Prelude to a Scandal (15 page)

Radcliff glanced up. “As a matter of fact, I do. Bring me a cigar, an ash pan and a lit candle. And while you’re at it, bring a decanter of brandy. No glass required.”

Jefferson paused, then quickly departed, his hurried steps echoing down the corridor.

Radcliff blew out an exhausted breath, reached into the lining of his pocket and after a few tugs, pulled out the etiquette book. He stared at the gold lettering mocking him with the words How To Avoid A Scandal, then bent it open, letting the pages naturally fall into place.

He blinked and read:

It requires unprecedented skill and patience if one is to become the perfect lady. Mind you, it is a skill and patience of which not every woman is capable. Though you may think you understand what is expected of you by your father, by your mother, and by all of society, it may be best to set all that aside. For expectations will always change. It is up to you to keep up with those expectations. Indeed, being a lady is an art no man could ever master, because it requires playing the greatest and most difficult of instruments, one that few know how to use—the brain. Radcliff slapped the book shut. Christ. And that was just one paragraph. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was allowing Justine to guide him through his obsession because he was stupidly and madly in love with her.

He swallowed. Actually, no. He knew he was in love with her. And that was the damn problem.

It is never fashionable for a lady to become inebriated.
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

Evening

THE SILENCE AT THE dining table was positively unbearable. Radcliff had rudely slung his arm around the upper back of his upholstered chair, leaning as far back as was physically possible, and ignored his food. His appetite appeared to be for port and only port. Of which, he was already on his sixth course.

And then there was Matilda, who sat opposite from Justine. Although her face had been washed and her bloody lip tended to, making her appearance more bearable, the poor woman sat there and stared vacantly into her soup. As if it weren’t delicious White à la Reine but water scooped up from the bottom of the Thames.

Everyone’s misery was going to suffocate Justine.

She set her spoon beside her porcelain bowl and eyed Matilda, offering her a smile. “Is it not to your liking, Miss Thurlow? Perhaps the chef might be able to offer you something else? You should eat. For the sake of the baby.”

Matilda’s blue eyes lifted up from her bowl. She stared at Justine, her eyes intently searching Justine’s own face. Matilda’s cheeks flushed, adding further contrast to the bruises on her face as she shifted in her chair and looked away. “Forgive me, but I must admit to being more tired than hungry, Your Grace.”

“I understand.” Justine gathered up the cloth napkin from her lap, placing it beside her setting. She rose, pushing her chair back. “There is no need for you to suffer on our account.”

Rounding the table toward Matilda, Justine held out her hand. “Come. A good night’s rest will bring on a better appetite in the morning.” Justine glanced toward Radcliff. “Your Grace, you do not mind if we retire early, do you?”

He eyed them, then brought his crystal glass to his lips, finishing the rest of his wine with one swallow. He cleared his throat and shifted in his upholstered chair. “No. Of course not. I wish you both a very good night.” He waved over to the servant standing off to the side, pointing to his empty glass.

Justine assisted Matilda from her chair, gently securing an arm around her upper body.

Matilda glanced toward Justine. Though she hesitated, she slid her own arm around Justine’s waist. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

“Please. I would rather you call me Justine.”

Matilda stiffened and shook her head, causing her blond chignon and curls to sway. “No. I could never—”

“I would be offended if you didn’t. This is my home. And in my home I do not wish to abide by superficial airs. We are friends until proven otherwise.”

Matilda stared at her.

Justine smiled and tightened her hold on Matilda. “I realize the circumstances of your stay are more than awkward, but if you promise not to judge me by my standing, then I promise I will not judge you by yours.”

Matilda’s own hold tightened on Justine as a small smile edged onto her lips. “Then you will call me Matilda in turn?”

Justine grinned. “Yes. I will.”

Matilda’s smile widened, her blue eyes spark ling.

“Do uh…you ladies plan on holding each other all night like that?” Radcliff drawled from across the table. He smirked and gestured toward them with his now-filled glass, causing the wine within it to sway. “I cannot help but feel excluded.”

Justine rolled her eyes as she steered Matilda out of the dining room. Yes, he would feel excluded. “Good night, Bradford,” she called out over her shoulder. “Try not to drink too much more. It appears to be affecting your sense of humor.”

“I didn’t realize I even had a sense of humor,” he teasingly called back. “Cheers and a very good night, dearest. Dream of me, will you? Only be sure it’s something good. For I certainly deserve as much.”

Justine bit back a smile. Dream of him, indeed. He really was full of himself.

With arms interwoven and their skirts rustling against each other’s, she and Matilda made their way toward the east end of the house. Nothing more was said between them. Though Justine wanted to ask Matilda more about her situation and why she had chosen Radcliff for assistance, she knew that she needed to give the woman a bit more time to settle in.

When they reached the bedchamber, Justine pushed open the door, then guided Matilda toward the canopy bed covered with a plush coverlet and pillows. Once she eased Matilda upon the edge of the mattress, she took a step back and sighed. “There. How is that?”

Matilda drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out, patting the bed with a hand. “I confess it’s been weeks since I’ve had a bed to myself.”

Justine could not help but note the genuine satisfaction in that tone and pitied the woman knowing the sort of treatment she endured at the hands of men, given her occupation. It was a savage world Justine had first glimpsed at the age of twelve within some of the villages in the Kloof, when women from rivaling tribes were seized and treated worse than the oxen utilized for travel. Her father had reluctantly explained the ways of men after she had repeatedly demanded to know why women were being forced to sleep on dirt outside of huts, being roped and were only occasionally brought inside those huts only to emerge sobbing.

It was the only thing about the Bushmen and Hottentots she had despised whilst growing up and one of the many reasons why she had insisted on protecting Matilda. She hadn’t been able to do anything for those brutalized women in the Kloof, except offer food when no one was looking and cut the grass ropes binding their hands and feet, only to discover they refused to leave out of fear. But Justine knew she could right this.

“Should you require anything, ring for the servants. Don’t be all too startled when a French man comes to your door. Henri is very lovely. I myself will only be a few doors away.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

Justine smiled. “You are most welcome, Matilda. I will see you in the morning. Rest well.” She turned and swept toward the door.

“Justine? Might I…say something?”

Justine paused and turned. “But of course. What is it?”

Matilda rubbed the coverlet with both hands back and forth, back and forth, and eyed her. “I hope that my presence does not lead you to believe that the duke and I are involved. Because we are not.”

Justine couldn’t help but feel touched by the assurance. “I would have never offered you a room if I were in any way concerned with your presence. Your respectful demeanor allows me to trust you.”

Matilda shifted on the bed and wet her lips. “Trust is something to be earned. And I confess I have yet to earn it. To be sure, I am unworthy of the kindness you have shown me today. Whilst I did come for five pounds, I also came to beg your husband for any form of protection. Even that of mistress, if need be. It wasn’t until my eyes met yours that I realized what a horrid person I am to think I could ever impose myself in such a manner.”

Justine swallowed and whisked toward her, affected by the woman’s honesty. She lowered herself onto the bed, took hold of Matilda’s hand and brought it into her own lap. She squeezed it assuredly. “You are merely trying to survive. I may very well have done the same. One cannot judge another in these circumstances.”

Matilda glanced down at the hand Justine continued to hold. She drew in a shaky breath and lifted her blue eyes to hers. Stroking Justine’s fingers ever so softly and tenderly, she leaned in and whispered, “In moments like these, do you know what I wish for? More than anything?”

Feeling as though she were acquiring a new friend, Justine closed the remaining distance between them, almost making their noses touch. “What? What do you wish for?”

Matilda paused and searched her face for a long moment, then whispered in a choked tone, “I wish I were a man. I wish I could do the sort of things I really want to do. Without the burden of shame. Without the burden of regret. That is what I wish.”

Justine raised a brow at her and leaned away. “You don’t need to be a man to do the things you want to do. You simply have to be more creative. Which is why we women shall always be superior. Because we aren’t given the sort of pathetic excuses they are.”

Matilda let out a small laugh, sliding her hand from Justine’s, and shook her head. “I do believe I have finally found a kindred soul.”

“That is my hope.”

Matilda gasped and grabbed hold of her belly.

Justine’s heart jumped. “What? What is it? You aren’t—”

Matilda laughed, shook her head and grabbed Justine’s hand, placing it against the side of her large stomach. Something pushed playfully against the palm of her hand.

Justine’s eyes widened as she stared down in wonder at the quick movements still nudging her hand.

“The baby says thank you,” Matilda whispered softly.

Justine’s eyes welled with tears at the very thought of the little life within that belly. A poor little life that had no idea how trying it was going to be once it found its way to the outside world.

Justine smiled tremulously, pulling back her hand. Rising, she quickly headed back toward the door, not wanting to cry in front of her guest. “Good night. May you both sleep well.”

Matilda breathed out a soft sigh. “Fare thee well, Justine, and a very good night to you, too.”

WHERE ON EARTH WAS Radcliff?

He was not in the dining room, nor the drawing room, nor his bedchamber, nor hers. So where had he gone? She didn’t know why she desperately wanted and needed to see him before she went to sleep. Perhaps because she already missed him and wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. He’d endured a lot in a single day and had graciously taken it all, even though he clearly required copious quantities of port to do so.

Justine paused outside the open doors of the study and was disappointed to find that it, too, was dark. She surveyed the shadows of the room and blinked, remembering Radcliff’s earlier lists which had been crumpled and left on the floor. Her heart skipped. She doubted they would still be there, but curiosity lured her all the same.

Reaching up toward one of the sconces, where a half melted candle burned, she carefully wedged it out, turned and moved into the quiet study. She squinted as she made her way around the room, making out the shapes of furniture.

She eventually paused in the middle of the room and searched the Axminster carpet only to find the crumpled papers had already long been collected. Drat. She didn’t even get a chance to see a single one of them.

“Are you lost?” a deep voice asked from one of the darkened corners.

Justine screeched, her heart skidding as the candle jumped from her hand and thudded onto the carpet. It rolled away, the flame flickering sideways, creating a smoldering, smoking path. Her heart pounded as she frantically yanked up the front of her skirts above her ankles and proceeded to stomp at the wick with her slippered foot, hoping the house wasn’t about to go up in flames.

After a few more stomps, she eventually managed to extinguish the candle—thank goodness. She paused, realizing she had officially sentenced herself to complete and utter darkness.

With Radcliff.

He rumbled out a laugh from somewhere behind and clapped rather enthusiastically, causing the sound to echo all around them. “My carpet thanks you for your noble rescue.”

Justine let out a laugh, too, and clutched her skirts as she whipped toward the direction of his voice. “Radcliff?”

“No. The devil. I’ve come for your soul. And from what I hear, it’s a damn good one.”

Justine laughed again and wandered toward the direction of his voice. She edged closer until she was finally able to make out the shadowy outline of his large frame which sat on the outer edge of his writing desk.

Imagine. He’d been sitting there all along, watching her in complete silence as she had wandered about the room making a dolt of herself. “Might I ask why you are sitting on your desk in the dark?”

“Good question. I don’t know.” He let out a throaty laugh. “Might I…ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I allowed to admit I was just thinking about you in bed? And how I know I could never be able to fuck another woman? Not ever? Because I’d only find myself comparing them all to you?”

Justine was more than grateful her burning face was hidden in the darkness. She’d certainly heard blunt language, having grown up with her father, but surely this was not appropriate, even between husband and wife. “Your uh…compliments know no bounds, Your Grace.”

“With a body as luscious as yours, Justine, my compliments should never have any bounds.”

She choked. “Are you…inebriated? Or have you lost the last of your mind?”

“Both, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lovely.”

He cleared his throat. “I should apologize.”

“Yes. You should.”

“I humbly beg for your pardon. I won’t do it again. My mind. It’s muddled.”

“Thank you. Now I suggest you retire before you have to apologize for anything else.”

He was quiet for a moment, then blurted, “You know…page twenty-four states that it’s never fashionable for a lady to become inebriated. I understand all that and why, but this is probably where I should admit that I was never really all that fashionable to begin with and that I can only follow so many rules.”