How to Handle a Scandal (5 page)

“Why didn’t you say?” Will said.

“Why would I? It was just a brief encounter with an old friend.”

“Just an old friend…” Louie said with a teasing note in his voice that Tommy chose to ignore.

“She goes by Eliza now, as I think you know,” Will said.

Tommy shrugged. “Old habits. Why did she change it, anyway?”

“I think it was Gerard who started calling her that, and it stuck.”

“Well,” Louie said, “how did the big reunion go? Ruby will want all the details.”

Tommy shot him a disgusted look. “For the love of… I don’t see why it should be of interest to anyone else, but it seems I’ve forgotten about the Halifax fascination with family gossip. We ran into each other, talked briefly—nice to see you and all that—and parted. That’s it. No story.”

Louie lifted an eyebrow. “So everything’s forgotten and forgiven after all this time? You were—understandably—pretty angry when you left.”

“I was twenty-two, Louie. It would be ridiculous if any of that still mattered to me.”

Will nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave Tommy’s face. “She’s a very different person now, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded noncommittally. He very much doubted that his brother, Lizzie’s one-time guardian and fond uncle, could be unbiased in his judgment of her.

He spurred his horse to a trot, and his brother and cousin followed suit.

A bookseller’s shop she never frequented had seemed like the perfect meeting place to Eliza when she’d proposed it in her note to Thomasina’s cousin Nancy, but she hadn’t expected Little’s Books and Fine Papers to be so crowded so early in the day. There hadn’t really been much choice, though, since Nancy couldn’t have come to Truehart Manor without being noticed.

They had to squeeze themselves far to the back of the shelves of travel books in the rear of the store so they could converse unnoticed. As soon as she’d checked to see that no one else was around, Eliza slipped Nancy the generous tip she’d promised in her note written on behalf of a “shy, curious friend” who wanted to observe the beguiling ways of the ladies at Madame Persaud’s so she might better beguile her husband. (Eliza actually did wonder what men found so compelling about prostitutes.) She’d signed her name as Mrs. Williams.

“You really think my friend wouldn’t be noticed?” Eliza asked as they stood amid the volumes about Italian holidays. Nancy, who was pretty and looked to be about twenty-five, had a blunt way of talking, but at least she was dressed unobjectionably. Though Eliza’s note had urged discretion, saying she’d gotten Nancy’s name from a friend of a friend, she had worried that the woman might look like, well, a prostitute.

“There are always new girls coming through, and all the girls will be wearing masks,” Nancy said, “so your friend won’t stand out. That’s what makes Madame Persaud’s special—every night, the women all wear masks at the start of the evening. The clients like the mystery.”

“Do the men wear masks?”

Nancy shook her head. “And none of the gents can choose a lady to go upstairs with until the choosing time at ten o’clock, which sometimes leads to bidding wars.” She gave a husky chuckle. “Madame Persaud loves it when that happens.”

This was even better than Eliza could have hoped! It had occurred to her that in trying to pass herself off as a prostitute, she might attract the attention of a client, but it seemed that even if she did, all she had to do was leave the brothel before ten.

Though an insistent little voice demanded that she recognize this whole idea was beyond foolish and that sneaking into a brothel would be returning to her outrageous old ways, she silenced it with the knowledge that what she would be doing was for a very good cause.

Nancy told Eliza about the layout of the house, what Eliza’s “friend” should wear to blend in, and the location of the back entrance where she could enter the brothel unnoticed.

Nancy smiled. It was not a sweet smile, but Eliza supposed, considering the life Nancy must have led, that she had grown rather cynical. “Maybe your friend really just wants to see for herself what goes on. Maybe she thinks it’s exciting.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Eliza said, not sure why it mattered what Nancy thought. Perhaps, after she understood more, Eliza might find a way to help Nancy. Though the woman’s confident, tough manner didn’t suggest someone needing help.

Their business concluded, Nancy left the travel section. They could not depart together, which would defeat the purpose of meeting in this neutral environment, so Eliza meant to wait a few minutes and then be on her way to meet Meg at a coffee shop nearby.

Lingering among the travel books, she had just picked up
Travels through Venice
by Mr. Thomas Jones-Thomas when she heard the sound of a now-familiar voice.

“I’m sure it must be here somewhere,” Tommy’s disembodied voice said from the other side of the bookshelf next to which she was standing.

Damn.

She shrank back against the slim space of wall at the rear of the travel section, as if that would help should he appear at the end of her aisle.

A quivery woman’s voice said, “I know it must be around here somewhere. I put it down when I was talking to Mr. Hannay earlier.”

Eliza knew this speaker as well—it was Mrs. Dombrell. A woman of about sixty, she was an impoverished spinster who spent a good portion of her day sitting on benches in the local parks and talking to birds. Not because she was insane, though she was certainly odd, but because she was kind and she liked birds.

She also loved to read and talk about books, which Eliza knew from having sat with her on more than one occasion, and Eliza had a soft spot for her. But many people regarded Mrs. Dombrell as a nuisance. She was known to scavenge near bakeshops, looking for crusts to feed her beloved birds, and she was not averse to talking to herself. And, with her cloud of loose white curls and her musty, threadbare frocks, she was a bit disreputable.

Mrs. Dombrell sighed. “I’m afraid”—she lowered her voice—“that the shop owner won’t be very happy with me. There was already that trouble about the bird that came in last time on my hair—really, I didn’t know it was there!—and made a bit of a mess on one of the books.”

“Never fear, dear Mrs. Dombrell,” Tommy said kindly. “We’ll find it.” How did he know her? He’d barely been in London two weeks, and Mrs. Dombrell was hardly the sort of person whose acquaintance one hastened to make.

“I do hope so,” she said. “Mr. Widdershin,” she said in a stage whisper, “said that I wouldn’t be able to come into the shop again if there were any more problems.”

There followed the sound of books being shifted, some muttering, the scuffling of feet. Intensely curious, Eliza carefully inched
Travels through Rome
halfway out of its place on the shelf and peered through the opening. She could just see the back of Tommy as he leaned close to the shelf opposite and probed among the books.

He was wearing buff trousers and a bright blue tailcoat that made her think of spice-scented marketplaces and exotic birds. She supposed he must have had it made in India. His broad shoulders filled out the coat in a way that made her want to stare. Still poking about among the books, he lifted his arms and reached the highest shelf.

“You surely wouldn’t have put it here, Mrs. Dombrell—or would you have?” he asked playfully, and the older lady giggled. He was flirting with her! With musty, odd, sweet Mrs. Dombrell, who surely hadn’t had kind attention from a handsome gentleman in who knew how long.

Something squeezed in the region of Eliza’s heart as she remembered how genuinely charming he’d always been toward females who were ignored for reasons such as age, lack of beauty, or general awkwardness. It had been one of his most endearing qualities, this innate kindness, and she was glad that life hadn’t burned it out of him.

“Oh, Sir Tommy,” Mrs. Dombrell said delightedly, “how you jest. I could never reach that high without long arms like yours.”

The arms in question were certainly appealing. The tropical blue fabric of his coat strained against them, defining firm curves here and there. Being able to watch him unobserved was quite nice, because although he’d been perfectly—maddeningly—polite the day before, his manner had been reserved and hidden, not open and warm as he was being with Mrs. Dombrell. Eliza had to suppose that was because he hadn’t been happy to see her.

The realization stung, because clearly, from his behavior toward Mrs. Dombrell and the adulation that seemingly every other female in London was heaping on him, he was still capable of being one of the most charming fellows in the world if one were in his good graces. Which she clearly was not.

She reminded herself that she was no longer interested in either charming or being charmed by men and told herself to stop looking at his arms.

He turned to the side to reach for a shelf that was perpendicular to the one in front of him, and Eliza drew back a bit from the book slot to avoid being seen. But if she tilted her head, she could still see him through the space just above the tops of the books on the shelf. His expression bore a look of affectionate amusement with Mrs. Dombrell.

He’d always been so fun and lighthearted—it was one of the things Eliza had loved best about him. And dear God but he was handsome, even more so than he’d been years before. The taut planes and curves of his face under his bronzed skin seemed fascinating, suggesting experiences about which she knew herself to be curious.

Longing pierced her. What if, instead of laughing at him years ago, she’d said yes to his proposal? Her life would have been entirely different. For one thing, there would be no Truehart Manor.

But even now, she didn’t see how they could have grown up together as well as they’d grown up apart. She’d needed to learn things that she might never have learned if she’d been married to him at the age of seventeen.

He plucked at something amid the books on the opposite shelf, a greasy-looking packet of the kind that contained meat pies sold on the street. It looked disreputable, but Tommy presented it to Mrs. Dombrell with a flourish.

The older lady blushed and accepted the packet. “Thank you ever so much, Sir Tommy.”

“It was nothing, my dear Mrs. D. Only”—he glanced briefly behind him, toward the front of the shop—“I would put that away on your person somewhere until you leave the shop.”

Mrs. Dombrell promised faithfully to keep her greasy packet secret, going so far as to stuff it into the pocket at her waist, and after several rounds of effusive thanks, she departed.

Tommy, however, lingered among the shelves, pulling off books and appearing to read bits of them. It was remarkably pleasant watching him, though Eliza knew she ought to stop. Also, it was possible that someone she knew might pass by and address her, and Tommy would hear. Or, more likely at the rate he was plowing through books on sculpture and architecture, he might shortly move along to the aisle where she stood. She needed to leave.

Quietly she began making her way out of the aisle, intending to turn left at the end to avoid his direction.

Her efforts at discretion were ruined when her reticule brushed against a protruding book as she moved past it and the book fell to the floor with a thud. Tommy, who apparently had the reflexes of a cat, was on the scene in a heartbeat.

He did not look delighted when he saw who was standing in the aisle next to his.

“Lizzie?” he said in a voice that held none of the playful warmth he’d showed Mrs. Dombrell. “What are you doing here?”

She decided on misdirection as her best course. “It’s Eliza now, actually. I haven’t gone by Lizzie for years. Are you shopping for something in particular?” It was a stupid question that made her sound as though she worked at the shop and was offering assistance, but with any luck it would distract him.

It didn’t, and his eyes narrowed. “Were you there the whole time I was with Mrs. Dombrell? Were you
spying
on me?”

She flushed. “What a thought!” she said, managing a laugh. “I’m simply passing the time before I meet a friend. But perhaps
you
are up to something nefarious that you wish to hide by attacking
me
.”

He just stared at her for several long moments, an effective method of intimidation that made her want to squirm.

“You must have been lingering in that aisle for some time—and very quietly, too—because I have perfectly good hearing, and the only person I’ve noticed around that aisle was a lady who emerged several minutes ago. Perhaps she was a friend of yours?”

Eliza willed herself not to flush again. The last thing she needed was to make Tommy interested in who Nancy was.

“I don’t know who you mean. I was simply looking for books about Italy,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.” She stuck her nose in the air and took a step forward, but he grabbed hold of her arm and drew her close.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you? You might have my brother charmed into thinking you’ve changed into a virtuous woman, but I’m not so easily fooled.”

This was all wrong, the way things were between them. Maybe he’d known she wanted to apologize yesterday and he hadn’t wanted to hear it, but he deserved her apology—and she really needed to offer it.

Besides, at this rate, they wouldn’t even manage to be pleasant when Will and Anna eventually thrust them together, as now seemed inevitable. And, equally important considering what she was planning to do that night was that Tommy not be suspicious of her. She looked him in the eye.

“Tommy, I want you to know that I’m very sorry about what I did six years ago when you proposed.” She thought he flinched at the word
proposed
, but she made herself keep going. “I sent a letter to apologize, but I don’t know whether you ever received it.”

“I did, nine months later.”

She winced, but she’d known it would take a long time for a letter to reach India. Her letter had been stiff and formal, because she hadn’t known how else to express herself.

“A letter was inadequate as an apology, and far too easy for me. I hope you’ll accept my apology now for the way I behaved. I was young and, frankly, scared about the idea of marriage. You deserved so much better from me.”

* * *

Tommy never thought he would hear Lizzie speak to him as she just had. What might he have done if she’d written something like that to him years ago?

Probably nothing, he thought, because time and his own choices had moved him beyond dwelling on what had happened. But there had been those painful, dark first months in India.

He wanted to accept her words graciously. And yet, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t think people could change so much. Lizzie had been all about fun and flirting, and it wasn’t until he’d stepped out of her fascinating orbit that he’d seen she was someone who needed to be the center of attention.

Plus, he was certain she’d been loitering in the bookshop to watch him. He’d had the sensation that someone was watching him when he was talking with Mrs. Dombrell. But why should Lizzie be so interested in him? And why apologize now for what happened years ago?

He crossed his arms and propped a shoulder against the end of the bookshelf. “Did Anna put you up to this? I know she’s keen for everything to be as though we’re all one happy family.”

Lizzie shook her head. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Anna and Will. And I don’t have any secret motives. It’s just an apology, plain and simple, for having behaved badly years ago.”