Scandal of the Year (10 page)

“I see.”

He didn’t see at all. He couldn’t. He was a man, and an honorable one. How could he see? Men like Aidan didn’t have any understanding of men like Yardley. Or perhaps he did see, and he pitied her. What a ghastly thought. She tore her gaze away and took a deep breath. “Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge,” she said, striving to regain the light, I-don’t-give-a-damn demeanor it had taken her years to perfect and which had chosen a most inconvenient time to disappear.

“It’s a bit rough, you know,” she went on, giving him an aggrieved look. “Explaining all one’s past mistakes and bad decisions and talking about that dreadful former husband of mine. Can we talk about my present difficulties, rather than my past ones?” When he didn’t answer, she began to feel a bit desperate. “Please.”

“Very well.” He gave an indifferent shrug, putting aside his curiosity without a qualm, seeming in no frame of mind to offer the pity she dreaded. “Another way to raise funds would be to sell your motorcar.”

She shook her head. “I won’t sell the Mercedes. It’s very dear to me, and I can’t bear to let go of it. I fought tooth and nail to keep Yardley from taking it. Don’t ask me why it’s important to me, for I can’t explain, but I cannot bear to sell it.”

“Do you have any other salable assets? Property? Investment funds? Shares?”

She shook her head with each question. “I have my cottage, but I can’t sell that. It’s entailed to me, and my eldest daughter after me, should I have any children. If not, it goes to my closest female relation upon my death. None of that matters, though, because I would never sell Dovecotes. It’s my home. At least . . .” Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard. “It’s the closest thing I have to a home of my own. The cottage and the motorcar are the only things of value that I have. Control of all my other property, including my jewels and what I inherited from my parents upon their death, went to Yardley. That was agreed in the marriage settlement.”

Aidan made a sound—exasperation or surprise, she couldn’t tell. “For heaven’s sake, what sort of marriage settlement did your father lay down upon your engagement? Your jewels became Yardley’s. Your inheritance became Yardley’s. Was there no protection of your assets at all? Not even a guarantee of pin money?”

“I wasn’t really in a position to bargain. The point is,” she hastened on, afraid he would ask more questions, “I know I have very few options, but I so badly want to pay my debts.”

“Why? Does it matter? Most people have debts. And although those to whom you are indebted can press you, they can’t do much else to you, really, unless—” He broke off, frowning at her. “Julia, you’ve not entangled yourself with any riffraff, have you? The sort who’d threaten you if you don’t pay?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Heavens, give me a little credit for my intelligence!”

He looked relieved, and she felt oddly touched. “Why, Aidan,” she said, half joking, “are you worried about me?”

His chin lifted a notch. “I would be worried for any woman in distress of that kind.”

Of course he would. “Well, let me put your mind at ease, petal. No riffraff.”

“My mind is never at ease with you in the vicinity. Chalk it up to past experience. And don’t call me petal.”

“If I’d been involved with that sort of crowd, I’d have become some man’s mistress and paid the moneylender long ago. But it’s not like that. I just want a fresh start, and I’ve already put my family through so much, I don’t want to be a burden to them or a worry any longer. And I want . . .” She paused, struggling for a way to explain. “I want to be useful somehow. I daresay that sounds silly to you.”

“On the contrary, I don’t think it’s silly at all. Why would you think I should?”

“I’m a woman, that’s why. Men do have the most irritating tendency to pat us on the head and say things like, ‘There, there, my dear, you’re pretty, and that’s enough for a woman. No need for you to be useful.’ ”

He grinned at her mimicry of the typical British male.

“It makes us want to kick you,” she added in a normal voice. “Since you are looking to marry, that’s something you should know.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He paused, thinking a moment. “Are you certain Paul can’t honor your debt?”

She shook her head. “I won’t ask him to. He’s already paid my debts twice. Besides, though he’s been reasonably well-off in the past, his wife’s income is gone now, and without that—” She broke off, for it wasn’t right to be revealing Paul’s troubles. “Anyway, that’s not the point. I told you, I don’t want to have to go to him again.”

“Fair enough, but you could at least have gone to him for advice. But you’ve come to me instead.” He paused, studying her. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re rich! You could employ me.”

“And in exchange for my money, what skills could you offer me?”

Though he was looking at her with nothing more than polite disinterest, she felt a wave of heat run through her body at the question, and she wanted to fire off a flirtatious rejoinder, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I also thought that since you’re a man with vast business interests, you might see another alternative, something I hadn’t thought of, some clever way I could make money.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but even I am having trouble finding a solution for you. As you’ve said, a profession seems your only option, although any post you took up would not be likely to pay enough in wages to reduce your debt much. At least not in the short term. It depends on the interest rate and how much you owe.” He shot her a look of inquiry.

She hesitated. “It’s a lot.”

“How much?”

“Too much.” She gave him a disarming smile, but it didn’t work. He continued to look at her, waiting, and her smile faded into a sigh. “Twenty thousand pounds,” she answered, readying herself for a lecture about extravagance.

He didn’t bother. He didn’t even seem surprised. “I see. And the interest? Or is it all tradesmen’s bills?”

She shook her head. “No, I borrowed from a moneylender last year to pay off all the tradesmen I owed. I’ve accumulated more bills since, but the bulk of my debt is to a moneylender.”

“You’d have been wiser to leave it with the tradesmen. They would never charge a baroness interest.”

“I know, I know, but people in trade can’t afford such largesse. They have bills of their own to pay, families to feed. It might not have been the wisest decision from a business standpoint, but it’s done. No undoing it now.”

“And the interest rate for this moneylender?”

“Eleven.”

He shook his head with a sound of exasperation. “That’s robbery. Julia, since part of why you came to me for is my advice, let me say don’t ever handle money matters yourself. You’re hopeless at it.”

She was prepared to take that criticism on the chin. She wholly deserved it. “I know. But what do I do now? As you said, a profession would have to pay enough to be worth the bother. And what would I be qualified enough to do? I’m not really accomplished at anything. I’m a social butterfly, with no talents to speak of, and though I’m quite amusing to have at parties, I daresay, that’s hardly a profession!”

“No,” he agreed. He paused a moment as if considering. “You could marry again, of course.”

She stared, looking straight through Aidan, out of London, into Dorset, back into the past, back to Yardley Grange. She could see her former husband’s brooding face across the drawing room, watch his hands toying in seeming idleness with that damnable silk cravat he always carried, observe how his black eyes covertly followed the maids who brought the tea or made up the fire—maids who were always very young and very pretty.

She suddenly felt sick.

“Julia?”

The sound of Aidan’s voice jerked her out of the past, and she returned her attention to the present and the man before her, a man whose face was agreeably handsome and whose eyes were warm and steady, a man as different from her husband as chalk was from cheese, a man who probably didn’t even know men like Yardley existed.

Aidan was looking at her with a frown of concern. “Are you all right? You look quite ill all of a sudden.”

She felt ill, and she could only imagine what sort of expression was on her face. She pasted on a smile. “Sorry. I was woolgathering, I’m afraid. I didn’t have breakfast, and that always makes me terribly absentminded. What were you saying?” She fixed an expectant stare on him, giving herself time to curb the nausea in her stomach and regain her usual careless air.

He was frowning slightly, looking puzzled. “I was saying you could remarry.”

“Remarry?” She injected just the right amount of amused surprise in her voice. “Heavens, no! Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“It’s a way out of your present difficulty.”

“A way out?” She laughed, but she couldn’t quite hide the bitter tinge in it. “A way in, you mean. A way into prison.”

He was staring at her, his eyes searching . . . seeing . . . what? She didn’t know, but she wanted to run away from whatever it was he saw.

“Many women remarry, Julia,” he said gently. She didn’t reply, and the silence seemed interminable before he spoke again. “I might have one idea for you.”

“Oh?” Relief flooded through her. “What would that be?”

“I’ll explain, but first, I’d like to talk about something else for a moment.” He paused again as if considering his words carefully before he went on. “You are not the only one who finds it difficult to talk about mistakes, Julia. The other night at the ball, you told me certain things about myself which I have been forced, reluctantly, to admit were correct.”

This seemed rather an odd turn in the conversation. “Indeed?” She’d said a lot of things the other night, and she was unsure which pearls of her cheeky wisdom he was referring to. “Just what was I right about?”

“In the past I have not exercised particularly good judgment in choosing a wife. I can hardly deny it, having two broken engagements to my credit.”

“You weren’t in those engagements alone, Aidan. Trix and Lady Rosalind bear some responsibility, too. As do I,” she forced herself to add, “at least in regard to the second one.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “You do.”

She grimaced at that uncompromising reply.

“The point is,” he went on, “I am reconsidering my approach to the entire business of finding a wife.”

She chuckled. “You mean you’ve discovered at last that you can’t order a bride as if she’s a meal at Claridge’s?” she asked, grinning at him across the desk. “You’ve realized it isn’t as simple as, ‘I’ll have the daughter of a marquess, please, with pretty face, agreeable temperament, pristine character, intelligent mind, and, of course, brown eyes.’ ”

“If you like to put it that way, although, brown eyes aside, I still maintain that things like suitable backgrounds, mutual respect, and compatible temperaments are important, Julia. More important than a romantic feeling, surely?”

She thought of Stephen, and she wondered—if she had married him, if fate had not stepped in, would they have been happy? Possibly. For a lifetime? Possibly not. There was no way to know. Was anyone ever happy with marriage for an entire lifetime? That didn’t matter now, not for her, but for Aidan, it might be different. “I suppose it’s at least as important,” she conceded. “But really, Aidan, you have a way of making love sound dry as dust.”

“I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about marriage. And for me, marriage is—must be—an alliance, a union of like minds and compatible souls. I must choose my bride carefully, for I don’t think either my reputation or my pride would withstand a third mistake. That is where you come in.”

“Me?” She blinked, startled. “But what have I to do with it? Good Lord!” She jerked upright in her chair, staring at him in horror. “You’re not proposing marriage to me, are you?”

“God, no!” He stared back at her, seeming just as appalled. “Marrying you would be utterly inappropriate for a man of my position!”

She leaned back again, relieved. “Thank heavens. I thought for a moment you’d gone completely off your onion. Heavens, if you married me, you’d never take your seat in the House of Lords again. Besides, I was a terrible baroness, and I should be even worse as a duchess. Although,” she went on, unable to resist teasing him now that the ghastly idea of marrying her was off the table, “you might have been a little less vehement about it.” For good measure, she gave an injured sniff. “I may be a scandal, but I do have my feelings, you know.”

His lips twitched. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said solemnly.

She pretended to relent. “So if you’re not wanting to marry me, then what is this talk of marriage leading to?”

“It’s leading exactly where you hoped it would,” he answered. “I’m offering you a job.”

Chapter Nine

A
job?” Julia echoed, and she couldn’t help laughing. “As what, your marriage broker?”

Aidan grinned. “A novel idea, but no.”

“What then?”

Instead of answering, he gestured to a stack of papers that lay on one corner of his desk. “These are all the unanswered social invitations I have received since my appearance at the May Day Ball. About three dozen more arrive each day.”

She gave a chuckle. “Told you so.”

“Don’t gloat, Julia.”

“Sorry.”

“In choosing to attend a public ball, I was fully aware that I was communicating a message not only to those within my own social sphere, but also to many outside of it, the message being—as you so accurately pointed out—that I was ready to again begin my search for a wife. Nonetheless, many of these invitations are from people with whom I have only the slightest acquaintance.”

“Well, of course. That’s why they sent them. They want to deepen their acquaintance with you, forge connections.”

“Just so, and I realized that would happen, but now that it has, I am finding this territory a bit difficult to navigate.”

“What’s wrong, Aidan? Afraid there are more Felicia Vales lurking in the shrubbery?”

“Something like that. You, Julia, are a social creature. Even after your divorce, even after six months in exile, you are still holding your own, and you still have powerful friends when most other women in your place would be universally shunned. People like you. You’re always staying with one friend or another.”

She didn’t point out that part of the reason for that was twelve years of refusing to live with her spouse.

“You hear all the gossip,” Aidan went on. “And you are a very shrewd judge of character.”

Was she? She’d been given cause to wonder about that often during her marriage, for though she’d always sensed Yardley possessed a dark, troubled streak, she’d had no idea before marrying him just how deep that streak had run. Still, she did like to think she had a particular knack for sizing up people. “Thank you for the compliments, Aidan, but I still don’t quite understand you. Is it my advice you’re wanting? If so, that’s hardly a job, and even if it were, my advice would be don’t marry at all.”

“I don’t have that particular option. I have a duty to marry, and it is a duty I genuinely want to fulfill. I would value your opinion of any new social connections I might make along the way.”

She’d have thought the last thing Aidan would welcome would be her judgment about anything. “As you well know, I am always happy to offer my opinions! And I must admit,” she added with a wink, “I adore showing off how clever I am, so I’d be happy to give you any insight I can. But I’m still a bit at sea about how you intend to employ me for it.”

“I want you to act as my social secretary.”

“Ah. But surely you could find anyone to do that, so I can only assume it is my skill as a judge of character you are most interested in?”

“Yes.” He paused a long moment before answering. “Most men in my position would rely on the opinions of their female relations to assist them with vetting potential marriage partners. My Aunt Caroline is the only close female relation I have, and she cannot be relied upon in that regard. And I am not inclined to trust my own judgment much these days either. Twice my choice of whom to marry has proved a mistake, and I am wary of doing so again.”

“Are you sure you want to employ me, though?” she asked. “After all, you did deem me a female Iago.”

A pained expression crossed his face. “That was an unforgivable thing to say. Again, I must apologize.”

She relented. “Don’t. As I told you at the ball, never apologize for telling the truth, at least to me. I have very little regard for the truth, you see,” she added lightly, “so it’s refreshing for me to find someone who values it.”

“I value it highly enough to pay you for it. I am aware that I cannot take forever to choose my duchess, but I do intend to take enough time to make a considered choice. This might take several seasons, and many social events, and Lambert has enough to do without the added burden of an extensive social calendar. Therefore, a social secretary is needed, and I believe you would be the perfect person for the post. I will pay you a salary of sixty pounds per month—the same wages I pay Mr. Lambert—to arrange my social calendar, handle my invitations, and see that any engagements I accept are suitable ones for a man of my position. Sixty pounds a month won’t pay your debt, I realize, but I would be happy to take over your loan from that moneylender and apply your salary toward payment of the principal.”

“All twenty thousand pounds?” She laughed, unable to quite believe it, even when he nodded in confirmation. If this were anyone else, she’d suspect this whole thing to be a tissue of lies, or a great practical joke, but Aidan neither lied nor joked. “At what rate of interest?”

“I would not charge you interest, Julia. I’m no money-lender.”

“That’s very generous.”

“It’s not generosity. I want to employ your unique talents. I’m using you, if you like that description better.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, for this sounded just too good to be true. “Do you have something else up your sleeve?”

He looked back at her, his handsome face the picture of affronted dignity. “I don’t know what you mean. What could I possibly have ‘up my sleeve,’ as you put it?”

“I don’t know, but I have the uneasy feeling this is a chess game, and you are planning out some devilishly clever move that shall take me completely by surprise.”

He grinned at that, and she straightened in her chair, leaning forward to squint at him across the desk as if trying to see something that was hazy and indistinct. “Why, Aidan, is that . . . is that a smile on your face, a smile directed at me? And they say miracles don’t happen anymore.”

His grin widened. “I have been known to smile on occasion, even at you.”

Julia tilted her head, studying him. “Well, do it more often, would you? You’ve a nice smile, and it doesn’t do any harm to show it off.”

“Thank you for the advice. An excellent beginning, I think. However, before you decide whether or not to accept my offer, I must tell you that I have certain conditions for your employment.”

“I knew it! You do have something up your sleeve.”

“You make me sound quite devious, and as you’ve already said, deviousness is not my strong suit.”

That might be true, but somehow she didn’t find it particularly reassuring.

“Julia, I do not want any additional scandal associated with my name. Given our past associations, if you are to act as my social secretary, I believe it is necessary to establish some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” she echoed and made a face at him. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this. Rules and I,” she added in mock apology, “don’t muddle along together very well.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Nonetheless, if you are to assist me and I am to pay you for it, I must insist that you comply.”

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, very well. What are these rules?”

“One, you will never, at any time, do to me what you did to Marlowe last night. He might not care about such things, but I do. You will not issue invitations to others on my behalf without my express consent. We shall be in consultation every step of the way. I want no surprises.”

“I agree,” she said with dignity. “But you’d enjoy life more if you allowed yourself to be surprised once in a while.”

“Two,” he went on without admitting anything of the kind, “I am employing you for your advice and your opinions, but once I make a decision about something, you will accept that decision without argument, as any other person in my employ would be expected to do.”

“But—”

“When I give you instructions, you will carry them out. When I have questions, you will answer them honestly and directly, without your usual inclination to prevaricate or evade. Can you do that?”

Julia wasn’t sure she could, but she’d be mad not to accept this offer. “I suppose I can manage that. Anything else?”

“Yes. You will desist from smoking.”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “What, you mean in your company?”

“No, I mean you will abandon the practice altogether.”

“Of all the highhanded nonsense! What do you care if I smoke as long as it isn’t around you?”

“Because even if you don’t actually smoke in my company, I can discern that you have from the smell on your clothes, and you know I hate that smell. Besides, you should be glad I’m insisting on this. You said you were trying to stop the habit, and this rule can only give you additional incentive in that regard.”

That might be true, but it was still quite highhanded. She folded her arms, feeling a bit mutinous. “Do men in your employ smoke?”

“Not the ones with whom I spend significant amounts of time. And all people in my employ are expected to conduct themselves within acceptable social parameters. Smoking, for women, is not acceptable.”

“But it’s tolerated.”

“Not by me.” He met her eyes across the desk. “This rule is nonnegotiable, Julia.”

“Oh, all right,” she grumbled, unfolding her arms and capitulating to his demand. “I have been wanting to stop, it’s true. And I only took up the silly habit all those years ago in the dire, desperate, last-minute hope it would make Yardley call off the wedding.”

“What?” He frowned in surprise. “You only took up smoking because you didn’t want to marry Yardley?”

“Oops.” She grimaced. “Cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? But it was all for naught. Yardley didn’t care two pins about my smoking.”

“I know you didn’t want to marry him; your family wanted it. But you’re so independent. Why didn’t you defy them?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” she said, keeping her voice light, not liking this turn in the conversation one bit.

“Without prevarication or evasion, Julia.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She wriggled in her chair. “These rules of yours surely don’t demand I bare my innermost secrets. It would be most unchivalrous of you if they did.”

“Ah, so you disapprove of my chivalrous nature until you can use it against me?”

There was unmistakable chagrin in his voice, but also a hint of amusement, and she decided to offer a counter before he resumed delving into her past. “Let’s compromise, shall we?” she suggested. “I promise to answer any questions pertaining to my work for you. Others, I’ll answer or not as I choose. And I promise to make every effort to stop my smoking habit. Is that satisfactory?”

He was looking at her as if it wasn’t, but to her relief, he nodded. “Very well.”

“Goodness, do you give a set of rules to all the people who work for you?”

“Only the people who seem to need them.”

She wanted to stick out her tongue at him, but she quelled it. “I accept your offer, even with all its silly rules.” She laughed. “I’d be insane not to.”

“Good.” He shoved the enormous pile of invitations toward her across the desk. “You may start by handling these.”

She nodded, but as she took the sheaf of papers from him, she wondered again if there was more to this than met the eye. “Are you sure you don’t have some ulterior motive?” she asked. “You’re not . . .” She hesitated, struck by a sudden thought. “You’re not doing this for me, are you? To be kind?”

“Kind?” He looked back at her as if astonished. “Believe me, Julia, being kind to you is the last thing on my mind.”

She didn’t know if that statement made her feel better or not. “Thank you, Aidan.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said with a touch of humor. “You may come to regret this, for I am not an easy employer. But I am a fair one.”

Julia couldn’t imagine him otherwise. “I shall go through these invitations immediately.”

“Excellent. There is one other thing I think we should discuss before you go, and that’s discretion. I don’t think we can avoid gossip altogether, but I think it’s best if we don’t encourage it. I think we should keep the fact that you are working for me a secret.”

She nodded. “That’s probably wise. No one would believe it’s innocent.”

“Quite,” he said, and shifted in his chair, looking so terribly proper and uncomfortable all of a sudden that she had to bite her lip to stop a smile.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “No one in society should ever have occasion to meet your social secretary, so that’s not a problem, but I shall need to write letters on your behalf, and I can hardly sign them with my own name.”

“Are you suggesting you should assume an alternate identity for this post?”

“I am.” She paused, smiling, for the idea appealed to her mischievous side. “You have now hired . . . Mrs. Boodle to manage your social engagements.”

“Mr. Boodle,” he corrected, “otherwise people will assume my social secretary is my mistress.”

“Nonsense. You already have a mistress. Besides Mrs. Boodle is a very stout, very respectable widow.”

“Is she?” He paused and his gaze slid downward. “She doesn’t look very stout.”

Julia felt warm inside suddenly, as if she’d downed a swallow of brandy. “She’s wearing a corset.”

“Indeed?” He tilted his head to one side, his gaze traveling slowly back up to her face, and though his expression was impassive, the warmth inside her began to spread throughout her body. “It doesn’t seem to have made any difference,” he murmured. “Not from what I remember, at least.”