One Taste of Scandal (8 page)

His erection was not subsiding at all and he found it hard to keep up his usual pace. “I had a thought, Miss Cross.”

She peered at him as they moved across the street. “Are you well? Your face is a bit pale.”

“Very fine, absolutely. My thought was that you should not walk to work unescorted if criminals are actively working on your route.”

“Surely that was an isolated occurrence.”

“We know it was not. First we were pushed into the doorway by the policeman escorting his prisoner, and then your reticule was taken.”

“My brother is too busy to take me. I cannot afford a cab and we have no available servants for escort.”

“I was volunteering myself, not the members of your overworked household, Miss Cross. I propose we meet by Eddy Jackson each morning.”

“But you do not need to be in as early as I do.”

“Why not? I am the manager.”

“It will not be pleasant in another month,” she worried.

“Then we shall share an umbrella.”

“I just mean you could afford to take a cab from your house. Or even hire your own carriage.”

“I am a soldier and like the outdoors and exercise,” he proclaimed. “I am tough.”

“You will eat those words, sir, when you are shivering under a London fog. You have never lived here. It’s all been sunny Sussex or broiling India.”

His eyes went to slits as he cast her a glance. The corners of her lips were uptilted. The chit was teasing him.

“I shall prove you wrong.” He took her arm and steered her away from a fresh pile of manure.

“Very well. I shall meet you at Nelson’s Column each morning.”

“And take a cab home, paid for by Redcake’s.”

“Now, Captain,” she said sharply, “I will not have you wasting your sister-in-law’s money that way.”

“Out of my personal income then. As you say, I can afford it.”

“No,” she said, lifting her chin. “At least, not unless I see more evidence of crime on these streets in broad daylight. You know I leave at one.”

“Very well. But the offer stands.” He stepped aside once again so she could enter the alley that led to the loading dock. They walked single file to avoid the carts.

Betsy waved from the other direction, meeting them at the employee door. “I was just thinking about you, Captain, and wondering how you were settling in.” She blinked.

Magdalene noticed how long and sooty her eyelashes were, considering her hair was chestnut brown. The girl had blackened them with something, but it had the effect of making her eyes large and mysterious. The captain smiled instantly and she growled to herself.

“It has been one of the most fascinating months of my life,” said he. “I hope Miss Cross has been a smart choice of employee?”

As Magdalene stared her down, the girl smiled sweetly. “She is learning, sir. A bit old to be starting, but I will get her there.”

Magdalene balled her hands into fists. Her cousin, Lady Bricker, would have pulled Betsy’s hair from her head for a smaller insult than this. But she would not behave like a hoyden.

“If you’d seen her artwork, you would understand why I chose her,” Captain Shield said. “I hope she will be decorating cakes very soon?”

He’d turned the statement into a question that sounded more like a command and Magdalene was delighted to see Betsy’s expression falter. Ha! He’d put the girl in her place.

“Of course, Captain, but she has no grasp of the basics. Alys always said to start at the beginning.”

“Her ladyship trusts my judgment,” he said. “After all, I am in charge.”

Magdalene put her hand to her mouth, hiding her grin as Betsy’s cheeks went red.

“I’ve always baked in the morning and decorated in the afternoon. Miss Cross only works in the morning.”

“Switch it around, Miss Popham. It gives the flavors time to develop overnight and the cakes will be cool and ready for frosting in the morning.” He nodded curtly and marched through the open door.

Magdalene was impressed by his exit and most effective end to the conversation.

“Well,” Betsy huffed. “What does he expect us to do this morning?”

“We can organize,” Magdalene said in her sweetest tone. “The cupboards are a bit cluttered, don’t you think?”

Betsy’s gaze could have been daggers slicing at her, so Magdalene nodded at the door. “After you, Miss Popham.”

The girl’s words came out staccato. “Thank you, Miss Cross. Thankfully Thursday is not so busy. I am sure the captain would not want us ruining our clients’ parties on his whim. Perhaps you should return home for the day. I don’t think I need you.”

Magdalene didn’t think whims came into the captain’s desires. He seemed much too forceful for mere whims. “Then I shall go to his office and see if he finds it acceptable for me to leave.”

“You report to me.” Betsy’s eyes were blazing now.

“He never told me so. I might report to Mr. Melville. I shall go and ask.” She smiled toothily and marched indoors, opening the door and starting up the stairs to the offices without looking back.

“Wait!” Betsy said. “I did think of one or two little things.”

Magdalene turned. “Then I shall wait to speak to the captain.” Little did the girl know she’d be seeing him every morning from now on—plenty of opportunity to head off any petty malice. Or flirtation. She couldn’t help noticing the flirtation, and didn’t like it one bit.

Had Magdalene claimed ownership of the man in the depth of her own heart? No, she could never have him. A man like him needed a rich wife, or he could never take a place in the fashionable world, as a second son who her brother said had no private income or inheritance from relatives. As he well knew, she would never be rich. All she had to offer was her position and family.

Clearly, the kiss had been a mistake. She closed her eyes, stumbling on the basement stairs as she relived the moment where the captain’s warm, overpowering lips had met hers. That kiss had sunk into her bones, fanning her depths into flame. Her heated Cross blood might make her fall yet, despite her resolve to be different.

 

On Friday afternoon, Judah received a summons to Hatbrook House for dinner. He frowned at the note, wondering who was in Town.

The last he’d heard from his family was the weekly letter from Beth, which had arrived Wednesday. So, instead of walking home, he called for a cab, then bathed and changed into evening dress while it waited outside for the drive to Belgravia.

The season was descending into fall, as the streets were dark much earlier than they had been a month ago. He watched as gas lamps passed by, hoping everything was well with Alys. Surely they’d have sent specific word if anything was wrong. He’d have to make it clear to Hatbrook that he desired not to be spared any family details in future. Heathfield was not far away. The ever expanding railroad continued to compress travel times to almost nothing.

The hansom cab drove to the large white stucco mansion that was the Marquess of Hatbrook’s London home. Judah could not remember ever spending a night in the house. His parents had frequently been in residence, but he’d been left at the Farm with servants.

He paid the driver and told him not to wait, then went up the front steps. A footman opened the front door.

“I have a letter of invitation,” Judah said.

“Captain Shield,” said the man smoothly. “I would recognize you as family anywhere.”

“I do look something like the marquess,” he said, stepping inside and taking off his hat. Hatbrook must have mentioned he preferred to be known by his military title.

“Your portrait is in the Grand Rose Salon,” said the footman. “Also a painting of you and the marquess as boys is in a place of honor in the ladies’ withdrawing room.”

He frowned. “I never sat for such a portrait.”

“I believe it is signed by Lady Elizabeth.”

Beth had painted him? “Must have been a schoolroom exercise.”

The footman inclined his head, then took his hat. “His lordship is in the library, Captain. If you would be so kind.”

Judah followed the footman across the diamond-paned white and tan marble floor, amazed by the perfection of the surroundings. The house didn’t look the least bit run down. He supposed Hatbrook had been quite honest about his success in restoring the family fortunes, even before he married into wealth.

Why was Hatbrook here? He wondered again about a family drama of some kind as the footman took him down a corridor illuminated by gaslit sconces. No money being spared on the gas bill here.

The footman knocked on a thick door and opened it a moment later, gesturing Judah inside. He stepped in, tugging at his collar. His evening suit was pre-army and much too tight now. He’d have to order something new when he was paid again.

Hatbrook turned, a book open in his hand. “Judah! You look nervous.”

Judah laughed. “Old clothes. My neck has grown.”

Hatbrook frowned. “I’d lend you something of mine, but you’re taller than me now.”

“And more muscular,” Judah pointed out.

His brother smirked. “That won’t last long, with you behind a desk. At least I can get out at the Farm sometimes. You should come down and muck out the stables on your days off. That will keep you fit.”

“I can hoist some flour sacks at Redcake’s. That will probably work.”

“No doubt. My wife has unusually shapely arms due to all her labors, not that she would thank me for saying so.”

“I can see from the gleam in your eye that you do not find this unattractive.”

Hatbrook set down his book. “This chat wasn’t why I invited you for dinner.”

“Are you here alone?”

“Yes, just a quick trip to meet with my man of business, and to give you these.” He went to the imposing desk in one corner and tapped his finger on a crate.

Judah peered in. Rose-colored notepaper in bundles, along with other letters, and a collection of blue notebooks. “You found Mother’s papers?”

Hatbrook nodded. “In the attics. Beth and I spent half a day looking. She couldn’t let it go.”

His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d come for a meal, but he pushed his hunger aside. “Did you read them?”

“No. I saved the honor for you. If there is some answer there, I wanted you to find it.”

Judah raised his eyebrows. “At least that way I won’t have to tell you if it’s bad.”

His brother chuckled. “If you tell me we’re related, at least that won’t pose a problem.”

“No, but would you feel the same about me if I was sired by a stable hand?”

“I’d be more concerned if you were sired by one of the Dickon-dells,” Hatbrook said, naming an extremely fertile local family in their circle. “But your looks do appear to come mostly from our mother. No one would think we weren’t full brothers, and I will never share your secret.”

“You do understand that I need to know the truth?”

“No, not really. To keep your position in Society, you can never have a relationship with that person, regardless of who it is.”

“I don’t want a position in Society.”

Hatbrook pulled a card from a drawer and tossed it at Judah. He caught it in the air and turned it over. “This is an invitation to a musical evening with a family named Courtnay next week. He’s from Liverpool, made his money in manufacturing. Daughter is nineteen, I think, so they are entertaining in the hopes of marrying her off.”

“You’re trying to find me an heiress?”

“Why not? But my primary purpose in handing you that is to point out Society is useful in your search. This party will include Mother’s circle.” He hesitated. “Not the highest, of course. She wasn’t well liked for reasons I never really understood until this year. But, among her lifelong acquaintances is where you are likely to find answers, if they are not in that box.”

Judah glanced at the card. “You make an excellent point. Not about the heiress, but about my search. Hopefully I will find the answer before next Friday, but I shall accept the invitation.”

“Good.” Hatbrook clapped him on the shoulder. “Shall we dine?”

J
udah spent the next morning in his small study, drinking innumerable cups of tea while he poured over his mother’s elegant handwriting. He had sorted the contents of the crate, putting the newest material at the bottom and tossing the material before 1860 onto the table at his elbow. His mother could have had a longstanding amour, but since he was born in late July of 1863, the beginning of the Season in 1860 might have answers for him.

He poured through an appointment book and a series of letters from various ladies, relatives long dead, Aunt Mary, even one drunken scrawl from the late marquess. Nothing appeared immediately relevant and he took a break to eat, attempting to stave off the headache blossoming behind his eyes.

Fending off tribesmen with sharp weapons was one thing, but spending hours reading about the banalities of card parties and ancient gossip tortured him.

After lunch and a medicinal shot of brandy, he took up the rose papers, which seemed to be first drafts of his mother’s letters. Her love of that color must have started early. As he read her drafts, he remembered how young she had been then, about twenty-two when he was born. Surely her youth could provide the answer and excuse for her mistakes.

He found no mention of men, just amusements, tidbits about her baby son, much discussion about redecorating Hatbrook House in London. Then, part of a letter dated at the end of October intrigued him.

The Prince of Wales? Judah read the letter again, then set it aside and flipped through the rest of the drafts. Finding nothing more, he searched her appointment book. She had indeed been at a countess’s house party at the end of October, 1860. Had he been conceived during an Oxford liaison?

It seemed unlikely. After all, his father had been present. But he’d always heard much tiptoeing was done at night at these parties, as the men and women sought companionship outside the marriage bed. His father would probably have sat at cards day and night, gambling away his inheritance. In this early year of their lives, they had still been young, glittering and wealthy, prize guests for almost any hostess. The Prince of Wales might have been enticed. His mother hadn’t been so much older than him.

Was it possible? He laughed at himself. That would make him Queen Victoria’s bastard grandson. Not bloody likely.

But still
. He read the letter again, and wondered. Particularly when he found another letter in the stack, to the same friend, one his mother called Sally.

This was dated a few days after the house party. Had she stayed in Oxford after her husband returned to London or Heathfield? A man might step out of the way if royalty wanted to woo his wife. Not that he would ever let that happen to himself. If he married he wouldn’t share.

He read late into the evening, ruining the household candle budget as the gaslighting in the study was poor, but he found no more obvious comments about the prince, though there were a couple of veiled references to men who might have been him. By early the next year, her letters were taken up with news of her pregnancy. He did notice the volume of correspondence had diminished by half, or at least only that much had survived. Was she already in disgrace?

As the last candle guttered, he leaned into the headrest of the armchair. At the very least, the idea of him having a father was obtainable. The Prince of Wales was alive. Now, if he could only find this friend of his mother’s, Sally. She would know the truth.

He rubbed at his chest, feeling a knot of pain dissolving. He’d had trouble swallowing for months, ever since that strange deathbed confession had arrived at his station in India. But he’d found the key to his identity now. He simply needed to find the lock.

 

Hatbrook had insisted Judah call on his tailor, saying he must be kitted out properly for parties. Of course, his brother wanted him married off, his own happiness being so acute. He also worried about his younger brother’s finances, but his manager salary covered the small house with no problem. It was meant to be the salary of a family man, albeit one who didn’t need a current evening suit.

The next Friday night, his man, Lawrence, finished brushing down his new shawl-collared coat. Judah picked a thread from his low-cut, white piqué waistcoat. Neither had been in style when he went to India. He also had a new silk top hat, button shoes, and pale yellow gloves. Hatbrook had been right that he couldn’t wear his old suit to fashionable functions. It was much too out of date, not to mention ill fitting.

“You look the proper gentleman, Captain,” Lawrence said.

Judah nodded his thanks as he placed the new hat on his head. “Has the carriage arrived?”

“Yes, sir.”

His destination was an upscale street in Mayfair, not too far from Hatbrook House. While he had no interest in Courtnay’s daughter, he wanted to fit in well enough to ask questions about his mother. His brother had been down to Heathfield and was back again. He hoped it wasn’t for the purpose of attending this party with him, but the carriage would take him to Hatbrook and they would arrive together.

“Tell me about Courtnay’s daughter,” Judah said to his brother, as the carriage rattled along the graveled streets.

“She’s not for you,” Hatbrook said.

Judah rested his elbow against the wall and put his hand to his chin. “Then why did you mention her at all last week?”

“She’s an eligible heiress, but her father insists on her residing in Liverpool after her marriage.” He pronounced the name of the city with great distaste.

“She agrees to that?”

“She is entirely under her father’s thumb. Last year, she was quite in love with an earl’s younger son, but the father said no because he had no money. Perfectly decent fellow.”

“Just someone like me. No property of his own.”

He held up a finger. “Not your drive. No army, no position. But he has found another bride; wedding coming up when the Season gets going again.”

Judah grinned. “At least he had a focus.”

Hatbrook’s hand closed into a fist. “Indeed. And what about you? To be blunt, where has all your army pay and estate allowance gone? I realize I could not afford to be generous when I first inherited, but I did send what I could. I never understood you to have a gambling habit like Father and you claimed to live simply. It wasn’t until you came to the house in that appalling old evening suit that I realized how poor you really were.”

“Invested,” Judah said bluntly, not offended, because he too remembered how their house and property had fallen apart as their father gambled everything away. “If the ship ever gets here, I will be in funds.”

“Ship?” Hatbrook’s gaze sharpened.

“Yes. I invested in a cargo of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. Watched them load myself. Funded by other gentlemen officers and Lord Burnham.”

“Ah, formed a syndicate, did you?”

He was flattered by his brother’s keen interest. “The profit should be enough to purchase property and set up a household properly. I could reinvest, of course, if it all goes off well.”

“Bit of a gamble.” Hatbrook rubbed at his chin.

Judah didn’t like having to defend himself, and if this was anyone but his brother, he would not. “Everyone involved is reliable. The ship captain, a man called Howard, is well thought of, and the ship is sound. It’s not faro.”

“Of course not, and I’ve never heard anything negative about Lord Burnham. Don’t think he’s in Town yet.”

“It’s early still.”

“And yet the middle of September,” Hatbrook mused. “This year has been the happiest of my life, but it has flown by so fast it is hard to grasp any small piece of it.”

Judah smiled. “I hope the memories will fly back in old age. That is supposed to happen. The good memories become clear again, so we can bore our grandchildren with them.”

Hatbrook’s lips thinned. “Our parents did not live to be old.”

“Worried about that, are you? I only have half the worry.”

“And no sign of my medical complaints, either. No, you did well in that regard and Alys will keep me going.”

Judah leaned forward. “If I am interpreting Mother’s letters correctly, my father may still be alive.”

Hatbrook scrubbed his lips with his finger. “Oh? The mystery is solved so soon?”

“If I am right it is a delicate situation. But at least I would know. Do you remember Mother’s friend Sally? I never found more to her name than that, but she appears to have been her most faithful correspondent in our early years.”

Hatbrook stared at the carriage ceiling, then shook his head. “No. Maybe she was someone Mother quarreled with later. Or she died.”

“She is my goal tonight. I will talk to Mother’s old cronies and see if I can identify Sally.” They had joined the queue of carriages waiting to disembark in front of Courtnay’s house by then. “Why doesn’t he look for a husband for his daughter in Liverpool?”

“I’m not certain, since he doesn’t seem insistent on a title. What he’s after is something of a mystery.”

“What was his connection to Mother?”

“Simply that they were of an age, and his guests are likely to be Mother’s kind of second-tier Society. Those who mostly live in London year-round.”

“Too poor for country houses?”

“Or they rent them out, or they are falling down. Or very disgraced, like Earl Gerrick.” Hatbrook’s normally impassive face showed disgust.

“And all his Cross kin?” Judah couldn’t help interjecting.

“And Lord and Lady Mews. Everyone mixed up in that decadent circle. A lesser version of the Marlborough House set.”

Hatbrook’s mention of Marlborough House, the home of the Prince of Wales, perked Judah’s ears. “I suppose Mother was rather decadent in her youth.”

“She would have fit perfectly into the end of the last century, one assumes, but such behavior was rather frowned upon in the high Victoria and Albert years.”

“The Prince of Wales is about the same age as Mother and her friends. Were they part of that set, before they became, well, a lesser version?”

“I can’t imagine they had the funds by the time the prince was married and embraced his present lifestyle. Prince Albert was still alive when you were born, you know.”

Did Hatbrook understand where his private thoughts and the correspondence had led him? He wanted to protect this dream of his. “I must say I’ve never understood her disgrace. Surely the marquess was the source of all the family pains.”

Hatbrook pressed his lips together, the only sign the topic discomforted him. “Whatever happened, it was before I can really remember. She wasn’t very nice, you know, not to anyone.”

“But she was a marchioness.”

“Not to anyone,” Hatbrook repeated. “I realize now that she was very ill after Father died, but if she’d been that unpleasant in her early years, before I really knew her, she probably made enemies. Without money to spend, no one would have cared to cultivate her.”

“Sad.”

“Yes, very. Society is hungry. You must have something to offer. Charm, money, beauty, connections . . . something.”

“What do you think I have to offer?”

Hatbrook smiled wickedly. “Beauty? The promise of fabled gems?”

“Connections,” Judah interjected.

“I do not think your connections are much to barter upon,” Hatbrook disagreed.

“Yet here you are escorting me to a party of Liverpudlians and aging roués.”

“Quite.”

The carriage jerked to a stop and a few moments later a footman opened the door. Judah slapped his hat back on his head as soon as he exited, following Hatbrook up the steps. He felt like an actor entering the stage for the first time, as this was his first taste of Society.

After running the gauntlet of servants, they entered a grand drawing room. Wild seascapes decorated the walls and the ceiling was painted with mythological scenes. When Judah saw the crowd, he felt for a moment like Sir Alexander Burnes, facing the mob in Kabul. He had expected a small gathering, given the month and unfashionable, if presumably wealthy, crowd. For a moment, he focused on the carpet, which was covered with fantastical flowers in unusual colors.

Hatbrook patted him on the shoulder as a tall, broad, graying man approached. Their host?

“My lord, I am so pleased you accepted our invitation. May I presume this is Lord Judah?”

“Indeed, this is my brother, Captain Shield,” Hatbrook said smoothly, shaking the proffered hand. “He has made London his home just this past six weeks or so.”

“It is a pleasure,” Courtnay said, offering his hand to Judah. “I hope we will see much more of you around Town. The entertainment is sparse now but you will find yourself with a plethora of amusements soon.”

Judah smiled thinly. “I am a working man, and that keeps me amused.”

“A man must have his work,” Courtnay agreed. “No matter what is fashionable. I myself am in dye manufacturing. Are you managing your brother’s interests?”

“No, his wife’s,” he said. “Redcake’s, to be exact.”

“Ah, an excellent establishment. I believe we have a cake from them tonight. My daughter arranged that.”

“I shall have to take a look.”

“I will find her for you,” Courtnay said readily.

Judah felt that he might not be found wanting, despite being a second son of no fortune. “Most kind.”