A Dash of Scandal

Four

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” but not according to Miss Pennington. She was overheard saying she could never marry a man named Longnecker. One wonders what the eligible marquess had to say about that.—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Chandler watched her Dancing. Gliding across the floor with ease through the steps, the turns and twirls. She was a natural beauty, slim with delicate bone structure, a small waist, and slightly rounded hips.

The neckline of her flowing gossamer gown was higher than most fashions of the day and showed only a mere hint of the swell of breasts which lay beneath her clothing. That disappointed him because he very much wanted to see that gentle swell. Again, he had the feeling she was deliberately trying not to draw attention to her beauty by wearing severe hairstyles and modest clothing.

Chandler had noticed more about her than he should have, but something about her beckoned him. He desired to get closer to her and see her mesmerizing golden brown eyes again, which he had decided were really a glimmering shade of dark, speckled amber. He wanted to engage her in conversation again, but for now he was content to ponder and watch her.

She was polite to her dance partner but not overly so. She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the encouraging smile of a young lady who wanted to gain the gentleman’s attention. It seemed to be more of a “thank you for the dance” smile. That pleased him, too.

“Do you know who she is?”

Chandler turned to see that his friend Andrew Terwillger, who was more notoriously known throughout Society as Lord Dugdale, standing right beside him.

It bothered Chandler that Andrew had caught him watching her, and it bothered him that she hadn’t noticed him observing her at all.

His friend’s appearance reminded him he was supposed to be watching for suspicious-looking characters and following men who wandered off alone. That’s how he happened upon the young lady last night. Chandler had little faith that the authorities in charge of finding the Mad Ton Thief would be successful. He felt it necessary to do some investigating on his own.

The thief was daring enough to have already stolen from three different homes. He had been so successful in stealing right out from under the eyes of the owners and guests, there was no reason to think he wouldn’t continue to pilfer the homes where he was a welcomed guest. Chandler wanted to catch him, and to do that he had to watch the doorways for any man who might wander off alone.

“Haven’t got the foggiest clue who she is,” Chandler finally answered his friend. “Do you know?”

“Me? No, I haven’t met her, but—” Andrew paused.

“But what?” Chandler was forced to ask, knowing that his friend wouldn’t quit the subject until he did.

“After I noticed that you couldn’t keep your eyes off her, I made an inquiry for you.”

“For me?”

“Did I not just say that?” He grinned playfully. “I dare say you’d be damned perturbed at me right now if I’d asked about her for myself. Right?”

Chandler frowned and turned to his friend. “Surely, I wasn’t being that transparent?”

“Only to me. I know you so well.”

“Obviously, too well,” Chandler grumbled under his breath while throwing a sly glance toward his friend. “Or perhaps, after all these years, I’m losing my touch.”

“Let’s pray it’s not that. Possibly for the first time in your life you are actually interested in a lady of quality rather than a dutiful mistress.”

“It would be a damn nuisance if that were true, wouldn’t it?” Chandler said.

“Damn nuisance, indeed.”

“But it’s nice to know I have a friend like you who is looking out for me, just in case I decide to turn from my wicked ways.”

“You know you can depend on me, Dunraven. I’ve always been there for you, always will.”

“That is a comfort, Andrew.”

“I find that I’m looking the ladies over more carefully this Season, too.”

Chandler’s eyes strayed to the dance floor. “I believe you mentioned that.”

“I passed thirty this year, you know. I guess it’s time to think about setting up a nursery. I wouldn’t want to pass the title on to my brother’s little hellion. My father would rise up out of his grave in objection.”

Chandler smiled and nodded a greeting to a gentleman who passed by. “Your nephew is still a babe, isn’t he?”

“Four, I think.”

“He’ll grow out of his fits of ill-temper.”

“God help us all if he doesn’t. I’m told by his father that no one can bear to be in the same room with the child but his mother.”

“There is plenty of time for you to have an heir.”

Andrew was shorter and slimmer than Chandler and his medium brown hair had started thinning on top. Recently Chandler had noticed that his friend’s middle was getting pudgy, too, but he’d thought better of teasing him about it. Maybe Chandler should suggest they get back into fencing and riding like the devil was after them. None of them were as active as they used to be. It was as if a change had taken place over the past year or two without either of them realizing it.

“Tell me, Andrew, has any of this year’s bevy of young ladies caught your eye?”

“They’ve all caught my attention at one time or another, Dunraven.”

“Of course. You’ve now looked them all over carefully and narrowed the list, I presume?”

“Exactly.” Andrew nodded and asked, “What do you think of Miss Bardwell?”

“Truthfully?”

A rueful smile lifted the corners of his lips and he sniffed quietly. “We don’t know any other way to be with each other, do we, Dunraven?”

“I think not,” Chandler said, but silently wondered.

That used to be so, but Chandler knew it wasn’t anymore, at least for him. Recently, he was keeping things from his friends. He was becoming more evasive and private about his personal thoughts and life. He’d lost the desire to be with them day and night laughing, talking, drinking, and gaming.

“Well, what do you think of Miss Bardwell?” Andrew asked again.

Chandler hesitated before saying, “Since you asked for honesty, I think her father’s purse is bigger than her heart, and a January day would be warmer than her bed.”

Andrew laughed. “It’s no wonder we have gotten along so well together these past years. We think so much alike. She does remind one of a cold cod with her pale complexion, light blue eyes, and blond hair. You know, according to the tittle-tattle, she’s determined to capture one of us this Season.”

“Be my guest,” Chandler said, knowing it best not to make a further comment about the young lady. Andrew could be seriously considering her for a match. “And tell me, since when do you know what the gossips say?”

“I read them from time to time just to see if they still think I’m worth writing about, and so do you. Don’t try to deny it.”

“I read them in hopes there will come a day I won’t find my name printed there.”

“The day they stop writing about us will be when we’re dead or married, and I’m sure they don’t care which comes first. Better they talk about us than forget about us. They were rather vicious to you about Lady Lambsbeth and her husband, but since that time, it hasn’t been so bad, has it?”

Chandler didn’t want to go down the road that led to Lady Lambsbeth again so he took the conversation back where it had started. “Don’t worry, Andrew. More desirable young ladies than Miss Bardwell have tried to catch us and failed. Keep the faith.”

“Hmm. There have been a few ladies over the years who have tried to entrap us. Some of them have been quite delightfully clever.”

“Some have been beautiful.”

“Some wealthy.”

Chandler’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you, by any chance, hinting that Miss Bardwell might have had reason to have made such a brash statement that she intended to marry one of us this Season?”

“Maybe. Maybe not, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a lady having more money than heart. After all, a good mistress can make up for the warmth that’s lost in the marriage bed. That is what lovers are for, isn’t it? An acceptable wife gives a man children, and a mistress gives him pleasure.”

How had they become so cynical?

Somehow Chandler knew he didn’t want what Andrew just described. “Maybe it works that way for a desperate man.”

“Which neither of us are,” Andrew added.

“And may we never be.”

It was all the rage for members of the peerage to seek the arms of a mistress, but Chandler knew he didn’t want another woman in his bed after he married. Although he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone other than himself. And he certainly wasn’t going to admit he was interested in taking a wife. It wouldn’t be worth the raucous remarks he’d have to suffer. He was surprised Andrew was letting it be known that he might actually be pursuing the idea of making a match.

Chandler turned his attention back to the young lady with the golden eyes. The dance had ended and she was being escorted off the crowded floor. He watched her until she was returned to Viscountess Heathecoute. No doubt the tall, buxom lady was her chaperone for the evening and quite possibly for the entire Season.

“What do you think about Miss Pennington?”

Preferable to Miss Bardwell.

Chandler looked back to Andrew. “She appears to be a favorite among the younger bachelors this Season. I hear she’s enjoying the attention of all of them, accepting four and five calls in an afternoon.”

“That many?”

“From what I hear, but we both know how unreliable gossip is.” Chandler smiled ruefully at his friend. “I think she’s already rejected two offers of a match, including Albert Longnecker.”

“Yes, I heard. He didn’t take kindly to her open rejection, and neither did his father. The duke was furious about what she said about his name.”

“Only the gossips reported that, and I certainly don’t believe everything that’s written in them. You’ll have to arrive at a party early in the evening to find an empty space on her dance card.”

“I know.” Andrew clapped Chandler on the back of his shoulder. “And I do believe my dance with her is coming up next.”

He started to walk off, but Chandler stopped him by putting a hand to his upper arm. “Andrew, aren’t you forgetting something?”

His friend rubbed his chin and gave a mock expression of deep thought. “No. I don’t believe so.”

“What did you find out about her?” He nodded toward the dance floor.

“Who?” Andrew asked with a fake expression of seriousness.

“You know who,” Chandler said impatiently.

A wicked smile spread across Andrew’s face. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. We were talking about Miss Bardwell, right?”

Chandler’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lead me, old friend. We’ve been together too many years for that.”

“Damn shame. It would have been such fun.” Andrew’s smile turned mischievous. “At least now I know just how interested in her you are.”

“You only know I asked about her.”

“Twice.” He held up two fingers as if Chandler couldn’t hear him.

“You know nothing more than that.”

“Then let me put you out of your misery. Viscount Heathecoute and his lady are her sponsors for the Season, and she is staying with Lady Beatrice, who I believe is ill at the moment. They aren’t saying too much more about her except she’s the niece of a friend. They felt she was deserving of a Season in London so they agreed to be her chaperones.”

“And?”

“And that’s about all I know.”

“About all?” Chandler questioned. “So there is more—like her name?”

“Good lord, you don’t miss a thing, do you? I believe you are still capable of obtaining an introduction to a lady, if you are truly interested enough.”

“Then I’ll take it from here.”

“Friendly warning, Dunraven.”

“After fifteen years by your side, do I need one?”

“Perhaps this time you do,” Andrew said. “I’ve never seen you look at a lady quite the way I saw you looking at her tonight. I know fascination when I see it. I have to admit you have me a bit worried.”

Chandler smiled to cover the truth of his friend’s words. “Fascination? You jest. Slow down on the champagne, Andrew, it has gone straight to your head.”

Andrew smirked. “Don’t change the subject. Look all you want, but do not touch.”

“Why the stern warning?”

“No doubt you are just the kind of man she is looking for. Handsome, wealthy, and titled. She’s probably some farm-poor knight’s daughter, and her family is hoping she’s pretty enough to catch some man’s eye and land a titled gentleman and be set for life.”

“You could be right,” Chandler said, considering Andrew’s words.

Would that be so bad if the lady was enchanting?

“Did I hear a long, silent ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”

Chandler drew in a deep breath and started to say more, but instead he said, “No. You heard the call for the next dance. You don’t want to be tardy.”

“I’ll be off then.” He pointed a finger in Chandler’s direction. “Forewarned.”

His friend walked away, leaving Chandler curious about his own feelings where the mysterious young lady was concerned.

A giggle sounded behind him, and he turned to see Miss Bardwell and Miss Donaldson standing before him. Both young ladies looked hopeful and giddy with big smiles on their faces. Their dresses were cut far too low for their tender age, but it was the fashion.

Chandler smiled more to himself than at the ladies. He used to think the lower cut the neckline of a gown the better, but recently he found their ploys to get attention didn’t intrigue him like they once did. Now he was more interested in a lady who was a little, but not too much, older and more communicative.

“Good evening, ladies.” He bowed, then took both their hands in his and divided one kiss between the two ladies’ hands. He would not fall for the trick of favoring one lady over the other. Long ago he had realized the gossips who circle among the ton see from the backs of their heads.

“Shame on you, Lord Dunraven,” Miss Bardwell said in a provocative tone with a flirtatious smile on her too thin lips. “You’ve been avoiding all the young ladies at the ball this evening. Why attend a party if you don’t mean to dance with at least two of us?”

Miss Bardwell was not coy.

Chandler looked at the pale, blue-eyed beauty. She was fetching and intelligent enough, he supposed, but there was nothing about her that he found appealing enough to encourage her approach. He didn’t even want to pay her an obligatory call.

He looked from Miss Bardwell to the prettier, but quieter, and more reserved Miss Donaldson and said, “May I assume you two young ladies would be willing to see to it that I’m not left a wallflower tonight?”

Miss Bardwell giggled and flapped her fan a couple of times. “You have only to ask.”

Chandler relented and said, “In that case, ladies, I should like a dance with each of you if you haven’t promised them to other gentlemen.”

While he waited for them to produce their cards he turned and searched the room for her.

She was nowhere in sight.

***

“It won’t work, you know.”

Startled, Millicent jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice coming from behind her. Someone had caught her again! Angels above, was there no safe place where a lady could make a few notes?

Millicent turned around from the darkened corner of the buffet room and faced a tall, buxom, dark-haired lady. Millicent’s eyes were immediately drawn to a brownish-red disfiguring birthmark that covered the lower half of her left cheek and spilled just under the line of her jaw.

Not wanting to stare, Millicent quickly focused on the young lady’s pretty green eyes and asked, “What makes you so sure it won’t work?”

“Oh, I’ve tried it.”

Millicent wasn’t sure exactly what this young lady thought she was doing, so she merely stated, “You have?”

“Oh, mercy, yes. Many times.” She sighed heavily. “I finally gave up and you should, too.”

“And why is that?”

The young lady walked closer to Millicent. Even though she was a large young woman, she moved with the regal grace of a lady of breeding.

“You can fill in names on all the blank spaces but sooner or later the other ladies in attendance will talk about why your dance card is always full, but you are never seen on the dance floor.”

Relief. She thought Millicent was filling in gentlemen’s names on her dance card. Thank goodness. For a moment Millicent had thought the lady might actually have some idea of what she was writing.

“I’m sure you are right about that,” Millicent said. “Thank you for the warning.”

“I am perplexed about something, though,” the young lady continued as she looked down at Millicent’s card.

“What is that?” Millicent asked as she slipped her dance card into her reticule.

“There should be no need for you to have to write down gentlemen’s names. I’ve seen you on the dance floor a respectable number of times this evening. And you are much too pretty to end up a spinster like me. Why would you be adding names?”

Millicent relaxed and smiled. She liked the friendliness she saw in this young lady’s eyes and didn’t want to mislead her, but there was no way she could be completely honest with her or anyone else.

“That’s most kind of you to say, but I guess we all want to be more sought after than we are. Human nature, you know.”

“I used to feel that way, too, but I don’t anymore,” the young lady said with resignation. “After four years I realized that no man was going to marry me because of my birthmark. The few gentlemen who danced with me only asked me to please their mothers, who felt sorry for me, or to show other young ladies they were nice enough gentlemen to marry because they would dance with someone who looks like me.”

Millicent wanted to dispute what she said but knew she probably spoke the truth. She didn’t understand it, but she believed beauty meant more to a man than loyalty and love.

“I’m sure you are shortchanging yourself unduly.”

“No, I’m not. But I’ve found other things that give me pleasure. I enjoy reading and writing poetry. And I’m very good with a needle.”

“Those are good things to do. Perhaps you didn’t give the gentlemen in your life a chance to get to know you.”

“You are just being kind,” she said wistfully, “and that is very nice of you.” She smiled sweetly at Millicent. “Let’s break the rules and pretend we’ve been properly introduced. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good. I’m Lynette Knightington, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Grembrooke.”

Millicent curtsied. “It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Lynette. I’m Millicent Blair.” Millicent didn’t add that she was the daughter of an earl. It was Aunt Beatrice’s desire that her true identity not be revealed. No one was to know her heritage, and considering what she was doing, that was the way Millicent wanted it, too.

“I’ve not seen you before.”

“Lord Heathecoute and his lady have graciously agreed to sponsor me for the Season,” Millicent said with ease. “And I’m the houseguest of Lady Beatrice.”

“How very generous of them. I’m not surprised, since they never had children of their own. Lady Beatrice is usually at all the parties, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“I’m afraid she had a rather bad fall and is laid up. She won’t make any of the parties this Season.”

“That does sound serious.”

“She should be fine soon,” Millicent answered just the way her aunt had instructed.

“Please tell her I asked about her.”

“Yes, I will. I don’t want to keep you from the party. I appreciate your excellent advice about the dance cards, Lady Lynette.”

“You would have figured it out, and please call me Lynette. I’d like us to be friends.”

“I think it would be lovely for us to be friends, and please call me Millicent.”

“I shall. I’ve been around so long that I know everyone. I can tell you which young men to accept a second dance from and which to avoid. I know all the young ladies, too, but I’ll let you make up your own mind about them. Most of them don’t even realize I’m around.”

“I will be sure to solicit you.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled and Millicent realized that when she was talking to Lady Lynette she didn’t notice the birthmark on her face at all. She was an intelligent and cheerful young lady who appeared to be in need of a friend.

“I’ll look forward to meeting you again. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Millicent watched Lady Lynette walk away and thought that she would enjoy being a friend to her, but she hesitated over getting too involved with anyone. She didn’t think her aunt would approve. Besides, no one would ever be her friend again if it was discovered that she was gathering information on people to write about them in Lord Truefitt’s column. According to Aunt Beatrice, everyone in the ton wanted to read the tittle-tattle, but no one wanted to be written about in them. And Millicent had no doubt that members of the ton would never associate with anyone who wrote them.

“There you are, Millicent, dear. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Millicent turned at the sound of Lady Heathecoute’s loud voice, but instead of seeing the large woman, she looked straight into the sparkling blue eyes of the handsome gentleman she’d talked to last night. Her breathing kicked up a notch and her throat went dry.

The handsome gentleman had sought her out.

“May I present Chandler Prestwick, the earl of Dunraven.”