on. After supper she escaped up to her room and hid there for the rest of the evening.

Barney Goring was the first to ask. “Are you going to offer for the chit?” he drawled as Charles wandered into the salon at Lady Jack’s that evening.

Charles stared at him. Was this really how it would happen, with Barney Goring spreading idle gossip? “I can’t imagine what you mean,” he said, taking a seat near Jacqueline. She was watching him with interest, he noticed.

“Miss Endersby.” Barney was like a dog on a bone. “Have you been to see her exalted Papa yet?”

Charles shook his head, biting back the remark that sprung to his lips: that he had no intention of visiting the Endersby household any time in the near future.

“It’s all over town, Bain,” Lord Cartwright, a pompous Tory with dark, thinning hair and small, beady eyes put in. “They’re saying you and the girl have been meeting clandestinely at Danforth House.”

Charles leveled his best withering stare at Cartwright. “I could hardly have been meeting her
clandestinely
, Cartwright. I have two sisters and a houseful of staff buzzing around at all hours.”

Goring shrugged. “All the same, Bain, it’s being widely circulated.”

Jacqueline made an almost unnoticeable gesture, and from the shadows a servant appeared, leaning down to whisper something in her mistress’s ear—or appearing to whisper, at least. Charles had to admire Jacqueline’s carefully choreographed operation. “Ah, gentleman,” she said. “There are refreshments in the card room.”

“Come on,” Cartwright said. Barney rose lazily and followed him out. It was only when they were gone that Charles stood and went to sit closer to his half-sister.

“It’s true, Charles,” she said softly, smiling at him with false adoration. It was quite convincing. He leaned in closer. “Everyone is saying you’ve taken liberties with the girl, and even if you haven’t, it won’t be long before her reputation is thoroughly sullied.”

He put his head in his hands. “This has all gotten out of hand very quickly,” he said.

“Did you imagine it wouldn’t? You are not simply an heir any longer, Charles, and you know how visible your every action was when your father still lived. Now you are the Duke of Danforth. There are few men in the country who are your equal in either rank or wealth. Everything you do is noticed, every move you make painstakingly recorded. It was in at least three scandal sheets this morning, and I’m sure by tomorrow it will be even more widely known. She is ruined, Charles, and she has no recourse. What do you think her father will say when he hears such rumors?”

“Good Lord,” he muttered. “I shall have to do something. I wish to God Imogen had never suggested the girl.”

“Suggested her?” Jacqueline asked, raising one brow delicately in much the same manner Gillian had earlier in the day. Charles was struck for a moment by how similar the notorious courtesan was to his full sisters.

He told Jacqueline everything, starting with his initial decision to take up his father’s seat and ending with their encounter in the Farrington’s ballroom. He did not even leave out the real reason behind his argument with Leo. When he had finished she sat silently for a moment, one perfectly manicured nail tapping against her lips as she considered what he had said.

“That is certainly not the strangest tale I have ever heard,” she said at length, “but it is close. Oh, Charles, what a muddle. But there is only one important fact in the whole thing.”

“What is that?”

“She is a gently bred young lady. Her reputation will be tarnished because of you.”

“That sounds like two facts,” Charles said, grinning wryly.

She pursed her lips. “Two facts that lead to one inevitable conclusion: you must marry her.”

Charles swore.

“My thoughts exactly,” Jacqueline said, not batting an eyelash at his vulgarity. “I had hoped to see you marry for love, Charles. Your heart is too carefully protected to be easily touched, and it has been my fervent wish that you would find happiness in your marriage.”

“Who says we won’t be happy?”

She shook her head sadly. “You will not, not without love. And from what you have told me of Miss Endersby, neither will she.” Charles sighed and rose. Jacqueline reached out her hand and took his. “You must not come here again after you have married her, Charles. You must put every effort into making this work. You cannot be visiting the house of a courtesan, not while you are trying to make a woman love you.”

“Jacqueline, I—”

She held up a hand to silence him. “No. Under no circumstances are you to return here. You have been good to me, and you have done your best. There is nothing more to say. Thank you, Charles, and goodbye.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he let go of her hand. “Goodbye,” he said. Then he went into the hall, waited for his coat and hat, and strode out into the cold night air.

NINE

January 12, 1834

In her dream, Cynthia was dancing with the duke again. The floor was empty save for the two of them, and she was wearing a thin, filmy nightdress. She could feel the heat of his fingers through the fine fabric. He was fully clothed in impeccable black, his hazel eyes bright with mirth. He was laughing at her as he spun her around the floor, and suddenly she could see a thousand nameless faces surrounding them, watching them. The faces began to laugh, too. Cynthia felt her face burning with shame. She looked up at the duke, feeling hot tears stinging her eyes even in her sleep. “Did you really think you could escape?” he demanded, and then his mouth dropped to hers in a punishing kiss.

The door to her room crashed open. Startled out of her sleep, Cynthia sat up, clutching the coverlet to her chest, blinking at the morning brightness filling the room.

Her father stood at the foot of her bed, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. His face was very red.

“Get up,” he snarled.

She stared at him. Was she still dreaming?

He rushed over to her and grabbed her arm, hauling her out of the bed. She gasped at the pain of his thick fingers pressing into her skin—he had never touched her before that she could recall. “You harlot!” her father screamed, shaking her so hard her teeth rattled. Then, as if even touching her was distasteful to him he released her, letting go her arm so forcefully that she fell to the floor. “You are a whore after all, just like your mother.” Still she said nothing. She was too frightened to speak. He towered over her, and she shrunk back against the bed. He threw the paper in her face. “I thought you understood what your purpose was,” he growled. “I did my best, girl, heaven knows I did. But you are just as weak as that hussy who birthed you.”

“I don’t understand,” she finally managed.

“Look at it,” he shrieked, one finger pointing to the paper that now lay in her lap. She picked it up. It was the scandal sheet, and there right at the top was her name, printed several times. She saw the words “scandalous”, “fallen”, and “clandestine” before he ripped the paper from her hands, crumpling it into a ball. “You are
ruined
,” he hissed, his face turning purple. “How can you possibly achieve the purpose for which you were so carefully raised when you are damaged goods?”

She shook her head, blinking back tears. She felt as though she were twelve years old again.
I am an enlightened human being,
she told herself, but it didn’t seem to help. “I—I—” she stammered, not sure what to say, what to do to make him stop.

“Who will marry you now, hussy that you are? The Duke of Danforth certainly won’t, after you’ve embarrassed him like this. All my hard work, all that effort for nothing. The great experiment has failed, and so have you.”

She could feel her lip trembling. “What must I do?” she asked.

“If you cannot convince this duke to make right what has happened, you will have to leave this house within the week. I want nothing more to do with you. I wish only never to be troubled again by the thought of you,” he said.

She nodded grimly. She knew he meant it.

“I will give you until Sunday,” he ground out between his teeth. “I am going up to Oxford in an hour for the Philosopher’s Symposium, and I will not return until Saturday. If you have nothing to report by the following morning, I will expect your bags to be packed, and you can starve in the streets for all I care.” He turned and marched towards the door. But just as his fingers found the knob he paused, not looking back at her. “You could have been a duchess. I never thought you would turn out to be such a disappointment,” he said.

Then he was gone.

Moments later Ellen was there, closing the door behind her. “Oh, Miss,” she whispered, and she fell to her knees on the floor beside her. Cynthia clutched at her nightgown to stop her fingers trembling. Ellen put out a hand, touching her shoulder gently. That was all it took for Cynthia to dissolve into uncontrollable sobs. Ellen put her arms around her, holding her tightly until she stopped shaking. “It will be all right, Miss,” Ellen said. “The duke is an honorable man. You can trust him to do the right thing.”

Cynthia wiped at her cheeks. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said.

Charles sat in his carriage outside the stately townhouse in Cavendish Square, reminding himself to take deep breaths. He had been sitting in this spot for at least fifteen minutes. He could not make himself get out of the carriage.

He had practiced what he would say to Mr. Endersby the whole way here, and he had been rehearsing it since the carriage stopped. There was simply no good way to say, “I have ruined your only child, and now I would like to take her away from you forever.”

All this over one dance.

This morning he had gone riding down Rotten Row with Beresford, and every man they passed had stopped his horse and stared. James Altington had ridden up and said, “You had better do the right thing, Danforth,” and then trotted away without another word. Beresford had stared after him and then let out that low whistle Charles so detested.

“You’re in trouble now, man,” he declared. “What are you planning to do?”

Charles sighed. “Marry the girl, of course.”

“No! You can’t mean it!” Beresford looked genuinely stunned. “She’s...well, she’s a nobody, Bain.”

“She is an intelligent, respectable young lady, and what’s more, she is beautiful and poised. She is eminently better suited to be a duchess than many of the empty-headed flirts out there.”

Beresford stared at him. “You really mean to do it. Well, better you than me, old chap. Best of luck to you.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. “I think I shall need it.”

Then they parted and Charles rode for home. When he arrived, it was to find Imogen and Gillian both waiting for him in the library.

“Charles, you idiot,” Gillian said when he came in, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Gilly,” Imogen hissed.

“No, it’s all right,” he said. “I have been an idiot. But I mean to remedy the situation, and I mean to do it today.”

“You are going to offer for her,” Imogen said.

He nodded.

“Oh, Charles!” Gillian cried. “I think that’s the most romantic thing I have ever heard!” And she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Over the top of her head he saw Imogen roll her eyes.

“It is not even remotely romantic,” Imogen insisted when Gillian had released him. “But it
is
honorable. I am proud of you, Charles. You are saving Miss Endersby from a fate I don’t think you would wish on any woman of your acquaintance.” She gave him a pointed look, and he knew she was thinking of Jacqueline. But there was a distinct difference between Jacqueline and Miss Cynthia Endersby: Charles’s half-sister had chosen to be ruined, had made the decision to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Among the other things Charles had learned after his father’s death was that John Bainbridge had arranged for his natural daughter to be placed with a respectable family in the country and introduced to society as a genteel young lady, but that Jacqueline had refused.

Miss Endersby did not have the luxury of making such a choice. It was either marry him or be forever cut off from polite society. And unfortunately Charles would not put it past her to make the wrong choice.

“When will you go to her?” Gillian asked.

“This afternoon, as soon as it is a decent hour for visiting,” he said. “I will go to the bishop for a special license immediately afterwards. Somehow I don’t think Miss Endersby would want a large church wedding.”

“I will write to mother and tell her what has happened.”

“No, Imogen. I think it would behoove us to wait until she has said yes,” Charles said.

Gillian laughed. “How could she say anything else?”

Imogen and Charles both said, “Easily.”

Now Charles was sitting in the street outside her house, willing himself to get up and do what must be done to save his family’s good name.

It took Cynthia a while to prepare herself to go downstairs, and then she waited in her room until her father had gone. Mallory came up to inform her of her father’s departure, his face carefully set but his voice betraying his concern.

“Really, Mallory,” Cynthia said, “it’s all right.”

“Yes, Miss, but—”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Cynthia said.

He nodded grimly. “Yes, Miss.”

Cynthia went down to the parlor, where she dug her embroidery bag out from a corner and sat down on the sofa. She stabbed idly at the cloth. She had always hated embroidery, but she had not been able to deny Miss Cartwright’s argument that it provided something to occupy one’s mind. “Idle hands make light work for the devil,” she had said.

Cynthia did not believe in the devil. She had always been curious about God, had always believed that there was a divine presence that had benevolent intentions toward the world. Her father had never attended any church other than the congregations at Oxford, and had never encouraged her to believe in anything beyond human nature. Because he had taught her that people would do as they were meant to, she could not feel particularly angry about what had happened. The duke should not have behaved the way he did, of course, but it was hardly his fault that people had reacted so violently, and Cynthia did not think she could reasonably punish him for it by forcing him into a marriage with a wife he would certainly come to detest sooner rather than later.

She sighed and set the frame down in her lap. There was no point in trying to still her mind with light work.

There was a knock at the door, and Mallory came in. “Viscount Sidney, Miss,” he said.

Cynthia blinked at him. It was barely noon. What was Lord Sidney doing here? There was only one way to find out. “Show him in, please,” she said, and she stood as Lord Sidney swept in past the butler.

“Miss Endersby.” He bowed. She curtseyed.

“Lord Sidney,” she said. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

He looked at her for a space of time before he spoke. “May I sit, Miss Endersby?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, and she was surprised when, rather than taking the seat across from her, he dropped onto the sofa beside her.

“Let me be frank, Miss Endersby.”

Oh, dear
, she thought.

“Your reputation has been...” he paused, looking uncomfortable.

“Ruined,” she supplied.

“Yes. And I feel that it was at least partially due to my negligence. I should have made Bain’s—the duke’s—indiscretions known sooner, and then he would never have been in a position to humiliate you in such a way.”

Cynthia considered for a moment before she spoke. “My Lord,” she said at last, “I hold you in no way responsible for what has happened. Only two people were involved in the incident, the Duke of Danforth and myself. And even if you had made his conduct—which I am still not convinced was so terrible—known sooner, I could not very well have refused to dance with a man of his stature over an idle rumor.”

“It is
not
an idle rumor,” Lord Sidney insisted.

“I beg your pardon,” Cynthia said.

“In any event,” he went on, “it seems to me that you have only one recourse. You must marry.”

She looked away. “The duke has not—that is—”

“I did not mean him, Miss Endersby. I meant me. I think you should marry me, in all haste.”

Cynthia gaped at him. Silence hung between them for a long time. Finally she said, “I don’t understand, My Lord. You are blameless in this situation. Why would you offer for me?”

Now it was his turn to look away uncomfortably. “Miss Endersby,” he said, “I have been asking around town about you. Eleanor—my sister—says that you are a lovely young woman, and I am inclined to agree with her. You are accomplished and intelligent. You would make any man an excellent partner. I must marry sooner or later, and I see no reason not to do so to protect a woman’s reputation, since I do not expect to do so for love.”

She stood. “I think you should leave now, My Lord, while you still can. I will not marry you. I would never marry you. I appreciate the honor of the proposal you have come very close to making me, but there is no possible way I could accept. You are not at fault for my present situation, and it would be wrong to force the consequences upon you.”

He stood as well. “You are certain?”

“Very.”

He frowned. “I am deeply sorry for your predicament, Miss Endersby, even more so because you seem to me to be an honorable, decent young lady. I wish...I hope that the duke may endeavor to deserve you.”

“I thank you, My Lord, but I have no reason to expect a proposal from him.”

Lord Sidney let out a sardonic laugh. “You may be surprised, Miss Endersby. I have every reason to be angry with him, but I cannot deny that Charles Bainbridge always does what is necessary to protect his family’s good name.”

Then he bid her good day and turned to leave. She followed him to the hall, and so she was there to see Mallory pull the door open, revealing the Duke of Danforth standing on the stoop, one hand raised to the knocker.

The girl could at least have had the decency to look happy to see him, Charles thought as he stood in the hall. Leo had departed with a curt nod, leaving him standing on the stoop with the butler and Miss Endersby staring at him. Finally she had thought to invite him aside, and now they were eying each other across the small space, the butler looking very uncomfortable between them.

“Would you like to come into the parlor?” she asked at last.

“That would be very pleasant,” he ground out. She gestured to a set of double doors and he followed her through them into a small but well-furnished room. An embroidery hoop lay on one of the matching sofas. “I did not know you embroidered,” he said idly.

She stared at him for what felt like an eternity. “I do,” she said evenly.

“I suppose there are many things I do not know about you.”

“I suppose so.”

“Dammit, Miss Endersby—”

“Under the circumstances, I think it would be best if we kept our voices down,” she said with a cautious glance at the door. He wondered where her father was.