A Dash of Scandal

Thirteen

“Men at some time are masters of their fates,” and so it is with Lord Dunraven. Convinced that it was no ghost that stole the family raven, he has solicited the help of a private source, which he refuses to disclose.—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Chandler Prestwick, earl of Dunraven, sat alone in a secluded corner of one of the four private gentlemen’s clubs in London that he belonged to, sipping a glass of claret. He had chosen this club because it was the smallest and he was less likely to be bothered by anyone wanting to claim his attention.

He’d spent some time at the gaming and billiards tables, but it didn’t take him long to realize he wasn’t in the mood for the games. He was too distracted by thoughts of Millicent Blair.

He had dressed for the evening as was usual in one of his dinner coats and brocade waistcoat. He’d even taken time to be a bit fancy with the tying of his neckcloth. He’d fully intended to show up at the three parties he’d selected to attend for the evening and had gone so far as to have his driver stop the coach at the first house. But he didn’t get out. Instead, he’d told his driver to bring him to this club.

Chandler was in a quandary. For the first time in his life he was smitten by a young lady. Truly smitten, and it was a difficult thing to come to terms with—for more than one reason.

He’d actually expected it to happen one day. He wanted it to happen. He was ready for it to happen, but he never dreamed he’d be charmed by a writer of tittle-tattle. One who spied on his friends.

If it wasn’t so outrageous, it would be laughable. He who had always hated the faceless people who wrote the scandal sheets now found himself captivated by one who helped gather the information and write what was written in them.

His infatuation with her was madness.

Perhaps it served him right after all the hearts he’d broken over the years, he quarreled with himself. He supposed he had left many a young lady thinking he would make an offer for her hand only to never call on her again. But still it stunned him that he’d been thunderstruck by a poor, young lady who made her living selling gossip to the highest bidder. It was absurd, downright absurd.

He wasn’t fooling himself about Millicent for a moment, but hopefully he was fooling her. He hadn’t agreed not to expose her to Society because he thought she could help him find the Mad Ton Thief. That was balderdash, merely a ruse to satisfy her. He agreed because it gave him a reason to continue seeing her. And that in itself was ludicrous, too.

What could be the possible gain for him in continuing to pursue her? She wasn’t a suitable wife for him. At the very least he needed to marry the daughter of a baron or a viscount, though an offspring of an earl or duke would be better. He only knew he had not had his fill of Millicent.

Not nearly enough.

“What’s this? You’re drinking without me?”

Chandler took in a deep breath and looked up from the glass of claret he was staring at to the face of John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines. Damnation. He’d come to this club, one he seldom frequented, because he’d wanted to be alone. How in the devil had Fines found him?

“Oh, is that what I’m doing here? Clever of you to figure it out.”

Fines shrugged his shoulders indolently. “That’s a rather rude greeting for your best friend. How deep are you into your cups, Dunraven?”

“Deep enough that I’m not going to be coming out of them tonight,” he grumbled.

“In that case, I guess it’s good I found you. Any man who has a friend shouldn’t drink alone.”

“That means you’re joining me?”

“Might as well.” Fines sat down in a comfortable wing chair opposite Chandler. “I’ve nothing else to do on this dreary night. It’s raining hard enough to drown the fires of hell.” Fines brushed water droplets from the sleeve of his evening coat.

“Why didn’t you send word you wouldn’t be attending any of the parties tonight and where you would be? I had a devil of a time finding you.”

I wanted to be alone.

“Just because I wasn’t in the mood for dancing and playing the gentleman tonight, I didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s evening.”

“You are in a temper. Since when do friends spoil each other’s evening?”

Recently, Chandler thought, but said nothing.

“We used to be part of a threesome and we rarely see each other anymore. I would have been here earlier, but this is the last blasted place I thought to look for you. You seldom come here. Is anything wrong?” Fines asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you frowning?”

“Maybe for the same reason you are?”

“I’m frowning because I spent the better part of two hours looking for you.”

Chandler managed a light chuckle. “That should have been a clue that there are times a man doesn’t want to be found.”

“I could believe that if you were with a lady but not since you are here at the club.”

“It’s just that I’ve been to parties and balls every night for the past few weeks. I needed a change from smiling, bowing, and dancing.”

“I guess that means you aren’t as interested in that Miss Blair as Andrew led me to believe, for surely you would have wanted to see her tonight.”

Chandler stiffened. He started to tell his friend that he didn’t want them talking about Millicent, but that would only make matters worse, so he simply said, “I’m not interested in Lady Lambsbeth either, in case you’re wondering.”

“No, I was clear on that. You are still worried because the raven hasn’t been found, aren’t you?”

Chandler’s mouth tightened. “Don’t start on that, Fines. I’m in no mood for your badgering on a sore subject.”

“It’s not me, Dunraven.”

Chandler raised an eyebrow of doubt before putting the rim of his glass to his lips.

“Truly. There’s talk on the streets, in the shops, and in the clubs. Everyone at the parties tonight was talking about it.”

“The raven?” Chandler asked incredulously.

“No, no. Not specifically. The Mad Ton Thief. You did hear about the stolen painting that was the size of a large parasol.”

“I heard it was a small.”

“What, the painting or the parasol?”

Chandler grimaced. “What the damnation does it matter, Fines? It’s ridiculous for anyone to think the painting walked out of the house by itself or in the hands of a ghost.”

“Of course it is, but you have to admit the rumor is delicious. Can you imagine anyone actually thinking that the thief is Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, and he is collecting objects for a house he occupies up on the northern coast?”

“Good Lord. Are you serious?”

“That was the topic of conversation at the parties tonight. According to what I heard it’s beginning to be an honor to have something taken by the thief and an affront on the quality of one’s possessions if nothing is stolen.”

And he thought being enchanted by a lovely gossipmonger was absurd!

Chandler shook his head, mystified. “I’m certain the robber is a common footpad who has managed to find a gentleman’s clothing. How do these outrageous ideas get started?”

“It’s called gossip, Dunraven. Ever heard of it?”

“Once too often,” he muttered, then finished off his drink. He nodded to the waiter, who set a glass in front of Fines, to refill his own glass. After the man walked away, Chandler said, “I’m not worried about the raven.”

“Truly?” It was Fines’s turn to raise an eyebrow of doubt.

“When the thief is caught, if the raven is not returned, I will simply have another made.”

“He says as his gut wrenches with guilt over having lost the original, knowing one cannot simply replace an Egyptian artifact.”

Chandler’s eyes narrowed. There was a time when Fines’s mocking comments hadn’t bothered him. He’d rather enjoyed them. Not anymore.

“Sometimes you’re a bastard, Fines,” he said, but with no real anger in his tone.

Fines laughed. “Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time. But I’m always a friend, Dunraven. Never have fear on that account.”

Chandler nodded. Was he fortunate or not to have such a dedicated friend?

“What are you doing to find the golden bird of prey?”

“I’m working with Doulton on it, of course, and I’m working with someone else on the thefts, too,” he said, as thoughts of Millicent returned to his mind as easily and gently as a late summer breeze.

“Who?”

Chandler picked up his drink as Fines nodded to a gentleman who walked by. “I’d rather not say.”

“Since when?”

“In working with this person secrecy is most important.”

“More important than friendship? There was a time we told each other everything.”

“There was a time we did a lot of things together that we no longer do.”

“Yes,” Fines smiled wickedly. “Staying out all night drinking, gambling, and enjoying our latest mistress, then racing our horses most of the day.”

“It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves.”

“Oh, hell, Dunraven! What’s wrong with us? We don’t do those sorts of thing anymore. Are we growing into our dotage already?”

Chandler grunted a rueful laugh. “No. But, perhaps we’re finally growing up, Fines?”

“Good lord! What an ugly thought.”

“I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Death.”

“Yes, so right you are. Forgot about that.” Fines finished off his drink and glanced around for someone who could bring him another.

Chandler looked at his friend and it struck him that what he’d said so carelessly was true. The reason he didn’t want to spend as much time with his friends anymore was because they’d grown up. He had finally grown up.

The undisciplined life he’d once lived no longer appealed to him. He was tired of Town with its crush of people on the streets, the smells, and the carriage congestion. He was tired of the endless parties where people went only to eat, drink, to see and be seen. He wanted to spend more time at one of his estates and ride his horses, not race them. He wanted to sit down to dinner in his own home and eat with his beautiful wife by his side, not dine at the clubs with his friends.

Chandler’s thoughts were brought up short when he realized the lovely wife at his side had the face of Millicent Blair.

Andrew must be feeling the call of family responsibility, too, for he’d all but come right out and said that he was looking to make a match before this Season was over. Fines was the one who still seemed to be content as a bachelor.

It also struck Chandler that he didn’t want to be sitting here with Fines. He’d rather be dancing with Millicent Blair, which was specifically why he’d avoided the parties tonight. He had to come to some kind of conclusion about her.

He had to think about this logically. He’d never been seriously attracted to a young lady for more than a few days before another would strike his fancy. That gave him reason to believe that his obsession, for that was all it could possibly be, for the surprising Miss Blair would be over within the next week or two.

Yes, he would go back to the parties, dance with her, call on her despite her insistence that he not, and take her for a ride in Hyde Park and St. James, too. In short order he would grow tired of her as he had all the other young ladies who had caught his eye over the years. There was no reason to think that Millicent Blair was different from any of the other beautiful ladies in his past. Absolutely none.

Yes, that idea had merit. Given her employment, he couldn’t possibly consider her for a wife. He’d see as much of her as possible and, no doubt, the attraction would wear off quickly. It had to, because right now he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and kiss her again.

***

She hadn’t seen him all evening, thought Millicent, as she climbed into the carriage behind Lady Heathecoute. She had danced with several charming young gentlemen and she had enjoyed the parties, but she was constantly searching the dance floor, the supper table, the refreshment table, and the front door for any sign of Lord Dunraven. He had never arrived.

The thought of him drove her to distraction.

Not that she was ever in any doubt, but her infatuation with him confirmed she was her mother’s daughter. Even thinking about the earl was madness.

Lord Dunraven had proven himself time and time again to be a rake, following her, kissing her so intimately in the shop and again in her aunt’s home. He amazed her. He thrilled her. And she was hopelessly smitten by him. She realized now that she had not been prepared to be pursued by a true scoundrel. For surely Lord Dunraven knew all the tricks.

And maybe she was a fool, but she had believed him when he told her he would not leak to Society that she was a writer of tittle-tattle.

The Heathecoutes always took the seat facing the horses. It didn’t matter to Millicent which direction she sat in the carriage.

The viscount climbed in behind Millicent and the footman closed the door. As usual, his lordship immediately laid his head back against the squabs and closed his eyes. It was his habit to nap on the ride home each evening.

Millicent wondered why she hadn’t seen Lord Dunraven at any of the parties. It was the first night in more than a week that she hadn’t seen him.

He’s only trifling with you.

Of course, because that’s what scoundrels do.

They woo, flatter, and kiss innocent young ladies until they are pining after the rogues, then they move on to the next unsuspecting young lady and steal her heart, too. Millicent knew all this. She should have been able to resist Lord Dunraven’s charms, if for no other reason than what had happened to her mother when she’d lost her heart and reputation over a man of the very same ilk.

If only she had been stronger than her mother, but in the end, she found she was just as susceptible to a rake’s charms. She had watched for him all evening, hoping he would appear by her side and ask her to dance. Perhaps he didn’t intend to have anything to do with her now that he knew what she was doing. A stab of envy struck her at the thought that Lady Lambsbeth was back in Town. Maybe he no longer needed any other diversion.

“Ma’am,” Millicent asked, “what do you know about Lord Dunraven and Lady Lambsbeth?”

The viscountess fanned herself. “Oh, that’s an old story, and why Beatrice wanted to run it in Lord Truefitt’s column I have no idea. It’s really passé. There are more appetizing things to be writing about than an old love affair. Perhaps it just shows that Beatrice is having trouble keeping up with the column while she’s recuperating.”

This was the first comment that Millicent had heard the viscountess make about how her aunt was handling the column. Millicent could only assume that her ladyship hadn’t heard that circulation for The Daily Reader had increased and Lord Truefitt’s column was praised for being one of the main reasons.

Just tonight she’d heard more than one lady mention how eager she was to get the paper each day to see what quote from Shakespeare was used in Lord Truefitt’s column.

Millicent decided it would be wise not to express a view one way or the other to the Lady Heathecoute. She would leave that up to her aunt. However, she wasn’t shy about asking other questions she wanted answers to.

“Ma’am,” Millicent asked in what she hoped was an offhanded manner, “do you think Lord Dunraven loves Lady Lambsbeth?”

“Loves? Good heavens, no. I doubt he’s ever loved anyone in his life. I think most everyone considers him a confirmed bachelor. What makes you ask such a question? You haven’t set your eyes on him have you? Because I have to agree with my husband that he is quite unattainable.”

“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just there has been talk about the two of them now that she’s back in Town.”

“Yes, yes. Everyone assumes they had an affair and it ended badly. Talk about it was all the rage last year. She was married and her husband found out about it. Had it not been for friends of both men one of them would be dead to—” She stopped and chuckled.

The low throaty sound of her laughter sounded ominous in the dark carriage. Millicent noticed the viscount hadn’t even blinked an eye since he stepped into the carriage. No doubt he was used to hearing his wife’s laughter.

“Ah—that is, one of them is dead, I understand. But of course, not from the challenge. After wise counsel from his friends, Lord Lambsbeth withdrew it and he and his lady left Town the next day. That’s no matter now. I don’t think anyone in the ton cares whether the earl and lady pick up where they left off. It’s old news.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m more interested in hearing whether another of the Terrible Threesome, Lord Dugdale, is truly in financial straits. That could account for his sudden desire to make a match before the end of the year.”

“Yes, I heard much the same thing,” Millicent said, but didn’t mention that she’d heard the story earlier in the afternoon from Lady Lynette.

“Tonight the guests at all the parties seemed to be interested only in talking about the latest news concerning the Mad Ton Thief and the ghost. I wonder if the thief knows how popular he is?”

“With everyone talking about it at the parties, the clubs, and on the streets, I’m sure he does. He probably hopes the madness continues so that he can continue to get away with stealing. It appears that this idea that he is a ghost is titillating to them all. I think they want it to be so. Though, why anyone would want to talk about Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, I have no idea.”

“Oh, I do believe it is newsworthy.”

“But it has little to do with gossip,” the viscountess said in her don’t-argue-with-me voice. “Lady Windham said that she felt deprived when she held a party and nothing was stolen from her home. She said she was thinking of holding another party next week, hoping the thief will show up and take something.”

“Do you really think she will do that?”

“Oh, she probably will. The thing is that she has so many lovely things in her home something probably was stolen and she just doesn’t know it.”

“You think so?”

“Of course, I really have no idea. I’m only saying that the house is filled with paintings, china, pottery, and all quite valuable. Now tell me, what other delicious tidbits did you hear tonight?”

It only took a few more minutes to arrive at her aunt’s town house. As usual, Phillips quietly opened the door and she stepped inside. She heard Hamlet bark once as usual, alerting her aunt that she was home.

Phillips left to prepare Millicent a cup of tea, and she took the time to remove her gloves and pelisse before going upstairs. It was then that she heard a light knock on the door. She glanced down the hallway, expecting the butler to come answer the door. When he didn’t immediately appear she realized the knock was really too soft for him to have heard it.

Thinking the viscountess must have thought of something else she wished to say, Millicent hurried back to the door and quietly opened it.

Her arm was grabbed and she was whisked outside into the darkness.