Shameless (9 page)

“William was not the right man.” Claire seemed to read her thoughts once again.

“Well, hoity-toity,” Aunt Augusta sniffed. “That’s three of the Marriage Mart’s finest, then, that do not suit her ladyship here. Let me remind you, miss, that there are scores of eager young ladies out there all too willing to snap up your discards.” She glared at Beth again. “And now you’ve got a new scandal-broth brewing besides. If you wish to have any reputation left to you—and, not incidentally, to spare the rest of us from having to hang down our heads whenever we appear in Society—you need to do your possible to salvage this debacle before word of it flies around the ton, which it will do tomorrow. Praise God there has been no official announcement of your engagement! I will put it about, quietly, that it was all a hum: Lord Rosen never actually came up to scratch. You, Beth, will cast down your eyes and say something along the lines of ‘modesty’”—and here Aunt Augusta snorted expressively—“‘forbids me to answer’ if anyone has the temerity to ask you about Lord Rosen. You, Claire, will follow my lead: Lord Rosen never actually popped the question at all. There may be a few snickers at your expense, my girl, and some gossip along the lines of not counting chickens before they are hatched, but perhaps the worst
of the scandal may then be avoided, and Beth may survive to become engaged another day.”

Beth and Claire exchanged glances. It was clear to Beth that Claire was thinking the same thing she was: Aunt Augusta, while knowing only a fraction of the truth, had nevertheless hit on the best possible solution to bring them all about. The only thing missing from the scenario was William’s and his family’s cooperation, and she had little doubt that Lady Rosen, heartened by the news that Beth was not to become part of their family, would embrace the opportunity to keep gossip at bay.

There was, however, still one small problem.

“William sent notice of the engagement to the newspapers,” Beth said in a small voice. “It will in all likelihood appear in tomorrow’s editions.”

Her aunt and sister stared at her, momentarily flummoxed.

“Of course I should have known we were not going to come about so easily.” Aunt Augusta glared at Beth again. “Well. I am growing too old for this. You gels will be the death of me yet, mark my words.”

“It isn’t her fault,” Claire said loyally. “We must just recall the notice at once.”

“It is in all likelihood too late.” Beth cast a quick, hunted look at the clock on the mantel. “It’s nearly midnight.”

Claire’s lips firmed with determination.

“One thing I have learned since becoming Duchess of Richmond”—Claire hurried toward the door as she spoke—“is that with money and position one can accomplish a great deal. Let me see what I can do.”

“Why are you just standing there staring after your sister?” Having moved aside to let Claire pass, Aunt Augusta now clapped her hands sharply at Beth, who jumped. “If this is to work, you certainly cannot hide up here. Your absence has already been remarked, and the longer it lasts the louder the gossip will buzz. Twindle, you and I must help Miss Beth dress: she will be reappearing in the ballroom just as quickly as may be.”

Reappear in the ballroom, when her knees felt shaky and her stomach had a knot the size of a fist in it, and a dozen growing aches and pains were vying with one another for her notice? But it seemed there was no choice. Between Twindle and Aunt Augusta, she felt like she had been enveloped by a whirlwind. She was pushed, pulled, brushed, pinned, powdered, perfumed, and exclaimed over to within an inch of her life, until, in the span of perhaps ten minutes, she was once again fully dressed, this time in an emerald satin gown that she had planned to wear to the Palmerstons’ ball the following week. If the change in her raiment was noticed, as it almost certainly would be, that would be all to the good: she could then casually explain her prolonged absence by saying that she had spilled something on her gown and needed to change it.

“’Tis a good thing you’ve grown into a beauty.” Aunt Augusta’s tone made it clear her words were not a compliment as she surveyed her niece from head to toe when all was done. “That makes the world more forgiving. Come, we must go down.”

“Here, Miss Beth, keep this about your arms,” Twindle whispered, handing her a silk shawl with a significant glance at the aforementioned appendages as Aunt Augusta swept from the dressing room with the clear expectation that Beth would follow. “Bruises are starting to show.”

Glancing down at her arms, Beth saw that Twindle was right: small discolorations just above her right elbow marked where William had grabbed her. Lips thinning at the memory, nodding thanks at Twindle, she draped the garment around her elbows and hurried in Aunt Augusta’s wake.

Thank goodness I did not marry him. However great the scandal may be, at least I am free of him and every other man
.

The knowledge lightened her heart just a little as she made her way down the ornate staircase to the guest-filled first floor in Aunt Augusta’s wake.

Graham, Claire’s stately butler, hurried toward them as they approached the foot of the stairs. From the worried expression on his
usually imperturbable face, it was clear something was afoot. The hall, already warmed by its yellow walls and spectacular Oriental carpet, was bright as day as hundreds of candles blazing in the trio of huge crystal chandeliers overhead joined forces with others in wall sconces and tall silver candelabra in corners. Music and laughter and the scent of food and flowers filled the air. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire could just see the kaleidoscope of color that was the ballroom at the rear of the house. Against a backdrop of scarlet walls and masses of white flowers, gorgeous gowns of every imaginable description swirled and floated like windblown blossoms amongst the more soberly clad gentlemen as the dancers went through their paces.

“Miladies, Lady Rosen is—” Graham began, low-voiced, with the air of someone attempting to deliver an urgent warning. He broke off as the lady in question erupted from the direction of the library, stalking furiously into view with Gabby—slender and elegant in lavender silk, her chestnut hair piled high atop her head and her creamy neck and ears glittering with diamonds—following grim-faced behind. Gabby, with the children, was visiting for an indeterminate number of weeks, her husband, Nick, having had business abroad.

“We just must continue to trust that the gossip is not true.” Gabby sounded as if her patience was being sorely tried. “Although I must point out that, if it were, the fault certainly could not be laid at my sister’s door. Your son is a grown man, after all.”

“One who has been cozened shamefully!” Lady Rosen’s riposte was sharp. Then, as she spied Beth, who was still standing on one of the lower steps with a hand on the elaborately carved banister, Lady Rosen stopped dead. “Hah!”

“Thank goodness,” Gabby murmured as she discovered Beth in turn.

“I knew it! I knew he wouldn’t have eloped with you.” Relief combined with venom in Lady Rosen’s voice. Dressed in magenta lace with a trio of plumes nodding in her upswept gray hair, William’s mother resembled him in both build and coloring. Recovering, bosom swelling, she came toward Beth like a ship in full sail. “He, at least,
is not so lost to all sense of propriety as to participate in anything so repugnant. I am not surprised you could not persuade him to it.”

Beth’s chin came up. “I never attempted to do so.”

“Have Lady Rosen’s carriage brought round,” Gabby directed Graham quietly. Gabby’s lips were tight and her gray eyes glinted with anger. Beth could tell that she was having a difficult time keeping a civil tongue in her head.

“Her Grace the Duchess has already instructed me to do so.” Graham slid back out of the way as Beth, her back poker straight now, stepped down into the hall beside Aunt Augusta, her eyes narrowing as she met Lady Rosen’s accusing gaze full on.

“Where, pray, is my son?” Lady Rosen’s eyes were fierce.

“William has gone home,” Beth replied, pardonably proud of how cool her voice stayed. “It will no doubt comfort you when I tell you that we decided we should not suit.”

“What?” A look of relief came over Lady Rosen’s round face. “Thank heavens he came to his senses at last. I knew William could not be such a fool as to ally himself with one such as you.”

Beth watched Gabby’s eyes flash. Bright flags of color appeared in her pale cheeks. With the best will in the world for it not to happen, her own temper began to heat. Beside her, Aunt Augusta stiffened, drawing herself up to her full, formidable height.

“Lord Rosen is certainly to be admired for realizing in time that Beth is far too good for him.” Gabby’s reply was perfectly polite, with the tone of one agreeing with a previous statement. Her eyes, however, blazed.

Lady Rosen reddened alarmingly. Beth smiled at Gabby.

“You don’t have the sense of a goat, Frannie, and never did.” Taking full advantage of her superior height, Aunt Augusta glared down her nose at the much shorter Lady Rosen. “But that is neither here nor there, now that, thankfully, there is no question of our families being united by marriage.”

Lady Rosen opened her mouth to give voice to what, judging from her expression, was certain to be a very pithy reply, but before
she could say anything Claire swept into view, very much the grande dame with her beautiful head held high and her expensive skirts rustling, dragging her husband with her. In the face of finding herself the object of the Duchess of Richmond’s snapping eyes and the Duke’s intimidating frown, Lady Rosen bit back whatever she had been going to say. At thirty-four, Hugh, Duke of Richmond, was one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Not even Lady Rosen’s current spleen was enough to make her eager to incur his displeasure.

“I could hear the lot of you clear in the supper room,” Claire scolded in a hushed voice when she was close enough. Uncoupling herself from her tall, handsome husband, she thrust him at Beth. “Clearly it benefits none of us to make family matters common knowledge. Hugh, take Beth into the ballroom and dance with her, if you please.”

“Your Grace, Lady Rosen’s carriage is at the door,” Graham murmured in response to a signal from a footman who had just hurried up the stairs from the ground floor.

“If you will accord me a few minutes of your time first, I promise I will not keep you from your carriage long,” Claire said to Lady Rosen, who gave her a long, assessing look before acceding with an ungracious nod.

Her brother-in-law’s gray eyes met Beth’s. With Lady Rosen’s attention focused on Claire, he gave Beth a quick, commiserating smile even as he offered her his arm.

“We’ve been given our marching orders, it seems,” he said, low-voiced. “If you’ll do me the honor?”

“Go on, Beth. Gabby and Aunt Augusta and I will sort this out,” Claire promised. “You must just laugh and dance and appear as carefree as you can. Hugh, take care of her.”

Understanding the role she needed to play if scandal was to be avoided, Beth tucked her hand in Hugh’s arm and smiled back at him as they walked toward the ballroom, although the smile required considerable effort. He gave her hand an avuncular pat, then tugged one of the long red curls that cascaded over her right shoulder in the style that she habitually chose for evening, having learned over the years that there was no hiding her bright mane, and, thus, it was better to flaunt it.

“And here I was thinking Waterloo was dangerous,” he murmured for her ears alone as they crossed the threshold into the ballroom and all eyes immediately turned in their direction. “If we’d just had the wisdom to dispatch our ladies to deal with him, Napoleon would have run screaming from the field before a shot was fired.”

Beth laughed.

After that, smiling got easier. She was really very fond of Hugh, who treated her exactly like the little sister he’d never had and was amazingly good to Claire, and that helped her give an impression of ease as he bore her onto the floor and swung her into the steps of the dance.

Head held high, smiling brilliantly, pirouetting in her brother-in-law’s arms as if she had not a care in the world, she set herself to facing the gossips down. By the time she went down to supper on the arm of Viscount Newby, with Claire dancing and Aunt Augusta gossiping on the sidelines and Gabby already in the supper room, she was fairly confident that they would be able to soldier through.

T
HOUGH
N
EIL HUSBANDED IT
carefully, Rosen’s money disappeared like water in a desert. Three days after Neil had helped himself to it, he was down to his last few shillings. Leaving London was not an option: as he knew from recent experience, the continent was not far enough, and limited funds made next to impossible the kind of far-flung flight that would be necessary to preserve his life for any length of time. Anyway, running would provide only a short-term solution. London was where the heart of the problem lay, and London was where he needed to stay until the situation was resolved. The difficulty was, he could not stay in any one place for longer than was needed to grab a few hours of sleep, nor could he turn to any of his contacts in the capital or repair to any of his usual haunts. Although he had lost Clapham for the time being, he did not delude himself that the dogs had been called off and Clapham had given up and gone on his way. No, his fellow assassin was at present hunting him with all the skills he had acquired over the course of his very successful working life, along with the fervor of a strong personal
animosity besides, and the only thing that was keeping Neil out of his hands was that he possessed the very same skills honed to a greater degree, plus the cunning of a predator now turned prey. People almost always returned to familiar places sooner or later. He knew that, and so did Clapham. Ergo, almost every person and place he might have turned to for help was denied to him.